Volume XVII: Echoes of the Eighties

EchoEs of the EightiEs Infinitas vol. xviI

Gwinnett School of mathematicS, sciEnce, and technology

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”

— William Faulkner, RequiemforaNun

Letter from the Editor:

Welcome to Infinitas literary magazine’s 17th volume, Echoes of the Eighties. An era of expression, entertainment, and extremes, the ‘80s showcases itself in our magazine through an anthology of various literary pieces based around different settings, scenarios, and issues. Emphasizing both the important historical events that took place as well as the crazy trends and styles, the authors in this collection each have their own unique perspective on the main idea of the ‘80s. We want the readers to experience the echoes of the era through explosive stories and eye-catching art.

Finally, we thank those who shared their literature and art with this magazine.

Aamna Rehman

from table number seven..., Ofuga Aitekha Wawa, Fareed Abdul-Latif

Reagan :( , Mariah Rogers

The Evolution of Fashion, Gabriel L’Heureux

Fall of the Wall, Nathan Wong

Jack and Jill, Aly Aadil Salewala

Control, Gabriel L’Heureux

27 33 35 39 41 45

Sally in Space, Ofuga Aitekha

The Passage of Time, Aly Aadil Salewala

Take My Hand

Fiker Ayalew, 2025

Would you take my hand as we run down memory lane?

My memories are filled with neon lights and broken glass, late nights running down the road in our high tops and falling over one another as we try to win.

I miss those days of endless joy, but I’m glad to have moved on.

I’m glad to have spent my life with you, glad to see you grow and change.

It’s funny how the light in your eyes never dimmed, that mischief never left, and I’m sure you’ve had a full life, but we still have a lot to go, so would you come with me?

Leave behind the cassettes and bulky phones? Move into a new future with me?

Leave behind the neon lights and broken glass?

Would you take my hand as we move forward?

Handclap , LanAnh Doan, 2024

After Hours

Matthew Choi, 2023

“Feast your eyes, Jen, the whole place is ours! Won’t the mall be so awesome when there’s no one else inside?” exclaimed the taller figure.

“Not having to deal with a whole mob of people would be nice, but are you sure we should’ve done this? I mean, breaking and entering, isn’t it like illegal or something?” replied the other, shivering.

“Yeah, maybe, probably, whatever. But you’ve always wanted to do something like this, right, Jennifer? Sneak into the mall late at night and just have fun the whole night long?”

The excitement in the air had immediately faded away as the two turned around and spotted the padlocked doors behind them, barring them from experiencing their musings of mischief. The record store fascinated them with its enticing display of new pop album releases intertwined with shelves of neon green portable record players and standees of music stars, while the boutique beside it flashed a glimmer of a prom-perfect goldenrod yellow dress in the front window, not to be outdone.

“But that was when we were kids, Tiffany. Back then you said you wanted to be a butterfly when you grew up and insisted on Santa bringing you a pony. We just hid from the cleaning lady in the bathroom before the mall closed, so it’s technically not as bad as breaking in, but we’d probably still be in trouble if we got caught!” Jennifer’s eyes darted back and forth across the room, trying to look for any sign of motion.

“Okay, okay, fine! After we do what I

came here for we can just leave from one of those doors over there, ‘kay? Now let’s go. There’s a shortcut through the food court.”

It felt eerie to be standing inside the food court alone, without the comfortably familiar rumbling of patrons anxiously seeking a spot to eat or the judgmental stares of the girls with gigantic curly hairstyles from the rival high school, scoffing as they filed their nails. The room was dim but still had enough lights left on after closing for the girls to navigate through the lines of empty chairs, either due to fate or the ignorance of an incompetent janitor. Instead of the delectable aromas of sizzling French fries and fluffy brown pretzels, all that remained was the stench of citrus from the gleaming linoleum floor. A peppy pop song suddenly started to play on the shopping mall’s overhead, a pleasant distraction from the ominous ambience of the near-empty building. Bright wails from synthesizers were interspersed with a keyboard’s staccatos, while the voice of a young man rose above the instruments, the lyrics of the song becoming muddled and unintelligible due to the resonance of the gigantic room

Tiffany pointed towards the escalators leading to the upper floor. “It’s this way. Come on.” As soon as they walked out of the room, to her horror she noticed the silhouette of a corpulent man.

“Hey you! Stop right there!”

The two ran towards the motionless escalators and dashed towards the second floor, each step they took with

their sneakers creating a pronounced thud. The belligerent guard followed, grunting as he forcefully heaved his body up the escalator, his girth not hindering his pursuit. The two sharply turned a hallway, holding their breaths as they reached a dead end, while they heard the man’s footsteps pass them by.

Then they saw the dilapidated sign.

“It’s gone.”

Tiffany fell to her knees, desperately trying to remember the world they had first entered many years ago, a world where they could only see joy. Everything they ever wanted was present in their special realm: Toys arranged in fashions they would only otherwise see in storybooks, bright pastel colors everywhere, and where Santa awaited them in an artificial winter wonderland after a long queue. The only price they had needed to pay was a dose of puppy eyes and a high-pitched beg…

A shrill screech interrupted her blissful memory. She was returned back to the world where endless lines of gray dusty shelves and flickering, nearly dead fluorescent lights lined the room rather than vibrant displays of toys and games. The world where instead of prancing about and wishing for all the toys in the world, one would instead have to calculate the opportunity cost of having made such a buffoonish financial decision.

“Wait, what? The whole reason you dragged me here was to see some stupid toy store?” yelled Jennifer. “I risked getting grounded and not being able to go to Nicole’s party for that? Nicole’s gonna be so mad and she’ll be all like ‘Why didn’t you go to my party’ for like a month! And not to mention how much my parents are gonna freak! And if that guy finds out we were in here and if he was a cop and we get arrested then that won’t look good at all for applying to college next year and I just gotta get into Yale…”

As the corridors were filled with

panicked wailing, the music had surreptitiously shifted to a bossa nova arrangement, and the clacking of claves and the slow strums of strings blended into the sounds of the night.

cacophonous

Untitled , Avinaash Dholakia, 2024

When Music Melts Into Memory

Serene Harris, 2023

It will fade into the sound of long car rides: Journey’s mournful ballads, Lonely, longing notes mix with Our improvised harmonies and laughter. It will shift into the sound of dancing–Through the kitchen, down the hall–Queen blasting from the speakers, Warbled vocal guitar riffs, And the boom of air drum duets.

It will mix with the sound of quoted lines That have made their way through decades. It will hold the feeling of curling up In front of a screen grainy with scenes Shot 20 years before my time.

When music melts into memory:

She’ll hear Songs in the order They were on her tapes; She’ll remember Waiting by the radio For a certain song to play; She’ll remember Sitting in her room Mixing music on cassettes.

I’ll hear Songs pouring out From playlists on a phone; I’ll remember Growing up on Home-burned CDs; I’ll remember How her favorites Turned into mine.

LANDSCAPE: WHEN GOD PAINTS OUTSIDE THE LINES

Raifah Maruf, 2026

swimming for whole afternoons through the half-cool lake water & the shining mud, drying your sunburnt body in the shade of the sycamore tree, carving runes into rocks with arrowheads, keeping your hair long & wild. boys like you understood one truth: that when you coaxed fish hooks out of the soles of your bare feet, you did not weep at the blood. & when your mothers draped you in their summer jewelry, smeared their blush on our cheek-

bones, told you to stay quiet & behave like beautiful young girls, you could not weep then either. but sometimes, as you lay in your sleeping bags looking up at the stars, you let yourselves dream of city apartments with windowsills full of plants, kitchen cabinets

stocked with cinnamon canisters & vegetable broths, piles of scuffed shoes by the door, yours & your lover’s. these adult apartments with the space enough to name yourselves anything you wanted, where you could embrace the echoes of the bodies you were gently leaving behind.

Untitled , Ayden Skipper, 2025

Brakes on a Cycle

Aamna Rehman, 2023

Saturday evenings were spent at Burnham Park, under a bridge made by elm trees on a thin path set aside from the wide green lawns where families would set up their picnic stations and young boys would play ball. The path’s sides were rough, blending with the leaves and pine shed on the ground--a sign of its age. The town council funded the trail around twelve years ago to avoid the accidents cyclists would have with pedestrians; and since twelve years ago, Jason and I have consistently spent every weekend there, advancing from our three-wheelers to four, then two.

I studied the outline of his back as he rode in front of me, the trail’s width not allowing for us to cruise side by side. I studied the way his white bike rolled: smooth, steady, and avoiding any pebble or crack as if he already knew where they all were.

His clean bike that had managed to stay white after

years of rides in the rain and snow was always ahead of my own. And I thought about how long I had been riding my own two-wheeler for. I don’t think I had ever kept a bike for as long as Jack had kept his, switching between newest models and brighter, flashier colors. I remember going from a laser red to an electric blue, then to a limewire green, and showing off the style to him each time. And he would smile, and call it “neat,” but no matter which bike I bought, it always looked dull next to his clean, white ride. Maybe it went beyond bikes too. Maybe it also had to do with the way we dressed, the way we talked, and the way we held ourselves over the years. It was the way Jason won best reader in primary school, and I was only two books away, but he gave me the plastic trophy anyway. It was the way Jason made the junior rugby team in the 7th grade, and I was told to try again next year, but he refused to join unless the coach let me on. It’s the way Jason gets the highest marks in class, and I’ll always fall a couple questions behind, but he’ll turn his paper over to cover the big red circle. And it’s the way that over these twelve years, in all his efforts to make me happy, Jason has gotten me to slowly resent him.

I would overcompensate to catch up in ways I knew how: baggier jeans,

brighter shoes, multi-colored jackets, and fluffier hair. Louder voice or bigger smile, but even then, Jason’s simple look would outshine mine effortlessly, and I’d go back to being his funny best friend Daniel. I admired him in the way everybody else did, and had the fondness any friend of twelve years would have. But I couldn’t say my throat wouldn’t close up or that my stomach didn’t feel heavy around him.

As if he felt the stare on his back, Jason turned his head and gave me that close-lipped smile, slowing down his bike to get closer to me.

“Why so quiet, Dan? What’s been going on with you,” his eyes squinting against the rays peeking through the elms.

“Thinking about that Physics assignment due Monday, that’s all.”

“Oh that one was a long one, took me all of last night. What a way to spend my Friday night huh,” he grinned back at me again.

“You did it already?”

“Didn’t have much else to do.”

“Sure.”

“I can come over and help you with it.”

“Nah, no thanks. My fault for going to the rink last night instead of getting it done.”

“No, really. Ma wouldn’t mind, you know she loves you and--”

“No, Jace. Don’t busy yourself with me when you know you got your mom to worry about already.”

He didn’t have to go silent for me to know I messed up. I noticed his jaw tighten and his knuckles grow whiter on the bars, the air feeling thick between us.

“Nah, Jace, it’s not like that. I just… I don’t want it to be hard on her.”

“No, I get it. I should’ve thought of that myself actually,” and he smiled again at me with tighter lips.

I nodded and looked down at the trail, starting to count each leaf my lime bike rolled over. Anger pooled in my stom-

ach at myself. Jason’s parents are going through a divorce, and his mom and him are moving to Rhode Island as soon as the school year ends. And I, instead of comforting or distracting him, or cherishing my time left with him, decided to hold it against him.

“How’s she been keeping up?”

“She’s been alright.”

“And your dad?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You should try and be there for both of them, Jace. It’s been hard for—”

“What do you know, Dan? Huh? What’s up with you?” His face was contorted. I had genuinely hurt him.

“I just wanna help, be there for you. A good friend”

“Well, that’s not what you’re doing. It’s just making me feel worse.”

“Funny, you can understand that too.” And I messed up again. Jason’s eyes squint at what I said, and his wheels stop. I brake mine too and look back at him, his jaw loosening and shoulders slouching.

“Yeah, that’s real funny. I know what you’re playing at, Daniel,” his voice broke at my name, and my own throat started to close up too. My ears turned red at the thought of him knowing about my cruel feelings towards him that I had tried to hide for so long.

“Let’s just keep going, Jace. We don’t have many Saturdays left.” I wanted to apologize and take it back. But this was all I could say. A pity excuse to keep a friendship going. He listened, though, and got back on his white bike anyway, pushing ahead of me, and I was left to follow from behind again.

“Just so you know, I always had a little feeling. Every time you brushed me off or stood me up, I would wonder: am I a friend or a competition to this guy. My fault for thinking it was all good, that I was overreacting, making a villain out of a bud of twelve years.”

At that moment, for the first time,

I wished I had skipped that Saturday. I wish I had told him I was going to stay in to work on that physics assignment and asked if we could do some other time. Then our meetings would have become inconsistent naturally, without my mouth pushing them to their end. From what I could see, Jason felt the same way as he made quick pedals; it looked almost as if he was trying to shake off a stranger who wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Daniel.”

“Yeah?” I looked up immediately, hoping he’d say to “move past it” or “forget about it” and give his effortless smile, putting his own feelings aside to make the mood better like he always does.

“I think I’ll go home early today. Ma probably needs me to help out, you know”

“Oh. Sure, don’t worry about it”

He quickened his speed, and I was stuck behind him, still on the trail, watching his back again. I was stuck watching the way he rode in the straightest line and his pace never wavered even in his angriest moment. I was stuck watching his white bike disappear beneath the elm trees, reflecting their green rays so that it turned into a moving sage ripple, making the limewire of mine seem childlike and immature. But as I watched him disappear, I realized that I couldn’t feel that heavy drop in my stomach anymore and my eyes didn’t sting and my chest didn’t tighten. I felt content watching my best friend ride away from me, knowing that when he’d get home his perfect facade would break; and that feeling of satisfaction, more than anything, made me resent him more.

Let the Music Play

Aamna Rehman, 2023

Blue skates with lines of yellow, so that they Turn limewire green, fast when he wants to GO, Scraping and screaming—let the music play! Beats can’t be ignored, so the rest follow

Blue skates with lines of yellow, so that they Turn limewire green, fast when he wants to GO, Scraping and screaming—let the music play! Beats can’t be ignored, so the rest follow

Rings of purple pink red, surrounding green, No one can tell if they’re still, or dancing, Around a neon jail cell that just screams GO: the music—let it play!—vibrating~

Rings of purple pink red, surrounding green, No one can tell if they’re still, or dancing, Around a neon jail cell that just screams GO: the music—let it play!—vibrating~

Comet green on the feet of an all star, He wants to GO—oh no no no!—and race

All ‘round the rink until he’s gone way far From the pink and red—he won’t get away!

Comet green on the feet of an all star, He wants to GO—oh no no no!—and race All ‘round the rink until he’s gone way far From the pink and red—he won’t get away!

Then his skates skid STOP, the green ring long gone Red blades blaze past the star: tired and withdrawn.

Then his skates skid STOP, the green ring long gone Red blades blaze past the star: tired and withdrawn.

SmokeandEmbers , LanAnh Doan, 2024

The Lost Epidemic

Mariah R. Rogers, 2023

Frigid Air. Every morning I wake up to the smell—the feel of mundane frigid air. Whispers. Every day I hear the mechanical whispers of machines, the meaningless whispers of medics, the menacing whispers from members of a family I no longer have. No, they’re not dead I remind myself—but I am.

I died a long time ago….. Some even claim I never existed to begin with, but I fear they suffer from a special case of amnesia. I mean how could I never exist when at my 10th birthday you gifted me the monchichi doll I nonstop begged for. Sure, aunt Cheryl expressed disdain at my pining for a “girl toy” but you gifted it to me nonetheless for I was your “favorite nephew” and you my “favorite uncle.”

How could I never exist when upon my 16th birthday you lended me your Chevy Camaro so that I could finally “learn what it feels like to be free”? I mean, It wouldn’t make sense to entrust such a prized possession to a son that you never had. How could I never exist when I’ve felt love in its purest form? The same love and bond you’ve told me so much about throughout my adolescence. A love so marvelous, that I couldn’t wait to share it with you. However, to my dismay your eyes didn’t sparkle like they used to when I presented my prince charming. Instead, I saw your baby boy turn into one you wish was never born.

A sudden dampness on my cheek awakens me from this spiral of depressing memories. The doctor claims I’ve been here for four months but days tend to

blend together when you’re stuck with nothing to do — no one to talk to. They claim to not understand my illness, but I know there isn’t a public effort to figure it out.

The clock strikes nine and my stomach rumbles with the knowledge that we have been “accidentally” forgotten again.

To my surprise, I hear the door creak open bringing with it a slither of brilliant yellow light. I wait for the normal whispers and shuffling to ensue but they never come. The room darkens as I close my eyes and accept the fact that this is my new normal. Cold, alone…… and now hungry. However, I’m quickly awakened by a strange sensation next to my leg. My eyes snap open to flashes of yellow and orange.

My mind floods with a million questions, but they all evaporate as I realize how calm the creature is. He glides across the room. First floating by the IV then coasting alongside my bed. He stops and the unusual silence of the room heightens the weight of his eyes as he stares up at me, deciding whether or not to acknowledge my presence.

He jumps on the bed and with that some pain and loneliness scuffle away. I pet him and to my surprise he does not run at the feel of my “dirty” hands. He purrs and my ears, so used to insults and prejudices, smile at the sound of affection. He’s warm and reminds me — I am viable. He reminds me that this doesn’t have to be my end.

O.C., Mariah R. Rogers and Midjourney, 2023

Stigmas are Deadly

Carlos Lozano, 2023

More than 1.2 million people in the United States are living with HIV and around 35,000 new infections are reported each year (Kaiser Family Foundation, 2021). Propagated by the misinformation and the scare that the AIDS crisis caused in the 1980s, people with HIV have been discriminated against and have been socially targeted. Due to outdated beliefs and a lack of awareness towards progress made towards curing HIV, the stigmas surrounding HIV and AIDS have remained intact.

In fact, a recent study performed in an HIV clinic showed that perceived HIV-related stigma may cause people that have HIV to internalize different social stigmas up to the point where they anticipate these stigmatizing experiences (Turan et al., 2017). Essentially, people living with HIV make the assumption that due to their diagnosis they will be treated differently and that they will be criticized or shamed for being HIV+. The internalization of HIV stigmas leads to mistrust in physicians and a fear of being socially outcasted by friends and family.

Moreover, this fear of social stigmatization may lead people to not even want to get tested for Sexually Transmitted Diseases (STDs) and HIV. In a study conducted on young people in northern Nigeria, researchers found that the fear of being outside of the social norm was a large contributor to young people not wanting to get tested for HIV in these communities (Babalola, 2007). This mindset is counterproductive and essentially places these young people’s lives at

stake as HIV is more easily treated the earlier it is found. Without the stigmatization of a life threatening disease, nearly 680,000 lives could have been saved in 2020 (UNAIDS, 2022).

Stigmas are deadly. As long as the social stigmas surrounding HIV & AIDS are prominent in modern societies, the progress made towards eradicating and treating this virus will be set back. Normalizing being HIV+ and spreading the correct information for receiving the proper treatment will help thousands of people gain the courage to save their lives.

A Night of Music

Amah Mancho, 2023

So try to produce a catchy jingle Doesn’t matter if your feet all stay stiff It goes for all, both the young and single Just put your hands in let your spirits left

Then disco balls hanging from the rafters Then swift feet move to the magic music Then everybody is smile and laughter Then the boots too cool for you to kick

So people are doing a little dance Doesn’t matter if it is all day or all night It is a fun time so give it a chance Just shift your weight, you’re doing it all right

Beach or movie, the choice is yours to make With you it is all fun, there are no stakes

Nostalgia is the antithesis of Nuance

Dobromir Iliev, 2024

The 80s, when did we end up in the future? There was so much prosperity. You shaped our collective identity. But in reality, you affected quasi tutti. Solemnly speaking, you need to maneuver.

For the last three decades, we have been your pursuer. In terms of media, you were the epitome of premium. A neon-themed millennium. A nation egalitarian. We were in the perfect state.

How, then, have we ended up in this fate? Politics? Conflicts?

The 2020 Apocalypse? Oh. Not quite. We have our Nostalgia glasses too tightly bound.

The decade was not without a frown. The decade was like a frozen lake, dig beneath, and the allusion quickly breaks. Not everyone got a piece of cake. But the light of the fire is a sight.

We weren’t always in the right. I feel as though I was misled.

You were rambunctious and relevant, but you have been read. Reaganomics, consumerism, and Hollywood’s faux reality have come to a head. I wish I could like you, but I know that Nostalgia is the antithesis of Nuance.

City Lights

Micah Xu, 2023

Thesceneopensinanoffice,withalone womansittingonachairsurroundedby stacksofbooksandpapers.Then,suddenly,amanwalksinandsitsacrossfrom her.

ALICE exasperated: “Kev, what on God’s green Earth are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be… I dunno… messin’ around with the airheads outside like you always are?”

KEVIN amused: “Hey now, I wasn’t the one messin’; I just happened to be nearby when your main man homeboy John came by and started hitting on all the Betties.”

ALICE awkward: “Th-that’s not–whatever. Just shove a plug in it and tell me why you’re here.”

KEVIN serious: “I’m here because I heard you weren’t feeling well. I’m your coworker, yes, but I’m not some bootleg lame-o klutz who can’t notice when the big boss is feeling blue.”

ALICE somber: “Well… just ’cause I’m feelin’ blue doesn’t mean you gotta check up on me. It’s not like I’m gonna freak out on the job or anything.”

KEVIN annoyed: “Well good thing I’m not easily shaken off. Just tell me what’s going on, would you?”

ALICE sighing: “Fine. You wanna know so bad? It’s because I ain’t fit for this.”

KEVIN: “What? You’re pulling my leg. You have to be! You’re, like, the best boss we have had in the 20 or so years this company has been running.”

ALICEplacesherhandsonherhead.

ALICE: “Twenty five and a half, I think. Look, just ’cause I’m good at something doesn’t mean I like it. I used to be able to just veg out in front of our barn and take in the surroundings. And now I’m stuck here, a wannabe manager with no time to myself anymore. I live a humdrum life with a lame job in a lame city.”

KEVIN contemplating: “Well, I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, but the city is different at night. It’s like all the color that isn’t in the day comes out at night. If you come out at night and the city is still a mess, then yeah, it’s not for you.”

ALICE amused: “Whatever happened to not telling me how to live my life Kev? The city can bite me, haha!”

Bothlaughforamoment,andbothexit.

Scene 2

ALICEisinanapartment,checkinga watchasthesunbeginstoset.Shelooks outofthewindow.outofthe window.

ALICE amused: “Alright Kev, let’s see if you’re right, you smarmy little wannabe therapist.”

ALICElaughstiredlytoherself.

ALICE amused: “I’m even talking to myself now, mental, ain’t it?”

The sun sets. The city is dark and nothing happens.

ALICE annoyed: “I knew it.” Nothinghappens.

ALICE thinking: “That’s it, isn’t it? The city is just as boring as before.”

ALICEturnsawayfromthewindowand beginswalkingaway. Thecitybeginsto lightup,withbrightlightsandcarnoises slowlycomingin.ALICEturnsbacktowardsthewindow. Thecityshines.Cars blare,andmusicplays.

ALICE thinking: “I… I hate this. It’s loud, but even though it’s loud, I can’t help but feel drawn in. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I catch the rhythm? Get in the groove, get with the funk? Why? It’s so fast. It’s a dance, but not a waltz. It’s a song, but not a ballad. It’s so… strange.” Thecityglowswithlight,synth-popand carnoisesfillingtheroom.

ALICE whispering: “It’s… it’s too fast.”

ALICEholdsherhead,turningawayfrom thelightandclosingthewindow. Scene fades.ALICEwritesanoteandwalksout oftheapartmentdoor.

End.

Untitled , Amelia Kaim, 2025

from table number seven

Ofuga

Aitekha, 2023

i see massive red booths along the walls, checkered floors everywhere you turn, a mirrored wall behind the bar where i could see my reflection

i smell a fresh stench of wine from the bar, the sharp aroma of spices and prepared food at the tables, and steam from metal pots and pans i feel smooth tabletops in warm gold hues, the rough paper napkins i crumple, the sticky leather seat covers, and warmth from the neon lighting i hear the fizz and froth of bubbly pop, clunks of silverware and dishes, murmurs from the other tables, and doors swinging open throughout i taste crisp buns and crunchy lettuce leafs, beef patties thicker than a book, cheese melting in my pearly teeth served with salty golden french fries how lovely i say how lovely…

AloneattheDisco , Kaif Ridwan, 2026

Wawa

Fareed Abdul-Latif, 2023

“Where is Tasun?!” My mother’s cry echoed throughout our home. I pretended not to hear her; I really did not want to be a part of the mess conjuring up that evening in the house. If only my flawless tactic had worked, as I saw my mother gunning straight for me.

“Answer me Kwasi,” my mother demanded, “are you not in this house?”

“I’m sorry but I was out at the market this afternoon,” I innocently replied, “He was gone by the time I returned.”

“Out at market? With what money?!” my mother snorted. “You couldn’t buy anything meaningful with three times the amount you have saved up.”

Ouch, I thought. She was right however; the market had been getting rougher and rougher by the day. I can’t even buy the bufrot Auntie Hawa sells at the stand under the green tent pitched near the edge of the market clearing.

“I’ll come deal with you later,” my mother said, interrupting my current train of thought. “If I find him and hear that he ran out with those fools he considers friends again, I’ll have uncle Alhaji give you both buala.” After this assertion, she then promptly took her leave—not giving me any time to protest against the unfairness of such a threat.

Whatever, I thought to myself, He’ll probably be in before midnight. I needed to take a nap—too many things to keep track of these days.

Creeeeek…..Crash!!!…..

3:15 a.m. Three voices. Yelling.

So suddenly (and rudely) interrupted in sleep, I awoke to the mess I had been fearing that afternoon. “Guess he’s back now,” I drowsily muttered to myself. At that point, there were two thoughts in my head: get up and see what was going on or simply pretend to be asleep and hopefully wake up the next morning under the guise of obliviousness. I didn’t need to decide as the chaos made the decision for me. Before I even twitched a muscle, the door to my room burst open and the three voices flooded inside.

“Kwasi,” one of the voices commanded, “gather yourself and come out here.” After a moment of silence the voice added, “Do not play with me boy. I know you are not sleeping.” Stumbling my way to my feet, I stepped out of the comfort of my quarters and into the lamp-lit living room. There, in the still, somber darkness, I saw each of the sources of the three voices: My mother, my brother Tasun, and my uncle Alhaji—the current chief of our community—all sitting in a rough semicircle on the living room couches like a council about to hear a trial. The faces of my uncle and my mother were just barely illuminated by the light given off by the kerosene-fueled flame so that I could just barely make out their grave features, but the face of my brother was almost completely shrouded in darkness.

“Kwasi,” the disembodied voice now evidently belonging to my uncle began, “Take a seat—you need to be a part of this as well.” The eyes hiding in the darkness followed me as I found a spot on the cold, damp floor to complete the circle. After

I settled down, my uncle turned to Tasun and began to speak: “You,” he shot, “can you account for your whereabouts this past afternoon?” My uncle questioned him sternly, looking intently into the splotch of darkness where he resided. Dead. Suffocating. Silence. “Do you have ears?! Answer me!” As he said this, I saw his hand twitch in the darkness, and the object in his hand caught a taste of the light from the nearby lamp. I saw it only for a moment, but I already knew what it was.

Thiscouldgetuglyquick, I thought to myself. “Tasun, we know where you were this afternoon,” I suddenly interjected. “It is not wise to draw this defiance of yours out any longer.” Before the last few words left my mouth, I saw the featureless faces of both my mother and uncle turn towards me.

“Now you have a mouth to say something,” scolded my mother while my uncle’s eyes fixed on me for such a length of time as to suggest he would say something before silently turning away to face my brother once more. I’ll deal with you later was the message that was communicated by that simple act.

Those few words held a cutting truth. I had merely observed Tasun and his activities with the insurgents, knowing that any attempt to counsel him would result in an outcome neither party would like (which typically consisted of a couple of crossed lines and new bodily marks to show for it), but I also figured that my silence was what fostered the growth of this problem: a festering passion within his being.

“You can speak at any time. I’m not going anywhere,” my uncle continued. I winced in anticipation of Tasun’s response. These days, Tasun was always

finding ways to get himself into trouble and draw unwanted attention to our small village, the kind that not only puts his life in danger but also the lives of those around him.

“Why do you not heed warning? Why do you continue to associate yourself with the conspirato—?!!”

“We are wasting away in stagnation. Tell me: What good has come to Ghana after independence?” Tasune flatly stated before my uncle could finish. “Cereal grain production is down by over 12%, and the gold and cocoa we are known for are not holding up like we thought they would. Imagine that, the Gold Coast has no gold!” he exclaimed, his contorted face momentarily surfacing from the shadowy depths. “And the blind lead the blind,” he bitterly added.

The chamber of shadows fell silent once more; the lamp on the center table had almost burned through its supply of kerosene, and the three voices seemed to retreat further into the dark. I was, however, able to just make out the knuckles of my uncle as his fist clenched tighter within his lap, raising the item in his right hand ever so slightly. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who noticed this, as both my mother and brother shifted within their respective seats. The challenge was obvious. The hyena confronts the lion.

“So you believe you and your little group of fools know better? Do you not remember what happened last year with those who were merely suspected of being involved with the coup? Maybe you need a little refresher to regain the use of your brian,” my uncle spat as he began to sit up.

“That is all you ‘wisemen’ know how to do,” my brother rebutted as he leapt to his feet, “to unfairly criticize. We at

“The hyena confronts the lion.”

least show the willingness to act while you elders sit around and pull tasbih, expecting your hopes and prayers to manifest themselves into a solution for our problems. I’m not afraid to do something about it all!” Then, eyeing the right hand of our uncle, added, “I’m also not afraid of that stick you’re carrying, so you can go ahead and sit yourself down.” Now, instead of silence, the room was filled with the resounding sound of Tasun’s voice. I was in utter disbelief. Had his passion finally pushed him over into the realm of madness? To show such disprectect not to just any elder but someone with the title “Alhaji” was simply unheard of, especially for someone expecting to wake up the next morning. I guess that was not really

his concern at that point.

“We are not children anymore— the time where you used to herd us like sheep, though my brother here may still act like a meek little boy, too afraid to stand on his own.” He turned to me in the darkness as he said that, casting a shade of judgment down onto me upon the floor which I sat. Even though I couldn’t see his face as it was still accompanied by an entourage of shadows, I still couldn’t meet his gaze, and I simply bowed my head in shame. We were similar in age (I was just a few months older than he was), but from the way we each acted the average passerby would assume that I was his junior.

“I see,” my uncle suddenly

Whatmattersmost?, Fareed Abdul-Latif, 2023

stated, interrupting my moment of self pity, “you truly are just a foolish boy. You want to make the world’s problems your own, yet you have not endeavored to take care of the ones within the confines of your own home.” Despite also being taken aback by the theatrical display of boldness by my brother, my uncle still maintained his composure and somehow seemed more intent on setting him straight.

“In the time you spent running about pretending to play war, did you ever consider who would handle your duties at home?”

He probed on: “Your mother told me today that you were supposed to pound some plantain for fufu and also tend to the goats and chickens. If not for Kwasi, would we not all have suffered the consequences of not having these tasks done? It is fine if you choose to forgo food, but what about your brothers and sisters and cousins? Although your brother is far from perfect, I suggest you show him some respect. Do you ever stop to think that stability is not the result of—.”

“Stop,” Tasun cut while holding up a dark hand, “you are literally doing what I just now accused you of. Keeping our heads down and going about our lives the way we always have been won’t change anything. We’re steering a ship while ignoring the worsening storm ahead! It is also amusing to me that you

2023

mention food as well. When was the last time we were able to obtain cassava to make simple garri? You can only find it in the market at a 23 cedi markup thanks to the PNDC and its austerity measures, and, as a result, some of the villagers are now dying because they’ve resorted to eating the wild cassava growing in the bush out of desperation! That’s how uncle Kareem fell sick if any of you remember!”

The lack of approval present within the still room prompted him to continue: “That’s why we need to take the bull by the horns and start by addressing the tumor causing our nation’s sickness: the PNDC. Jerry Rawlings and his vision is

Kin, Fareed Abdul-Latif,

what Ghana needs, and the fact that none of you can see it is why we’ve all had to suffer this much.”

Tasun finished his harangue with his eyes wide open, fists clenched, and body leaning aggressively forward. That was, at least, how I imagined him at that moment as the kerosene lamp had finished burning through its fuel and plunged the room into pitch black.

“So that’s your solution?” A new voice finally spoke out. “Launch a coup and then get swept away by the next group of rebels who think themselves better leaders and continue the cycle that took your father? These words, unmistakably belonging to my mother, sliced through the silence of the shadowy room. To this my brother had no response for, and his hesitation did not need to be seen in order to be felt.

I decided to leave the room at that point. I was tired of listening to people who shared the same passion yet were too stubborn to see past the length of their own noses to realize it, so I simply walked off and left the three voices in the darkness where I found them.

TheChief, Fareed Abdul-Latif, 2023

Reagan :(

Mariah R. Rogers, 2023

They said it would be the beginning of a new era. A time no longer polluted by the radical change and liberalism of the ’60s and ’70s. A people’s president: relatable, down to earth, hard working… moral. Full of integrity, unlike those typical politicians, corrupted and full of lies. Certainly, this new era would be full of progress, not only for the country but for its people. Finally, a president that puts the wants and needs of America first. Finally, a president not clouded in controversy and scandals.

Certainly, his eccentric charm will provide strong leadership. Surely, his War on Drugs and tough outlook on the law will solve the pressing issues of crime and addiction. Without a doubt, his innovative economic policies will lead to prolonged growth. It would be absolutely unreasonable to assume unseen consequences such as… let’s say… trillion dollars of debt to accumulate. He’s our fearless leader of the ‘80s. Our epic educational and environmental reaper. Our colossal congressional bypasser. Our eccentric epidemic ignorer. The 40th president of the United States: Ronald Wilson Reagan.

Eye,Mariah R. Rogers and MidJourney, 2023

The Evolution of Fashion

Gabriel L’Heureux, 2023

Fashion has evolved over the years. Going throughout the decades much can be seen, from Edwardian fashion, including large hats, silk, satin, damask, chiffon, derby hats, and more, all the way to Eighties fashion, including padded shoulder power suits, aerobic leg warmers, polka dot dresses, colorful leotards and bodysuits, double denim top and bottom, and more.

In the 1900s, structured silhouettes were still popular at the beginning of the aughts, and the simplification and loosening of dresses did not appear until later in the decade. Modest dresses, bodies molded by corsets, and splendor dominated women’s fashion throughout this decade. Modesty was emphasized with dresses covering the body from the neck to the foot and long sleeves covering the arms. The overall look was of a mature, sophisticated, and graceful woman. The most formal option for men throughout the decade was the frock coat during the day and tails in the evening. During the day, the three-piece suit dominated, and neckties were essential and allowed for a small pop of color. Homburg hats were quite popular, as well as top hats. Men would rock a slicked-back hairstyle and no facial hair. However, then we transition to the 10s.

In the 1910s, Tens fashion had evolved from the Edwardian Era. WWI impacted the 10s style. The decade opened with a softer silhouette than the decade before, inspired by the “S-shape.” As the S-shape began to disappear altogether, skirts began to taper towards the bottom and a completely new style, an empire

waist, emerged. The rise of “Orientalism” was also a significant development of this decade. It featured draped fabrics, vibrant colors, and a column-like silhouette. Then in 1914, tunics worn over skirts were a popular wartime fashion, as were simplistic, utilitarian clothing. Women began to wear overalls and trousers as they worked in munitions factories for the war effort. After the war ended, simple styles continued, and a “barrel-like” silhouette emerged. In the early parts of the decade, men’s fashion largely continued from the previous decade. The lounge suit typically consisted of a sack coat, a waistcoat, and trousers; collars were worn starched and high on the neck. A bowler hat was often worn with this. Like womenswear, menswear saw a divide before WWI began, during, and after the war. Though part of their uniform and not a fashion statement at the time, the trench coat saw its rise. Women would style their hair into a pompadour to match their style. However, then we transition to the 20s.

In the 1920s, Tens fashion evolved to the Twenties. A newfound simplicity created the famous “la garçonne” look that dominated much of the decade. Also known as “the flapper,” the look embodied 1920s dress with a dropped waist and creeping hemlines. Another trend for women was that of sportswear worn as daywear. Sportswear had been an acceptable form of casual wear for men for a while, but in the 20s, it also became suitable for women. Men moved away from starched collars and formal threepiece suits during the day and adopted soft

collars and one- or two-button suit jackets often worn without a waistcoat. The most significant development in menswear occurred in two kinds of trousers: the Oxford bags and the plus-fours. Oxford bags grew in popularity when undergraduates at Oxford adopted wide-legged trousers. The original style was about 22 inches wide at the bottom, but as the style spread, so did the width of the trouser legs until they reached up to 44 inches wide at one point! Plus-fours developed from ordinary knickers—short-legged trousers that gather around the knee. They had four extra inches of material (hence the name), but instead of extending the trouser leg, they still fastened around the knee, and the excess material hung over the band, creating a more baggy look. In addition, men wore a hairstyle combed to the side with short sides and a shiny look. However, then we transition to the 30s.

In the 1930s, Thirties fashion had evolved from the Twenties. In the “feminine silhouette,” the simple lines of the thirties hugged a woman’s curves, creating a soft, feminine silhouette. “The bias cut” was to cut fabric on the bias, meaning that it cut the fabric 45 degrees against the weave, creating a fluid, body-skimming garment; it was also quite popular. They generally followed this type of cut and style, whether a dress or a smart suit. Menswear became more progressive; while men still wore suits for formal occasions and work, casual wear such as knitted sweaters and soft-collared shirts became increasingly popular during the day. In addition to this, ties were no longer obligatory. Flat caps also became more popular among men, and women would not leave the house without a short wave or curly hairstyle. However, then we transition to the 40s.

In the 1940s, Thirties evolved to the Forties. WWII greatly impacted fashion; it was dominated by rationing. Utility clothing and uniforms were the

most omnipresent forms of “fashion” during the war; they could be bought with ration coupons. This style included padded shoulders, a nipped-in waist, and hems just below the knee. However, this was most popular in the U.K. In the U.S., Norman Norell and Claire McCardell rose to prominence. Norell created designs incorporating unrationed sequins on sheath dresses, creating sparkle in an otherwise bleak world. McCardell’s techniques tended to be more practical and sporty; she navigated rationing restrictions and created designs that became “classics.” When certain materials were limited during the war, she would look to other materials, such as denim, to act as her new stylistic approach. As for men, McCardell made clothing marked by its pared-down look. Instead of buying new suits, men would rely on claims they already owned when they were not in their uniforms. Though this was the case, a new men’s look rose. The “zoot suit.” This exaggerated style was worn predominately by minority working-class men. Men would leave the house with a sleek comb-over if they did not already have a military cut. However, then we transition to the 50s.

In the 1950s, Fifties fashion evolved from the Forties. As the war had ended, fashion was no longer influenced by it. One of the most popular styles in the 50s appeared in 1947. Christian Dior created the “New Look.” It included a nippedin waist and a full-skirted silhouette for women to look presentable. However, as the decade progressed, the shape became straighter and slimmer, and as this happened, the elegance and formality of the early part of the 50s began to lessen. The “straight-cut suit” emphasized a woman’s natural shape, with the jacket hanging at the widest point of the hips. Though it became acceptable for women to wear pants for some occasions, the fashion mood in the fifties leaned more towards femininity

and formality. Although womenswear prided formality, men’s fashion moved towards an informality it had not yet been before. Since the rise of the suit in the 18th century, men’s fashion had seen little dramatic change until Elvis Presley, Marlon Brando, and James Dean became stars, and young men looked to them for fashion inspiration. In addition to this, because of these stars, the greased-back quiff hairstyle became prominent in young men. Then, we transition to the 60s.

In the 1960s, Fifties fashion evolved to the Sixties. Although skirt suits and coordinating accessories were emphasized in the early 60s, miniskirts and minidresses rose thanks to a designer by the name of Mary Quant. In addition, scientific advancements had been occurring; therefore, newly developed materials such as acrylics, polyesters, and shiny PVC were used in women’s clothing to create a “futuristic” look. However, by the late 60s, a new style and culture were emerging: the “hippie” style. This style rose to prominence in the 70s. In terms of menswear, brightly striped or patterned suits were worn by young men. In addition, the tone was influenced by Jimi Hendrix and Mick Jagger, bringing back the military class, except with a more funky look. While still rocking the military style, designers twisted it to give a more futuristic look, just like womenswear. However, men began rejecting the consumerism and synthetic materials of the earlier part of the decade and began to wear vintage clothes, primarily from the 30s and 40s. Women would famously wear a “beehive” hairstyle, as their hair would be a “sky-scraping” style. Then, we transition to the 70s.

In the 1970s, Seventies fashion evolved from the Sixties. Seventies fashion began with a continuation of the late 1960s hippie style. While the sixties hippies had embraced the “hippie” items as a way of rejecting mainstream fashion, designers in the early seventies began to in-

corporate them into their “high fashion.” With an emphasis on handmade crafts, seventies designers looked to the past for inspiration. In the early- to mid-seventies, designers looked to the 30s and 40s for inspiration. However, this caused some unrest, reminding people of the German aggression during WWII. Disco also became increasingly popular, resulting in women’s evening wear becoming progressively more glamorous. Sparkle remained omnipresent throughout the decade, and the short minidresses and hot pants earlier in the decade became longer, swirling dresses and skirts in the later part of the decade. Throughout the sixties and seventies, women gained increasing sexual freedoms, and this reflected in their clothing; new styles were created, and women began to wear clothing inspired by menswear. Now, menswear continues to get brighter and bolder. In the early 70s, men’s fashion tried to emphasize a tall, lean figure. Turtlenecks, slim-fitting shirts, and tight-fitting flared pants all worked to popularize the silhouette. In addition, following the example of womenswear, menswear became more gender neutral. It was also not unnatural for men to have long, flowing hair to go along with their bright and gender-neutral clothing. Then, we transition to the greatest decade for fashion of all time—the 80s.

In the 1980s, Seventies fashion evolved to the Eighties. A trend for sportswear encouraged by a fitness craze meant that women increasingly wore stylish gym-wear in their day-to-day life. Dance-wear-inspired fashion, including off-the-shoulder sweatshirts and leggings, made sportswear more fashionable and suitable for daily life. Some said that women’s bodies were shaping the clothing instead of the clothing shaping their bodies as it had been for such a long time. However, as the decade progressed, “power dressing” became huge. This reflected a shift in women working in high-powered

positions and using fashion to be taken seriously by their male subordinates and coworkers. Though the dominant trend of the 80s was “more significant is better,” other designers emerged and created their styles; for daywear, American designers like Perry Ellis and Ralph Lauren turned to classic menswear styles such as blazers, button-downs, and hand-knit sweaters to create casual, yet elegant womenswear. Thus, the more gender-neutral kind of womenswear continued from the 70s to the 80s. A fashion icon of the 80s was Princess Diana, who married into the British royal family in July of 1981; the world embraced her and her style, influencing popular trends throughout the decade. Her wedding dress is one of her fashion staples; with its oversized puffed sleeves, a 25-foot train, and great bows and lace, the gown became the epitome of eighties wedding style. Fashion for men in the 80s largely followed the trends in womenswear. Like women, there was a craze for fitness wear, classic American workwear, preppy styles, and power dressing. The early- to mid-1980s also saw the rise of goth fashion, which expanded on punk style from the late 1970s. Both men and women wore clothes inspired by Victorian mourning garb and Dracula. Both men and women could be seen rocking a mullet as well. After the 80s, fashion slightly evolved, but the 80s is genuinely the best decade for fashion; there was such a diverse selection of clothing that every clique looked unique. Whether it be the goth clique, the mothers wearing jazzercise clothes, the corporate power dressers, or others, they were all unique in their own way. Today, fashion is repeating itself, as many fashion trends

from the 80s and a bit from the 90s are coming back, especially in adolescents. Acid-washed jeans, double denim top and bottom, comfortable clothing over the more “fashionable” choice, and power dressing for those who have office jobs and need to look more professional or intimidating to their subordinates. The 80s will forever live on as one of the greatest decades for fashion of all time.

Timeless , Sylbeth Femi Pratt, 2023

Fall Of The Wall

Nathan Wong, 2024

Mister Berlin Wall, on what are your grounds? So many families split; you have no bounds. Since ’61, you’ve been Berlin’s big blight. You vertical plane, with your endless night.

Your reason was protecting East from West. Why didn’t you see your side’s civil unrest? You’re your own virus, to all a letdown. Nixed immigration, you took them all down.

Isolated from the rest of the state, You condemned them to a sorrowful fate. Your presence was haunting and full of strife. Like a shroud, the doffing showed a new life.

From dissolution, they’re finally free. But Oizys came to collect her fee.

Jack And Jill

Aly Aadil Salewala,

Jack watched silently, the sun growing dark under the weight of smoke and ash. As he gazed up at it, a monolith of steel and industry was devoured by the red flame of fire. Despite the care put into building it, something was powerful enough to incinerate the great power plant. In front of him, buildings cracked, collapsing, windows exploding outwards, spraying glass out onto the streets. Jack didn’t move. He was too tired to move. Every day spent doing back breaking labor just to earn a meager helping of food. The shockwave approached, moving faster than the eye could track. He closed his eyes. A force slammed into him, yanking him off of his feet. The wood facing the power plant broke into a million splinters, wrenched from where it had been rooted. Jack felt a weight atop him, anchoring him. It was still not enough to hold him down, and he flew backwards and landed several meters back. He bounced upon contact with the ground. Dazed, he sat up, opening his eyes. Lying a few meters away from him was Jill, his betrothed. She must have yanked him to the ground right before the shockwave hit. It had probably saved his life. Looking down, he realized that he had landed on an old mattress that must have come free. All around him, there were splinters and large wooden beams, broken in half, coming to points. It had been absolute and pure luck that had saved him.

Jill sat up slowly, large, brown eyes

foggy, a streak of red descending from her temple to her chin, contrasting her pale skin. Except her cheeks. Those were flushed. Her eyes cleared, understanding of the current situation taking hold of her. She turned her gaze to him, panic, desperation, fear marring the perfection of her features. Her blond hair, which came down to the middle of her back, was covered with mud and grime. Jack realized he probably looked similar to her.

He pushed himself to his feet, knees shaking. They felt like they were made of jelly. Jill’s eyes followed him as he straightened. He stuck out his hand, offering to pull her to a standing position as well. He turned back to examine the damage. And found despair. The power plant was aflame, a good quarter having been blown away, leaving a gaping hole. Flaming cinders and debris rained down from the sky, setting the city aflame.

His home burning down around him, Jack could do nothing but stare. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jill rummaging through the remains of the house. Several moments later, she returned, something in her hand. A firm look had settled across her face. Clutched with a white knuckle grip in her right hand, held down beside her waist, was a large butcher knife. Used to cut meat, it could easily sever fingers if not used carefully. He did not know how she had gotten it, nor did he care. In that moment, he felt an exhaustion like he had never felt before.

Legs folding beneath him, he sat down on the ground, eyes closing slowly. “Jack?” Jill asked hesitantly. He did not respond. “Jack!” she shouted more urgently. She stepped forward, shaking his shoulder. Yet, still, he remained silent.

She slapped him. Jack’s cheek smarted from where the strike had landed. “What do you want? To escape? We’re dead already. There’s no surviving this.”

Jill set the knife down, sitting down beside him. The fire had spread so that a large swathe of houses and buildings were now aflame. It would reach them in a few minutes if they did not hurry and leave. The flickering red orange tongues of death were the only color in the town, where all other things were gray and washed out. It was pretty in a way. The sun had been completely blotted out in the short time that had passed since the shockwave had hit.

“Do you remember what your father used to say to you?” Jill asked softly, eyes facing forward, watching the carnage.

“I am not my father. He…he was a good man, a strong man.” Jack glanced at her, mesmerized by the dancing colors in her hair, reflecting the flames.

“You are the oldest, Jack. So it comes down to you to take care of the family if anything happens to me,” Jack’s father said, his usually humorous voice serious for once. “That means when you marry Jill, you will take care of her.”

“But, Dad,” Jack protested, “Jill’s just a friend.”

Jack’s father smiled, knowingly. “And friends look after one another. Take care of them.”

“Yeah, okay.,” Jack said, exasperated. “Promise?”

Jack rolled his eyes, “I promise.”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, trying to work up the strength to push himself to his feet. “Go. Go without me.”

Jill smiled faintly, “We were planning to take vows, were we not? To stay together, in life and in death? So let’s go. Let’s live. Together.”

Jack groaned and uncrossed his legs. The flames grew ever closer. There was a crew running to set it out. Luckily, the second set of buildings had collapsed and the fire found a large gap between the buildings it was already on and the buildings that would allow it to continue to rampage unchecked.

He pushed himself onto his knees. Jill matched him move for move. She scooped the knife off of the ground, and glanced at him, unwavering eyes staring into the depths of his soul. Within those eyes, he found strength, courage, and most powerful of all, hope.

His knees strained against the weight of his body as he rose, heels digging into the ground below him, acutely aware of each and every pebble digging into his skin. Jack breathed in a long breath. The air tasted metallic, probably having carried some of the metals from the power plant in microscopic shavings.

Jill grinned at him, and he gave her a small smile. “It’s time to go.” Turning the knife and holding it in a reverse grip, so that the blade pointed away from her, Jill took off at a brisk run, Jack only a step behind her. The blade was not simply a knife, no, it was a sword, and Jack would hold it as long as he was willing t o fight.

The two ran, leaving the disaster of Chernobyl behind them. But the disaster of Chernobyl had already taken them.

Vida , Andrea Trejo, 2023

Control

L’Heureux, 2023

I jump at the will of the controller

I collect the coins at the will of the controller

I stomp everything in my path at the will of the controller

I rescue the princess at the will of the controller

I die at the mistakes of the controller

As the game ends I look up at my controller and as tears stream down his face I glower

How pathetic that my controller is now under my control.

Gabriel

SELECT START

Mario , Gabriel L’Heureux and Midjourney, 2023

Sally in Space

Ofuga Aitekha, 2023

A fresh summer-infused breeze and playful sunlight danced beneath the wisps of cotton in the sky. Loud laughter from the men at the grill, thunks from cold glasses against the wooden picnic tables, the tangy scent of prepared food. The neighborhood barbecue was always something to look forward to. Unfortunately, this Saturday was not intended for relaxation and playtime. I was going to break history and fly to the Moon!

“Welcome aboard Ride Rocket, Bear!” My younger sister ran to the worn cardboard box lying in the soft grass in our backyard. “Take a seat! Make yourself comfortable.”

Bear carefully climbed inside the tiny box and sat down behind me.

“Ready?” She gave me a slight nod. “3… 2… 1… Blastoff!”

Bear and I began to make these incoherent noises to imitate the rumbling roar of a rocket engine.

Whoosh! Mmmm…

We shook the box vigorously to the point at which we were close to falling out.

My neighbor chuckled as she took a sip from her glass of lemonade. “She was truly born to live with the stars above.”

“Yep, that’s my astronaut girl…”

I could still hear his words, the words Dad said as I boarded the space shuttle in my cornflower blue NASA spacesuit. I could feel my chest tightening as I approached the entrance of the shuttle. Quick, did I forget anything? Family photo? Check. Gym shoes? Check. As soon

as I got inside, I sat down at the seat near the robotic arm and scanned the small space. The overwhelming number of controls and switches caused my stomach to churn. Why was I feeling this way? Was this not what I wanted?

My crewmates took their seats and prepared for liftoff. Commander Crippen and Pilot Hauck sat at the front to operate the shuttle, and Fabian and Thagard sat to the left of me. “T-minus 10…” The launch manager began the countdown. “... 3… 2… 1… Liftoff.”

The space shuttle rose quickly. Despite the loud noises from the engine, I could still hear my own rapid heartbeat and nervous breaths. My hands tightly clenched the seat belt to ensure stability. I didn’t dare to move a muscle.

The blue sky started to diminish as we ascended and other hues took its place: black and white. As the black tranquility continued to kiss the poetry of glinting stars, my crewmates sailed in dreamy awe. There were the spheres of our solar system, performing for the stars as if they were the grand audience. Soon, the Moon came into view as a warm milky glow in the black heavens. I found myself frozen in place once my eyes took in the moonlight. Then, my body and mind began to fully relax. This was the space in which younger Sally wished to meet intergalactic friends. This was the space younger Sally wished to swim in with schools of stars. This was the space younger Sally wished to watch Earth from afar and shout, “Hello, World!” At that moment, I realized my dream had become reality.

“Well, I suppose we could start with the satellites now,” Crippen proposed.

Oh, right… I should probably work this robotic arm now. I tinkered with a few controls to set the arm in motion. Time to get started. Flickers of memories with Dad came into my mind as I continuously worked with the satellites. I applied for this program for one purpose: to make Dad proud. I am his little astronaut after all. His astronaut girl….

Space , Adaija Childs, 2023

The Passage of Time

Aly Aadil Salewala, 2023

Look unto the passage of time

The single greatest of givers Lord of thieves with the greatest crimes The one who kills or delivers

Mother Earth spewed forth her burden And her people burned in her wrath The world, rent asunder, cloven— Time runs out, to death, turns the path

Nine years hence, the wall fell, crashing The spine of oppression was felled The hateful watched with teeth gnashing Decades of wrongdoing, expelled Chaotic, with no paradigm Unyielding, flowing, a river Lo and behold, the march of time

The one who kills and delivers

Credits

Editor-in-Chief: Aamna Rehman

Editors: Fareed Abdul-Latif Ofuga Aitekha Matthew Choi Gabriel L’Heureux Mariah Rogers Aly Aadil Salewala

Special Thanks To: Mr Andrews, Class Teacher and Club Sponsor Micah Xu, Club Presidentz Zachariah James, Cover Artist The Literary Magazine Club Art Club

Dr. Phillips, Art Teacher Mrs. Vatalaro, Photography Teacher