Like, Literarily! - Issue 9 by Guzman Julio

Like, Literarily! Issue

By Paula Pardo - 11th Grade

By Valentina Ceballos - 11th Grade

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9

January 2020

Like, Literarily! Issue 9

The Bilingual, Student-run Literary Journal of CNG

Like, General Editors:

Literarily! - Issue 9

Sophie Taminez

Marketing Editors:

Sophie Taminez Valentina Nordone

Art Editors:

Janyce Magallán

Design Editors:

Sophie Taminez Janyce Magallán

Editors:

Antonia Ramírez Isabella Delgado Nicole Pechman Teacher Advisors: Guzmán Julio - MS & HS Technology Teacher Ernesto Carriazo Osorio - HS Spanish Teacher Diana Marcela Sánchez - HS Philosophy Teacher Stalin López - HS AP 2D Design Teacher

Printed by :

Cima Impresores E.U.

Special thanks to the H.S. Principal: Ivan Velasco. Associate Principals: Bradley Park and Jesse Wagner. Colegio Nueva Granada Cra 2 Este No 70-20 www.cng.edu Bogotá, Colombia ISSN 2590-5287 January of 2020 2

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9

Table of Contents

Poetry/Poesía To The Person Who Used to Be Me, by Christopher Milbert Paris, by Valentina de la Pava Fugitive of Our Promise, by Anonymous Fiction/Ficción Madre, by Violeta Portilla Teloj de arena, by Martina Pardo Agua, by Maríalaura Sáenz Halloween Day, by Daniela Harris Election Day, by Ariele Jinich El cofre, by Alessandra Gallo

6 7 8 10 13 16 18 25 29

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9

POETRY Poesía By Paula Pardo - 11th Grade

To The Person Who Used to Be Me Christopher Milbert A lot has happened since I last saw you. I can’t say it’s all good, But I can say it’s better. Although I really can’t remember, Or at least I don’t want to remember, I know from the scars you left on my body That you hurt me. The person who I most trusted in the world, My confidant, Stabbed me in the back. And in spite of that, I hung on to you For longer than I’m proud to tell. And even though I haven’t, Let go of you Just quite Yet 6

I will I will run away I will escape. Even on the days when you tell me I can’t, When the nausea And the tremors come back, When their screams throb In my head Over and Over When I feel like I can’t, I will.

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Paris Valentina de la Pava

As Paris glared Deep into the three desires His mind could not internalize How euphoric each was. Sorrow? Annoyance? Ecstasy? Doubtfulness? His eyes were functioning fine. His mind Drowning in a pool of thoughts. The bite had already been taken And as everything starts Everything must come to an end.

Did Paris choose, or did desire choose him? Handed an incredible amount of power, He failed to realize The true ability He had In the freedom of Being able to choose not to indulge At all. Are we naive Or blissfully ignorant?

Each desire came With a wonderful consequence, Each desire held A terminal fate.

Fugitive of Our Promise Anonymous

No God could take back What you did. I can’t find the pulp, All my flesh faineant. I can’t convey a fantasy. Poses are hard to believe. Where did “it” go? I’ll obtain it without you. You can too - regain the silk Of your teeth. Just know to chop off Your vile, tendril, curls. I am a Renegade because of you.

FICTION Ficción

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9

By Gabriela Largacha - 11th Grade

Madre Violeta Portillo

El reloj recién marcaba las ocho menos cuarto y mis lágrimas inundaban hasta el más mínimo rincón de mi casa; junto a ellas corría el dolor de mi alma, tal y como si parte de mí fuera arrebatada de la manera más despiadada e inigualable. Fue ese día cuando comprendí el verdadero dolor, la verdadera razón, el motivo por el cual se vale derramar lágrimas de oro; lágrimas incomparables que deberían ser gastadas por quien lo valga, cuando lo valga... Hace un mes ya que mi madre padecía los síntomas causados por la quimioterapia. Había pasado ya un año en el que ella detuvo toda su vida, su negocio, su rutina que tanto añoraba. Su divina cabellera caía pelo a pelo, así como las hojas de un árbol en otoño. En aquel tiempo parecía que con el pasar de los días, ella, tal y como esperábamos, mejoraría; que estos tiempos tan aterradores no se convertirían en más que una historia de mal agüero. Aún con la más grande esperanza, cada vez que la veía se notaba el dolor y la decadencia en su cara. Fue hasta el día de su examen que junto a mi papá volvieron con una cara de miseria, tal y como se hubiera perdido su corazón ante la oscuridad del mundo. Me sentaron en la sala y sin encontrar las palabras mi madre me dijo: “las células en mi cuerpo han hecho metástasis y ahora… es sólo una cuestión de tiempo… antes de morir”. Al escuchar esas palabras, mi corazón se detuvo y mi mente entró en blanco. No podía parar de repetir la palabra muerte… una y otra vez… dando vueltas y vueltas mientras todo mi mundo se derrumbaba ante mis ojos. 10

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9 Los siguientes meses no fueron más que una despedida lamentable. Cada miembro venía y con las pocas fuerzas que le quedaban, mi madre despedía con un beso a todos mientras las lágrimas se derramaban sobre su desnutrida y pequeña cara. Ya el desenlace de esta historia era más que segura para todos nosotros: El dolor de perder a una madre, la emperatriz de un gran e inigualable imperio que quedaría en las manos de una niña de tan solo 13 años. Lo recibí como una carga tan grande, pero a la vez como un regalo, un legado que mantendrá viva su memoria. Mi padre siempre mantuvo la cara en alto. Tan sólo ha sido una vez en la vida que lo he visto llorar… y ésta fue la única hasta el día de hoy. Estaba lleno de ira y de tristeza y el dolor lo consumía desde adentro hasta el punto de no aguantar ni un segundo más. Al igual que cada día de esos dos meses, me senté junto a mi papá dejando el tiempo correr, sin certidumbre de que en cualquier minuto llegaría la hora de la despedida final. Fue ahí cuando escuché a mi tía llamarnos desde el cuarto de mi madre; tenía una cara de lamento, una lágrima corriendo por su mejilla mientras intentaba respirar y calmarse. Al entrar al cuarto, sentí una sensación de angustia y terror, pero de alegría y tranquilidad al mismo tiempo. Sabía que mi madre poco a poco dejaba este mundo, pero era claro que ya por fin, después de tanto padecimiento, lograría descansar en paz. Es ahora cuando volvemos al principio de esta historia, una historia que da fin a la vida de una reina, pero muestra la primera página de una infanta dejando atrás a su vida con su madre. 11

El reloj apenas había marcado las 7:47 y yo estaba creando un mar de lágrimas en el cuarto de mi madre. Cada grito que daba mostraba más y más dolor saliendo de mi corazón, pero por más que llorara y gritara, eso no haría que conmigo se quedara. Fueron los momentos más largos y al tiempo cortos, el verla dar sus últimos respiros. Fue hasta su último aliento cuando entendí que se había ido para siempre. Por más de tenerla en mi memoria, ella había pasado a un mejor lugar; un lugar en el cual sería feliz y su alma descansará eternamente. Fue el día de su final, pero también fue el día de una nueva vida para todos los que nos quedamos acá en la tierra. Seguiremos manteniendo su memoria con vida hasta el momento en que nuestro día de partir llegue y por fin nos encontremos de nuevo, en un lugar mejor, sin miserias ni lamentos. La vida eterna ante un dolor incondicional, insanable, con el que aprenderemos a vivir. No hay final específico para esta historia, sin embargo, logro decir que cada día el final parece ser diferente. Hasta el día de hoy solo aprendo de cada cambio, pero espero pronto llegar al final de esta historia. Los muertos que nos dejan para avanzar a otro mundo siempre estarán ahí, cuidándonos. Por más que nos duela, será una larga espera hasta que este dolor llegue a su final. No es quejarse sino aprender, aprender a vivir con el hecho de que quien te trajo a la vida ya no vive a nuestro lado, pero está mejor donde quiera que se encuentre.

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9

Reloj de arena Martina Pardo

La luz me cega con su brillo. Me despierto confundido, siempre después del mismo sueño, en donde estoy libre, viviendo una vida normal; en donde me despierto en mi cama, tranquilo y feliz; donde el calor del sol consume mis preocupaciones, y yo me siento en paz. Me levanto emocionado, feliz. Mis pies se balancean sobre las minúsculas piedras. Miro a mi alrededor y observo mi reflejo en el vidrio grueso y brillante. Mis ojos se ven cansados, las ojeras marcadas con un morado oscuro. Observo mi postura, pues quisiera que fuese mejor, pero las vastas caídas que me paralizan no me permiten pararme recto sin que un dolor fuerte me haga torcer con dolor. Observo mi pelo mono revuelto como siempre, sus puntas apuntando hacia arriba, tieso con la misma arena en donde me encuentro parado. Mis rodillas casi no pueden soportar mi peso, pues la fuerza de la corrida en la arena las cansa, prohibiendo mi tranquilidad. Me volteo despacio, sin afán, teniendo en cuenta mi ambiente. Me rodean miles y miles de piedras minúsculas que crean un desierto con la luz del sol, aislándome en mi propio mundo. Hay días en que la aburrición me consume, en donde nada pasa y me quedo solo, aprobado con el deseo de la libertad. El sufrimiento de la soledad me tortura y el fuerte sol me cansa, prohibiendo mi escape. Pero hay otros días, aún más miserables, cuando mi desesperación es interrumpida con una fuerza inevitable que me revuelca y me chupa; cuando el peso de mi cuerpo me hunde, traicionándome al jalarme bajo la arena. En esos días corro hacia el vidrio, tratando de escaparme del hueco profundo formándose en el centro de la arena. Grito y con puños mal armados, golpeo contra el vidrio. 13

Mis gritos rebotan sobre las paredes y mis minúsculas manos no logran sacarme de allí. Me fijo en la arena a mi lado, notando cómo poco a poco se empieza a deslizar hacia el vacío. Alarmado, trato de escaparme, corriendo con fuerza bruta hacia una salvación. Mis pies se hunden y en mi desespero logro gatear hasta el final de la pequeña montaña de arena. Respiro hondo, intentando tranquilizar los latidos de mi corazón. De un segundo al otro, una fuerza invisible me empuja hacia el centro. Mis pulmones se congelan y pierdo mi capacidad de respirar. Siento la arena contra mi cuerpo, primero consintiendo mi piel y después raspándola. Mi cuerpo se dobla en dos y siento un vacío hueco en mi barriga al estar cayendo. Miro hacia arriba, pero esas pequeñas piedras me cegan, prohibiendo mi escape. De un momento a otro, siento un impacto fuerte contra mi espalda, dejándome paralizado. Mi respiración me tranquiliza y el canto de mis pensamientos me recuerda que la tortura ya ha acabado. “Respira Antonio, Respira, ya se acabó, ya se acabó” No importa cuantas veces me pase, siempre es peor que la última vez. Es la pérdida del control. Te atrae y chupa incesantemente sin darte un respiro. No hay nada que puedas hacer. Pierdes la capacidad de manejar tu mente y tu cuerpo a voluntad, no te puedes resistir. Lo único que puedes hacer es esperar. La arena está en todos lados; te rodea y se mueve hacia el centro. El agujero aspira las piedras y espera. Espera mi caída, espera mi parálisis. Y siempre, siempre después de la tortura insoportable, me levanto despacio, con esfuerzo, agotado, y reconozco la misma cárcel de donde me había caído segundos antes, la misma vida que me consume, que destierra de mi cuerpo mi alma y me destruye la esperanza. Y nunca, pero nunca, voy a entender qué he hecho yo para merecer tanto dolor. ________________________________________ 14

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9 Me levanto cansado, como si mi cuerpo no hubiera logrado dormir. La luz del sol me cega. Me despierto confundido, siempre soñando el mismo sueño: un sueño en donde me encuentro atrapado en un reloj de arena. Sigo sintiendo el dolor de mi espalda y la palpitación de la sangre en mis rodillas. Trato de olvidar ese sueño, esa tortura de la cual no logro escapar. Me levanto despacio y me observo en el espejo al frente de mí. Mi pelo mono se encuentra muy despelucado, con sus puntas apuntando hacia arriba. Mis ojos están cansados con ojeras oscuras y con las pupilas dilatadas. Mi postura es practicada, elegante. - ¡Antonio! ¡Ya está el desayuno! Con el reflejo del espejo, observo mi reloj de arena en mi mesa de noche. El vidrio brilla y la arena está quieta, sin moverse. Vacilando, mi mano se extiende hacia él, girándose lentamente, y observo con una sonrisa el movimiento de la arena al caer en su jaula de vidrio. Y es ahí, justo ahí, cuando oigo un susurro; un sonido casi inexistente que fácilmente pudo haber sido distinguido por el viento. Pero reconozco la voz; una voz imposible de no distinguir. Mi propia voz. Cierro los ojos, apretándolos con la resolución de enfocar mi mente. Y cuando los vuelvo a abrir, la voz ya no está, ha desaparecido. Con cierta duda recojo mi maleta y vacilando, cierro la puerta. Sé que me oyó, me tuvo que haber oído, pues vi cómo sus ojos brillaban con reconocimiento, como si me hubiera visto gritar desesperadamente, golpeando el vidrio con ambos puños, pero el vidrio no se rompió, y él me ignoró.

Agua Marialaura Sáenz

Sin agua no vivimos, con mucha agua perecemos. Existía una vez una isla lejana, ajena a cualquier vanidad contemporánea, pero grandiosa. Sus habitantes vivían felices, inadvertidos de lo que se aproximaba. La isla era más que única ya que estaba rodeada por un mar de agua dulce, que los proveía con todo y, además de eso, estaba reinada por “El Más Compasivo”, como lo llamaban ellos. Pero no todo podía permanecer color esperanza. Después de un tiempo, El Más Compasivo cayó enfermo; cada día empeoraba un poco más. Estaba jugando poker con la muerte y, si algo se sabe, es que la muerte siempre gana en poker, ya que los hombres tenemos todo que perder y la muerte todas las de ganar. La noticia del fallecimiento azotó a la isla con una ola de tristeza y sus habitantes pasaron sus días adormecidos, con los ojos vacíos de luz y esperanza. Además de todo, empezaron a sufrir inundaciones: olas enormes del mar dulce invadían la isla, ahogándolos en penas. El ciclo parecía interminable; el agua se metía por sus casas, les empapaba la ropa, y les drenaba la vida. Arrastrados por el agua, vagaban por la vida sin sentido, temblando del frío; ese frío que se mete en los huesos y es imposible de sacar. En un apresurado intento de salvar a su gente, el nuevo rey construyó una barrera alrededor de toda la isla para ponerle un fin a las inundaciones. El primer día todo 16

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9 salió bien. A la gente se le salió el frío de los huesos, pero pronto llegó el agua por otros lados: se les salían las lágrimas nuevamente. Más que todo, con la barrera no tenían el agua dulce de siempre. No tenían qué beber, o con que cocinar, no tenían su fuente de vida. Desesperados, quitaron la barrera y las olas comenzaron de nuevo. No sabían qué hacer. El agua los ahogaba, pero bloqueándola, se morían de igual manera. Siguieron con sus rutinas porque era lo único que podían hacer. Sin embargo, poco a poco, las olas se volvían más pequeñas y las lágrimas no brotaban de sus ojos. Caminaban por la vida un poco más despiertos, hasta que las inundaciones sólo creaban charcos ignorables a sus pies y finalmente cesaron del todo. Volvieron a ser una isla ajena a cualquier vanidad contemporánea, con habitantes felices, un mar único y un rey excepcional y siempre recordarían las palabras de El Más Compasivo: “El tiempo lo cura todo.”

Halloween Day Daniella Harris

It was the week of Halloween when it happened. Of course it was! It’s always Halloween when things like this happen, and this time was no different. It all started with a rumor; a rumor repeated so much that eventually it grew to more than a rumor. It became a fact, though to an outsider it would sound ridiculous. Hannah Despet was a student at Harkem Bay High School when strange things began to occur. Like all the other kids there that day, Hannah didn’t even notice when Madison Epercot went into the bathroom during lunch. She did notice, though, when Madison came out screaming. Everybody in the cafeteria turned to face her, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy trying to wipe the blood from her face. One might assume that this caused a calamity among the students, but everyone sat frozen. The only sounds were Madison’s shrieks as she fell to her knees, smearing the blood across her face. The teachers in the cafeteria quickly escorted her out. By the time Madison, flanked by the vice principal and her English teacher, burst into the guidance counselor’s office, her screaming had subsided. There was another student consulting with the guidance counselor, but he immediately left when he saw Madison’s bloodied face. Ms. Clath, the guidance counselor, didn’t like being interrupted,“Why didn’t you take her to the nurse?” Even though Ms. Clath was no more than five feet tall, she terrifies all the 18

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9 teachers. “Um, she was screaming earlier. We thought she should see you.” Ms. Clath looked at Madison for a long time, “Very well. But you two need to leave.” When the other two adults were out of the room, Ms. Clath’s face immediately softened. She turned to Madison and gestured for her to sit down in an armchair in front of her desk. “So, want to tell me what happened?” “I- I- I saw her,” Madison stammered. “Saw who?” Ms. Clath, the guidance counselor, asked gently. Madison looked at her with wide eyes, “Bloody Mary.” Bloody Mary was an infamous legend. Inspired by Queen Mary the first of England, the queen of England and Ireland from 1553 until her death in 1558, she earned her nickname ‘Bloody Mary’ by burning hundreds of protestants at the stake. The more well-known legend of Bloody Mary says that one can summon Bloody Mary by going into a bathroom, turning the lights off, and chanting her name in front of a mirror. Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary. Soon enough, the rumor of Bloody Mary being at Harkem Bay High School spread throughout the student body. Of course, at first everyone thought it was made up, but bit by bit, people began to believe. The most convincing piece of evidence was Madison’s story, that she said she had seen Bloody Mary in the mirror, and that she reached out with her knife and slashed Madison across the face. People wouldn’t have believed her, except that everyone saw the blood on her face. Then, other strange things started happening. Lights flickered and went out in the bathrooms; stall doors slammed shut when no one was inside, and the bathroom doors locked and unlocked on their own. Even a few paranoid teachers began to fear the bathroom. Every student believed that the bathrooms were haunted. Everyone, that is, except one group of kids. 19

These kids were led by Hannah Despet. She was a formidable girl, never going anywhere without her clique behind her. She didn’t believe in the supernatural, so, naturally, her group didn’t either. One day, as Hannah and her followers were walking down the hallway, they came across a girl standing outside the bathroom. “Why don’t you go in?” Hannah asked, even though she already knew the answer. “Haven’t you heard?” the girl asked, “The bathrooms are haunted!” Hannah rolled her eyes, “I’m so tired of everyone believing that stupid rumor,” she had had this conversation enough times to know that nothing she could say would change the girl’s mind. “Ugh,” she exclaimed, and strolled into the bathroom, leaving the girl cowering behind. Hannah looked into the mirror, “Come on, if you’re real, come get me!” Nothing happened. Hannah smirked at her own reflection. “You know what,” she announced, “I’m going to prove this rumor wrong once and for all!” Hannah stormed off to the library, eager to find more information about this so-called ‘Bloody Mary’. Hannah was having a hard time finding a good book, so she sent her group to go ask the librarians. She had roamed the aisles for a long time, searching for something, anything that might help her dispel the absurd rumors swarming about. She spied a book about folklore and started reaching for it, when she heard a faint whisper coming from the end of the aisle. It was very quiet, so she couldn’t hear what it was saying. For no apparent reason, Hannah was drawn towards the voice. She started walking towards it, trying to make out what it was saying. As she walked, the voice grew louder, but she still couldn’t make out the words. The whisper was joined by others, but they were still too quiet to be heard. Hannah walked faster and faster and soon found that she was running at a full sprint down 20

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9 the aisles, trying to find the voices. She ran and ran and suddenly--silence. She was all alone in a corner of the library that she had never seen. The shelves went all the way to the ceiling and were stacked with old, dusty, leather-bound books. The aisle was a dead end, so there was only one way out: the way Hannah went in. Curious, she decided to open one of the books. She chose a volume at random from one of the shelves. As soon as she opened it, the book let out a blood-curdling scream. Hannah quickly shut it and shoved it back on the shelf. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Hannah thought to herself. But as she was turning to leave, a book caught her eye. It had a dull red stain on its spine; it’s easy to assume what that was. Though every fiber of her being told her to resist, Hannah couldn’t help but reach for the book and open it. She braced herself for another scream. But...nothing. She looked down at the page she had opened to, and it happened to be exactly what she needed. Instructions on how to summon Bloody Mary. “Perfect,” Hannah looked up and, somehow, she was back outside the library, “What the heck?” Hannah spotted a librarian at the front door putting up a sign that read; CLOSED. “Excuse me, I need to check out this book.” “Keep it,” the librarian answered with a wink. Hannah noticed she was a pretty stereotypical librarian, with her hair done up in a tight bun and wearing glasses. She was wearing a button-up shirt under a vest, a pencil skirt, tights, and flats, all of which made her seem old, even though she looked quite young. Come to think of it, Hannah had never seen that librarian there before. The next day was Halloween, which was perfect for what they were going to do. While in line for lunch, Hannah and her group snuck into the bathroom that Madison said she had been attacked in. They did exactly as the book said. They locked the door, turned off the lights, and faced the mirror, ready to ‘summon’ Bloody Mary. 21

“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,” they chanted. At first, nothing happened. Hannah rolled her eyes and the rest of the girls looked at one another and shrugged. None of them actually thought anything would happen. In that instant, the ground started shaking, as if they were in the middle of an earthquake. The lights started flickering and the stall doors began banging open and closed. Everyone ran towards the door and grasped for the doorknob. “It won’t open!” someone shouted. “We locked it, remember?” another kid said. “Oh, right!” the kid closest to the door turned the lock and tried to open it again, “It still won’t open!” They tried everything. They rattled the door, turned the lock again, turned the doorknob, pushed against the door, and screamed for help, hoping there was someone outside who could hear them. But try as they might, they couldn’t get out. Meanwhile, the ground continued shaking, the lights flickered faster, and the stall doors were being ripped from their hinges. The kids fell with the force of the earthquake. As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. The kids stood and looked around in fear. It looked like a war zone. The stall doors were either on the floor or hanging by one hinge. Most of the lights were burned out, although the one closest to the door was still flickering. And when they looked in the mirror, they saw a figure coming out of the depths. Bloody Mary. She looked just like she was described in the tales. Her floor-length dress was stark white, and her skin nearly as pale. Stringy, raven-colored hair covered most of her face, but you could still make out the dead look in her gray eyes. The only color she had was the red streaks on her dress, which matched the tip of the kitchen knife she was holding. The kids were frozen in fear. Suddenly, a bright white light flashed in front of their eyes. When they looked again, Hannah and her group saw the unthinkable. Bloody Mary had climbed out of the mirror. She was standing right in front of them. Someone screamed. She smiled, “This is going to be fun.” 22

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9 What Bloody Mary didn’t know was that Madison Epercot was looking through the keyhole outside the bathroom and saw everything. She saw them scream for help and desperately try to open the door, but Madison couldn’t summon the courage to open it for them. After her close encounter with Bloody Mary, Madison didn’t want to risk her life again by opening the door. She could still feel the scar healing across her cheek. I survived, they will survive too, Madison told herself. But the more she waited outside, listening to the kids’ shrieks, the more Madison knew that, unless she did something, they weren’t going to make it. She took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. Right at that second, the strange librarian that gave Hannah the book appeared in the hallway behind Madison. “Hello, my dear. Is everything all right?” Madison turned around, startled. “Can’t you hear the screams?” Madison asked. The librarian looked at her with a mix of concern and pity,“There there, you must be traumatized by your experience in that bathroom. Come now, let’s get you a cup of tea, it will make you feel better.” “No,” said Madison, outraged, “I need to help them. Even if I might get hurt again, I need to help them.” The librarian bent down and looked at Madison in the eye. This was the first time Madison noticed how freakishly tall she was. “You got hurt once, you don’t want to get hurt again, now do you?” When Madison blinked, the librarian was standing up again, “What did you say?” “I said that we need to get you to the guidance counselor, there are no screams,” answered the librarian, with a glint in her eye. Weird, you couldn’t tell what color her eyes were. That’s funny, Madison thought, I could have sworn she’d said something else. The librarian took Madison by the shoulders and started leading her away. Madison looked back at the bathroom, which had gone quiet now. Real screams or not, she wondered if that’s the last time she would hear those kids. 23

It was. Madison told her story to the state newspapers covering the disappearances of the group of kids. Of course, they didn’t believe her. No one saw Hannah or her group ever again. Some people say that they died that day, which is most likely, although it’s odd that they never found their bodies. Others think that they got pulled into the mirror by Bloody Mary, cursed to haunt their loved ones for eternity. The few non-believers think they got kidnapped or ran away. As for the school, it shut down after 13 of their students went missing. After a while, most people moved on to the next current event and resumed their normal lives. The school opened back up and is now filled with students again. But those who were there that fateful Halloween still live in fear of Bloody Mary to this day.They say that you can tell which bathroom she lives in because there are cracks at the edge of the mirror and, if you look hard enough, a red stain in between the floor tiles. To this day, Bloody Mary is there, lurking in the shadows of the mirror. She lays in wait for the book to be checked out, and for someone to summon her once more.

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9

Election Day Ariele Jinich

The sun scorched the white marble seats of the Amphitheater atop the Acropolis. Alkaius stared at the city sprawled below him. He had definitely chosen the correct seat, the elections would take a while. All around him, tunic-clad men were preparing their throwing arms, while others were gathering the small round pebbles used for the election, and some others chattered anxiously with their friends or neighbors. The leadership elections were today, yet Alkaius didn’t see the point in stressing over who would win: both were agreeable candidates, with sound ideas that could benefit Athens, especially when it came to relationships with other cities. Once the conch horn blared throughout the amphitheater, all the men sat in unison, almost as if rehearsed. It probably was rehearsed, the population had done this process several times a year since elections were reinstated. Alkaius should have probably been nervous, as it was the first election he could participate in, because of his eighteenth birthday. As he looked forward, the candidates stood side by side, their expressions twisted into grimaces in preparation for the pain that awaited them. He prepared his pebbles while the candidates were being introduced, completely ignoring the booming voice stating the name and how the elections will work, completely unfazed by the incredible acoustics the amphitheater had. Alkaius drew his arm back slowly, thinking about who he would vote for. Finally deciding on the candidate on the left, he aimed, making sure he had a space for error. As he slung his arm forward, the faces of the candidates suddenly changed to those depicted in the artwork around the University. He instantly 25

recognized the face on the right to be that of Hermes, God of mischief and travelers, due to his winged sandals. The face on the left was more unknown to him, as he was not very familiar with the music, but the shining blond hair of the figure and the silhouette of a lyre gave him enough clues to guess that it was Apollo, the god of the sun, music, and healing. “Stop!” Alkaius hollered at anyone who would hear him. Moving forward towards the center of the amphitheater, he spoke, “Take a look at the faces of the candidates, they are certainly not those of the Athenians we were electing. They have taken the shape of Olympian gods, and if I’m correct, candidates, would you tell me your names and what you’re doing here?” Disapproving shouts were scattered throughout the Amphitheatre until one of the two figures standing on the stage opened this mouth to speak. “Apollo and Hermes, gods of music, healing, the oracle, the sun, mischief, and travelers.” Once the names were said, a murmur of surprise swept around the hall as everyone kneeled in reverence and respect to the Olympians. The only person who remained standing was Alkaius, expecting an answer to his second question. “What is your plan, lord Hermes? Lord Apollo?” Impatience thick in his tone, and one of the men around him pulled on his arm as a warning to be respectful. The pair of gods looked guilty and annoyed at the mortal, but they were interested in how this would turn out. Apollo spoke, “We are messengers of Hades’ wrath. There is only one flaw with our plan. We are easily recognizable, so we need another plan. We interfered in these elections because our ideas were opposites, so the plan with more votes would be the one we follow. Apparently, that failed, so now we play rock-paperscissors.” After several rounds, Apollo rose as victor. “I guess we’re choosing a mortal to steal Sisyphus’ crown,” Hermes’ dejected tone gave his disappointment away. Apollo jumped up and down like a kid on his birthday and unexpectedly pointed at me. 26

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9 “You! You are the chosen one.” His eyes met the mortal’s, allowing no space for further discussion as if Alkaius would object. Questioning the Olympians once could have lethal consequences; doing it twice, that’s signing your death certificate. He followed the gods out of the Amphitheatre and headed home to get provisions. If he had to steal the Corinthian crown, the boat had to at least have food. The next thing Alkaius had to get was a boat. The small fishing boat he found allowed for a one-man crew and made it possible for Alkaius to reach Corinth in a week. He decided to use one of the extra tunics he took to the boat to form the sail, so it would be white and it wouldn’t invite any form of attack. Leaving the dock unseen was easy, especially as everyone was still in the amphitheater processing whatever just happened. The sea was a sharp cerulean blue, and the wind was not in the boat’s favor, especially when already traveling against the current. At least he had learned to navigate the stars, as he was in for a long week of travels. The sky was set upon the horizon, staining the sky burnt orange, much like the color of the amulets sold in the acropolis. The slow rocking of the boat would have caused anyone to fall asleep; its lone guide no exception. Once again, waking up in the middle of the night, as it had become customary, the view of the stars seemed unknown. Alkaius’ groggy mind took some time to notice this, as usual. Once he registered the unusual position of the stars, he abruptly sat up, hitting his head with the boom of his boat. Once the pain subsided and he could properly see again, he took in the unknown surroundings. He was surrounded by a vast expanse of sea, with land barely visible on both his sides. The crashing waves surrounding the boat were not normal of the Aegean sea, making him realize that he had forgotten to turn towards the Gulf of Corinth. The sea in front of him parted and formed a crashing whirlpool, large enough to swallow a giant war trireme. The sharp teeth jutting out from within the 27

whirlpool were just the right dose of fear for him to realize that he was in Messina and facing the jaws of Charybdis. His father had made him read Homer’s Odyssey, and one of the bards in the University had performed it, so he was familiar with this monster. His only problem was that he had a single tree branch in his reach, so if he didn’t jump and actually catch the tree, he would get eaten by the monster, and be rendered unable to finish his quest. He leaped forward, pushing the boat towards the jaws of the monster, and attempted to take hold of the tree branch. It would have worked if he were a sevenyear-old. The branch snapped at its base, throwing him into the sea. His boat was already in the monster’s stomach, so he had no other option but to float and hope for an act of divine intervention. That obviously didn’t happen, and Alkaius had to accept the fact that it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. After all, what was a petty god going to do when faced with the tapestry of fate? There he was, staring Charybdis in her face, hanging on for dear life while trying to avoid the pearly white teeth, and failing to rid his nose of the smell of cadavers and humid wood. Such good luck he had; the first election he could participate in was interrupted by Apollo and Hermes, who were probably crying of laughter in Mount Olympus. Then, he was sent on a quest to steal a crown, and he obviously couldn’t say no, as it was commanded by the gods, and one of them was the god of the oracle to make matters worse. Now, thanks to his aggressively confident personality making him think that he could sleep at night, he was traveling down the throat of the monster most sailors feared, all thanks to a stupid tree that broke under his weight, not allowing him to wait for his boat to spit out.The teeth now seemed to come closer and closer to each other, finally closing the whirlpool and trapping Alkaius inside it, ridding him of access to oxygen.

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9

El cofre Alessandra Gallo

Echó un vistazo a ver qué había dentro, pero no encontró lo que esperaba. El cofre estaba completamente vacío. Sin embargo, su ojo logró capturar una frase tallada en una de las paredes: Toda persona que duerma en El Cofre se despertará rodeada de todas las riquezas imaginables. Al leer esto, el hombre pensó que él no necesitaba riquezas. Él ya era feliz y no necesitaba más que a su familia.

Sin embargo, lo empezaron a inundar sus propios pensamientos. Lo que más lo hizo titubear al momento de tomar la decisión fue una voz que le repetía que no le haría daño poder dormir hasta tarde en las mañanas, en vez de tener que despertarse a buscar con qué alimentar a su familia. El hombre consideró su decisión por un tiempo y luego pensó que no había nada malo en querer riquezas. Siguiendo la

El hombre tomó la decisión de darle la espalda al cofre y seguir buscando comida para su familia. No le tomó más de dos minutos para que se le apareciera una manada de aves. El hombre sacó su rifle y disparó varias veces, pegándole a un ave en cada tiro. Cuando terminó de casar, recogió la enorme cantidad de alimento que había recolectado. Como era tanta, tuvo que hacer varios recorridos para 29

decisión tomada, se metió en el cofre y se acurrucó en él. Extendió una mano y cerró la tapa. Contó cinco segundos hasta que su mente se cegó. El hombre abrió los ojos en vano ya que no había luz para absorber en ese minúsculo espacio. Pestañeó un par de veces mientras procesaba lo que había sucedido. El hombre salió del cofre con curiosidad de lo que estaba a punto de presenciar. Cuando el hombre contempló todo a su alrededor, no logró reconocer nada. Se encontraba en una casa moderna y enorme, inundada con pilas de papeles extraños que decían “One Dollar”. En la cocina había una cantidad inimaginable de comida, algo que él no se podría comer solo en años. Caminó alrededor de la casa por un tiempo, observando cada detalle de sus tal llamadas “riquezas”. Cuando por fin encontró la puerta de la casa, decidió salir a buscar a su familia. Sin embargo, tan pronto como salió, halló algo muy extraño, varios humanos, justo como él y su familia, caminando 30

llevarla toda a la cabaña. Su esposa e hijos lo miraban boquiabiertos, llenos de asombro ya que había traído tanta comida que les alcanzaba para varios meses. Mientras el hombre iba y venía, su familia cubría los alimentos en sal para que duraran más tiempo. Esa noche, tuvieron la cena más grande que se pudieran imaginar. Y tenían los recursos para hacer una igual todo el resto del mes. Los siguientes días, el hombre pudo dormir hasta tarde y disfrutar el día completo con todo el resto de su familia. Cuando volvió a pensar en el cofre que se había encontrado, no se arrepintió de su decisión. Ya tenía todo lo que necesitaba y era feliz viviendo como lo hacía.

Like, Literarily! - Issue 9 al frente de él. Entre más pasos daba, se encontraba con más humanos. Miraba sus caras fijamente, intentando reconocer algo, pero esto era inútil. Caminó y caminó por horas y horas y no lograba reconocer ni una cara ni el lugar en el que estaba. A pesar de esto, el hombre decidió no rendirse. Siguió caminando y caminando. Y se dice que en Estados Unidos, hay un hombre que nunca ha parado de caminar, ni de mirar fijamente a cada persona que pasa, como si estuviese intentando reconocer sus caras. Muchos ya saben quién es, entonces al encontrárselo, le regalan un pedazo de pan para que se alimente. El hombre lo toma y sigue con su búsqueda. Caminando y caminando y caminando.

By Ezra Jinich - 11th Grade

By Ji In (Lara) Kim - 11th Grade

CNG