L I N G U A
F R A N C A 2013-2014
Lingua Franca 2013-2014
Meaning “Bridge Language”, Lingua Franca is the common ground between writing and artwork.
Mission Statement: Lingua Franca is a literary-art magazine independently produced by Sacred
Heart High School’s students. We as students believe that this process prompts students to think and re-think as they create and revise. Ultimately, we believe this strengthens students’ relationships to the Sacred Heart community and the larger world.
Theme: We chose gradation as a theme because we felt it best defied the stereotypes which others
thrust upon a Catholic high school. Society likes to put things in boxes, categorize, anthologize, and not see the shades, hues, drafts, degrees, tones, and stages of growth that lay beyond the labels. There is more to Sacred Heart than meets the eye, and we wanted to expose the sheer beauty of Sacred Heart School by celebrating the artists within these deceptively simplistic walls. Our theme represents our story: each gradation allows us to feel more passionately and act more purposefully. Michael Khalil, Class of ‘16, suggested the theme gradation. Sacred Heart High School 399 Bishops Highway Kingston, MA 02364 781.585.7511. www.sacredheartkingston.com Cover: “Powerhouse” by Shannon Padgett, ‘15
Back Cover: “Fragility” by Joy Moriarty, ‘14
Table of Contents Page
Tigers in Cages
Emma Cubellis
P. 1
The Fall
Ariana Viscariello
P. 3
Never Let You Down
Kory Turner
P. 4
And the Lord Said...
Austin Haughton
P. 5
Release
Molly Presutti
P. 7
Winter
Robert Norris
P. 8
The Scarlet Letter Epilogue
Henry Eshbaugh
P.9
I Don’t Know How to Make...
Thao Tran
P. 11
The Truth
Kathryn Clifford
P. 12
Axes of Steel
Joshua Towner
P. 13
Lola
Hannah Wisniewski
P. 14
Bane of the Council
Evan Coletti
P. 15
Lazarus Rising
Antonia Pimental
P. 19
Purpose
Kieran Kelleher
P. 20
Spring Storm
Noel Maguire
P. 21
The Importance of Words
Frederica Pinetti
P. 22
Harvest
Katelyn Foley
P. 23
Rubik’s Cube
Kory Turner
P. 24
Relax
Hannah St. Don
P. 25
Take a Break
Julia Fratus
P. 26
Lift, Tuck, and Tighten
Jenn Uribe
P. 27
Perfectly Imperfect
McKenzie Ray
P. 28
Mumbles Menino
Caroline Thomas
P. 29
Unwelcome Guest
Antonia Pimental
P. 30
Broken
Alyssa Li Brown
P. 31
Process
Andriana DiMaria
P. 32
On a Park Bench
Jennifer Habeeb
P. 33
Out with a Bang
Heidi Banden
P. 35
Artist Olivia Columbo Frederica Pinetti Peyton Fleming Kathryn Clifford Austin Haughton Julia Pomella Isabelle Handschin Mia Camellio Olivia Colombo Xue Li Yanni Pappas Ian Coletti Rachel Kelliher Caroline Imparato Kristen Kline Jin Muyung Olivia Colombo Dehua Chen Hannah Blundell Matthew Johnson Nicoletta Zinni Casey Campbell Shannon Padgett Caroline Imparato Kelly Rathje Kathryn Clifford Casey Campbell Trent Garzoni Austin Haughton Joe Pasquale Emily Brouillard Shannon Padgett Matthew Johnson Matthew Johnson Ben Bianco
Page P. 1 P. 3 P. 5 P. 7 P. 8 P. 8 P. 10 P. 11 P. 12 P. 13 P. 13 P. 14 P. 15 P. 16 P. 17 P. 18 P. 19 P. 20 P. 21 P. 22 P. 23 P. 24 P. 25 P. 20 P. 27 P. 28 P. 29 P. 30 P. 31 P. 31 P. 32 P. 34 P. 35 P. 35 P. 35
Artwork
Author
Literature
Title
Title Elegant Synchronized Wavy Bones Blooming in Pink Winter Winter’s Bloom Grin and Bear Amy Jo Rock, Paper, Scissors Downtrodden Aspire Bound Footsteps Swirly Sky Tunnel Vision Wrapped Enclosed Warm Glow Sunset, Sunrise A Day at the Beach Alive Tug-of-War Cocoa Break Reminiscing Marilyn or Norma... Blue To the Left Liquid Metal Stained Glass Reality Cracked Dropped Park Elapse Shaded Touch Memento Mori
Tigers in Cages
ONE “Elegant“ by Olivia Colombo, ‘19
If you were to trot down that alley way and turn into the cocooned storefront where a tiger supposedly resided you would have found a girl. She was no woman; she was a girl. But you, however, did not walk down that alley with a lit cigarette pinched between your teeth. You did not walk into the small storefront, nor did you find the raggedy girl. A shame it is that you did not do so, for she would have been the most exquisite creature you saw in your entire life. But you did not witness her; I did. It was around four in the morning when I had a hankering for a good glass of whiskey. Thus, I went the only place I knew, the most well-known speakeasy on this side of Manhattan, “The Colosseum”. It was run by a man and his wife, one of whom I had never seen before. You could always pick the husband out of the swamp of drunken people that inhabited the saloon each night. He always had on gold rings, and jet-black suits. His hair was rather elaborately swept back every night, and he wore sunglasses even when inside. His wife was never on his arm, but sometimes if you looked closely enough you could catch a glimpse of a woman through the blinds at the back of the small bar. Flashes of jewels and glimpses of hair that flowed down her back like a river, but never her face. I was sure she watched though, even when you could not see her I had a feeling she could see you. When I strolled down the alley that night I had expected to see the usual array of drunken women giggling so loudly they could wake God. They were not there this time. The alley was empty of people, and light. I tapped on the small window of the Colosseum where they verified your identity and motives. The window did not slide open immediately as it
usually did; instead it stayed shut, and the flyer advertising the “tiger” inside crinkled and wavered in the breeze. My body instinctively knew something was wrong, but all my brain could think about was how wonderful a glass of rough whiskey would feel cascading down my throat. I drummed on the window several more times, and still it remained shut. To my luck, the door next to me was ajar. The waiting room for those who were accepted to come in but had not paid yet was unfilled. A few pearls lied solitary at my feet. I kicked at one with the toe of my boot, and it created a hollow sound as it clinked against the wooden wall. At this point I had completely forgotten about my unquenchable urge for alcohol. As I stood with my hands in the pockets of my work pants, and a stub of a cigarette held between my teeth pondering who those pearls belonged to, I noticed a sound wafting in from behind the thin door that separated me and the bar. I knocked lightly, “Are you out of business or something?” “Undecided,” a shrill broken voice responded. “Well can you decide? I have this awful hankering for whiskey and yours is the only one I can stand to drink.” “Please leave,” the voice behind the wall pleaded. “But I’m a loyal customer I come here every night. My name is Jack, surely you know me. I only drink hard liquor.” The voice spoke again, “Hate to break this to you, Jack, but there are dozens of people who only drink hard liquor.” “I know that, but I am here almost every night. I stand by the blinds. I watch for that
“Yes.” “Do you have a real tiger here?” I switched the topic. “She is the tiger,” I could still only hear her voice, she was behind the bar clinking glasses and ice. “What do you mean?” I asked quizzically. “We advertise as a social place to come witness a real tiger so we don’t get caught by the pigs, you follow?” Her voice was sharp and annoyed. “Yes.” “And so people come in here, knowing they aren’t going to see a tiger but yet they are still drawn to that idea. Obviously though, they come for the alcohol. But you see,” she stood up,” When they arrive the first thing they see are those blinds. The woman moves. They see a sparkle, and are drawn like moths to a flame. They want to see what lies behind the covered window. So, like you, they watch. They come back every night hoping to see the woman behind the blinds. In that way she is the tiger, she is what draws them in all in.” She could have been right, but I spent no time analyzing her analogy. I could only look at her appearance. She was beautiful, but not in the conventional way. Her hair was long, black, and smoothly curled. It flowed down her back, coming to halt just above her hips. She wore a gold headband around her forehead that dipped jewels into her eyes. She wore a scowl upon her lips that made me inch back in my chair. She looked vicious, but I could tell that her disguising look was not her disposition. The upper part of her golden gown was torn, and fell down exposing the top of her breast. She looked worn, tired, abused by time and hands. I didn’t feel safe with her so close to me.
She pushed the glass of whiskey towards me, and looked me up and down. I took several gulps in a matter of seconds. “Poor tigers,” she mumbled. “Pardon?” “Well the tigers, they spend their whole lives in a cage. Stuck behind bars that they can’t ever escape from but yet they fight. They claw and roar. They fight when they know they have no chance. Then they get abused. Their owner, the one person that is supposed to love them, abuses them. And they don’t know what they’re doing wrong or why this is happening to them. Then once the abuse is done they are locked back into their cage, and the blinds are drawn on them. They don’t know anything else. And yet people still wonder why they go rogue. People still call the tigers vicious and cruel, but never the people that provoked them. So they snap one day, and they kill the abuser. They kill the person that made a commitment to them, they kill the person who did them wrong. It’s self-defense not a crime to kill someone if they abuse you. Why is any different for a poor lonesome tiger who’s been put inside a cage her whole life?” I downed the rest of my drink. She wouldn’t look at me, and I knew she wasn’t talking to me. She was talking to herself, reassuring herself even. She pulled a rag from behind bar, swept it over the counter and pulled my drink away. As I watched her fingers curl around the cup I noticed fresh blood underneath her fingernails. When I looked up I saw stripes in her eyes. The tiger had gone rogue.
-Emma Cubellis ‘17
TWO
woman,” I paused and scratched my head, “Please just one glass.” From behind a small window in the dark waiting room a saw a flutter of sparkles, then heard the sharp crack of the door. It opened to reveal the empty saloon. It was lit in a cooper yellow light, which glinted off the clean glasses lined against the right wall and into my eyes. From my peripheral vision I could see barstools lying sideways on black floor in a pool of liquor. I turned my head to get a closer look, as I narrowed my eyes I couldn’t help but see that there were droplets of crimson blood in and around the liquor that surrounded the barstool. The sight looked like a crime scene, with the barstool posing as a person, and the liquor playing the blood. A shiver ran down my back causing my hairs to stand on end. As I walked by the scene I dipped the toe of my boot in the liquor. “Shame,” I spoke, “Waste of good liquor. May I ask why there is blood?” “It was time,” the voice which I could now identify as a woman said from behind me. I still had not seen her. “Yeah,” I jested, “Time for my whiskey!” As soon I said it I wanted to take it back. My joke attempt was awful, and quite frankly made no sense. She shut and bolted the door, “Sit down on what’s left of the place.” I chuckled, simply because I was uncomfortable, nothing was funny. She ducked behind the bar, and I once again did not see her face. I subconsciously wondered where the woman behind the blinds was tonight. “Do you know her?” I pondered aloud. “Who?” “The woman behind the blinds.”
THREE
“Synchronized” by Frederica Pinetti ‘14
The Fall I could tell as if it was not the same Nothing I said could make you see it We were failing; just losing at this game Could I tell the truth, would there be a fit? Fog all around us; clearly, I couldn't see And then it happened, the point at which I broke Trust was gone; you had been lying to me Without you what would I do each day I woke? I've heard it said, that if it was really love You would be honest with her, tell her Your weakness; even when push came to shove He thought he lost her but she had a cure If it was true, she'd love him through it all We need one another, I can't watch him fall
-Ariana Viscariello ‘14
Get up to get down It’s all just a stop in the concurrent function. You don’t need to act the same to know that you’re a part of the function. People say I’m sluggish. So what. I claim, it’s rubbish. But what I’m saying is true. And it has already happened to you.
Never Let You Down I. Serve my soul to the lost souls. That is why I am soulful. I am not just a boy who wishful and hopeful. I see people, of the streets full who are forbid of being equal. All of the, music, religion. They’re ALL illegal. And this fall gets me mental. That is why I am instrumental. And I want you, the customer, to praise and raise in my musical maze for days. And these words will not be frowned, but found. Because I WILL NEVER LET YOU DOWN! If I, was on the Highest cliff. On the Highest riff. And you fell and your life was in my grip. I would not let you slip. Because
I will NEVER NEVER EVER LET YOU
DOWN!
-Kory Turner ‘17
FOUR
And the Lord Said
“Wavy Bones” by Peyton Fleming ‘15
FIVE
Characters: Man, Voice Setting: Unknown darkness House lights fade to black, curtains drawn slightly and a man steps out, theater remains completely dark. Curtains reset. A single man stands center stage, but it's far too dark to see any facial features. Man: Hello? (silence) Man: Hellloooooooooo? (brief pause) This sucks. (begins wandering around back and forth slowly between stage right and left) Where the hell am I? I can't see a damn thing. Helloooooooooooooo? Can anybody here me? Is someone out there? (A voice is heard from an indiscernible location.) Voice: (quickly) Hello? Hello! Yes I am here. Man: (shocked) Ah! Uh..where? Voice: (Cheerily) Here! I am here! Man: Ok but where is here? Voice: You mean there? Man: No, here! Voice: There? Man: (agitated) Just...where are you?! Voice: I told you I'm here! Man: Christ almighty... ok, how about this: where am I? Voice: Don't you know? You're here, too, you dolt. Man: (angrily) OK BUT WHERE IS HERE EXACTLY? Voice: Well how should I know? If you of all people have no idea then I couldn't even begin to guess. Man: How about this then: where are you in relation to me? Voice: Why do you want to know?
Man: So I know which direction to punch in so I can sock you one, smart-ass. Voice: My, you're a rather wrathful person aren't you? Well my location doesn't matter, just to let you know. I'm just here cause you wanted some help. Besides, I don't have anywhere else to be. Man: (tiresome) Alright, fine, I get it. I don't care where you are but as long as I can hear you, could you at least answer a couple questions for me? Voice: Yeah sure, but hang on, I got another caller on line 2. (The Man is "put on hold" and elevator-esque music can be heard as if played through a phone.) Man: What the...(in disbelief) You have got to be kidding me...uggh. Man taps his foot as a few more seconds pass by, music still playing Man: Ok guy, if you don't cut the crap in the next 5 seconds, I swear toMusic comes to an abrupt end, a record scratch is heard Voice: Woah ok caller number 1 you're back on the line. After all that deliberation, have you reached an answer for the million dollar question? Man: I thought I was the one asking the questions. Voice: You are, please state your answer in the form of a question. Man: Fine I'll play your stupid little game. So, who are you?
As for what you do here though is entirely up to you. Man: How so? What can I do when there's nothing TO DO! Voice: Isn't it obvious? (silence) Man: Please enlighten me. Voice: (laughs) You really do have a great sense of humor, huh? Haha, well, when there is nothing else to do, make something! Man: Out of what, nothing? I don't exactly have a workbench on hand, and even if I did have the tools to make something I sure as hell couldn't see them in this darkness. Voice: Well why don't you brighten things up a bit and install some lights? Man: Using those tools I don't have right? Voice: (chuckles slyly) You still don't get it do you? You already have all the tools you need. In fact you used them to make something earlier. Why, you're even using them right now. Man: Elaborate, cause I can't recall making anything other than small talk in the past 5 minutes. Voice: You made me did you not? (brief pause) Man: I...did? Voice: Again, again, again, as I said earlier, I'm only here to help you. You were looking for a response to come out of the darkness, and you got me, simply because you wanted it. Your voice called for someone to call back, maybe explain some of this nonsense, and you made me for the sole purpose of doing so. Man: You better not be joking around this time, buddy. Voice: No! I'm drop-dead serious! I'd stake my corporeal form on it (mumbles) if I had one. Man: Hmm...
Voice: I'm telling you, your voice is a powerful tool. Give it a shot. Anything is possible if you just let it happen, but first you got to let it know that it can happen. Man: That's fascinating and all, but if you're right about all this, what do you suggest I do, oh helpful one? Voice: Give it a shot. Say something, anything at all. Man: (ponderously) Ok...well...uhh...it is pretty friggin dark, so how about I do something about that first? Voice: Go for it. There can be light only if you let it happen. Man: Right...so, I just say it then? Voice: Just say it. Man: Alright...let there be light! (House lights, stage lights, spotlights all flash on in an instant at full brightness, curtains open and lights slowly fade to a comfortable level. With the curtains drawn, a massive backdrop of a spacescape now dominates the scene, dozens of smaller lights hang in front of it and around the stage, representing stars.) Voice: Well? What do you think? Man: (in amazement, after a brief pause marveling at the scene) It's good.
-Austin Haughton ‘14
SIX
Voice: Game? (seriously) This is no laughing matter sir, there isn't much matter around to laugh at anyway. Man: What do you mean? Voice: Well a laughing matter is usually something youMan: (interrupting him) No no no, I'm talking about that last part. There's nothing around to laugh at? Voice: Well duh. You think we're just in some dark room? No sir, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but but there's nothing here. Literally, there's nothing and no one around here, just you, technically. By definition I'm not even "here" since there's nowhere to be. Man: Well then where am I? I'm here, aren't I? So there must be a "here" to be in. And if you're not "here", then where are you? Voice: You're an exception. You might seem like an average guy, but you're pretty unique in a good number of ways, one of which is that you're always "here" even if "here" is nowhere. As for me, like I said before, my location doesn't matter, but the same kind of rule applies. I'm always "there" instead of "here", though, regardless of whether or not either place is around. Man: Ok... (silence) Man: So what? Voice: So what? Man: Yeah, what does this mean? Why am I an exception? And how did I get "here" to begin with? Voice: I'm not so sure myself, but frankly it doesn't matter much does it? You're here nonetheless whether you like it or not. Man: So what am I doing here then? And regardless of where you are, what are you doing there? Voice: Like I said before, I'm here to help you.
SEVEN “Blooming in Pink” by Kathryn Clifford ‘14
Release
"Let go of those you love," is often said, And you must trust that they'll return to you, Believe that one day in the road ahead They'll miss you the way you deserve to be. It's like the birds when it gets cold outside, They leave and take refuge in some place new, When the world gets mean, people sometimes hide And fly away to gain a different view. Yet when weather warms and the sun shines bright, You can trust the birds will return to home, Back where it seems everything is alright, No one wants to travel through life too alone. But while birds only leave for a sojourn, People offer no promise of return -Molly Presutti ‘14
The sunlight dwindles as winter takes hold; People take refuge inside their warm homes. The beauty of summer is taken cold; The dangers of winter rise and roam. Shielded by sunlight, depression sets in; Battle against cold and snow never won. The thought of summer is proven to sin. The beauty of living nature is none. Downfall of one beauty brings another. Winter suppresses the sound of the busy; The blanket of snow removes all clutter, White purity and silence so eerie.
Winter
“Seasons” by Austin Haughton ‘14
“Winter’s Bloom” by Julia Pomella ‘14
Summer is the time for activities, Winter shows beauty through captivity.
EIGHT
-Robert Norris ‘14
NINE
The Scarlet Letter Epilogue
“Pearl!”, Hester cried, eagerly packaging her clothing, which had become strewn out across the cottage floor after years of shame and apathy, “The time is nye for us to depart!” It was the day of the Election Sermon, the day Hester had so eagerly anticipated for all these years, the day she and Dimmesdale could begin to grow old together. The two had made plans to sail to England together, and Hester was excited to finally rid herself of the scarlet A which had been branded on her chest so long ago. “NYET-PRAVDA-YURI-GAGARIN-POLITBURO cough I’ll be there momentarily, mother!”, little Pearl called out, quickly stifling the urge to speak in her original demon-tongue. Pearl gathered the last of her worldly posessions, a small leech which she had fed on her own black blood until it had grown fat and moist, and walked out of the hut, into the golden rays of the morning sky, which had, on first exposure, burned her quite severely. (Her devil-skin had grown accustomed to these conditions, and she had had no problem in these circumstances for quite some time.) “Come, my little elf! It is time to set off to the market-place, to meet my man!” Hester cried, swooning at the thought of meeting Dimmesdale once again. “Might I bring my kelp, mother?” Little Pearl had spent some time in the last few days cultivating a new strand of kelp, one which she hoped would bring doom to the fishermen. After receiving an answer in the negation of this sentiment from her mother, Pearl scram-
bled off into the distance to gather fist-sized rocks with which to pelt the townspeople. Hester sighed, disappointed in her precious little hell-spawn. Having walked for quite some time, the duo quickly arrived at the market-place, just in time to witness the last few words of Dimmesdale’s speech. “And so, my friends, ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” The crowd let out a mighty bellow of approval at this statement. “And remember: brush your teeth!” Dimmesdale squeaked in his rather unpleasently high-pitched and nasal voice. The crowd roared once again, and Dimmesdale, having climbed off the scaffold, covertly wound his way over to Hester. “Have you got the stuff?” Dimmesdale tentatively asked. “What stuff?” Hester bewilderdly replied. “You know... the stuff. The tickets.” “Ah,” Hester replied, having believed that Dimmesdale was getting at quite a different subject matter. “Indeed I do.” “Excellent. Let’s head to the docks, where I have arranged to parlay with transport. The ship had been bound to England from Jamestown, but I arranged for a tempest to knock it off course with the big guy,” Dimmesdale stated, pointing up, hoping that Hester would not realize the nature of the un-truth he had told. In reality, it had been blind luck that a ship bound for England was in port on this day. “Yes, let us embark!” Hester said, shrilly. “Yes, indeed!”, chimed in Pearl, in a voice
best described as resembling an ornate windchime formed from the very finest gravel impacting the head of a man. No sooner had the trio left the outskirts of town than was heard a familiar, aggressive voice. “AHA!”, cried Chillingworth. “Methinks the sly dogs attempt to escape!” “Not so fast,” cried a voice from beyond. “Governor Winthrop?”, responded Dimmesdale. “Aye, it is me,” responded the aetherly voice. “Oooh, I can feel the tension building up inside me,” stated Hester. “Well... are you going to do something?”, inquired Dimmesdale, after some hesitation. “Not quite; I just like scaring people. I dunno. If I had a body, I’d be shrugging right now.” “I see.” Now aware that there was no mystical force preventing his action, Chillingworth drew a spiked mace from his cape, and attempted to strike at Dimmesdale. Little did Chillingworth know, Dimmesdale was armed with a primitive, Western form of nunchuks, which he weilded with such raw skill that even Pearl could have learned something, were she not preoccuped with arcane incantations at the moment. However, these skills were not necessary, as Chillingworth soon embedded his mace in a tree firmly, and was unable to recover it. Realizing his folly, he made for the coast, unpursued by Dimmesdale.
-Henry Eshbaugh ‘15
“Grin and Bear” by Isabelle Handschin‘15
TEN
Upon reaching the shore, as reported by a number of fishermen, stranded in a boat tangled up in varied and unusually vicious seaweed, Chillingworth dove into the water and swam in a dolphin-like manner towards Jamaica, where he allegedly later created reggae. Regardless, he was never heard of again by the former constituents of the now-disembodied Winthrop. Without much additional comment, the trio made for the dock, and boarded the ship. They were soon underway. It was two nights later, when Dimmesdale suddenly realized the gravity of what he had done all those years before. The weight of his sin rested firmly on his shoulders. He shuddered, shaked, convulsed. He grappled with himself, slowly made his way to the upper decks from his modest bunk in the crew area, and gripped the gunwale of the ship, contemplating the nature of his nefarious deed. He had fought with this sin repeatedly over the course of his adventures in New England, yet the memories had never come back to haunt him with such vigor as these vivid imaginations of how Pearl might torture him upon her resuming her rightful position as the aide to the Prince of Darkness. Shuddering in fear, Dimmesdale could withstand his sorrow no longer, and flung himself off the edge of the boat, into the cold Greenland waters. Hester was profoundly affected for a time, but was soon preoccupied with a rather reflective coin she had found on the floor of her cabin, and was at peace, and continued to be for the rest of her life, having achieved immense satisfaction with herself over this discovery. And little Pearl fared equally well, eventually taking up her rightful place as a powerful demon, with a grasp of arcane evils so extensive as to rival the Devil himself. And so, all was right in the world.
ELEVEN I don't know how to make you happy That is hard Even if everybody doesn't love you And is not kind, hurts you That isn't a problem. Because I love you forever Try to be strong You are my best friend Forever!
Toi khong biet lam nhu the nao ban vui Dieu do that kho Neu moi nguoi khong ai yeu ban Va khong ai tot voi ban,lam ban ton thuong Dieu do khong la van de. Boi vi toi yeu ban mai mai Hay co gang manh me Ban la ban than cua toi Mai Mai!
-Thao Tran ‘15
“Amy Jo” by Mia Camelio ‘18
I don’t know how to make you happy...
THE TRUTH
“Rock Paper Scissors” by Olivia Colombo ‘19
People expect us to do really well Receive good grades and make true friends But in my head rang a loud sounding bell I am the only one that comprehends People who want the wrong kind of attention And overlook the importance of living Don’t see what’s right in front of them How love can come from the importance of giving. Saying “I love you” as much as you can Can change a frown to a smile on someone’s face, Hold the door open for that kind, old man Who dropped his wallet all over the place. Don’t be mean or it might be too late You have the chance to change your own fate.
TWELVE
-Kathryn Clifford ‘14
THIRTEEN
“Aspire” by Yanni Pappas ‘17
“Downtrodden” by Xue Li ‘14
-Joshua Towner ‘17
AXES OF STEEL
A woodland grew beyond the bluish lake, In it some creatures dwell and prowl, Others dowsed late, unable to persist awake. The harsh, fast wind, becomes quieter than a growl, A rare retreat hidden from all maps, A green background more rich than jade itself, Great trees growing faster than vines can wrap, Time sprinting by, while trees grow not by themselves, Although something spreads far and wide, Tools made of steel, so cold, they slice and swipe, Animals sprint and hide, as great metal creations bide, Trees much more elderly than time itself could snipe, But in minutes they are gone and only one tree stands, Alone, eternally away from man
Lola
“Bound” by Ian Coletti ‘16
I can remember meeting many years Ago. Your eyes were big and brown, your fur So soft. And after all this time you’re here Still, better friends than ever, I concur. We’ve shared so many special memories Together: Drinking coffee out of mugs, And swimming under rays of sun and breezes Of summer. Playing games in snow, and hugs When I am sad. Your kisses make me feel Joy inside. Tongue out, tail wags, eyes with joy filled As you beg fiercely for some of my meal. You make me happier than people will. Oh Lola, cutest thing I ever saw. It makes me oh so happy you’re my dog.
-Hannah Wisniewski ‘14
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
An excerpt from: from: BANE OF THE COUNCIL CHAPTER I: THEIR LANDS AND OUR LANDS there before. Edmund’s younger brother was asleep as he, his mother, and his uncle stood outside the house to say good-by. “Farewell laddy” croaked his uncle. “I fear you’ll come back one day, maybe.” called Edmund’s mother. “Don’t worry mother I will.” shouted Edmund as he left, not entirely grasping her meaning. Edmund’s mother stood, wrapped in a shawl over her grey gown. Her dark hair was shabby and worn up and her mouth was slightly open, taking in the cold air. She was in the middle of the plains, watching her son walk down the path over the dull mounds of grass, wearing a traveling cloak, and carrying a walking stick. He was leaving now, and she knew that she could no longer stop him from finding out all of the things that had been kept from him. “Maybe it’s destiny, but after all, how far could he ever go?” she said quietly. Meanwhile, Edmund walked down the muddy road towards the town. It had been raining last night. To the East, there was the pale white light of morning showing through the clouds, and shining upon the now glistening, wet grass, and to the West, the clouds were a dark grey. The road was either twisting around, or rising over the uneven terrain. Edmund looked up to see, looming over the town, the ruins of the fortress that had once stood on the far hill overlooking the town. It seemed strange to Edmund that he should just barely see a light that was quickly doused on one the old towers. Edmund wondered if he could he have imagined it. Edmund walked on now, and at last he came to the entrance to the town from the road. The
“Footsteps” by Rachel Kelliher,’17
Think of the Earth and everything you know about it. Think of the continents and the oceans, our history, and our dates and timelines, and then forget them for a while. Your time and place have no meaning here. It is the second age of a lost world that has already started to fade, or had. Picture a muddy road running through a field to a village on a glum day. On this road there was a particular shack lying in the field, and in this shack was a lad who had just reached manhood. The lad’s name was Edmund, and he had been living in this shack with his mother and uncle since he was born. His father had died or disappeared in the war, but he had been told nothing more. Now he was leaving. He got out of bed, washed his face, and prepared for the day. He then did what would seem the last chores he would ever do before he left this house. While fetching the water, he glimpsed his reflection. He had a thin, pale, and still boyish face, clinging to its retreating youth, with dark eyes and dark brown, untidy hair that curved inwards to the base of his neck. He was also a bit thin, but not weak. With his head down, Edmund strode through the doorway, to breakfast, smelling his mother’s cooking. His uncle grunted good morning as he looked up from his porridge, and his mother gave him the second bowl of oatmeal to eat at the table. There was a silence that was not broken as everyone ate quietly. After Edmund had finished his meal, he stood up and made ready for his long journey. He was only going to the town at first and he had gone
By: Evan Coletti ‘16
gate was open, and the guards, seeing that he was unarmed, let him pass. There was much commotion in the town, and everyone seemed to be running to a certain area. There were shouts of “From the castle!” and “It’s a captain!” Edmund, wondering what was going on, moved with the crowd. A soldier was riding up the road on a horse, followed by a band of men. He wore leather boots over a suit of mail armor and had a surcoat that bore crest of a frontiersman, riding in front of a rising sun and blowing the horn for the land of Anorion. The man wore a cloak and was carrying a spear with the Anorion flag tied to it. His hair was dark and wild and there was a bruise and a scar over his right eye. He had a bushy mustache and a short beard that ran from his ears, and joined at his chin. His eyebrows were sharp and dense and his brown eyes were almost black. When he came to the market, or town square, and as people gathered round him, he halted his steed and began to speak. His voice was deep and rough. “I am Alaford, or Sir Alaford,” he growled grimly. “I and a small party of knights were sent to guard this town and fortify the Castle of Doven.”
“Swirly Sky” by Caroline Imparato ‘14
down boiling oil and fired arrows madly. They knocked ladders off of the wall with poles and sent many Ankaudians falling to their dooms.” “The siege engine lit the trees and grass of the courtyard and our wooden roofs afire. Eventually the enemy attacked the West wall in secret and our archers firing arrows from the towers were ineffective. Even as I went up the stone steps leading to the top of the west wall, I knew that I had lost and that citadel had fallen. I was going to make what I thought to be my last stand," he laughed darkly. “On the wall, I slew as many men as I could, but all in vain. Six of my men died of the fire thrown by the great siege engine. I can still hear their shrieks as they burned to death. Another man turned coward and fled over the south wall with a grappling hook. If that man had at least waited for orders, I probably would not have forced him to stay and die anyway. I did not yet know what had happened to the other men.” “As for me I remember shrapnel hitting my head, causing me to fall unconscious and remember nothing more of that battle. I might have died, however the alternative has been no more appealing.” “When I awoke I found myself deep in one of the castle’s dungeons, chained to the wall. The Ankaudians would constantly torture me either for information or for sport. Although I told them nothing I eventually became as good as dead. I then decided to play dead, and let my guards bury me alive by the forest. I finally escaped that wretched place.” “I ran until I came to the outskirts of this town. The area was being bombarded by the great siege engine from afar. Perhaps you saw this from here. Eventually a party of men came
to plunder. I killed a man and took his weapon. I was able to go unnoticed as I stole a few horses, and brought survivors of the bombarding away on their backs. “This is a party of reinforcements that had been sent from Eldon,” he said, motioning to some of his men. ”They have supplied us with rations and arms and we have all ridden here. “I come to you now to recruit men. I feel the time has come for Anorion to go to war, but I don’t know what will be decided. I am just a knight. For now, we can organize and retake the citadel.” “Why?” interrupted someone in the crowd. Alaford looked at this man and said “Even if you are not loyal to your king I believe you will take up arms to fight barbarians that encroach upon your homeland.” “The king is old and weak,” shouted the man who had interrupted, ”some say he’s dyin, and one ruler tis as good as another. If we’ll surrender, they’ll take us peacefully and no harm il come tu no one.” “The king is weak and yes he is dying,” said Alaford, “but as the king is dying there shall therefore be a new king. The king’s son has already started to take charge over his realm while his father lies upon his deathbed. He is young and reckless and maybe even foolish, but I have hopes for him to grow strong and wise in his later years. As for being taken peacefully I do not believe that will happen.” With that Alaford pulled off one of his gloves, and held out his hand. There was a gasp from everyone in the crowd.
SIXTEEN
“What, you mean those ruins up there?” interrupted a man, motioning to the fortress on the hill. Alaford ignored him and went on. “If this secluded town has gone without news than it shall no longer. You shall hear it in full! In the North, two great earls of the realm of Ankaud are mongering for war. Lord Ethelred of Sarxland and Lord Harold of Delshire have combined forces and are amassing great armies. They plan to invade the lands behind the wall, ArshEdun!” Some of the people in the crowd gave a shudder when that land was named, and others, including Edmund, looked puzzled. “The lords and their armies need food and supplies,” Alaford went on. “They have been routing our Northern borders. They had never launched a full assault until now. Long did my men and I toil in rebuilding the fortress that was to be our post. However we were not expecting an attack. Our main purpose was to watch over the surrounding lands and keep our capital city, Eldon, informed on what took place. We had no watchman and the castle was definitely not at full strength. There were only a dozen of us, and the enemy attacked in the dead of night while we were all asleep.” “There I was in bed when I was suddenly awakened by a great blast fire exploding right in the courtyard. The enemy was using a great siege engine and they attacked with one hundred men! The rest of them let fly a myriad of flaming arrows. Lord knows how this must have looked from down here. My men and I did what we could, but we could not halt so great a force. Nevertheless the men armed themselves quickly and manned the North wall with courage. They poured
SEVENTEEN
of the road, gazing up at the old knight. “What are you looking at boy?” asked Alaford. “Oh, nothing sir,” said Edmund feeling a bit foolish. “Well, you better get on then.” said Alaford grimly. “ Indeed.” said Edmund turning around to go. It took Edmund a while to find an inn. He had never known his way about the town very well and he had trudged in the mud for hours. It was twilight when he finally found a place, and the sun was setting behind the clouds, and it was still raining. The inn’s name was the Tumbling Barrel and the drunken clamor of folk heartily singing could be heard from outside. Its two wings formed an L and it was, as usual, constructed of a wooden skeleton and wicker, with wattle and daub slathered over it. The smallest wing held the bar and it was twenty by twenty five feet. The other wing held the rooms and was twenty by forty feet. On the second floor there were simply more rooms, and at the center where the two wings joined, there was the counter and the main entrance to the inn. Edmund walked through this entrance now, muffling the sounds of rain and thunder as he shut the door. He found the innkeeper writing by candlelight over the counter. He looked up and said, “Let me see. One room for Mr.”— “Edmund,” said Edmund, “Edmund Falmore that is say sir.” “Edmund Falmore ei.” said the innkeeper writing down his name. “Enjoy your stay here at the Tumbling Barrel and yer room be the last one on the second floor of the wing to your right. Yu can pay in the morning and don’t go to far from ere till yu do. Edmund went to the pub now. It had chairs and tables scattered over a stone floor and a fire was lit in the middle. There were men singing drinking songs and talking happily in the
center, while others sat in shadowy corners away from the firelight and warmth, smoking pipes and sipping their ale silently. Here, Edmund bought a drink and then sat down to think while he drank from his mug. He had great deal of things to think about, especially after the happenings of today. So that was why I saw light in the castle, he thought, those barbarians are there and it’s been fortified. He thought on about the wars that were brewing, about the knight and his tale, and about the strange lands behind the wall. Suddenly Edmund heard someone say “Ai the lands behind the wall.” Edmund instantly turned around and asked the man “What are the lands behind the wall-what do know of it?” The man grunted, looked up and stared at Edmund for a second. He then asked, “What be your name lad?” “Edmund Falmore,” said Edmund, “son of Edward Falmore.” It had been years since his father’s name had been spoken, even by himself. “I see,” said the man, “and my name is simply John Carpenter. Well now, you were asking me about the lands behind the wall, and in these times” “Ey,” said a large, chubby, and apparently drunken man. “Are ye talken about ArshEdun?” “Speak not that name!” said John, sternly. It was at this moment that you’d be right to think that no one would ever do what this man was about to do unless they where an “Tunnel Vision” by Kristen Kline ‘18
“Behold!” cried Alaford, “the hospitality that I received from these Ankaudians. My toenails and fingernails have only just started to grow back. I have learned that nails first grow in layers, instead of forward and out. If I removed my sir coat and armor, you would see the lashes on my back and the burns on my chest from the hot poker. The barbarians had molten pitch slapped onto my stomach. They threatened to cover me in that stuff and through feathers on! These are cruel men and they take joy in the pain of others. Not to mention they have already burned part this town to the ground!” There was silence. At last the peasant who had spoken up before shouted “You see, this is what il happen to people thick enough for reisistin and the part of our town that was burnt is what il happen to us if we don’t yield soon!” “I believe that it is you who is the fool”, said Alaford. “You’re the kind of man that these people will kill first when you beg like coward. They will laugh at you, and scorn you. As for the rest of you, what say you? You are called to take up arms and fight for kings of old. Fight now for their lands-our lands, and the lands of our descendants to come.” As he said this, the sky flashed and the clouds rumbled. Water poured down from above and some people began to leave. At that moment, a man spoke to sir Alaford. “I am the steward of this town,” he shouted, “and I say that our town will debate on what to do.” He then turned to the crowd and said, ”In the mean time clear away and go back to your business. “Ah shit, it’s rainin again!” grunted a man putting up his hood. The people left and there, Alaford was on his steed, watching everyone go away and do nothing- all except one. Edmund stood in the middle
“Wrapped” by Jin Muyung ‘14
you might of heard, that land is a strange place ter than I the wrath of that realm. He’s a great with a great forty-foot high, solid stone wall man; my captain and I owe two lives to him. built around it. There was once peace in our When I betrayed my comrades and ran from the continent of Dardon, until a great power spread fire like a coward, he could of had me hanged. and conquered many lands. The name of that He’d of been right to do so, but nevertheless he power has been forgotten by those who are saved me from the Ankaudians and gave me a young like you, and the few who know it, don’t second chance.” even dare think of it if they can help it.” “But who is Alaford?” asked Edmund. “He’s “What name-who’s name” asked Edmund, a frontiersman.” John answered. “But what is inquisitively? that?” Edmund asked. “Something so powerful that it may not even “A frontiersman is a man of the frontier. be a man anymore,” said John in a low voice, It’s what we call the realm’s knights who roam “something that launched the greatest invasion the wild. Others call them rangers--yu have tu on this world to ever be seen. As the drunk be one to become a frontiersman, mind you--, said, after all or knights of the wilderness. They’re a very of Western Dardon was conquered this great strange order of knights. They’re not as lusty invasion suddenly came to a halt and the great for a fight and perhaps even foolhardy as some wall was built surrounding the empire, cutting of the other young knights, but neither are they off that land from the world. There are poor fat and corrupt like some of the older ones. people of these harried lands, living at the They’re usually wise and perhaps like monks. mercy of this cruel empire. Only a fool would They know many things even though they are dare march on or try to sneak over the wall quiet men of few words. Although when the time from either way. No one knows what goes on comes for action they can be as bold and brave in that land. I think that something is brewing, as any knight, even though they are also trained and that it is like the calm that will come before in stealth and deception. You don’t usually another and perhaps more terrible storm than see Alaford talk that much, but I think he was ever.” trying to rouse the village. He’s a dedicated There was silence for a while and only the man, Alaford. He’ll die to defend the realm if he rain and thunder could be heard. Edmund has to. Right now he’s out in the rain keeping suddenly noticed that everything in the bar had watch, though I doubt he won’t retire in an hour stopped. There was no drinking, no laughing, or two. This area of the town doesn’t seem to and everyone had been quiet as John spoke. be within range of the enemies catapult, and I Then slowly people began to talk louder and don’t think they’ll attack tonight.” louder, and then to laugh and drink. The bar “Good God,” said Edmund, “I hadn’t thought had gone back to normal again. Nevertheless about that. You reckon they’ll come ere sir?” John continued to speak to Edmund in a hushed voice. “Now in the last war,” he said, “I was only a boy, perhaps younger than you are now, but my TO BE CONTINUED... captain is a veteran of that war. He knows bet-
EIGHTEEN
idiot, very tough and skilled in fighting, or completely and absolutely drunk. The man got up and began to sing very poorly. Over the lands of the West, Over the walls of stone, There was terrible power in this dark hour, In the land of Arzh-Edun. “Speak not the name!” cried John, clenching his fist. Of this the man took no notice, and simply went on s inging. It spread like flame of dread. There was no peace, Even when it came to cease. None no what they be doing, But something is brewing, In the lan d of Arsh “Speak not the name!” roared John, who was by this time in a complete rage. He said this while getting up and drawing his dagger. He grabbed the old drunk by the shirt, and put the dagger to his throat. “Shut up!” he roared. “Edun,” finished the man, foolishly. This was the last straw, and John was about strike the man a powerful blow when his friends grabbed him from behind. “Peace, John!” one of them cried. “Awfully sorry,” he said to the drunk. “I think he may a been havin a little too much ale too.” The drunk, while coughing and spluttering, managed to say “Ey, it be fine.” Meanwhile, Edmund watched John being restrained. John’s dagger had fallen to floor, and he was struggling. He then stopped, and panting said, “Very well; I will cease, but that name is evil, and too many a boy lost a father in that war, and too many a wife became a widow.” John sat down now and turned to a bemused and slightly nervous Edmund. “I am sorry about that,” he said, “but I will not hear that name spoken! Now where was I. Ah yes, as
NINETEEN
LAZARUS RISING horrifically slow. I have been falling, but the ground seems to stay hollow. My thoughts are no longer focused on what’s beyond, but on what lays under me. Can someone come and catch me, I wonder. Is this a dream or a nightmare? The shadows are playing tricks on me, they want me to play if I dare. They ask me if I want to be truly free, yet they're the ones who have trapped me. I am dreaming a nightmare that is coming true, I’m drowning in my own misery till I’m becoming blue. The shadows, they’re here, they want to take me. The shadows are under there waiting to catch me. They shout, "Darkness is your home." I try to go beyond and seek the light, but they made they’re point, I don’t belong in the bright. Virgil is not here to show me the path. Moments later the pace of me falling was becoming fast, and with a loud crash I fell into the cold hard floor. The shadows have failed to catch me! I open my eyes to be greeted by illuminating light. I say to the brightness, “I just figured that all my life I have been in chains, but my dreams are the only ones who had freed me! All my life I had been alone! But the shadows have never left me! Where we're you when I needed you! The shadows have said that I'm the daughter of darkness, ever so bold and full of strife. That one day the Prince of the Dark will come to take my life, and give me what we both were denied! Love from you! I dream of the dark, I know what is beyond and what lies under. I'm a caged dreamer with a hopeless spark, I'm insane, a lost creature, I do not belong with you! Have you not made it quite clear? Maybe down here is where I am truly meant to be." Vibrations shaking the ground around me until
they lift me into the air. Loud and deep the voice speaks, "Good things do happen." In a blast of spite I snarl out, "Not in my experience!" In a confused tone it asks, "Do you not believe you should be saved?" Unanswered, the voice grew louder, "Stop fighting and give in, the reason you fell was not my doing! Look in a mirror what do you see? It was never me who never loved enough. It was you! Miles you fell, to be told lies. Sometimes it takes a fall to rise. Break those walls you have built around your soul! Choose now where you want to be!" I realize in that moment that the voice was right. The only thing keeping me away is I. I give up my hand as a sign of acceptance. With light surrounding me I begin to rise. Higher and higher I soar. In a blink of an eye the shadows grip my ankles tight, shouting, dragging me back into the pit. I start to fall yet again. The light above said, "Only you decide your fate." I close my eyes and conjure all my strength. The shadows begin to burn as I rise forever higher. The light is gripping me tight and raising me from perdition. Finally, I'm able to soar with the birds. No more nightmares ever more, the second I decide to walk through His doors. I am awake.
-Antonia Pimental ‘14
“Enclosed” by Olivia Colombo ‘19
I’m floating in silence towards the sky. I’m breaking it up with the sound of my soft spoken sighs. I’m a walking dreamer;living in a wild and unexplored world. I soar high up into the sky, looking at the beautiful scenery. There are green tints in the leaves of the trees that sway gently, following the movement of the wind. Eagles and birds with various colors and species soar around me, twirling and cycling enjoying the untamed air. Above me, there’s nothing but dazzling glows of warm sun rays. I land softly on the bluest and biggest cloud that is slightly tinged purple. Smokey air surrounds me but my vision is only focused on what is to be expected beyond. I walk in the cold gas allowing the light to lead me towards ecstasy. I’ve gone deeper into the clouds, the thin air almost suffocating me. At long last! I see a beautiful kingdom. A kingdom rich in the hues of gold. People with wings dance and the air is full of cheerfulness. Their laugh sounds like church bells ringing, echoing in perpetuity. I step forward trying to submerge myself into the atmosphere these glorious people share. Once I step foot on the firm ground they stand, I fall into an eternal darkness. Deafening silence consuming me. I don't have much time and I know any moment now I would be awake and the dream world would only be a distant memory. I awake from the dream and burst into reality. For a moment I am no longer a dreamer, but a doer. Time passes by quickly and soon darkness will surround the sky yet again. Then before I know it, I prepare myself to dream once more. I am falling. I’m falling freely towards darkness. The eyes of the souls, including mine, are blurred to our sins. Time seems to run fast yet
Purpose
“Warm Glow” by Dehua Chen ‘16
¿Cuya cabeza se encuentra congelado, hay en el suelo? ¿Cuya ojos permanecen todavía, frío y redondo? Esa cabeza, por Dios, es la cabeza de su hermano. Él se levantó y luchó, y ahora está muerto. ¿Para quién es lo que lucha y qué es la causa? ¿Debes llorar el mundo o tal vez sólo una pausa? Ese hombre, por Dios, luchaba por nada pero todos. El mundo cambia, y se mueve, pero no se detendrá. ¿Por qué lucha y por qué se pierde? ¿Tenía que luchar o podía elegir? ¡Todo hombre, por Dios, no tiene una elección! ¡Morir de frío y débil, sin una voz!
That head, by God is the head of his brother. He stood up and fought, and is now dead. Who fighting and what is the cause? Should you mourn the world or just take a break? That man, by God, nothing but all struggled. The world changes and moves, but will not stop. Why struggle and what is lost? Did you have to fight or could you choose?
Propósito
Whose head is frozen in the ground? Whose eyes are still cold and round?
-Kieran Kelleher ‘14
TWENTY
Every man, for God does not have a choice! Dying of cold and weak, without a voice!
TWENTY-ONE When the rain falls on the sea, And thunder claps above the waves, The weather will not deter me From subjecting the ocean to my gaze.
Spring Storm
The grey Atlantic does not care For the dunes, trenches, and seawall. It clears the long coast bare, For the forces of the ocean are above all. Yet when the clouds recede and the ocean abates, Why is rebuilding not seen as a mistake? -Noel Maguire ‘14
“Sunset, Sunrise” Hannah Blundell ‘17
The biting wind and rain, Hurtle through the darkened sky, Like a coal fired express train, Louder than the Fourth of July.
IL POTERE DELLE PAROLE gannare: pensiamo a come I promotori delle pubblicitá ci convincono ad acquistare prodotti che non sempre sono di qualitá. Dalle parole che utilizza e da come le usa, possiamo intendere lo stato d'animo di una persona. Esse hanno un significato letterale e uno emotivo : evocano dei sentimenti diversi nelle persone con cui stiamo parlando in base al loro vissuto personale. Le parole hanno un grande potere, sono molto piú importanti di quello che pensiamo.
among the nations of the world. They can be used to deceive: let’s think how promoters of commercials convince us to buy products which not always have a good quality. We can understand a person’s mood listening which world he uses and how he uses them. The words we use influence others in a variety of ways depending on their personal experiences.
-Frederica Pinetti ‘14
THE IMPORTANCE OF WORDS
TWENTY-TWO
Words seem to have a precise meaning; indeed they are the primary way we have to communicate. We learn them growing up as children. As we learn other languages we realize that the words are just a combination of letters, signs to which people associated sounds and meanings. Words are fundamental to share ideas and to understand others. They can cause war or peace
“A Day at the Beach” by Matthew Johnson ‘15
Puó sembrare che le parole abbiano un preciso significato, imprescindibile; esse infatti sono il modo piú completo che abbiamo per comunicare e le apprendiamo fin da piccoli. Imparando altre lingue ci rendiamo conto che in realtá le parole sono solo una combinazione di lettere, segni, ai quali gli uomini hanno associato dei suoni. Le parole sono fondamentali per farsi comprendere e comprendere gli altri, nel mondo sono causa di guerre o di pace tra le nazioni. Possono essere usate per in-
TWENTY-THREE
Harvest
A flower in its state of gestation, The heart and its fondness grow day by day. In a quick sudden moment it begins, Where every emotion comes out to play This game called "love"- a quite silly title For such a long, complex process of growth. Love starts as a seed, requires vital Care and heed; a unique balance of both. Over some time, that precious bond has grown, Kept alive by trust and utmost patience. The strong love, whose roots were watered and sown, Blossoms now; a beautiful creation. Though it’s a process that asks us to wait, The growth of love has a harvest that's great.
-Katelyn Foley ‘14 “Alive” by Nicoletta Zinni ‘14
For my 6th birthday my grandfather gave me a Rubik's cube. I will always be able to remember its edges. Hold it in my hands; heft the weight of an overwhelming problem. I remember him telling me about it. How a Rubik's cube has 43 quintillion, 252 quadrillion, 3 trillion, 274 billion, 489 million, 856 thousand possibilities. He told me it can be really confusing sometimes, but to look at the center squares as a reminder of what color each side should be. shift We are celebrating his 50th wedding anniversary. He and grandma are dancing a dance that only fragile legs and wrinkled hands know how to. That type of happiness took him 70 years to earn. The white side of the cube is solved. shift He tells me about how he met grandma. His college friends had a sunset picnic. She was there, as beautiful as an unsolved puzzle; she was a redheaded scramble on orange tile sky. shift
shift
shift The pills he holds are yellow and red and green the weight of their color causes his hand to drop. I try to shift his tiles back into place but people don't have center squares. His mind is a hospital bed divided by zero. shift My sister's wedding is white but he doesn't know why. shift shift shift shift shift shift shift shift The temperature of his hands is blue. Death is colorless. I will always remember his edges Hold him in my hands Heft the weight of an overwhelming problem. I was unable to attend his funeral, I never found out the algorithm to solve him. A Rubik's cube has over 43 quintillion possibilities.
War only has one.
TWENTY-FOUR
The hospital walls are blue. The nurses explain that his memories have become jumbled strangers in family portraits pictures with mismatched faces. War has made his mind into a Rubik's cube.
He is a highway patrolman. His car is white; No, no, it's blue. He worked there for 30 years, some nights he still does. Time is a complicated algorithm.
“Tug-of-War” by Casey Cambpell ‘15
Rubik’s Cube
Kory Turner ‘17
Relax
TWNETY-FIVE
Every once in a while it’s good to do, to get wrapped up in a book that you love. Whether it be old or completely new, a romance, drama, or all the above. Lay on your roof and gaze up at the stars, take a walk to the beach, watch the sun set, obliterate the past, say “Au revoir!” Drive with the windows down, without regret. Don’t forget to get away for a while, be yourself, sort through your cluttered heart. Shop all alone or create a new style. What you need is a clean slate, a fresh start.
-Hannah St. Don ‘14
“Cocoa Break” Shannon Padgett, ‘16
Experience the beauty of your being, each new day, quintessential for seizing.
Take a Break
-Julia Fratus, ‘17
“Reminiscing” by Caroline Imparato, ‘14
TWENTY-SIX
The sun sets down after simmering all day. The owl takes a break after staying nocturnally awake. The brain rests after taking on life’s tests. But you, you are too strong for down time. Your life is too monumental to decompress. After a long hard day, all you are required to do is de-stress. You continuously strive for unattainable success, But you never allow yourself to take a rest. You’re internally exhausted, your eyes flutter quick and fall to a close. Suddenly air no longer fills your nose. You continuously strive for unattainable success, But you never allowed yourself to take a rest. If you had decided to take a break, You would still be awake.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Do you hate the way your muffin top sways in the wind while you're groggily jogging to the end of your street? Do you despise your cup A bosoms? Do you desperately drink daily a cartoon of soy milk to perhaps increase your breasts to a much larger and eye boggling size? Do you get frustrated with the way your colossal nose appears in photographs? In a way that you look like Barbra Streisand? Fear no more! There is a solution that has been used for hundreds of years now. Cosmetic surgery has gotten ten times as popular than when it was first introduced in World War II. Though cosmetic surgery is used to heal burns and wounds, there is another more important use for the common surgery. Every since the 1960s women have been sticking needles of silicon into their boobs just to make them...let's just say "eye appealing". Since then, the growth and progress in cosmetic surgery has grossed throughout the years, resulting in women and men to countlessly go in and out of the cosmetic surgery buildings. As many as 14.6 million cosmetic surgeries have been done in 2012. Wow, there's that many people who don't like the way they look?! There's gonna be so many more Michael Jackson's out there now! Anywho, there are so many options to pick from. Like if you don't like your cheekbones, you can get them tightened back. Or if you hate the way your butt looks in tight dresses, you can get the leftover fat in your stomach area and then have it gracefully put in the back of your bum! Doesn't that sound so appealing? OR if you don't like the way your lips look as they thinly glisten in the
shimmering sunlight, you can get that fixed right away! Just out some Botox in there and your lips will be swollen and puckered 24/7! Don't like the way your boobs look? You can go from a size cup A to a size DDD in no time. Surely no one will notice, it's just a little surgery that's all. Plus, celebrities are getting these surgeries all the time now! Just look at Barry Manilow or Sharon Osborne! They look even younger than they should, and they look even better than they did before the surgery. It's no doubt that getting plastic surgery will cure all of the doubts that you have about your body. I mean, who doesn't want to have a fuller butt and lifted eyebrows?! If it makes you look more like a Barbie doll, then why stop? There has been so much hassle regarding the cheek bones and butts, people who are getting cosmetic surgery aren't realizing the body part that reveals the growing of age; the hands. As people are getting Botox and sticking fat in their butts, they don't realize that the hands are the ones that give away everything!!! They get wrinkly and sandy with age and nobody wants that do they?! Ew, just thinking about it grosses me out. I mean c'mon, old lady hands are gross. Therefore, I suggest that we revolutionize the way for cosmetic surgery and include the hands! Instead of pulling back the skin, [thats too maninstream] why not just cut off the hands all together?! There has been new technology coming out that states that, scientists somewhere in Russia have been creating robotic body parts. By cutting off the hands, and replacing them with the robotic hands, the hands and fingertips will forever be
“Marilyn, or Norman Jean” by Kelly Rathje 14’
Lift, Tuck, And Tighten
smooth and full of softness. It's like you dipped yourself into a pool of youth. The hands are made of plastic, so it won't rot as easily, and they won't decompose for thousands of years! It's the greatest thing since sliced bread! Wait, if the hands can be cut off... Why not replace the whole face?! Not only will your hands be plastic and hard, but your face too! I will call it...The Uniface Mask. This Uniface mask will be screwed onto your head and everyone will look the same, and no one will want to change their faces anymore! Alas, the solution to all insecurities. With this mask and the plastic hands, the rein of cosmetic surgery will some to an end; and the dynasty of the Uniface mask will come into action. With everyone looking the same, no one will feel left out and the fear of looking different and unique will be brainwashed away. Who wants to be themselves anyways? Who wants to have their own unique panache? Who wants to show off their talent? Pssssh that's too mainstream. I mean that's not what gets you into college or gets you a job!!! It's the look and the outer appearance. Everyone should know that. This is a huge fix to a huge problem. The Uniface and the plastic hands is another big step to a more glossy future! Not only will the uniqueness of every human being be pushed away, but the wrinkles too! I mean you may not always feel young and full of confidence, but you can surely look young! That's all that matters, right?
-Jenn Uribe ‘15
“Blue” by EKathryn Clifford ‘14
Perfectly Imperfect
-McKenzie Ray ‘14
TWENTY-EIGHT
There was a girl who dreamed of perfection. An overachiever, lost in the clouds. To always feel a sense of rejection, How can one feel so alone in a crowd? Mirror mirror on the wall, I'm eager to know; What have you done? Where have I gone? You haven't failed to show all of my flaws. The ugly duckling in a group of swans. But what is important is not on the outside. It's time to let go - there's so much ahead. My dad always said: put hatred aside. Know you can do it, say goodbye to ED. Those models display what we should look like drawn But why touch what God already put his paintbrush on?
Boston's mayor for twenty years, Left office this week to many tears,
And due to his many verbal stumbles, He rightfully earned the nickname "Mumbles." "Just a guy from Hyde Park" he would often shout, And with that Boston accent there was no doubt. Though short and stout and round about, Mumbles yielded tremendous political clout. In his time he did many things for which he could boast, But his verbal fumbles are what people remember most. ‘Winning-est’ mayor in recent sports history, His use of language still remains a mystery. He massacred names, like the Pats' Wilfork and Gronk, Calling them instead "Wilcox" and "Gonk." “To the Left” by Casey Campbell ‘15
TWENTY-NINE
Mumbles Menino
As the Sox raced for the pennant, he again messed up, Referring to the World Series as "the World Cup." Calling great moments in Boston's sports history "ionic," He'd messed up again, as the word is "iconic." Though his speeches were often unclear, and his grammar wrong, Boston's people cheered when he yelled the phrase: "Boston Strong!"
-Caroline Thomas ‘14
A piercing, icy feeling in your chest The goose bumps and the prickling of your hair, These are the signs of an unwelcomed guest. Say a prayer. You know what might lurk out there. You may not believe in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I know all those bedtime stories are true. There has forever been a darker side To the world you thought you knew. Be fearful of what the night could consist, Trust in that essence of fear that you feel For evil has and always will exist. All those blood curdling dreams can be real. When the clock strikes midnight they come alive. If you listen to my words you might survive. -Antonia Pimental ‘14
THIRTY
“Liquid Metal” by Trent Garzoni ‘17
Unwelcomed Guest
“Cracked” by Joe Pasquale, ‘17
THIRTY-ONE
Broken “Stained Glass Reality” by Austin Haughton, ‘14
Not much can mend a broken heart Thoughts of sadness, anger, and doubt. It feels like everything is falling apart As if your heart is torn inside out. When the love you shared was everlasting And the trust you built was so strong, Every emotion was thrilling and smashing; It's unbelievable how things could've gone wrong. Now it may seem like the end of the world But it's only the start of something new. Spread your wings and be free like a bird Because there are many more things to pursue. Take this as one of many good lessonsLife is filled with so many blessings.
-Alyissa Li Brown ‘14
Process My aching heart is full of grief. The pain, The pain has split my lobes to extinction. Your constant nagging drives me past insane. You crush me like a bomb, no distinction
Oh poems, how you break my heart; your cute rhymes twist sour after leaving my pen point, your iambs drift in ear and out. Boots write better, lines with class and no disjoint. Our constant battle, start again or cheat? I simply die in teary eyed defeat
THIRY-TWO
-Andriana DiMaria ‘14
“Dropped” by Emily Brouillard ‘17
How torturous you make my life. Enslaved to devote days to shape your creation. No time to rest, just time to write; engraved in verse my pain suffers no mutation.
THIRY-THREE
On a Park Bench CHARACTERS: Matt- young man, about age twenty six Bill- elderly man about age 75 Sparky- elderly man's dog Park bench in the afternoon. Matt is smoking a cigarette sitting on a park bench by himself. He is dressed in an expensive suit. An elderly named Bill man out for a walk with his dog Sparky and sits down next to Matt. BILL: Those things will kill ya you know. Matt gives Bill a sidelong glance and takes another drag of his cigarette. BILL: Suit yourself. MATT: What’s it to you if I smoke? Maybe I just wanna have a peaceful cigarette in the park without some old man riding me for it. BILL: Go ahead, I'm just letting you know it's probably not the best idea. Matt scoffs, tosses his cigarette to the ground and steps on it to stub it out. Sparky walks up to the cigarette, sniffs it, sneezes, and sits down beside Bill. MATT: Happy now? BILL: Sure. The two sit in silence for a few minutes. Matt checks his phone. BILL: That's a pretty fancy gadget you got there. How much does a thing like that cost?
Matt doesn't look up from his phone.
BILL: Okay, okay. I don't wanna fight with you, but meet on this bench in twenty five years MATT: I don't know my work supplies them. and let me know how you’re doing. BILL: What do you do for work? MATT: What makes you so smart and knowlMATT: Why do you even care? edgeable huh? BILL: I'm just trying to break the awkward BILL: Nothing really. Just life I guess. You see monotony of sitting on a park bench with a when you treat people like they're expendcomplete stranger that's all. able; they treat you the same way. I come and sit on this bench with you because my Matt sighs legs are a little tired from walking Sparky here and I try and start a conversation with MATT: Well nothing now, I was just fired. you. Maybe stop you from getting lung cancer BILL: For what? so bad that you have to go through two MATT: Apparently I don't work well with my surgeries and a few years of chemo therapy. fellow employees. The only problem is you don't see it that way. BILL: I could've told you that. You don't really You see me as some old man harping on you, work well with people period. putting you down, trying to tell you what to MATT: Yeah well whatever. I can find another do. That's okay, I understand that. Maybe it's job easy. not my place to tell you to quit blowing smoke BILL: I'm sure you can. You seem like a bright down your lungs, fine. Then I change the young man. But what will you do when you get subject, talk about your phone and you treat that job and the same thing happens again? me with hostility. You’re curt, abrasive, and impatient. So I figure, maybe this kids having Matt shrugs a bad day, maybe he just needs to talk it out. Next you tell me you got fired from your job MATT: Just get another job I suppose. because you can't work well with others. Now I'm thinking maybe this kid just needs a little Bill chuckles life advice to make him feel better, but you’re rude when I try and help you out. Maybe I'm BILL: You'll have a new job every few years wrong, maybe I don't know anything, and for the rest of your life kid. And you'll have a maybe you’re the smart one. I'm just asking new girlfriend or wife, and a new apartment, you to meet me here in twenty five years and new friends unless you figure yourself and tell me how your life is going because I'd out. sure as hell like to know how you turn out. MATT: Listen old man, you don't know me. I'm gonna be fine.
MATT: If I tried to meet you here in twenty five years you’d probably be dead. BILL: Probably. And so will you if you keep smoking those cigarettes. The only differency is I'll have died a happy man with no bridges burnt behind me. You'll have died a bitter lonely young man who wasn't even alive on this earth long enough to ever truly love anything.
-Jennifer Habeeb ‘14
THIRTY-FOUR
MATT: Hi, uh, is Mr. Jones there? Hello Mr. Jones. Listen sir, I've been thinking and I'm very sorry for my actions in the office. I know my apology doesn't change anything, I just wanted you to know how deeply sorry I am. Thank you sir, I appreciate the opportunity you gave me, goodbye. Matt shuts off his phone and takes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He gets up from the bench and tosses the pack in the trash. He walks off in the opposite direction of the man and his dog.
“Park” by Shannon Padgett ‘16
Bill gets up and Sparky follows him. They walk back the way they came. Matt sits alone for a few minutes. A few people jog by, a child chases after a pigeon. Matt takes out his phone and dials a number.
THIRTY-FIVE
“Elapse” by
Matthew Johnson ‘15
Out With a Bang “Momento Mori” by Ben Bianco ‘14
The plague arose slow, at first. Not affecting life, only causing frowns upon faces. Time passed, it got worse. Belief slimmed. Memories of normality vanished. The warriors continued fighting. But there came a time where it wasn’t enough. At this point it was spreading rapidly. Only the strongest were left. Lives became like petals on a flower, gone with the wind. One day the wind blew so strong, that the last petal fell. All hope was gone. Now the fighter is just a memory. A beautiful memory.
- Heidi Banden ‘18
“Shaded Touch” by Matthew Johnson ‘15
Colophon
Editing
Lily Bessette ‘14: Editor-in-chief. Edited writing, layout, and photographs. Emma Cubellis ‘17: Edited Writing and Layout. Kylie Buohl ‘16, Moira Gattoni ‘14, Michael Khalil ‘16, David Jennings ‘16, Yanni Pappas ‘17: Edited Writing Joshua Towner, ‘17: Edited the Table of Contents
Typography
This edition is typed in Century Gothic, Agency FB, Tahoma, and Berlin Sans FB. Photo credit is in Century Gothic and author credit is in Berlin Sans FB.
Design This edition was designed using Adobe InDesign CS 5.5.
Printing
Lingua Franca is printed in Plymouth, Massachusetts by Powderhorn Press on a Xerox 6060 digital printer.
Submissions
Artwork and writing may be emailed to advisor Carey Zigouras at czigouras@sacredheartkingston.com. All submissions are seriously considered for publication. Depending on the works’ originality and rhetorical value, submissions are published in the magazine if they reach the projected deadline. All members of the Lingua Franca staff are part of the editing and layout process, and therefore consider submissions for publication together. Original artwork and writing that fits in with the selected theme are also included. Lingua Franca is published annually.
Special Thanks
The editors are grateful for members of the Art, History, Science, World Language, Religion, and English Departments for facilitating submissions, specifically art teacher Ms. Julie Trahon.