2019 Spindrift

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SPINDRIFT

Literary Arts Magazine O f Ta l b o t C o u n t y P u b l i c S c h o o l s

Spindrift Cover Artwork:

Katie Riggleman

SPINDRIFT

Easton High Junior Ad o b e Ph ot o s h o p Pa i n t i n g

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The Artistic Insights Fund of The Midshore Community Foundation

F A C U LT Y

A D V I S O R S

B R I D G E T

W H I T E D

Visual Arts & Layout Design

J E S S I C A

M AT T I N G L E Y

Proofreader & Editor

C A R O L Literary

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E D I T O R S

Randei Collins Kaila Regan Cassidy Kling Georgia Kline Lillian Muckleroy Stevie Shaak Hannah Kerr Elizabeth Scharch

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Contribution & Publication

TA L B O T C O U N T Y P U B L I C S C H O O L S D R .

K E L LY

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Superintendent of Schools

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Assistant Superintendent of Schools

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J A M E S

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Fine Arts Curriculum Super visor

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C H R I S T I N E

I N S P I R I N G E D U C AT O R S Garnette Hines Christopher Pittman Ta y l o r H u d s o n Shelby Swann Matthew Ghrist Allison Szymanski Jennifer Pantusa Jonathan Crist Ky n d e l l R a i n e r Christina Longenecker

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English Curriculum Supervisor

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M R . M I C H A E L

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Board President

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M A R Y

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Board Vice President

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M E M B E R S

Otis Sampson Juanita Hopkins Emily Jackson Susan Delean-Botkin Ap r i l Mo t o v i d l a k

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A D M I N I S T R AT I O N M S .

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St. Michaels Middle High School Principal

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Easton High School Principal

Spring 2019 / Volume V

Editor’s Introduction R

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St. Michaels Middle High School Senior Spindrift Editor: 2015-2019

Close your eyes and picture a world, a world filled with a bunch of different worlds, each having its own meaning. One filled with paintings, one filled with poems, one filled with drawings, one filled with photography, and etc. Now, open your eyes and your picture just became a reality in the form of a magazine. A huge thank you to the artists, teachers, students, and patrons for supporting Talbot County’s Spindrift. If it wasn’t for teachers offering students this opportunity to submit their pieces of art, whatever media it may be, this magazine wouldn’t have become a reality. Another huge thank you to the Artistic Insights Fund of the Mid-Shore Community Foundation for continuing to sponsor and support the magazine in any way you can. We sincerely thank you for that. Spindrift lets student’s minds wander onto paper or a canvas that expresses their emotions and perspectives about their lives and others around them.

I’ll say as an editor for Spindrift, this will be my last year working with such a wonderful team for this wonderful magazine. During my four years of working with Spindrift, I have learned that you shouldn’t be afraid to take a chance and try something new, especially when it comes to expressing how you truly feel. I also would like to leave something for whomever reads this year’s latest magazine: “Creativity is a part of everybody. It doesn’t matter what type of person you are. The more you use, the more you have”.

Spindrift: sea spray blown from waves during a gale…

S p i n d r i f t ~ Ta l b o t C o u n t y P u b l i c S c h o o l s ~

Vo l u m e V : M a y 2 0 1 9

Spindrift 1 1

Lillian Muckleroy St. Michaels Middle High Senior Ac r y l i c o n Pa p e r

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C o o p e r G ow e St. Michaels Middle High Freshman Photography

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E l i za b e t h S c h a rc h St. Michaels Middle High Junior Ac r y l i c o n Pa p e r

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Easton High School Sophomore

The sun hung high in the pale blue sky. The soft crunch of sand radiated from the bottom of Buck Smith’s worn leather boots and the occasional spin of faded silver spurs added a hint of flavor to the sounds of the empty desert. Smith took a long drag of his handrolled cigarette and threw it into the sandy breeze. He continued down the sanded-over pathway. In front of him sat a saloon, probably years old judging by the appearance, but one Smith knew well. He pushed through the doors, the left swinging smoothly for a spell after he walked through it. The seasoned cowboy made his way through the surprisingly crowded room to a table towards the back. A native American sat at the table, only he wasn’t like most. He wore civilized clothes, and his smoke black hair was cut short, hidden under a cattleman hat. Smith approached the table, floorboards moaning beneath him, and greeted the man. The two talked for a time, not a long one at that, and soon the two’s greetings turned to hostilities. The noise of two grown men’s voices boomed through the room and to the dismay of Smith, many of the patrons began to glance at them. The two continued, voices slowly climbing to their maximum volume, before the scratch and rumble of a chair rang through the bar followed by a gun to the head of Buck. Buck Smith now stared down the barrel of a magnificently silver Schofield revolver. The Native muttered some words as the rest of the saloon watched in awe as a Native held the white man at gunpoint, finger resting on the clearly broken-in trigger. Smith stood as well, but his hands 4

reached for the sky. The two had created quite the scene, which both men were used to. Smith tilted his head, slightly changing the way he held his eyes to the Native American and the empty clap of a hammer on a clear chamber startled onlookers. The two began to chuckle as the Native now rolled his shooter on his finger until a full rotation brought it back to its resting place. Buck Smith turned and walked through the now thick crowd of surrounded people, to be followed by the Native American man who wore the name Ahanu on the back of his buckskin vest. Buck kicked the saloon doors open and was temporarily blinded by the sun. Ahanu was not far behind him.

The two stood not scared, but not confident either. Lining every inch of cover on the other side of the sun-baked dirt street was the US army. The boys had been expecting it, just not this quick. The sun’s glare off the brass plated repeaters did nothing but give away the location of each of the unfortunate souls on the other side. The men stole their glances carefully, making sure to account for every man siding with the Army. They discoursed with a Marshall for some time with the last word being spoken coming from the man with the silver gun. As if knowing what came next, Ahanu spoke clearly, “We’re all gonna die Marshall.”

These words would be the last bit of civility between the two parties, as the second the words left his mouth, a bullet left Buck’s gun.

Spring 2019 / Voume V 2

The Little Things

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The little things can really put things in perspective The little things, like the sweet smell of fresh air, the taste of clean water The little things, like a love note, a few words The little things, like the melody of a song, the soft hum of a stranger passing by The little things, they are what matter the most In our world, between the struggles, the strife The anger, the disagreement The little things can be found The little things are what keep the dreamers going The little things are consistent Amongst the chaos Between the hatred and violence The little things are there The little things, like the softness of cotton sheets The little things, like the light rush of a smooth breeze These are the things that truly matter The little things can’t offer much to us Except the sweet, brief feeling of peace Within the woe and unrest The only things holding the world together, are the little things.

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Spindrift

Blue Spirit R

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I C O L L I N S St. Michaels High Senior

S A R A H A N T Easton High Sophomore

Once there was a woman Her bad side sold Died over 20 years ago To save a kind soul

The light wind flew across the sky, An early May morning awoke.

She roams through the night Hearing children’s pleas Once she is for certain She runs like a stampede There’s a boy who was hurting Didn’t know who to ask His father told him this story But the boy thought it was trash Her light blue light filled his room Shining bright with all her might She brought his lost friend back Who he used to cuddle with all night The spirit let out a smile As she slowly disappeared The boy stood there breathless As he let out all his tears People say she’s a myth But he says they’re wrong She helped him that night Considering the boy was me all along

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An oak tree with many branches stood tall, The leaves shone brightly in the May sunlight.

The tree’s branches swayed in the wind, And just for a second, a tired silence.

Another twig grew on the old oak tree.

As years passed, the tree grew stronger, More branches grew off of other branches.

The tree became grand, Her wrinkles in a permanent smile.

Soon the tree became frail, Her cries heard across the forest as she fell softly to the ground.

But there is one thing about trees.

When one falls, Its seeds are planted all over, To grow into larger, stronger trees.

With more and more branches, More leaves to shine in the sun, And even bigger and stronger twigs.

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Spring 2019 / Voume V

Artwork:

India Johnston Easton High Senior Oil

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Spindrift

The Adventures of Jeffery, the Pug S Artwork:

Kaila Regan St. Michaels Middle High Freshman Charcoal

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Spring 2019 / Voume V Hello reader, it is nice to meet you. I wish to tell you a story. You see, my name is Jeffery, and I am a pug. That is right, I am what my owners refer to as a “Doggo,” or a “Pupper,” however I do not believe those are the scientific terms. I was born incredibly intelligent, and I have a vast understanding of current events and vocabulary. But I am still a dog, with dog needs. I was adopted from my shelter only 2 months ago by my owners, John, and John’s wife, Joanna, nicknamed Jon, and we moved into a tiny home. Ever since then I have noticed a lighthouse on their kitchen counter. I presumed at the time that the little lighthouse held the tiny lighthouse people and fishermen, who fished at the kitchen counter for left-over goldfish, but I was wrong.

The other day, I presume a Tuesday, but I don’t know as I am a dog who does not know time very well, my owner pulled out a treat from the lighthouse. It was small and nice smelling, covered in sugar, and I heard him refer to it as a cookie. I knew from that moment I needed one, which brings me to today. I woke up and pondered my existence as a super intelligent dog named Jeffery who doesn’t know where he got said intelligence. Was I some failed experiment, or was I just struck by the great D O G in the sky? After this light but earned existential crisis, I rose to my feet and snuck off my owners’ bed. I ran around our home-made wet floor sign with a picture of me wearing a dumb “costume”, moved into the kitchen, and prepared to parkour, or as it really was, take leaps of faith. I rose onto a chair with a mighty leap, then on to our dinner table. It was time; my treat was nearing ever closer.

After making a third jump up onto the wall-mounted air conditioner, I prepared my mightiest stunt yet, onto the kitchen counter. My mind was uncertain, my legs trembling, but I then remembered my mighty quest and breathed in through my tiny nose; this was truly my purpose. I backed slightly, pushed my feet down, pushed my momentum forward and jumped for it! I flew through the wind, slowly lowering down as gravity took its needed position bringing me down onto the counter. I made it. I raced down the counter to see the lighthouse, gone. It was missing and in its place was a small note. It read: “Moved lighthouse to under the bed, because I need to fix a crack in it, should be done by Wednesday morning.

Sincerely, John”

Artwork:

Lucy Morris Easton High Sophomore Ac r y l i c Pa i n t i n g

No! How could this be happening to me? Then it happened. I heard the footsteps coming downstairs, and rushed out into our living room to find John and Jon coming down the stairs, and John with the lighthouse in hand. This was my chance! I ran after John once he reached the bottom of the stairs and bit him in the ankle, a technique I learned at the shelter (that was the day I accidently ate chocolate too, memories!) I prepared to take what was mine, but John ran away. He repeated words I don’t know as a good Christian pug, and ran screaming around into the other side of the kitchen. I provided chase!

I gave him the run of his life around the kitchen as he screamed, running past the AC, right past the counter and into the floor wet sign! I followed quickly the whole time as he began to stumble, not helped by his slippery foot. He finally started to trip, and then continued right in the center of the living room! He flung the lighthouse into the air and fell down. I used my “Puggy Parkour” (Trademark) skills to jump up onto the bouncy couch, and flung myself in the direction of the lighthouse!

That brings us to now, dear reader.

As I ponder this story as it would sound in story format, I stop. I think of the blurred colors around me as everything stops to a halt. I see the falling cookies, slammed down by the impact of gravity as the top of the lighthouse falls of and the cookie comes flying out. This is my fault isn’t it? I caused the destruction derby of events to unfold with my primal need for a treat?

Is this really all worth it? Can I be this smart yet so stupid? Is this my life now?

I catch the cookie in my mouth and… I take it all back. This is delicious! Worth It! It tastes familiar and warm; it’s great! I catch myself on my feet and I chomp down on the cookie, looking down at John in pain on his back. I feel as if I should get punished, and as if the universe will be mad at me for what I had done. Now I realize why it tastes familiar, and I will be punished.

Hello Again, Chocolate.

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Spindrift Analee Cruz Easton High Junior Digigal Painting

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Easton High Sophomore

The world never gave him anything.

He asked for confidence and strength.

But there he sat, restless Knowing he’d never find anything.

He talked every here and there but only to a few people He gave up for a while And everything he said stuck with me, Everything he stood for, Everything he ever wanted wasn’t too far away But still in his dreams, Never once did they shine down on him Always in the distance, Almost clear but still far from his reach Only those who’d been there could read him He believed everything was out of his control That he shouldn’t even try All he’d ever done was put himself on the sideline Something needed to change, Is a life worth living if you have nothing, No one to live for? He didn’t think so.

Suddenly, he decided he wanted to live, Do more, become someone He chased the sun and never grew tired I still don’t know what motivated him, Maybe it was that he was tired of being underestimated Feeling so useless And there he stood, this time shining brighter than the sun and all of his dreams All the pain he never wanted to endure He overcame Pushed through Soon he realized he didn’t need any special gifts To become someone in this world.

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Cassidy Kling St. Michaels Middle High Senior Batik

Spring 2019 / Voume V

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Spindrift

If You Love Something You Might Have to Sacrifice H

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Easton High School Freshman

I have always gone to church every Sunday morning since I can remember. I would go to the children’s ministry and learn about God and what he did for us. Because I was little, I didn’t really understand what the teacher was saying since I have never known what the feeling of sacrifice meant or felt like. When I got older, I started going to the sermon and I began to comprehend the message of Jesus sacrificing himself for us because he loved us. Finally understanding that, I realized that there are a lot of people that sacrifice for me and people that I make sacrifices for. Sacrificing is not easy, but if you’re doing it for something you care for then it shouldn’t be that hard. If you love something, you should be willing to sacrifice for it.

In the Bible, Jesus had followers and he had haters. His devoted followers adored him in everything he did and would follow him to the end of the Earth. Jesus was grateful and would do the exact same for them. However, his haters would talk about him in a horrible way and hurt his followers. His haters would never do anything for him, yet Jesus said he would die for them because he loved them. And this is exactly what Jesus did. Later in the Bible, Jesus sacrificed himself for everyone, even his haters because he knew that if he sacrificed himself we could live good lives. He even knew he would have to go through horrible, physical pain, but he still did it. Jesus loved us so much that he gave his life.

That is pure love and if you love something, you might have to sacrifice, which is exactly what he did.

Like Jesus, other people have sacrificed things for me and the people around me, except not their lives. A few years ago, my little sister was diagnosed with Tourette’s syndrome. Tourette’s syndrome is a neurological disorder that makes people do involuntary actions and tics. She has had to go to appointments all the way in Annapolis with special doctors. My mom and my dad have sacrificed so much for her. They have sacrificed their money and their time, especially their time. Her disorder would make her do things that scared her and my parents would run to her and hold her until she was calm. Her doctors prescribed her medicine to try and tame her tics, and those medicines are not cheap. They have sacrificed all this money and all their time for someone they love. No one asked them to do this, but because they love their daughter so much, they sacrificed. If you love something, you might have to sacrifice, which is what my parents did for my sister.

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My little sister is very important in our family because of her disorder (she would be important anyways) and I have also had to sacrifice many things for her. Since her disorder makes her do actions that might put her in danger or put others in danger, I have to look out for her. Usually when we go somewhere, like a party, I am told by my parents to watch out for her and make sure nothing happens. Because it is a party, I want to hang out with my friends and not have to worry about her, but because I love her so much, I would sacrifice my ‘fun time’ for her because I care.

Along with her Tourette’s, she also has ADHD, OCD, and Dyslexia. All of this makes it hard for her to do her homework and regular school tasks. She would spend hours on her homework, not even because it was hard, but because her Tourette’s would make her tics go crazy. My family and I would actually have to take shifts to help her with her homework because it took up so much of our time and we had things to do. I would have to stop in the middle of my homework that was due in a few hours to help her. But she is my sister and I love her, so I gave up that time to help her instead. I love her, so I sacrificed.

My law of life, if you love something you might have to sacrifice, connects to the pillar of caring. Caring is displaying kindness and concern for others. You would do anything for the people you care about, including sacrificing your whole life. I care for my sister and I care for what happens to her, and if that means sacrificing my time then that means I give up my time for her. I care for her and love her so much I would sacrifice everything for her.

From Jesus, the most powerful man in my family, we have learned to sacrifice things for the people we love. Jesus sacrificed his life so that we could have a happy life. He loved us so much that he didn’t care about his life as much as our lives. My family and I have done the same to sacrifice, although in a softer way. We have given up time and money for my sister and for our pets because we love them dearly. We care about the sacrifice so much that we may hesitate, but we give it up eventually for the benefit of our loved one. When you love someone, you open your heart and make room for sacrifice. Eventually at a point in your life, you will realize that money and trivial material items don’t even matter in the long run. If you love something you might have to sacrifice.

Spring 2019 / Voume V Artwork:

Shareef Curry

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A Letter to Jackson Pollock

Easton High Freshman Abstract Expressionist Painting

My life is splatt ered On display for ev on canvas like a Jackson Pollo ck painting. er yone to see bu t no one to buy isn’t worth $140 except my hear Million. t My heart splatt ers like paint in organized destru The shades of bl ction. ue clash with bl ack.

Red with green.

Purple with yello w.

My fear of desire clashes with en vy.

Hope with desp air.

Love with happ ines I put my life into s. a ju xtaposition like a car next to But soon, that pa a train. ra llel ta kes a ha rd left and crashe The only injuries s. sustained are a broken heart an So, much like pa d rope burn. inting, I contra st.

My inha le is a ri nse in the water .

My ex ha le, a br ush across the ca nvas.

My flatline is th e finished produc t.

And my funera l is the bidding war where no on I’m torn, casted e shows up. away.

Into the abyss.

For no one

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Spindrift

FOUL PLAY T

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Easton High School Freshman

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As the ball flew seemingly directly into my hands, the player from the other team came out of nowhere. We collided, and the ball was knocked out of my hands. As I fell to the ground, my head slammed against the cold dirt, and with a sickening CRACK, my shin snapped.

I was angry. I never wanted any part of this. Now because of Martin, my year was ruined. I sat on my bed looking out the window as raindrops dripped down the pane. I watched the football players in the field practicing their drills. They were getting ready for the championship game against the Bristle Tigers, the school’s biggest rival. I saw my coach open a cardboard box with the team jerseys inside, and I watched in disbelief as he handed my precious jersey to David Martin, who had a triumphant fire in his eyes, but with a wicked gleam underneath. I got up from my bed and banged my fist against the window. I turned away and knocked my calculus books off my desk. It wasn’t fair! All this because of some jealous jerk who was too stuck up to accept the position he was assigned! I flopped back onto my bed, wincing as my leg touched the mattress, and as I lay there, I remembered the night of the game.

As I placed my helmet over my head, I heard the announcer proclaiming to the crowd that the start of the game would soon begin. I heard the blood pounding in my ears, and my breath seemed heavy. I peeked around the corner of the wall and saw the empty football field, surrounded by thousands of people. As I began to feel even more nervous, my coach beckoned to me.

“Hey Isaac,” he called. He was standing behind me, with the rest of the team. “We’re going out soon. You want to say anything to your teammates?”

Of course. Before every game, the coach would pick one of the teammates to talk to the whole team to help motivate us as a group. Like a team building exercise or something. I could have been chosen at any game, but of course the coach would pick me to do it right before the most stressful one of the year. I swallowed and nodded as I walked over to join my team.

I cleared my throat as awkwardly as possible. “Look, I know that this is a pretty big game,” I began, “And our entire football career depends on this,” I continued.

David rolled his eyes.

“But, uh, we can do this if we work together as a team so…” I shifted uncomfortably. “I guess we’ll have to depend on each other, right? We have to have each other’s back. If we do, then we’ll be unstoppable.”

“Some speech,” David muttered.

“Actually, David,” said James, another kid on the team, “I thought it was great.” He raised his fist in the air. “LET’S GO WESTFIELD!” he yelled as the rest of the team, that is, except David, repeated the battle cry. I shot him a grateful look, and he nodded back and smiled. James and I go way back. He and I grew up together, and we’ve been best friends since we were six. His support meant a lot.

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“And now,” boomed the voice over the speakers, “The Westfield Knights!”

The team ran screaming onto the field like lunatics as the audience cheered. As the players got into position, I saw David Martin, the son of the coach, glaring at me from the sidelines. Martin had always disliked me, though I never really knew why. He had always wanted my position on the field, and David was the sort of person who would do anything to get what he wanted, and he didn’t care about the consequences.

As the game started, I caught the ball and ran across the field. I worked with my team, and it felt like we were one big family. By the middle of the fourth quarter, Westfield had fourteen points and the opposing team had seventeen. All the Knights needed to do was score one touchdown and we would be on our way to the championship game against Denton Lake! Finally, there were 49 seconds left on the clock. Before we started, I saw David talking to a player from the other team. Their voices were hushed, but I knew they were planning something.

It may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw David nod his head in my direction. The other player nodded back. I thought I should’ve told the coach, but I wasn’t sure it was anything serious. I didn’t want to cause any problems so close to the end of the game. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how wrong I was.

My concentration broke when we were called back to the field to finish the game. Still a little suspicious, I walked over to my position. Right next to me was David’s spot. As he walked over he bumped my shoulder. Before the first play, he mumbled in my ear: “Good luck, champ.”

I looked over to see a sly smile wrapped around his face.

The ball was thrown, and I caught it and ran as fast as I could. I had to make this touchdown. Not just for me, but for my whole team.

The clock read 0:32.

I was nearing the other team’s end zone. I thought I might actually have made it that time. I looked to my left, and saw the player from the other team, the one David had been talking to, getting strangely close. I threw the ball to James and kept running.

0:24.

James threw the ball back. It sailed through the air as time seemed to slow down. I kept running.

0:18.

The ball was flying. I caught it, and I could hear my own heart beating. Suddenly I was falling sideways; the brute force of the player from the other team had been enough to not only knock me down, but to completely flatten me. A split second after my head hit the field with

Spring 2019 / Voume V a nauseating CONK, I heard the sound of a gun being fired. As I absently wondered about this, my leg exploded in pain, the ball flew out of my hands, and David Martin approached from the side and caught the ball before it hit the ground. The last thing I saw was Martin running across the line as the crowds went wild. We had made it to the finals.

The clock read 0:02, and my world went black.

Isabelle R C

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St. Michaels Middle High Senior

Her name sent chills down my spine Her very presence made me cold She sent me into a spiral Of confusion, terrifying and bold She has always been around me Like a spirit haunting my soul She tells me what is right and wrong Even though I never understood She says that she’ll protect me Although I never believed I have been kept secluded And have always wished to be freed I decided it was enough I confronted her directly Told her my deepest concerns But she didn’t agree so greatly Her screeches echo through my mind As the whole room started shaking I didn’t know what to do But I knew I had to do something I stood up with pride And faced my inner demon I stared with a straight face and said, “YOU CAN’T CONTROL ME, BELIEVE IT!” Her static self slinked down Into the dark depths below I had finally defeated her And my mind calmly knew so Now I am at ease And can finally live life well

Jill Esterson

With no more trouble

Easton High Freshman Ac r y l i c c o l o r s t u dy

From the one named Isabelle 1 5

Spindrift Artwork:

India Johnston Easton High Senior Oil

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Spring 2019 / Voume V

Whisper of Fury B

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The music blasted above their ears, the heavy bass thumping to the rhythm of a heart. It had been a week since he had dropped out of high school. Jonah and his new friends from the coffee shop danced aimlessly into the night. It was his 18th birthday. He didn’t have any friends from school. Bummer. Earlier that week, he never would have dreamed of leaving his dark bedroom and venturing out into the world. And yet, here he was, an abandoned wooden farmhouse, somewhere on the other side of the country. Strange people, strange place, strange circumstances.

Jonah had to decide whether or not to visit his father’s grave when he got back from searching for whatever he was searching for.

“Dad! Look, I got into the Science Club! I get the trophy and everything,” Jonah exclaimed, running wildly through the front door of their Boston townhouse.

“That’s great, son!” Mr. Bolton said, reaching out to pull Jonah in for a hug.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t you go wash up.”

Jonah bolted up the stairs, slowing as he passed his mother’s portrait. A hit and run, she was up in St. Peter’s Hospital for a few weeks before the plug was pulled. Jonah’s eyes started to well up. He quickly wiped his eyes and continued on.

Jonah, still king of the dancefloor, shimmied his way past his buddies and to the refreshments. Picking up a drink, he sipped quietly and watched everyone in the room. Jonah jiggled his jacket’s pockets, a metal bottle tinged against a smaller trinket. David Bolton was a peculiar man,

but Jonah was determined to be nothing like him. Kelly, Jonah’s friend from the coffee shop down the street, jogged up behind and caught him by surprise. “ Hey! I thought you pulled the plug!

Where’d you go?”, Kelly yelled over the intensity of the music.

“I thought she died,” Jonah said quietly, almost a whisper of a voice. “You killed her. You did this. You took my mother away from me.”

Mr. Bolton paused before speaking again.

“No, Jonah. Doctor Finnigan said she had no brain activity. Your mother had a subdural hematoma and a brain aneurysm. There was no saving her. So I pulled the plug. It’s what she would have wanted.”

“I’ll never forgive you for this!” Jonah screamed with the rage, storming out through the garage.

“Jonah? Jonah? Did you hear anything I said?” Kelly asked inquisitively.

Jonah ignored Kelly and walked toward the barn door. He felt his blood boiling, thinking of how his father deserved everything he received. Jonah stepped outside and took in a breath of fresh air.

“Oh, how great the fresh air is,” Jonah said in an almost maniacal manner. He circled around the barn a few times, taking in the sights, imagining the horrors.

Jonah hadn’t dropped out of school; he was kicked out for arson. He set his math teacher on fire and laughed as he burned alive. Jonah stabbed his lab partner straight through the hand with his freshly sharpened pencil. He took the clinking

metal bottle out of his pocket.

He swished it around, deliberating the fate of every lively person in the barn.

There was a hole burning in his pocket where a bottle of lighter fluid and a single match lie untouched.

“Why not?”

Jonah shrugged his shoulders. He poured the fluid onto the base of the barn, running around it and dousing all that he could. Discarding the bottle, Jonah locked the door from the outside. He lit the match.

“To freedom! Well, at least for me anyway! Ha-ha.” Pulling out his phone, he pressed record on the camera. He threw the match onto the line of fluid and watched it go up in flames. The sound of his gripping laughter dissipated into the empty cornfields.

Four weeks before his 18th birthday, Jonah slipped something into his father’s nightly cup of tea. He drug his sleeping body into the garage, into the car, started the ignition and pressed the locked button. Leaving the garage, he locked the door, and didn’t even glance back.

“That was for Mom. I said I’d never forgive you.”

Jonah caught the next flight out, back to Boston. It was around 10 p.m. At his house, he sat, watching television and eating all the snacks he could find. Jonah picked up the garage remote, and opened it. On his way to the garage, Jonah eyed the book lying on the kitchen counter. He pulled up to the Boston Police Department, in the same car, seated next to a lifeless and decaying David Bolton. An officer saw the body and ran to find the body seated next to Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s most accomplished literature. Jonah walked past him and into the building. He hooked his hands behind his back, and with the biggest grin said, “There’s a Honda Civic in the parking lot.”

Jonah found what he was looking for.

Chaos.

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Spindrift Artwork:

Ta t e M e r e d i t h Easton High Senior Wa t e r c o l o r

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Spring 2019 / Voume V

Piece of Me M

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Gleams of tropical sunshine enhancing my melanin Ripping small currents with my limbs Wearing my curls and kinks with felicity Being truly seen for who I am Not just my ethnicity Floating among lost scams With no need to swim Everyone wants to be adored Picked first Seen as worthy Feel safe And ease through the days without worry Seeing their future through the flurries Growing up Finding my pieces Planning to explore the crevices of the world With you You are my shelter My person My partner in crime Then you leave But not permanently Embodied by weakness No longer seen or safe Hallow Barren Gasping for clarity But eventually you will come back Still it won’t be the same So I cope, Learn to swim and Unapologetically be me Without you Oh, an epiphany You aren’t my twin but you are a piece of me 1 9

Spindrift

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When I was younger, about 9 or 10, I was playing in the backyard with my friend and my younger brother. I was sitting up against the rough tree when I saw a beautiful butterfly with bright blue wings fly by my face. Its wings shimmered in the summer sun as if it left a trail of sparkling blue fairy dust behind. It was as if it was magic. My brother and I started chasing it around the yard trying to catch it. After about 15 minutes, we lost sight of it. I looked around the yard when I spotted it on a blue bell flower having a little drink, its wings still shimmering in the sunlight. I turned to tell my brother I found the butterfly, but I just ended up laughing because I found him on the cold grass sleeping. I guess looking for the butterfly tired him out. I crept toward the flower as quietly as possible and grabbed the butterfly. I opened my hands and it stood there in my hands, flapping its gorgeous wings. My face inched closer as I tried to get a better look. A couple of seconds went by when I noticed the butterfly stick out its tongue and lick the tip of my nose. It tickled and then I sneezed. The sudden force of my sneeze made the butterfly fly away and it landed on the top of my head. I could feel its little black feet walking around. Around this time, my father was overprotective and thought the littlest of things could be a threat to me. I was trying to catch the butterfly on top of my head again, when I saw my brother ran towards me. He raised his hand and swatted at my head. I managed to dodge it and lost my balance in the process. As I started to get up from the ground, I didn’t feel the butterfly on my head anymore.

I buried her in the backyard.

I grabbed a shovel from the shed and dug a small hole. I gently picked up the butterfly and placed it in the hole. I covered the hole back up with dirt and placed a flower sticking up out of the pile, the same flower I saw the butterfly perch upon. I knew we had only met for five minutes, but I could tell a relationship blossomed between us that day and I was right. That was the start of a beautiful journey.

Artwork: Eight years had passed since that little incident, and I was now a graduating senior. My senior year was what I declared my version of the dark ages. About two months before the day of my graduation, my parents died Dav i d Ga r d n e r Easton High Freshman in a car accident. I was devastated to the core to the point where I couldn’t think straight. I was getting ready Ad o b e Ph o t o s h o p Pa i n t i n g to graduate and go to the college of my dreams, but I still didn’t feel right. My name was called. I saw two empty seats in the front row the auditorium. They were barren and empty, just like I felt. After the graduation, I decided to go outside to the front steps of the school and sit by myself for a while. The sight of my 2 0 friend’s parents made feel uncomfortable and lonely to the point where I didn’t want to be in the same

Spring 2019 / Voume V

room. As the light breeze flew across my face, I looked up at the sky and spotted something fluttering in the sky. It was bright blue with shimmering light blue wings leaving a fairy dust-like trail in its wake. I was shocked when I realized what it was. It was the same little butterfly from all those years ago, the one I saw as a kid. It was flying toward me and landed on my nose. As I looked at it, it licked the tip of my nose again and then flew off. I suddenly felt light on my feet and noticed a shimmering trail of blue dust circling around me. The wind picked up and lifted my graduation robe. I went to look back up at the butterfly and noticed it slowly fall out of the sky and land in the road.

Then out of no where a car drove by and the butterfly was gone. My head filled with questions. Why did I see the same butterfly again? I thought it was dead.

What was that trail of blue sparkles?

I jerked up when the school doors opened. It was my best friend Paul. We have been through everything together and he had always been there for me.

“What happened Lily? You just left. I was worried, so I started looking for you.”

He noticed the redness in my eyes. “Were you crying?” I wiped my face and nodded slowly. Paul smiled and sat down, patting the area next to him. I sat down and we

both looked at the sunset. “Everything will get better soon, Lily. You are not alone. You still have your other family members, your friends, and me. You know that any of us won’t let anything happened to you, no matter what it is. We love you.”

My face had streams of tears running down my face as I buried my face into Paul’s chest. “Thank you, Paul.”

He hugged me and then stood up. “You know Lily. We have been through a lot.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black case. I covered my mouth as he popped open the case and I saw a small silver ring. “Lily Smith, will you be my girlfriend?”

Once more tears started rolling down my face as I gave him a big hug and kiss. “Yes… yes I will.” That was what I called my best day ever. It was the day I found my true love and future husband. When I came home that day, I went to my backyard and dug up the grave.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. The butterfly was gone, except for a trail of blue shimmer. Now I know what I saw wasn’t a trick. I know an animal could have eaten it, but then again, a shimmering trail of magic dust doesn’t just circle around you. That butterfly was magical, and I hoped to see it again.

Fifteen years later, and I was happily married and had twin girls. We were a wonderful, happy family until something happened.

It was late at night when Paul was coming home from work. A truck hit the back of his car and pinned him in his car. His car was totaled, and it took hours to get him out of the car. Paul was in critical condition when the police called me. I then woke up the twins and drove them over to my grandma’s house. I wasn’t going to lose anyone else again to a car accident. When I arrived at the hospital, they were rolling Paul into surgery.

I sat down in the waiting room.

When the doctor finally came out of surgery he told me, “He was in a serious accident. The crash left shards of glass embedded in his body and we are afraid his heart might have stopped too.”

I looked down at the floor. “Is he going to be alright?”

“Only time will tell.”

Three months since that accident and Paul had been through multiple surgeries.

His body fought to survive. He had IVs and a mask. It was difficult to see him like this.

He didn’t look like himself. He looked like a sickly old man even though he was in his 30s. That day changed it all. It was April 18th, 2010 at 12:14 am. I remember that exact time. My grandmother was there with me in Paul’s room with the twins sleeping in her lap. They looked so precious. I looked over at Paul’s monitor and noticed it started to flatline. I started crying. I hit the emergency button who knows how many times to get the doctor.

“Paul, please! Please don’t leave me!” I heard a light tap on the window. I looked out the window at the sky filled with thousands of bright stars when I spotted a bright blue light shining in front of the mirror. I saw it: the bright blue wings, the glittering trail, the same butterfly! This time it was different. When it came up to the window, it was glowing very brightly to the point where I had to squint to see it clearly. I opened the window and it came flying in. It landed on the same spot, the tip of my nose. Then it flew out the window. I watched as it slowly fell and then a big, black bird swooped down and caught the butterfly in its mouth. I pulled my head back into the room and closed the window. I suddenly felt light again, and the light blue magic trail encircled me again. A gust gathered around me and blew through the window; the curtains rose and fell. The trail disappeared and the wind settled. I looked over at Paul and grabbed his hand. I looked at the monitor and saw the monitor slowly turn back to normal. I looked at his eyes and they started to twitch and slowly open. I couldn’t believe it. “Paul! Paul can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes and grabbed my hand.

In a raspy voice, he said, “Have I ever told you you look pretty when you’re crying?” he laughed quietly.

The doctor rushed in, out of breath.

He said he couldn’t believe Paul was on his way to recovery so quickly. Paul stayed in hospital for another two weeks until finally he was discharged. Life was back to the way it was before; not only did the butterfly bring good luck with its magic, but I could also believe it was immortal.

Every time I see it fly by, I hope it goes to help another person who needs it.

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Spindrift

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Anri Robinson Easton High Freshman Ac r y l i c C o l o r St u dy

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Spring 2019 / Voume V

Curing Writer’s Block: A One-Sentence How-To H

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Oh no, oh dear goodness gracious, would you look at that-it’s my good old buddy and pal and friend writer’s block, who isn’t so much of a buddy or pal or friend, as some annoying little slimy stupid dumb and idiotic thing that happens to me and every person who writes, or who has ever written over the course of written language, which dates back thousands of years ago, anyway, writer’s block is a slimy, little, gross disgusting thing that is plaguing me right now, and has been plaguing me since I have ever written, so now I can’t write down anything that is cool or good or fun or interesting, and instead I am using this Microsoft Word document to complain about my current predicament instead of trying to do anything to stop it or change it, and speaking of that some people may say that is like America right now because they think modern Americans and more specifically millennials tend to complain too much and not do anything about it, but I disagree because I think that is wrong because I know for a fact that because of the internet and the constant availability of information, that this generation is going to grow up to be the potentially most well-educated generation to have ever been generated and if it isn’t this generation, then it will certainly be this generation’s children, but this generation and the millennials are doing many things to fix their problems, like helping each other out in various acts of kindness and donating to charities and generally being kind and nice and caring to everyone they meet like myself and that is how I met many of my good friends, but they are also taking part in political actions too, such as protests and rallies, which is exactly what great historical figures have done in the past and if someone says that modern Americans are all bark and no bite, then they are essentially saying that the efforts of many great leaders are null, but anyway I hate being political, so I am sorry for going off on a tangent there but I was complaining about writer’s block a bit ago and hey, wait just a gosh diddly darn second there that’s how you solve writer’s block: if you pay attention to what I did back there all I did was follow my train of thought and then BAM I was suddenly discussing a topic and therefore if you follow your train of thought for long enough then you will find inspiration because the key is within you and the train of thought goes choo-choo.

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Ghost Tour C

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Audrey watched the smoke roll from her mouth, permeating the air around her; a tinge of regret pounded in her chest. “I should really quit this.” She involuntarily chuckled. Now is the time you want to be smart? She thought to herself. Suddenly a crunching sound started to emerge from the ground she sat upon; concerned, she sunk further down into the earth, hiding behind the tombstone in front of her. It was a mild October night, and like usual, Audrey decided to find somewhere unreasonably comforting. Graveyards were quiet. No one to bother her. Because frankly, everyone who was once there, who could tell her what she was doing wrong, was now deceased. This graveyard in particular just happened to be her favorite.

The sound appeared in the form of an old woman- round in shape, an ecstatic energy enveloping her. Audrey saw a black box fastened to the woman’s hip; on the outer side of the box a cord was attached, stretching up the woman and settling in her ear. The ear piece produced a tougher wire, which curled to the woman’s chin. Her voiced magnified as she spoke into this device.

A group of people appeared, following the woman. Audrey squinted her eyes, trying to identify the crowd. It can’t be a funeral, she thought. She put out her cigarette on the grave in front of her. “Sorry...” she whispered, looking at the grave for some identification, but she couldn’t produce a name in the dark, “uh...whoever you are.”

The group and woman proceeded to walk further into the graveyard, coming closer to where Audrey was sitting. She now could tell exactly who they were. A ghost tour. Of course.

Her eyes roamed around the graveyard, looking for a place to exit, or another gravestone that seemed discrete enough to sit behind, but there weren’t many around her to begin with. There were higher brick walls that guarded the graveyard. She felt too restrained. It seemed as there was no exit; there was no possible way she could climb the walls. “Curse this spot!” She sighed.

Ideally not the best retreat, but her favorite nonetheless.

The only option she had was to hope they didn’t see her. With whatever remaining dignity she had, she tried to lay completely still, as a child playing peek-a-

boo, hoping if she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her. The heavy boots continued to crack sticks and leaves, the crunches becoming louder with each step.

She heard an entire leaf dismantle into thousands of pieces as it lay next to her right ear. She turned her head, facing the sound. The black boot of the woman appeared next to her. Crap.

A flashlight shone down onto the grave.

“I am so sorry, I was just...” the woman stopped and turned her body towards the audience. “Let this be an example for all of you!” Audrey forced her two palms into the ground, and lifting her body up, she stood beside the woman. She brushed off the leaves dangling on her clothes. “I didn’t disrespect anything!”

The woman did not make eye contact, but instead kept full attention on the group of people around her - her flashlight held steady onto the grave Audrey once sat behind. Audrey looked up and saw that the crowd paid no attention to her either. They either looked directly at the woman, or the grave she sat on before.

“This is a woman of regret. I hope none of you fall into the same course as her.”

“Ma’am, I said I’m sorry!”

“She died just 15 years ago, a car accident, just outside of this graveyard...a poor girl, prone to bad luck.

Her partner of 10 years had just left her. She, in a drunk haze, drove to her favorite place, this graveyard. She never listened to her parents. Drove when she wanted to, drank when she wasn’t allowed. This graveyard is the only place she felt safe to be free.”

An intense draft of air rang through Audrey’s bones; her whole body convulsed in reaction. It can’t be.

“It is said that she comes here every year, on the same day, October 12, to light one more cigarette.” The group gasped as their flashlights highlighted a small butt strewn across the uncut grass. The woman too, gasped.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Audrey.”

Looking down at the grave, Audrey finally read the inscription on the tombstone.

“Audrey May Thompson 06-28-79 – 10-12-2003”

E l i za b e t h S c h a rc h SMMHS Junior Charcoal on toned paper

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Redrawn M

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Lines dra ore wn, but n Walls buil o w e t up only rased, bou to be k no ndaries p What hap c k ushed, ab e d d o pens whe w n out to bre , a m an means n it falls to a k. n o the groun thing with d? No way out his cr own. to drown Equality is out the in For ever y forever fo e v it harsh nig r a b b id le den, solely sound. ht a glorio to keep to us dawn, outcasts h when line idden. s are erase d will the y be redra wn?

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It’s funny how a sing Can consu le thought me your e ntire cons c iousness, How one small spar F or a time. k is ignite A hopeful d and leap gleam outs s for ward, hining all other feeli ng.

The thing s we ta ke for grante d are inde And a rev ed fragile, e lation brin To realize g s w o r r y and fea you are lo rsing what you never Love long h a d , ingly lost But alway but still sta s wanted. nding nea rby, smilin g.

As your m ind tumble s in an aby The thoug ss of emoti ht drives y on, ou to mov e , and chan But then it ge. slides awa And fades y quietly, into the b ackground of life, Lasting on ly for a tim e.

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Artwork:

Georgia Kline SMMHS Junior C h a r c o a l & Wa t e r c o l o r

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Spindrift

Ka y la S c r i m s h aw Easton High School Sophomore Digital Illustration

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Prologue It’s a fairly nice day out...don’t you think? I’ll take that as a yes since you can’t answer either way. I sit at this fairly nice desk with little to no graffiti but lots of scratches, sitting next to someone who I’d rather not classify because of the long extent of foul language you’d encounter. You’re about to read something that will confuse and yet amaze you by the time you finish. Be witty, don’t shrug shoulders.

Chapter 1 Trees crack and crumble under the pressure of the atmosphere. Oh, how their eyes glow- so lost and found, yet cold and warm. They watch, yet wait for you to make up a vilification and sell your valuables to fellow bushes. How they’d yearn for your sickness and twisted white lies, laugh and laugh how your thoughts could get away with something as such. Madel, one of the tree devourers has named these trees with endless names that I shall not describe to you. Poor old Madel, a nice lady, I do say, but she tends to scare the grass blades. Leaving the tree surrounded by bare wastelands of emptiness.

Lady and gentles- Do not walk through Madel’s Yard. Do not check on Madel. Do not ring her nor contact her. She is Dead. We are sending in the police for the search of reasoning for her passing, at the age of 160 which is quite young. We miss her dearly. Poor Madel, so young, yet died so early. As we know it the one and only tree devourer is deceased and useless like a mold-ridden doily. Who will tend to her precious trees? No one.

The Madel Experience Since the loss of sweet young Madel her trees have died in a matter of days from instant fire. People are now starting to report sightings of this young woman around her trees. She is gently touching the bark, but when the trees whisper she disappears. As I am the curious type, I went to check it out. As I stepped onto her property, I found a small letter to the one and only Madel .

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Spring 2019 / Voume V

Land of No Return M

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A black abyss, deeper, darker Blink once Staring back is my reflection The glassy water holds my attention How do I look away?

Constantly changing, nothing is familiar Easy to get lost here Snapchat-a land of no return The Bermuda Triangle a place where people disappear Losing yourself trying to portray someone you’re not No one comes back the same

Sam Stinton St. Michaels High School Senior Digital Illustration

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THe Aquarium sings to Me a lulliby

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The aquarium sings to me a lullaby As I step into the chilled, air conditioned darkness Out of and away from the sunny smile of August Blue glowing lanterns stand still, waiting The tune begins and twirls above my head fish circle and dance in their sparkling cylinders The hum of a score, as a seal’s sharp dive becomes a float The water is pulling and lulling him along into the song Each tank grabbing my wrist Spinning and dipping me with an elegant smile then sending me away, drifting in search of another partner I become a piece of the song a verse, then chorus as my face glows with the blue My footsteps stray and I see peeking light that is no longer being caused by the tank lanterns The aquarium sings to me a finished lullaby As I take the exit back into summer sun In a daze, a sleep, I don’t think I could ever shake

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Spindrift

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Ma r ia na Pa r k i n s o n Easton High School Freshman Te m p e r a C o l o r S t u d y

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Calm humming echoed through the house, a tune I recognized but could never remember enough to recite. I stood up to follow the sound but fell onto my hands and knees. My entire body was covered in a soft, pastel blue onesie. My hands were soft and chubby. I began to make my way to the source of the sound. Down the hallway I crawled until I came face to face with a woman. She had tight, curly brown hair and soft gray eyes. She met my gaze with a smile and stopped humming. “Good morning, Anneke.� Her voice was smooth and caring.

How did she know my name? I thought. The smell of sweet bread filled my nose as a warm, furry blanket enveloped me; the lady picked me up, rocking me back and forth in her arms, humming the same tune.

Loud banging comes from the other side of the front door, erasing the peace there once was similar to setting fire to a patch of dry grass. The lady holding me panics and releases her gentle grip on me. The wood panel floor evaporates around me and I am sent falling through an endless tunnel. The blanket falls off of my body and is sent flying upwards. When I hit the ground again the land is different. No longer a sweet, bread-smelling house but a torn warzone. The grass beneath me is tattered and beaten to the ground.

Someone from my left shouts a command and bullets ran fast on both sides of my head, I stand up on small, shaking legs to get a better view of both sides. My last glimpse is of a blue, white and black flag before a bullet rips through my heart. Anneke, 2019.

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Spindrift

Excerpt from Stand’s Detroit: Become Human and the Future of Society

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Margaret Ristvey St. Michaels Middle High Freshman Digital Illustration

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Detroit: Become Human is a game created by Quantic Dream that released in May 2018 and tells the stories of three androids that can either stick to their coding and remain machines for the entire game or break away from their coding, become “deviant”, and rise up to fight for the rights of other androids. Deviance occurs when an android is able to break away from their coding and develop a form of consciousness that lets them simulate emotions, such as compassion, towards others. The phenomenon was looked down upon by many humans, and many efforts were put towards to stop it. The androids were created by a company known as Cyberlife. The company has designed androids of all sorts of professions, ranging from teachers to surgeons, to supposedly make life easier and more convenient for humans.

As the player progresses through this game, they encounter various forms of technology, some of which we are in the process of developing in the real world now. This technology can cause great advantages and disadvantages to the player depending on the situation and the android’s abilities to avoid it interfering with their objective. In addition, they also come across a drug known as red ice that’s sweeping the nation and causing an epidemic that the police are cracking down on.

Although the androids cannot use red ice, the player often encounters humans that are users or dealers of it. The presence of both the technology and the drug reflect how similar the game actually is to the current world despite the massive advancements that have taken place in the game. Detroit: Become Human reflects the future of society through technological developments and the increasing amount of drugs spreading across the country.

The game follows the paths of three main androids throughout the course of the game.

The first of these androids is Connor, a RK800 prototype android designed to be the first ro-

Spring 2019 / Voume V

botic detective capable of testing blood, analyzing evidence on a scene, and recreating a mental representation of the incident that occurred in a matter of seconds. In the first chapter of the game, Connor is called into a hostage situation to attempt to persuade an android to release a young girl.

The second android is Kara, an AX400 android who was designed to be a household maid. She was purchased by an alcoholic named Todd to care for the house and his daughter Alice.

Towards the end of the game, Alice is later revealed to be an android as well that Todd had purchased to replace the emotional gap of his wife leaving him and taking their daughter with her.

The final android you play as is Markus, a RK200 android designed to act as an at-home assistant and companion for those in need. He was gifted to a man named Carl Manfred by the creator of cyberlife, Elijah Kamski, after Carl became paralyzed in his legs due to an accident.

The majority of the game in Detroit: Become Human is centered around technology and what its advancements will do to the rest of the world. In addition to the androids, the player also sees various forms of technology developing in the current world. This includes drones, smartwatches, self-driving cars, voice activated electronics, and digital forms of literature. The drones in the game act as both forms of surveillance and as package deliverers.

Although some personal drones with cameras are used for surveillance, most drones used for surveillance are nowhere near as prominent as they are in Detroit: Become Human. Throughout the game, mainly during stealth missions, drones are seen patrolling streets at night around storefronts to decrease the amount of robberies. They are also seen being used to search for runaways

and to temporarily detain perpetrators.

As the player meets different humans through the game and investigates various crime scenes, they continuously encounter a drug known as Red Ice, a red, crystal substance that shares a chemical formula with cocaine. Magazine articles in different chapters reveal that it is the “drug of choice of Detroit’s growing underclass,” and that it seems to “flourishes in the dissatisfaction caused by androids taking human jobs,” (“Red Ice”). Although the game gives no direct statistics on how prominent the spread of red ice is, the player sees and hears that it is highly addictive and causes irrational thinking, sudden anger, and overall health problems. Like the game’s links to technology, Red Ice mirrors our modern drug culture. Cocaine is linked to anger, hostility, sleep deprivation, loss of appetite, and depression (“Short- & Long-Term”). In spite of the fact that not all symptoms match up, there has been a large increase in the number of people that have openly tried cocaine.

Based on a survey performed in 2016, “An estimated 1.1 million Americans are thought to have tried cocaine for the first time in 2016, up from about 970,000 in 2015 and 900,000 in 2007, according to government numbers,” (“NSDUHNational”). If the numbers continue to rise at this rate, an epidemic could eventually occur. Despite the fact that the formula for red ice matches that of cocaine, many speculate that red ice was actually designed to mirror meth, or ice. Meth is linked to aggressive and risky behavior, insomnia, loss of appetite, weight loss, depression, and twitching (The Recovery Village). Similarly to cocaine, the number of meth users is also increasing at a high rate.

As these numbers continue to climb, America gets even closer to a cocaine epidemic similar to the epidemic in De-

troit: Become Human. The developers of the game at Quantic Dream have not revealed what drug Red Ice was meant to be based on, yet the symptoms and rise towards epidemics could indicate that the red ice epidemic is the future representation of a rising meth and cocaine epidemic.

Is the game more than a technology and drug warning? Consider if humans are so hesitant to accept people of other races, religions, and sexualities into society, would they be open to accepting the rise of androids and creation of their rights? We see in the media the atrocities that people perform towards members of the same species, what would happen to other sentient species besides humans? The game shows that androids would be sent to the equivalent of Hitler’s concentration camps for disposal, but would the part of society that accepts androids be able to stop this from happening if it did occur?

Works Cited “NSDUHNational Survey on Drug Use and Health.” National Survey on Drug Use and Health | CBHSQ, 4 Oct. 2018, www.samhsa.gov/data/data-we-collect/nsduh-national-survey-drug-useand-health.

“Red Ice.” Detroit: Become Human Wikia, detroit-become-human.fandom.com/wiki/Red_Ice. “Short- & Long-Term Side Effects of Cocaine - Brain Damage - Drug-Free World.” Foundation for a Drug-Free World, www.drugfreeworld.org/drugfacts/ cocaine/effects-of-cocaine.html.

The Recovery Village. “Crystal Meth: Signs, Symptoms and Side Effects.” The Recovery Village, 21 Aug. 2018, www.therecoveryvillage.com/ meth-addiction/side-effects/#gref.

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Spindrift

Cassidy Kling 3 4

St. Michaels Middle High Senior Wa t e r c o l o r & C h a r c o a l

Spring 2019 / Voume V

From Heaven A

V

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St. Michaels Middle High Freshman

I remember the rush of air I felt when you left.

The stream was flowing in curves, crisscrossing between your ankles as it continued to flow endlessly in the moonlit forest. The trees that once shadowed over the body of water seemed to part way for you, allowing a softly lit spotlight to shine down on you, along with the fireflies that illuminated your ever-growing presence.

I look back at it now, and I can say without shame you were beautiful.

I was so afraid in that moment. When you looked at me with those piercing eyes, your ghostly face showing red in fear and desperation. Those hot, wet tears that poured from your eyes made me want to reach out, and tell you, it’s okay, but it wasn’t. I realized why you were shaking then, why you were pleading for me to come with you.

The gun in your hand erased my composure. My compassion, my love for you. Every minute I had spent in your presence was burnt into a pile of ash, as my fight or flight instinct kicked in. I can now look at times, when we cut out gingerbread cookies on my kitchen counter, or when I’d make you play in the mud with me when we were kids, with a slight fondness. I remember you were so upset when you fell into the stream, for the first time. You thought you were going to get into trouble, just because you had gotten your clothes dirty. Maybe you were right.

I can still feel it now, my heart pounding in my chest as you stared at me. When we first arrived, I had no idea why you had brought me there. We were running, so fast, and your once soft hand was rough with scabs, and held onto mine with a strength I didn’t know you possessed. I knew nothing about you, now that I look back on it. But you knew everything about me. Did I not love you enough?

You dropped the bag into the water, the hunting bag you had stolen from your father when you heard the police sirens outside your home. I was calm, then, actually snorting at the thought you would be so careless to drop your things, let alone your father’s into the mud.

“Why are we here?” I had asked, blissfully ignorant. You never answered me, so I had to learn on my own why your hand trembled when you unzipped the bag, and pointed the pistol in my direction.

It was then, and only then that I realized why you had been so skittish lately. Why you shut the news off every time it were to come on, why you had been sticking so close to me. I knew you had always been anxious, but I was a fool to believe that that was it. You’re more complex than that, than

some idiotic stereotype. I should’ve known by the small hint of possessiveness in your eye what was going on in your mind was more sinister than what I could’ve thought.

You looked at me desperately, holding out your free hand, “Come with me.”

Should I have?

I froze in place, my breathing stuttered and heavy. My hands were coiled into the fabric of my knit sweater, like the softness of the material could save me. My eyes were wide open, and when I could not respond, you swore louder than you ever had before.

You knew I understood.

“I was trying to protect you,” You muttered lowly, “Everything I do, I do for you. Can’t you see that?”

You took a step forward, one foot out of the stream. I took one back, now afraid of a person who I loved.

“Is that so selfish?” You clenched your teeth and shook your head. Your eyes were blinking rapidly, as if you were trying to hide tears. Your hair was knotted, and you let every strand of your hair frame your face messily. As you stared at the ground for a moment, your glasses fell off the bridge of your nose, and onto a small rock nestled into the dirt. They cracked. You didn’t flinch or budge, or move to pick them up.

My fears were confirmed.

“Answer me, Jocelyn!”

I swallowed, my survival instincts giving me a good shove, “I-… it was you, wasn’t it?”

“Does that matter now?” You cried out, and I could see your cheeks flush, and the tears began to fall, “It’s me and you, here.

We’re here, and this is happening now, does any of that matter?”

Were you trying to convince yourself or me? I won’t ever know.

“Come with me, we won’t have to worry about anything anymore,” You smiled tightly, and tried to show some of that gentle care you had many years ago, “We’ll be together, here. We can lie here and it will be me and you, like when we were kids. Remember?”

I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I nodded.

“Wasn’t it wonderful?” You sniffled, and your hands were shaking more now. You hunched over a little bit, raising your free hand to push back some of your hair out of your face, “It was before the world was mean. People are monsters, Jocelyn. You shouldn’t be around that. You’re precious, you’re beautiful, you’re so… so wonderful, and I can’t let you live like this. Live here.”

The lines flow from your mouth like lyrics to a song, in a way that sounded almost rehearsed. You were so desperate where you stood, and I could tell by your twisted facial expression you were genuine. That was what made it so awful. That I stood there, and I knew what choice I was going to make. I didn’t want to die, I wanted to stay here, with the people I love and care about. I care about you too, however, and I hope that you never doubted that I loved you, because I did, and still do.

I can only hope that from heaven, you will forgive me when I told you I wasn’t coming.

3 5

SPINDRIFT

Ta l b o t C o u n t y P u b l i c S c h o o l s L i t e r a r y A r t s M a g a z i n e

S p r i n g 2 0 1 9 / Vo l u m e V