Literature from the Lost and Found 2017-18 by Jacey Morrill

LITERATURE FROM THE LOST AND FOUND

GREELY MIDDLE SCHOOL 2017-2018

2Â

CONTRIBUTORS Literary Work Spencer Adolphson

Luca Duina

Devon Moynihan

Jordan Bickford

Riley Duong

Natalie Olsen

Mitchell Bickford

Maddie Emrich-Shanks

Kate Parkinson

Emma Bingham

Ian Farris

Colin Petty

Andrew Boese

Aidan George

Chloe Pierce

Abigail Brown

Devin Gifford

Allie Read

Adele Brown

Emma Gobeil

Dagny Seaver

Meredith Brubaker

Grace Hall

Quincy Segal

Mia Caiazzo

Anna Horton

Zada Smith

Daphne Campo

Bode Iris

Vanessa Tillotson

Becky Carlson

Caden Lemieux

Lily Waldrep

Grant Chandler

Eva Levin

Ben Wall

Gage Cooney

Ava Littel

Eddie Wawrzycki-Stein

Ella Coull

Zach Maestas

Finn Weaver

Nora Dexter

Haley McAuslin

Braden Wells

Teagan Duffy

Evan Miller

Maia Wright

CONTRIBUTORS Artwork Fiona Barry

Jasper Goodwin

Pippa Moody

Abigail Brown

Isaac Herreid

Ana Penza-Clyve

Maggie Brown

Bode Iris

Riley Perkins

Grace Clapp

Maggie Jacobson

Solon Perry

Olivia Conroy

Ava Littel

Ben Poor

Atreyu Emery

Ruby Skye Maze

Leyla Rabbat

Audrey Flynn

Aidan McAuslin

Zada Smith

Faculty Advisors: Alisha Goldblatt and Jacey Morrill

Table of Contents 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 21 22 23 24 25 26 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 50 51 51

POETRY Olivia Conroy Artwork Nora Dexter Reaction Elle Jowett Neglect Vanessa Tillotson I Once Knew a Girl Ruby Skye Maze Artwork Audrey Flynn Artwork Maia Wright Je T’aime Colin Petty Untitled Sara Carlson Artwork Ava Littel Untitled Vanessa Tillotson Untitled Atreyu Emery Artwork Becky Carlson and Chloe Pierce Standing Out, Standing Bright Daphne Campo Untitled Lily Waldrep Revolution Riley Perkins Artwork Haley McAuslin Graphophobia Adele Brown Arachnophobia Riley Duong Elevation Kate Parkinson Untitled Fiona Barry Artwork Caden Lemieux Hemophobia Ava Littel Artwork Mia Caiazzo Knowledge Ian Farris Blue Beauty Allie Read Grace Pano Koutsikos Artwork Emma Bingham Finding Adventure Maggie Brown Artwork Pippa Moody Artwork Anna Horton A Golden Friend Mitchell Bickford Happiness Grace Hall Denver Eddie Wawrzycki-Stein Confused Maggie Jacobson Artwork Finn Weaver Love Anonymous My Happy Dog Anonymous Magical Aidan George World Cup Mia Caiazzo Golden Daphne Campo One of a Kind Braden Wells War Jordan Bickford Untitled

53 54 54 55 56 56 57 59 60 63 64 66 67 68 69 71 72 74 76 78 80 82 85 86 93 94 95 96 99 100 101 102 106

Zada Smith Evan Miller Luca Duina Andrew Boese Gage Cooney Zach Maestas Solon Perry Lelya Rabbat Quincy Segal Ella Coull Meredith Brubaker Devon Moynihan Emma Gobeil Grace Clapp Bode Iris Jasper Coffin Teagan Duffy Dagny Seaver Natalie Olsen Eva Levin Zada Smith Ben Wall Isaac Herreid Devin Gifford Ben Poor Grant Chandler Bode Iris Spencer Adolphson Aidan McAuslin Maddie Emrich-Shanks Ana Penza-Clyve Abby Brown Abby Brown

METAPHOR POEMS Artwork Good Will Metaphors Untitled Untitled Untitled METAPHOR ANSWERS Artwork CHARACTER SKETCHES Artwork Channeling Steinbeck Equality Character Sketch: Crooks from Of Mice and Men Character Sketch Slim from Of Mice and Men Artwork Character Sketch INUIT POEMS Artwork Outsmarting The Needle Polar Bear Return from My Trip Us vs. Them The Final Hunt SHORT STORIES Artwork In the Forest Artwork Artwork Artwork Managing Minions REFLECTIONS Artwork A Tribute to Jane Artwork Untitled Artwork

POETRY

Olivia Conroy

Reaction Nora Dexter it first began at a young age for me the sinking sensation in my stomach the headache blaring through my brain the constant repetition of you aren’t safe crawling throughout my body I stand in a house that is not mine I panic in a room that is unfamiliar Safety is far enough away for danger to interfere the outside is darker than the monsters I make in my head calm down you are safe you are overreacting a rustle behind me, the dog turns and barks and barks and barks and barks barks into the darkness at nothing hopefully nothing no I am not overacting there is something in the darkness and I am not safe the barking subsides I stare at the door I stare and stare, I can’t open it the second I open that door it becomes easier to get me easier to grab me and take me away I cannot open the door, I just stare at it safety safety does not exist whatever is out there will get me but the scariest part of it all? If there truly is nothing out there the real monster is anxiety

Neglect Elle Jowett When I was a little girl, I would venture to my neighbors, I would knock on the door, the old man and his wife would answer, The wife wearing the pink hat with flowers every time, Their smiles as full as the moon. They would give me a bag, And I would pick the red, plump, tomatoes, lying in the front lawn I would smell the strong addicting aroma, which led me to eat each one. By the end of the walk home, my bag of tomatoes was empty I now am an older girl, I venture to my garden, And pick the red, plump tomatoes. I no longer knock on the neighbors’ door, And if I did, the old man would be the only one to answer, His frown would drop, and eyes fill with tears, The flowered hat lies on the kitchen table, And the tomatoes withered away with neglect. The only thing that I have left of the memory, Is the tomatoes growing in my garden, I will no longer eat them so fast, As they will go away too soon, Instead I will savor the sweet taste, And let the red skin melt onto my tongue, So I can hold onto the memories, Of the old man and his wife, For as long as I possibly can.

I Once Knew a Girl Vanessa Tillotson I once knew a girl who Asked her sister to play, Who went outside, and made up her own games. Had loads of stuffies, And would dress them up. She was always in a good mood, and her door was always open. Now She doesn’t ask to play, and ignores her sister’s presence. Stays inside, and doesn’t play games. The stuffies are gone, the bed is bare. She is never in a good mood, and the door is always closed.

Oh, whatever happened to that girl I once knew?

Ruby Skye Maze

Audrey Flynn

Je T'aime Maia Wright (je t'aime = I love you) Je t'aime. You are always there for me, when I need you the most. Je t'aime. You are my sunshine. Even when the worst hurricane is coming. Je t'aime. You have saved my life, more than once, more than twice. Je t'aime. Everyday I’m with you, it’s like paradise.

I love you.

In the dark cold night There was a fox lurking behind a school Laughter in the air And the wind churning Kids playing in a road Not knowing what’s watching them The fox is more than 5 feet long And can catch anything in sight Closer and closer the fox stalks the kids playing football 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 The kids were helpless AHHHHH Was the last word the fox heard. Before he ate them The story of the fox still is within us And won't die Sometimes the fox is on the news Sometimes He Tries To Get YOU Colin Petty

Sara Carlson

The bright beating sun, the boundless blue sky, the endless dry desert. Go back Go back Go back And then what? If I go back? Memories, flooding his brain. The red blood. The girl on the floor, broken. Dead. Heart slamming, pounding, He picks up a rock; he hurls it. A spark of grief, dead in his chest. It flickers, then flares. The girl, his whole world, Gone. GO BACK 50 steps, then he stops. Again. Breathing in… Breathing out. His blood sparks. It was like hundreds of sharp knives- Slowly killing him. Go back… Ava Littel

Vanessa Tillotson

Atreyu Emery

Standing out, Standing Bright Becky Carlson and Chloe Pierce

Burning brighter than any flame, Planets rotating around me in my world I am standing out and standing bright With all my might I am the ruler of my own world Others out there are the same, But in every star, there is uniqueness. No star is the same. All glorious. In their own world.

Why name a poem, If it has no meaning? Why name a little girl, The title of an elderly woman? Why name a book, When its pages are blank? And why name a world, If it is broken? Daphne Campo

Revolution Lily Waldrep Hair tugged (helmet on) Makeup ready (war paint ready) Shoes high (shoes tied) Outfit on (armor on) Walking into club (walks into arena) Grabs a drink (grabs a sword) I flirt first (I swing first) He misses me (I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t miss him) Gets weak (gets weak to fight) I'm losing him (I'm losing the fight) I take a break from dancing (I take a break from fighting) I fix my hair (I fix my helmet) I walk back into the club (I walk back into the arena) I fight for him (I fight for myself) He tries to take my heart (he tries to stab my heart) We walk home (I walk him to the judge) I win him (I win the fight)

It's a revolution, how a girl can fight

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Riley Perkins

Graphophobia Haley McAuslin Pencils and paper are not like PB and J, and neither is Docs and a keyboard. During the time of when I start to finish, it’s blank, waiting there to be used by someone that knows how, not me. I jump, I scream, I fear. It’s all I can do, my hand, or hands are shaking. I feel I might faint. I hear the keys clicking, I hear the pencils pick up and then go back down. I’m sweating, I panic, my heart rate up, down, silent and sweaty some more. I’m out.

Arachnophobia Adele Brown When even the word comes up in context I jump, My heart beating so fast. The thought of eight hairy legs, Eight beady eyes Is so terrifying. As a kid, We all heard the story. The insect so itsy-bitsy Climbing up the water spout. But, down came the rain And washed it right out. This harmless story Even scared me as a child. I see only the capabilities, The possibilities Of having these characteristics. Climbing everywhere, And seeing all. They lurk in every corner, Ready to pierce into the victim’s skin, Injecting its venom. Death can be as small as 1 inch. Death is everywhere Because of these nasty insects.

Elevation Riley Duong

Stop and stare out into the open, The wind on your face, Drying your eyes of their moisture, You only stand and wait, Fear runs through your veins. Starting to shake, Your fingers tremble, Feeling the hands on your back push you closer to the void, The void of darkness so low, While you’re so high. You fight back against the invisible hands, Frantically pushing yourself away from the drop, You struggle as the hands fight back, They rip against your body like the wind on the ledge cutting your thin flesh making you bleed Slowly forcing you down, and down,

and down to the ledge.

Your strength runs thin as you continue to run from your fear, Your fear trapping you within this test, Within this game, You slowly move closer to the edge, Not giving up. But your fear wins, You start to feel the ground from your feet slip, Nothing but air against them, 26

You try to grab hold of the ledge to stop falling, But you can only scream and cry out to people who aren’t there. Scream into this endless pool of darkness, As you continue to fall, Fall and Fall And Fall You don’t know when it will stop, Will you ever reach the bottom? Your skin bleeds from the cuts of the hands, They watch in silence as you fall, Seeing your fear laughing silently, Hearing your screams, watching your eyes close, Will you ever reach the bottom? But it only continues, Again and again. Will you ever face your fear, Or will you stay here trapped and falling, Wake up from this fear, face the reality. Or there’s another option, Stay here with me, We’ll have fun, you I, in this void, But if you choose wrong, You May Die.

Kate Parkinson I hear the boom. People screaming, Babies crying. Water flowing, Going everyplace it can. I want to move, But I can’t. I hear my name in the distance I can’t move. I feel the water at my ankles, Crawling up my legs, Like little bugs. It’s up to my shoulders now, I’m in shock I try to swim, But I’m stuck. The water is swallowing me whole. I feel the cold, like ice in my veins. It’s dark, Who knows what it will do next. And now I know I shouldn’t have gone on the trip with Mother. I knew this boat wasn’t safe I should have trusted myself To know I could have faced my fear. But I didn’t. I know that my life ends tonight.

(The poem is about a girl on a trip with her mother on the titanic, and the girl has severe hydrophobia. This is poem is based the night the titanic sank, and she drowned)

Fiona Barry

Hemophobiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2039; - fear of blood Caden Lemieux The fat clouds are glutted with warmth, thick, deep ruby red as they swell, bubble, then burst open with a loud, wet, echoing pop. Dumping their nightmarish load of coppery smelling, slippery sickness. While I walk dizzily in disbelief, and cover my head from this horrific nightmare. The sky is bleeding, and my world has exploded, with drenching bloody insanity!

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Ava Littel

Knowledge Mia Caiazzo It's everything, Everywhere, Even if you never notice it. It's a gate. You look at the gate, With only the wildest ideas Of what lies beyond. Say that gate opens, Inside is an undiscovered forest. A forest of the unknown. Just looking at it sends shivers Down your spine, As if it's stalking you, Waiting for the right moment To pounce. Anxious, You step in. On the outside, These woods are scary, Mysterious, Bone-chilling. Yet, Once you get to know it, The forest is endless. With many kind animals, And harmless plants, But also with many poisonous flora And ferocious fauna. You now know That this forest is everything. You understand that no one person Could ever explore every corner. No one person can ever Master every part of knowledge.

Blue Beauty Ian Farris No one is here, they all jumped out. As blue as a blueberry. Hard as a head. As deadly as poison. You drop off everyone before you reach the final destination, kicking them all out of your beautiful blue body, like kids leaving their school when the bell rings. Like a shirt falling from the sky, we all get booted out. Kicking them out into the wasteland below. They all wish you go their route. You’re as beautiful as a white Bengal tiger. The beautiful beast we all see in the blue sky. You, the greatest bus, know how to win a real game. You smell like millions of soldiers, but you’re still as blue as the sky. You’re like a storage container that's as aerodynamic as a hot air balloon. I want to yell no, don’t take that route, but I never do. You’re a blue beauty, a true trooper, one that never gets old.

Grace Allie Read You stand there, waiting for me when I come home Your personality bubbles like the bright yellow sun against the deep blue sky Your heartbeat gets faster with each wag of your small tail Your energetic personality is like branches whipping in the fall winds The noise you make, and the way you your body sprawls out, when I come to say hi and give you a hug before you fall asleep for the night The muddy paw prints imprinted on the couch How annoyed you look when we dress you up in a Patriots shirt I wish you could stay with us forever Taking home a dog like you filled our family with great joy You make an everyday evening better than anything on Earth The brown, black, and white face that greets me when my eyes open every morning The shampoo smell you get when your white and black fur gets washed Your body as warm as a hot bath in the middle of winter My love for you is as great as a field of white daisies Grace

Pano Koutsikos

Finding an Adventure Emma Bingham His face is white and fluffy like a marshmallow Light brown spots mark his body, showing that he once had fear His fuzzy toes and face make him look like he has been through nothing but love He’s as strong as a diamond His strength and innocence put together makes him the strongest he can be, getting him to be where he is today, and live the fullest life His roars sound like a kitten Even though his roars deep down are stronger than leather But, people wish he had not had to adopt such a roar For, he has tamed with people more ferocious than tigers Lately, his life has turned upside down completely His life has gone from desperation and misery to joy and happiness and looking forward to each day He now smells of clean air and wet dog from playing in the brown mud puddles, instead of dirty alleys and garbage cans. He’s now as happy as a cat with a string He couldn’t be happier, even if he tried Because Sammy is an adventure, and he’s an adventure that has been found.

Maggie Brown

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Pippa Moody

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A Golden Friend Anna Horton I think sometimes as if you were still here, when I get home from school still saying â&#x20AC;&#x2039;Ghany waiting for you to run down stairs as if you were still a puppy. I remember you with your white muzzle and golden fur. You tried so hard to stay at pace with everyone but somehow you quickly fell behind, your daily runs slowly turned into walks but it never failed to put a smile on your and my face. When you smiled it was like a ray of sunshine passed by my eyes. Some days are bitter and others are cheerful, but any day of the week is always turned into a pleasant day because of you. All of my memories include you and me. The trembling, every 4th of July brought fear instead of joy, you hide in the bathtub wearing your camo jacket that protected you. I wish that I could see the smile of a golden friend again. You were always a puppy in my eyes but one day I came home, and your smile wasn't there, all I saw was a old dog. You were a playful puppy, pouncing on your plush porcupine. Swimming at the lake, your smile never disappeared, even through crystal waters. The smell of wet dog, fled into the air from your soggy golden fur. You used to be like a fish zooming through the water, and now you are just a dog swimming in the water. Oh, all those memories, all fit into one long life, there was getting the cereal box stuck on our head, to falling off the swimming dock. You truly were a golden friend.

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HAPPINESS Mitchell Bickford We had been the best of friends and will be forever. I can see the blueness in your eyes when you're sad. You're like the sun in the darkness. You make me happy when the sky is gray and I can always bring you up when you're feeling down and give me fire in my soul. We can get over an obstacle. The way that you run up and down the court wearing your Greely jersey. I wish I could be just like you. Even though Ragnar is the best cat and Patches is always the best dog. Cool, chill, caring are only three words that describe you. More words that describes you are nice, outgoing, easy going and AWESOME. The smell of the blue blueberries we picked on vacation was just amazing. Your heart is as big as the universe. Even though sometimes I want to scream and yell STOP I do not. I could not have chosen a better friend and sister than you.

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Denver Grace Hall When I hear the jingling bell on your collar, I know you are coming into the room. I wait patiently for you to come into the room and jump into my arms. When you come in, Tail in the air, I see the small kitten that once was so small I could hold you with one hand. I pick you up and you immediately start purring. You love attention, And I love you.

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Confused Eddie Wawrzycki-Stein The eyes are majestic-shiny red A lot is going on in his head He turns around and breathes like it's a chore. I look his way, but he just ignores. I'm opening up but he still shuts the door, and I really feel I can’t do much more. Please just quit acting like you’re four. Is he scared of me? No one knows, maybe he just doesn’t like my clothes? I wish I could look into his head, through his eyes. He may resemble an elephant, For he might just be shy. I have many questions I want to ask, like who, when, what, and why? He’s majestic, mysterious, and brilliant at the same time. The smell of him is very fine. Kind of like a rocky mine. But thinking of him feels like a crime. Ignoring me may amuse him, or maybe I'm just a little confused.

Maggie Jacobson

LOVE Finn weaver You stand there in darkness. then you saw a figure holding you like it could never let go. As you grow up you see her red hair. Soon you notice the strong arms hugging you. The arms did hug you, but they also were like a wall against all the hurt. The hurt was the nasty things in life like pain, suffering, and loss and she was there to comfort you through all of the pain and horror. You grow up and you see her. As you see her tidy hair with her work clothes on, your curiosity bubbles over and you ask her where she works. You immediately wish to be like her when you grow up. You’re Just like a cub following its mama bear. Again you grow a bit more and you start seeing her as your cool, courageous heroine that is capable of Accomplishing anything. You also notice She will love you, even if you’ve done something bad, which is what family love is. Family love is not the fake reds and pinks, it is not the spray that smells atrocious Love is like a mama bear protecting her cubs no matter what. It is finally the one birthday before you fully change. After that the love will still be there supporting you every step, like when you took your first steps.

My Happy Dog

I think sometimes, of how you feel. The variation of colors throughout your eyes, tongue, and paws. Your eyes always full of excitement. You act as graceful as a cat. I always think of how lucky I am, how happy I am, with you. How happy you might be, how lucky you are, with me. Are you happy? I put my sweatshirt on you sometimes. I wish I knew how you were. I wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be complete without a dog like you. I always laugh when you fumble, flip, and fall clumsily. No matter where you go, or what you do, you will always be my dog. Even though sometimes you smell like wet dog, You still are as sweet as candy. If only we could talk in a language other than, BARK. All these things make you, my great dog.

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Magical Anonymous You stand there, looking at the lines of people, The pink of cotton candy in every direction. Your legs ache from walking all day, but you know it was worth it. You see spaceship earth, and you realize it looks just like a giant golf ball. The parks are amazing, but half the excitement is taking the plane down to Florida, and getting away from the harsh, cold, depressing Maine winters. Warm air is surrounding you as you arrive. You realized that you should have changed into short-sleeves before the plane landed. You wish that Maine weather was closer to what you are experiencing. As you walk to the pool at the hotel, you see small lizards leaping around the rocks. You wake up to the hot sun shining through the shades and decide to head to heaven. You don’t want to get out of bed at first, but then you realize you’re going to Disney World, which changes your mind instantly. When you get to Disney World, you can smell the food in every direction, and see the trademark castle, which you know you will watch the fireworks at, when it is dark. You start your day at the Haunted Mansion, because your little brother is scared as a mouse of going there at night. Boo. (The ghosts are everywhere). The rest of the day is even more magical.

WORLD CUP Aidan George The World Cup Brings The world together We cheer Side by side Country and country We all Love this game That refines our hearts It makes us stronger When we strive so hard For our separate countries To win the war But in reality it is just a tournament To win the World Cup We would be so proud We would stand and yell we would be encouraged Until our hearts can't cheer no more

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Golden Mia Caiazzo In this dream, you aren’t any different, and that’s not a bad thing. You are always surrounded in a golden aura. Your eyes shine a brilliant, alluring blue. You are quiet like a cat, but fun and crazy. We grin at jokes, laugh at stupid things, smile over stories, help each other with writing, I can’t say how much I love our friendship. I am sorry. I find it funny that you used to wear that blue sweatshirt everyday, now it’s that black one. I wish you talked to me more, you usually spend more time with the other. I wish you’d get that dog, I know how much you want one. You write words wonderfully, I wish you’d help me more. However, you always say I’m better than you, but I’m not. I always associate you 48

with b lue and the smell of fresh rain, I don’t even know why. Your writing is like a real author’s, well done and beautiful. Wow, I can’t believe we’ve been friends for only two years, it feels like a lot more. Golden, that’s what you are to me, gold, something I should never let go of.

One of a Kind Daphne Campo Why shouldn’t you be one in a million? Because there are over seven billion people on Earth, and millions are only fractions. Because competing with millions, means comparing yourself to someone you aren’t. Because there are so many other things you could be doing, than being the best in a million. Because there are souls, who could care less about being the best. But when you are being one of a kind, you are competing with yourself. And the only way to be better than you, is to be the best person you can be. So why be one in a million, when you can be one of a kind?

War Braden Wells Books on the shelf The sun in the sky My heart is filled as I listen with my eyes As the birds start singing My heart starts beating Then… My heart starts to bleed The blaze starts to roar The buildings are falling I have many sores The fire stretches high The sky starts to fall My world is crashing down And now it is on the floor...

Natives forced, something done and they do not want it. They are standing up and saying no. Scaring police with horses. Protecting their land is more important than going to jail. Jordan Bickford

METAPHOR POEMS

Zada Smith

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Good Will Evan Miller A brilliant mind A temper like a bear Kind friends but horrid family A walking machine of thoughts A god of math and devil of control A sadness indescribable by the common mind Thoughts so deep it could drive any one person to the brink of death and insanity A boy not yet a man A movie character brought to life by pure love of a film A swirling cauldron of knowledge known only by the holder It's not your fault

Metaphors Luca Duina I am continuous yet discrete; Linear, yet not Measured but never correctly I am within everyone and everything But no oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s is correct Ever-changing, yet sometimes standing still Ever-changing but sometimes speeding up Flying for some yet unmoving for others Never the same as before.

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I live for as long as it takes for a tree to fall. I am the cause of many deaths. More people know about me than they do the moon. I bend easier than a fork. I run out of space quicker than an elephant in a cardboard box. People come from everywhere to see me. I carry an apple in my grasp that I can’t drop. Some say I live in the clouds. I understand the opposite of what you say. I don't know what I am wearing. I like to find things even if it is not what I am supposed to find. I am like I can't believe it's not butter, it’s good but it’s not what you want. I am loved all round the world. I am extremely allergic to water. But I am extremely useful. Also high quality. I can last a while. Many have found their way home because of me. I can speak every language. Andrew Boese

I kneel here Day and night My cousin sent me here Holding up his palace As he sits on his throne from above He peers down at me with electricity in his eyes He has sent me here He will pay in the next uprising His palace will soon be as lost as mine It will sink in an abyss of nothingness Gage Cooney

I am the violence in most homes, The thing that makes you shiver, The thing that makes you cry, The thing that makes you happy, I am the object on which you rely, As long as I have your time, An incredible adventure you will take, I have 2000 different faces, Just choose the one you like. Zach Maestas

met·a·phor ˈmedəˌfôr,ˈmedəˌfər/ noun a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable.

Answers to the Metaphors Good Will Luca Duina Andrew Boese Gage Cooney Zach Maestas

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Will from the movie Good Will Hunting Time iphone (satirical) Atlas Television

Solon Perry

CHARACTER SKETCHES

Leyla Rabbat

Channeling Steinbeck Quincy Segal The cool breeze rustled through the trees on the cool autumn’s day. The Gabilan mountains were in view as the three men had left the ranch in search of their own piece of land to own together. The old former-swamper and the little man were quite a ways ahead of Crooks as his crooked-back forced him to slow down quite a bit when he walked. He didn’t say anything to the two men ahead of him. He was completely silent. George was less than enthused to have Crooks along with him and Candy, but was convinced by Candy that Crooks wouldn’t barge in and that he could work very hard, as he had told Candy a few weeks prior. The crunching of the dirt from the men’s boots overtook the sound of their voices. That combined with the fact that George and Candy were far ahead of Crooks made it hard for him to hear about their plan. Crooks silently thought about how he had gotten into this predicament and why he agreed to come with them. Back at the ranch he had his own room and his own books, at least he knew that there was somewhere for him to live. When he was confronted by George and Candy and was asked to join them on their journey, he was very hesitant about leaving everything he knew behind. He was so lonely though. Years of being lonesome had influenced him to finally be with people, and it didn’t matter who. He remembered all those weeks ago before the fiasco with Curley’s wife, he told the big strong guy how it didn’t matter who is with him, as long as there was somebody with him.

Crooks sighed and felt that he had made the right choice. He was going into the great unknown. After all, so many guys had gone through that ranch with a piece of land in their head and none of them had actually gotten it. Crooks felt like he had a right to be concerned and that he was justified in thinking so. He snickered at the others. What a stupid idea they had, why would they be any different than anyone else? Why did he even agree to go along with them? Crooks stopped in the middle of the road. He wanted to turn back, go back to the ranch, have his books and his bed and his workbench-- but then he remembered his explosion of anger. “If ya’ll want me to continue workin’ for ya, you’ll have to up my pay, I ain’t gonna stick aroun’ here no longer.” “Are ya’ threatenin’ me? Do ya’ know how easy we could get ya’ killed nigger?” said Curley. Crooks grew silent. He was defeated once again, defeated by someone more powerful than him. There was no use fighting back. Curley was right. Crooks could get false news spread about him and he could be killed with a snap of a finger. Knowing that he couldn’t do anything, Crooks stood up and slowly walked back to his hut on the side of the barn. Then he stopped in his tracks. He closed his fists and spun around to face the arrogant man. “Ya know what Curley, I’m sick of ya, I’m not your slave, I c’n do what I want.” “I di’n’t say you couldn’t, Crooks, but if you wan’ to keep workin’ for us here at the ranch, you gotta abide by our rules.” “Well I’m God damn sick of your rules Curley! Ya’ hear me? I’m sick of it!” “Then you c’n quit! Nobody’s holdin’ you back. You're not wanted here nigger.” 61

Crooks’ face grew red. “Well then I quit! I hate all of your guts! You think I stink, well to me all of you stink!” He stormed off towards the barn to gather his things. Curley marched toward him. “Woah pardner’” said Slim, “slow down there, we don’ wan’ no trouble, do we?” Curley sighed and gave up on pursuing Crooks. He turned around and slowly walked away from the scene. Slim looked in sadness towards the barn to see Crooks jogging from the barn to the bunkhouse. “George, Candy,” called Crooks. Candy got up from his bunk and peered out the window to see Crooks with a bindle strung on his shoulder. “I’ve changed my min’, I’d like to come work with y’all.” Candy’s eyes glimmered with excitement as he motioned for George to get up. The two left the bunkhouse. “Don’t ya need to quit?” Asked George. “Already did” replied Crooks, “and honestly I don’ think they wan’ me back.” Crooks sighed and remembered his words. There was no way Curley would let him back on the ranch, even if he begged him. Crooks sighed again. Maybe it was a good idea to go along with them. It was time for a change. After all, he had gotten sick of all those men being racist towards him. The birds chirped in the air as the crooked-spined man hobbled his way back to his companion.

-Ella Coull

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Character Sketch: Crooks from Of Mice and Men Meredith Brubaker I’m a simple man with dark skin and kind, worn, eyes. I was tending to the horses when the boss came in complaining about how he had been expecting some guys that morning from Ready and Murray. The guys came later that day. I ain’t met ‘em yet, but I saw them walking in the bunkhouse with the other guys. One guy was very talkative, seemed to be talkin’ for the other guy. The other guy was very big and seemed like he was wantin’ to say things but didn’t say nothing. Slim was tellin’ ‘em about the pups he’s keepin’ here in the stable with me. Them pups is the only company I got besides the horses. I love playing with the pups when I’m not readin’ or workin’. I keep to myself, but I wouldn’t if I had the choice. The other guys, they just aren’t my speed, I get lonely. So lonely it encompasses me, absorbs me, swallows me whole. Makes me wonder if I’m worth anythin’ besides caring for the horses ‘round here. That’s why when Lennie wanted to have a conversation I had to say yes. Without human interaction, a person loses a connection with the world. I lost connection for a while, but now I’m back to normal. Havin’ Lennie around gives me someone to talk to. Someone that looks past the fact that I’m black. Lennie, he don’t see me for the color of my skin, he sees me as a person. I was awfully curious about what Lennie’s goin’ to do If George decides to leave him. I asked him ‘bout it an’ he seemed to get real worked up. I didn’t mean to make him anxious. Sometimes I wish I could look past that barrier, the one that everyone sees people for or through, whether it be race, religion or disability. It’s easy enough to criticize people for doin’ it, but another thing to stop doing it yourself. 64

Reminds me of my dad. He was always telling me not to play with the white kids in the neighborhood. Always telling me to play with people like me, but I didn’t have any people like me besides my brothers. I didn’t like my brothers very much. They was always jokin’ and playin’, never takin’ nothin’ seriously. That’s not for me. So I played with the white children in my neighborhood ‘til their parents asked ‘em to stay away from me, for reasons I didn’t understand. My momma explained discrimination to me right then and there. I ain’t never gonna forget that conversation. She said “Sammy, each person sees things through a lens. Only problem is, everyone uses a different lens. White people round here, their lenses are distorted. Out of focus. We have to use our perspective to help them fix their lenses.” I ain’t never gonna forget that conversation. My momma, she meant the world to me. We were really close before she died, and then my accident happened. Now my back’s all messed up and my family doesn’t talk to me ‘cause they don’ want anythin’ to do with me, a cripple. My momma’s words didn’ mean nothin’ to them I guess. Now I’m livin’ simple and good here on the farm. I don’t want for nothin’. I get paid good for the work I do. Sometimes I wonder whether I could be somethin’ more, but then I realize that I’m doin’ just fine where I am now. I had dreams, still do, but I’m not naive, and I understand that my dreams of being a lawyer ain’t never gonna happen. So I study civil code and use the dictionary to help with my comprehension. That hobby ain’t never turn into anythin’.

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Slim from Of Mice and Men Emma Gobeil Slim sat up groggily, having just woken up from a disorienting dream. Lennie and George had come back to the ranch, alive and well, but they had seemed different. Even after weeks of George’s death, the memory of George’s broken, dead body kept coming back to him. Slim sat up, brushed off his hat, and stuck it firmly atop his tousled hair, and started toward the door for another day’s work. This is how it went every day, the same, monotonous schedule stuck in his brain. Opening the door, Slim saw Curley and some other man fighting. Slim jogged up to them just as Curley’s fist connected with the new guy’s head. He crumpled to the ground, the sickening crunch of his jaw reverberating in Slim’s head. “Curley,” Slim snapped, “What’d you do that for?” “Just showin’ him not to mess with me is all, Slim. It didn’ mean nothin’,” Curley said, a fake innocence in his voice. Slim grumbled something under his breath about a few choice places Curley could stick his glove of vaseline. The unconscious man was on the ground, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. He was a big guy, but obviously didn’t know how to use his strength. With a slight frown, Slim realized that it kind of reminded him of Lennie. Slim was about to kneel down to check on him when he heard a voice behind him. “Mr. Slim? Mr. Slim, you gotta check this out,” Crooks stammered. Slim and Crooks burst into the barn to find Candy on the ground with a bloody nose. Obviously, the new guy can hold his own against an old man better than against a small one. “I didn’ mean to eavesdrop…” Candy’s voice quavered with every word. Suddenly, the new guy burst through the door and stumbled up to Slim. Slim was barking orders at him when the man balled his fist and punched Slim in the jaw. Despite 67

his muscular build, he collapsed with a turn. Crooks and Candy gazed over at him incredulously. No one had ever disrespected Slim like that. No one had a reason. Slim groaned and pulled himself to his feet, his own fist balled. Before they knew it, the new guy was on the ground whimpering and clutching his stomach. “This bastard’s gone by tomorrow.” Slim growled. By the end of the day, Slim had made sure that he would never see the new guy’s face again.

Grace Clapp

INUIT POEMS

Jasper Coffin

SHORT STORIES

Isaac Herreid

The Mysteries of Harris Burdick is a 1984 picture book by the American author Chris Van Allsburg. This story is based on one of the pictures. In The Forest Devin Gifford Trees rustle overhead, their leaves making gentle music. The slide of the clear water over the riverbed is almost silent, and the only noise I can hear is the stamp of Allura’s hooves as we ride. This forest may seem calm, but dangerous creatures hide within its very aura. Anyone who lives within a one hundred mile radius knows that much. Reality is different here, worse. I come to the bank of a river, Allura’s front legs splashing in and disturbing a few fish. Beyond the river stands a boy with a dog at his side. His face wavers in and out of picture, blurring and focusing. I blink hard and pull back on the reins, suddenly desperate to get away from the river. The boy tilts his head only slightly and points his walking stick, which I don’t remember seeing before, at the rocks to my right. Allura whinnies, and the sound startles me. I glance at the rocks, but nothing is there. When I look back across the river, the boy has disappeared, leaving only his walking stick, which is stuck in the ground. I let out a shuddering breath and turn Allura away from the river. Like I said, reality is different in this forest. I ride away from the strange boy, urging Allura to go faster. All I need to do is find the harp and escape this forest. As we ride, the music of the leaves above my head grows into a more metallic tinkling, and I glance upwards.

The sight dazzles me. The leaves have morphed into a million crystals, brushing each other and directing light from one to the next. My breath catches in my lungs and even Allura seems frozen by the sparkling beauty of the leaves. The trunks of the trees have taken on a chrome color, and rocks have become ores that contain a million jewels. I look behind me, expecting to see the normal forest from which I came, maybe even catch a glimpse of the river, but I see more of the same. It’s as if the forest was always this way. Maybe it was. In my daze, I do not notice the grumbling of the earth underneath my feet. It is only when the first crystal falls and slices my forearm that I am able to pull my attention away. I look down at the gash. The pain sears throughout my arm, and bright red blood drips toward my hand. The grumbling becomes more violent, and what was once musical tinkling grows into an angry, constant note. The pulse of the cut on my arm provides a steady beat for the scream. Allura stamps her feet, anxious and confused. Then the crystals begin to fall. They rain down, one after another, slicing into my cheeks, my arms. One even cuts through the reins in my hands. I shout and slap Allura’s neck, but she is already galloping back the way we came. After a moment, the crystals are so abundant that they create a curtain of sharp, sparkling rain. The sound is deafening. I feel as though my skin is being torn from my limbs. Cuts cover every exposed bit of flesh. Allura is worse off, and large gashes mark her sides and face. We leave a vibrant trail of blood in our frantic wake. Suddenly, we come back to the river. The crystals halt as though they’ve reached an invisible barrier and there is silence. Allura does not slow her momentum, however, and by the time she has stopped we are neck deep in the water. The river is chillingly cold, which is peculiar, as we are deep in the summer months. Allura neighs and snorts and struggles to find her way back to the shore. I swim ahead of her and pull myself onto some rocks, the rough granite scraping my legs. I help 87

Allura up after me, and she collapses by my side. I am about to take the cloth from my bag to bandage her cuts when I realize she doesn’t have any. Her coat is unmarred by any wounds at all. I check myself for the cuts I had felt tearing at my skin only moments before and find that I, too, am healed. There is no blood in the river where we swam, and yet the crystal shower that we were caught in is still right on the bank of the river, its pounding muffled by the invisible wall. The only evidence of our wounds is the trail of red that leads from the crystal shower into the river. I glance over at Allura and find her heavily asleep, her breaths measured and calm, much unlike the frantic, wounded gasps I had heard a few moments ago. Bewildered, I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them. Perhaps I am losing my mind. ✾ ✾ ✾ I look down at the large fish who has just risen from the clear water of the river. His many fins flourish in the water and his gaping mouth is open. But in contrast to the many colors of the crystals, his scales are entirely black and white. In fact, everything about him is a dreadful shade of gray. “It is the harp you seek,” he moans. I take a step back, surprised to see him speak to me, and in such a sad tone. “Yes, yes,” I stammer. His mouth twists into some sort of smile. “Look for it with the boy and the beautiful lady,” he says. The fish begins to slip back beneath the clear water, disappearing from view. “Wait!” I call, “What boy? What woman?” “You’ve encountered the boy once before,” the fish burbles, half-submerged. “Find him again.” 88

With that, the fish is gone. My eyes search the crystal water, wondering where he could have possibly hid. Everything is in perfect view, like the water is barely even there. And yet, I can’t see the black and white fish. I look at Allura, and she’s still snoring peacefully. I can’t imagine sleep. I am so close to the harp, so close to saving my kingdom that I can almost see the dead crops rising with new life as I pluck the strings. I must complete my quest. My mind wanders back to the boy I met during my first few hours in the forest. The one who pointed at the very rocks I am resting upon now. Maybe that is the boy that the fish mentioned. But how do I find him again? My eyes wander to the thundering crystal rain that is still pounding against whatever invisible wall holds it back. It feels likes months ago that I first saw that boy; he could be long gone. “Hello?” I say to the smooth river, “Are you there, little boy?” Silence. Nothing but the muffled pounding of the crystals, the velvet flow of the river, and Allura’s calm breath. Then, I look up, and there he is. The little boy, in the same place he had been before, across the river from Allura and me. His face stills blurs and glitches, like he’s not really there. “Oh! Hello,” I say, suddenly uneasy. It is the same feeling I had gotten before when he appeared. The urge to run. He shakes his head and points his walking stick at the rocks I’m standing upon, just as he did before. Then he’s gone. “The beings in this forest do enjoy disappearing,” I mutter. My thought is left unfinished, as the rocks beneath me begin to glow, a liquid gold flowing through them. The rocks glow and the golden current pulses through their crags, slowly illustrating an image of the woman. The beautiful lady. My heart roars in my ears, excited and unable to control itself. I realize far too late that the rocks beneath me are splitting, revealing a cavernous blackness below. And then I am falling. 89

I fall for what feels like days, leaving Allura alone on the riverbank. I scream, but no sound escapes my open lips. When the fall finally ends, I am engulfed by water. No, not water, it’s too thick. Blood. I thrash my arms, but their movement is slowed by the thick red surrounding me. Which way is up? Which way is up? My mind screams. Suddenly, I hear an echoey snap, and I feel solid ground beneath me. The ground is red as well. I lay my shaking hands underneath me and push myself up. I can still smell the strong, metallic scent of the blood. My vision is blurry, and all I see is red. An indistinct woman comes into view. “I don’t get many visitors,” she says. “Wh-what?” I stumble, “Who are you? Where am I?” “Me?” She smirks, “Well I’m the Red Queen. You’ve stumbled upon my chamber.” She reaches out and swipes her hand across my forehead. I flinch backward. “Ah, the harp,” she says, turning away from me, “that’s what you’ve come for, isn’t it?” My vision clears and I see her. She wears a billowing red gown, and her hair is the same vibrant red as the blood behind me. Her skin is pale, but even her complexion seems tinted with red. She has on deep red lipstick and her eyes look like rubies. She wears sharp shards of glittering eyeshadow that stretch from the inner corner of her eyes to her temples. Her beauty is true, yet hard, powerful. I pull myself away from her and look at the cavern I have fallen into. The room is made of what seems to be solid magma, yet it hasn’t lost it’s brilliant red. The rock’s shape swirls, creating a sort of pattern along the walls. “Yes,” I stand shakily, blood dripping from my clothes. “Well, I’m terribly sorry about the blood, it’s only to keep away unwanted company.” She snaps her fingers and I am dry; not a speck of blood remains on me.

Bewildered, I look back at the blood. Not only is it a pool, it’s more like an ocean. It rolls and roars and stretches for miles in this underground cavern. I never would have made it out if she hadn’t wanted me to. “My scout told me about you. He said you were the first outsider he had seen in a long time,” she says, picking at one of her long red nails. “I must say, you peaked my interest.” The boy. That must be who she is talking about. I say nothing. “Well, if you really want the harp, you may have it.” She chuckles at the surprised look on my face. “What? I only use it as a decoration down here. I’m much more powerful than it will ever be. And you need it for that dying kingdom of yours, don’t you?” “Yes,” I say hopefully. “Here you are,” she snaps again and the harp appears in my arms. The weight of it surprises me, and I nearly drop it. “Careful now.” “Thank you.” “Not a problem,” she says, putting a finger to her chin, “although, I’m not sure how much use it’s going to be now. It can’t bring anyone back from the dead. Oh well!” “What?” She snaps again. The word doesn’t escape my throat until I’m back on the riverbank with Allura. ✾ ✾ ✾ Allura and I crest over the hill that looms over my kingdom. The harp is secured beside me, and I can hardly contain my excitement. My family awaits, anxious for my return. I will finally save my kingdom. The ride out of the forest was surprisingly uneventful. No crystal rains, no strange boys, no fish. Perhaps the Red Queen allowed me to leave unbothered. 91

When we reach the top of the hill, I expect to see my kingdom, with its expanse of thatch roofs and brick buildings and farmland. I expect to see my boys and my wife running from our home to welcome me back. They probably won’t believe the stories I have to tell them. But as I look across the hill and into the valley that my kingdom is nestled inside, a sob rises in my throat. The once glorious world of my kingdom has been reduced to blackened and burned rubble. The smell of burning flesh and cannon fire wafts through the air. I’m too late; another army took advantage of my kingdom’s weakened state and attacked it. There’s no one left for me to save. Struck with grief and shock, I dismount from Allura and take the harp from her saddle. I collapse to my knees, the Red Queen’s last words to me echoing in my mind. I’m not sure how much use it’s going to be now, it can’t bring anyone back from the dead. I clutch the useless harp to my chest and weep. It was all for nothing. There’s no way to know how long ago the attack took place. I could have been in that forest for years. Nothing is left. My kingdom, my family, my friends, they’re all gone. Gone.

Ben Poor

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It started off as a regular day, until I went to science class .There was something set up underneath the microscope. It looked like some sort of fizzy science experiment. I took a swig of it and somehow was shot up through the roof and back home. My cat, Elvira, was very angry about me coming and making a ruckus. So she attempted to scratch me but her nails did not go through my skin. I then proceeded to go outside and jump again, but this time I ended up in Alaska. I found out that I may be able to control where I jump to so I attempted to jump back to school to retrieve the rest of the fizzy potion . This time I jumped and I only got halfway back , landing me somewhere in Canada. I tried again and this time I only halved the distance between my previous landing spot and my destination. I knew that I was running out of potion. I tried again. This time I did make it back to school . I went upstairs and saw that the vial that was under the microscope had spilled some of its contents on to the Wisconsin fast plants. So I proceeded to drink what was in the vial which was about four times as much as my original swig. As I started to leave the room, the Wisconsin fast plants suddenly grew and filled up the entire wing. Vines were everywhere. The plants were invincible like I was so I ended up being trapped in school. That was a pretty bad way to spend a day of having super powers. Being trapped in school. Seriously. That ended my day of super-powers. Grant Chandler

Bode Iris

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Managing Minions Spencer Adolphson If I were granted a set of minions for one week, I would be very excited. I would instantly start dreaming up possibilities, and what to use them for. Unfortunately, I would be faced with some ethical questions and dilemmas that I would have to figure out, but I believe I would make the right choices, due to the amount of responsibility I would have. Minions are no joke, they can throw together a fully functional space shuttle in less than a week. I think that the first thing I would do is clone them. If minions are possible, cloning is probably possible too, right? By cloning them, I could give the minions back at the end of the week, and I could still have my own set. In fact, I would probably clone them multiple times over. I would build an army. Now, once I had my army ready, I would probably come to a bit of a block in my thinking. I would not want to use them to break the law, or do something that affects people negatively, like Gru does in the movie. Instead, I would probably use them to help people. I would make an army of helpers. Now, there aren’t real villains like there are in comic books and movies, but people need normal help. I would just send my minions out on patrols to have them help anyone they saw who was in need. Aside from helping people. I would also use the minions to help me create lots of cool technology. In the movie, they built a rocket ship almost effortlessly, and if it was that easy for them to do that, they could probably build a lot more. I would not build a rocket ship, because that would not be practical. Instead, I would have them build me a model of the tumbler from the batman movies. However, I would need somewhere to put it, so I would then have them build me a big garage under my house with a secret entrance. Along with the tumbler, I would also have them build me a small-scale model of a Star Destroyer, an X-Wing, and the Millenium Falcon from Star Wars. These would not actually fly, but if the minions can build a rocket, they must be very precise, and they can probably create very detailed structures. I would keep these in the underground garage that they built me, on display. I can imagine them now, using rulers and scales to design my sculptures. Aside from my own personal desires, I would also have the minions help out with local and worldwide activities. Maybe, they could even get jobs of their own, and help out with construction, and other important jobs. There would be one issue. Because minions are not people, they may be seen as deserving 96

of a lower salary. Of course, they don’t need very much subsistence, and they don’t have too many necessities. Just like in the movies, I would also have the minions help me design weapons and technology. I would not use this to hurt people, but I could use it to have some fun. Besides, some of it could be useful for helping others. I would probably invent a scale-gun, which could shrink or grow objects. This could be useful for moving big, heavy objects, or giant-sizing a muffin. Another creation would be a blaster that transforms objects. This would be very hard to do, as the molecular structure of the object would have to be changed. However, it would be very useful. In fact, it would make me the most powerful person on the planet. I would be able to turn a blank sheet of paper into a row of 100 dollar bills, or I could use it for others, and create special things for them. However, now that I think about it, this would be very unethical, as it would give me the power to do basically whatever I wanted. Because of that, I probably would not make the gun. One last thing I would make is a portal. By inventing the portal, I might become one of the richest people alive. After all, the portal is one of the most fantasized things in the world. But, similar to the transforming ray, I would have to figure out how to transfer matter from one place to another. A final creation that I would make is a time machine. This way, I could travel to the past, and the future to see what things were like. I could take everyday, modern things to the world back then, and probably make a big profit. Then, I could take things from back then, and take them to the future, where I could sell them as antiques. That would probably generate an even bigger profit. This, of course, is assuming that the future is a nice, civil place. To build a time-machine in real life would be impossible. This is quite obvious. The reason for this is because time is not an unstoppable force, or at least, time as we know it. It is true that time always passes, but it is not our time, it is just the flow of life. Of every second that passes, it is impossible to jump back to that second, because that second was just man’s way to interpret time. We cannot travel back to, say, the 10th century AD, or the time of the Mayans, because the 10th century AD was made up by old philosophers and revolutionaries. The era, and the actual passing of time happened back then, but the universe itself does not record it as the 10th century AD. In fact, it does not record it at all. So, because it does not record it, we cannot rewind it. To travel back in time would 97

mean that every second of every minute was recorded, or marked somehow, and to work the time machine, we would have to find the “correspondence” with that record for a certain date. But, nothing is recorded, therefore nothing can be traveled back to. A more practical and realistic task for the minions would be to provide profits. I would have them manage lemonade stands, and such. This of course, would not generate too much money, especially along with the cost of lemons and sugar. However, that wouldn’t be a problem, as the minions could probably make their own GMO lemons. After just a couple of weeks, I could have a substantial amount of cash saved up. Not only could the minions work for revenue, they could also work for privileges. The minions would do all my chores, and they would do them well. I’m sure that they would love to help out. Besides, if they did my chores, I would pay them handsomely, maybe a nickel an hour. Of course, if I were to employ the minions, I would have to figure out how to manage their schedules. Their break time, their responsibilities and tasks, and their salary. But, I don’t really have that much to do anyway, and that would probably take more time to establish than to just do my work in the first place. For all these reasons, although most of them are impossible, I would love to have a group of minions for a week. In reality, I would not be able to do most of the things I wanted to, but if minions were real, I guess anything could be real. Time machines, portals, building a rocket in your basement with no real budget or room to work with, although it may be impossible and absurd, it would still be very entertaining, and the experience of a lifetime.

REFLECTIONS

Aidan McAuslin

A Tribute to Jane Maddie Emrich-Shanks Jane Cleaves. She is a beautiful, inspiring woman. She has taught me to enjoy every moment of life, and never take happiness for granted. She has cancer, and cannot fight anymore. She doesn’t have very long to live, so I have been trying to always think of her, and prepare myself for when I don’t see her anymore. But, instead of talking about the end, I want to talk about the beginning. When I first came to Yarmouth, I was 2, my brother was 5, and my mom was just getting into her job as minister. Jane invited us into the church, and always smiled. My memories of her are of warm socks at Christmas, and cake and lemonade in the summer. When I was younger I hated socks, but one year Jane got me really warm pink socks. I wore those socks for so long, and loved them so much. Every Christmas we got a glass ornament from her, and because I was so little, somehow she got ones that are indestructible. They shine, reflecting the Christmas lights, in their delicate spiraling beauty. We still have them today, and just a few days ago we put them up on our Christmas tree. In summer time, Jane would have some of her family over to her house. She would invite us as if we were family to her too. She made frosted brownies, and had lemonade. A full blown barbecue. And, even though I didn’t know anyone else, it was fine, because Jane would introduce me to everyone. She also always insisted that we bring all the leftover desserts home. She definitely made the best homemade brownies I’ve ever had. Back before she was sick, every church day, you could look back and see her sitting in the very back pew, smiling for no reason. She is a very important part of my life, and when she got cancer I was so scared. I didn’t understand what that meant for the future, and no one else seemed to either. I couldn’t get a good answer from anyone, but around Jane’s 70th birthday, she started getting better. She still didn’t have much hair, but she was clearly stronger. I honestly thought she was going to be all better, and get rid of her cancer. Live for another 20 years. I saw the strong independent woman I have always seen. But, she later got worse, and kept getting worse. When I visited her in the hospital, she was so weak, but also very upset. She was so mad that she had to be at the hospital, and was convinced she was going to be able to go home soon. Sure enough, she was able to go home very soon after that, but she is not able to leave her house. I haven’t seen her in awhile, so hopefully, I will be able to see her soon. She has taught me so much about right and wrong, and I hope I have impacted her life in some way too. Jane Cleaves is definitely family to me. 100

Ana Penza-Clyve

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The Economy of Recess Abby Brown In fourth grade, our district had our school far off campus. There was a main road that lead to it, but including the stoplight, it was a good five minutes farther out. This school was only for the fourth and fifth grade students. I’ve still never really understood why’d they need to have their campus so far off from the main school campus, but it worked nevertheless. Except for the fact that the school was old, and, to put it simply, falling apart at the seams. The school’s structure almost seemed flimsy, they wouldn’t let us open the windows, and so we suffered in the stuffy classrooms while it would be close to 80 degrees outside. The sinks in the bathrooms went down to our knees, and mildew was crawling up the walls. Our library wasn’t a library, but more or less three mobile shelves shoved into an alcove. Not to mention there were only four hallways that intersected with each other, which wasn’t terrible, but I felt like pointing that out. Yet somehow, despite all this, our district still ranked sixth best in the state- I don’t even know how. What I did know is that anyone with afternoon gym class would need to step in the remains of whatever we were eating for lunch that day. Normally month-old pizza. The one year I did go there, before they transferred the 4-5 to the newer school campus, there was electrical construction due to the fact that the fire alarms would go off at random. One of the electricians busted a water pipe, and the entire 5th grade had to leave school. Not the 4th grade though, lucky us. I can’t recall a lick of anything I learned in fourth grade except maybe the times-table sheets, to be done in under a minute. And two read-alouds, one about a girl under truancy for skipping school since she had dyslexia, whose mother was pregnant and house being sold. I don’t remember the title. But the other book I still pick up to this day, Skellig by David Almond. It was one of the most profound books I’ve read in forever. I recommend it to everybody, and don’t tell them what it’s about before. It’s one of those books that is best to go into blind. But besides all of the muck and old heaving heavy rains on the school, there was one silver lining: aftercare. Say what you will, if you have been forced to endure that program. But the one at our school, the one for the four-five, was absolutely the best. Truly.

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We had two overseers, who we will call Patty and Jenna. Jenna would always bring this big iPad, one with a leopard print case that never seemed to get dirty. You’d be lucky after finishing snack first, which normally consisted of the most buttery-popcorn of all time, to ask her for it. And she would just give it to you, simple as that. Now, we fourth graders weren’t trusted with any electronics alone, besides in the computer lab. Even then there was a teacher overseeing our activities. So just being given this iPad was the most amazing thing to ever have been bestowed upon us. And you would not believe what game she had on it- Minecraft. Laugh as you wish, but because the fifth graders all had their nifty phones, they would play Minecraft all the time we were inside. Now, my friends and I loved playing Minecraft at the time; it was a whole new branch on the tree for us to explore. We would log onto their group world and mess with everything- taking items and the lot. Most of the time, we’d end up getting killed by one of them and then getting lost in their world. We were in heaven, and it only gets better. In the pizza-crusting gym, there were piles of gymnastics mats that we would all prop up to make forts. Forts! It was always a rush to see who could get down there first and get the most number of mats to build their fort, where that person and their friends would reside until they have been picked up by their parents. This one time, my friend, let’s call her Beth. I had met Beth after she followed me around the gym, and every time I would try faster ways to rid myself of her, she would continue to follow. We’re still insanely close friends today. Beth and I took all the mats in the gym, and made a museum. Of what? Well, you see there were these paint rollers in the shape of markers, and we would use those to create cat drawings. Besides that, we used the mats to make simple box forts, sitting inside, suffocating in the musty sock smell. Another friend of mine, let’s call her Grace, she and I would go about the school, the only children who the adults trusted to wander the school alone. She and I would literally scrounge through the trash piles the janitors had left when sweeping the place, gathering lost magnets, markers, pens, and rainbow loom bracelets, which were quite the fad at the time, and then we would make a trading post for them. A proper roadside stand- expect it was made out of mats and inside the gymnasium, if you could even call it that. Believe it or not, the trading post was a success, and the other kids actually traded with us! One of the most memorable items we received was a fishtail rainbow loom bracelet, which I kept for myself rather than put up for resale. We now move outdoors, and oh, good lord, even I sometimes venture back to the still-vacant school and wander about those woods. As a matter of fact, two of my friends 103

and I biked up to NYMS just last weekend to explore. We threw, let’s call her Tessa, down the sand dunes behind the school. We have video evidence if you don’t believe us. Outside, we had a magnificent groves of trees that stretched way far back to the aforementioned sandpit, which will once again come up. But these woods were the best things to happen to any of the students, since the teacher allowed us, though only 10-15 feet, to go into them. Here’s where the real story begins. We began making forts outside. There were partial clearings, where the trees would dip to create a coverage, but still keeping half completely open towards the playground for the adults to watch us. These clearings were perfect for a small little ‘living area.’ Everybody claimed their forts, and marked their boundaries with rocks and sticks. Then we decided to make an economy. People would gather rocks, sticks, hay, and then trade it for more resources to continue building their fort. There was a ‘central market,’ where the best of the best owned forts. It grew all the way out to the school’s permitted areas. The adults must have believed that the kids would grow bored of these forts eventually, right? Wrong. All recess, we worked on our community. Trading, building, running off into the wood to get more supplies while the teachers weren’t looking. Covering for our friends who had run too far into the woods and a teacher was coming over. I like to believe that we had established a better working government than the current. I remember the worth of everything perfectly: rocks and sticks were the ‘cheap’ trades. If given enough you may be able to get ‘rock dust,’ a second tier, which came from when we would ground up these glittery rocks and wrap all the shavings into leaves, then to hide underground. We trusted nobody. Then there was the hay. There was a small hayfield right outside where teachers allowed students, for the first part of the year, only to quickly ban it, and everybody would risk one of their fort-mates to go out and get them their currency needed to pay the tax-collector. Yes, there was indeed a tax collector. And nobody objected to him; we all thought it was a great idea. And during aftercare, hay was one of the many things we were able to gather, since Jeanna and Patty allowed us to go as far back into the woods as we wished. We would walk through, pick tea leaves, sometimes even fiddleheads if we were lucky, gather whatever we needed to become rich, then walk back, arms full. 104

But, just beyond the woods behind the school, was the sandpit. The fifth graders, many years back, had convinced the fourth graders that there was a man living in the sand pit. The hobo. The fifth graders since then have passed this story on and on and on, it dying with my fourth grade class, nobody new to scare it with. There was a hobo living in the sandpit, he had a gun and a knife, and if you got too close he would attack you. We merely referred to him as ‘the knife man.’ Or ‘the hobo in the woods.’ I remember many times and many moments when the kids would run out of the woods crying about him, how they’d seen the man and how’d he had the knife. We’d all crowd on the bench then, and wait, and we watched one of the older girls play CandyCrush. I remember one time Jeanna and Patty brought us all down to the sandpit, all of us wanting to see this man once and for all. Our curiosity- and fear- was peaked. I would be lying if I said we didn’t bring anything with us. Many of the kids had made spears from sticks and rocks and twine, or had sharpened rocks in case of any attack. It was a hilarious sight, and I’m almost disappointed to say that we had no encounter with the knife man. Another tale the fifth graders told us was the Duck Tree, a tree that fell between a naturally splitting tree. They said it was cursed, and that they had contracted poison ivy all up and down their arms from just touching it. So my friends and I took it to the challenge and decided to see-saw on it. Everyday. They then decided that the curse only worked on fifth graders. A shame that was. This lasted for a good two or three months, before some people from a neighboring fort crushed it into wood chips for their own personal benefit. Or anger issues. Later in the year, my friends and I tried to make a time capsule out of a pencil box and stickers. Both times we found it dug up the next day and crushed into bits and pieces. Both times we were equally as disappointed. Further towards the end of the year, my friends and I wrote our names on one of the big rocks at the top of the football/soccer field. We shortly got in a fight with half of them, and we, remembering the rock, went back with sand and glue sticks and attempted to cover their names up. I’m actually serious. We thought it would work. A few weeks later, a kid found out our rock, and ratted us out to the one teacher who was notorious for punishing students. At least we thought so, at the time. They’re

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actually quite the nice person. But, through some weird stroke of luck, we never got in trouble. There was another time, where Grace and I had an out-of bounds fort during aftercare. It was a clearing of climbable pine trees that would leave us covered in sap. During aftercare one day, we convinced a fifth grader to stand up in those trees with a bundle of rocks, and drop them on the heads of unsuspecting visitors. Nobody bothered breaking into our fort, though. There were no concussions from us.

Abby Brown

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