Impressions 2021

IMPRESSIONS 2021

Impressions 2021

2 | Lancaster Country Day School

Table Of Contents

Art Page #1 Art: Lila H. ’23, Olivia S. ’21, Alex V. ’21, Alex D. ’24........................................................5 Clocked In Maisy S. ’21 Art: Margaret H. ’24, Grace R. ’23....................................................................................6 MAELSTROM Isadora M. ’22 Art: Grace R. ’23, Alex V. ’21, Lucky W. ’21......................................................................9 Fixable Kylie D. ’21 Art: Alex V. ’21..................................................................................................................13 Snap! Ben A. ’22 Art: Maddie B. ’21.............................................................................................................14 The Sun Villanelle Maria H. ’21 Art: Zaina U. ’23................................................................................................................16 Art Page #2 Art: Elena S. ’23, Owen K. ’23, Frannie T. ’22, Lynn J. ’21, Ari W. ’23..............................17 The Night At The Pharmacy Caterina M. ’22 Art: Piper G. ’22, Olivia F. ’23, Samadhi R. ’23, Taite H. ’23.............................................18 Scholastics Art Pages Art: Arielle B. ’21, Milana B. ’23.........................................................................................24 Peonies Joan M. ’21 Art: Natalie S. ’21, Max W. ’24, Ava B. ’22, Natalie S. ’21.................................................26 Planting Roots (To Make A House A Home) Lucky W. ’21 Art: Olivia F. ’23, Piper G. ’22, Max W. ’24, Peachy L. ’23, Peachy L. ’23, Lila H. ’23.......33 Art Page #3 Art: Bel H. ’21, Natalie S. ’21, Jade W. ’24, Peachy L. ’23, Margaret H. ’24.....................43 To Love Like a God Mae B. ’21 Art: Peachy L. ’23..............................................................................................................44 Art Page #4 Art: Marlaina C. ’22, Lynn J. ’21, Kiki C. ’23, Marissa J. ’24, Zaina U. ’23.........................45 My Escape Kobe W. ’21 Art: Olivia S. ’21, Deane C. ’22, Alex V. ’21.......................................................................46 The Getaway Space Shawna T. ’21 Art: Poppy B. ’21, Capri T. ’23, Piper G. ’22......................................................................50 Impressions 2021 | 3

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Lila H. ’23

Olivia S. ’21

Alex V. ’21

Alex D. ’24 Impressions 2021 | 5

Clocked In

Maisy S. ’21 Walk in, clock in, get to work. Five to six days a week depending on how short staffed we are. When I come in the back door and walk through the kitchen I’m immediately greeted with a plethora of smells; guacamole being freshly made by the ladies on the fish line, beans cooking in a huge pot on the stove, and Tío sitting on his chair cutting up onions for a new batch of salsa. The minute I walk into work it’s always chaos.

“Did you guys see at 5:00 we have a thirteen top AND a ten top? Who’s taking those?” A manager yells to the servers from the kitchen.

Before I exit the kitchen and walk into whatever madness awaits, Felix always stops me to say hi and ask if I want him to make me anything, for free of course.

“Maisy! How ya doin dude?” Felix says, greeting me with a big hug as usual.

“Well I’m good now that I’m here!” I reply.

Felix is twenty-eight years old, and one of my best friends. He’s a few inches taller than me and weights a few pounds less. Although his mask covers most of his face, his eyes always stand out; they’re so dark you can’t tell the pupil from the iris and they’re always sparkling. I always tell him how jealous I am of his extremely long eyelashes, which are hard not to stare at.

“Do you want me to make you anything? We’re all set up in here!” He says with a big grin.

A few months back when Felix found out I wasn’t eating as much as I should be, he started making it a goal to give me as much food as possible, which I’m not complaining about. Veggie fajitas and taco salads from work are always welcome, and the ultimate comfort food.

“Could you make me that chicken wrap again?” I ask him.

“No Spanish rice, sub white rice, right?” Felix asks knowingly.

“You got it,” I say, smiling under my mask.

I’ve been working at El Serrano for about a year and a half now. I started hosting, then after about eight months started managing, and then just last month I started bartending. I typically work five or six days a week depending on how short staffed we 6 | Lancaster Country Day School

are, which is usually very. It might sound like torture to be stuck at your job thirty hours a week, but this restaurant has become my second home. It’s where I’ve met some of my best friends and made some great memories with the best people.

On this particular night we have two hundred and thirteen people in reservations, this is very very bad. With six servers this is an absolute nightmare. The night started off alright until we hit 5:30.

“Dude, I’m gonna be honest with you I have no idea where to put this table,” says the other host, my close friend Libby.

Libby is about a head shorter than me with long blond hair that’s always in a ponytail. Over the year and a half we’ve been hosting together on Friday and Saturday nights, we’ve become the dream team and have tackled some stressful nights together.

Margaret H. ’24 “Okay, I mean we could put them in C, but Stross is gonna be pissed. I’m already on his bad side after seating him that six last weekend,” I reply, still pondering our best option.

Things always work out somehow, even when it seems like there are absolutely no options.

“I’m gonna be honest, I think that’s our only option,” says Libby, scrolling through the rest of the reservations on the work iPad. Impressions 2021 | 7

“I think you’re right; I’ll find Micah to set it up,” I say, and walk towards the kitchen to find Micah.

Weekends are stressful. Like, really stressful. The people who work weekends are my closest friends. We’ve been, as we put it, in the “weeds” together plenty of times.

Meaning, we’ve gotten to that point where we’re so busy and so behind it looks like there’s no end in sight. I’m pretty sure at a certain point I’m not gonna be able to act nice to a customer who’s acting like the child, but that day hasn’t come quite yet.

I’ve got two more months at El Serrano before I leave to work at Summer Camp, and then leave for good for Arizona.

It shouldn’t be so sad to quit a job, because that’s all it is, right? When I quit Victoria’s Secret and Body Zone, I walked out with a smile on my face.

There are days I’ve been close to tears when I think about quitting work at El Serrano. Yes, it’s just a job, but it’s also the place I’ve spent the majority of my high school career, and where I have made friends I believe I’ll have forever. I love this place, and I don’t particularly want to go. For now, I’m enjoying the time I have left, but that very last busy Saturday night isn’t going to feel the same. I’m not gone yet, but I miss El Serrano already.

Grace R. ’23

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MAELSTROM

Isadora M. ’22 My vision is swirled slightly, red seeping into the corners of my eyesight. I feel my lungs quickly expand with air, desperate for calmness after such a high rush.

Blood pools slightly over my pale knuckles, and I try to slowly unclench my jaw. Surprisingly, I feel little pain, the shock of my impulsion stunting the tremor in my veins. However, my heart pounds heavily in my ears, the sound of my rummaging heart frantic as if threatening to escape its very cage. I guess that may be why they call it a ribcage, it sort of holds my heart hostage. I almost wish it didn’t. I wish it would allow my heart to beat easier, in a stilled, controlled pattern. Warm hands softly tip my chin upwards, but I find it hard to look. Slowly, I glance upwards to meet her concerned gaze. Luciana’s hands are clenched into fists, grey eyes alight with an unmistakable fire churning within them. Her posture Grace R. ’23 is tense, rigid, with shoulders thrown back and twisted pink lips.

Simply put, she was pissed.

In a futile attempt at peace, I put my hands up in mock surrender, smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. Luciana has a tendency for worrying way Impressions 2021 | 9

too much about others, and at times it can be sweet. But I’d be lying to say I wasn’t envious of her natural empathy for people. I’ve always struggled with relating to people, feeling for others.

Feeling with others. It’s so much easier just to ignore. Stuff it. His voice still rings through my head, uninvited yet just as loud as ever.

I envy Luciana. She just, God, she cares so much, she feels so much.

I’ve never seen a person so in tune with their own emotions. But, that’s her kryptonite, she cares too much, and people have used her kindness as an opportunity to take advantage.

So here I am, sitting on the floor of her mother’s kitchen in their apartment three blocks away, practically bleeding out at 2am after a fight with my dad, all because of Luciana’s damn kindness.

“Oh, Malick, are you okay? Are you still bleeding?”

My thoughts come to a halt at Alex V. ’21 the sound of her worrying. Luciana’s eyes crinkle in concentration as she rummages through the medicine cabinet, “I-I just don’t...Why are you so…” Throwing her hands in the air, my eyes follow her exasperation, gently smirking at her frustration. I try to lighten the situation.

“Luz, I just can’t help starting fights when I’m just so good at winning them.” I tease, flexing my biceps in mock defiance. Luciana’s face remains twisted, her glare narrowing.

Behind them, I can see the softness in her eyes. Guiltily, I turn my gaze to my lap, raw fingers tracing over the blue pattern of my stained jeans. I feel her stare burning holes into my head, she clearly wants me to apologize. I wait it out longer, it’s immature to do, but I 10 | Lancaster Country Day School

know Luciana will begin when she wants to.

“Listen, I know you’re struggling right now, and I truly am sorry, but you cannot be pulling stunts like this--” “So, I’m just supposed to sit there and watch? You weren’t there Luciana, you didn’t see him. You don’t know my dad.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. And I don’t, but I can promise you that this...” she gestures to me, still sitting on the floor, blood still oozing from my hand, “isn’t the answer.”

“What other answer is there?” I ask, exasperated and tired. So tired.

“I don’t know, Malick. But…” she stumbles, words on her tongue, then blurts, “he’s your father!” Her voice echoes through the empty kitchen, slightly breaking. There is a sudden silence, suffocating the empty space in my lungs. No matter how many times I hear that phrase, a chill still runs through my spine. I hate that word, I hate that twisted logic. And most importantly, I hate that man. He has always disappointed me. We don’t understand each other.

“Why do you even care?” I spit out, my tone acidic and defensive. I know why she cares, but god would it be easier if she didn’t. The atmosphere shifted into one of hostility, with threatening glares directed towards Luciana, the last person who I would never want to hurt. I watch as she shrinks away.

“I care about you, Malick, and I can’t stand to see you so angry anymore.” Luciana whispers, eyes full of compassion, lips wobbling slightly. She crosses the unspoken wall between us, the wall I so carefully planted. Her body language is fluid and open, as if crossing the barrier to a wild animal. Slowly, Luciana reaches over, palms open with light, gentle fingers. The sensation of soft fingertips brush against my arm as she comes closer. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she watches, black curls dipping loosely over olive-colored shoulders. Luciana’s expression morphs into one of compassion as she takes my hand in hers, there is comfort in the familiarity between us.

“I just want you to be okay. You can’t keep doing this,” she admits softly into the silence of the room. I bask in her warmth, her tranquility. It’s a comfort to be near a fire that glows so strongly. Yet, at times, I feel so lost by her flame. Luciana is so fiery, so unkempt yet so very gentle that it can be almost painful to watch. She is light, she is beauty, a withstanding flame of spiraling emotions which invoke such a release it might as well be an atomic bomb.

I know Luciana is trying to do the right thing, in her own stubborn way, but sometimes the answer isn’t always so simple. She needs to understand that I can’t be okay with him Impressions 2021 | 11

around. A part of me wants to be ignorant in his return, to forget. But my anger and resentment still pulse through my body just at the thought of his presence. I hate him so much it hurts, and I was not ready for him. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for this.

I’m not Luciana.

I don’t have the ability to forgive.

I wish I could, for Luz’s sake, but I just can’t.

Luciana’s kindness truly baffles me, her heart so light and open with love for all humans. And it’s too much, the flame is over consuming, wrong and confusing, too hopeful for a life as twisted as mine. He’s not deserving of anything, not in the slightest, and I feel lost in my own thoughts as she smiles brightly back. Luciana’s hand travels downwards as she leans in for a tight embrace, her frame pressing into mine, hands falling around my sides as I breathe in the lingering scent of citrus and fabric.

My body stills in surprise at her attempt of comfort, the sincerity within it overflowing. Hesitantly, I relax in her hold, tears pulling in the corners of my eyes. I wrap my arms around Luciana, tightly enclosing her as she sits, breathing in the surrounding peace one last time. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, I love her, as a sister, as a friend. I really do.

But I’m still going to kill him.

Lucky W. ’21 12 | Lancaster Country Day School

Fixable

Kylie D. ’21 It’s getting harder to sleep again knowing that you don’t want to be on this earth any longer I keep telling myself “I can fix this” but it’s obvious you don’t want to be fixed You reassure me and let me know you’re staying but I think you’re just reassuring yourself Sometimes you think you’re being sneaky but I can still hear your muffled sobs through your pillow I can hear you begging under your breath for something to make you happy again surrounded by weeks of dirty laundry and the bloody tissues you used the day before When I finally hear your whimpers fade replaced with muffled snores it’s as if I’m not suffocating anymore and I don’t need to keep a brave face I let the hot tears roll down my checks staining my pillowcases until they’re 3 shades a darker gray I choke on my tears and pull at my hair until my body gives up on itself and I’m asleep once more

Alex V. ’21

Impressions 2021 | 13

Snap!

Ben A. ’22 Snap.

I feel a card come back into my hand. Card 28, to be exact, in the pile.

The woman across from me feels a light, subtle weight leave her back pocket, and starts patting it.

I begin my monologue.

“28.” I call out to my small crowd- a pub of about 20 people. “That is your card’s position currently in the deck. Now, check your pants pocket, where I told you to keep the card you took safe.”

I tell my victim to pull out her pockets. Given they’re pockets for women’s pants, that’s barely possible at all. However, she still comes out with nothing. Good enough for me. I continue my monologue.

“Now, there was no way for anyone to steal that card. I pulled lots to select an assistant, and she picked a random card. I have not moved my hands anywhere near where she put it. However, I know exactly what it is.”

I pause for effect.

I was given $50 to perform tonight; everyone in the small pub holds their breath.

“Because it’s in my hand.”

The whole room is under a silence spell. They’re all waiting for the big reveal of the trick.

I continue my monologue, setting the deck of cards down on the table.

“Now, remember how I started with the number 28?” I call out again to the crowd.

“I know that the fourth suit alphabetically in a standard 52 deck of cards is spades. I know that the number left after dividing 28 by 4 is 7. Now, how crazy would it be for the actual 28th card in the deck, to be the 7 of spades, which I’m assuming is your card?” I look at my victim casually.

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She nods, eyes wide open.

“Well, let’s see, shall we?”

I do the whole spiel of putting down the cards one by one, counting each one.

We reach 27, and before I set it down, I clarify to the audience.

“We’re looking for this card to be reversed from the rest, and be a 7 of spades, right?” I look up at the crowd.

Some nod, some shout, “Yep!” like they know the trick already.

How funny.

I take off the 27th card.

Right there on top is card 28, the 7 of spades with the number side up, opposite the rest of the deck.

The whole room explodes with cheers.

“Thank you, thank you so much! However, sadly, that’s all the time I have for tonight, so if you could please, check me out on my website, and support me in any way you can, thanks! Us street magicians don’t make much from this, so if you could, please be a dear and give out tips to us if you can! Thank you and goodnight!”

I walk off the mini stage to a rousing applause. I pull a water bottle out from my small bag, take a sip, and collect whatever tips settled in my hat on the bar table before leaving.

Looking back at the small pub, I smile, horns reappearing on my head, an extra $450 pickpocketed from idiots around the bar, and soar out into the sky.

Humans are easy to fool.

Maddie B. ‘21 Impressions 2021 | 15

The Sun Villanelle Maria H. ’21

The sun will freeze, then shatter and decay Like petals they will fall to earth And they will thaw and scorch the ground for judgement day Terrified, people will point to the sky and say: Hellfire is coming to end us all The sun will freeze, then shatter and decay They will hold their children and turn their heads away As chunks of the sun’s burning, radiant, rotting flesh approaches And they will thaw and scorch the ground for judgement day The believers bend down to their knees and pray They were told that angels would come but they have yet to arrive The sun will freeze, then shatter and decay Clutch to your faith, confess your sins, release your dismay But God is not forgiving, so none of us are saved And they will thaw and scorch the ground for judgement day The sun will freeze, then shatter and decay Like petals they will fall to earth And they will thaw and scorch the ground for judgement day 16 | Lancaster Country Day School

Zaina U. ’23

Elena S. ’23

Owen K. ’23

Frannie T. ’22

Ari W. ’23

Lynn J. ’21 Impressions 2021 | 17

The Night At The Pharmacy Caterina M. ’22

Not much comes to mind when one thinks of Mr. Tewksbury, a childless middle-aged man who owns the local funeral home. His short and arched stature does not distinguish him from the other inhabitants of Crowfell, a small and isolated rural town which is not praised by its rare visitors. Most of the visitors do not pass through the town intentionally, but rather lose their way in the thick fog that encircles the town. They do not stay long. There is really no good reason to go to Crowfell, for there are no lodgings. The inhabitants are not prone to leaving the town’s borders either. Many spend their entire lifetime within its boundaries and know no one other than their fellow townsmen. Mr. Tewksbury being one of them. The introverted man is only seen when talking with his wife, who happens to own the pharmacy next door. Although shy, the restricted man faces the most personal interactions with people who have to endure one of the greatest pains of human life––loss of their loved ones. The citizens Piper G. ’22 entrust in him a big responsibility that their beloved may rest and depart the living world in the most peaceful of ways. He spends most of his time working in the funeral home: organizing funerals, building his own caskets, and getting bodies ready for burial.

Thus, he does not have many interactions with living people other than the ones he encounters in the funeral home.

The Tewksburys live in a small apartment located on top of both the pharmacy and the funeral home which allows Mr. Tewksbury to avoid having to interact with people. The couple of 30 years part ways at exactly 7:30 in the morning and reconvene in their apartment at 7 o’clock in the evening. In fact, when Mr. Tewksbury one day returned to his apartment at exactly 7 o’clock he saw that his wife had not yet returned to their dwelling. He peered outside the window to look at the pharmacy, whose lights were still on and the door not yet bolted. He imagined that one last pestering customer must have been keeping his

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wife busy, so he decided not to intrude. Being tired from a strenuous day of hard work, Mr. Tewksbury sat down on his reading couch, and it was not long before he fell into a deep slumber.

The window was left ajar so that a refreshing evening breeze barely passed through the crack and spread itself to the inner corners of the rooms. Along with the air, came the bizarre clamour of a confused group of townspeople. In fact, the clamour was so great that it had awoken Mr. Tewksbury. Confused, he moved himself to the window, where he could see a large multitude of people gathering at the door of the Pharmacy looking in with troubled faces. Seeing that many people always made him uncomfortable, and he had no intention of approaching them. Nevertheless, as he retreated back towards the sanctuary of his couch, he heard the town’s church bells ringing the ninth hour. Not only could he not believe how late it had become, but he also could not believe that his wife was late. At that moment, he heard a knock on the front door. He sighed with relief, imagining that it was his wife, until he heard the deep voice of a man. This was quite unusual, for they had very few visitors, in fact, usually none at all. Mr. Tewksbury approached the door handle tentatively. He always tried to avoid people unless avoiding them was impossible, and his wife always answered the door. Having opened the door, Mr. Tewksbury found himself confronted by the town’s towering, well respected Governor. The Governor’s face looked pale and fatigued, his hands were clenching his top hat, his shirt and tie were undone, his entire demeanor seemed distressed.

Mr. Tewksbury was no stranger to this side of the Governor, for he had helped organize funeral arrangements for the Governor’s wife’s death ten years ago. Trying to catch his breath, the Governor implored Mr. Tewksbury to hasten downstairs. Without any acknowledgement, Mr. Tewksbury hurried down to the pharmacy only to see a frail but delicate body lying on the ground. His body went cold.

He had seen many dead bodies in his life, but before this, only one had struck him the same way. At the innocent age of eight, Mr. Tewksbury had witnessed the death of his mother as she was trying to bring to the world a baby brother for him. Alas, death brought death, and eight-year-old Mr. Tewksbury was left with no mother and no brother. His wife lay there, motionless, and tranquil. Her body was still warm, and she had a softly serene smile on her face. There was no sign of pain, and her body lay immaculate. No bruise or blood could be seen. She seemed to be asleep on the cold tiled floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mr. Tewksbury could see the ever-growing mass of people outside the pharmacy, but their clamour was muffled as well as the words the Governor was uttering to him. His eyes were fixed on Mrs. Tewksbury, and the rest of the world Impressions 2021 | 19

seemed to have disappeared. He could not even hear the sound of the incoming ambulance claiming his wife’s body. ****** Never once did Mr. Tewksbury have trouble with a body for burial, yet when he found his wife’s body lying on the dressing table, all the years of experience disappeared. Her skin had become fairer, and her veins had become a pale colour of grey. She was cold to the touch. Her cheeks, however, still remained blushed. No scar, scratch, or bruise could be seen, her body was perfectly intact. There was no Olivia F. ’23 sign of strain and tension around her eyes, and no fine wrinkles could be seen on her face.

No work needed to be done. Her body was immaculate. Mr. Tewksbury could not imagine how to prepare her for the casket that lay open in the next room. He scanned her pure body, and noticed all the perfect details of her face: how her lips managed to stretch ever so slightly, so that it seemed as if she were smiling; how her eyelashes curled effortlessly so as to touch her brow bone lightly; how every hair in her eyebrows was aligned flawlessly to form the most smooth arch, and no hair was misplaced; how her light beige freckles were scattered evenly on either side of her nose; and how the tip of her nose dipped down slightly towards her lips. There, his eyes followed her arms down to the place where her hands lay gently clasped together on her stomach––the hands that she would lay each evening on his shoulders as he indulged himself in a novel. All of a sudden, Mr. Tewksbury was overcome with emotion, and a flood of memories of his dear and tender wife flashed before his tear-blurred eyes. Mr. Tewksbury could contain his sorrow no more, and the grief-stricken man began to weep.

Mr. Tewksbury never understood, or perhaps never wanted to understand the type of grief people endured when they had lost a loved one. He did his job well, and he always satisfied his clients. It was not Mr. Tewksbury’s way to become involved with his clients’ emotional affairs, yet they felt comfortable and assured that their loved one would be taken 20 | Lancaster Country Day School

care of. Grief stricken, Mr. Tewksbury now understood the emotional pain that his clients felt. Along with the grief, Mr. Tewksbury also started to feel very alone in the funeral home, for his wife had been his sole companion. He tried to remember how his other clients dealt with their loneliness, but he realized that his clients were always joined by another family member or a friend. Mr. Tewksbury knew everyone in town, but at the same time, he knew no one in town. He was left to suffer his wife’s death alone.

Mr. Tewksbury had been in the funeral home for four days without any human contact. His vision was becoming blurry, and his head was becoming very dizzy. His body was weak. He moved through the dark room towards the entrance of the funeral home where a small sliver of light was shining Samahdi R. ’23 through the curtained windows. Following the sliver of light shining on the ground, Mr. Tewksbury soon found himself in front of the door and did not hesitate to fling himself out into the street. The sun was strangely bright, and the fog had lifted. He shut his eyes tight against the light, and, his body still feeling dizzy, he began stumbling to the Pharmacy. When he reached its glass display window, his feet stopped moving, his body stopped moving. Thinking that he was hallucinating, Mr. Tewksbury rubbed his eyes, and he continued to rub his eyes until he had convinced himself that what he was seeing was true.

The recognizable figure was glowing behind the glass window, and the outline of her body was hazy. He could not help but think that this may have all been a dream. Alas, his knees gave out and his body collapsed to the ground. He managed to salvage enough energy to lift himself onto his knees to get a better view of this mystical figure. She was smiling, her features were pure and sympathetic. Her skin was pink and full of life. It was not long before Mr. Tewksbury noticed that she was moving closer to the window. Her movement was Impressions 2021 | 21

subtle and smooth, the usual bob in her step was not present. Mr. Tewksbury was surprised to see that she continued to move towards the window in the same steady ethereal manner. It was in that instant that the ghostly figure moved through the window and out into the street. It was in that instant that Mr. Tewksbury realized that his wife’s body was elevated and not touching the ground and that her movement appeared ethereal because she was floating. Her face bore a wide smile, which began to cause fine lines and wrinkles that she never used to have. She continued to float slowly towards Mr. Tewksbury, and her pure eyes began to turn into a fiery stare at the helpless man. Mr. Tewksbury’s vision disappeared, and, as the ghostly figure flew past him, his breath and his heart caught. ****** A cold breeze that made Mr. Tewksbury’s skin rise into goosebumps, awoke him, and he found himself lounging on the reading chair in his apartment. His vision had become clearer, and his head had stopped spinning. He was confused, however, and his mind was muddled as if he had just awoken from a bad dream. The air was cold and wet, and yet the apartment was not as dark as he remembered leaving it. By turning around in his chair, Mr. Tewksbury was able to catch a glimpse of a shadow coming from the kitchen. The shadow seemed familiar, and it moved dancingly. As his curiosity rose, so did his willingness to discover to whom that shadow belonged. The shadow disappeared, and out came the figure of his dreams. Holding a silver tray, his wife stood in the corridor. All of the tension that had been stuffed into his frail body left him, and his mind was finally at peace when he realized that all he had experienced was nothing more than an evil formulation of his imagination.

Mr. Tewksbury rushed towards his wife with open arms, while she was standing motionless in the middle of the corridor. He curled his arms around her body, until he realized that in reality his arms were touching neither flesh nor any solid substance. He heard a hissing that continued to escalate near his right ear, and Mr. Tewksbury, already frightened by his empty disappointed embrace, did not dare look up into the eyes of this ghostly figure. Tears began to fill his eyes as confusion and fear overcame his emotions. The hissing sound began to become more piercing to his ears. He stepped back in terror only to find that the ghostly figure had grown fangs and her eyes had turned red. Mr.Tewksbury hastened to the door of the apartment, yet before he could reach the door handle he felt a cold sting on his cheek.

His vision went black, and his breath seized up. ******* Mr. Tewksbury felt a warm caress on his cheek, and he awoke to see his grief-stricken wife weeping above him. His frail body started to shake. He was overcome with fear and 22 | Lancaster Country Day School

confusion upon seeing his wife once again. He was unsure whether he was seeing her or dreaming her, but the woman crouching above him was warm. Her hands were clenching his, and he could feel the warm flesh that was warming his. It was in that instant that he had realized that she was wearing black lace gloves, the ones he remembered in a distant memory. Her entire body was clothed in black, and she even bore a black veil that was now pulled away, revealing her red teared face. He knew that she was real and not an evil creation from his dreams. All at once he became numb and stiff. He could no longer feel the warmth from the gloved hands of his wife. It was then that he realized that he was lying in a freshly polished wooden casket, and that he was dressed in black. This image was far too familiar, for he had seen many people in a casket dressed in back, but never did Mr. Tewksbury think he was going to see himself prepared and put in one. He began to panic.

He called to his wife, who was still crouched by the casket, weeping. She did not respond in any way. He began frantically pleading for her to look at him. However big the commotion, she seemed not to hear him. She remained unmoving and unmoved. He grew agitated. He could not move his limbs. His eyes caught the reflection in the window. He saw the open casket, his wife’s back facing the window, and finally he saw himself. He saw himself lying in the casket with his eyes shut and his hands folded on his abdomen. His fair skin had become grey. He did not believe what he was seeing. The reflection had to be false: he could not be dead, his eyes could not be closed. They were open and filled with fear. His wife stood up. She covered her tear-stricken face with her black veil. She walked over to the nearby bookshelf and removed a slim volume.

As she took the book in her hands, Mr. Tewksbury noticed her black lace gloves again. He remembered them vividly as the gloves that his mother was wearing in her casket.

Mrs. Tewksbury walked to her husband’s side. She gently placed into his hands the book she was carrying, The Fall of the House of Usher. She planted a soft kiss on his forehead. She closed the lid of the casket. As the light from the room began to disappear, Mr. Tewksbury tried to reach out for his departing wife, and called for her to answer him.

His world soon went black as he clenched the slim book in Taite H. ’23 his hands and listened to his own muffled screams.

Impressions 2021 | 23

“New Beginnings,” Arielle B. ’21, Scholastics Gold Key

“Moonrise,” Milana B. ’23, Scholastics Honorable Mention

“Urban Serenity,” Arielle B. ’21, Scholastics Honorable Mention

“Floating,” Milana B. ’23, Scholastics Gold

24 | Lancaster Country Day School

“Walk of Life,” Arielle B. ’21, Scholastics Gold Key

“On the Edge,” Arielle B. ’21, Scholastics Honorable Mention

“Green Alley,” Milana B. ’23, Scholastics Honorable Mention

“Worlds End,” Milana B. ’23, Scholastics Gold Impressions 2021 | 25

Peonies

Joan M. ’21 He felt bad about it. Seriously, he did. He was probably the sole reason that whoever owned the house had to put that new fence up. But he couldn’t stop. This was too important, and flowers were too expensive. The only way was to pick the nice ones out of peoples’ gardens, crossing his fingers that they wouldn’t notice. And nobody had yet! He made sure to switch up the houses that he went to, trying not to take too many from one place. But that one house in particular had the best selection. He didn’t know the names of any of the flowers that were in bloom, but he knew that those huge pale pink ones were perfect. They grew on a bush, and they were so big that the owner couldn’t possibly notice if a couple kept going missing every once in a while. They smelled so good, and the petals were so soft, he always told himself he would figure out what they were when he got home. He never did. After also grabbing a few of the white ones with yellow in the middle, he set off down the block to deliver them.

“Hey Cassie,” he said, smiling softly. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a few days,” he said, as he placed the flowers on his sister’s headstone. “But I got you more of the pink flowers today! I really wish you could smell them, but you’ll just have to believe me when I say they smell amazing.” He had forgotten something to sit on, but that was fine. It was pretty out—the sun was shining, but not scorching—so he sat on the ground. It was May in Massachusetts. Cassie had been dead two years already, and Isaac was in his senior year at Concord High School.

26 | Lancaster Country Day School

Natalie S. ’21

He chose to leave out the detail that the flowers were stolen when he visited Cassie, imagining his sister responding with something along the lines of, “Isaac, you better go apologize to the house owners, and help them replant their garden while you’re at it!”

And even though she wouldn’t actually be able to say anything, he just preferred to keep that little detail a secret.

Ever since Isaac and Cassie were younger, Cassie had always loved flowers.

Every chance she got she would run outside and pick dandelions or wildflowers and give them to him, saying that, “Even boys can like pretty flowers!” If he resisted, things wouldn’t end well. Cassie would cry, and Isaac would feel awful. Their parents would scold him, telling him that his older sister was just trying to make him happy, and he should thank her. Eventually it became a sort of joke. He would have a bad day, and the next thing he knew a flower was slid under his door. After a particularly bad breakup in high school, he had been really upset. He had sat in his room for around a week, barely eating, only coming out to use the bathroom. He didn’t change clothes, didn’t shower, didn’t style the dark wavy hair that he usually cared so much about, and he barely slept.

His sister took one look at him and walked out the door, but not before telling him he was starting to mold into his bed. He flipped her off, rolled over, and continued to watch whatever stupid movie he had picked out. About an hour later the door to his room slammed open, woke him up, and in marched Cassie, holding a bouquet of flowers as big as her head. In the middle, were huge pink blossoms, and they were framed by smaller white and blue ones.

“Jesus, Cass, how much did that cost?” He asked. She stuck her tongue out in response, placed the bouquet in a vase on his desk and walked out. That bouquet was a turning point for them. Before that, they had just existed together, not really making the time to hang out. Cassie was two years older than him, and she had her friends while he tended to keep to himself. But from then on, they always tried to have ‘sibling time’, as she had called it.

Isaac smiled at the memory, tilting his head to feel the setting sun on his face.

“Remember when you got me that huge bouquet? I was down and out, but you found a way to make me smile. Just like always.” His voice cracked at that last sentence, and lower lip started to tremble.

Impressions 2021 | 27

Looking down at the ground, his hair covered his eyes and he choked out, “I miss you, Cassie.” He didn’t let his tears fall until after he left the cemetery. His sister wouldn’t have wanted him to be sad, so he wouldn’t show her that two years later her death was still affecting him. He headed towards home, watching as the concrete under his feet blurred.

The next day was colder. As he was walking through the suburbs, he cursed springtime in New England. It was like Mother Nature was having mood swings. He shivered a little as he pulled his hoodie over his hands, making fists with the fabric for warmth. As he made his way through what he liked to call the cookie cutter houses, he decided to go back to the same house as yesterday. He wanted to get more of those pink flowers. Naturally, he forgot to look them up again. “Damnit,” he muttered. There’s no way that the owner of the garden would notice; he’s gone, and stolen flowers two days in a row before, and today would be no different.

He walked along the sidewalks until he got to the houses with more yard than the others, stopping at the brick one. This house looked different then all the others, which made it easy to keep coming back. Whoever owned it took care of it, turning most of the yard into a beautiful garden. They put hedges around the border, and they were always shaped perfectly. Vines fell off the sides of the house, and rows upon rows of flowers were blossoming. Isaac recognized tulips, the bleeding heart flowers, and pansies. Among the ones he didn’t know were big yellow blossoms with a short yellow tube in the middle that looked like a mouth, short little purple flowers, and a cluster of little star shaped flowers on a thick stalk that smelled amazing. As he walked through the garden to get to the bush with the pink flowers, he felt eyes on him.

When he looked around, he didn’t see anyone.

Stopping to pick one of the stalks with light blue star flowers on it, he raised it to his nose to sniff them. They smelled so sweet, like how he imagined nectar would smell. It still felt like someone was watching him, but he shook it off and continued to the bush near the edge of the yard.

Max W. ’24 28 | Lancaster Country Day School

Why were there so many ants on these flowers? It made them really annoying to pick because he had to shake them out of the blossoms. He only took four, to make a little bouquet that surrounded the other flower he picked. He also didn’t want to push it, afraid that he would get caught. Crouching down next to the bush, with his back to the house, he started to arrange them in a way that he liked. Then the door opened, and when he whipped around, he saw a very angry girl, who seemed to be around his age, storming towards him.

“Oh crap.” Isaac scrambled out of her garden, clutching the stolen flowers for dear life. But he wasn’t fast enough.

“SO, IT’S YOU!” She screamed.

Jesus she was loud.

“They’re just flowers!!!!! Please, I didn’t mean anything bad by it!”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to sit back and let you take them?”

“I mean, you could if you were feeling nice?” His voice cracked. Great. As if this situation couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

“I’m not.”

Yeah, thought Isaac, should’ve seen that coming.

“I won’t do it again, I promise. This is just really important to me, so may I just take these? Please?”

“Why are they so important?” she asked. “And why are you stealing them from me?

Why don’t you buy some? Or plant your own?”

So many questions. “I’m giving them to someone, and I can’t afford to buy them.”

She gave him a quick once-over, her dark eyes darting around his face. Was she scoping him out?

“I wanna meet them,” she finally said.

“What????” Isaac couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You’re stealing my flowers to give to someone. I want to know if they’re worth it.”

She crossed her arms. “Otherwise, you can give those back right now and replant all the flowers you stole.”

“Okay! Okay,” he relented. “Follow me.”

Impressions 2021 | 29

Ava B. ’22 The girl was rambling the entire walk, things like, “It’s SO rude to steal, you know” and “why did you even need to steal flowers of all things?” But Isaac wasn’t listening. He was too busy freaking out. How was he supposed to tell her that they were on their way to a graveyard? He imagined the look on this girl’s face if he just said, Ohhh haha, you wanted to meet her? That won’t be possible, she’s dead! Nope. Not happening.

His hands were starting to sweat. He was seriously starting to regret wearing a hoodie, even if it was only 55 degrees. Unconsciously, he started to twist the silver ring on his ring finger, it was a nervous habit. He noticed he was doing it a few minutes later and shoved his hands into his pockets. This was about to be the most awkward experience of his life.

“You don’t talk much, do you,” she said, jarring him from his frenzied thoughts.

“What?”

“You’re quiet. For someone that has the balls to steal flowers from people for months, you seem pretty shy,” she responded.

“I’m just trying to imagine how this is gonna play out,” Isaac grimaced. “I’m thinking it won’t go well.”

They walked a few more blocks in silence, until she let out a soft, “Oh.” One glance at her face, and Isaac knew that she had figured out where they were headed. He was a little unsure how to deal with the blank look on her face, but he decided not to say anything about it. He liked going to the cemetery, it was peaceful. The trees surrounded it, making it feel like a quiet, hidden grove that was a space where he and his sister could hang out, just like they did when they were little. But he understood people’s aversion to it.

30 | Lancaster Country Day School

Most people didn’t want to spend their time sitting on a plot of grass filled with dead people. As they approached the steel fence, he said, “We’re here!” It sounded way too cheerful then it should have. She didn’t reply.

When they got to Cassie’s grave, Isaac took off his hoodie and laid it on the ground. He put the flowers on the headstone and sat down.

“Hey Cassie. I brought someone with me today. This is…” He trailed off, looking back at her and realizing that he didn’t know her name.

“Leila. I’m Leila. It’s nice to meet you Cassie,” she said, kneeling on the ground next to him.

“My name is Isaac,” he whispered. “Cassie is my sister.” Leila nodded.

“I’ve gotta be honest Cassie, I haven’t been buying all these flowers for you. I’ve been picking them from people’s gardens.” He paused for a moment, looking down. “If you were here you would be cursing me out right now,” he breathed out a laugh. “Leila owns the garden with the big pink flowers.”

“The peonies?” She asked. “Those?” She pointed at the bouquet laying by the marble stone. Isaac nodded.

“Were they her favorite?” She asked.

“I don’t remember what her favorite flowers were,” he paused, “sorry Cassie, but I do remember that she once gave me a bouquet with these in it. And she loved pink, so I decided that these would be her favorite in my head. Because I think they would be her favorite, they’re also my favorite,” he answered.

He turned his head towards Leila, getting a good look at her for the first time. Her hair was shoulder length and curly, and her dark eyes matched her skin. The sunlight made her seem like she was glowing. Her green eyes were trained on Cassie’s grave, she seemed lost in thought. Then she shivered. Seeing that, Isaac remembered that it was cold, and he stood and put his hoodie back on.

“Shall we?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she stood and turned back towards Cassie’s marker. “It was nice meeting you Cassie. I hope I’ll be back soon.”

Isaac smiled at that. “You were the first person I’ve introduced her to,” he said as they walked back to Leila’s.

She looked surprised, “Really? Well, I hope to visit her again soon.”

Impressions 2021 | 31

He nodded. They walked in comfortable silence for a little while longer, as the sun started its descent.

“May I ask how she died?”

“She got diagnosed with Leukemia during her junior year of high school, chemo didn’t work.

We spent a lot of money on treatment, saved just enough to keep our house. But we couldn’t save her. She died during her senior year. It’s been two years.” He looked at their shadows as they stretched away from them. “I’m just happy that she’s not in pain anymore.” He said as they arrived back at Leila’s house.

“Are you okay?” asked Leila.

Natalie S. ’21 The question caught him off guard. His parents didn’t even ask that, they had their own unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with. He tried to avoid them most of the time.

“I’m definitely not over it, if that’s what you mean.”

She nodded, looking up at him to maintain eye contact.

“I dealt with it really badly at first. Cut everyone out, holed up alone in my room with some seriously dark thoughts. But then I remembered that she wouldn’t want that, so I went and picked flowers and put them throughout the house.” He remembered how his parents had reacted, breaking down at the sight of the flowers in water glasses on every surface. “It helped get me out of the pit I was in.” His eyes started to water, and he looked away, furiously wiping at them with the sleeves of his hoodie. “Wanna see my dog?” Leila asked. “Sorry, I don’t know how to comfort people,” she said as she let out a little laugh.

“I’m good. Maybe some other time though. Thank you for listening, nobody has really asked me that before.”

“Of course!” She responded. “Don’t be late tomorrow, you’re helping me replant this garden!”

“What?”

“See you then!” She exclaimed as she ran inside.

Isaac laughed while he looked up at the sky changing colors, smiling as he thanked Cassie for the friend that she sent his way.

32 | Lancaster Country Day School

Planting Roots (To Make a House a Home) Lucky W. ’21

Nope, Sephtis thought to himself as he shut the door in yet another person’s face.

Why couldn’t people just leave him alone? He was retired, for god’s sake. But still they came, each one with some money and the same request: kill someone for me. My father, my enemy, my lover—who exactly they wanted dead varied. He supposed he shouldn’t blame them; he had been a mercenary once, a sword-for-hire. His scars were the notches on the clock of his life, and he killed without mercy. For a while, he told himself that it was fine.

The voices in his head demanded blood, and he obliged. But the voices were never satiated. With every drop of blood he spilled, they demanded more. Every time his blade pierced through someone’s heart they would cheer. More, they would say, give us more.

So, he did. It wasn’t enough.

(It was never enough.

They were loud, so very loud. They didn’t let him think. They wanted blood— there was no room for thoughts. He kept going, one person after another falling victim to his blade. Somewhere along the road he lost himself, drowned in a sea of voices screaming at him to kill, kiLL, KILL, GIVE US BLOOD. It had taken years for him to want to stop, and years for them to let him. They were quieter now. Softer, easier to ignore. But every time there was a knock on his door, they would get louder, asking for blood as the person on the other side would open their mouth to Olivia F. ’23 Impressions 2021 | 33

make a request. He always shut the door before they could finish their sentence.

(The voices screamed in protest.)

Sometimes Seph wondered where all these people came from. He had made it a point to build his cottage somewhere far away, deep in a forest that no one traveled. And yet. If these people want someone dead so badly that they come all the way out here, a part of him said, perhaps you should grant their request. He pushed that part down. He was retired, for god’s sake.

There was a village nearby that he visited every so often, wares in his hands and a hood pulled over his face. He had liked being recognized, once. He had reveled in the fear that flashed across people’s faces when they saw who he was. Not anymore.

Now, he just wanted to be left alone.

(He wished he could be forgotten.)

The people of the village never asked for a name—they simply nodded at him as they bought the little trinkets he crafted. They never pried, and he was never recognized.

It was nice. There was a kid that visited him often, always looking at the intricate metal of his wares carefully, but never buying anything. He couldn’t have been more than 10.

Sometimes, he would reach a gloved hand out hesitantly before pulling it away all too quickly. He never said anything.

He was an odd kid— one eye a spring green and the other a sky blue, his skin a patchwork of black and white, two fuzzy ears on the top of his head and a tail flicking behind him. Seph figured he must be a hybrid of some sort. The townsfolk pointedly ignored him, never making eye contact or doing anything to suggest they Piper G. ’22 knew he was there. Seph 34 | Lancaster Country Day School

could tell that he tried hard to look unfazed. Every time Seph was in town, the kid would be there. He kept his face blank, but Seph could see he was lonely. He could see it in the way his ears perked up when Seph grunted a greeting to him, in the way his shoulders dropped at every person who skirted around him, avoiding his touch.

(Seph told himself he didn’t care.) ~~~ From the moment he could really understand the world around him, Seph knew that he wasn’t normal. He had pointed ears and fangs and blood-red eyes with slitted pupils.

He was a hybrid, he quickly learned— a not-quite-person with animal traits. He learned that hybrids were cursed by the gods long ago, punished for crimes no one could remember, forced to be shunned by a society that did not know how to love them.

He remembered the story, remembered asking his mother why they were hated.

“Because,” She had responded, tucking a curl behind her soft, furry ears. “Our ancestors made mistakes long ago for we haven’t yet been forgiven. The humans are scared— scared that if we’re allowed to do what we want we’ll make the same mistakes.

So, they don’t want to give us a chance,” Seph had nodded, telling his mother he understood.

(He lied.)

But he learned and he listened and he hurt, and it was enough. He kept his eyes on the ground and his face obscured by a hood. His mother told him that she was proud of him, that she loved him. She braided his hair and tucked flowers into the locks, telling him the names of each and every one. She told him that he was beautiful, that they weren’t cursed, but rather blessed. She smiled at him and assured him that everything would be okay, eventually, and he believed her.

It was naïve of him, but he was young and in need of some semblance of hope.

(He was just a kid.)

In the end, his mother was wrong.

(It just got worse.)

He remembered the night she died— flames licking the sky, the haze of smoke filling his lungs, hot and suffocating. He remembered a cold hand wrapping around his arm. He remembered being yanked into a dark forest and passing out.

He woke up the next morning in a cage, his clothes burned and tattered. Something clattered to the floor next to him. He snapped his head up, coming face-to-face with a disinterested-looking man.

Impressions 2021 | 35

“You know how to use a sword, kid?” The man asked.

Techno shook his head.

“No,” “You’ll have to figure out, then.”

So he did.

He taught himself how to fight, how to survive. He learned how to dress his own wounds, he learned that the only one he could trust was himself. He learned how to hide his pain, learned that weakness will only get him hurt even Max W. ’24 further. He learned the ways of the Arena, he learned to enjoy the taste of blood.

And he lived. He grew strong.

He used his hybrid status as a tool to cultivate fear in his opponents. He learned to hold his head high, learned he was worth more than the value that people gave him.

(He knew he was stronger than the people who took him.)

And he got out of there.

He slipped past the first set of guards, and fought through the second, third, fourth, and fifth, on and on until blood coated his hands and the moonlight washed over his face.

For the first time in years, he allowed himself to breathe.

He was free. ~~~ The first time the kid showed up with blood on his face, Seph brushed it off. He had never even spoken to the kid, so why should he care about that? The next time he showed up with blood on his face, he was also sporting a black eye. Seph’s eyebrows tugged down in a slight frown. It was bright outside, that’s why.

(He told himself he didn’t care.)

The third time, the voices demanded blood, but not the kid’s. There was something at the pit of his stomach, fiery and sharp. It took him a moment to recognize it as anger, not at the kid but at whoever was responsible for his injuries. It was irrational. He didn’t know why he felt that way— he didn’t know the kid.

36 | Lancaster Country Day School

(He told himself he didn’t care.)

And if he “accidentally” left behind some bandages and a small, handcrafted ring that day, it was no one’s business but his own.

Then one day, the kid didn’t show up at all.

Seph told himself that he was probably fine— that he probably had better things to do than hang out with some strange man and just stare at pieces of metal all day.

(He told himself he didn’t care.)

But as the sun crept its way across the sky and there was still no sign of the kid, Seph began to worry.

Seph never worried.

He didn’t have time for it; it muddled his thoughts, it made the voices louder. But the sun continued its slow descent and he hadn’t even seen a strand of the kid’s hair and he had been hurt before and for once the voices screamed at him to help the little one, protect, protECT, PROTECT. So Seph put his things away earlier than usual, a hand gripping the dagger tucked into his belt and a frown settling on his face as he stood up. And he searched. For the rest of the day, he scoured the village, ears twitching at every sound. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, he began to give up.

Then he heard whispers of an underground fighting ring. He paid them no mind at first— why would someone so young have anything to do with that? But then he heard talk of a newer fighter: someone with strange eyes and stranger skin, black and white and green and blue and not human, not normal.

And Seph saw red.

He didn’t really remember what happened next. He knew he had approached those people, demanded to know the location of this ring because that was a child. He remembered going to that place, putting on a calm exterior while his rage simmered just beneath the surface like a volcano threatening to erupt. He remembered seeing the kid being dragged out in a cage like some sort of spectacle, like some sort of monster. He remembered leaping into the ring. He remembered the voices screaming for blood, begging him to kill. He remembered something red on his hands, hot and sticky.

He remembered the terrified look on the kid’s face as he slammed one of the people who pulled his cage into the ground. He remembered picking the kid up, his hood falling to his shoulders as he attempted to soothe the kid’s trembling. He remembered the recognition that lit in the kid’s eyes as his eyes flickered from Seph’s pointed ears to his fangs. He remembered running back out the way he came, the kid in his arms and the crowd parting Impressions 2021 | 37

in front of him, half in fear and half in shock. He remembered whispering soft reassurances to the kid as they made their way through the forest, making sure he knew that he was safe now, he didn’t have to fight anymore. He remembered the kid gripping onto him like he thought that if he let go, he would die.

(And maybe he did.)

The kid buried his face into Seph’s neck, his soft whimpers snapping the man out of whatever trance he had been in.

It was the first time Seph ever heard him make a sound.

When they reached Seph’s cottage he tried to set the kid down. The kid only whined, curling further into Seph’s side, his grip becoming impossibly tighter. Seph sighed, though he found that there was no real annoyance behind it. He made his way upstairs, turning into his room, the kid still in his arms. Ever so gently, he sat down on the bed and let go of the kid. The kid did not do the same, opting to stay where he was, firmly glued to Seph’s side.

They sat there for a few minutes, Seph simply waiting as the kid’s breathing slowed to a gentle rhythm and his grip finally loosened. He looked almost peaceful like that, curled into the blankets resting on Seph’s bed. Seph let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Slowly, he made his way over to the desk nestled in the corner of the room, pulling the chair so he could sit next to the bed. The kid curled in on himself. Seph draped a blanket over him, careful not to wake him. Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair, allowing his eyes to drift shut. ~~~ The mid-afternoon sun beat down relentlessly on the open field, the seats of the Arena raised out of the ground on every side around him. Sephtis gripped his axe tighter, trying to ignore the din of the crowd. Dust rose from the dry, cracked earth as he shifted his stance. He grit his teeth, preparing for the fight. His opponent came into view and he pounced; the voices in his head screamed for blood. The man raised his shield just as Seph swung his axe down, the blade embedding into it. The wood splintered and cracked, buckling under the force of his attack.

He basked in the look of fear in his opponent’s face as the shield was cleaved in two.

The man swung his own axe at Seph, his movements erratic and panicked. Seph 38 | Lancaster Country Day School

easily dodged every strike, slowly drawing closer. He swung his axe again, grinning as he felt the blade meet its target, the prisoner screaming out in pain. The crowd cheered and the voices begged for more. The man stumbled back, clutching his arm, his grip on his axe weak and shaky. Seph grinned, fangs glinting in the sunlight, and swung again. Another scream pierced the air.

He swung again and there was the heavy thud of his opponent hitting the ground. Seph knelt beside him and murPeachy L. ’23 mured a quiet apology before sliding the man’s eyes shut and standing up again.

(The voices were happy for now.)

The prisoner looked peaceful, no longer held down by the weight he carried with him in life. Seph wondered who this was more of a punishment for. He wasn’t allowed that kind of peace; he had prisoners to execute, people to entertain, voices to appease.

He remained quiet as the guards walked into the arena and took the body. He continued to stare straight ahead as the axe was pried from his hands and his handlers guided him away, back into the cage he called home. Silently, he wished for peace.

(He knew it would never come.)

Seph reached under his pallet, pulling an old sword out and running his tired fingers over the blade. He has always preferred swords to axes; he liked the way a swordfight felt more like a dance, elegant and powerful. Where an axe depended on how hard you swung, a sword depended on how well you knew your blade, how precise each movement was.

He was rarely allowed to use a sword in his executions— his handlers told him an axe was more efficient.

But they allowed him to keep a sword in his cage— perhaps to appease him, as insurance so he wouldn’t lash out. He didn’t really care about the reason why— he just allowed himself to enjoy it, practicing as often as he could. His sword was an extension of himself. He felt so in tune with it, as though he was meant to hold it.

(He thought this was the closest thing to freedom he would ever have.)

He didn’t remember much of his life before the Arena. He remembered the feeling of Impressions 2021 | 39

grass beneath his feet, the scent of the flowers his mother tucked into his hair, the warmth of having a home. He didn’t remember how he arrived at the Arena. He remembered the first time he was shoved out in front of the crowd, told to kill a man whose crimes he didn’t know. He didn’t remember the first time he heard the voices, but he remembered their pleasure the first time he spilled someone else’s blood.

He remembered how they congratulated him, told him he did well. He remembered breaking down that night, the voices whispering soft reassurances to him.

(They were the only ones that ever comforted him.)

Peachy L. ’23

~~~ A scream jolted Seph out of his sleep. He reached for his sword, ready to ward off any intruders, but his eyes landed on the kid. He was shaking in his sleep, mumbling in a language Seph couldn’t understand, and Seph was struck by just how small the kid looked.

He was dwarfed by the bed, curled into a ball at its center. He seemed to be having a nightmare, if his soft pleading was anything to go by. Seph knew better than to approach him.

(He remembered blood spilling from his protector’s face, a gash from Seph’s own dagger.)

So he simply watched over the kid, waiting for him to wake on his own accord. After a few minutes the kid shot up, his mismatched eyes wide as he gasped for breath. He frantically searched the room, and he scrambled back when they landed on Seph.

“Where am I? What happened?” And Seph could hear the distress in his voice, so thick it was almost tangible.

“You’re at my house. I found you in that fighting ring. Got you out of there,” “Oh,” The kid pulled his knees to his chest, fidgeting with his hands. “Who are you?”

40 | Lancaster Country Day School

“My name is Sephtis. Feel free to call me Seph, though. I sell little trinkets in town,” “I’ve never seen you without your hood…” The kid trailed off, his eyes flicking once more from Seph’s ears to his fangs. “…You’re like me,” He murmured, almost too quiet for Seph to hear.

“How do you mean?” Seph asked, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. Trying to make the kid feel safe.

“You’re not human. You’re a h-” the kid made a face, as if it hurt him to say it.

(It probably did.)

“A hybrid. Like me,” “I am,” “Is that why you hide your face?” The kid looked up at him, eyes full of silent resignation. Like he already knew what Seph was going to say.

“No,” Seph replied, and the kid’s eyes widened.

“But isn’t being a hybrid a bad thing? Won’t you get punished for it?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Won’t they hurt you?” The kid asked, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

Oh. Seph’s heart clenched painfully and maybe, just maybe, he found that he cared.

(And maybe he had for longer than he’d like to admit.)

“No, they won’t. And they won’t hurt you anymore either,” “Really?” The kid sounded so broken and so disbelieving, and yet so hopeful at the same time. Seph nodded, firm and reassuring.

“What’s your name, kid?” The kid hesitated a moment, seeming to weigh his options.

“Ciro,” He murmured. ~~~ “Do you need a place to stay?” A man had asked, holding a hand out towards a twelve-year-old Sephtis. Seph glanced down at his own hands. They were covered in blood and scars and calluses, rough and violent. He looked back up at the man. His golden hair framed his face and he grinned at Seph as though it were the easiest thing in the world. His wings shifted ever so slightly from behind him, pristine and shiny and so, so beautiful. Rays of sun surrounded him in a soft halo of light. That was twenty years ago.

(Seph thought he looked like an angel.)

Seph hesitated for a moment, staring at the open hand in front of him. It looked soft Impressions 2021 | 41

and warm and inviting, so unfamiliar and yet so comforting. He blinked once, twice, three times, waiting for it to disappear, waiting to open his eyes and be back inside that small cage underneath the Arena.

It didn’t disappear.

So he took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

(He wondered how anyone could feel this warm.)

“I’m Jace,” The man says as he guided Seph through the streets. Seph simply nodded— he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Jace’s home was different from the Arena in every way. It was warm and welcoming and for once in his life Seph felt like he could relax, like he was safe. Jace smiled at him and it felt so genuine and comforting. Seph felt tears prick at his eyes and he fought to hold them back. Seph didn’t want to cry— crying was dangerous. Crying was a form of weakness, and he wasn’t allowed to be weak.

(Weakness got him cuts and bruises and sharp, searing pain.)

But Jace patted him on the shoulder and led him to a room with a bed and books and no chains or bars, and Seph felt himself crumble. A sob tore its way out of his throat and Jace was there, whispering reassurances but not touching him. There was no pain, no punishment, just warmth and safety.

He settled in after a while, falling into a routine with Jace. It was peaceful, so unlike what he had known before, and Seph found that he liked it. He read through every book in his room and Jace grinned at him when he asked for more. He learned how to cook, how to braid his hair, how to garden.

(He wondered if this is what happiness was.) ~~~ Seph took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if he could take care of someone else, but Ciro looked frightened and lonely and something inside of him screamed at him to help, to protect, to care. So he set his shoulders and put on a small smile, extending a hand towards the kid.

“Do you need a place to stay?”

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Lila H. ’23

Bel H. ’21

Natalie S. ’21

Jade W. ’24

Peachy L. ’23

Margaret H. ’24 Impressions 2021 | 43

To Love Like a God Mae B. ’21

The smell of love is savory and sweet, We all must want it, staying by our muse.

Some will love only to leave in defeat, And others will fight like Hera and Zeus.

I have a muse from Aphrodite’s hand, To relish life with beauty and delight.

Why did they take me far across the land?

Many miles breeds cruelty overnight, So Hermes came and had to trick us both.

Peachy L. ’23 He made us weak and trapped us in our minds, But Tyche’s wishes gave us hope for growth.

Now we’re together, we are hardly blind.

The love of two doves is there in us too, It’s been so many days since I’ve seen you.

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Lynn J. ’21 Marlaina C. ’22 Kiki C. ’23

Marissa J. ’24

Zaina U. ’23

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My Escape

Kobe W. ’21 In the summer of 2012, my parents decided to finally buy a house on the small island of Martha’s Vineyard, off the coast of Massachusetts. They had taken my siblings and me there for the latter half of every summer ever since I was born. We had been to plenty of places before, but something about the Vineyard felt special, like a getaway from reality. We would return to the island summer after summer—always on July 22nd—only coming back after 4 weeks to prepare for each new school year at the end of August. I have since become preoccupied with school and extracurricular activities, but sometimes I wish that I could be back there, taking a break and forgetting about all my responsibilities. This past year, I longed to go back even more. Over the summer, my family returned to the island for the same reason as always, but our special circumstances made us go for longer than usual.

Olivia S. ’21

Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, my family and I were locked in our house for months. Everything was shut down, my normally busy neighborhood street was completely barren, and school was more stressful than ever. My family wanted our getaway.

We needed our getaway. Because of our circumstances, we decided to break tradition.

“May 29th,” my mom said, finalizing the date that we would escape our bunker and travel to our special island. “July 30th,” she continued, declaring when we would return to our coop. Two months? I thought to myself. This was earlier and longer than ever before. As we drove, I began to wonder what it might look like. I had been to the island every single year of my life, but I had never gone any earlier than July 22nd, and the idea of the island in May seemed foreign. Will it be hot outside? Will there be people there? Will it be the same? Thousands of thoughts rushed through my mind as we rode to the Vineyard. The ride reminded me of the ride every year, my dad and I alone in the car, blasting music and stuffing our faces with gas-station junk food, but this year was different. My mother was driving us for the first time in my life because of the recent passing of my father. There was no gas station junk food and loud music, which was instead replaced by masks and hand

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sanitizer. It all felt surreal. It was a trip I had gone on for more times than I could count on all my fingers and toes, yet it felt like it was my first time taking this trip.

As we drove, I started talking more and more with my mother. Listening to her explain her experiences in each state we passed through: her past jobs, where she had lived, what college was like, etc…. I listened to her talk about her college experience and her internships while at Columbia University as we drove by New York City. I thought to myself, I never talked this much when I drove with dad. Normally, I would listen to music with him and talk for a bit, but never this much. I wondered why. I realized that it was because I was never this age when I went with my dad. Sure, I had gone with him the year before, but this was way different. I was older, both mentally and physically. My father’s passing made me have to grow up faster and take on more responsibilities than before, and I was also much more focused on college and becoming an adult than I had ever been. As we got closer and closer to Martha’s Vineyard, I started thinking less and less about the future and more and more about the present. Martha’s Vineyard had always been an escape for me. It had always been a place for me to forget about the future and to just live in the moment and be worry-free.

As we boarded the ferry, I began thinking again about what Martha’s Vineyard would be like. Would it be the same? I hoped so, but I knew it wouldn’t. Not without my father. I lost track of time as thoughts filled my head.

The ferry ride was over in what seemed like minutes. A familiar feeling came over me as we left the ferry and arrived in Oak Bluffs. Oak Bluffs was the heart and soul of the Vineyard, always bustling with people shopping, eating ice cream, flying kites in Ocean Park, relaxing on Inkwell Beach, and children playing at the arcade. Just as I expected, this year was different, but it still felt the same. The familiar scent of salt water filled my nostrils as we drove by The Inkwell, but it did not match with the unfamiliar sight of the completely empty beach. The town felt foreign as we drove down Circuit Avenue, which was Deane C. ’22 completely devoid of people. The sound of children laughing, arcade games beeping, Impressions 2021 | 47

people talking and reconnecting, was completely replaced by the ominous sound of nothingness.

The friendly feeling of relaxation filled my body as we pulled into our driveway. Despite having such fond memories, I had forgotten how pretty the Vineyard was. The air smelled fresh and the flowers in our garden were just starting to bud. I wondered again if everything would be like it had been.

In many ways, it was just like it had been. Martha’s Vineyard had a special quality to it. The air always felt more concentrated than it was in other places, and the feeling of relaxation was inevitable. You could go to sleep at any time of night, and you would always magically wake up early in the morning feeling well rested and refreshed. This year was different for me because I was stressed with school and college applications, but the air at the Vineyard remained the same. It provided the consistency that was necessary for me during this stressful and unpredictable time in my life.

The longer we stayed on the Vineyard, the more I reflected on my many memories of the island. One of my first memories was being on the Inkwell at the age of 2, crawling around the beach to greet strangers as the warm sand fell between my fingers and toes. I began thinking about those memories, and the memories that I had with my parents on the island, and how I missed my father. I reflected on how impermanent everything is. I remembered how one afternoon at the age of 11 I went to the Agricultural Fair on the island with my mom. The smell of popcorn, cotton candy, animal manure, and fried dough filled the air as she watched me play balloon darts. I knew my mom loved riding rides at the time, and even though I hated them, I decided I would ride one to make her happy. I decided to go on a big Ferris wheel that flipped me upside down. Tears covered my terrified face as I regretted my decision to go on the ride. Now, my mom is much older, and she doesn’t like rides in the way that she used to, but her previous joy seems to have transferred to me, and I love the thrill that they give. The thought of never being able to ride a ride with my mother and having her enjoy it with me reminded me of how I would never again get to experience anything with my father.

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Despite my life being flipped upside down like the Ferris wheel, Martha’s Vineyard provided me with consistency. It gave me time to reflect on the whirlwind that I had been thrown into that year. Even though it wasn’t exactly the same, with my time being filled with college applications, SAT practice tests, summer work, the responsibilities that normally had been my father’s, and my father not being there, it still was relaxing. It was my family’s place for relaxation. It was our happy place. It is our escape. It is my escape.

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The Getaway Space Shawna T. ’21

My parents kept telling me that my birthday present was going to last a lifetime. May 26, 2008, the morning of my sixth birthday, my dad told me to make my bed before I could see my new present.

It was like holding out candy and asking, “Do you want some? Finish this task and I’ll give it to you.”

So naturally, I eagerly ran to my bedroom and made my bed. My mom helped me speed up the process by puffing up my pillows while I straightened out my polka dotted quilt. Thanks to her, in less than five minutes, my bed looked perfect and crisp. I had no idea what it was going to be— all I was expecting was a dog Pillow Pet. My younger sister pulled me down the stairs, Alex V. ’21 50 | Lancaster Country Day School

telling me to keep my eyes closed. I tried as best as I could, but we were going down the steps so quickly that I began to lose my balance. My thoughts were all over the place: What was my present? A Barbie doll? Nail polish? Clothes? We ran through the kitchen, my sister pulling my arm; she was just as excited as I was. My sister pulled open the sliding door that led to the backyard, and there it was— a brand new swing set.

The crisp green color of the swing seat and the handles, the monkey bars above the swings that led to a ladder, and the rock-climbing wall exceeded my expectations. I screamed out of excitement, and immediately took in all the little details of my wonderful gift. When I got to the top of the ladder I went down on the long, green slide. I couldn’t wait to have my neighborhood friends come over so we could play on it all day long. I was so excited to learn how to swing and climb the monkey bars.

My younger self had no idea that this playground would be where my childhood memories would form. My dad put aside his work just to focus on teaching my brother, sister, and I how to swing. He pushed us to get momentum, and he told us to kick our legs forward and back, forward and back in a repetitive motion. To slow down and stop the swing, he said there were two ways: the thrilling way or the boring way. For the boring way, we stopped moving our legs, letting them flow, and eventually the swing came to a full stop. For the thrilling way, we would jump off the swing and soar through the sky. I always chose the latter because I loved to compete with my siblings and see who could jump off the highest.

Whenever I was on my playground my imagination would come alive. I swung so high that I touched the moon. The monkey bars made me feel as if I were hanging from a branch and someone needed to save me before I fell into a bubbling, big pool of lava. On the tire wheel, I twisted and twisted and twisted the chains and then countdown: 3...2…1... blastoff! Into space I went; I spun so fast, my hair whirled through the wind, and I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. I quickly traveled to the ladder to board my pirate ship and make sure no one Impressions 2021 | 51

tried to invade. If someone did, I would go to the bottom of the slide: my safe zone.

Whenever I was mad at someone, I’d swing my problems away.

I’d go to the swing set to get away from my parents blaming me for nothing, get away from not doing homework, get away from all the stress in my little bubble. I loved swinging because it kept my mind off things. Every time I needed a good cry, I would climb up the ladder and sit inside the small house on top of the swing set, and then I’d immediately feel relieved and I was able to remind myself that everything would be okay.

My neighbors and I had games that we played every time we were on the swing set. One was called the pirate game, where one person was the pirate and everyone else were the “good guys.” The 52 | Lancaster Country Day School

Capri T. ’23

“good guys” would be at the base, which was the mini house, but once you left that mini house, the pirate would try to tag you. That game would always tire us out and was an amusing form of exercise! I wish that I could have preserved my childhood playing on the swing set, but the use of the swing decreased over the years as we grew up.

Piper G. ’22

The swing set’s first home was my family’s old house, in Muhlenberg, PA, and once we got that swing set, all the neighborhood kids wanted to come over. It was a sign of unity and happiness to me. It was a place where my fears and worries no longer existed, and I explored my ideas.

It has given me the opportunity to see how I have grown over the years. When my family and I moved to Mohnton when I was fourteen, the swing set moved with us.

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This time it felt different. My siblings and I were older, and school became more serious. Our priority was always school first, then play later. The move signified a new chapter in my life, and provided a new beginning, but the swing set was still there as a reminder of my childhood memories.

Three years later, in October of 2018, my family decided it was time to give the swing set away to someone whose children could use it to make new memories. So, my mom decided to give it to her brother, so his children could make the same cherished memories that I once did.

In November 2020, I visited my cousins and I saw it on their lawn: the crisp green against the bright white. I felt emotional as my childhood memories came flooding back. The countless hours I spent laughing with my siblings, making friends with my neighbors, and learning how to soar through the sky reminded me of everything I cherished about my childhood. Even the sad memories, from crying in the safety of the clubhouse to being reminded of how fast I grew up, reassured me that I could overcome anything, even if I needed a little help from my swing set.

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The 2021 Impressions Staff is responsible for the contents of this publicaton.

Literary Staff: Contemporary Literature Through Creative Writing Class Designers: Dory Naftzger, Peachy Lee, Olivia Taylor, Samahdi Rodriguez Faculty Advisors: Donna Wilcox, Meghan Kenny Cover Art: Riley Eckman Cover Page: Dory Naftzger

2021 Lancaster Country Day School