STAND Literary Arts Magazine by Writers' Block Magazine

Dear students, teachers, and other readers, Stand up. Stand down. Stand in. Stand out. Stand for. Stand against. Stand around. Stand aside. Stand together. Stand apart. Stand forward. Stand back. The word ‘stand’ has so many meanings that it is almost impossible to list them all; there are a total of three hundred and thirty four definitions in the Oxford English Dictionary! You hold within your hands a volume comprising 67 outstanding pieces of writing, art, and photography from countless students in our school. Each and every submission is a variation on the theme of ‘stand’. From Rebecca Silver’s poem about a handstand to Michelle Adler’s drawing of “The Mouse that Stands No Chance,” each student brings something unique which adds to the creativity and diversity of the finished product. The Writers’ Block was created last year to offer an unparalleled publication opportunity and creative outlet to the students of TanenbaumCHAT. We hope it will continue to fulfill its purpose for many years to come. So much work has gone into making this publication a success. We thank all the contributors who made it possible, and we thank our devoted staff advisor Ms. Li for all her support and help. We spent long hours formatting and reformatting, editing and reediting, and at last, we were forced to put down our pens after scrawling the editors’ symbol “stet”: Let it stand. Happy reading! Becky Friedman, Davida Ander, and Lori Ossip Editors-in-chief ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Writers’ Block: Stand April 2009 A TanenbaumCHAT Wallenberg publication Editors-in-chief: Becky Friedman, Davida Ander, and Lori Ossip Cover art: Ketzia Sherman Cover design: Becky Friedman and Ketzia Sherman Staff advisor/editor: Ms. Li

CONTENTS

Writing Pieces 1

Editorial

Editors-in-chief

The Idea that Stood Out

Nessiya Freedman

A Different Perspective

Rebecca Silver

The First Snow

Michelle Speyer

The Last Stand

Becky Friedman

Hide and Seek

Davida Ander

Stand

Talia Gruber

I'll Be Standing There

Zachary Kauffman

Life's Drawbridge

Anonymous

Stand Up

Adam Birnbaum

Remember

Devra Charney

Alone We Stand

Ketzia Sherman

Between the Night

Becky Friedman

Death of the Hopeless

Greg Olshansky

Crossword Puzzle

Davida Ander

Playing God

Natan Ross

Broken Heart

Anonymous

Stand Up or Be Prepared to Fall

Anonymous

The Highwayman

Becky Friedman

Stand

Malka Tabakman

Thank you

Davida Ander

I Can't Stand You

Anonymous

Stand Down

Amir Fleischmann

It is Dangerous to Stand

Ketzia Sherman

The Tree

Anonymous 2

Stand Up

________________

Davida Ander

Silent Stranger

Becky Friedman

Forsaken Trust

Ketzia Sherman

Standing at a Crossroads

Melanie Simon

Standing in the Way

Becky Friedman

Standing the Test

Zach Goldberg

Standing Up

Shane Morganstein

Stood Up

Anonymous

You Stand Above Me, My Angel

T.B.

Stand

Aleeza Freedman

The Many Uses of Stand _______________Concise Oxford Dictionary

Photographs and Art 0

Cover page

Ketzia Sherman

Last Man Standing

Michelle Adler

Beauty of Nature

Mara Finkelstein

Standstill Pearl Pears

Michelle Adler

An Outstanding Love

Coby Viner

Hide and Seek

Jonathan Sherman

Stand

Ketzia Sherman

Still a Standing Star

Michelle Adler

Stand Up

Coby Viner

That Mouse Stands No Chance

Michelle Adler

Standing Watch

Coby Viner

Standing Firm

Michelle Adler

The Last Taste of Summer

Michaela Hirsh

Crossword Puzzle

Becky Friedman 3

Playing God

Ketzia Sherman

Newsstand

Jonathan Sherman

Stand United

Tovi Ander

Standing Around

Michelle Adler

Standing Aside

Standing Alert

Tovi Ander

Stand Back

Jonathan Sherman

Standing Water

Coby Viner

Can't Stand It

Yael Friedlander

Stand Quotes

Shira Ander

She Doesn't Stand Alone

Michelle Adler

Standing Together

Davida Ander

Don't Be Afraid

Sydney Schweber

Standing Out

Tovi Ander

Standing Face to Face

Michelle Adler

Stand Tall

Samara Rotstein

A Standoffish Jellyfish

Shira Ander

__________ Jonathan Sherman

The Idea that Stood Out by Nessiya Freedman For as long as I can remember, I have always stood out from the rest of my family. I’m the only girl, the only one with black hair (everyone else is blond), the only short one, and the only one who likes to read. I’m not strong, and to add to that, I’m the only person in the entire town who believes in faerie tales. No one else has time for such things, but I’m sure they exist. They must. She threw down the pen and crumpled the paper up in disgust. She couldn’t see a possible non-clichéd ending for this story. She put pen to a fresh sheet of paper and tried again. There was once a girl who dreamed of being a commoner. She thought that she must be the only princess ever to do so– She crossed it out, annoyed. The idea wasn’t terrible, but the writing just didn’t sound good to her... There was once a fairy who dreamed of being human... No. Enough with the fairies! And ox that dreamed of being a pot– Where had that come from? There was once a young writer who wrote down many ideas, searching for one that stood out. Better... She wrote of fairies and princesses and even an ox, but nothing seemed right to her. Why was this so... It was so difficult for her to find an idea that she nearly gave up hope...for how could she possibly find an idea... ...so familiar? ...an idea that stood out? But this... The answer lay within her own story. ...this was her own story, the story of how she wrote beginning after beginning in search of... This is the story of a writer who searched for an outstanding idea... ...in search of an idea... ...and found it... ...an idea that stood out... ...in her own story. ...from all the rest. The End 5

Last Man Standing by Michelle Adler

A Different Perspective by Rebecca Silver Things look different right now The floor looks like a ceiling And the clouds are a short distance away Everything feels better When I am upside down.

The rush of blood is a roller coaster Riding down its track called the body It is crazy yet calming, exhilarating yet relaxing Everything feels better When I am upside down.

It is unfortunate this feeling has to end When gravity takes hold, my legs begin to fall Determined to return, I kick up to a handstand Because everything feels better When I am upside down.

The First Snow by Michelle Speyer The leaves dance upside down rainbow arcs across the traffic, Wild bursts of wind numb exposed skin. Red mercury drops, Flecks of rain are thrown down hard from the sky, in fistfuls. Then the pure cold that blinds, the cold that deafens, the cold that steals the scent of autumn's final plea for summer's heat, Turns to white flakes. Branches stripped bare in the dramatic throes of summer's death are fashioned cloaks of white powder. Lawns still green are slickened with snow. Clear windshields are blurred by icy mush. It's hard to breathe, from the cold and the exquisite diamond-sparkles, And because I'm wishing that when I next draw breath, I will not be alone out here.

Beauty of Nature by Mara Finkelstein

This picture was taken to capture the beautiful art of Mother Nature. One looks into the heart of the picture and feels comfort and stability. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s as if the whole world is standing still. Mother Nature continues to surprise the world with all of her hidden beauties.

Standstill Pearl Pears by Michelle Adler

The Last Stand by Becky Friedman “If you but deliver into our hands the rebel Alex, we will make our peace with you and give your people a place of your own in the land.”

These were the words of the missive delivered scant moments before from the enemy camp, as the sun was setting. Now the messenger was under guard, and the five leaders of the oligarchic rebel party had withdrawn to the conference tent. “Don’t worry, Alex,” feisty, red-haired Breanne said as soon as all five were seated, “we’ll never hand you over to them!” Thomas, calmer and less impetuous than his sister, was quiet; he saw in this a challenge, a quandary that they would have to think their way out of. He knew he might not like the answer. Linda, sitting beside Alex, said not a word, but took Alex’s hand in her own, afraid that should she speak she would betray her interests. George looked troubled; in this, he saw the inevitability of failure and the threat to a friend, a brother, but like Breanne, he was resolved not to let this happen. Alex himself squared his shoulders and answered Breanne quietly but firmly. “It’s the only way.” “No, it’s not,” she argued hotly. “We can fight.” Alex and Thomas exchanged glances, and Thomas sighed. “The question here is, what do we ultimately stand for? What is our goal, as an organization?” “To protect our people, of course,” George answered. “And that includes Alex.” Thomas shook his head. “Is our goal to protect each individual, or to preserve the collective?” “What’s the difference?” Alex answered, understanding his friend’s point. “If the former, then you two are right, and we should take up arms against the enemy. If the latter. . .” he paused, trying 11

to rephrase his words in a way that his companions would not reject out of hand. “Then we will do what we must, to ensure our people’s overall survival.” “How can you be so– so cold?” Breanne demanded. When Alex answered, his voice was even, but it was evident that he was only barely containing his emotions. “How can I not? Should I advise what is best for me, or best for us? No matter what we do now, I stand to lose. Do you think we can beat them in battle? I don’t. But even if we did, we’d lose people, men and women and even children who will perforce fight and fall. Can we afford to lose them?” George looked haunted. “Can we afford to lose you?” Alex sat back, a grim expression on his face. “That’s the question. That’s what it comes down to, in the end.” “You’re one of the leaders! You’re more important to– to all of us!” Breanne burst out. Thomas shook his head at his sister. “It’s not that simple. Would you consign those of our people to death for your sake?” “Doesn’t matter,” she insisted stubbornly, “they’re talking about Alex, not me.” “You wouldn’t,” Alex said. “That’s different!” Breanne’s eyes were on Linda. She looked close to tears. The others looked away from her. “Look,” George said. “I– I’m trying to see it your way. I really am. But how do you know it’s on the level? What if we... gave them Alex, and then they asked for someone else? And someone else? It could just be a much easier way of picking us all off, one by one.” “That is one problem we should seriously consider,” Thomas agreed. Alex shook his head. “If they ask for someone else, then you’ll know. And you’ll know not to do it.” Breanne, who had gotten a hold of herself, replied sharply, “But you’ll be gone. So it’ll be too late.” 12

“Yes. That’s a risk we may have to take.” Linda began rocking back and forth, lips moving. Praying. “On the other hand,” George pointed out, “how do we know we can trust them at all? How can we trust them to not continue fighting and destroying us anyway, after we give them what they want?” “How do they know they can trust us?” Thomas replied, practically. George was satisfied with that answer, but not Breanne. “They don’t need to trust us– not if you were right in the first place, and they can beat us in battle.” “If they can beat us in battle,” Alex reasoned, “then there is no excuse for us fighting.” “What else can we do? If we hand you to them, then not only have we lost you– they’ve weakened us by taking a leader, if you refuse to look at other aspects of that– but like Breanne said, they have no incentive for not fighting us anyways.” “We can’t run any more,” Thomas told George; “this is our last stand, come what may.” “I know.” They argued back and forth and in circles, late into the night. Finally, as the first bright streaks of dawn light graced the morning sky, the five leaders came to a unanimous decision. Alex stood first and the others followed suit as he strode out of the tent, holding himself erect, yet seeming to bear a terrible weight upon his shoulders.

What’s a hand without the fifth finger? A foot without five toes? Can five siblings survive as four? 13

An Outstanding Love by Coby Viner

Hide and Seek by Davida Ander Photograph by Jonathan Sherman

You hide behind the hot dog stand, I count to ten and peek, I act as though Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m looking When itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time for me to seek.

Then afterwards we buy some franks, And in the park we stand, We later play a game of tag And walk home, hand in hand.

Illustration by Ketzia Sherman

The mother walked briskly into her brightly-lit kitchen, bracing herself for the daily disasters she knew awaited her. A smile lit her angular face as she noticed her daughter Lily seated at the kitchen table, a cookie in each hand. Too exhausted to scold, the mother merely walked over to the girl and sat in the chair next to her. “Excited for school, Lily?” she asked, though she realized it was highly unlikely for such an energetic eight-year-old to enjoy confinement of any kind. Lily gazed up at her with a look that confirmed the mother’s thoughts. She took a large bite of the cookie in her left hand and responded bluntly, “No.” The mother sighed, wondering whether or not it was necessary to pursue the ageold debate regarding the importance of an education. Noticing the defiant glint in her daughter’s eyes, she decided against it. Lily’s high-pitched voice interrupted her mother’s thoughts. “Mommy, he won’t go away,” she stated, a worried look shadowing her innocent features. The mother groaned inwardly, recognizing the beginning of another tear-filled discussion. She wondered if there had been any bullies in her days at school; frankly, she had thought they only existed in bad teenage dramas and Sunday evening sitcoms. “Lily, sweetheart, we’ve discussed this,” she began slowly. “When he makes fun of you, you need to stand up for yourself.” Lily chewed silently on her second cookie as she processed this piece of advice. She looked up a few minutes later with fear in her eyes. “But, Mommy,” she objected, “everyone tells me it’s good to stand out. How can it be good when I just get hurt?” “Just stand strong, honey,” her mother replied, already exasperated. “He’ll learn to appreciate you.” Lily shook her head indignantly. She looked at her mother angrily, her hands resting on her hips. “Mommy,” she replied, “even Superman isn’t strong enough to beat him.” “All you can do is stand your ground, Lily. He can’t chase you forever.” 17

Though she was determined to teach her daughter some sort of valuable life lesson, the mother recognized defeat. The glowing numbers on the clock warned her that she had no time to argue with a resentful child, and she was willing to lose today’s argument. She grabbed her purse with one hand and her keys with the other and turned to face her spirited daughter. Though the mother had expected to find her daughter with a furious glint in her eyes, Lily faced her not with resentment but with trepidation. Her eyes shifted nervously as she fidgeted with the collar of her shirt. Her voice shook as she asked a final question, though she didn’t seem to recognize the wisdom that was in her words. “Mommy?” she inquired slowly, her voice filled with confusion. “When there’s no one standing with me, am I supposed to stand up for myself, stand my ground, stand strong or stand out?” The mother halted. Memories of her own struggles passed before her eyes in quick flashes, beams of light that disappeared into the darkness of her thoughts. She knew that as a mother she should remind her daughter to fight; that not all heroes have supporters. However, she realized she could not preach advice that was far beyond the mind of a child. Regaining her composure, the mother faced her sweet, naïve little girl. “Lily,” she said, smiling slightly, though her eyes filled with a sadness she knew not to convey. “When you’ve run out of ways to stand up, you learn to stand still.”

Still a Standing Star The Glamorous Marilyn Monroe by Michelle Adler

I'll Be Standing There by Zachary Kauffman

It haunts me, it's almost all I think about while awake and it belligerently assaults me in my dreams. To Stand. That hunger, that urge, that want.

I remember when I first had the realization. I was in the thirteenth row in the auditorium, when my vice principal was giving a speech. I remember it was extremely boring, so much so that I had resorted to row-counting to keep from falling asleep. I would have tossed the whole event from my memory, had I not been hissed at. It was by my math teacher, who was offended that I had laughed when the vice principal had mentioned the word “duty.” I couldn’t figure out why she didn’t see the comedic value. I only just giggled, anyways. So the woman hissed at me (what nerve she had!), “The vice principal is giving a speech about our army; it is no time for laughter; young man. Now, I suggest you listen to him and stop being childish, because even if the topic wasn’t so serious, the fact is he is the one standing and speaking and you must give him respect." She leaned back in her chair one row behind me. I cooled my anger by repeating the wonderfully clever rhyme written in permanent marker on one of the desks in the math room by some student. It read, “Nobody likes this teacher's class, cause she always acts like she has a protractor up her…” Anyways, after I had gotten home and stopped casting voodoo curses at my teacher under my breath (I take criticism quite poorly), I thought about what she had said. Not the first part– that was garbage– but the last bit. She was right, there’s a certain dynamic in rooms. There are the sitters and the standers. The sitters listen and 20

have to give respect, while the standers speak and influence the sitting. And what am I? A sitter, no doubt. Who cares about them, anyways? There are billions of sitters, but only a few standers. They’re the people who stand in front of the world and make life-changing decisions, the people who stand and write out the future that kids will be tested on in history class.

I want that to be me. I want to be one of them. I want to stand and leave my footprint in the world, instead of being left in my seat, making faint chair scuffs. So I have my life goal now. To be a stander. But how do I obtain that goal? Is there a handbook? An instruction manual? Or maybe my hope is futile, because everything is already decided and written. Maybe God has already cast the parts for the play we call life. Some people are main characters, some people get 'Bystander Number 4', and most are put sitting in the audience, just watching. And if you ask God why he gave you such a crummy part in the whole production he just says, “That’s showbiz.” I don’t know which one I am, but if I’m the latter, and if I’m not part of the cast; if all this desire for Destiny to sweep me off my feet and grant me a higher purpose is worthless, then I'll find the scriptwriter and make him write me in, 'cause I’m not sitting down without a fight. And I will be up on that stage, you can count on it.

I’ll be standing there. Stand. Before birth, God says, "Eeeny meeny...who will be the standers and who will be the sitters?" I want it so badly, like a claw-out-your-heart kind of want, a need. I feel like the world is a concert; I can either be sitting in the crowd, watching, or I can be the conductor standing over the orchestra, leading them. 21

Don’t ask me how I'll do it. But I'll do it. And please don’t think I'm crazy. Don’t have this question running through your head: “Why would he be able to stand out among everyone else?” And that was when the big one hit me. I realized that standers and sitters aren’t just in auditoriums, they're everywhere, and don’t tell me you don’t see it. They're all around us; you hear their names all the time, blaring from TVs, jumping out of newspaper headlines. They’re presidents, they’re top scientists, they’re leaders. They are the people that are written about in my history textbook. They are the standers. And the rest of us, we're the sitters. We sit and we watch and maybe we spawn another generation, but everyone knows it: we're not important. We’re not going to be remembered. But there is a third level. True, they are still sitting, but they are different. They are the potentials. And like I said before, I think everyone's a potential at some point. They have the want, the urge, the hunger to stand, to make their mark on everything– but they end up not doing it. The older people, they pretend they don’t remember being a potential, but that’s untrue. Self-inflicted bitterness gathers because not getting to stand above it all clogs that memory. And now I believe it is my turn. Here I stand, with shaky knees, trying with all my strength to figure out how to make myself stand. And perhaps my name will be in lights.

Or perhaps I'll just end sitting like I am now, typing at a computer.

Life’s Drawbridge by Anonymous

Halfway between the past and the future In the middle of life’s drawbridge Waiting, waiting for the unknown to come

Wanting to stand out in the crowd Stand up, and be remembered Be different, yet inside still the same

I can’t explain these feelings Burning deep within my soul Knowing the secrets of all around, saying nothing still Standing out, I’d wind up in the shadows But standing around does nothing At all

Well, who wants to be the same as everybody else? She who is too afraid to stand out The neon undertones seep from beneath her skin Within Her soul It’s easy to see For those who want to expose themselves To the fire inside Her soul 23

She, who was once content blending in Feels the winds of change ripping her apart Tearing open her heart, shedding her skin, and Revealing an entire new layer in between the ‘she’ of the past And the girl she knows she’s about to become

As the now grows nearer And the past drifts away All she can do is think And stand In the middle of life’s drawbridge

STAND UP by Adam Birnbaum Photograph by Coby Viner Stand up for those lost. If we do, they will live forever. Forgetting them will be their death.

Remember by Devra Charney

Pensive: Stares thoughtfully Out into the distance, With remembrance In her knowing eyes.

Courageous: Fighting bloody battles, she standsâ&#x20AC;&#x201C; Commemorating the past, And looking out Into the future.

Resilient: With a fiery sense of passion And determination To never give up. Move forward, and always Remember.

That Mouse Stands No Chance by Michelle Adler

Alone We Stand by Ketzia Sherman The night falls in a heavy suffocating cloak; cold and alone are we. The light for which you sacrifice yourself flares once, then dies, swallowed by the abyss. All hope must end. Your love is no more, how could you cause such hurt? Our dark emotions surround us, crying, we have lost our light. And now we just stand.

Between the Night by Becky Friedman

Souls in the darkness, In the shadows; Not looking, But seeing: The silence that’s so similar to noise, The hatred that’s so similar to love, The skies that are so similar to land, Beneath, so similar to above. Above the moon, Beneath a tree; We are the blind, But we see what we all can see: The lie that’s so similar to truth, The blood that is so similar to tears, The water that’s so similar to flame, The smiles, so similar to fears. We are unnatural in nature; Rising downwards, Falling upwards, Hearing in a silent voice: The death that’s so similar to life, The weeping that’s so similar to mirth, The pain that’s so similar to joy, 29

The murder that’s so similar to birth. Screaming, Shouting; There is no hope, no justice, There is nothing except: The illness that’s so similar to the cure, The pleasure that’s so similar to pain, The ice that’s so similar to fire, The loss that is so similar to gain. We don’t want to remember The night of the past; There’s no reason and no refuge, Except to believe: In the war that’s so similar to peace, In the darkness that’s so similar to light, In the torture that’s so similar to truth, In the friendship that’s so similar to fight. We are the lost, Who stand to die for the sake of– something; We don’t know what, And there’s no escape: From the eternity that’s so similar to the abyss, From the suffering that’s so similar to soul, From the slavery that’s so similar to self, And from the day that’s so similar to night. 30

STANDING WATCH by Coby Viner

Death of the Hopeless by Greg Olshansky Thud, thud. Dust from the cave ceiling crumbled onto my head as the earth rippled and shook. I looked up at the trapdoor above me. It was at least 15 feet up. Hopefully it would not collapse. One of my arms gripped a step of the wooden ladder that would lead me to the secret entrance. The other one held rested against the footing, holding a Jericho 941 F, its 9-mm 13-round clip loaded. The safety catch was off. If the world has ended, what’s left to save? This wasn’t the first time I asked myself the question. It all started fourteen months ago. Fourteen months of running, of hiding, of fighting. I couldn’t believe that it had lasted so long. Why didn’t we overcome the crisis? I didn’t understand because it was necessary if I was going to survive. It was just too much for me to comprehend the days and weeks that I spent breathing alone in fear. But now I wasn’t alone. Responsibility gripped me; it bound my feelings to a protection that was not my own. Someone was counting on me. Suddenly a small spark of hope lit up in my soul. I took a few steps up the footing, handgun ready. Turning towards my partner, I nodded in assurance. “Let’s move. They’re still following us,” I said. Those fourteen months after my nineteenth birthday were pure hell. ++++ Lying on my bed, I stared up at my mother with extreme discomfort. Being awoken from sleep at such an early time was not something I would not forgive easily. “Wake up, you have to see the T.V!” she said in great excitement. “What’s the big deal?” “You’ll see. Get downstairs quickly!” She left my room. I rolled around for a second and raised my hand to my face, using it to wipe away the gunk in my eyes. Too lazy to change, I left my pajamas and shirt on while heading downstairs. “Ugh, it’s Saturday, it’s only eight o'clock, and someone better have an explanation.” “Just come down here already!” Her excitement was getting to me. I came into the living room to see Mom, Dad, and Sis watching the television. I leaned against a wall. They were watching some news program; a scientist was speaking. The bottom heading was as surprising as she had hoped it to be. BREAKING NEWS: TECHNOLOGY MIRACLE! A reporter had just finished asking the scientist a question, and he began his answer. “Yes, that is our hope for the future. Using my mathematic formula, we have finally found the ability to create portals; we intend to use portal technology as a gateway, leading instant travel from point A to point B.” He made a small demonstration 32

with his hands. I remember that day. I turned to my mother and asked her in astonishment, “Instant travel?” She responded calmly, “You don’t get it? This technology is essentially teleportation! They are going to test out the first portal in twenty minutes.” I was at a loss for words; the human race had entered the future that day. ++++ Sweat beaded and ran down my forehead. I cautiously opened the trapdoor, my pistol aimed through the small space. I held my breath; I tried to make no sounds while I searched the room. It was really dark; however, I could see for brief moments due to flashes from outside, which illuminated the room through the cracks in the walls and a dusty window. I was immediately introduced to the barrage of noises from outside. I took a breath and focused on my surroundings. The room was clear. I heaved with all my strength against the metal trapdoor; it swung and slammed against the wood. I pulled myself up, finally back on ground level. Immediately after I holstered the gun, I quickly turned back towards the tunnel that led underground and helped her up. She was trembling when she emerged from the hole. I walked her towards a chair in the corner of the room. I looked into her eyes; she was so scared. As I eased her into the chair, her hands latched onto my wrists; she did not want to let go. “One second,” I told her. It took her a moment to release her grip. With haste I shuffled back to the trapdoor. I forced my fingers underneath the metal and pushed. It took a lot of strength but I was able to swing it over. On the floor I noticed a locking wheel. Using my remaining strength, I reached over to turn it, bruising my hands in the process. I didn’t care; pain was irrelevant at the moment. Thud. Thud. I hurried back to my partner. I hugged her as the ground began to shake. The explosions were no longer uncommon. Every time the ground shook, hundreds of lives were immediately ended. She let out a small yelp. I pressed her against my chest to comfort her. The tremors ended. I released her. We were standing together, comforting each other. Fear had infected us both. However, what I struggled to understand was that after all the time I had spent trying to survive, I had suddenly come to fear for another life: hers. Yet again I eased her into the chair. I knelt down on both knees. I clasped my hands with hers. Our eyes met. A teardrop rolled down her left check, and then her right. In a dark way, it relieved me. It assured me that she was not completely lost. We stared at each other for a long time. Words weren’t required to express the emotions that flowed between us. She spoke; her voice, a herald of hope, put a smile on my face instantaneously. “I’m afraid.” “Me, too.” 33

I kissed her right hand, and used a finger to softly move her dusty hair off her forehead. Combing it back, sadness came over me; I noticed a large bruise on the skin just below where her hair began. “Are we the last ones left?” she asked. “No, there are still many left. They fight day and night.” “What are we going to do?” I did not hold anything back from her; I told her directly “We are going to join them.” Her lips moved into a grim smirk. I smiled along with her. I took off my black cloak and covered her shoulders. Her shirt was ripped off around the neck, revealing her shoulders and collarbone. “Your clothes are all torn; you must be cold.” She nodded. Her jeans had also been partially shredded; dried blood surrounded the rips. I noticed her feet were bare, as well. I held up her left foot. Bruises and gashes revealed themselves on her sole and arch. “I’ve probably walked more than fifty miles barefoot,” she said. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks. I used part of the cloak to wipe them away. I released her hand and told her to hold the cloak to warm herself. “You’re shivering.” Without hesitation, I took off my shoes and socks. I took out a cloth and wiped as much of the dirt off her feet as I could. I put the socks on her, and then the shoes. The rotting floor was cold, its stench unbearable. I turned to her face and put my hands on her cheeks. “I promised myself that I would never let you go. I’m so sorry it took so long to find you.” “It’s okay. I was lucky and got by most of the torture. They didn’t hurt me as much as they did others.” “I love you.” Finally she smiled. It brought a warmth I hadn’t felt in fourteen months to my heart. I kissed her. Her lips were cold, but gentle and comforting. ++++ I came back out of the kitchen with a bowl of chips in my hand. All Dressed Ruffles were my favorite. My sister looked at me while Mom and Dad continued to watch the newscast. “Give me some,” she demanded. “Uh, no.” “C’mon, don’t be a jerk!” “Get your own chips!” “SHUSH!” Dad and Mom both hissed loudly, interrupting our small quarrel. They pointed at the television. A reporter was standing beside a bunch of rioters. They 34

appeared to be at the gates of the building where the portal testing would be taking place. Signs were hanging on their necks and held up by sticks. DON’T MESS WITH NATURE, NOT READY YET, and PORT-HELL were some of the slogans used. Usually I did not pay attention to newscasts about riots, technology breakthroughs, or inevitable danger. They interfered with my daily life and had no effect on it. I never had the time. It seemed that on the day when the rioters were right I would be granted all the time I wanted. The rioters feared that the portals would infringe on human security. The testing that day was successful, but the system was not strong enough to move a human body through. Weeks later, they said they had it perfected. The media wanted a glimpse and got the full coverage on the second day of testing. That day, our system interfered with another; it caused thousands of portals to open up across our world. Only darkness would come from them, to consume the sky and the human race. ++++ The cold wooden walls burst with bullet holes the size of fingers. A loud screeching shattered the window. Instinctively I covered her, using my body as a shield. She screamed as the glass objects on hidden shelves exploded. The pricking sound and vicious speed were all around the area. Groans and bubbling noises outside meant that humans were not the ones being killed. The noise suddenly stopped, and footsteps outside the broken house replaced the rapid gunfire. Pain eclipsed my senses; I took a step back and fell over. “No!” she yelled. She ran over to my side. She was crying. I cringed as I felt sharp shards reaching for my back. Focusing on controlling my breathing, I tried to relax and steady my heart rate. The shards had been denied entrance into my body. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I think so.” I stood up slowly and removed my Kevlar vest. I was now only wearing a plain black shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. My clothing was worn, but still in much better condition than hers. I looked at the Kevlar. Four bullets and many pieces of glass poked out of the vest. I looked at her with confidence. Dropping the Kevlar, I stepped towards her and inspected her. “Are you hurt?” “I’m okay.” We hugged each other. Standing there with her for just a moment was serenity. This was all I wanted, an everlasting peace. “I haven’t seen the sky in so long.” “It’s no longer clear and blue,” I said truthfully. “Do you think it will ever be again?” “It better be.” 35

A torrent of gunfire consumed my ears again. This time it was off to the left, away from our location. “We have to move.” “Where?” “We are not alone; those noises were humans fighting, gunfire, and commands.” “I can’t run.” “I’ll carry you.” She finally nodded. I understood that she trusted me. I owed it to her to make sure that she would not see any harm. I motioned for her to get on my back. “I’m comfortable.” “I will not stop you, but I suggest you close your eyes.” I walked to the doorway, which was inscribed with holes. They weren’t bullet holes, though. Something more sinister had dealt this damage. Vertical and thin, these were holes caused by powerful claws. “Ready?” “Ready.” “Here we go.” I slammed into the door with my right arm and shoulder and it flew open. I ran as fast as was physically possible. I didn’t stop. I had been invigorated with hope as she clutched on to me; it brought forth the ability to answer the question, if the world has ended, what’s left to save? Everything is still left to save, because humanity has not ended and it never will as long as I’m alive. Her weight didn’t slow me down. The figures, human or not, to my left and right, were swallowed in their own problems. I ran with her clasped onto my back, across a barren land with fire in the sky. I continued to think as I jolted across hell and death. Nothing ever ends.

STANDING FIRM by Michelle Adler

The Last Taste of Summer by Michaela Hirsh

Crossword Puzzle by Davida Ander Illustration by Becky Friedman

I’m nearly done my crossword. I’ve sadly had a loss, You see, the precious clue tore off For twenty-one across. I know the word begins with “S” And has a middle “A,” Besides that, though, regretfully I’m not sure what’s okay. It could be “SHARP” or “SPANK” or “SLANG” Or “SCALP” or maybe “SNACK,” I’ll try and try until I find That single word I lack. Perhaps it’s “SPARK” or “SWARM” or “SCARE” Or “SNAKE” or even “SKATE,” With all these words I’m thinking of, It’s such a tough debate! What shall I do? I cannot guess This word, I wish I knew Just someone who could help me out– Hey wait a sec, can you?

Across 1-- Sword handle 5-- London Mathematical Society: abbr. 8-- Laziness 10-- Last four letters backward 11-- Musical bird (no vowels) 13-- French town 14-- Frilly fabric 15-- Russian river 16-- A duke's lands 17-- United Airlines: abbr. 19-- North abbreviation 20-- That is: abbr. 21-23-- Chemical symbol for neodymium 24-- Recedings (i.e., of the tide)

Down 1-- Frightful and repulsive 2-- Heat eggs 3-- Lebanese abbreviations 4-- Start of a song 5-- Fragrant flower 6-- Walking in a parade 7-- Chemical symbol for sulphur 9-- Kind of shirt 12-- Scratched (i.e., a car) 14-- French for Monday 16-- Chemical symbol for deuterium 18-- Scientist's workroom 22-- Note well: abbr. 25-- Chemical symbol for nitrogen

T 9

I 11

L A

N G

Answers: 1

19 22

T 11

14 16

Illustration by Ketzia Sherman 41

I shot him, shot him right in the heart. I saw the bullet enter him, his blood splattering. I saw the look of shock in his face, as he looked down at the bloody mess on his chest. I saw him look down in shock at the bloody mess on his chest, before he fell on his face. I could hear the screams of his family, when they heard the news. I could see the horror upon their faces, when they heard the news of his death. I grin in satisfaction, with satisfaction with my kill, my first kill. I feel the satisfaction of playing G-d, playing G-d with my first kill. Up here, so high, so high on this mountain, I can see the smoke rolling below. Up here, I see into the valley, with the chaos roaring below. Up here, I feel alive, as I control who lives and who dies. Up here, I feel alive with the control over other peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lives, as I play G-d. I remember that day, that day on the battlefield, with me playing G-d. I remember that perch of mine, my perch above that valley, with the chaos roaring below. I remember that man I killed; he was the first of many, in my career of playing G-d. I remember this as my career ends, forever ending my game of playing G-d. As I depart forever, I think of my family, their faces, and their horror from the news. As I depart forever, I feel their sorrow when they hear the news. As I depart forever, I feel satisfied; I did my job of playing G-d. As I depart forever, I feel satisfied; I did my duty of playing G-d. As I go into the void, I think of my pitiful life, always playing my game. As I go into the void, I think of my life, playing the game of G-d. As I go into the void, I think of that killing game. As I go into the void, I think of that killing game, that game of playing G-d. I died at the hand of another life-controller, playing G-d. I died in my perch, from which I had killed so long ago, playing G-d. I died in a game, a game with no meaning. I died in a game, a game with no purpose. I was killed just like that man, my first kill, first in shock, then falling. I was killed by a sniper's bullet, just like that man; shock and then falling into the void. I was killed by a man just like me, playing the game. I was killed by a man playing the game, playing the game of G-d: G-d had played with me.

Broken Heart by Anonymous

Staring straight ahead Too tired to stand the pain Absolutely aghast Not prepared for the news Devastated I did nothing wrong Nothing can compare to this Gone are those pleasurable days Stinging heart Torn between whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s right and whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wrong Resting all day in my sadness Only you could do this to me No one will ever understand Gone are you forever None of you see how bad it is One day turned my life around My heart wishes you were still here Only dreary days seem to come my way now Reaching out, I expect to feel you there Everything is different

Stand Up or Be Prepared to Fall By Anonymous

It is dangerous to live a life like mine, and sit all day unable to run free, taken for granted, I guarantee. Uncomfortably bent is my misshapen spine; to my sad, gloomy fate I am resigned. Without a trace of anyoneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sympathy, it is very difficult being me. I wait bruising and browning without a whine. One day you will recognize all that I doâ&#x20AC;&#x201C; I protect, I defend, I guard, and I serve. For if I do not, you will slip on your heel. You will get the revenge that you deserve. And you will lie on the ground without a clue that the banana peel is getting back at you.

Newsstand by Jonathan Sherman

The Highwayman by Becky Friedman The coach rumbles peacefully along the bumpy road, as I recline in my seat, enjoying the countryside and the idleness for what is possibly the last time. I know we’ll have to stop soon, but I don’t want to tell the old coachman to pause his progress just yet, not when he’s doing such a good job. And ... ah, yes. Just as I think these words, the motion ceases; our way is barred. I open the door and lean my head out. “John, what’s the hold-up?” I ask, feigning ignorance. This is my last moment of surety; I only ever planned this far in advance, and I barely even know myself what I was planning. “Stand and deliver!” barks the highwayman, advancing toward me with his sword drawn. He strikes an imposing figure, and for a brief moment, I forget my purpose in this. What am I doing here? I had heard that every traveller along this road was being attacked by a highwayman, forced to fight for the safety of his family. So why go looking for trouble? Of course, I have no wife, no children to worry about– I travel only with myself and John, the old coachman. That should even the odds a little bit, if my gamble fails. If I fail in this, no one else stands to lose. I let my hand fall instinctively to my sword hilt, but I leave it there, refusing to bare my weapon just yet. “Stand and deliver!” repeats the highwayman. “My lord,” John tugs at my sleeve, evidently utterly confident that I can win this fight, “we are expected at the capital soon...” I cringe at the reminder. Yes, of course I mourn the sudden deaths of my parents– as do all in the realm– but I never expected to be king, and I see no reason to change my plans now, particularly not when I have a younger brother who can do at least as well– if not better– for the job. Finally, my plan, formerly hazy, solidifies before my eyes, and I know that I will not be forced out of my life of lazy bliss. But first I have to lose the servant. “John,” I order, “continue on to the capital yourself. I’ll catch up after I deal with this– I don’t want you getting hurt, if something should go wrong.” “But sir–” “Go,” I repeat. “If I don’t return by dusk tomorrow... then the gods did not wish me to rule.” As I say it, I find it hard to hold back a self-satisfied smirk; the suggestion of a divinely ordained death for the sake of the kingdom, at the hands of this fellow here, really is a nice touch, I feel. John nods, reaches out to touch my hand, saying, “Godspeed, my lord,” clearly overcome, and climbs back into the coach’s driver seat, riding off.

“Stand and deliver!” shouts the highwayman a third time, growing impatient. I am beginning to wonder if that is all he can say. Hard luck for me if it is. I remain rooted in my position, watching until John disappears out of sight, before I turn back to the highwayman with a thoughtful air. “You, sir,” I say in a speculative tone, rich with possibility, “you seem to be a man with a proper head on your shoulders.” He begins to preen, then stops, glaring at me with a thunderous expression. “I told you to–” Well, at least he has more than a three-word vocabulary. I put a placating arm around his shoulders, steering him into the woods for a private little talk. “Well, I have a proposition for you. Wouldn’t this little operation of yours be much more lucrative if there were two of you?...” So if ever you’ve been stopped on a winding road and been told to “Stand and deliver!”– who knows? You may have been robbed by a man who could have been a king. I have to say, being a highwayman really is the idyllic life– or at least, it was, until the new young king decided to crack down on crime by arresting and hanging all the highwaymen he could catch to avenge his elder brother’s untimely death. I’m telling you, it’s every word of it the truth– not just some ploy to escape the hangman’s noose. And I have to say, if I weren’t about to die for it now, I wouldn’t have regretted a minute of it. Yes, it’s every word of it the truth– and if you don’t believe me, well, there’s no one but myself as can vouch for it. I made sure of that.

Stand United by Tovi Ander

Stand by Malka Tabakman

Standing up for something. Who does? Who am I to try? Other people may try. Sometimes they succeed. Sometimes they fail. But if they do succeed, Then how come there are Wars? Violence? Battles? Fights? The world is in a constant fight. What does it mean to stand up? Standing up for something has to still exist. Or else what type of world is this? Maybe someone can stand for something that is important. Maybe someone can stand for something that isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t important. Once someone stands up for something, They see the things that go on in the world. Life will never be the same. It never could. And if you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t try Then who will? 49

Standing Around by Michelle Adler

Thank you by Davida Ander

Thank you tons for everything, Thank you for it all, Thank you, thanks for catching me Each time I trip and fall.

Thank you, thanks for being there, Thanks for all you do, For talking, smiling, caring, too For all this, I love you.

Standing Aside by Jonathan Sherman

I Can’t Stand You by Anonymous You tell me to eat my Brussels sprouts, But I can’t stand those mushy suckers. You tell me to shut off the TV and get off my lazy butt, But I’m obsessed with this daily soap opera. You tell me to get my work done, But I’ve got better things to worry about. You tell me you like peace and quiet, But I’m full-out obsessed with rock music. “To be frank with you,” you say, “you’re a naughty child.” Frankly, I can’t stand you either.

Standing Alert by Tovi Ander

Stand Down by Amir Fleischmann

The room was dimly lit as Lieutenant Hawkins stepped inside. A bead of sweat ran down his face due not to his overly anxious nerves but to the vast amount of heat that filled the tent even this late in the Iraqi afternoon. He had been in Abel’s tent many times before in the past four years of his five-year tour of duty, and it always felt the same. “Sit down, lieutenant,” Commander Abel said sternly. “This may come as a shock to ya’ but we just received word… you and your unit are shipping out in three months.” “WHAT?!?! How can you do this to us after what we’ve been through– after what I’ve been through? We can’t–” “Look, there’s nothing I can do, and believe me, I’ve tried. The pen pushers want you out; the public wants you out.” “The public doesn’t know anything! We enlisted when we chose to and we’ll leave when we choose to.” “Hey, you and I both know that it’s better that you leave here on a plane than in a box. And like I said, there’s nothing I can do. Dismissed!” Even though it was dark as he got up, Abel could see thin tears forming in Hawkins’ hardened eyes. The silence was deafening as he left, and the omnipresent heat continued to beat down on Abel as he watched the shattered dream walk out. As Lieutenant Hawkins walked, he thought about lost friends and lives wasted in a now pointless struggle to spread peace and democracy abroad. Good intentions gone wrong. That’s what this war was. A misinformed, misjudged, underestimated, misunderstood war on terror.

Stand Back Don't Go Too Far by Jonathan Sherman

It is Dangerous to Stand by Ketzia Sherman it is dangerous to stand on top of the roof the air is cold and calm it is dangerous to ignore I say your name in silence you don't want to hear it right now it is dangerous to forget the eyes of the city watch all the tears falling down it is dangerous to give up each one a promise of everything you never found it is dangerous to jump

Standing Water by Coby Viner

The Tree by Anonymous

This tree. I remember this tree. I remember the calm, quiet strength of this tree. She was my childhood friend, Days and nights together we would spend. She was so proud and arrogant as she stood so tall, I would have thought she was strong as a stone wall. I climbed and climbed yet never reached the top, I finally gave up and decided to stop. Climbing this tree, I would never succeed, To think this gigantic tree grew from a small seed. Her tangled branches painted a picture in the sky, I often found myself wondering why. As I watched her delicate leaves peacefully fall, Playing hide and seek with her I will always recall. As she stood still for what seemed like eternity, I left my friend behind and moved to the city. Time went by, as my future became my past, I remembered my childhood went by so fast. I traveled back to my favourite memory, I came to this tree, I remember this tree. What could have made this magical creature fall? I wonder. Hit by lightning, roared by thunder? It no longer stands tall, it is no longer anchored deep in the earth, For me, memories, and a friend it has given birth. A feeling of sadness filled the air, I never climbed to the top; life is unfair.

This tree. I will always remember this tree.

by Yael Friedlander

STAND UP FOR THE MOTHER OF ALL MOTHERS by Davida Ander

“Mommy, mommy!” a young child calls out, as she searches frantically throughout the playground. “Mommy!” Just when the child is on the verge of erupting into tears, her mother steps out from behind the slide, having immediately ended her conversation at her daughter’s stubborn command. She approaches the anxious toddler, crushing flaky pinecones with every step she takes. “It’s alright, dear, Mommy’s right here, no need to fret.” The child skips forward, her pigtails wagging back and forth behind her like dog’s ears. She jumps into her mother’s comforting grasp and climbs into her warm and welcoming arms. Suddenly, everything just seems all right. *** Bad hair day. Her shortly cut hair hasn’t been styled, and it parts sloppily in several directions. Awful haircut. Layered in some places, thinned in others, balding in some patches. The lawn mower will fix her up in only a matter of days, though. There’s worse to worry about, for her hair’s infested with lice. Creepy crawlies climb all over her scalp, sending shivers up the back of her spine. They hide away in the bushes and camouflage themselves, blending in well with the uneven mane which coats her scalp’s nakedness. “Bzzzz,” the lice go. Humming a tune into her ears. “Chirp, chirp,” a robin adds, cheerily. Mother Nature tries to respond but her voice is drowned out by the constant hum of rolling tires sliding across the dry, congested, pavement street. Her vocal chords have weakened. She tries to peer up at the bright skies and revel the blazing sun which is far too bright for all eyes but hers, but she finds that her head is locked in place by a thick layer of smog. Ugghh. Her stiff neck aches all over. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a bulky jet plane zoom by and weave around the clouds, letting out a milky stream of contrail. It 61

swerves through the sky as gracefully as a soaring seagull, roaring noisily, boasting to all who will listen. If only that unpleasant fellow would learn to shut his mouth, thinks Mother Nature, we would all get some peace and quiet for once. She sighs, and blows out a gust of breath to clear the area of the reeking trash. Wrappers, corn dogs, dog poo, an empty shampoo bottle, and who knows what else all blend together in one pit, letting off a pungent, rotting smell. How very lovely, thinks Mother Nature, and she blows with all her might at the stench which won’t budge. She sneezes. Her allergies are acting up again. She coughs. Asthma, too. She buries her nose in the tissue clouds and tries to clear her nasal passages which have grown sensitive and delicate. My, I’m heating up, she thinks, as two sweat droplets trickle down her scalp. I’ve got a temperature. I’m in need of an ice pack. That would cool me off for a while. Then they would all go away for a bit and leave me alone. I’m sure darn tired of being picked on. And with that, she picks at her nose, trying to remove the pollution she had inhaled. She curls up into her dried river bed, shuts her lids, and settles into a calming sleep. She wakes up the next morning in time for dawn. She stretches her neck up as far as it can reach and strains her aged eyes into the distance, peering at the bright colours laid out before her. How I would love to lick that morning sunrise, she thinks, dreaming of the delicious lollipop she used to taste every sunrise. But by the time she reaches her fragile tongue up high enough to taste the sugary goodness, the sunrise has vanished into a warm, dry day. She ends up with a mouthful of heat instead. If they hadn’t cut down my sunhat trees, I wouldn’t be so thirsty, she thinks, dehydrated, her mouth parched and her lips cracking like eggshells. My throat is ever so sore, she tries to say, but the only sound that comes out is a feeble grumble. And no one is even listening. Her stomach rumbles, noisily. Like thunder, almost. But still, no one stops. No one looks. No one watches. No one cares. And so she cries, softly, and then drinks her salty tears. She knows her hairdressers will come shortly. When the sun reaches above her to 62

the right, warming her cheek from high in the sky, they’ll come. Stampede on her scalp with a ‘lawnmower’, as they call it, and trim down her precious locks. Chop off its onceglorious length. They’ll ‘fix her up,’ as they always say. As if she needed fixing! They’ll implant hair into her receding hairline, which she actually happened to like. They’ll give her a shower, a few sprays from a sprinkling fountain, before styling her strands just the way they like. She hated the hairspray the most. They would spray her everywhere with a greasy, toxic venom that stung her all over and gave her rashes. And after it was all over, no more lice would sing to her. They would stop humming in her ear, the tunes she desperately needed to hear. And then she got rather lonely. Slowly, slowly, her decorative hair garland of dandelions, which she treasured so much, would fall out. But it ended up looking nice, and that’s all they cared about. What would they think of next? Brushing it out? Painting it? Perming it? Straightening? Hair extensions? Such silliness. She just wanted them to go away. What no one really knows is that Mother Nature just wants to be left alone. She’s got lice and messy hair, but so what? She wants to be free, but we’re locking her in. She needs to branch out, but we’re pinning her down. The mother of all things is being treated like a pile of rotten dung. What a rotten way to be handled! How far can we bend her before she snaps? She’s gone deaf in one ear. Blind in one eye. Her nose is stuffed up, her mouth dried out. Her voice is raspy, and the cars have driven over her so many times she can barely feel them now. Inside, her heart is torn in half. Her spirit is nearly gone. *** “Mommy!” the girl cries. “Mommy, catch me!” The young girl pushes forward and she slides down the smooth slide. She gets scooped up and trapped in her mother’s waiting arms, encircling her in a cage of protection, before she has a chance to scrape her knee on the sharp bottom edge and get a boo-boo. Who will catch Mother Nature when she falls?

Silent Stranger by Becky Friedman A silent stranger stopped and stared, Silently wishing heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d come prepared; Standing silent, though he was not bound, He dared to do what none had dared. A silent stranger looked around, Shocked, in silence, with what heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d found; Then, though his kin they had not been, He made a silent mound. A silent stranger saw the scene, Saw the red on forest green; He stood and said a silent prayer, Then wiped the floor in silence clean. A silent stranger stopped to stare, Although he knew he could not bear The silent, unknown dead so deep, In a silent place he knew not where. A silent stranger went to sleep, Amid the bodies, heap on heap; He lay in silence, though not for long, Wanting, silently, to weep. A silent stranger walked along, For all the silence, standing strong; He raised his heart in hope, and scared, He raised his voice in silent song.

STAND Quotes Compiled by Shira Ander

Forsaken Trust by Ketzia Sherman There once was a stone wall built around my heart. It was a thousand feet high and impenetrable. It was hollow and dark...isolated and cold...lonely but at least I was safe. I saw the others playing...living but I stayed in my solitary existence, for at least I was safe.

They invited me to come out with them but I refused. Time after time, the invitation was given to come out and to live... I needed only open the door. My heart trembled with fear and hope... Did I dare leave the shelter of these familiar walls? Could I? No. I must stay... But a candle of hope was lit. It flickered against the darkness within my cold, dark solitude. And I felt the ache. Next time.

But the next time came and went and so the next... 67

And still I stayed. Fear blew out the hope that was kindled. I was blind and crippled, shackled in my own prison, aching and needy... desperately lonely... despairing.

Alone.

A still, small, gentle voice whispered my name through the cavernous blackness. He called to my soul... My heart longed to... but I could not. He offered freedom. Too much to bear. But I reached out my hand...

Then... Suddenly... Light shone in the dark prison of my heart. Shackles broken, ground quaking...shaking, rattling, breaking... Breaking down the stone walls... 68

the stone crumbled only pieces remained. Fear dissipated, only peace remained. The walls were no more.

Life surrounded me and coursed through my being... Running, jumping, skipping, laughing, crying, loving, living. My heart completely full of joy, peace, hope, trust, excitement, anticipation, gratitude.

Blessed Sunshine. Blessed Freedom. Lost in the rapture.

Dark clouds loom. Cold wind blows. Thunder booms. Lightning strikes... the Storm rages... violently rages. Turbulent...Unrelenting. My companions scatter. 69

I run for cover, but there is none. I try to build my walls again in desperation, but the pieces crumble along with my hope.

No shelter. No refuge. I am exposed. Vulnerable. No safety. No reprieve.

Where is the One who set me free? Where is my Comfort? Why has the still, small voice disappeared with the sun? Why is He now silent in my hour of need? Am I condemned to solitude?

My heart tries to run. Somewhere. Anywhere. Everywhere there is death. I return to the storm. It rages still.

The Voice is still silent, 70

unanswering, seemingly absent.

A deep sigh... A yearning... A hope... Escapes to my heart. I am resigned, for He, alone, gives Life... where else could I go?

Now, I stand in the wind I stand in the rain, I face the storm No answers. No pretense... but I light my candle and re-light it... and re-light it... and wait... and wait... and...

She Doesn't Stand Alone

by Michelle Adler 72

Standing Together by Davida Ander

Standing at a Crossroads by Melanie Simon A massive glob of blood sloshed out of the girl’s mouth as she choked up a cough. “Internal bleeding, collapsed lung.” Beep. “She’s stable.” Beep. “Have the transfusion ready when we arrive.” Beep. Beep. Beep. “She’s going into shock. Check her vitals.” Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. “Going into cardiac arrest. Get the defibrillator.” ~*~ “Hi hun, how was your day?” Beep, beep. The timer ostentatiously flashed ‘00’. The wife bent over a well-used stove, wearing her shapeless blue blouse, the one she had bought on sale at Sears. The one that hid her curves and made her chest look flat. “Fine. I ticketed a few speeders, interviewed that mail fraud we caught last week– you remember him, he was in the paper– what was his name…Wilson? No, that isn’t it…” “Have a seat, dinner’s ready. Oh! I remember now. He had the big colour photo on the front page…Watson?” “Nah, that doesn’t sound right. The kids okay?” “Sure. I thought Garrett might have said his first word, but now that I think about it, he was probably just gurgling. I just put him to sleep a few minutes ago; he might still be awake if you want to say goodnight. Kate’s upstairs watching TV; she didn’t want to miss Dora the Explorer.” Peter carefully stood, pushing his plate away as he did so. He quietly entered his son’s room, not wanting to wake him. He softly gave his child a kiss on the cheek, and then exited the room in the same practiced manner in which he had entered it. He then entered his own room, where his four-year-old daughter lay contently in front of the TV. She had sunny blonde hair and wore pink from head to toe. Around her neck rested a medallion Peter had received from the force for committing a selfless act of bravery; Peter had the bronzed disk put on a chain, and Kate had not removed it since. She sat mesmerized on the carpet and did not even look up as her father approached her. “Kate, dinner time.” “But I want to watch Dora and Boots ‘splore the jungle!” “You can watch later. Dinner time is family time.” “I want to watch Swiper!” “All right. I’ll be your Swiper.” Peter scrunched up his face to the meanest yet most humorous scowl he could manage, and scooped his daughter into his open arms. Kate erupted into gales of laughter as her father gently lowered her back to the floor. “Daddy, you’re silly!” Her eyes suddenly lit up with excitement. “Daddy, guess what I have? Lookie here, I got a leaf! We went to the park today. We were just like 74

Dora, for real, in the trees! Rosie even touched a real live snail! It was really gooey. Hey, Daddy, let’s go eat supper!” She ran from the room, the TV already forgotten. Peter smiled to himself and was about to trail after her when he stopped mid-step, turned back into the room, scooped up an EpiPen, and returned to the table. ~*~ “Clear. More gel.” “Clear. Charge them up.” “Clear. Last chance.” “Clear.” ~*~ “Can you clear the table, Peter? I wanted to catch Desperate Housewives at eight thirty. Don’t forget to close the cap tightly on the mustard. I put Kate to bed and took the garbage out. Oh, and your mother called; I told her you’d call back tonight. What will you be up to?” “I’m just going to read the paper and relax.” “Okay.” She was nearly out of the room when she added, “Oh, and Kate had a small seizure today at the nursery. Nothing serious. Dear, the mustard’s dripping.” She nodded pointedly to the mustard container, which indeed was dripping in Peter’s limp hand. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Peter’s entire body shook in fear and anger; there was nothing and nobody he cared about more in life than his children. He was especially sensitive to Kate and her delicate health condition; if she ever had a seizure, she had to have her medicine injected in her immediately or she could die. “I said,” he continued even more forcefully, as the mustard squirted to the floor, “Why didn’t you tell me?” The wife shrank back into the wall. Peter could put up with her nonsense and foolishness, but he would not tolerate forgetfulness when it came to Kate and her health. “I-I didn’t want to worry you, darling,” she stammered. “I know how busy you are at work.” Still breathing heavily, Peter replied, “If anything like this ever happens again, I want you to call me immediately. No matter what. Understand?” She nodded. Calming slightly, he asked, “So they used her spare EpiPen?” Another nod. “I’ll hold on to her regular EpiPen until we get another spare.” She stood rooted to her spot until Peter barked, “Go watch your show.” ~*~ Beep. “We have a faint pulse.” Beep. “Don’t move her, she’s going under again.” ~*~ “Peter, move! Now! The suspect is fleeing on foot.” The uninvited raspy voice 75

proceeded to order Peter to get into his cruiser and to pursue the suspect. “Okay, okay. I was off duty, you know. A guy has to get some sleep at some point.” Perhaps if he hurried, he could capture the suspect, toss him in jail, do the paperwork, and be back under his warm covers before the hour was up. He threw on his unwashed police uniform from the day before and grabbed the entire contents of his cubby, in which he kept objects only of the utmost importance– including his wallet and gun– by the front door. Precisely twelve minutes after receiving the initial phone call, he was backing out of his driveway. He sped along to the edge of a forest, as indicated on the GPS, only turning on his siren when passing through intersections so as to not wake the neighborhood. Eventually he reached a point where he had no choice but to proceed on foot. Following the instructions from his walkie-talkie, he continued to make his way through the dewy forest not yet cleared of its morning fog. Visibility was terrible, and Peter took out his gun to reassure himself. ~*~ “We’re losing her again.” “She needs epinephrine.” “Where is the epinephrine?” “She’s not gonna make it. She needs epinephrine now.” ~*~ Peter could see a figure up ahead. The figure was that of a six-foot man, probably intoxicated, judging from his lack of coordination. The man wobbled around, occasionally steadying himself by leaning against a tree. Peter quietly hid behind a large evergreen when he noticed that the man was dangerously waving a gun. “Shit,” Peter quietly swore into his walkie-talkie, “you didn’t tell me the nutter had a gun.” He peeked through the needles of the tree and witnessed the suspect, roughly thirty-five meters away, urinating at the foot of a tree. “Yup, he’s a Forty-two Class B.” Forty-Two Class B meant that there was an intoxicated and armed suspect holding a hostage or hostages, as Peter full well knew. “We wouldn’t have bothered you, but he’s only a few minutes away from your house.” “Where are the hostages? It’s so damned foggy I can’t see a thing.” “There’s a nursery about ten minutes away, and we’re not sure, but there may be a possibility of a child being present.” “Gotcha. Send backup.” “The closest cruiser is seven minutes away. He can’t turn on his siren or he’ll tip off the suspect. Ambulances should arrive in three minutes max. You okay?” “Yeah. Just make sure the ambulances are waiting.” Peter had been in situations like this one; the drunk was usually too intoxicated to listen to reason, and therefore almost always had to be taken in by force. This situation, however, was different; not only was visibility almost non-existent, but there may be a child involved, too. Peter 76

thanked God that his own two children were safely asleep in their beds. He may not have been madly in love with his wife, but Peter was also thankful for her always being there for their children. Peter turned his walkie-talkie off so that it wouldn’t alert the wino to his presence. He stealthily moved closer to the suspect, using the trees as a natural cover. His gun remained drawn, pointed at the innocent forest floor. He was only several trees away when he saw the definite shadow of a child. The suspect had one hand on his gun, and the other on the child’s neck. Peter’s entire body tensed up, and he forced himself to take several deep, slow breaths from behind a dead maple tree. He now knew for certain he would have to use his gun today– children were to be protected at all costs– and there was a real possibility that somebody might die. He was about to reveal himself and pull out his gun, when, against all the odds, his cell phone rang. Briiing. Briing. Shit! Peter stood rooted to the spot, hoping that the drunk hadn’t heard. But the shrill rings of the phone could be heard even from the outer edges of the forest, as it echoed in the massive, empty park. To Peter it sounded like a fire alarm was being blown a centimeter from his ear. It was the alarm that announced the beginning of chaos and confusion; the alarm that announced inescapable death. Hoping to silence the damned thing, Peter opened up the phone to see his wife’s name in the caller ID. Silently cursing her very existence, he was about to snap the phone shut when he heard something he could not ignore, even in the dangerous situation he was in. “Peter?” The wife was frantic and her voice was shaky. “It’s Kate, she’s–” The phone dropped to the ground as a wall of bullets was sprayed in Peter’s direction. He ducked for cover behind a sturdy tree. His mind blanked of all his police training; the only thing he could think of was Kate. If she was having a seizure, then she needed her EpiPen immediately, or– Fuck! Peter realized with sickening clarity that he was in possession of Kate’s EpiPen. Kate’s only EpiPen. It was in his pocket, he could feel it bulging right then. He must have put it in his cubby and then taken it when he left. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He needed to get home immediately. Peter left the apparently dead phone on the forest floor partially covered with dead leaves. Risking his life, he glanced at the suspect; the child, a mere silhouette in the puff of fog, was terrified, but clearly standing. Peter could barely see beyond a few metres. His daughter would die if he didn’t reach her immediately. The suspect had started to open fire, presenting an indisputable and immediate danger to the hostage. Making a decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life, he opened fire on the suspect. He fired because he couldn’t see, because he despised his wife, because he wanted to save his daughter, because he loathed the drunken man, and because he wanted to be done with the whole situation. He fired and he fired and he fired until there was no movement in the fog. Like a tableau, he stood poised with his gun raised, even as the paramedics ran to the victims. Victims. There were two of them. 77

Peter wanted to run to his poor, suffering daughter at home, but he had to first be sure that he hadn’t been the one to shoot the innocent child. He turned away, where he wouldn’t have to see the face of the child that he may have killed. “Internal bleeding, collapsed lung.” Beep. “She’s stable.” Beep. “Have the transfusion ready when we arrive”. Beep. Beep. Beep. Peter watched in stillness as everything around him moved at impossible speeds. He was about to turn around to return his precious daughter– damn any speed limit on the way– when he heard one of the paramedics say that the girl needed epinephrine. Epinephrine. There was epinephrine in Kate’s EpiPen. Kate’s EpiPen was in Peter’s pocket. Peter didn’t know what to do; there were two children who desperately needed the EpiPen in his pocket. One was the innocent victim of senseless violence. A victim Peter may have killed. A victim who may not live to see her parents ever again. A victim who had every right to live. A victim who Peter had a moral and legal obligation to save. But the other child was his daughter. Beeeeeep. “She’s flat-lining. We’ve lost her.” Without another moment’s wait, Peter ran from the scene at a speed that would have shamed an Olympian. He may well have killed the poor child, but he wasn’t too late to save his own daughter. He was too far gone to notice a paramedic yelling after him, waving a cell phone high in the air. “Peter? Where are you?” The wife desperately screamed into the still-working phone. The battery was weakening, but her voice could be clearly heard. “Hello?” “Peter, it’s Kate, she–” “No, miss. It’s not Peter. I’m a paramedic.” Too distraught to comprehend that it was not Peter on the other end, she proceeded in sobs as though there had been no interruption. “Peter, Kate’s m-missing. I’m s-sorry, I really am. I think she may have gotten out last night, when I put the garbage out. Sh-she wasn’t in her room when I went to wake her up. Peter, oh, Peter, ddo some–” The battery finally failed, and the wife’s screams abruptly ceased. Not knowing what to do, the paramedic softly dropped the phone onto the ground. He turned and helped his colleagues zip up the young girl and drunken man into their respective body bags. Their job done, they rode off. All that remained of the incident was some blood on the naked forest floor, a broken cell phone, and a bronzed medallion on a chain.

Don’t be Afraid to Stand Up Even if You’re the Only One Standing by Sydney Schweber

Standing Out by Tovi Ander

Standing in the Way by Becky Friedman Gary Fosdyke stared down at the sheaf of papers on his desk. On the wall was a map of the world, done in only two colours– three, if you counted the water, but water was not earth, so who counted it, these days? He was smug in the knowledge that there was a good deal more green on the map than brown. Still, too much brown. An underling knocked at his door. “Sir, we've caught some Humanists.” Fosdyke brightened; it was nice to know that his soldiers were achieving something. “How many?” “Seven, sir. What would you like done with them?” They agreed to hold a public hanging that afternoon; after the men were dead, their bodies would be buried as fertilizer and sacrifice to the Earth. The leader of the Environmentalists thumbed through his notes, stopping on a page. “We'll have to do something about the SPCA. They used the word 'humane' again, and have officially stated that they're considering redefining the word 'animal' to include humans. I think it's time they were reminded whose side they're on.” “Right, sir. And one other thing– I heard that some subversive groups in the North are trying to reproduce.” Gary Fosdyke made a face of revulsion. He hated the idea of the human population being increased, even by a little. “What, again?” “Yes, sir.” The President sighed. “Send a couple of soldiers down there to have a look. I'll breathe that much easier if they can nip this thing in the bud.” He paused, then added, “You may go.” As the young man left, Fosdyke turned back to his desk. This war between the Humanists and the Environmentalists was beginning to tire him. When would his adversaries recognize that they were merely guests, an unpleasant infestation on a planet that they would, if they continued on their current path, eventually destroy? These belligerent rebels were standing in the way of the perfect future: the Earth, unmarred by people, growing and flourishing until the end of time. Fosdyke sighed. Humanity's time was over, and he was just keeping matters in hand until they died out completely.

Standing Face to Face by Michelle Adler

Standing the Test My First Real Job: A True Story by Zach Goldberg June 22nd: It’s Finally Over. I have waited so long for this moment. My calendar screams as the inevitability sets in. The useful part of its life, hanging in my room across from my FIFA World Cup poster, will soon be over. “With the power invested in me I promise that you shall never harm anyone with your scheduled exam dates or final projects, ever again,” I declare, while I slowly rip my school calendar by its seam, savouring every tear and enjoying the moment. June 23rd: The Day is Mine. Just like any other high school student after a long school year, I feel the need to ingest vast quantities of sugar. I then run, energized, to the local park, where unorganized sport takes place. The wind dances through my very close buzz-cut hair while I bask in the overcast cloud-covered sky, playing soccer upon a barf-coloured field. The sun engulfs the soccer field with a grey, ominous shade, the colour of summer. From that moment on, I knew that this would be the very best summer vacation ever. June 24th: The Inevitable Truth. I was wrong. It had all been a lie. Why couldn’t I see this coming? My parents justify their speech by saying, “We feel that you are old enough to get a part-time job, to enter the work force and become responsible.” RESPONSIBLE?! That sounds like a school-related word. I’d nearly forgotten all of those vocabulimetric things. At that moment it felt like karma was setting in. This was my calendar’s revenge; its last wish 83

was to see me in anguish, possibly using its mystical power of its dates just once more. As I taped my calendar pieces together, a crystallizing feeling came into effect. From that moment on, I knew that this would be the very worst summer vacation ever.

Two Weeks: The Hunt is On. Hundreds of times I’d had to recharge my sister’s laptop. But for what cause? To find a summer job, of course. Craig’s list, Facebook, Kijjiji, they’re all the same. “We require a post-high school education”. How about a ‘during-high school education’? There is clearly a difference if a high school graduate staples some pages and writes down phone messages. What kind of business or company would want a fifteen-year-old in charge of those life-determining tasks? I mean, how many people are killed in the work force every year from miscalculated staple injuries? I can only assume casualties must be in the thousands. Miraculously, my sister began to help me with my job search. I can only assume she had the best intentions; maybe she just wanted possession of the computer which is legitimately hers. She suggested going on local mall websites and searching for job opportunities. Great, so I can work at a McJob in the mall where my friends hang out: perfect! “Hello, my name is Zach…would you like fries with that?” Fortunately, most stores were not hiring, especially not for an employee with zero working experience. July 12th: The Search Ends. This was a day that would go down in History as the worst day by far. I had actually found a small business hiring part-time employees, in a small toy kiosk. Well, after much consideration, I decided to go to the interview, seeing as that playing with toys all day would be my kind of future profession. The owner’s name was Lenny. He seemed down to earth, young and friendly. Lenny told me all about his other locations within the Vancouver Mall and that his business spread from there. He was impressed that I responded, and, because I was young, he felt I was very approachable, a great 84

quality for a salesperson. I was shocked that he did not ask my true age. Lenny said that I looked at least seventeen, so I was hired. It was a great feeling, giving the news to my parents. A chill flew up my spine. I would actually have to work this summer and become responsible. This is a day of mourning for the entire world. July 14th: ‘I’m So Nervous.’ I wonder if I can leave early. It was my first day in training, working as a salesperson. My instructor’s name was Carl. He seemed really relaxed, maybe too relaxed. He was very chill, giving me tips on how to approach customers. “You gotta be smooth,” he said, with his bloodshot eyes half-masked. If he was a food, I would categorise him as a baked potato. Unfortunately, after about ten minutes, I realised he was only talking or shouting at women with specific features. “Hey, will you buy this helicopter if I land it on your head?” As a result, I did in fact learn how not to talk to women, especially potential customers. Afterwards, Carl asked me to take notes as he was describing the products’ features and prices. These figures somehow altered every time he spoke with customers. I checked if ‘inconsistency and exaggeration’ were next on the training schedule, but I realised it was part of the daily routine. Carl then told me that I would have to memorize all of our products' features and prices by tomorrow. I went home later that day, my brain saturated with various questions. How could one work as a salesperson and maintain a balanced lifestyle? Why did I feel so greasy after standing around Carl? How am I going to memorize all of these facts by tomorrow? July 15th: Complete Boredom. My job title should be altered from salesperson to ‘player of the toys’. In reality, my job was to demo toys and let little kids play with a remote control car. In my mind, I had gained no working experience. Also, I learned that playing with toys is actually the most boring eight-hour job in the history of time itself. I’d never been so bored in my life. I wished I was in school– such a blasphemous thought from a student who was just 85

freed from the prison where learning resides. In all my life, I had never become bored with a toy before the batteries ran out. July 17th: Responsibility is Awesome. Within my first two days, I had sold over $549 worth of merchandise, a record high within the company. That was the same day I realised that on top of a base salary, I was also getting commission. During the afternoon, Lenny came by just to check up on the kiosk, to make sure it was being well-maintained and that everything was in order. He was very impressed by my clean and productive environment, consisting of a twelveinch desk, a chair, and a till. Trouble arose when Lenny disliked one of my displays of the toys. With his anabolically enhanced frame, he â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;accidentallyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; knocked over few of the glass shelves. From that instance, I knew my boss was a potential candidate for immediate institutionalization. July 18th: The Dangerous Demo. I think that I would have been fired by the end of the day if Lenny found out about the events that had occurred that day. After I had routinely opened up the kiosk, as I did every morning, I decided to practice flying the super deluxe twin-bladed Apache miniature gun-ship helicopter replica within the airspace surrounding the kiosk. Due to my intensive training sessions, I was able to take off and land the toy without breaking its super-fragile body, intended for children ages five and up. After mastering the basics of three-dimensional flight, I decided to take on new heights and push the envelope of toy aeronautics to a whole new level. The Apache took off from the kiosk, but something was wrong. The helicopter spun violently out of control, like a candy wrapper caught in an updraft. Unfortunately, there were no wind currents on the second floor of the mall. I managed to land the Apache between the mall ceiling and the skylight, an almost perfect landing. To the janitorial staff's amazement, not only was the helicopter virtually inaccessible, it was lodged more than seventy-five feet in the air. To my 86

surprise, the helicopter showed up the next Monday morning, with a note saying that the head janitor was considering purchasing the Apache due to its amazing flight capabilities. My unplanned promotional marketing scheme worked perfectly. I sold him four helicopters and three remote-control cars. Fortunately for me, the incompetence of Lenny’s inventory records proved beneficial, for he never noticed the missing item.

The Next Month: I was feeling like an adult: waking up early, opening shop by myself, and gaining the responsibility and trust of my parents. I knew it was too good to be true. After selling so many items, I felt that my boss, Lenny, would be pleased. However, the only problem was that seventy per cent of toys that were bought were being returned, all during my shift. I felt so guilty, especially when little kids came up to me, their eyes filled with sorrow, saying that their toys were broken. What made issues worse was that Lenny did not allow refunds, only exchanges for the same high-quality toys that would break and be returned for another. This cycle felt endless. Additionally, when customers were eager to speak with my boss about the durability of our product, I was told to say he was busy or in a meeting. To Lenny, customer service was essential. In one instance, a customer was so enraged that my boss would not even speak with him that he started to yell and demanded I get Lenny on the phone. I was shocked to hear their conversation, for it was Lenny who was swearing at the customer. The man looked at me and said, “You, sir, are a nice young man. It is a shame that you are working for such a #%@!” From that moment on, I realised the harsh reality that toy marketing and sales were the one work area that I did not want to become a part of in the future. August 15th: Coming to Terms. After being reassured by my parents that I was still responsible and had experienced the true nature of the work force, I decided to resign. I hope that they remove my ‘salesperson of the month’ plaque with my picture from the kiosk prior to 87

being investigated by the Better Business Bureau. August 18th: Feel the Approaching. Like a splinter in my mind, I just canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t grasp the entity which provokes these horrific feelings. Every second of every minute of every day, it draws nearer. I must come to terms with this beast which denies me my freedoms yet allows me to explore the range of my future. Why must such a burden be cast upon me, and only me, as an individual? Who else fears this long list of metaphors for the thing known as â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;schoolâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;? August 22nd. Acceptance and Fear. I have finally accepted that my summer must come to an end. To vanquish this uncertain feeling, I went to the Pan-Asian Mall to observe all of the questionable products that I am not allowed to purchase. Then, abruptly, I heard something familiar. Could it be? The remote control helicopter whizzed by my ear as I rounded the corner of the store. I must know the price. Terror gripped my body; I was immobile, but somehow I almost knew all along. Lenny had been selling his products for seven times the retail price offered by the wholesaler. I was outraged. The feelings of guilt rushed back. I felt bad about the saddened children and hoped that the Better Business Bureau would complete their investigation. September 1st: The Unanticipated Return. As I left my job to return to school, I felt an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. Not only did I manage to land a job within a mall, I found the most insecure, non-refundable, most unorganized and illegitimate business operation known to mankind. And in reality, isn't that what a first part-time job is all about?

Standing Up by Shane Morganstein

This is not a happy story. If you scare easily, are depressed, or think that this will be happy, I would suggest just putting this story down and walking away. No harm done. Just walk away. At least you can… I had the best life I could possibly imagine. I came from small-town Texas. I was the star football player at my high school. I had my dream girl, my grades were good. Then I made the stupidest decision of my life. See, I needed money for college, money that neither I nor my family had. Without this money, my life was over. There would be no college, no girl, nothing. There would be the usual job of working at the town mine, something I would never do. So I joined the army. They promised me money for college, the chance to see new things, meet new people, while serving my country in the greatest way possible. It seemed like a gift from God. I ended up going to Afghanistan. Take my word when I say that there is nothing there other than poverty and never-ending desert. It was two months before the end of my service when my caravan was attacked. I can remember the roar of the RPG as it hit our van. I can remember the flipping and turning, and the screams of my friends as they were crushed by our van. And I can remember the silence, the deepest silence I have ever heard, before I passed out. The next thing I knew, I was lying in a bed in a medical center. I was so high on drugs and morphine that I could only pick up bits and pieces of what the doctor was telling me: “So…Sorry…No…Other…Choice…Never...Again.” I leaned over the side of the gurney and puked. I tried to get up out of bed, only to be pushed back down by the doctor. I pushed him away, and tried to get up. I pushed myself off the bed, and fell. Hard. I remember hitting the ground, and feeling pain shoot up through my legs and up my spine. And worst of all, I remember looking down and seeing nothing but the pale, white tiled floors. My legs were gone. I would never stand again. 89

I found out that my legs had been crushed during the accident, and that none of my friends had survived. I was released from duty early and sent back home. When my parents first saw me, they cried. It was the most awful thing I have ever heard. I left their place and went back to my apartment, only to find my girlfriend in bed with another man. She saw me, told me it was over, and then left with her new boyfriend, laughing at me. It was the most humiliating moment of my life.

I began living off of the government. The checks they sent me were not huge, but enough to buy my food and alcohol. I would go out into the street, only to have people stare at me, to say, “Look at that man,” or, ”Oh, my God!” I was beginning to contemplate suicide. That was when I knew I needed help. I went to rehab. Plain and simple. In rehab, there were people who could understand me, relate to me, help me. Those great people helped me stand up to my past, stand up to my demons, and stand up to the intolerant. It was possibly the most amazing thing I have ever experienced in my life. And it was this awe which brought me here to where I am today, a fully-functional member of society.

I am not like other people. My family is disgusted by me, my girlfriend dumped me, my friends are dead. But also, I have stood up to myself, to others, to my past, and to my present. My life is going to be hard, and it is probably going to be painful, but in the end, everything is going to be okay. I can learn to cope with my life, I can overcome adversity and intolerance, and I can amount to great things. I can do anything I want to, as long as I put my mind to it. I am strong, I am smart, and I will survive. And all because I learned how to stand up with no legs.

Stand Tall by Samara Rotstein

Stood Up by Anonymous

You stood me up You didn’t come I waited all night long. I’m really mad, It’s all your fault, What is it I did wrong?

A Standoffish Jellyfish by Shira Ander

You Stand Above Me, My Angel by T.B. I see you in my dreams And sometimes it really seems That you want me to be with you. You left me when I was two. But I can't just end my life Like you did with that knife. You were my best friend And when you left I just couldn't comprehend. I tried to find you everywhere But wherever I went you weren't there. Now I understand why you were so sad I heard what had happened with your dad. He abused you everyday and made you cry And I guess you couldn't take it so you chose to die. You see me hurt and that's why I see you at night You're trying to tell me that everything is going to be alright. You're looking out for me from above I can feel your strong, spirited love. You stand above me, my angel.

STAND by Aleeza Freedman Photograph by Coby Viner

Stand for what you believe in, And never choose to sit. Stand, be brave, and do not quit. Stand and always make sure to act strong, If you do this, you will not be proven wrong. Stand and always believe, For then it is greatness that you will achieve.

The Many Uses of “Stand” According to the Concise Oxford Dictionary “stood there till I was tired” “was too weak to stand” “chair will not stand on two legs” “hair stood on end with fright” “stand at ease” “stand easy” “stand in someone's light” “stand in the breach” “stand on one's head” “stand in the way of” “stands six foot three” “on each side stand two pillars” “a stranger stood in the doorway” “the cups stand on the top shelf” “here once stood a village” “now stand still” “was commanded to stand” “stand and deliver” “standstill” “don't stand there arguing” “house will stand for another century” “whether we stand or fall” “has stood through worse storms” “stand on one's onw feet” “stand fast” “stand firm” “not a leg to stand on” “stand pat” “the former conditions may stand” “the wording must stand” “the same remark stands good” “stands convicted of treachery” “thermometer stood at ninety degrees” “the matter stands thus” “he stands first on the list” “I stand prepared to dispute it” “stand proxy for” “have often stood his friend” “stand alone” “stand at bay” “stand corrected”

“stand high” “stand someone in good stead” “stand well” “as it stands” “stand to” “stand back” “stand clear” “stand aside” “stand aloof” “stand away” “stand in for the shore” “you are standing into danger” “stand the jug on the table” “stand it against the wall” “shall stand you in the corner as punishment” “her nerves could not stand the strain” “how does he usually stand pain?” “could never stand the fellow” “shall stand no nonsense” “stood the enemy's fire” “failed to stand the test” “stand one's ground” “stand a chance” “stood him a drink” “stood a bottle to the company” “who is going to stand treat?” “standee” “stand by” “stand for” “stand someone in” “stand on” “stand on ceremony” “stand on one's dignity” “stand over” “it stands to reason” “stand upon” “will not stand by and see him ill-treated” “stand down” “stand in” “stand in with” “stand off” “standoffish” “stand out” “stand over” “stand up”

“have only the clothes I stand up in” “that argument does not stand up on examination” “stand up for” “stand up to” “came to a stand” “be at a stand” “make a stand” “took his stand near the door” “take one's stand” “music stand” “umbrella stand” “hatstand” “inkstand” “fruit stand” “newsstand” “cabstand” “bandstand” “grandstand” “take the stand” “standing growth” “a one-night stand” “stand of arms” “stand of colours” “standard” “standing” “men of high standing” “in good standing” “a dispute of long standing” “standing room” “a standing rule” “longstanding” “standing army” “standing order” “all standing” “leave someone standing” “standing corn” “standing rigging” “standing type” “standing water” “standing wave” “standpatter” “standpipe” “standpoint” “stet” “let it stand” “outstanding”