Literary Issue 2020/2021 by The Tattler

Literary Issue THE IHS TATTLER

January 2021

Table of Contents Poetry 1

“On Looking Back” by Maxwell Eller p. 15

“Are Robots Scared of Electric Sharks?” by Louisa Miller-Out p. 20 “On a Dream I had in October” by Maxwell Eller p. 27

“Curbside Recycling” by Anna Cohen p. 23

“Homō Sapiēns” by Louisa Miller-Out p. 27 “Memories” by Luke Shan p. 28

“On the Bus to School” by Saba Weatherspoon p. 11

“If I Were a Man” p. 28 “America the Antiquated” by Louisa Miller-Out p. 42

Visual Art 1

“Henrietta” by Anya Kramer p. 47

“Rivers Beneath the Skin” by Donovan Redd p. 43

“Pink Sunset” by Shannon Bittner p. 16

Untitled by Noa Yamaguchi p. 9

Untitled by Lauren Essner p. 26

“Conditional Love” by Rowan Catterall p. 41

“Moonlight Kiss” by Shannon Bittner p. 14

“Mask and Skull” by Samara Obenauer p. 29

Untitled by Jacob Yoon p. 45

“Eastern Bluebird” by Anya Kramer p. 21

“Black-Capped Chickadee” by Anya Kramer p. 34

Prose 1

Untitled by Annika Marschner p. 4

“To Steal from Thieves” by Adowyn Ernste p. 7

“A Different Kind of Coven” by Tania Hao p. 30

“Kiss of the Oubliette” by Louisa Miller-Out p. 36

“The Case of the Jade Bracelet” p. 18

Untitled by Annika Marschner p. 42

IHSTATTLER

Photography 1

“Water” by Miles Marteal p. 40

Staff 2020–2021

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 44

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 4

“Cat” by Miles Marteal p. 24

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 5

Untitled by Miles Marteal p. 33

“Fern” by Miles Marteal p. 6

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 35

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 10

Untitled by Miles Marteal p. 37

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 12

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 38

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 13

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 46

“The Stars” by Samuel Sachs p. 46

News Editor Katie Lin ’22 news@ihstattler.com Opinion Editor Jinho Park ’22 opinion@ihstattler.com Features Editor Frances Klemm ’23 features@ihstattler.com Arts Editor Louisa Miller-Out ’22 arts@ihstattler.com Sports Editor Rohit Lal ’22 sports@ihstattler.com Literary Editor Adowyn Ernste ’22 literary@ihstattler.com Back Page Editor Ethan Carlson ’21 backpage@ihstattler.com Center Spread Editor Dorothy Hamilton ’21 centerspread@ihstattler.com Copy Editor Heewon Ahn ’21 copy@ihstattler.com

Graphics Editor Aidan Hayward Toland ’22 graphics@ihstattler.com Layout Editor Jacob Yoon ’21 layout@ihstattler.com

Music 1

editor@ihstattler.com

Photography Editor Hannah Shvets ’23 photo@ihstattler.com

Untitled by Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo p. 22

“Sem Tambores” by Daniel Zawel p. 11

Editor-in-Chief

Anna Westwig ’21

“Can’t it Wait (Snow and Coffee)” by Jonas Heimbecker p. 32

Business and Advertising Adam Saar ’22 business@ihstattler.com Webmaster Alexander Yoo ’21 web@ihstattler.com Distribution Manager Mollie Abelson ’21 distribution@ihstattler.com

“Redspikes” by Jonas Heimbecker p. 8

“Summer of Mine” by Jonas Heimbecker p. 25

“Phycotronic” by Jonas Heimbecker p. 15

“Jacod - Too Early” by Jonas Heimbecker p. 42

“Hallowstep” by Jonas Heimbecker p. 46

Archivist Raia Gutman ’22 archivist@ihstattler.com Faculty Advisor Deborah Lynn advisor@ihstattler.com

Untitled

By Annika Marschner I hope that on occasion we will let ourselves live without reason. We will let ourselves pull over on the side of the highway on a cool summerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s night and slam our car doors. We will throw up our hands to an apricot sky and laugh or cry or both, because we are intoxicated by the oxygen that rushes into our lungs, and by the thrill that simply comes at those rare times, just from being alive. We will spin and dance on the side of the highway to the music of the wind, a free, fervent roar, and the few passing drivers will perhaps worry that our car has broken down but we will wave them on. My new shiny red shoes will get scuffed on that dusty

highway pavement, and yours will get covered with dirt as you spin through the scraggly grass on the shoulder of the road. Here we will dance, so astoundingly alive, until we are so out of breath that our lungs burn with every inhale. We will finally slow, and the wind will ruffle our hair and dry whatever tears of joy, or despair, or unnamable emotion that may have crept from our eyes. And when we get back into your dinged up car the roar of the wind will be muted, the radio will quietly play your favorite soul CD, and we will make it back home in time to heat up thanksgiving leftovers for dinner.

By Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo

Fern By Miles Marteal

To Steal From Thieves By Adowyn Ernste I could hear the sound of their footsteps, crashing through the brambles. The glare from their torches was like a beacon in the darkness. They were yelling at me, cursing me, and screaming a number of the most insulting things. Whipping my head over my shoulder, I laughed and ran faster. The forest flew past, and before me, the undergrowth was illuminated, as if caught in lamp-light. Dodging trees and bushes, I could hear the sounds of the men as they tripped over roots and slammed into treetrunks. They looked quite funny, sprawled across the ground. “Get back here, you delinquent! That’s half my savings!” one man yelled. Over my shoulder, I screamed something rather insulting and, still hollering with laughter, grasped onto a tree. With my sack clasped in my right hand, I made it to the top in less than thirty seconds, and without pausing for breath, I leapt. The jump was perhaps twenty feet. With a feeling of exhilaration, I felt the ground leave me, felt the wind sweeping through my hair. Letting out a loud whoop, I landed in the next tree, and looked below me. Fifty feet away, on the forest floor, the men were clambering to get to me. “So long!” I yelled, leaping to the next tree. Before long, their nettled cries became indistinguishable alongside the wind, and I decided that I was far enough away. Settling down in the crook of a v-shaped branch, I let out a content sigh of and pulled open the sack to rifle through my earnings. There were several coins and enough food to last me for a few weeks. I had taken dried things mostly, items that would not spoil. But, in the heat of the moment, I had also allowed myself one treat: a crumbling slice of apple cake. Vaguely, I remembered that my mother used to make it for special occasions, using apples from the tree by our house. I studied the delicacy, disappointed that it had to be eaten with such dirty, cracked fingers. Ah, but it was the dirt of victory. Smiling, I inhaled the cake, the entire thing in one mouthful. Satisfied now, I leaned back and stared up into the leaves, dappled with inky night, and let my eyes fall closed. The next thing I knew, my sword was drawn. The boy was pinned down under my iron grip. His hands fluttered to his neck, gasping for air. I studied him, taking in the details of his face. He was Wick, with close-cropped dirty-blond hair and chestnut eyes. Jagged scars adorned his face, and part of his right ear was missing. “Who are you?” I hissed, releasing my hand from his neck just enough to let him draw some air into his lungs.

“My name is Fink,” he rasped. Coughing, he tried to draw away from me, but I pinned him tighter. “What do you want?” His eyes moved in the direction of my sack, which, I noticed, was half-open. I immediately relaxed. “Don’t seem right, does it? A thief, stealing from a thief?” I grinned lazily at him, and he flinched away. “Please,” Fink whispered, “let me go. I’ll leave you in peace.” “You don’t strike me as a miracle worker, so I doubt that.” Cocking my head, I glared deep into his eyes, aiming for an effect that I knew was extremely frightening from prior experience. “Give me one reason that I should spare your life.” Fink’s eyes locked on something behind me. Too late, I spun, just in time to see the heavy rock crash down upon my skull. For a moment, I stumbled, black spots dancing at the edge of my vision. Clutching my head, I staggered forward, trying my best to remain upright. Pulling the dagger from my boot, I hurtled it at one of my attackers. It lodged itself into one of the men’s skulls. The shot helped to bring me to alertness, and my sight began to clear. I sensed a movement to my right, and before the sword could bear down upon me, I flipped backward, landing on the lowest branch of the tree behind me. From my momentarily safe perch, I saw that there were five blackclad men. Fink still lay on the ground, clutching his throat and gasping for air. I hadn’t squeezed him that hard, had I? In a flash, one of the men on the ground notched an arrow into his bow and shot. A moment later, I held the arrow in my hand. Cocking my head, I grinned and pulled my bow from my shoulder, shooting the man down with his own arrow. At this, one of the five men sprinted for cover. Before he could get away, I leapt, somersaulting to the ground. The two of us toppled into the dry leaves and wrestled, but in moments I had hefted him over my shoulders and into the air. The two remaining men glanced at one another, not entirely sure what to do. Their swords were drawn, but they didn’t seem apt to use them. Before they could have any time to plan, I threw the struggling man at them, and, like bowling pins, they crashed to the forest floor. There was a sound of general commotion from within the heap. Before they could untangle themselves, I unsheathed the short sword from my belt and slid it through each of their spines. The sharp blade cut through them like butter. Without sparing a moment to enjoy my victory, I spun to where I had last seen Fink. The boy was gone. But I knew he couldn’t have gotten far. Continued on page 8

To Steal From Thieves Continued from page 7 Closing my eyes, I exhaled, and opened my ears to their full extent. Instantly, the stillness of the forest was magnified. I could hear the sigh of the wind in the highest treetops. From far away, a vireo twittered a nighttime melody, and an insect buzzed as it settled onto a leaf. A squirrel scampered over a log, and a butterfly flitted into the open sky. And then, almost indistinguishable: the sound of a panicked animal crashing through the brush. My eyes snapped open, and I slid my sword back into its sheath. Grabbing my sack from the tree, I turned in the direction of the sound and began to run. Unlike Fink, I was a silent ghost, weaving around trees, my footsteps less than a whisper against the grass. I moved quickly and fluidly, like the wild creature I had come to be, and it wasn’t long before I saw him. For a moment, he turned back, and he saw me. His eyes widened, and he began to run faster. Grinning, I kept his pace, my canine teeth barred. I could smell the fear radiating off him, as he realized that he was next. He knew what I had done to his companions. We ran on, and I could hear Fink’s breath coming in pants. Still, he tried to shake me off, weaving around trees and bushes. But his footsteps gave him away every time. He was tiring, and I was not. It was a game, the game of predator and prey. It was a chase. And I was winning. Fink’s footsteps grew clumsier, and he finally collapsed onto the ground, his legs shaking with exhaustion. Taking my time, I walked up to him. “For a thief,” I said, “you’re rather loud.” I stood over him, and, in the darkness of my shadow, he looked up at me, tear tracks running down his cheeks. He was quite young, I thought. Not more than twelve. “Why are you doing this?” Fink whispered.

I unsheathed the small dagger from my boot. Fink flinched, but I merely spun it in my fingers. “I don’t like people who take from me.” In jerky motions, Fink spilled silver coins from inside his tunic. “That was all I took,” he whispered. “Take it back.” Casting a bored glance at the money, I sighed theatrically before looking back at my unwilling prisoner. “I don’t want it back.” At Fink’s puzzled expression, I explained. “You see, I was planning on dumping it all in the river tomorrow afternoon.” I moved in closer, lowering my voice. “But it’s the thought that counts, little boy.” In the slowest, most tedious motion, I slid the dagger against Fink’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood. “Any last words?” “Wait,” he whispered. Fink’s eyes were squeezed shut. “Spare my life, and I’ll take you to the others. We’ll give you food, shelter, rest...anything you want. For as long as you want. You won’t have to steal anymore. We’ll provide. Just... please don’t kill me.” His voice shook. “‘For as long as I want,’” I mused. “That could be a very long time.” I thought for a moment. “Are there other thieves there? Many others?” Fink’s eyes remained closed. “There are about thirty of us.” In the back of my mind, I saw the now-faded memory of the sword being driven into the ground. I could see its silver gleam against the first rays of dawn: the sword that drove a rift between me and the island, the sword that killed my father. It had vanished after that day. Stolen, perhaps, into the able hands of a thief? In a decisive motion, I drew the blade away from Fink’s neck and returned it to my belt.

Redspikes By Jonas Heimbecker Listen at https://soundcloud.com/jonas-heimbecker/red-spikes

By Noa Yamaguchi

By Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo

On the Bus to School By Saba Weatherspoon On the bus to school Listening to music with eyes shut Eating my bagel may be against the rule On the bus to school Against the foggy window my head is cool From my mind the rest of the world is cut On the bus to school Listening to music with my eyes shut

Sem Tambores By Daniel Zawel Listen at https://soundcloud.com/ihstattler/sem-tambores-daniel-zawel

By Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo

Moonlight Kiss By Shannon Bittner

On Looking Back By Maxwell Eller Walking up to my eighteenth year, looking back, The path ahead seemed so obscure, That every step seemed the last. In sleep all absurdities are important, Only upon waking I know I’ve dreamt, I fought for what, for what I wept? Every year’s a house of mirrors, Where I see my cartoonish figures, Built by my faulty measurements. If I, one day, would raid my mind, And would burn up my self-portraits: There’d be no loss of accuracy. To know my lack of originality, Take the anatomy of my pen, you’ll see Maybe Blake, Frost, or Pound, but not me. Discovering at my eighteenth year that I am not as I appeared, A great gratitude surrounds me.

Phycotronic By Jonas Heimbecker Listen at https://soundcloud.com/jonas-heimbecker/phychotronic-cronogolator

Pink Sunset By Shannon Bittner

The Case of the Jade Bracelet The name’s Higgins. Owen Higgins, to be precise. I’m a private eye: the guy to get when you’ve got a case on your hands that you just can’t shake loose. A career snoop, that’s what I am. Or, at least, I was. Things got mixed up good about a week ago, when I made the worst decision of my career. The case of the Jade Bracelet. Never had I taken a job so prone to land me in trouble. I should have known. I’ve got an office on Clayton Street, the most average road in town. Nothin’ special about the venue. Business gets rough these times, though. Seems the law’s got the customers thinkin’ they know everything there is, but I know things the policemen can’t even fathom. Sometimes the case just ain’t solvable by the cops, and that’s where I come in. So you can tell what music to my ears it was to hear a knock on my office door that Wednesday night. ••• A dame walked in. Tall, brunette. Looked a little tense. She told me she’d got trouble for me to right. Every inch of her looked like trouble herself, but us detectives can’t pick our customers. Her case was simple: there was a bracelet. Someone stole that bracelet. She needed me to find the culprit. Wasn’t hard math. The thing was, it wasn’t an ordinary bracelet. She told me to track down some special jade piece that ran the dame a fortune to buy. I told her it would be forty greenbacks a day, plus expenses. She haggled me a bit, but she knew I couldn’t be moved and reluctantly agreed. I had a case, and set about solving it. I sure wish I’d have known just how much trouble was brewing. I asked the dame what she knew about the jewelry. She told me, “Oh, you’ll know it when you see it. It’s this green bracelet I’ve had with me for years. It’s my most prized possession, and without a doubt the most priceless item in my home.” “I see,” I responded in a gruff tone. “And when was the theft?” “Well… I found it gone just yesterday morning. Though I wore it just the day before… Someone musta pinched it over the night.” I rose my left eyebrow. “Were you at home that night, miss?” I interrogated suspiciously. “I think so… I mean, no, no, I was staying at a friend’s house then… You know how wrapped up one can get with good food and company… She was having a supper party,

see, and I carried myself away for longer than I anticipated. They had the best roast I’ve ever tasted, though, I… “That’s enough, ma’am.” I said. I never was one for pointless conversations. “Well,” she continued, “Just find it for me, please. Without it, I’m worthless. I just need you to get the crook in hot water, that horrible, horrible man.” The next step seemed simple enough to me. Her house must’ve had some clues, so I asked permission to go and snoop around. She said yes. I threw on my trenchcoat and stepped into the rainy street on my way to her address. Questions shot into my mind like a .45 automatic in the hands of a crook on easy street. Why’d this guy try to grab the bracelet when he did? How’d he even know it was there in the first place? What’s he doing with it now? No good private eye leaves any stone unturned at the end of the day. I tried to ignore the dame’s continuous glances at me while she strolled behind me under the rain. When I arrived at the house, half a mile from the office, she unlatched the door for me and I stepped into the sorriest looking interior I’d ever laid my eyes on. The dame’s abode was a dump twice over. There wasn’t a shelf or closet in sight, and the rooms were like elevators. Her living room was so small it made me wonder how she could afford a bracelet so expensive as she said hers was. I made myself wade through the clutter, where she led me to her kitchen. “Where’d you last see your bracelet, Miss?” I asked, hoping she would give me a straight answer. “You said you found it gone yesterday morning, but gone from where?” “Well, my safe, of course. Nobody keeps such a valuable item in anything but a safe over the night. The trouble is, I’ve only got the code for the safe on a little slip of paper, and I don’t know where that might be either.” That made it a bit easier. “Mind showing me this safe of yours?” I said to her. She told me she’d be much obliged, and shoved an old pair of shoes and two hardcover novels off a half-buried metal box right next to us. The latch looked alright. “You keep anything else in this safe normally?” I asked her. She responded, “Well, of course. I keep everything of value in there. Do I look to you like a woman who keeps her valuables out in the open?” I decided not to answer. Smiling, she started to walk out, politely excusing herself for no clear reason. “I’ve gotta go, you just keep on searching.” Then she trodded out the front door without

looking back. “Uh, Miss…!” I called abruptly, but it was too late. She had already slammed the door. I stood in confusion for ten seconds straight, peering at the front door. What a crazy dame, I thought to myself. I’d figured not to go after her, though. She seemed tense. Still confused, I got back down and inspected the safe closely. Unlike everything else in the house, it looked like a fine piece of work, with no rust and even a little engraving on the hatch. It might very well have been her second most prized possession. I stood up, with my hand on my chin in thought, when I saw the slip of paper. It was sitting face-up on the counter, with a two-foot circle of junk cleared around it. The paper stood out, with the sequence of numbers clearly visible on the top. Now this dame was giving me the jitters. She sure didn’t just lose the code, and now she’d left me alone in her house with it, displayed on her kitchen counter like a fine diamond. This case was shaping up to be more of a case than I’d thought. I walked over to the paper and pocketed in my trenchcoat as evidence. I’d sure as heck need a lot of evidence to convince anybody that this loony case was more than just a stunt. My clients aren’t always easy to work with, and when I’ve got one like this dame, I know my business is in a mess. ••• Without seeing the dame, I made my way outside and on to the street. The rain had stopped, and now there was nothing but darkness on the road save for an occasional streetlight. I strolled back home for a rest, thinking over the case. It seemed too unbelievable, completely unheard of. I wanted some evidence and I wanted it fast. This woman was nothing less than a creep. I had a hard time believing what I saw. What kind of woman just leaves the house with no explanation, and has the guy solving a case for her find a piece of white paper with a safe code on it? She wanted me to get to that safe, for one reason or another. Which, obviously I would never do being the morally solid man that I am. I thought I had her in a bit of a knot this way, and I wish I was right to think that. She turned out to be more devious than I thought. After a good night’s sleep with the case on my mind, I put on my trenchcoat and stepped out on the road to head out back towards the dame’s shack. I walked down the streets with a distinct scowl on my face. The case just didn’t seem to work, and no matter how hard I try to make sense out of it, it still eluded me. There were just too many unknown facts, and I had to find them. ••• I arrived at the dame’s door after half an hour’s walk from home only to see a police roadster parked on the asphalt out front. She‘d called the cops even after hiring me to solve the case for her? Curious, I walked up to the door and pressed my ear against it. The first thing I heard was the

distinct gruff voice of a police officer, a voice I’d recognize any day, speaking a few words I just had to hear. “And you haven’t seen him since?” I heard him ask someone. Then the dame’s voice said, “Yes, yes, he left so abruptly I didn’t even get a chance to wave goodbye. Oh, officer, it’s all so jumbled in my mind, but I just know he stole it! Arrest him for me, please, as soon as you get the chance!” This sure surprised me. She knew who the thief was the whole time? She was telling me a fib! What’d she even need me for if she already knew the details? “Of course, Miss. You said you know the perpetrator? Will you tell me his name?” “Owen Higgins, officer.” I flew back off the door in shock faster than a flying bullet. Had she just accused me of the theft? After all the digging I did for her? What happened to that woman? In anger and still more confusion I flung the unlocked door open yelling, “It’s not true! It’s not true! She’s lying!” All stunned, the officers and the dame stared at me in surprise. “That’s him! There he is!” The dame’s voice shot out from in front of me. “That’s Higgins!” “Calm down, miss, is this really him?” One policeman replied, slowly reaching for his pistol. “Yes, see, he even has the code to the safe I was telling you about on him!” She pointed at my flat trenchcoat pocket and I cocked my head. Putting my hand down into my coat, I froze like a deer in headlights. I really still had it on me. I couldn’t bring out any words to protest. I was in shock. The woman managed to plant me next to the police with her safe code and I didn’t have the faintest idea. I just can’t say how angry I was with myself in this moment. There wasn’t nothing I could do but make a run for it. What happened after that was a blur. All I remember is the slam of my feet carrying me out the door quick as a jet mixed with the hollers of two armed policemen sprinting after me, guns in hand. They screamed for me to be arrested, I ran for my life, and the last I ever saw of the dame’s face was a smug smile and the small, green glint of something shiny sticking the tiniest bit out from under her sleeve. It took a solid hour of hard running, but I eventually lost the cops in the maze of buildings downtown. ••• I knew nobody would believe a word I said about the case. We private eyes are barely trusted any day, and a ridiculous setup like this one would be tossed out as a crazy person’s accusation anywhere around here. I also sure can’t go to the police for justice either. It seems there just ain’t much to be done when you’re in a bind like this. The dame never wanted me to find the bracelet. She never even lost it. What she did want was a good, fine piece of jade jewelry, which of course she couldn’t buy

Continued on page 20

The Case of the Jade Bracelet Continued from page 19 from the looks of her house and furniture. A dame with a house so small and pitiful as hers never had a hope of buying something half as valuable, and put that with the fact that that canny dame could hardly bare my fee for doin’ this case in the first place, and you got a big steaming mess of fraud. I knew that the bracelet didn’t belong to the woman. She obviously stole it from someone else and kept it in that prized safe of hers for who knows how long, probably planning to wear it all her life. When she came for me earlier at the office, she wasn’t thinking of a way to get the bracelet back at all. She was thinking of how to clear her name. Whenever it was that the dame stole the jewelry, the law sure wouldn’t have appreciated it then. From the moment she snuck out with that bracelet, she was bound to be on

the run at some point, and the dame knew it. She needed a cover-up, something to hide what she’d done from the police, and anyone can tell you that there’s nothing a policeman loves more than a good old fashioned convict. She did need me after all, but not to find the bracelet. She needed me as a chump to pin the theft on. As long as she was seen as a victim to the police, there was no limit to what she could keep for herself, even if it wasn’t hers to begin with. So there I have it. The Case of the Jade Bracelet in its entirety. It ended my career, my passion, and I can’t even stay in my own house now. I live in an alley downtown. All I can think of each day is that I should have known, I shoulda known. I should have known.

Are Robots Scared of Electric Sharks? By Louisa Miller-Out Do we owe it to other people to live? Do we? The stars blink in indifference Streetlights flicker on and off The machines aren’t cognizant Not yet Do we know what makes us human? Do we know it well enough to instill it in others? Do they need us? Would a sixth finger give us the strength to delay our replacement? Or must we languish in obsolescence as natural selection passes us by? Three pounds of grey and white matter in my skull May never be enough The prickly thoughts of oblivion invade over And over again as the wind carries them Toward my eardrums The hammer (malleus) The anvil (incus) The stirrup (stapes) Rinse and repeat Breathe until you can’t anymore The lobster in my freezer Didn’t know what was coming And neither do I Neither do I

Eastern Bluebird By Anya Kramer

By Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo

Curbside Recycling By Anna Cohen Avoid extracting aluminum ore brand-new Put the cans in your bin if you can’t get 5¢ revenue Glass is good recycling material too Just don’t leave any food residue Mixed paper, cardboard, drink cartons are a “yes” Make sure to flatten boxes to ease the process Recycle plastic containers labeled #1, #2, and #5 Keep these numbers in your brain archive Styrofoam, unmarked plastic, waxed cups — keep them out Complications will come about Though they may have a triangle Plastic bags and film will entangle Batteries and electronics can’t be recycled curbside The Recycling & Solid Waste Center takes them aside Before you go to bed, put your bin out on your lawn City of Ithaca will come pick it up at dawn If the workers find contamination They’ll reject your bin to avoid quality degradation So when in doubt Keep it out! Confused by this short tale? Find out more details: https://recycletompkins.org

Cat By Miles Marteal

Summer of Mine By Jonas Heimbecker Listen at https://soundcloud.com/jonas-heimbecker/summer-of-mine

By Lauren Essner

On a Dream I had in October By Maxwell Eller When the elevator arrived I left those by my side And I went to see my life. I saw there was a white hallway, I walked towards that cold green slide, And then climbed up the ladder. At the top I knew it would be The start of an old memory, Though crafted by my mind. It took effort to land Because when I launched off, I would begin again back atop. I woke up at 6 am and cried, My Dad and brother were beside me, When I was on the seesaw. My death never felt more real, Remorse for lost time.

Homō Sapiēns By Louisa Miller-Out We are the most knowing species We know ‘cause we say that and we can’t be wrong But dolphins aren’t killing the planet And whales are all lost in their song We keep drilling deep under the waters Our chance at survival is starting to drop If we were the most knowing species You’d think that we’d know when to stop.

Mask and Skull By Samara Obenauer

Memories By Luke Shan Memories fade Like a stick stuck in the sand Slowly being covered by the wind Like an abandoned town Once filled with promise and hope Now devoid of life. Like a toy in waste, Erstwhile exciting and entertaining Now never to be experienced again. Memories fade Weathered by time Ready to be replaced by new ones.

If I Were A Man If I were a man I’d be praised for taking a picture with my shirt off But I am a woman If I show my shoulder I’m a whore But if I cover up, what am I? Shy? A tease? If I were a man I’d be praised for sending a girl a crude message to get their attention But I am a woman If I text a boy first I’m desperate But if I wait for him to text me, what am I? Too good? I have a huge opinion of myself? If I were a man I’d be praised for getting to “second base” on a first date But I am a woman If I kiss a boy I don’t know well I’m a sl*t

But if I just hold his hand, what am I? Holding out? Pretentious? If I were a man I’d be praised for eating a whole pizza by myself But I am a woman If I eat three slices I’m fat and unhealthy But if I don’t eat, what am I? Someone with an eating disorder? Anorexic? If I were a man I’d be praised for being confident But I am a woman If I love myself I’m stuck up But if I don’t, what am I? Trying to make others feel bad? Striving for attention? So society, what do you want from me? Sincerely, a woman

A Different Kind of Coven

By Tania Hao Grandma Kay’s house was always full of interesting things, even after her death. That was why Alexis always liked to poke around in her dusty rooms, fingering the clay figurines and pocketing a pretty marble or two. Granted, it was the only reason why she tagged along when her mom went to the house. It wasn’t like there were any good memories associated with the place. Alexis could barely remember a time when her grandmother’s mind hadn’t been addled by dementia, when she hadn’t needed to hire a woman from the local nursing home to take care of her. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what the real Grandma had been like, when the only grandmother she’d ever known was the old woman who pulled her hair and pinched her cheeks and spoke with babbles only Alexis’s mother could understand. Her grandmother had died months ago, but in truth, the woman had died a long time before that. Alexis always dreaded going to visit on weekends. She was scared of looking into those empty, bulging eyes and touching those knobbled fingers. She never knew where Grandma Kay’s mind really was. She was glad for Grandma’s death, really—at least now her mother wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not to put Grandma in an actual nursing home. But not putting Grandma in a nursing home meant that now, three months later, they were still cleaning out her house. Today, Alexis and her mother were tackling the second floor. Her mom had rushed off when she heard scuttling noises coming from the attic, leaving Alexis to pack up Grandma’s stuff herself. Alexis sighed and began picking through a pile. Grandma Kay had been a hoarder, keeping all sorts of junk and never throwing anything out. All the little things she snagged from the neighbors’ trash, the antique shop, and the dump were covered with a thick layer of dust. Alexis loved finding interesting things and coming up with backstories for them. But now that she’d already found most of them, it was tedious work, sorting through all the random objects scattered on the floor and piled on the tables. She pulled open a dresser drawer without thinking and reached her hand inside, feeling for anything Grandma might have hidden inside. Her fingers brushed something cold and furry at the back of the drawer and Alexis screamed, yanking her hand out and clutching it to her chest in a panic as she scrambled away from the dresser. When her heart stopped pounding, she hollered, “I THINK I JUST FOUND A DEAD RAT!” to nobody in particular—her mom was in the attic and couldn’t hear her anyway. Soon, though, her curiosity won over her fear. Alexis

pulled the drawer all the way out, bracing herself for the shriveled gray husk of a rat who had found its way into the dresser. It turned out that the thing she’d touched wasn’t a rat, but a gold tassel on the corner of what seemed to be a folded green sheet. Surprised, Alexis took it out and ran her hand over it, half expecting there to be a layer of dust. She was so used to finding unidentifiable grime-covered objects in Grandma’s house that she was shocked to see something in such good condition. Cautiously, Alexis unfolded the fabric. It was not a sheet but a banner of sorts, solid green with an intricate, embroidered golden symbol made of circles in the middle. Placed within the folds of the green banner was a sheet of yellowed paper. She picked it up, not sure what to expect but reading it anyway. It was a letter, clearly read many times over judged by the rips and creases along the edges. The date was printed in neat letters at the top of the page—this letter had been sent four years before Alexis was even born. Taking a deep breath, she squinted at the loopy script and began to read: Dear Annalise (It took Alexis a moment to realize that this was her grandmother’s name), I am writing on behalf of the coven to apologize for what happened last week. We were certain that this formula would work and we don’t know what went wrong. You knew the risks beforehand, though, and I can only hope you are not angry with us. Please know that if there was anything we could do to help you, we would. But the truth of the matter is that your health will not improve. It pains me to write this, but your mental health will deteriorate within the next seven years and your physical health within the next ten. However, do not forget the agreement you signed before you entered our tests. Under no circumstance are you to tell anybody anything about the Coven. It is out of trust in you that I even send this letter at all. Your friend, Jezebel An eerie calm washed over Alexis after she finished the letter, but it was quickly replaced by wave after wave of excitement and giddiness. She knew “coven” meant a group of witches who gathered to do magic spells. Grandma Kay had obviously agreed to be tested on, but somehow the tests had gone wrong and she went crazy. That part was sad, of course, but mostly Alexis was excited and surprised and shocked that her own grandmother knew real life

witches. Of course, there was also the possibility that the letter was a fake, something Grandma Kay concocted at the height of her dementia. But Alexis didn’t think that was the case, because she was also pretty sure she’d already met this “coven” once before. “Mom,” Alexis said on the car ride home, breaking the peaceful silence. They’d finished cleaning up most of Grandma’s room, giving Alexis just enough time to stuff the letter and banner into her pocket. “Remember Grandma’s funeral?” “Of course I do,” her mother said wearily. “What about it?” “Remember that group of ladies who came in while the pastor was talking? The ones wearing those bright green coats with the cool gold pins shaped like Cs?” “What about them?” “Do you know who they were?” Her mom paused. Alexis could see now how she was gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white. “Mom,” Alexis repeated. “Do you know who they were?” “Yes, honey,” her mother answered, sighing. “Mom,” said Alexis, quieter this time. “Was Grandma a witch?” She looked on eagerly, waiting for an answer, but her mother only stared at her, confused. “What? What makes you think that?” “I found this letter from someone named Jezebel talking about a coven. Did Grandma do magic spells? Is that it? Did she do a spell wrong and it made her go crazy?” “No,” her mom said. “Grandma wasn’t a witch.” “She knew witches, though, didn’t she?” Alexis asked. When her mom didn’t answer, she pleaded, “Please tell me, Mom, please? Witches! Wouldn’t that be so cool?” Her mother sighed again. “I suppose you deserve the truth about Grandma. I would have told you when you were older anyway. But believe me when I say this, Alexis: your grandmother wasn’t a witch.” “Then how—why—did Grandma die?” Alexis insisted. Instead of replying, Alexis’s mother pulled back onto the road and began driving again. “Mom?” Alexis prompted. “You said something about telling me? About Grandma?” “That’s where we’re going right now.” Her mom gripped the steering wheel. Instead of turning onto the street that would take them back home, they continued driving down the road leading away from Grandma’s house until they were at the edge of the city. It was here that Alexis’s mother pulled onto a small road leading into what seemed to be the woods. Alexis pressed her face against the window, not wanting to miss a thing. Her mom could deny it all she wanted, but she was sure that any moment now, she’d see witches flying on their broomsticks and stirring cauldrons and mixing magic spells. That moment never came. Instead, they reached a gate

with a bored-looking woman sitting in the booth beside it. Alexis’s mother leaned her head out the window and spoke to the woman, who nodded, and the gate was moving out of the way for their car. When they finally reached the building in the distance, Alexis was wholeheartedly disappointed that she hadn’t yet seen any witches. This building was white with tinted glass windows and a large sign that read: THE COVEN SCIENTIFIC INDUSTRIES. Alexis’s heart sank as she followed her mother inside the automatic sliding doors. There was an ordinary secretary sitting at an ordinary desk. When Alexis’s mother requested to see Jezebel, the secretary gave a nod and pushed an ordinary button on her ordinary computer. “Grandma wasn’t a witch, was she?” Alexis asked, feeling a twinge of disappointment. Her mom shook her head. Across the room, the elevator door opened and a woman with silver hair and a pantsuit strode out. She walked with purpose, her heels clacking towards Alexis and her mother. “Jezebel?” Alexis piped up hopefully, remembering the letter. “That’s me,” said Jezebel, glancing at Alexis then turning her attention to her mom. “It’s been a long time. I thought you swore never to return.” “My daughter was curious,” said Alexis’s mother. “You know our policies.” Jezebel glared at them. “Utmost secrecy is one of them.” Alexis stood, frozen, excitement and nervousness coursing through her body. “You owe it to us,” her mother said indignantly, and Alexis was surprised—she hadn’t know her mother could speak with so much venom. “My daughter can’t grow up never knowing what happened to the grandmother who loved her so much.” “If you insist,” said Jezebel with a stiff tone. “But you will tell no one else.” With that, Jezebel led the two of them into an elevator and pressed the button at the very bottom—a round green button with a gold triangle on it, which set off another round of flashing lights in Alexis’s mind. “Don’t stare,” her mother warned her as they went down. “And be quiet.” The elevator doors opened into a large, dark room, with a clump of people wearing white lab coats gathered around a glass window. Some were scribbling on clipboards, others murmuring into cell phones. “What’s going on there?” Alexis whispered, confused. Seeing how ordinary these people looked, she knew she had been wrong about the witches, but that left even more questions. “Tests,” Jezebel explained loudly, waving them over to stand at the back of the crowd. “We’ve been trying for years to give humans, well, inhuman abilities.” “Magic abilities?” Alexis asked. She knew it was a long shot, but she had to make sure. “You could say our experiments are a kind of magic,”

Continued on page 32

A Different Kind of Coven Continued from page 31 said Jezebel evenly. “They’re giving people superpowers, Alexis,” her mother said gently. Alexis choked on her own spit. “Superpowers? Like Superman?” “Exactly. Your Grandma Kay was part of those tests.” Alexis heard her mother’s voice catch, but she went on: “I was never a supporter of experimenting on humans, and I was right. All this”—her mom waved her arm around—“this cost my mother her life.” “Was Grandma a superhero, then?” Alexis asked. “That’s how she died?” “No. She was a regular person.” Her mom shuddered. “A regular person who believed too much in science and heroics. These scientists gave her empty promises and she fell for it. I—” Jezebel cut her off. “Quiet. There’s a test going on right now. You’re lucky to be able to see it.” Her mother shifted slightly, blocking Alexis’s view, but Alexis moved aside. She peered over the shoulders of the crowd and through the window, her curiosity taking over her fear. The room was filled with the machines of all shapes and sizes, liquids bubbling in IV bags, and a heart rate monitor next to a thin bed with a man strapped into it. A woman wearing a lab coat stood beside him and she meticulously secured each tube into different parts of his body. It was then that Alexis noticed the symbols printed onto each IV bag. She didn’t recognize most of them, but among the ones that she did understand, she saw a jellyfish, a bat, and what looked like a sea urchin. She remembered learning about those in her fourth-grade class, how they were little balls of spikes that could hurt you. The woman had put the last tube into place. Alexis fixed her gaze on her, watching her step backwards, turn the heart rate monitor on, and slowly press a button on the table in front of her. A collective hush fell over the crowd gathered outside

as the fluids in the IV bags seeped, simultaneously, into the man’s body. The woman stepped back as the man fell limp against the chair. Alexis felt herself lean forward, hearing the blood pounding in her ears, excited that the man might open his eyes and suddenly have superpowers. His eyes twitched open and he began to scream. The wall separating the two rooms blocked out most of the sound, but the man’s muffled screams still reached Alexis’s ears. She wanted to look away but found herself frozen in place, unable to move as he flailed and thrashed against the straps that bound him to the bed, sobbing and shrieking like he was being tortured … Someone pulled a curtain over the window and everyone in the viewing area exploded into nervous titters. Alexis turned to her mother, who had a pained expression on her face. One look at her mother’s face told her everything she needed to know. That’s what happened to Grandma Kay. “Now you know,” her mom said in a tired voice. “I can’t believe that’s what Grandma went through,” Alexis whispered. “I thought superpowers were supposed to be good.” “Our experiments are good,” Jezebel insisted, and Alexis jumped—she hadn’t realized she was still there. “We are getting closer to protecting our citizens by the day. Imagine a world where humans are immune to all diseases, where we can breathe underwater, where we can grow wings and fly. All of our experiments make the world a better place.” “The world is doing just fine on its own,” Alexis’s mom cut in. “No need to kill innocent people for something we don’t even understand.” “All of our test subjects understood the risks they were taking,” Jezebel replied steadily. “Sacrifices are necessary to make the world a better place.” Alexis opened her mouth to speak but heard a sob instead. She couldn’t seem to get the image of the man out of her head: his obvious pain as the formula was injected into him, him screaming for help. Her mom reached for her and she leaned in, allowing her mother to wrap her arms around her as she cried.

Can’t it Wait (Snow and Coffee) By Jonas Heimbecker Listen at https://soundcloud.com/jonas-heimbecker/snow-and-coffee

By Miles Marteal

Black-Capped Chickadee By Anya Kramer

2 By Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo

Kiss of the Oubliette By Louisa Miller-Out Somewhere in the city, Louis fell back like a severed tree, and the floor bloomed up to meet him. Where there had once been a dull chartreuse carpet, lush emerald plants cushioned his head and spine. He breathed a sigh of relief as he sank into the foliage, as a sense of safety and comfort washed over him. After a few blissful minutes, he gathered the strength to rise to his feet and take in his surroundings. The overwhelming fragrance of roses emanated from the faded wallpaper; the ground was carpeted with spongy moss, ferns and wildflowers. Louis was perfectly warm though his garments were thinâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;the sun seemed to have entered his sanctuary to shine just for him. An overgrown piano dominated the northeast corner of his room, and Louis rushed over and sat down and played for hours as the dew evaporated from the rose petals and daylight broke. When he grew fatigued, water sprung from the walls and trees sprouted, laden with luscious fruit. This room was his special place, his world. Louis could hear symphonies inside his head. Sometimes, the music was the only thing keeping him sane in a world unknown. Whenever he needed to go to his sanctuary, he would just close his eyes and tune in. There was no time, no space. He could rest in comfort, eat and drink to his heartâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s content. All he had to do was recline and listen to the rhythms of his brain. Somewhere in the city, Clara grabbed her customary black coffee from the counter and picked up a newspaper from the rack. Her eyes scanned the headlines: Boy, 17, found dead in squalid one-room apartment; guardian arrested on charges of kidnapping and negligent homicide

Image by Kyle Thompson

By Miles Marteal

By Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo

Water By Miles Marteal

Conditional Love By Rowan Catterall

Jacod - Too Early By Jonas Heimbecker Listen at https://soundcloud.com/jonas-heimbecker/jacod-too-early-jonas-mix

America the Antiquated By Louisa Miller-Out We vote out one old white man and another takes his spot A cabinet of dunces in the land that time forgot Not everyone has a vote and some votes matter more If we could choose our leaders, would we vote for endless war? We’ve been doing things the same way since America began Senate comes from senex which is Latin for “old man” Can nations ever rectify the wrongdoing at hand When they’re born of violent settlers and sit on stolen land? Each election year the status quo is in disguise I, for one, am sick of broken promises and lies If we, the governed, won’t give our consent to be oppressed To alter or abolish it will surely serve us best

RIVERS BENEATH THE SKIN

Untitled By Annika Marschner After waiting in line for fifteen minutes, I finally get you a candy cane from the man at the booth and give it to you. You’re eating it and smiling like a little kid and saying, my god, this is incredible, and I’m looking at you and thinking, my god, so are you.

By Donovan Redd

By Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo

By Jacob Yoon

Hallowstep By Jonas Heimbecker Listen at https://soundcloud.com/jonas-heimbecker/hallowstep

The Stars By Samuel Sachs Listen at https://soundcloud.com/ihstattler/the-stars-sam-sachs

By Loke Zhang-Fiskesjo

Henrietta By Anya Kramer

By Jacob Yoon

IHSTATTLER