The Mini-Marque | Vol. XX (2020)

Editor’s Note

2020

Unlike the cover of this magazine, life’s boundaries are not clearly defined. Each facet of our lives has the ability to spill over into another. This year was more proof that we all have a part in life that we can’t define.

That’s precisely what the 2020 edition of the Mini-Marque is about. When we met for the first time in the summer of 2019, we decided to focus on three interpretations of life: a metaphor, a test, and a game. Metaphors, tests, and games are found everywhere in life; it’s just a matter of perspective. The selection process for the magazine is a rigorous one, with many editors and club members checking for photos, writing, and other forms of art. Each selection is submitted to us by students.

Our choice of colors and fonts reflect what we feel represent each section the most adequately.

This magazine is a metaphor for life. Everyone was doing well at the start, but then we faced some setbacks. We learned from them and came back stronger. We were ready for the next challenge of working on an award winning publication from home. We have used skill, strength, and a bit of luck to achieve our goals of completing a successful magazine. The creation of the magazine represents life, fluctuating constantly. We face challenges every day in life. You are never done with tests, from birth to the last breath. Even though we were in quarantine due to the coronavirus pandemic, we tirelessly worked to complete this volume of the Mini-Marque. All of life is a collection of games, metaphors, and tests. We hope that even though we were not together, you can still enjoy the wonderful literature of the Middle School.

Table Contents Life As A

Metaphor

4-5

Heartbeat | Art | Neil Yepuri | 8 The Thoughts Inside My Head | Poetry | Roman Carter | 6

6-7 7

My Later House | Fiction | Charlie Hill | 8 Vacation Home| Photography | Baxter Perry-Miller | 8

8 8-9

Winter in the Mountains | Photography | Jack Frary | 7 Down the Mountain | Poetry | Asa McCaleb | 8

10 11

The Winding Path | Photography | Austin Cohen | 7 A Life of Crime: Intro | Fiction | Nathaniel Hochman | 6

12-13 13

A Life of Crime: Sailboat | Fiction | Mason Bosco | 6

14

A Life of Crime: Canoe | Fiction | Gavin Trevino | 6

15

Waterfall | Photography | Jack Frary | 7 US | Poetry | Surya Dinesh | 7

16-17 17

E A R T H | Poetry | Rishik Kapoor | 5 The Bridge | Watercolor | Peter Clark | 5

18-19 18-19

Canyon Rocks | Photography | Deven Pietrzak | 7 An Interesting World | Poetry | Jackson Pennington | 8

20 21

Ice Crystals | Photography | Jack Frary | 7 Snow in Texas | Poetry | Arnov Lahoti | 8

22 23

Black and White Valley | Photography | Oliver Peck | 7 Deserts | Poetry | Akash Manickam | 7

24 25

Life As A

Test

Notes | Art | Luke Anderson | 8 Senza Ostinato Silenzio | NonFiction | Cooper Guiler | 6

26-27 28 29

Black and White Girl Under Umbrella | Photography | Hudson Brown | 8 Alone | Poetry | Raja Mehendale| 8

30-31 31

The Hunt | NonFiction | Matthew DaSilva | 6 Bald Eagle | Photography | Oliver Peck | 7

32 32-33

Waterfall | Photography | Dawson Yao | 8 Enjoying Life | Poetry | Will Clifford | 7

34-35 35

Ski Panorama | Photography | Oliver Peck | 7 Oops, Not Again | Fiction | Jeremy Mau | 7

36-37 37

Ramaiah Koganti | Story | Dilan Koganti | 6 The Capitol | Photography | Jack Frary | 7 Time Stood Still | Fiction | Andy Browne | 6 The Steering Wheel | Photography | Joseph Day | 8

Life As A

Game

38 39 40 40-41

42-43

The Boulder and the Bridge| Photography | Deven Pietrzak | 7 Cave | Story | Jaden Ouyang | 7

44-45 45

I Couldn’t See a Thing | Fiction | Ollie Morgan | 6 Fog | Photography | Austin Cohen | 7

46 46-47

Imagination | Poetry | Mason Briscoe | 8 Dallas Skyline | Photography | Andrew Jin | 7

48 48-49

Mother Nature | Poetry | CJ Ness | 8 Desert Road | Photography | Austin Cohen | 7

50 50-51

Chinatown| Photography | Jeremy Mau | 7 Flavors of the East | NonFiction | Christopher Guffey | 6 Mountain Trail| Photography | Ben Foster | 8 Metal Marks the Spot: Intro | Fiction | Jack Levy | 6

52 53 54 54-55

Metal Marks the Spot: Poland | Adventure Fiction | Rocco Renda | 6

56

Metal Marks the Spot: Germany| Adventure Fiction | Adam Dalrymple | 6

57

Parking Lot | Photography | Baxter Perry-Miller | 8 The Road to Nowhere | Poetry | Judah Frenkel | 8

58-59 59

Grass on the Beach | Photography | Baxter Perry-Miller | 8 Thunderstorm | Poetry | Jordan Feldman | 8

60-61 61

Mantel Reindeer | Photography | Henry McGill | 5 62 The Martyr’s Ideal | Fiction | Sebastian Gonzalez | 6 63 Engine | Photography | Joseph Day | 8 Vroom Vroom | Poetry | Joseph Day | 8

64-65 65

Life As A

Metaphor

Like a metaphor, there is more to life than meets the eye.

People are born helpless, but they are nurtured by their community. As they mature, they move closer and closer to their full potential.

We can look at life as a metaphor for our magazine.

It began as an idea, and only through constant support and effort from each individual involved did it come to fruition. Metaphors can help us understand complex ideas by using simple words.

But to truly understand, we need to go

DEEPER.

MM | XX | 5

The Thoughts Inside My Head Poetry | Roman Carter | 6 Art | Neil Yepuri | 7

The walls are closing in I can’t think anymore I’m insecure My palms are sweaty I’m breathing heavy I can’t feel my legs I’m going to pass out Pain and suffering are blasting through my head Why do I feel this Do I deserve this What have I done The room is shrinking I’m tripping over my feet Head over heels Not seeing myself in a mirror These connections I’ve made Mean nothing anymore If I go I go If I stay I stay It’s M E

My Later House

Fiction | Charlie Hill | 8 Photography | Baxter Perry-Miller | 8

My house has always been there, with its big red door and a big old life. It’s full of my family. It’s full of my memories. It’s there as a place to sleep, eat, and enjoy life. It’s always pretty placid, but every now and then it can get crazy like when Mr. Clayman announces school ends early, but then he says you still have two more periods under their control. It is a house in the middle of a big city and it looks like it. There are a lot of people around it, and you always run into them and you have to talk, and you have to drop off some gift at each person’s house each year at Christmas, and you know they are all very nice people, and they would do the same thing for you, but you still just aren’t the type of person who likes to stay and chat. But that is not how it will stay because this is only my house now, not later.

My Later House will be by itself, with all the land around it to itself. My Later House won’t have neighbors so close that you drive on their grass going up the driveway, and it won’t have five different neighbors whose name starts with a “W.” My Later House will have a little dirt road you have to drive on to get to it, and you won’t get there unless you really want to get to it. My Later House will look as if it has been growing out a beard for the last week, and instead of looking messy, it is shaved in just the right spots to look rugged but organized at the same time. Inside My Later House, it will be like when your grandpa, who’s been around since the time you had to work for everything, gives you an old knife he has had forever, and you are super excited about it and you work hard to clean it and sharpen it as if it were new like he would have, and when you’re done you look at it and are satisfied. My Later House is gonna be the type of house that when you walk in, you know by the smell that you are going to like it there. My Later House will be like that dog you’ve had forever and you know you can always count on to be by your side. The only problem with My Later House is that it won’t happen until a little while later.

MM | XX | 9

Down the Mountain Poetry | Asa McCaleb | 8 Photography | Jack Frary | 7

There I am Zooming down the mountain Cold in my hands In my feet On my face But speed in my body In my legs The rush of rushing Down the mountain Down freshly packed snow Glittering from the sunlight My face glittering with excitement.

MM | XX | 11

A Life Of Crime: Intro Fiction | Nathaniel Hochman | 6 Photography | Austin Cohen | 7

“Get them!” the storekeeper cried to the nearest guard. Jonah was off, again. He was on the run from the guards for the third time this week, but this time he had food to eat for dinner and not just useless bird gizzards.

Jonah and Ben were brothers and orphans who had to steal to survive. Their dad was sacrificed to the sun god and their mom had passed away from grief shortly thereafter. They had been alone for the past six months and loneliness was still new to them.

They didn’t own a sleeping mat, so they had to sleep under the stars. They had used up all of their dad’s savings in a matter of months, so they had committed themselves to stealing to survive. Jonah was a rather burly fifteen year old kid. He was the one who did the hard work (in his opinion) of the burglaries. Jonah was the one who would physically go to the market and grab as much as he could and then make his escape. On the other hand, his brother Ben was a really smart kid. Ben was the one who planned which market to rob, and on which days, so the guards couldn’t deduce where Jonah would strike next. Ben was also the one who distracted the guards by asking them silly questions like, “How many pounds of stone did it take to build that pyramid?”

One morning, the brothers were working through their routine of removing all evidence of their slumber behind the great pyramid.

“Where and what am I looting today?” asked Jonah. “You are getting jade from the shop at the edge of the jungle,” replied Ben. “That’s impossible to do; you know it has the highest security. No way am I going to be able to fool those guards!” replied Jonah. “I know, but all of the other shops are closed today,” explained Ben. “Fine. But don’t blame me if I get sacrificed, okay,” replied Jonah. They promptly left for the store.

Ben paused, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Jonah ignored him because his brother was always needing to go to the bathroom. He must have had a

bladder the size of a peanut. Jonah gave Ben some time to go, but strangely Ben never showed up.

Thinking this was a misunderstanding, Jonah went ahead and snatched a piece of jade off the counter and started to run out of the shop, but two guards cornered him by the entrance.

“You foolish child! Did you not know that this was the most secure shop in the whole village?” said the first guard.

“You are going to be in so much trouble when the emperor hears about this,” said the other.

Ben came out of the bathroom to find his big brother being held captive. He had to act quickly in order to save his sibling, so he ran to the guards and asked them about the thief. In the time it took for the guards to turn their heads to answer Ben, Jonah slipped away. Once the guards realized they had been bamboozled, they played a game of chase through the village, running after the two brothers who were as quick as a pair of jungle jaguars. When Ben started to wear out, Jonah realized he had to improvise a new plan to lead his brother to safety.

He yelled to Ben once more, “Hey, get into the jungle!” After tripping over branches, and getting their heads stuck in the vines, they finally made it out of the jungle and stumbled upon a narrow beach on a sand-swept isthmus.

As the two boys hurried towards the water, two old wooden boats sat on the wet sand like two beached whales. The first one, a large sailboat with a small rip in the sail, seemed to be calling to Ben as he walked up to it. The second one, a small canoe that could barely fit the two of them, sat waiting to be used again after a long day of trading.

It was a windy evening, and a storm was lurking on the horizon. Ready to escape trouble and get some rest, they looked at both vessels. Ben thought the sailboat was the better option, but Jonah wanted to take the canoe.

“Obviously this one has the most potential in getting us to a safe place,” pronounced Ben as he touched the bow of the sailboat. The vessel was lined with detailed carvings of gods that seemed to be watching the two boys. Jonah scrunched his nose at the smell of salt as the waves crashed loudly against the sand. “No way!

Don’t you remember when dad used to tell us stories about how the most promising things usually end in disaster!” Jonah exclaimed. “Just because dad said that in one of his stories doesn’t mean we always have to follow it. Besides, look how detailed this hull is!” said Ben. “Fine,” uttered Jonah.

stiff yet comfortable, and the boys drifted off into a deep, restful sleep.

Jonah woke up slowly. He scratched the back of his head as he prodded Ben on the shoulder. Ben woke up with a big yawn. Staring around at the view, they gazed at the marvelous sight. The beach the boys had washed up on was beautiful; it sparkled with clear, blue water and glistening white sand. The air smelled of fruits and flowers. Only then, did the boys realize how hungry they were. “Where are we?” coughed Jonah. “I have no idea,” Ben responded. Jonah’s stomach growled as loud as an eagle’s screech. “I’m so

A Life Of Crime: Sailboat Fiction | Mason Bosco | 6

Jonah heaved the sailboat into the water as Ben started to unwrap the tattered sail. Just as the wind started to push the boat out into the ocean, Jonah climbed aboard. All of a sudden, they both heard a stick crack. They looked up but saw nothing. Then, out of nowhere, two guards jumped out of the bushes and started to run right for them. “Oh no!” Ben yelled, “They’ve caught up with us!” The two guards seemed to be in sync as the ran as fast as they could towards the boat. The two men were middle-aged, with scruffy beards and long ponytails cut short at their neck. They wore colorful sandals with gaudy robes hanging down to their knees. Jonah got out of the boat as quickly as he could and pushed hard at the bow. “Hurry, Jonah!”

Ben hooted. “I’m trying!” he wheezed. The two guards were gaining on them as one shouted, “Stop where you are, or you will be punished even more severely!”

The two guards caught up to them as Ben struggled to unravel the sail against the strong winds.

When the sail finally whipped into place, the boat careened straight towards the open ocean. The guards stopped in their tracks as the boys escaped from the cruel isthmus.

Seagulls screeched overhead as the boys collapsed onto the deck, both exhausted from the adrenaline pumping through their veins. The deck was

hungry!” yelled Jonah. “Maybe there is something to eat on this beach.” The boys started walking around aimlessly trying to find something to eat. Trees dotted the area, and they finally came across a little patch of trees with orange things sprinkled all over it.

The trees emitted a sweet yet sour scent. Jonah grabbed one of the fruits from the tree and ripped it off of the branch. Just as he was about to take a bite, Ben stopped him. “You can’t eat the fruit with the peel on it!

Remember what dad used to talk about? He always said this was his favorite food, and you’re not supposed to eat it with the skin on it.” Ben had almost let Jonah taste the fruit with the peel on it just to get a laugh out of it.

But Ben realized how hungry Jonah was and decided to help him.

The boys made a camp a little bit farther away than where they had crashed, placed strategically in the middle of the orchard. Their dad had taught them how to build a fire, so they were able to get comfy that night.

They were soon able to collect food and create games to play. Every day, they did something together that they enjoyed, and at night, they always got a restful sleep.

They never found out where they were, but they never really cared enough to find out. They remained in there happy until their last days.

“I have a feeling in my gut that we should take the canoe,” said Jonah. He started to walk toward the old dugout. “Are you sure about that?” asked Ben. “I’m sure.”

“Alright, who’s going to paddle?” asked Jonah. “I think you should,” said Ben. “You’re older and stronger than me.”

“Just because I’m older and stronger than you doesn’t mean that I have to paddle the whole entire time,” stated Jonah. “You can help, too!” Jonah was tired of always doing the work. “Fine, let’s just take turns.’’

The boys had been at sea for days, were feeling woozy and getting more and more tired from paddling.

Little did they know, the wind was slowly pulling them

The guards marched the boys down the hill, and towards a massive tent that Jonah and Ben hadn’t even known was on the other side of their hill. The boys realized they had made a life-threatening mistake by coming to this island. There, inside a small tent with a strange man, they heard faint crackles of fire as rain dripped on the ceiling. “Who are you, and what do you want?” blurted Jonah. “Oh, I’m just here to see if you boys would like to enroll in the Tangata Manu,” asked the man in a calm voice. “You mean, the Birdman Competition?” stuttered Ben. “Yes, we have two open spots, and let’s say if one of you boys win, we’ll let you guys go. But if you

A Life Of Crime: Canoe Fiction | Gavin Trevino | 6

west. “Ben, I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” whined Jonah. The boys hadn’t eaten in nearly a day, and their fatigue was real. “Wait, do you see that Jonah? Land! We found land!” The island they saw was stunning, with clear blue water and beautiful hills with long grass waving in the wind. A few idyllic palm trees dotted the shore and a rich jungle lie beyond the beach. “Ben, I think we found our new home.”

When the boys reached the shore, there was something eerie about the place. It was almost as if the boys were being watched. “Jonah, do you see that? On top of that hill is a perfect place to camp for the night,” Ben pointed out. “I hope you’re right because all I want to do is go to sleep,” mumbled Jonah. When the boys reached the top of the hill, they immediately crashed.

“Guards, get them!” came a shout from the jungle. Two guards darted out of the trees to snatch up Ben and Jonah. “Hey, what are you doing to us! We did nothing wrong!” yelled Jonah in frustration. “Emperor does not like trespassers. He will have you killed immediately,” said one of the guards. “Please, there has to be something that we can do, we just escaped being killed,” said a depressed Ben. “There are two open spots for a competition, but the Emperor will ultimately decide your fate.

lose, then you will be put up for execution. “Jonah, I think it’s our only chance,” insisted Ben. “We’ll do it,” declared Jonah.

When the boys were brought toward the starting line, they both had worried looks on their faces, almost as if they were being led toward their very own death.

“Racers, ready! You will swim to the island, grab the egg, and swim back. If you win, you become emperor. Except for those two little runts,” bellowed the referee. “They simply earn their freedom. Oh, and I forgot something. Killing is allowed. Three, two, one, go!”

The boys raced towards the island. Once they got in the water, a thought hit them like a ton of pyramid stones.

Jonah didn’t know how to swim!

“Ben, Ben, please, help me, I can’t swim!” pleaded Jonah. “I’m trying Jonah, the current is pulling me, I can’t get to you!”

“HELP ME!” **

BEN SNAPPED AWAKE IN HIS NICE, WARM BED.

“Mom, Dad are you here?” asked Ben in a soft, quiet voice. “We’re right here, honey,” answered his parents as they walked into his bedroom.

US

Poetry | Surya Dinesh | 7 Photography | Jack Frary | 7

We Listen To the sounds Of the wild world Contemplating life And our whole universe Realizing that we are Insignificant in the world These broad, immeasurable cosmos Humans are nothing at all here Compared to the universe The vast wide world of space Inestimably Large, and here it Is merely, Solely US.

MM | XX | 17

Poetry | Rishik Kapoor | 5 Watercolor | Peter Clark | 5

E

A

A home created by an explosion The world third from the sun The only planet not named for a Roman god A globe protected by an atmosphere A supporter of life The perfect amount of heat and water

R

T

A heavenly body perfect for all organisms A habitat designed without flaw A sphere with natural and artificial wonders A terrain full of amazing landforms A setting full of many colors A sanctuary for all plants and animals

H

AN INTERESTING

WORLD Poetry | Jackson Pennington | 8 Photography | Deven Pietrzak | 7

I am sitting by my window, not making any noise at all.

Suddenly, I see something.

It is a beautiful red cardinal making the sweetest of noises, And I cannot help but think to myself, What an interesting world we live in.

MM | XX | xxi

Snow In Texas Poetry | Arnov Lahoti | 8 Photography | Jack Frary | 7

It’s everywhere in stories In novels, picture books, paintings Kids long for it For the joy it brings Snow angels, snowmen, snow forts, and snowball fights Endless hours of fun With no school or homework to worry about Just hot coco and numb fingers Running inside to grab a carrot or scarf And rushing out again to tend to old Frosty Icicles hang from cars, houses, and garages Yet I wait, Year after year For just an inch Of beautiful, white snowflakes Frozen tears of heaven For just a hint Of fantastical wonder But over and over again, My hopes fall

DESERTS Poetry | Akash Manickam | 7 Photography | Oliver Peck | 7

Deserts of sand, deserts of snow, Barren, empty, filled with sorrow, Deserts of hot, deserts of cold, Places of no tomorrow.

Deserts of war, the product of man, Locked in an endless fight, Deserts of stone, deserts of bone, Sleeping in eternal night.

MM | XX | 25

Life As A

Test

Life is abundant with tests of all kinds. These vary from simple challenges of our daily routines to terrible trials that seem to change our lives. These tests are inevitable, and it can quite often seem like we will never get through them. Throughout our existence, we have been and will continue to be tested. They are simply part of life. They serve to make us grow as individuals.

We will endure. We will strengthen.

We will live through the test of life.

We are only

STRONGER from our trials.

MM | XX | 27

Senza Ostinato Silenzio NonFiction | Cooper Guiler | 6 Art | Luke Anderson | 8

I was in the middle of the stage when I heard Mr. Stroh announce my name and walk back to the piano to prepare for the next piece.

The crowd invited me to begin with their applause while I started searching in my head for the first note.

My whole body was tense with fear while I began my solo.

I could feel every part of my body trembling, including my toes, as my shoes were a bit too small.

This didn’t help with my nervousness.

My solo proceeded note by note, and soon I felt relief when my presentation was complete.

I was thrilled.

I had succeeded.

Alone Poetry | Raja Mehendale | 8 Photography | Hudson Brown | 8

I call out, but no one hears, The loneliness starts to become real How am I more distracted When I’m focused On the outside I’m cold, But on the inside, I’m red hot Like a full bubble, Ready to pop Wish someone would pick me up, A companion, a friend Someone to make me feel whole again But till then, I’ll wait Feeling more and more at home When I’m all alone.

MM | XX | 31

The Hunt Fiction | Matthew DaSilva | 6 Photography | Oliver Peck | 7

It was only me and the deer. It had been six long, grueling hours of tracking and chasing the darn thing. First, through the mountains, then six miles straight through a ghost weed field. The grass so high you could only see the blue sky above you.

And it had all come to this, I thought to myself as I sat down on the grass, gasping for air.

I sighed closing my eyes, bone-tired, my feet burning and stinging.

After six long hours of hiking through the wilderness, every muscle in my body ached, and sweat was pouring down my back in rivulets, soaking all my clothes.

I was about to enter mother sleep’s embrace when I felt a hard prod on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, only to see my dad’s bright red face staring back at me.

“Kid I’m tired, but we almost got him,” he said, catching his breath in between words.

“Come on son, this is for you.”

He shoved the massive rifle into my chest, it’s surface cool despite the 100-degree weather. I sat up groaning, squeezing the gun close to my chest as I squirmed, trying to get in the right position. I held the gun close to my chest, savoring the crisp, sweet air of the mountains. I laid my finger on the trigger, feeling the smooth steel surface against my clammy fingers.

I could hear the whispering of the wind, almost like it was talking to me. But even that stopped, and all that was left was a deafening silence that settled over me like a blanket. I rested my crosshairs on the deer’s fiery red coat. Its titanic antlers jutted from its head, protruding like two crooked twin towers into the sky. As I pulled the trigger a thought suddenly shot through my mind, I’ll blow this deer to hell.

“Come on son, this is for you.”

MM | XX | 33

Enjoying Life Poetry | Will Clifford | 7 Photography | Dawson Yao | 8

The wind runs by my ears Morning sun glows off water Fresh air heals my lungs The birds chirp with joy I am at peace with myself The world is my oyster.

Poetry | Matthew Chen | 8

Feeling the windy breeze across the grassy plains Running through the shadows of the trees Climbing the grassy hill I see a place A place where I feel at home A place where I feel the comfort of friends A place where relationships are made and broken But all good things must come to an end.

MM | XX | 35

Oops, Not Again...

Fiction | Jeremy Mau | 7 Photography | Oliver Peck | 7

“O

h no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” I yelled as I sped down the steep slope littered with moguls. I didn’t know where I had gone wrong.

I had been going down a nice, long, and easy green ski slope, and I must have taken a wrong turn. But here I was, rocketing down a steep minefield of moguls.

I was sure I was going to crash. I dared not turn for fear of hitting a mogul and flipping head over heels. People were staring at me as I zoomed past them like a blur, completely out of control.

I looked ahead and saw a fork in the path. Yes! Anything to get off this path. I turned for the first time since I skied onto this nightmare.

The incredible speed I had gathered on that steep horror gradually tapered off as I reached a nearly flat plain of snow and ice. Although less dangerous, this was even worse than that black diamond.

An hour and a half later, I was lost in my own thoughts, slowly making my way down a nice, comfortable green that had branched off of the plateau. As I mulled over the past two and a half hours, I hardly noticed that I was picking up speed.

After a couple of minutes, I was going about half the speed that I was going on the steep, mogul-lined slope. I was only barely paying attention to where I was going.

Out of the hazy fog in my mind, a blue flash of pain seared through me. I found myself on my back, looking up at a tree that seemed to have jumped into my path. My only thought is, “Not again.”

“I didn’t know where I had gone wrong.”

MM | XX | 37

Ramaiah Koganti Story | Dilan Koganti | 6 Photography | Jack Frary | 7

Imagine living on a farm in South India in the middle of summer. There is no air conditioning, no refrigeration, and the temperature reaches 115 °F every day. And imagine, on top of all that, you have to raise eleven children to be successful adults. This is the life of my paternal great-grandfather, Ramaiah Koganti, or Ramaiah Thathiah. He lived from 1900-1988 and was a farmer, relying on the crops he grew for food and money. In addition, he tried to help many people by creating a small village called Srungarapuram near the city of Tenali. He was elected mayor.

As the mayor, he had to help every poor person who lived there. There are few people who are as focused on improving the lives of others as my great-grandfather was. He was a very hard worker and was always ready to help people.

A mayor was an excellent job for my greatgrandfather because anyone who knew him would say that he was kind, wise, and a great judge of character.

Since he was kind and approachable, the people of the village felt that they could always come to him for help.

He gave them good advice and helped them solve any problems. His most memorable trait was being a great judge of character. He needed that trait because he

would often have to settle disputes between members of the community. When he decided to start a village, he knew that it would not only benefit his family but his community as a whole. Through his hard work and dedication as a farmer, father, and leader of his community, he inspired my grandfather to move to the United States and build a better life.

Ramaiah Thathiah inspired me to always improve the lives of others before myself. I will always remember that he was the one who inspired my family to try to seek opportunity and help others. I will always try to help and care for everyone I meet so Ramaiah Thathiah will know that I am honoring his memory. The world is not perfect, but if everyone in the world goes to bed each night knowing that they improved the life of one person, the world could be one hundred times better.

“He was a very hard worker and was always ready to help people.”

MM | XX | 39

I

t seemed as if time stood still. I was standing on the free-throw line waiting for the referee to pass me the ball. I knew it was do or die. There was only one second left on the clock and we were down by two. It would be their ball, so if I missed either of my shots, my team would have to go home and mourn the second place state finals trophy. “That can’t be the end,” I muttered quietly to myself while the referee dribbled the ball. It was time, the referee blew his whistle, and I was ready to catch his pass. It flew through the air with a perfect arc and hit me right in the chest. I had missed the referee’s pass. Everyone laughed. It was my worst nightmare at a crucial time.

“Smack, smack,” went the ball as I pounded it against the hardwood floor. I pulled the ball up into shooting position and I shot it. “Clang,” the ball zoomed at the rim and bounced off it. I closed my eyes, I couldn’t bear to see where it would go. With a ‘swoosh’, we were halfway to tying the game. The crowd made no sound at all. They all knew the bounce was complete and utter luck, and I knew it too. As I was thinking, the referee got the ball, dribbled it once or twice, and blew the whistle. I looked at him and nodded because it was no time to talk. He passed the ball to me; I caught it. “Phew,” I muttered.

“It was my worst nightmare at a crucial time.”

The rhythmic ‘smack, smack’ continued as I went through the steps in my head thousands of times in only seconds. I had to make it. If I had missed the first shot, the pain would be more bearable. I had to make this one. I couldn’t miss. I just couldn’t. So, I shot it. High with a good arc, the ball came down right on the front of the rim and bounced up. This time, I couldn’t stop myself from watching. The ball seemed to freeze as it was coming down, even though I knew it was still moving fast. It finally came down and hit the rim.

This time, the ball bounced to the side and missed. I had missed my one shot.

The pain was so disheartening, it didn’t come out in a scream or even tears. It was just there. Then, almost as suddenly as it came, it was gone.

The referee had blown the whistle and said, “Lane violation, defending team.” The tears came easily now, except now they were tears of joy. Even though it was not close to over, I knew that we wouldn’t lose. We magically had been given a second chance. It meant so much for us. We had never won anything before, not even a regular season game. Now we had won two games in a tournament that we lost every year since first grade.

It was time for me to tie it. I got the ball, I dribbled it, and I brought it into shooting position. Then suddenly I shot it. I knew it was good the second I released it. The quiet swoosh was all the joy I needed to make me happy the rest of my life. There was loud cheering, loud screaming, and best of all a pat on the back from my teammate and best friend. The other team had one second to score. If they did, they would win. As they passed the ball, time expired.

We had won.

m i T

d o o t S e

l l i St

6 e| |8 n ay row y B ph D d n e | A | Jos n y tio Fic raph g to Pho

Life As A

Game

Whether its chess, football, or Monopoly™, a game is always great fun... if you win. Nobody likes to lose.

However, losses are a part of life, and we must learn from them.

Life itself is a game with 7.8 billion players.

When we face a setback, we have to pick ourselves up and keep fighting. However, it is hard to get back up alone. Thankfully, life is a team sport.

You are never alone, and working together can help everyone move forward.

Truly successful people are gracious in times of triumph and tribulation, and they never leave their teammates behind.

What is the goal of the game? You decide...

Whatever you do,

DON’T GIVE UP without a fight.

MM | XX | 43

Cave Story | Jaden Ouyang | 7 Photography | Deven Pietrzak | 7

I went to Montenegro to practice with the water polo teams there. What I didn’t plan was a 250-yard swim across the sea to an ocean cave.

My water polo team and I just finished exploring a nearby cave a couple of feet away. When we returned to our boat, some of our stronger swimmers, plus our water polo coach, swam off. I didn’t know what they were doing, so I jumped back into the sea and followed them. That was the worst decision of my life.

When I finally caught up to them, I could barely keep my head above the water. We were halfway to the cave. My coach ended up dragging me all the way to the cave. When we were there, though, sea urchins covered the entire floor of the cage like land mines, so I couldn’t stand on the bottom. We finally found a rock that was urchin-free.

Meanwhile, at the boat, my father wondered where the heck I was. He looked all around the boat, but couldn’t find me. Then he realized that I swam off to join the older kids.

He sighed in exasperation.

Back at the cave, all four of us who went to the cave were huddled together on the one spot in the cave that wasn’t urchin-infested. I sighed at how stupid I was, deciding to swim 250 yards to a urchin-filled cave as my teammates scolded and chided me for coming with them. Minutes passed. I spotted a glowing thing in the water, and reached for it. It swam away as my hand got close.

My teammates were daring each other to touch an urchin, while my coach waited for the boat to pick us up from the dark hole in a rock.

What seemed like hours later, the boat finally parked outside of the cave. We eagerly swam as fast as we could back to the boat.

I was so relieved to have my traumatic experience over. Afterwards, I sat down on the boat. I felt a sharp pain in my foot and found an urchin needle there, a souvenir from the cave in the middle of the ocean.

“When I finally caught up to them, I could barely keep my head above the water.”

MM | XX | 45

I Couldn’t See a Thing Fiction | Ollie Morgan | 6 Photography | Austin Cohen | 7

I

couldn’t see a thing, as I plunged into darkness. Finally, I landed. My whole body was sore even though I fell into a pile of… trash bags? Smelling banana peels and rotten eggs, I made an inference that I was probably in a trash compactor of sorts.

Standing up, my eyes started to get adjusted to the darkness. I stomped my way through the muddy and wet trash bags to find myself at a wall. Edging around the deep and dark black wall, I felt something.

A ladder. As I put my hand on the rusty silver metal, it immediately shook. It wasn’t sturdy, but it was worth a shot. I put my hands on the ladder and started climbing.

It held better than I thought it would, but I still had to be careful, slowly creaking my way up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something; a beam of light coming from a recently opened door. I see a man look at me. Two gunshots were fired.

Then it all went dark.

I wake up in a chair, hands and feet tied to it. I am in a small, metal room with no windows and a door. I hear footsteps, then see a masked man walk in the room.

“Sleep well?” he said. “Why are you doing this to me?” I shouted and struggled, only

to find immediate pain in my right arm.

A red badge was tattooed on my shoulder, and it was a terrible pain that I cannot describe. The man had made no effort to heal my wound, not even going through the trouble of putting a bandage on it.

“Let me show you something,” he chuckles. He cuts off my bindings and leads me out of the room. As we walk, he describes how the world has changed.

He walked me out onto a terrace and showed me something that almost made me faint. The world, or at least this city, was flooded.

Although we were in a 50 story building, the water was about 100 feet below us, and we were surrounded.

“We are all going to die,” he said, “it’s bound to happen.” At that moment, the building shook. A pause. Then it shook again, this time more violently. This second impact sent him flying off the terrace, screaming as he went. I ran back inside and tried to go up to a higher level. The water was at my feet, then my knee, then up to my torso, to the point where I was swimming. I was trapped. As the water came up to my mouth, ready to engulf me, I woke up.

“He walked me out onto a terrace and showed me something that almost made me faint”

Imagination Poetry | Mason Briscoe | 8 Photography | Andrew Jin | 7

As I lay in bed My mind begins to wander To a land far away A land with no limitations A land with no rules

A land with no responsibilities I can see it But can’t go to it It’s just too far

I awake disappointed Thinking of all the things I could have done But I guess that’s the curse of imagination.

MM | XX | 49

Mother Nature Poetry | CJ Ness | 8 Photography | Austin Cohen | 7

The clouds storming down on me The flashes of lighting as far as the eye can see BOOM! The loud clap of thunder ringing in my ears Soaking wet I just sit there Not worried about anything Time passes The sun is out Birds are chirping Water is dripping from the trees Life is blooming The sounds of nature echoing throughout the forest As if nothing had happened And I still just sit there More time passes Stars in the reflection of the lake gleaming in my eyes The full moon brightens up the landscape as if it were day The ground still wet The animals are now silent And all that is left is me and my thoughts.

Flavors of the East NonFiction | Christopher Guffey | 6 Photography | Jeremy Mau | 7

T

rying new things is a great experience, and I think everyone can agree with me on that. But trying new foods is like a whole new level of greatness. My family and I decided to go to an Indian restaurant to try new foods. Taking my first step into the restaurant, I could immediately detect all of the rich smells wafting out of the kitchen door.

We ordered a surplus of foods to eat and when the food was served, it looked like none of the various meals I’ve eaten at other indian restaurants. The tray stood before me, and I peered at the delicious food.

My mom, being an expert on this cuisine, was sure to only get the most elaborate and unique types of entrées on the menu. The first thing that I reached for seemed to be a kebab, which I’ve definitely had before, but the different texture and look surprised me. I’ve had regular chicken kebab before, but this one was different, being significantly more tender and sweeter, similar to cinnamon. Though the kebab was extremely odd and different to me, I enjoyed it!

The next thing I grasped was a variation of spinach. To me, it looked like a heavier pesto, almost like a thick tomato soup, and had attributes similar to mashed potatoes. An easier way of describing this is to imagine a spinach paste. It’s called Malabar spinach, and it is native to the Indian subcontinent, Southeast Asia and New Guinea. The original plant is actually considered a vine, although it is widely regarded as spinach.

I attempted to continue with another plate of food, but my parents reminded me of a key piece in a meal, the appetizer. We had ordered a crispy chip called a papadum.

It has the circumference of a pancake, but it’s texture and crispness resemble a potato chip. It came with a saucer full of green chutney, a spicy and sweet dipping sauce.

There were more amazing and exciting foods, but I must move on to arguably the best part: DESSERT!!!

My family had two different desserts, both delicious. The first one was rice pudding, having a sweet pudding paste with rice mixed in. Though this dessert might not seem very tasty, it is very pleasing to the taste buds!

Though the rice doesn’t add any flavor, it has a abundance of texture. The pudding, however, was where the flavor resides, having a lovely warm sweet taste. The next dessert was called “Mango Lassi”, a mango smoothie. It was a thick blend of mango, milk, and yogurt, with a dash of seasoning including cardamom or saffron and pistachio on the top.

After leaving the restaurant, I realized that the choice to venture out and try new foods was a great decision and I urge you to do it, too! Such an experience could open a new perspective on how you like your food.

“I must move on to arguably the best part: DESSERT!!!”

MM | XX | 53

Metal Marks the Spot: Intro Fiction | Jack Levy | 6 Photography | Ben Foster | 8

Birthday presents, a big party, and a metal detector were all arriving tomorrow. Watson’s 21st birthday was only a day away, and he couldn’t wait for it to finally arrive. Watson loved archeology since his grandfather entrusted him with a family heirloom and told him countless stories about his family’s history in Eastern Europe. At the same time, Watson developed a love for treasure hunting as a boy growing up on the beach. That same grandfather also taught him to use a metal detector, and each year he’d spent days combing the sands of sunny southern California. To date, all he had found were some historic coins, but one day he hoped to find REAL buried treasure.

Watson always loved traveling, too, since that fateful summer his grandfather took him to Egypt and Paris

and shared his memories of working at some of the greatest museums in the world. In fact, Watson always dreamed of going to Germany and Poland because of the stories his parents and grandparents told him about finding a bag full of money that an ancestor had buried.

That’s why he wanted, more than anything, a new metal detector and a plane ticket to Central Europe for his birthday.

Watson ran downstairs on the eve of his special day and asked, “Hey mom, am I having a birthday party tomorrow?” Mom seemed a little confused and replied, “Well, no.” Chuckling, she added, “We talked about this already, and I said no, remember?”

Watson’s plan was destroyed before it had begun.

“You are not having a birthday party. We talked about

this. You broke the rules, and I’m not going back on what I said.” After the horrible conversation, he told all of his friends that unfortunately there would be no birthday party and he was not expecting any gifts. Watson was infuriated, but he found relief when he thought of something amazing: “If I am not allowed to get any presents from my friends, then maybe I am getting something amazing, like a metal detector, from my parents!” Watson bombarded out of the house in excitement and joy after thinking of this far-fetched idea might actually come true! He knew he couldn’t talk about it to his parents or to his friends because he wanted it to be a surprise. After getting a car for his sixteenth birthday, which was really exciting, this was his runner-up gift.

Watson laid down in his bed, stretched out, relaxed, and waited with eager anticipation for the next day to come.

The next day, he jumped up out of bed and ran downstairs into the kitchen, knowing that this day was going to be an amazing day. Watson ate breakfast with his parents, and they cooked him his favorite food: waffles with strawberries and blueberries, whipped cream on top, and a cup of fresh orange juice. He scarfed down the provisions and jumped into his car (his best birthday present) to begin his day on campus.

Sadly, he had a quiz and a test on his birthday, but he also got a lot of “Happy Birthday, Watson!” from his classmates, which is a bit embarrassing. After school, he drove home with hopes of see a metal detector on the kitchen counter. After parking his car, he walked inside to “Happy Birthday, Watson!” “Thank you so much, Mom and Dad. I can’t believe you still know today is my birthday!” Watson said to them as he hugged and kissed his parents.

“How do we still know?” Watson’s mom said back in a confused voice. “How could we ever forget?”

Watson’s dad said so they wouldn’t start to have a onversation about how Watson’s mom didn’t understand sarcasm. Watson’s parents stepped away from the kitchen counter, and there it was: the thing he had been waiting for the whole day… a new metal detector!

“Thank you so much, Mom and Dad. Y’all are so generous!” “We think you will need this present a lot while you are still in college,” Watson’s dad added in a happy voice. Watson unwrapped the present, but as the gift inside emerged the smile faded from his face. His parents got him socks! Watson’s mood changed

dramatically. “Thank you. I guess I needed socks. I’ve had a long day so I am now going to go to bed. After all, I need to sleep to be ready for weekend classes.”

Watson walked upstairs, disappointed with the birthday present his parents gave him and disappointed in how his parents cancelled his party. As Watson walked into his bedroom, he kicked his belongings back and forth in frustration.

That night, while Watson was lying in bed, he thought to himself that he had had enough. He deserved a good birthday present! Watson crept downstairs and found his mom’s purse laying on the kitchen counter.

He walked towards it, pulled out the wallet, took the credit card, and went back upstairs into his dad’s office.

Watson logged onto his dad’s computer and purchased a plane ticket and a metal detector that he would pick up in the morning. Then he got in his car and drove off in a rage.

The next morning, his mom found out that her credit card had been taken so she went to her credit card statement to review the purchases. Immediately, she knew it was Watson. Watson had been asking for a plane ticket for his birthday for a whole year, but she didn’t think he was ready to fly alone. She immediately woke Watson’s dad and dashed to the airport to catch Watson in the act.

Watson had picked up the metal detector on the way to the airport and packed it in his suitcase.

It added a bit of a delay getting to the airport, but Watson thought he would still have plenty of time to board his flight.

Watson’s mom was tracking down Watson’s phone, and his parents were hot on his tail.

Watson put his car in valet so he wouldn’t have trouble with it. He checked his bag, so all he took on the plane was a bag of clothes, his passport, and a few other valuable essentials.

Watson’s mom and dad got to the airport, dashed to the ticket counter, but the plane was gone...with Watson on board.

“Where’s it headed?” asked Watson’s mom.

MM | XX | 55

Metal Marks the Spot: Poland Adventure Fiction | Rocco Renda | 6

The seatbelt sign switched off, and Watson felt relieved after a few of the longest hours of his life. Passing down the jet-way, he felt nervous, like a quirk in the smooth flow of the airport. All he really wanted to do was sit in a corner and cry for hours on end. Had he made a mistake?

Feeling alone and scared, he somehow mustered his courage and found his way through the airport in a timely fashion, grabbed his bag, and headed for a cheap motel in the inner city of Warsaw. The hotel was run down and ragged, but it was all he could afford and all he could find at the last minute. Settling onto his scroungy bed, he fished his phone out of his jumbled bag and began searching for interesting tourist spots. He discovered a national park called Białowiez˙ a and thought, “What kind of name is that? What the heck...

I’ll give it a try.”

He arrived at the park with butterflies in his stomach. He was thousands of miles from home and he really had doubts about his decision. He slyly took out his metal detector while keeping his back turned to the road, worried that someone might steal it. He made his way through the damp forest as leaves crunched under his feet and the smoky smell of the oak trees overwhelmed him.

He spotted a woodpecker jabbing at a bare tree, its limbs dancing in the wind. He was both nervous and excited.

Three hours later, he was exhausted and thinking about abandoning his search. Watson’s stomach was growling from hunger and thirst, and he didn’t know how much longer he could continue this adventure. He was about to give up when his metal-detector started beeping. His heart skipped a beat, and he started jumping with joy.

Watson grabbed his hand shovel from his bag and started digging. About two feet down, he hit something hard and used his hands to clear away the rubble. He found what appeared to be a rusted sheet of metal, but when he tried to pull it out of the muck, it wouldn’t budge. Giving it another hefty tug, the metal gave way, and to his surprise he discovered it was actually a trap door buried in the ground! Opening it further, he saw the entrance to a rusted, musty staircase that descended into the darkness underground. The air that escaped smelled like his grandpa’s wine

cellar: musty, damp, and old. It must be an abandoned mine shaft, he thought. He took his first steps into the stairwell with excitement; he was ready to explore the long-lost mine. He used his flashlight to look around for anything valuable. Feeling excited, Watson ran down the stairs but tripped over a bulge lurking in the ground. He tumbled head over heels, and his body throbbed with pain as he examined the bulge. Oddly, it appeared to be a metal vase stuck in the ground. He grasped the rusted jar and opened it. In the beam of his headlamp, hundreds of coins gleamed like the light of a thousand suns.

Watson was ecstatic, he immediately called a taxi to come pick him up from the park’s trail head. He tried so hard not to say a word about what he found. Luckily, the driver didn’t speak English anyway.

When he got back to his fleabag motel, he dialed the local museum and left a message explaining what he had found. The next morning, they set up a meeting, invited him in, and they offered him 500,000 Euros for ten of the precious coins. Watson almost passed out from the news. He knew he wouldn’t have to worry about money for a very long time. The next day he went to the museum and made the exchange. He asked for some of his funds in cash so he could purchase a ticket back to California. **

He stepped onto the porch of his home feeling very nervous. He was apprehensive about what punishment his parents might give him for running away from home. As he walked through the door, his parents stared at him in disbelief. They couldn’t believe that their little boy, Watson, had returned safely. They sprinted towards him and captured him in a loving embrace, hugging and kissing him until he couldn’t breath. They were angry, but they forgave him.

He showed his Mom and Dad the coins, but they really didn’t care. All they wanted to do was share some time with their son.

Metal Marks the Spot: Germany Adventure Fiction | Adam Dalrymple | 6

Watson arrived in Germany and worked his way around the airport, confused while trying to read the signs.

He felt strange because he had never been to Germany and had no idea where to go.

He finally retrieved his bags and made his way to the car rental agency. While waiting for the agent to deliver his car, Watson searched on his phone for the best hotels in the area. He ended up finding a small hotel, in a small town, not far from the airport. Once he arrived, he unpacked and decided to immediately go hunting for some treasure.

He made his way to a nearby forest in search of lost goods. As he entered the forest, the gray bare trees closed in around him. Piles of dead leaves swallowed his feet, and the wind howled sending chills down his spine. The air smelled of must.

He searched for hours, but he didn’t find a single thing.

His throat stung with thirst, his legs burned like fire, and his hands were so numb he couldn’t feel the rough surfaces of the trees. He was just about to take a break on a nearby rock when suddenly his metal detector started beeping.

He moved around in circles until the beeping faded into a long solid tone. He then took out his shovel and dug a deep hole beneath the canopy of the forest. After a minute or two of digging, he hit something hard. He looked down and saw the tip of something brown and dirty. He kept digging until he could fish it out with his hands.

Freed from its earthen prison, he picked up the item but dropped it immediately because it weighed a ton. He had unearthed a box, and as he polished the top, he saw a symbol he recognized: Nazi symbol!

He was speechless because he had never seen anything related to the Nazis in all his years as a treasure hunter. Before his grandfather passed away, he had told Watson about his many dangerous encounters with the Nazis, and Watson immediately felt a connection.

Sitting down on a log, he tried to open the box, but it was locked. He picked up a nearby rock and whacked it against the lock, and it popped open. He slowly lifted the lid and found a bunch of untouched metal bars huddled inside. He washed them off with his water bottle, removing the decades of dust and grime to discover that they were actually bars of gold! He couldn’t believe his eyes. Had he just found the Nazi gold lost in World War II? In history class, his teacher had told the class the story. It seemed

impossible. After trying to calm down, he decided to call it a day and headed back to the hotel. Halfway back he realized that he could probably sell the bullion for a lot of money, so he thought it might be best to take the bars to the local pawn shop.

The cashier was amazed by what he saw. He told Watson the gold was worth close to $500,000. Watson decided that he would take most of it home to prove to his parents that he had something to show for stealing their credit card. He knew he could sell the gold in America. Watson walked out of the pawnshop with his box and headed back to the safety of his hotel.

In the elevator, a stranger pointed at the box and asked, “What’s inside?”

“Nazi gold,” Watson responded proudly. The stranger gasped.

“Do you know how much that is worth?” he implored.

“Yup,” Watson answered, “about 500,000 dollars each, and there are over a dozen in here.”

“Wow,” the stranger replied in shock. The elevator dinged as Watson reached his floor.

“This is my floor,” Watson said. He made his way down the hall to his room where he plopped down on his bed after a long day. He had no idea what was going to happen that night, and after failing to find the English channel on his small TV, Watson decided to fall asleep. **

Later that night, around midnight, Watson heard the door creak open. He sat up straight in bed, snatched the Nazi gold, and slithered out the door. Just as he left, he caught a small glimpse of the intruder’s face. It was the stranger he had seen in the elevator, and he was probably here to steal the gold. Watson bolted out of the room and down the hall, but the stranger made haste after him.

Watson took a sharp right turn into the stairs and sprinted towards the lobby. Luckily for Watson, the stranger tripped on the third step and tumbled down the stairwell.

Watson darted to his rental car and threw the gold in the passenger seat as he speed towards the airport. As quickly as possible, he booked a flight to America and boarded, never to see the intruder again. Little did he know he had found something people had been looking for for decades.

MM | XX | 57

The Road to Nowhere Poetry | Judah Frenkel | 8 Photography | Baxter Perry-Miller | 8

I won’t try to find the end of the road It extends both directions anyway Its arms bear many cities Each one a suitable destination But in my indecision I carry on Until I find the right place Or a facsimile thereof.

MM | XX | 59

Thunderstorm

Thunderstorm Poetry | Jordan Feldman | 8 Photography | Baxter Perry-Miller | 8

Poetry | Jordan Feldman | 8

Photo | Baxter Perry-Miller | 8

As the rain plunks on my window sill, I sit, thinking of nature at its best.

Thunder...

The steady blow after the calm: The man above, clapping, music to my ears.

Zaps of electricity coming from the clouds, Rays of light before my eyes.

The Martyr’s Ideal Fiction | Sebastian Gonzalez | 6 Photography | Henry McGill | 5

T

ime stood still. The arrow I had released just before the cocky guard hit him flew in slow motion, its aim true.

I tried to yell out a warning, but my throat closed up.

I couldn’t let Kairos die, so I did the only other thing I could.

I jumped and took my life so he could live. I fell to the ground with a thud, barely feeling a thing. Blackness began to creep in from the edges of my eyes, and although I felt no pain, I knew I was dying. The last thing I saw was Kairos’s face, a mixture of shock, sorrow and guilt. Then I died.

I woke up in what seemed like a bed of clouds, my strength and energy completely restored. The room was barren except for a drawer with all my clothes and a desk. The desk had nothing on it except for a certificate of something that I didn’t recognize, but looked eerily familiar. I quickly turned around as a door that had not been there before opened and in came an old man who gestured for me to follow him.

He led me down a hallway into what must have been his office. Settling into his chair, he gestured for me to sit down, and pulled a folder out from his desk.

“Welcome. You are in Gulak. I assume you know what that means.” he said calmly.

My heart skipped a beat. I was at a total loss for words. I felt like my life had just been turned upside down. I remembered the stories I heard as a kid about Gulak, the trial of the heavens.

“W-what did I do to deserve this?” I asked, my fingers trembling.

“I’m in quite a predicament here. You see, martyr-like death for the sake of your nation, friends, family, or whatever type of group, usually results in high afterlife status and the like. Your death, despite being brave and selfless, would never have happened if you didn’t make the mistakes and reckless decisions that you made. The Krinx has prepared a trial for you. Good luck.” he said, smiling ruefully.

My stomach knotted as I braced myself for the task ahead.

The Krinx was known for his wisdom and subtle tricks. “I’m ready,” I whispered.

I was sitting down in a room with three blank, black walls and one wall that was covered floor to ceiling with intricate carvings. I got up from the stool, which had a sort of emptiness to it, and moved closer to the wall. It seemed to depict everything that ever happened in life. Three carvings were set slightly further in from the rest. The first portrayed a content yet downcast fugitive who refused to give in to the oppressive government, willing to die for his cause. The second had two outcasts, one on the ground and cornered by bandits, the other rushing in to save him. The third was a radiant young man joining the military during his country’s time of need.

I knew what this meant, or at least I thought I did.

I had to choose one, but I had to really believe in it to be able to. I closed my eyes, and one at a time, the carvings came to life in my mind. By the end, I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t bring myself to give in, to go with the brainwashing and propaganda that was so fundamental to the Induzzio government. I took one deep breath and placed my hand so it was touching both the first and second at the same time.

Then, the Krinx began: “Verumus, fecissen aeternto.”

I had never heard these words in my life, yet I already knew their meaning, “Perfect, forever done”. The Krinx’s words echoed in my brain, as I realized I had done it. My mission was complete, and, most importantly, the High Ones shared my view on the world.

I realized that I did not long to live in a perfect heaven.

I had done what I needed to do. Satisfied, I closed my eyes, and let myself go wherever I was needed, as a spirit or as a human. I knew that in some way, somehow, the flame I worked so hard to light would not die out.

“Verumus, fecissen aeternto.”

MM | XX | 63

Vroom Vroom Photography and Poetry | Joseph Day | 8

Vroom Vroom the engine comes to life, four months of development and many hours of labor has lead you to this point, you are in the finals and you are going against your rival that beat you in the championship last year.

You roll up to the lights and stage, you rev the engine to 4000 rpm and dump the clutch and the engine roars as you take off, you shift into second gear perfectly you are neck and neck he is pulling away you need to have a extremely fast gear shift into third to pass him.

The car hurtling up to 70 mph and you reach 6500 rpm you try to go to 3rd gear but all you hear is grinding and your tires screeching, you accidentally go back to first and your engine just revved to 15,000 rpm you can’t see because there is smoke billowing from your hood, you just blew your engine on the first run of the season, welcome to drag racing.

MM | XX | 65

Team Members Advisor

Danielle Clayton Neil Yepuri Akash Manikam Luke Anderson Will Clifford Surya Dinesh Skylar Green Andrew Jin Akash Manickam

John Stephen Hohmann Deven Pietrzak Jeremy Mau Alex Nelson Jaden Ouyang Luke Piazza Joseph Sun

Memberships and Awards Columbia Scholastic Press Association (Membership) National Scholastic Press Association (Membership) CSPA Gold Crown 2016 CSPA Gold Crown 2017 CSPA Gold Crown 2018 NSPA Pacemaker Finalist 2018

Mission Insipired by its upper school predecessor, The Marque, the Mini-Marque is a student-driven, extracurricular club that meets after school hours. The club accepts any interested seventh and eighth grade student regardless of experience. Submissions are encouraged in fifth through eighth grade and are judged blindly and equally for publication. The club is responsible for reviewing and selecting submissions, editing text, and creating spreads as a team. Each member is responsible for cultivating their design skills, collaborating with other members, evaluating modes of writing, and teaching other members as they develop their editing and design skills.

Colophon The Mini-Marque is a multimedia magazine created by the St. Mark’s School of Texas Middle School. The magazine cover is printed 4/4. The body text font is Serifa Regular and the title fonts vary by section. The pullout quote font is lemongrass. In order of section, the title fonts are Shackleton, Orpheus Pro, and ITC Avant Garde Gothic Pro. The staff used Adobe Indesign, Illustrator, and Photoshop to create the magazine content. Publication was done on Mac desktop computers and personal laptops. 400 copies were printed for distribution to students, staff, and families free of charge.

Copy Number ______ of 400

Thank You Special thanks to the members of the administrative team who allow us to produce this magazine: David Dini, John Ashton, Dean Claymon, and Nick Seberna.

We would also like to thank the upper-classmen of St. Mark’s, especially Luke Piazza, who donates his time and talent to assist us on this journey. Thank you to the humanities and fine arts departments for encouraging submissions throughout the year. Lastly, thank you to our teacher, Mrs. Clayton, for pushing us to finishing this magazine.

St. Marks School of Texas 10600 Preston Road Dallas Texas 75230 St. Marks School of Texas | 10600214.346.8295 Preston Road | Dallas Texas 75230 | 214.346.8295