Halloween short story

Voguant haut dans le ciel à travers les nuages Sur un tapis volant direction l’Orient Au gré du vent elle poursuit son heureux voyage Sa robe ondule sous un sourire radiant

Aux confins du monde son errance l’entraîne Elle explore l’Asie l’Australie l’Amérique Un rêve magique infini où elle est reine Éperdue d’amour pour les couleurs de l’Afrique

Mais le soleil se couche en silence le soir Se profile à la fenêtre avec sa fraîcheur Qui brise ses rêves en mille morceaux noirs Et délie le délire diffus de chaleur

Les couleurs exotiques ternies se confinent Dans la sobre moquette et aux beaux papiers peints Une voix qui tonne jaillit de la cuisine Femme vient donc cuisiner si tu ne fais rien

Les heures se prolongent La chaleur s’alourdit On se perd dans un songe La sieste de midi

© Succession H. Matisse Crédit photographique : © Philippe Migeat - Centre Pompidou, MNAM-CCI /Dist. RMN-GP Réf. image : 4N94836 Diffusion image : l'Agence Photo de la RMN

Ilya R

She sat calmly in the corner of the large, empty café, the beeps and honks of the loud city far away behind her back. She had bags under her eyes, a torn yellow hat and a large green coat engulfing her that could hide anything she wished. The radiator gave no solace as it weakly blew warmair towards her. The bright lights of the automat illuminated the room, and yet her face remained in the shadow.

The barista kept glancing at the peculiar woman, what was she doing here so late at night? They made eye contact for a second. The barista offered a warm, weak smile. Her face remained cold. Her dead eyes revealed nothing of the murder she had commited approximately 34 minutes earlier.

Her thoughts wandered, floating from memory to memory. The tea which had once been warm, grew cold after the time she spent sitting and staring into space. She finally fell upon the events of the dirty night, her hatred towards the evil man that took away everything from her, finally satiated. The days ofbeing cheated, being played with like some ragged doll of a reckless merciless child. The way she was used to tell a story of lies and mistrust that put her worst nightmare in control of her life. He had made her feel guilty, terrible about herself. He had made promises to fix her already struggling life. She had put her trust in him, hoping it would lead to happiness. Instead he had chewed her up, and spit her out like a rotten fruit that had lost its ripeness.

It was after he became in charge, after she had helped him get to the position of power, when herhorror story began. She became his, and only his. Any of her objections were silenced.

The countless nights of beating, coming home in the dark, bruised and broken. Her will shattered into a thousand pieces. Her hatred for him grew like a storm brewing, a tiger waiting in the bushes to strike. Everyday, his words cut her to shreds, made her bleed. Perhaps this was why it was so easy to pick up the knife. Perhaps this waswhy it was so easy to sneak up behind him, and make rid of him as fast as possible, why she didn’t mind the muffled screams and struggling under her arms, why she didn’t mind the slick warm blood on her hands. It was easy, almost too easy to walk away, into the cold night from a rotting body lying behind her.

Now, 15 blocks away from her nightmare, she looked at the barista, and smiled. Her eyes revealed nothing.

Our Team

Isabelle C Anna H Camila V Jacob G Matthew H Yiran S Camille B Ilya R Emmanouil L Clementine S Matthew H Isabella S Ev A Audrey R Aya M Sinchana R Jade J

Layout,Co-editorinchief,CoverArtist Co-editorinchief,Layout HeadofMarketing,Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporter Reporterandeditor Reporter Editor

A SPECIAL THANKS TO Ms. Stathopulos and of course all of the students who contributed to this issue with their work

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