Philadelphia Stories Junior Spring-Summer 2015

a community of young writers

SPRING / SUMMER 2015

and artists from the Delaware Valley

JR.

a community of young writers

and artists from the Delaware Valley

JR.

CONTENTS

ART

FEATURES 3 The Saga of Sir Marcdalf the Valiant Part I: The Math Menace .....................M.G. Sherman POETRY 4 Hands Up, Don’t Shoot .......................................... Azariah Collins 5 Savior ...................................................................... Emma Paolini 6 Closure Never Comes Fast Enough ........................ Dominique Kendus 8 The Art of Growing Up Without Realizing It ............................................... Chloe Datner 9 My Rain .................................................................. Suaad Dorsey 10 Us Overload ........................................................... Spongmay Khan 10 Winter Explored ..................................................... Juwaireyah Dorsey 12 Voices ..................................................................... Pryce Davies 13 Time ........................................................................ Caleb Bryant 13 Golden .................................................................... Suaad Dorsey 13 Good ....................................................................... Emma Paolini 14 His Hands, A Silhouette, and The Moon............... Dominique Kendus Publishers Carla Spataro Christine Weiser

Philadelphia Stories jr Program Director Aileen Bachant

Director of Development Sharon Sood

assistant Director Kara Cochran

Art Director Derek Carnegie

PS Junior Aileen Bachant, 9-12 Sharada Krishnamurthy, 9-12 Lucia Gbaya-Kanga, 5-8 Nancy Kotkin, 5-8 Andrea Ross, 5-8 Tara Smith, 5-8 Andrea Vinci, K-4

Production Assistant Jon Busch Web Design Loic Duros Board of Directors Kerri Schuster, secretary Mitchell Sommers Polia Tzvetanova Alison Hicks Alex Husted

This issue of Philadelphia Stories, Jr. is made possible in part thanks to the support of Ernst & Young.

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Kristin LaMonaca is a junior at Merion Mercy Academy.

She lives in Newtown Square, Pennsylvania and enjoys many different types of art. She is an editor for the art and photography section of her school’s literary magazine, and works with her school’s art department.

Kristin also plays guitar and works on sets for plays and musicals as a participating member of her school’s stage crew.

Hands by Alyssa Chomo, a student enrolled in the Salem County Vocational Technical Schools Visual Arts Academy managed by Appel Farm Arts & Music Center.

V. Gunther is a sophomore in high school. “To me, art validates that I am not just living life, but that I am alive.” In addition to visual art, she enjoys reading and writing.

Dancer by Lia Stiles, a student enrolled in the Salem County Vocational Technical Schools Visual Arts Academy managed

by Appel Farm Arts & Music Center.

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Kristin LaMonaca

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Kristin LaMonaca

COVER ART: Ganesh by Paxton Allen, a student enrolled in the Salem County Vocational Technical Schools Visual Arts Academy managed by Appel Farm Arts & Music Center.

Philadelphia Stories is a non-profit literary magazine that publishes the finest literary fiction, poetry and art from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware and distributes free of charge to a wide demographic throughout the region. Our mission is to develop a community of writers, artists and readers through the magazine, and through education programs such as writer’s workshops, reading series and other affordable professional development programs for emerging writers and artists. Philadelphia Stories is a 501c3. To support Philadelphia Stories and the local arts, please visit www.philadelphiastories.org to become a member today!

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by M.G. Sherman / The Saga of Sir Marcdalf the valiant part I: the math menace

The Saga of Sir Marcdalf the Valiant Part I: The Math Menace

by M.G. Sherman Once upon a time, in a land that is not as far away as it seems, there was the Kingdom of Cramalot. Cramalot was ruled by King Sinderon the Strong.

In the city of Monolinth, the capital of Cramalot, there lived a young squire named Marcdalf. Marcdalf was the squire of Sir Renald Shiningsword, who was a knight of the Octagon Table: a group of seven of King Sinderon’s most trusted knights. “One day,” said Sir Renald as Marcdalf helped him into his armor. “You will become a knight and replace me when I step down from my place at the Octagon Table.” This was an encouraging thought to Marcdalf, but he needed to train in order to become a knight.

One day, as Marcdalf and the other squires were sword training in the castle courtyard, the King himself walked in! With him was a cloaked figure. The squires knelt when they saw the King was present. “You may rise,” said King Sinderon. “I would like to introduce the Math Queen to you. She is a traveler from distant lands, and is here to help further our Kingdom’s technology and knowledge. I was just showing her around. Carry on.”

That evening as Marcdalf was walking home, a strange light glowed from the windows of the tallest tower of the King’s keep.

Over the next month, Marcdalf noticed strange things happening in the city. Some people were getting sick.

Kristin LaMonaca ©2015

But this sickness caused numbers and symbols to appear on people’s skin.

Marcdalf suspected the Math Queen had something to do with it, but no one believed him. So he took matters into his own hands. He climbed the steps to the tower.

When he reached the top he

knocked on the door. No response.

“Hello?” Marcdalf called. No answer.

He tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.

No going back now, thought Marcdalf.

He opened the door. It opened with a slight “C-R-E-E-E-A-K…” Before him was a dark room. He drew his sword. In the dim light he could make out bookshelves

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The Saga of Sir Marcdalf the valiant part I: the math menace / by M.G. Sherman lining the walls. In the center of the room there was a small table with a book on it. The book was opened, and numbers and symbols seemed to be floating out of it! The source of the sickness! thought Marcdalf.

“Well, well, well, it looks like you have seen too much,” a voice echoed throughout the tower. “We can’t have you telling anyone now, can we?” The Math Queen stepped out of the shadows, sword raised. There was a strange light in her eyes. Marcdalf leapt forward and shut the book! There was a blast that knocked them both to the ground!

As the smoke cleared, two guards walked into the room. “What happened? One of them asked Marcdalf.

“I came to investigate the sickness,” Marcdalf explained. “I think that book may have been the source. I closed it, and there was some sort of explosion.”

“Well, whatever you did worked,” said the other guard. “The sickness has disappeared!” The Math Queen rose to her feet. The strange glow was gone from her eyes. “Now what’s your story?” the guard asked her.

“I opened that book,” she said. “I don’t remember much after that.”

Marcdalf and the Math Queen were summoned by King Sinderon. He held the book before him. It was now bound in chains to ensure it was not opened.

“This can only have come from one place,” he said. “The dark land of Math-

Hands Up, Don’t Shoot

By Azariah Collins Hands up, don’t shoot Stop the unnecessary violence Plain innocent people getting shot By the cops, And I thought they were supposed to protect us.

Hands up, don’t shoot May 16th, 2010 A little girl is lying in her house The cops come in looking for someone else They see her and pow!

Hands up, don’t shoot I’m walking down the street with my allblack hoodie, just got back from the store I turn around and pow!

I get shot and killed, and he gets away free.

Hands up, don’t shoot It’s sad to say we live in a generation Where a cop can go out and shoot an innocent person And get away like nothing happened Hands up, don’t shoot Oh wait, it’s too late…

Azariah Collins attends Girard Academic Music Academy in South Philadelphia. She is in the fifth grade and is a dancer, actress, and published poet. She has been with Mighty Writers for four years.

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dor.” He looked up, his face grave.

“We are being attacked. We must fight back.”

“One does not simply walk into Math-dor,” said Sir Morgan Freeman, the King’s advisor and knight of the Octagon Table. “That land is filled with fouler things than just equations. They say the very air you breathe is toxic there. The math there does not sleep.”

Suddenly, a cry of: “To arms! The city is being attacked!” was heard. It was a terrible battle. Monsters, whose skin was covered with numbers and symbols, ruthlessly attacked the city. But in the end, the attackers took the city.

The survivors had barricaded themselves inside the keep. It seemed all hope was lost. But there was a secret exit that only the King and the Knights of the Octagon Table knew of. King Sinderon approached his throne, pushed a hidden button on its side, and the throne slid away, revealing a staircase into the depths of the city!

Marcdalf walked beside Sir Morgan Freeman down a tunnel lit by torches.

“This,” Sir Morgan Freeman said, “is the Chunnel. It was built long ago as an escape route for times of crisis such as this.” Soon, the tunnel ended at a cave in the Foresty Forest. It was here that the survivors set up camp. “There is a way to stop the attacks and reclaim Cramalot,” said Sir Morgan Freeman as they sat by the fire, eating a stew that they had made with ingredients from the forest. Everyone eagerly looked up at him.

A gloom seemed to have lifted from the camp. “In this forest,” Sir Morgan Freeman explained, “is an ancient ruin that houses the Sword of Alevan-Fiften, which means “math’s end” in an ancient language. It is said that only the Hero of Cramalot can draw the sword from the stone it is set in. The hero, with this sword, can then defeat the Dark Lord Saxon, who commands the math monsters from the land of Math-dor.”

by M.G. Sherman / The Saga of Sir Marcdalf the valiant part I: the math menace

Savior

By Emma Paolini She’s in front of you on the swings at the carnival And you’re behind her she’s having the time of her life (and you guess you are, too— She’s gorgeous when she laughs like that) she reaches back a hand to take yours you stretch out a hand, too (you think she’s going to save you) But she’s just a little too far (she can’t) away to reach you So she pulls her hand back (she won’t even try) and turns around Giving up And you return to watching her Not so enthusiastically as before

Emma Paolini is in 10th grade and lives in Medford, New Jersey with her three siblings and dog.

She enjoys reading and writing as well as competing on her school’s mock trial team. Emma also loves seeing Broadway musicals and going to concerts.

“Well then,” said King Sinderon, “tomorrow, we will go to this ruin.”

The next day, they trekked to the ruin. And there was the Sword of Alevan-Fiften! One by one the survivors of the attack on Cramalot tried to pull the sword out of the stone, but to no avail.

All hope seemed to be lost. Every single person there had tried to pull the sword out, except for one: Marcdalf. He stepped up to the sword. He gripped the handle. His hands were sweating. And then he pulled.

With a sudden “SHWING” it came out! The sunlight glinted off of the gleaming sword. Everyone was amazed. And they were relieved, for the Hero had ended up being one of them! Hope was not lost!

So it was decided that Marcdalf would then set out to Math-dor. With him would go Sir Morgan Freeman, for he was very wise, a great warrior, and knew much about Math-dor. They traveled through plains, into woods, over mountains, and across rivers. Finally they

Kristin LaMonaca ©2015

Philadelphia Stories Jr. 5

made it to the dark land of Math-dor. It was barren and desolate. But there was a tower in the middle of Math-dor. “That is where the Dark Lord Saxon is,” said Sir Morgan Freeman to Marcdalf. They set off across the land to the tower.

They reached it and climbed to the top. There, was the Dark Lord Saxon himself! He stood, looking over the land, in armor and a dark cloak. In the center of the top of the tower there was a table with a book on it, just like the one in back in Cramalot. “I knew you were coming,” said the Dark Lord Saxon, not turning at first, but he knew they were there. He turned to look at them. “I see the book I planted in Cramalot was useful.” Indeed, when the Math Queen opened the book, Saxon got a hold on her. She really was a nice person after all. The Dark Lord Saxon used confusing math, not basic math.

“You will not defeat us!” shouted Marcdalf, drawing the Sword of Alevan-Fiften. Sir Morgan Freeman drew his sword. Saxon drew his sword as well.

They engaged in an epic sword fight on the top of the tower. When Saxon turned his attention to Morgan Freeman, Marcdalf saw his chance. Saxon furiously attacked Morgan Freeman, but the knight blocked each blow. Marcdalf then grabbed the book and cut it in half with the sword! A blast of light shot from the tower. Saxon fell to his knees. He laughed.

“You may have defeated confusing math, but you have not won that easily!”

Saxon said. Suddenly, the earth around them began to shake. There was a roar of thunder. Lighting shot down from the sky.

“Oh no!” Marcdalf shouted. “We haven’t only destroyed confusing math, but math itself!” You see, the world needs math.

“There must be some way to restore math!” Sir Morgan Freeman said. Then, Marcdalf saw it: a slot in the table where 6 Philadelphia Stories Jr.

the book had been. He took the Sword of Alevan-Fiften and slid it into the table!

Somehow, the power of the sword restored math. The world went back to normal.

Later, there was a great ceremony in the King’s keep of the now reclaimed city of Cramalot. Marcdalf knelt before King Sinderon. “Today,” King Sinderon said. “We honor this hero who has saved our kingdom. He traveled far and fought bravely to save the land.”

He drew his sword, and as he knighted Marcdalf, he said, “Today, I proclaim

him: Sir Marcdalf the Valiant!”

End of Part I ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------M. G. Sherman is in the seventh grade at Tall Oaks Classical School in Delaware and likes creative writing, drawing and writing song lyrics.

He also likes playing piano, running cross-country, and playing video games. He lives with his parents, older brother and rescue dog, Nydia, in Newark, Delaware. Some of his favorite books include The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and The Hunger Game series. He is currently writing three novels and hopes to be a famous author before high school graduation. His disdain for math inspired this creative short story.

Closure Never Comes Fast Enough

By Dominique Kendus Cracked lips, bleeding gums, Devilish grins, dishonest tongues Hushed whispers, desperate wishes, Despising lovers, meaningless kisses Wait another day, maybe two more, But still, he’ll walk on out the door Knees buckled, a heart dropped, Crumpled in the corner waiting for rain to stop Bruised knees and battered hips, Comforting words through lying lips Wiped away chances, smudged, blackened tears, Throwing your love away after three whole years A heart shatters into splinters and fragments, Tripping over your tongue but still remaining stagnant An overwhelming silence in the dead of night, Trying to speak but there’s not a breath left to fight So this is it: what is supposed to be the sweetest, final hour, A bit of closure, yet it still tastes sour

Dominique Kendus is a 9th grader living in Wilmington, DE with her twin sister. She loves to write poetry and listen to music, as well as play soccer with her sister.

Hands by Alyssa Chomo Š2015

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www.philadelphiastories.org/junior The Art of Growing Up Without Realizing It

By Chloe Datner “Our bodies are made of stars” she read.

“Our bodies are littered in scars” she said.

There’s seven billion on one planet and eight planets orbiting the sun.

So how can one thing so small mean such a something to someone?

Day by day nothing is different but, looking back it all has changed.

Like how roller turned to razor when talking about blades, and smoke that once puffed from the chimney is now dancing off cigarettes, and sorry but ‘sorry’ doesn’t stick when your glue is made from regrets.

So put your lipstick on right, pretty girl or he won’t want you the right way, and oh don’t put on too much, silly girl or you’ll be asking for it, no matter how little you say.

Play pretending was much simpler, when the dragon was a cardboard box now Romeo is not at your window, but he sure as hell is throwing rocks.

That scary monster never left she just crawled out from under the bed, and she’s so much harder to find now that she’s swimming in your head.

She lingers on tongues and leaps from lips and soon enough she’s screaming ‘s***’ because of the way you sway your hips.

“Our bodies are littered with scars” she said but keep acting like you don’t care how you’ve grown.

There’s seven billion surrounding us and we’re pretending to not feel alone.

V. Gunther ©2015

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My Rain

By Suaad Dorsey I’m your cloud and you’re my rain I keep you floating and you drive me insane We’re totally different, yet we’re the same I’m your cloud and you’re my rain You shower me with your input I assure that you’re on your feet You make sure I’m never in pain and I do the same I’m your cloud and you’re my rain One day we will share glory and fame And I will give you credit even though sometimes you can be a pain I don’t know what would have happened if we didn’t meet Sisters we resemble, you and I Watching you trickle beside me makes me smile I am your cloud and you are my rain

g n i t i Wr t p Prom LET’S WRITE A RIDDLE! Work on writing riddles using your five senses. You can use similes (“like” or “as”) to add comparison statements, write descriptive sentences without similes.

I smell like ________________________________________ I look like _________________________________________ I taste like ________________________________________ I feel like _________________________________________ I sound like (or I say) _______________________________

Suaad is a young writer who mainly enjoys poetry and deep novels with lots of mystery, which are her inspiration for her stories and poems. She also loves to help others improve their writing by using her pieces as inspiration, hoping that one day they, too, will love writing.

What am I?

Philadelphia Stories Jr. 9

Do you have a story, poem, or drawing to submit? Visit

www.philadelphiastories.org/junior

Winter Explored

By Juwaireyah Dorsey As white as sugar as cold as ice slippery and sparkly oh, isn’t it nice

Us Overload

By Spongmay Khan We’re comin’ through ur speaker Runnin’ through ur town We’re pourin’ through ur headphones And ur eyes are turnin’ brown.

We’re pumping up the volume And we can’t be stopped!

Ur brain is leakin’ out ur ears Ur head’s about to pop.

This is on Us! An Us Overload.

And u better run for cover ‘Cuz we’re about to explode Said it’s on Us! An Us Overload.

And ur mother’s gonna shudder When us writers hit the road.

The pressure’s buildin’ up now And we’re about to burst out!

Rockin’ stadiums, gymnasiums, If ur feelin’ us, shout!

Yes, it’s an Us! An Us Overload.

Soft, small, silent flakes falling like tiny feathers woosh, wash big winds causing outrageous weather Drinking hot chocolate in a warm nice house, slurping sugary marshmallows, listening for a mouse Smelling the smoky firewood burn as winter arrives there will be no more ferns Bundled up cozy and tight there’s no way you will get frostbite Winter is fun, it’s cold all day it’s nice to stay outside and play, No more staying inside all bored winter is waiting to be explored.

And u ain’t been this covered since the last time it snowed.

Spongmay Khan is in the sixth grade and loves to write raps.

He really wants to be a rapper when he grows up (or even right now)!

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Juwaireyah is 10 years old and is in the fifth grade at Universal Institute Charter School. Her favorite color is blue and her favorite subject is science.

She wants to be either a doctor or a cosmetologist when she grows up.

Dancer by Lia Stiles Š2015

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Voices

By Pryce Davies The whispers seep through the heat vents from the metro station and flutter into my ear In commanding voices they talk to me Angry, mean, sad, comforting, scary Racing through my mind, exploring every nook and cranny As I yell and fight the voices, the few stragglers left, mainly partiers and low-lifes, like myself, scurry along the dirty sidewalks Like cockroaches They walk right on past me with the occasional fearful glance Thinking that my outbursts of swinging fists and trembling screams are my fault That I’m the culprit Not knowing that I was once like them, before my mind was alienated from me by the voices Their ignorance seeps inside my soul further degrading me As I try to recollect the few fragments of sanity I feel the rough concrete and rusted metal under my thumb rubbing away at it as if it will help when I truly know that only home will help but those memories of warm chicken soup and the smell of the gas stove being lit and the feel of adjusting the thermostat have all seeped away through the years their sweetness being steeped into the harsh outside like tea in lukewarm water I try to fall back asleep but each voice is its own alarm clock Jolting my awake with another hurtful word I tell them to shut up for once, but they are not good listeners Forcefully I burrow myself into my slightly damp blankets and try to snuggle up closer to the side of the train station Like always, that does not help After hours of fighting The sun approaches and I realize sleep has left me out like everything else not even its warm embrace dares to touch me only the voices are their for me, for better or for worse

Pryce Davies is in the ninth grade at Haverford High School. He enjoys playing soccer, competing in the competition band, reading, and spending time with his family.

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Time

Golden

By Caleb Bryant

By Suaad Dorsey

Time, time is the key

We shine like LED lights

Time is something you can stop Time is a part of our life

Glimmering like sparkle dusted stars

Time is what we waste or spend Time is order

Our smiles like pearls

Time is like a force in a jar that can’t be held Time is you

But nothing is more golden than our hearts

Time is something that your mind won’t understand So what is time itself?

Time is the answer...

Caleb Bryant is a fifth grade student at Universal Institute Charter School in South Philly. This is his first year with Mighty Writers and he is a budding philosopher, poet and painter. He expects to play for the NBA after finishing college.

Suaad is a young writer who mainly enjoys poetry and deep novels with lots of mystery, which are her inspiration for her stories and poems. She also loves to help others improve their writing by using her pieces as inspiration, hoping that one day they, too, will love writing.

Good

By Emma Paolini “Stare into the sun like that and you’ll go blind.” you lean forward. stick your chin out over your knees stubbornly. grin widely, eyes glittering with the gold and scarlet and amber before you, drink up every last bit, probably wishing with every piece of you that the fire you can see that is all you can see will burn into your eyes forever and be all you’ll ever see. “good.” “what do you mean, good?”

“I want the last thing I see,” (you don’t close your eyes) “to be fire.”

4 AM, Outside Your House reach one hand up to wipe away the tears (or is it rain?) both taste bitter salty-sweet but mostly just like pain Emma Paolini is in 10th grade and lives in Medford, New Jersey with her three siblings and dog. She enjoys reading and writing as well as competing on her school’s mock trial team. Emma also loves seeing Broadway musicals and going to concerts.

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g n i t Wri t p Prom Kristin LaMonaca ©2015

What’s the lamest excuse you’ve ever heard for someone NOT doing his/her homework?

Here are some examples from “All My Great Excuses” by Kenn Nesbitt From the book Revenge of the Lunch Ladies: I started on my homework but my pen ran out of ink.

My hamster ate my homework.

My computer’s on the blink…

Tornadoes blew my notes away.

Volcanoes struck our town.

My notes were taken hostage by an evil killer clown...

What are some your favorites?

Send us your “excuses” poem!

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Kristin LaMonaca ©2015

His Hands, A Silhouette, and The Moon

By Dominique Kendus I faintly remember a short walk up the beaten down footpath, Two sets of footprints making craters in the half-dried dirt, The trees whispered at us as we leisurely made our way past, And there were thorns pricking at my shirt.

The stars came out to sing to us, And the moon rose gently onto their stage, Our shadows disappeared like disturbed dust, But I’d never seen his eyes a more breathtaking shade.

Though our shadows were gone and we were sole beings once again, The moonlight cut through the branches of trees And there his silhouette, nimble like a wrist bent, Danced to the tender whispers in the breeze We swayed in harmony as the moon looked down from its seat.

I’d like to believe it was smiling— Then a sliver of light made its way to my cheek, And so we ran again as the sun started rising.

Dominique Kendus is a 9th grader living in Wilmington, DE with her twin sister.

She loves to write poetry and listen to music, as well as play soccer with her sister.

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