Wild and Free: Volume IV by Elizabeth Tremain Farrar

volume IV

“All good things are wild and free.” – Henry David Thoreau

Dear WALDEN COMMUNITY, I am pleased to present the fourth volume of Wild and Free, the annual literary magazine of Walden High School. It contains students’ poetry, personal narratives, dramatic monologues, short stories, and artwork that reflects a breathtakingly diverse range of human experiences—themes such as the meaning of home, belonging, anxiety, loss and grief, self-acceptance and determination, dystopian realities, resilience, the power of music, cultural understanding, and more. We’ve also added a special section from the 9th graders on what it means to enact Thoreau’s call to be “wild and free” despite the many changes and uncertainty brought by the COVID-19 pandemic. As the introductory note to that section explains, students responded with stories about fictional worlds that had fallen apart, and heroes that fought to survive. We hope these stories of resilience after destruction bring you inspiration for an uncertain time in history. I’m proud of our students’ hard work and vulnerability in sharing these pieces. They are reflective of the thoughtful care our community brings to everything we do, and I hope you enjoy them.

Yours in Walden Values, DR. MICHELLE DAY Editor

Letter from the Editor I Dr. Michelle Day..................................................................1

POEMS The 5 Doors in the Darkest Room I Sarai Rhodes and Lauren Frazier.......................5 Their Dark Her-story I Ella Beames..........................................................................10 For Miles I Ella Beames.............................................................................................11 Infinite I Maraya Mohamedou....................................................................................12 I Couldn’t See the Red I Hudson Rouben................................................................13 Stress I David Young.................................................................................................14 Motionless I Bre Jenkins...........................................................................................15

PERSONAL NARRATIVES The Moon I Asal Seifi................................................................................................17 My Home I Roby Abu...............................................................................................20 The Child Keyboard I Anonymous...........................................................................22 The Journey of Home I Mitchell Tyler......................................................................24 Outsider I Van Tran..................................................................................................27

DRAMA Mama, She Works Too Hard I Baxter Keith.............................................................31 Nothing I Ethan Goldberg........................................................................................32 A Friend in Mind I Emery Green...............................................................................33

SHORT STORIES The Ruin I Ryan Yim.................................................................................................41 Awoken I Robert Lonnemann....................................................................................45 Pilgrimage I Liam Garvin...........................................................................................47 A Raven’s Tale: The Eyes of Odin I Ben Leonberger...............................................51 The District I Audrey Gerber.....................................................................................54

SPECIAL SECTION What does it mean to be Wild and Free when the world feels like it’s falling apart? Last I David Young.....................................................................................................60 Hope I Jonathan Green.............................................................................................62 The Battle with the Lord I Nathan Green................................................................64 Finding Freedom I Cole Sutherland.........................................................................66 2

Artwork I Asal Seifi, Bella Bowles, Lauren Frazier, Bre Jenkins, Ella Beames, Emery Green, Isaiah Cargill, Juman Almoutem, Maggie Van Houten, Merci

Nshizirungu, Mitchell Tyler, Peyton Bray, Skyler Young, Sofia Veroslavsky-

DeLatorre, Van Tran, and Zoie Pois

Yellow Carnation by Emery Green (12th Grade)

Butter Shoes by Mitchell Tyler (10th Grade)

POETRY 4

THE 5 DOORS IN THE DARKEST ROOM I Written by SARAI RHODES (9th Grade) Illustrations by LAUREN FRAZIER (9th Grade)

DENIAL I’ve lost myself in a jungle That is now overgrown I’ve been looking for others But I am

alone

I’ve lost myself in a jungle Where no one can hear me call Because the vines that cover my pain Are far too t h i c k and far too T

I’ve lost myself in a jungle And my pain has numbed away It is very peaceful here The silence makes me want to stay I’ve locked myself in a jungle Each day is getting longer I have tried to escape But the vines of pain are getting stronger I’ve locked myself in a jungle My blood boiling with fear I do not know where I am going But I cannot stay here

ANGER This demon living in my head Is driving me insane She keeps me up at night With angry whispers in my brain When I wake up every morning The first thing that she says Reminds me to think about The reason that theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re dead My blood begins to boil My heart begins to break My eyes are filled with anger My hands begin to shake This demon is taking over Turning every color into red My mind is slowly filled With oppressive thoughts of dread I have lost all control now Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m angry all the time now Everything is red now All thoughts are dead now

BARGAINING A castle must be well protected With soldiers guarding each wall But what if what they were protecting Wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a castle at all? What if they were shielding? The people within the gate Not from other humans But from their own pain What if the soldiers defend Against the shadows of grief Which postpones the

sadness

For a moment of relief But the soldiers get overpowered By all of the pain from within And the sorrow tears your walls down To let the demons come in If only the soldiers were stronger Or maybe the walls were too thin I should have done something different To keep all of the pain from rushing in

DEPRESSION There is a shadow Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s invading my mind It eats away my ha ppi ne ss One smile at a time It drains out all my energy And makes me want to sleep It sits right next to me and stares Watching as I weep This shadow grows larger With every passing day It has surrounded my entire soul And it will

never

go away

It creates a storm of grief The clouds are filled with pain And once the sky has opened up It will always rain I have done my best to stop it Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve tried to make it go away But it has taken away my strength So I just have to let it s t a y

ACCEPTANCE I slept well last night For the first time in awhile I could look at other people Without

forcing

a smile

I stepped outside that morning The sunlight hit my face I had an appreciation for nature Filled with beauty and grace For the first time in forever I was able to see Not just the joy in others But the happiness in me The happiness that I tried so hard to find Had not gone anywhere It was with me the whole time It took a long while For the pain to move on And it will take even longer To accept that she’s gone But that’s the thing about pain It won’t last forever It will kill you right now But with time

it gets better

I promise 

THEIR DARK HER-STORY I ELLA BEAMES (11th Grade) Inspired by Polish painter Tamara Łempicka

“je t’aime” he said He made us feel safe Growing up together was a vile experience at times “I’m abusing you because you’re asking for it” We now sit here with lethargic moods and dreary eyes At home it feels like it’s raining inside Dark and gray No stream of light to be spotted It feels as if we’ll be trapped in this dark place forever Will we escape his abuse and treachery? Perhaps there is light But as we sit here in this dreary place, We will ponder When will the light appear?

Time Warp by Ella Beames (11th Grade) 10

FOR MILES I ELLA BEAMES (11th Grade) Inspired by photorealist painter Richard Estes

I stand here I can see for miles For miles people’s lives go on That van here A pedestrian there New York City’s residents’ journeys go on for miles New York City is only 13 miles long and less than 3 miles wide Yet it stretches like eons There is no bare space in the city Not in the bad way If you look 6 inches in front of your face There’s a special person A special graffiti tag A special flyer A musician A dancer Those lives go on for miles You could look down one street that goes for miles And you would see so many unique stories that somehow all work in tandem Feet imprint the sidewalks for miles People dance for miles People sing for miles Drive for miles

People dance for miles People sing for miles Drive for miles Live for miles Life goes on For miles

Live for miles Life goes on For miles

INFINITE I MARAYA MOHAMEDOU (11th Grade) I thought of you when there was nothing in my universe. You showed me how to live without the light, without the color, without warmth. You are a dark sky blue, and that is all I will know. You are the clouds, rain, wind, and blazing summer sun. The brightest and deepest gold cascading down to your shoulders, Burning, like sun and fire. Your name burns through my mouth, leaving my lips dry heat and craving for you. I do not rest easy until I hear my name on your wind. Quiet, reserved, but beautiful nonetheless, Wrapping around me like a cool blanket to protect me from the heat. You are my sky, beautiful and bright and ever changing, And yet your reach extends far beyond that. Your body reaching out into the deepest corner of space. Until I can count the stars that litter your arms and cheeks, And the ones that got lost in your eyes along the way down. You are the brightest star and center of my universe. Your gravity is an irresistible pull that I do not bother to fight against. I am drawn into your orbit and you are all I know. I thought of you when there was nothing in my universe. And you cameâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;and gave it life.

Untitled by Skyler Young (11th Grade) 12

I COULDN’T SEE THE RED I HUDSON ROUBEN (10th Grade) Her eyes Keen as a tiger and fury of a soldier bleeding red crying with dread Her eyes like a starry night A moon glimmering in her right And Venus glowing in her left My brain has always said I could never see the red His eyes growing greener than the Galapagos he twirled my emotions like a storm So colorful The warmth of a forest on my bare naked heart. When cries were present The rain came Lighting crashing on the inconspicuous mysteries of his eyes Lying in bed I wonder Why I couldn’t see the red. If a cough was loud but A laugh was louder Who would be the one in power? If you lost all your hair and You couldn’t bare to look At once a person’s eyes will be white. No signs of life No signs of being bright At that moment her eyes were dead And sadly I could finally see the red

If a cough was loud but A laugh was louder Who would be the one in power?

STRESS I DAVID YOUNG (9th Grade) I’ve been writing these poems And making these rhymes But the things that I’m saying I don’t feel like they’re mine It doesn’t feel the same as it use to I once enjoyed taking my Time was a factor it took to much Words come to my head Poems come to my mind But I’m not proud of my work Not anymore But that is a lie These things that come to mind They inspire me to write I enjoy taking my time I just don’t enjoy the stress Multiple projects and tests It’s tough sometimes but I’ve been writing these poems And making these rhymes And the things that I’m saying I finally feel like they’re mine

Reenergized by Peyton Bray (12th Grade)

MOTIONLESS I BRE JENKINS (12th Grade) Still Still like the air that surrounded us Motionless beauty And here we sit Still Watching, and calculating Who would speak first? Disrupting the peace of this natural situation Are you cold? Would you like a drink? But I sit here Still Soft white petals on the moonlit surface “Aren’t they beautiful?” You asked But the light behind your eyes was anything but We talked for hours upon hours as lilies danced And then we sat again Still Still as my breath when I asked you out numerous times Still as my heart when I asked you to be mine Still as the frozen lily pond we put outside our house in winter We warmed ourselves inside being anything but As I praised your body Still as the air that surrounds us in the doctor Nine months later Still as the child spirited away from you Lilly Still as our quiet cold house Motionless mourning Spring came and the lilies bloomed And I found you floating in your favorite pond surrounded in white soft petals Still I stared And sat there Still.

Still Silence by Juman Almoutem (12th Grade)

PERSONAL NARRATIVES 16

THE MOON I ASAL SEIFI (10th Grade) An airplane. A place where time and location have no meaning. Flowing in the air but not flying, knowing the seconds are passing, but everyone’s clock has different hands. That was the feeling I had, confused and in complete darkness, as I moved from Iran to the U.S. There was a hole in my heart that was shaking my body when I breathed and gravity seemed to be trying to pull me into the ground more than ever. My existence was full of butterflies flying inside of me, but my brain did not show any existence of feeling, as if the wires of my brain and heart were switched. I couldn’t see the future, but my past was getting bolder and bolder with every silent second. I could imagine a little girl sitting next to her mother in two seats by the window of the plane, and the girl telling her everything she wants to do on that trip, and the mother smiling at her as if she had never seen anything more beautiful than the scene in front of her. I tried to imagine all the things I wanted to do on my journey, just like when I was a child, and create fantasy stories to calm my heart, but instead of resting, my heart aches and tells me that there is only one thing you have to do, and that is be strong. It was exactly a month since they told me the U.S. visa was coming to me, and I had to choose to stay or to go to where I only knew one person, my aunt. I was frozen in time so I looked at the roof of the plane, and let my thoughts make my eyes heavy and grow dark. After my flight—which felt like a year—I waited for my aunt at the airport. I was waiting for her like how a trapped man waits for his savior. Aunt—a word unfamiliar to my brain but to my soul is very close and full of feeling, as if my aunt was carved out of my memories and engraved in my soul. As I waited, I looked at the people around me, and I could hear the warm laughter and the cries of their pleasures and nostalgia, but then my eyes stopped and disappeared to watch two people hug. I thought about how it would feel to hug my dad when I came back home and how the whole world would know how happy I am. But then, I heard a familiar voice. I had never been so happy to hear my name. I knew it was my aunt, so I looked back to see her. Suddenly, she took me into her arms and drowned me in a warm, sweet smell. In that second, I felt I could build a house in that hug and live there forever. My aunt slowly let go of me, and after asking about my flight and family, she said, “Let’s go home.” Hearing the word home made my heart skip a beat. How could have my aunt easily described a place as home, when that place is somewhere I had never seen? It was as if she wanted me to clear my library of life and write a new book. My house is definitely where my family, my mom’s sweet and warm smell, my dad’s hugs, and my friends’ laughs are.

THE MOON (cont.) I ASAL SEIFI (10th Grade) On the way to my aunt’s house, my eyes could see what was around them, but they couldn’t understand anything, like a little girl who would scroll through magazines just to see its photos. I didn’t want to talk, and when I forced myself to, I could only hear a tired voice and a pale smile appearing on my face. When I looked outside, I couldn’t believe that even the street lights were so different from the streets of my house. Everything was unusual. My home is a place that I know its streets and restaurants, a place that I feel safe, a place that I never will get lost because all its streets are my home. I was swimming in my thoughts until suddenly my aunt called me and said, “Welcome home.” All the walls of the house were full of paintings and warm colors. My aunt took me to the red-based room and said: “This room is yours.” The room had brown, red curtains, a wooden desk, and ochre carpet, but why choose these colors? None had any peace in them With my headache, I wiped these complaints out of my head and looked at my aunt and told her, “It is so beautiful.” She was relieved to hear that and left the room and said, “It is better to sleep, because you have to go to school tomorrow.” The word school hit me like a bullet, and I threw myself on the bed like a person that was shot and tried to sleep, but my thoughts and dreams didn’t give me a chance. I got up from bed at 6:39 a.m., and I was wearing a pink hoodie with a flower print on it, and I took a black scarf and hid my hair underneath it. My heart was beating fast and going up and down into my chest as if it was looking for a way out. Inside the school, a pretty, tall lady showed me different places in the school. Whenever she was talking to me I couldn’t respond, as if I was a little kid who had not yet learned to speak, and my brain required a lot of energy for a quick translation of her words. In the classes, I was trying to focus, but my heart was echoing all over my body. I was sitting alone in the corner as if I had been struck by a red line; I was very different, and I was alone, so I told myself, “This is not your home.” After school, my aunt asked me a lot of questions about my day, and like a character in a movie, I told dialogues without any real feeling. The night came and everyone fell asleep and left me alone. I was lying on the corner of the bed thinking that I wish I could go back home for a second and frame my good feelings on the wall of my heart. All my memories passed in front of my eyes like a movie. I was slowly losing control of my emotions until my eyes and my body were warm. And then I could feel my tears falling down my cheeks. I let my heart scream with my tears, without me moving or speaking.

I looked up and suddenly I came across a scene that took my breath away. The sky was unbelievably beautiful, and the moon was looking straight into my eyes. In that very second I felt like I was home. Yeah, my home is the moon, because the moon is the only thing that never leaves you, no matter what happens. Your location and all the people around you are changing, even you yourself change in every second as you go, but the moon will never disappear from the sky and will never leave your side. It would carry your memories wherever you go, so that whenever you look at it, you will know that you are at home.

Iridescent by Asal Seifi (10th Grade)

MY HOME I ROBY ABU (10th Grade) The dictionary definition of home is “the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household,” but in my definition of a home, it doesn’t have to be a permanent place where you live, but a place where one is comfortable and able to express himself or herself to the fullest capacity. Home to me is a place where one is at peace and not worried about anything else. This means that a house is not necessarily a home, because even if it’s your house, you could still be plagued by stress or uncomfortable, but you will always feel at peace in a place you call home. Let me switch it up a little—to me, the bathroom is home. My first introduction to how home-like the toilet could be was through my friend’s brother. He would stay in the bathroom for the longest time, and I would wonder what took him so long. Most times, I just assumed that he had a bad lunch, but it happened so often. When I finally asked him, he said that the toilet is a place of peace and serenity, and when you’re there, use it as your opportunity to be alone, away from stress. I found what he said weird at first, but later, I thought about it, and decided to follow in his footsteps. One day, I went to the bathroom and sat there for a long time, to escape the chaos of a busy house full of people. I just sat there in silence, and my mind opened up. I started thinking about things I would never normally think of if I was in a normal state. I started thinking about everything from politics to interior designing and other random stuff, and this is where I realized that I have my best thoughts on the toilet. The bathroom is a place where you can chill if you don’t wanna be disturbed. You can sit there if you have loud cousins over and you don’t wanna talk, or you might just wanna scroll through your Instagram timeline free from the distraction of a loud house, and no one will interrupt you. The privacy a bathroom gives you is unparalleled; you can just go in there, lock the door, and let loose.

Let me switch it up a little – to me, the bathroom is home.

That’s why I think bathrooms should be treated with more respect than they get. The fact that some people don’t understand the importance of the bathroom is so appalling to me; the toilet is a sacred place of solitude and thus should be kept clean, but some uncivilized brutes who have no sense of sacred objects decide to let their bathrooms become dirty, or, worse, run out of toilet paper. It’s so irritating when you go to use the bathroom, and you find no toilet paper because someone didn’t replace the tissue roll when they see it’s finished, or when some people don’t clean up after themselves when they make a mess. That shows a lack of culture and decency, and a disrespect for the role of the bathroom as a home—a space for solitude and reflection. I believe spending more time in the bathroom can give you a better life, and I just wanna say God bless Sir John Harington, the man who created the flush toilet, for his innovation that allows us to find this home within a house to escape stress, let your mind wander, and be yourself.

THE CHILD KEYBOARD I ANONYMOUS The basement below the main hub of the house was barren, dark, and seemingly boundless. Barely any sunlight managed to slip through the translucent window and into the desolate room, and every day the same child would find the tiniest bit of joy inside of a baby blue piano, sitting in the corner of the dark chamber. Every note played on the keys reverbed and echoed throughout the sunken halls, and the sound of detuned chimes transposed up the stairs and out the window into the world outside the basement. The kalimba and marimba, the metallic harpsichord, the sousaphone, and the suitcase synth caressed the child’s scalp and slipped into his brain, filling the holes of loneliness in his head. His favorite songs all mimicked the sound of each other, but that’s what he liked about the music. Songs like “Lifted,” “Bitch,” and “Simon Says.” Each song was able to play the same sound but in a different way each and every time. He could find the parallels in an instant, and the memories retained for an extended amount of time. He soon found himself able to compose his own melodies, and he could harmonize like a god. After many crushed and trashed attempts at writing a piece that sounded like it was born in the flames of a cathedral, he was finally ready to start his journey on writing his next draft. The draft had to be a spectral journey, which could completely change the minds of those who oppressed him. In his head, beneath the swirling pools of color and complex shapes, there was a room where all the notes were written, where all his thoughts were laid out and mixed into a frothy substance of music. If he so carefully chose to further work on a piece of music in his head, the substance of sound would slowly become more solid and eventually turn into a full and complete shape. So he began to work on his most personal and sharp song. Each speaker in the house was turned to full volume that night and many fingernails were bitten and chewed off. The storm outside muted the sounds of his frustrated screams and misplayed notes, but he somehow knew that the world outside his head was listening to every note he played.

After the half-composed tune so barely came to a finish, the speakers were busted and broken. The crackling sound of detuned tines slowly emptied and faded into the darkness like a sulking shadow. The thirty-two keys, now completely broken in, each had a personality and a specific spot of sensitivity, like a cavity in a tooth. The child could dilate his careless fingers and allow the dark note to slowly seep into his emotions. Music wasn’t just sound to him anymore; it was the full-bodied experience of emotions and passionate visions. It was now a necessity for his joy, and the blue light knew how to make him feel. The lyrics were the struggle between words and emotions. He knew the words he wanted to use; they were always his favorite, and they always seemed to just be waiting for a use, but to convey emotion was to part the sea, was to grow wings, was to be the word “Impossible.” Time seemed to slip out of his mind like slivers of gold in his hand, and the brainstorm session became much more literal. Sadness was always the theme of every single song he had composed in his head, and he saw no rhyme or reason for there being anything else to define what he wrote. There was no reason for this emotion weighing above his head. He was always kind of a happy child, but nonetheless, when he stepped his solemn foot onto the pedal of the piano, that’s the emotion that overtook his brain, and the lyrics finally came to a finish. He felt a wholeness, a seemingly complete feeling, an indescribable amalgamation of every emotion imaginable. This piano became a staple in his life, a colorful piece of tape keeping his yarn-ball brain from fraying and tangling. Nights and days finally began to feel united again, it seemed everything suddenly had a purpose, an undefinable, and undeniable purpose. Things complex as a child finally began to have a framework and a motive. Everything was known, and the fear and sadness that would have taken hold at this point were nowhere to be found. It was like you could see the shadow of fear that was once there, but all that remained now was a swirling puddle—no, an ocean, of colors and feelings. Nothing seemed impossible anymore. All it took was one perfect song to define and shape his entire view of the universe.

THE JOURNEY OF HOME I MITCHELL TYLER (10th Grade) Throughout my life, I have often thought about where I would like to live. Most of my thinking has been centered around me moving to another country on a different continent, such as Europe or South America. I have never really felt particularly prideful about the place where I have lived for my entire life. Southern Indiana across the Ohio River from Louisville has been my home since I first came into existence, but my birth itself took place in a hospital in Louisville. The question of if there is a difference between where you are from and where you were born places itself in my head often. The Louisville Metro area has started to feel lifeless and dull, especially after discovering places like Spain, Iceland, and New York City. There are some aspects of Louisville that I enjoy like the architecture in some of the older neighborhoods or the peaceful atmosphere of some of the more tree-filled areas like the Highlands. I try to focus on the fact that there are a lot of worse places to live and how thankful I am to live where I do. Nevertheless, my desire to travel all over and find new experiences has, if anything, grown stronger as time has gone by. The more I travel to other places, the more I feel as if I am destined to find a new kind of life in other countries and cities. I usually try to avoid change in my everyday life because it makes me anxious. However, I have decided that I must deal with the struggles that will ultimately lead to a sense of fulfillment. Whenever I am traveling to a new country for a short amount of time, the commute and the initial feeling of that place always makes me anxious just because of how new and different everything will be. Humans are inherently afraid of the things that they do not understand, and in order to live the best life you can live you have to be brave and seek discomfort. My trip to Iceland is a perfect example of this. My mother, brother, and myself had just left the Dallas-Fort Worth airport and were bound for Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland. Our plane would cross the eastern half of North America and the entire Atlantic ocean in one fell swoop. As I was traveling forward in time against the orbit of the Earth, my eyes were dazed and feet were flat on the floor. My brotherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s seat was to the right of mine near the window. His eyes were closed and would stay that way for most of the journey. People all around were calm, and my mind was at rest. We touched down at Reykjavik at about nine in the morning Iceland time. We met our Education First tour guide in the lobby of the small airport. She was a young Italian woman who lived in London. As we drove away from the airport, rocky grasslands were everywhere and barely any trees were in sight. An uneasy feeling crept its way into my mind and nervousness overcame me.

As I was traveling forward in time against the orbit of the Earth, my eyes were dazed... 24

Foreign places never would turn out the way that I would expect. But every time I would go somewhere, I would think about what being there would feel like, and every time I would get to the place everything would be different. You would think that my mind by now would just stop trying to expect what things happening in the future will feel or be like, but the pattern repeats. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, a movie featuring Ben Stiller, found its way into my thoughts. I tried to channel Walter Mittyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s epic courageousness that he demonstrates when he himself ventures to Iceland and Greenland alone on his journey to find the elusive photographer, Shaun. I had been thinking of the movie a lot before and during the trip to get a sense of what Iceland was going to be like and compare what I saw in the movie. I view Walter Mitty as a role model and respect and admire him still to this day. To go so quickly from living a lonely life in a dreary city to living a life of adventure and self-discovery just seemed like the greatest thing ever. He is one of my main motivations for wanting to travel all over and establish my own sense of home. Venturing into downtown Reykjavik calmed my anxiousness. The city was full of modernlooking buildings which made me reflect on how organized and responsible Iceland was. As the trip went on, we got out of the urban climate that Reykjavik had to offer and ventured into the not-so-far-away fields and rocky hills of the Icelandic countryside. My eyes gazed out of the windows of our tour bus and towards the overcast skies and occasional pairs of wild sheep that would graze in fields right by the road. I never got used to how differently people lived in Iceland compared to people in the United States. People didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to live practical lives. They spoke one of the most complicated languages in the world, and they would not see the sun for an entire season every year. I envied their way of life which seemed to be centred around just being in the moment and living each day with individual meaning. We visited huge waterfalls that sprayed me with freezing glacial water and made me appreciate the natural environment more than I had ever done before. My body would plant itself on top of windy hills, and I would just look out at the natural landscape and feel like I was doing what I was meant to do in life. The wind would blow my hair back and rush past my ears. My eyes would close, and my lungs would slowly take in oxygen, and then release carbon dioxide just as slowly. I was out in the world. I was an adventurer in a foreign place, but at the same time I was at home. Home is not really a place; it is a feeling. Standing on those windy hills in Iceland, I was not at home, but I was in it.

The Silent Corner by Van Tran (11th Grade)

OUTSIDER I VAN TRAN (11th Grade) It was about 11 p.m. when we got off the plane. August’s warm summer breeze flew across my face, but I quivered as the wind swept by. I looked at the sky like I had always done before moving here, and it was dark and clear as it has always been; but there’s something different that I felt under my feet; the passageway was unfamiliar and quaint as I made my way out of the airport. We arrived at our last destination, and even though I hadn’t eaten that whole day, I quickly found my room and threw my lifeless body on the bed. By the time I opened my eyes, it was bright outside. “7:00,” said the clock. “I never woke up this early on a day off,” I said to myself. A week passed, and it was my first day of school—my first day at an American school to be exact. Everything went fine until lunch time. A new friend that I met earlier that day grabbed my hand as I was walking to the cafeteria, and we sprinted all the way to the middle of the endless lunch line. “Is it okay if we do that? ‘Cuz I’m new to this place, and I don’t want to get in trouble with other students by cutting the line.” I asked her. “As long you’re with me, you’re good.” she replied cordially. So I waited in the line and got my lunch. I went to get an eating utensil, and my hand was going toward the spoons, but I paused for a second looking at the forks next to them; I hesitated about whether to get a fork or a spoon. Where I’m originally from, we use chopsticks and spoons when we eat, but in the lunchroom, everyone was using a fork. I wasn’t used to using a fork, but I didn’t want to be different from everyone else either, and so I grabbed a fork. Sitting at the lunch table with ten other new friends of mine, everyone was chatting with laughter while I was smiling awkwardly and making every effort to cut the food with a fork. So my first day of school went by smoothly, except at lunchtime. “Well, at least it’s better than what I expected,” I comforted myself, and I could do nothing but a nap after that. “That’s enough for the first day.”

THE OUTSIDER (cont.) I VAN TRAN (11th Grade) It wasn’t until two months later, after my mother went back to Vietnam and left me here alone with my new guardians, when I started to feel homesick. Like usual, I would bring a smile to school every morning at 8 o’clock, try to shape up new relationships with new people at school, have lunch at 1 o’clock in the afternoon, get home by 4 o’clock, and get my homework done around 11 o’clock. But I added something else to my daily schedule; after I got my homework all done, I stayed up for about an hour later, and all I did during that one-hour “me time” was scrolling on my phone’s screen, reading posts that were about overseas students, looking at my family photos, and thinking, “What am I going to do?” I always felt the butterflies in my stomach when I thought about home, and as the butterflies were making a riot in my tummy, I embraced my two knees, curled myself up, and let the loneliness lock me in the corner of my bed, then burst into tears and cry my eyes out until I fell asleep. It happened like that for three months straight until one day, when I realized that at one point in my life, my family wouldn’t be there with me so I have to do it on my own, all by myself; or else I wouldn’t ever be able to become experienced in life. And so I felt less lonely; I felt more responsible, in fact, because I have a family to take care of, and I must stay strong and give out the best of me at the new place, with the new community. Whenever I was down and blue, I called my best friend back in my hometown; despite the time difference, she’s always there to listen to my “How I Struggle Fitting In With The New Environment” stories. My sophomore year passed by with lots of up-and-down moments; I struggled with assignments at school since I could hardly understand the type of English that was used, but I got better at understanding it as the school year was moving toward its ending. Summer break approached, and I was more than excited to go back to Vietnam to visit my family and friends. I started packing my luggage as soon as the school year ended. I couldn’t sleep since I was so ready and willing to see my family, and I had so many stories in my gut to get rid of about my life in the United States. But one thing happened and it brought all of my excitement down, a conversation that turned all my thrill off. It was only about a week before the 24-hour trip when my guardians decided to talk to me about my first year living at their house, hitting me with so much weariness and disappointment that it turned my whole emotion around. They told me about how I didn’t please them because of my fluctuating schedule; they said that it bothered them since they had to drive me to other places that weren’t my school at times that weren’t school time, even though I had asked them to let me take the bus.

They told me how upset they were when I didn’t play and hang out with their child; I told them my reason that I had work to do so I didn’t have much time to play with the kid but I still spent some of my free time with her, but they didn’t seem to accept that excuse. They even printed out a couple rules that I had to follow as long as I lived in their house, and if I breached those rules, they would take my phone away for a week and check on my phone to see who I called or texted with. After that talk, I dragged my feet heavily to my bedroom and slammed the door behind my back. I sat down on the cold, stinging rug and read the piece of paper that they gave me. The clutched paper started wrinkling up, and it turned blurry as I read along the lines. I squinted to turn the blur clearer, but it was useless since the tears came to cover my face again. I held the paper so tight that my fingers turned all red and purple. Nobody would ever understand how I felt at that moment. It was the feeling of disappointment and failure, and being denied, the feeling that being accepted to this new home was impossible. At that moment, I felt left out. At that moment, I felt I would never be accepted in this home. At that moment, I felt that I didn’t belong here. The tears wet my face and both of my hands as I was trying to cover my face so that no one would see me cry, even the tiny bug that was buzzing around my ears. All the effort that I put to show the new family how much I care for them was gone with the wind, and I felt it all was worthless. The loneliness came back again, even greater and weightier than the last time; and it didn’t come alone, it brought a friend with it, a friend whose name was “disenchantment.” They locked me up in the corner of the room until I could feel my body no more; all I could feel was my numbed face covered with tears. “There’s no such thing as a second family,” I told myself hatefully. “After all, I’m still just an outsider of this new family ‘cuz outsiders would never be understood by those insiders.” But wait a second! Haven’t I always told myself that everything has its goods and bads? So did the situation that I was facing. I have always told myself that: “You can always find at least one positivity in a shambles of negativity. And if you find the “bane” is holding you down, hold on to that one “boon,” and it will lift you up and initiate you into a new passage.” In the case of this conflict with my new guardians, I comforted myself that after all, they were just trying to help me prepare for the next steps in my life. After all, their kid is an only child and has nobody to hang around with. After all, they did open up their home to me. After all, they do care for me, and that’s why they discussed their concerns with me. After all, I have no “bane” in this situation at all, and I’m way luckier than other overseas students that I know. After all, they helped me realize that I have to be more independent. After all, they are my second family. After all, I’m an “internal outsider.” I now realize that being an outsider is never a disadvantage; it depends on your attitude or how you turn your obstacles into advantages that help you find your place.

Cerberus by Maggie Van Houten (11th Grade)

DRAMA 30

MAMA, SHE WORKS TOO HARD: A DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE I BAXTER KEITH (11th Grade) Tonight, I walk down the steps to the first floor, and after a warm bath the cold wood under my feet sends a rush through me with every step, like a small jolt of electricity is passing through my legs. When I walk into the kitchen I see mama, who’s hunched over her big paper that has the lines running across it like she’s doing some kinda connect the dots for adults. There’s only one light on, and it’s the lamp grampa and I got Mama for her birthday last October. Now it’s February, though, and sometimes it’s hard to sleep because the hot air doesn’t always come on. Mama has pencils spread all over the table, and I can tell from a stain in the paper that she must have spilled a little coffee earlier. I don’t want to bother her, so I decide just to head back to bed. Mama says that I’m a really good listener for only being 11, but I’m not really sure why. I think she must like how when she comes home upset about some kid messing up the order of her books, I just sit at the table with my math homework and listen. I’ll respond with just a nod and “Yes, mama,” but today is different. It’s past 9:30 and I am still waiting for her at the kitchen table. When she enters the room she isn’t wearing her usual outfit. Instead, she’s wearing pants, her buttoned shirt, and a jacket with shoulder pads that looked like they belonged on Dan Marino’s uniform. She looks so tired, as if today, by itself, has made her 10 years older. She sits down next to me, and I can hear her heavy sigh as she lands in the chair. “Mama,” I say, “what happened?” She doesn’t tell me. She shakes her head, looks at the wall for a minute, and then pulls her paper from the previous night over to her and gets out her collection of pencils from her bag. I’m not sure if she is ignoring me or if she didn’t hear me or if it’s something else. “Mama?!” I say louder. Her hand begins to grip tighter around her pencil. She still sits there, like I’m no more than a fly around her lunch. She stares into the wall not moving an inch. “Mama!” I start to yell, and then she collapses onto the table, her head hitting the surface with a thud that in my mind is 100 times louder than anything I’ve ever heard before. … She begins snoring. … Mama, she works too hard.

NOTHING I ETHAN GOLDBERG (11th Grade) Based on a picture from Doubletake (Summer 2000 Issue, page 116)

Setting: The back corner of a very fancy restaurant Characters: Mr. A, a sinister man in a tuxedo Ah, yes, yes. Hello, my good fellow. I am simply elated that you have arrived. Make sure you check out the menu before you order- oh, but where are my manners? You may call me Mr. A. As I was saying, though, pray make sure you know what you’re getting before the waiter comes over here. You’d simply never live it down if you forgot what you were getting in the middle of your order. (devilish chuckle; beat). Oh, you like my dog, do you? Well, I’ll have you know that she doesn’t take kindly to people who make a scene in public . . . people like you. If you can’t tell the waiter what you want, Luna here will go for your neck. Do you have a light? . . . Thank you. But my dog, though, Luna, she won’t hurt you too badly—oh, no—she’ll just create a little lump in your throat, if you know what I mean. It will be a jolly good show. I mean, everyone here will remember it for the rest of their sorry lives! Jolly good show indeed! (small chuckle). Your face will go chalk-white and you’ll feel that familiar pain in your stomach. Maybe the chef will even poison your food! No, no, no, not enough to kill you, it won’t be deadly; just enough to permanently sicken you; to destroy every last bit of confidence left in you, because you are nothing. You’re nothing! You’re a subservient failure, a slave to the system, a slave to society, a slave to me. (beat) You know, you should try this wine, it’s really quite good. Perhaps it will help you forget when you’re groveling on the floor later. Forget what? Why, the shame, of course! The shame. So, if you’re thinking of talking to that waiter, if you’re thinking of talking to literally anyone else ever again, forget it, kid. Stand up and leave this place right now. Isolate yourself from everyone for all of eternity, and don’t worry; I’ll be watching over you, no matter what happens. (beat) Would you care for a cigar?

Your face will go chalk-white and you’ll feel that familiar pain in your stomach. Maybe the chef will even poison your food! 32

A FRIEND IN MIND I EMERY GREEN (12th Grade) Characters Quinn* Sage* Quinn’s Mother Tired McDonald’s Worker/Daniel Enthusiastic McDonald’s Worker/Samantha *Note: Quinn and Sage’s gender is up to the actors playing them, and they can interchange pronouns.

QUINN

Scene I The scene opens to two kids sitting in a

I’m sorry, can you repeat that? You’re

bedroom, it looks like they’re having a

what?

sleepover. QUINN has snacks scattered

SAGE

around them, SAGE has nothing.

Imaginary. Y’know, like an imaginary

QUINN

friend?

Do you ever wonder why no one talks

QUINN

to us? I mean, why don’t we have

But you’re real! I’ve known you for

friends again?

years!

SAGE

I think I know why people don’t talk to

Well, yeah. You’ve had an imaginary

you.

friend for years. Why do you think your

QUINN

mother is so worried about you?

We’re fun to be around right? So why

QUINN

don’t people want to be friends with

I thought she just didn’t like you,

us?

honestly.

SAGE

It’s probably because I’m imaginary.

Wow, thanks.

QUINN

Yet people don’t want to talk—wait

Sorry that my immediate conclusion

what?

wasn’t that my friend wasn’t real! Which

SAGE

I’m still not convinced of!

You didn’t know? 33

A FRIEND IN MIND (cont.) I EMERY GREEN (12th Grade) SAGE

SAGE

I have no idea how you didn’t notice.

No real friends.

People don’t talk to me when we go

QUINN

out to eat and they give you weird

I still don’t believe you.

looks when you order food for me.

SAGE sighs, and opens the

QUINN

door to the room.

No they don’t!

SAGE

I’ll prove it to you. Call your mom in

Yeah, they do. The other day you

here.

ordered ice cream for ‘your friend’ and the woman looked like she was about

QUINN yells for their mom. The

to call the cops.

woman appears a few seconds later.

QUINN

QUINN’S MOTHER

This isn’t a very funny prank.

Yes, honey? What do you need?

SAGE

QUINN

It’s not a prank. I honestly thought you

You can see Sage, right?

knew about this, and were just actively

QUINN’S MOTHER

ignoring it.

Ah... uh.... your friend.... right...?

QUINN

Actively ignoring it?

Yeah, my friend. Who is here, right

SAGE

now.

In denial. Because you have no friends.

QUINN’S MOTHER slowly backs out of

QUINN

the room.

You’re my friend!

I have no idea how you didn’t notice. People don’t talk to me when we go out to eat and they give you weird looks when you order food for me. 34

QUINN’S MOTHER

QUINN

Oh, yes.... they are.... here....

I can’t believe this.

She quickly leaves, looking panicked.

SAGE

QUINN stares at the open door for a

Alright. Let’s go out to eat.

minute in shock.

QUINN

What?

Oh my god.

SAGE

Food. Y’know, that thing humans need

She didn’t look at me once.

to have to function.

QUINN

Why was she so panicked?

I know what food is!

SAGE

Her kid just asked her if she could see

Are you sure?

their imaginary friend. I’d be pretty panicked too.

QUINN

going out to eat?

Yes, I’m sure! I meant, why are we

But you’re.... no.... you’re not....

SAGE

You don’t believe me, I’m going to try

Imaginary?

to prove it to you. Pick a place to eat.

QUINN

You’re too real though! I’m not creative

Uh, umm, McDonalds?

enough to make up a whole other

SAGE

person!

Really?

SAGE

QUINN

Then what do you think just

What, I want chicken nuggets.

happened?

SAGE

QUINN

Uh, okay.... guess we’re going to

She... she... you must’ve paid her! This

McDonalds. At... 10:30pm.

is just a really elaborate prank.

QUINN

SAGE

That’s not even that late.

I’m too poor to pay her. Speaking of which, why the hell did you imagine

[END SCENE]

me this poor? 35

A FRIEND IN MIND (cont.) I EMERY GREEN (12th Grade) SAMANTHA

Scene II SAGE and QUINN enter the

What is that supposed to mean?

McDonalds. A tired looking worker

DANIEL sighs, and turns to QUINN.

[DANIEL] is blankly staring at them from the counter. Another worker

DANIEL

[SAMANTHA] is next to them, looking

What can I get you two?

incredibly energetic and bouncing

SAMANTHA

up and down. SAMANTHA waves at

There’s still only one person there!

QUINN when they enter SAMANTHA

QUINN

Welcome to McDonalds! All alone

My friend’s here too! Can’t you see

tonight?

them?

QUINN

SAMANTHA DANIEL

Yeah, it’s just us.

NO!

SAMANTHA

Yes.

“Us”? But there’s only… one of you..?

SAGE

DANIEL

I told you. I’m imaginary.

For the last time, Katherine, the

QUINN points to DANIEL. DANIEL

customer is always right.

looks completely apathetic to the

SAMANTHA

situation.

My name’s not Katherine?

QUINN

DANIEL

But he can see you! How do you

It’s not? Well, whatever--no one really

explain that?

cares, Abigail.

SAMANTHA

Oh my god, they’re talking to

That’s… still not my name…

themself-

DANIEL

SAGE

Just take their orders, Elizabeth.

He can’t actually see me. Watch.

SAMANTHA

SAGE sits on the counter and waves

You have got to be doing this on

their hands in the air. They wave their

purpose now. You’ve known me for a

hands in front of DANIEL’s face, and

week! DANIEL I doubt you’ll last much longer.

act crazy. DANIEL and SAMANTHA make no indication of seeing this. 36

QUINN

Okay! I get it!

Uh, no, I guess just… one chocolate milkshake.

SAGE

DANIEL

Finally.

Why’d you question them? Holly, that’s

QUINN

money not spent on mediocre fast

Oh my god, people think I’m talking to

food now.

myself.

SAMANTHA

I was just-

You are!

DANIEL

SAGE

Losing us money.

I mean, technically she’s correct.

SAMANTHA

QUINN (to SAMANTHA)

No, I was-

I promise I’m not crazy.

DANIEL

SAMANTHA

You’re really bad at business,

Are you sure?

Samantha.

DANIEL (completely deadpan)

SAMANTHA

Are you ready to order?

Hey! You got my name right!

SAMANTHA

DANIEL

You’re still going to take their order?

I guess you’d rather focus on that rather than your dismal future in

DANIEL Business is business, Emily.

business.

SAMANTHA

Please, just stop trying to guess my

My future is fine!

name.

QUINN

Uh, could we, I mean, could I get my

Uh…. I guess I’ll have a 10 piece

food?

chicken nugget and two chocolate

DANIEL (while pulling the food and

milkshakes.

milkshake from under the counter)

SAMANTHA

Yes, here you go.

Two?

QUINN

QUINN looks at SAGE sadly.

Thanks. SAMANTHA 37

Where did you get that?

A FRIEND IN MIND (cont.) I EMERY GREEN (12th Grade) DANIEL

QUINN

The kitchen.

Then what is it, then? Because all I know is that no one has wanted to be

SAMANTHA

around me in years, except you, and

But I haven’t seen you move for the

you’re not even real.

past fifteen minutes!

SAGE

DANIEL

Quinn, I…

That sounds like a you problem.

QUINN

QUINN and SAGE walk away, and sit

What, Sage, what is it?

down at a table a little ways away from the counter. They stare at each other

SAGE

for a minute.

I’m sorry.

QUINN

QUINN takes a sip of their milkshake.

So…. you’re not real, huh?

SAGE

… When your dad left, you were so

We’ve established that.

sad. Your mom couldn’t even get you out of your room.

QUINN

Could you be serious for one second?

I remember.

SAGE

Yeah, sure, sorry.

You wouldn’t talk to anyone your age,

QUINN

you pushed everyone away. You told

So I have no friends.

yourself you were happy. But you

SAGE

weren’t.

I’m your friend!

QUINN

What’s your point?

No real friends.

SAGE

That’s when you met me, remember? I

…

was your friend, and I made you happy.

QUINN

longer helping.

And now, all these years later, I’m no

Am I really that unlikable? I haven’t

QUINN

had friends for years now. SAGE It’s not that.

What are you38

SAGE

I’m the reason you don’t have friends.

Do you think you can manage that?

QUINN

QUINN (unsure)

You’re not-

...I can try?

SAGE

SAGE (teasing)

You don’t have to reassure me. I’m not

What’s with that unsure answer?

real, I won’t be upset... I know that I’m

QUINN

the reason you can’t talk to people,

Well, what’s going to happen to you

why they don’t talk to you. I was a

now?

coping mechanism for a lonely child, but you’re not a child anymore.

SAGE

QUINN

What?

I don’t know what you’re trying to say.

QUINN

SAGE

Like, where will you go..? What are you going to do now? ...Are you just going

I’m saying that I’m making you lonely.

to...disappear?

You’re making yourself lonely.

SAGE (hesitant)

QUINN (upset)

I… umm… I don’t… know. I don’t

Are you trying to tell me it’s my fault?

know.

SAGE

SAMANTHA, who has been sweeping

That’s not what I’m saying and you

in the background while they talk,

know it. Look at yourself. You’re sitting

begins sweeping directly behind

alone, in a McDonalds at 11:30 with

their table. She glares suspiciously at

only some chicken nuggets and a

QUINN.

milkshake to keep you company. And why is that?

SAGE

QUINN

But, uh, you should probably leave before that worker calls the cops. You

... I’m scared. To talk to people. To be

have been talking to yourself for a

around them and open up and interact

while now, after all.

because, what if… what if they don’t like me?

QUINN (startled)

SAGE

Uh… yeah, okay.

And you know you have to stop hiding

SAMANTHA brandishes her broom like

behind me.

a weapon at them. They quickly leave. [END SCENE]

QUINN I know.

Untitled by Bella Bowles (10th Grade)

SHORT STORIES 40

THE RUIN I RYAN YIM (10th Grade) One lonely soldier walked through an empty and ruined city very slowly with tottering steps. Dried blood covered his face and arms, so he looked like a moving dead body or ghost, looking frustrated and hopeless. The city called “Seoul” was once one of the most beautiful and passionate cities in the world, but now, the heat from the passion of Seoul had been displaced by ashes and fire. The noisy city became too quiet, and at the center of the city, the soldier stood with despair. His name is Jin-ho, once a South Korean soldier who was deployed in Seoul. Anyways, now he is just a stray lamb. This catastrophe happened just a few weeks ago. It was a Sunday afternoon and nothing was special for Jin-ho and his platoon soldiers until they watched the breaking news on TV at the military camp where they were located, in the middle of Seoul. The breaking news revealed that Russia fired a nuclear missile to Europe, and the news caused a long time of silence in the entire military camp. However, the silence was broken with the noisy emergency siren sound. The siren was a warning for a raid. All of the soldiers, including Jin-ho, armed themselves for battle under the siren’s instruction. Jin-ho’s brain had been filled with white color. He could not think of anything, but he clearly could feel his very fast heart beating. Although his brain was not functioning well, his body acted unconsciously and automatically. Like what he did on the virtual training, he equipped himself with weapons quickly. It was faster than the virtual training. When he came to awareness, he was on a troop carrier going to support the north-south border defense, just few miles away from the city. He was already out of Seoul and could not see any skyscrapers, only the forest and unpaved road. While Jin-ho and the soldiers were moving, they carefully turned on the radio. The radio let them know additional shocking news that Russia fired two more missiles toward North America, and as a response, the United States also fired few missiles toward Asia and Russia. It was World War III. Everyone was astonished and denied reality. Jin-ho suspected that the United States would fire a missile to North Korea since they are one of the dangers for the United States. The tears welled up in Jin-ho’s eyes. He tried to hold back the tears, but he could not, because he knew that he might die. As soon as he wiped his eyes, suddenly, they felt a big earthquake, and the troop carrier could not move properly. There was no time to think. Along with the vibration, soon, a huge storm swept them with a tremendous explosion sound. The storm made it impossible to open his eyes, and everything went black.

THE RUIN (cont.) I RYAN YIM (10th Grade) When Jin-ho opened his eyes with great pain, he was in the bush a small distance away from the unpaved road. Blood covered all over his body. Then he noticed that he had blacked out. It was lucky that he did not lose his backpack so that he could treat his own injuries. After the treatment, he took a look around. He was alone and the sky was filled with red and the forest was ruined. The green color that filled the entire surrounding had gone. It was obviously not a natural disaster. Nonetheless, he was neither sad nor angry. He could not feel anything, like a sociopath who does not and cannot have any emotion. He brusquely went to the unpaved road that threw him away. Then he checked for other people, but he could not find anyone. There were only flipped burning military trucks and a few disaggregated human bodies around him. Jin-ho was the only survivor over all the soldiers. In a moment, Jin-hoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s emotion finally had exploded. Sadness, anger, and fury that Jin-ho never felt before fully filled him, and his hopeless scream became an echo that broke the silence of the forest. He tried to call for rescue on the military radio several times, but no one responded. He could not leave the place for a long time since he did not know what to do. He did not even know what was going on. His watch indicated 6 P.M. When he considered the weekend TV watching time is 12 P.M., he assumed that he blacked out for almost 5 hours. Too many things that frustrated Jin-ho happened in a short time. However, as much as the hardships, his mind was filled with memories of Seoul. For Jin-ho, Seoul is a special city. He was born in Seoul, he grew up in Seoul, and every family member lived in Seoul. It was a place where Jin-ho felt the peace of mind. Therefore, he decided to go back to Seoul to find peace of mind, to forget the pain.

The way to Seoul was hard, not only

He just wanted to feel Seoul even if he

because of the long walk but also

died there. The condition got worse

because of the worries that made

and worse. He could only see the

Jin-ho’s feet heavy. He was not sure

ground, and his brain only focused on

he would find Seoul peaceful and

his feet to keep them walking.

not destroyed, but a little hope kept

One lonely soldier walking through an

moving him toward home. While he

empty and ruined city very slowly with

was moving to Seoul, he could not hear

tottering steps. The soldier, Jin-ho, now

any sound from living things; it was too

used up all his energy. His brain is not

quiet. If a war broke out, it would have

working, but it is still thinking of Seoul.

been normal to see some wreckage

Now, he feels he no longer can live.

like destroyed tanks or dead soldiers,

Tired and cold, his feet no longer able

but there was no trace of anything

to move. Then, for the last moment of

after the storm, which he assumed was

his life, he looks up. He is in the middle

a bomb explosion. It seemed he was

of many destroyed, smoke-covered

the last human of mankind. Halfway

skyscrapers. At the moment, he forgets

to Seoul, Jin-ho started to cough and

every pain and hardship. His mind is

vomit blood. Then he realized that

refreshed with the sights of home, and

the explosion was a nuke, and he had

a big sigh makes him fall asleep as he

radiation exposure. His moving pace

falls down. He can no longer breathe,

became faster since he knew that he

but his face looks mild, like a real

did not have much time to be alive. He

sleeping person—cold Seoul’s street

was not even frustrated about death.

now like a warm, eternal bed.

One lonely soldier walking through an empty and ruined city very slowly with tottering steps. The soldier, Jin-ho, now used up all his energy.

Untitled by Sofia Veroslavsky-DeLatorre (11th Grade)

AWOKEN I ROBERT LONNEMANN (9th Grade) The electrical hum of the protective barrier in the dome is a jarring, consistent noise. It is mostly invisible, but shimmers in the sunlight if looked at correctly. Abandoned houses, grocery stores, and skyscrapers are prominent here. Outside the city are yellow, barren grasslands, filled with rusty cars and other scrap metal. Cars are just as they would normally be, in rush hour traffic. The people have been stuck there for ages. There are people on the streets and in buildings. They’re all dead. Most of them are in the general hospital, lying dead in the hallways and rooms. That’s what they think. Luxor is a sumptuous metropolis. Skyscrapers almost as tall as the clouds, bright lights and screens with advertisements are plastered all over them. Luxor is a very colorful place. For some. Only the poor still drive on the roads. The luckier wealthy citizens gallivant the city in flying airbuses and other personal vehicles. The impoverished are completely exiled from the fast paced, aristocratic, and progressive society that is hundreds of feet above them. The irony of this situation is that poor people hold up society as they know it. They maintain all of the artificial intelligence, fix computers, and do all of the rest of the dirty work the affluent citizens don’t want to do. This has been the way of life for decades and people have learned to accept it. Protesting or disagreeing with the government is dangerous at this point. Citizens of Luxor have learnt to adhere to the strict laws. Ten years ago, there was an epidemic that had already thrown some other major cities into chaos. It had spread to a nearby small import/export town just outside of Luxor on a small island, called Ciarda. Ciarda was small compared to Luxor, but still roomy. It was surrounded by water except for four bridges around the island. At the time, the Ciarda General Hospital was overflowing with sick and dying people. The death toll had reached a number far too scary to hit Luxor. It was found that even after death, bodies were contagious. Rumors were spread about quarantining off an entire city, which were thought to be too dastardly. As the death tolls were rising, hate towards the defenseless sick people grew. Eventually, the decision was made that a sanitary barrier would be erected around the city lines using new technology. It was mostly invisible on the outside, blending in with the sea, but a completely different world inside. After the barrier was complete, a newly developed gas was used to decontaminate the dead bodies and kill the rest of the infected. Multiple doses of gas were given just to be sure. With all of these barbaric actions taking place, naturally there was backlash in Luxor because the citizens of Ciarda had no say in the decision. Tensions became very high between the people and the government until the government fought back and passed extreme censorship laws, prohibiting any kind of rebellion or speaking out about the government. However, once the reported death toll equaled the entire population of Ciarda, there were no attempts at protesting anymore. 45

AWOKEN (cont.) I ROBERT LONNEMANN (9th Grade) The barren wasteland is alive. And it isn’t just scavengers feeding on infected remains. The dead have risen, but not in the way you would have imagined. Most are scared and confused. Some are running all over the place and some are rocking back and forth in the alleys having panic attacks. Chaos is abundant. Beyond these berserk few lies the tallest building in this isolated city. The Aleppo building was a beautiful, glass skyscraper with greenery on each balcony. The building had solar panels and a geothermal energy system, so it was one of the only buildings in Ciarda with electricity. A cracked neon sign that reads, “ALEPPO INDUSTRIES” is lying on the ground in front of the main entrance. On the top floor inside the once pristine conference room is a select few who are not screaming like the others, but conversing. “What the hell is going on out there? Are they supposed to be like that?” said Moira O’Keefe, one of the select few who did not lose their memory in the incident. Herself and some others peered out the cracked windows, which had dim yellowed sunlight shining through them to see people running around frantically. “It should be fine. The later they wake up, the more hysterical they usually are,” assured Jon Aleppo, another one of the lucky few. Prior to the incident, he was the CEO of Aleppo Industries. He is the one currently running this hellish terrarium. “According to our trials, Jon seems to be right. The later they wake up the more confused they are. We were among the first to wake up, and we remembered everything. The gas they used on us must have been defective the first few uses,” explained Alaina Nguyen, a scientist that had worked at Aleppo before the entrapment. Aleppo Industries was a widely known and trusted renewable energy corporation, working to transform Luxor into a green city rather than the fossil-fuel infested prison that many recognize it as. To be continued...

The barren wasteland is alive. And it isn’t just scavengers feeding on infected remains. The dead have risen, but not in the way you would have imagined. 46

PILGRIMAGE I LIAM GARVIN (10th Grade) “How far are we from arrival?” The question, asked only a few times before on the journey, pulled the other two men out of their half-awake state and into a jumping surprise. Their horses were unresponsive and as tired as their sleepless masters. The men looked ahead at the young man, who was visibly uncomfortable on his own steed, and they said nothing, for they rarely said anything to him no matter what he asked. He couldn’t help but wonder why this was, and began thinking of what the reason might be. Perhaps they assumed he was just another foolish child that deserved none of their respect. Perhaps they resented him for having a better future than most people, including them. Perhaps they believed that he was proud—that he gorged on the memories of the successes which led to him being on this voyage. The thought made him sick to his stomach in seconds. He forced it down and conjured his old home and family. They expected him to provide for them, to protect them when he came of age, to represent them, to continue their bloodline, to leave the family better than when he entered it. In leaving that place and those people, he felt that he had failed them, and he did not understand why they were so content to send him so far away. The young man turned his gaze forward, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of anything that was not illuminated by torchlight. The crooked trees that lined the road turned the path into a dark tunnel, but he could see faint moonlight ahead. The trees grew fewer and fewer in number as the group went on, until they reached a tall gate. The young man hastily dismounted, grateful for the opportunity to do so, and softly knocked on the gate after some hesitation. A slit opened in the gate, and a pair of eyes peered through at him. A low, grating voice made itself known to the young man. “You’re the newcomer to the order?” “From the mainland, yes,” answered the young man. The gate promptly opened, bathing him in otherworldly bluish moonlight, and revealed the speaker: a withered old man dressed in a holy man’s robes. He waved towards the massive building behind him. “Proceed, and meet with the high monk.” The young man, captivated by the sight of the monastery, stayed at the gate as the others moved on. It stood on the pinnacle of a great hill, casting its immense shadow upon the earth and reaching for the heavens at the same time. As the young man looked up, the colossal structure quickly imposed its height upon him, and he instinctively took a few steps back. Irritated, he cursed the foolishness of his reaction and started to walk towards the front doors.

PILGRIMAGE (cont.) I LIAM GARVIN (10th Grade) The young man remembered the words of his family: an invitation to begin a new life in service to the gods is a rare honor, reserved only for the most devoted, they said. Yet, he felt an unnerving doubt grow in his heart. So far, the only welcoming part of this transition was the invitation itself—this monastery did not seem very homely to him at all. He pushed these thoughts away, as they only made him more uncomfortable. Perhaps it would get better with time, he mused. Another elder was waiting for him at the front doors. This one, who looked quite important due to his richly-decorated garment, failed to restrain a smile. “You are the young scholar Sadon, I presume?” He asked in a friendly tone. Relief flashed in the young man’s eyes before his answer came. “I am, sir, and you are the high monk?” “I am indeed. Welcome to the monastery,” he said in response. “I would call the rest of the order to meet you, but it is too deep into the night. For now, I shall bring you to your dormitory, and the formalities can take place tomorrow.” He pushed a door open and held it for Sadon as he entered. The door closed behind them, and the two fell into step as they strode down one of the many hallways. After a few minutes of navigating through the monastery, the high monk started to ask him about his studies before the invitation. Many questions were met with a long silence before being addressed, and the answers came in a quiet, uneven voice. As the conversation went on, the high monk noticed the midnight-blue shadows that laid beneath Sadon’s bloodshot eyes. His head sometimes began to tilt, but would quickly snap upright. “Forgive me for my curiosity, you seem to be lacking energy. Tell me, has this change, from your old home to this one, treated you well?” Sadon’s stride slowed to a halt suddenly. For a few agonizing seconds, he did not know what to say in response. He looked around at the walls, which were adorned with divine images and words that were overwhelming in their number alone. He remembered the striking appearance of the monastery, and the passivity of the gatekeeper. “This place does not feel as if it could be a home to me,” came his slow, delayed response. “I am honored to be here, but… I feel no affinity for it. My old home always felt safe, accepting—positive. This place doesn’t encourage those feelings.” It stung his heart to say such words, but he ignored it. “I’m grateful for your kindness, of course. Perhaps I’m being too quick to judge.”

Sadon then stared down the hallway, his eyes slowly glazing over. The high monk, whose friendly grin had long since faded away, looked at the young man, trying to decipher the somber expressions on his face. “Without a doubt, you are a good and honest man, Sadon,” he reassured. “The other monks are just as well-mannered as you. Have no fear—they are pleased to welcome someone new to the order.” Sadon was still silent, but nodded slightly. “If that is not enough to comfort you, then remember why you are here,” the old man continued. “I have little doubt that you have been told about the prestige of being sent to any monastery. You know why this is, yes?” “I do.” “Tell me how you know.” That request, or command, perhaps, echoed in Sadon’s mind. He knew much of honor, but he always feared that thinking of his own deeds would evoke pride. Hubris, the gods would say, is the death of those who are plagued by it, and following their words seemed to always be wise. “At my academy, I was enthralled by my studies. No one else matched my devotion or results...” He trailed off as his face began to burn like fire. “I exceeded all expectations for… for intelligence, or faith. I spent my free time praying, and those prayers must have been answered, because I succeeded.” The growing fire in Sadon’s mind quickly dissipated as he realized the meaning of his words. “Because I am here,” he thought aloud. He turned his gaze towards the high monk. “I wouldn’t have dared to think about it that way. Thank you.” The old man’s radiant smile returned. “I do not deserve all of your gratitude—you have enlightened yourself. You are as strong as you are insightful. Be proud of both qualities, for they are what allowed you to be here. Would it not be wrong to say that a home can be a symbol of success?” “It wouldn’t.” “Then hold that idea in your thoughts,” the high monk said as he held out a small key. “This will open your dormitory. It’s down the hall, the second door on your left.” He pointed with a trembling finger at an old wooden door ahead of them. “There. Go, and rest for as long as you think is needed. You shall be welcomed more formally tomorrow. I must return to my quarters—farewell.”

PILGRIMAGE (cont.) I LIAM GARVIN (10th Grade) Sadon nodded, and the high monk

with them. His father, the man Sadon

turned away, his figure fading from

once believed he would become, spoke

sight as he walked back through the

of his pride for a son who attained honor

hall. The young man turned and strode

from something other than knighthood.

towards the door, and entered his

His mother overcame the fear of losing

dormitory after struggling with the

her entire family to the indiscriminate

aging, stubborn lock. Seeing a cot

ravages of war. His brother, who often

against the wall, he lurched forwards

ridiculed him for being immersed in

as the din of his thoughts slowly died

knowledge, asked him to send letters

down. After snuffing out the candle on

about the monastery. Perhaps, Sadon

the bedside table, he let himself fall

considered, he did not fail them.

onto the bed, for he was too exhausted to do much else.

Soon, the darkness came. With a grasp known and welcomed, but never

The memories of home and family then

familiar, it pulled the young man away

returned. He remembered how joyful

from himself, and long it kept him.

they were when he shared the invitation

Untitled by Bre Jenkins (12th Grade)

A RAVEN’S TALE: THE EYES OF ODIN I BEN LEONBERGER (10th Grade) Far north of all that is civilized the Norsemen would frequently tell tales of Odin and his omniscient wisdom. Odin—god of healing, death, knowledge, war, poetry, and ravens; king of the Vanir (the gods of the earth), and father of the Aiser (the gods of the air)— once traded one of his eyes for a drink from the well of Mimir the wise at the foot of Yggdrasil, the world tree. This helped but did not entirely quench Odin’s desire for omniscience, and so he had his throne built atop the palace of the Aiser in Asgard and called the hall in which his throne sat Valhalla. Valhalla overlooked all of Asgard, and thus nothing passed without Odin’s knowing about it. But this was not enough, and so Odin employed the help of two ravens, Huginn and Muninn—Thought and Memory—to help him oversee Midgard, the realm of man, which he could not see from his highpoint in Valhalla. And so Odin would send Huginn and Muninn out each day, and each day they would report back with what they saw—only one day, the ravens did not return. Odin thought this most peculiar as his ravens had hitherto been so reliable, and so he sent his son Hermond, the messenger of the gods to see what had become of them. So Hermond went, crossing the Bifröst and entering Midgard whereupon he noted nothing that seemed amiss, save the slight changes since he had last been there. Hermond, who was the fastest of the gods, began to flit across the mountains of Midgard with a speed unmatched by any animal or being before him; it is said that those he passed thought he was merely the wind, and nothing more. Caressing the land with such grace, he ran past mountains, trees, meadows, valleys, and fields; he crossed oceans with the mighty ship Skidbladnir, which was gifted to him by the god Frey, crafted by the mighty sons of Ivaldi, and which always bore a fair wind. And with these utilities—Skidbladnir, and his own legs—Hermond was able to scour all of Midgard for Odin’s ravens in a mere eight days. As Hermond’s journey neared its end, descending from one of Midgard’s most brilliant mountains, Hermond noticed a bird high above him—most likely a hawk— miraculously keeping up with his extraordinary pace. Hermond stopped to acknowledge the bird, which had now been following him for several minutes, and spoke: “why do you follow me creature”; the bird said nothing. Hermond then again began to run only to notice the bird as it swept around in the direction opposite him, and so he followed. Hours passed and Hermond had long since lost the bird and was ready to give up when he came upon a large opening in the trees. A field, infested with yield lie before him, and before that stood a small cottage, no larger than a single leaf of Yggdrasil. Upon a whim Hermond decided to approach the cottage; he knocked on the door not expecting an answer, and so was shocked to be acknowledged by the voice of an elderly man: “tis’ a visitor, tapping at my dwelling door.” “That it is” Hermond replied, and so the man wearily opened the door.

A RAVEN’S TALE: THE EYES OF ODIN (cont.) I BEN LEONBERGER (10th Grade) The man let Hermond inside and offered him a drink; “I will not be needing it sir,” said Hermond. “You have little, and I am a god who would surely be amiss to take what little you have.” The man was clearly taken aback by his statement, and yet Hermond did not know why. As if reading his mind, the man stood and spoke: “Is the life of a meek farmer so woeful to you? Is it the god’s view that we humans are incapable of happiness solely due to a lack of physical wealth—for I will tell you, my wealth lies beyond that which you can see?” Hermond’s expression began to sag as he realized his fault; he then immediately denied the farmer’s claim, and the two began to further discuss their misunderstanding. The farmer began to tell Hermond of the troubles of this year’s harvest: “Drought has wrought my lands, my crops will surely wither before harvest,” and Hermond thought to himself of how easily the mighty Thor, god of the storm, could bring rain and suppress the man’s strife, yet remained silent. “My animals can not bear child,” and Hermond thought how easily Gefjun, goddess of fertility, could fix such a problem, and yet she did not. With this Hermond began to ponder. The man before him harbored great resentment for the gods, who could with a wave of their hand bring him a fruitful harvest, and the most fruitful of livestock; and yet they didn’t. He asked the man if he could help in any way—he could take him back to Asgard where he would be the only mortal man; he would live a life of lavish pursuit, never again concerned for his yield. The man responded humbly: “My home lies here, with my land, with my struggles; Asgard is your home, not mine.” Hermond considered this: the gods, who saw themselves beyond the quarrels of mere men, built their home in Asgard, isolated from all else, and climaxed with a great wall surrounding the equally great city—a testament to their wealth. Their home was objectified in the isolated palace that surrounded them. They found comfort in their godhood, unaware of what went on beneath their homestead, never worrying, never caring, and found comfort in their situation. Meanwhile men and women on Midgard reaped the effects of the gods’ carelessness by way of hopelessly hostile lives. Yet, those people didn’t objectify their home as did the gods, they did not care for the trinkets with which the gods prided themselves so, and yet they too found comfort in their situation—home in their unforgiving yield—and for it, would trade nothing, not even godhood.

Hermond anxiously sprung from the table at which he and the man both sat, exclaiming to the man his revelation. The man responded with a satisfied nod, and then stood from his seat. When he did this Hermond noted the familiar tattoo located on the man’s left forearm— two serpents locked in the shape of a figure eight—and watched as the man ascended the stairs behind him. When he returned the man was carrying a large cage in which stood two black birds— Ravens. He sat the cage on the table and opened the hatch, letting free the cooped birds within, and laughed with utter amusement as he leapt abruptly upward, suddenly transforming into a hawk. Hermond watched in amazement as the man and the two ravens flew out through the chimney and disappeared into the thick of the trees beyond the farmer’s field. Hermond, speechless, and now outside the cottage staring passionately into the sky, swore never to forget the lesson taught to him by the nameless man of Midgard, and began to head home. Once there—in Asgard—he would tell Odin of the story of the elderly man in the cottage; he would tell him of his happiness, and home in the humblest of places, and Odin would surely mock him. The gods were ignorant to what

Merci by Merci Nshizirungu

was beneath them, and his mentioning

(10th Grade)

it would doubtfully change that, and yet Hermond held onto the hope that his story may reach the heart and the ears of gods who, setting aside their ignorance, would listen and heed the lesson of the mysterious old man from the farm. 53

THE DISTRICT I AUDREY GERBER (11th Grade) The District, with its blinding lights that crackle and flood into the heavy air, had become a sanctuary for violence and crime, for the ones who had nowhere else to go, the ones fueled only by their anger and loss, born into a world that didn’t want them anymore. The streets were soaked and stained, the rainfall a constant echoing drumroll drowning out the sound of bustling, overcrowded streets. But people sought these places out, the big cities around the country that had been turned into places like this, concrete jungles for those with nothing left. Space was limited, the streets flooded, but that didn’t stop people from trying to get inside the walls. There had been a few groups smuggled inside over the years, but that quickly stopped when security was doubled, cameras set up in every street corner, watching every move. Application after application was rejected, but once every three months a new “shipment” was brought in, citizens that were deemed acceptable and brought into the District for a chance at a new life. Most ended up jobless on the rain-soaked streets, many were sick and struggling, but they all had shelter and somewhere to go, whether it was under a roof or one of the many campfires in the abandoned subway tunnels. The last working train for miles would screech to a stop at some ungodly hour in the night, always behind schedule, carrying the newest arrivals granted access several weeks prior, monotone voices overhead welcoming them to their new lives as they filed inside. Gregory David, or GD as the friends he no longer had would always call him, was well aware he was one of the luckiest people getting off that train. It did nothing for his rising annoyance as yet another person coughed directly behind him, someone else brushing his arm as they shouldered past. Greg had a job and an apartment waiting for him, two things most of the people around him could only dream of. He should be grateful—really, he knows he should. But he doesn’t want to be here.

He doesn’t want to be taking the last resort. He doesn’t want to be somewhere he can never leave. He doesn’t want to have nowhere else to go. But he’s here now, and somebody had decided that was just how the world was going to work. The poor suffering and fighting while the rich lived like they always have and pretended not to notice. Greg pulled up his collar in another futile attempt to combat the biting winds, pulling his bag closer to his chest as he passed what had to be the third homeless man he’d seen in the past five minutes. They were filthy and shivering, huddled against a brick wall, buried in the little clothing they had. Greg made sure to keep as much distance between them as possible. He’d stepped off the train less than ten minutes ago, and already he could feel his skin crawling, like he’d been tainted just sharing air with these people. It was loud and bright, the pavement littered with trash, those who weren’t homeless visibly exhausted and sickly, moving quickly with their heads down. Every corner had a flimsy fire lit with at least three people crowded around it like some kind of godsend. They didn’t speak, didn’t look up from their trembling hands, and no one paid Greg any mind. He could smell food now, a vague aroma mixed in with the awful, stale air the rest of the area had, and none of it was even remotely inviting. The bright overhead signs hung on the surrounding buildings gave the street a red glow, illuminating the tiny food counters set up in the open windows, and flimsy stands of vendors lining the sidewalk. “You look lost.”

Every corner had a flimsy fire lit with at least three people crowded around it like some kind of godsend. They didn’t speak, didn’t look up from their trembling hands, and no one paid Greg any mind.

THE DISTRICT (cont.) I AUDREY GERBER (11th Grade) Any softer, and Greg might have just kept walking. The streets were loud, countless people having indecipherable conversations he had no interest in, but the call came from a young man behind the food counter, clearly waiting for some kind of response. People pushed past carelessly, most of the vendors packing up to leave in the late hours. Greg glanced at the address scrawled on his palm, before deciding that continuing to wander on his own would get him nowhere, and relenting. Besides, the boy looked fairly clean compared to most of the other people around here. “You want a cup of soup, sir?” the vendor asked as soon as Greg started walking, and he quickly stopped short just a few paces from the counter. “No,” he said, curt and harsher than he’d intended, but after a six-hour train ride just to get to a place like this, Greg figured he could be excused for being in a sour mood. “No thank you.” The boy didn’t seem deterred. He just stared and waited, and Greg did his best to steel himself. “I’m trying to get to—” he took another glance at his hand. “—uh, Shiguto apartments. Do you know—” “That’s just down the road there,” the boy said, already turning his attention back to something beneath the counter. “Old gray building on the corner. If the sign’s working, you’ll see it.” It looked like he was reading something, whatever screen he held reflecting off his glasses, the boy treating Greg like a ghost that hadn’t been there in the first place. He nodded, and started for the road. “Right. Thanks.” The streets ahead were still ridiculously bright, the signs flashing and flickering in every direction. He clutched his bag tighter as another stumbling citizen pushed past him. “You might want to get used to being lost.” The boy at the soup stand was watching him again, and Greg reluctantly turned at his call. “People don’t end up here if they’ve got a place to go.”

He reached above him and pulled the

was more than he had dared to hope for.

metal window shut before Greg had

His couch from his old place had been

a chance to even think of a response,

placed in the middle of the living room,

leaving him alone in the middle of the

a few boxes scattered across the floor.

bustling street.

The kitchen was sparse, a small fridge

Surprisingly,

took

him

only

and filthy oven that looked like they

hadn’t been cleaned in years greeting

painstaking twenty minutes to find

him when he paced the floor, and

the correct building to get his keys,

the bathroom looked like something

slumping against the back of the

straight out of a childhood nightmare.

elevator as the doors closed to bring him to his floor. It was oddly serene,

The bedroom was empty. No mattress,

despite the unsettling smell coming

no bed frame or sheets or blankets.

from the walls, and the way the motor

Greg couldn’t find it in him to complain.

groaned and the walls around him

He supposed it was impressive enough

creaked. It was the only time he’d been

that anything had made it here in one

alone in days.

piece.

It didn’t last long enough, the gentle

He threw his bag on the ground and

hum of the churning machine halted

shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall

in seconds by the piercing chime of

carelessly by the doorway. Rain beat

his arrival, and he stepped out into the

against the window like an endless

hallway.

song, blocking out the rest of the outside world.

It was almost pitch black, the only light coming from the cracks beneath the

He didn’t even have the energy to

apartment doors, the floor creaking

change, not sure he wanted to be

over the muffled sounds of distant

awake long enough to try. The sooner

conversations as he moved.

he fell asleep, the sooner he could wake up and discover that this whole

He had to pull out his phone to find

thing was just a bad dream.

which apartment was his, the numbers above the doors nearly impossible to

He let himself fall forward, landing on

make out in the midnight lighting. It

his stomach on the far from comfortable

wasn’t far from the elevator, and within

brown

moments Greg was turning the key and

familiarity, the cold leather and vague

pushing his way inside.

smell of beer, soon to be contaminated

couch.

appreciated

the

with the smell of smoke and rain.

The overhead lights flickered briefly when he flipped the switch by the door,

He closed his eyes, face buried in the

and the lighting was far from good, but

cushions, and was asleep before he

the electricity worked, and for now that

could think to turn off the lights. 57

Teatime by Zoie Pois (12th Grade)

SPECIAL SECTION What does it mean to be Wild and Free when the world feels like it’s falling apart? What does it mean to be “wild and free” when you are in quarantine? The ninth grade approached this question by considering dystopian stories, narratives that focus on the disintegration or failure of society’s greatest promises. They responded to what is, perhaps, a pessimistic topic by conjuring imaginative, insightful, and inspirational stories of heroes fighting for survival, and for a better future. The sampling of stories included here are snap shots of worlds falling apart and the unlikely protagonists working for a better world. DR. ADAM COOMBS 9th Grade English Teacher

LAST I DAVID YOUNG (9th Grade) It all happened so quickly that I don’t even remember what I was doing before I noticed I was under the debris and rubble of what I can only assume to be my apartment. My head hurt, and I was full of scrapes and bruises, but from what I could tell, I wasn’t seriously injured. This isn’t an ideal place to be, so I better try and find a way out. I look to my left, then to my right. The ground is uneven from the rubble, and there isn’t a clear exit. “I guess I’ll have to start digging.” I want to try and find something I can dig with before I start just using my hands. I shuffle around in the little space I had looking for something to use. I notice that the room is dimly lit and wonder where the light is coming from. I look once again around me and see a window. I think to myself, “How did I not see that the first time?” Suddenly I feel a pain in my head that felt like someone took a rock to it. I’ll have to ignore for now, but that could start to become a problem. I make my way over to the window; I feel the glass and it’s cold. I then notice that I’m cold. Like really cold. I’m only wearing a T-shirt, and it feels like the middle of winter. Lucky for me there was a sweatshirt hanging from the closet nearby. I go over to get it. Next to the sweatshirt, I see a small notebook. I don’t know why, but I took it. I guess I thought it could come in handy. I made my way back to the window. At first, I tried shoulder-tackling the window. When I realized it wasn’t going to break, I picked up a small stone and hit it against the window. Thankfully I’m not that weak and the window broke. I look out and see that I’m on the second floor. “Great ... Oh well it could be worse.” I take another look around to see if I missed an exit. It doesn’t look like it. Something I didn’t notice on my first lookout was the sky. It was covered with this blackish-purple, smoke-like thing, and the surrounding buildings were decimated. “What happened?” I don’t have time to worry about that now. I need to get out of here. I don’t know how much longer this building will hold. Let me see if there is something I can propel myself with. I look around, but all I see are rocks. I don’t think I can jump out of a two-story building, but that might be my only option. I take a glimpse out of the window, and I see some snow in a pile on the ground. Maybe if I land in that I can survive. I see another window a little lower in the building that I could possibly get onto. If I could get onto the side of that window I could increase my chances of survival. I get on the edge of the window on my floor.

There are a few shards of glass still on

what happened. Come to think of it, I

the window but they aren’t piercing my

can’t remember what happened before

foot. I take a glance down, and I feel a

I woke up. I sit down, close my eyes,

rush in my heart. I can’t believe I have

and try to think. I start to freak out a

to do this. I close my eyes for a moment

little. “Why—why can’t I remember.

but realize I need to see where I’m going

Wait, I don’t even remember my name.

or else I’ll miss. I take a deep breath. I

I know I must have had a name, a family,

take a small jump that was more like me

but I can’t remember.” I took out my

sliding my feet off. I immediately closed

journal. I don’t know why I did, but

my eyes instinctively. “Crap!” I held my

when I looked at it, I got what felt like a

hand back in the air to try to grab the

flashback, but only a glimpse. It wasn’t

edge. I felt my hand hit something, but

much, but it was something. I started

I wasn’t strong enough to hold up my

writing down everything that happened

falling body. “Why did I think this would

in detail. Thankfully, my fall didn’t affect

work.” I feel myself hit then I blacked

my memory of these recent events.

out.

Once I finish and get to the end of the page, I have a feeling I need to sign it.

I don’t remember the pain on impact,

I look around to try to get ideas. I then

but once I woke up it was all in my

start to realize that no one is around. I

arm, my hand and my back. I lie there

have a feeling I won’t see anyone for

for a bit in pain, but I think to myself

a while. So I decided to call myself

“at least I’m not dead.” After a few

something fitting. A name for someone

more minutes of lying there, I try to

in a strange world with no memories of

get myself up, and I manage to do it.

what happened and all by himself. I call

I try to forget about the pain and look

myself Last.

around at the world. I don’t even know

So I decided to call myself something fitting. A name for someone in a strange world with no memories of what happened and all by himself. I call myself Last.

HOPE I JONATHAN GREEN (9th Grade) In my apartment typing away, listening to the screams of fear against the brainwashed robots, I rememberâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;we used to have it all: a stable economy, clean water, and good food. My favorite food used to be steak. I loved steak because you could feel the warm and juicy meat on your teeth, and it was super chewy. Now all I eat is saltine crackers dry as a desert making your mouth and lips shrivel up. When I wake up, my eyes are very sore, and I can barely see. I waddle over to the refrigerator and open it and all I see is the old saltine crackers. I take a pack of those bland and dry saltine crackers, and I walk sorely and depressed to my computer to practice hacking to combat COVID-46. I type so much that my fingers feel that they are going to fall off and hurt really badly. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s worth it for the sake of this world because for every minute I take a person dies. I am going to try to stop this war against humans and robots so we can live in peace like we used to. Today, I walked outside of my apartment for the first time in months, and the palms of my hands started to feel warm and wet, and my stomach dropped.

Jordan by Isaiah Cargill (12th Grade) 62

I saw thousands of men, women, and children on the streets in a mob defending the robots from entering the city. The people’s faces were blank almost as they forgot why they were fighting, and also they have no hope for survival. Then suddenly my eyes started to move to the back of the crowd, and then I heard nothing but saw the souls of my dead parents fighting for a chance of hope. I realized that I was their only hope of peace and survival for both robots and humans, the key to a utopia. Then I wiped my eyes because they started to water up like steak juices filling into my mouth, but they weren’t sad tears and dried up like saltines, but they were happy tears. I went back up the stairs to cure this virus once and for all, feeling scared and excited at the same time. Each step I took I felt closer to finding the answer to the virus. Thinking about the warm and happy memories of my parents helped ease the pain of my stress. As I closed the door to the outside world, I heard a big bang knowing what that meant—the robots had entered the city. I am at a time limit because any day, any minute, any second, the robots could find me, and I’m dead. I typed faster and faster. Every letter, symbol, and number I type, a person’s life is saved, because I am their hope, and this is the only thing I can do to help. I kept doing this every day for a month in an endless cycle. I am the hope for the people; they must have something to fight for. I started to feel sick. My stomach started to feel tight, and I couldn’t breathe, because of all the pressure. It felt like someone was choking me. I started to run out of food, clean water, and toilet paper, and I felt very dirty almost like a rat. I still kept on typing, trying to find a cure for this disease on these robots hurting innocent lives. I had been hacking for almost half a month, and I was almost finished with finding the cure to COVID-46, but my body was fried. My brain was still thinking, but my body was stuck in one place and aching. I thought to myself once again that I must keep going, but then suddenly I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart started to beat faster and faster and faster as if my timer is up, and I’m getting out of bed. I was not ready to leave; I must fight. I remembered watching Home Alone and the traps Kevin lays out for the thieves; I must do the same. I shortly looked around for anything I can use for defense, memories racing around my brain. I finally remembered Halloween when my dad bought a scary skeleton at a Halloween store, so I can use the skeleton to bait the robots. Shortly after I put the skeleton on my blue, wrinkled gamer chair, I hide under the bed to be unseen. As the robots opened the door and entered the room, my heart started to race super fast. I couldn’t hear anything else except for the beat of my heart.

THE BATTLE WITH THE LORD I NATHAN GREEN (9th Grade) Lord Ori stands in front of his colossal fortress in an open field scarred by war and battle that occurred within the castle gates. Spears and swords protrude from the ground. They fell, lost forever along with their wielders. Kanji stands ready and remembers what his master taught him all those years ago. He imagines the familiar sparring that he and his master conducted daily. Kanji remembers the green grass that once grew in this kingdom. Kanji now pensively envisions the easy and familiar directions that his master gave him in the open green field next to the school where Kanji perfected his sword art. He knows that this battle is one he must partake in. Kanji smiles and remembers what his master said more vividly than ever before: “Deep breaths, Kanji. Slide one foot back horizontally to your front foot, and relax. Strike with the spirit and strength of the cause you are fighting for.” Kanji, ready, looks upwards at the giant Lord Ori. “As long as I stand on this earth you will not pass through this castle gate,” exclaimed the massive lord. Ori rides on top of his feared stead, Thunder. Thunder is a massive warhorse wearing thick armor that bears many battle scars. The fortresses’ walls have been reduced to almost rubble by the war in the region. Kanji reminisces about a better time in the town square when children played on the streets, and traders from all over came into town to sell their wares. Kanji was one of the children who used to play on the streets, laugh on the streets, and cry on these streets that now harbor the dead bodies of the less fortunate, who were not able to survive the cruelty of the man that stood before Kanji. Lord Ori then says, “This is the path that fate had in store for me, and that path is to continue after this battle. I won’t lose here, not after losing everything.” Lord Ori as a child was brutally raised and molded into becoming the ruthless ruler that he is today. Lord Ori remembers why every action he has made up until this point was not in vain. Although Lord Ori is a ruler, he reigns over a graveyard; he has lost everything in an attempt to gain everything. Lord Ori knows deep in his heart that he cannot lose here; he has given up too much for fate to rob him of his victory. “Enough dawdling,” grumbles Lord Ori. “It is time for us to duel,” he exclaims passionately. Kanji takes a deep breath, and he is ready to face the enemy before him. Ori swings his giant spear sweeping the ground while on top of his horse. Kanji drops his stance to spring over the low blow in an attempt to dodge it. Lord Ori, however, immediately follows up with another swing of his spear, knocking Kanji to the side. Kanji is given some time to recover, regains his stance, and stares at Lord Ori, trying to read his next movements.

Lord Ori charges hastily at Kanji, thrusting his spear towards his chest. Kanji reacts hopping backwards, then unsheathes his sword. He knows that he now holds the advantage. Kanji dashes forward and notices that Ori’s spear is low to the ground. Reacting fast, Kanji bounces off the spear barreling towards him. He then takes a powerful slash in Ori’s direction, but the sword bounces off the Lord’s armor. Ori, however, is not unharmed; he fell from on top of his horse, and he is now standing on the ground. Lord Ori, regaining his stance, exclaims, “You fool! You are trying to drag down the heavens to your level.” Kanji responds with, “For the world to be balanced, the heavens must be shattered, so no person stands over anyone. That is the definition of a harmonious world.” Lord Ori is astounded by this statement and feels deeply insulted that Kanji’s logic would be so twisted compared to his own. “You utter fool! You will never live to see a world like that. Your dream is foolish.” Lord Ori tosses his spear to the side, and he unsheathes the sword that is on his waist. Kanji knows that he has won. He dashes forward and slashes his sword. Ori stumbles to the ground. Kanji knows that the world broke Ori, and he is sympathetic towards him even after everything the Lord has done. Kanji turns to Ori kneeled on the ground, and he sits beside Ori. “I’m sorry Lord Ori. I am sorry that I had to strike you down. I wish that I could have saved you from your terrible fate.” Lord Ori is in tears as he looks at Kanji next to him. “I don’t want to go yet. I have not yet lived a life. All I have done is take from others. I have robbed many, many people of their happiness. I don’t need your pity.” Kanji lies back, looking at the grand blue sky. He tells Ori, “The only reason you have resorted to taking from others is because everything was taken from you. I am sorry that you have to leave this earth here. I deeply hope that you rest easy.” Ori turns to Kanji crying, but something happens. A smile appears on the hardened face of the Lord. “Thank you,” he says while taking in his last breath on this earth. Kanji stands up, and he realizes that there is no time to rest. He must continue forward; he has to keep going forward no matter what walls stand in his way. He turns around, shedding several tears for the man who robbed him of everything, but Kanji realizes that everything was stolen from him as well. Kanji recognizes that he and Ori are not so different. The only difference lies within their upbringings. Kanji is still able to cling to the memories of his beloved childhood to where he had everything and when his master was still alive. Kanji turns around walking towards the castle gate, and he exclaims one last goodbye for a friend.

FINDING FREEDOM I COLE SUTHERLAND (9th Grade) The sirens rang out as James sprung up from his bed and ran to the bunker in his basement. His parents were already there. “Finally woke up, James?” they ask lightly as James shut the door behind him. This was the fourth time in the week that James and his family had been forced into their underground bunker by the nuclear warfare raging over their heads. James’ sister stirred as an explosion sounded in the distance “Don’t worry dear, the fighting isn’t near us,” their mother reassured her. As the family slowly began to drift off to sleep, James rose up and quietly told his father he was going to use the bathroom. “Be careful,” his father warned, and James went up the stairs quietly. Before going to the bathroom, he stepped out onto his porch to look at the chaos in the distance. Mushroom clouds were the only things visible beyond their neighbor’s house on the eastern horizon, and the sun was just beginning to shine through the thick dust. Feeling that the fighting had ceased for the day, James walked towards his neighbor’s house to get a better look at the devastation of the city that he lived on the outskirts of. As he was about to step on the porch of his neighbors, James heard the familiar scream of a Soviet fighter jet approaching him from behind. James looked up, expecting it to continue into the city, but as it neared James’ house something long and metallic dropped from the jet, and James instantly ran into the home of his neighbors and down the stairs. Just as he made it down the stairs, there was a deafening boom from the direction of James’s home. James’ neighbors exited their shelter and saw James on the ground of their basement in tears and realized what had happened. 10 Years Later ... James awoke from his light sleep in the shrubs drenched in a cold sweat, as he had just had the same nightmare he had been having for ten years. In the nightmare, his parents and sister were constantly chasing him and trying to bring him with them to the “other side.” James was now a wanted man for his crimes against the reborn Soviet Union. On the scarcely-populated earth, whatever civilizations remained were ruled tightly by impenetrable Soviet outpost. James was a known rival of the Soviet Control of Earth and frequently attempted to break into an outpost. But on this night, James decided that he would break the control of the Soviets and that he would bring down an outpost. James knew this would be no easy feat, as he had spent most of his life trying to break into an outpost with no success but had gained enough information that he was confident that he could do it if he assembled the right team.

James decided that he would travel and attempt to put together the best team that he could to conquer this gigantic goal. Satisfied with his decision, James laid down and closed his eyes, but knew he would be luckier to not drift into sleep. At the dawn of the next day, James awoke ready to assemble his team. As he set out towards the nearest town, thoughts of doubt filled his mind. James wondered if anybody cared enough or was even talented enough to assist him on his mission. James slipped into what was once the city of Canton, Ohio but is now little more than a couple of street blocks of apartments and a few bars. James sat at a bar, not drinking anything, rather scanning the crowd for somebody he was familiar with.

volume IV