CalliopeRising issue01 2011-2012
Calliope Rising Literary Magazine Eleanor Roosevelt High School 2011-2012
Contents e
begin
Invocation........................................................................................................................08 by Ariel Chu
Log #1............................................................................................................................10 by David Dillon
Clock Tower.....................................................................................................................12 by Lisa Boquist
Let Me Fly........................................................................................................................14 by Kelly Alessandra Vazquez
life/death arc
Money...............................................................................................................................17 by Frank Chau
Lady Luck.........................................................................................................................18 by Ariel Chu
The Violence of Flowers.................................................................................................20 by Lauren Powers
Notorious.........................................................................................................................22 by Dereck Wei
Broken Throne.................................................................................................................23 by Josh White
Due to Those Cheap Thrills............................................................................................24 by Emily Aguilar
Incendiary........................................................................................................................28 by Lauren Powers
I saw evil. Spoke Evil. And heard evil............................................................................30 by Anonymous
Illusions...........................................................................................................................31 by Miguel Angel Diaz
The Angel of Death..........................................................................................................33 by Kaylin Nicole Drysol
Skeleton in the Closet.....................................................................................................34 by Lauren Powers
Persephone in Glasses....................................................................................................36 by Ariel Chu
Introspection...................................................................................................................39 by Josh White
Elusive Longing...............................................................................................................40 by Gabriella Pineda
An Angel’s Path...............................................................................................................42 by Michelle Wu
Memories.........................................................................................................................44 by Erik Nilsen
world arc
The Death of Life............................................................................................................47 by Casandra Lopez
Roam................................................................................................................................49 by Vivien Le
Opinionated Perspective and Inquiry............................................................................50 by Kelly Alessandra Vazquez
Time for the World to Give............................................................................................51 by Austin Lundberg
The Goblin King..............................................................................................................52 by Lauren Powers
Three in the Morning......................................................................................................53 by Krystal Pichardo
love arc
Resisting Hypnosis..........................................................................................................55 by Kelly Alessandra Vazquez
The Artist..........................................................................................................................56 by Erik Nilsen
Thinking of Vojta.............................................................................................................58 by Emily Aguilar
Hallway..............................................................................................................................59 by Ashley Martinez
Rose.................................................................................................................................59 by Lisa Boquist
Deceptive Charm.............................................................................................................60 by Gabriella Pineda
City Night Memories ......................................................................................................61 by Michelle Wu
Bittersweet.......................................................................................................................63 by Kaylin Nicole Drysol
Crave................................................................................................................................63 by Sherilyn Reus
selenology........................................................................................................................64 by Ariel Chu
Merry-Go-Round..............................................................................................................65 by Gabriella Pineda
Hang Man........................................................................................................................66 by Lauren Powers
Missing.............................................................................................................................68 by Kaylin Nicole Drysol
stay...................................................................................................................................69 by Tiffany Le
beyond arc
Infinity...............................................................................................................................71 by Raj Chaklashiya
Space Exodus..................................................................................................................72 by Josh White
Leroy’s Strangest Day.....................................................................................................73 by Raj Chaklashiya
scars.................................................................................................................................77 by Amanda
Concrete Angel.................................................................................................................78 by Lauren Powers
Reflection.........................................................................................................................79 by Michelle Wu
Eraser................................................................................................................................81 by Zachary Spiers
end
an invocation
These are not words for the rigid white page Of an archaic age; rather, they’re for the eyes Of the girl who abandoned her part on life’s stage Just to brandish her pencil and rise. And these are not samples of sterile perfection, Pretense, or convention - but works of a mind Of a boy as alive as his paper inventions, The syllabic dreams to which others were blind. I call upon muses that thrive in the fast Whirl of life, not the past, with its cloying traditions; I call upon dreamers that still hold steadfast To the lyrical worlds under their jurisdictions I call upon those who see richness in youth And the beauty of truth. And I envy the hearts Of creators. Of thinkers. The muse-driven few Who transform the red pulse of their lives into art. Ariel Chu Editor, 2011-2012
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issue01 EDITORs Ariel Chu Tiffany Le layout&design Tiffany Le club advisor Clayton Metcalfe cover art Lauren Powers
begin
log 1 e
by David Dillon
I cannot even utter, with the utmost will to, how envious I am now. The
complexities and specificities that I encounter in the writing of others has me shot, disappointed in myself to the point that I question why I began to write in the first place. Everyone has a story; few choose to tell it. And when one does begin to scribble down the intricacies of a sojourn to some odd destination, he or she realizes that taking this journey is easier than explaining it. Writers face possibly the most difficult tribulation, which is conveying the abstractions of hardship into measly words. What are words without connotation; better yet, what are words without the evocations that they possess?
To undergo the ruthless judgment that towers over the muse and creative
instinct of a writer is a daunting task. Such a thing makes it mortifying to even consider picking up that pen again. Some of our stories are written exceptionally, drawing an audience that yearns to partake in another smidgeon of the pitied, sorry excuse for a life that the writer possesses. The rest of us are left rung out, dried up by the lack of response to our desperate call and cry for help. You must see that this facade of mellifluous dalliances only appears to lilt our hearts into a homemade utopia. In reality, our lives are far from sumptuous; our lives are just melancholy with inevitable inclinations that fictional stories with pedantic sentences, such as these, are going to somehow become the panacea for pain. 10
This artistic prowess refuses failure, but welcomes progression. If it is
asked once again to illustrate the effects of a female with perfect imperfections and a booming, yet pleasant voice that emits words that light the fires in the muses of various artists, it will accomplish that with more precision, class, and unique style than its older form could ever conceive.
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clock tower Lisa Boquist
Let Me Fly e
by Kelly Alessandra Vazquez Let me fly! Let me fly to the clouds and throughout, let me touch a rainbow and smell the altitudinous air Let me view the world through God’s eyes, and see the beauty that lay hidden in the sight of normal eyes. Let me fly. Let me feel the winds breathing through my hair, and kissing my face. Let me hear the music of nature that I have and will forever embrace. Let me fly! Let me fly! Let me soar to space and see the stars closer than anyone’s ever seen. Let me taste a fruit that makes one sweeter than they‘ve ever been. Let me hear a voice that makes one realize their life. Let me eye something beautiful and wondrous; one that eliminates man’s only strife. Let my mind wander, and never get lost. Let my arms spread, without ceasing to fall. Let me feel, taste, smell, hear, and see things that I’d never come to awe. Let me fly up. and down. Southeast, Northwest. Let me view every town. Let me be. Let me wander. Let me sigh. Let me ponder. Let me fly.
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life/death arc
Money e
by Frank Chau Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain green blood Where I shower you with happiness you think this is bliss I spread red from flesh and black from metal I am what you want, heck, I am the devil Through others’ eyes I am the saint You’ll faint at my omnipresence When the numbers are high Scream from your lips And raising arms above the sky Generous as the angels Yet evil as the demons Let me end with just one tell If you want to know I can easily show You to the gates of heaven or hell
17
Lady Luck e
by Ariel Chu
Casinos are for degenerates; this much she’s always believed. Gambling
and alcohol and all associated tomfoolery have always occupied a lower plane of existence, held at a safe and morally sound distance from the prim little girl she used to be. She has never lusted for money, would never stake her fortune to attain more of it, would never dream of throwing a slinky scarlet dress about her limbs and prancing into a house of ill repute. But that was before he swept her away, and it accounts for where she is now – surrounded by a multitude of garish lights and obnoxious laughter, wisps of cigarette smoke drifting languidly through the stifling air, the silk of her skirt hot and damp against her thigh as she sits on his lap and contemplatively weighs a pair of dice in her palm.
The stares aren’t unwelcome; she’s constantly aware of how eccentric and
utterly foreign the two of them must look, catches mumbled fragments of conversation here and there – from Europe, does ballet, is-he-her-father-or-her-? – and it sends a lovely thrill through her now, the idea of being charming and enigmatic and utterly scandalous. Her youth still clings to her, even as ink-black ringlets and pursed crimson lips proclaim otherwise; she holds something fresh and girlish and coquettish, the prize rose of the disheveled and lanky man who folds her in his too-long, too-old arms. He barks an insult at some passing imbecile here and there, drawls his bets with that devil-may-care smirk she’s come to know so well, interjects 18
every so often with fits of hysterical laughter or hilariously obscene profanities.
Then she’ll take it upon herself to look at the opposing parties with
wide eyes and a deliciously tilted head – it’s against the rules to be offended, her schoolgirl pout will so wickedly proclaim – and a cursory glance at the man in question will reveal a flickering of his eyes, an adoring hint of a smirk at the edge of his mouth, an unspoken language meant to mock anybody who gives a damn about what either of them do.
And she knows full well what the risks are, of course – all scandalous legal
proceedings aside, there’s the tricky little issue of having run away from home with a fair amount of money – but it’s all part of a deliriously wonderful game, each city and casino and club blurring into a vivid stream of colorful lights and background conversations and his raw, unaffected brashness. She’s since memorized the smell of starched hotel bedsheets and the searing pain of harsh Nevada sunlight after a night of revelry, embraced the hazy glow of a cocktail-induced stupor and the pulsating thrum of young bodies and club stereo systems. Very rarely, he will take her to the outskirts of the city, to the wide expanses of deserts and canyons and the dark skies that stretch endlessly beyond their reach. And under the casino ceilings and city lights and sometimes underneath the stars, her old life seems so far away, so insubstantial, that there is really nothing to long for or lose anymore.
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the violence of flowers e by Lauren Powers
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Notorious e
by Dereck Wei I was a shadow in shadow, with Night’s onyx cloak shrouding the city. The cold wind sliced at me as I ran towards The bank, my tools in the backpack I carried. From building to building I leapt like a cat In an urban jungle, searching for prey. Alas, the building of glass lay dead ahead; Time to put my plan into action. With no one in sight, I charged into the glass; My mind was racing as the alarm blared loudly. Without hesitation, I opened the safe To find all the money I was hoping to take. I took out the bomb I was hoping to use And ran out the side to set up the fuse. Before I could finish, I heard the sirens approach: The cops had discovered my criminal encroach. With money in tow, I ran out the back As the cops moved in with their offensive attack. Running ahead, I came to the side Where the fuse sat still, needing a light. The sound of that match, irresistibly sweet, Lit up the fuse as I dashed to the street. 3... 2... 1... BOOM! Shrapnel and glass tore through the sky As an explosion as bright as the sun burned on the fly. I laughed and ran, my prize in hand, Without looking back at that smoldering land. I opened my eyes to a concrete sky, Another dream about a successful heist. The rush was gone and sadness returned When I looked out the window of my jail cell. The sun, that symbol of freedom, Mocked me about the consequences. 22
Broken Throne e
by Josh White I was born a peasant, a revolutionary in a cage. Now a king upon a broken throne, the people fight to justify my rage. The company here is pleasant, but no match for what I’ve known. So much destruction in my path, this can’t be an afterthought. The peasants scream, they haunt my dreams. It grows with every battle fought. All of this was once basic math. Calculated loss, my specialty. I’d like to end the suffering, but the consequence is anarchy. I’ve recognized a vicious cycle. A young man swore revenge for the sad hand he’d been dealt. At his voice the rabble bends. At the crowd’s disdain I melt, for I know just how this ends.
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due to those cheap thrills e by Emily Aguilar I left my mortal mind To set out and be free Not going any particular way Only wandering I would later find Myself in misery Watching night devour night Leaving me pondering: “What brought you here? I don’t lack comprehension Tell me what punishment I pay Going through this detention.” Oh, the sky over me Covered and disguised Cries for the fatality Of my soul’s demise I asked the mourning sky: “Though my body’s not intact Why does everything hurt When I’m hit on impact?” Gazing toward the East A reminder hovering o’er Replayed past experiences To give me the answer At that alternate place At the age of confusion I lay alone in a room Allowing my life’s convulsion Naïve and senseless I was seduced by temptations Abusive to myself Refusing any consolation 24
Yet, Heaven smiled And my heart raced For wonderful feelings Filled me with grace It was violent ice Biting my skin Satisfying like a villain Committing daily sins Oh, these sweet sensations Far from regret, yet I had handed my life To a deadly bet High in a cloud I needed it like Bodies of water Are held by dikes It was the battery that Filled me with delight Bringing me happiness and Taking me to universal heights How could I blame myself This method was a thrill But I didn’t know Cheap thrills could kill So down I fell From Earth’s summit And down to Hell Did I plummet I fell back to the universe Sore and badly bruised I had failed to notice A catastrophe that infused Though it had no name It was covered in black And stood perfectly still while Preparing for the attack It cut through my body Biting into my soul As merciless snakes Eat their predator whole 25
Whatever it was It had me in its thumb Beating me softly Until I was numb Every moment My mind was in a whirl I was a puppet Tangled in many twirls My anger flowed Like a violent river This happened because I preferred that veins fissure Coldness stabbed me My veins did flare “Why do I deserve this? This isn’t fair!” Arising half-alive I grasped on my head Banged it against the wall Nearly growling, I said: “How long will it be How long will it be ‘Til you get out of here And make me feel free?” My body trembled My veins went out I fell to the ground Before I could shout: “How long will it be How long will it be ‘Til you get out of here And make me feel free?” The object came out Proud to have surpassed Its idea to kill me When I had asked: “How long will it be How long will it be ‘Til you get out of here And make me feel free?” 26
It grabbed a hold of me I wouldn’t make it out alive It squeezed my chest And at last I cried: “How long will it be How long will it be ‘Til you get out of here And make me feel free?” Years have passed It is still living here Making me tense And live with fear Often times I walk To the open field For a chance of clarity Of making the pain yield What is to be said About the method of pain? It’s a conduction of Satan That makes innocents insane Who is to blame For this fatality? What is responsible For the draining of mentality? Where are the answers? All I get is more pain Another reason to die And have my life detrain Someone tell me why This life is despicable And explain to me why Nothing is applicable
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incendiary Lauren Powers 28
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I saw evil. Spoke Evil. And heard evil. e by Anonymous Words can’t always describe the pain one will feel when his or her actions or inaction allow chaos to destroy and incinerate the things held most dear. Who am I anymore? I have no close friends. More enemies than I can count. The person I warned myself to never be, became who I am today. And to my dismay, I still have nothing to say. My actions and my words grow more silent as the outcomes play. This is not what I wanted. Not what I intended. So why has this turned so sour, so bitter. so depressing to see? It’s time for me to accept it. The problem is me. My words turned into arsenic that trickled down their throats. and my glares turned to knives slicing at their coats. I stripped them naked Allowing all to see. All because they spoke words that differed to me. Good intentions die when you’re the fly. Crawling along the wall, Hearing one and all. but never the sounds out of the mouths of the ones they speak of. The burning sensation of the bright lights… it’s time for me to see. How this all leads back to me. How cancerous can I be?
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illusions e
by Miguel Angel Diaz Tap. Tap. Tap. go his footsteps slowly. Slowly, as I wake up from my slumber. Slowly, as I wake up in my dreamland. Slowly, as I see the room darken. I heard footsteps outside my door before. Tap, tap, tap, the footsteps pass the door. Slowly, like rats upon the carpet floor. Slowly, like feline paws hunting prey. Slowly, as the curtains shiver with dread. Too bad I’m too old to do anything. Tap, tap, tap, he’s on the first floor. Slowly, his footsteps whisper on the floor. Slowly, the room darkens a second time. Slowly, I smell dampness from the door. No doubt, wet earth from the cemetery. Thud, thud, thud, he’s climbing up the stairs. Slowly, to let me wallow in fear. Slowly, the stairs smells bitter and of soil. Slowly, I see Hades riding the night. No doubt, he knows a thing or two, not I. Thud, thud, tap, he’s on the second floor. Slowly, I FEEL the room darken once more. Slowly, the hallway echoes with steps. Slowly, his footsteps are louder than before. Too bad I can’t move in my condition. Tap, tap, tap, he’s halfway through the hallway. Slowly, his footsteps creak on the old floor. Slowly, his steps are closer to my door. Slowly, my throat tastes numbness, nothing more. Too bad I’m too weak to do anything. Tap, tap, tap, he is outside my door. 31
Slowly, he comes to a halt outside my door. Slowly, I wait with trembling patience. Slowly, the room darkens for a fourth time. No doubt, the room will be darker still. Rap, rap, rap, he is knocking on my door. Slowly, he knocks with poise and impudence. Slowly, I hear him turning the doorknob. Slowly, the door creaks inch by inch. No doubt, his blade is waiting for me. Tap, tap, tap, he is inside my room. Slowly, he oozes toward me. Slowly, his cloak flutters like shadows. Slowly, the room darkens one last time. Too bad that Death is in my dream again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Death is at my bedside. Slowly, his black hood stares at me. Slowly, his scythe rises above my heart. Slowly, just like every dream in past years. Too bad that this is not a dream.
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The Angel of Death e
by Kaylin Nicole Drysol Death whispers in my ear Silent screams that are not heard I can’t hold back my growing fear As I hear unspoken words Warm blood spills from my wounds Crying out to be saved Whimpering a quiet goodbye Waiting for the world to end Taking without giving back Death watches like a vulture in the sky Silent and unforgivable Preying on the weak and the old I savor my last breath as death closes in Deadly and peaceful All is lost and never found The murderer never caught or known
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skeleton in the closet e by Lauren Powers
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Persephone in glasses e
by Ariel Chu
The underworld is lit with artificial brilliance, its glacial temperature subject
to the whims of broken thermostats and malfunctioning fans. The queen stumbles across linoleum tiles, an elongated coronet of hair grease illuminated by the raw lights that flicker overhead.
The queen is no beauty, no fairytale caricature. Her crooked limbs reek of
sweat-laced bedsheets and the caffeine-dowsed bitterness that lingers in her king’s soft breath. Strands of stringy, greased hair interrupt her line of vision; bruised crescents embrace her dark eyes. It is a befitting appearance for a woman of the underworld, she reassures herself, but she silently envies the girls who have sold their souls to be lovely in Hell. They dance around her in mock reverence, their mouths contorted with trite curses and their supple bodies twisted to impossible capacities, their swaying hips beautiful, beautiful all the same.
But I am desired, she affirms, her thoughts already contorted by an
insatiable, destructive love. I am wanted. And her king has done nothing to dispel such notions; he with his affable laugh, with his mahogany-scented bookshelves and his hunger for her mind’s endless machinations. Your thoughts on Proust, he will request one day, the gentle syllables eliciting a half-smile from her chapped lips. Your analysis of lines twenty-four to eighty-six—oh, is that so? But if you were to measure the energy of that particle at t = 52...? 36
The intervals between the expectant lilt of his inquests and the unfazed
clarity of her replies are fleeting, almost nonexistent; she has been conditioned to give him what he wants to hear immediately, trained to be his mental equivalent and his social subordinate. Such are the terms of her imprisonment, he reminds her with a smirk, and the queen refuses to argue. She was brought to him when she was very young, rescued from treacherous streams of unfettered thought and frighteningly unfathomable expanses of possibility, saved from a world so brilliantly childish that the mere thought of it contorts her mouth into a scowl. You would have gotten lost had I not found you, her king chides lovingly, the statement so familiar that she clings to it with a mad fervor and chooses to believe it with whatever autonomy she has left.
And it is true, all of it – for where is she to go if not here, where her king
condemns his exquisite underlings but loves his repulsive, silent queen for her competence? How is she to survive in a world outside these frigid confines, severed from the six perfect marks that can vindicate her self-worth and sustain her for a beautiful eternity? He holds these flawless letters in his hands now, dangles them before her half-open eyes, shows his dear queen how malleable they are under his calloused fingertips. A single protest – I’m tired, sir; I truly don’t know the allegorical significance of this work, sir – and he dashes the shackles that bind her mind to his, invites her to flee his side and elude the trample of the other lost souls trying to escape him. He dares her to face the jeers and brutality of a realm that knows she is no longer its queen, and with that, she manages to choke out a soft rhetorical analysis and endure the possessive sweep of his fingers across her black tangle of 37
hair. A flicker of resistance will surface, eventually replaced by the passivity that has allowed her to survive here for so long. Soon, lulled by her king’s praise and the realization that he is truly all she has, she will know nothing but pure, perfect love.
And the queen of the underworld will have thrived upon her king’s
existence for so long that – when she is forced before him in the doorway on her one-hundred-and-eighty-third day of captivity this year, lithe body trembling with sleep deprivation – it will be all she can do not to protest when he quietly tells her to leave. She will not remember having ever being torn from his side despite the twelve years she has been forced to repeat this grotesque cycle of liberation and imprisonment, her definitions of each twisting in accordance to the seasons. But it will be summer then. Sunlight will distort her vision and scald her translucent skin as she steps away from her frigid kingdom. Each desperate look back will be rewarded with nothing more than the sight of barred windows and locked doors; the dark silhouette of a world that grows more forbidding the farther she walks from it. The warmth will eventually thaw the rigidity of her limbs, the yielding stalks of grass beneath her feet a soothing contrast to hard, cold linoleum. Her mouth, until now clamped shut in a bid to preserve the composure her king had loved, will open to receive ravenous, innumerable gulps of fresh air.
She will sink into the welcoming earth and sleep for the first time she can
remember, sovereign of her own dreams until autumn wills her fantasies into cold, perfect stasis. Only when the air stills and the earth succumbs to frost will she recall, with more clarity than she will care to possess, her king’s mocking reminder that her fantasies will never last long enough to liberate her. 38
Introspection e
by Josh White Excuse my constant introspection, the goal is my correction. To separate virtue from sleaze, I fight my own disease. Determination conquers schemes, the bronze hand beats the iron wrist. This explains my shattered dreams, I confined perfection to a list. All things are easier in theory. Constant defection leaves me dreary. I need something to guide me, through this determined apathy. A stone thrown does not return, contrarily it tends to roam. As dry leaves easily burn, what is left finds a new home.
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Elusive Longing e
by Gabriella Pineda We were the sidewalk artists. The pet snail owners, Block candy sellers. Barefoot and runny-nosed. Happy and sad Mean and nice Unintelligent and smart Overreactive and submissive Carefree and constrained Innocent and knowledgeable Wild and anxious We were the drinkers of joy, The creators of happiness Our laughter was infectious, Our smile – contagious, We laughed until it hurt Yearning for the years that would bring the freedom we desired, We shrugged off our coat of childhood and slipped on a robe of “maturity” Only to realize we did not have it all figured out. 40
The years that had passed did not seem to bring us the carelessness adults seemed to emit, that we envied growing up. Instead, it brought the burden of knowledge, The weight of bills The worry of purpose The responsibility of others. We realized what we had yearned for in our younger days What we envied adults for What we longed for, We had already possessed. In our race for recklessness and freedom we left it behind.
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An Angel's Path e
by Michelle Wu Life What exactly is it? A droplet of purity amongst the cleansed water A crystallized flake of innocence on top of a never-ending field of snow Clarity of the rarest kind Hidden within the cages of confinement Never to be tainted But nothing is kept untouched forever Stained Crimson contrasting with the beautiful white Its poison slowly seeping through The harsh flames that consume all who dare touch them The key to our prison Despite the injuries we may take Every soul’s wings must spread and fly A treacherous journey awaits
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Heal The world is much vaster than it seems New bonds intertwining with each other every day Although none may fully cover our scars Knowing they’re there brings us strength One by one, our feathers float along others Friends, family, and love all connected Until the reaper comes to take it all away
Death Our last breath The moment when we resist the most Doing our best to break the chains that confine us once more Unable to leave those we’ve given our trust to Unable to rest in a state of so-called peace Pandora’s Box unleashed without the hope Finally shut off from the world Rebirth A delicate shell blanketed over us Broken at last Warming light overflowing our visions The mind completely sheltered Simple questions of our past gone Life returning again to our fingertips While looking into the future as the cycle continues
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memories e
by Erik Nilsen It’s in a time of lonesome sorrow my mind drifts to better days and the places of my childhood where only memories now lay In the golden forests that I once rambled the clear blue streams where I would lie treading carefully through the bramble to a hiding place both warm and dry I would while away the hours dearest friends all by my side sharing tales that never soured leaving troubles far behind Oh, the nights weren’t quite so dark then and the days just weren’t so gray simplicity came easy and I had never heard of pain With weary heart I now return to the life I live today and faded walls and crumbled halls are all that now remain These memories that I hold onto keep me going through the day and on this road I’m bound to travel they help to keep me on my way
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world arc
the death of life e
by Casandra Lopez I feel the soil between my paws, damp and soft, as I carry my kill. My teeth sink into the blood-stained white fur. It tickles my face as I tear into its moist warm flesh. I can hear the babble of a brook nearby along with tongues gently lapping against it. The wind, a symphony of sounds, plays through my hot coat. I welcome it. It dances around me, offering a show in return for an audience. I breathe the perfume of the woods, fresh and sweet after rainfall. An owl takes a steady swoop, catching its prey of mouse. Chirp! Chirp! Mother bird feeds her children after a long day of hunting. Shhh. Quiet ‌ A deer, slender, graceful, walks by, grazing its mouth along the unkempt meadow. A meadow of poppy reds, sunflower yellows, and jaybird blues. A sunset of indistinct shapes hangs over like a Picasso painting. Golden, fair, and brilliantly lit like a flame to a candle. I submerge my head into the brook and clean the rabbit off my face. The ancient guardians circle around in clusters, protecting the forest from outsiders. 47
They stretch their multiple arms, wrapping and twisting, like pythons. Mother bird settles on an arm and spreads her tired wings over her nest. I watch cautiously as the intruder enters my territory. I growl once and realize there are many. The flash of an ax, blood red and jagged, intimidates me. I hear a guardian scream, a piercing sound like the shrill of a steaming kettle. Chop! Chop! Again and again until, swoosh! The last of the guardians fall, defeated. Frantic, I run. The deer sprints and the rabbits hide. We watch helplessly from afar as our home is battered and beaten. An evacuation of birds flies overhead, squawking in confusion and anger. They fly for new nesting grounds. The intruders leave, taking life with them and leaving behind a graveyard of stumps. The sunset fades slowly. I walk into my cave and rest. Laying my head against my paws, my eyelids flutter before sleep takes over. The babble of the brook dies. The wind howls. Color fades to black. Mother bird can’t find her children. The moon hangs like a sullen sun, and all is quiet.
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roamVivienLe
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Opinionated Perspective and Inquiry e by Kelly Alessandra Vazquez To me, a malnourished world is one without naturalism or the fragile pages of a book. Never appreciating the innocence of things without having a lurking twinge of skepticism and distrust. A (our) malnourished world is severely technological, severely over-controlled, and severely overwrought; the paper we feel the need to conserve only vaguely resembles the grass. We are malnourished and inexperienced. We’ve intertwined illusions with sick humor. Cynical youth and high doubt exist in a world that still maintains handfuls of beauty, sadly overlooked by the plastic, painted, tinted, tainted, filthy, ruthless wrap of today. That word, today. Today is thought of as new, so new must come – as many may think, and translate materialistically. But new shall not rest within the downfall of innocence, or hard work, or freedom. New shall be within the rise of attitudes and locations, care, and empathy. Unconditional kindness to the ones that see the world through fogged, tinted glass. Unconditional love for the imperfect, but the good. I no longer wish to continue seeing undernourishment in our world, my generation. I no longer want to hear the screams of the young and the suffering. Though I wish suffering and cynicism were not so, I know that it is inevitable. Nevertheless, there is a point to this prose. And it is that regardless of whoever is reading this, I ask you to please consider counting how many people love you in your life, and if you don’t know, consider the good deeds that have been done to you out of pure care and love. To be kind and decrease the pointless abhorrence towards the people that don’t matter. To keep your mind and eyes open for new adventures and new discoveries that you may subconsciously chase. To know that you are really only human, and most importantly, to always be yourself. 50
time for the world to give e
by Austin Lundberg World, please listen To all these voices you’ve been missin’ All the kids without a home Or those set out to roam People with disease Gonna be deceased Without help So help them please. I don’t need a reason ‘Cause this is the season No lying, no treason ‘Tis the season for giving If you’re givin’, you’re livin’ And don’t you want to live?
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the goblin king Lauren Powers
Three in the Morning e
by Krystal Pichardo It’s three in the morning, and one stands alone, atop a tall mansion, a giant green home. It’s three in the morning, and Snowman stands near, her head full of thoughts, her intentions unclear. Though she seems to want to keep them all safe, Spades Slick approaches at an alarming rate. It’s three in the morning, and I cannot see, who is the hero, and who will deceive. It’s three in the morning, but it’s all alright, and either way, we must stand up and fight for what we believe is truly right.
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love arc
Resisting Hypnosis e
by Kelly Alessandra Vazquez They ooze of love and compassion; so compelling, yet so sickening They run for me, assuring me it won’t hurt but their ghastly woven wool won’t be pulled over my wide eyes I run away from its atrocious beauty, straining to keep my eyes forward for fear of fantastic feelings that merely lead to stabs of deceit and futile words of sparkled dust that eternally cease to repeat I run because I know that once this disgustingly sweet disease reaches the heart, there will be no resisting, nor escaping it again
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The Artist e by Erik Nilsen You awaken with a certain uneasiness Your perceptions skewed slightly From the lingering memories Of another dreamless night The starkness of morning upsets you The way it makes you squint Exposes your flaws And sends you cowering under the bedding You lay there for some time Trying to motivate yourself Trying to find a new reason To go back outside Blindly, you go through the motions Grooming, dressing, eating In the back of your mind The automation makes you sigh Stepping out onto the lawn You become suddenly aware Of a peculiar stillness As if the world is waiting for you to start But you can’t be on your way It’s all too distracting It’s driving you mad The sound forcing itself into your brain The roar of desolation The pale green hue of disease Hovering over the suburbs You want to vomit You aren’t alone You notice that on every lawn 56
There is someone standing Staring blankly at the ground Gazing off into the distance You watch as a lone artist Peers into the heavens And you are astounded You walk towards her The others ignore you as you pass You reach her And then stare She looks at you You are shocked She is the first to do so Acknowledgment You motion to her and she nods Then she speaks The deafening silence is broken And you discover joy
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Thinking of Vojta e by Emily Aguilar Must I allow for this untamed feeling To take my premature heart for a run? You see, I was close to believing That I would never love anyone Did I mean to fall in love with you? Well, that’s spoiling for a debate However, if you want me to be true Your existence is an act of fate Never had I felt insecure For you make me wild and free Although this mind isn’t always so sure It is best you stay here with me But distance’s hatred won’t give chance To a glorious love that could be romance
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hallway Ashley Martinez
rose Lisa Boquist
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Deceptive Charm e by Gabriella Pineda A smile made in Heaven, a heart crafted in Hell. To prowl and to prey, Words flow like a fountain, Smooth and free His ulterior motive—seeking to use and obtain, Breaking their will to abstain. Blinded by his looks, Guided by his charm, Swayed by his words, they fall, unaware that this was a trap, Not seeing the hidden doors. They have become another mark on his victory list, Just another name that he has tarnished with his kiss.
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City Night Memories e
by Michelle Wu The city streets are my world The pale moon my only company Time forever frozen in place Love forever in pain Where have our memories gone? Washed along with the endless rain Never to be seen again Slowly drifting to the crying clouds And buried amongst the shining stars Was I nothing more than a companion to you? I’m not pure, although I try to be The moments where it was just you and me With smiles that we shared, with thoughts that we treasured I foolishly thought that I was the one When did my heart ever stop yelling? Deafening silence was always the answer The wounds inflicted growing every day Eventually torn to irreparable pieces Knowing that my love will never be returned 61
What did you see in her that captured your heart? Her fair skin and elegant poise Along with a charming personality and melodic voice Day by day you began to change Eventually you were gone too Why did things have to become this way? The world, now quiet without you Lonely nights my only comfort My heart endlessly yearning Tears continuously appearing Along the busy streets I walk The city bustling with nightlife Reminiscing, I look up on the stars and moon Wondering if your love is buried along mine
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bittersweet e
by Kaylin Nicole Drysol Singing in sweet sorrow Breaking through the lines Never breathing Fearing I’m all alone Whispering I love you Afraid I may be dreaming Crying for this feeling As blood spills ever more True love ever so sweet The pain only I can see When I scream for you As I live a sweet lie Confused and unable Fearing the inevitable truth Doubting sweet love Never knowing what is right Kissing you good night As I slowly die inside
crave Sherilyn Reus
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selenology e by Ariel Chu for all your directive and vicious invective your glass mouth would never quite grieve at the earth you were placid as water, too lovely from birth feigning sorrow was taxing; you lacked the incentive your social schematics and verbal mathematics were too acrobatic for my paper mind and i found my one head always two hearts behind so lost was i, craving your mental gymnastics the way you, dear, think, is like paper on ink the horse follows the cart, the eye follows the hand the look follows the leap, the crawl follows the stand my head followed your heart, your swim followed my sink. it was you i dreamed of, six dirt-feet above so many far wiser; they told me to flee (it was never you, dear, it was always just me) i know nothing of love. i know nothing of love.
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Merry-Go-Round e
by Gabriella Pineda They’re living off past experiences. A high that has long since faded. Yet like a hallucination, it turns up, Regurgitated. Until once more, they are back where they started – seemingly forgetting the way it almost ended. Not to be deterred, They sip and words start to slur Until they are the only two And life around them seems to be nothing but a blur. Another spin on a merry-go-round A past no longer worth repeating But somehow worth not deleting. Try as they might, conversation always ends in a fight. They’ve forgotten how it is they ended up here and why it is that they still stay. Children are no longer an issue since they’ve grown up and moved away. They’ve fallen into a pattern neither can break. Little remains. “‘Til death do us part” is what they agreed to When they said “I do.” In their own little world It’s the past they cling to. 65
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Hang man e by Lauren Powers
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Missing e by Kaylin Nicole Drysol You let people in But only receive pain You share your love But only receive hate Something’s missing But you’ll never know Just how much I miss you
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stay e by Tiffany Le beneath you once was a world of intricacies gliding over fallen paper houses slipping between macrame hallways inching sighs through my parted lips with that rough drawl of cigarettes prodding, mocking, but always softly we were under a faded cloak of afternoon stretching over the horizon shading all my fears but the ground shifted ever so slightly rearranged you and I the glass house cracked and the illusions nimbly flitted away and here I am a clumsy sieve beneath a bitter torrent of silent sands salvaging bits of you falling through before I’m full of regret and left with only a trove of repartees that no one else understands.
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beyond arc
Infinity e
by Raj Chaklashiya Infinity includes all that exists and does not, Such a paradox this may be to people (a lot). Certainly, it may mean nothing to explain, But doing so anyway will not cause me a pain. All amounts added up is equivalent to this, So subtracting it all will never leave you amiss The quantity that includes no end, Infinity, an aspect pointless to mend. When one happens to decide to just count forever, Please tell them, “Infinity is a number never!” For it is a quantity that cannot ever possibly be reached, Since even more can be added forever again (counter, get impeached). Now that you realize even more about this entity, A reminder is necessary, so hold back the tea. The supreme infinity is like the lemniscate that represents it, Because you’ll go on forever, looking for the edge. I hope the room’s well lit!
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Space Exodus e by Josh White The space ark will soon embark, the human race inside. I alone remain, due to sentiment or pride. I can’t help but wonder what they’ll find. The vastness of space will not be kind. Space pilgrims, fare thee well. You’re set on finding a new Earth, but don’t be surprised to find hell. You have my prayers for what they’re worth. You’ll know the truth in time, The penance isn’t cheap for your crime. The laws broken were divine. Sin is only played with blood, so I gladly offer mine. The ship has just departed. The Earth ruptured by its colossal loss. Separated from its precious metals, how I hope it’s worth the cost. Space pilgrims fare thee well. You’re set on finding a new Earth, but don’t be surprised to find hell.
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Leroy's Strangest Day e
by Raj Chaklashiya
Leroy was walking across his school campus on planet Sapien when an
invisible dragon scooped him up and flew off. And the poor kid was having a rotten apple of a day already.
To begin with, Leroy was late to school that day because the bully at the or-
phanage, Travis, had tripped him. Now, the buff fourteen-year-old caused mayhem for Leroy every day, but this particular time concluded with Leroy falling face-first into a freezing pool.
But afterwards, things got even weirder. Immediately after a dripping-wet
Leroy got to school (an hour late, by the way), he was called into the principal’s office for a “Top Secret Meeting.” Leroy thought that meant that he was going to get a detention for being tardy for the fifth time in a row. But he was wrong. Utterly wrong.
At the meeting, a dozen tall men in black tuxedos informed Leroy that he
was actually an alien from some planet named Fibrous, and that the ten-year-old had been found on planet Sapien about nine years prior to the meeting, right in front of the Bottled H2 Orphanage.
Leroy thought this was confirmation of his deepest thoughts.
“I knew it!”
To make things even more peculiar, the men claimed that they had been
observing Leroy’s “strange powers” ever since and had even created a portfolio of 73
them. Leroy was dumbfounded when the men told him that, from the data they collected, they thought he could summon wormholes and teleport.
At that, Leroy leaped out of his seat.
“What!? All I know is that my hair sometimes randomly catches on fire!
That’s why I’m wearing this fireproof cap!”
Then the men let Leroy get some fresh air, and he was whisked away by
what seemed to be the wind.
“They should add flying to their crazy list,” murmured the airborne Leroy,
as he was soaring through the skies in what strangely felt like a dragon’s large claws. Maybe they are dragon claws, thought Leroy. Or maybe this is a dream. I’m flying, after all.
His cap fell off as they accelerated, and according to the best Leroy could
figure, they were about a mile above the ocean by then. And guess what? Leroy hated the ocean. He had witnessed firsthand what a shark could do to a person, and ever since then, the skinny lad had never gone to the beach again.
The invisible sixty-foot-long behemoth shouted words as he was shipping
Leroy across the atmosphere at about a hundred miles per hour.
“I AM INVISIGON! THE ALMIGHTY UNSEEN FORCE OF THE COSMOS
WHO WILL TAKE YOU, THE YOUNG WARPMASTER, TO MY LEADER FOR A FINE REWARD! FEEL MY WRATH!”
“The only thing,” Leroy screeched against the noise of the rushing air, “that
I am feeling right now is a thick dragon claw. And maybe a lot of wind hitting me. Oh, and don’t forget the sparks that are forming on my hair…” 74
They both came to such a sudden halt that Leroy thought he would vomit.
“I SMELL FLAMES! YOUR HAIR IS ON FIRE! AHHHHHH!”
Leroy’s hair really was on fire. It spontaneously sprouted flames at random
points in time (unless he was wearing a cap). Leroy thought these flames, in addition to his abnormally large head, clearly marked him as an extraterrestrial.
“You’re pyrophobic?” said Leroy, in now-trembling claws. “That’s sad. But if
you drop me, my Thalassophobia will seriously-”
Fireworks spurted out from Leroy’s hair and bursted the eye of Invisigon,
who, in the panic, dropped Leroy. Yep. Clumsy Dragon indeed.
As Leroy screamed a huge string of words that would have led to his teach-
er putting a ton of soap into his mouth, he fell from an altitude of a mile before crashing into the waves below.
The young alien tumbled out of consciousness, drowning below the myste-
rious ocean…
12
When Leroy woke up, he found himself inside a golden cage the size of a
jail cell. He looked around and found that he wasn’t alone. There was a bed on the other side of the cage, and in it was a small creature that looked like a berry. It was green colored, had huge eyes, an orange branch with leaves sticking out of its head, and two blue hands.
Leroy said, “This has officially been the weirdest day of my life!”
Then, the berry-like creature popped out of the bed and landed on the floor in front of Leroy. He said:
“Psst. Listen. We don’t have much time. I am Ryfibroun. I come from your
home planet. You are currently in the custody of the G.I. Antship Spaceship. After you drowned, the ship, hidden underwater, collected you and put you in here. Now, 75
in order to escape, you must go to the EXIT door. Alright? Good.”
Then, Ryfibroun vanished out of thin air.
Leroy muttered, “That wasn’t very much help.”
Suddenly, the cage door shattered and Leroy could hardly believe his eyes!
He was face to face with an albino, red-eyed ant that was the size of a school bus! “I’ve done it!” The ant yelled. “After ten years of searching this pitiful Universe, I have found the Descendant of my Lord! I will be rewarded greatly for this!” Leroy stepped back about nine times and shuddered.
“Please tell me that this is a dream. Please?”
The albino ant cackled. “Fool! Does it LOOK like you’re dreaming? I am the
Ultimate Psychotic Ant, and I will bring you to my Lord so that he can complete his family album!”
Leroy glanced behind him and saw a red button. He could swear that it had
never been there before, but there was no time for speculation. He asked the ant one more question.
“What? So your Lord is my ancestor? Who is he?”
The Psychotic Ant hollered, “You did not have permission to speak! Traitor!
I will harass you now!”
The berserk bug rammed into Leroy so quickly that he never noticed that
the button behind him flashed green as he slammed into it, causing an exit door to appear underneath him.
Before the ant could say, “I need a psychiatrist,” Leroy had disappeared
into another dimension with millions of questions swirling around in his head.
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SCARS e
by Amanda I cried let me stay, please don’t make me go I know they heard me, but did they listen? Do they ever listen? Of course not, because Mom was in bed yet again When they came to take me away But little did they know the fate I had at my new home The corruption I was about to witness I was only a child And he knew that I had no notion of what was going on But even then I thought I knew it was wrong I know you were young But not so naïve To not know the difference between right and wrong I had just been ripped away from my element of security And there was a gash in my heart As the tears poured down my checks for months on end But you didn’t care, you never thought of the repercussions it would have on me No one ever cared They pretended to smile And went on with their lives The shock of this still surprises me More than his actions ever could I should have known they would never acknowledge the truth Considering they were the ones that helped me build this wall So very sturdy and tall I know your apologies are sincere But I can never fully forgive nor forget What you put me through Because I’m the one with the heartache and tears I’m the one that has to face Those long-term effects that never occurred to you I was only a child And you left me with some of my biggest scars I didn’t deserve what you did to me But still I’m the one forced to face the consequences That you can forget about 77
e
concrete angel e by Lauren Powers
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Reflection e
by Michelle Wu You’re trapped. “I don’t want to be trapped.” Time is changing. “I don’t want time to change.” He’s not here. “But he is.”
12
The night sky is littered with stars, twinkling spheres that lie far away in the blanket of the dark. And yet they’re so close. Close enough for our fingertips to brush them ever so slightly, hoping that their glow will whisk us away. A better place. But that’s not the case in reality, where twisted strings hold us back, unbroken bonds tying us down to the cold, hard earth. Dreams are made, broken, and mended. Shifting into something else as others forget the discarded shards of what we used to cling onto. Jagiya. Your voice, so sweet and alluring. Distant. When will this thick fog lift? Our visions are distorted, blurring; I can’t recognize anyone anymore. Nothing is what it used to be. Shadowed silhouettes dance about, creating a trance of indecisiveness. I sit here, trapped in a blank box. Time is moving forward, the gears ticking away as they continue their required mechanism, pushing us further apart. Tick. Tick. Tick. And yet those stubborn ties continue to bind and pull the clockwork. They’re stopping, chipping away the rusted metal. Fading, we’re still fading. Snow-colored petals replacing our limbs as they blow away against the wind. We’re scattered. Lost.
12
Repetitive beeping and wheezing echoes throughout the room. Strange words are 79
quickly spoken by men in coats. Women in simple dresses rush in and out, carrying odd tools. The air smells like sanitation, heavy and overwhelming as the fumes continue to rise. Where am I? My voice is gone, silence stitching away at my mouth. I can’t feel anything, nor can anyone feel me. I’m not noticed. How strange. My feet stay planted on the floor, unable to work, not even in the slightest. “- - -” A name? Is it mine? My eyes drift towards the sound where a young man hunches over. A frail girl lies on the bed, tubes and needles shoved into her as if she were an abused doll. Supporting breathers and monitors watch her every move. Bandages litter her body; scratches and scars are painted across her face. Nothing but a broken bird. His hand wraps around hers tightly. Tears stain his cheeks; he wipes them away while pushing up his chocolate, matted hair. Both of his actions are worthless, as the droplets continue to flow and the hair falls back in place. “I’m still here.” It is all so familiar, so comforting and yet so hazy. I want to move, to tell him I am here too. A magnetic force connects us, one that I feel. I try once more to move, and to my surprise, I succeed. Stiff like wood, one by one, minor steps towards him are made. At an instant I am almost there, my hand barely ghosting over his shoulder. All dreams end. The image is shattering. Cracks spread throughout the vision in front of me, quickly overwhelming the scenery. Bits and chunks fall, collapsing over one another as the mirror breaks. Everything, the memories, the reality, the dreams are all tumbling down. Leaving nothing but leftover dust. And the true situation is formed. Me locked in an empty world where only I exist and no one else does. Remains of the mirror dissolve, slowly forming into another picture. Mocha eyes stare back at mine. A hand presses against the invisible wall of air. I reach forward, resting my hand against yours, only the slightest of barriers separating us. You give one last smile before you, too, fade away to join the others.
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Eraser e
by Zachary Spiers Blank Canvases. We are blank as the paper. Life’s ink is spilt, it stains & spreads. Papers are stacked, ink undried, Black Never will it stop Our choice of using ink in the first place Is Beyond Me. But if you consider Ever using a pencil, Now pencils, I hear they erase
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end
thank you, contributors! Ariel Chu, 11th grade Tiffany Le, 11th grade David Dillon, 12th grade Lisa Boquist, 10th grade Kelly Alessandra Vazquez, 11th grade Frank Chau, 12th grade Lauren Powers, 12th grade Dereck Wei, 11th grade Emily Aguilar, 9th grade Miguel Angel Diaz, 10th grade Kaylin Nicole Drysol, 9th grade Josh White, 11th grade Gabriella Pineda, 12th grade Michelle Wu, 11th grade Raj Chaklashiya, 9th grade Casandra Lopez, 11th grade Krystal Pichardo, 9th grade Austin Lundberg, 11th grade Erik Nilsen, 11th grade Ashley Martinez, 11th grade Zachary Spiers, 12th grade Vivien Le, 9th grade
Get Published!
This issue was brought to you by the Creative Writing Club at Eleanor Roosevelt High School. To learn more about how you can submit your work for the next issue, please visit our website at:
8 erhscreative.com 7 Come join us! Meetings are in Mr. Metcalfe’s room in E101 every week on Wednesday after school.
e Ariel Chu • Tiffany Le • David Dillon • Lisa Boquist • Kelly Alessandra Vazquez • Frank Chau • Lauren Powers • Dereck Wei • Emily Aguilar Miguel Angel Diaz • Kaylin Nicole Drysol • Josh White • Gabriella Pineda Michelle Wu • Raj Chaklashiya • Casandra Lopez • Vivien Le Krystal Pichardo • Austin Lundberg • Erik Nilsen Ashley Martinez • Zachary Spiers