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Also inside… CEDAR MANOR READINGS… PICTURE PROMPTS.. AND MORE!
HOT LAPTOP PAGES 2-4
5/7 PAGES
COW PAGES 6-7
CREATIVE WRITING CLUB
ANTHOLOGY
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Best of Hot Laptop Aditi, Sophie, Linda “Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?” She asked. It was a good question, I’ll admit. I pondered over this for sometimes before I realized I had no answer. As the minutes passed my furrowed brows became more pronounced, my mouth became more grim and the silence that surrounded the two of us seemed increasingly odd in the chaotic and bustling atmosphere of the school corridors. What had I done? I thought. This is all my fault, how could I let myself do this? I couldn’t let this mistake remain. I had to tell her. I tried to change the subject, but she wouldn’t let up. She needed to know. I sighed over my internal battle. She wouldn’t ever forgive me, I knew. I thought of life without her choking laughter that she tried to hold back at the most inappropriate times, without those eyes that held me in place, without her big feet and delicate sneezes, and I...couldn’t. I turned my eyes away from her best friend. “Haven’t you ever lied to protect someone?” I whispered almost. I closed my eyes, memories of us burning through my mind, of stars entwined that shined too bright. “After everything she’s done for me, how can I tell her that I’m dying? That I’m going to leave her just like everyone else did?” I could feel bitter laughter building up in my throat. “Oh,” she said. “That’s what you didn’t tell her? That’s the news that everyone’s buzzing about?” Hailey leaned against her locker, fiddling with the magnet holding up her family. “I thought that it would be a lot cooler. With fewer cliches.” She licked her lip piercing, a gift for her 16th birthday. “Really,” she laughed. “If I were in charge of which rumors became true, I definitely would pass the one that’s been bubbling up about you.” “There’s a rumor about me? What? Where did it come from?” “It came from me, stupid. That’s why I like it so much!” “What is it?”
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Logan, Eliana, Kelly, Thomas, Kyle Writing Prompt: I hear a voice in the closet “Hello? Is anyone in there?” came out the voice. “Because, if you are in there, and you’re not dead, that would be really helpful,” I looked around. I couldn’t remember how I had gotten here. I was in a small room with yellow wallpaper, and a green bed. There were no windows, and only one door. “Listen, I think, um, I think, I’m going to go, and, if you are alive, just, y’know, call out, make a sound, something to let me know that you’re actually, um, alive,” the voice came out. I heard what he said, but wasn’t willing to step out yet. I needed to get my bearings. “Bloody dead people everywhere. What am I supposed to do when they see this place?” I slowly stood up from the bed and looked around. I felt off-balance, but after a moment I was ready to go. I quickly realized that there really was nowhere I could possibly go except outside. My stomach rumbled. When was the last time I ate? I don’t think he’s coming back, I thought. I gulped and reached for the doorknob, ready to step out into the unknown. Squinting, I looked out into the bright landscape before me. Mountains, waterfalls, fields, almost, too perfect. It seemed vaguely familiar to me, but anything was better than that putrid yellow wallpaper. I breathed in the fresh air, but couldn’t ignore the slight banging now coming from a direction towards my left, near a forest. Peering back into the room, I scanned it, noticing a small blue shine in the corner, reflecting the new light from the sun. Sun? The last thing I remembered was the bright, hot, dancing lights of the… the bar? The… wherever it was, it certainly didn’t involve any natural sunlight. As I wiped my hands on the flat, oily piece of clothing that covered me, I… wait. When had I put on something like this? And why did it feel so, so, oily?! Like the fresh paint of a just finished painting, left in the sunlight to dry. “Am I dead???”, I thought to myself. It felt too physical and too real for me to be dead. And how could I have died? Where the heck am I? All of a sudden an army of evil gingers came out and I took out my shotgun. “This is Gingeriva!” Chief Kyel the coolio yelled. Then the group of 1,000,000,000,000 Gingers ran with such beauty and strength that I stopped and let them attack me. I was ripped and eaten by them. They tore my soul out until the chief came and put me back together like legos. “I am the most awesome and cool being in the universe. Why do you try to come to my land and awesomes?” Coolio Kyel said.
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“I want to learn from you, to become like a cool person,” I said. He laughed and grabbed me and chucked me into a blackhole. Before my final moments I was happy to meet the most cool being to ever and will ever live.
Elizabeth, Linda & ? The air changes when I walk into the room. I can feel it, in the way they stare at me, as if trying to decipher my every movement. The casual lighthearted chatter of a moment ago has been replaced by an icy silence. I ignore them. After all, they had nothing to do with me. Why should I care about them? They are ignorant fools, naively believing every rumor, every whisper. It’s like they don’t have a mind of their own. So I sit apart from them, my back turned. Even so, I feel like every glance, every stare, becomes a part of my soul. If my mind knows they don’t matter, why does it take them in, feed on them, like I will not live without this constant yet terrifying attention. I squirm as I feel holes dug slowly in my back by their retinas. Suddenly, I snapped. I shoved my chair backwards and stood. The scratchy noise broke the breaths of the many still staring at me. Turning, I trembled. There was nothing. These demons. These people constantly grinding into my soul with the silent judgement and their almost unattainable ignorance, they were gone. I was alone. Standing there, my fists scrunched to the point where I felt my fingers could break, I stepped back. My chair was gone. I was alone. My back hit the concrete behind me. I was alone. I am always alone. My fingers uncurled, knuckles worn. I didn’t kill her. I knew it and yet I could still see her face, bleeding, falling. And after, the shouting. She was gone and they needed me to blame. They loved her (I loved her)
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Best of Cow Sime The...I’m Not Sure By Logan C- Sime O- Brick Wall W- Kit Kat Years of genetic science, decades of research, and thousands of years of a dream. Humanity is reaching the next step in evolution through the efforts of scientists around the globe. Just not yet. “What...is it?” asked the man in a white labcoat, looking, aghast, at their creation. “Its...a cat? Or a mouse? Or a squid maybe?” responded the man next to him, coincidentally also looking, aghast, at their creation. “But it doesn’t even have ears, or arms?” “Look, the light bulb failed 99 times before it was gotten right, we can keep going,” he said optimistically. “But...Fine, just throw that one with the others.” *
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This creature may not have looked like much. After all, everything the scientists said was right. It looked like a cat, but much smaller, and with no ears and a mouselike tail. However, there was more to it. As the scientists reluctantly carried it, it looked around with a newfound curiosity for the world. Suddenly, a smell hit it’s nose. It’s body relaxed as it smelled the sweetness. It was like nothing it had ever smelled before. Then, turning around a corner, it saw it. A dark brown bar, with a red and yellow wrapper next to it. On the wrapper, it said Kit Kat. The creature instantly knew its purpose, to find that brown bar, and eat it. It was finallOof! Clearing the dust away, the creature saw the scientists had placed it in a small pen, in another room. The smell of the Kit Kat could still reach its nose. This creature glanced around, and saw on the wall, a sign that said !5
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Failed Experiments. Luckily, it couldn’t read. It waited for the scientists to come back, to bring it to the great Kat of Kit that it knew so well, but no one came. Eventually, when the smell became too much for it to bear, it realized what it had to do. How could you complete your purpose without hardships? This must be a wall for it to overcome before its sweet salvation. It walked up to the edge of the pen, and studied it. It was made of red and brown bars it decided to call Bricks. Here goes nothing. It grasped onto the wall with each of its small stubby feet, as it had no arms. It pulled itself up, but only made it a few inches before tumbling back to the ground. Not to be deterred, the creature tried again. This time, it slipped its small tail through a hole in the bricks and tried to pull itself up that way. Its tail, however was not strong enough and it couldn’t lift itself. Before it gave up, it decided to try one more thing. It stretched out its long tongue to 3 times its body length. But, try as he might, his tongue could not reach the top. The smell of this “Kit Kat” was so powerful, and yet it couldn’t reach it. It sat down in despair, ready to give up. A powerful energy surged through him, and something clicked within him. He realized why he had been created. Experiments to send humanity into the next phase of evolution. That meant he had all of humanity's power inside him to achieve his purpose. To get that Kit Kat. He picked himself up, and flew over the wall, with sheer willpower. He followed the smell right up to the bar. And when he landed next to it, he reflected. He was possibly the weirdest looking creature in the world, and he still accomplished everything he wanted. With this thought, he picked up the chocolate bar, and swallowed it whole.
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Best of 5/7 Game Shadow Feather Hiccup Nebula Oasis Betrayal Carnival
Collapsing Circus Sophie The feathers they all fall and flutter To the ground in silent descent As gentle as a shadow They accumulate on floors and clutter Twisted, tore, and bent A symbol of betrayal For the carnival, who could predict Would have spun like cotton candy This far out of control The tiger’s fangs bear and inflict Upon the crowd chaotic insanity As the cats prowl free of bars
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The clowns have lost their faces And their true masks are revealed Terrifying and bare A child in the mirrors chases The silhouette concealed In broken shards and reflections The doves are freed by widened gaps And they swarm and flock like kites A nebula of monochrome But all too soon they collapse Fall in bursts of reds and whites A twisted flying trapeze Which brings us to the feathers Cascading to the floor And what was once oasis Is lost forevermore
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Dream Poem Eliana  The hiccups in the brief breathe that is our lives. They make the most of the unpredictable air that can fill our lungs, drowning us in an oasis of inspiration, or that will suddenly be drawn away leaving us pondering why the betrayal of what gives us life can be so thrilling. We close our eyes, and now the focus becomes not the breathe we robotically take, but the almost intimidating nebula of color hiding underneath. We are given the chance to surround ourselves with luminous stardust. To allow ourselves to imagine, dream. But, eventually, we must breathe. And, soon enough, we realize that breathing allows for an intermission of that ever-expanding and mind-boggling universe that we’re still constantly exploring. Acceptance of the fact that both the suffocating air and the fantasy that is behind it must be balanced, will let our small lives feel less intimidated under the unimaginable shadow of our existence. Stop for a while, but remember to breathe.
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Best of Picture Prompts
! The House Linda She was old now, sitting in the house she had built herself when everything was still...new. There were things she had forgotten, the shadows of names and memories and people like ash as they stained her tongue, but she still remembered the house, at least. She had built the house so long ago, when she had first arrived here, roaming the forest until the trees bent for her, unable to stand against the weight of her youth. She had loved it, even then, even before she choose the wood to be used, even before she had known what love was. She learned the secrets of the wood that year, traced it onto the grains of her palm until it was the only thing she could bear to hold. And then she left, like all children do. Traveled the skies to catch the moon, traveled the sea to find a boy, traveled the world in search of a question with no answer. And when the world burned and the nameless wars raged on as pedestals for pale princes to stand upon, when all that she knew was fire and falling, she returned to the house that she had loved and left, so many years ago. And stayed.
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When the Circus Comes From Town Eliana ♪Could of had a chance to get out of this mess The time that you came and the day that you left♪ When noise emerges and crowds amass, all blank faces yet all familiar. Like mannequins, all wearing a painted face smeared off after the painting was completed. When shuffled feet hide from their eye’s sight in preparation for something so unknown yet so conversed you’d think the tension would only reach the first row. ♪Never thought I could make it this far With a pain in my soul and a hole in my heart♪ When you hear children squealing, barely tolerating the eccentric beating of their tiny hearts, only just keeping the sap-like blood flowing to their tiring muscles. When you become doused in silence and darkness all at once yet so subtly you feel as if fog seeped into your vocal chords, glassed over your irises, holding everyone still in a bubble of their own mind until someone is able to break the soapy barrier. ♪But when the lights are turnin' round The wheels are rolling on the ground
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The day I burned this whole place down♪ When breaths are held but the suspense pushes at their lips, slowly fracturing mouths and releasing scattered air so vividly like their lungs were trying to communicate. When finally light blazes into existence and the many lost figures grasp for vision like dazed moths fluttering towards the lamp. ♪But when the lights are turnin' round The wheels are rolling on the ground The day I burned this whole place down♪ When in sweaty seats legs are lifted back to life while already animated hands increase their pace all finding a synchronized beat that is never spoken yet always felt. When for a single moment attention won’t wander in a deep forest of thought and sunlight shines through the leaves, grasping the brain and pulling it to the center. ♪When the circus comes to town♪ When finally, the show begins.
Emotion Prompt: L’appelle du Vide The Call of the Void by Bennett It was happening again. That damn voice in my head, egging me on. “Come on, what’s the matter? All you have to do is walk forward a few meters…” Every bone in my body was conflicted. Should I stay safe here on the ground, or leap into the air, into the threatening emptiness of the sky? “Give in to your urge, it’ll end faster.” “What are you? Where are you?” I called out, not expecting an answer.” “I am the Void. That is all you need to know.” “Why do you want me to jump so much?” “I merely want to see you smile.” I felt my mouth curl into a snarl instinctively. What did this “Void” want with me, anyway? The Void chuckled haughtily, clearly mocking me, intensifying my anger.
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I stepped forward. I stepped forward again. I hesitated on the edge of the ledge, looking out over the valley. The river down below was menacing, yet so inviting. I felt myself losing my balance. “Yes. Good. Keep going,” said The Void. I froze, staring down at the bottom of the valley, a mile below. I watched droplets of sweat cascade from my face and cascade into the abyss. “Go.” The Void barked. We were both getting impatient. “GO.” “JUMP!” The last word caught me so off guard that I felt myself start to slip, and then it happened. My feet gave up, letting me fall from the ledge, and The Void laughed. The air was screaming in my ears, but I heard nothing but The Void’s hysterical laughter of joy, echoing throughout my brain. “HAHAHAHAHA!” “Aha.. Hahahahaaa!!” We were laughing together! Oh, if only I knew how fun this would be sooner! The rush! The adrenaline! The excitement! That’s when I realized it. I am The Void. And I plunged into the icy river, like a bullet. Still laughing.
The Prideful King by Aditi Do you hear That voice inside Perilous But innocuous.
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Do you feel That urge within Deceiving But guileless. There was a kingdom With a prideful King Who thought himself Unbeatable. The story starts With tempting offers One the King could not refuse Can you guess what This prideful king Could never ever Bear to lose? Dignity, dear friend. He valued reputation Most of all And when he was faced with A challenge of the ages How could he How dare he Think to refuse?
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He had the people’s faith in him Fueling him to serve them better Encouraging him to Win no matter. So off he set To rule the world With a few ten Thousand soldiers By his side. And he did succeed At least at first Then I fear The madness took him. Battles continued The war persistent He did not care To stop. Even when the nearby towns Were washed away with crimson tides When mountains steady years before Now trembled at his wake. We called him hero
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We praised his name He meant to us our country He called to us his people. Â So at first We all rejoiced Down with the republic! A new age will now begin.
Cedar Manor Pieces Untitled Elizabeth A thousand brilliant, crimson flames, blazing bright, fluttered across the ever-darkening dusk sky. The sky itself was beautiful, alive -- ironic, considering the circumstances, but really, has nature ever cared for human activities? The last rays of sunlight flashed above the burning treetops, showering the fiery world with a rainbow palette of colors. And he stood in the midst of it all, a crooked, almost suppressed grin dancing across his perfect face. Silently, he observed the calamity surrounding him. A short laugh -- of amazement, perhaps of what he could accomplish -- burst from his lips, drawn out by an invisible force. He took a slow breath, then lifted his right arm, palm turned up. His penetrating gaze was focused on the space above his arm, and his concentration slowly gathered, condensing into one point. A flick of light appeared momentarily, along with a brush of heat against his open palm, but both vanished as suddenly as it had come. Unperturbed, he kept his violet eyes fixed determinedly on the now empty space over his palm. A minute passed, then another. Nothing. Until, a sudden whoosh, and a radiant flame, not unlike the ones surrounding him, creeping ever closer, flared up into existence. A rush of intense heat rippled through the nerves in his hand, his arm. Carefully, he moved his other hand so that it joined the one holding the fire. He delicately brought them to his face. As if cupping a fragile creature in his hands. The sporadic flickering of the flames illuminated his perfectly chiseled features. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his face, like a lion’s whilst playing with its defenseless, doomed prey. He murmured a soft noise of pleasure, lifting his cupped hands to the air, as if presenting a trophy to the world.
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But there was no one left to receive it. No one.
Convoluted Rhymes Aditi A poem may be a simple composition Or a convoluted rhyme A celebrated exposition Or merely worth a dime. But no fun would it be If it were bare of complications For half my time goes to see Its many implications. It has no rhyme or reason The words simply seem to flow Adrift aimlessly from verse to verse Does it make sense, who knows? Alas, I must confess I declare it poetry If that were to be your guess Do gloat away immodestly When a poem captures our deepest emotions We marvel at its ingenuity
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When it is unimaginative, insipid or indifferent We laugh at its absurdity. Sometimes, we consider it sheer magic An enigma with subtlety and secrets Which the reader then in turn discerns What gaiety, what grievance. Made up of beats, rhythm and melody It seduces us with its armory Metaphors, similes and symbolism galore Or just a strong dose of soppy sentimentality. Philosophical, esoteric or plain A poem can charm us with its sagacity It lends colour to the ordinary lives Enthralling us with its creativity. So if I should pen such a noteworthy composition I would instantly declare it poetry Were it to be a simple composition or a convoluted rhyme, Were it to be praised by one, none or all I would gloat away immodestly.
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III/II/MMXVI Flower Carson  The sun beats down harshly on my petals, engorged with the powerful solar rays. The moisture that is left in the parched earth is shallow and far between. I soak up as much as I can in order to escape the punishment. In doing so I begin to feel a rumbling. Very slight at first, but it very quickly picks up and transforms into a noticeable throbbing of the Earth. A being emerges from the tree line, very tall, concealed in red. Perhaps it is a human. It comes nearer to me, twirling, lost in its own little world of thought and joyfulness. It stops and looks around before finally setting its focus in my direction. Its movements are now clear and purposeful. It rests its face before mine and stares wondrously at my display. Finally it smiles, an instant before it reaches and plucks me out of my calm resting place chuckling as it raises me into the air. I feel the wilting sensation of my life leaving me as I am hoisted up. It seems that my assailant does not notice, or care, that I lay passing, in its grip. That the curiosity of one creature has destroyed everything of another. Another being lays at the treeline. A dark, fur coated beast, larger than this one lay back waiting, stalking. I get one final look before it spots me. It stares at me with its piercing blue eyes as my world fades into darkness.
The Bus Going Nowhere Bennett This was not a normal bus stop. The sign was much taller, for one. It curled around itself, curving down toward the mud it was permanently lodged in. And I had no idea why I was here, the last thing I remember was falling, then a flash of light. Then I was here. The dirt road stretched for miles, but it was gone from my field of vision as it ran underneath the huge arches of trees on either side, into an endless tunnel. I sat down at the bench, waiting for something to come. The bench was worn down, weathered with age, sinking into mud like everything else there. There were no sounds, only unfamiliar raindrops crashing into thick mud. The darkness was broken as a bus rolled down the road, headlights blazing. It was strange. The entire bus was enshrouded in shadow, inside and outside. As it rolled to a halt, the screeching sound of ancient tires scraped against my ears, painfully. The doors slowly fell open, inviting me in. Knowing there was no other exit, I entered. The interior looked like any other bus, except for the fact that everything was immersed in shadow.
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The passengers were nothing but unrecognizable blobs of shadow, slowly swaying in the seats of the bus. The driver was cloaked in darkness, and he stared at me through a cracked skull mask, emotionless. The otherworldly vehicle slowly took me through the trees, into the beyond. I could have sworn I saw the trees close behind us as the bus rolled away. The bus rolled along, through black void. I was left to sit in silence, quietly contemplating. Then something flashed through my mind: the vision of a beautiful woman in sunglasses, brown hair blowing in the wind sitting in a car breezing down a mountain road. What was her name? I could only sit and guess, wondering who she could possibly be. “Watch out! Watch the road!” Her voice rang through my head like a gong. Even with her evident panic, her words were beautiful to hear. I don’t know why, but the driver pulled to a halt, flashing his skull head to face me, glaring. After a few seconds, he turned away and started the bus up again. And then, her name. “Elizabeth!” A male voice said. I realized, that was my voice! The last vision forced the image of Elizabeth falling from the cliff, as I follow suit. I was dead. The bus crashed to a halt, much more forcefully than before. The door opened, and the driver nodded. Slowly, I stood up and left the bus. Then, I was standing at a bus stop in the familiar New York City. All memories of the… whatever it was was gone. I was home.
How to be a Writer Linda When you are a child, you will learn the art of loneliness. You lie on your back for hours, tracing the hexagons of the blue and white bathroom ceiling tiles in the air. When your mother knocks on the door, you tell her that you’ll be done soon. You will pretend not to notice the way her voice breaks when she asks you to prepare dinner. You will grow up watching your mother leaving. You learn to stop holding on so tight before she gets into the car and drives to work. Instead, you wait for her to come back, grasping her coffee-stained breath in your palm, the only thing of hers that is truly yours.
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You will grow up reading. You teach yourself the language of heroes to fill up the empty hours of the afternoon. When your mother comes back, too tired to cook dinner, you tell her about the new words you encountered, the other lives you lived. You will swallow your disappointment when she closes her eyes and rests for a bit. When you enter high school, you will be required to read The Book Thief. It will change you. You will savor the words melting on your tongue, roll them around in your mouth like marbles, try them out. You wonder, on nights when you are too tired to sleep, if you will ever be able to write anything as beautiful as that. Your first attempts at writing will end in a collection of sentences that have not yet figured out what they are trying to say. But when you finish your first story, you will feel as though you have accomplished something worthwhile for the first time in your life. This is what it means, you finally understand, what it all amounts to: all the frustration and failure, the wonder you have forgotten how to feel. You do not quite know what “it” is, but you are sure that if you keep writing, you will eventually figure this out.
A Walk Down Memory Lane Sophie Memory loves to tell stories. You meet every Friday in her plain living room, along with Nostalgia and Experience, to listen. She has a special way of telling them, too, that draws you in. Her tales are fantastical, unreal, and distant as the stars, yet they feel like they belong to everyone. You see the light in Memory’s eyes when she tells them; they make you smile. Nostalgia always cries, though. Experience just listens, and sometimes he takes notes, always promising Memory that one day, he will publish her anecdotes. Memory is an enigma, and never explains everything in her story. She deviously leaves the most important details out and replaces it with something smoother; subtler. If you ask for more information, she grins sheepishly and places a finger over her lips. Memory changes in such small steps that you can barely see the footprints that brought her to the change. Last Friday, when she opened her door to let you in, you noticed with a shock that her hair was blonde. Then it dawned on you that, starting a month ago, her hair had been a lighter color every week, evolving from chestnut brown and advancing, slowly, to this golden hue. “Why are you laughing?” You hadn’t even realized that you were. “I hardly even noticed that you were dying your hair, Memory, and now look at it! It’s so different!” At this, Memory turned bright red and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before ushering you inside. Memory is beautiful. She is subtle, often, in her changes and mysteries, but she is always a friend and a role model. Memory is always reviewing and replacing her tales. She doesn’t bother to explain the alterations she makes, and she keeps to herself. You hear her story and are infatuated by it, but by the next day, you find that you can’t recall what it was about it that you liked so much. You go back to !2 1
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Memory, asking her to tell it again, and more often than not she does without protests. It’s as you remember, but it’s different. It’s very possible that you don’t even realize her last-minute tweak until you are speaking to your friend, who had heard the original story and corrects the discrepancies. She has fiddled with your mind, you realize, and it irks you. No one knows why Memory must constantly revise and rewrite her tales. The originals are more than good enough for you. Despite the sneaky constant critiques she makes, Memory is always there as a friend and advisor. Like a warm dream, Memory is soft and reassuring. Whenever your shoulders sag from carrying Sorrow on piggyback all day, she is there to pick you back up again. She is your constant companion, and can lift your spirits with a flick of her tongue. Stories aren’t the only thing she can articulate. Memory is a wellspring of knowledge. The vast library of her mind includes hundreds of books of all genres, thousands of moments that you can learn from; the books Experience always promised that he would transcribe for her. You always turn to her for advice before anyone else, as you know her suggestions will be reliable and specific to you. Memory is immortal. She is youthful and preserved forever in time, so you should not feel offended when she begins to visit you less and less as you grow older. Memory chooses not to mingle amongst the elderly so as to not tempt the hourglass to start bleeding her sand. Eventually, Memory will stop telling you stories altogether, and each day will be a blank slate for you. You might forget the contents of some of her tales, or listen to them told secondhand, from people still acquainted with Memory. You will never forget her, though, or her significance in your life, and in return, she will hold onto you. She will describe you to others, friends and family, and they will learn your legends and pass them on. It is only when everyone who holds a fragment of Memory’s story of you is gone that you will finally be severed from Memory’s heart.
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Other Uncategorized Pieces How To Write With A Bad Keyboard Logan Heslamed his hands onto the keyboard. How could he type with this? The keys wre toosmall, the space bar didn’t work,and he kecpt on hittingthewrong buttons. Wat am I goingto do? he asked himself. After minutes andintes spent going back and revising his earlier work, he gave up. He ony had about 1paragrah down, and it wasfull of redlines, marking where there was a typo. He slumped in his chari, overcome with despair. He looked around at the room. He was na classroom full of computers, and people writing. But most of the computers didn’twork,so he had to get a laptop. “I wouod’ve been ok with a bad computer compared to this” he said. “On the bright side, I don’t have to worry about gramer anymore.” Suddenly, anidea popped into his brain. Maybe he could use this keyboard to his adantage, hesiled and began writing. He wrote: Heslamed his hands onto the keyboard. How could he type with this? The keys wre toosmall, the space bar didn’t work,and he kecpt on hittingthewrong buttons. Wat am I goingto do? he asked himself. After minutes andintes spent going back and revising his earlier work, he gave up. He ony had about 1paragrah down, and it wasfull of redlines, marking where there was a typo. He slumped in his chari, overcome with despair. He looked around at the room. He was na classroom full of computers, and people writing. But most of the computers didn’twork,so he had to get a laptop. “I wouod’ve been ok with a bad computer compared to this” he said. “On the bright side, I don’t have to worry about gramer anymore.” Suddenly, anidea popped into his brain. Maybe he could use this keyboard to his adantage, hesiled and began writing. He wrote: Heslamed his hands onto the keyboard. How could he type with this? The keys wre toosmall, the space bar didn’t work,and he kecpt on hittingthewrong buttons. Wat am I goingto do? he asked himself. After minutes andintes spent going back and revising his earlier work, he gave up. He ony had about 1paragrah down, and it wasfull of redlines, marking where there was a typo. He slumped in his chari, overcome with despair. He looked around at the room. He was na classroom full of computers, and people writing. But most of the computers didn’twork,so he had to get a laptop. “I wouod’ve been ok with a bad computer compared to this” he said. “On the bright side, I don’t have to worry about gramer anymore.” Suddenly, anidea popped into his brain. Maybe he could use this keyboard to his adantage, hesiled and began writing. He wrote:
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2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
Heslamed his hands onto the keyboard. How could he type with this? The keys wre toosmall, the space bar didn’t work,and he kecpt on hittingthewrong buttons. Wat am I goingto do? he asked himself. After minutes andintes spent going back and revising his earlier work, he gave up. He ony had about 1paragrah down, and it wasfull of redlines, marking where there was a typo. He slumped in his chari, overcome with despair. He looked around at the room. He was na classroom full of computers, and people writing. But most of the computers didn’twork,so he had to get a laptop. “I wouod’ve been ok with a bad computer compared to this” he said. “On the bright side, I don’t have to worry about gramer anymore.” Suddenly, anidea popped into his brain. Maybe he could use this keyboard to his adantage, hesiled and began writing. Hewrote: Man I’mtiredof hitting ctrl + c then ctrl + v. I dhould wirte something else. But not with this keyboard! Satisfied, he submitted his College application. ca
Can only a happy mind be what you want? Kyle A healthy mind is kinda like a garden, beautiful in appearance and complex in layout. Colors fill the area with such beauty as each flower gives off a different scent and appearance. That is what a mind is, different complex and unique ideas all packed up into a little area. But, what if the sun isn't shining? What if the flowers don't grow? What happens when a storm comes? Well… That's simple really. You walk into the mind and what first strikes you is that the sun isn't shining. It's dark out as a storm is flowing by. Rain pours as the lightning in the distance roars like a lion. Then you look for the garden you always expect… But, there isn't one. It's just a desert stretching for miles on end. Then you see him, he is sitting next to what seems like the last flower. Tears and small cries echo throughout and you walk foward to see what's the matter. “Hello, what's your name? Are you ok?” You asked politely. He looked up slowly and you could see him, he was a redhead boy with some freckles, he was around 13 years old. He looked at you with caution and said,” Hello, my name is ****. Sorry to bother you, I just have nothing left. Could you help me, maybe?” You pause… Will you help him? But… Storms always come back. And two years later looking back at it, them most certainly do.
Musical Influence No. 1 Kelly There was no sound in the dark, cornered space. It didn’t seem as if there would be air, at least not for a while. Her fur ruffled against the cold, clear, surface, and she tried to back herself into it more, but only succeeded in tripping on her scarf. !2 4
2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
The others. They had to have landed here somewhere too. She remembered clearly that the escape had involved launch pads, escape pods, and somewhere along the way it went wrong. Now she had no escape, no future, no.. it was no good to consider this situation to be hopeless. All she needed was to be able to run, find her friends, and then… whatever happened beyond then was inconsequential. The beast felt this in every fiber of her being, in every thing that she saw, analyzed, and took for granted in her life previously. It was not the countless goods that she had been given as a child, that had led her here. The dolls and scarves, taken from far-away countries, were her only link to the outside back then. They had found her a friend, given her a life, somewhere away from the mind in which she so often wondered. But it was not right to wander in that mind now. She had to move, and cowering in the corner of a ship, against glass of some sorts that clearly showed every inch of what lay out in the space far beyond this area, would not help. ‘Evelyn,’ she reminded herself, ‘don’t stress about what we have to do. You’re not completely alone here, remember that. Find your friends. We’ll be safe then.’ With an unstable faith in the certainty that finding her friends was all she needed to do, the beast, namely Evelyn, backed herself into the wall, then sprung off it in a leap, knocking over several cans that clattered their way down to the lower deck. She bounded over several more cans before finally reaching a passageway of some sorts. More of the glass that had held her prisoner was present here, in the walls of the passageway, and the floor. As her paw first touched the nearest part of the floor, a vibrant glow took over the walls of cold smoothness, and the distorted images of space occupying the glass disappeared. In their place was a wall of four different colored diamonds arranged in a repeating order, with pink diamonds appearing the most often. As Evelyn moved forwards, cautiously yet knowing, the diamonds changed to outline a spear shape. The pink edge of the spear fizzled suddenly as the flicker of the screen dulled, and then was replaced by black. Voices, suddenly, came to Evelyn. She could hear them in the back of her mind, from somewhere that was far away, yet seemed near to her at the time. The front of the ship. That’s where she rushed towards, and she knew that they would be there. Her friends.
Stars Kelly If we became stars, would we keep moving on? For the stars in our eyes were once so strong And the lights so bright Too much
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2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
When we die “It’s all for this so it’s okay we never meant to die.” “It wasn’t our idea to go And die. we didn’t mean to leave our friends Behind.” … If there wasn’t anything in the world But us Would our life continue On? Stars. They glow so bright And yet that light Can’t be taken away But is rather contained !2 6
2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
Loved Scattered Shattered. That’s what we did to the thirteenth card. Team Flawless won. It wasn’t a victory. But we won. Hooray! Hurrah! Nobody knew. That thirteen Had to die For the thirteenth card to go For it was the card of release She was the card It couldn’t have been any other way? A song Of silence Rings Throughout !2 7
2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
There was no one To hear it Now We all are Tired Scared And we have lost Thirteen Of the ones once there Team Flawless won It wasn’t a victory, But we won. Pink blossoms Scatter across all the land Yellow lightning follows Paralyzed silence Fills the ears Of all who grieve Including The one who deceived All around him And even himself
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2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
As well as his powerful Witch In-training Whose magic was so strong That the two forever haunted the earth Not with one another, But to find The other And as for the fire Blazing, magnificent fire, Elegant, Beautiful, Brilliant. Many tried to capture it But the echo of a song led it To engulf the whole world in its flames Oh but the ashes! Scattered on the ground They gave birth to new life And new love found Its way across the webs Of fate and design
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2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
To a half dead mouse Who turned into a lion
Praise song to a piano Mariah Praise song for the struggles before success. Praise song for the falling down before getting back up. Praise song for the setbacks that turned into achievements beyond my wildest dreams. Praise song for the pen I use to write my stories down through music that’s all my own. Everyday I sit at the bench And stare At the keys. Shiny and humming with anticipation. I run my fingers over the keys And it is like a magic spell was suddenly performed on my fingers. As if commanded by something bigger than my mind. They fly over the keys playing music that is completely my own. My music tells a story
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2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
filled with emotion on anything That comes to mind. Loss. Joy. Hope. Praise to the instrument that has let me communicate with the world. Praise for music that comes from deep inside. Praise for the piano-the music in my life.
Musical Influence 1 Elizabeth A shaft of light creeps through the cracks in the roof and windows. It shines on the grimy mud floor, lighting up the dim room. You creak the door open even further, a puff of breath escaping you, appearing and vanishing in the wintry air, as you enter the abandoned one-room cottage. It is eerily silent -- too quiet. You are in the depths of the woods, yet nothing can be heard except the occasional swish of the breeze as it blows through the frozen branches. You have come here so many times in the past years. You found it once, by chance, tip-toeing through the multi-colored leaves, trying to be as quiet as you could, though it didn’t quite work, with the ground covered in dead leaves. Your only thought then was to be gone. Find a place where everything was perfect, some dream utopia, perhaps. You never found it. But you came back, because the serene woods were the closest to your utopia than anywhere else. Every time you walked on the dirt path, the peacefulness of the woods -- the alone-ness -- had comforted you. It calmed you in the the worst of times. And once you had settled down, you would listen for the soft chirping of the birds in the trees, or the scrabbling of paws, the light crunch-crunch-crunching of hooves on the snow. But today, you hear nothing. You are already nervous enough. You’re not used to this silence. It is not supposed to be like this. The woods weren’t supposed to betray you like this -- they weren’t supposed to change. You curl your arms around your waist, squeezing hard. You can feel your hands beginning to tremble. No, you tell yourself, trying to force your body into stillness.
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2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
Can’t Hide Sarah 10 He is not in your sight yet, But you know that he is getting close, Preparing to cut you off. 9 You can start to hear something in the distance, The sound of snapping branches, Or maybe it’s just in your head. 8 The sound suddenly stops, Right before you hear a piercing scream Cut through the space. 7 The scream echoes through your head As you begin to run Away from where you know he lingers. 6 You can’t tell if the sounds you hear are from him, Or from your feet as they sink into the mud, But you don’t stop. 5 The stars start to disappear as the sun begins to rise, And there is hope, Maybe if you can hold out someone will find you. 4 Your legs start to go numb as your pace slows,
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HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
But you can’t afford to stop, He is getting closer. 3 All you see is black, Mud covering your face, Your heart beating out of your chest. 2 You pull yourself up, But your foot can’t hold any weight, You fall, and are covered by a lean shadow. 1 Time’s up.
Mellifluous Dream Ramble Sarah Music flows through the air Reaching out to anyone who will listen Speaking in a language without words A way to communicate The scent of flowers fills the space Lightening the mood in the room Providing beauty that can also be seen To anyone willing to look The sounds of the bow hairs on the strings is clear and precise
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2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
The music travels in the air Daring anyone to ignore its sound The violin is small with a sound that amplifies to every ear in the room The notes, accurate and sharp, can put anyone in a trance It makes them not think about if it is good or bad, But how good it is Not about if it is too fast or too slow, But how it sounds perfectly timed The violas compliment the violins Adding depth to the notes, Acting as a second melody To the already-beautiful sound The cellos act as a base for the song, Keeping a deep, but just as accurate rhythm That doesn’t stand out, But also doesn’t blend in The basses are the beat, Keeping everyone on beat And unified By staying steady and in-tune All together they form more than just music Its a language without words But with sounds.
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2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
A story, Not told in sentences, but in measures And rhythms And melodies. They don't just tell a story, But show one Listening to the music can take you into a dream And bring out feelings and memories You didn't even know you had. An upbeat melody can carry you through the song, Adn a darker melody can drag you through it and pull you in You can forget to breathe as the music flow into your brain, Your body, Your heart, As it fills every inch of your being] You can lose yourself In the music And drift off to wherever it takes you, Which can be into the past, Into the future, Or into your hopes and dreams It can also make you realize feelings You never knew you had.
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2016-2017
HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
It can make you think, And can lead you somewhere You never thought you would go It can make you unbelievably happy, Or drag you into something you don't want But there is no controlling it it can complete you or can make you lose yourself But there is no way to know Until it happens Until it fills you Or until it empties you. Until you burst Or until there is nothing left Until you don't need anything else Besides for the melody to continue, Or until it leaves you so drained That you can’t breathe or speak on your own It can leave you powerful or powerless, Complete or empty Uplifted or down Excited or doubtful
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HORACE GREELEY HIGH SCHOOL
It can lead you anywhere It can take you away Or it can ground you. It can change you Or help you find yourself. It can break you down Or build you up. Â
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