Editors-in-Chief Ryan Hall, ‘25 Ryan Readlinger, ‘25
Editorial Staff
Zachary Chipperson, ‘25
Joshua Chung, ‘25
Wyatt Pirtle, ‘25
Hunter Terborg, ‘26
Jack Tonzola, ‘25
Faculty Moderator
Mrs. Christine Connelly
When photons pass through the worked glass lens, the fruition of this technological process remains a projected image of a captured moment. These instantaneous captured moments in time reflect the real-time experiences of the muse. In pontificating this year's theme for this specific edition of Delbarton’s Literary Arts Magazine, the editors focused on the technology of the camera. As a team of editors, similar to the camera’s lens, we believe that the depth of our contributors' subconscious contained in their pieces of poems, prose, and artwork captures the reality of our authors. We hope that while reading this issue of the Delta, one may join the writers and artists in their most cherished real moments and find refuge in their shared experiences.
Before we woke he lured them in with gentle puffs under his breath with air so thick it could be carved. He tended them and fed them crumbs and when he walked taking slow steps behind empty roads the ducks scampered in clouds of dust that swirled around and settled slowly
Into the earth. At dawn we grabbed a newborn egg cracked its shell its golden child sliding gently around custard thick and darling and later glanced scrawny hatchlings out of their shells seeing splatter making weird shapes around the light from gray to blue from gold to green. He grasped feathers and by his breath pushing wind along rippling wheat he lifted them through ragged air stirring the day until they flew. There are two ways of reading these two poems - across the rows and down the columns.
I was born here but I can no longer tell the seashore
Under the magnolia memory tangles in fishnets
Slowly the land fragments along uneven tongues
We dreamt of sweet things: persimmons like lanterns, figs split open dripping with honey We are left with sweet remembrance divorced from itself Our hunger a kind of yearning A desperate kind of prayer Winter & we are ghosts We visit our farmsteads Children's playthings left in snow Wooden blocks, metal trucks & a porcelain doll with hair of straw When they come we will be gone leaving behind old gods & ancestors How we used to watch the sparrows decimate the sunflowers The people in the city they tend their dogs but here I only see them skimper around at the river’s edge in severed proverb chasing for scraps of meat.
Brendan Martin, 2027
happiness tick tock tick tock
brown wood body and golden face the face
stares down at me while look up to make eye contact
then the clock strikes twelve the sounds the sounds that make you shiver with fright
oh ode to the clock that reminds me of happiness but sounds like night
and as the day goes on the ticking goes silent but when the clock strikes twelve nothing goes well
I’ve always wanted to be something, That I’ve never wanted to be, I’ve always wanted
To bring people together, To bring them joy, Warmth to their hearts, But no,
People always run from me, Terrified for their lives.
Children walk in, Trembling in fear, Not knowing what’s going to happen next, That might ruin their day, They always walk in like this, Every day, The same dreaded experience.
All I’ve ever done was scare, Why can’t I be inviting?
Those terrible monsters that have inhabited me, Since the day that I had been constructed, Have ruined my reputation.
I’ll always be the same Haunted house. But all I want, Is to be an encouraging, Normal dwelling, Inhabited by a kind, small family, That brings others happiness.
The water looks like a mirror, My father and I are here.
Alone and at peace, Excited for a bass to leap.
We trekked through the woods at dusk, To find the clearing we must. The sun just crested the ledge, As we stood at the pond’s edge.
We grab our rod and reel. Cast out our lures together, Jesting who is better.
Who will be the big bass’s meal? As we wait side by side, Sun starting to shine bright.
The bass stikes like thunder,
pulling my lure under. My dad coaches me to bring it in, Will I finally win?
The bass pulls with might, Will I win this fight?
With one big pull at last, The line strains…“SNAP!”
The bass swims away, My dad tells me, “We had a great day!” Assures me we will be back tomorrow, Bandaging any and all sorrow.
My personal best bass was caught on a Googan Squad Banger.
Cornpop craw was the color.
The vibrant red and orange mesmerizes and stuns fish. Oh man, the size of bass I’ve caught on this lure.
A crankbait that is like candy to bass.
The shallow diving bill sinks the lure right in front of them. I’ve caught fish from half a pound to up to six pounds.
The six-pounder was my personal best. I casted it along the bank and just retrieved it.
That’s the beauty of a crankbait, all you do is reel in. And that’s what I did, just reeled him in.
The water washes up in my waders, Cold and harsh as the dark clouds that roll on, Pushing against a sky
Beautiful as flowers and great wonders. The rolling persisted through the sky, Trees bending over to the wind.
That sky was a beautiful purple and pink, Like violets and roses.
My line whipped through the air quicker and quicker
As I cast faster and faster.
The cork handle rest in my hand
As I dearly hold on to it.
The sky of flamingos and cardinals
Lingered as best as it could.
But the darkness pushed through, Insisting that it leave.
The wind howled in my ear
As the storm advanced.
There was seemingly no end,
But the golden sky remained still.
Alone I sit.
The bleak reality of a global pandemic weighs on me like an anvil.
I stare longingly at the guitar across the room. I pick it up daring to escape my seclusion.
With the tools of a craftsman I start. And I learn.
Slowly but steadily I trek through desolate solidarity.
The beam of light that I have longed for has finally come to pass.
The hours and hours are filled.
With the joy of music.
The feeling cannot be described. Searching for meaning in a sea of lonely I was drowning.
Now I have found my life raft. It will take me to shore. The guitar, my salvation.
The Somerset Diptych
The green water ripples white at the peak as the wave barrels forward, closer to the shore.
The wave towers over me, and the peak begins to crash downward.
I dive under the wave just in time, and I hear the sound of the wave crashing above me.
Silence.
I look forward and see another wave coming toward me out in the deep ocean.
The green water ripples white at the peak as the wave barrels forward, closer to the shore.
The wave towers over me, and the peak begins to crash downward.
I dive under the wave just in time, and I hear the sound of the wave crashing above me.
Silence.
I look forward and see another wave coming toward me out in the deep ocean.
A book.
A book that carries memories I was too young to make.
A book passed to me by my grandfather long since passed away.
A book holding the Only true memory I have.
His voice.
Thank you Dad for what you did.
You gave me my skills,
My interests,
And most importantly, all the love you could give. You spent your life working for us
And you took me to school everyday.
I came home on a Wednesday.
I thought it was another normal night.
And then my heart broke.
You went away peacefully and didn’t suffer
It’s not even easy to get outside the house, or even be at school.
I don’t know what religion is true and what’s not, But I miss you everyday.
Maybe we’ll be together someday
Love you Dad, I'll never have a better friend.
In the winter
Or when the power dies
Who is there to keep you warm?
A fire.
A fire.
A fire.
Who warms your heart
And is your hearth?
A fire.
A fire.
A fire.
I see the flames,
I hear the crackling, The ash is a symbol of warmth. A fire may be Extinguished
But it remains Deep in the heart.
And throughout your blood, Fire keeps you warm and helps you very much.
where Suffering isShared, the Practice Room! Squeaky shoes Fill theRoom with Sound.
Hot, Stuffy, FatiguedWhat Full Time Wrestlers feel ina practice- Shared Suffering!
Dry and Burnt- what We, Full Time Wrestlers taste in a practice. Bitter- how WeFeel after being Scored on. Sweet- the Taste of Revenge!
Fogged glass, mats with Sweat Stains and MEN taking their angerout on each other- Shared Suffering! This goes Ever on in the Practice Room of Full Time Wrestlers!
The leaves are falling, It’s the time of year,
The spiders are crawling, Everyone is filled with fear,
The witches are laughing, People are screaming,
The monsters are attacking, The animals are speaking,
It’s 12:00 a.m. the party is just starting, The wolves are howling,
Pumpkins are rotting, Everyone is shouting,
People are killing like wolverine, Let’s just have some fun. It's Halloween.
The color of the leaves
The smell of fall
The beautiful trees
The bird’s call
Daylight getting shorter
The beginning of a new quarter
October almost over
December coming closer
The fall of snow
So long ago
Trees are bare
December's cold air
The best time of year
Winter is here
i am round and black
i go fast on ice
i am cold and rubber zebra drops me two guys fight for me they move me up quickly they make me fly they score
A mi amor,
Tú eres mi todo, El centro de mi vida.
Cuándo estoy contigo, Mi corazón acrecenta.
Tu voz es tan dulce como la brisa, Tu toque me envía a cielo, Por favor, nunca me deja
Porque te necesito.
Sin tú, mi vida pierde su libertad.
La depresión se encarga mi vida
Y mi mundo se vuelva a oscuridad.
Por favor, nunca me deja.
Sin tú, el mundo será vacío, Mi finalidad será perdida. No me permite a llegar eso. Por favor, nunca me deja.
Nunca deja mi presencia, Nunca me deja en este mundo sola, Nunca para haciéndome compañía, Por favor, nunca me deja.
Tu amor, Ember Lumen
Inspiración: Elemental
Sins of my brothers, sins of my friends, Weight my heart, crushing my soul to an inevitable end, A chain of love, twisted and tangled, Its crown of thorns, serrating my thoughts.
I watch mindlessly, silence epitomized, Seeking the answer, to whatever is right, Lines are blurred, hearts are hurt, The greatest pleasure is pain, until it's all for nought.
I wish, pray, for their greatness, good of their being, As they fall further, until no hands can save, Tempted by pleasure, the losing of days, Unforeseen, unfathomably gray.
Fighting a monster unseen, An unbeatable foe, defeated by many, Increasing in harm, numbing in property, Promising the forever kiss of death.
I’m sitting in a metal fold-up chair, hidden by the dark curtain which protects me from the eyes that wait to hear me speak.
In a sense I find that comforting. A room full of people waiting for the next word to come out of my mouth.
Complete control over the audience. The warm Blanket of could-be applause comforts me.
Comforting as much as my imagination can be.
On the other hand I find it terrifying. A room full of people waiting for the next word to come out of my mouth.
That comforter of imaginary applause is ripped off by thoughts of embarrassment.
I stutter. I trip.
And the roar of applause becomes a roar of laughter.
That dark curtain only guards me for so long. My foot begins to tap feverishly.
And as my time to go on nears, the thousands of presentations that race through my mind fade to nothing, and the spotlight that blinds me, throws me into the deep end of a pool when I cannot swim.
Bound to drown. Drowned by laughter? Or drowned by applause?
As I walk into the stadium a cold breeze hits my face. Loud music being overheard from inside the stadium.
Blue and Gold fills the parking lot but also specs of maroon and orange. Stores selling Notre Dame gear as my dad and I walk in looking for a winter hat. In line sounds of my sister complaining that she's cold fill my ears.
My mom comforts her as snow piles up, other fans become colder as smoke fills the parking lot. Hot chocolate being sipped slowly.
The smell of the charcoal burning and burger cooking rushes up my nose. Snow starts to stick onto my hood. People smile and laugh as they huddle together under their tent.
Game time nearing, fans start cheering, Hand warmers and feet warmers being distributed as fans start to enter the the stadium. Notre Dame rushes out for warm-ups. Our tickets scanned as we enter the stadium to cheer on the Irish.
glimmer of the sun
beautiful bright green on the treetops blue ocean in the sky the view was great the hike was too the rocks were sharp our minds were too august moser and i we went as two
there were small crevasses to get through the width was only a foot or two
after some hard work we were almost at the top we took in the view for a moment or two
the trees like a sea of green the mountain like a walkway to the clouds
the view at peace
august and i just us two
Drowning
I press start.
Everything begins spinning behind the glass door. One sock, holding onto the frame. Like a shark swimming with fish, choosing its path. This is a representation of society I can relate to.
Everyone including myself following the group. Then that one person, that one person who determines his destiny. Everyone falling into a hole while he digs himself out.
I always admire him but never want to be him.
French is always about agreement and dissonance.
A certain seed that is, in full bloom, measured in color rather than process.
The dictator fails in his search for the ideal. And so sorrow becomes the cure for deviation.
Grammar, a fight for life, conjugations, an ode to light, a code-like sequence of repetition, a subversion to the definition of progress, and French is not a setting but rather a metric, with one wrong word proving catastrophe.
Over the course of time, I could’ve gone through the motions of restoring the fiddly parts, little methodical phrasings stacking in ways I cannot grasp. But I held on to what I imagined was, in essence, the truth. The crystalizing of habit, the peeling of culture, a shout to life, a scream to existence.
Joyous, masochistic, ludicrous. My notebook a cutting board: words bleeding splots of ink.
Sticker Shock
Murder on the Dance Floor
I carve up and down the face of the wave having so much fun.
The salty ocean air blows through my hair as I have the time of my life, until suddenly I slip and fall, and everything around me turns to darkness.
I hit the water head first, I smack the water so hard it feels like concrete.
My body is getting tossed and turned under the water, doing cartwheels in every direction.
My body continues to get pummeled by the breaking wave deeper and deeper into the ocean, as I attempt to fight the force of the wave.
The wave finally releases its grip on me and a sense of calmness sets in. I float under the water, motionless not knowing which way is up or down, but I am calm.
After a second, I open my eyes under the water and swim towards the light. I emerge from the water getting blinded by the bright sun as salt water stings my eyes.
I rub my eyes until the burning goes away, regain my composure, and take a big deep breath.
I am walking in a chilly, large building. People all around, rolling suitcases and carrying bags.
I walk and walk.
My mind is focused on where I’m going.
A week later I’m standing in Rome.
I hear Italian being spoken all around me. Interesting shops sit at every corner.
I’m not interested in any of this.
All I can think about is where I’m going. I keep walking.
Finally I come to a stop. Thousands of people stand in front of me in the unbearable heat.
My eyes and mind aren’t distracted By any of this.
I see what I’ve been looking for.
Hours pass by in what seems to be an instant. I walk forward after waiting in line.
Finally, I enter the Vatican.
Paul Quense, 2024
Chopper blades filled the distant air
As I waited for a sound
Red, White, Blue linesWaiting for a movement.
I looked down at the cassion
It loomed there, omnipotent in my mind
And the box sat atop the horses’ backs
Waiting for a movement.
The choppers approached the silent site
They passed us at a moments notice
And then movement came
Walking down the old man's path.
My grandfather had a passion like no other for a tedious matching game. Hours on hours were wasted In solitude matching colored tiles. I gave the tedious game a chance and to my surprise, it stunk.
As the years passed I gifted him puzzles on puzzles, some thousands of pieces, others fewer.
I grew to respect his devotion to puzzles however I was changed when my grandfather had gifted me a small puzzle.
Three months of hard work led me to a dead end. The simple hundred piece puzzle sucked my confidence dry.
I was taken under his wing where I learned the art of solving puzzles.
My confidence was invigorated And my skill improved. His birthday then came.
I purchased the biggest puzzle I’d seen as a challenge for us. Little did I know one week later, I would have no mentor.
We never truly understand the importance one has had until they are gone.
Horsepower
The breath-taking wind sharpened the night.
The luminous moon spread an ominous light. Oh, a wonderful sight. A boy rocked.
On his porch he sat. Afraid. Alone.
Abandoned.
Frightened to death. Fear blew through the wind
Yet, the night was beautiful.
The sky was clear.
The boy shed a frozen tear.
Memories flashed. His mom.
His dad. His family.
What was left was gone and nowhere near.
The frozen tear shattered. His world became unclear.
Like a bird I flew in, To the land of my Father. The Kochi airport where the sun breaks the sea.
I sit in the red taxi, to go to the house of My Father, And my Father’s Father.
The thick brick walls, tan in color with dark wood accents, the house of My Father and, My Grandfather who loved me and hated the addicting sin of men. But when church bells ring,
He was there, praising, Loving God and Sunday could not be Any better with him.
His strong embrace that Had held generations
In those cracked hands.
My Father’s Father.
Plums
I drift endlessly on the waves, in my casket, toward my grave.
I hide behind the shipping crates, expectantly waiting to meet my fate.
For on this boat, I’m surely lost, my life this trip will surely cost.
I can’t think of a more ironic way, for a rat like me to end his days.
On the land, I snuck around, on the coldest and lowest parts of the ground.
Similar to now, I hid with fear, never thinking I would end up here.
On a boat, a rat cannot run, my scurrying exposed by the beating sun.
Away in fear, I’m sitting here, alone without those I hold dear.
A metaphor for those who think, they can hide from the things that make them shrink.
Waking up and looking outside, and seeing the snow
Going to my mom and her saying there is nowhere to Go!
Cozying up in a blanket turn the tv on
As snow falls outside on my now white lawn.
Putting on my gloves, and bundling up in a coat.
Feeling the fur hit my eye as I put my hood up, No school, no worries just playing outside.
My snowman so white just like a dress on a bride.
Inside again hearing the fire roar
As I bite in a cookie and crumbs hit the floor.
Hot chocolate runs down my chin
As hot chicken cools on the tin.
Ready for bed as I button my pjs
Wishing and wishing for the snow to not melt.
My mom tucks me in and I’m ready for bed.
I dream of another snow day as my pillow hits my head.
An Ode to Mercury: a strange and deadly element
Strange Mercury! To be named after the messenger god is quite a feat.
You can conduct electricity, yet can’t quite conduct heat. 2 tablespoons to a pound is weighty
Based on your protons and electrons you are Atomic number 80.
Quicksilver, as your nickname states, you are slippery and fast
More chilling than your lowest freezing point of all metals, your deadly past.
For thousands of years, people assumed you were a cure
Probably because you are the only metal on earth liquid at room temperature.
Ancient alchemists sought immortality, drinking and breathing your fumes.
Emperors, kings and pharaohs filled lakes of mercury in their pyramids and tombs.
But perhaps our ancestors were not so wise, Your toxicity poisons the nervous systems, kidneys, skin, and eyes.
More recent scientists used your properties for thermometers, Float valves, dental restoration, and barometers. Less often we see you now following our doctor's wish Occasionally returning to us through acid rain, and in the stomachs of fish.
Sublime Surfside
I approached the telescope, A telescope two times bigger than me. My lens through which to see the stars, The light is beautiful but there is darkness as well.
I could see it, A thousand miles away. The darkness surrounded by light, Brighter than a trillion stars.
I could view reality bending, Warping as if to acknowledge it. As if a needle pierced space, Crafting a portal to the void.
I could feel it pull me in, Dragging me away from reality. As I sped up, moving with it, So fast time lost meaning.
I could be devoured by it, Succumbing to the infinite darkness. Over into the event horizon, My eternal and infinite prison.
I was not me anymore, Reeled into the unknown.
Entering the mouth of space and time, I am gone now and forever.
I hear it from my room, Pop! Pop! Pop! Billions of flashes, Unique designs, Red, White, Blue, Yellow, Purple, But when I see these colors all I see are the dead, And people crying, I see hard work, Blood, Sweat, and Tears, Fighting for our country, When I see these bright lights, I know what time it is, Time to appreciate our soldiers, And all they have done for us.
It’s a sunny morning, the day before my birthday. My dad is out trying to find a cake along with some bright, vibrant, colored balloons.
I wake up to a warm shower and a big pancake breakfast. My brother and I head outside to begin a game of catch.
As we close the front door, my dad comes back.
Even though he tries to be sneaky, but I can see him bringing in the balloons.
Shortly after noon we head back in to eat lunch and watch football.
I get a small, thoughtful card from my grandma that means a lot.
As the day goes by my mom distracts me by taking me to the farm. When we get back to the house is filled with balloons and a few gifts.
I immediately rip off the wrapping paper and see everything I asked for and wanted.
My dad tells me to wait because he's got something big for me.
As my dad goes to his office to get the gift, I fill with excitement thinking about what it could be. But when he comes back it's only a dumb, little, card.
The card reads,” I love you bigger than the Earth.”
Although it meant nothing to me at the time, now it means everything.
I have kept that card in my room ever since that day, and it always keeps me going, like a spinning earth.
Growing up on the steps of the side of the house, juice box in hand, sunny day, my brother and our friends playing basketball on that hot gravel. I could hear the lawn being mowed, and mom is in the kitchen, making us PB + J’s. Life was good, then, with no worries or stress. Everyday felt like a special day now (like a birthday, Halloween, or even Christmas). Back then, it all felt “normal”, yet looking back on it, I would tell myself to never grow up. The feeling you get when you wake up not tired, looking at the clock and realizing I was late for school, but my mom comes in and says that school is cancelled for a snow day, then spending the rest of the day playing in the snow with my friend, was like no other. Don’t even get me started on the feeling that came from going back inside to a warm fire, with blankets on, ending up watching a christmas movie. All of these memories would not be possible without my superhero. Not the superheroes that I used to keep in the toy and play, a different one: my mom. Thank you.
A violent wind knocks over great large trees. They smash the earth, cracking the delicate dirt below.
A heavy rain floods a small river.
The water breaks everything in its path,
A grizzly snatches a salmon out of the water.
Eating every bit it can get.
A pack of wolves take down a large male moose. They look up, their noses stained red.
Nature is a violent place.
An eagle glides above a foggy lake.
Ending his flight on the top of a large tree.
A small red fox takes its young through the woods. Their small bodies, full of hair and vigor.
Small river runs slowly.
Expanding into a dark endless plain of blue.
The sun erupts from below an endless plain of blue.
Its beauty is put on full display.
However what is not seen is the violence.
A small solitary boat sits on the rough endless plain. The waves bobbing it up and down like a toy.
The gannets fly around the boat as they look down upon the fish.
The herring splash violently as they are trying to escape.
A pod of dolphins join in and begin to feast.
The violence of the splashing slowly becomes less.
But in just the same amount of time the violence came, it left.
And the ocean was beautiful once again.
Otherwordly Forms
Jack Grbic, 2024
Sliced Reflections
The mind, the wondrous sea, a battle ground of haunted invisibility. We wage war on the heart of those worldly things, and they try to fight back, to make us nothing. So the sword in the stone and the word from the pen, cooped up in a trap like the young, laying hen. My day has passed, the sky has grown old. I walk a road I've never seen before. It's a nice trail, with a place to rest, to pass tales on, and attempt to jest. For while my hours will count to none, the miles will stack one by one. A story was carved by those who’ve run. A story, a ghost, of these seen and lost. A story, the host, a great gray…
…rock lies alone in the morning sun. He calls out for his friends, and hears no one. All the while stuck in an invincible hold, waiting, just waiting, for nature to be bold. A river could sweep all the pain away, but the river’s too far from here today.
So he sings a little lullaby, to kiss all his dreams goodbye, and he sits there under the burning sky, oh he sits there in reach of paradise.
If only, if only, he says to himself, could I be free of this eternal quell, and he hears with his ears a story to tell. A little jig, a dance could go along, to the beating, rumbling, broken song.
A train left Amsterdam at half past two
And never returned, left in lieu
For the sky rang out in a massive despair
And a cloud shot up, vision impaired
For the earth it quaked and read like lies
Goodbye, goodbye, to our “saintly” lives
And all was gone, ‘cept rubble and bone
And a soul that cried, forever more
The steps were missed, the story untold
Of the people who tried to live without cold
So I will tell you now, of the mushroom in the sky. The beautiful, nuclear paradise. And it was beautiful, so much I was paralyzed.
There was a cold knock on the door. A man went down his steps, slowly, steadily. A knock again. He opened the door. A young person stood in front of him, wrapped in a cloak. The guest asked, “are you ready,” and the old man slammed the door in his face and rushed back up the steps.
He danced around his room, screaming, shouting, hollering. No one answered. He looked at the pictures along the wall. A few were broken. Some, just frames. The thermometer read 102 degrees.
Another knock on the door. The man rushed halfway down the stairs, before creeping up them again. A second knock. A third. A fourth. He opened the door again. The cloaked youth stood there again. He held out a hand. It was pale, with its own gravity, pulling and pulling.
The man slammed the door in his face, and rushed back up again. He opened a book, and read and read, and closed it with a whoosh. He sat down, and wailed at getting back up again. The pictures glowed now. The lights performed a ballet. The man walked down the steps again and opened the door.
The youth stood waiting, and the man took his hand, they vanished into the bleak dawn. The man could hear, faintly, a voice calling out. He answered, but another’s voice spoke his words, “...it will be okay. I am at peace.” Now he resides beside the Church, in an padded apartment with a pitchblack door, an ivory latch, and cedar walls.
The day started off great. It was November 18th, 2016. Excitement filled my stomach, this was it. We were getting a dog! I have never had a dog before, so this was a new experience I was ready to embrace. We had to get to the breeder’s house quickly, so we could get the first choice of the day. The house was all the way in Pennington, so it was going to be a long trip. As I hopped in the car with my family, I pondered how I would react to this new dog, or what type we would pick. We specifically wanted a male GoldenDoodle - a fluffy, apricot-colored puppy that looked like a teddy bear.
As we pulled into the house’s driveway, I couldn’t wait to see the dogs. My older brother was scared to interact with larger dogs, and he started crying. Due to this, my father had to calm him down outside the house while my mother led me inside. As I opened the door, a large but friendly GoldenRetriever greeted us. She was the mother of the pups, according to my mother. Soon after, the breeder greeted us, followed by the father of the dogs, a smaller reddish-blonde poodle. After a short while, my brother mustered the courage to enter, where he shakily pet the larger dogs.
The breeder led us downstairs, where we were brought into a room. In the room there were some dog bowls and a crib, where a few dogs were sleeping. At the noise of us walking in, they jumped up with their bright young energy, letting out small squeals. Each of them had a different colored collar. We were then led out of the small room, and led back into the original basement. The breeder asked us to wash our hands, and then we entered a small cage for the dogs to greet us.
The first to come out had a lime-green colored collar. It slowly approached each of us, carefully sniffing us one by one. We really seemed to enjoy this one, and my brother even said “You’re the one” when he came up to him. Next, came a blue collared dog who was extremely energetic and friendly. We also enjoyed our experience with this one. After blue was taken out, a black collared one was put in. This one seemed friendly at first, but it soon backed into the cage’s corner and growled at us. After a small bit of waiting, the breeder came out with surprising news. The final one, a red collared puppy, was too aggressive to see us.
We did not take long to choose: we picked the lime-green one. The breeder got him ready as we waited upstairs. By now, a few other families were there. The breeder brought lime-green upstairs, where we put him in a laundry basket. We filled out the paperwork and finally, the purchase was made.
My mother and father both brought him outside and put him in the car. By now there was a light drizzle, pitter-pattering on the metal car. As we began to drive back home, we pondered what his name would be. Finally, my mother brought up the name “Teddy.” We liked it a lot, and all agreed on it. The name perfectly fit his appearance because he looked like a small teddy bear. And that’s how it began. Everyday after that, I came home after school with a big grin. I was able to see my beloved dog again. We grew a bond, which accumulated over time. I am so glad to call him my dog, and will always accept him as a fellow family member.
Footsteps. Heavy breathing. One looks back and sees a man with a mask and knife in hand. Gaining. He looks to his left and sees the other running with him. They had been friends forever. One is scared out of his wits. He tries to trip the person he had been best friends with his entire life so he can get away. He fails. Trips himself. Hits his ankle on a rock and the snap of the bone can be heard. The other keeps running and off in the distance hears shouts of pain. And then it stops. But he does not stop running. He runs and runs and runs until he emerges from the woods. He runs to the police station. Crying. They explore the woods and the only things they find are fingers, a piece of what looked like the torso and a leg.
Painted in blood on the tree: you are lucky.
Paul Quense, 2024