J.N. Burnett's Literary Magazine // Issue 1 - VANISH

VANISH Volume 1 | Issue 1

JN Burnett's Literary Magazine Club

Fall 2016

The Inside Scoop

on DJ Laguna's

World Tour!

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JNB Lit JN BURNETT'S LITERARY MAGAZINE CLUB

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contents 04 staff & contributors

21 halloween haikus// poetry

05 editors note

22 midnight// artwork

06 uplift // playlist

23 the woes of a writer// short story 26 cute fall things// artwork

07 a haunting to die for// short story 12 smile// photography 13 masquerade// short story

27 feelin' like a treat tonight?// artwork 30 october lookbook// fashion

14 discover your freaky side //art

36 deathbound// poetry

15 bent soul// art

38 cry of the crows// artwork

16 valeria noel ramirez's night to remember // short story 20 platform 9 3/4 //photography

39 halloween hijinks// photography 40 garbage// artwork

41 appreciate don't appropriate // short essay 42 home to the spirit// photography 43 3 things we love and do in the fall// artwork 44 when are you too old for trick or treating? // short essay 45 wicked// artwork 46 an interview with mr yamamoto 47 show us your freaky side// artwork

FALL 2016

Our Staff & Contributors

Co-Editors-in-Chief Haley Chung & Danielle Graham Visual Arts Directors Rosanna Tsang & Tiffany Au General Execs Michael Liang & Quan Ng Communications officers Rochelle Guan & Steven Li Editors Elizabeth Lin & Shawn Chang Writers Sonia Vazquez, Adam Title, Dominic Malana, Trinity Lu, Nikka Adrias, Chantelle Ng, Prescilla Chan, Shawn Chang, Elizabeth Lin Photographers Dimitri Camara, Jonah Wan, Donna Huang, Mazi Herico, Kelly Chan, Artists Amber Wei, Tina Guo, Cherry Lian, Hanna Shimada, Rebekah Seow, Teresa Li, Shana Ahemode, Benson Lim Secretary Sophia Anderson

come chat with us:

instagram @jnblitmagazine facebook @jnblitmagazine web jnblitmagazine.wixsite.com

JNB Lit JN Burnett Literary Magazine

editors note W

elcome to jnb literary magazine’s inaugural issue: VANISH. despite the word’s negative connotation, “vanish” inspires a certain hint of enchantment. a specific magic. where is the 6th grade math textbook you never returned today? where is your sister going in the trembling hours of night? no matter the situation, there is always a chill in the air, a tingle beneath skin, a haunted blessing from the supernatural when something — or rather, someone — vanishes. all in all, there’s an inquisitive element to the dark magic of vanishing. that’s why the team at jnb lit magazine have been busy searching this past month, in hopes of capturing some of it for ourselves. pressed between our pages, you’ll find the dreams of the dead, the hidden alter-egos in your friends, the warped truth of our bodies. so welcome. enjoy the magic, before it fades into oblivion and vanishes.

haley chung & danielle graham

jnb lit magazine’s co editors-in-chief 10/31/16

UPLIFT A COLLECTION OF SONGS TO UPLIFT YOUR MOOD

Smile Dami Im Fiona Coyne (Max Yo-Yomix) Skylar Spence In the Morning Pell So Good B.o.B Manic Monday The Bangles Drive It Like You Stole It Sing Street Aint No Mountain High Enough Speed of Yellow All We Do Oh Wonder We'll Be Alright Travie McCoy Uptown Girl Billy Joel A Real Hero High Highs Roll With The Punches Lenka

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A Haunting to Die For

Written by Elizabeth Lin

Kella tore her hand through the man’s chest, fingers shattering his ribs and squelching into his muscles. He staggered for a few steps before collapsing onto the paved sidewalk. Several bystanders immediately rushed to his side, shouts of “Are you okay? Is he alright?” and “Someone! Call the ambulance!” filling up the air.

None of them had seen her crime.

Kella examined her prize. Lying in the middle of her dark palm was a single pulsing heart; it was about the size of a peanut.

Kella grumbled and flicked the useless thing away.

The Witches — the leaders of the undead community — wouldn’t want that.

They needed ingredients that had a certain value to be able to power their magic and continue the tradition of Haunting — the day when everyone was able to feel alive.

Kella briefly glanced at the man again.

He lay there on the dirty cement, limbs caught in an awkward pose and eyes unknowing of the flurry of movements above him. His pressed suit was covered with the smallest specks of dust and she could see the outline of her shadow on the glossy leather of the briefcase, the bright afternoon sunlight adding contrast.

Kella wrinkled her nose. No wonder. He was just another swindling businessman. Acting as if he owned the world, without a care for the people around him.

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Look, his checkered dress shoes seemed to say, nothing bad will happen to me.

Money can solve everything.

Kella strode away from the thickening crowd, their confusion over the absence of visible wounds clogging up her thoughts. She sighed and pulled out a piece of tissue from her coat pocket, twisting and rubbing it around her fingers.

There were still stains of red along the bottom of her nails but it would have to do.

A quiet crack! stopped her from taking another step. She slowly turned her head towards the sound, a delighted smile replacing her frown.

Another tall girl grinned at her from the shadows of the alley across the street, waving a skinny olive hand. The road between them blared and honked, filled with cursing New Yorker drivers and agitated mothers. The lights flashed and glared at Kella, making her unable to focus on the silhouette of the other girl.

Not that it really mattered; Kella had already recognized her friend.

Kella ran across the street anyway. The honks grew louder and several side mirrors almost caught her by the stomach but Kella braved on anyways. That was, until…

HONK! HONK! HONK! A truck screeched at her and charged down the lane at a terrifying speed.

The last thing Kella saw before the truck made contact with her reckless limbs was the other girl’s faltering grin.

Steel crashed into skin and cotton and Kella sucked in a breath as she felt every thrum of the engine, every bit and cog of metal and the burning stench of gasoline.

And then it was gone. The truck left as quickly as it came, driver yelling rude things at pedestrians and continuing on his merry way, not once seeing Kella.

Kella wobbled and did her best to calm her breathing. The other girl started to move towards her but thought better of it when her foot reached out of the shadows, exposing thin yellowed bones.

Kella stumbled onto the sidewalk before the next vehicle could hit her again.

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice a little too breathless to her liking. No matter how many times it happened, she was still unused to the way things could slide and slip through her, forcing her to feel as if she had swallowed too many metal pills.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” the other girl said bluntly, but Kella could see from the way her voice trembled and how tightly she was crossing her arms that she was every bit as worried as she should be.

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“Aww, thanks, Julie,” Kella said, grinning. “You do care about me!”

Julie scoffed and pretended that she didn’t.

“Anyways,” Julie said when Kella’s bright smile was too much for her, “did you get anything for the Haunting?”

Kella grimaced as she remembered her attempt. “I tried, but all I got was a measly heart. It’s useless to them.”

Julie nodded in sympathy. It was hard to find good hearts these days. It was a good thing she had a backup plan.

“You know, you’re loud enough to wake the dead,” Kella chastised Julie.

Julie glared at Kella. “You’re the dead. I’m the dead. We’re both the dead!”

Kella shrugged, unperturbed. “You’re still loud.”

Julie huffed. “Shut up. I’m trying.” She tried to find a good footing on the wire fence, the chains clinking and causing crows to caw with irritation.

“Anytime now,” Julie teased as she watched Kella struggle for the past few minutes. “Plus, you’re a skeleton. Aren’t you able to, you know, disassemble and throw yourself over the fence?”

Julie glared at Kella again. “We skeletons can’t throw ourselves. Plus, how would we even ‘throw’ ourselves over if we’re disassembled?”

Kella shrugged. “Aren’t your bones thin enough to wriggle through?”

“Again, can’t disassemble.” With those final words, Julie swung her leg over and tipped over the edge.

Thump!

“Finally!” Julie exclaimed as she landed unceremoniously on the other side of the fence.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Julie grinned and pointed to one of the trees in the abandoned cemetery. “We’re going grave robbing.”

Kella let out huffs of air as she tried to speak. “Remind me why I’m doing the digging again?”

“Because if I touch my grave, I’ll be persecuted and blah blah blah.”

Kella frowned as she dug up more dirt. “Can skeletons even be persecuted?”

“Apparently so. There’s that whole rule about not touching your old life unless you’re ready to face the consequences and I am not ready.”

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Kella sighed and continued digging, resisting the urge to pick the dirt beneath her nails. Julie had said that it wasn’t very deep down and Kella had no choice but to hope that she was right. She continued digging in silence, dirty black nails bringing out more dirt, bugs and other fun things.

“Okay, that’s weird, you should be getting it by—” Screech.

“—and there it is. Yay!” Kella heaved out the tiny charcoal box with as much exaggerated effort as possible and Julie rolled her grey eyes at her melodrama. Kella stuck a tongue back at her and unlocked the clasps, the hinges of the box creaking in protest.

Lying on the velvet bottom were two dusty golden rings.

Julie’s eyes had a certain fondness in them when she lifted the rings out of the box, rolling each band between her fingers for a few seconds before handing one of them to Kella.

“This one’s for you. And don’t worry, the Witches will let us through with them.”

Kella furrowed her eyebrows even though she accepted the ring from Julie’s fingers.

“Are you sure? They’re obviously precious to you.”

Julie took a deep breath before answering. “Yeah, it’s okay if you use it.”

Kella gave Julie a grateful smile and Julie returned it with her own.

Kella and Julie carefully dropped the rings into the well, watching the glimmering metal before they plunged and disappeared into the murky water.

Two wisps of grey fog formed and rose up, shaping into the form of two hearts before disappearing.

The signs for an old love.

Julie had explained that the wedding rings were from her human life and Kella struggled to remember what her human life was like. But it was useless; ghosts were people who couldn’t remember what their souls were like before they died.

They would let them join the Haunting, that was for sure. Everyone knew that the Witches were suckers for romance.

The duo moved away from the well, letting others take their turn and drop their tokens.

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Soon, the crowd became less congested around the well and the atmosphere started to thrum with energy, excitement crawling under everyone’s skin.

Finally, the Witches returned from their posts outside the forest clearing and rubbed their hands with glee.

“Time’s up!” they cackled and the well started to overfill with thick curling fog, snaking through the participants’ feet and making them shiver. They wriggled towards each of the three Witches and everyone could feel the Witches’ energies growing.

“October 31st,” the Head Witch shouted as the fog enveloped her outstretched arms, “is the time to make our mark. It’s time for the Haunting!”

With a hiss and a sigh, the fog cocooned and Kella, Julie and everyone else disappeared, ready to feed off the fear of the human world.

Happy Halloween, indeed.

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Smile Mazi Herico

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Masquerade

Written by Trinity Lu

Cheerful jack-o-lanterns winked in and out. The buffet was stocked with treats of all kinds, from caramel apples to mint humbugs. Vaulted ceilings and sweeping cobwebs greeted the visitors, while grinning skulls welcomed them in. It was the perfect setting for All Hallows' Eve. In any other event, the flames and scarlet plumage embroidered upon the man’s waistcoat might have attracted attention; but here, each guest was decorated in a stunning costume, all ranging from gorgeous to grotesque. A thousand hues shone and glittered, flitting around the room.

Amidst the chatter, the orchestra began to perform. Strains of "Minuet in G Major" sounded, signalling the crowd to start dancing. Lively gavottes turned to stately foxtrots as the queen of the ball arrived.

At once, a fanfare was raised. Movement ceased as all turned to watch her descent.

Dressed in snow leopard pelt trimmed with feathers, she floated down the stairs, a vision in white. The crowd froze, struck with awe.

Taking advantage of her paralyzed suitors, he approached her. A phoenix emerged from the mass of creatures, taking her hand. She curtsied, her mask concealing any expression, and the waltz began. As his arm steadied itself against her waist, dizzying twirls and elegant arcs accompanied their steady steps. A blur of colours flashed by in the background.

She was surprisingly young, despite rouged lips and carefully arranged curls. Almost like a doll, he thought — porcelain and fragile.

They glided across the room, their heartbeats — though for different reasons — steadily growing increasingly erratic.

The music swelled and crescendoed as the waltz came to a close. He inhaled as he sidestepped and held his breath, twisting his arm into an awkward position — the perfect angle for plunging a knife into one’s throat. The blade sank in, and she was silenced before she could scream.

Blood bubbled around the growing wound, splashing and staining perfect ivory skin a bright crimson. He expected to feel remorse or pity. Instead, he felt empty and numb. He had no time to think before fleeing as she fell to the floor, limp body still warm. Chaos erupted in the ballroom.

He lay bloodied and bruised that night. Memories flooded back heavy on his chest, their weight making it hard to breathe. Her blood on his trembling hands. Spilled champagne and dainty lace gloves. The stillborn screams of a fallen angel in silk and velvet.

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Discover Your Freaky Side Shana Ahemode

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Bent Soul Teresa Li

Valeria Noël Ramírez’s Night to Remember

Written by Nikaela Adrias

My name is Valeria Noël Ramírez. I am the one who toys with your teacher’s speakers. I am the one who abruptly shuts classroom doors. I am the one who makes you feel like you’re being watched when you're all alone. I am the ghost of J.N. Burnett Secondary School.

1999 Ah, el primer dia de escuela. The first day of school at J.N. Burnett Secondary.

New school. New country. New continent. I’m Valeria. I am the girl who values nothing more than her goals in life. I was top of my class at Colegio Aleman de Concepcion, back in Vina del Mar, Chile. It’s an international school that I used to go to and it’s where I learned how to speak English fluently. It wasn’t easy always trying to exceed my expectations as a student; it was normal for me to pull all-nighters to perfect my assignments. I know it sounds brutal, but I didn’t really mind. Those restless nights were a testimony of my resilience and my perseverance to succeed. It’s all paid off so far. My teachers agreed that I was more than ready to participate in the National Student Exchange Program and now here I am, more than 10,700 kilometres away from home. And I’m excited.

I’m not one to show off but I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I just gotta keep my head in the game like I always do. This is just the start of my career. One day, I’m VOLUME 1 | ISSUE 1

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going to make it big. Like they say, “Go big or go home.” Right?

Like anyone else would have been, I was terrified when I moved schools. Not to mention moving continents. But I was astonished by how easily I fit in. By the first day, I had already made multiple friends. We clicked right away. It seemed like they were intrigued by (what was to them) my exotic nature. They were mesmerized by my Chilean accent and stories about my life at home. I too was fascinated by their culture and the diversity of this city. We gladly dwelled on our curiosity for each other’s customs.

I noticed that the rest of Burnett’s students seemed to follow every order that my friends gave them. It became quite obvious to me that my friends ruled the entire school. Soon after, I gained popularity at Burnett and most of the student body knew who I was. I started to rule the school, too. At the beginning of the year I expected to be lonely, to not make many friends, and to just do well in class. But here I was making heads turn in the hallways and having people visibly weak at the knees. I never expected any of this; it felt so incredibly exhilarating to be in the limelight. School was great, everyone loved me, and it was all perfect… Until it started to get to my head.

Halloween Night At last, it’s Halloween! My favourite festivity of the year. Back home, Halloween was always such a blast. Every year around this time, the house smelled of Halloween galletas (cookies) that my family would bake and decorate together.

All of us would dress up, swimmingly win costume contests and I would take care of my three younger siblings when they went out to go out to Trick or Treat. But all of this was a little difficult to accomplish this year since I’m thousands of kilometers away from all of my family. It’s a bitter feeling to have to break the traditions this year. But I wouldn’t be feeling homesick for much longer. Tonight is going to be insane. All of my new best friends and I are going to the “A Night to Remember” Halloween dance at Burnett, and you better believe that I am about to burst from excitement!

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I arrive at the school early with my sweet angel costume in a bag. My posse and I are getting ready at school since we are going to help out with the dance set up.

We’re all in the washroom, getting dressed in the stalls to keep our costumes a surprise. I’m so eager to see what everyone is dressed as. The room is silent until Mckenna Reed (the snob that ran this school until I came along) speaks up. “Is everyone ready for the most memorable part of tonight? It’s time to reveal our costumes.” Everyone starts to buzz in anticipation and Mckenna begins the countdown. “Three . . . Two . . . One . . . ” We all step out.

It takes me a second to realize that all of my friends ae dressed as red devils. Not to mention that their facial expressions really make their costumes come to life; they all have stone cold looks on their faces. After that brief moment, a circle is formed around me. An army of devils imprison me. It’s like the real Satan has possessed them when they say synchronically: “You don’t belong here.”

From then on, everything else happens faster than the speed of light. The lights in the bathroom go out and I’m shoved to the ground. A sack is placed over my head, people are tying up my arms and legs, and I’m struggling to breathe. What the hell is going on? What are these people I considered to be my best friends doing to me? My mind is everywhere with these events happening at a rapid pace. I am confused and concerned and caught off guard all at once, but above all the things I am feeling fear.

I’m scared. I’m utterly terrified. I know that my life’s in danger and I have no idea why.

I’m violently thrown onto the ground and then there are many hands on my body. I hear ripping and shaky breaths. They’re obliterating my angel costume. Then they start to howl at me. “You should’ve never come to this school!” and “You runt!

People hate us now because they think we’re your minions!” and “We should’ve never befriended you, you fruit picker!”

I don’t understand. I came here for a better future. I came here to make connections and to strengthen my knowledge. For God’s sake, these people are my best friends! What did I do to make them so angry to the point of terrorizing me?

Then it hits me; I let the popularity get to my head. I remember the way I’ve been treating my friends for the past weeks, the things I’ve said about people I don’t even know, the way I order everyone around, as if I were some type of queen. I was horrible. A monster; I was the true red devil.

My thoughts are interrupted by a cool blade being dragged across my neck in a swift motion. So this is what they meant by, “A Night to Remember”, huh? They did it; they actually killed me. I’m picked up and my body’s dumped, only God knows where. In the last few moments of my consciousness, I think about all of the things I still haven't accomplished. I remember the saying: “Go big, or go home.” To hell with going big. After this night, I wouldn’t even be able to go home! My entire life plan has gone down the drain because of what a ruthless, narcissistic bitch I have become at my new school.

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Modern Day at J.N.Burnett My name is Valeria Noel Ramírez and I’m the ghost who haunts J.N. Burnett. I’ve been stuck here for about seventeen years. My life was taken from me because a group of petty teenage girls couldn’t handle my superiority. And for that I am angry.

Sure I was a horrible person to them. I don't deny that I let my popularity get the best of me. But those puerile wenches had decided to murder me instead of having a simple intervention. How horrendously repulsive! Now I’m stuck at this school until I find a body that I am strong enough to possess in order to murder someone; the exact same way that my life was stolen. At least that's what the demons say.

I get my priorities mixed up for once in my life and I had to die to make it up?

What type of sick joke is this? Why did God choose me of all people to stay in this lonely place? This place is constant reminder of where I took my last breath. Of why I took my last breath. I just desperately want to get out. So I'm not going to give up on escaping from this prison.

I was influenced by the demons as soon as my life was taken. They confessed that they had been trying to capture my soul since the day I was conceived. And now I am so close to belonging to them. So close to being under their control. Because they say that all it would take for me to be released is to commit a murder. Then again, this trial and error process is taking forever. I can only try to possess one body a day and most of the time, the being is too strong and is able to resist my control. In contrast, the angel's tell me to hold on for eight more years. If I can last a whole twenty-five years in this purgatory, I will be released by the hand of God and welcomed into heaven.

The choice is mine, heaven or hell. But where I go doesn't matter to me. I believe that if I find a body to posses to commit the crime, then I’m meant to go to hell. If not, heaven it is. Only time will tell.

So now, let it be known that day by day I try to steal the life of a young soul.

Chilling, isn't it? Trust me, you'd be lucky if you're the one I possess. That way you won't end up dead, just in a load of trouble. Plus you wouldn't know true horror unless you were put in my place just years ago. There's not much more to say about my short-lived life . . .

But if you’ve ever wondered if I’ve tried to possess you, pay attention to when you shiver at school, and know that I’m present. I am Valeria Noël Ramirez, and I am the ghost that haunts J.N. Burnett.

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Platform 9 3/4 Donna Huang

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Halloween Haikus Written by Dominic Malana

She wanted smarties, I gave her twix, 'cause beggars Can't be choosers witch.

Eerie shadows lurk; silhouettes of strange beings, Creeping through dim light.

One by one they went, Asking questions to the board Until none were left.

Fiery red hair Outlining a painted face Grinning in the dark.

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Midnight Hanna Shimada

The Woes of a Writer Written by Adam Title

Old Granny Finster sat at her dinner table knitting. Granny Finster loved her knitting.

She tried to knit as fast as she could. She was on the verge of a new record. Faster and faster her knitting needles went, swooping about in ornate patterns, impossible for the untrained eye to see. Faster and faster and faster she knitted, until something went quite wrong. The sweater she was knitting bursted into flames as the house rumbled.

Something had gone very, very wrong. Suddenly out of nowhere the rotting arm of a corpse punched through the floor!

“Nah,” I said as I tore the paper off the typewriter. Too silly — a grandmother accidentally summoning the dead by knitting too fast? Who did I think I was?

Stephen King?

I started on a new piece of paper.

He had sat in the nether realm of Hyperboleum for thousands of years now. Too long.

Those damnable wizards had caught him with his guard down and banished him to a fate worse than death. The realm of Hyperboleum was, in other words, the doctor’s waiting room on steroids( a small concrete box, pretty much). Draxus had sat there for just about long enough and decided he’d punch his way out of his prison.

This is how Draxus solved most of his problems.

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So he went to work punching away, his armor clad fists hitting the stone walls of his prison with earth-shattering force. He punched at the walls of Hyperboleum for a long time until his fist met with the soft dirt of the realm of existence. After several more punches, he pulled himself up out of Hyperboleum and into the realm of existence. But this was not the world as he remembered it — it was the world of the twenty-second century!

Draxus stood in an old and desolated graveyard. Lightning split the pitch black night sky in half, reflecting off of his chrome armor. Rain pounded down on the wet dirt of the graveyard. He scanned his surroundings and caught site of two figures in the distance. They were people. However, to Draxus, they were just something he could punch that wasn’t rock for once.

He began walking towards them.

As he moved closer he saw that one of them was pointing a gun at the other. Draxus barrelled forward. He couldn’t just let that man get shot — after all, it was Draxus’s purpose in life was to kill. The man shot the other person, and then turned to see a blood hungry 300-pound armorclad demigod of destruction charging towards him. The man fired bullet after bullet at Draxus, each round uselessly bouncing off his armor. After several shots, the man ran out of bullets and stood pulling the trigger helplessly. Draxus closed the distance with a final burst of speed and threw a lightning fast meteorite of a punch. Crushing bones and tearing flesh, the punch sent the man flying. He hit the top of a tombstone, back first.

The force split the man in half. His chest went pinwheeling through the air, streaming blood and gore.

I tore this off the typewriter, though I tried to keep this one as undamaged as possible. I’d use it for a different book. But for a mainstream book? No, far too gory. I stared at the clock. Man, quarter to eleven P.M. already.

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I put a new piece of paper into my typewriter and stared. I was stumped. What was I to write? I poured myself a cup of coffee and drank it down fast. I didn’t care that it was cold; I always liked my coffee, regardless of temperature.

I couldn’t think of a thing.

It felt like my brain was pressed up against a brick wall. I poured myself another cup of coffee and chugged it down just as fast as I did the previous cup. Still no ideas.

More coffee, that would work. I guzzled the coffee down my throat in one go.

I had to drink more coffee.

Man, my hands were feeling a bit shaky. I poured myself another cup. Boy, I must’ve been cold because I was shivering a lot but maybe that’s because of the cof-RIDICULOUS! Coffee would never betray me! More coffee! Coffee calms the nerv-I’VE GOT TO COME UP WITH AN IDEA! I HAVE TO GET AN IDEA IN BY THURSDAY NEXT WEEK AND I CAN’T THINK UP ANYTHING! I CAN’T DO IT! I’M DONE FOR! I need more coffee, more coffee, more coffee, more coffee, more coffee, more coffee, more coffee, more coffee.

I looked back up at the clock. One A.M. I must have blacked out. I grabbed myself a cup of coffee and heated a Swanson Hungry Man. It was “meatballs” and “spaghetti.”

I scarfed it down as fast as I could so as to not taste the sawdust and mud that I was sure they put in those dinners. I was tired and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I decided I needed to get some sleep. I crawled into bed and laid down on the soft mattress. It felt wonderful to lie down and rest my aching back. Those office chairs were murder. I pushed my head into the soft linen of my pillow. “Tomorrow,” I said weakly while yawning, “I’ll come up with an idea up with an idea tomorrow.”

Tomorrow . . .

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DANIELLEÂ VERGARA

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Feelin' Like a Treat Tonight?

DANIELLE VERGARA

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october lookbook ROCHELLE GUAN AND DIMITRI CAMARA

"say who you are without having to speak" ‐Rachel Zoe

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AIDAN HUYNH PANTS: H&M SHIRT: H&M SHOES: NIKE

abc

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AMELIA CAMARA SHIRT: RW CO CARDIGAN: BRANDY MELVILLE PANTS: HOLLISTER SHOES: H&M

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BRANDON BAE VISOR: NIKE HOODIE: GILDAN JACKET: STUSSY PANTS: FAIRPLAY SHOES: NIKE

OCEANNA NGUYEN SHOES: ADIDAS JEANS: AMERICAN EAGLE TOP: ARITZIA JACKET: THRIFTED

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THEO GALANO-TAN TOP: H&M PANTS: BLUENOTES SHOES: JORDANS

PRESCILLA CHAN SWEATER: H&M PANTS: AMERICAN EAGLE SHOES: CONVERSE

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OSCAR ZHAO TOP: H&M PANTS: NIKE SHOES: CONVERSE

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ARIANNA GUADAGNOLI TOP: H&M SKIRT: FOREVER21

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ALEXA TSAKUMIS TOP: ARITZIA JACKET:ARITZIA PANTS: ARITZIA SHOES: STEVE MADDEN

SUNNY ZHANG JACKET: SUPREME PANTS: FEAR OF GOD SHOES: COMMON PROJECTS

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Deathbound Written by Shawn Chang

Haunting hourglass Ghostly sand Locking time From leaden hand Hollow dreams Emptiest wish Ebbing echoes Coldest dish Face of pallor Weakest plea Heart of phantoms Blackest sea Eternal corpse Wrongly marred Endless sleep Forever barred

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Fair veneer Worm at core Glowing gold Curse of yore Falling fractals Dwindling dawn Meteors crashing Pawn by pawn Reaping sickles Death’s-heads Dying shingles Norns’ threads Lavished love Passing pleasures Rusted bonds Drastic measures Previously published in The Literary Hatchet issue #14 by PearTree Press in May 2016.

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Cry of the Crows Tina Guo

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Halloween Hijinx Jonah Wan

Pumpkin Paradox Jonah Wan VOLUME 1 | ISUUE 1

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Garbage Rebekah Seow

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Appreciate, Don't Appropriate

Written by Sonia Vazquez-Kelly

There is one thing I notice during the Halloween season that occurs more often than the rest of the year. Without a doubt, one of the best things about Halloween is dressing up, no matter how old one may be — but there is a line that exists when costumes become someone’s culture.

When one dresses up as something that is a traditional part of someone's culture, it may be disrespectful and offensive. Every year, without fail, I see people dressed up in traditional garments and outfits from the First Nations and Aboriginal culture, which is hurtful because there is so much more to my culture than “fashionable” headdresses. There is a history of violence and ruthlessness; a history of assimilation where the traditional beliefs of First Nations people are breached upon and stolen away. There is a history of being pushed time and time again aside by white people who take away the Aboriginal People’s land while being honoured — an example being Christopher Columbus, whom we still celebrate on Columbus Day. It is not only my culture that is erased and used as a trendy costume. There is Indian, Romanian, and Chinese culture among many others. There is a history to every ethnic group; to dress up and try to pass as someone of such ethnicity is not honouring the members of these groups. Instead, it is insulting. Cultures do not exist to be discredited — we should appreciate, not appropriate.

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Home to The Spirit Kelly Chan

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When are you too old for Trick or Treating?

Written by Timothy Wan

Halloween is a special holiday because it is one of the only holidays where anyone can dress up as anything they could possibly imagine. One of the special aspects of Halloween is going Trick or Treating, usually with a horde of your friends. But at what age are you “too old” to go Trick or Treating?

Ever since I was 10, I’ve gone Trick or Treating, either with my family or friends.

When I returned from an abundance of free candy, my parents always told me about the people who came by our abc house to Trick or Treat. Sometimes, they were kids from Kindergarten to Grade 7, or they were high schoolers older than me.

I’ve been pondering this question for some time now, and although most people believe that no one is ever too old to go Trick or Treating, my opinion is that you can go Trick or Treating up to the age of 18. As long as you have a decent costume and respect the people that you are asking for candy (for example, not throwing a fit if they say “trick” and don’t give you candy), then it should be allowed.

Here are the opinions from other students of J.N. Burnett according to the survey I took:

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Trick or Treat Shana Ahemode

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DANIELLE VERGARA

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Wicked Cherry Lian

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AN INTERVIEW WITH MR. YAMAMOTO

Written by Prescilla Chan & Chantelle Ng

Mr. Yamamoto (AKA Mr. Yam), who has been teaching at JN Burnett the longest, offers advice on living high school without regrets.

What is something you would tell your high school self?

TY: Have more fun!

What do you think about dating in high school?

TY: Do it if you’re not chicken.

What are the top 3 things you regret doing or not doing while you were in high school?

TY: Just have more fun and don’t study all the time Best advice you could give your students about high school?

TY: Take advantage of everything in school. Spend your money on school trips instead of saving it for a car. You can always buy a car later but you can’t go on a trip with your friends later. Don’t live your life with regrets. No regrets.

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Show Us Your Freaky Side Shana Ahemode

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thanks thanks for for reading reading

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JNB Lit J.N. Burnett's Literary Magazine Club

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JNB Lit JN BURNETT'S LITERARY MAGAZINE CLUB