Literary magazine 14 15

LITERATURE FROM THE LOST AND FOUND

Evan Wyman

GREELY MIDDLE SCHOOL 2014-2015 !1

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CONTRIBUTORS Literary Work Julia Bisson Jordan Bryant Brendan Carrell Skylar Cooney Hannah Craig Payton DeCourcey Emma Dexter Alex Drago Cori Farnham Kasey Gabloff Christina Gove Payton Hatch

Lilian Hayden-Hunt Isabella Henry Eliza Ingersoll Camilla Lattanzi Savannah Lemieux Abigail Lucey Will Lyden Nik MacDonald Amarayah McRobbie Taylor MeredithPickett Isaac Moore Annalise Panici

Eliot Robbins Max Robinson Colby Santana Katherine Simmons Annika Smart Emma Spoerri Kimberly Steinman Matt Todd Quinn Tompkins Haley Vaccarello Samantha Watt Zoe Watts

Art Work Corinne Ahearn Alex Bard Isabel Bird Isabelle Boisvert Melody Brown Brendan Carrell Lauren Carrell Jill Cass Skylar Cooney

Camden Dean Emma Dexter Will Getchell Isabella Hendry Ellie Howell Delia Knox Matt Kramlich Kylie Josephson Audrey Labbe Carter Lawless

Faculty Advisors: Alisha Goldblatt and Jacey Morrill

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Hope Leclair Chris Martucci Amaryah McRobbie Katie Metzger Edmund Paquin Kate Simmons Aiden Smith Rachel Smith Evan Wyman

TABLE OF CONTENTS 7 7 8 9 10 13 14 15 16 16 17 18 20 21 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 31 32 32 33

POETRY

Isabel Bird Anonymous Lillian Hayden-Hunt Eliza Ingersoll Edmund Paquin Katherine Simmons Payton Hatch Haley Vaccarello Melody Brown Julia Bisson Skylar Cooney Laureb Carrell Annalise Panici Will Getchell Eliza Ingersoll Katie Metzger Camilla Lattanzi Corinne Ahearn Eliza Ingersoll Carter Lawless Katherin Simmons Camden Dean Annalise Panici Abby Lucey Matt Kramlich Savannah Lemieux Jordan Bryant Taylor Meredith-Pickett

Artwork Artwork Untitled Serendipity and Me Artwork Becoming an Author In The Woods Fantasy Artwork He Indestructible Artwork Aqua Artwork Poetry Artwork Summer Artwork Piano Artwork Seasons Artwork Creative Writing Poems Horses Artwork Snow Day Snow Day Tuesday Snowday

35 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

CHARACTER SKETCHES Brendan Carrell Liz McAleney Chris Martucci Julia BIsson Isabella Hendry Brendan Carrell Alex Bard Morgen Dutil Delia Knox Skylar Cooney Katie Simmons Seth Pitcher Isabelle Boisvert Hannah Craig

Artwork Sketch #1 Artwork Sketch #2 Artwork Sketch #3 Artwork Sketch #4 Artwork Sketch #5 Artwork Sketch #6 Artwork Sketch #7

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51 51 52 53 55

A CALL TO ACTION Aiden Smith Annika Smart and Katherine Simmons Anonymous

Artwork Water Pollution Dream Artwork

55 56 62 63 64 70 71 73 75

SHORT STORIES Ellie Howell Isabella Hendry Skylar Cooney Emma Dexter Abigail Lucey Hope LeClair Liz McAleney Rachel Smith

Artwork Stand Up Artwork Artwork Horses of the Stars Artwork Ignis Et Aqua Artwork

75 75 76 77 78 79 80 80 81 82 83 85

REMEMBERING 9/11 Amaryah McRobbie Will Lyden Cori Farnham Jordan Bryant Quinn Tompkins Kasey Gabloff Matt Todd Alex Drago Elliot Robbins Nik MacDonald Amaryah McRobbie

Artwork 9/11 9/11 9/11 9/11 9/11 9/11 Plane 9/11 9/11 9/11

85 86 87 88

89 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101

ARTWORK POETRY Audrey Labbe Hannah Craig Max Robinson

Artwork The Luncheon of the Boating Party

Observations on Horse

SHAPE POEMS

Kylie Josephson Emma Dexter Payton DeCourcey Sammy Watt Isaac Moore Brendan Carrell Colby Santana Kim Steinman Zoe Watts Christina Gove Skylar Cooney Emma Spoerri Jill Cass

Artwork Chickadee Fishing Umbrella Time The Cat The Egg The Cross The Swan The Little Brick House Eaglecrest My Feet Artwork

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POETRY

Isabel Bird

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Anonymous

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Summer Lilian Hayden-Hunt I always like summer best.

My best friend and I will swim in the cold ocean for hours, letting the sun beat down on our pale skin.

My sisters and I squirting each other with the hose, occasionally spraying a bee.

The cool breeze wafting through my window at night along with the hushed sound of peepers lulling me to sleep.

Sitting on my aunt’s boat at sunset, reading a book and watching, listening for loons out on the lake.

I always like summer best and all the possibilities and memories that come with it.

 

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Serendipity and Me Eliza Ingersoll “My very own” I look at Serendipity, hopping around my room like nobody’s watching.

Her white fluffy fur rubs against my leg.

Blue and green eyes gleaming towards me.

She jumps and squishes herself into my kitten slippers.

I walk over and pet her, feel her throat vibrating while she purrs.

Right then and there I realized It was fate who brought Serendipity into my life.

When Dad opened the door, she darted through the kitchen, for a reason.

It was my mom giving me a gift, something to remember her by.

My own cat.

Serendipity “Helpless” Setting Poem I lay in my bed helpless.

Serendipity at my side.

I look at my cat covered wall and stuffed animals at the edge bed.

My father brings me steamy hot soup.

I don’t feel like eating, but I do.

I slurp what’s left in the cream colored bowl and set it by my nightstand.

I raise my hand to my head, it’s sweaty and hot.

I feel a breeze of cold air, flowing through the cracked window.

I stare at the sheets of my bed and think.

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If I weren’t sick I would be flying to Neverland with Peter Pan. Through the woods.

Past Big Ben. Landing on an island.

Where the Lost Boys await for Peter, and greet him with a smile.

I would be Wendy by his side.

With John and George peeking around my waist.

Staring at the boys dressed like animals, dancing around Peter.

He would introduce me, “Boys, this is Wendy.”

They’d all stare at me, with bright big eyes, as my nightgown sways in the wind.

But I’m not her.

And I won’t ever be.

“Lonely Hearts” I finally grasp a kitten in my hands.

I’ve been waiting for this moment, ever since Mom died, it’s been so quiet and depressing.

I never see Dad smile, or laugh.

He’s always locked up in his room, sobbing, Crying himself to sleep, Reading poems my Mother wrote, and fairytales she read.

I want that to change.

I want him to be happy.

Filling a white fluffy marshmallow of love into our hearts, is really what we need.

Someone to fill our lonely life, Someone to hold when we’re alone.

Someone to love.

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“Sara” I’ve waited for air to breath.

A breath to ask my Father.

“Why can’t we have a cat?”

The answer is always the same.

“There’s a good reason, Sara,” but I don’t understand.

What does “There’s a good reason” mean?

My golden brown hair tickles my nose.

Blue eyes filling with water.

I dash to my room, lay on my bed, and look at Serendipity.

“Why can’t you be mine? It’s just not fair”.

“All Alone” My Mother’s gone, and it feels like my Dad is, too.

I’ve been dreaming of my Mom every night.

Her soft voice talks in my head.

She tells her fairy tales and poems, that I love.

But I can’t talk about them. Or her.

Dad will just start crying, and lock himself away.

It feels like there’s a rule.

A rule that Dad’s made clear.

Don’t bring up Mom, it’s too hard to think about her.

So I just speak to Serendipity about her.

But she’ll be gone soon.

Then who will I share my feelings with?

There’s no one else.

No one else to hold me tight, and keep me warm.

No one else to love.

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Edmund Paquin

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Becoming an Author (based on Jerry Spinelli’s life) Katherine Simmons

Football team finally won a game While everyone was celebrating I went home I wrote a poem After giving it to my dad I forgot about it My dad saw potential and sent it to the local newspaper It was published I became an author Thanks dad!

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In the Woods Based on a poem from the book, 100 Quickwrites by Linda Reif Payton Hatch In the woods, I’ve learned to listen to everything.

I listen to the birds, for the sound of someone approaching.

I listen for voices.

I’ve learned to take in my surroundings.

I look at everything around me.

I’ve learned to take in the scents.

In the woods, I’ve learned to be careful where I step I don’t want to step on an underground nest or disturb an animal’s home.

In the woods, I’ve learned to watch where I’m going.

I’ve learned what to touch and what not to.

The woods is the place for me!

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Fantasy Haley Vaccarello Alex and Conner on an adventure Evil Queen enchanting curses Goldilocks wanted A harp guarding a bean stalk Cinderella’s baby kidnapped Fighting the Snow Queen RUN

Melody Brown !16

He Julia Bisson

He stood Staring at his bloody hands Too ashamed to look away For within his fragile Broken body Sat a man who's gone astray He smelled The bitter smell of smoke Dancing in the air Taunting him with dreams of flames Filling him With broken sins That others couldn't bear He cried A single tear As he watched his family fray One by one Till there were none And he was left to stay He lay Upon the wooden frame Pondering the sky His prayers lay unanswered Still swimming in his eyes He wrote About the years of pain That took 11 million souls As they marched into untimely death Till they succumbed amidst the smoking coals

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Indestructible Skylar Cooney I was indestructible, pain meant nothing to me, ideas fogged up my head like condensation on the windows in late October, I was bulletproof, I was fire resistant, But I was only me, The hand moved gracefully as I pondered my situation, time was beating me at my own race, the sand and rocks had always washed the condensation away, footprints scattered the sand, seaweed hung to the rocks, I was strong, I was brave, the vast body of water lapped at the rocks that lead to the land, the yellow, orange, sphere sank into the depths of the mountains, I was unsure, I was excited, power stormed through my mind, the fog drifted away, a silhouette of a mast stood tall on the surface of the sea, my eyes squinted at the last bit of glare, I was confused, I was aware, the light of rays danced on the tall and towering, BOOM! I was scared, I was frightened, the silhouette vanished, the mast fell with a tail of light, What was this?

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Could it be true?

BOOM! ……………… pain gnashed at my palms, the water lapped at the edges of the rowboat, I was sure, I was helpful, I was a smidge past 41.90000 North and 12.48330 East, cries of help echoed off the surface, I was there, I was a witness, BOOM! a black ball spun towards my rowboat, I was only trying to help!

Crash! the rowboat plummeted towards the deep from the impact, I went down, I was cold, I was angry, But I was indestructible!

I swam up to the surface, the long mast had burnt out but was suspended in the open water, this was fantasy, this was UN- real, a cry silently erupted, I hung onto a scrap of wood, I looked around, She was small, she was terrified, A little girl hung onto a piece of wood like I was, I swam over to her, She was alarmed, but even more frightened by me..

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“GET BACK YOU PIRATE!” she yelled, the red that trickled down my arm was then noticed, “You are not one of them?” she said looking at my arm.

“No but it’s ok…...pain means nothing to me,” I sighed, ………. a half an hour later we were saved, We were thankful, I was thankful…. but how bad could it be?

I was indestructible.

Lauren Carrell

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Aqua Annalise Panici You stand there guarding the sand dollars deep in the water.

Aqua waves splash against your shore, welcoming me.

Your soulful aqua eyes glance at me.

Beachcombers, as free as a birds, wander your shore.

Toes digging into your crisp sand as my skin feels the heat of the sun pounding on your sky blue waves, the smiles spread across the faces are why you stay in one place, but are always moving.

We never know what your water will bring.

Swimsuits clinging to sunburned bodies.

My only wish is that you would stop washing away my masterpieces created by your earth.

Birds fly around, bathing in your piercing waters.

We have been pondering your past, just as you have been living in the present.

You reflect the sun, dance with the moon, and place a song into your shells.

Salty smells fill the fabric of my lime green swimsuit.

Waves as firm as the anchors that rest in your waters.

The friendship your shore holds is as miraculous as the creatures in your sea.

Your soul will live on like the sun and the moon, and your aqua waves will fill my heart.

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Will Getchell

Poetry Eliza Ingersoll Fall The leaves fall one by one All different colors The rake leans against the tree The piles stack up Ready for a kid to lie in its middle The air gets cooler My clothes get longer Heavier than usual I feel the breeze whip my hair to the side My eyes close And my mouth folded into a smile I see a cloud of my breath rise into the air My hands curl into my pockets And link together My feet stroll into the house Where warm apple cider waits for me The stove is filled with fire It’s almost too cold for fall  

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Katie Metzger

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Summer Camilla Lattanzi My favorite time to read is in the summer.

I sit in the hammock on our porch with a book, blanket, and pillow.

I start to read and hear my younger cousins screeching and splashing in the lake.

The wind whispers in my ear and I become part of the scene like a painting.

The wind rocks the hammock lightly and I feel a gentle bumping.

My cousins come crashing up the dock like elephants, And my mind blocks that out and falls back into the book, I can hear the sounds the main character hears.

The wind whistles past my ear, Bringing the smells and sounds from far away.

The hammock rocks ever so slightly and I hear a creaking, Which sounds like a bent string on a violin.

Music is coming from across the rippling lake.

It sounds like a jaguar trapped in a cello.

I hear the locust call that has become part of the book, Like a chainsaw cutting a tree.

Dogs bark and cars rumble, The lake is like a smooth piece of plexiglass.

It is flat and shows reflections like a mirror.

The sawgrass ripples and shimmers like a wave, A shimmering, swishing, green wave that rises and falls.

Dead leaves fall and stick to the blanket.

One goes right on my head and I see the brown leaf in the summer sun.

I keep reading and fall back into the book.

The next thing I know my eyes start drooping.

The wind and the warmth are just too much.

I put the book down.

Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to doze a little...

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Corinne Ahearn

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Piano Eliza Ingersoll My fingers slide to the right keys And jump down the notes The music shakes For the vibration is wild My eyes follow the music While my feet tap to the beat The music is clear Then everything stops My eyes fall off the paper My hands now rest on my legs And my foot stops tapping The piano stops vibrating The song is no longer playing The crowd hits their hands My body bows down And ambles off the stage.

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Carter Lawless  

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Seasons Katherine Simmons

What Is Autumn?

Leaves fall off the trees, Red, orange, yellow, and brown, They crunch as you walk.

How I See Spring The flowers pop up, Hibernation time is gone, Trees grow green leaves back.

Mud is everywhere, Days get longer and warmer, Planting your flowers.

It starts to get cold, Halloween and Thanksgiving, Days start to shorten.

Lots of rain showers, Baby animals are born, Tweeting birds outside.

IT’S SPRING!

Goods made of apples, Hibernation is starting, People rake up leaves.

IT’S AUTUMN! What Winter Is To Me The weather is cold, Days shorter and nights longer, It starts snowing hard.

This Is Summer It is really hot, No school, no stress, no worries, Relaxing free time.

Winter sports start up, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, It starts snowing hard

Tanning and swimming, No homework or studying, Wear shorts and t-shirts.

Warm fires, so nice, Bundled up from head to toe, Trying to keep warm.

IT’S WINTER!

Cool beaches and pools, Red sunburns on everyone, Trees give you nice shade.

IT’S SUMMER!

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Camden Dean

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Creative Writing Poems Annalise Panici

Whales Leaping, diving skinny dipping in groups we cut through the blue expanse skimming the surface acknowledging the eager children looking in binoculars the infants toddle to the rail to witness what being free looks like

The Wind to a Sail When you're stuck in the middle of a wide blue sea I will fill your sail and push you onward when your paint is peeling but you can still move I will fill your sail and push you onward when your days of gliding atop the sparkling waters are long past and your wood is splitting in the merciless sun I will be filling your battered sail I will push you onward

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Horses Abby Lucey Horses paint the wind your manes whip around like a paintbrush hooves leave dots on the fresh green grass coats blend and color the breeze run free wild horses

Matt Kramlich !31

Snow day Savannah Lemieux Frosty snow sticks to the glass window captured by the screen Layers of wool and fleece trap the heat The snow seeps through the toasty gloves freezing my hands like ice cubes I am standing alone in a barren desert of snow Tiny snowflakes are like knives hitting my face A frigid metal handle of the shovel snaps under the burden of the snow Curling up in layers of blankets Piping hot cocoa fulls my insides like a roaring fire thawing me from the inside out The tomato soup is like an old friend, reminding me of being younger The windows shake violently from the cold wind

Snow Day Jordan Bryant A vexed blizzard whips snow onto slick and slippery roads Dogs springing and drowning through knee deep snow with snow covered faces and bodies Snow pelting their faces with persistent winds Avoiding the ill tempered storm Others are curled by the fire A book in hand The smell of soup curling around corners A peaceful and placid day of snow and wind A vexed blizzard whips snow onto slick and slippery roads Nothing but plows Daring to step into the bitter air The majority of the population still wrapped in blankets While soft white feathers drift down from the cloud covered sky

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Tuesday Snow Poem Taylor Meredith-Pickett It’s still frigid when I breathe my first awoken breath.

I stay in bed for a little while longer watching a movie.

My cat stands in the hallway like a watch dog, but really he’s just a frail cat who has to stay inside all day, like us.

Half of my house is already awake while the other half still lie upstairs in bed.

So I decide to make some breakfast for everyone As soon as breakfast is done I go outside with my dad shoveling the mountainous snow for a bit.

I go back inside and decide it’s time to play my piano.

Turning on the light, I can see better.

Keys cold like the rest of the house, I start to play.

Bedtime is reaching once I finish, and I watch some more television.

I soon get tired, and drop the curtain early, knowing that it will be another snow day tomorrow.

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CHARACTER SKETCHES Based on Of Mice and Men

Brendan Carrell !35

Sketch #1 Liz McAleney The man is back. I sit in my hole in the wall watching the man who comes into the room every day at this time. He was rubbing his back, a look of pain on his face. I sniff the air and smell the sweet yet bitter tang of the liniment. My paws move forward hitting the edge of the knot in the wood, my whiskers brush the air around me. This man had always fascinated me. Ever since my mother had birthed me in this world as mouse pup I had watched him come and go, in and out of this little room where he ate and slept. He looked different than all the other men on the ranch, his hair eyes and skin were all darker but other than that I could not find anything different about him. I cannot understand why they made him sleep out here instead of in the bunk room with all the other men. I once heard him talk of his past, a chicken farm, what ever that was, his two brothers, and his pop.

I enjoyed watching the human palate of emotions cross his face every day. Today it is hopelessness with a drop of loneliness and something I did not know the name for.

“I ain't never gonna get out of this place!” He cries unexpectedly, launching a book resting on his sleeping place at the wall I watch him from. I flinch and take a few steps back hoping he will not see the movement. He doesn't. “I have been here for longer than anyone else, but do I ever get the credit, no! It’s always Slim of that other white kid. I’m gonna be stuck here forever.” One of the puppies makes a sound and he turns, making sure none of the other humans heard him. I step out of the shadows again. Maybe today he will see me. He doesn't, instead my mother calls me back from the edge claiming I will fall and get stepped on. I retreat into the shadows back to our nest of shredded paper, broken twigs, and grain stolen from the horse's food bags.

I sit outside on the roof warming my belly in the quickly dropping sun. I hear a noise and flip over to face the doors of the barn. The darker man speaks rapidly to the younger, lighter human. Something about a mule needing tar on his hoof.

He nods and runs into the barn. The man left behind sighs and sits on a barrel.

He rubs his temple and looks up at the bunkhouse. Light filters out through the cracks in the old dusty wood.

“If only I was still on the chicken farm. My two brothers and me playing with the neighbor boys. Going hunting with my dad. Life was so much simpler.” He walked back into the barn to oversee the heating of the tar. There it was. It happened to everyone on the farm but the most to Crooks. When the rough exterior cracks away and the shell is all that is left behind. A shell made of regret, hopelessness, a longing for a simpler life and loneliness.

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Chris Martucci  

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Sketch #2 Julia Bisson A man stooped below the sycamore tree, his aging face hidden behind a tipped brown hat. "I ought to of shot you myself," he says."I shouldn't ought to of let no stranger shoot my dog." The man brushed away dirt that covered a large rock that had been placed on top of the mound in the ground. The man then reached up and rubbed the scruff on his chin before moving to the next mound in the ground. A cross had been placed there, leaning against the sycamore tree. He put his good hand in his pocket and pulled out a small mouse. It hung lifeless from his hand as he placed it next to the cross. "George wanted you to have this." He grunted. The mouse lay on its stomach, its brown fur blended in with the brown dirt. The man stood up and looked around at the swaying branches and green pool behind him. In the water a heron stood still, watching him intently. The man looked back at the graves. Tipping his head as if to say goodbye before he walked toward the path that led to the highway.

He recalled the last memory of his dog. "Awright—take 'im." He said softly and hopelessly. He did not look down at the dog at all. He lay back on his bunk and crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the shot to ring through his ears. He still remembered the feeling he had when he heard it.

Like something was released inside of him, anger and grief pounded through his veins and was flowing free throughout him. He took another look at the graves and recalled Lennie. How he lay on the ground with a hole in the back of his head. Still. Not moving, or breathing, or talking. Just a sad, lifeless heap.

The man scratched the stump of his wrist and took in a breath. The air was warm and sweet as he walked back to the farm. He looked to the sky, the clouds were painted with many shades of pink. Those were the clouds he would look at from his porch on his own farm. He would have a garden, and animals, and rabbits.

He would feed the animals alfalfa and eat tomatoes from his garden and never have to work in the fields again. He would sleep in his own bed, and sit in his own chair and live off the fat o' the land. The old man knew that day would come soon. So soon he could even taste the sweet tang of his own tomatoes in his mouth as he walked along the empty highway.

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Isabella Hendry  

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Sketch #3 Brendan Carrell Slim’s always been there for me no matter what, even if it’s not supposed to make me feel better. He always seems to know just the right things to say at just the right times. He’s lucky, being looked up to and all, with that straight back of his, and his overpowering authority. Jealousy ain’t the right word for it, the way I feel about him. He’s just the guy who you’d love to be for only a few minutes, and just feel what he feels, and live in his shoes. We go out sometimes, me and Slim, I’ll ride along with him as he expertly herds the cattle around the Ranch, flickin’ that bull whip of his left and right, always hitin’ his mark. “He’s a hell of a skinner”, is all people seem to say about him, aside from the daily dose of compliments he gets herded with. He’s a lucky fella, he is.

I came into the ranch a couple years back, A young city boy of about 20 years, looking to make some money, and get a house of my own. Came in the same year as that negro Crooks, I did. Slim took us in without question, me bein’ scared and all, I don’t know how the hell he put up with me all this time, but Slim found a way to do it. He always does. I used to be a pretty good lookin’ chap if I don’t say so myself, but I seemed to be growing older twice as fast as normal working on the ranch. Somehow, Slim hasn’t changed for the worse a bit. Time don’t alter his appearance, and time don’t alter his kindness. For some odd reason, since the first time I spoke with Slim, I instantly discerned that Slim was “the” guide and mentor on the ranch, who I could tell anything, and he’d always support my decisions. Thing is, Slim don’t love nobody. Slim’s everyone’s best friend at a party, everyone’s best man at their weddings, but he ain’t no one’s boyfriend, and he ain’t no one’s lover.

Last week, on the hunt for that big small boy, I carried a rifle with me, just like Slim tol’ me to. But it wasn’t loaded. Just like Slim told me to. I must have walked around for ages, looking behind trees, walking down the banks of some rivers, all the while, hopin’ and prayin’ I didn’t find him first. I’ve always been afraid of death. Slim knows that. Me bein’ an atheist and all, there ain’t no way to tell what’s coming after. I knew that I couldn't kill the kid if I found him there ain’t no way. It was about ten minutes later when I heard that gunshot, the one I was hoping so bad wasn’t going to come from the gun in my hands, no matter if my gun was loaded or not. At first, I ran away from that gun as fast as my legs could take me. But then I remembered that the gunshot might not have came from one of our groups rifle’s. So I did what slim would do. I stayed quiet, and I ran back to where I heard that gunshot. When I found Slim and George kneeling next to the dead body of that big boy, why I stayed about as quiet as death itself in those bushes. I could hear ‘em talking word for word, easy as pie. George wasn’t saying nothin’ to Slim.

Slim did all talkin’ like usually. He understood what George was feelin’, or so it seemed

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like it; then, like nothin’ ever happened, Slim just tells George that they should go an’ get a drink. I stayed in them bushes for a long time, just thinkin. People came and went. I stayed put. My company became my thoughts, me in those bushes. It took me a while to stand up, me being all worried about death and all. George an’ Candy are gone. No one went looking for em’ though. Guess crooks was wrong all along when he told me a while back that he’s seen people come and go, but none of em’ ever get to where they wanna go. Took em’ only about a month of work for them to leave, said they got a good deal or something’. I think that’s all they said, actually. George don’t do too much talkin no more. Two troubled men, workin’ together. It was quite the odd sight to see, and yet, somehow it all worked out in the end.

Alex Bard

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Sketch #4 Morgen Dutil In the barn horses bucked, kicking their stalls as a means to rebel. They seemed about done living in the barn, trapped in stalls just to be used for another creature's work. Because to them, that’s all a human was. Just another animal trying to survive, only this kind of animal enslaved other animals to do their dirty work. In the late afternoon sun, birds chirped, flying in and out of the barn, some sitting on the rafters and in the hayloft, others only there for the buffet of insects that lived in the upper parts on the wood roofing. Through the wide open barn door a tall, old man walked in, carrying a broom in one hand.

The horses only neighed and created more noise at the new arrival, maybe they would finally be let out to roam the countryside freely. But that was not up to the old man. The horses did not belong to him.

Aways away an old mutt limped sorely behind in an attempt to catch up to his master. The mix-breed finally reached the barn door and limped inside. The dog walked over to a pile of hay in an empty stall, circled a few times, and lay his head down in the soft but bristly hay needles. The dog let out a sigh and closed his eyes, his breathing slowing down till his breaths were in a familiar shallow sleeping breathing pattern. The old man had watched his dog do this; sad as it was he was happy the dog was still with him, still alive. He knew his dog was getting older, but he had had the dog since it was a pup and had raised it himself. The old man had some free time as he had finished his work for the day.

The boss never gave him too much work, he thought must be because he was getting old and he had been injured four years prior.

Mindlessly the old man pushed his broom around on the barn floor. Only using the one hand he had. The other hand was non existent. The only thing remaining of the end of his right arm was a stick like wrist. The broom picked up loose pieces of hay and brushed them back into an already existing pile of hay in the same stall his dog was lying. The old man was a swamper, as the people at the stable called him. He did the cleaning around the ranch like a janitor at a school. His time was coming though and he knew it. Not death, he wasn’t expecting that so soon. He knew he was going to be fired soon. His age combined with the fact he was a one hand man means that the ranch would be wasting time and money on him. They would want to hire someone who could do more work for the same amount of money.

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The old man set his broom down, leaned it against the side of the stall.

Then sat down in the hay next to his dog. People on the ranch said the dog smelled bad, but the old swamper never noticed. The dog had woken up at the rustling in the hay his master had caused. The dog's eyes darted up to look at the old man. The old man sighed and thought about the things that had been happening lately. He thought about the new guys, George and Lennie. There was something strange about those guys but the old man couldn’t figure it out.

Maybe he’d find out later. He also thought about his dog and how age might be eating him alive. The old man just couldn’t realize the dog was suffering from living. He wanted the dog alive with him. Never would it cross his mind that the dog wanted its life to be over. To be freed from the cycle of day and night and to be able to finally rest in the heavens.

There was some distant shouting outside from people playing with metal shoes and short wooden poles. This brought the man back from his thoughts.

He slowly stood up and grabbed his broom. The dog recognized this as his time to go as well. The old swamper walked to the barn door and stood, waiting for his dog. The dog stumbled out of the stall and made his way over, the limp in his hind leg almost invisible to the man. Together the man and his dog left the barn, with its rebel horses, hungry birds, and cozy hay piles. It was almost as if they were never there.

Delia Knox

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Dear Ol’ Slim,

Sketch #5 Skylar Cooney

Your authority was so great that your ol’ opinion was taken on any subject, be it politics or love. You were a well respected and honorable man, a guide for them traveler’s future. You were tall, with long black hair and strong but delicate hands.

John Steinbeck captures your authority and personality by describing how people act around you and how your relationship is with them other men on the ranch. “You straightened up and regarded Lennie with horror. “We got to get him into a doctor,” I remember you say. “Looks to me like every’ bone in his han’ is bust”. You take charge when needed. You lead the group, and Crooks would agree, as for he said em self, “You're a real skinner. You look out for the team.” However, them other men on the ranch say that ol’ Crooks’ words mean as much as them pups that you drowned when you were young. You ain’t see the difference in Crooks. You respected him for who he was and not for the fact that he ain’t like em’ other fellas. Maybe that why you so honorable, Slim; you lookin out for everybody.

Slim, now you ol’. I imagine you are still tall, with as delicate hands as ever, but your honor will never depart like your ageless face. “There was a gravity in your manner, as a quiet so profound that all stopped talking when you spoke”. Dear Slim... oh I swear that your ear heard more than what was said to you, and your slow speech had overtones not of thought, but of understanding beyond thought”. So now what am I supposed to do? Slim you were them one person who saw Lennie for who he really was. And it ain’t after till he gone I realized what I had demolished. Now you are gone too. Now I am nothing but an ol’ version of myself. Boloney. Man now I got no one to guide me to my next stop. My next bus ride that drops me off a darn 10 miles away from my next destination will never come… cause I ain’t got nobody to take me there!

Poor Lennie. Com’on Slim. You were they very last person besides me that understood Lennie. Once you're gone, he is completely gone.

Everything roun’ here is ol’. Even them sycamore trees. They lean over the green pool like they ain’t had a drink in forever. The leaves crunch beneath my feet whenever I stand up. So maybe I just won’t. Here I sit. Watching them ol’ lives of others who have stood...just like me, at this very spot. Just gazing at their reflection like I am now. I am George. The man who killed my best friend. My family. But I still had you Slim. Cause you still dang picked me up after I had fallen. But now you gone. So while it lasts, rest in peace. Because for now, I’m heading 10 miles north.

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Katie Simmons

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Sketch #6 Seth Pitcher Lennie ain’t normal, we all knew it from the start. He had his own world to tend to.

Couldn’t git’ ‘em out of the world he was living in, and couldn’t get him to pipe down bout’ them rabbits and mice. But, I enjoyed traveling with big Lennie. I remember the first time I met Lennie. I was at the train, an’ I saw a huge, jolly man strolling down the sidewalk with a small man, whom I now know is George.

An’ the big man, who was Lennie, was yappin’ bout’ some dead mouse in his coat pocket. I walked over to ask what was wron’ wit’ them two. Lennie had said they was goin’ to some ranch, an’ live off the fatta the lan’. I couldn’t really understand what it was he was sayin’, but George filled in most of the important details. I wanted to pursue this dream of living on a ranch, so I tagged along wit’ them.

Lennie was a young fella wit’ good intentions. George had to do what he had to do, but Lennie didn’t mean to kill that woman. He was jus’ an innocent man who didn’t know his own strengths. He didn’t know right from wrong based on his own judgement, he seemed to turn to his old pal George in times of anxiety or confusion. I guess you could say that he was some sort of sidekick, or partner, jus’ doing what the leader said. Through Lennie’s eyes, George was his leader.

Like this one time when Lennie was tryin’ to find out happened to George, even though he jus’ went into town. He was gettin’ real upset wit’ Crooks. Crooks kept telling im’ that he was fine, but Lennie wasn’t takin’ that for an answer, an jus’ kept yellin’. Finally George comes back an’ Lennie finally feels much better. That really shows how tight their friendship really was.

Some people jus’ didn’t understand Lennie. They think he was jus’ a young man that didn’t know how to behave himself. He walked like a bear, big, clumsy steps.

Dragged his feet just a little bit. He never did any work, only talked bout’ some rabbits an’ some big farm land. He acted like a child, never once did they think he acted like an adult. It seemed like only Candy an’ Slim really knew what was wron’ wit’ him. He was jus’ a little bit on the slow side, an’ had trouble wit’ his speakin’. Curley hated Lennie cause’ he knew Lennie could easily beat him up without even tryin’. Like that one time when Curley took a swing at Lennie, an’ Lennie was so scared, he didn’t know whadda do. So he jus’ grabbed the sucker’s han’ an’ broke nearly every bone in it. Overall, not many people liked Lennie, they jus’ didn’t have the time to get to know him.

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Isabelle Boisvert

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Sketch #7 Hannah Craig We all seemed to share a sigh as we walked into the ranch, keeping our heads as parallel to the rough wood floor as possible. Curley broke the silence with a snap towards me and Crooks.

“Slim, Crooks. Go on an’ grab a shovel.” He ordered “I’ll go tell the boss.” Curley ran a hand through his tightly curled hair and walked out, his high-heeled boots scuffing the floor. The men all looked around in bewilderment, they were expecting shouting, maybe a fight, but received this calm facade, like the water of the Salinas river before dawn. Crooks was the first to move, as he hobbled over to the shovel that Carlson had used for the dog. We both grabbed one and silently walked out into the unflustered twilight; we worked silently as we dug a hole next to the boss’ wife. Crooks held my eyes for a moment, then walked towards his cabin.

“Crooks, what in God’s name ar’ya doin?” I whispered, as if to preserve the serene evening. With surprisingly efficient speed he just walked in, stripped his bed and peeled his white sheet off the visible springs peeking through the mattress. Then walked towards the barn. As if a pup, we wrapped her and carried her to the hole, and met an assortment of different shadows of men against the retiring sun, one of which was short and thin, his tightly curled hair blowing in the wind, resembling worms. The rest of the men stood in a group away from Curley. As we got closer we saw the glint of glass resting in Curley’s hand that was crushed by a man now dead. Respectfully laying his wife in the ground, we saw Curley take a long swig of Jack Daniels his Adam’s apple bobbing one, two, three, four times as he swayed a bit.

“Do what you gotta do.” I said clapping his on the back, he stumbled as if the impact was too unbearable. Curley steadied himself and took a gulp of air. “ Listen, Kid.” Curley started calmly, gesturing with his bottle, “I ain’t saying you were perfect… Certainly I ain’t saying I was perfect… “ He took a swig “ But I cared for you and I’m sorry.” His words, although slurred, short, calm, seemed to run deeper.

Curley took a swig and gestured toward the group of us. We all looked at each other and Curley drunkenly pointed to Crooks. Crooks nervously hobbled to the front.

“The Lady had many virtues. She was always so kind to me. Despite herself, she always kept her chin high, and that is courage very few men have.” He finished, looked relieved, and promptly hobbled back to the crowd. Curley seemed to analyze his words, his bottle half way up to his thin lips.

“Whadda mean ‘despite herself’?” He asked innocently. The boys held their breath. Crooks’ face stiffened.

“Well, just that she said she was a lil’ lonely in that house,” Crooks said, his voice shaking more than normal.

“When did she tell you that?” Curley’s voice rose.

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“I don’t specifically know when, uh bu-” Crooks said but before he could finish Curley ran towards him, his young face warped into a growl, but before any damage was done I stepped in. My hand against his raging chest, I kept my voice calm.

“Bud, do you really want to do this?” He didn’t look at me “That Negro thinks I can’t take care of my own wife! You don’t know nothin’!”

He punched my gut and proceeded on to Crooks. Curley had him pinned against the barn in an instant. “ I knew she was cheatin’, but I thought she had higher standard than a Negro!”

Curley shouted as Crooks let out an assortment of swears, “No’s” and “Stops.” Curley hit Crooks again and again, briefly halting Crooks’ sobs . Carlson attempted to hold Curley's arms back. I got up and swayed almost as much as Curley, but proceeded to hold Curley back. He screamed in outrage as we detached him from Crooks.

“Do you honestly think I don’t know what gets said ‘bout me? Well guess what? I ain’t the evil one! And I ain’t crazy!” His voice sounded like he was ripping his own throat to shreds.

“Get off of me, you big morons!” Carlson let go and reluctantly I followed.

Crooks was whimpering against the barn, and Candy was seeing about his face; it looked like the only thing keeping it together was Crooks’ leathery skin.

“Curley, you need to calm down.” Carlson said stupidly. Curley nodded, took one last swig and threw the bottle against the barn door right above Candy’s head, spraying both Crooks and Candy with whiskey. They didn’t seem to notice, but Candy lead Crooks into the his shed, briefly swearing and giving Curley rude hand gestures. Curley leaned against the barn, threw up his dinner and sat down in triumph, his brown eyes bloodshot and tired. I sighed and crouched down as if disciplining a child, which in any other circumstances would have given me a shiner. I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again.

“Listen, bud. I know what you’re going through must be hard, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it coming. None of us did,” I said gesturing to the house. “It has been a long day, and you smell.” I offered a hand and he took it. I kept him upright while I guided him through the dark into his house and dropped him on the couch like a sack of flour.

I’ve never seen him so vulnerable, he’s a lightweight after all. I snorted at the absurd day and made my way to my bed where I was lulled to sleep by the hymn of the birds.

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!50

A CALL TO ACTION

Aiden Smith

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Water Pollution - A Call For Action Annika Smart and Katherine SImmons Dear Readers, It has come to our attention that water pollution is a topic people are very aware of, but do little about. People continue to throw debris into the only freshwater everyone on earth will ever have. Barry Commoner, an American biologist, college professor, and politician says, “Environmental pollution is an incurable disease. It can only be prevented.” Although the population may recognize what the waste is doing to the environment, they don’t attempt to improve the mistake at hand, until it’s too late. We presume the key to prevent a great deal of water pollution is to inform everybody about what is happening in our society. Ms. Shute, a Portland Water District educator, visits schools to spread her knowledge to everybody. We believe this intelligence is something everyone should know and have in mind.

It’s harming the environment when society overuses pesticides and fertilizer. When excess fertilizer flows into water, the water becomes foamy. To prevent the runoff of fertilizer, it would be helpful to plant more trees around the shoreline as a buffer. The trees would also help to retain the soil from polluting the water. Buffers keep pollutants from entering the water. Some top pollutants are: soil, dirt, fertilizer, and pet waste. Pollutants are substances that pollute something such as water. One way you can prevent the pollutant fertilizer from entering water is limit the amount you put on your lawn. Fertilizer is very strong so you don’t need a lot of it to keep your lawn attractive. Furthermore, stopping pet waste from polluting our waters is easy. All you have to do is bring a bag, pick up your pet’s waste, and throw it in the nearest trash can. It’s your responsibility.

Despite the people who pollute our waters, there are still some who are making an effort to keep it clean for our survival. Only you can make a difference. Only you can take your best shot at retaining our fresh water.

Sincerely, Annika Smart & Katherine Simmons

By Vberger (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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Dream

Anonymous

I have a dream.

My dream is to have a world without bullying.

We need to make a difference,

the result could change the whole world.

Don’t be a bystander, be an upstander, let your words be heard.

Most people are not aware that bullying can hurt people in many, many ways.

We need to realize that we can put an end to this.

Kids and adults get bullied every day and they get hurt or down and may never show their face.

If you're the bully, take a walk in the other person’s shoes, think twice before you bully them.

Although you might be the bully and you’re hurt and you want someone to feel the same pain as you, that still doesn’t give you right to hurt someone or threaten them.

They have feelings too.

Despite the fact they don’t look the same as everyone else it doesn’t mean they are not part of your world.

Give them the respect they deserve.

If we work together we can put an end to bullying.

I have a dream that someday there will be no such thing as bullying.

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SHORT STORIES

Ellie Howell

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Stand Up Isabella Hendry On the first day of seventh grade, it was a dark thundery,rainy day.

“Oh man,”said Mack.

“This stinks, we won't be able to play football,”exclaimed Dirk.

Dirk and Mack are the two toughest guys in school. Dirk has dark brown eyes, with sandy hair,Mack has bright blonde hair with green eyes,and they were standing near a window,looking outside with a frown. They were bored.

As the door opened, everyone in the classroom turned to stare.A tall shaggy boy was standing in the doorway of the class room. He had hair as black as soot with bright blue eyes,and pale skin.He looked nice other than the frown and the grubby clothes.When the boy looked up, Mack and Dirk realized he was crying. They grinned at each other and walked over to the boy.

“So why you crying?”asked Dirk in a teasing voice.

“None of your business,”mumbled the boy, as he wiped his eyes.

“I bet you want your mommy,”added Mack.

The boy ignored them,yet he started trembling. His lip shook and more tears fell down his pale pale face.He turned away from them, and chose a seat in the back of the classroom,near a window that looks like it had never been washed, a bit like his clothes.

He was the odd one out in the classroom. People stared at the boy as they walked in to meet their teacher. He continued to stare out the window until his teacher asked, in a low voice, “Please take out your notebooks, we will begin writing momentarily.”

The teacher then walked up to the boy and whispered, “Don't worry, Rye,your supplies are in your desk,and we ordered free lunch for you.” Rye nodded and pulled out a notebook and pencil.While he was flipping through the clean white pages which seemed to shine on his face,he was smiling.Mack and Dirk grinned at each other because they heard everything.

Time had passed quickly that day,and Rye was walking home.His feet dragged, his eyes kept on looking towards school,and his hands turned,as if they wanted to see the clean white pages again,and wanted to feel the smooth yellow pencil.But they would have to wait for tomorrow.Rye remembered when he had all those things, and even more,he remembered getting in fresh sheets on his bed, and his head sinking into a pillow like the Titanic sinking into the sea.He thought back to when he was

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three,with the clean cream walls and the white trimmed windows of his house,and he remembered when his mom took him to the beach and when the sand mushed between his toes. But all of that was gone as well, even his mom.

He got home in what seemed like hours,and opened the falling-off-its-hinges door, then walked inside and looked around.The house wasn’t exactly perfect, in fact it wasn’t even close. It had gray paint that was peeling off the walls, one window that looks like the the glass might fall out at any second, there was one chair that was so worn out you can see the springs, and the floor was so dirty it had bits of food and hair on it.

“Hi dad I’m home,”Rye shouted as he walked into his room and sat on his fold up bed. He took out some paper he had taken from school and wrote: tomorrow bring packed lunch! in a dark blue colored pencil. He then took out a safety pin and stuck it to his wall.

“Dad, you here?” Rye shouted again.

“Oh sorry, buddy, ”Rye’s dad said, coming out of his room which he never lets him or his little brother into. Rye’s dad is a tall man who has black hair, with a bunch of gel in it so it makes him look like Elvis,and he has a certain smile that always makes Rye happy. “ So how was the first day of school,” he asked in a happy voice.

“Eh,” Rye answered shrugging.

“Eh, is that it?” Rye’s dad seemed to be surprised,but that was Rye’s normal answer for everything.

“C'mon Rye, there's more, isn't there?”Rye’s dad went on.

“I got to school and, well . . .” Rye stammered,but he was interrupted by his little brother.

“Hi dad, I’m home!” and a loud slam!

“Careful the door could come off its hinges!”Rye’s dad replied, turning away.

“So what else were you going to say?”Rye’s dad was now paying attention to him, but he only replied. “Ummm…nothing that matters.”

“So, dad, do you want me to start the microwave?It’s almost time for dinner,”Rye asked, trying to change the subject as fast as he could.

“We won't be able use the microwave,or buy food,”Ryes dad said ashamed, looking at his worn out shoes.

“Why?”Rye’s little brother asked, “Because we have no more money,”Rye’s dad finished.

Rye’s brother was speechless.

But Rye argued saying, “I WISH YOU WEREN'T MY DAD. YOU RUINED MY LIFE!” “BECAUSE OF ME YOU'RE ALIVE!”his dad shouts back.

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“I WISH I WASN’T ALIVE!”Rye ended.Then there was dead silence.

“Dad, I didn’t mean it,” Rye said with regret.

“Go to your room now,”Rye’s dad squeaked with teary eyes.

Rye walked into his room and slammed the door shut, and faintly heard his dad crying.

A few hours later Rye’s dad knocked on the door and said. “C'mon, we're going out to dinner.”

“Where, the soup kitchen?”Rye said sarcastically.

“Precisely,”his dad replied with no tone at all.

Rye sat bolt upright and yelled, “You can’t make me go!”

“I’m not going to make you go, you can starve if you want,” Rye heard boots on the floor and the door shut.He was alone.

After a while he started getting hungry.He looked out his window and saw rain thundering down on the tar. Rye decided to go to the soup kitchen.He put on his worn out sneakers and his old rain coat and walked out the door. He got to the soup kitchen just as his brother and dad were leaving.

“Hi dad,”Rye said “They are closing soon, I would hurry,”Rye’s dad warned. Rye ran as fast as he could into the line of “customers.” Inside it was like a sea of brown and black fabric. Rye caught a glimpse of the server. He had dark brown hair with bright green eyes and was about the same height as him.When it was Rye’s turn to be served the soup, the server actually talked to him.

“Hi, I’m Nathan,” the server said to him, dipping the ladle into the mush.

“Oh hi, I’m Rye,” Rye replied with a huge smile which seemed to freak Nathan out. “ Well, nice to meet you Rye,”Nathan smiled. Then Nathan served him the slop, and he then turned to the next person.

Rye chose a seat at an old wooden table that looked like it might collapse. He sat down and looked around. The place was made out of concrete with dirty wooden planks for the floor, and there were a few windows that looked very dirty. Rye looked up, and to his amazement, Nathan was coming over to join him. He had two cups of water in his hands, and the water was going back and forth, back and forth. as he walked over to Rye. Nathan handed over a glass to Rye and when the cool glass touched his fingers, Rye realized how thirsty he was and the water swam down his throat and refreshed him.

“Thanks for the water, Nathan.”

“No problem,” Nathan grinned. He turned to Rye and said, “Want to be friends?” in a pleading voice, holding out his hand to shake.

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Then Rye wondered, does he really want to be my friend or is he playing a trick on me? Rye nervously put out his hand and replied cautiously, “Sure.”

Nathan then switched the subject immediately.

“You know I’ve seen you around school,” Nathan said. “You’ve been getting bugged

by Mack and Dirk haven’t you? You look like you’ve been having a hard time.”

“Yeah, I guess I have,”Rye replied. Shuffling in his seat,Nathan’s luminous eyes were transfixing as Rye stared into them.

Nathan was now sitting in the chair next to Rye.He and Nathan sat and talked for hours. Nathan’s eyes then widened.

“Nathan, what are you staring at?”Rye asked. Nathan was so still and scared he looked like one of Medusa's statues.

Rye then turned around. He saw Mack and Dirk standing in the doorway. They were dripping wet and didn’t look too happy.”What are they doing here?”Rye whispered as his thoughts turned dark. Oh no, I got to get out of here, Rye thought frantically.

“I invited them,”Nathan squeaked.

“Why?”Rye pondered “Because this is where we hang out,”Nathan replied.

Rye sighed and quickly said, “I’m gonna head home now.”Rye tried to leave,but Mack and Dirk were bulldozers and Rye was dirt.Mack and Dirk pushed Rye over and laughed.

“You’re such a stupid cry baby,”Dirk snickered.

Rye looked over at Nathan helplessly.To his surprise, Nathan wasnt just sitting there looking down at the table, he was coming over to Mack and Dirk with an angry expression on his face. Mack and Dirk were now holding Rye down to the dirty floor. Dirk could feel their breath and a strong smell of tacos. He winced at the smell. Every laugh that spilled out of their mouths, Nathan got closer and his expression was full of anger and rage. His green eyes were fiery and his brown hair was sticking up on his head, like an angry cat. Finally Nathan got up to Mack and Dirk as Rye was trying to squirm free. Nathan took his hand and made it into a fist and punched Mack and Dirk in the ribs.

“Ouch,” Mack and Dirk groaned.

“Come on Rye, let’s get away from these jerks,” Nathan said in a harsh voice.

“No friend of mine hurts people,” he added as he helped Rye up, glaring at the two boys lying on the ground. Finally someone that will stand up for me, Rye thought with glee.The two boys walked out the door in silence.

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When Rye got home and said goodbye to Nathan, he opened the falling-off itshinges door and walked inside. Rye was dripping wet and was making a giant puddle on the mucky floor boards. Once Rye had taken off his moldy sneakers he walked over to his father’s room and knocked on the door.

“Rye, is that you?” Rye’s dad asked in a muffled voice.

“Yeah dad , it’s me,” Rye replied, looking blankly at the door. “Just wanted to tell you I’m home,” Rye added walking away.

“Wait, Rye come into my room, I need to tell you something.”

“Seriously,” Rye answered in amazement.

“Yes, seriously,” Rye’s dad said.

Rye pushed through the door so excited he almost stumbled. The room was small, dusty, with a small single pull up bed, one window with the shade pulled down, an old wooden chair and a little wooden desk with bills piled everywhere. Rye’s father was standing in the middle of the room, smiling.

“Rye,” his dad said beaming “Yeah,” Rye replied, looking at his dad thinking did my dad have too much caffeine?

“We are moving to an apartment, just across the street,” his dad looked so excited he could burst.

“Where did you find the money for it, though?”

“I got a job that pays two hundred dollars a week!”

“Oh, and your brother started packing, you should too. After all, we are leaving tomorrow!”

“YES!” Rye screamed. He was so happy he could fly, as he ran out the door.

The next day, Rye had packed his stuff and put it in his gray satchel. His brother had a backpack that he stuffed his clothes, blanket and pillow in. Rye pulled at his bed and his brother’s , to make them fold up. Rye’s dad had a giant bag and his fold up bed.

“I will come back later to get my desk and chair, OK boys?”

“OK dad,” Rye and Jack said in unison.

“Jinx,” Jack said with an annoying grin.

“Shut up,” Rye said, having no patience for his brother.

They got to the lobby of the building and were given the key to their room. They hopped into the elevator and skipped out when it stopped. They were in room sixty four, and when Rye walked through he realized there were three bedrooms, a big

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bathroom, a kitchen and a medium sized dining room and a TV. They made themselves at home.

The next day Rye got up and had a shower, brushed his teeth, combed his hair and put on his best clothes. He felt fresh and new. Rye walked out the glass doors of his lobby and saw Nathan standing there.

“Hi dude,” Nathan hollered across the street.

Outside felt fresh as Rye started to walk across the street, and the wet tar felt good on his sneakers.

“Hi Nathan,” Rye hollered back.

Then to Rye’s surprise he saw Mack and Dirk coming down the street. Rye got to Nathan and said, “What are they doing here?” Nathan just shrugged as they trudged past.

“Hi,” Nathan said to them in a harsh voice. They just slightly smiled, then looked down at the road again and finally Dirk lifted his head and replied, “We’re really sorry,” “Yeah we know we hurt you Rye, but do you forgive us?” Mack added.

“Well, I guess, “Rye said cautiously.

“So, do you guys want to walk to school with us?” Mack asked shifting from foot to foot.

“Yeah, sure,” Rye answered. Nathan agreed and Rye hopped along thinking I finally have friends.

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Skylar Cooney

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Emma Dexter

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Horses of the Stars Abigail Lucey Never will we trust the humans again. They hurt us, they chopped my chain off. The magic from it is still lingering in the air. Now all we have is our wings and horns. Our only protection. We feel so helpless. We need to be free again.

“Tonight’s the night” she whispered to her friend, the Ponycorn next door. All she had said about the plan was that it was a bad idea. “If you say so,” she sighed. “We will be free again, we can set the other creatures in this devil of a place free.”

Spottedwing sighed and sniffed the lock on the door outside the stall, or cage if you call it that. It seemed too far away and she felt she would never reach it but she had to, for her, for the other creatures that she never saw but heard wailing all night.

Spottedwing stretched her neck out as far as she could, grabbed the lock, and bit down with her super strong jaws, hearing a crunch.

Chapter 1

Canine

The stallion looked around and cantered quietly towards the entrance of the “barn.”

When he got there he pricked his ear when he heard a low whinny from inside. “ Hello?” The horse inside nickered. The sound seemed sad and afraid. The stallion answered back, “ Hi, I’m Canine and I want to get you out.” It seemed as if the tension on the other horse’s shoulders had just been released all at once. Canine pushed on the door and went right through it, almost hitting the horse standing on the other side. He apologized, hung his head, and looked up at the horse. She was a beautiful mare with a long shining mane and tail and golden horn. She was a light tan color with dark grey socks, ears, muzzle, eye rings, and speckles on her back. Canine felt very uncomfortable standing next to her. Canine only thought of himself as a normal whisperhorse but was told he was very handsome. He was a pale peach color with very dark black tabbycat stripes. The mare looked at him and her eyes said it was fine that he had almost hit her. He lifted his head to its full height and looked around. He had been caught and brought here before and knew the place well. He started to walk to the stalls and the mare followed him and then lead the way to her best friend’s stall. She told canine about the ponycorn and then let him look at the lock. It was dented and he knew almost instantly the mare had tried to bite it and break it. He pushed his nose onto it and heard a click. The mare instantly rushed forward and pushed the stall door open. A small pony stuck her head out into the open and trotted quietly out. She was not as pretty as the mare but she still looked good

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enough. She was a gray-green color with a pale horn. She nodded her head hello and then began to look around trotting up to doors then jumping back when a monster or other creature tried to bite her head off. At the last door she stopped and gestured for them to come over with her tail. Canine and the mare cantered over and looked in. A horse was in there too. Canine opened the door and the horse came out. The horse was a dragonhorse stallion and was very handsome. He had dark rings on a light blue body. His mane and tail were a golden color with dark green stripes. The mare’s friend looked at him and then turned back. The dragonhorse was silent and it was much too quiet for Canine to bare. Canine whinnied quietly and all heads turned towards him. “I am Canine, a whisperhorse,” he nickered. After a moment of silence the Ponycorn raised her head. “I am Gilda, a Ponycorn,” she piped up. A small moment after the Ponycorn her friend replied, “I am Spottedwing, an Alicorn,” she whinnied. Reluctantly and slowly the dragonhorse raised his head. “And I am Creature, a dragonhorse,” muttered the stallion.The impatient and fidgety Spottedwing pawed the ground with a shining silver hoof and snorted. Canine flicked his tail and nodded as if to say “let’s get a move on” and the other horses followed him to the door. Canine told the dragonhorse and the Alicorn to fly over the wall and the Ponycorn Gilda stayed with him. Canine stuck his head through the door and broke the lock so Gilda could pass through. He came back and kicked the door and it swung open so they could pass. Spottedwing and Creature were just landing when the two horses run out. The group galloped away from the barn and Canine heard the pretty Alicorn sigh with relief. He looked back to what was in front of him and felt glad she was free again.

Chapter 2

Spottedwing

Spottedwing saw the stallion Canine glance up at her and his ears had relaxed and she could tell he felt good about something. She remembered a stallion from the tribe she was in before the two legs came and attacked them and caught her. The stallion’s name was Firestorm and he was very handsome with his coat that looked like fire.

Spottedwing was a fine fighter for her tribe and felt they needed her back there. She flapped her wings hard and flew up higher into the sky. She scanned the open plain and saw a black figure ahead. The other horses were galloping straight toward it. She tucked in her wings and shot ahead to get a better look at the creature. It was a small foal, no bigger than a fairypony. The strangest thing about it was its markings. It had a white chest, hooves, tip of its tail, and the tip of its ear. She swooped down closer to the ground and saw there was another one. this one was a white tortoiseshell like a cat. Spottedwing stopped and hovered a bit then flew back to the others who were

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starting to slow down. Not counting Creature who was going painfully slow to stay with the other two land horses. Spottedwing swooped down and told him to stop and land to they all can walk. She landed and watched Creature land next to her. Canine and Gilda drew to a halt beside them. Gilda asked quietly “what did you see Spottedwing?”. “I saw two foals, both very small, no bigger than a fairypony, and they both had cat markings.” Spottedwing nickered in response. Canine looked very interested and whinnied, “They could help us find our way off this plain, or back to their herd!” Spottedwing nodded, and then told Creature that they would have to stay on the ground so it didn't look like an attack. Reluctantly Creature nodded and started after the other two horses who were already walking. Spottedwing trotted up front and directed them toward the foals. They trotted along scanning the empty plain for any signs of life. Suddenly the horses heard a snort and scattered. Spottedwing galloped forward, leaving the others behind. She leaped into the air and looked around frantically. Creature popped up beside her. “Creature! Where are the others!”

Creature looked very shaken and pointed his solid dragon tail at a very dark spot in the ground. It was right where the foals had been. Spottedwing dove down to see it closer and it seemed to be a large looming hole. She flew down like an arrow and swooped down into the darkness flapping her wings to keep steady. A startled Creature flew down after her as if in a trance. Spottedwing glanced back and slowed down so Creature could catch up to her. She had lived in dark caves in her herd and her eyes had become accustomed to the dark. Creature, on the other hand, had no experience with darkness at all and looked terrified. “Creature, you should stay up on land and make a signal fire out of some plants to see if any other horses come, OK?” Spottedwing nickered sweetly. Creature looked relieved as he flew back up into the light of day. Spottedwing also looked relieved. She would never had made it through the darkness with Creature tailing behind. Spottedwing tucked her wings in and flew down farther, scanning the walls and below her for any sign that a horse had fallen. A large flat rock with Canine, Gilda, and foals loomed from the darkness. She sped up to reach them faster. Suddenly the flat rock with the Canine, Gilda, and the foals started to move. The rock was now hurtling at her. Spottedwing wrenched her wings out and flailed her legs trying to slow down so she wouldn't hit the solid rock. Her eyes were huge with fear. Suddenly all she could think of was the fear and sudden pain when it all went black.

Chapter 3

Creature

Creature heard nothing and kept flying up. As he reached the top of the hole he heard a familiar noise. It was the sound of a horse snorting and a long hard tail dragging on

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the ground. He picked up the pace and slowed down at the top before popping his head up into the light of day. A squeal of shock and fear met him. The creature was not a horse. It was a stonefrill. A stonefrill is a creature with a horse’s body, dragon’s head and wings, eagles legs and talons, and a scorpion tail. The stonefrill can make the noise of any part of its body, like it can roar like a dragon, neigh like a horse, and screech like an eagle. But the scorpion part made no noise. It was silent. That’s what made it so dangerous to horses. Creature flew up higher to seem like he was no danger to the stonefrill but it was already after him. Some part of him wanted to go back down into the darkness, yet another part needed to fight the stonefrill. Nothing made him freeze like this before. His wings stopped flapping and were wrenched back in against his sides. His tail froze in mid-twist, and he couldn’t move. Creature plummeted down toward the stonefrill and it just had enough smarts to move out of the way. His wings flew out, and it felt as though they had almost been ripped off. His tail uncurled and he felt it thump against something. Creature winced and swooped up to see the stonefrill screeching and coming at him like an arrow. Its tail was out straight except for the barb on the tip. That was ready to dig itself into his body.

Creature thought it might not follow him if he dove down into the hole and that’s just what he did. The darkness swallowed him up again and he could only go by the faint light from the opening. He had been right about the Stonefrill. It had not followed him into the darkness. He glided down a bit further and felt his tail land on a big flat surface. He felt around in the air for it again and flapped up to it. It had been a ledge and it had a few twigs from an old nest, most likely. Creature sniffed at them and took a deep breath. His tribe had been very peaceful and respected the fire they were given from the star tribe. He blew out and a large plume of fire set the twigs alight immediately. He stepped back and made a mental note to learn how to control his fire. The dark pit was lit up around him and he could see the bottom. Five dark unmoving mounds lay on the pit’s floor. Creature decided this would be the time he really could be the Dragonhorse he wanted to be. Wincing, Creature grabbed the fire in his jaws. He could hear and feel it, sparking and crackling inside his mouth. Nothing hurt him though. He leaped down and opened his mouth to let the fire guide him. It was going out when he landed on the bottom. Creature set it down and one of the dark mounds lifted its head. It leaped up and let out a long hiss. For a second Creature thought it was another Stonefrill but then he realized it wasn’t even big enough to be a baby! It was about the size of a foal and he thought maybe it was one of the foals that Spottedwing had seen. The creature hissed again and stepped toward him. The noise it made on the stone was one of a horse's hoof. Another mound got up and spoke to the hissing creature in a tongue that was most definitely not horse tongue. The hissing one relaxed and stepped back toward the second one. He nudged

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the fire closer to them and saw the silhouette with a small bit of color. One was black with a white sock, diamond on chest, and tip of tail. The other looked to be a pinto but with more color. Creature let out a small snort of greeting and the second one stepped in to the light where he could see it quite well. It was, in fact, a horse. Also, it was a filly. The darker one stepped out too and stood tall next to her. This one was a colt, and he seemed to be very protective of this filly. They both whinnied a welcome and said their names. The filly was Sunfilly, and the colt was Ravencolt.

Creature looked over at his friends. “They are alright,” Sunfilly whispered to him.

One of the horses stirred and sat up. Creature could just see the shadow of the horse and a mangled wing. Spottedwing sat up and shook her head. Creature sat down and folded his wings. Spottedwing looked him in the eyes then studied him. She then rested her head on the stone floor again.

Chapter 4

Gilda

Gilda lifted her head from the floor and shook it to clear the haziness. She could see Spottedwing and Canine but no Creature. She quickly got to her feet and tried to find Creature but fell down and felt a searing pain in her leg. She heard hooves on stone, multiple horses, maybe Creature! She lifted her head and opened her eyes; a young filly stood over her. Gilda jumped and the filly quickly backed away, her eyes filling with worry. The Ponycorn let the smells of the pit fill her nostrils. Everyone was there, but then there was the filly and a colt that she didn't know. Gilda tried to get up again, and put less weight on the leg the pain had come from. She was able to stand and saw Creature with a small fire made of sticks in front of him. Gilda glanced over at Spottedwing and Canine. She studied them, looking for injuries. Spottedwing has a mangled wing, most likely broken, and Canine. He was a whole other level. His leg was twisted and he was curled into a ball. His chest was moving so he was still alive. The filly was next to her again, and this time Gilda didn't flinch, she turned and looked straight at the young horse. The filly was tortoiseshell, like a cat. A colt stepped out beside her, he was black with a white sock and a white diamond on his chest. She looked closer and saw he also had white on the tip of his tail. Gilda whinnied softly as to not wake Canine, “Who are you? And what kind of horse are you?

I have never seen one of you before.” The filly answered her, “We are Feralhorses, my name is Sunfilly and he is Ravencolt. You don't see us often because we are too smart to let those humans turn us into Saddleridens.” Ravencolt had walked over to Creature and they were talking quietly to each other. “I'm Gilda, and I'm a Ponycorn.

But what is a Saddleriden?” She nickered back. “A Saddleriden is a horse that has been tamed.” Sunfilly explains. Sunfilly snorts and looks up at the stars above them.

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“That’s a long way up.” Gilda whispers. Sunfilly lays down, a gesture that means we should get some sleep. Gilda flopped down and fell asleep immediately. The next morning Gilda woke to hooves stomping on the stone and Spottedwing snorting angrily. “What do you mean I can't fly?” Spottedwing screeched. Gilda got to her hooves, not putting any weight on her twisted leg. Spottedwing was towering over Sunfilly, but the young horse was standing tall. “If you fly you will get even more injured!” Sunfilly snorted. Canine trotted over and actually said something for the first time, “Look, I can fly us all out of here if you would just calm down!” His voice was deep and was very stern. Spottedwing stepped back, obviously startled. Gilda walked up next to Creature, “He is the only horse who can fly right now,” she pointed out. Creature blinked gratefully at her, and Gilda nodded to him. Spottedwing gave in after a few minutes and they started to heave the limp Canine onto Creature’s shoulders. Ravencolt was acting strange and kept glancing back towards a certain spot on the wall of the pit. Sunfilly and he had an exchange in the strange tongue Creature had told them about, and Ravencolt seemed to ignore the wall for the rest of the time. After Creature had brought Canine, Gilda, Spottedwing, and Ravencolt up to the edge of the pit he dove back down for Sunfilly. The two horses came back up with mouths full of leaves. Gilda sniffed a leaf, “What are these for?” she snorted. “Eat them and you won't be hungry for a long time,” Sunfilly answered after she set the leaves in front of each horse. Gilda ate hers and helped force them down Canine’s throat. She let Ravencolt and Sunfilly lead as they walked along with Canine on Creature’s shoulders up front, Spottedwing after him, and Gilda in the very back.

After a couple of hours Canine had woken up and was able to lift his head. His legs were in such bad shape he couldn't walk so he stayed on Creature. After about a month Gilda saw a patch of fresh green grass. She looked closer and saw a full meadow ahead of them. She raced up front past Ravencolt and Sunfilly and toward the meadow. She stopped to wait for the others and heard a stone knock against something. She turned and looked at the massive abyss surrounding the meadow.

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Hope LeClair  

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Ignis Et Aqua Liz McAleney Prologue Lux Year 4004 “Are you sure it’s her?” The king’s putrid voice clawed its way from his spiked throne, escaping into the shadows of the room. My bowed head was concealed with a dark sack blocking my vision of the guards around me. The one to my right answered, absolutely positive.

“Yes Sir. Several witnesses have confirmed.” I heard King Venator stand up and walk down the five steps to where I had been forced to kneel.

“Show me.” His command caused the guards to hesitate. After a few seconds the sack lifted. I raised my head, red eyes blazing. King Venator took a step back and I couldn't help a small, sly smile.

“What’s the matter, am I not what you were expecting?” The guards tensed at my words.

“Leave us.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“Are you sure, Sir? She could be-” The king cut him off.

“I said go, or you will be joining her in the flames!” I heard the men’s armor shake as they backed out of the room. Only after the stone doors had shut did Venator speak again.

“So you're the feared sorceress. I was hoping you would be older and less attractive. It is so much harder to put a negative spin on the pretty young girl from the Vita Valley. But then again, the more powerful you are, the more fear you will conjure, so please, show me what you can do.” For half a second, time slowed down, almost stopped, while I looked around the long chamber. The wasted resources in this one room made me want to gag. The giant stone doors behind me were painted with the screams of the murdered. The black spiked throne jutted out of the marble floor like a javelin dripping with the blood of the innocent. The jeweled columns shone with the suffering of every man, woman, and child in this rotten hell of a kingdom. My eyes locked on the 16 torches lining the four walls. They burned dully, almost not at all.

“Careful what you wish for.” The fire on the end of each torch jumped ten feet in the air, turning the gray ceiling black before sinking back down into almost non-existence. King Venator flinched.

His thin frame seemed so skeletal in the illuminating light; the king appeared to be nothing but the memory of a once far more powerful man. Standing once more he walked up to a torch.

“Do that again.” His voice now held an air of awe.

“What do you want from me?” The under pulse of the question thrummed like a heartbeat.

Why haven’t you killed me yet?

“Why, I want you to join me.”

Chapter 1 Nix Year, 4004 We had been marching for what felt like days. My legs were machines, walking without thought.

Being a slave of Moriens Patriea may sound easy to the public, but isn’t. The lies crammed down their throats by the King and his flock of noble puppets are just that, lies. They tell them we are payed. They tell them we are allowed to leave when we want. They tell them we are not slaves.

All lies. We are the condemned, the ones who dared to speak out against the King. The ones who stole the stale bread at the end of the day to survive. The ones who committed petty onetime crimes. The ones who suffered the punishments of others. The ones the world has forgotten. We are constantly being moved building to building, mine to mine, city to city. If we stayed in one place too long, our secret might get out. The truth might be known. Most of the

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slaves didn’t last longer than three months, but I was lucky. I lived a year and a half before I escaped.

We were walking through the Moriens Patriea countryside passing farms, forests, and mountains.

Not a person in sight. No doubt the King had ordered them to stay in their homes until further notice. He must think we're stupid but we are not. We know he hides us to protect his precious Kingdom from rebellion. Sometimes I think the only thing that keeps us going is the hope we cling to. The hope that the people of Moriens Patriea would revolt if they knew what was really happening. A voice blew my thoughts into a never ending abyss. I was stationed to walk at the end of our row and I could see the shooting girl well.

“You can’t do this! They're human beings, you have no right.” She was about the same age and height as me. She pushed her way past the few guards surrounding us. Her dark brown hair framed her olive skinned, sharp-featured face. She wore tight black cargo pants lined with pockets, and a plain black tee shirt. Strapped to her back was a large combat axe over a thin bow with a sack of arrows. She made it close enough to reach out and touch us, closer than anyone had before. Her slender fingers wrapped around my thick pale arm and I stared at her.

Her brown, almost red eyes looked like fire itself. They were full of malice and something else. I realize now it was fear. Fear of an unknown responsibility greater than a single human should ever have to bear.

“Run! Run while you still can! Run!” She shouted with warning in her voice like I had never heard. The guards surged forward and yanked her arms back, breaking our connection. They dragged her kicking, screaming body to the front of the now-stopped convey of slaves. The general grabbed the girl by the shoulders and shoved her to her knees, splashing up the mud from the dirt road below our feet.

“Let you all see…” His voice cut through the valley like a knife made of tyranny. “Anyone who tries to defy the King. Anyone who tries to commit treason and topple the strong monarchy, that has ruled fairly and justly over this land for centuries, all have the same fate. Death.” His hand dropped and the soldiers to his right raised his sword. But before he could end the girl’s life, she burst into flames. Hot blue flames, tipped with white, that should have burned her to a crisp in a matter of seconds but didn’t. The soldiers jumped back and some of the slaves close to her yelped from the sudden heat. She raised her head slowly, eyes closed and opened her mouth.

“You will pay for your crimes against humanity. I vow on my father’s grave I will kill every last one of those responsible for the suffering of my people. For the suffering of Moriens Patriea. I will kill you all!” As she said the last words her eyes flew open. They were burning red, an inner core of orangey red, tipped with blue, like the flames surrounding her.

“Seize her!” The general shouted at the others. They rushed forward but her body had already begun to dissolve into ash. In a matter of seconds all that was left where she had once been were her eyes burning as bright as embers. A voice, her voice, like an echo, called out as if from the tops of the mountains.

“Tell your beloved King to watch his back. I am coming for him.” The eyes disappeared. The ash of her body flew into the sky and floated west, strung along by an invisible net of air.

“Come with me!” The general said, his voice hard and dry, pairing perfectly with his rotting figure and greasy hair. He grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the carriage he had been riding in. Tossing me inside, he followed, blocking my only chance of escape. The cart lurched forward. The sound of tired, beaten feet hitting the mud crept towards me and filled my ears like lead. The cart was quiet for several moments. I reveled in the feeling of not moving. It felt so

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good to lay there and wait. In that moment I didn’t think about the strange fire girl or the one person I thought of every day. All I thought about was the little bit of energy I had left flowing out of my body through every limb I could feel.

“Do you know what it was? What's it’s name?” Classic slang commonly used to describe Source spewed out of his mouth, accompanied by a stream of spit. The general grabbed me by the shirt collar and yanked me upright. “Tell me boy, or you will join slave 14700.” Slave 14700, or Dahlback, tried to escape from the mine a few days ago. He had been shot with a cross bow the second he broke rank. “Talk!” His voice was so harsh I thought he could break me into a thousand pieces with one word. He threw me to the ground, and slid back into his set. I scrambled to the corner of the carriage before he could grab me again. The general leaned so far forward I could smell his breath. His rotten teeth emitted the stench of death and decay. I fought the urge to gag as he spoke. “If you hold back on me I swear…” I cut him off abruptly.

“I don’t know anything. I don’t know why she said that about the King. I don’t know anything!” I repeated this until I surely sounded insane.

“Stop! Stop the carriage!” He shouted out the window. Before we had come to a complete halt he flung open the door and pushed me out. Blood and gravel cracked my face. He pulled me off the muddy ground by the collar of my ripped, starchy shirt. “You better not be lying to me. If you are I will hunt down that girl you are so fond of, and end. . . her. . . life.” He tossed me back into the imprinted dirt, and I was forced to take my place in the slave block, and we continued walking. As we trudged forward, the next slave was forced into interrogation.

To read more, please go to my website!

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Rachel Smith

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REMEMBERING 9/11

Amaryah McRobbie

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9/11 Will Lyden As we think about 911, we think of a moment.

To those who were there, to those who were affected, that was more than an experience. When I asked my dad, just a kid looking for answers, he remembered everything.

From where he was, what he was wearing, what day it was, 911 infected his soul.

It gave him that small cold that will keep popping up.

The one you feel fine with until one day, you feel awful.

He drove home, ditched his meeting, to make sure his family was okay.

When he stepped into the house, we were all there. My brother, my mom, and me.

My dad hugged us as tight as he possibly could, saying he would never let go.

He then quickly left the house to get my sister from school, to make sure she was ok.

911, the tragic day, to us it is history, to many a memory.

9/11 Cori Farnham At the ocean, a toddler walking in the background.

Picking up the phone, hearing the news from the other end.

Jaw dropping.

Leaving the blue sky and the sparkling ocean for a brother’s house.

Cousins play on a lawn. Innocent to what has just happened.

Adults hear the towers have collapsed.

The severity of this event sinks in.

Time to leave for a friend’s wedding where a brother cannot board his plane to come in time.

Journeying home and hanging up posters saying “Never Forget.”

It is true. We will never forget September 11.

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9/11 Jordan Bryant Sitting on the couch, child in her lap Who would have thought Who would have known That damage will come That lives will be lost The news blared with breaking news Stunned No words to fit Who would have thought Who would have known That a life of a classmate will be lost Everything comes crashing down Who would have thought Who would have known That death would fill the nation That sorrow would fill the house of every person Of every soul That dust and ash would fill graves Who would have thought Who would have known

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9/11 Quinn Tompkins After the thunder rolled and the lightning set in, she looked at the screen.

Scared for her husband and child, she hugged them closely in fear as the images went into her head. A terrible time.

A gruesome event, she thought.

It was like a shockwave rolled through her body.

The images looked so surreal. Who could possibly cause this to happen?

All of the now parentless children in the world, all of the widows and widowers now alone.

So out of this world. So unexpected.

And that is what she feared the most.

Anguish. Resentment. Fear for his family.

For his one year old child who had no idea what was going on in the world, crawling on his lap. For his wife who did, and knew that things could really happen.

He thought back to his days in the military.

Standing guard until his feet hurt. Watching every move someone made.

It was like no one knew how bad this was in his mind. How he felt.

Everyone who died, who lived.

All of them have something to fear now, someone to mourn, a grave to dig.

Anguish and sadness burned like a fire.

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9/11 Kasey Gabloff Oblivious, helpless, and frightened, that’s how I felt on that day, That day was the day the world became clear, There were real life terrorists, They were not just in the movies, They could hurt me, Although I lost few, I gained none, In Belgium, I felt alone, but I was not alone, I took comfort in my loved one, Tears were shed, Lives were lost, But, knowledge was gained, I did not know if I could go home, Or, if I had a home to go to, BBC allowed me to see death live, I wanted to be seeing a Hollywood film, But what I wanted to be true was not, Had I known about that day, I would have never left America.

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9/11 Matt Todd A plane flies and has a target in mind. This is the first plane, but it will not be the last. Soon the plane meets its target, and those inside are killed instantly.

Fire begins, starting as a small flame but growing into an inferno of yellows, oranges and reds.

Soon the people inside begin to experience terror as they realize their dire situation.

Some on the lower levels sprint outside, with the knowledge that they will not be the casualties of today.

Others are not so lucky. Some become unwilling skydivers who forgot parachutes, others burn. Some are trapped, and their fate will be determined by chance.

Soon it is over. Those who survived continue to live, while those who were not so lucky are no longer feeling pain.

There are many John and Jane Doe’s today.

Plane Alex Drago The man almost waiting for something as he stared out the window of the twin towers.

The woman who saw the plane first and ran screaming.

The people on the plane watching and waiting as they flew to their doom.

The waiter who waited to serve.

The onlookers who watched in horror.

The man who jumped to his demise waiting for impact.

The people who cried for those that could not.

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9/11 Eliot Robbins

it was a tragedy that struck New York no words just fear that image is stuck for ever fear is for ever. we love you.

it was a day when the city was broken it fell to ashes but we we will never ever forget you.

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9/11 Nik MacDonald As the sun has risen and the birds are singing, it’s a beautiful morning with no one worrying, so innocent, the civilians are working at their jobs when all the sudden their lives flash before them A giant metal bird soaring toward them in the broad daylight Why would anyone ever do this horrible thing I have done nothing to deserve this, people thought as Their families at home not worrying just the thought that their husbands are working Never before would someone think that such a thing could happen Just before they could say anything or even say their goodbyes it happened 911

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9/11 Amaryah McRobbie It was me, I was the one sleeping, Having no idea what was going on.

Being too small to understand, Not having any idea that what was happening will impact us for the rest of our lives.

My parents thinking it was an accident and then the plane hit, Now they were thinking why would someone intentionally do this.

My parents hoping that this was just a bad dream, hoping that they could wake up from this and it would all be okay.

Hoping that they were just imagining this and it didn't really happen.

Those people that wanted to crash into those towers and kill those thousands of people, But why?

Was it to scare us by killing those innocent people?

Did they do this to prove a point?

What was your intention for this?

Why would you this?

Those planes, those buildings, Those people, those lives lost on this day 13 years ago.

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ARTWORK POETRY

Audrey Labbe

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The Luncheon of the Boating Party (Renoir) Hannah Craig Today, my mother forced me into a lovely navy blue silk dress with a flower hat for the boating party.The insufferable boating parties, with the insufferable people and the insufferable ignorant things they talk about. Their biggest concern is who is marrying who and who is having kids.

The absurd northern abolitionists and murderous slaves. I sweltered in the heat of analysis.

Every woman looking at each other's dresses, hats, waistline, and husbands. I decided to distract myself with Mr.Roger’s puppy. Dogs are much smarter than humans. Has there ever been a war amongst dogs? Have there ever been racist dogs? The low buzz of the rich porcelain people around me, the amber liquid in their glasses swish and sway as they gesture. I popped a grape into my mouth and sighed. I was so utterly invisible. I liked the armor of invisibility that my sister, Jane, had placed upon me with her beautiful face and small waist.

Jane was currently chatting up her new conquest. She seemed pathetic when she looked at men that way, like a puppy begging for attention. Mr.Roger’s dog looked at me with amused eyes that suggested she’d been to more than a few of these parties.

I longed to take off these ridiculous clothes that cut my breath and swim to one of the nearby sail boats and just sail.

By Auguste Renoir; photo: user: Nemethd (Phillips Collections, Washington)

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Observations on Horse-Washing Waterfall, a Painting by Katsushika Hokusai Max Robinson Horses on rivers are somewhat weird They just sit there sipping beer Horse, I beg, I wonder why Steam comes from your nose and not your eye It seems to me that in this way It would be impossible to eat your hay To chew, to masticate, to eat A carnivore, to gobble meat For hay and meat are but the same Both are different types of grain One is bland and tasteless, dry The other can be a chicken pot pie So horse on the river, now I ask Why do you carry around a flask?

A horse intoxicated appears to be Of no use whatsoever to me Can’t run or jump or trot, just sip From the flask sitting at your hip Until the morning rolls around When you wake up on the ground And look behind you just to see What lays ahead, in in such glee You realize that this was a lie And this paradox must leave mind For on a river, you still stand With nothing to gain but a hand A helpful hand, lacerated, frail Blowing down the stream in the gale Then re-awake, again, at once Feeling so much like a dunce And wondering how and why He was on a river and not in a pie

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SHAPE POEMS

Kylie Josephson

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Emma Dexter

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Payton DeCourcey

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I, a cat, waits in the shadows. calm and collected, the next day is near.

In my heart, a sinking feeling creeps its way up my spine, and into the base of my neck. A hatred for daytime is deep inside me my nocturnal self takes the reigns, as I pick myself up out of my crouch, and into my casual trot towards my non--existent home.

The land under my paws feels hard. when my peds land on the surface.

A calm sense of well being washes over me, along with the rain, as I stroll along a well known path in the wooded park.

The night is a friend of mine, one that your memories can be forever safe with.

My patch of leaves a bit of grass, home to me and my other animal friends. I cir cle around my den, and I curl up in a ball, wait ing for dawn to dawn Brendan Carrell 

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Egg Poem Colby Santana It sits there

holding

life in its soft coated

shell.

As people dwell on how it does so well. And it could all end in a fall. no matter how much it tried it would only die. and everything inside it would all end. the egg was destined but this priceless piece that would end in pieces. but what isn’t. we are all trapped in a prison. what can’t be woken up can't be arisen. so life is in trap. like receiving a slap. that would lay you down and would banish you. but who are you just some wondering about an egg what will

fool that

do. do something with your life and try to strive like this egg couldn’t. like it shouldn’t. all it wanted was some cushion. for the fall it had to take. something more than a mistake. for it was bound to be broken.

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Andrew, Nathanael, James, Jude, John, Judas, Philip, Peter, Matthew, Thomas, Simon The disciples of the son of God, he sacrificed himself for the freedom of others Death who perched upon one’s cross, haunting those with disbelief, one’s who don’t believe The crown bestowed upon the king, the king is mocked, but with him stays the crown of thorns Innocent mother crossed, the love of her son pains her, but keeps her strong and tall The edge of rebellion, fills people with hatred, they wish for more bloodshed Ungrateful, Unforgettable, Mistreaten, Brought to his knees His head held higher than the rest Impatiently, death waits to claim his new first prize But is defeated by the man above The devil is quickly turned, reveals the worst of himself, While Jesus remains, God waits, death defeated, For now everyone has been given, the gift of life, to live freely without sin, For all of eternity, people will speak of this day, The day death was defeated, and freedom was restored Kim Steinman

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Elegance grace, dove down into the water and comes up, again and again until all the feathers are damp. Swim around the pond on a warm spring day. Forgetting about the winters cold. As the brisk wind flies around the swan, she shakes her head, as if trying to forget. Coming up from the water shaking its fine feathers, as the water glistens off of the swans eyes. Flying towards the sun as if it was magic. Boats smacking together the sound of cracking engines. The gentle waves sway the bird. Spring flowers bloom around the pond.

The smell of fresh spring and flowers, freshly cut grass, lily pads in the pond with wet green frogs. The swan flies into the sun trying to forget.

- Zoe Watts

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Christina Gove

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Emma Spoerri

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Jill Cass

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