Plume | Winter 2018

Literary Arts Magazine Wi nt e r 2 0 1 9

P LU M E

Plume As a school, we dedicate ourselves to education and culture. We’re doing the same thing people did in centuries past, albeit with different methods. Our goal is to further ourselves and others through the pursuit of knowledge.

With that in mind, the name Plume embodies our purpose in full. Before we used pencils and computers, we used quill pens: plumes plucked from the flight feathers of large birds.

The plume is a fundamental symbol of our school. It represents both the education we strive to achieve and the mascot that brings us together — we are the Hawks.

The feathers of a hawk become the words on a page. The calligraphy of a plume is unmatched in precision and flexibility: so too we strive to embody these traits in our school.

Works such as the Magna Carta and Declaration of Independence were created by way of the plume; by following suit with our literary magazine, we’ll be walking in the steps of our ancestors.

The plume brings expression. It brings freedom. It brings possibility. It brings us together with the words it forms; its influence sits in the pages we read.

- Cairo Gaona

Find a digital copy of this issue of Plume online at issuu.com/plumecpp

Policy Plume is the product of students at Corning-Painted Post High School who devoted their time and effort to create a collaborative work of art. We take pride in providing an open forum in which young writers and artists may express themselves and spread their wings. The submissions in Plume are selected by a committee of student editors who select individual pieces based on style and quality of writing. This committee reserves the right to deny the publication of any submissions if deemed inappropriate. Furthermore, the ideas presented in the publication do not represent the views of the CPPHS faculty or staff, nor the C-PP Area School District. We hope you enjoy our work.

Editors-in-Chief: Natalie Kent Rayna Krise Olivia Losito Designers: Adam Bibalo Luke Johnson

Editors: Sydney Crouch Lauren Hill Rebakah Knarr Natasha Matusick

Table of Contents 1 2 3-4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17-22 23-26 27 28-29 30 31

Christmas Disaster The Past What Ever Happened to David?

Monsters Welcome to The Darklands Haikus Doors When Will it Change? [name here] Haikus

Young Dreams The Magician And The Dancer SAME The Poems Of The Eyes Of Hell Fire Don’t Open It Author Of The Month Napoleon, The Apalooza Artwork Every Part

Natasha Matusik Sunshine Proto Adam Bibalo Unknown Rebekkah Knarr Proto Lucas Hall Sunshine Matt Savoy Natasha Matusik Matt Savoy Lucas Hall Proto Natasha Matusick Jolina Farjardo Matt Savoy Matt Savoy Faith Marmor Sarah Coluccio Jenna Gridley

Christmas June, Santa’s most trusted, second head elf, watched as he tried again and again to make Dasher fly. Over and over he shouts, “On Dasher!” to no avail. Santa sighs, frustrated.

He turns to June. “June, my dear, could you see if you can find out what’s happening to the reindeer?”

“Yes sir.” She nods curtly.

“Very good. I’ll be in the workshop, decompressing if you need me.”

“Ok, sir.”

June breathes a sigh of relief as the ‘Head Elf ’ walks away. She shakes her head. She knows exactly what happened, so she sets off on a journey: to find Simon.

After trekking through a particularly minty blizzard in Candy Cane Forest, She reaches the top of Mt. Frost, named such because the famed Jack Frost used to live in the cabin settled there. June trudged up to the weathered cabin and knocked on the door. As she stood there, the cold stinging her nose and biting her toes, she spots something peculiar through the window: a bubbling pot of orange goo sat next to a basket of carrots. Just as she suspected.

The slot on the door slides open and icy-blue eyes stare at her for a moment before disappearing behind the slot’s door. She hears the clickity-clack of locks being undone and the door opens. “June!” a happy voice sounds from the boy elf in front of her. June nods. “Hello, Simon. Glad to see you’re doing well.”

“You as well, sister.” Simon smiles. “Let’s chat inside, shall we?” he gestures to the old moth-eaten couch. June steps inside and sits.

Simon waves his hand and two mugs appear, steam rising from each. “Cocoa?”

“No thank you. I came to see what you did to the reindeer.”

Simon looks mock offended. “Well, I never!

That’s not how we greet our kin, is it?”

June sighs. “I know you did it Simon.”

Simon shakes his head. “I did not.” He leans over to June’s ear and covertly whispers, “They have eyes and ears on me at all times, except for the bathroom. I can’t tell anything here.” He gestures to the back of the house. Loudly, he says, “Hey sis! Why don’t I show you this nice

1

Disaster

By Natasha Matusick

bathroom I have?”

June rolls her eyes. “Fine. If you must.”

She follows Simon into the room. “Alright.”

Simon shuts the door. “You’re right, I did do it.

See this pot of orange stuff? It’s a potion that takes away the reindeer’s ability to fly. I took this morning’s delivery out of the mail truck while the mail elf was doing his job and dipped them in it. I thought it would be a good way to make me come out of parole, and jail.”

June sighs. “How does that plan sound now that you’ve told it to someone?”

Simon frowns. “Well...now that I think about it, pretty stupid.”

June nods. “Hey, it’s alright. You’ll get to my level of evil mastermind someday.”

Simon pouts. “But I’m sick of waiting.”

June pats his head. “There there. It’s your fault you got caught.”

Simon glowers at her. June smiles and walks out of the bathroom. She goes through the living room and to the door. She opens it and stands in the frame for a moment. “Oh Simon. Just think of what we could have done together. Me and you, co-leaders of the Kris Kringle Association.

Overseeing all the other elves who think life’s just peachy.” She takes a deep breath and sighs, then turns back to look at Simon. She sends the audio recording of Simon’s plan to Headquarters. “Too bad I’ll have to do it myself now.” She turns and saunters out of the cabin.

The

Past In silence we sit all alone You just smoke and stare at your phone I know you’re sad but this isn’t the way You’re wasting your life more and more each day You look at me with sorrow and anger Why can’t you see it’s your life in danger You act as though im cursing your pain But the things you say, they’re all in your brain I fear it’s time for me to depart For you bring out the darkness in my heart I can’t go on living this way Just know that I hope we meet again someday

and always... sunshine

2

Whatever Happened to David?

The car would not start. It had been like this for around ten minutes and there was no solution in sight. David looked around, not sure what to do. His car had started to stall, and when he pulled over, it died. Nothing would start. David felt rain drops on his neck. This was the last thing he needed. He realized nothing could be done. He looked up and down the foggy street. Not a light in sight. David slammed the hood and grabbed his keys. He opened the trunk and grabbed his backpack out of the darkness. He looked inside and saw his book, some earbuds, a sweatshirt, a water bottle, and a phone charger. He frowned, knowing that his phone had died during the trip. He dropped his phone in the bag, on top of the sweatshirt.

He pulled the backpack around and slid the straps onto his arms. He then locked the car and with a beep, he knew it was time to start walking.

David walked for a long time. He didn’t know how long, as it was dark and he could only faintly see the white road line through the mist. He continued to follow it through the night. David thought it was weird that he did not see any road signs. He reached into his shirt and pulled out his necklace of the crucifix. He grasped it and shut his eyes tight, saying a prayer in his head. David let the necklace go and continued to walk down

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the forsaken road. It must have been midnight by the time he saw a light. It was a faint white light in the distance, a shining beacon of hope. David reached into his pack and pulled out his water bottle. It was near empty and David downed the last of it. He continued walking, noticing how the road turned to gravel and dirt. It seemed as if the trees had reached in towards, grasping to carry him into their leaves. David could no longer see anything but the light. He approached it with caution, this whole ordeal seeming out of a horror movie. He took the last few steps towards the light and saw it floating there on the road. Suddenly, it went out, leaving the dark to come flowing back over David.

He shivered as he turned and saw it there: a large house, with a single light on in a room on the second floor.

David walked toward the house, growing colder every minute. He carefully took each step as he approached the mass of wood.

He noticed that in front of the house was a graveyard, as there were crosses poking out of the ground at every available inch of the lawn. Even in the trees crosses were hanging down, looking very old and abandoned by their owners. It looked like this all around the house, not an inch empty of these holy artifacts. David continued his walk up the path. The fog hovered above the graves,

giving off an eerie vibe. David walked up the front steps and with a lunge, pounded three times on the door. The door stood silent, as the house did. After a few moments, David heard the distinct sound of the door unlocking, and it creaked open. David pushed it open and walked inside, closing the door behind him.

He looked around the foyer of the house. It was dark, but not so dark that nothing could be seen. He could make out the stairs, a doorway to another room, and long hallway with many picture frames that covered the wall all the way to the top. Out of nowhere, an orange light illuminated the room at the end of the hallway. David jumped a little, but started to walk to the light. He glanced at the pictures on the wall. Each picture had a different person on it, some of families, some of couples, but not one the same. Overlooking this, he continued to walk to the room, where he found a roaring fire, a big chair, and a table in between the fire and chair. There was a note on the table. It read: “Welcome traveler! Please be at home in this house. Feel free to spend the night and use our resources to aid in your journey!� David looked around, noticing more than few porcelain dolls scattered among the furniture, the fire reflecting off their glass eyeballs. Each one was unique and had exquisite detail put into them. David wondered who would create such perfect dolls and leave them

in this house. He picked one up, noticing the lack of wear, as if they were brand new. He had never seen such precision put into dolls like this. He set them down carefully and continued to walk around the house. After looking around the house, looking through the rooms, the kitchen, the dining room, and noticing the workshop out back. He picked out the room with the least number of dolls in it and pulled his belongings out of his bag. He moved all of the dolls that creepily stared at him to the back end of the room, where the wouldn’t be as close to his bed. David took off his sweatshirt, leaving him in a t-shirt and shorts, and slid under the sheets of the bed. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his book. The book was “In Our Time” by Ernest Hemingway. He read a little, noting some different aspects of the text and some more in depth meanings, but got tired quick. He knew that he needed to get up early tomorrow, so he closed his eyes, exhausted from a long day.

---------------------------David was sure there was someone else in the house. He had clearly heard the sound of faint footsteps, the sound echoing around the house. He slowly got up, put on his shoes, and peeked out of his room. The was not a light anywhere, not artificial, or natural like the fire.

David, who could barely see, found his way down the hall and started to walk down the stairs. He accidently kicked something, feeling it on his foot and then hearing the sound of porcelain smashing a second later. He continued to walk down the stairs, only stopping to carefully walk over the smashed doll. As he was walking down, he noticed the pictures on the wall. The eyes of each person were glowing red. David hurried down the last few steps and stopped in his tracks. Hundreds of dolls surrounded him at the bottom of the stairs, each one looking straight at him. Their eyes glowed red too. Not a single one moved. David, now scared senseless, took very tiny steps to avoid touching any one of them. He was just near the end of the lot when suddenly, something shot out in front of his legs, causing him to fall

into the dolls. The dolls shattered and pieces of porcelain stuck into David, who was now bleeding in many spots. The last thing he saw was a set of red eyes looking straight into him as he passed out.

In his dream there was fire everywhere.

David was sweating from the heat and there was no escape. It burned him, ravaged him, leaving him raw. He tried to run but there was no escape. The fire creeped up on him, leaving his muscles dead, and David laid there, descending into the flames.

David woke with a start and quickly looked all around him to see what was going on. He was hanging by ropes on the ceiling.

There was a raging fire right in front of him.

Dolls surrounded him, each one silent and still, staring at David. He saw that there were windows as well as tools all around. He was in the workshop. Hanging all around him were various parts of dolls and porcelain plates, creating a very disturbing environment. The only sound in the room was the roaring fire. It was heating up a boiling pot of glass. David struggled to get free, but the restraints too strong to break. David shut his eyes tight. The pot rose and floated right over top of David. He screamed and panicked looking for any last hope. He reached for his necklace, hoping for some relief of the fear and intimate death upon him. Then the pot tipped over.

The molten glass flowed right down David, but he didn’t feel anything. It traversed all over him. Not a drop fell to the ground.

It completely encased him, but there was no pain. David shrunk to the size of a doll, just as his eyes glassed over. Pieces of porcelain flew off the walls and encased the glass around him. Paint soared from the cans detailing David’s face. Fabric stitched itself together, mirroring the outfit David was wearing. At last David was now a porcelain doll, nothing left of his previous self. David looked around, noticing his new family, now and forever.

Epilogue A new picture appeared on the frame that day, a picture of a man. All alone he stood in front of the house, his eyes glowing red. A doll that looks just like him now lays near a roaring fire, waiting for the next person to come along.

The Moral of the Story Always charge your phone before a long trip

Proto

44

Monsters

Adam Bibalo

When we are kids, we are scared of monsterfill us dread.

The monsters in our closets and under our beds.

We try stay away from them,that is our goal,

because we areIt scared thatlike they will eatthe us,swallow whole.

The car would not start. had been forsakenusroad.

It must have been midgiving off an eerie vibe. David walked up the When we get older arewas still no scared ofnight monsters, but nothe of saw the same kind. this for around ten minutes and we there by the time a light.

It was a faint front steps and with a lunge, pounded three We realize otheraround, monsters of our minds. solution in sight.

David the looked notare just figments white light in the distance, a shining beacon times on the door. The door stood silent, as the Now wecar arehad afraid of thetomonsters heads. sure what to do.

His started stall, insideofour hope.

David reached into his pack and house did. After a few moments, David heard ones thatittell us Nothing were not good enough, that better bottle. off dead. and when he The pulled over, died. pulled outwere his water It was near empty the distinct sound of the door unlocking, and The ones can on nothis hide from. Theand ones that downed consumethe ourlast lives. would start. David felt that rainwe drops David of it. He continit creaked open. David pushed it open and the last thing With he their dark presence andued words like knives. neck. This was needed.

He walking, noticing how the road turned walked inside, closing the door behind him. could be done. He Inlooked the end, we findtoout thereand is no escape from their spell. realized nothing gravel dirt.

It seemed as if the trees He looked around the foyer of the house. It mindsinliving hell.grasping to carry up and down the foggy street. Not a light in They make hadour reached towards, was dark, but not so dark that nothing could sight. David slammed the hood and grabbed him into their leaves. David could no longer be seen. He could make out the stairs, a his keys. He opened the trunk and grabbed see anything but the light. He approached it doorway to another room, and long hallway his backpack out of the darkness. He looked with caution, this whole ordeal seeming out with many picture frames that covered the inside and saw his book, some earbuds, a of a horror movie. He took the last few steps wall all the way to the top. Out of nowhere, sweatshirt, a water bottle, and a phone chartowards the light and saw it floating there an orange light illuminated the room at the ger. He frowned, knowing that his phone on the road. Suddenly, it went out, leaving end of the hallway. David jumped a little, but had died during the trip. He dropped his the dark to come flowing back over David. started to walk to the light. He glanced at phone in the bag, on top of the sweatshirt.

He shivered as he turned and saw it there: a the pictures on the wall. Each picture had a He pulled the backpack around and slid the large house, with a single light on in a room different person on it, some of families, some straps onto his arms. He then locked the car on the second floor. of couples, but not one the same. Overlooking and with a beep, he knew it was time to start David walked toward the house, growing this, he continued to walk to the room, where walking. colder every minute. He carefully took each he found a roaring fire, a big chair, and a table David walked for a long time. He didn’t step as he approached the mass of wood. in between the fire and chair. There was a note know how long, as it was dark and he could He noticed that in front of the house was a on the table. It read: “Welcome traveler! Please only faintly see the white road line through graveyard, as there were crosses poking out be at home in this house. Feel free to spend the mist. He continued to follow it through of the ground at every available inch of the the night and use our resources to aid in your the night. David thought it was weird that lawn. Even in the trees crosses were hanging journey!� David looked around, noticing more he did not see any road signs. He reached down, looking very old and abandoned by than few porcelain dolls scattered among the into his shirt and pulled out his necklace of their owners. It looked like this all around furniture, the fire reflecting off their glass eyethe crucifix. He grasped it and shut his eyes the house, not an inch empty of these holy balls. Each one was unique and had exquisite tight, saying a prayer in his head. David let artifacts. David continued his walk up the detail put into them. David wondered who the necklace go and continued to walk down path. The fog hovered above the graves, would create such perfect dolls and leave them

5

Welcome to the darklands Adam Bibalo

Proto

This is the place where demons like to play, and where angels start to weep.

Where you can realize your darkest desires, and live out your wildest dreams.

Be prepared for lose control, for this place is nothing but chaos.

We will show you who you really are. We will strip you of all the pretty lies on the surface and uncover the disgusting truth that lies undneath.

This place is not for everyone, only the most disturbed can handle it here.

Trust me, it’ll grow on you.

If you think you’re up to it, join us. If you truly are one of us, you’ll know how to find it.

We’ll be expecting you.

68

rebakah knarr White Poppies A deep, pitch black core Surrounded by a pure veil Soften my harsh fears

Leaves Such thoughtful creatures Restrained by strong and swift winds Shatter on the ground

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Proto

Doors

There were five doors. Each one had a word on it. I read each one of them silently. I knew I had to go. It was the only way. I wanted this all my life. I could choose any one. It was a dream come true to hear those words out of their mouth. I was told to work at it and keep going until it was there. I worked.

Never tell what was told.

Never be what was bold.

Always do what was done.

To walk into a room, a smile on my face. Looking all around, not down. Not worrying about the sound. Sometimes there was no sound. That was the worst.

They could do it fine. They never had to worry about anything. They flew, but did not rise. Never stopped talking to listen. I was there now. I could finally be what they were.

I looked behind me, at the door I came from. It was plain, dusty, old. The foundation was strong. It would keep on living. I looked at each of the other doors. Each one looked like a wooden door, but were covered in paint. Layers upon layers of disguises. They were pleasing to the eye.

I walked forward and opened each door. I saw it all, everything I yearned for. But I saw the ugly too, I saw all. The good, the bad, and the grotesque.

Never tell what was told.

Never be what was bold.

Always do what was done.

I turned around and walked back through the plain, wooden door, its foundation stronger than ever. I think about that moment a lot. But I never wish to go back.

10 8

needle scratches on the vinyl as I sit all alone, When Will It Change? TheSitting in the dark with my eyes on my phone.

The record plays sweet music but my phone shows me something different

By Lucas Hall News articles of shootings and political bumbles, Latch onto calm feelings like big dreery limpets.

V’s of of geese fly over outside the window, And I start to wonder if the dreary weather is some sort of symbol.

Something worse to be coming.

Every generation has had something bad, But now you could get shot in school.

Now isn’t that sad?

The one place you’re supposed to feel welcome and safe, And now I worry about gun control, out of fear of being stopped in my tracks.

By a bullet.

Wait.

Aren’t these supposed to be the best years of my life?

All care free and merry? No, that’s just a lie.

They say it’s the best years, ‘cause ignorance is bliss, But now I’m debating with my father about gun control and shit.

Why must our eyes be opened so long before they should?

And now I know much more than what normal kids would.

But what is a normal kid?

‘Cause we’re all different.

I’m not so different from anyone else, and that’s the problem; ‘Cause I know lots about bad things, so what does that mean?

That means everyone else here is aware of this scene.

The scene we have the privilege to see, Of terrorist attacks and shootings on tv.

And now we’ve got a president who jokes about raping women.

I don’t think I’ve seen that before, why don’t we look at something different?

On the streets we see beggars, that’s always been a thing.

And on reality tv, what do we see?

Privileged white people with drama to spare And most people have seen many of them bare.

We need to talk about this, cause we’re future leaders, But now we see these terrible political figures.

Now how do you think that will influence people?

Let me answer that for you: not in a good way.

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I’m shaking my head, “what will the future bring?”

Cause it seems like nothing’s getting better, so who are we?

Americans, that’s right, in the land of the free.

But jesus, we don’t give people rights because of their sexuality.

Just keep all this in mind as you go about your day.

Yeah, have fun in school, Don’t bring a pistol.

[name here] Your name is one of the first things people know about you You can tell a lot about someone from their name It's something you carry with you everyday and most don’t think twice about it But does your name really describe you?

Who are you? Who you want to be?

I've heard words shouldn’t define you, but this one does Your name is what makes you unique, it’s what people remember you by Or do they remember the actions behind the name?

That’s for you to decide And always,

Sunshine

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Ocean Hakius by Matt Savoy The waves get higher I fire off my last red flare In hopes to be found

Rough white waves crashing Into the hull of my boat I pray I don’t tip

The orange life vest Stands just out of my long reach So I dive to it

13 11

Natasha Matusick - Haikus

Unfamiliar My life, my family, me Indescribable

Technological My school, my home, the whole world Burning in frayed wires

14 2

M AT

The petals blooming On my tall green sunflower Shimmer like the sun

T

Its green stalk is thin Like the twigs at the end of A long oak tree branch

Soaring overhead The crane spreads its long white wings To glide through the wind

Y O V SA 13

He lands in a green Meadow full of white lilies To pick up some sticks

Young Dreams Young Dreams Lucas Hall

Crystalin windows reveal the outside The hills roll and clouds cry, sun sighs, birds fly It’s a beautiful place, but at its full we cannot see.

No, younger is how I wish to be.

I still remember some of my dreams Of sunlight, and piles of leaves.

Oh, was it a dream?

I think fantasy used to have a broken seam, Where life seemed like a movie scene.

I miss those days.

I don’t remember when it stopped; Someone must’ve stitched up the spot Where dreams leaked in, where they now do not.

I’ve tried to undo it, but the weaver’s well taught Yet the weaver left clause in the work they’ve done The thread that they’ve threaded comes loose in the sun.

Color is lighter and tongue comes undone Heart opens up and mind starts to run Closed eyes black, turn to beaches from far Gateways appear where were metal bars.

But then winter follows, warm summer days And mind becomes stuck back in a jumbled up faze Lips become numb and struggle to speak Bold actions leave, and movements become meek Seams close and in nowhere they sleep

14

The Magician

By Proto

And The

The streets were black. Covered with muck and dirt. Feces were dumped on the sides of alleys behind the merchant tents. They were the worst. They nagged and bugged until you either bought from them or ran. Tony liked to avoid them by going through the back alley. It was darker behind the big tudor styles homes. People went there to exchange goods, people, and items of great value. Tony walked through, keeping his head down. He wanted no trouble. He walked down the filthy streets to the Murky bar. He arrived to the broken district. Few buildings still stood. They were destroyed during the plague era and were never repaired. A dim light shone through the cracks of the wood of the bar. He slowly pushed open the doors and saw her. Her name was Lola and she was the reason why Tony wanted to live. She wore a beautiful golden dress and yellow feathers stuck out of her hair. She worked late every night. Tony got done early and went to see her perform every time. He looked around at the bar, with soft candle light and an audience watching Lola. He silently watched her dance on the stage, her intricate movement, each step mattering more than the last. Tony reached in his pocket, hoping for a few coins, but only found a some cards and bandanas. Lola made sure Tony could get into the bar every night, so he could greet her after she finished. He slumped back and watched her all through the night.

Tony walked past the farm, it’s wheat staring back at him like gold. He walked past the farm and towards the gate, it’s gargoyles perched atop the arch warding off any sign of hope. Tony walked back down the alley.

Raindrops fell on the back of his neck as he arrived to his box. It was a brown wooden box, barely being held together. Tony stepped up on it. He

15

Dancer

carefully lifted his hat off and set it in front of him on the street, upside down. The hat had been empty for weeks. He reached deep in his pocket and pulled out the cards. He tried to appeal to anyone, tried to make someone stop and be interested in his game of luck. He tried all day but no one stopped. No one had any money, much less any to give. Tony put his tricks away and left early. He walked back down the alley and to the Murky Bar, where he could see the reason he lived: his golden girl. He pushed open the doors and slumped over to his usual spot. He glanced up on stage, and Lola wasn’t there. Tony got up and walked over to the man in charge. Tony asked where she was, and the only response he got was that she took a break and went to the golden fields to clear her mind.

Tony walked out of the bar, into the dark, gray world. He walked slowly along the alleyway and towards the farm. He passed through a large cement archway, indicating he was leaving the town. There were two giant gargoyles on each pillar, each one’s eyes red with hate. Tony walked to the the farm. And saw a shine in the distance. He walked through the fields of gold to towards the glow. Then he saw waiting in the wheat.

She was dancing in small patch where nothing grew, eyes closed and not a care in the world. Tony walked out of the wheat and towards the fire. Lola snapped open her eyes and saw Tony approaching. She walked towards him and embracing him. She grew a smile and embraced Tony.

Tony looked down at the patch of dirt and saw a small green sprout of something new, something unknown growing from the barren wasteland.

Tony looked up at her and the suddenly everything was different. The clouds rotated enough to let a small beam of light shine through on the two. They danced all through the night.

SAME

by Natasha Matusick Many can’t find the reasons to keep going through the seasons.

Cause it’s all just a tradition to not pay the tuition.

Of the plague that haunts us all when the piece seems to fall.

Inside the life they call a game and to that I say, same.

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Poems of the Eyes of HELL FIRE 17

Jolina Fajawrdo

1: Sam The fire is warm like a glimpse of summer’s heat Which is nice for the middle of a winter with snow.

The storm stopped so that’s pretty sweet, But there’s still a white pillow outside the window That’s sparkling white and blue in the orange sun.

It will continue until the sky turns navy and stars appear in the sky Big sister is fighting with mother right now About us getting a pet.

Mother said last night we could get a cow, I guess that was too good of a bet.

I am surprised when these words come from mother: “Fine! Go outside and get a pet like no other.”

So big sister takes my hand, and we run towards the trees To the woods full of snakes and mice.

I shiver from the heat being washed away by the breeze.

It’s cold like inky, dark ice We walk and we walk until we’re gone in the wood, No clue when we last saw the neighborhood.

Big sister’s still looking for a snake or a frog.

I don’t think she knows that we’re lost.

I turn around and look through the fog, About to ask her where we are in this frost, But there are no sounds, not even a crack, And the only thing I see is an old, little shack.

“Olivia!” I cry with no clue what to do As I come closer to the old, little hut.

I don’t like the inside, it’s darker than blue, And the mean wood gives me a cut.

I don’t like the smell of blood Or how, when it dries, it’s the color of mud.

At that moment, I think of a boy Whose name I can not remember.

Last week he gave me a little toy That was the color of the last burning ember.

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2: Olivia The hissing was the sound that brought me here With my little sister whose heart is gold.

We were looking for snakes or frogs or mice To bring back to our house down the street covered in snow.

The hissing was the sound that brought me here To where I had hoped I’d finally find it, A beautiful snake, the perfect pet, But that was too good to be true.

I should’ve known not to follow the sound Especially when it came from the darkness Of a crumbling shack, deep in the woods, With the smell of death all around.

I should’ve known not to follow the sound Especially when the hissing got louder, And it never stopped for a breath As if it was already dead.

I felt the coldness in the air When I stepped into the shack Causing the wood to creak under my feet, And the hissing to suddenly stop.

I felt the coldness in the air When I crept towards the door, On the floor, tucked away in the corner Where no light or life could reach.

“I’m not scared!”

I thought as the door slowly opened To reveal a giant creature That caused my heart to decide to pound in fear “I’m not scared!”

I thought as I looked right into its eyes To see them engulfed in hellfire As it showed me its legs made of vipers.

Soon there were voices, so many voices, Of bellowing bulls and screeching birds, And a sound that was worse than all other sounds: The sound of the gods screaming in fear.

Soon there were voices, so many voices, And I wanted to tear off my ears, But the voices ceased and drove back into the darkness And took my life along for the ride.

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3: Michael Last winter, a girl who lived down the street Was found in a shack all bloody and cold With her dead, older sister at her feet, And this girl was only seven years old.

I gave her my best toy the week before With many hopes that she would notice me, But she was found on a blood-covered floor.

She no longer spoke like her words were free.

But something eerie happened yesterday.

All she did was she smiled and she stared When I went up to her and uttered, “Hey”, But it caused me to become very scared.

It’s just those eyes I used to admire Were filled with terrifying hellfire.

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4: Rachael This tree used to be so beautiful With its lovely, emerald-green leaves That bloomed pink flowers every spring.

It’s bark used to be so soft, The most comfortable tree there could be When sitting against its stump.

The sun used to look to so pretty As it shined through the nests and leaves.

It shined its light on the little girls Who sat and leaned against the tree.

Since the bark used to be so soft, They always looked so happy With a spark of light in their eyes.

But it's a little past spring And there are no flowers Or gray-winged birds to lay their nests.

The bark used to be so soft, But now it's harder than rocks As it slowly crumbles away.

There are no more leaves on this dying tree And no girls to sit underneath.

The decay started last winter When my oldest daughter was found dead.

And now the bark is no longer soft To comfort the backs of children Or the hearts of those who are broken.

My youngest daughter won’t sit where I am, Underneath this dying tree.

She just stares at me as she stands In front of our lonely, blue house.

But now that the tree isn’t soft, I think she looks so angry With a different kind of spark in her eyes.

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5: Typhoeus I hate the girl whose body I’m in.

Her soul keeps fighting to get out, But I must continue or I’ll never win.

I hate the girl whose body I’m in.

It seems like she has not a single sin And a bunch of horrible friends no doubt.

I hate the girl whose body I’m in.

Her soul keeps fighting to get out.

What’s the worst about this girl is her heart made of gold And that the gods love her way too much.

They’re all angry that I took a move this bold.

What’s the worst about this girl is her heart made of gold, But this is how I’ll win, I was told By my father who took my wings in his clutch.

What’s the worst about this girl is her heart made of gold And that the gods love her way too much.

I’ve never felt annoyed before yesterday When my father almost won the game.

I don’t want him to keep my wings of gray.

I’ve never felt annoyed before yesterday.

The girl almost escaped and led us astray.

The gods sent a boy who I’ll give all the blame.

I’ve never felt annoyed before yesterday When my father almost won the game.

And as I sit here in front of her sky-colored house, I’m beginning to feel so hungry, But I can’t eat or I’ll be as wingless as a mouse.

And as I sit here in front of her sky-colored house In a neck-choking white blouse, I see her tasty mother sitting next to a tree, And as I sit here in front of her sky-colored house, I’m beginning to feel so hungry.

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Don’t Open It

By Matt Savoy

“Jeremiah! I’ve found another one!” I called down the corridor.

“Where are you?” came his response echoing down the bleak hallway.

“In the hall where we found the knight’s chest piece!” I called back. I listened as the sound of his footsteps rang throughout the house. He came running down the grand stairway inside the front door now. I could tell by the distinct sound those thin marble stairs made.

All but the exterior walls and the floors of this house were hollow on the inside, and as a result one could hear the call of another nearly from the far side of the house, despite it being large enough to barely be called a house anymore; many would call it a palace. The acoustics in the house were so resounding that one could not hold a conversation with another at a their daily speaking volume without anyone in the neighboring rooms or halls being able to clearly hear every word.

Jeremiah, his sister, and I moved into this house seven months ago, as both of our parents had passed long ago ago and, by happenstance, we had the same godparents, who also passed recently.

As a result of all this death, however, we found ourselves the sole recipients of the accumulated wealth of all six of them; my parents, Jeremiah’s, and our godparents, for our godparents had no children of their own. This sudden influx of wealth allowed us to move out of the city and into this home, though were it built as normal houses were we never could have afforded it due to its sheer size and grandiose. Thankfully for us, however, this home was filled and constructed with many “oddities”, as the seller put it, by its original owner. Such as the hollow floors and walls, as well as the strange assortment of items that the owner must’ve been collecting and hiding throughout his home, “To save for a later date” as we had decided amongst the three of us.

I found the first of these items in the room which I had taken to be my bedroom. Nearly four months after we moved in I discovered a section of my southern wall which, when pushed on, would pop out and open like a door to reveal a shelf inside the wall. The edge’s of this hidden door were

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so uniformed and flushed that one would never be able to find it without the benefits of luck. The shelf had five shelves in it, all of which were empty except the bottom one, which held a hat. This has was of the type you see in a history book, when learning about the Napoleonic French army. With large swoops on each side folded up towards the top, and a large red feather stuck into the back of it. Shorty after I discovered this, Haley found a similar corridor hidden in the kitchen floor which held a small box of golden utensils; and once we realized there must be many of these collectible items hidden throughout the house, we decided that every Saturday we would all go searching for them, to see who could find the most, and who could find the best things.

Some places which we discovered were empty, like they had already been found or nothing was ever put in them. Whenever one of us found one of these empty hiding places, we would say that person had bad luck for next week’s search.

The knight’s chest piece had been discovered

by Jeremiah’s older sister Haley in this hallway, but the hallway itself had to be discovered as well.

The layout of the home is also very strange, and we had come to the conclusion that there was a place in the home which must’ve been empty space of some sort, as we couldn’t find a way to get there. So we checked all the walls around the area. Normally one would check walls for a hollow pocket, but here we had to check for something solid, something different. We finally found a chunk of wall which seemed to be solid but we were certain was not an exterior wall. So we broke through and took down that part of the wall. Its construction seemed to be such that whoever filled it in was hoping no one would ever get through to the other side for there was a foot of solid stone, followed by several inches of iron bars criss crossed every which way, followed again by more stone, and then a layer of brick, and finally, a typical interior wall filled with insulation. It seemed to be made in layers, like it was reinforced again and again to make it more sturdy. When we finally made our way through the wall we were amazed the find a whole nother hallway which must’ve

at the walls and the cracks in the floor to see if she could find something of her own.

“So what is it?” asked Jeremiah. “What did you find?”

“I’m not entirely sure. It was behind this base moulding board, underneath an extra floorboard which was inside. I thought it was empty at first; it was incredibly difficult to find. Whatever this one is, the person who hid it here was certainly hoping it wouldn’t be findable.”

“Wonderful!” declared Jeremiah. “The less he wanted us to find it, the more special it must be.”

“Not necessarily.” Haley inserted, coming down to sit on the floor next to me and get a closer look. “This one seems like we really weren’t supposed to find it.”

“Oh hogwash.” Jeremiah replied as he joined us on the floor. “It was hidden just like all the other things and they’ve turned out fine so why shouldn’t this one?”

Haley, turning to look at me, “Well, what do you think? Should we open it up, or put it back?”

I looked back and forth between the two of them before we all turned to look at it for a few long moments. It was a simple black box, but one that was clearly intended to keep closed. The entirety of it was wrapped in several chains with a dozen different locks all holding them in place.

There were so many rusted chains and locks that seeing the surface of the box itself was a great hassle. The whole mess seemed to be old; very old; much older than the majority of out finds.

It seemed to give off some sort of aura, one that made us all uncomfortable in the dim and the silence.

“How about this?” I said finally, in a desperate attempt to break the silence. “I’ll bring it to my room and leave it on my dresser for now. We can leave it there and discuss whether or not to open it for the next few days.”

“That sounds like a fair enough compromise, though I highly doubt the notion that I may change my stance on this.” Haley said.

“And I second that!” Jeremiah declared.

“Alright, then I’ll bring this up to my room and then we can retire for the evening.” I told them.

They both nodded and I did as I said. As I

carried the box it seemed to frighten me, I had flashbacks of my parents’ death, and the diseases and injuries I had seen in the crummy streets of the city as a child, and yet, a large part of me still wanted to open it, to know what was inside.

The next few days turned into a few weeks and a month as we struggled to come to a decision as Jeremiah and Haley refused to change their view and I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do. The debate became the biggest piece of our lives and it took up so much time we stopped looking for new items on Saturdays and we rarely left the house. It was dividing us; Jeremiah and Haley were angrier at each other than I had ever seen them, but I was unwilling to give up the box. I didn’t want to open it but I refused to put it back where we found it.

Finally, one night, Haley couldn’t wait any longer for my decision. She decided she would sneak into my room after we had all fallen asleep. She crawled out of bed, slipped on her white slippers, and began making her way to my room. She walked with intense caution and patience and avoided all boards which she knew to be creaky in her best efforts to make no sound, as it would echo through the house and likely wake either Jeremiah or myself. When she finally arrived in my room she found the box. It seemed to freeze her for a moment, as she stood stone still, debating whether it was a good idea to pick it up.

After a moment though, she decided she must; she had to get the damn box out of the way. She walked closer and grabbed the box, with extreme delicacy off my dresser, and as she turned to leave she was frozen with shock and fear.

When she turned around, Jeremiah was standing there in my doorway. He had snuck in, in the same way Haley had, to open the box for himself.

Haley quietly but quickly left my room, closing the door behind her. In the hallway she asked Jeremiah what he was doing.

“I’ve come to open that box.” he whispered.

“And you’re not going to stop me.”

“You’re wrong.” she replied. “I’m putting it back and hiding it deeper than it was before.”

Suddenly Jeremiah reached out and tried to

grab the box from her hands. She turned and started the shuffle away. He followed her in a slow chase, which stressed and horrified them both more than any fast pace action ever had. They both knew they must stay silent so they didn’t wake me.

Haley made her way all the way down to the old hallway before Jeremiah could catch her. He grabbed her shoulder, squeezing tight enough to bruise her and make her squeal a bit. She instantly covered her mouth and they froze to listen if I had woken and left my bed; but I stayed sleeping for now.

“Jeremiah stop being crazy.” Haley whispered intensely. “We need to put this away!”

“No!” he whispered back with equal intensity.

“It must be opened!” He pushed her again and she fell, sending a loud thump echoing throughout the house, waking me from my sleep.

They both knew that I was awake now and they threw away their caution to stay silent. Haley got up and ran down the hall and he chased after her.

He quickly caught up and tackled her, causing her to drop the box and it slid across the floor, the chains carving into the hardwood of the floor.

“Jeremiah stop!” yelled Haley. “Get off of me, please. Just let me put it away. Please Jeremiah! I have to put it away!”

Hearing Haley’s scream alarmed me that something wasn’t right. I looked over and saw that the box was missing from my dresser. “Oh god.

They’re fighting over it now.” I said to myself as I rushed out of bed and got myself dressed. I left my room, hurrying to get to them before anything serious could happen.

“No!” he bellowed back at her. “I’m opening that box and you’re not stopping me!” He grabbed her by the nightgown, digging his fingernails into her chest beneath the gown, and began pulling up her upper body and slamming back down onto the floor. He stayed sitting on her to stop her from escaping.

She tried desperately to push him away and grab at his neck to choke him, but he was too much stronger than her. “Don’t open it.” she pleaded; but it was too late. He continued pounding her into the floor and she hit her head repeatedly

off the wood, cracking her skull until finally, she began bleeding out and went limp in his arms.

For a moment Jeremiah sat there, staring at his sister, blood covering his hands and splattered across her face and white nightgown. He remembered for a moment his sanity, and was horrified at what he had done, but the moment he remembered the box, he absolved himself of his guilt so that he could complete his ultimate goal in life.

He ran over to the box and ran it back to his room, being sure to take the long way to avoid me coming down to where they were.

When I made it to the hallway I was horrified.

I turned the corner to see Haley body, laying bloody under one of the few dim lights in the hall. I ran up to her and grabbed her, trying to shake her awake. “Haley! Haley wake up! How did this happen? Where’s Jeremiah?” I sat next to her, staring into her eyes and wondering what I had done. “I’m the one who found the box. I should’ve known by how it was hidden that it was different. If I hadn’t shown it to them you’d still be alive.” I thought to myself. After wallowing in Haley’s death and my inescapable feelings of guilt for several minutes I remembered that Jeremiah, and the box, were still in the house somewhere.

I gave Haley one last hug and apologized to her before standing. I looked down and my hands and clothes were stained with her blood and I became furious with the thought that Jeremiah may have done this to her. I quickly ran upstairs to check for him in his room.

When I got there I the door was locked so I kicked it open, breaking the door and it’s lock.

Jeremiah was sitting in the middle of the room on the floor. Next to him lay a pair of steel cutters and a pile of broken chains and locks. In front of him the box sat, with its lid open, but hiding the view of what was inside from my sight. Jeremiah’s eyes were wide and unwavering, his face like a stone as he stared into the box. I noticed blood splattered across his chest in a way that could only happen if he were the one who attacked Haley.

In anger I lunged at him, tackling him and pushing him far from the box, knocking it over

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at the walls and the cracks in the floor to see if she could find something of her own.

“So what is it?” asked Jeremiah. “What did you find?”

“I’m not entirely sure. It was behind this base moulding board, underneath an extra floorboard which was inside. I thought it was empty at first; it was incredibly difficult to find. Whatever this one is, the person who hid it here was certainly hoping it wouldn’t be findable.”

“Wonderful!” declared Jeremiah. “The less he wanted us to find it, the more special it must be.”

“Not necessarily.” Haley inserted, coming down to sit on the floor next to me and get a closer look. “This one seems like we really weren’t supposed to find it.”

“Oh hogwash.” Jeremiah replied as he joined us on the floor. “It was hidden just like all the other things and they’ve turned out fine so why shouldn’t this one?”

Haley, turning to look at me, “Well, what do you think? Should we open it up, or put it back?”

I looked back and forth between the two of them before we all turned to look at it for a few long moments. It was a simple black box, but one that was clearly intended to keep closed. The entirety of it was wrapped in several chains with a dozen different locks all holding them in place.

There were so many rusted chains and locks that seeing the surface of the box itself was a great hassle. The whole mess seemed to be old; very old; much older than the majority of out finds.

It seemed to give off some sort of aura, one that made us all uncomfortable in the dim and the silence.

“How about this?” I said finally, in a desperate attempt to break the silence. “I’ll bring it to my room and leave it on my dresser for now. We can leave it there and discuss whether or not to open it for the next few days.”

“That sounds like a fair enough compromise, though I highly doubt the notion that I may change my stance on this.” Haley said.

“And I second that!” Jeremiah declared.

“Alright, then I’ll bring this up to my room and then we can retire for the evening.” I told them.

They both nodded and I did as I said. As I carried the box it seemed to frighten me, I had flashbacks of my parents’ death, and the diseases and injuries I had seen in the crummy streets of the city as a child, and yet, a large part of me still wanted to open it, to know what was inside.

The next few days turned into a few weeks and a month as we struggled to come to a decision as Jeremiah and Haley refused to change their view and I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do. The

25

debate became the biggest piece of our lives and it took up so much time we stopped looking for new items on Saturdays and we rarely left the house. It was dividing us; Jeremiah and Haley were angrier at each other than I had ever seen them, but I was unwilling to give up the box. I didn’t want to open it but I refused to put it back where we found it.

Finally, one night, Haley couldn’t wait any longer for my decision. She decided she would sneak into my room after we had all fallen asleep. She crawled out of bed, slipped on her white slippers, and began making her way to my room. She walked with intense caution and patience and avoided all boards which she knew to be creaky in her best efforts to make no sound, as it would echo through the house and likely wake either Jeremiah or myself. When she finally arrived in my room she found the box. It seemed to freeze her for a moment, as she stood stone still, debating whether it was a good idea to pick it up.

After a moment though, she decided she must; she had to get the damn box out of the way. She walked closer and grabbed the box, with extreme delicacy off my dresser, and as she turned to leave she was frozen with shock and fear.

When she turned around, Jeremiah was standing there in my doorway. He had snuck in, in the same way Haley had, to open the box for himself.

Haley quietly but quickly left my room, closing the door behind her. In the hallway she asked Jeremiah what he was doing.

“I’ve come to open that box.” he whispered.

“And you’re not going to stop me.”

“You’re wrong.” she replied. “I’m putting it back and hiding it deeper than it was before.”

Suddenly Jeremiah reached out and tried to grab the box from her hands. She turned and started the shuffle away. He followed her in a slow chase, which stressed and horrified them both more than any fast pace action ever had. They both knew they must stay silent so they didn’t wake me.

Haley made her way all the way down to the old hallway before Jeremiah could catch her. He grabbed her shoulder, squeezing tight enough to bruise her and make her squeal a bit. She instantly covered her mouth and they froze to listen if I had woken and left my bed; but I stayed sleeping for now.

“Jeremiah stop being crazy.” Haley whispered intensely. “We need to put this away!”

“No!” he whispered back with equal intensity.

“It must be opened!” He pushed her again and she fell, sending a loud thump echoing throughout the house, waking me from my sleep.

They both knew that I was awake now and they

threw away their caution to stay silent. Haley got up and ran down the hall and he chased after her.

He quickly caught up and tackled her, causing her to drop the box and it slid across the floor, the chains carving into the hardwood of the floor.

“Jeremiah stop!” yelled Haley. “Get off of me, please. Just let me put it away. Please Jeremiah! I have to put it away!”

Hearing Haley’s scream alarmed me that something wasn’t right. I looked over and saw that the box was missing from my dresser. “Oh god.

They’re fighting over it now.” I said to myself as I rushed out of bed and got myself dressed. I left my room, hurrying to get to them before anything serious could happen.

“No!” he bellowed back at her. “I’m opening that box and you’re not stopping me!” He grabbed her by the nightgown, digging his fingernails into her chest beneath the gown, and began pulling up her upper body and slamming back down onto the floor. He stayed sitting on her to stop her from escaping.

She tried desperately to push him away and grab at his neck to choke him, but he was too much stronger than her. “Don’t open it.” she pleaded; but it was too late. He continued pounding her into the floor and she hit her head repeatedly off the wood, cracking her skull until finally, she began bleeding out and went limp in his arms.

For a moment Jeremiah sat there, staring at his sister, blood covering his hands and splattered across her face and white nightgown. He remembered for a moment his sanity, and was horrified at what he had done, but the moment he remembered the box, he absolved himself of his guilt so that he could complete his ultimate goal in life.

He ran over to the box and ran it back to his room, being sure to take the long way to avoid me coming down to where they were.

When I made it to the hallway I was horrified.

I turned the corner to see Haley body, laying bloody under one of the few dim lights in the hall. I ran up to her and grabbed her, trying to shake her awake. “Haley! Haley wake up! How did this happen? Where’s Jeremiah?” I sat next to her, staring into her eyes and wondering what I had done. “I’m the one who found the box. I should’ve known by how it was hidden that it was different. If I hadn’t shown it to them you’d still be alive.” I thought to myself. After wallowing in Haley’s death and my inescapable feelings of guilt for several minutes I remembered that Jeremiah, and the box, were still in the house somewhere.

I gave Haley one last hug and apologized to her before standing. I looked down and my hands and

clothes were stained with her blood and I became furious with the thought that Jeremiah may have done this to her. I quickly ran upstairs to check for him in his room.

When I got there I the door was locked so I kicked it open, breaking the door and it’s lock.

Jeremiah was sitting in the middle of the room on the floor. Next to him lay a pair of steel cutters and a pile of broken chains and locks. In front of him the box sat, with its lid open, but hiding the view of what was inside from my sight. Jeremiah’s eyes were wide and unwavering, his face like a stone as he stared into the box. I noticed blood splattered across his chest in a way that could only happen if he were the one who attacked Haley.

In anger I lunged at him, tackling him and pushing him far from the box, knocking it over and closing its lid. I started to choke and yell at him. “Why?! How could you do that to her?! You killed your own sister Jeremiah! And for what, this damn box?! You’re mad!”

He started fighting back, but not to hurt me, his only goal was to get back to the box and open it again. He pushed me to the side and began crawling across the floor back to it.

I jumped on him again and pinned his arms to his back. “What is wrong with you?!” I continued.

“What is so great about this box?! Tell me!”

He threw me off again, slamming me into the wall beside us. He turned to look at me for a moment, his eyes as steady as possible and wide. “I need it.” he said simply, before turning and walking back over to pick up the box.

“No!” I yelled. I got and and grabbed the steel cutters from the floor and I ran over to him.

I slammed them across the back of his head, causing him to fall heavily to the floor, dropping the box next to himself. I knelt down beside him and shook him. “Jeremiah get up. I’m sorry. Please please you have to be okay.

As he lay bleeding on the floor he turned his head to look me dead in the eyes and for a quick moment the steadiness which had controlled him was relinquished as fear rushed across his face.

“Don’t open it.” he said to me, before falling limp, cold in my arms and still looking me straight in the eye.

I dropped him and scurried away in horror.

What had I done? I killed him. Now he and Haley were both dead, and this box started it all.

Jeremiah’s last words echoed through my brain.

The desperation and pain in his voice haunting me. “I have to hide that box away deeper than it was before.” I decided.

I immediately ran the box downstairs to the dark hallway where Haley still lay, in a pool

of blood staining her white nightgown and white slippers. Once whiter than a dove she now lay crimson and purple. I couldn’t bear to look at her.

I made my way over to the hole in the moulding where I first found the box. I pulled out the piece of wood which limited the size of the wall’s cavity, and shoved the box through, deep under the floor behind the wall out of my reach, where hopefully it wouldn’t be found again.

“Haley and Jeremiah,” I thought. “I’ll have to hide them away too.” I ran back upstairs, grabbed Jeremiah’s body and threw him over my shoulder.

He was heavy, and every step down the stairs made him feel heavier and heavier like lead. When I got him to the hallway I decided, “I should put him in one of these rooms attached to the hall; and I’ll put Haley in the other.”

I opened the door, realizing this was the first time I had ever been in either of these rooms. The room was massive. It must’ve been nearly as long as the hallway and thirty feet deep. The walls were painted black and the roof was painted a red color deeper than blood, and all the paint was chipping and peeling. There was one dim light hanging in the middle of the ceiling which was hardly bright enough to illuminate the area around it, let alone even a quarter of this massive room.

However, when I took a second look and saw the floors I was horrified. There were empty clothes everywhere, but they were set up like they were being worn. Upon an even closer look I noticed bones here and there sticking out the ends of sleeves and a few skulls. “The man who owned this house must’ve killed people and stored them here.” I thought. I placed Jeremiah gently on an open space in the floor. His eyes were still staring at me so I closed them; his skin was cold as ice.

After getting him settled I quickly left the room and closed the door behind myself.

I picked up Haley in my arms and crossed the hall to the other room to open the door, hoping this room would be more pleasant. It was, sort of. It was the same massive size but the paint on the walls and the ceiling was white and sky blue, and the light hanging from the ceiling was slightly brighter. I was hesitant to look down at the floor again but I had to. When I looked, the same as in the room across the hall, only the placement of the empty clothes and bones was far more organized. I gently placed Haley in the spot which one would assume was reserved for the next body. I looked at her, seeming so peaceful and innocent, and I felt a great dread rush through my body at the thought that someone as well intentioned as she could die like this. After staring at her body for a while I left, closing the door slowly and gently.

I slumped against the wall and slid down to the

floor, horrified and shocked by the events of the night. Finally, after an hour of being frozen by emotions I returned to my room and tried to sleep.

Over the next two weeks I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that comes when one lives in a home with several deceased bodies, one of which you had killed yourself. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t do anything and I felt myself slip into depression and insanity.

Finally, I decided I must close up the wall so everything could never be found. I rebuilt the wall, first the insulated wall, then the layer of brick, followed by thick heavy stones, followed again by criss crossed iron bars in every which direction, another foot thick layer of stones, and finally, I added a thick layer of steel beams across the wall with drywall over that.

After creating this wall I returned to my room where I locked myself in to write letter explaining what happened and apologizing.

I wrote and rewrote for two days trying to find the words I wanted. Finally, I settled on what to say. It was short, only three words, but it told what I needed to tell. I sealed it in an envelope and placed in on the front porch. I locked the front door and made my way to the roof. Looking out over the countryside I remembered my lost siblings, remembered our searches, remembered the way the box changed us all, and I knew that there was no way for me to return to sanity and forget the box. It’s mysterious effects were still controlling me and it was all I could think about. I needed to stop it, I needed to forever forget about the damn box; so I took one last step forward, plummeting to the ground below, landing feet in front of the envelope on the porch.

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Author Of the Month: Matt Savoy

My name is Matthew Savoy and I am a senior in creative writing. I very much enjoy writing both inside and outside of class. Personally, my preferred style of writing is short stories and some short stories that I have written and submitted to Plume are A Fantastical Twist on the Common Fairytale and Don’t Open It. I have also submitted several poems to plume including multiple haiku’s.

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Napoleon, the Appalooza

Faith Marmor

I am Napoleon, a five-year-old Appaloosa stallion. I lived with a harsh owner until six months ago, he gave me a life that I cannot forget.

“Get up, lazy bum!” He yells at me as he jerks my mane, “It is 3:00 in the morning! I have work to be done!” While I stumble sleepily to my feet and nervously pace around the dirty stall he storms out of the barn.

Soon he returns and, with many angry words about my being a goodfor-nothing and a waste of money, feeds me a small amount of bran and water. He comes with a heavy work harness made for a three-year-old draft horse barely before I finish my scanty meal. My owner yanks me out of my stall, and buckles the harness on me. The harness is too big and heavy for me, a one-and-a-half year old, to work at full ability in, but he does not think of that. After he puts the harness on, puts the bridle on with a sharp bit and hooks me up to the plow. Then he forces me to drag the plow around the field while he walks alongside the plow. He gives me a sharp cut with his whip whenever he feels like I am going slower than I should be going.

By the time 7:00 rolls around I am very weary and gladly welcome the half-hour break that his breakfast gives me. When he is finished eating, I get hooked to the plow and am forced to finish the current field by noon. Promptly at noon he drives me to the barn, puts me in my stall, and gives me another small portion of bran and a little water. I get an hour for rest and then I am put back into the harness. We never go home at night until we have plowed a second field, no matter how late in the evening it gets to be. I get a break from plowing every Saturday, because he drives into town to pick up supplies and to sell any produce that he has. On Sundays, he hooks me to the family carriage and I pull his whole family to town for the weekly church service. This is my life for my first four-and-a-half years day after day, week after week, month after month with no breaks from hard work. In the spring we work at plowing and planting fields. During the summer my owner uses me only to pull the watering apparatus all day long.

The fall finds me hard at work at harvesting the crops. All winter long I am forced to trot in circles to thresh or grind all of the crops grown. All of the hard labor that he forced me to do quickly wore me down. I got a rest when my mistress would visit a friend, or when she had to pick up someone or something from the depot. When I am four ½ years old, my owner realizes that I am too worn out to be of use and therefore worthless to him. He gets me up very early one morning and, before I know it, had me

at a gallop pulling a heavily laden cart. I stay at the gallop for three hours straight, I maintain this crazy pace because whenever I slow he beats me unmercifully until I speed up again. Somewhere along the journey I get a stone in my hoof, but I just have to bear the pain. For fear of what he might do, I cannot slow or make him known of my pain in any way. Finally, I reach his destination; he jerks me to a stop and ties me up tight to a nearby post. Then he unhooks the wagon to put my tack on, when he puts my saddle on he jerks the cinch so tight that I can barely breathe. After the saddle and bridle are on, he leads me to a spot between two other horses and there he ties me to a post that is there. After he ties me up securely, he storms off with the threat of beatings if I make a row or cause trouble.

I only dare to look around me after he is out of sight. All around me, as far I as can see, are rows on rows of horses; some horses are worn out, some are fresh and young, and some are at the pleasant age for horses of three or four. Standing directly to my left is an older Clydesdale horse of about six. In conversing with him I learned that his name was Courageous and that he had changed hands three times already, but that was soon to be four. His first two owners were very kind, but his third owner was very harsh and soon caused laminitis to contract in both hind feet. This lameness caused his owner to bring him to the Horse Fair to try to get some money off him, seeing as how he could not work.

On my right is a young Haflinger pony of two, called Bill. Bill has had a good life for his first two years. He is for sale only because the boy who had ridden him had out-grown him. My only hope for Bill was that he would be spared having as cruel owners as Courageous and I had, seeing as how Bill was a good, trusting little pony.

I stand in the hot sun for around four hours, without any water, before my owner comes back. He brings another man with him, the other man looks very much like a gentleman I think, and they come straight to me. I do not look my best and do not want anyone looking at me because I am very uncomfortable. Still, my owner forces me to stand still while this other man looks all over me, feels my hindquarters, picks up my feet, and looks in my mouth. Finally, the man tells my owner that he wants to see me go through my paces. If asked, I would tell the man that I would after my owner had made me comfortable. The gentleman did not ask me however, so I have to go through all of my paces. With every step the saddle pinches me. I am so hot I can barely stand and am dying of thirst.

A pparently the gentleman is pleased with me because he barters with

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my owner for several minutes before he pulls out a wallet and hands my owner several paper bills. Then he comes over to me, takes my reins from my owner’s hands, and leads me to a stall in a nearby barn. Once there he removes the saddle from my back, takes off the bridle, and gives me plenty of water and delicious food. I spend the rest of the afternoon there enjoying the shade and the cool breeze from the fan in the barn. Unfortunately, no other horses are around for me to converse with easily.

In the early evening, when it is not too hot nor too cold, the gentleman returns to my stall with a halter in his hand. He gently leads me out, picks up my tack off the rack where it lays, and leads me over to a nearby carriage where another horse is standing. He allows me and the other horse, a Lippizaner named Snowy I learned, to get acquainted before he puts me between the shafts of the carriage with Snowy. During the brief time that Snowy and I had to get acquainted, I learned that this gentleman had just bought Snowy also. We are kept at a brisk trot on pleasant country roads. This is a welcome relief from the mad gallop of the morning, yet not too slow to be wearisome. Within half an hour he turns us into a pleasant dirt lane that has large oak trees lining it. A grand house sits glowing in the evening sun at the end of the lane. As we get closer, we see that a large barn is also there.

I see my favorite part of the estate as we reach the house, a huge pasture with many other horses in it.

When we stop four young children (two boys and two girls) come running down the steps. They greet the gentleman with many hugs and joyful shouts as he steps out of the carriage. He hugs and caresses them fondly, then asks if they would like to tend to the horses with him. To my great delight, they all eagerly consent to the proposed plan. Soon I find myself in the barn that I saw earlier with a pleasant meal of warm mash and water. After I finish eating, I find that I have eight, make that ten, hands all rubbing me down and tending to my many open sores. The gentleman takes me to the paddock after they care for me and lets me go in. He shuts and fastens the gate behind me.

In the paddock are ten other horses besides Snowy, whom the gentleman turned in first seeing as how he had no wounds or sores that needed attention, and me. The ten horses in the paddock with us: Merry the Haflinger, Fire the Sorrel, Frisky the Shetland, Justin the Morgan, Golden the Palomino, Art the Paint, Dapple the Percheron, Dusty the Holstein, Hunter the Shire, and Flash the Thoroughbred in the paddock with us. Snowy has Frisky, whom she had previously lived with, introduce us to everyone and then we play tag.

Just when twilight is settling in, the gentleman, whom the children call Daddy, comes back bringing the children and a lady, whom the children call Mommy, to the paddock. All of the horses, except Snowy and me,

crowd to the fence to greet them. Very soon Snowy goes over to the fence, seeing as how the gentleman and the lady are not doing any harm. However, I do not wish the lady to see all of my sores but the gentleman wants her to see especially me. He enters the paddock and comes over to me and after many soft words and coaxing persuades me to come over to the fence where the lady is standing; as she strokes me, she is very careful of all of my wounds. I, on my part, try not to flinch or bite at her when she accidentally brushes up against a very painful part.

All good things must end at some point however, and eventually the gentleman and lady call the children and walk back to the grand house. Then, after a few more mouthfuls of delicious grass, I wish my new friends a good night and then go to sleep.

I get up late the next morning, afraid of receiving a severe beating Almost immediately, however, I remember where I am and that I have nothing to fear. Soon the gentleman comes down and puts a halter on me and leads me to the barn. While I eat, the gentleman tends to my wounds and puts some sort of salve on them that makes them stop hurting.

After he cares for me, he leads me to the front of the house where the lady comes down and looks at me in the daylight.

Until this point I have had no name, my owner calls me Horse and the gentleman calls me his Appaloosa. When the lady comes down she says that I look like a horse fit for a general, then they decide to call me Napoleon, after Napoleon Bonaparte of France. They tell the children the name and decide that they would call me Nappy for short. After a month of careful treatment my wounds have all healed, I pull a light carriage with Snowy for the lady, whom I now call my Mistress; the Gentleman, whom I call Master, uses me as a light pleasure riding horse; the children, whose names are Sally, Ann, Tom, and Jerry, use me to pull their wagons and for riding.

For the past six months my life has been great, the best part was five months ago when I first got to pull Mistress’s carriage right after my wounds had healed. After she went for a short drive, she groomed us herself and gave us many carrots and took care of the bridles herself. I was so happy that she understood what most people do not, those of us who are horses enjoy a good juicy apple or carrot better than sugar.

Master has promised me that he will never sell me but that I will have a home for the rest of my life with their family, wherever that might be.

When he spoke those words to me, I thought that I would die for happiness. It had been my worst fear since he had bought me from my old owner that he would sell me again one day. I was afraid that the one who would buy me would be more cruel than my first owner had been. Since he spoke those wonderful words to me that fear is gone. For the rest of my life I will do my best to serve them and make my gratitude known to them.

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S ar a h

C o l u cc i o

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“Every Part” Jenna Gridley

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