Thank you to Mrs. Laura Kelley-Weakley, for your gracious guidance and support of the Lit Mag and its editors. Thank you to Ms. Eileen Mize, for your work in streamlining the publication process. Thank you to Ms. Monica Jacobson, for ensuring that our artists are always seen in their best light. Thank you to Mr. Spears, for offering your help and expertise as a judge on the rap contest. Thank you to Mr. Davis and Mr. Hayes, for providing the technical assistance that made the rap/song contest possible and helping the Lit Mag go digital.
Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
2018-2019 Publication
What is Lit Mag? The Justin-Siena Literary Magazine is a studentcurated publication showcasing the work of writers, painters, photographers, and creative people around the school. Founded over 30 years ago, the literary magazine recognizes student work and reflects the spirit of each class that passes through Justin-Siena High-School. We present the 2018-2019 Justin-Siena Literary Magazine, Semper Fortis, in representation of a student body that is always strong, always resilient, and always brave. Sincerely, Editors of Semper Fortis
Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Editing Team
Sam Forbes ‘19
Lauren Yung ‘19
Lucy Harrington ‘19
Esther Cottrell ‘21
Kaela De Guzman ‘22
Annabel Elmore ‘20
Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
Katherine Booska ‘19
Katie O’Neill ‘21
Ashley Yung ‘21
Amanda Bueno-Kling ‘19
Jonathan Morales ‘21
2018-2019 Publication
Table of Contents Samantha Forbes ’19 Sydney Wang ’22 Iris Chavarria ’22 Sarah Pyrce ’21 Isabella Bonzani ’19 Vishnu Vijayakumar ’21 Sam Boeschen ’21 Connor Havlek ’19 Sean Flaherty ’21 Ila Sharp ’20 Anthony Fannin ’21 Jonathan Morales ’21 Taylor Undercoffler ’22 Anna Weaver ’22 Amanda Bueno-Kling’19 Alexandra Mazzucco ‘22 Sophia Van Duzer ‘20 Sean Flaherty ‘21 Kaela De Guzman ‘22 Esther Cottrell ‘21 Olivia de Maigret ‘20 Sarah Pyrce ‘21 Kaela De Guzman ‘22 Esther Cottrell ‘21 Gianna Say ‘21 Trevor Martinez ‘20 Sahil Dadhwal ‘19 Anna Weaver ‘22 Katie O’Neill ‘21 Esther Cottrell ‘21 Piper O’Neill ‘20
A Comparison of Literary Symbols “Sunshine Yellow”* Beautifully Unmasked* “Midnight Snack”* Creepy Flower Skeleton* A Peanut Halloween* “Anubis”* “Halloween, for the Pragmatic and the Disinterested”* Yosemite Falls “A Drifting Darkness” Silent Night “The Son of Dr. Sane” Double Sided Winter Skater “Melting” Flying Out of Time Fall Blurry Trees “๙ᄋ෭”
“Sonnet ii” Tulips “Nostalgia for Innocence” Mandarin Duck “A Comedy of Errors” Self(ie) “Lemonade” Years Newspaper Quotes “Think Too Much”* “A Prosaic Wooing”* Tomber Amoureux*
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Prose Art Poetry Art Art Poetry Poetry
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Art Prose Art Prose Art Art Prose Art Art Art Poetry Poetry Art Poetry Art Prose Art Poetry Art Art Art & Poetry Art Poetry
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Havlek, et al.
Taylor Undercoffler ‘22 Eleanor Meyers ‘22 Eleanor Meyers ‘22 Esther Cottrell ‘21 Sophia Van Duzer ‘20 Olivia de Maigret ‘20 Gianna Say ‘21 Sean Flaherty ‘21 Melancon, et al. Amanda Bueno-Kling ‘19 Sean Flaherty ‘21 Sophia Van Duzer ‘20 Mary Cate Hyde ‘19 JS Student Katie O’Neill ‘21 Katie O’Neill ‘21 Anthony Fannin ’21 Miles Williams ‘20 Jordan Bowman-Davis ‘19 Jadyn Satten ‘21 Anthony Fannin ‘21 Morgan Hearne ‘19 Morgan Dalcamo ‘20 Amanda Bueno-Kling ‘19 Tatiana Chopitea ‘21 Amanda Bueno-Kling ‘19 Olivia de Maigret ‘20 Twyla Borck ‘22 Gianna Say ‘21 Amanda Bueno-Kling ‘19
“Sweeto Mode: An OpenSource Political Commentary in 1 Triplet, 22 Couplets, and 4 Singlets”* The Magic “One for the Books” “Winnifred” “One faded photograph and the edifice of Time” Tahoe The Obelisk Track Meet Cloud River “Survival Mode” “A Guide to Hallways” Venice Canal San Diego Fair “32A” Chained Melody “Flies” “Cute Frog” San Francisco’s Beauty “Losing Sight”* “College Classes”* “SUMMER IS OVER (don’t feel the same)”* Rocks Upon Rocks “The Villain in Glasses”* Glitch “Infection” Daydreaming of the Circus “A Sunlit Shadow” Evening In Laguna Beach Keep Your Chin Up CBC Fire and Gold
Poetry
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Art Prose Poetry Poetry
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Art Art Art Art Poetry Prose Art Art Poetry Art Art & Poetry Art & Poetry Art Song Rap Rap/Song
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Art Rap Art Prose Art Prose Art Art Art Art
96 97 101 102 107 108 114 115 116 Back cover
*Pieces with a star are Lit Mag Contest submissions or winners
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A Comparison of Literary Symbols
Samantha Forbes ‘19
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finally footsteps away from the huddled crowd that made up my great-aunt’s dear friends and family. When I was close enough to hear crying and noses being blown I found my sister. My sister, Bree, was a mirror image of me. Or I was a mirror image of her. Auburn hair and green eyes, we were made alike in every way, down to even our personalities. Her hair looked as if small diamonds were strewn into each strand, a product of the light rain. I looked at her face and realized that she hadn’t shed a tear. Now that I was here she wouldn’t be the only one with dry eyes.
Halloween Contest Winner
Sunshine Yellow Sydney Wang ‘22 The howling January wind made me regret walking. As the trees groaned and sighed, I made my way to the cemetery. My rain boots sank in unavoidable puddles made from the former night’s rain. With a little squish, I felt my socks get wet, numbing my feet. I grimaced, but continued my brisk pace until I was finally able to make out the familiar gate of the cemetery. “Rock Valley Cemetery,” written in wrought iron cursive, was perched on the gate. As the gate creaked open I noticed that the wind assumed a more lazy pace. I scanned the grassy field littered with tombstones. A little ahead of me I located the funeral procession. Black clothed figures huddled around what I knew would be a lacquered coffin.
Acknowledging me with a nod, Bree grasped my arm, leading me up to the still open casket. With the coffin situated underneath a dense willow tree, no rain was able to find its way to my great-aunt’s body. The willow swayed to the rhythm of the rain and wind, the green strands of leaves reached out to the sky. My eyes finally rested on the corpse. My great aunt has always been said to be the picture of beauty. And with her smooth skin, despite her age, paired with red painted lips, she certainly looked beautiful. Deep red roses creeped up her white dress. The roses were dark enough to conceal
As I walked as fast as one can in rain boots, I felt a drop on my head. What was a drop turned into a slight drizzle of rain. Thankful that I came prepared, I opened my umbrella,
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the stab marks well, but my eyes located the deep punctures.
I shrugged, once again, losing myself to my imagination. I recalled the day in which my mother received the text informing her of her aunt’s death. My dad, Bree, and I crowded around our mother, reading the text over her shoulder as stacks of uneaten pancakes waited patiently on the table. One specific quote remained in my head. “The tracks were so easily covered, it was the perfect crime.” After reading the whole text, the golden brown pancakes that seemed so appetizing a moment ago had lost their appeal. Still pondering, Bree followed me out of the garage to our shared room.
My sister and I hadn’t really known our great aunt all that well. In her younger years she was the fun aunt. As she got into her older years she was known to be strict and overbearing. One time she locked me out of her house when I was younger for running in the kitchen. Nevertheless, she was still family. Murmuring a few words of respect, I was interrupted by my sister. Bree, still holding my arm, pressed her fingers slightly into my skin. “To the left of you, Claire,” she whispered. Beside me, I noticed my great-uncle weeping quietly into his handkerchief. Alan Kyle Walt. Instead of funeral black, his handkerchief was sunshine yellow, an unusual color for mourning. Jutting her chin to the side, my twin led me across the green lawn to our parents.
As I shut the dark wooden door to our room, Bree sat on her bed and said, “You should just let it go Claire.” “Why would I even care anyways?” She ignored me and continued.
The car ride home was mostly quiet, save for the silent sobs of my parents. Well at least it’s better than walking, I thought. Lost in my thoughts, I was startled by the gentle tap of Bree’s finger. I knew, that she too, was thinking about greatauntie’s murder. The question was clear in her eyes. Who killed auntie?
“It’s not solvable, the private investigators and the police can’t even find a single lead.” “Nothing’s impossible to solve.” “Fine. Improbable.” With a huff, I sat on my bed, and looked out the window next to it.
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The rain was now relentless, hitting the panes like bullets. Upon laying my head on my pillow, I tucked my arm under it. My fingers brushed on what felt like crumpled paper. Turning to face the opposite way of Bree, I unfolded the paper. Neat yet rushed handwriting was scrawled across the bright yellow paper.
headed out the door. As I continued my walk to visit my great auntie, my thoughts drifted to the strange note. Knowing my parents or friends, nor my sister had snuck the note under my pillow, meant that the only alternative was somebody breaking into our house. Leaping over puddles, I made my way to the gate. Who could’ve broken into the house? My parents never gave away any keys to the home and we never kept any back ups around the house. They could’ve broken into a window, but we always keep the windows locked. Shaking my head, I found myself in front of my great aunt’s grave. Although tombstones weren’t usually placed on the day after the burial, for some reason her’s was. “A devoted wife and sister, she touched every heart she encountered.” was written on her tombstone. Above it, her name. “Cressida May Walt, 1964-2035”. She died at 71. Still staring at her tombstone, the words on it began to shift and change.
Biding time is hard Eternity not enough Doubtful there is more There was no signature written underneath the haiku. “Bree this isn’t funny.” “What?” I held up the note, glaring at her. She looked it over and said, “I swear it wasn’t me.” Then who? I thought. A chill went through me. I laughed then told her it was from one of my friends from the last time one of them came over. It wasn’t. But she accepted the lie. Closing my eyes, I fell into a troubled sleep. I woke up bleary eyed. Groaning, I reached for my phone. 9:46. The hazy glow of the sun rested on my sister, curled up in her bed. After quietly changing and brushing my teeth I decided to head down to the cemetery. My great aunt’s death was gnawing at me. Grabbing a banana, I
He’s out there Waiting and watching you and your mirror Ready to do what he did to me Caution is vital
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Grabbing my phone, I typed down the message in my notes before it disappeared. Saying bye to great auntie, I ran home, not wanting to see if anything was behind me as the message on the tombstone disappeared.
glances. I debated telling them about the tombstone. How the words just rearranged themselves. Instead, I lied. “I didn’t get the chance to say any last words to great auntie yesterday.” Looking a tad bit relieved, my parents resumed eating their waffles.
I opened the front door after checking every corner and turn of the house. I didn’t see anything. I told myself that it was all a hoax. But that didn’t explain the strange note underneath my pillow and the words on the tombstone. Looking in the hallway mirror, I realized I was frowning and my eyebrows were furrowed. Schooling my features to a more pleasant demeanor, I walked into the nook where my family was having breakfast. It appears they had just woken up too. Both of my parents’ eyes were swollen from crying last night. When she was younger my mom looked up to great-auntie. My mother brought my father to go see her aunt as the first family member he met when they first started dating. It was no wonder that both my mother and father cried so many tears for her death. Taking my usual seat next to Lillian, my parents cocked their head to the side. “Where were you?” Over a mouthful of waffles I replied, “I visited great auntie.” They exchanged puzzled
Running up the stairs, the tombstone’s words echoed in my head. Sitting down on the soft cushion of my desk chair, I wrote down the tombstone’s message on a piece of paper. Grabbing the unsigned haiku from a drawer, I placed it next to great auntie’s message. I tried to put two and two together, but I was afraid that I would somehow end up getting five. Upon further examination of the notes, I came upon several realizations. One, it appears that three different parties are involved in this. Two if you were to exclude me. One who is after me and my mirror? The other that is trying to keep the other party at bay. It would make more sense if my great aunt was the one protecting me. It was, after all, her tombstone that gave me that warning message. Scribbling down my thoughts in a blank journal, I heard the door creak open. Frozen with my pen still on
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the lined paper, I didn’t dare look up from my journal. With somebody coming after me (with the possible intention to kill) I wondered if the person at the door would be my killer. My heart pounded so loud I heard it in my ears.
carpeting. The killer would be able to sneak into our room too easily too quietly. Would our deaths be as silent? Would it be quick or would it be brutal? I’m getting ahead of myself. I also wondered if I was foolish for trying to take this on all by myself.
Was my family dead? Was Lillian sprawled out on the couch, watching a romantic comedy as she usually does on lazy Saturday mornings? My mom with her glasses on, working on her computer? My dad on the backyard patio in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper with a coffee in his hand? Or did whoever is after me get to them first? Or was he after only me? My silent, yet screaming questions were interrupted by a small laugh. He shouldn’t be laughing. Slowly turning from the journal to the door, I almost sobbed with relief to see Bree staring down on her phone. I quickly put away my notes into a small drawer and pulled out my phone, acting as if I was on it the entire time. “Claire, look at this video Ashton sent me.” It was a funny video, but I didn’t feel like laughing.
Throughout the course of the day, I found myself trying to solve what seemed to be an unsolvable mystery. I thought about telling my parents, Bree, or a police officer, for what seemed to be the millionth time. I received a note the day after I thought about telling. Snitches get stitches. Open your mouth and you can guess what will happen to those you tell. Similar to the other note, it was the same bright yellow paper. Unlike the other note, this one was easy for me to decode. Since one side of this mystery decided to talk, I made a decision to visit the other side. Armed with pepper spray that I swiped from my mother’s purse, I was still extremely wary. I didn’t let myself relax until I was at the tombstone. Even then I was incredibly cautious. As the birds sang I examined the photo on the
When Bree went to go sit down on her bed, I realized that her footsteps made barely a sound on the soft Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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tombstone. Great-auntie smiled at me from the photo and I jumped back as the photo disappeared. Replaced by more words.
apart. I am so sick, so tired of this. But if it means that I can save my family from a threat they don’t even know is there, I am willing to do this. So I tied up my hair and tried to connect dots I couldn’t even see. Two messages started with biding time. One said it was hard while the other said he was biding his time to make his move. Then I looked at the messages even harder. Something about the last and first messages looked the same. Although they were written from the opposing parties, there was something that looked the same. I couldn’t place my finger on it. I looked. And looked. And looked. Until I found it. The starting letters on each line spelled out a word. BED.
Biding time to make his move Ever present in your home Dots should be connected Once again, I wrote down the message on my notes, below the previous tombstone message. I read it once more. I screamed. I couldn’t stand it. The cryptic messages and notes, the loneliness I faced in this situation, and most of all - the fact that I shouldn’t even be involved in this. The last time I had a real conversation with my great-aunt was when I was six. This is the most we talked to each other in eight years. If you can even call this talking. The only people I’ve talked to in the past eight years were my friends and my family. I never talked to any of our relatives. Ever. None of them could be looking for me with the intention to murder if they haven’t even seen me in eight years. Fuming, I walked home even though I knew it wasn’t safe there anymore.
It could be a coincidence. But words shifting on tombstones weren’t simply coincidences. Strategically placed sunshine yellow notes weren’t coincidences. I was a fool. The exact same color of his handkerchief. I screamed. The sound of my scream seemed to have indicated to him that I found it out. He married into our family about fifty years ago, for the wealth he could obtain if he outlasted us all. Although that wasn’t even a possibility because he would have to outlast the children of the family.
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But it could become a possibility if he got rid of them. My heart caught in my throat as I remembered who else he was after. My “mirror”. Bree. Were we not mirror images of each other? My thoughts were a flurry in my mind until I decided that I would face him, for what else could I do?
deemed it too early to wake up. Plus, great auntie’s funeral was today so it would be best if I got as much sleep as possible. My head hit the pillow and I put my hand underneath it. I was startled when my hand came in contact with what felt like paper. Heart pounding, I pulled out the object. Something told me that I already knew what it would be. I remembered my dream as I pulled out a note, sunshine yellow.
I turned around, already knowing who would be behind me. Alan Kyle Walt held a knife that stole the sunlight streaming through the window. A dull glint in his eyes showed no emotion. As he smiled, I knew new words were already appearing on the tombstone. Don’t be late this time. I woke up with a jolt. I took three deep breaths. On a bed identical to mine, Bree rolled over so that she was facing me. “What’s wrong?” “Just a bad dream.” “Do you want me to get you some warm milk?” “No, it’s fine, I already forgot about it.” “Whatever you say.” she murmured, her eyelids drooping. The brief conversation distracted me, and within a minute, I forgot why I was even scared. Checking my clock, I Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Halloween Contest Submission Iris Chavarria ‘22
Beautifully Unmasked
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Halloween Contest Submission
Midnight Snack Sarah Pyrce ‘21 A mirage of orange, red, brown and green Like a blanket, the leaves cover all A most autumnal scene
Though as night seeps into every ounce of day And lamps switch off to rest Darkness pours in like a sea Bringing creatures on a quest
They wake from eternal slumber Stiffly jolting from graves Minds devoid of thought or wonder Only instinct to please their craves
Bones rattle against pavement Fiery eyes shoot a steel glare As the undead escape enslavement
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Shrill howls fill the air
Zombies so zealous Vampires, violent and vehement Beasts long ago left headless Their hunger in agreement
Mummies, werewolves, ghouls galore Who knows the victims they’ve chosen Are they heading to your door? Witches cackle with the notion
Halloween may be scary, leaving the brave full of fright Though more so is what lingers, in the dead of night
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Halloween Contest Winner Isabella Bonzani ‘19
Creepy Flower Skeleton
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Halloween Contest Submissions Vishnu Vijayakumar ‘21
A Peanut Halloween
Anubis By Sam Boeschen ‘21 There once was a man in shackles, Who let forth great, loud cackles. And as he said, Like back from the dead, Appeared those ominous jackals.
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Halloween Contest Winner
Halloween, for the Pragmatic and the Disinterested Connor Havlek ‘19
It’s Halloween time and primarily nitrogen is in the air Many children around, all looking for a good scare Kids are scared by the visage of a goblin or a ghoul But the abundance of candy causes them to drool Adults are scared by heavy autumnal spending While the costs of Christmas are soon impending All people struggle to find the best costume for the season While, of course, utilizing their deductions and reason To ensure that their costume retains cultural sensibility Checking online to the best of their ability People pretend to enjoy a horror or slasher movie Enjoying parties that are pretty gosh darn groovy People carve pumpkins into mostly mediocre faces Festive decorations can be seen in many different places Many good find a way to come in some pumpkin flavor
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Attempting to curry some form of consumer favor Many people’s caloric intake take a sharp spike As they gorge themselves on the sweets they like Ranging from candy bars like snickers or twix, To more interesting candy like pocky sticks. Children devour all their candy until they feel crapulent, While adults avoid sweets in fear of becoming corpulent. Yet in conclusions, after this great and long night We are bombarded with a new season of events And amidst all that, love, consumerism and delight We fail to realize Halloween has came and has went.
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Yosemite Falls
Sean Flaherty ‘21
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A Drifting Darkness Ila Sharp ‘20 Darkness extends its lingering fingers across the sky. It hovers like a thought, expanding like a breath, and letting go of all worries at hand. Feeling of calm washes over the sky rising like fog from the town below as people return home. A sea of flickering lights seem to communicating with one another like lost ships out in the deep abyss. The lights flicker ever so slightly almost like they are too shy to overpower one another. Some appear and disappear, quickly drawing attention and then fading back into darkness. Others weave in and out of branches choosing to dance with the darkness, swinging back and forth in an endless waltz. A low whisper, not loud enough to be considered a hum, sweeps across, over, and around rolling hills. It is almost like a never-ending stream of water that ebbs and flows taking advantage of free will. The branches of an old oak tree extensively reach as if frozen and never satisfied with its connection to the sky, trying to reach every inch of Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
life it possibly can. Its trunk is inviting, it irks to be rested upon, to wrap its guest in its knowledge and grace creating protection. The looming of the moon create long dark shadows that paint the sky with shapes that make a heart skip a beat. They create shadows that a child would fear and shield their face while others embrace and admire. The simple tunes of an occasional brave soul break the abiding silence and echo off the walls of the rocky mountain slope. These sounds bring warming memories of lit camp fires that crackle and whisper into the crisp air. Protecting stars drift above like a reflection on a still lake. They laugh while watching over the innocent town like a nurturing mother would as lights dwindle. Bleak fog lingers on the horizon with the feeling of going down a hill making your stomach drop and turn over. It looks like it’s ready to cover and shield the town below, protecting it from harm, ready to roll over and in whenever it pleases. A waft of the first rainfall of the season comes slithering in through branches and darkness with all its smells. Over time, lights start to spark out, once again making the valley called home look more and more like it once did years and years ago.
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Silent Night
Anthony Fannin ‘21
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The Son of Dr. Sane
if he remembers the night his son was in danger. The doctor is used to hearing his house talk to him. It happens so often that he has come to expect it every day.
Johnathan Morales ‘21
“But no one else would understand,” said the doctor to himself as he opened the door and started down the stairwell, “No one else would know why it talks to me. Why it shows me things. It wants to help me keep my son with me. Not to end up like the other children.”
There is always another presence. No one knows this better than Dr. Sane. He knows what it means. Even as he enters his home, the doctor can still feel another presence. He knows that to feel such a thing is an omen of death. Even as he enters his own home, the doctor can feel another presence. A feeling as if water was somehow trickling up his body trying to pull him down into a pool feet first until his head was the only thing left, fighting for an extra breath before succumbing to the force of evil that has been preying on his soul.
The doctor considers himself lucky to have his son still with him. He recalled the night his son was almost kidnapped. The perpetrator had almost succeeded, but the doctor had intervened. Since that night, there had been several other kidnapping attempts on children, all of which were successful. The children were found dead days later after their kidnappings, each with a body part removed. The connection police have made was that, once a body part had been taken, no other dead child would have that part of his body removed.
The doctor knows what to expect from the presence that lurks. First pain, then suffering, then, finally, death. However, the doctor does not let this thought shake him as he passes through the hallway of his home, gazing at the pictures of him with his son. Dr. Sane turns his gaze towards the door that meets him at the end of the hallway. The doctor reaches for the handle, but pauses as he hears it talk to him, asking
The doctor paused on his way down the stairwell and pondered on the thought of the kidnapped children. He wondered how the parents reacted to finding out of their child’s demise. This thought troubled the doctor, for a
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moment, before he continued down the stairwell.
doctor attempted to open the door, but it was jammed, which caused him to pound his body against the door. The presence had grown much stronger and the doctor could feel it, so in response, he started to pound harder against the door. With each pound, the presence grew stronger.
The doctor could feel the presence growing and quickened his pace. He knew the presence was only going to get stronger and wanted to reach his son as soon as possible. He wanted to make sure his son was still with him.
The doctor started to fear what might happen to his son and wondered who would want to take his son away from him.
Step by step the doctor’s mind started to focus on the dead children. He recalled how they were all his patients. Now, they were gone, but not his son. His son was always with him.
“Who is it,” yelled the doctor, “who is it that wants to take my son away from me?!”
“He always was and always will be,” said the doctor as he stared at the remaining few steps of the stairwell, “My son will always be with me. Always! Nothing will take that away from me!”
The doctor knew it wasn’t the perpetrator who had originally tried to kidnap his son because he killed that man. The memories that the doctor tried to keep at bay were beginning to rush back. The doctor remembered how the kidnapper almost succeeded in kidnapping his son.
For no reason that the doctor could name, he had been aggravated. “It’s the presence,” yelled the doctor hysterically. “No, it’s the house! It’s trying to tell me something! Speak to me! What is it that you want? Is it the presence? Does he want my son? Yes, he wants my son, but he won’t have him!”
The doctor remembered struggling to fight the perpetrator and, ultimately, killing him. The doctor also remembered finding his son, killed by the hands of the kidnapper. Oh! How the look of terror was ingrained in the eyes of his son. The terror that had taken over the boy and was with him until his final breath. The terror that has made it a part of a being too young
The doctor couldn’t continue to act as if the presence wasn't there. The doctor rushed down the stairwell and met a wooden door at the end of it. The Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Double sided
Taylor Undercoffler ‘22
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and too innocent to comprehend the evil of men and the capabilities that men possess.
their limbs fit you perfectly, and how their eyes make you alive.” The doctor started to laugh. The doctor finally understood what the presence was doing. The presence was guiding the doctor to his son. It always was. It told the doctor to kidnap the kids and to use their body parts to build a human doll. However, this was not just a human doll, it was the doctor’s son. It was unique.
The doctor pounded his body several more times against the door, before breaking through and getting his body stuck in between it. Madly, the doctor started to claw his way through the door and into the room in which his son resided. There was no time to spare. The doctor wanted to be with his son and nothing would prevent him from doing so.
The doctor looked into the eyes of his creation, of his son, and saw his reflection. The doctor saw himself and also saw the evil presence. He saw how they both inhabited the same body. The evil presence was a part of the doctor that begged to be released. The doctor knew no one would understand how such a thing was possible, but it didn’t bother him.
The presence was too strong. The emotional pain that the doctor was enduring had reached its peak. The doctor had freed himself and run towards the bed in the center of the room and examined it, looking for a human shaped figure. To his relief, the doctor saw a his son laying on the bed. A slight smile had formed on the doctor’s mouth. A smile which contained his satisfaction, his pleasure, and... his malice.
Dr. Sane chuckled as he thought of himself to be like Doctor Frankenstein. The only difference though, is that while Dr. Frankenstein is a purely fictional character, Dr. Sane is very much a real person, and he’s been thinking of adding new members to his family.
“Do you see, my son,” the doctor said as he picked up his son to hold him in his arms, “Do you see how perfect we are? We are together still. Do you see why it had to be done? Do you see why I had to kill my patients? Such a pity that they couldn’t see you. Oh how
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Winter Skater
Anna Weaver ‘22
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Melting
“Excuse me?” Ian jumped. Turning, he saw a woman, her arms folded. He hadn’t heard her approach. “Yes?” He asked, standing up and brushing the snow off himself. His daughter clung to him. “You do know you aren’t allowed to skate here, right?” He missed a beat before replying. “What?” The woman gestured at a sign, partially obscured by the trees and half covered in snow. “No skating. It says right there.” He forced a smile. “Oh, I hadn’t seen it. While I appreciate your concern, I know what I’m doing. That sign’s only there for people who have no idea how to measure the ice.” He turned back to Beth, beginning to kneel once more to tie her laces. “I’m going to have to report you.” He whipped around, his composure having vaporized. “Look, it’s none of your business what I do. You’re not a park ranger, you have no authority to tell me what I can and can’t do.” “It is my business if you’re going to put your daughter in danger,” she retorted, her gaze like steel. “Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this!” he snarled, grabbing Beth’s hand and gathering up her skates. “Come on, Beth, we’re leaving.” He trudged back to the car, fuming, with his daughter in tow. Her tiny boots dragged in the snow as soundless tears froze on her cheeks.
Amanda Bueno-Kling ‘19
The early morning sun glinted off the fresh snowfall, bathing the park in a soft light that Ian could only describe as magical. The silence, briefly permeated by birdsong, only compounded his awe. He took Beth’s tiny mittened hand in his, warm against the cold that made his breath come in visible bursts. She grinned up at him, his wonder reflected in her gaze. “Close your eyes,” he said. She giggled, squeezing her eyes shut, and he reached into the trunk for two pairs of skates. He led her through the snow to the edge of the riverbank, the powder crunching underfoot. The thick sheet of ice glistened innocently. He squeezed her hand gently. “Okay, we’re here.” Her eyes flew open, and she squealed with delight. “We’re going skating?” She asked, grinning. “Yes,” he smiled at her, bending down to help her put on her skates. She chattered excitedly as he laced her up and began on his own skates. He found himself smiling simply because she was. Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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“I can’t believe her!” Ian raged, buckling Beth in. She cowered as he started the engine, still seething, but in his anger he did not notice. “She had no right to tell me what to do. I’ve been skating my entire life, and she thinks she knows better than me? She ruined our day just because she can’t stay out of other people’s goddamn business!” Beth sat silently, save for the occasional sniffle, for the entire ride home. Ian’s silence was riddled with anger, his mind a tangle of furious thoughts. Ian pulled into the driveway, still irate. “Let’s go inside, Beth.” She was shaking, having never seen her father so upset, and the moment he opened the door, she ran into her room. Ian sunk into his chair, guilt weighing o n h i m h e a v i l y. S i g h i n g , h e absentmindedly sifted through the piles of medical bills and cards that littered his desk, the latter filled with apologies and condolences for a loss there were no words for. His wife’s photo stared up at him like an accusation. Ian’s fingers caught on something rougher than the glossed cards or meticulously inked bills- something thinner that crinkled in his hands. He pulled it out from the clutter. It was the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper. “Where’d this-” he began, but then his heart caught in his throat. The headline read: “Local Girl Falls Through Ice, Drowns.”
Panic coursed through him. “Beth Tremblay, age 7, was skating with her father at Riverside Park when she fell through a patch of thin ice and was swept away. Despite his best efforts to save her-” Ian couldn’t read any further, nor could he hold back the tide of tears that came cascading down his cheeks. Sobs racked his body, echoing through the darkened house. Beth crept out of her room, wide eyed, and quietly approached her father. “Why are you crying?” She asked softly, climbing into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her gently, pulling her close to him. “It’s nothing, Beth,” he replied, pressing his lips against the top of her head, his tears soaking into her hair. “I just love you so much.” Years away, the woman smiled.
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Flying Out of Time
Alexandra Mazzucco ‘22
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Fall
Sophia Van Duzer ‘20
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Blurry Trees
Sean Flaherty ‘21
๙ᄋ෭ By Kaela De Guzman ‘22 I open my eyes to the look of darkness I realize my fear ridden eyes And see the thick tree rings that is my life From the eyes of that cold night I tried to hide from myself But then I see, the me I see To listen to my melody
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So that the morning will come again And no darkness And no season is eternal And rays will shine through and show the light And open the door that I always fight To know I am my own light Is the most beautiful moment in life
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Sonnet ii Esther Cottrell ‘21
The winds of winter rustle all the leaves Which Autumn’s fingers stained with burning hues, And now, which by the winds, the dancing thieves, Are falling on the pavement, ‘neath my shoes. A thing of beauty is a joy that ends; All which is golden must in time be dulled. The flower to a wilting winter tends, And love once ardent will one day grow cold. And yet in loss, there may yet be a grace, A gentle melody of wistful strains, That beautifies the solemn corpse’s face, And emphasizes that which still remains. For when the blazing autumn leaves have flown, The sunlight gleams through hamadryad bones.
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Tulips
Olivia de Maigret ‘20
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Nostalgia for Innocence Sarah Pyrce ‘21 I long for the days when my eyes only opened half wide While it may have been hard to see I was happy I could not understand The strife and concern The mumbles in the corner The saturated people with the furrowed brows I thought Perhaps they do not see the smiling sun Or the sweet roses Or the dewy grass I thought maybe it is because my eyes are half wide If only they would open them fully So I could understand So I could be a part of that world I was incapacitated with a growing wonder Curiosity rattled my bones But my eyes stayed small
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And I stayed happy I grew with time For time does not stop for mere happiness As I grew my eyes grew too Although the evolution was gradual It seemed my eyelashes skimmed my eyes Only once And before I knew it my eyes were open wider than ever Exposed to all the wonder I once called my friend Except now it was my reckless enemy They were open so wide they stung I tried for days and weeks and months But they would not close again All there was to do Was what I could To change the world back Into how I once perceived it Because the one thing that remained untouched When my eyes opened wide Was the hope which exists at my very core The hope Which will never fade with time
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Mandarin Duck
Kaela De Guzman ‘22
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A Comedy of Errors
This is how it had been at Lincoln High for forty-three years, and, until my freshman year, it didn’t seem like it would change any time soon. That was the year that they hired a new drama teacher.
Esther Cottrell ‘21
At first glance, Mr. Henry Shaker looked completely normal. My initial impression of him, with his greying hair, rumpled yellow dress shirt, and faded brown slacks, was that he looked more like a sentient, faded legal pad than the person who was going to teach us how to, in the words of the class’ syllabus, “master the age-old art of capturing an audience”. But his twinkling eyes ruined that persona immediately. They gave him alertness, a kind of liveliness that none of us Lincoln kids had ever seen outside of the movie theater. This is where I come in.
Before I tell you this story, I would like to make it very clear that none of what happened was directly my fault. Except for the roses. I may have had some part in that. And the plum stains. That too. But the important thing is, that as I ran down the sidewalk that Thursday, rushing to get to the theater, I had no idea what was about to happen. Lincoln High School, on the outskirts of Chicago, is average. Completely and utterly average. Our football team makes it to the semifinals every few years and lost most of the times it did. The campus is nothing special-it’s got the same faded linoleum floors and limply flapping posters that you’d find at any other high school across the country. Even the students were average. None of us knew what we would do with our lives, and only a few of us really cared. Our school might have been a bus on a Monday morning for all the life that pervaded its hallways.
My name is William Speare, which is the worst name ever if you happen to like William Shakespeare, which I do, and an even worse name if you also happen to be a horrible actor, which I am. When I signed up for drama that year, I had no expectation of a major role in anything. I have the stage presence of a paperclip and I can’t memorize lines to save my life. I only joined because my best and only friend, Jacob Goldstein, did and
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because he told me they were going to do Shakespeare.
least our stage manager hates the play as much as I do. Quite frankly, it’s a miracle I haven’t gotten sick from listening to Jacob warble through Romeo’s declarations of love. The fact that he plays opposite Diana King, who has hated me since the beginning of forever, does not make matters any better.
As I expected, I didn’t get a part in the play, not even as Tree #3. Instead, for reasons fathomable only to himself, Mr. Shaker made me his stage manager, claiming that I showed talent and initiative and that our names were perfect together. Shaker and Speare. It’s a terrible pun worthy of the Bard himself.
Today was a dress rehearsal, and I was late. My sneakers slapped across the concrete path, skidded around the corner, and squeaked down the hallway until I slammed face first into the theater doors-and was met with total bedlam. Rose Beatty from costumes and Sophy Bishop from makeup were arguing fiercely over dressing room space while their partners were furiously rushing people into ruffs and rouge. Jacob and Diana were frantically reviewing their lines over a rushed lunch of Cheez-its and Sprite while Deanne Walters and Deandre Waters, our nurse and friar, critiqued them from the cheap seats. Richard Cook, unflappable as always, was arranging the props table while telling Charlie Buckley where to put the dead bodies. In the middle of it all was Mr. Shaker, running his hands through his hair and looking wildly around for someone.
But despite my doubts about whether a cast of fledgling actors and crew members could pull it off, that year’s production of The Tempest was brilliant. It was the first time that Lincoln had ever done anything remarkable, and, like the sun through the clouds, everyone began to perk up. The drama program at Lincoln High was officially there to stay, and so was my position as Mr. Shaker’s stage manager. This year, when the rest of the class found out that I was pushing Macbeth to Mr. Shaker, they immediately countered with a majority vote and a romance. So, instead of an adventure story like The Tempest or a good oldfashioned murderfest like Macbeth, we’re doing Romeo and Juliet, a threeday romance between an eighth grader and a senior that ends up with six people dead. I wasn’t pleased, but at
Oh, wait.
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That was me.
the moonlight for the balcony scene. See, when I changed out this filter and-”
Before I could get his attention, something crashed backstage, and Mr. Shaker disappeared into the wings, leaving me with only two other sane people in the theater. Willa, our script manager, was trying to wrangle out some last-minute lighting cues with James the switchboard guy, who was currently hanging out of the booth window trying to compare their versions of the script.
“James.” “Fine.” He shimmied back through the window. I turned to Willa. “How much time do we have before Mr. Richter gets here? He can’t walk in and see this.” “No, he can’t,” she agreed, “but every time I think I’ve got Mr. Shaker’s attention, he runs off to deal with another crisis. We have six minutes to get everyone in order. Any ideas?”
“Willa?” I called as I fought my way between two Capulets. “What happened?” She sighed. “Fifteen minutes ago, Mr. Shaker got a call from Mr. Richter, who said that he wanted to watch the rehearsal.” I winced. Mr. Richter, our principal, was the grumpiest, most irritable old man in the world, and, despite his twenty years at Lincoln High, he expected only the best from his students.
“Uhh...I think Alan has a megaphone in the back? Try him.” “Please, not Alan.” “Please, yes Alan.” She scowled at me, told me to fix my sweater, and ran off, curly ponytail bouncing behind her. I didn’t know what was wrong with my sweater, and as I puzzled over it, Mr. Shaker emerged from the wings. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” the megaphone roared. The theater fell silent. “Thank you. Yes, Alan, thank you for the megaphone. Okay. Um, I know you’re a little nervous-” (uncomfortable laughter) “okay, maybe very nervous, but I believe in you! We’ve been working
“I take it that it didn’t go over well with the cast?” She gave me a blank look. “No duh, Sherlock.” James hit her on the head with her script, and she took it. “I think I’ve got all of the cues synced, Willa,” he said. “And I figured out a better way to do Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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this show for two months now, and I know you can pull this off. Just remember-yes, Willa? Oh, yeah. Julie and Ronaldo, go greet Mr. Richter. Good luck! As I was saying, just remember that however badly we do, we’re not the soccer team. Break a leg!” Mr. Shaker hurried offstage, and I ran to call places.
my dad is a florist, had asked me in September if I could get some potted plants for the set. Dad got super invested in our choices and pretty much forced the roses on me. Richard was delighted. You see, what my dad didn’t tell us was that these were climbing roses, and, though we didn’t think it would happen, we guessed that they might possibly end up weakening the structure of the balcony, which is precisely what happened.
From where I sat, I thought things were going well. Mr. Shaker made the usual no-filming-or-heckling-allowed speech, passed out the peanuts to the gallery, and the lights went down. Our chorus, comprised of one small boy named Ewan in a truly awful hat, stepped into the spotlight, and the play began. Despite the fact that we were still in rehearsals and I don’t like Romeo and Juliet, I was enjoying myself. I could see Willa nodding at every cue from her seat in the fourth row. Jacob was great, as usual, and Diana might have been even better than him. All was running smoothly until the balcony collapsed.
Diana fell through the railing with a shriek, reaching for Jacob, who in turn reached out to catch her. He missed. Thankfully, Deandre had heard the boards creaking under Diana, and rushed out of a door in the set just in time to catch her. However, Diana’s momentum pushed him back into that same door that Gina, our stage medic, was coming out of. While all of this had been going on, Deanne was still following the script. She took one step out onto the balcony and the whole thing cracked beneath her, sending her straight into the tender arms of a fruit tree.
Richard and Charlie had outdone themselves with sets this year, and, though I had been extremely skeptical of their ability to pull off an entire balcony, they had done it, complete with roses and ornamental fruit trees. It is now that I must confess my guilt. The roses were real. Richard, knowing
The poor tree had never had to carry a sturdily built girl in heavy Elizabethan servant clothing before and promptly snapped under the pressure, depositing Deanne and several ripe plums smack down on the stage. Charlie rushed out
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brandishing a broom, which managed to hit the last board still attached to the set. The board fell straight onto Deandre and Diana, who had just excavated themselves from the remains of the balcony. Jacob rushed over to help them, only to trip over some of the wreckage and fall on top of the unfortunate pair. Richard, having followed Charlie out with a dustpan, began to clear away the wood. As he turned to put another beam into his pile, he accidentally hit a rising Deanne in the gut, who promptly began pelting him with plums.
at Mr. Shaker’s and Willa’s horrified faces, that something had to be done. I ran onstage, ignoring their protests, and scrambled through the fray to the front. Alan, who seemed to have a preternatural sense of where he and his megaphone were needed, held it out to me.
Rose and Oscar from costumes burst out from the wings, begging Deanne to stop getting
“Well,” sighed Mr. Shaker, “all’s well that ends well, I suppose.”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” I called. “Boys and girls!” The theater went quiet. “May I present to you...a comedy of errors!” And, for the first time in twenty years, Mr. Richter began to laugh.
plum juice on her apron. Close on their heels were Maria and Sophy, who, miraculously, had found extra brooms and promptly joined Charlie in sweeping. Unfortunately, nobody had remembered that Richard had asthma, and the broomful of dust that came his way sent him into an asthma attack. Gertrude, who had somehow made it onto the stage, pulled him back behind the curtains and gave him his inhaler. To James’ credit, the moonlight really was quite nice. Mr. Shaker says that I have a gift for improvisational comedy. I don’t know about that. But I did know, as I looked Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Self(ie)
Gianna Say ‘21
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Lemonade Trevor Martinez ‘20 The mind is thirsty for a proper drink So what’s a good drink? Oh yes, lemonade says the man with the desire to learn The man learns more So the mind is given lemonade The mind is infuriated with this It has a greater want for a drink to quench its thirst now The man believes more lemonade is the answer to the mind’s childlike tantrum More lemonade is had The brain is even thirstier How could this be the man thinks to himself This is the best drink to be had The brain is so confused as to how this could be Reality left the man and his mind The mind thirsts for lemonade only now Lemonade is all that is on the minds mind It is a game of lemonade Thoughts flow through daily Too many thoughts The thoughts of the mind soon flood the man The man is overwhelmed He is unsure where this came from How this could be The man is flooded with thoughts Overthinking and overanalyzing is all that can be done by his mind The mind wants to rid itself of the overflow So it flows into the body of the man Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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The thoughts seeping into each part of the man The man starts to fall apart Too much he cries The lemonade is too much This feeling won’t leave Why won’t this feeling of daggers piercing my mind and heart leave all while butterflies floating freely in my stomach The man interrogated his mind Where has all the love I believed to be here gone? Was I ever truly loved? What does it feel like to be loved? The man questioned if he truly knew anything about anyone He didn’t know what his friends felt He didn’t know what they thought He wondered if they even cared about someone who offered so little as him How could someone so weak Fragile Unpleasant Be loved What good is there in him? He wishes for a love that does not warm his heart like a love story He wishes for a love that assures him he is not alone That he wouldn't ever truly be alone He feels like the only one The only one to suffer this deeply That some being greater than him was out to ruin what good he had The man realized he had only two paths To either dream of a greater reality in which he was stronger than his mind The powerful weapon his mind was, was only as powerful as the amount of strength given to it Or he could sulk for ages Believing he is and will only be nothing Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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A speck of nothing in a great world of nothing He is quite unhappy with the strength of his mind He is unhappy with the latter option He realizes he is too reliant on the happiness of others to make himself happy So he changes, It is a slow process He hits many patches on the way to water Ridding of lemonade to the point where he is not reliant on it More water More water meant less Less information meant a happier being If it meant he would be happy He is okay with it He learned more useful information Information that would feed the soul, this is what he desired That would provide a nourishment that would be felt throughout his whole being Happiness is temporary like all things Nothing is permanent The fact that nothing is permanent made the idea of this sick feeling less powerful The fact that nothing is permanent made the idea of being happy more powerful He felt at peace
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Years
Sahil Dadhwal ‘19
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Newspaper Quotes
Anna Weaver ‘22
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Valentine’s Contest Submission
Think Too Much Katie O’Neill ‘21 Ignorance is not my bliss, life is a hit or miss. Without knowledge there is frustration and confusion. But with knowledge there is a conclusion. Or a path lead down to nothing and nowhere. So, what is the point in thought?? My mind ties itself into multiple knots. Am I or am I not? Yeh, there’s a thought. I make problems for no reason messing with the idea of my very being. I have no reason to be so
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confused it should be easy but it isn’t it never will. So ... I’m screwed? maybe I’m tired maybe I’m anxious maybe I’m all of this without cause just self infliction. I need to stop soon I have to eventually Or else I’m gonna break and space out forever into infinity. Then there will be nothing left my mind will be a giant black space. Nothing worth saving and then what will take its place? This is the being of my worry space doesn’t it hit you intensely? It’s almost like a giant slap to the face Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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I wish that I didn’t have such a good memory. Then I could forget and live in peace and harmony. A testament to the world from me Because we should be anxiety free. The time we spend to stress and worry is time that could be spent with the flowers and singing with the bees. Letting go can be so soothing freedom is always moving getting closer as we give in to being happy, I should’ve loved myself from the beginning.
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Think Too Much
Katie O’Neill ‘21
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Valentine’s Contest Winner
A Prosaic Wooing Esther Cottrell ‘21 I am not well-versed in verses. I cannot pay you court in rhymes and love-struck poems. Rich sweetmeats, sumptuous silks and cloth-of-gold brocades, bouquets of sweet-scented flowers straight from the hothouse or moorland fields, none of those are in my power to give. In me, there’s no passionate Romeo, making love-struck speeches on moonlit nights; nor is there any hint of gentle Gwenhwyfar, who loved when love was full unwise. Don’t ask me for epithets or pretty trinkets that serve no purpose. I can’t give you that.
If you would have me,
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(for I would have you)
you must ready yourself for a prosaic wooing. I’ll write you letters on spare binder paper, speak to you in clumsy words that don’t quite fit as they ought. There are apples for your taking in my garden, on the little tree beside the gate. My coats and scarves are at your disposal, love. You always said you liked the green one best. And flowers? Well, there’ll be crocuses by the porch in early springs and daffodils and forget-me-nots beneath my maple tree. We can send dandelion fluff flying in the summer, if you want. I will be your clear-eyed Penelope, your steady-purposed Freyja. I give you no trinkets because you deserve the world, no epithets because your name is all-encompassing. This is what I can give you.
Will you have me?
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Valentine’s Contest Winner: Tomber Amoureux
Piper O’Neill ‘20
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Connor Havlek, Gary Laski, Alexander Pascual, Peter Bowman-Davis, Nhan-ai Tran, Dante Cavaz, Justin Eggan
Valentine’s Contest Winner
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The Magic
Taylor Undercoffler ‘22
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One for the books
being completely honest, I learned so much more than I ever expected. We worked on a new and exciting drill every practice, and I really benefited from them. I also appreciated being able to watch film and learn how to review stats, because it prepared us for what is to come after high school. I was actually brand-new at the sport, so because of this, I was a clean slate waiting to be drawn on. The coaches did such an outstanding job helping me learn and grow as a volleyball player and as an athlete in general. Head coach, Chelsea, was always determined to assist me in anyway she could and shared her love for the game everyday, inspiring me to work as hard as I could. Kate, assistant coach, always listened to me and gave valuable feedback. I could always count on her to brighten my day with her fantastic sense of humor. Coach Robert pushed me to expand my limits and think outside the box with my techniques, especially serving. He was fun to talk to, but also reminded me to take the game seriously with the respect it deserves. Lastly, Coach Tony helped remove the stress I suffered from during the season and used his volleyball experience to teach me more and more. I am still shocked at the amount of volleyball I learned in just one season.
Eleanor Meyers ‘22
The season was legendary, and so was the team. The 2018 Varsity Volleyball team accomplished great feats, and I was so blessed to have been a part of it. Our story deserves to be told. I believe there were many components that helped us grow, succeed, and dominate. Firstly, we were always learning more and more about the game. Apart from the physical talent, my teammates were intellectual and strategic on the court, making them no match for opposing teams. Secondly, the bond our team had was nothing I have ever experienced before. The love we have for each other showed greatly in each practice, game, and event, as we always supported and cared for each other. Thirdly, we were a respectable example of the Braves community, and strongly portrayed what it means to be All Heart. We acted as players, but also leaders and ambassadors of our school in the community. Fourthly, we never stopped pushing ourselves to get better as students, athletes, and people. Volleyball didn’t just teach us about the game, but about life too.
One of the best attributes of our team was the bond we shared. Frankly, at first I was a bit freaked out to be playing with upperclassman in a sport I barely knew. But as it turned out, being
I am especially thankful to have played on the Varsity team because, if I’m Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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the youngest didn’t matter too much. I didn’t know most of the girls on the team, but I learned that all of them were amazing people. I also hadn’t figured out the hierarchy or cliches of the team, so I soon found out that there really wasn’t any of that. The team was one, and nothing mattered more than coming together as a family. The level of maturity I discovered in each person was impressive, and we always treated each other with respect. It didn’t matter who played in each game or rode the bench. I really feel like my teammates took me under their wing, and I only received helpful and positive feedback. All the girls on the team are All Heart, which leads me to my next point.
to work for and accomplish, and my experience at the zoo reminded me of that. It also made me aware that our opponents could just as well be our friends. I had a great time volunteering with the volleyball players from other high schools, and when it was time to play them the next day, I felt blessed to have gotten to know them. When we weren’t playing volleyball or serving the community at the tournament, our team spent a great deal of time making memories I k now I will never f orget. Missing the Homecoming Game and cramming our Dance preparations in while we were out of town was a downside, but in the end, I found good emerge from it. We were all in the same boat, and because of this, we came together and made the best out of it. Hardships bring people together, and helped me remember that the reason we were out in the streets picking up trash for five hours was because we are so lucky to be at Justin-Siena, (or in Napa in general), and many other places aren’t as lucky. We represented our school well at the tournament and showed the rest of the teams that we are All Heart, and there’s no stopping us when We Will, We Love, and We Believe.
The season pushed all of us. We had a two hour practice every day, and we played for over three months. The funny thing is, I never caught anyone complaining about it. In fact, each day I was so excited to go to practice; I’ve never looked forward to something every day the way I did volleyball. We were rewarded for our hard work by getting to go to the Serve-It-Up tournament in Sacramento, where we spent one full day doing volunteer work in the city, and the next day competing. I was lucky enough to go to the Sacramento Zoo and prepare a habitat for an incoming endangered species. It was very eye-opening to serve my community in a way I’d never done before, and I found myself having so much fun as well. There is much in our lives that we should strive
The final component that made our team successful was what volleyball teaches a person. Yes, it’s about jumping really high, and diving for balls, and acing other teams off the court with nasty serves. However, it is about much more: never giving up,
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staying confident no matter what the score is, trusting one another, outsmarting your opponent, and above all, yearning to get better. I learned more about time management, taking feedback and implementing it, being a teammate and being sportsmanlike, knowing how to cheer someone up, and so on. I grew in my academics, in volleyball, and in life, thanks to that Varsity season. I made new friends and got to participate in some of the best volleyball Justin-Siena High School has ever seen. Winning VVAL in its inaugural season, finishing with only one loss in regular season, and going deep into postseason with our incredible talent. Volleyball taught me skills I will incorporate as much as I can from now on.
spending every waking hour together might not have been easy, and the friends I made this season are people I truly cherish. Being on the team was quite amazing and eye-opening, especially when we participated in the Serve-It-Up Tournament. I gained so many life-lessons and skills from the season, and I believe I ended the long stretch with a bit more wisdom and knowledge than I started with. I am honored to be a Justin-Siena High School Varsity Volleyball player, and I will fondly remember that season as long as I live.
The aching shoulders, forgotten homework assignments, missed classes, and sprained ankles seemed like horrible tragedies during the season, but looking back on it, volleyball was one of my favorite parts of this school year. Even though I spent more time at school (in the gym) than I did at home, even though I had hard days (everyone does, Eleanor. Okay, that’s true.) nothing made me happier than being with the team and doing what we loved. I learned an unfathomable amount of volleyball in such a quick amount of time, thanks to my teammates and coaches, and I am proud and thankful of that. I also still can’t believe how well our team got along with each other, especially since Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Winnifred By Eleanor Meyer ‘21 Only one year old, she shines like gold, her fur as soft as her eyes. She’s playful and fun, but knows when to be done, it’s shocking that she is so wise. Her nose is quite swift, that sense of smell is such a gift, she always finds that missing sock. Her silly expressions, sometimes guilty confessions, oh I wish I could teach her to talk!
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She is courageous with pride, except near the vacuum - she hides, she is loyal and part of our pack. She follows me like my twin, when did this silly habit begin? I can’t think of a good quality she lacks. After a good swim she is damp, and she fetches like a champ, athleticism flows through her blood. But her manners aren’t always correct, sometimes there’s a command she’ll reject, it’s tough to wash her fur when it’s covered in mud. But I love her all the same, not a moment with her is lame, I can’t think of a more perfect pet. Any little sound will make her ears perk,
if you call her name she’ll turn with a jerk, she’s my lucky charm - her at my side I can’t lose a bet. Sometimes clouds come rolling in, and I know the rain’s bound to begin, we both don’t enjoy the cold. But soon the storm will go away, and at the end of the rainbow, waiting to brighten my day, will be sitting my little pot of gold.
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One faded photograph and the edifice of Time Esther Cottrell ’21 Two weeks before our house burned down, My grandmother sent us A box of pictures. My father’s childhood was in that box. I don’t think I ever looked inside. I have heard it said That when a thing is gone, it doesn’t matter that it is gone. I have heard it said That I should be grateful-after all, I still have the memories. I have said Do you remember being a baby? Well, I don’t. But the pictures did. When I was in fifth grade, we studied chocolate because At that age,
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Tahoe
Sophia Van Duzer ‘20
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We know what makes us happy. Our teacher said to us, Go make a creature, a world; But let it be sweet. Rory and I smiled. I made the map. She made the creatures. I don’t know what she did with those drawings, The descriptions cut out and Pasted onto black construction paper. But I kept that map. I kept it, I hung it Above my bookshelf like the Mona Lisa (but far, far more beautiful). I did everything except photograph it. And for that, Some small part of my soul Was ripped away And lives in the black hole on the other side of the universe Where all the lost things go. Four and a half years ago,
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At eleven fifty-two AM, My father took a photograph. Or at least that’s what the camera roll says. These days, our phones share photos. Neither of us are quite sure why. Somewhere coming up on forty years ago, My grandparents on a walk asked someone to take a photo Of them and their son. The horizon is wildly off-kilter. I wonder if I know the photographer. This afternoon, when the original photograph is likely in ashes, Toxic waste in a FEMA crate, When my grandfather is dead And my own father has grey in his hair, I look at this picture in a picture, This memory in a memory, And I think about physics. My teacher says that time is a scalar quantity, That it can only be measured by magnitude. Time doesn’t have direction.
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And yeah, time is pretty big, And I’ve never heard someone say their homework took them Twenty minutes north, But haven’t you seen the way time goes to people’s temples, Turning the hair there gray? To the eyes, to the heart, Making a well Where the memories will live later? Don’t you dare tell me time has no direction. Don’t you dare tell me I can’t see time, or touch it. I have seen time fall into the shadows in photographs, Like so much starlight, Held in the crook of an arm, The space between lips. Time lives in the shadow of the future, Of all the memories, All the photographs left to come. And this, this memory of a memory, is light And faded And old. My father’s face Is the only dark thing in the world.
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The Obelisk
Olivia de Maigret ‘20
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Track Meet
Gianna Say ’21
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Cloud River
Sean Flaherty ‘21
Survival Mode - Sicko Mode Parody By William Melancon, Kiran Monteverdi, Deven Bose, Brett Carey ‘19 Sun is down, freezin’ cold That’s how you already know, Richard Parker’s here Pi would prolly do it for a turtle shell That’s just all he knows he don’t know nothing else Pi tried to show him Pi tried to show him Roar, Roar, Roar Gone on you with the lifeboat Young Piscine, in Survival Mode Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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A Guide to Hallways
conversation. Deep, emotional, and lengthy conversations are preferred, though the hallway does not discriminate; you can chat about how ugly Sandra’s shoes were or how much you love Brad’s face or whatever pressing topic requires the backing up of hallway traffic.
Amanda Bueno-Kling ‘19 Regarding Communication in a Hallway
Regarding Combat
Communicating properly is of the utmost importance, especially in a busy, crowded space such as a hallway.
The hallway is a revered place of battle and should be treated as such. Pushing, shoving, hitting, kicking, and any other forms of combat should be practiced regularly. In accordance with the code laid down centuries ago, all sophomore boys must honor this tradition by completing their rite of passage. At a seemingly random moment, they must decide to fight and initiate said fight with loud screeching and flailing limbs. Extra points are scored if the involved parties slam into unsuspecting bystanders; doing so reminds them of the true purpose of the hallway.
Yelling is actively encouraged in the hallway. Make sure to shout loud enough to produce an earshattering echo; otherwise, you are being too quiet and no one will be able to hear you. If you see someone you know, such as a friend, it is imperative to shout at them as soon as you see them. This way, even if they are all the way across the hallway, they will know you are seeking them out a long while before you cross paths. Hallways also make excellent places to have conversations. When you spot a friend, pull them into the middle of the hallway, stop walking, and have a
You must defend your honor at all times in the hallway. Don’t like the way he’s looking at your girl? She stepped on your brand new
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kicks? His face makes you want to punch something? Swift vengeance is the only solution.
that traffic flows through only one for maximum efficiency. Lastly, doorways make an excellent spot to stop, for whatever reason. Whether it’s to have a chat, adjust your sweater, or knit a new one, doorways are your go-to spot. It’s not like anyone uses them.
Throwing things is similarly encouraged. Being hit by a projectile will remind those who do not partake in the glorious violence of the hallway of their place. Lastly, if unintended contact is made, such as bumping into someone, you must never apologize. A true master of hallway combat feels no remorse. Even accidental collisions will remind the rest of the student body of the hallway’s combative nature.
Regarding Means of Locomotion The hallway is a place of extremes. One must either walk excruciatingly slowly or sprint as fast as possible. If walking slowly, using a mobile device is acceptable, though many elect to walk slowly for some other undisclosed reasons. The most important part of walking slowly is refusing to check if others are behind you. It’s not like they have anywhere important to go, so why should you have to put in the effort to move out of their way?
Regarding Doors It is important to remember to use doors for their intended function. When opening a door, make sure to fling it open and then check to see if there was anyone in the way. Hindsight is 20/20.
Running is preferred when you have somewhere important to go. It is expected that others will realize this and move out of your way, but if they do not, crashing into them can help them learn to pay more attention the next time.
In addition, it is crucial that when presented with double doors, you must only use one of the two. Since no one else has decided to use the other door as well, social etiquette dictates that you follow their lead. This is to make sure Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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It is also important to travel in large groups. When doing so, spread out across the entire hallway so that no one is able to pass by. This is a metaphorical demonstration of how strong your friendship is, not even the most determined can break through its bonds. Additionally, do not use the hallway like a road. It is not a road, so it would be foolish to try to maneuver through it in an orderly fashion. Make sure to walk in all areas of the hallway, weaving and shoving your way through the crowd. This provides more exercise than walking in a straight line ever could.
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Venice Canal
Sean Flaherty ‘21
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San Diego Fair
Sophia Van Duzer ‘20
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32A Mary Cate Hyde ‘19 You peer out of a 16 by 11 pane of glass, your singular point of contact with the world miles below you. It’s your only reminder that you are flying faster than humanity was ever supposed to travel. A reminder that everything is relative, and your indoor stability is nothing compared to the turbulent 100-mile-per-hour winds of the world outside.
You notice the shape of the clouds, fluffy like dollops of whipped cream. You want to reach out and touch them, lie on them like a hammock. But your thoughts quickly dissipate like the clouds as you are suddenly among them, and they are no more than evaporating mist, an illusion of the eye.
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Oh well. Not all things are meant to last, you suppose.
You notice the fields of brown, beige, green, ochre. An endless patchwork quilt covering the earth. The cities, clogged with black and white cars scuttling so frantically about. You consider the people down below. How small they all seem, how unimportant, ha! They’re no smaller than an ant and you observe them all like some omnipotent deity. But soon you will descend back to the earth and you will be one of them. You enjoy the altitude for now.
You spend a good five minutes staring at the horizon wondering just how far you can see. To Canada? The arctic circle? Farther? Past the pole and back around the earth? Realizing how the horizon, too, is an illusion.
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An invisible curve whose derivative could never be calculated.
Two hundred years ago, they said humans would disintegrate if they traveled faster than 15 mph. To see the view you see now would have been an impossibility.
It makes you wonder how many people have sat in the seat you now occupy, Watched a movie, read a book. Enjoyed the view, or ignored it entirely. In an endless cycle of up, 32,000 feet, down. A few hours, and suddenly around the world. It makes you realize, —-if but for a second amidst the grumble of security lines, cramped quarters, and seemingly ubiquitous coughing children —— The miracle of human flight.
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Chained Melody
Justin-Siena Student
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Flies
Katie O’Neill ‘21
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Flies Katie O’Neill ‘21 There’s a fly in my room it goes booz booz with small little wings carrying a fat little body crashing into my window no need for an innuendo it’s stupid on many levels it eats upon the waste of others It serves no use unless it’s being devoured by spiders Why do they exist are they just excess insects they look at the worlds with huge red eyes seeing everything about hundred times and just as fast they pass until they live on in the world of after-death brain cell of zeroes do they even have bone marrow What are these little weirdos I should show more appreciation unfortunately I’m without a logical reason except for the fact that they live like you and I so I guess they don’t deserve to die I bet I could like them if I really tried I actually think they are cute sometimes Never mind I like them I think they are cute they really aren’t astute but that doesn’t mean they aren’t of use
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They break down our compost saving us from our self designed destruction due to our constant waste and warming of our earth soon to be a dead shell of an existence with our outrageous use of plastic, fossil fuels and repetitive oil spills our meat from farm animals raised and killed in factories as we cut down rainforest trees how on earth are we going to survive the cost to this damage we are going to drop like flies if we can’t fix this within a decade but hey, if we don’t live maybe they will instead they can feed off of our bodies and start a new evolution Flies are like bees except they have little to no job so they live freely they are open to their own whims and curiosities I hope they live life happily I now wish I was one of them because at least I couldn’t be responsible for the earth’s death
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Cute Frog Katie O’Neill ‘21 Look at this frog I drew isn’t it cute I made it myself but it’s not for you I made it for someone special Someone that’s sad Because I hate to see people sad When they should be glad Because look at this frog There are so many other frogs out there just like this one But If I can make someone feel something Anything from looking at this frog I will have done my job My frog will have made them seen There are other things in life still that can bring them peace Even this stupid frog I drew If you are also sad I hope you enjoyed it too
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Cute Frog
Katie O’Neill ‘21
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San Francisco’s Beauty
Anthony Fannin ‘21
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Rap/Song Contest Submission
Losing Sight Miles Williams ‘20 Let’s talk Let’s start it from the heart Want to play me up like a star And wait for me to fall Oh less time cause all I do is rhyme For me and you it’s alright Just don’t let this die
Cause I’ve been to hurt to many time And I feel just like I’m going to cry So I’m gonna hold back and keep it down all my life I’m not going show it now Let me hold it down I’m going to be alright I don’t want your help I don’t need your help I’ll be fine
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I don’t want it now I don’t need it now Just leave me alone You can just go now Let me work out Just tell you know Cause I trust you now Just help me now Cause feeling low So low So low So low So low
Help me find you now I lost the light And I’m going blind I’m all alone Just wake me up Cause it’s dark and so cold Just tell me now You can hear me now
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And I’m back at home I’m too deep now And crying alone
I don’t want it now I don’t need it now Just leave me alone You can just go now Let me work out Just tell you know Cause I trust you now Just help me now Cause feeling low So low So low So low So low So low So low
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Rap/Song Winner
College Classes Jordan Bowman-Davis ‘19 (Hook) Girl you playing me don’t play with me I’ll cheat on you like the SAT I’ll be hopping out the AMG at USC After my parents are finished paying all those fees “That’s a lot of money for a 1380” You can’t shame me I got disabilities And parents hard to please With a need for degrees Ducking lawsuits like they .223’s (Verse 1) Better grades, get paid, you might be dismayed, at the duplicity of my “application fee” and how you should have got in free ‘cause you’re in tax bracket 3, yea I get it, but I’m a recruited athlete don’t sweat it. I deserve this, power stays in power for a reason. We know how to run things while you come and go like seasons, start believing, that my actions aren’t a sin. We’re playing the same game, I just know how to win. (Hook) (Close) Varsity Blues, you choose, you wanna play dishonest, or do you wanna lose? I’m no singer but shoutout to Will Singer, gave me a little....edge.
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Rap/Song Winner
SUMMER IS OVER (don’t feel the same) Jadyn Satten ‘21 Days in the sun And then nights in the rain yea them nights in the rain they gon really bring the pain
Summer is over It’s simple and plain All of these thoughts they gon take up my brain But what felt like summer Just ended like Winter All cold and depleted I don’t feel the same I’m sitting here talking about the hiatus I’m going to higher places With smiling faces Memories breaking For god’s sake I’ve been awakened Thoughts and dreams penetrated They say I’ll never make it Looked in the eyes of devastation But now or later I will finally rise By power statement I’m getting better Apologies accepted But this is my open letter to those who never get it Don't understand it Oh did I mention Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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That I pay attention You better listen Because I’m speaking to you You look at me Like I am weaker do you Can’t face the facts or reality I’m afraid to lose you I let my pain confuse you I’m more focused Then I ever was, prettiest flower but no one can see ya rosebud I seen it in you from the day that I met you I never asked a question How come you don’t let ya light shine Like bright stars All through the night time I write rhymes And send em to you Hoping for the right line But lately you been Beyond defensive Whats happening with you These problems getting monumental I’m on a different mission Keeping that bigger vision It’s all because of this system Gotta keep it growing I’m seeing the bigger picture I’m seeing the bigger picture My view is wider But the problem I don’t see you in it I’m trynna drive a Bugatti And you driving a Civic But you don’t really get it Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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It’s cuz you don’t feel the same You messed up and now my feelings done changed I’m changing the game But in you I ain’t seeing a change Stay in yo lane We ain’t really placing the blame It doesn’t matter anymore Cuz I don’t feel the same I’m feeling different In the 707 I’m living living Feeling livid There’s a difference Between making good decisions And the one that you made was a bad one Cuz of the feelings You said you had you never had them It’s all good Said it’s all good Lil baby said it’s all good Cuz them nights in the rain Yea then nights in the rain they gon really bring the pain Summer is over it’s simple and plain All of these thoughts they gon take up my brain But what felt like summer just ended like winter all cold and depleted I don’t feel the same I used to wonder why people tell me that god sent you They complaint bout problems I know they never been through I say em everything is mental Whatever’s happing right now is only sub sequential You have the right to write ya story I’ll hand you a pencil On this track I’m releasing the tension Trynna go the distance Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Never going for honor mention It’s more honorable when ya competition Keeps on jogging While you’re sprinting You saw em at the start but then you finish Thoughts replenish No bodies running in behind you It’s like you’ve run into a place where nobody can find you A deep void called Flow Only your words beside you Just to provide you with care and never undermine you What do you see when you look me in the eyes Big on the outside but the inner me is petrified I strategize the truth Recognize all the Lies Fabricated concentration That’s the key to lose ya mind I euro step around these haters I’m harden the game Never complained about a problem I just maintain These boas playing say they repping all gang gang They lame lame All these posers maan they never change My momma told me that they never change She told me Jadyn Never stay the same My pops told me very young that ima change the game 2019 I'm growing fast And look how far I’ve came Yea look how far I done came Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Yea Growing up really fast Got me scared to lose myself Got me insinuating I just gotta prove myself I watched a flower grow one time it was moving If I had to pick and chose someone to make it I would chose myself Yea I would choose my self You a dub I’m a scholar Papa told me that I hit a lull in my music So I had to do it Just to tell him that I got him I got him CHORUS Wake up in the city Like i came back home Sunshine in the air Ain’t no time for the cold Blast off through the day Like a rocket fasho I got homies And we trynna be the opposite of low Cut the trash Tone It down I ain’t live fast Because I seen whiplash I gotta work to get past So lemme enjoy life And get to cracking like glass I gotta pass Everything Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Like I’m taking a class Keep talking to me Something is special Now I’m stirring the kettle Icing out every bezel Winning all of the medals Vibing outta control Everything for the better I heard you been falling off Thas sumn like rose petals Never just saying never Now I gotta look alive Get down Leave the other altercations to the side Nevermind i just opened up my mind I’m just following the signs And now I’m feeling the vibes Lemme take it down for you I told you that I’m feeling the vibes I’m feeling the vibes You dealing with some cynical tithes Its Bonnie and Clyde With Louie markie Ricky and bob Everybody in this Jawn Ain’t you feeling it now Schoo jus got out im trynna get litty Kickback wit everybody Spend a hunnid and 50 Meet me in the back room if you trynna get busy Say you messing wit me now lemme tell you my system Word I ain’t trynna play no Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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I’m just trynna meditate Levitate Said you wanna join me lemme demonstrate All you gotta do is let the stress away Yesterday is yesterday Focus on the now and put the pests away Said ya mind looking like a mess today You gon need to medicate If you here wit me I can alleviate Catch all my vibes 1st step down the better way Rocking wit the vibe we getting live now you don’t feel the same
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Rocks Upon Rocks
Anthony Fannin ‘21
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Rap/Song Contest Submission
The Villain in Glasses Morgan Hearne ‘19 I can’t get out of the gate There is too much at stake What if I fail What if I blow my....well What does it even matter That’s the danger of this ladder Worry to fall off after I am not scared of the laughter Their words don’t even matter I will bake and batter the doubters Leave them in tatters They coming in here and make all this chatter about a rapper a poet He knows that he’s not the best at the flows that he writes But he can’t control it. He unleashes the pen and it’s gone Like He promoted the pawn How bout this An antagonist comes and ravages savages just to make a point To prove they were wrong These people who see the world through a peephole that think that little ol me didn’t have the skills or the expertise to write this song Now~ I’m~ bent ~on ~World ~de~struc~tion A villain’s induction No Villain combustion Explode on the track pyromaniac ~ on the attack I beat on the back And I go for the sack No I’m not holding back Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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I used to keep this rage in cage But now it’s spilling all over the page there’s nothing to say There is no way you can escape No way to be saved I will take over ~ the bay Area carrier pigeons are merrier But I will carry ya into a world That’s scarier I am erecting ~ a barrier Against against this world you live in That is filled with rainbows and fairies I’m trying to redefine What people think of as rap Can’t you read between the lines I’m saying is crap It’s not lit~ unless you submit I’ll be keep it legit U should just quit I’m trying to be incredible Credited for having a hunger... Oh this looks edible Where was I again? Right Out of sight and Out of mind I think I lost my mind Cause It’s outta sight And I’m just about right out of ideas On how I can make this clear to ya trying to find a medium Through which we can hold a meeting Let us begin the proceeding This just feeding into my tank Fuel to used immediately And that is the key But I have already taken this car And I’ve driven far from here But now I'm shifting gears Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Trying to outdo my peers A villian in glasses is giving the masses something to fear I’m winning this race But can’t you just Try to Keep up the pace Rappers right now... Really Should be disgraced I will say it to they face I’m so sick of the lames They rappin for fame and dames Somebody give me a cane To lay them out on candy lane They will go down in flames trying to do the same Thing they hear on the radio It’s a MIRACLE they aren’t hysterical hearing the same old mumbling parables people who don't even know what morals are They wouldn’t know Van Gogh from floral art This is the real exorbitant part I’m the Jedi council ....in Coruscant Cause I am forcing.... the game apart In my heart of cards... Apart from the king of hearts and The the ace of spades ... This Gives me the space to raid And club a jack who does not know What he lacks Some of people be guessing They can’t question the lesson I’m stressing But they are too hyped up on caffeine And I am so RaveNous For blood I have brought with me a flood Of comprehensible lyrical lymrical pinnacle Normally invisible to ... Uh hold up hold up hold up Lemme just think for a minute... Oh here we go Imbeciles Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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This here rhyme it ain’t cynical It is real and it’s principled Take it up with the principal Though it might be divisional But I’m just kidding though Like this kitten caboodle oodling over some noodles on Hulu But Who knew That Morgan could rhyme like this It Must be magic or voodoo A terrorist in a (tutu) couldn’t be more (cuckoo) with a fever dream like this too And I don't know if you Really get the issue That I have will never be halved And I will not diffuse. No I refuse Trying to understand what happenin’ It is just too hard to stop This rappin’ pen On this track I'm in Cause I'm trying to send a message And this ain’t the end Because this villain WILL be back again
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Glitch
Morgan Dalcamo ‘20
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Infection
After what seemed an eon, the driver drifted up to the curb and rolled down the window slowly, eying Layne and the decimated HovCar. “Where to?” he asked. “9245-7951-2538, please.” He slid into the back of the HovTaxi. The driver, a middle aged Odi, put the address in the NavMap without a word. He had the radio on low as the president enthused that the Odi had finally captured the largest base on the west side of New Earth. “We will hold humanity accountable for its actions,” the president declared. “Rest assured, we will end this war and ensure the safety of Lastraetis.” Layne closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands. The grainy sound of the radio saturated the silence that echoed in his head. “So, what’d you do?” The driver’s black eyes bored into Layne in the rearview mirror. “Excuse me?” Layne replied, confusion knotted across his brow. “Your HovCar. What’d you do to deserve that?” “I- I don’t know what you mean.” “Well, you must’ve done something. No one does something like that without a reason.” “But I haven’t done anything.” The tears he had pushed back welled up again. “You haven’t done anything?” The driver laughed. “Man, you humans are as dumb as they say.” “Look, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I haven’t done anything to anyone, and-” Layne began, but the Odi cut him off. “I think you and your kind have done plenty. First, you go and destroy Earth because you’re selfish and greedy. We save you from your own stupidity, bring you to our system, help you populate New Earth, and how do you repay us? You invade one of our moons. Start a war because you’re still the same greedy scum we saved all those cycles ago.”
Amanda Bueno-Kling ‘19
Layne could only stare at the scene that met his tired eyes, fighting back tears that threatened to tumble down his cheeks like rain. His HovCar, which he had saved up for years to purchase, had been completely demolished. The windshield and windows were smashed in, jagged glass laced with hairline fractures still clinging to the frame. Where the headlights had been, there was nothing but two empty cavities, like hollow eye sockets. Scratches and dents littered the once flawless silver exterior, and angry red graffiti dripped down the sides of the vehicle. Go back to your own planet, it read. Filthy human scum. He fiddled with his CommCell, cursing under his breath. A feeling of numbness spread as he dialed the number of the government’s Enforcers and waited until the system picked up. “Hello?” “Hello sir, how may I help you?” a robotic voice asked. “I’d like to report vandalism. Someone wrecked my HovCar.” “Name?” “Layne Draex.” “Address?” “5892-2561-9278.” “Thank you for filing your report. You will be notified of any progress immediately.” The bot ended the call, leaving Layne to stare blankly at the keypad. He put in another number and called in a HovTaxi.
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Layne scrambled to get out, nearly tripping, and somehow managed to get to the sidewalk. He walked the rest of the way. When Aphelia saw him emerge from the elevator, she raised an eyebrow at him, and wordlessly beckoned for him to follow her into her office.The door clicked shut behind him and he took a deep breath, preparing for a barrage of questions from his boss. “It’s not like you to be late, Layne,” she asked, the glint in her black eyes more curious than upset. “What happened?” “Someone destroyed my HovCar,” he answered. “I guess they must have done it in the middle of the night. I had to call the Enforcers and wait for a HovTaxi.” “I’m so sorry,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He bit back his tears and choked out a reply. “It’s fine. It’s only a car. But the thing that hurts is they didn’t just destroy it. They spray painted hateful messages all over it. They think I don’t belong here. And then the driver, he called me a traitor, said I deserved this- he even kicked me out of his cab-” He dissolved into tears. She looked pained for a moment, before she bent over and pulled him into a hug. “You belong here just as much as any of us,” she said softly. “I’m sorry that some Odi can’t see that.”
Layne gaped at him for a moment. “I wasn’t involved in any of that. I hate what they did as much as you do.” “They?” The driver hooted, his contempt echoing in his laughter. “So you think you’re any different from them? You’re human, they’re human. You’re one of them. You probably want to destroy us, too.” “But I was born here,” Layne protested, grappling with a turbulent flood of emotions. “I’ve lived here on Lastraetis my entire life-” The HovTaxi jolted to a stop and the driver screeched a string of expletives. Layne craned his neck to see what the matter was, gaping at the flood of pedestrian traffic that was clogging the roadway. The driver rolled the window down, and without the soundproof glass muffling the noise, a chorus of shouts came flooding in. Against the tide of voices he cursed again, but no one paid him any attention. “What’s going on?” Layne asked, catching glimpses of signs being waved as the torrent of Odi continued. “The damn human rights activists are holding a march,” the driver snarled, his eyes ablaze. “They’re blocking traffic just to tell me that you don’t deserve what you’ve got coming for being a traitor.” “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m not a traitor. I love this planet just as much as you do,” Layne snapped, his voice quivering. “And I don’t appreciate the way you’ve been talking to me.” “Get out!” The driver hissed, seething. “Get the hell out of my cab!” “Why? Why should I? Just because I don’t think you should have the right to talk to me like that?” “I said get out!” the driver screamed, twisting around and shoving Layne towards the door.
He nodded weakly and sniffled. “And as for being a traitor- I know there is not one bone in your body that would ever betray your planet. It sickens me that someone could think that without even knowing you.” She released him and handed him a tissue, which he gratefully accepted. As he dabbed at his eyes, she offered him a smile.
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“I have some news that’ll cheer you up. Remember your application to intern with Dr. Hoshfar?” His heart skipped a beat. “Yes.” “He’s accepted it, but he’s changed the terms of his agreement. He was very impressed with your work, and he wants to train you as a partner in his practice.” He could hardly believe what he’d heard. “He’ll be sending you details soon. Though I’m sad to see you go, I always knew you’d do great things, things this facility couldn’t offer you.” “Thank you so much,” he replied, grinning. She nodded. “I want you to take the rest of today off. Take yourself to lunch, my treat. And pick out a new ride while you’re at it. Consider this a belated raise for your years of excellent work.” With a few quick taps she’d wired money to his account. His eyes widened. “Aphelia, I don’t know what to say.” “You earned it, Layne. A talented and hardworking young man like you deserves recognition. Now go enjoy yourself.” He beamed and slipped back into the elevator, feeling his heart swell with joy. He stepped out into the warm sunshine, making his way down the street, feeling as if this were the best day of his life. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Suddenly he felt himself being grabbed from behind. Before he could react, a needle was jabbed into his neck and he lost consciousness. He woke up in an impossibly tiny room with glass walls, his head pounding as the smell of bleach made his eyes burn. With panic rising in his chest, he sat up, noticing the rows of glass boxes identical to his own. What he saw in those boxes made him want to scream. Each box held a person, dressed in a drab white gown. Each was horribly sick, it was easy to gather that much, and his medical
training told him a variety of diseases were at play, all lethal. Ytterbitosis, Phthrisima, Veneni Fever, and others he recognized almost instantly, though the symptoms seemed exaggerated, worse than any case he’d seen. What frightened him even more were the symptoms he couldn’t attribute a certain illness to. His eyes darted from person to person, taking in their skeletal frames, their gaunt, sweatdampened faces, the rashes and blisters and boils that covered their skin, while a symphony of their agony echoed in his ears. Pressing himself into a corner of his cell, he squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t believe this was happening. A raspy voice from the adjacent cell startled him. “You must be new here.” Faint chuckling dissolved into haggard coughing, and he turned to face the source of the voice. The woman in the cell adjacent to his was unnaturally pale, her eyes sunken and red. The despair and hopelessness that radiated off of her was almost palpable. “What is this place?” he asked her, his voice trembling. “Hell,” she managed to say between coughs that made her frail body shudder. She put a hand to her mouth, as if to stifle them, and when she pulled it away, it was smudged with blood. “What Randei means to say,” another voice said, “is that this is the Biological Weapons Development Facility.” Layne whipped around to see a middle aged man covered in painful looking pustules. His lips, ears, nose, fingers and other extremities were tinged with blue, as if there was little blood flow reaching those areas. Layne suddenly began to feel lightheaded. “If you ask anyone outside these walls, it doesn’t exist,” the man said. Noting the confusion that contorted Layne’s expression,
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he elaborated. “It’s a secret facility. The government would never admit that they’re abducting their own citizens in order to engineer a biological weapon.” Layne didn’t even bother trying to stop the tears that cascaded down his face as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d die here. “Why?” he sobbed. “Why are they doing this?” “They want to win the war,” Randei said simply, her coughing fit having subsided. “But we’re not the enemy,” Layne retorted. “In their eyes, we are,” the man replied. “Doesn’t matter if we hate those ungrateful, greedy bastards just as much as they do. Guilty by association.” “Jaxon’s right. They see this as a fight where species matters more than allegiance,” Randei added. Layne was silent for a while. He struggled to comprehend the gravity of all of this, the injustice of his predicament making his stomach churn. “So they’re using us to create a weaponized pathogen,” he said slowly. Randei nodded. “Which they’ll then introduce to New Earth. You’d think they’d just want to weaken humanity, force them to surrender.” Layne nodded. She continued. “That’s where you’d be wrong. They’ve decided humanity is too reckless and selfish to be allowed to survive. This is an extermination.” Her words sunk in like heavy stones. Rage burned in Layne, hotter than he’d felt before. “That’s not their choice to make,” he hissed. “Yes, it is,” a cool voice replied. They’d been so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn’t noticed the Odi scientist. He smiled, revealing sharp teeth, his dark eyes shining with malice. “Survival of the fittest,” he
continued. “I believe humanity is familiar with that concept.” “You can’t use that to justify what you’re doing,” Jaxon snapped. The Odi simply laughed. “Funny how you only resent that rule when you aren’t the ones on top.” As he spoke, he turned his attention to a HoloScreen in his hands, tapping out a brief message. “Rot in hell,” Randei breathed, baring her teeth in a feral snarl. “Simmer down, S-379,” he shot back. “I know you’re a filthy animal, but at least try and have some manners.” The Odi turned his attention to the two others who had entered the cavernous room. “You have it?” he asked. One of the other Odi nodded, procuring a small vial of cloudy liquid. “Excellent.” “Don't you dare touch him,” roared Randei, throwing herself at the glass. “He doesn't deserve this. None of us do! You monsters!” Layne watched as she seethed and clawed at the walls of her prison, screaming obscenities at her captors. The technicians ignored her, and the vial was secured into a small metal panel near the uppermost part of the glass box. Layne hadn't noticed it before, but now he was painfully aware of it as the vial slid into place. “What are you doing?” Layne asked, his voice shaking. The first Odi grinned gleefully. “We’re infecting you.” Layne didn't know whether to curse like Randei or dissolve into tears or simply sit in solemn silence like Jaxon. He felt a rush of emotions he wasn't sure he could comprehend. A single sob escaped his lips as the Odi scientist keyed in a series of sequences. A wisp of vapor descended from the single air
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vent, reaching towards Layne like the tendrils of some monstrous vine. “Don't cry, S-380,” the scientist cooed. “It won't hurt a bit.” Randei slumped into a defeated heap, watching with hollow eyes as the vapor thickened and encircled Layne. He moved as far away from it as he could, trying not to breathe in. “We’re giving you a concentrated amount of a lab-engineered pathogen. We’ve finally created a fast-acting strain of virus that humanity is unable to develop a resistance to.” Layne choked as the cloud enveloped him, a rush of the vapor being sucked into his lungs. He couldn't see through the thick halo of mist, but the Odi’s voice drifted through the white unobscured. “There will be so few survivors. We can pick them off easily.” He laughed, a hideous sound that make Layne’s head throb. “And you, S-380... you make the perfect vehicle for the virus to be introduced to New Earth. You have a rare genetic mutation that allows you to carry the virus with no outward manifestation of symptoms. While the rest of your kind will die within a few years of the virus being introduced, you won’t.” Layne coughed violently, desperately trying to clear his lungs. “You will have plenty of time to spread the pathogen.” “I won't do it!” Layne screamed, tears streaming down his face. “You don't have a choice. We’ll wipe your memory before we drop you off. You won't even realize what you're doing.” “You're sick, all of you!” Randei howled. Layne sobbed into his hands, the mist beginning to dissipate. “S-379, keep your mouth shut.”
“How can you do this? Destroy innocent lives?” “You're hardly innocent. I have no qualms about annihilating you and the rest of these parasites.” He gestured at the rows of cages. “You and the other subjects will be disposed of tomorrow, after S-380 has been successfully introduced to New Earth.” The trio fell silent as the prisoners erupted into angry cries. The Odi smirked coldly at Layne, who offered nothing but a blank expression in return. “Tomorrow, S-380,” he whispered, pausing to reveal his daggerlike teeth, “you end humanity.”
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Daydreaming of the Circus
Tatiana Chopitea ‘21
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A Sunlit Shadow
I had been boredly watching as the sun set over the Pacific, as the seconds ticked by, as the sands of time slipped away, when the footsteps of Death fell upon my ears. He was tired from collecting the most recent of his victims to carry the other side, and he wandered down the timeworn path where he had walked many a lonely moment. He went along slowly, not caring much when he reached his destination, making the tedious trip to eternity yet again.
Amanda Bueno-Kling ‘19
I see all things that exist within my realm, within my kingdom. Though my reach is limited, my power finite, I enjoy my position, sitting higher than the masses below. I have watched a thousand summers come and go, a million years pass by. I have seen every civilization, every achievement, every battle, every passing of the sun and moon.
The souls of the deceased, hidden in the folds of his cloak, shuffled and shifted beneath the ratty fabric. They were his heartbeat, their pounding and thrashing his pulse. He smiled and pulled his cloak tighter around himself, some of his prisoners protesting. Despite their clawing, they could not escape him; the musty smelling robe, woven of darkness and mystery, would hold them until they reached the place where time did not exist.
I have seen everything that exists within time. But sometimes, there are particular things I see that spark my interest more than others. Some things, like observing the French Revolution, are much more intriguing than watching the grass grow, which, I'll admit, I've done on occasion. Some things are so strange, beautiful, or mysterious, I feel obliged to pause and notice them. One such thing was Life walking with Death down the winding road to forever. Naturally, I had to listen.
He was not expecting to see Life there, but he was not surprised, either, when she fell into stride beside him. She was accompanied by the sweet perfume of flowers, the scent of trees after a springtime rain. As she drew near, the souls he carried grew excited, her presence reigniting them, reminding them of
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what once was. She brought this infectious vibrancy with her wherever she went, like sunshine; he brought only darkness to his surroundings, like the shadowy creature of the night he was.
“When you take someone precious of mine, you'd better know who you're stealing,” she retorted, her anger spilling over. “Fine, if it means so much to you, I do know her name. Hope. How ironic,” he replied, grinning gloatingly.
When they walked side by side, their energies overlapping, a strange paradox occurred. Instead of brilliant light, or deep darkness, they p r o d u c e d a s u n l i t s h a d o w. Combined, they were both dazzling and empty at once.
“She was so young,” she said bitterly. “You denied her a future. You took away her hope.” “She had little hope, Life...” he replied dismissively. “I know you were trying to hold onto her, but you can't cure every disease. Sometimes they're destined to be mine too soon.”
His dark eyes brushed over her, acknowledging her presence with his cold gaze that could stop the beating hearts of mortals. Her full lips were pursed, her vivid green eyes glinting with annoyance. Before she opened her mouth to speak, Death interrupted her.
Her eyes were blurred by tears, her sadness and rage fighting for dominance.
“What do you want, Life? Are you here to pester me about that little girl?” he asked, his face like stone.
“I really wish you would have given her just a little more time,” she said, glaring at him.
“She had a name, you know,” Life replied stiffly.
“Time is not my business,” Death said cooly. “Besides, I was only doing as I was told. It was time for her to go, end of story.”
“They're all the same to me. Knowing their name isn't necessary,” he answered. This angered the souls he carried, and they made sure he knew it, thrashing more violently.
Life pouted for a moment, the pain in her heart still fresh from watching the sweet girl ripped from her arms; one moment, she was vibrant and
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smiling, the next, lifeless and cold. All too easily, all too quickly had illness destroyed her beautiful blossom.
“It's just-” Life began, but then she stopped herself, biting her lip. He paused on the path, and she slowed to a halt as well. Turning towards her, his shadowy eyes held something one would not expect to see in the eyes of Death.
"All you ever do is ruin things," Life hissed, her eyes ablaze. "And somehow that’s my fault?” he snapped. “I have a job to do.”
“Life,” he said gently, gazing at her tear-streaked face. “Yes?” she asked, frightened by the tenderness in his eyes, in his voice. She had known Death only to be cold and heartless, and now seeing warmth in his gaze, she wondered where it had come from.
“I know, but-” He cut her off. “Life, I get it. You're angry at me for taking the girl,” he said, tiredly. “But, as you know, it was not my decision to make. Her time had run out.”
“You need to let Hope go. I can't bring her back.”
“Time,” she said slowly, bitterly, as if the word tasted strange and left an unpleasant flavor in her mouth.
Her sorrowful eyes overflowed with tears.
I chuckled to myself, unseen and unheard.
He reached out one frigid hand, placing it on her warm shoulder. She shuddered at his touch, chills racing down her spine, and his eyes widened as heat flooded through his veins. He drew his hand back quickly, her face paling as color flooded into his cheeks.
“I couldn't leave her. Time must be obeyed,” Death whispered, as Hope’s soul stirred against his chest. His anger and hers had faded, disappearing into their dark lightness, canceling each other out, but her sorrow remained. Life’s fingers twitched, longing to reach out and take the girl back from the frigid clutches of Death.
Tu r n i n g a w a y f r o m h e r a n d resuming his journey towards eternity, he struggled to hide his smile. He held his hand close to his heart, which was still fluttering,
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savoring the fading energy. She followed, her eyes brilliant, her shoulder still tingling from his touch.
His heart froze over. He would not, could not, fall prey to her lovely voice and intoxicating scent. “But,” Death said slowly, “do they love you?”
They wandered on for a while, wordlessly, and he wondered why she was still walking with him. What other business could Life have with Death, besides begging him not to take her treasures? He glanced at her again, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was.
Life paused and frowned at him. “Of course they do. All of humanity loves me.” “Oh, really? I'm pretty sure that they don’t.”
Those green eyes, like springtime, how brightly they shone... Was he, Death, falling in love with Life?
She laughed. “Death, you must be losing your mind... Without question, they love me!” Her words cut through his stony heart.
No. He couldn't be. He shouldn't be. He hardened his still-warm heart, resolving not to love her.
“How can you be so sure?” he prodded.
She spoke softly, pulling him from his thoughts.
“I know for a fact that they love me above all else,” she replied.
“I loved her so much.” “Yes, I know,” he replied, the frigid undertone creeping back into his voice. I am cold. I am dark. I am Death, he reminded himself.
“And what makes you think that?” Death asked, watching her curiously. “It's quite obvious, and you know it. Just take a look at all these people. Find me just one who doesn't love me.”
“I love all of them.” Her voice, like quiet music, echoed in his ears.
He laughed.
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“What's so funny?” she asked, staring at him.
“Yes, for a handful of decades they bask in your brilliance, but they dwell in my shadows forever,” he replied.
“Just one? I could find thousands of people who love me much more than they love you.”
This painful truth seeped into both their minds, and silence descended upon them. Both mulled over the hurt they felt, the heartbreak they caused each other, the sorrow that was inevitable in their line of work. She, the giver of life, could only watch, helplessly, as he sucked the breath from her children, stilled their fragile hearts. He, the bringer of death, could only look on, enviously, as the masses adored her, cursed his name.
“Love you?” she scoffed. “Please. No one loves you.” Her words pierced his heart like shards of glass, and his dark eyes flashed with hurt. Though he'd had eternity to come to grips with the fact that no one loved him, least of all the souls he carried to the other side, he felt fresh pain every time he was reminded. When he spoke again, his voice was faint. “I suppose,” he began, “that if they do not love me, then they must serve me.”
And though they would not bring themselves to say it, they had each become lonely. No matter how many creatures she brought into the world, no matter how many souls he amassed, the void in their hearts remained. It was as if there was nothing that could fill the gaping hole that only grew with the passage of time.
“Serve you? How so?” she questioned. “They're all mine eventually,” he told her. “Every last one of them ends up in my grasp.” She, too, had had eternity to learn that she would always lose the ones she loved to him, but her heart ached at the thought.
They could never utter it, but they loved and hated each other simultaneously. He adored her and was jealous of her, she was in awe of him and despised him. For millennia, they
“I guess so,” she answered him, “but they serve me before you.”
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had wrestled with feelings they had no words to describe.
master of all, stood still, watching as the impossible collision of two polar opposites occurred.
Life glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, seeing his brow furrowed as he pondered his predicament. A faint splash of color crept into her cheeks as she took in his angular features, dark, brooding eyes, messy raven hair. She scolded herself for for the tenderness that had arisen in her heart, as she had many times before, and tried to push it away. She had uttered it before she knew what she was doing, before she had time to think clearly. It came out rather quietly, tumbling past her lips like the faint whispering of a breeze. “I love you.� He stopped, his cold heart beating loudly in his chest, and turned to her, his eyes frightened and certain at the same time. She gazed back at him, lips tugged into the faint traces of a smile. He took her soft hand in his, relishing the heat that flooded through his body in waves, and she melted into his arms, his icy grip electrifying her. Her sunlight and his shadow collided, her heat and his frigidity, as their lips met. And I, Time, the Justin-Siena Literary Magazine
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Evening In Laguna Beach
Olivia de Maigret ‘20
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Keep Your Chin Up
Twyla Borck ‘22
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CBC
Gianna Say ‘21
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