Etchings 2017 by Hebron Academy

E T C H INGS

2017 art & literary magazine

Cover Art: Springtime Storm by Lauren Rousseau ‘17

Back Cover art by Hina Koharazawa ‘19

Writing that have this symbol beside them indicate the piece has won a Hebron Writing Contest.

Artwork and writing that have this symbol next to them indicate the piece was a Gold Key, Silver Key or Honorable Mention recipient for the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards.

From the Arts AND English Department In this edition of Etchings, Hebron students challenge accepted norms, test boundaries, and express themselves in a rich and dynamic array of poetry, short story, narrative and critical essay, sculpture, photography, drawing, and painting. As students seek to better understand the world around them, their unique perspectives leave us feeling thoughtful and enriched. The writing and artwork featured here express universal truths and shared experiences that draw us together as a community whether students hail from across the ocean or right here in Maine. We celebrate the creativity, the inquisitiveness, and the joy of self-expression captured in these pages. We are stirred by the emotions our students evoke and proud of the work they create. With special thanks to Ms. Colleen Chassie in the Communications Department, Hebron’s English and Fine Arts Departments are very pleased to share with you this year’s Etchings magazine. 2

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

Your voice is compelling, irresistible in the way it purrs. Your words captivate, lacing through my thoughts like poison, dragging me into the BY TOUNAROUZE EL YAZIDI, CLASS OF 2018 unknown. The stories I hear about you inevitably My heartbeat fades away the instant your face frighten me, but you latch your arms around my flashes before my barren eyes. Your name is trembling frame with immense force, silently alluring, the way every syllable cuts across my growling in my ear that they’re all lies. I used tongue as you swear to immobilise the anguish to admire the curvatures of your angular face, coursing through my veins if I followed you. Your calling you angelic. Yet you hissed that the only empty breath, compressed against my neck, beautiful angels are those that have fallen. effortlessly squeezing my throat, whispering “Come to me, my sweet, stay with me forever,” my darkest fears. Yet, it’s so enticing, the way you call to me as I stand upon the balcony of my you trail your razor nails down my bruised arm, home you intruded, willing to plunge my soul drawing blood, before your thumb is suddenly into the depths of your own abyss. Yes, Death, caressing mine, as your hand embeds itself my lethal love, I am talking to you. My friend, around my beating heart. “You’ll be okay,” you my soulmate, my lover, my enemy, my burden. breathe into my ear, “Just join me, I beg of you.” Death. I am talking to you.

MY LOVER, MY SOULMATE

T HI B AULT PA L I X CLASS OF 2017

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

JOSE PABLO BELLO CLASS OF 2017

EL I C LE I N CLASS OF 2017

DELA NO BRO W N CLASS OF 2018

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

HOPE ESSAY BY RACHEL BROUWER, CLASS OF 2018

Woman. As a woman, I am afraid. I am alone, (I fear I will always be alone). I am loved, (I fear love is fleeting). I have a family who loves me, (I fear I will disappoint). I have passion for life, (A delicate flicker of flame that will burn out into the abyss of night).

L EA H B ON I S CLASS OF 2019

I am alive, (I fear death). I am young, (I fear growing old). I am beautiful, (I fear that familiar look from a man) I am naive, (A privilege so easily ripped away with one malicious act).

A POEM INSPIRED BY MAYA ANGELOU BY MORGAN PRENTICE CLASS OF 2019

I am surrounded by women, I am not afraid. I have hope.

What has been built from the past? I was hoping by now this time would wash away by salt and rain, Where strangers could greet strangers and give a helping hand, But instead we form an image of two separate lands, People are people why can they not see? No matter how dark we crave our needs, We long for an equal world, Where those of both sides can come together, But we must work as one to fix the cracks.

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

A l l a r t w ork on t h i s page is by alaina bonis CLASS OF 2021

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

yolk screeched around the corner into sight. Nervously smiling at bus driver Stacy as I passed BY AVERY JUREK, CLASS OF 2018 by, I finally took my seat at the back of the bus. I was a cool kid now, yet I felt bothered by They sat lined up against the dark something that I still could not decipher. I went blue wall while the summer breeze made the about my day at school pushing and prodding curtains dance into the room. As I pulled out the that feeling of uncertainty to the back of my whiteboard and every color marker imaginable, I mind. Finally the bell rang and I could go home to lectured at them with pride and sincerity. Today my kids. I sat next to my best friend Sam on the I was teaching them their times tables. Choubus, but we weren’t having our usual pointless chou raised her hand to answer a problem, and and hilarious conversation. Today we sat quietly as I called on her, I heard a familiar snicker to my in each other’s presence, he with a straight right. Joseph had earned himself a two minute forward gaze and I focused out the window on time-out in the naughty chair while the class the passing shambled houses. That was the bus applauded Chou-chou on her impeccable work. ride that lasted a whole lifetime. Looking back, Joseph was always a trouble-maker, and I always that was the bus ride I will never forget. found myself dedicating valuable class time to his I walked in the door of our house and behavioral issues. This was my responsibility, and gave a quick “hi” to my mom on the way by; I boy did I believe it. scampered up the stairs to my room. However, The following day was a family day. I as I went to turn the doorknob of my creaky packed up my six children, Charlie, Micheal, wooden door, I paused and my hand fell back Oliver, Chou-chou, Wilbur, and Sammy in the down to my side. I turned around and walked baby jogger and we headed out for a picnic. slowly back down the stairs. I grabbed the clear Holding the two youngest in my arms, I plastic bags from underneath the sink, formerly kept an eye out for the others playing in the soft, familiar to me only for the recycling, and climbed emerald grass. The world whirred around us, yet the long staircase back to my room. This time, as the blur of passing cars did not phase me. The I reached for the doorknob something inside me eldest played on the swingset as I fed the littles broke in half. It was time and I had decided. So I their bottles. I poured my heart and soul into the pushed on. care I put out for my children. Before bed that Thud..thud..thud...the bag slowly dropped night, I sang them all the sweet songs my parents to each step behind me. It was no longer just a sang to me. I tucked them in and planted a gentle bag for throwing away, but an encasement of kiss on every little forehead, plush, plastic, and what I’d always known to be the truest love. pale fabric. That night, however, something was Every last one of them, placed carefully into different. The following day I would start school what felt like a never ending pit of destruction to as a fifth grader at Hebron Station, my last year my happiness. That night as I fell asleep, a deep before finally making it to Hebron Academy. sadness grew from the pit of my stomach. Today My dream was coming true, but it felt more like that feeling crept up to the surface as it always my worst nightmare. I felt empty in the space will upon remembering that day. It’s as easy as below my ribs. A small ache that I could bear counting to three. but one that wouldn’t go away. I challenged For this is the day I said goodbye to my myself to focus on the following day, new friends babies. and a new teacher, my last first day of true adolescence, but the ache remained. Growing more and more frustrated at this uneasy feeling I began to grow very sleepy until the next thing I saw was the soft light of morning. “BUS!” shouted Rachel, as the ugly egg-

GOODBYE BABIES

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

live to play another day BY ELIZA BEAUDIN, CLASS OF 2017

When I think of hope and what we associate it with the first thing that comes to mind for me is women. In 2015 the United States Women’s Soccer team won the World Cup, a prestigious championship on the world’s biggest stage, yet they still fought against the men’s team for equal pay. In 2017 we elected Donald Trump as President of the United States, over that of female candidate. Surrounding his inauguration all around the world, women’s marches were held to fight for the equality and treatment of all women, but to also express our thoughts and feelings on female minority. As a young woman myself, my memory of the NEPSAC soccer New England Championships embodies just those qualities, a team of driven young women that fought until they couldn’t fight anymore and motivated a whole community. It was November 19th, this past fall, that the girls of the Hebron Academy Varsity Soccer team walked up to the pitch of the New England semi-final match in the NEPSAC playoff tournament. With a crowd of about 30, consisting of mostly parents and friends, and very few from the student body the girls walked together. We walked with our hearts on our sleeves, eager and willing to start a match in which we knew nothing about our opponent, nor had we even expected to make it to this point. We were backboned by our coach Colin Griggs, someone who embodied the biggest heart and whose passion for winning was contagious, and he passed that on to every one of us. When we were seeded for our first playoff birth in 13 years our boys team was seeded as well, given a much higher seed than us resulting from their undefeated regular season. Many

people doubted our chances at winning the tournament and being as successful as the boys because there was this unexplainable difference of faith and confidence in the boys rather than in us. It was the 18 girls that pulled on the jerseys that day who believed, who were ingrained with that confidence, and who fought with emotion. It was one of the closest, most competitive games we had ever laced our cleats for, it was a big game. We played scoreless for a while, chances at both ends went back and forth boiling up the nerves as the clock kept ticking. The first half was waning down when our opponent opened the game with the first goal. In a time when we could’ve easily accepted defeat, slowed our runs, and hung our heads we did just the opposite. The crowd of supporters rose around us consuming the atmosphere with encouragement and positivity. It was finally late in the second half when Hebron tied it. The scorer of that goal was not what mattered, nor will I give a name. It was the 11 people standing within the lines of that field who told the story, the willingness to never give up. It would take overtime for this one, nervous was an understatement of emotion at this point in the contest. We as players, as well as the fans supporting us were in shock of the work we had put into every minute of this game to force an overtime. In a game that we played from behind once more, it was in the second overtime that Hebron would score the game winning goal with just two and half minutes remaining in the overtime period. The team came together for the final two minutes and left every last effort we had on that field, and we were once again victorious, shocking so many. In the coming hours we took the field the next morning to play Vermont Academy in the New England Final, a dream come true. We had disproven all expectations and outcomes others

We were backboned by our coach, Colin Griggs, someone who embodied the biggest heart and whose passion for winning was contagious, and he passed that on to every one of us.

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

had for us, we had made it to the very end. The game was so evenly matched that it took all but five minutes of regulation to determine a winner. Though it wasn’t the lumberjacks who rose the championship trophy on that November afternoon, we as young women had won the hearts and respect of our community. What I take from that game was not the final score, the unfinished chances, or the mistakes, but the lessons I learned and the pride we walked away with that day. I’d like to quote a teammate of mine in a social media post following that game talking about the conclusion of our season. Senior Meaghan Donahue wrote, “What means the most to me is that as female athletes so many doubted us, and we proved so many wrong. We just set the bar for female athletes at Hebron so high this past week.” That is what we played for in those last two games. We played for respect, we played for recognition, but most

of all we played for each other. Though at many points in those last two games when momentum had left us and we were playing from behind many lost hope, but across the field from the fans who may have doubted was a culmination of about 20 whose hope never left. Following that game there were tears and disappointment, but what diminished all that was the hearts of 18 young women who fought for respect, and who came together and loved each other. In a community that had become obsessed over the hype of the boys soccer team for so many years, the girls had finally stepped atop the podium along with them. We, as young women, created our own special hype, it was not characterized by winning or by how many goals we beat teams by, but with the hearts we played with and the pride and respect we had gained for ourselves.

f ra nceska hal l o r a n CLASS OF 2019

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

AND THE SUMMER WAS OVER BY DYLAN RICHMOND, CLASS OF 2018

I walked into the well lit and old-people smelling basement of the church for the second time in my life, hopefully the last as well. From that moment on I forced myself to smile for the next hour, trying to win over the old familiar face that had dashed my dreams only a couple months ago. This time I knew the ropes and seated myself in front of the makeshift desk while keeping that constant smile. She asked me to fill out some information and I did. I moved to prepare to take an eye test; however, she told me that because I had taken it last time, I did not need to do it. I was handed two sheets of paper and told to wait in the car. As I sat waiting in the car, I probed my brain, searching for pieces of information to remember RUI SUN throughout the test: how to use the parking brake, turn on the lights, left and right signals. I knew that I was prepared, but I was still worried that I would forget. She emerged through the basement door. I smiled at her my most charming smile. I was received with a neutral face. She stood in front of the Buick Park Avenue Ultra and barked orders at me. “Left signal. Right signal. Lights.” She walked around to the back of the car. “Left Signal.” I hesitate. I don’t know why. “Left signal” she says again. I do it.

“Right signal.” She seats herself in the passenger seat of the car and orders that I put on the parking brake. I do it. Then she asks for the papers I had been handed just a few minutes ago. I hand them to her. She tells me that we are good to go, and I say okay. I grab a hold of the gear selector and move it casually downwards like I had done a million times before and I slowly released the brake so that I would smoothly pull out of the parking space. Except I’m not pulling out. Instead, I begin to go backwards. The opposite way of what I wanted. At first I act like nothing had happened and calmly move the gear selector to drive, but it is too late and she tells me to stop and breathe. My heart is going about as fast as a NASCAR race car right now, and I let out my breath that I had unintentionally been holding for a long period of time. This time I successfully pull out from the parking space and exit the parking lot. CLASS OF 2019 I remember when my brother got his driver’s licence on his first try. He was happier than Uncle Sam on the 4th of July. When I asked him about any tricks that I could use to help me pass, he said that he had just talked to her like any normal person and even thought of presents that she could pick out for her grandchildren. This was going to be my plan. As soon as I got on the road, I began to ask her questions about her day. “How many tests before me had there been today? Is it usually busy during the summer or the winter?” Finally we got around to her grandkids and

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

I instantly jumped on it. “What were their names? Where did they live? How old?” Then it turned out that one of the grandkids played lacrosse. Now that was something I could really hop on. I told her that I also played lacrosse and began to hammer her with more questions, but with ease and politeness. “What position? How did he like it?” I also slowly began to reveal information about myself as well. I said that I went to Hebron Academy and then we discussed about how diverse the school was. Finally she ordered me to do the dreaded command. “Please RUI SUN parallel park.” I calmly pulled up beside the car and began the maneuver smoothly. I put it into park. She said I could go now and I tried to. However I had parked so closely to the curb that I could not turn the wheels. I tried and tried again, but I just couldn’t move and was very frustrated. She gave me directions and only then was I able to get out. After that I knew there was only one outcome to

this test. It was pretty silent throughout the rest of the drive. At a big intersection, I took a left turn and entered the wrong lane. Eventually we arrived back at the Church. By the time we got there I was feeling pretty down. My mind was shrouded with disappointment, and I could only think about how many things I couldn’t do without my license. I parked and the day felt gloomy, like Lucifer himself had ascended from the depths of hell and cast his doom over the land. Then she said the magic word. Congratulations. Excitement and about a hundred pounds of burden was lifted from my back. After she explained all the official stuff, we got of the car. The bright rays of the sun struck my face, and a breeze cooled me down from the mind excruciating torment of the test. My smile felt a mile wide. And the summer was over. And I need to get a car.

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

SAINT CHRISTOPHER BY TESS GREGORY, CLASS OF 2018

In the modern day, religion is either widely accepted or looked down upon by the citizens of the world. Growing up in a religious family has not always been easy for me because I never got to pick whether or not I wanted to be part of it. Over the years there have always been the ups and downs where I questioned my religion and during those times my nana was always there to help me get to where I needed to be. However, when she gave me a little St. Christopher charm to clip onto the visor in my car I gave her a look that a teenager would give their parents after being told that they were disciplined fairly. In my eyes this small metal object was just a trinket that store clerks conned innocent old people into buying because of the “protection” it supposedly inflicted on the human being. However, my nana truly believed that it would protect me behind the wheel so I went with it because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. After she flew home to Pennsylvania the charm became a weight I constantly carried with me physically and mentally. Every time I got in my car I would see it staring down at me and I would laugh to myself. A metal trinket could not protect someone. It was just there. The only meaning I got from it was the memory of my nana. The end. It was the type of day everyone hates. Bitterly cold with sharp winds and fast rain that seemed to never cease. As I prepared to leave the house to pick up Jules from school it never occurred to me how the weather could affect my driving. Like any other day I drove the route to Saint Dom’s where Jules was at school. The same roads I always drive. As I pulled up to the school, and waited for Jules to walk to the car, I looked up at the foolish charm and smiled softly. As the door opened I heard the all too familiar crash of lunchboxes and backpacks as it was Jules’ daily ritual to throw her belongings into the backseat. When her sweet face turned my way my heart softened as it did each time she looked at me. We went to our usual spot to eat our early dinner, Panera Bread, 12

where we got our usual meals and did homework while we ate. We left Panera earlier than normal that day because we had to run errands before dance and hockey. I will forever regret that decision. It was 4:02PM. Center Street, Auburn, Maine. The charm was the last thing I saw before it happened. Car horns. Smoke. Tears. As I opened my eyes I felt a stinging sensation on my face while choking on smoke simultaneously. My first instinct was to put the car in park and turn it off. Next, was Jules, my sweet girl. “Tessie, I want to get out. I don’t like the smoke. I’m getting out.” When I heard her say this I went into instant panic mode. I knew she could not get out of the car because we were in the middle of an intersection during a thunderstorm. She would get hit. “Jules everything will be okay but you can’t get out right now, just wait.” I remember asking her over and over again, “Are you hurt?” I remember her response every time, “Tessie, I’m fine.” Then the police came. “Where are your parents? Have you been able to reach them?”As I answered the questions I kept looking at that stupid charm above my head. Then, I started to believe. We had to have the car towed, so Jules and I rode in a squad car to the hockey rink where mom met us twenty minutes later. Just before we left the car I grabbed the charm off of the visor and tucked it into my pocket. The Saint Christopher charm was real. It was not just an object, a useless trinket sold as a con. Jules and I walked away from the accident with nothing but a scratch on my hand. For what I initially thought was a materialistic object, the charm became something more to me. I no longer carried it around because it reminded me of my nana. Instead, I carried it with me because I now believed that it could truly protect me, like a guardian angel. Ever since that cold day in November I have carried St. Christopher with me both literally and figuratively. I now keep the charm in my school bag so that it is with me everyday. The once foolish charm has become my guardian angel because of that day and it will continue to mean something to me until I pass it along to someone who needs something to believe in.

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

don’t mess with gram BY RYAN KAPPELMANN, CLASS OF 2018

When it comes to religion, do not mess with my Grandmother. Margaret O’Neil prayed and went to church more than anyone I know. She took it very serious too. When I was seven, my Dad let me receive communion when I was not suppose to. She did not speak to us for a solid week after that. When she would come up to Maine from her home in New York, she would always say, “Hi there, when’s the next mass”?. My mom would always go with her, and my Dad and I would stay home, she would get mad at us again. Whenever we went to New York for Christmas, it was always the same thing every year, Christmas Eve Mass. Our whole family did not want to go, but we did it for her. Somehow she thought we all actually wanted to be there. She takes her prayers and saying grace more seriously than anyone. I once made the mistake during grace of saying “thank you for having us together, and the Yankees suck”. I am not sure if she was more mad about me ruining grace, or making fun of the Yankees. One day I walked into her room before bed to say goodnight and she was as usual praying. I noticed she was holding a cross and some beads. I asked “Gram, what are those beads” “These are rosary beads, they all have a different prayer associated with each bead, I say them every night. The Rosary can be said alone or with groups of people usually said out loud at church ” she answered. “That’s awesome! Why do you use the beads?” 7 year old Ryan answered “Well, they were given to be by my Grandmother when I was a teen and she told me to keep them with me wherever I go and to pray every night. It helps remind me of her”, She told me. I learned from my Mom that she carried them everywhere she went. Ever since my Mom was young, Gram always had them. During the day she kept them in her purse and at night in her hand over her heart. No matter where she went they were always with her. When she would drive to Maine, she would have them close in hand.

At her funeral this past September, she was at peace with all her favorite things. This included pictures of all her kids and grandkids, The Bible, Yankees hat, and of course, her Rosary Beads. She was able to carry what she always had with her up to heaven. During her Funeral Mass, when it was time to go up for communion, I had to pause for a moment. Should I go up or stay here to make sure she doesn’t get mad again? I asked my older cousin Dan “I’ve never done this, should I still go up? He responded laughing “Yeah, just don’t let Gram find out”.

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

H A O H A N TANG CLASS OF 2017

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

H A O H A N TANG CLASS OF 2017 SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

THE NAMELESS VILLAGE BY JAMES “JD” MACKENZIE, CLASS OF 2018

Iraq; 17:00, -transcript[CLASSIFIED] :blackop6669927***-**** The city of --- in southern Iraq, The air is heavy and wet, it’s the rainy season in --- , farmers flush the fields, hunched over, and excessively clothed for their midsummer occupation. It’s the best time to till and plant, while the soil is soft and wet. We’d been in the air for about 20 min when suddenly one of the farmers looked up and revealed the RPG-v7 from under his robes, unleashing a surprisingly accurate round that struck the tail, sending us into a controlled crash landing, Sargent-Shawst managed to aim us for a plateau on a nearby hill hoping to give us the advantage of superior terrain. We skidded in with a large shake, dismounted and prepared to engage. Shakir Al Mahed had never been a violent child, from the day he was born all he could seem to do was good deeds and righteous acts. He was known as the pitiful flower by most in his village, which emphasized his sad virginity to self indulgence and freedom. It was of his own free will that he abstain from the earthly temptations, he did it to please Allah and to obtain those pleasures in the afterlife. His devotion was pure and strong, he wished to serve Allah however he could. Sadly, it was this devotion that would lead him to the lifestyle that would ironically, end his Life. How had the pitiful flower, Shakir, ended up where he died, no one will ever really know. His life was one of simple kindness and devotion, and Allah claimed him so young, he took him on that fateful day in the summer. The air was hot and wet, heavy with the stench of mud and sweat. The chaos erupted around the post dinner rush, while the neighborhood was buzzing with farmers planting and weeding their crops while the sun was still up. I decided to go on my usual rounds to spread my wealth within my community, first over to Magi Hussein, the village wisemans, to ask if he’s heard word from the cell,. From there I go to the town square and buy my groceries before 16

returning home to pray. Once I completed my mid morning prayer, I headed back into town; to the slum to pass bread to the poor. The session was wonderful and gave me the strength I needed to continue to do good for others. I continued from there to the local mosque to scrub the floors and polish their tiles. From there I returned home to help work in the fields just like any other day. But today was special, today Allah gave me a chance to prove myself to him to show my devotion, today the final task was to eliminate the infidel and free my village from their oppression. Just as planned I began my evening task of planting and weeding in the fields, the RPG weighing heavily on my back while I hunched over. There was an eerie calm that came over me that evening, Allah must have sent me his strength to fight this battle, for I felt there was no way I could lose. It was my job to bring them down, then the others would finish them off. All I had to do was make the shot and watch the nonbelievers pay, so that is what I did. When I heard the sound of the engine to the south I knew it was them, they were flying patrol, scouting the area coming to collect new soldiers to train and to take food and taxes from the poor people of the village. They rounded the village once, and as they made their second loop I raised my robes and shouldered my weapon. My sights were locked on as if aimed by Allah himself, my heart pounding in my ears and adrenaline coursing through my blood: down, down, down! My name is Hadeel, I live in a small building in the slums of the town with my mother, two younger brothers and baby sister. It is always midweek when the UN soldiers make their rounds supplying water and much needed resources to the village, my mother is ill and they provide us medicine to keep her healthy, Our village relies on them to survive and to keep the extremists from turning us into slaves for their cause. I never really picked a side of the conflict, I’m really just trying to survive and keep my family together. My little brothers and baby sister all need to eat and drink and I’m falling apart trying to keep this family together. Every week their faces light up when they hear the helicopter coming from the south, children fill the streets and everyone rejoices. I was busy cleaning my

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

baby sister when my brothers ran outside and my mother gingerly made her way to the door, leaning on the frame she smiled at me and said it was them. As the helicopter did its first round the children chased it around the village hollering and laughing. I wrapped up my little sister and carried her outside on my hip to join in the festivities, the helicopter rounded the church tower and was coming back around for its usual landing spot in the empty lot behind the cemetery and suddenly the warm spring breeze turned to ice. There was shock and confusion everywhere, flames raining from the sky screams echoed down the narrow alleys. Hanou, the local school teacher was killed by shrapnel from the tail of the helicopter. I rush to my mother who had collapsed on the front step, I pick her up and get her inside and tell her to stay in the cellar where she is safest. I leave my sister with her and run out the door to find my brothers, gunshots ring in the distance while I frantically call out to my brothers. I hear my youngest brother, Malik, yell my name with a panicked tone and as I round the corner I see him crouched in an alleyway ten yards away. I sprint to him and ask where Rahim, my other little brother, is, he says he was in the school when it happened and that the tail had crashed on the roof. I told Malik to run home and hide with mother in the cellar while I looked for Rahim, he hesitated and hugged me before running off. I took a second and looked at my surroundings, fires had sprung up everywhere, there was pure chaos in the streets, the school building was only a block away but every time I heard gunshots or an explosion I had to duck and take cover so it took me much longer than I would have liked. As I came to the building half of it was collapsed in and the other half was on fire, I scream Rahim’s name as loud as I can but hear nothing in return. I round the building to the entrance the tail of the helicopter is sitting on the rubble of what used to be the south corner of the building. I pull my hijab over my mouth to filter the smoke at least a little bit. The hall is dark and hellacious flames creeping through doorways and climbing the ceiling. I squint as I makei my way through the building yelling for Rahim and coughing as I try to inhale. Somehow amongst all the noise I could hear my brother yelling, it was

less of a yell and more of a scream but I knew it was him. I ran down the corridor and followed the sound into a room completely on fire, it was Rahim, he was trapped in the centre of it all, wailing like a banshee, too shocked to realize what was going on. I don’t know if I can make it to him but I have to try, I back up to the wall behind me and push off sprinting as fast as I can, I leap through the flames in two steps and grab Rahim. Just then the door frame collapses in, and we’re stuck in the room. Now I’m really freaking out, I just want to curl up and cry, there’s nothing I can do, I search frantically for anything that could help us, I hold Rahim tight in my arms and can feel him sobbing into my stomach. There’s a window but flames line the wall it’s in, the only door is blocked and there is nothing to extinguish the flames. More searching and still no ideas, the smoke fills up the room and the flames get closer, we’re going to die here, it would take a miracle to get us out of here alive. Just as I began to accept my fate rahim looks up to me with tears in his eyes and says that he loves me, no matter what happens. The next day… As the sun rose in the east casting rays of sunlight over our little nameless village, the buildings smoldered and the stream on the edge of the village ran black with soot. Most of the homes in the village had burned down, the school had been completely demolished and a few fortunate souls who managed to escape to the woods began to wander back into town. The dead littered the streets, bodies of men women and children were scattered amongst the rubble. It was a bright and beautiful day by most standards but for the survivors of the clash this was the darkest day of the year. the crashed helicopter lay on its side on the top of the hill to the south east of the village,the soldiers that were in it occupants were either dead or captured the cargo from within was stolen as well. The terrorists had won the battle but at a great cost, many young men from the village had been turned by the local wise man, who spread the propaganda through his work with the youth. The deaths of the many served the few and in the end nothing was gained.

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

UNNAMED POEM BY LEAH BONIS, CLASS OF 2019

I often miss those i’ve never met It’s a strange kind of longing One not likely to forget A dream I could get Where people don’t let Lives crumble I often miss those i’ve yet to meet Those who will change lives Make them complete I often miss those i’ve yet to meet For I long for the bittersweet I often miss those who have gone Off to another time or place Who have moved on d o l p hi ne p e n z o So fluidly They feel they are leaving but know they never could For they live in the hearts of those that still would

CLASS OF 2018

fog BY ALEX ROMANO, CLASS OF 2019

D OL PH I NE PENZO CLASS OF 2018

I have a blurry vision no sight or direction Nothing seems clear what is right, what is affection? I am losing my mind I can not see what I am trying to find My sanity feels lost somewhere in this fog Something moves about in the mist It urges me to cease to exist Turning and turning searching for vision Walking with urgency to make a decision Coming closer and closer to a calamity in this fog.

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

time BY FRANCESKA HALLORAN, CLASS OF 2019

As the sun sinks by the sea My heart stops. Realizing its my love not here with me I don’t like waking up in the morning, With my love not next to me. Your name in my heart, Will forever stay, The memories we made Will not go away, Love arrives and in its train come ecstasies old memories of pleasure ancient histories of pain. Yet if we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls. We are weaned from our timidity In the flush of love’s light we dare be brave And suddenly we see that love costs all we are and will ever be. Yet it is only love which sets us free.

JI AW E N “ W E NDY” XU CLASS OF 2019

dOWN IN THE VALLEY BY CASEY CHIZMAZIA, CLASS OF 2019

Where the trout stream lay That’s where I call home As I see my childhood days gone by Amongst the willows I roam I come upon a weathered stump My memory recalls a full grown tree In my throat there is a lump This is where my freedom used to be Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of a of toy dogs It seems that this place of freedom is now for someone new I hope to always remember this solidarity for it it never fogs It seems like forever ever ago oh how this time flew

RI V ER S HI NSON CLASS OF 2017

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

my poem

UNTITLED BY SOPHIE LIST, CLASS OF 2019

Death hovers over my shoulder He sips from my cupped hands He matches my dance-step for stepBefriended all my friends In my youth he Followed me ‘round Clung to me-a second skin We grew together-friends and lovers That line- hazy with Sin Now frozen in His frigid graspHe waited through it all My ruin was befriending Death A lifelong friend- my Downfall

BY CHARLIE MORTON, CLASS OF 2019

The sun shines through the buildings on the street Dangerous rain clouds lurking in the sky People are looking for something to eat But there is nothing out for them to buy There is no life in harlem tonight The People try to remain inside Making no attempt to reunite Around the corner their hands are tied But it’s no different in any direction These people search for a way out Where they look all they see is a reflection Which brings the people nothing but doubt They do not know of another living Because nothing in this city is forgiving

HI NA KOHI R AZAWA CLASS OF 2019

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

BUBBLES BY ELIZA QUINONES, CLASS OF 2019

In bubbly dream, he saw stars through the night Stumbling every step he would make His feelings of loss he would always fight To ease the pain, another drink he would take On an endless record his thoughts would play Of his mistress, who lived by his side Now cold and heartless she will forever stay Behind the bubbles he will always hide One day his vision turned to darkness Controless, he wandered through all the streets His brain finally consumed by madness In a drift with every step he meets Ghostly white lights he sees while on the bed, Four days passing by, it’s time to rest his head.

Z I HAO “ JE F F ” GUO CLASS OF 2018

SURVIVAL BY IAIN FRUMIENTO, CLASS OF 2019

LA U R EN R OU S SEAU CLASS OF 2017

The speckled moon lights up the rocky path The clouds rain down on me like crying tears My shoes, they leave behind a trail of smears To cover up the dreadful aftermath I look throughout the woods for a cool bath But to my luck, nothing seems to appear I hope I am not stuck out here for years Since I must watch out for an angry wrath I try to keep a watch out through the night For anything that that gives me survival It seems like I am first to walk these woods As there is not a sign of life in sight I hope they’re open to my arrival For I could use some more surviving goods

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

HOW? BY CHRISTIAN QUINONES, CLASS OF 2018

How will you ever know what pride is If you never put on the green and white? How will you ever know what pain is If you never gave up a one goal lead in the last five minutes of the New England quarterfinal? How will you ever know what pleasure is If you never rung the victory bell after a win against Kents Hill? How will you know what solidarity is If you never stood up for your teammate after a dirty tackle? How will you know what poetry is If you never did a scissors across all the defenders? How will you never know what humiliation is If you never got nutmegged? How will you ever know what friendship is If you never gave back a wall pass? How will you ever know what panic is If you never almost got scored on on a counter attack? How will you ever know what death is If you never went to take the ball out of the back of your net? How will you ever know what loneliness is If you never stood five steps from scoring the winning penalty of the championship?

How will you ever know what a tackle is If you never chased down a counter attack to kick the ball out in the 90th minute? How will you ever know what egotism is If you never took an extra touch? How will you ever know what art is If you never did a rabona? How will you ever know what music is If you never sang from sidelines at a home game? How will you ever know what injustice is If an away ref never gave you a yellow card? How will you ever know what insomnia is If you never slept away for the final game of the Championship? How will you ever know what hatred is If you never scored an own goal? How will you ever know what it is to cry If you never heard the last whistle of your last game of the year? How will you ever know what hope is If your team never had to save the last penalty to win the game? Tell me, tell me my dear friend How will you ever know what Hebron is? If you never became a Lumberjack?

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

HEBRON ACADEMY MENS’ SOCCER; MY FAMILY BY TYLER SWANBECK, CLASS OF 2018

We are a family of the present and past Showing our courage until the lastDay, we fight and live together The hope we share is like a feather. Why are our hopes and dreams like a feather? Well, it’s because it doesn’t matter the weatherBecause today and forever, our dreams are light and bright; so there’s absolutely nothing to fright Because nothing can stop us! Man o man, i repeat, nothing can stop us We are brothers until we die Because we always try To do the things that seem impossible, Because together we are unstoppable We are more than just a team; A family, trying to achieve a dream Because together we can do all There is absolutely no way that we can fall My family is forever growing And yes it is truly showing That there is more to us than just soccer We are known as more than just the everyday watchers - Of life, because we live together Achieving our dreams and creating moments that we will remember forever

Not just in soccer or futbol, but in life, Because we show courage and aren’t afraid to have a ball, And in the end we will die, not in sadness or in strife, But as a family that once lived together That will always know what we did, forever. This is for my family, my friends, and my brothers Because they are truly like no other. We are lead by our coaches Because they love and care for us with meaningful approaches I am apart of something bigger than me, A life led by a simple dream, In hope to fulfill our destiny, We are more than the definition of a team. We are courageous together, And when we leave I will miss you guys forever, But we must know that it is true That we are together forever, and we will never lose!

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

L A U R EN R OU S SEAU CLASS OF 2017

el l a f i el d s

Jiaw en “ W e ndy” Xu CLASS OF 2018

l a ri ssa dyci o CLASS OF 2019

CLASS OF 2017

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

POWER OF WORDS BY JASMINE LI, CLASS OF 2019

“Words are singularly the most powerful force available to humanity. We can choose to use this force constructively with words of encouragement, or destructively using words of despair.” (Yehuda Berg) Words have an extremely great impact in this world. We use words in every conversation of our daily lives and the power of words is immense and unbelievable. With few single vocabularies, it can affect humans’ emotions and actions in many ways. In my life, there are many examples that people used words to give a voice to pass feelings and thoughts that have changed me in many ways. When I was little, I always got many negative comments on my look:“She should lose some weight,” “Do a plastic surgery when you get older,” “Her eyes are not pretty enough,” I remember going to bed with tears and asking my mom why I don’t own the pretty eyes like hers, or just standing in front of the mirror hoping one day I will look like one of the models in the magazine. It only took few words to make me doubt, but it cost a

h i n a koha r a zawa

long time to get the confidence back. As I grow in age, those words have always remained in my mind and dragged me down during tough times. It did not change until the summer of 2016 when I met Daisy. Daisy was a woman I met in Zambia during summer, she was the owner of a camp and have been living in Africa for years. One night after we got back and surrounded by the dinner table, she told us a story. “People always don’t appreciate themselves enough. There are always things about ourselves that we feel that still needed to improve on. For example, I hated my curly hair and dark skin when I was young. However, people forget to actually look into themselves and understand their own beauty. It is not only what appears from the outside, but really deep in the soul what is inside.” With only a few sentences, she moved me. Now I look into the mirror, my eyes are certainly not the prettiest, but just imagine all the incredible views, the unforgettable journeys, the extraordinary people seen through them. They are special. The power of words did not only despair me to hopelessness but also encouraged me to be more confidence as a young woman.

ave ry jure k CLASS OF 2019

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

CLASS OF 2018

colonialism in africa BY EMMA SKELTON, CLASS OF 2019 All over the world, and throughout history, there has been gender inequality. Even now, whether you live in a developed or developing country, gender equality is an issue everyone should be fighting for. This is a big problem in African countries especially. Colonialism in the late eighteen hundreds had an effect on many aspects of African culture, particularly gender roles and women’s rights. European influence changed the ways African women were and are treated and damaged the limited independence they had in their native cultures. Before European missionaries brought their influence to African villages, native women and men each had a set role in their societies. While the very different positions were not exactly equal, neither was inferior to the other (Bwakali, Web). Women were traditionally found in the kitchen or with their children and men were the hunters and fighters. Women also often tended to the crops and fields. Because they did none of the cooking, men often did not have access to their wives’ kitchens (Kalu, Web). This is also seen in Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. Okonkwo becomes extremely angry during the Week of Peace because one of his wives, Ojiugo, is out instead of cooking dinner for him (Achebe, 29). They worked in a balance, men providing the meat, women cooking the meals. That is not to say life was perfect for women pre-colonialism. Polygamy was practiced, and generally expected, in many areas of Africa. Okonkwo had three wives and they were often seen as showing social rank: the more wives you have the higher and more successful you are. It was also not uncommon to beat your wives, although the reader sees a circumstance in Things Fall Apart where the abuser is punished for beating his wife when she runs away to her brothers (Achebe, 93). Yet despite these things, women often held positions of power too. Priestesses were respected and revered in villages for having contact with the gods. In Ghana, the queen Yaa Asantewaa has a national holiday named after her, in honor of the battle against the British into which she lead her troops (Speaker, Web). While the traditional customs of many African groups were by no means perfect, gender inequality became a larger problem after the Europeans arrived. During the time period of African colonization, in Europe, gender inequality was very prevalent. Women were seen as the lesser citizens in society

and were treated as such. They did not have the right to vote, own property, and their husbands usually had legal power over them (History, Web). This view of women came into play when spreading European influence in African nations. In many forms of Christianity, women’s roles were almost entirely subservient. Going back as far as the creation stories, Eve was seen as the downfall of man (Speaker, Web). So, as missionaries spread their religion throughout Africa, men were often targeted for conversion over women. When they built schools, they were usually only open to men and women were expected to stay in the kitchen. Therefore, as they were not being given a chance to educate themselves in the new schools, they did not have the qualifications for jobs and increasingly lost out to men. Leadership opportunities and positions of power were never offered to women. Because men were put in positions of leadership, women became more and more dependent on them and less hopeful for a chance of independence (Speaker, Web). Men from Europe who came to colonize Africa saw the “savage women” as barely worth their time and took advantage of them. Men were expected to do everything, so women were pushed aside. Even in the poem “The White Man’s Burden,” which is essentially speaking against colonialism, the emphasis is put on the white man, never mentioning any women who may have been involved (Kipling). Because of women’s status in the empires of the world, the treatment and expectations of the “savage” women was even worse. The influence that Europeans had during the time they controlled colonies did not leave when the colonists did. The inferior status of women has continued throughout the years, not only in Africa, but all around the world. Because of the lesser education provided, many girls were not offered the same opportunities as boys were. Even the jobs they did have were often inferior to those of the men. In farming, women were put in charge of the “lesser” crops, like yams and other vegetables for households only, while men controlled the expensive crops such as coffee and cocoa beans to make a profit (Bwakali, Web). Women were not only treated unfairly in their workplace, but at home as well. It is evident in Athol Fugard’s Master Harold… and they boys that the gender inequality formed by colonization continued well through the 1950s. There is a scene in which Hally is speaking to his parents on the telephone and the author, Fugard, clearly emphasizes the tone he uses with his mother versus his father. He yelled and used harsh words when speaking with his mother,

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

but when his father took the phone, his voice became much more respectful (Fugard, 31). It is clear that even years after the colonization of South Africa and after its independence as well, women were still not treated fairly, even by their own children. Yet this problem has persisted far beyond the 1950s and 1960s. Paul Rusesabagina writes the story of the Hutu and Tutsi feud in An Ordinary Man. Hundreds of thousands of people were killed, including women and children simply because they were Tutsi. And they were defined as either Hutu or Tutsi based on their father, because of the man’s prevalent role in society. It did not matter whether your mother was Hutu or not. If your father was Tutsi, so were you (Rusesabagina, 38). Women no longer held a place that was remotely equal to men and that has not changed as years have gone by. Gender inequality in historically colonized countries is relevant even in our so called modernized culture. For example, in Tanzania, students must pass a test to prove they are proficient in English in order to receive a high school education. But many children, mainly girls, do not have the academic or monetary resources they need in order to pass the English test (Bearor). This creates a vicious cycle where women cannot better themselves because they do not have the qualifications. Because of this, they cannot be hired for many high paying jobs and, in turn cannot provide their own daughters with the means for an education. And as time goes on, it becomes increasingly difficult to break the cycle. As women are often found in the kitchen or doing the “lesser” jobs, likewise men are in positions of power and the leaders of their household. In many African families when the father is not present the eldest boy steps up as the head of the house, completely overruling the mother. For instance, an interracial couple living in Chad has two teenage boys. When their father is away the eldest boy takes charge; even though he is only fourteen or fifteen years old. Yet his actions go beyond the typical teenage behavior which many people wave away as a phase. When the boys visit their grandmother here in Maine for the summer, the oldest struggles between wanting to be in charge or respecting his elders. He acts in a way that he has been taught is appropriate to treat women, but which we would see as disrespectful (Poirier). Growing up in a household and a society that treats women as inferior influences the way that a child sees the world and his own privileges. If you are taught that you are superior, then you will act as such and teach your children in the same way. Thus begins a cycle very similar to the one mentioned above and equally as difficult to escape from. As mentioned in

Things Fall Apart, a man’s wives were his to treat as he pleased in many traditional African cultures. Although Okonkwo may have beaten Ojiugo in the book, sexual activity seems to be mostly consensual. Yet nowadays, statistics say that in South Africa a woman is raped every thirty-six seconds (Bwakali, Web). Despite the fact that there are more laws regarding sexual and physical abuse now, the numbers of sexual assault incidents are higher in the modern era are still extremely high. Even though women in many developed countries, such as Theresa May and Angela Merkel, have been taking great strides forward, when it comes to less developed nations, many women are still taking baby steps. The European men who colonized Africa were most likely fighting for a prominent place in history. But surely none of them could have predicted the impact they would have on the “savages” they colonized, abused, and overthrew. This impact heavily affected the women of a hundred years ago in the ways they were treated, taught, and expected to behave. Yet it has also had an effect on African women in the recent years. Prior to colonization, women had set roles in their societies and were generally respected. But after Europeans “settled” the land, those standards were changed and gender roles manipulated in a way that has lasted well over a century. Europeans proclaimed they were bringing civilization to the natives and showing them how to be real men. But in reality they suppressed the women and damaged their independence for years to come. Works’ Cited Bearor, Meg. Personal Interview. December 29, 2013 Bwakali, David J. “Gender Inequality in Africa.” Contemporary Review, 2001., pp. 270-272. “History of the Women’s Rights Movement.” National Womens History Project. N.p., n.d. Web. 27 Oct. 2016. <http://www.nwhp.org/resources/womens-rightsmovement/history-of-the-womens-rights-movement/>. Kalu, Anthonia C. “Women and the social construction of gender in African development.” Africa Today 43.3 (1996): 269+. Global Issues in Context. Web. 27 Oct. 2016. Poirier, Susan. Personal Interview. August 14, 2010. “Speaker: Women’s Role in Pre-Colonial Africa Highly Esteemed.” Africa News Service 26 Nov. 2003. Global Issues in Context. Web. 27 Oct. 2016.

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

el i c l ei n CLASS OF 2017

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

DAYDREAMS BY ALAIA SINGH, CLASS OF 2017

I’ve come to believe that our worst enemies also happen to be our best friends. My dear companion and dreaded foe has always been lurking by my side since before I could tie my shoelaces, attacking me playfully in times of emotional distress and willingly keeping me company at the peak of my boredom.Though we don’t hang out as much as we used to, he is still my best friend. No one knows me as well as Daydreams. I really love Daydreams, but I wish he was more respectful of my personal space. His persistence has been both a bounty and a curse. He barges in uninvited and drags me along with him to visit several new worlds, often against my own will. These worlds are, both, different from the world you and I exist in, and different from each other. I don’t have the courage to explore these unknown alleys of the possible future or even the knowledge to get around these boggling streets of endless likelihood, contained in these new worlds, without Daydreams’ guidance. Daydreams knows that I especially like to visit Amsterdam with my olive-skinned Arabic boyfriend, and sit by the picturesque canals sharing waffles topped with whipped cream--all during chemistry class. Daydreams also knows that listening to the song ‘Eye of the Tiger’ takes me to a setting where I am doing something of great accomplishment --be it scoring the winning goal for the soccer championship, or delivering a motivational speech that forever changes the course of human history. Moreover, Daydreams doesn’t need a frantic text message or a shaky voiced phone call to infer my emotional misdemeanor. I am in awe of Daydreams’ commitment to our friendship. Though Daydreams’ subtle suave and irresistible charm has a giddying effect on me,

he has also gotten me into a lot of trouble. My teachers and parents didn’t understand--and still don’t--just how convincing Daydreams was and continues to be. Daydreams’ perseverance never seemed to be a valid excuse for my missing homework assignments or my messy room. Eventually I got tired of defending Daydreams’ innocence and mine. I began to realize Daydreams wasn’t like me. He didn’t have obligations and commitments. Daydreams didn’t have to make a future for himself. He didn’t experience heartache, anger, and the piercing feeling of loss because in his world he would always be the director of his destiny. Daydreams who had been my lifelong best friend was now beginning to seem like my worst enemy. To be fair though, Daydreams always showed up for me during tough times. He didn’t offer me the conventional shoulder to cry on; instead, he offered a shoulder to jump on and then flew me away to escape my melancholic reality. Daydreams helped me climb Mount Everest effortlessly, fearlessly swim in the frightening depths of the azure ocean; and thus he gave me the confidence to walk up the podium the second week of being at my new school, in a new country and have sixty new faces glare at me, not quite able to understand my accent, as I recited the lyrics of ‘NOT AFRAID’ to conclude my vice presidential speech. Daydreams continuous prodding and unsolicited interruptions made me realize just how much I wanted to call home and hear my dad’s reaction when I told him about the success in my most recent venture. Though most people see him as a distraction, robbing me of my true potential, I see the good in Daydreams. I see his truest intentions are to inspire and foster my imagination. Daydreams constantly reassures me of all the endless possibilities I could translate into reality--forever inspiring me to do it because I dreamt it.

“Daydreams helped me climb Mount Everest effortlessly, fearlessly swim in the frightening depths of the azure ocean...”

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

other’s unamusing jokes. Our eyelids were slowly becoming heavier and heavier as we drowsed BY TOUNAROUZE EL YAZIDI, CLASS OF 2019 off into a deep nap. Suddenly, my father woke us up to show us the sunset. Being the stubborn Poverty is an ongoing issue all around child I was, I decided to continue resting my now the world, mainly in third world countries, and completely shut eyes instead of watching the I happen to be from one. I was born into a very sunset. financially stable family, for which I am grateful “Touna, Touna, Tounarouze!” yelled Tilila as every day. My family consists of four members: she rapidly lost patience.“ You’re missing out on my mother, my father, my sister, and me. Latifa one of the most beautiful sunsets you’ll ever see.” is a very cheerful woman who constantly has Hearing what my sister had announced a somewhat comforting smirk on her face. Her made my heart race faster than light. Missing presence is one I will always relish. My father is out on what seemed to be like one of the life’s the definition of a Muslim father, meaning that greatest gifts frightened me. I opened my sleepy he had all of the authority. To defy him is to eyes only to witness a dull sky with a single ray of disrespect the fundamentals of Islam and of our sunlight piercing through the ugliness. Unable to family. Without a doubt, I essentially oppose his see the beauty in the gray and gloomy sky they guidelines and rules. On the other hand, my sister were so dazzled by, I felt as if I was detached from is a very bright and cunning girl. My relationship my family. I had understood that our definition of with her is similar to Antigone’s relationship with ‘beauty’ was drastically different. Little did I know, her sister Ismene. In this case, I am the “rebellious” our interpretation of beauty wasn’t the only thing sibling. we disagreed on. Growing up, I was given materialistic I spent the next hour examining my objects meant to offer me happiness and comfort thoughts on beauty and what it meant to be that a traditional Moroccan child would not be beautiful. I was both astonished and baffled at able to afford. I grew up in Marrakesh Morocco, how a single sunset had triggered an abundant a city which perfectly defines the country. It is amount of questions in my head, questions I did a luxurious city that captivates by the collision not know the answers to. between the blazing Sahara desert, swaying palm My father decided to stop at a gas station trees, and breathtaking panorama of the Atlas to satisfy his quenching thirst for coffee. My sister Mountains. While Marrakesh is luxurious, it is also ran off to the bathroom as my mother cluelessly undoubtedly home to one of the world’s poorest followed her. As I stepped out of the car, a child society. like a silhouette appeared to be hiding itself This is the story of how an eight-yearbehind one of the gas tanks. I was determined to old me got in trouble for stealing candy at a gas figure out who the mysterious child was. Suddenly station for a homeless girl. the young silhouette carefully approached one of One late summer the cars as she stretched afternoon, my family was out her arm begging for returning from one of our money. many holidays away from “ Tounarouze, I am the sizzling hot weather in getting my coffee with our Marrakech. My sister and without you. You decide I were both resting our whether you want to exhausted bodies on each be left alone out here!” other in the backseat. Not exclaimed my father as he only was the drive back marched towards the door. home a long one, but we had drained all of the I managed to get a quick glance at the mysterious energy out of each other from laughing at each body before following my father into the gas

the beauty of a mentos

I opened my sleepy eyes only to witness a dull sky with a single ray of sunlight piercing through the ugliness. Unable to see the beauty in the gray and gloomy sky they were so dazzled by, I felt as if I was detached from my family.

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

station out of fear of becoming a mysterious silhouette myself. The girl was younger than I was. Her shiny blonde-like hair was cloaked by dust and grease. Her innocent eyes were filled with curiosity and thirst for love. There I was, surrounded by food and beverages of all kinds, and all I could think about was the unfortunate girl out in the world alone. I could only imagine how hungry she was. How her stomach growled in the middle of the night and woke her up from the little sleep she got behind the gruesome gas tanks. When was the last time she had felt the gratifying feeling of “being full”? Or the satisfaction of drinking water? “ Are you all set? Is there something you want to buy? We have to get back on the highway soon.” As soon as my father had asked me if I needed anything, I knew exactly what I wanted. I headed straight to the candy aisle and spotted my favorite candy of all time. Watermelon Mentos. Watermelon Mentos is the type of candy that every child adored and devoured whenever they could. The sound of the wrapper slowly tearing apart and revealing the most extraordinary chewable candy of all time. Its pale green color has the capability of putting the widest smile on any sad child’s face. The salivating aroma of watermelon sweetness was an aspect of life I couldn’t imagine anyone living without, and the A LA INA BO NI S thought of my mystery friend never having the experience of savoring a Watermelon Mentos tore apart my heart into a million pieces. I finally knew what I could do to help her; even though my action was small, it would help her find joy in a world where a gray and gloomy sky is considered beautiful. “ Dad, I want the watermelon Mentos” I ordered without thinking about my decision twice. “ Mentos? I’m not spending money on candy to spend more money at the dentist.” He

yelled back at me as if I had done something foul. “But-” “There’s no but, we’re leaving” Leaving without giving my mystery friend the watermelon Mentos was something I was not going to let happen, so I snuck back into the candy isle. I grabbed the Mentos and shoved it into my butterfly underwear under the short purple dress I was wearing with no regrets. As I turned around to head to the door, my father stood right behind me speechless. I did not speak a word but started crying as I knew that I was in a tremendous amount of trouble. “Take the Mentos out of your underwear. We’re leaving now,” said my father using the most gentle growl I have ever heard him use up to this day. My heart started racing, and my body began to tingle as I slowly lost control of every sense in my body. I took out the Mentos and gently put it back on the counter out of shame, and without a word followed him out of the gas station. I looked up and the first thing I perceived was my friend, alone again. All of the regrets I felt for stealing the Mentos flew away as I was reminded of the reason why I would do such a thing. After my attempt at making a homeless girl smile, I was grounded for a very, very long time. I did not regret the decisions I made, and up to this day, I still do not. I would do it all over again. I tried to steal my CLASS OF 2021 favorite candy to bring joy to someone in need. I will forever remember that day as the first time I tried to give back to the people in need, and the gray and gloomy sunset will forever be the first time I questioned who I was and embarked on the journey of finding my true self.

I finally knew what I could do to help her; even though my action was small, it would help her find joy in a world where a gray and gloomy sky is considered beautiful.

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

right and wrong in Puritan times was purely black and white. There was no middle ground. Hester BY JACK MORTON, CLASS OF 2019 has repented for her sin and is helping those less fortunate, but she is still seen and condemned as Morality can be interpreted in many a sinner and is treated poorly because of it. If she different ways. The technical definition is a set had committed her sin in modern times this would of principles or values that distinguish between not happen, she would not be subjected to the right and wrong, good and bad. In the play severe punishment that she endured. She would The Crucible, written by Arthur Miller, and the not have been viewed as such a bad person. Her book The Scarlet Letter, written by Nathaniel husband had been gone for two years and she Hawthorne, the theme of morality is deeply fell in love with someone else. In today’s times, if explored. These texts take place during Puritan her husband had come back he most likely would New England, a time in which people relied heavily have left her and she would have been punished on religion to govern their daily lives. The authors by her own guilt and sadness, or he would have use this Puritan template to investigate the understood and forgave her. She would still be morality of the people in those times. Nowadays, punished by her guilt but she would not be subject religion does not play as crucial a role in the daily to the humiliation and destruction of her public routine of life. However, morality is still a key standing. component to how people act and think. Society Even with today’s more tolerant view of today has a slightly more moral outlook than in society, there are stereotypes and generalisations Puritan times, with more voices and perspectives that people frequently make that end up with on morality; nevertheless, underlying stereotypes horribly unscrupulous acts. One instance of still result in immoral actions and perpetrations this is when Trayvon Martin, an unarmed black meaning that today’s society is not more teenager, was shot and killed by a neighborhood righteous, even though their is a stronger attempt watchmen. Martin had been walking with his to be so. hoodie up in the rain and this drew the suspicion Modern day society has a better grasp of the watchmen. It ended with Trayvon dead of right and wrong and the severity of people’s (Botelho, 2012). This combined with other actions, yet stereotypes, that are brought up recent law enforcement killings of unarmed black constantly, lead to many acts that are immoral. In men show how stereotypes take away from the Puritan times, people were very strict in their view morality of our society. The perpetrators did not, of right and wrong, so their punishments, even as far as we know, kill them because they were for trivial crimes, were severe and unforgiving. black, they killed them because of a stereotype For example, in The Scarlet Letter, Hawthorne that is frequently brought up in our society and describes how even though it was years after has become ingrained in the minds of many, even her crime, and she was performing good deeds, though it is largely false and unwarranted. The Hester was still being punished. He writes that director of the Center for the Study of Hate and there were, “None so ready as she to give of her Extremism at the San Bernardino campus, Brian little substance to every demand of poverty; even Levin, says, “We’re seeing these stereotypes and though the bitter-hearted pauper threw back a derogative statements become part of the political gibe in requital of the food brought regularly to discourse,” during an interview for an article about his door, or the garments wrought for him by the an increase of muslim hate crimes (Lichtblau, fingers that could have embroidered a monarch’s 2016). Levin is referencing statements made by robe” (Hawthorne 146). Even though she is Donald Trump, during his campaign for presidency. doing good (moral) deeds, she is being scorned These stereotypes coming up in political discourse by the people she is helping because of a sin she speak to how they have become such a big part committed years ago. The distinction between of society today. Even as these stereotypes

MORALITY HAS CHANGED OVER TIME

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

continue to surface in the form of iniquitous acts and conversations though, people start to fight back, something that would not have been done in Puritan times. This fighting back is apparent through protests and the national outcries by citizens. In another article written about the shooting of Trayvon Martin the writer explains how the shooting affected the nation by, “igniting a national debate on racial profiling and civil rights” (Alvarez & Buckley, 2013). This statement summarizes how these events trigger the fight back and protest for morality, something that did not happen in Puritan times. Today there are more voices and perspectives providing views on and fighting for what is right. In Puritan times, there was only one moral code, the Church, and no one dared to think differently from this perspective. If they did go against it and stand up for a personal moral code, they were opposed and even accused of being evil themselves. This is evident in an excerpt from a scene in Miller’s play, The Crucible, when John Proctor is being questioned and Reverend Parris says about John Proctor, “ ‘Such a Christian that will not come to church but once in a month!’... [Cheever adds] ‘He plow on Sunday, sir.’ [Danforth exclaims] ‘Plow on Sunday!’ ” (Miller 90-91). Parris brings up John Proctor’s faithfulness to the church because he wants to put Proctor in a bad light and make him seem immoral. In Puritan times, if you did not follow the church’s way you were seen as evil. The fact that John Proctor did not follow the same exact moral code as the church made him seem corrupt in the eyes of the officials such as Danforth and Parris. In their eyes, John was not completely in the right, so he was perceived as completely in the wrong. This portrays the one-sidedness of the views of people in Puritan times. This is also evident in The Scarlet Letter when Hester is given her punishment. Only one woman empathized with Hester’s situation and saw it from another perspective. All the other women viewed Hester as wicked and thought that she should be punished more. This singular perspective on the world does not lend itself to a just and moral place. It is easy to be swept up in the tide of similar or popular thoughts, as

evident in the sudden and large scale accusations and condemnations of witchcraft in The Crucible. Today, there are many different moral codes and opinions on right and wrong. As a result, when an immoral thing occurs, people can view it in different ways and fight for what is right on a broader spectrum. Today’s society is more open and objective on morality and, although there are immoral actions stemming from long-lasting stereotypes, the different and broader perspectives on right and wrong mean that more steps can be taken to fight for what is widely accepted as morally right. Overall, modern society is not more moral but at least attempting to be better. Puritan society was very strict and one-dimensional. Today’s society is more diverse and able to stand up for morality, unlike Puritan times. Negative stereotypes still result in immoral actions but justice can more easily prevail due to the wider and more accepting moral code of today and the ability to fight for what is right. Works Cited Alvarez, Lizette, and Cara Buckley. “Zimmerman Is Acquitted in Trayvon Martin Killing.” New York Times. 14 Jul. 2013: A.1. SIRS Issues Researcher. Web. 11 Nov. 2016. http://sks.sirs.com/webapp/ article?artno=0000353080&type=ART Botelho, Greg. “What happened the night Trayvon Martin died” CNN.com. Cable News Network, 23 May 2012, http://www.cnn.com/2012/05/18/justice/florida-teenshooting-details/ Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter. Modern Library ed., Modern Library, 2000. Lichtblau, Eric. “Level of Hate Crimes Against U.S. Muslims Highest Since After 9/11.” New York Times. 18 Sep. 2016: A.13. SIRS Issues Researcher. Web. 10 Nov. 2016. http://sks.sirs.com/webapp/ article?artno=0000385954&type=ART#cite Miller, Arthur. The Crucible. Penguin Group, 1976.

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

h i n a koha r a zawa CLASS OF 2019

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

YEARNING FOR YOUR HOPE BY AVERY JUREK, CLASS OF 2018

Brittle knuckles stuffed in dark khakis, Doors swung and blindness meets the eye. Somewhere out there he is looking, Hope glimmers in the sky. Breath billows turn to crystals, There is not a soul around. Somewhere warmth beats closer, Hope suddenly makes a sound. Brushed by the wrath of Boreas, Hephaestus pulsates from below. Somewhere she is waiting, Hope he now must know.

d ol phi ne penzo CLASS OF 20##

HEBRONâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S HOPE BY BRADLEY SPERL, CLASS OF 2018

Hope lives at Hebron It grows among the hearts. It keeps the people free and true To what they are apart. The lives of all are bettered true And never shift to wrong. All that we shall ever do Will echo from our song. Each of us imbue our life To each from left to right. We glow in deepest brightest light To win the day in our great fight.

ra che l bro uw e r

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

CLASS OF 2018

our book? How many have falsely accused? How many have given their lives for the good but we BY BEKARYS ALIMOV, CLASS OF 2018 see their actions as evil? Tom is right, this is one life of many that Alexander are dying because of the false writings on the law “Order! Order!” I shout and hit the gavel as book. But this life is in front of me, and it is here hard as I can. With both sides having spoken their for a reason. To show me the incorrect way that final arguments, it’s time for the jury to decide we use to judge people’s lives. I sit quietly then, the fate of the defendant. For the first time in thinking and speculating the right way we can my very long profession I feel the old cold touch decide the fate of the defendants. along my spine. Wow, a decade of being a judge Arthur and I never had this kind of case; I thought that I It’s been almost an hour, and I am sick of went through each possible one. It reminds me of hearing this woman cry behind me non-stop. My my old man’s last words, “remember, don’t expect lawyer was good, but I don’t think he was good anything from the people, because each one of enough to save my sorry butt from this situation. them changes and not always for the benefit of Actually, I don’t even care. I know what I did was humanity.” God, this… Arthur guy. right, and that is everything I need to think about. I exit the courtroom but my mind is still The door opened and I see how the jury and the there. Maybe it’s wrong to give him the chair? judge enter. Well, what you got for me? No, you are a judge. Get your head straight. This “All rise,” I hear the man in a shiny suit man committed a murder, and nobody is above command. Damn, Johnny actually wanted to look the law. The law keeps the peace and justice. If I like that, all classy and so proud of himself. make him an exception, then there will be others Judge Alexander stands tall behind his who will use this against me, and all of the justice desk and speaks out, “Arthur Storm, on the charge system. There is no other way, this is the only of murder, we find the defendant guilty of first way. degree murder. The defendant found guilty, the sentence being the death penalty.” Christian After he said the last two words, one well This can’t be happening. Are they serious? dressed gentleman with glasses screams out “this It wasn’t Arthur’s fault, his son’s death made is not right, what has happened to us?! To the him insane. It’s insanity, that’s what it is. Even society?!” though he doesn’t admit it, my masters degree in But soon security takes him and his friend psychology does. If he is found guilty, then he will out. Son, if you want to save me, you’d have to do get the chair! more than just scream a bunch of nonsense. “This isn’t right,” I say to Tom, but he just Rodney Alcala didn’t deserve to live. That looks at me and then back at his newspaper. I fix son of a gun done raped and killed six children… my glasses and say again, “this man is insane, they including my son. His death, was a real pleasure should let me work with him!” but this time with for me. After spending six months planning his a louder and more aggressive tone. Tom stares at death, imagining it and rehearsing it constantly, me, with his “not again” eyes. He is a nice guy, but it ended up even better than I imagined. Keeping he is here only because my sister asked him to him alive for as long as possible for him to feel come with me to keep company. as much pain as I could give him, for who knows “Listen, you’ve got a ton of patients how much crime he really committed and how already. Why do you need another one? Forget it much he would do if not for me. It was worth dude, that’s just one life of many that are dying every toothpick under his nail, every bone that I everyday,” Tom replies, but that gives me more broke and the scars I have given him. It was all for to think about. How many lives were ruined by the people but they won’t understand it because

JUSTICE

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

they haven’t lost anyone who was dear for them. I enter an armored car, and soon I hear the engine going. I guess I’ll see you soon Storm Junior, can’t wait to meet you again. Christian “What the hell was that?!” I hear Tom shout at me. He’s right, that was an unnecessary explosion of my emotions. But hearing the verdict, it made me feel so wrong. My vision became blurry, and my mind was going a hundred and twenty miles per hour, I just could not control myself. “I’m sorry,” I barely say, trying to breath in the air. “I just, lost it.” I straighten up and inhale as much as I can and then breath out. “Yeah, well you made us look like idiots!” Tom shouted again. Why doesn’t he understand that that doesn’t matter. A man is sentenced to death and he is worrying about how he looks in public. I come close to him, glare into his eyes to the point where it is uncomfortable for him. “You just saw a man’s life being tossed out, and you care how the ladies will look at you? Pathetic.” I say these words as I turn around and just walk towards my car. While driving in the highway, I continue to think. Arthur killed a man who was killing more people, a man who was doing it for pleasure and who would kill more if he was still alive. Should we really punish Arthur then? Can’t we see that what he did was actually right from a certain point of view? That’s it then. In order to have a correct way of judging people, we shouldn’t ask ourselves what the defendant has done, but rather why they did it and how will it affect the people. But then they need to tell the truth, we’ll use the lie detector. But then, there is a way people can get away with it… Hmph… Then we have to rely on people’s honesty. But who in their right mind would confess to raping and murdering? It seems, that the law that we have is the only one we can have because we can’t trust the people. This is the right way, Chris. This is the Right way.

Alexander This is what he deserves, he killed and now he is going to be killed. This is justice. The man in glasses doesn’t understand. It’s seems easy when you don’t get what is really happening, but really, the big picture relies on every piece. A mosaic won’t be complete with one little piece missing. “Sir, are you alright?” I look behind me and see a police officer holding my arm. “Do you need to see the doctor?” Wait, why do I need to see the doctor? After he asks me that, I touch my forehead and notice that I am sweating like a dog. “I am alright, I just need some fresh air,” I whisper, and move towards a window. Open it and breath in as much as I can. It’s okay, the decision has been made. There is nothing you can do now. Why am I even thinking about this? The man committed a crime, he must be punished. Justice applies to everyone. You did the right thing, Alex. You did the Right thing. Arthur I could have turned him in, that would’ve been good enough. I would even get a reward. I had all evidence against Rodney, he could rot in jail till he died. All the sufferings that he gave to those children would pay back in prison. I could have… I should have… no. Men get arrested, dogs get put down. Rodney was tainting this world, he was a disease, and I was the cure. Guards carry me through the spooky corridor, the kinds you see in horror movies with blinking lights and white tiled floors. The guards finally set me on a black chair and start to strap me in. I was not thinking about my death, but rather my reunion with my son John. What must he had felt during his last moments? He needed me and I wasn’t there… but now I am coming Johnny. I am coming and we can all be together now: you, me and mommy. The guards finished. “Any last words?” One of the guards asked while another put a sponge on my head. A tear came out of my left eye. “I did the right thing… I did the right thing.”

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

MISSING SCENES: THE CRUCIBLE BY TREVOR SOURS, CLASS OF 2018 A cloudy night. The moon is not visible, so there is little light that lights Salem. Enter Hale, walking by Parris’s house with a lantern to head to his house. Parris see’s him and exits his house to greet him. Parris: Hale? Hale is that you? Hale: Aye, it be me. Parris: Could I have a word. Shouldn’t take much time. Hale: What would you like to discuss? Parris: You see, they are to start executing people next week. All of them who had been accused of witchcraft. Hale: What would this have to do with me. Parris: I would like your help to convince these people to plea guilty Hale: Outraged Why should I? All those people are innocent. They are blamed so other people could have their land or for another reason. You want me to just go in there and say that they should allParris: Cutting him off Hear me out. It is unfortunate that they are in jail for this but I do not believe they should die for it. Hale: Ok, but the other option is a life in prison Parris: Seems like that would be a better option than death. Enter Abigail with a lantern and a small bag. Parris: Abigail, go back inside. I will be back in a minute Abigail: Sorry, I was just wondering is I could go to Mercy and stay the night. Parris: Right now? Abigail: Preferably Parris: Well, alright, make sure you are back for lunch tomorrow Abigail: Aye, I will be, Thank you. Abigail disappears down the road Hale: You have a point. But how do you expect me to get into the prison? Parris: I would let you in. Hale: Isn’t it trespassing Parris: Aye, it may be. But I will defend you. I doubt they would hang you for it considering they are already hanging so many for this madness. Hale stops to think about this for a moment Hale: What would I say? How can I convince these people to admit to something they never did or never will do. Parris: I don’t know. They won’t listen to me. Hale: Who have they hanged so far. Parris: None yet. However Giles is dead. They will-Hale: What? they already hanged Giles? He is not even part of the witchcraft. Parris: You haven’t head? They tortured him cause he would not plead guilty or not guilty. He was crushed. His last words were “More Weight” Hales: This is outrageous pausing for a moment Alright. I will be there in the morning Parris: Thank you Hale. Hale continues down the road. As Parris is about to turn around and head back into his house, Betty comes running out of his house. Betty: Someone broke into your lockbox and took everything? Parris: astonished What! Betty: I don’t know who, come see for yourself. Betty and Paris rush back into the house as the last thing that is heard is the door slammed shut.

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

PA BL O SER R ANO CLASS OF 2017

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

feeling guilty BY RUTH CETINA JIMENEZ, CLASS OF 2018

“The great test of this life is obedience” (Thomas S.Monson). Obedience is to hard to follow and more if you are a teenager with a closed mind, living in your world and thinking that whatever you say or do is correct. You feel like the king of the world, and the authorities… well, you just do not care about them. The rules? Rules do not even exist for you, so it is harder to take it seriously and follow them, am I wrong? It was a sunny day; the sun was evaporating the water in the ceiling of the houses that the night’s rain provoked. My neighbor’s rooster cackled at exactly 6:00 AM just like every day, and it was time to get ready for school. I helped my mom with my brothers, and when I was done, I went to her and ask her about this night party that was going to be in a senior year friend´s house. She just looked at me and made the eyes she always uses when something is not going okay. Behind those eyes I could already see the answer. I wasn’t going to freak out if she said no, I felt it coming. And the speech started. “ Ruth, this senior friend you have you know I do not like him. You can’t go,” She turned around holding the keys of the car and at the same time shouting to my brothers to hurry. In that moment I went to my room, took a pillow and just started shouting. I really wanted to go to the party. All my friends were going, so my mind started making plans. First I thought to escape from my house at night when everyone had fallen asleep, but then I remembered that my house it´s like a prison. To be able to go into my house there are two options, either crash the front gate and make noise or jump the bard and electrocute yourself. If you achieve that part, you got into my yard. Now, to get into my house you have 5 doors, each door with a heavy rack and a lock. With help of God, you might find one without a lock and go in, then if you want to go upstairs there’s this heavy

rack (again) with a lock, but the problem with this one is that it is close to where my parents sleeps and it makes lots of noise when you open it. In conclusion, escaping from my house at midnight wasn’t an option. School time arrived, I got into the car without talking to my parents and closed my eyes until the car stop at it’s final destination, “hell” that´s how my friends and I call the school. After all what happened it was clear that that day was not going to be my day. I ran into my classroom, and the first thing I did was tell my friends that my mom didn’t let me go to the party. They were disappointed, but one of them had this wonderful idea to have a sleepover in her house, and in the middle of the night we will go to the party with her mom knowing. The plan was the following: The party was set to start at 11:00 pm. and at 4:00 PM my mom will leave me at my friend’s house for the supposed sleep over, then at 6:00 PM my other friends will come with junk food and sodas to watch a movie, and at 10 PM start getting ready. The plan was set up perfectly, I was just missing my mom´s permission. The school was over and my mom was picking up from school. As soon as my mom parked the car, I jumped into it and asked for permission. To my surprise, the answer was yes. I was so excited, I started laughing and singing my favorite song with my little brother, for me the day was perfect (avoiding my disaster of morning). We reached home and I started to get ready, packing my stuff, choosing my outfits for the party, sending pictures of all the clothes I tried to my best friend. This process lasted about ten minutes. After that I as ready to go. The waiting was over, I was in the car with my mom reaching my friend’s house, my mom was driving and at the same time telling me to behave, to be educated, and the important part, to not get out of my friend´s house, I just answered yes to everything she said with a fatigued tone, but anyways, I was going to the party! My mom finally stopped. I said goodbye with a cheek kiss and a hug that lasted no more than ten seconds. I just wanted to leave and see my friend.

“Yes, I´m here, just right behind you. Turn around, little girl.” In that moment, my heart stopped...

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

It was 10 pm and we all went to the room of my friend´s mom to say we were ready to go, but she asked us. “Girls, did you asked your parents?” All the girls answered “yes” with a knot in the throat and our hands were shaking, but her mom didn’t realize. We were at the party, the music was loud, everyone was dancing, drinking and having a lot of fun. By the time I arrived, my favorite song was playing. I remembered my little brother and felt a little guilty, but just a little, so I didn´t mind. I continued dancing and singing. Everything was going perfectly until my phone started to ring. It was my mom. I needed to run out of the party, to a place that the music couldn’t be heard by the person talking in the phone in this case, my mother. I ran 900 meters away from the house and answered the phone. At that moment all my emotions were going up and down, a headache started, my stomach was roaring, but I TA DEO NUSSER I TARTE answered. “Where are you” she was angry. I knew it. I know her voice. “I´m in Euge´s house, just where you leave me, remember,” I was scared. I have never done this before, but her answer was the silence, the deepest silence I have ever heard before. A tear came out from my eyes. I was feeling guilty, bad, so I said, “Mom? Are you still in there?” and she answered “Yes, I´m here, just right behind you. Turn around, little girl.” In that moment, my heart stopped, everything was passing through my mind, all kind of punishments, and obviously, my cellphone, it was going to be gone. I turned around, and just as my mom said, she was right

behind me. She was disappointed. She didn’t want to talk, I felt really bad, so I started the conversation. “I´m sorry, Mom, it wasn’t my intention.” She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said. “Why, why did you do this to me, you have everything you need, a happy family, a house, a nice school, a lot of friends, a house!” in that moment, the moment I saw my mom crying my whole world was falling down into little pieces. I can see everything but seeing my mom crying it is just impossible for me. I had no words. I reply with another I´m sorry. She didn’t have an answer for me. We were at home and I went down the car directly to my room to sleep. I cried until I felt asleep. At the next day my mom and my dad, both of them talked to me. They showed that they were disappointed. They didn’t expect that from a girl like me. In Mexico I had almost perfect grades, my average was 9.8, here in the states a GPA of 4.00. I am very kind with my brothers, I never CLASS OF 2017 fight with my parents, I have my days, where I don’t want to talk to anyone, but they understand. The only thing that they didn’t understand was why I did that if every permission I asked for the answer was yes. I explained that I really wanted to go to the party with my friends, and that I was really sorry. This incident will not be repeated. They understood very well. I was punished for two weeks, but it was worth it. I spend time with my family more than I was used to; I really enjoyed my punishment. I regret my decision a million times, that I enjoyed my punishment doesn´t mean that what I did was correct, I thought with my head and not with my heart. I will never do it again.

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

feeling; I enjoyed to see the envy and jealousy in their eyes. The thing that I carried was not only a BY JEREMY XUE, CLASS OF 2018 pen box, but also the vanity. One day, the teacher asked the class to When I came to this world, I was a bare draw different shapes and fill the inside with infant. God hadn’t made any external things except colors, but no one in the class except me had color for my soul and body; I didn’t carry anything. pens and pencils. I was happy to lend them mine, Nevertheless, when I was growing up, I ceaselessly as it generated the sense of superiority. However, created things for myself to carry. They exerted because the pens had not been used for several more burden on my mind and magnified the months, the ink had already dried up. I could not complexity of life. Losing ease and happiness, I told remember how my classmates looked at that time, myself: “I need simplicity.” or I daren’t see their face. I could imagine them Like Thoreau’s three chairs, simplicity laughing derisively at me. When I received the should be limited by the need. Anything beyond pens back, I dumped them in the trash can, as well it create redundancy. If three chairs are enough as the pen box and vanity. I thought in my little for life, one more chair will just create space for mind that I ought not to carry useless things. I those who are unnecessary. Once there are four finished the drawing with a pencil and filled in the people in the house, maybe some others will come inside with different lines. It was the first time I to have a group discussion. Will there be enough noticed the importance of simplicity. I had to carry chairs and space for everyone? Probably not. Then, something useful. more chairs and a larger house will be needed. Several days later I began to carry a multiThoreau knows that it is everlasting, so he pursues function pen box. A compass, rulers, erasers, and simplicity. Carrying things beyond the need will pens were stored in four different sections within create more futile things to hump. His idea arouses the box. After several days of use, I started to my sympathy; but initially, what I wanted to do realize that the stationeries that came with the pen was to carry more. box were not advanced enough; the rulers didn’t Wherever I go, I always carry a pen box even have angle measures on them. I went to store with me in case I need to write something. This is and got the one I wanted, but the size didn’t fit the a habit that developed in elementary school when pen box. I revisited there and found one with the I learned how to write. At that time, I could never right size but pink color. I started to carry burdens stop writing because it is so fascinating for me. in my mind, the heavy load of perfection deprived I would like to write each character in different the ease and happiness in life. I could not focus colors to express my enthusiasm. To satisfy this on my studies anymore but thinking about the hobby, I carried a case filled with color pens and functions of the new pen box that I needed to get. pencils. Teachers appreciated my attitude and The pen box that I carried made my life complex. my parents kept buying pens to encourage me to In elementary school and middle school, write. My collection was accumulating and the I always sought out for a perfect pen box with size of the pen box was enlarging. Holding the pen perfect stationeries. But after ten years of box with my slender arm, my body inclined; I was studying, I started to be aware that I have never almost unable to resist the weight of that box. The used compasses or angle measures again. The pen box that I carried was overwhelming; but I things that I need to carry are just a pen box with insisted to carry because I was carrying my hobby a pencil, a black pen and a red marker. Carrying and dream. a pen box even seems to be useless. I tell myself: In the second grade, I still carried that “I need to get rid of the redundancy and carry pen box to school, even though I was required to simplicity.” write in a single color. My friend admired me and I carry three pens with different colors in my pen the pen box that I carried, which was filled with box now; one for creation, two for preparation, colorful pens. That box brought me a predominant and three for correction.

the penbox i carried

ETCHINGS IS A COLLECTION OF WRITTEN AND VISUAL WORKS CREATED BY STUDENTS AT HEBRON ACADEMY

h i n a koha r a zawa CLASS OF 2019

SEE MORE WRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND ART AT WWW,HEBRONETCHINGS.ORG

HEBRON ACADEMY 339 Paris Rd. Hebron, ME 04238