Middle School Admiral's Pen Spring 2016

The Admirals’ Pen,

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A literary and arts magazine, Severn Middle School, 2016

Greetings!

Thank you for reading our fourth annual copy of the Middle School’s literary and arts magazine, The Admirals’ Pen. Inside you will find a selection of writing and artwork from our students. We would like to thank everyone for their submissions, attending our coffee houses, and all the support we received to make this magazine possible. As editors, we learned how to edit more efficiently, take constructive feedback on our writing and become better writers ourselves. Once again, thank you for all your contributions to our magazine. We hope you enjoy reading it!

Sincerely, Annika Jensen, Sam Van Gieson, Emma Campbell, and Annie Selby

The Admirals’ Pen Editors Severn Archives

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Table of Contents Snowflakes Falling, Brooke Griffin Picture, Julia Youssef Picture, 6th Graders Picture, Annie Selby Chapter 47 Bloody Jack Continued, Alex Brenia Picture, Ryan Wahba Picture, Fiona Griesser The Secret Tree, Reese Jackson Picture, Brooke Griffin Picture, Hannah Hartley Tick Tock, Audrey Klepper Picture, Annika Jensen Mrs. Magorka, Luke Sadowski Picture, Sarah Jay Achieving Control, Zarah Meek Picture, Fiona Griesser Picture, Samantha Van Gieson Picture, Belle Clement Picture, Erin Murphy Picture, Sarah Jay Boston, Massachusetts, Emily Giorgio Picture, Riley Condon Picture, Alexa McFall The Man, Misun Lee

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6 7 8 9 10 14 15 16 19 20 21 26 27 31 32 37 38 39 40 41 42 46 47 48

Picture, Ryan Wahba Secret to Flight, Brooke Griffin Picture, Zarah Meek San Juan, Puerto Rico, Daniel Berlin Picture, Annie Selby Huck Finn Scene 6, Madeline Meyer Picture, Ryan Wahba The Day My Life Changed, Annika Jensen Picture, Emily Giorgio The Life of Riley Smith, Emma Campbell Picture, Hannah Hartley Not Just an English Teacher, Arielle Hillock Picture, Cameron Jacobsen Acorn, Brooke Griffin Tick Tock, Collyn Ballentine Trapped, Zarah Meek Picture, Emily Giorgio Hunger Games Review, Robert White Picture, Hannah Hartley Hiring the Handicapped, Emma Carter Picture, Ryan Wahba The Wilted Rose, Regan King Picture, Samantha Van Gieson Picture, Tristan Bullock The Best Teacher in the World, Andrew Campbell Picture, Hannah Hartley A Regular Day in English Class, Daniel Babaloa

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53 54 55 56 59 61 66 67 70 71 74 75 83 84 90 94 97 98 100 101 105 106 110 111 112 117 118

Picture, Belle Clement Picture, Isabelle Benoit The Scarred Man, William Gunhus Picture, Michael Hesford Riptide: An Alternate Ending, Christopher Sixbey Picture, Bella Ingrao Cover Photo Credit, Michael Hesford ’21 Back Cover Photo Credit, Severn School Archives

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122 123 124 128 129 133

Snowflakes Falling

by Brooke Griffin '22 In the light of a street lamp, It glitters and shines like pieces of starlight, descending from the heavens.

The wonder, The beauty, The amazement and discovery.

Remarkable in every way.

A giant's salt shaker, The world his meal.

Though he shakes lightly, He over seasons his food.

God's white winter quilt, Spread over the world.

He envelops All of our individual universes, In a surreal wonderland of pearls.

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by Julia Youssef '21

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(Left to Right) Claire Hill, Jack Castleberry, Riley Condon, Jack Keith Fiona Griesser, T.J Straub, Devin Williams, J.P Meyer Brooke Griffin, Gavin Wicker, Emily Salehi, Faith Bradley, Emily Giorgio, Zachary Roberge, Sarah Jay, Alexa McFall ‘22

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by Annie Selby '21

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Chapter 47 (Bloody Jack Continued)

by Alex Brenia '22 "Is' time now, Jacky," my marine guard mutters. I don't want to leave, but 'is bayonet makes me think twice. I walk on the deck feeling the hot, shameful glare of hundreds o' eyes burnin' holes in me back. I tries to see Jaimy one las' time, but I can' pick out 'is face.

Makes no sense. I gettin' a ceremony-girl and all-and Bliffil, a right fine Middie, gettin' thrown off wi' no' even a single pennywhistle or friend there. Is' right fine cold here, in Boston. After Kingston, it feels like the bloody Arctic. Liam starts playin' a sad, mournful tune, as all the crew look away. I's bein rejected, I am, as a member of this crew.

No cryin' now, Jacky, I thinks to meself. But the whole thing is' jus' too sad, so I turn, letting hot tears fall and walkin' into the hear' o' Boston towards me new life.

"Walk four blocks down and two to the left," grunts the dockhand after I's asked where this school is. "Don't pull no detours, now, or the police'll be after ye." Them Americans talk funny, they do.

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The cold envelopes me like a cloud of smoke, and I's wishin' I had a coat. Reminds me of London, it does, 'cept fer the cold an' the smell o' dead fish and pine tar. Boston's got sum factories, but is' mostly a fishin' town. Loads o' markets and such. Seamen surround meself, cursin' an' swaggarin'. Got a real harbor, Boston does, not jus' the Thames. Two-story houses are all aroun' me framin the cobblestone street. I turn the corner an there i' is, me new school. I' looks big, and frightfully old, too. A tin ship adorns the roof, turn in' about in the wind. Reminds me of the Dolphin, it does. Gatherin' up me wits, I steps up through the door into me new home."

“And you are?" questions the first lady I sees. "Midshipman Jacky Faber, Miss," I says hopefully. "Ah yes, midshipman Jacky Faber. Not exactly a 'man,' now are you?" "No, madam," I says nervously, not knowing what to expect. "Let me show you your dormitory." This school is right fine old, it is. I' smells so clean. No reeks o' sweat er salt. No, this place 'as an unusual scent to it. Smells like the white powder the men up the mizzenmast put on their 'ands before goin' up the ratlines. I see a few other girls, but no' a lot. Me

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"dormitory" is small, but massively clean. "You will live here with one other girl before attending your lessons and earning your meals. She will be here soon," the newly-introduced Mrs. Abbot informs. Jus' as she says that, a girl walks in. "I will leave her to explain things to you."

Turns out her name is Polly. Huge coincidence, I knows. She takes me around, shows me the schedule and all. The classrooms 're all bare, dark places. The sor' o' thing Liam would've told me to avoid back on the Dolphin. Sleepin' on a bed is like sleepin on a pile o' warm mashed potatoes. I hadn't felt the softness of a bed since that Dark Day several years ago. Lessons are awful boring. All geography, sewing, embroidery, languages, and music. Each and every one tryin' to turn us into "proper, useful ladies." Tha's all they think us girls are good for. Bein' good little housewives. Me teachers are dull, all 'kept Mrs. Drossner, my good, I remembered-language arts teacher. Turns out most everyone here knows how to read, while I thought that it would be an advantage. I'm starting to talk like all those fancy toff girls, and I don't like it. Ye-you-get thrashed should-if-you use

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"improper grammar," and all. After being at sea so long, arithmetic is dreadfully dull. The stew for lunch is much better than weavily hardtack, but it all tastes like mud with no one to share it with. I miss Jaimy, and Liam and such. I like to imagine meself back with them, until..."Miss Faber? Miss Faber?" I snaps back up. "Yes, Mistress," I answers. "If you are quite finished with your rest, I should like to see you at the board." "What for?" I says. "When you speak to me, call me Ma'am," she chides. "In this case, it should be 'what for, ma'am.'"

"There's no need to call me Ma'am, Mistress," I retorts. Soon as the words are out of me mouth, I regret sayin' it. "Thats it, to the headmistresses office," she says firmly. The 'eadmistresses office! I's been warned never to get sent there. As I shuffles down the long, cold hallways, I tries to come up with an escape for meself. The 'eadmistress is known to be a real strict lady, and I spies an open door.

Quick as a flash, I sprints out into the daylight. I'm free! Free, but penniless. I goes into an alley to try to think of what to do next.

There's no Rooster Charlie to rescue me in America.

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by Ryan Wahba '20

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by Fiona Griesser '22

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The Secret Tree

by Reese Jackson '22 The Secret Tree written by Natalie Standiford, is a realistic fiction book about the unexpected secrets that can change friendships.

This novel is about 12-year-old Minty and 12-year-old Paz who are best friends. They each have nicknames for each other like Minty Fresh and Pax A. Punch. They are losing their friendship because a new 7th grade girl, Isabelle, became best friends with Paz and is telling Paz to do things that Isabelle thinks are fun, but from Minty's point of view are really rude. Minty is trying to act like she doesn't care, but inside she feels really upset and annoyed. In the meantime, Minty finds this new boy, Raymond, living in the woods. They hang out more and more and become best friends. They discover that they have both been finding secrets in the same tree. They become spy partners to find out who's secret is who's. This story shows that sometimes you should trust your friends and hope for the best.

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There are many instances in the novel where friendship helps Minty to be a good friend, forget about her past, and just keep looking forward. For example, when Minty found a pink envelope on Paz's dresser, it was an invitation to Isabelle's birthday party and she didn't get invited. She was a little upset because this is one more time that Paz is hanging out with Isabelle and can't spend time with her.

Raymond and Minty decide to spy on Isabelle's birthday party and find out more about who's secret is who's (Standiford 170). This shows trusting friendships because she has to face the fact that she was not invited to Isabelle's birthday party but Raymond can have fun with other people too. Also, when Minty found a secret in the secret tree that said, "I am putting a curse on my enemy and it's working," (Standiford 62) the first thing that came to her mind was, "Someone really was putting a curse on Paz! The world seemed to tilt. If Paz could be cursed, anything could be possible," (Standiford 62). She thought this because of all the unfortunate things that have been happening to Paz like when her ankle swelled up, when she got a bad

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stomachache, and when she got a terrible rash. Minty desperately wants to find out who's secret this is because she wants to try to stop them by talking to them. She wants to stop them because Paz is her best friend and she doesn't want Paz to keep getting hurt (Standiford 62).

By the end of the novel the protagonist, Minty, discovers that staying optimistic no matter what allows her to be more appreciative of what she already has. For example, she has friends like Paz and Raymond, and can't feel down about herself when something happens.

The part of the story that demonstrate the strongest sense of trusting friendships, was when the police car was in front of Raymond's house and Minty ran through the woods to ensure he was safe. I would recommend this book because it is really mysterious and suspenseful.

It always keeps you on the edge of your seat and anticipating what happens next. If you want to find out what happened to Raymond, read the book!

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by Hannah Hartley '21

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by Brooke Griffin ‘22

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Tick Tock

by Audrey Klepper ‘21 Clouds enveloped the city, making everything dark and gloomy.

Wind whistled in the air. It was October in 1929 and everything in New York seemed normal to Robert Jones. He was walking down the street to get to his office. Beggar after beggar were asking him for money, which he had quite a lot of, but as usual, he walked away without a second glance. He didn't like the people who didn't have money. They should provide for themselves, like me. I became a successful businessman and I provide for myself. Of course, they would never be able to become as successful as I have. That was what he always thought.

After a few blocks, he saw someone running, followed by more people running. It looked like something was wrong, but Robert decided not to worry about it. He had to get to work. He looked around, taking in the big city with its tall buildings and crowds of people. Even though it was cloudy, it was still a beautiful day. He

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breathed in the cold, crisp air, thinking about what would happen that day. Paperwork, meetings, and money. Robert greeted people that he knew, talking about the cold weather they had been having recently.

He walked a few more blocks before checking his pocket watch. He would be late if he didn't hurry up. A few minutes later, he arrived. He checked his pocket watch again to make sure he was on time. He had seen more people acting strangely around town. People crowded in the banks like their lives depended on it. Men were pushing and shoving each other to get to the front. He needed to know what was wrong.

"Hey Bob," said John, Robert's coworker.

"John, nice to see you."

"You too."

"Do you have any idea what's going on today?"

"Yeah. Stock market's crashing, but I've got to go. See you later." Robert cursed and raced to his office. He looked around the office. Coworkers were panicking. People crowded around the ticker tape yelling, "All the stock prices are falling!" Stocks were selling off.

He grabbed his phone and called his accountant to see if he would be

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affected. After talking, he slowly put the phone down, a look of shock on his face. He had put all of his savings in the stock market. He glanced at the ticker tape with fear in his eyes. Then, the bank called.

Robert paced the room. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't owe the bank all of his money. He would lose everything. Everything he had worked for, his house, his job, his money, all of his money. He didn't know what he would do. When he went home, people from the bank were already there, waiting for him. They wanted money. Robert sold his closet of antiques and his nice suits. He sold his expensive possessions so he could keep his home, but they didn't last forever.

Eventually he lost his house.

A few months later, after everything was taken from him, all Robert had left were the clothes on his back and his pocket watch.

Every day he did the same thing. He wandered the streets begging anyone who passed by for money. He was only given a couple pennies.

He checked his pocket watch a few times, even though he wasn't late for anything. He didn't sleep at all. He only ate scraps of moldy cheese

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and stale bread. His old friends passed by him without a second glance. He would lie down on the ground and stare into nothing.

Robert took out his only possession. His favorite golden pocket watch. He always used it to make sure he wasn't late. He picked up the watch and suddenly felt a surge of anger. He threw the watch as hard as he could at the ground. "I don't need you anymore! I want my old life back! I need money. You won't help me!" He snatched up the now-dented pocket watch and took it to the nearest store. "$100 for the watch," he said to a man at the front.

"That's a lot of money that you are asking for, sir. Let me see the watch." The man looked at the gold watch and then said, "I like it, but it is dented on the back. I will pay $80 for this." The man paid Robert and Robert ran out of the store to go buy some food. He went into a bakery and smelled the bread. Bread that he could finally buy.

He bought a loaf and ate it, savoring every bite.

After getting food, he got himself a nice outfit to wear. He would get a job, find someone to hire him. He squared his shoulders and walked down the street. He could do this. He instinctively reached

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for his watch to check the time. It wasn't there. Robert's shoulders slumped. He looked down the street. There were many people sitting on the ground or holding out their hands for money. They probably wanted jobs too. Where will I find a job? Too many people need jobs.

Someone tapped his shoulder. Robert turned and saw a boy holding out his hands. Robert gave him a handful of money and walked away.

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by Annika Jensen '21

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Mrs. Magorka Luke Sadowski ‘21 When I first met Mrs. Magorka, I thought she was going to be the meanest teacher ever. She was as wise as an owl. She walked over to me and said, "Hello Luke how are you?" I thought to myself how does she already know my name. I have never met her before. I replied, "I am fine." Later that day she told us about her traveling across the world, some things included were when she lived in China for four years. All of her stories about living made me think differently upon the world and little did I know that would help me later in life. The next day classes started and I was shocked to find out that I was in the advanced math group. I walked over to her and said, "Mrs. Magorka, am I supposed to be in the advanced math group?" Yes Luke, you are, why do you ask?" "Well, I have never been in any advanced classes before, and I am afraid that I will not do well," I replied. She instantly smiled and said, "You will do just fine."

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In the next weeks I felt like I was doing well in the class and Mrs. Magorka's words helped me persevere to become better. The next week we took our first test. Before the test I was petrified that I was going to do poorly but she walked over and said, "Take a couple deep breaths and you will be fine." She handed me the test and I felt very calm and controlled. When she gave back the test she had announced that there had been one 100% I thought to myself who could it be and she announced my name. I was ecstatic, I could have run up and down the hallways screaming, "Hooray!" She walked over to me and said, "I knew you could do it." This is when I knew that personal perseverance mattered, and encouragement from a trusted teacher maybe even more so.

The first day back from winter break Mrs. Magorka asked every single student how their vacation was, what they got for Christmas and lots of other things. When someone asked her, she told us that she went to Europe. I asked her, "Where is Europe?" and she brought out a globe

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of the world and showed us Europe. I said, "Isn't Europe a country?"

And she replied, "No it is a continent" "well what is a continent?" I asked. She told the entire class to come to the discussion rug; the discussion rug is where the whole class goes in the morning to talk about the day. She started telling the class the definition of a continent and then all of the continents of the world. After that I felt like what I said was valued instead of passed aside like some of my other teachers did. I knew that Mrs. Magorka was most certainly a special teacher.

It was the middle of the spring and it was raining cats and dogs.

Nobody was really paying attention at school that day. During math class that day we were going over homework and I answered a question. I completely messed it up and my answer was way off.

Everyone was laughing and I felt terrible. Being only in third grade, I started to cry in front of the entire class. I was petrified that I would be made fun of mercilessly but instead Mrs. Magorka told the class to calm down and we moved to the next question. Once the class was

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over she told me to stay after. She asked if I was okay and if I wanted to see the guidance counselor. I said, "no." Even though I was not really sure. Mrs. Magorka showed me how being kind really can make a difference in someone's day.

Over the entire year I learned many things from Mrs. Magorka, like how much perseverance matters, and how being nice when someone else is down makes a real difference. These things have impacted my life and I still try to live by these rules years after. Mrs. Magorka was my favorite teacher not just because she taught me in class everyday.

She saw the good in me when others did not and helped me through everything at school. Overall, 3rd grade was my favorite year because Mrs. Magorka made me recognize not only the value in learning reading math and writing, but how to be a better person.

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by Sarah Jay '22

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Achieving Control Zarah Meek ‘21 Arabel Evans was walking on a perfectly cut lawn. Her sneakers glided unnaturally through the grass. She came along the driveway and noticed a white convertible. It was the white convertible she had always dreamed about owning. She scrambled to the car and got in. She tried to back down the driveway, but the car sped forward and crashed into the mansion. Although Arabel was shaken by this, she once more attempted to back down the driveway. Again, the convertible went forward and crashed into the house. The mansion trembled by the force of the car and a balcony from above the spot where Arabel crashed, started to fall. It was just about to land on the open convertible and crush Arabel and the car, when Arabel snapped awake.

Tears streamed down her face. The car from the dream was not the only thing she was having trouble controlling lately. It seemed her whole life had started to spin out of control. She had nowhere to go

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now that her family was dead. She glanced at the frozen, dull scenery outside the window. Those barren trees had once been so abundant with life. The snow did not have its usual cheer that brought kids running through the house to get outside. Nature was as dead as her parents.

"Mirror," Arabel said softly to the robot she had salvaged from her late neighbor's house.

The robot created a mirror. Arabel was embarrassed by what she saw. Her tears left her eyes swollen and her hair stuck out in all directions. It had been long since she brushed it. There was no point in brushing her hair if no one was going to see her, but she made the robot make a brush anyway so she could clean herself up. She needed to be tough. Her life had been completely normal before the Siberian terrorists created that lethal plague that had killed everyone she knew and loved. She often found herself wishing that she too had died.

She had had a family who took care of her, food, and shelter. Now she had nothing. Arabel constantly had to rely on robbing abandoned houses just to survive. She already had enough on her plate, so the

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self-driving government cars that patrolled towns looking for survivors did not help. She had had too many close calls with them. It was hard to avoid the cars because they could sense body heat. She did not know where the cars would take her, but she imagined it would be some sort of camp quite similar to the internment camps the Japanese Americans were put in in World War II. She dried her tears and walked out of the rotting shed she had taken shelter in. She looked around for government cars. The coast was clear. She hurried out, eager to find some breakfast. Boom! A stocky dark figure came flying towards her and tackled her to the ground.

Arabel let out a shriek of shock. She thought to herself, was this a friendly survivor? If not, then what? If it was, why would he or she tackle her?

A young man peered at Arabel.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry! I didn't know who or what you were. I just heard rustling in the shed. I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," Arabel said, "but next time take a better look at who you're trying to kill."

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He laughed for the first time in weeks and apologized again.

"Finn."

"Arabel."

They shook hands. Finn offered to show Arabel the house he had been living in for the past couple days. He claimed it was bursting with food.

An eerie feeling came over them as they were walking. The same thought popped into their heads. A patrol car. Arabel quickly pulled Finn behind a bush so they could not be seen. The car slowly pulled up 20 yards away from them. It was sensing their presence.

Arabel scooped up some snow and dumped it on them hoping that if she cooled off their bodies enough, the car would sense a false alarm.

"Hey!" Finn protested.

"Chill out," Arabel replied, "I'm trying to cool down our body heat."

Her plan worked. The car rolled away from them. Finn let out a relieved sigh the size of the solar system. Arabel smiled inside, pleased at her own cleverness. The pair got up from their hiding place

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and walked up to a rather large house. Arabel was certain there would be abundant food in there. Before the plague reached England, the rich families were warned to stock up on food. They came to the main entrance.

"C'mon, let's get some food," Finn urged, "I'm starving."

The windows were shattered from previous robbers. Finn gestured for her to come through one of the broken windows, but Arabel came to a sudden stop.

"What's wrong?" Finn asked.

"N-nothing," was the response.

Arabel rushed to the driveway and stopped at a white convertible with its back turned to the house. She opened the car door and got in. The seat automatically adjusted to her back making her as comfortable as possible. It was one of the features she loved so much about this car. Arabel sighed and closed her eyes. She gently pressed her foot on the pedal. It went backwards and around the twisting driveway. She was finally in control.

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by Fiona Griesser ‘22

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by Samantha Van Gieson '21

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by Belle Clement ‘22

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by Erin Murphy '21

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by Sarah Jay ‘22

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Boston, Massachusetts ( Bloody Jack Continued) Emily Giorgio '22 I heard footsteps and some talking. Then, I knew by the highpitched angry voice, the gross smelling perfume, and the light that had just turned on. It was Mrs. Garth; she was coming and fast. All I knew was that I better get in or out of my dorm window. "All I want is to get back to me Jaimy and live how I want to, by the sea with the wind in my face and Jaimy's hand interlocked with mine. Ah sweet, sweet Jaimy," Jacky dreamily said.

"What are you doing up? I asked them, I told the teachers that from the second you walked into this building I knew that you would be a trouble maker. I knew it! You should know better if you want to be up this late then at least play with your dolls. Or make a dress for your doll, or sing it to sleep," Mrs.Garth screamed. At that time while she was lecturing me all I could think about was me Jaimy. Not her nasty voice, or how she dragged me out of the window by my ear, not even how she smelled like the rotten tomatoes from dinner in tonight's mess hall. Or, how all of the girls were calling me names at dinner and

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tellin' me how act like a proper lady. "Me truest 'pologies misses, but me is tired and me promise to not be sneakin' me nose around no more tonight if y'all let me go to sleep," Jacky promised. She let go of me ear and I plopped me self into me kip and drifted off to bed. Thinkin' of Jaimy and how one day, maybe one day he would come and rescue me poor old soul. Oh, Jaimy Oh Jaimy the roses! They look beautiful and you, you smell like the beach. Oh, and the whole place, it smells like the ocean. Well, it wouldn't be complete with out a kiss my sweet little Jacky. Oh Jaimy, you with your charm and well me I'm just a lil' ol' lassie. Yes, but your my lil' lassie. His lips they feel like home, and I feel like I am home.

"Ow! Ow! Please stop ma'am I'll make me self behave I will," Jacky pleaded.

"Too late Jacky you had your chance. This is the second time that you have fallen asleep in my class and it's about time that you get what you deserve. Not to mention how you run in the halls or how you manage to make your doll disappear every time we give you an new one." Mrs. Trestie exclaimed angrily. I can feel the wood in me skin, me burning skin. I can see the wood poking out of me arm and me can't believe me eyes. Me teacher just hit me with a ruler.

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"Now I know that me haven't been here to long, but me senses tellin' me that what you just did ain't right and what you just did hurt very much," Jacky explained.

"I agree, that wasn't very nice especially to me beloved lil' sailor woman," a mysterious voice replied.

"What are ye doin' here? Oh Jaimy, Jaimy," Jacky sighed dreamily.

That, that was the best and longest hug I've proble' ever had in me life and oh did I cry.

"Excuse me what is all of the ruckus about in my fine establishment?

Mrs. Trestie explain to me what all of this is about and now," The dean demanded.

Mrs.Trestie bounced up and exclaimed,"It was her, she, she, she ruined everything. With the sleeping in class and..."

All of a sudden, out of nowhere me Jaimy stands up and explains the whole thing.

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The dean told us, "Come with me, and quick I have work to do and you are making it very hard to do with all of this disturbance."

I see the Boston flag and it smells like trouble, not to mention that me have never been so scared in me's whole sailor life.

The second that we walked out that door and the dean said those three words, you are free I have never felt so alive. Just me and Jaimy alone together. We walk the streets and see the best things. People everywhere yelling, get your fish, and there were so many markets that were selling food.

"So, Jaimy I just have one question. How did you get here?" Jacky curiously asked.

Jaimy replied, "Well that is a whole other story."

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by Riley Condon '22

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by Alexa McFall ‘22

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The Man

by Misun Lee ‘21 The man and woman kissed their kids goodnight and headed out to their new car. It was a sleek black convertible with a tan interior. The man and woman headed out for their date night. As the woman approached the man, he surprised her with a bouquet of red roses. It was late, and the moon reflected off the car’s luminous glaze.

You would think it was a perfect night. A perfect night; just the two of them. But that's where fate comes in. Soon, the sleek black convertible with tan interior is ruined. The black was smashed and the tan was stained with blood from the brown haired woman. Sirens rang in the man’s ears. He glanced at the white sheet that covered his wife.

The man stared at the glossy white hospital wall. Silence. He reached for the bottle of pills on his right side table. He took two to kill the pain. He took three more to kill the memories. The man laid back down on the hospital bed and started to think. The bright blonde

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haired man was thinking about his kids. He was thinking about himself. Then, he was thinking about his wife. The man sat up, got out of bed, grabbed the bottle of pills, and swallowed five more. A week later, the man went home to his kids. He walked through the door, stiff. The little boy and girl ran up to their dad and hugged him. He looked down, and walked into the kitchen. Slowly, he took a seat in the kitchen counter chair and sifted through the mail. Flowers and cards from loved ones made a pile in the trash. The stiff, widower walked upstairs.

In his bedroom, pictures of his kids and wife hung from the walls. The man stared blankly at the picture of the brown haired woman. She had a soft smile and smooth skin. He looked away. Tears welled in the man’s eyes and began streaming down his face. He grabbed the picture and smashed it on the ground. The kids watched from the doorway in fear and confusion. The next day, every picture and belonging of the wife was burned and thrashed. The man laid on

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the couch and dug in his pocket for the bottle of pills. Only three were left so he took them all. In the night, the man tossed and turned.

"Are you sure you can drive sir?" said the valet.

"Yes, I'm fine,” said the man "Maybe we should call a cab,” said the wife.

"No, I'm fine. Besides I don't want to leave the car."

The man woke up. He got in his car and drove to the pharmacy.

It had been two months since the accident. The pharmacists denied the man’s request for more painkillers. He walked out, worried. The man crouched down on the street and covered his head with his arms.

It was two days and the man was going crazy. He paced around the house trying to erase the memories of the accident. The little girl, playing with her dolls, looked up at her dad and smiled. The dad

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looked down with a straight face and walked away. The memories of his dead wife filled his head. He regretted not leaving the car. All that the man could have done to avoid the situation was to not be so selfish. Maybe that was the problem; he was too selfish. He decided to head into the city to look for different pharmacies. Finally, he found one.

"All of these pills, I assure you, will kill any painful memories."

The man nodded. He handed an envelope filled with money to the dealer and walked away.

The man was calm again and continued to purchase more pills.

The more pills the man took, the less humane he acted. Money was going down the drain fast. The man was forced to look for more jobs to support himself because he owed money in several days. The man looked at himself in the mirror. Who was that? His slimming face and dark under eye circles frightened him. What happened to the bright blonde haired man with a loving smile? What happened to the man who loved his wife and kids so much he would die for them? When the deadline is crossed, the man locked himself in his bedroom, gulped

~ Â 51 Â ~ Â

down pills, and fell asleep. When he woke up, he found a note that had been slid under his door. It read: "Bring the money if you want your kids back."

The man arrived, anxious. He fidgeted with his fingers and walked toward his kids, who stood there watching their father intently.

"Where's the money?” said the dealer.

"I don't have it." said the man The dealers looked at each other and started to grab the man.

"Wait! There must be another way to clear the debt."

"Ok, if you walk away without your kids, your debt is paid."

The man stood there. He stared at his kids. All that the man ever wanted was to live happily with his wife and kids. But now he can no longer do that. He never wanted his life to turn out like this.

Deep down, he felt ashamed of the person he had come to be. But the only feeling the man can express is obsession and addiction, not love or selflessness. The man turned his back to his kids, and walked away.

~ 52 ~

by Ryan Wahba '20

~ 53 ~

Secret to Flight

by Brooke Griffin ‘22 Could it be, That the secret to flight, Is just to look with your heart and see, The world in a bird's eyes?

It has nothing to do with physics, Because the secret to a bird's flight, Is just how good your heart's sight, Can see the wings with the feathers, That act as the tethers To this world.

Do you see the powerful beak; The opening for the bird to speak?

Do you hear the caw, Of a great bird in need for a friend to soar with?

Did you hear the pecking saw, Of the great woodpecker's peck?

Through a bird's great preening, Do you see them root out every dirty speck?

Can you imagine the thrill of soaring, The wind rushing with the sound of a hundred lions roaring?

If you can see with a bird's sight, You have now mastered the secret to flight.

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by Zarah Meek '21

~ 55 ~

San Juan, Puerto Rico (An Interlude to Bloody Jack )

by Daniel Berlin '22 Today we are makin port in San Juan. All us sailors are gettin excited to be on land again. The ships' boys were all going to try to get off the ship and walk around town. So, awhiles later, we's arrived in San Juan, I knew that the captain ain't want the ship's boys leaving the ship, but we's don't care. So, as the first group o' sailors got off the boat, I snuck off behind them so they won't notice. It was hot and humid, sweat was dripping down me face. The town was bustling with people, the streets was filled with carts and trade posts. I smelled food like an ocean breeze. I saw a sign that read, "Market" and it pointed left. I decided to go there as there is nothin else to do here. The walk was not that long and when Ise got there, I was greeted by a towns person named Carlos. "Hello there, my name is Carlos. How long will you be on the island?"

"My name is Jacky, I am a sailor from the H.M.S. Dolphin. We're making port here for a couple of days." I respond. He tells me that there is a really good café right down the street and asks if I want to

~ 56 ~

go. I gladly accept the invitation, as I hates that rotten old ship's food.

When we get there, I am greeted by the smell of seafood. I like it. We sit down and the waitress comes over.

"What would you like?" she asks.

"I would like some meat pie?" I tells the waitress.

"We have classic Puerto Rican food, not whatever you said." She replied to me.

"Just get me whatever slop you has layin around!" I tells her angrily.

A little while later, our food comes out of the kitchen and to our table.

She brought over something she said was called a "quesadilla". Also some "chips and queso" which tasted like sea biscuit wit cheese. It was surprisingly good, and was the best lunch I probably has ever had. I handed the waitress a couple of me coins and we headed back out for the streets. As we was walking out I noticed a belt on Juan. In the belt there was a gun and sword. Oh no, he's a pirate. My stomach began to feel queasy and I feels uncomfortable. I tells Juan that I needs to gets back to the ship or else captain will gets mad at me. "Bye, " I tells him nervously.

~ 57 ~

"You don't need to go yet, do you?" he tells to me realizing that I knows that he's a pirate. I am now wondering if his name is even Carlos. Then, I sees him, he pulls his gun out. I runs as fast as my small legs can carries me. I felt something, then I blacked out, I open me eyes. Then, I sees myself, my leg is bleeding, I has bruisin all overs me body, I scream, "I'm bleeding! I’m bleeding! I'm bleeding!" But know one is around. I don't know whats I should do. Then I sees someone in the distance. I again yells, " I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!

Please help me!"

The figure approaches me. Then I realizes that the figure is Carlos. I acts dead so he ain't thinks to shoot me again. I try to quiet my breathing. He hovers over me, and I am scared for my life.

~ 58 ~

by Annie Selby '21

~ 59 ~

Act 2: Scene 6 Huck Finn’s High

Tailin’ Adventures

by Madeleine Meyer ‘20 LIGHTS UP: In front of the Phelp's home, the next day. JIM is inside the cargo box that serves as a shed DOWN LEFT. He sits on a small bench or bed with a chain around his ankle. There is a light outside the box so JIM's shadow can be seen from the AUDIENCE through the fabric scrim. AUNT SALLY, UNCLE SILAS, and HUCK ENTERS through the "doorway" between the two cargo boxes. She carries a purse. SILAS is dressed in his going-to-town clothes. A SHERIFF is to enter and walk DOWN LEFT to arrest JIM. Props are prison vehicle made of cardboard is to be brought on from STAGE RIGHT to pick up JIM and the SHERIFF is to drive and big pliers to be put in the cargobox shed that Jim is inside.

SILAS: (delighted) Ahh! That's the sheriff now!

SHERIFF: (drives in with a prison vehicle) Howdy! I was told I to come an' pick up a slave. Where's the animal at?

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SILAS: Why he's right in this 'ere shed (knocks on wood of shed twice).

HUCK: No! This 'ere slave ain't done nothin' wrong. He lives on this very farm!

(Looks pleadingly at Silas.)

SILAS: (confused by the pleading eye contact replies.) No slave who runs is one uh mine! Huck why you a'lyin?

HUCK: No reason whatsoever, sir. (Defeated) SHERIFF: Well all righty then! Best be off before supper. My wife's makin' meatloaf and I wouldn't wanna miss it!

SILAS: (Opens door to shed where Jim is chained; un-chains him) Here you go, sheriff ! Take the foul runaway away! (Sheriff and Jim exit in the prison vehicle to stage right. Silas and Sally, murmuring, exit stage right).

HUCK: What are we gonna do? Jim's never done anything to hurt me, we just gotta save him! He's never deserted me and I don't intend to desert him!

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TOM: Don't you worry, Huck. I didn't start a robber's gang for nothin'!

I gotta plan! You see, the prison vehicles are built of a metal so strong, not even a bull could bust 'em. But, there is a window on the top and we can pry open 'em bars!

HUCK: I've never done anythin' so risky, but it's Jim we're savin' so it gotta be worth it. After all, I'm goin' to hell anyways, I might-as-well save a soul in the process.

TOM: Alrighty then! We're gonna need some big pliers! I think there are some in the shed that held Jim. Let's get a move-on! (Enters shed and comes out with big pliers.) Ahh! I got 'em. Now we gotta run after that truck!

LIGHTS DOWN. Cargo box and other props are to be removed to STAGE LEFT. A new prop, the prison vehicle made of cardboard, is to be brought on from STAGE RIGHT. Also, fake bushes are to be scattered around the stage. The car will stay still and you will here a running car sound.

SHERIFF: (pretending to steer the truck) La-di-da! Do-pe-doo!

TOM: (Huck and Tom enter stage right, running frantically) There it is! (Whispering, they both duck behind a bush.)

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HUCK: Can we go over the plan one more time? It's no use if we get caught 'cause then we'll be in the same place as Jim. TOM: Fine (annoyed) so we'll run up alongside the cart, don't you worry, it's not goin' to fast. I'll hop up on back of the cart on a bar and pull you up there with me.

Then we'll both climb up on top and start pryin' away. We'll have to be quiet as a mouse 'cause the sheriff's hearin' like a hawk. Then y'all will keep headin' up the river to freedom.

HUCK: Alrighty then! If I don't get it now, I never will so we might-aswell get the ball rollin'. (Huck and Tom run silently to the cart. Tom climbs up onto a bar and helps Huck up. They both crawl up to the top, Tom has the pliers in his hands. Huck whispers for Jim). Jim! JIM: Huck is that you! You've come back to save me?

HUCK: Yes-sir-ee! After everything we've been through I couldn't let you be taken away!

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JIM: Aww gee, Huck! You're the best friend a man could have! But, uh, Huck how'a you gonna get me out'ta here?

HUCK: Well, ole' Tom here's cooked up a plan. We're'a gonna pry open 'em bars and hop right off the truck to the river to freedom!

JIM: Sounds mighty good to me! (Tom and Huck pry open the bars.

Metal twisting sound should be played in the background. Jim is pulled up and all three hop off and run behind a bush).

TOM: Now you two best be off if you wanna get far. It's been nice knowin' you Huck and Jim, and have fun with your grand adventures!

HUCK: Farewell partner in crime! (said in a mocking voice. Huck and Jim run off stage right. Tom briskly walks off stage left).

END OF PLAY

~ 64 ~

by Ryan Wahba ‘20

~ 65 ~

The Day My Life Changed Annika Jensen ‘21 I came home ready to face the wrath of my parents after they saw my report card, but they weren't home. I called for them, but received no reply. Yes! I thought to myself, a free pass! If they come home late they'll be too tired to scold me about my grades! I happily skipped to my room to start my homework. My older brother came into my room with tears in his eyes. Why would he be home? He was normally at college and barely had time to visit. I thought. "What's wrong?" He looked like his entire world was being demolished. He struggled to talk but it finally came out. "W-When mom and dad where coming home from work," He took a deep breathe, "A truck hit them at full speed." I looked up at him; I couldn't believe it. "A-are they okay?" I stuttered. "They where rushed to the hospital immediately but..." He looked up unable to continue. Asking cautiously, "But what?" Hudson gave a look that only I could understand, and shook his head. Sitting in my room I resized I would

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never be scolded by my parents. This was not a free pass, but an unlucky one. I looked over at the family picture on my nightstand. The picture was taken last summer when we took a family trip to Maine. I loved that trip, it was so beautiful there and it was the first time Hudson had been home since the Christmas before. The picture next to it was me when I was born and my dad was holding me. He always told me I was the best thing that ever happened to him, but I would never hear those words again. I would never hear his voice again. As tears started to fall from my eyes Hudson rushed over to me.

I couldn't think, I couldn't move. My parents were my world, sure, sometimes we bickered but I never wanted them killed. What was I going to do without my parents? The last time a saw my mom we were in a fight. It was about the most stupid thing, I wanted to have a sleepover on a school night but she wouldn't let me. "You're the worst parent ever!" I remember screaming. She gave me a sour look and sent me to my room. I was fuming the next couple hours and wasn't allowed out of my room. This morning, before I could apologies, my parents had already left for work. My parents took care of me and

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made sure I was never hurting mentally or physically. Not just me, but my brother too. How was I going to live without them? What was going to happen to our family?

I snapped out of my daze to feel Hudson's arms around me. I snuggled closer into him and felt him slightly shaking. It felt like an hour had passed when I finally looked up. It was hard to look at Hudson, he looked so much like our dad but the same personality as our mom. The same dark brown hair, the bluest eyes, and the softest smile that made you feel like everything would be okay. But it wouldn't be okay. He talked just like our mom, the calm voice made me feel a bit better, but I would never be better. "I'm going to call Aunt Riley and talk to her about what's going to happen." Hudson said softly. I nodded my head and he walked away. I was left sitting in my room with my thoughts.

~ 68 ~

by Emily Giorgio ‘22

~ 69 ~

The Life of Riley Smith

by Emma Campbell ‘21 Beautiful pinks and reds seeped through the front window of Riley Smith's car. The sunset was always her favorite part of the day, especially when she could enjoy it with her son, Henry. Along with the light from the sunset, a little yellow warning sign was lit up on her dashboard. That warning light had been on for a week now, and nothing seemed to be wrong with her car, so she was quite confused as to why it kept blinking. Maybe tomorrow I can run it to an auto shop, she thought. Wait no, Henry has a soccer game tomorrow. I bet I can fit it in after though. He can play on my phone while we wait. Tomorrow she had Henry's soccer game, a dentist appointment, some grocery shopping, and now an auto shop visit. Her mother always called her a "human organizer" because of her constant running around. Aside from her car troubles, Riley had had an average day. While teaching middle schoolers is tiresome no matter what day it is, she still felt accomplished with her way of handling the trouble makers in her

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class. She caught Dylan Sweeny and his brother attempting to sneak into the teacher's lounge, which is quite fortunate considering Mr. Gadely's smoking habit.

Now she waited in her car for the traffic light to change from red to green. Riley always found that specific color red horribly glaring, like the unwavering stare of the devil trying to intimidate you. The light turned green, and Riley pressed on the gas pedal. Her phone buzzed from where it lay on her seat, and she looked down briefly to see if her son had texted her back. He was 9 years old, but she felt he needed a phone for calling and texting her. She began reading the text, when suddenly Riley's concentration was cut short by a blaring horn. She jerked her head up, first looking forward, then realizing the sound was coming from the left side of the car. She turned and saw a grey van coming towards her at an alarming speed, the driver wide eyed and stomping on the brake to slow down. She attempted to step on the gas pedal so the van would hit the tail end instead of the front of the car, but she was too late. Everyone watched in horror as the car collided with Riley's, sending a horrible metal

~ 71 ~

sound throughout the area, followed by squealing tires. Riley's head smacked into the window next to her, hoping Henry wouldn't mind if she was a little late. Then there was nothing except pain.

She awoke in an empty movie theater, unsure of how she got there. She couldn't move her body at all, including her eyes, which were trained on the screen. "The Life of Riley Smith" glowed on the screen, and a slideshow of pictures began to play. Riley playing in her parents' pool, Riley at her first birthday party, Riley and her dog, Mazie. Pictures that she had never seen before were even being shown on the screen. She watched as she grew from a toddler with missing teeth to a reckless teenager to an adult. Her wife, Rebecca, beamed at the camera when they were in college, and Riley started tearing up.

Rebecca and Riley's wedding day, both of them beautifully dressed.

Henry stood tall in his batman costume, smiling his gap toothed smile.

His first day of first grade was spent concentrating on his work. Riley helping him with a problem he couldn't figure out. Riley, Rebecca, and Henry posing for the first soccer game he won. Then, pictures of Rebecca's funeral. Riley was full blown crying now. The photos just

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kept scrolling, getting faster and faster. Finally a video started playing. It was titled, "Side Collision in Rhode Island." She watched as her navy blue BMW started going forward at a green light. Then a van came into view, running the red light; straight towards Riley's car.

Tires squealed, glass flew, and her car was pushed ten feet away from its original point. The screen faded to black as well as her vision. She realized this could be it for her and tried to keep her eyes open but her sight turned black anyway.

Riley opened her eyes again to see Henry holding her hand and her parents staring at her, concerned. She saw them talking, but music was playing somewhere and it was more beautiful than what they were saying. Henry squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back with what strength she had. The music was getting louder, sweetly playing. To fully experience its beauty, she closed her eyes, and her body went slack. The heart monitor let out a long beep as she took her last breath.

~ 73 ~

by Hannah Hartley ‘21

~ 74 ~

Not Just an English Teacher

by Arielle Hillock ‘21 Look at things from a different perspective. Find something positive. Think outside of the box. If you can make it work, then by all means go for it! Take risks. Take pride in what you do. And while you're doing this, don't use "like"!

Those are all lessons that I was very fortunate to be able to take away from my fifth and sixth grade language arts teacher. Not only was she the most admirable, sweet, hilarious, daring, and compassionate teacher I have ever had, and most likely will ever have; she truly changed my life. Whenever she marked my paper with her bright purple pen and forceful cursive writing, I felt like I was being taught by one of the greatest ever imaginable. It wasn't just me, either, who felt this way about her; it was our whole grade. "Who's the favorite teacher?" was a constantly active conversation topic. She was always mine and many others’. From appositives to appreciation, Mrs.

~ 75 ~

Kristen Leach, an unexplainably exquisite person whether you're talking about academics or personal support, leads the polls for anyone’s favorite teacher.

The first day of 5th grade, I walked into her Language Arts classroom with chills running down my spine as if the next two years would be painful. Mrs. Leach had been the vice principal, and in the lower school, some of us were terrified. I walked towards the door, and before I got a chance to step through the door, I was greeted by the most true, authentic smile. The second I walked into the classroom, I knew that Mrs. Leach's language arts class would be what I would look forward to each day. The styles which with she led her classes, a freely open discussion, was most empowering about her class. These discussions not only taught our class to ask themselves deep down inside what they thought, but were a perfect opportunity to notice how other classmates thought about something, whether it was their view on a Scope Magazine discussion, a book that we had just finished, or who we were going to start in fantasy football the upcoming weekend.

Just a little over a month after our 5th grade academic careers had

~ 76 ~

started, I had been talking with other classmates, and totally randomly, it turned out that we all had noticed how much Mrs. Leach's class had changed us.

After Christmas break had ended, we walked into her classroom and expected another Wordly Wise unit, or a book as bad as Farewell to Manzanar, if that's even possible. No. We didn't start another lesson or read another book. We started an open discussion about our break. The problem though, we COULD NOT use the word "like" as a space filling word. The first conversation went like this: "Over Christmas break, I like, didn't really go on a vacation, I just like stayed home and like played video games and like chilled with my family. I guess it was like pretty cool."

"We flew on like a plane to go to Florida and when we got there, we like went to my grandma's house and like made cookies and set up a Christmas tree. It was really cool, like to see all the old ornaments with so much like sentimental value.

Then, every time someone said like, they would immediately take it back and say, "Like wait... NOT LIKE." Mrs. Leach thought

~ 77 ~

this was even worse. By the end of the fifth grade year, we had improved our ability to maintain a discussion for the most part without using "like". Our dialogue transformed into a conversation: "For my Christmas break, I flew to California and met my cousins at the airport. We spent some quality family time together, then in a flash, Christmas Day appeared! By the end of the week, it was time to go home. We were all heart-broken."

Without even using examples of how Mrs. Leach evolved and expanded our writing style and vocabulary, it is clear that by simply removing a simple word, you can tell how our speech had transformed.

This seemed to be a theme throughout my two years with her. No matter what level of speech or writing that someone in the classroom was on on, Mrs. Leach always assisted us in a way that significantly impacted the fashion we wrote.

Killing two birds with one stone, Mrs. Leach was also teaching the class life lessons in whatever we did. Bad days were common, but Mrs. Leach made them better. A student in our class was not very comfortable with diagramming sentences, finding appositives, and

~ 78 ~

identifying prepositional phrases. Our class shared a laugh over this when Mrs. Leach kept calling this student Sam, the name of an eighth grader who had previously graduated. The student responded to it even though it wasn't his name, and actually diagramed the sentence completely correct for the first time. Every time after this when the student was called on, our class, Mrs. Leach included, told him to find his inner-Sam. This whole ordeal taught us that by adding humor to a task that you struggle with, it can change your perspective of the problem and help you to solve it in various ways.

In sixth grade, once a month we would get a shipment of the new edition of Scope Magazine. The shiny cover popped out with bright yellows and oranges and the smell of the warm never-opened magazine stuck out like a sore thumb. The magazine always included a crucial debate essential to what was going on in America at the moment. One debate that I specifically remember included two articles. The first was about football-related brain damage and if America's youth should be allowed to play full contact tackle football.

The article showed a story about a teenager who played football for

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the majority of his life and suffered multiple concussions. However, he did not get assistance from a coach or medical staff member and he kept playing each time. His grades dropped, but it appeared to his family only slightly. The article then showed what happens to the brain when enduring a concussion. It was similar to shaking a bowl of jello; the jello would start to break apart. This teenager then suffered a major concussion in a prime-time high school game, and had to be carted off the field immediately. This concussion was like a powerful closing statement to a court case that was already as strong as a brick wall. There was no going back. The teenage boy was left unconscious on the field and throughout his time at the hospital. He sustained permanent memory loss and would never play football again.

The second article was about how playing football and being part of a team significantly helps America's less privileged youth. This part of the debate presented to our class a side of football that many of us never thought about. If I can remember correctly, this debate used another teenage boy as an example. The boy did not have an ideal family situation at home, and had way too many responsibilities for

~ Â 80 Â ~ Â

someone his age. Like a sponge he soaked up all his stress and emotions and used them as ammunition out on the football field.

Being part of a team taught him how to have close relationships with peers and other adults; Comfort he was not getting at home. As part of the team, this teenager was able to really understand what it's like to have other friends support you and always have your back. The afternoon football practices took his mind off the drama going on with his family and kept him away from the house for a little bit of extra time each day. This showed the positive impact of tackle football.

After reading both arguments, pencils were racing as everyone filled out their chart and waited patiently to discuss what we had read. The class was split evenly over the articles, and as we discussed them, everyone was able to give an honest opinion. Compromises were suggested and although we probably didn't change views of Americans on this topic, the point was that we were able to see a very relevant topic from all perspectives. The fact that Mrs. Leach let us discuss an issue like this was great, but the skills we took away from our conversation were even better.

~ Â 81 Â ~ Â

Mrs. Leach has definitely prepared me for the future, but for the present time too. She taught me many academic skills that I use now and will use later. But mainly, Mrs. Leach has always been there for her students because she not only shares an authentic passion for teaching, but she has a passion for learning from her students. After spending the best two years of my life with Mrs. Leach, she has made me feel like I can conquer whatever gets thrown my way, even if she is not right next door teaching Language Arts.

~ 82 ~

by Cammy Jacobsen ‘22

~ 83 ~

Acorn

by Brooke Griffin ‘22 Just a little thing, On a little tree, Only just now seeing the light.

Growing bigger, Greener, So does the tree.

We are connected.

I am an acorn.

Growing brown, A wind rips through me, And the tree.

I am big now, And the tree is bigger.

There are more of me.

Us. We are connected.

We are the acorns.

Tree is starting to fall, Falling fast asleep.

The hands can't hold us any more, And we fall as well;

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The ground is very hard.

We are no longer connected.

I have left.

Brown giants, Coming and stuffing us in their cheeks.

I am left But others are not as lucky.

They are stripped of their shells, So the giants can have a feast.

But others, Are dropped in holes To be stored away for another time.

We are still not connected.

I am alone.

White powder sprinkles down from the sky, Cold and icy.

I get covered up, And pressure on top increases.

It is very cold.

I am not connected.

I am buried.

Water trickles past me, Pressure lightens on top.

I can see the light.

~ Â 85 Â ~ Â

The giants come back, And I am not so lucky this time.

I am buried in the now green and lush Grassy dirt.

I feel the nutrients of the earth.

I am connected.

I am growing.

I grow up, And up and up!

Oh! I see the light again!

But now, I am no longer an acorn, But the tiniest of trees, With one, single, Perfect leaf on my top.

I feel my roots taking hold.

I am connected.

I am a sapling.

Many leafs now, I am a little brown.

My leaves and roots feed me.

I soon start growing more of me's; But not me as I am now, Me as I was before.

We are all connected.

~ 86 ~

I am a tree.

I have grown quite tall, And the furry giants, Which are no longer giants, Climb up and down my trunk.

They live in my branches, And so do winged creatures.

They break off my fingers And make homes with them.

I can feel the giants taking my me's.

But I have tons, And they need them.

We are all connected.

I am still growing.

Cold winds come back, I start to get tired.

I cannot hold my leaves, Or my me's.

They drop to the ground.

Some are red, yellow, and green, But a lot of them are brown.

The giants only come back at night to sleep, And the winged creatures have gone.

We are no longer connected.

I am asleep.

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Many more sleeps pass, And now I am a giant.

It gets harder for me to wake up again, And again, And my leaves fall off even when I'm awake.

One day, They are all gone.

My branches creak with every wind, And I fear I will fall.

I am barely connected.

I am almost dead.

A stormy night came, And a stinging bolt of forked light strikes my trunk.

I am on the floor of the Earth, And I am most assuredly, Not connected.

I have fallen.

Beginning to hollow out.

Mushrooms grow over me And I feel my last remaining energy drained.

I am glad though, Because I am finally, Really connected.

I am the Earth.

~ 88 ~

Tick Tock

by Collyn Ballentine ‘21 The children gathered and played in the living room. Each time the children stomped and cheered, the floor shook and the paintings swayed a little more. The older children gossiped and played games of and hide and seek. Little Penelope gazed in disbelief. She thought they were too old for those games. Full of her self, Penelope strutted over and told them they were too old to play childish games.

"Your not serious right? Your only 8," Clara chuckled.

"I'm 8 and three quarters, actually." She held her head high.

"I bet you $3 you couldn't even take one scary story!" a boy said.

"I'll take that bet!"

"Quiet everyone," Clara screamed, "I'm telling a story! Anyone going into Grade 5 or younger must leave, asides Penelope."

They protested, but were quickly forced out by the older children. The lights were dimmed to a pitch black. The only light in the room was a

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flashlight that eerily hung under Clara's chin. Everyone in the audience shuttered, except for Penelope.

Clara started the story in an emotionless, low tone of voice, "Once upon a time a young girl walked downstairs on Christmas morning.

The tree teemed with gifts, but the girl loved one the most. The antique china doll had beautiful golden blonde hair, bright blue eyes, translucent skin, and an old blue cloth dress. It came with a wind up box inside it that made it say, come play with me! She adored it.

'Played with it every day after school and with her friends. But, like most children, she grew out of the hobby."

"This isn't even scary! You’re just describing my doll!" cried Penelope.

"Shut up and wait," Clara said, annoyed. Oh Penelope... if you only knew.

"A few years later, the girl was on her way to her bedroom, she heard a familiar voice.

Come play with me!"

She paused for a few seconds, for what felt like hours to let the shock

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settle in. It was almost expected for a moment like this to happen, yet everyone was still shaken and terrified from how well Clara projected the doll's voice.

Clara continued, "Figuring it was just her imagination, she continued to her room and crawled into bed."

Penelope started to feel frightened, but there was no way she would let the other kids know. Nearly fifteen minutes later she heard the same eerie voice that called, “Tick Tock Tick Tock; come and play with me. Tick Tock Tick Tock; or else I'll kill your family. Tick Tock, Tick Tock your mother's in the shower. Tick Tock Tick Tock, just another hour. " Clara paused and allowed the jingle to settle in. Some children's mouth's gaped open, while others held tight to one another. The girl checked her phone, terrified. It was 11:16 pm. She ignored the noises once again and hoped that it was her brother playing a trick on her.

Exactly an hour later at 12:15 she heard the voice again, "Times running out! Come and play!" she peaked through her door and saw her father in bed, but not her mother. She couldn't believe her eyes.

Mortified, she sprinted to her father. She immediately told him what happened. He laughed and told her to go back to sleep and that her

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mom just went to the bathroom and that everything was fine."

"Was it all fine?" a girl said.

"You'll find out," Clara said, smirking, "After her father fell asleep, her mother didn't return. She heard the doll giggle every minute or so.

She thought it was a nightmare, but it was only a living hell.

Again at exactly 1:16 she heard it again, ‘Tick Tock, Tick Tock; come and play with me. Tick Tock Tick Tock; or else I'll kill your family. Tick Tock, Tick Tock; your brother's in the shower. Tick Tock Tick Tock, just another hour.’

She closed her eyes wishing with all of her heart it would stop. She got her wish and drifted to sleep. The next morning she woke up and didn't see her father next to her. She anxiously ran down the stairs, her heart pounding. In the shower lay the cold, lifeless, bodies of her family. She couldn't believe it.

She ran away from the bathroom to the outside of the house, and through the woods until she couldn't run anymore. She remembered how peaceful it felt when she was asleep the night before. She lay

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down and closed her eyes pretending nothing ever happened. Later that day the cops found her dead in the woods. She died of natural causes. To this day the case still hasn't been solved. You should know, Penelope, that she had a baby sister too, who was staying at a daycare facility. Also you don't know your birth parents either. Strange, they left you alone with only a doll... If it was my decision I'd go outside and throw it in the bonfire."

"No way! This is fake! You just trying to scare me with your mumbo jumbo! Plus, that's the only thing I have left of my birth parents."

Penelope shouted trying to mask her fear. Let me tell you from experience, she should've listened and destroyed that doll for good.

"Well, suit yourself," Clara said disappointed," Here's your 3 dollars."

Clara reached into her pocket and brought out the money for her.

Unfortunately, money isn't worth innocent lives. That night the children all went to their bedrooms. Penelope couldn't fall asleep. She tossed and turned until she heard a high-pitched cry and her mouth dropped. She stared at the doll as its mouth opened its hinges.

"Come and play with me."

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Trapped

by Zarah Meek ‘21 I walked into the dim lit bathroom and chose the cleanest stall.

I locked the door behind me. There was a mirror above the toilet. I glanced at my reflection and quickly tucked some escaped strands of hair behind my headband. I better hurry before the food comes out, I thought. I could not stand the thought of my younger sister getting first pick on the tapas that would soon be coming out, for this was my favorite restaurant. The woman in the stall next to me left her stall and washed her hands. As she opened the door to exit the bathroom, my eyes widened at the noise I heard. My stomach began to churn.

What was all the commotion about? The lady screamed and the door slammed shut behind her. What was happening to my family? The question of whether or not my family was safe occupied my mind. I stepped onto the toilet seat as quietly as I could manage. If someone were to enter the bathroom, at least they wouldn't be able to see me.

Wait, who is they? Unanswered questions blossomed in my mind and

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swirled all around me. I began to panic. Just breathe, it will all be okay. But will it? A deafening boom! pierced my ears. A gunshot perhaps? The frightening sounds could now be heard from inside the safety of the bathroom. My phone buzzed. There was an alert of a riot on the same street I was on, in the same restaurant I was in! Hmm, a riot? But why? I could find no other information on the subject. All I could do was pray to God and hope no one would find me. I began to smell smoke. I then looked through the crack of the stall door, and realized that there was smoke creeping into the bathroom from under the bathroom door. "No, no, no, not a fire," I muttered under my breath. My worst fears were coming true over the course of ten minutes. First, a riot broke out and I was trapped in a bathroom. My family could be dead and I would have no idea. Then, a fire started and my only escape was through a door that led into the fire! Tears filled my eyes to the brim and despite my efforts, poured out like the Niagara Falls. Shut up! What if someone hears you?

The bathroom door burst open and I heard a cough. I suddenly stopped crying. It felt like my throat was closing up. I could not make

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a sound even if I tried. Judging by the intruder's shoes, it was a man.

That could only mean one thing. He should not be in here. The man forcefully pushed open the stall doors one by one. The moment I had dreaded since I first heard the ruckus finally came.

In an attempt to open my locked stall, he kicked the door and gave a disappointed grunt when it did not give immediately. He must have picked up on my presence. Please stay strong door! I need you to!

I braced myself for death and closed my eyes.

The door finally gave way to the intruder.

"Liana?" said the man.

"Dad!" I croaked.

"Liana, follow me. I found an exit." He grabbed my arm.

"Wait, where are the others?"

My father looked at me and then shook his head. Tears streamed down his wrinkled face.

"They they…" my father stuttered, "they didn't make it."

All it took was four words for my heart to be ripped out of my chest.

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by Emily Giorgio ‘22

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The Hunger Games: A Book Review

by Robert White '22 The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins is a fiction book that takes place in a twisted future version of North America in two specific places: district 12 and the arena. Katniss Everdeen is a young girl who grows up in horrible conditions where death is normal and she has to hunt to survive from starvation. One day this all changes as her sister gets chosen for the annual Hunger Games. She doesn't want to see her sister go in to the Hunger Games. Being chosen for the Hunger Games inevitably means selection to be tortured and maybe even killed. So she decides to sacrifice herself to take her sister's place.

Finally, she must make alliances with trustworthy tributes and kill her enemies to win first place and get to go home alive. The protagonist's internal dialogue throughout the story eventually helps her to face adversity.

Katniss develops mental strength as the novel progresses as a result of many different obstacles she encounters. One example is when Rue, her only companion at the moment, gets a spear thrown threw her. She immediately kills the boy with the spear out of an outburst of anger. Then later in the book, she feels bad for the boy and instead hates the game makers for turning kids against each other.

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She keeps trying to tell herself it's not her fault and that she had to do it. Another example is when she gives Peeta drugs to fall asleep for the whole day so she can go to the cornucopia and get medicine for Peeta's leg. Katniss says, "A vial this size could knock Peeta out for a full day" (Collins 276). This relates to the theme because she must build up the nerve to disobey Peeta, drug Peeta, and go to the cornucopia with a large possibility of dying. A final example is in the end when the mutations attack and kill Cato. She must tell herself not to save him even though he is a human. She still must stay at the top of the horn or else she will die and so will Peeta.

Katniss has to talk herself through many problems and challenges in her path during the Hunger Games. She uses her thoughts to tackle her fears of killing and loss. Rue's death and her frustration with the game makers put her in a state of perpetual internal conflict. She works through this and uses her actions to move forward and survive. The Hunger Games shows Katniss what it's like to be the prey rather than the hunter as she has been her whole life.

Finally, this book shows that surviving is not just living, but preserving values and your sense of identity.

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by Hannah Hartley ‘21

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Hiring the Handicapped

by Emma Carter ‘20 A disability is defined as "a physical or mental handicap".

"People with disabilities are separate and distinct individuals, not a homogeneous category labeled the disabled", said author Hugh H. McDonough. Many companies across the world have been hesitant about hiring people with handicaps, the reason being they think it could cause problems. The companies are not wrong, there can be problems with hiring people with disorders, yet as long as the hiring company knows of the problems, they can overcome them. It is really shocking how many companies will overlook people with disabilities, while it is actually proven that they are very highly motivated problem solvers and can be a great addition to any company.

People with handicaps should not be left out because they are different. Every year I go to Wisconsin, where my grandmother lives, to spend the summer with her at our family cottage. Where she lives, there is a place called Norman B. Barr Camp. This is a summer camp

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that allows people with little money and or impairments to experience summer camp that otherwise, they may not get to experience. They bring together groups with similarities in location and reasons they cannot go to a regular camp. These kids get to swim, some of them for the first time in their lives, go on hikes, and sleep in real beds. The community comes together as a whole and volunteers to make sure these kids have the best week of their lives. Many of them go to bad schools and live in bad neighborhoods, and may be made fun of because they are different. My family is dear friends with this wonderful woman there named Bridget Brown. She has Down syndrome, but her dream was to become an actress. She never gave up and kept going to audition after audition, being turned down because she was different. How many of you know the movie LOL starring Miley Cyrus? Bridget Brown landed a job as an actress in that movie and has inspired other kids to do the same. Lately she has also been casted in another upcoming movie. Bridget Brown's career has just begun, yet the inspiration for others to do the same started the day she decided to follow her dream and audition.

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Being different is not something to be ashamed of. Disabilities can be used to motivate a person, or challenge someone to think of something in a different perspective. Many people assume things about people with impairments before they get to know the facts. One myth that people assume are the handicapped are only fit for entrylevel jobs, while actually there are people successfully employed at almost all levels in each professional field. Another myth people are quick to assume is that handicapped workers have bad attendance records. The truth is most times people with impairments have as good as or better attendance record than others. Additionally, it is said that people with disabilities have more on-the-job accidents than others. In reality, people with disabilities have a lower rate of accidents than others.

Experiments show that disability-friendly stores will actually get more business from families with one or more handicaps in the family, than regular stores. People without disabilities are more likely to buy from these stores as well. Not one person should be made fun of

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or have different privileges because they are different. Of course the world is not fair, and this is not always the case.

As Severn School students can we try to stop using labels to define people? If you have a disability would you like to be labeled the disabled? People should be labeled by their character traits such as kind, nice, and smart, instead of something you have or were born with. There should never be only one way to describe a person. For some reason, people in general tend to look down on people with disabilities. We need to gain compassion, think about what we are doing. We should never be discriminated because of how we look or act. Now I know you may think this may not relate to you, but you can make a difference. Stand up for our community. We need to educate our community on how people with disabilities are qualified candidates for jobs and should not be seen as different from anyone else in the hiring process. Don't under estimate yourselves. "Each and everyone of you have the power to make a difference."

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by Ryan Wahba ‘20

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The Wilted Rose

by Regan King ‘21 I can't believe that he is leaving. How am I supposed to love a person who is 2,000 miles away? Does he even care what I think? Does he care what happens to us? We have a life together, why would he throw that away for a job? Does he expect me to pack up my life and move to California with him? Just then her phone rang.

Sarah was too sad to pick it up, in fear of it being Tom. It stopped ringing and played a message, "Sarah, my flight leaves in 2 hours, I hope I see you before I go, I love you so much, don't forget that." Sarah hopped out of bed, "Does he think I'm going to be at his beck and call?

Well I'm not". She pulled her black office shoe off her foot and threw it at the phone; the shoe hit the phone and it shattered against the wall so the message would stop playing.

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Tears suddenly sprang out of Sarah's eyes and she fell back on the bed. Sarah lay on her white bed sheets, her tears dropped on the sheets and marked them with circular stains. She drifted off into a deep sleep, a sleep where she couldn't remember what was going on in her life. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Sarah sprang from the bed and checked the peephole...it was Tom. Her heart quickened. Sarah felt tiny beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Cautiously, she opened the door. There stood Tom holding a wilted red rose, the same one he had given to her on their first date so long ago. Sarah had kept that rose in her favorite book, the book she had read countless times. Every time she wanted to read that book again Sarah would see the wilted rose, the same one she saw right now.

She jumped into his arms but instead of feeling his warm embrace, her eyes opened and she was back on the bed with the same white sheets. She ran to the book that she had kept that rose in. She lifted

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the rose from the book and held it, feeling the thorns poke into the creases of her hand. Suddenly her hand felt weak and the book fell to the ground. She looked at the clock. Forty-three minutes until Tom's flight left. She set the rose down, grabbed her phone and car keys and ran out the door.

She started the car, but something held her back, she thought of all the good times they had had. Then Sarah realized something, Tom wasn't worth giving up. She drove as fast as she could, hoping for a chance to see Tom; but it was slipping away like sand through the cracks of her fingers. With thirty-eight minutes until Toms flight left, she passed her favorite restaurant, where she had met Tom. Sarah thought if this was worth it, she thought maybe Tom is at her apartment right now. Little did she know she was not that far off while thinking that.

Then suddenly she was pushed out of her daydream by the loudest noise. A noise that sent a chill down her spine, it was louder then she

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every thought any noise could be. Sarah could hear the sounds of medal bending, headlights smashing, windshields cracking. Then suddenly everything went black. She woke in the car, blood streaming from her forehead. She was unable to free herself, she sat there waiting, praying, that when she was finally free, that she would see Tom's face. When she heard the police sirens, she was relieved. Sarah heard the same noise that she had when it happened, it was fainter but it still had the power to make her body shake. The tearing metal sound belonged to the door, that had just been opened to free her from her prison. She felt like an angel was there to save her.

When she was lifted on to a stretcher to go to the hospital she was dazed. She couldn't see straight, but what she could see was the other car. Tom's car, and Tom slumped over lifeless in the driver seat. And on the dashboard she saw something. Her head hurt as she tried to focus on the object and when she finally did she saw the most beautiful red rose. A wilted red rose.

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by Sam Van Gieson ‘21

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Prisoner 88: A Book Review

by Daniel Berlin '22 "Prisoner 88" by Leah Pileggi, is a historical fiction book about a 10-year-old kid who goes to the Idaho state penitentiary for manslaughter. During his time in prison, he learns to read and write with Margaret, who was in his foster family. He also "worked the hogs" every single day with another inmate named Henry. At the end of the novel, he was pardoned by the governor and moved in with a mean, tough, hardworking foster family. This shows that all the choices you make have repercussions.

Living at the penitentiary, Jake learned that all actions have consequences and that if you work hard you can redeem yourself. Jake had to live on bread and water for three days many times for misbehaving. As seen in the quotation, this makes him rethink his actions. “Then I got it. It was me getting just bread and water for three days. Damn” (Pileggi 39). That made him rethink his actions and realize that they were cruel. In addition, Jake did not enjoy

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working the hogs, it was back-breaking, rigorous work that a 10-yearold should not have to do. Jake reflects that if he didn't commit manslaughter, he wouldn't have had to work the hogs or go to the penitentiary in the first place.

In conclusion, Jake's actions had a negative impact on his life.

It made him realize that you can't do something dark minded without repercussions. When Jake had to check into the penitentiary, it had the biggest impact on the theme because it made him realize that he had to have consequences for his actions. This historical fiction novel appeals to young adults who need to be careful about the decisions they make. Read it to discover the repercussions of Jake’s actions.

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by Tristan Bullock ‘21

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The Best Teacher in the World

by Andrew Campbell ‘21 There are many people who have influenced me in my life.

But one person who stands out is my elementary school teacher, Mrs. Sage. She taught me many important lessons that I carry with me to this day. Mrs. Sage was my first through fifth grade teacher at Chesapeake Montessori School. The most important lesson I learned from her is respect. She taught me to respect other people, the environment, and most importantly myself.

Mrs. Sage was a great teacher and person. She was accepting of different children's personalities, and if you did not understand something, she would stop what she was doing and help you. If you were upset or sad, she actually cared that you were hurting, no matter what was upsetting you. She would take time to comfort you and help you through whatever was going on in your life. If you were having a

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bad day, she would let you skip a lesson, and then find time to teach it to you another day. Mrs. Sage was like a ray of sunshine that would push all of the dark clouds away. I can still remember Mrs. Sage calling everyone over to her round table to teach a lesson. When she called to us, I was always excited to hear her teach the lesson because she made the lessons fun and interesting. I wish that everyone in the world could have had Mrs. Sage as their elementary school teacher.

Mrs. Sage also taught me that respect for other people is important because in order to get respect you must give it. She always told me to "Treat each others with grace and courtesy." She also taught us to respect each other's work by not being disruptive in class. I specifically remember Mrs. Sage saying to me, "You have to respect other people's feelings and property." When I was at Chesapeake Montessori School, I was often distracting to my classmates. I did not understand that I was being disrespectful and

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that I was interrupting their work. If you are disrespectful to others, you might cause them to feel bad about themselves or you. Mrs. Sage believed in the values of truth and justice and taught them as part of everyday classroom activities. One of the most important lessons I learned from Mrs. Sage, who was as wise as an owl, is to respect others.

Mrs. Sage also taught me that respecting the environment is important because the earth is where we live. We cannot survive without our environment. If you take care of the environment, the environment will take care of you. I understood this better when I was older. In fourth and fifth grade, our class took a trip to a camp in Virginia called Sheridan Mountain. Mrs. Sage would tell us to respect nature by caring for the environment in many different ways, including by not littering. Another way she taught me to respect the environment is to recycle. For one of my class projects, I started a

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recycling program at my school, which helped Chesapeake Montessori School become a green school. She also taught me that respecting our school and classroom environment was just as important as the outside environment. At Chesapeake Montessori School, we used materials that were designed to be used with our hands to help us learn. These materials were part of our classroom environment, and Mrs. Sage would always remind us to respect the materials.

Most importantly, Mrs. Sage taught me to respect myself. She taught me that you cannot have respect for others without having respect for yourself first. You must have confidence in who you are as a person, and be willing to take risks and learn from your mistakes. She also taught me that self-respect leads to self discipline, which leads to a successful life. You have to respect yourself enough to believe in your opinions and your ability to succeed in whatever you do. She always

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said that "if you do not respect yourself, then others will not respect you either."

Mrs. Sage helped shape my character as a young man and build the foundation for the person that I am going to be. She taught me lifelong lessons about respect that I will keep in my mind and heart forever. At the time she was my teacher, I wish I would have paid more attention to her lessons and been more gracious and thankful. If I could visit with Mrs. Sage today, I would thank her for all of the life lessons she taught me and for her patience with me.

Also, I would apologize for being disrespectful and misbehaving at times. In my heart, Mrs. Sage is truly the best teacher in the world.

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by Hannah Hartley ‘21

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A Regular Day In English Class

by Daniel Babaloa ‘21 The classroom was chatty and they wrote vigorously as they discussed their ideas. It was a sunny day with just a few grey clouds and a bright blue sky. They were expecting snow over the following week. At the moment, they were discussing medicine and realism; the teacher told the chatty students to quiet down and focus on their work. At the sound of his voice the students immediately stopped their frivolous discussions and transitioned back to their work. The walls of the room were grey, and decorated with paintings and posters of the 1960's. The mobile desks were arranged in two moons facing the board. The sound of fingers taping the keys of keyboards could be heard over the lesson of the class next door. A student asked a question relating to the activity, which was just the right incentive that recreated a chatty atmosphere for the students. Then a student's water bottle fell and coincidentally that was the moment a pair of

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students decide to stop their conversation. The result created an eerie feeling; the student picked up the water bottle and moved back to his work, everything turned quiet. The activity was getting difficult as time moved on and the students desperately looked for ideas to last them till their time limit. After the exertion of taking a quiz, they were tasked with this assignment; They were stressed and were looking forward to relaxing on their four-day weekend excursions to the beach or the slopes.

After writing their first paragraph the students moved on to their second. Their instructor was a tall, middle-aged man, with a white caramel complexion, grey hair, and glasses to boot. At the time he wore a blue shirt with khaki pants and was writing a realistic story and had already written over three hundred words. Questions were asked and conversations started, but they were all subdued in a matter of seconds. Eventually, other students chimed in. It lasted a while as a brown haired kid with braces talked about memories being forcefully taken from someone. They seemed to go off topic while knowing that in reality they were writing a realistic piece. A student

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talked to the teacher and asked if he could write something about an asteroid pushing the moon closer to the Earth. The teacher went into explaining that the purpose of the assignment was to capture the life of the human being. Students questioned his judgment because there were certain things that could happen in reality. The teacher takes off his glasses and said, "Maybe it could happen, but it has not yet. When you write this project you will write about things that have happened and are relatable because that is what realistic fiction is."

An argument rippled through the classroom, students all around complained to the teacher about the possibility of things happening to the world. With a shake of his head the teacher hushed the students. Then a girl with straight hair wrapped into a ponytail asked, "Civilians trying to survive a nuclear war is realistic, it could happen and the nuclear weapons needed to start a nuclear war are at hand." The teacher responded, "Yes, that is true; however this project is to capture something that happens to the people of the world not what has not happened yet. The reader needs to be able to understand." Many of the other students who had been docile during

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the original argument, burst with questions. Most of them wanted a suggestion for their project, the rest wanted clarity on what the teacher meant by "capturing something that happens to the people of the world". The teacher proceeded to silence them once more; he responded to their queries by saying, "Again, to capture something that happens to the people of the world means to present something major that has already happened or something that happens on a regular basis." The teacher then sighed and said, "Now, if you already have a prompt start typing!" The students proceeded with their activity keeping the teachers words in mind.

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by Belle Clement ‘22

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by Ella Iams ‘22

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by Isabelle Benoit ‘21

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The Scarred Man

by William Gunhus ‘21 Jack Dodge walked into his New York home, collapsing on the couch. It had been an exhausting day at work. He solved three cases today, two homicides, and one drug bust. He had only joined the police force a year ago, but he climbed the ranks faster than anyone ever has. He has what his officials call, "a knack". Almost always, he can tell where and when something is happening; he can sometimes even tell when someone will shoot their gun. His partner, Randy, calls it a psychic ability, but it is really just observation and deductive reasoning. Jack has been so absorbed in police work that he rarely has time to spend with his family, and has slowly been losing touch with them. He remembered how much they meant to him when the leader of the drug operation yelled, "You will pay for this! I'll kill your family!”

The man looked like he was of Italian heritage and seemed to be older than normal perps, about late fifties. He had a wrinkled face and

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looked worn from the years of abuse and hardship he had faced. What stuck with Jack the most was the scar across the man’s right eye. Of course he knew that the criminal could not harm anyone as he was locked up, but whenever he closed his eyes he saw that scarred face, grinning maniacally. The image was disturbed when someone jumped on him. It was Tommy, his boy. He was small for his age, but made up for it with his personality. He acted just like his favorite character, Bugs Bunny, so his nickname was Doc. Today was different though.

He seemed outlandish. He turned four today and had a party with all of his pre-school friends. Streamers and popped balloons were strewn across the floor.

"What's up Doc?" Jack asked tiredly, "Mom says dinner's ready in the kitchen, Dad," he said before running off.

Jack slowly got up, aching from the long day of work. He didn't even have to open his eyes, he just followed the spicy scent of chili to the kitchen. When he opened his eyes, his wife, Megan, was looking at

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him sternly. Did I forget to do something? Jack wondered to himself while Tommy recited the Lord's Prayer.

They ate in silence for quite a while, until Jack asked, "So how was your birthday, Doc?" His son grew angry and yelled, "Terrible!

Why weren't you there, Dad? You promised you would come!" Tommy quickly ran upstairs stomping his feet and slamming the door.

It took a moment for Jack to process this and then he realized what he had forgotten. He promised Tommy that he would attend his party. He didn't know what to say. He was barely around his son lately, and now he doesn't even show up to his party? Jack wanted the world to swallow him whole at that moment. He looked at his wife, who was glaring at him with disappointment. She got out of her chair and walked into the living room. Jack needed a drink, but he knew he couldn't. He gave up liquor a year ago when he started the police force.

Before that, he would get drunk almost daily, sometimes not coming home for weeks. He'd call Megan, drunk, and say unspeakable things to her. He didn't even stop when he came home drunk and accidentally hurt Tommy. How terrible am I? I gave up alcohol for my

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job but not my family? His thoughts were broken up by Riley, the family dog, barking like a wild animal. Jack got an idea. He'd make pancakes for Tommy to make it up to him. It was his favorite food and he'd definitely forgive him. Jack put extra effort into the pancakes, trying to shape them like Bugs Bunny. He climbed the stairs and knocked on Tommy's door. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. He decided to open the door himself, quietly because he knew his son would still be asleep. He opened the door and froze in shock. The window was open, curtains flowing like ghosts in the wind. There was no Tommy; only a man with a scar on his right eye, looking back at Jack with a maniacal grin.

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by Michael Hesford ‘21

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Riptide by Kat Falls: An Alternate Ending

by Christopher Sixbey ‘22 Looking from the tinted view port of the skimmer, neither Gemma nor I saw any sign of Drift. It just seemed to have disappeared from the ocean. After nearly an hour of frustration, I decided to dive in and look through the cluttered gyre myself. That seemed to have brought me no luck either. Just after I was about to give up hope of ever finding my parents, I heard the crackling voice of Gemma through my radio, “Ty, you better see this.” What could be more important to look at than finding my parents right now? I thought to myself. I swam up to the view port of the skimmer, only to see Gemma frantically pointing behind me, I whirled around to see a massive, sinking vessel. I looked back at Gemma and saw her mouthing, “Drift.” I swam as fast as my legs could have ever pushed me. It seemed like years went by as I kicked, and halfway there, the small

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part of my brain that was still sane screamed, Why didn’t I take the sub?! When I finally arrived at the vessel, I saw painted on the side; Drift. I knew that my parents and many other surfs would be onboard, probably in chaos. When I swam around the side of Drift, I saw the exit port chained, and two very large holes punched in to the right of the exit, great; now the vessel was sinking and there was no way out.

Knowing that it wouldn’t be long before the Drift would sink completely and everyone aboard would be dead, including my parents.

I swam down to the heaps of trash; maybe now these useless trash piles could prove to be of use to me. I saw all sorts of things while digging through the pile of trash, picture frames, trophies, even old air conditioners, but nothing close to what I was looking for.

After ten minutes of constant digging, I found what I was looking for: chain cutters. They were rusty, but this was the best I could find right now. As I kicked my way back up to Drift, I saw that it was half way submerged. It was hard, but I finally cut the chain and pulled it away, swimming into the air lock, I heard fists banging on the metal door, it sounded like someone was banging a trash can with

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a metal baseball bat...times ten. As the water in the air lock was draining, I prepared my mind for what I could possibly see in there. As soon as I opened the door that was locked from the inside, surfs poured out into the airlock and waited to be told what to do since they didn’t have suits like I did.

They sat at the door and waited as I rushed into the main room. After searching for a couple of minutes, my parents came into view. They were helping surfs escape the now flooding room. When they saw me, they both hugged me and told me that they would be right behind me as I guided the surfs out of the Drift. Gemma’s voice buzzed on the radio, she said that she was waiting outside on the surface to help the surfs when they surfaced.

Groups of people now were exiting the vessel and swimming up. I looked back for my parents, who were now heading this way. But right before they could reach the airlock, a metal beam fell and blocked their path. “Ty!” Pa yelled, “You have to go, we’ll find another way out.” I knew that they couldn’t, so I refused to leave them, I wasn’t going to come this far for my parents just to let them die. “No! I

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won’t leave you!” I yelled. “Ty...we love you” They said as a surf grabbed me and pulled me to the exit. I fought him as tears fell down my cheek, it was the first time I cried in years, but I didn’t care. Ma and Pa both looked back at me, smiling warmly; it was the last time I ever saw my parents. Just as we came out of the Drift, it sank into the depths.

When I told Gemma of the news, she was crying all the way back to the Trade Station. When I told Zoe, she wouldn’t stop crying for two days. That night, I was thinking what Ma and Pa were doing when I last saw them. They died saving others, and I bet they were proud of that. I looked at the starry night above me, knowing that Ma and Pa were now looking down at me. Then I looked down at the ocean, the ocean had taken my parents, but for some reason, I forgave it. The stars were now lighting up the water below, and I sat for the rest of the night, wondering why some would call us Dark Life.

~ 135 ~

by Bella Ingrao ‘21

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THE YEAR OF THE ADMIRALS ~ 137 ~