STAFFORD HIGH SCHOOL
STAFFORD HIGH SCHOOL
STUDENT EDITORS Nina Gonzalez, GRAPHICS E.H. Kindred, STORY Jenny Pan, PHOTOGRAPHY
FACULTY ADVISOR Jim Andrews, PULBLISHER N. Candela, ART Sue Gill, TECHNICAL
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mirage is a phenomenon where light plays a trick on the eye, when bent
light rays produce an image that really isn’t there. Illusions like this can play into everyday life in a different way, when what we think our own minds can’t be experienced by others. Like a mirage that we think we see, these stories are part of something that can only happen in our minds, as no one else has experienced them. Each story, poem, and piece of artwork has a unique existence in the minds of their creators, who have graciously agreed to share them with us.
DEDICATION POETRY 1 - hige - mackenzie hummer 2 ‐ time ‐ d j page 3 ‐ flight of the fire steeds ‐ e. h. kindred 4 ‐ lightning bug ‐ kimberlyn pepe 11 ‐ these steps ‐ m. e. dillard 14 ‐ stress ‐ jared pepin 16 ‐ despair ‐ jared pepin 21 ‐ nothing at all ‐ kimberlyn pepe 25 ‐ grey ‐ noelani talimoni 27 ‐ paikea ‐ michelle mcconnell 28 - the descent - kurt vinnedge PROSE 5 ‐ the dream ‐ kurt vinnedge 6 ‐ points of view: 9/11 ‐ hollyann arnold 13 ‐ W205 ‐ evelyn chittum 17 ‐ trio ‐ michelle mcconnell 18 ‐ sweet ‐ j berenotto 22 ‐ a sunny day ‐ kurt vinnedge
ART & PHOTOGRAPHY covers & introduction ‐ melanie roberts 1 - photo - anthony Frederick 2 ‐ surreal portrait ‐ mika zink 3 ‐ seven sins ‐ e h kindred 4 ‐ ink ‐ john kovalchick 5 ‐ inverted ‐ kelsea shaver 7 ‐ photo ‐ nina gonzalez 9 ‐ two‐point perspective ‐ bob detriquet 10 ‐ photo ‐ m e dillard 12 ‐ photo ‐ nina gonzalez 15 ‐ surreal landscape ‐ alex vanderveer 16 ‐ photo ‐ francisco gonzalez 17 ‐ photo ‐ nina gonzalez 18 ‐ photo ‐ anthony frederick 21 ‐ surreal self‐portrait ‐ dina schoeller 23 ‐ contour study of leaves ‐ mika zink 25 ‐ surreal self‐portrait ‐ lysuelle slaughter 26 ‐ photo ‐ anthony frederick 28 ‐ photo ‐ jenny pan
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ast year I put down creative writing on my schedule. I had no idea who the teacher was. When I saw Creative Writing fourth period, J. Andrews, I didn’t shout for joy, my heart didn’t
skip a beat, I didn’t even crack a smile. However, if I had had any idea who Mr. Andrews was at the time, I would have done all this at once, probably looking like one silly spasm.
The first day wasn’t the cliché of the greatest teacher on earth. I was honestly a little perturbed by his eccentric and hilarious personality. I had thought that creative writing would be more subdued. However, this is what made the class and Mr. Andrews himself memorable.
As the days rolled on, I realized how much Mr. Andrews had taught us. Not even a quarter into the year, and I had learned more than I had in all my years of English class combined. But this is not the only reason why he is one of the greatest teachers at Stafford High. He might have taught for forty three years, and taught thousands and thousands of students, but it’s a fact that he has connected with every single one. He knows all his students’ names in the first two days. He listens to every student’s opinion; he is always willing to spend his free periods discussing idealism and realism, even helping students with relationship issues.
His love for each and every student is what sets him apart in the world of education. He is not only a teacher; he is a friend, mentor, and someone who can be trusted. His genuine love for the human mind and imagination is what has led to this literary magazine. He is Mr. Andrews, and I am proud to say that he is my teacher.
1975 Yearbook
A lone solitary figure Silent like a mute Still as a statue
hige MACKENZIE HUMMER
A comforting friend Gone one day and back the next. You shy away from the warmth of touch Yet between our distance We are still connected Even when I see you no more.
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Standing on the beach of time, Looking down, my feet submerged in sand. Being neither wet nor dry, seeming only to just exist. I am standing before the ocean of time, Stretching infinitely representing the first and last of days. To the left is an endless beach clouded and fogged. It represents the future. To the right is an endless beach clouded and fogged. It represents the past. Looking up, I squint and am able to make out the outline of the sun. The sky is the clearest blue. I smell nothing. The waves are calm, but I can hear them Throwing themselves against the land. I always hear a seagull But it clouds my sight. All I know here is calm, And all is safe. None but me is allowed. ď Ž
Galloping, galloping, galloping on, On through the valley of shroud and beyond Yield to the stars above, yield to the sky,
Upwards to zenith, the peak at high noon,
Bringing great Phoebus forth, see how they fly!
All over Earth are their flaming manes strewn, Blazing in brilliance, all shadows do flee
Deus Sol Invictus, spurring them on,
This is the Sky Lord's great bright jubilee!
Reining and steering them onward to dawn Cracking the whip of light, keeping them tame,
Prancing and bucking the stallions charge forth,
He shouts and he roars and calls them by name:
Boreas stokes them with winds from the north, Downward they plunge, falling down from the peak,
"Fly Aeos! Pyrios! Take us on high!
Tossing their heads in a shrill equine shriek.
Fly Aethon! Up Phlegon! Morning comes nigh! Crest Oceanus and bear us above
Apollo flares then his great crimson cloak
Bring us about, let this darkness off-shove!"
Inspiring lovers and all artist folk, The horses pant and they long now for rest,
Helios draws their gold reins in up tight, Driving them onward to drive away night,
As they descend into the holy West. ď Ž
The blazing chariot follows the track, Careening onward through darkness most black.
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Across the fields, Around a tree.
Above the grasses
Look down low
Through the stream
And there you’ll see
Their dazzling lights They flash and gleam.
A miniature village Alive at night
You may ask why
Home of many
You’ve never seen
Tiny sprites.
These mini ones Around the green.
Watch your step Please look around
You really do.
It’s there they play
‘Most every night
Upon the ground.
the lightning bugs Are shining bright.
They dash across The darkened sky. In the air Is where they fly.
The desert glowed. Instead of the sunlight burning everything, the ground glowed, casting its light upward, sand rippling across it like water. Dunes soared up into the sky, great glowing mountains, spraying sand like dust right off their peaks, lost to the air. The sky, dark and cold, was filled with spots of absence of light; darker than anything else, making even black look white. Straight above the desert, a giant ball of dark, ringed by blue, seemed to be pulling the whole desert toward it. The sky seemed to dome, with its apogee at the anti-sun, the dunes in the sand seeming to rise up, attracted toward the hole-like star. Even the sand, small as dust, seemed to move excitedly, as if it had a mind of its own, as if it were alive, drawn toward the massive ball of darkness. Glowing baubles, pink, golden, and bright, littered the landscape. Each bauble lined up, perpendicular to each absence of light, hanging loosely in the air, radiating heat into the otherwise frigid air. ď Ž
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The irritating beep beep beep of my alarm clock tore me from my sleep. I rolled onto my side and groped across the table, searching for the awful device. I smacked the top of it, returning silence to the early morning. The room was still warm even though the sun hadn't been visible for hours. I sat up slowly, stretching my legs over the side of my bed. As I stood I moved toward the window and pulled back the curtains. New York had been awake long before me; in fact, it never slept. The city glowed through the night, constantly moving and changing, never slowing for anything or anyone. Every morning I stood here at the window and watched my city, absorbing the energy. And there stood the World Trade Center only a few blocks away. They perfected my view, the twin towers rising into the sky. I loved it here. I was running behind schedule, so I rushed through my morning routine as quickly as I could. The bakery needed to be operating at full capacity before the morning rush began. Luckily I lived right above the shop. I descended the stairs and unlocked the door to the kitchen. The cooks were already baking batches of dough, melting butter, cracking eggs, and mixing ingredients. The aroma was delicious. I was proud of the knowledge that I owned the best bakery around. Business was booming. Suddenly I heard a skittering in the corner and turned to catch a rat munching on bread crumbs. A rat! They can be the death of a business! Grabbing a broom I swatted at it, but it was no use. The rat scurried away and was gone. ——————————————————————— Peeking out from behind the trashcan, I spotted a sprinkling of crumbs carelessly left on the floor. What an unexpected treat! Dangerous as it was to show myself, I could not pass up this golden opportunity. Quickly I dashed out toward the pile and began to munch on the food. It was the most delicious bread found for miles around, a real find. I knew the boys would be jealous when I told them what I had for breakfast! Suddenly I felt the ground vibrate and I looked up. A man was coming toward me with a broom! Reluctant to leave my treasure, I dashed back behind the trashcan and into the hole I'd eaten through the wall days before. That was a close call. I sprinted over wires and pipes, crawling over wooden barriers until I found my exit. Back out in the alley I stuck close to the sides of the buildings, making myself invisible behind heaps of trash and weeds. I made my way out to the sidewalk where the morning commuters stepped briskly, coffee in one hand, newspaper under one arm, cell phone in the other hand. They paid little attention to me unless I became too obvious and ob-
structed their paths. They had places to go and people to see, which left no extra time for rat killing. It was heaven on earth for a guy like me. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk a heel stomped down right in front of my face! As I retreated toward the side of the building I heard her mutter some language I could not understand. Like I said, this place is heaven on earth, except for people like her. ——————————————————————— "..No..Mr. Johnson. I missed the train…no sir..excuse me, I can't hear you.." I was late for work, of course, and my cell phone was dying. What a typical day! I wouldn't have worn these heels if I'd known I'd have to walk five blocks to work today. My feet are killing me. Glancing down I noticed a rat scurrying from beneath my feet. Thank goodness I didn't step on him or he'd have been skewered on the end of my heel. I took a quick look at my watch. It was 8:45am. I am now officially fifteen minutes late, meaning that I will be sitting through fifteen minutes of Mr. Johnson's If-You're-GoingTo-Waste-My-Time-I'll-Waste-Yours speech. This is going to be one hell of a day. The roar of an airplane drowned out the traffic beside me and I looked up to see a large plane flying low above my head. A few people around me stopped momentarily to look, but quickly moved on as the crowd nudged them along. How strange, I thought. And then I witnessed the most terrifying sight I've ever seen. Fire spewed from the side of a building as the plane disappeared into its side. It took me a few seconds to realize that plane had crashed directly into one of the Twin Towers. The sidewalk was absolute chaos as people began to panic, some rushing away from the scene, others towards it. I just stood there in the middle, looking into the sky at that tower of fire as a second plane came barreling into the other one… ——————————————————————— The line reached almost back towards the door, just as I liked it. The muffins and cakes and scones were all lined up on the shelves, piping hot after just popping out of the oven. There was an abundance of noise as orders were taken, and items were boxed, wrapped, and shuffled around. People chatted to
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each other, but usually just on their phones. But within seconds the noise inside my shop was drowned out by the noise ouside. I stepped out of the doorway and noticed the masses of people pointing up into the sky, their faces frozen in shock. I looked for myself and could hardly believe what I saw. Smoke was billowing up into the sky, like an enormous black cloud hanging over the city. "What happened…" I muttered, more to myself than to anyone else. "It was a plane," a voice beside me answered. I turned and noticed the young woman who had answered. Undoubtedly a businesswoman, she was dressed in a sharp suit, probably fresh out of an internship. The color had drained from her face as she stared ahead. I could barely grasp what was happening. Those towers, the very ones which only hours before I had admired from my window, were now ruined. People from the shop began coming out the door, jostling me around as they clamored for a view. I heard the cries and gasps, the mixture of emotions surrounding me, sinking into the city walls. Sirens wailed and the traffic stood still, and I knew right then that I would always remember this moment, as clear as a crystal blue sky. ——————————————————————— I was certain that I was now safe here away from the sidewalk, but then the ground began to shake beneath me. The people started yelling and crying and rushing around, pointing their fingers at some unseen horror. end of me. I rushed into the tunnel I'd
“
I knew I needed to get away from this mayhem or it could possibly be the
… some were crying, others just looked sick
ger inside the bakery was risk. I crawled back behind the wall and emerged from the hole near
back into the alley and
”
come from. The dannow well worth the the trashcan. It was
almost deserted in here, except for the few people who had not yet managed to get out the door. Even the cooks were gone, pastries unattended. I could not help but wonder what had happened. People confuse me. They are always upset about something, and I don’t understand it. Look at all the food they have! It never made sense. This was different though, I thought as I scratched my ear. Everyone is unhappy together. Slowly a few people began to come back inside. Some were crying, but most just looked sick. I just sat, looking at them. Coming through the door was the man, the one who had tried to hit me with the broom. And then he was there, looking right down at me. ——————————————————————— How had I been so upset about being late for work only moments before, and now I couldn't care less? Here I stood in the middle of this amazing city, the place I dreamed of when I was a child. I always knew I'd be here; it was so right for me, just like for some the ocean calls them, or the mountains. The city was my home, and now in the midst of this perfection was a wound no one could heal. A beautiful disaster.
That same rat sat on the floor looking up at me. I knew it was the one because it was the only rat I'd ever seen that had such a human expression on his face, like he was wondering how the world worked. Normally I'd show him how it worked by getting the broom, but that was no longer important to me. I walked behind the counter and pulled a piece of bread off the shelf. Slowly I approached the rat, and
when I figured I'd gotten as close as I could, I lay the bread down on the floor and backed away. The rat watched me for a few seconds more before dashing forward to grab the bread and disappear back into his hole. Somehow that made me feel better, knowing something in the world was having a good day. I walked to the back of the shop, past the deserted kitchen, and reached into my pocket for my key. I opened the door and locked it behind me, leaving the rest of the world out there. Slowly I climbed the stairs to my little apartment. It was bright and cheerful, the morning sun warming the small space. I stood at the window and just stared at those towers, the smoke climbing continuously into the sky. I just watched and listened. I watched the towers crumble, and I watched the news trucks drive down the street, and the sky turn slowly to night. And when it was finally too dark for me to watch anymore, I closed my blinds and went to sleep. ď Ž
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These steps lead to another world, Where they disappear into the darkness… And the mystery that lies ahead— The ridges, bumps, and cracks— Prove life has setbacks. Life comes and goes… As death breathes upon the trees, The leaves fall to the ground, Landing without a sound… And when the wind blows, Knocking everything down… A part of the present Tells about the past— With every step, The seasons change, The leaves turn… The stairs break.
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There is an endless supply of colorful junk all piled up in the back of my English teacher’s room, which is always fun to rummage through whenever I wanna find something fun to entertain myself. His desk is a little technology cocoon with all of the things you’d ever need to survive another war. With laptops and wires and food, I can almost hear little mice nibbling the little crumbs dropped from his peanut butter sandwich. His room is a very interesting place to be, though sometimes it feels like the magnetic walls suck in every little bit of creative energy I have, throwing it back out at me and then back again like lasers bouncing off mirrors. … Little reflections of ourselves decorate our papers and your eyes reflect what you were and what you wanted to be when you were young when you look into each of our minds. You open us up like a pomegranate with all of our little thoughts falling out of our heads when you ask us to write, and your room is just a reflection of all of this, of how you inspire us all. Oh how you inspire us all.
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I am the silent little shadow At the back of your mind. The gnawing, biting animal You’d be lucky not to find. I am the soulless sucking vacuum That drains the life from you. I make everything so sharp and clear But hide it all from view. All your worries, doubts and fears Are multiplied by me. When clarity is needed most, I won’t deign to let you see. I am the stalking bird of prey That waits until you’re weak Like every bird’s distinctive feather I’m endlessly unique. I am the ruthless, clanging hammer, Driving nails into your head. Pills can stop my brand of pain But they cannot stop your dread. To some I am the guardian angel That tells them what to do I guide and even motivate That blessed lucky few. But to the main majority To the writer of this rhyme He always finds it hard to think I find him all the time.
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Can you smell the despair? I can feel it in the air. It clings to me tightly, While you skip so sprightly, And prance through my dreams, Tugging roughly at seams, Leaving tears in my mind, Little holes that I find. You alter reality, change all that I see. I ’ m really in love with you, But you ’ ll never love me.
It is agreed that we shall prowl the streets for the while because it is a darling evening of storms. We flick our windshield wipers on and shift gears to walk. The drops tickle our eyelashes as they squeak and push the rain from our glassy eyes. Words get chopped up and muffled by the downpour. We approach the place of bronze frogs and metal birds and halt. The doorknob inquires of our intentions and will not let us visit. The password is unknown to us and the frozen animals are sleeping, so we withdraw. Because it is nearly tomorrow, it is settled that we will return to our separate burrows. Stars begin to fall from the universe to the grass under the thirty toes that belong to us. We hold hands on the journey back home and tap dance in the intervals of raindrops. Between different walls we unwrap from the parkas and ponchos of the day and float into unreality. ď Ž
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Sweet, warm, squishy mud- oh, how I love it. I’m taking my morning nap. The best part of my day. After a nice full breakfast, I can lie back and relax; except when the humans are acting up again like they are now. “Papa! Why can’t I go with Jimmy Dean?” Betty Sue whined hopping up on the fence to watch Farmer Bob muck out the stall. “Cause e’s good fo’ nothin’, that’s why. I know what ‘im and ‘is friends are up too out on Laurel Lane,” Farmer Bob snorted. I thought he was starting to sound like myself, truth be told. “Aw, shucks, Papa. You just don’t like ‘im because ‘is papa’s the mayor.” “Damn right, Betty Sue. Them politicians are sketchy fellas and them apples don’t fall far from a tree,” Farmer Bob said. I rolled over in the mud trying to cover my ears to block out Betty Sue’s shrieks. No such luck. “Papa you ain’t know what you talking ‘bout. You talkin’ ‘bout Jimmy Dean like ‘e’s one of
yo’ pigs.” I resent that, you backwards, ugly pigtailed menace, I thought. I took the opportunity to roll into a particularly messy puddle of mud right by Betty Sue so that it splashed her all over. I heard her scream and run back to the farm house. “Good job, Georgie,” Farmer Bob laughed, and threw me an apple. He walked on and I was finally able to close my eyes… “Georgie! Georgie! GEORGIE!” someone called. I opened my eyes and looked out. Champ was leaning over my fence. Betty Sue was on his back trying to steer him away from me. “What’s are you doing?” I asked. Champ glanced up at Betty Sue and grimaced. “Her highness wants me to take her to that boy again,” he said, as Betty Sue pulled his reins. “Come on you stupid ‘orse, Jimmy Dean’s a waitin’ fo’ me,” she yelled, yanking as hard as she could. “I heard her arguing with the boss this morning, Champ. She’s not allowed to see him,” I told him. Champ smiled. “Then I’ll be doing the boss a favor if I do this-” Champ neighed as he kicked up his back legs and sent Betty Sue flying into the chicken coop. She sat up covered in straw, feathers and broken eggs. Champ and I broke out in laughter. All at once her face screwed up as she yelled, “PAPA!!!!!!!!!!” Farmer Bob came running. One look at her made him crack up laughing. “Serves you right trying to sneak off to see ‘im after I’s told you not too,” he cackled. “Now go on back to the house and help yo’ mama with supper. I gotta get the grill ready for tomorrow.” “OK,” she grumbled, glaring at me. Oh, how I hated her. Later that evening Farmer Bob set out my dinner in the trough. It had a lot more than usual and all my other siblings had to share a trough, but I didn’t complain. More for me! Farmer Bob told me to eat up and get a good rest. No problem there. I was so full that I fell asleep almost immediately after dinner. Normally I’d stay up for the show, but I decided to forgo listening to the Fluffy Sisters bleat and settled in for a nice slumber. The next morning, Farmer Bob filled my trough to the brim again and told me to eat up. I wondered what was making him so generous. I started my morning routine of saying hello to all my fellows. “Hey, Sally,” I oinked to a pretty lady in white feathers. “Why, hello, Georgie. I’m glad you’re using these next few hours well,” she clucked. “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked. She looked flustered. “Oh, well, you know, never mind,” Sally said nervously. “Oh, look, there’s Haley, I’d
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better go say hello.” Sally quickly fluttered off to the other side of the coop. I shook my head and went on. “Hey, there, Georgie,” someone called from behind me. It was Miss May. She and her sisters were chomping on some grass when she waved me over. When I approached the fence she leaned over. “I’m surprised you’re so calm today, Georgie,” Miss May mooed. “Oh, well, I had a big breakfast. So I’m too full to be my normal boisterous self,” I joked. The ladies exchanged looks as I said goodbye and continued on. An hour later, I was back in my mud pile rolling around with my brothers and sisters when I smelled something peculiar. “Hey, Porky, what’s that smell?” I asked, sitting up in the mud. Porky sniffed the air. “It’s the boss’s big machine. It cooks things but gives off this smoky smell,” he said. “Oh,” I said, sniffing the air again. “I wonder what he’s going to be cooking today.” Porky just shrugged and dived back into the mud. Eventually I did too. A little while later, Betty Sue came to the pen. “Hey Georgie, get out ‘ere, you lump. Papa wants ya,” she shouted. I trotted over to her and she opened the gate to lead me out. “Filthy pig. Good thing Papa’s gonna clean ya up or I ain’t eatin’ tonight,” Betty Sue said. How touching, she cared that much for my cleanliness that she’d go hungry if I wasn’t washed. Farmer Bob was waiting when we got to the spigot. “Hey, there, Georgie, time to clean ya up,” he smiled. I snorted happily. Betty Sue stalked off toward the house as Farmer Bob pulled me under the stream of water and cleaned me off. After I was nice and clean, Farmer Bob led me away from the spigot in the direction of the great cooking machine. This reminded me of what happened to my mom last year. She got a bath but then ran away and we never saw her again. I looked behind me and saw that the barn and the house were hidden from view by a bunch of crops. I turned back to Farmer Bob just in time to see him pick up a long piece of metal from the table besides the machine. It had sort of a trigger on the end that Farmer Bob was holding as he walked towards me. “I’m sorry, Georgie, but it’s that time again,” Farmer Bob said, standing right over me. Oh.
It wasn’t a thing Nothing at all A string on the floor A fly on the wall A rock in a shoe
A bee with a sting
Hair in your eye
A tack on a chair
Nails on a carpet
No hole for a straw
Balloons in the sky
Tangles in hair
Leaves in cement
Things placed in life
A ring down the drain
With no reason at all
Crumbs in your pocket
A string on the floor
A kite on a chain
A fly on the wall ď Ž
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The city was ruined. What once were the giant monoliths of skyscrapers reaching two kilometers into the sky were strewn across the cement ground like a child's toys. The magnetic field projectors had shut down, and the skyscrapers had toppled because of the weight. No one else knew what had happened. The whole solar system was in shock, knowing that the planetary metropolis had fallen, with apparently no survivors. The city was burning, smoke rising into the air. The smoke shot away from the helicopter, the rotor blades spinning at blinding speed. Fel looked down towards the city and felt sick. He quickly shot his vision back up into the helicopter, glancing at the other volunteer rescuers. The solar system had made a joint effort to save Quinte, the city planet. Fel had joined the effort because he had been fired from his job working in a factory on Indrus, far out in the solar system. One other had traveled with him to the center of the solar system, Mimuru. She was the daughter of a crime lord from the planet Lazarus. She was Asian, attractive, and she was his girlfriend, to an extent. The other volunteers were new to Fel, and he only knew them on last name basis, from the check list. Every team had been assigned a helicopter, a technician, a demolitions specialist, a fire marshal, and five extra hands. The technician was tall, skinny, greasy, and chain smoked. His name was Eled. The demolitions specialist, Giumos, was about a meter tall, with short, military-style hair, and had a southern accent. The fire marshal was massive, with tattoos covering his whole body, and always wore a fireproof coat, with his helmet and oxygen tank on his back. Everyone called him Ferc, but no one really knew his real name. Fel and Mimuru were two of the five hands, with the others named Fecon, Terbis, and Hyaty. As the team was being flown into their sector of searching, the helicopter spewed anti flame foam, barely doing anything to the blazing inferno below. A bipedal salvaging machine swung from the belly of the helicopter, about four meters tall, complete with oversized servos and pincers, and fire extinguishers. Fel controlled this, as he had worked in the factory on Indrus, piloting a cargo sled. He was the most qualified for the job, while right now the other hands, including Mimuru, were serving as firefighters. The helicopter slowed down and started to descend into the black smoke. Cracked skyscrapers pointed up like threatening spikes, forcing the helicopter to proceed extremely slowly. Ferc spoke over the radio, giving the signal that it was time to put on the oxybreathers. They all complied, and Fel’s heart started to beat harder then it ever had before. He looked at Mimuru, who looked back and smiled worriedly. It was scorching on the surface, fire leaping up everywhere. The helicopter hovered at about two meters from the ground, sending smoke and debris flying away from them. They sprayed anti-flame foam onto where they would first be standing, and then jumped. Landing in the foam, they sank up to their knees in it. Fel ran over to the salvage machine and uncoupled the cables from the helicopter. He started to climb up the ladder, but found it almost impossible due to his bulky fireproof suit. Finally climbing into the open-air cockpit, he ignited the engine. Imme-
diately it began to rumble. When he flipped on the foam launchers, they started spraying constant streams of liquid foam, battling with the blaze. The helicopter had to hang over them, blowing back the flames. With all the wind whipping, the smoke, and the fire, it would be easy to step on someone with the bipedal, crushing them. Talking over the radio, Fel shouted, “Stand clear, I’m comin’ through.” He got answers from all the team and so he proceeded, knocking down chunks of cement and battling with the flames. He could constantly hear shouts over the radio, and worried about Mimuru. He had told her not to come, knowing it would be dangerous. But he had never imagined anything this bad. The small team was overwhelmed, and the firefight was at a standstill. Finally, after about fifteen minuets, the fire was at a reasonable distance. The helicopter pulled up and the down draft ceased, giving the team their first clear view of the city. They were completely surrounded by fire that was about five stories tall, consuming everything. Chunks of cement, steel, and brick lay strewn across the ground, some the size of baseballs, others the size of cars. They had a huge job ahead of them, and it seemed like an impossible job, with no hope at all. Fel looked around for Mimuru and saw her waving in his direction. He climbed out of the bipedal and started to run over to her. As he was about to ask her how she was, they got a message on the radio from Giumos. “Ferc’s down. Everybody to the giant block to the east.” Forgetting about themselves, they ran over to the location indicated. Ferc was lying on the ground with the team crowded around him. “I was stupid,” he was saying. “I pushed into the fire too hard.” He was completely burnt from head to toe, all the hair singed off his body. With the burns and the tattoos, he looked completely alien. He was bleeding all over his body, and it didn’t seem likely that he would make it out alive. Hyaty called for the helicopter, and soon they heard the pounding of the blades in the air. Covering their heads
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contour study of leaves‐MIKA ZINK
from the downdraft, they loaded Ferc into the Helicopter. They solemnly watched it take off. Then Eled took the lead. “Okay everybody, our goal is to reach the middle of what used to be the Hardtail neighborhood. We’re to put out fires along the way and help any survivors. After we’ve cleared the area, we go back for the bodies. Watch out for falling buildings and don’t get cocky like Ferc. You saw what happened. Lets go.” They walked around the giant slab of cement and walked toward the heat. Fel climbed back into the bipedal and took point. As they passed a section of fallen apartments that had been split open from the impact, they heard a shout. Everyone stopped, and immediately called back to the voice. “We’re here to help! Where are you?” They didn’t receive an answer, and began to search feverishly. “I found him!” shouted Mimuru over the radio. “He’s in bad shape!” They all headed over to where Mimuru was, and they saw a small boy lying in the wreckage. Mimuru was doing a full-body diagnostic, searching for all the boy’s injuries. The boy was crying, burnt, with a broken arm, and smoke-blackened. They loaded him onto a stretcher and asked him if there was anyone he knew that survived. The boy just shook his head and pointed to a charred hand sticking out of the ruined apartment floor. Mimuru spoke, explaining to him what they were here to do. “We’ll come back and get him later, but were here to save people, then get the bodies.” As he heard this, the boy blacked out. They checked his pulse to make sure he was still alive, and then loaded him onto the bipedal. The team decided to take a short water break, and Fel climbed out of the bipedal. They stood in a small circle, not talking. Looking at Mimuru, Fel saw her crying. He felt guilty that she was here, in all this danger. He knew that what they were doing was noble, but it was almost pointless until the fire had burned out. By then though all the survivors would be dead. The task was daunting, and they were already exhausted. But finding their first survivor had already given them a glimmer of hope. They saw more helicopters flying over the city, all headed north. They were not alone. They would meet up with five other teams at the center of the neighborhood, and from there they would search all of Hardtail. If you were flying over the city, you would have much more hope. Even though the city was a huge inferno, you could see tiny dots of darkness popping up all over the whole planet. Every second, more teams landed, putting out the fire in small doses. Quinte was destroyed, but would be built again one day.
There are no colors left. No happy times Not now The rain brings no rainbows. All that reside Are clouds I missed the day you left. Now I feel So down. Everyone mourns, Some people scorn, And even a few rue the day‌ That the rainbow went away. ď Ž
25
It is vast, blue, boundless, Empty, open, floating, Deep, dark, perpetual, Quiet, epic, changing, Flowing, free, and sublime. She moves with the force of a mountain within it, As a feather in the wind. She is harmless, great, peaceful, And daunting, beautiful and powerful. She blends and creates, Never destroys. It holds her and wraps her in warmth and soundlessness, In peace and safety. Its currents guide her as she sings. Her beauty captivates nations and is held sacred. Its abyss sustains all living things And is the vastest wonder of earth. Their marriage is beautiful and wondrous And without end, Timeless, without extinction, exploitation, interference, Just peace and happiness. ď Ž
27
Cloth Seemingly floating But if you take away The sight of your eyes The trick of sight It is really falling But to us it is floating Seemingly floating Cloth Seemingly floating But it is only flapping In the breeze The flick of breeze It sends cloth back and forth But it is still falling Seemingly floating Cloth Seemingly floating But it shoots across The wind The graceful wind That pushes the cloth aside But it drops further Seemingly floating Cloth Seemingly floating But it tumbles down To the ground where it will rest The solid ground Where wind does not blow But it pushes up once more Seemingly floating Cloth Seemingly floating But wind carries it no more Life’s breath dies The breath still No more wind But still it struggles Seemingly floating Cloth Seemingly floating But no more It falls to the ground It folds on itself No Longer Floating Soiled by the ground, dirty and ragged. ď Ž
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is in its second year of publication and is published during the summer. The magazine was produced on IBM-compatible computers using Microsoft Publisher and Adobe Photoshop CS2 and was published in Stafford High School using 32 pound paper on an OKI Executive Series 1220N printer. The fonts used for titles of each piece, as well as art and photo credits are Bookman Old Style and Corbel. The font for the text of each story is @Arial Unicode MS.& Ariel
is the literary arts magazine for Stafford Senior High School in Falmouth, Virginia. The purpose of the magazine is to showcase students' thoughts and expressions through both writing and art. As with any publication, the views expressed are not necessarily the views of Stafford High School, the editorial staff, advisor, or Stafford County Public Schools. All students at Stafford High School who not enrolled in a Creative Writing class are invited to submit their work for consideration in the magazine.
Submissions should be sent to either to shsmagazine@gmail.com or dropped by room W205. All work completed in Stafford High School's fourth period Creative Writing Class is submitted and considered for the magazine. Mirage embraces every opportunity to post the work of any student's submission regardless of format or length.
29 All writing and art submission are considered by an editorial staff which chose submissions based on quality, appropriateness, relevance and overall impact. The editorial staff reserves the right to edit material for both clarity and correctness. Original artists retain copyright of their submitted work.