THE
MARBLE COLLECTION Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts
WINTER 2015 1
themarblecollection.org
The Marble Collection
Winter 2015
Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts inspiration • creativity • community
TMC: ABOUT US W H AT I S T H E M A R B L E C O L L E C T I O N ? The Marble Collection, Inc. [TMC], a 501 (C)(3) nonprofit organization, publishes The Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts—the only statewide print and online magazine of the arts featuring jury-selected writing and artwork by Massachusetts students in grades 8 to 12. TMC also offers e-Mentoring workshops in which teen writers and artists are partnered with college student mentors who help them refine their voices and guide their work to publication. M I S S I O N S TAT E M E N T TMC cultivates creativity and excellence in the arts by engaging teen artists and writers in a publication process that affirms their voices and deepens their learning.
TMC: PARTNERS At a time when budget cuts and an emphasis on standardized testing mean that fewer teens in Massachusetts have access to the arts, TMC collaborates with 200 Massachusetts schools and community groups to publish and mentor 100 teen writers and artists each school year. TMC partners with 8 Massachusetts nonprofits—ArtWorks, Big Brothers Big Sisters of Massachusetts Bay, Books of Hope, Boston Children’s Theatre, Grub Street, Inc., Press Pass TV, RAW Art Works, and Sociedad Latina—that share its commitment to expand arts access to under-served teens. In 2013 TMC was awarded the prestigious Arts|Learning “Distinguished Community Arts Collaborative - Multi-Disciplinary Award” for developing a model arts education collaborative between school and community cultural resources. To become a partner, at no cost, please visit: www.themarblecollection.org/participate
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TMC: STAFF EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR INTERNSHIP MANAGER LITERATURE EDITOR
ART JUROR GRANT WRITER COMMUNICATION EXECUTIVE DEVELOPMENT EXECUTIVE ACCOUNTING MANAGER WEBMASTER
Deanna Elliot Melanie McCarthy Megan Bennett Leanne Macdonald Jaran Stallbaum Cristina Stubbe Paige McWhorter Emma Hays James McCabe Liza Duchesneau Bridget Gilleran Maria Kim Eleanor Rask Alyxandra Rivard Bradford Bleidt Jude Gustave Ve r a S u Andrew Rakauskas
TMC: LEADERSHIP BOARD OF DIRECTORS
ADVISORY COMMITTEE
STUDENT ADVISORY BOARD
Deanna Elliot Susan Hammond Meryl Loonin Donna Neal Chelsea Revelle Susan Denison Lisa Leger Melanie McCarthy Nakia Navarro Robyn Neill-Quan Allan Reeder Jamie Ross Jazna Stannard Shannon Sullivan F r a n k l i n A s h l e y Tr i f f l e t t i Rachael Allen Pavitra Chari Emily Cox Irina Grigoryeva Ruting Li Jesus Miranda Jared Newman J a y n e Vo g e l z a n g Cary Williams Mitchell Zhang
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TMC: DONATE TMC needs your support to offer our quality programs free of charge. Your donations ensure we can publish and mentor 100 teen artists and writers each school year. With a gift of $275 or more, we’ll list your name on the Patrons page of the magazine. All donations are 100% tax-deductible and include a complimentary subscription to the Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts. GIVING LEVELS • $1,000: Supports 10 teen artists in TMC’s e-Gallery, an online exhibit to showcase and sell teen artwork. • $500: Supports TMC’s annual teen art exhibition and magazine release gala, Spring into Art. • $275: Supplies an under-resourced school with a Classroom Bundle Subscription (25 copies) to the semiannual Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts. • $100: Supports the development of the online, semiannual Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts. • $50: Supplies 2 under-resourced schools with a TMC Starter Kit, equipped with a tutorial slideshow and educational materials. To donate online please visit: www.themarblecollection.org/donate Please make checks payable to: The Marble Collection, Inc. University of Massachusetts, Boston Campus Center, Office 3410 100 Morrissey Boulevard Boston, MA 02125 *** T M C PAT R O N S Liz Allen, Priscilla & Ramon Chura, Michael Conkey, Chris D’Errico, Kevin Fachetti, Susan Hammond, Mathew & Barbara Loonin, Neil Fisher & Meryl Loonin, Scott Lombard, Maria Manrique, Chelsea Revelle, Jen & Mike Vogelzang THANK YOU.
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TMC: SPONSOR TMC’s programs and events provide businesses and individuals with standard or customized sponsorship opportunities that boast significant marketing benefits. All sponsorships are 100% tax deductible and ensure that TMC can continue to offer its publishing and mentoring programs at no cost to more underserved teens and schools throughout the state. SPONSORSHIP LEVELS • $25,000: Underwrites TMC’s semiannual e-Mentoring Workshop, a 6-week one-to-one workshop for 100 published teen artists and writers. • $10,000: Underwrites 20 workshops in under-resourced schools, community organizations and public libraries that educate teens on the professional publication process. • $7,500: Supports training sessions for our college student interns for one year. • $5,000: Sponsors 2 semester-long internship positions for college students. • $2,500: Supports the production and distribution of the semiannual Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts to 100 under-resourced school libraries. To become a sponsor please visit: www.themarblecollection.org/sponsor *** TMC SPONSORS Fisher Family Fund GDT Northeast Waltham, MA
Corinthian Insurance Medway, MA
Middlesex Savings Bank Natick, MA
www.gdt.com
www.corinthianinsurance.com
www.middlesexbank.com
THANK YOU.
TMC: ADVERTISE Boasting a diverse print and digital circulation, TMC is a one-of-a-kind recruitment tool with a distinct presence inside and outside the classroom. Reach your target audience and showcase the unique programs your educational institution has to offer with TMC! NEXT EDITION / SPRING 2015 Closing Date for Reservations: Copy Date: Pu b l i c a t i o n D a t e :
April 20, 2015 April 24, 2015 May 15, 2015 (approximate)
To learn more please review TMC Media Kit at: www.themarblecollection.org/advertise TMC Winter 2015
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TMC: CONTENTS 8
What Does “Mom” Mean? (Poetry) Jazmin Lantigua / Grub Street
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The Missing Pieces (Art) Minna Wang / Oakmont Regional High School
10 Cold (Poetry) Kristin Tissera / Lexington High School
12 The Watermelon Touch (Fiction) Jessica Zhang / Westford Academy
13 The Shepherd is Watching (Art) Claire Weaver-Zeman / RAW Art Works
13 The Big Dig (Art) Jayne Vogelzang / Lexington High School
14 Light at the End of the Tunnel (Art) Ryan Johnson / Burlington High School
14 It’s A Dog’s Life (Art) Julia Feist / Burlington High School
15 Flower (Art) Olivia Sheldon / Burlington High School
15 Wooden Fence (Art) Amanda Gregorio / Burlington High School
21 Queer Theory (Art) Soha Sanchorawala / Phillips Academy
22 That was the morning of the sixth day (Poetry) Julia Grace / Milton Academy
24 Still Life (Art) Samantha Poulin / Burlington High School
24 Spring Time (Art) Leanne Worob / Burlington High School
25 Days Past (Art) Mathew Mariano / The Brimmer and May School
25 Autumn Leaves (Art) Ryan Johnson / Burlington High School
26 Hide and Seek (Fiction) Aya Burton / Arlington High School
28 Self Diagnosed (Art) Anisa Sherzai / Auburn High School
29 Self Portrait (Art) John Plunkett / RAW Art Works
30 Walking Words (Poetry) Jessica Zhang / Westford Academy
31 Sprinkle Lips (Art) Julia Feist / Burlington High School
16 Us (Poetry) Perry Huang / North Quincy High School
17 The Zipper (Art) Keri Cucinotta / Burlington High School
18 Arranged (Poetry) Tiara Sharma / Milton Academy
19 Nameless Flame (Art) Alisha Mithal / Chelmsford High School
20 I Found Your Love (Poetry) Tiancheng Lu / Concord Academy
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31 Literate Love (Art) Julia Feist / Burlington High School
32 Eulogies (Poetry) Tiara Sharma / Milton Academy
33 Dream (Art) Aileen Xiao / The Brimmer and May School
34 Hot Chocolate and Cronuts (Fiction) Kavya Sebastian / Burlington High School
39 Fishing (Art) John Plunkett / RAW Art Works
TMC: WINTER 2015 40 Equanimity (Art) Alex Pareto / Phillips Academy
40 Words Hurt (Art) Keri Cucinotta / Burlington High School
41 Reflection (Art) Mackenzie Ellis / Burlington High School
41 Blue Fall (Art) Bolla Fokum / Burlington High School
42 Mornings (Poetry) Samantha Crozier / Groton School
43 Still Life (Art) Mateo Coronado / Malden High School
43 Smile (Art) Mateo Coronado / Malden High School
44 2 Sisters (Poetry) Ariana Orne / Burlington High School
45 Retired (Art) Matthew Piper / Chelmsford High School
46 Creation (Poetry) Logan Deming / Groton School
47 Start of Spring (Art) Jillian Stanton / Peabody Veterans Memorial High School
47 The First Summer Rain (Art) Christina Ricci / Oakmont Regional High School
48 Fire and Fire (Fiction) Alejandra Rojas / Hartsbrook High School
67 Real to Reel Films (Video) Blase Cataldo, Alli McInerney, Ayd Mejia, Tom Quigley,
68 A Day on the Train (Art) Jordan Casaubon Shawsheen Valley Regional Vocational Technical School
68 Reflection of Eva (Art) Julia Feist / Burlington High School
69 Caneman (Art) Emily Marquis / Concord Academy
69 The Lone Dandelion (Art) Evan Holman / Burlington High School
70 Unfinished (Poetry) Jennifer Liang / North Quincy High School
71 See What You See (Art) Mengkun Yao / Wilbraham Monson Academy
72 Tang of Salt (Poetry) Celeste Dang / North Quincy High School
73 Portrait (Art) Grace Pilkington / The Brimmer and May School
74 Is This One For You? (Poetry) Ariana Orne / Burlington High School
75 Der Mann (Art) Lucy Grossman / Hartsbrook High School
76 Cosmos (Poetry) Samantha Crozier / Groton School
77 Eye with Contact (Art) Morgan Furtado Old Colony Regional Vocational Technical High School
78 Rouge (Poetry) Michaela Catherine LaPrise / Burlington High School
79 Liars (Art) Jenny Bae / The Brimmer and May School
Katherine Russel, Frank Santana, Cyntheara Tham RAW Art Works
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P O E T R Y Grub Street / Class of 2017
Jazmin Lantigua
What Does “Mom” Mean? As a child, I sat besides my dad in his bedroom and looked across at a mirror. Ugly, I thought. Dad laughed. “You’re insulting Jahna, you know. You’re her spitting image.” “Who’s that?” His eyes softened, “Mom.” Years later, I stood in front of the same mirror, holding her photo up to my face. Was I really the spitting image of this woman? Were my curls hers? Were the dark brown eyes that I took pride in hers? Could my big nose possibly have been hers, too? I was undoubtedly hers. But she was never mine.
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A R T Oakmont Regional High School / Class of 2015
M i n n a
W a n g
The Missing Pieces
d r a w i n g
TMC Winter 2015
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P O E T R Y Lexington High School / Class of 2016
Kristin Tissera
Cold
At seven-years-old, I sat in the dimly lit room Watching islands of faintly familiar faces full of gloom— Walls made entirely of wood with a cherry glow. The reason I was sitting there, I truly didn’t know A splash of light from the window left me feeling blind; I remember every detail of that day, for it was one of a kind. A maroon velvet curtain framed the casket and tulips were on display Everyone arrived dressed in black, dark blue, or gray. I sported my only pair of black shoes that squeezed tightly at the toes With old black pants and an unused black top, my only black clothes. Mom wore a loose black dress with velvet black high heels It was the kind of outfit you keep in expectation of this kind of ordeal. A predictable crimson carpet affirmed the presence of death— A sniffle broke the silence, as I quietly drew a breath. I thought we were watching him sleep, as he lied motionless in a box; I could feel my heart beating to the rhythm of ticking clocks. Confusion swept over me further as Grandma ran to the box weeping The words I left unspoken were: “It’s okay! He’s only sleeping!” A sea of suits and dresses held sorrowful souls in a meandering line, An Uncle hugged an Aunt in the corner as she continued crying, The sound of muffled sobs from behind scarves and handkerchiefs. Mom saw my gaze and wiped her own eyes with her sleeves The most courageous and confident people broke down into cries. I wondered if that was what always happened when somebody dies. Only four years older than me, Brother walked with his head held high He stretched to touch Grandpa’s wrinkled forehead; then began to cry As I watched the tears stream down his face, I became perplexed If only I had realized that it was my turn next I had a few fresh memories of his friendly snort and smile Though I was only seven, we would converse for quite a while. 10
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P O E T R Y If only I had been told back then that it would be our last Goodbye I know that my eyes would not have been so dry. He bent down and told me to touch Grandpa’s hand So in my shiny black Mary Jane’s, I reached up, barely able stand I could feel my toes being bruised, as I reached into the wooden box, My fingers danced over his suit, as my toenails ripped through my socks. In the desperation of searching for the warmth of his fingers, I felt a shocking jolt of ice, and to this day, it lingers I’ve never thought that someone could ever be so cold Not even Grandpa, though I realized he was old It was like reaching into a bank of snow without wearing gloves. As Dad lifted me down, I looked back and felt a piercing love. It was love from all the memories that I had with the man who was asleep Love that became more painful, as that box grew extremely deep. As the lid began to close, and it was lowered into a black hole, I hoped that Grandpa would warm up, as he left me feeling very cold — The only question I still have is why he didn’t say Goodbye, Maybe someday I’ll get an answer, when I meet him in the sky.
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F I C T I O N Westford Academy / Class of 2016
J e s s i c a
Z h a n g
The Watermelon Touch Mama used to have what we called the watermelon touch. Whenever she and Papa went to the store, Papa spent at least five, sometimes ten minutes selecting a watermelon. He’d press his ear to each one, tapping them to see if they sounded hollow. When he finally settled on one, he’d tip it into the cart and look at Mama with a proud expression. Mama would simply reach into the bin and pick out the first one her fingers touched. “You can feel it when they’re ripe,” she insisted. When we got home, Papa would set them on the table to cut them open. He always cut Mama’s watermelon first, and it would always be perfect, juicy red with frosted hearts and barely any black seeds. Occasionally Papa’s would be pretty good, too, but we usually attributed that to sheer luck. On my fourteenth birthday, right around watermelon season, Papa died, and Mama went shopping by herself. The first time, she didn’t buy any watermelons. Instead she got a box of red grapes, which were mushy, and sat on the counter until they were withered and black. After Mama didn’t buy any watermelons the second time, or the third, or the fourth, little Elena accidentally let slip, “We haven’t had watermelon in forever!” I gave Elena a look and turned to Mama. “We can have whatever fruit you want.” Mama pressed her lips together like she was holding something back. Then she stood up and said, “Oh, we will, Maria. Just you wait and see.” She left for the grocery store after lunch and returned hours later. “Come on out and give me a hand with this,” she yelled from the driveway. Elena and I ran outside, and in the trunk of Papa’s old Jeep were loaded what had to be at least ten watermelons, the nose of the car almost pointing upwards with all the weight in the back. “Mama, you crazy,” Elena said, shaking her head. “Crazy or not, these watermelons ain’t gonna carry themselves into the house.” Elena and I looked at each other, shrugged, and got to work. It was a little before bedtime when I went downstairs to get a glass of water and Mama was sitting in the kitchen, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Surrounding her were a dozen halved watermelons, white-fleshed and brittle. My throat swelled. “Mama,” I said. She didn’t answer, so I went over to the table and took up the knife we used to slice watermelon. I cut myself a big piece and I had just brought it to my lips when Mama grabbed my hand, stopping me. “Don’t, child,” she said. “You’ll give yourself a stomachache.” So I just wrapped my arms around her, and a tear slipped down her cheek. The next morning, the kitchen table was bare except for three ripe, red apples.
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A R T RAW Art Works
/ Class of 2014
C l a i r e We a ve r- Z e m a n
The Shepherd is Watching
p a i n t i n g
The Big Dig
Jayne Vog elzang Lexington High School / Class of 2015
TMC Winter 2015
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A R T Burlington High School
/ Class of 2016
R y a n
J o h n s o n
Light at the End of the Tunnel
p h o t o g r a p h y
It’s A Dog’s Life Burlington High School / Class of 2018
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J u l i a
F e i s t
A R T Burlington High School
Flower
O l i v i a
/ Class of 2016
S h e l d o n
p h o t o g r a p h y
Wooden Fence
Amanda Gregorio Burlington High School
/ Class of 2016
TMC Winter 2015
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P O E T R Y North Quincy High School / Class of 2014
Perry Huang
Us
I think back to that summer’s end… The seagulls call out, and the ocean is cerulean like blue eyes; On that beach, that summer, we lost ourselves in the speed of life. The nostalgia attacks me like a thief in the night, and it’s bittersweet; the pain and the happiness, the innocent bliss and the regret of it all. When I remember that crimson sunset, this is what I feel; joy, and at the same time, anguish. But all I know was that it was beautiful. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to take back that fleeting moment. We danced the day away, hands clasped. We ran and ran, forever, our toes tickled by that rich sand and our eardrums pacified by the sound of the smooth, rhythmic, blue-as-blue-eyes-water. Exhausted, sun-beaten, that star that seemed so invincible rained down on us, relentless, bathing us in its warm, loving rays. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to take back that fleeting moment. But the pain begins to seep in; slowly, steadily, that sun fell from its throne. We retire, butts in the sand, legs outstretched. We talked the day away, hands clasped. Melancholy and deep ambition is the mood, as we realized how imperfectly perfect it all is. As darkness creeps in, and the speed of life settles, that sun gave out one last glorious, fiery breath. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to take back that fleeting moment.
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A R T Burlington High School / Class of 2015
K e r i
C u c i n o t t a
The Zipper
p h o t o g r a p h y
TMC Winter 2015
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P O E T R Y Milton Academy / Class of 2016
Tiara Sharma
Ar ranged The groom is propped on the white horse, its body adorned with gaudy feathers and bells. The turban masks his dusky face. His family performs bhangra, tossing marigolds in the air. Chili spices, henna, and chicken tikka masala waft through apartment windows where teenage girls wave longing for the parade below. The procession weaves down the road past honking cars and rickshaws prancing to out-of-tune Bollywood anthems and the deafening boom-da-boom of the dhol drum. He is carried into the wedding hall like a King. That night he slips into the dimly lit room. Months of anticipation, meetings on the terrace with chai and small talk pay off tonight. He peels away the canopy of marigolds, lays eyes upon the veiled beauty. Her legs crossed under the burden of her lehenga, she presents not the coy smile Naani taught her, but a thin-lined grimace. Fingers shaking, he smears vermillion down the center part of her hair. She looks into his eyes for the first time, unwavering in the midst of his hunger. He comes closer. His fingertips climb the small of her back. She refuses to recall the rest, a mistake she dwells with even now. 18
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A R T Chelmsford High School
A l i s h a
/ Class of 2016
M i t h a l
N a m e l e s s Fl a m e
d r a w i n g
TMC Winter 2015
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P O E T R Y Concord Academy / Class of 2017
Tiancheng Lu
I Fo u n d Yo u r L o v e I found your love in dawn’s blossoming breeze, With conjured touches of Venus’ gleaming rays, Below stars’ sizzling snare in dim haze, Where the amber petal of Lily strays. I found your love when summer’s heat fermented, While Eros’ searing arrows sneaking down Damp branches crossed with hidden tales lamented By nightingale to whom the fate was sown. I found your love in the detached world, frozen, No tender twilight could persuade darkness, No struggles against Fortuna with hearts, broken, Despite those lingering snows, weeping with blankness. I found your love in moths of prophecies, I find your love in ashes of memories.
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A R T Phillips Academy / Class of 2014
S o h a
S a n c h o r a w a l a
Queer Theory
p a i n t i n g
TMC Winter 2015
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P O E T R Y Milton Academy / Class of 2015
Julia Grace
That was the morning of the sixth day Her father wakes dreaming of the elephant walk, planes driving forward into lines. His hands hold controls that aren’t there, shaking like truth in the night. She tells him, again, he has not flown in years. She asks how her brother, the American boy, finds himself in the streets of Pamplona, Spain, beating sticks to the haunches of bulls, as they flood roadways, split into alleys like veins, charging, as if they, too, have been shot up his arm. Twenty-two years old, an agriculture major, he waits for something to tell him it’s okay to come home. She sees it happen in her family— the age when men leave and the girls, all at once, feel that they can’t. When they found her brother dead, their mother stayed home for days, filling cabinets with cans of jam. Miles south, for nights, her father untucked motel sheets for the women who would not ask him to open curtains to the morning. And isn’t it funny what we get stuck on— the way men touch the backs of horses and the headlines your father tells you to save— Diana Dead King Shot: Gunned Down in Memphis He works late in the carriage house. It is what darkens in our minds— See your dog trot to the back porch door, mouthing a slick and matted black crow.
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P O E T R Y This is not what fathers tell over burned coffee, the same midnight story, again, on the porch— the girl he killed on the interstate with his older brother’s car— the ease of it all in the glass that wet her palms, laying spread out and pressed to the road. These things we must tell ourselves over and over.
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A R T Burlington High School
/ Class of 2016
Still Life
S a m a n t h a
P o u l i n
p h o t o g r a p h y
Spring Time Burlington High School / Class of 2016
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L e a n n e
W o r o b
A R T The Brimmer and May School
Days Past
M a t h e w
/ Class of 2015
M a r i a n o
p h o t o g r a p h y
Autumn Leaves
R y a n
J o h n s o n
Burlington High School / Class of 2016
TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N Arlington High School
/ Class of 2018
A y a
B u r t o n
Hide and Seek I wait in the wardrobe, snug between mother’s fur coat from the 50s and the shined leather shoes worn only for special occasions. Whispered numbers float through empty halls; at last, “Three...two...one...Here I come!” a voice reverberates. Echoes seep through the keyhole to meet my anticipating ears—my breath stolen by the yearning desire to be the last one found. Voices of the formerly hidden children begin to accumulate and small steps soften as I am forgotten. I keep still, drifting toward sleep with fluttering eyelids. ---- The extended Wallford family consisted of 14 uncles, 15 aunts, and 39 cousins ranging from ages two to twenty-seven. Amongst all of them, I was known as the quiet child while my sister Beth was recognized for being the sullen, gloomy one. My parents were most likely to blame for her surly reputation. When my uncles and aunts visited us in Northbrook, Chicago, Beth’s name would pop up relentlessly as mother recounted arguments involving disregarded curfews, unwashed dishes, and anything else she could conjure up in her memory. My name was never uttered once. Similar to the games of hide-and-seek we’d play, I’d drift off the set during family gatherings, pretending I was a storybook character or immersing myself in intense conversations with an imaginary friend just so I wouldn’t have to consider the thought that no one knew my name. I favored the concept of nonexistence over the possibility of being forgotten. It wasn’t as though they’d fail to buy me birthday gifts or forget my place at the dinner table. Although presents usually consisted of unsightly patterned socks and my seat for dining was always shoved toward the end of the table, it wasn’t as though I was neglected. They loved me, I think, like Theo, the stuffed walrus that I had kept as a child— sweet for a period of time and then abandoned only to collect dust in the corner of the closet. I never particularly minded. Aunt Eloise always ruffled my golden hair, while she pinched my cheeks and squealed in a shrilling pitch, “Henry, you have just the sweetest grin in our family photographs. Just look at that sweet smile.” I’d hug her obediently along with the rest of the distant relatives from England, greeting them to the best of my abilities if I could even remember their name, and attempting to laugh at their jokes, even if I didn’t really understand them. I would pass out pastries to guests in the foyer with that same silly smile plastered on my face, asking Uncle Oliver or whomever might pass by, “Sir, would you like a strudel?” without a single complaint. I was the easy child; that was my role— undemanding, uncomplicated, and practically effortless. Beth was a different story. 26
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F I C T I O N There was always a part of me that admired her— her and her wild blue
hair, electric eyes, and piercing glare. Mother deemed her a lost cause at eleven, while father hid behind newspapers when she walked in early each morning—the scent of smoke wafting off of her clothing from long nights in the city. And I would follow her into her room as she slung the headphones from her drooping head, my six-yearold self waiting patiently for her to notice me. Most days she’d tell me off, shooing me away with her black painted fingernails, her eyelids heavy as she started to slip into slumber. But other times she’d simply sit on her bed, gazing at the blank wall with opaque pupils. Those were the days I’d sit quietly beside her—always a foot away while staring in the same direction as her coal-smeared eyes. I selfishly bathed in the thought that it was me who she had chosen, that I was the only one she confided in. For once, I felt as though my company was sought after. At seventeen, she demanded to be called Roxanne. “Beth is just too prissy of a name,” she informed our horrified parents. They pretended to be oblivious, calling her Bethany to the point in which she’d simply leave the house with a disgusted grimace. I personally loved her new name. “Roxy, Roxy!” I’d exclaim each time she burst into the house, “Roxy, you’re back, you’re home!” On good days, my relentless whining and whimpering could coax a smile out of her, and those were the days when she’d hold me close, swearing that I was the only one who would listen, the only one who cared. Then one night in late October, the lights of Chicago froze with frost, sending cold icy glares into our homes. After a dinner conversation full of “Bethany” and “Beth, darling,” Roxanne left the house in a fit of rage, shouting a declaration of withdrawal from the family. A slam of the front door and crisp gust of wind resounded beyond her diminishing footsteps, followed by shared raised eyebrows between our two parents, a small sigh that escaped my mother’s red lips. They exited the room, father settling into the orange recliner as mother dished out pieces of pineapple upside-down-cake for the two of them. Still seated at the table, I stared at my untouched plate, listening to the laughter trickling out from the den, the background voices of some sitcom echoing down the hall. All I wanted was to retreat into the wardrobe where the homey scent of pine would conceal me from the shouts and tears that lingered in the depths of the house. Outside, the frosty streetlights flashed like signals in the dark. How could I have been so blind? How could I have let her leave? Beth. Roxanne. Roxy. Roxy. The street lights blinked on and off, on and off, on and off. ---- Hiding in the wardrobe is not a viable solution, so I open the door. Count one, two, three, and then four… I find her. She’s hidden behind the azaleas, head leaning against the wall of the house. “I was waiting,” she whispers, grabbing my hand. We run, the voices only ambiance in the background of our minds as we race down the widening road, bright lights blurring as traces of memories echo out beyond us.
TMC Winter 2015
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A R T Auburn High School
/ Class of 2016
A n i s a
S h e r z a i
Self Diagnosed
p r i n t
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m a k i n g
A R T RAW Art Works
J o h n
/ Class of 2014
P l u n k e t t
Self Portrait
m i x e d
m e d i a
TMC Winter 2015
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P O E T R Y Westford Academy / Class of 2016
J e s s i c a
Z h a n g
Wa l k i n g Wo r d s I want to be a poem whispered in dark rooms down smoke-filled alleyways, wandering derelict hallways, the floors carpeted in emerald shards. I want to be a poem, borne on the lips of grandmothers everywhere told in rhymes to children as they slip into dreams of princesses and dragons, I want to be the flame they breathe swept away on a sweet country breeze. I want to be a poem, the sand stuck between toes, broken seashells and crashing waves. I want to be stirred into lemonade, woven into blankets and entwined in bicycle spokes. I don’t want to be the poem Written on crumpled papers in the streets Angels, shooting stars, and things from grace – I don’t want to be why they fall, but I am, and so are you. I am a poem On every day soaked in sun and every night devoid of sleep, Through creeks in warm weather, tempests that shake even Shakespeare, in every verse and pentameter and rhyme. We are poems with feet.
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A R T
Sprinkle Lips
Burlington High School / Class of 2018
J u l i a
F e i s t
p h o t o g r a p h y
Literate Love
J u l i a
F e i s t
Burlington High School / Class of 2018
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P O E T R Y Milton Academy / Class of 2016
Tiara Sharma
Eulogies Once, laughter rang off walls in the old Robinson house. Sports trophies, spelling bee medals and family portraits joined the constant hum of the living room’s television and bingo nights. No monsters at bedtime. No attic ghouls. Only sweet kisses on foreheads before unperturbed slumber. The car sat at the bottom of the bay long before anyone came to help. As water poured in through the car windows, the pails and shovels and beach noodles slipped out of the children’s grasp and drifted slowly to the surface. Once, Sunday morning began with breakfast on the patio and afternoon gardening. A trip to Hutchison Beach filled the family Chevy with toothy smiles, superhero costumes, and charred grilled cheese packed in a picnic basket. Days now end with overgrown weeds licking the house’s edges, the driveway longing for the pickup that swerved off Hogg Bridge. The family couch still rests in front of the television, frayed by the loss of time, not the Siamese that died seven years ago. The house’s eyes are glass shards that litter once gleaming hardwood floors. It still spots the children’s giggling faces peeking out from behind the maple tree. The tawny leaves drift away until only one remains. It gives a last embrace and sinks just like the rest.
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A R T The Brimmer and May School / Class of 2015
A i l e e n
X i a o
Dream
m i x e d
m e d i a
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F I C T I O N Burlington High School / Class of 2016
K a v y a
S e b a s t i a n
Hot Chocolate and Cronuts City Bakery. Friday night. 1:44 AM. Man in a suit. “Would you like marshmallows with that, sir?” “Oh please no. That’s the last thing I need right now. Especially right now, I mean that’s not even what I want. And now, I’m rambling. I’m sorry. See, it’s been kind of a long day. Can I have another cup with marshmallows? Ah- I mean, no. No marshmallows. Another cup, no marshmallows. I’ll stop now.” “Of course.” The waitress nodded and scurried back into the kitchen. Her face was kind and held a smile, but Tom knew she would take her time coming back. He wouldn’t blame her. But who else was there to blame? He took a quick glance at his hot chocolate. No whipped cream, no marshmallows, no cinnamon. The wisps of steam subsided, leaving the liquid bare. Usually on days like this when the snow sprinkled down, he took it with swirls of whipped cream, two sticks of cinnamon and a pinch of love in every marshmallow (and he always had a lot of marshmallows). Well, that was how he took it. Or rather, how he used to take it. Then again, that was the price of breaking up with your fiancée. He looked around for the cute waitress again, only being greeted by an ocean of empty red stools and neatly waxed black linoleum tiles. The lighting cast an unflattering glow on that girl in the corner booth. The chalkboard walls were covered in random facts and newspaper clippings. His eyes turned back to the girl in the corner. Her black hair fell in soft, light waves down the red dress she was wearing. Beside her, a pair of heels kept her company, and she swung her bare feet beneath the table. She was dressed for out of town. What was she doing here? Maybe she was like him. Tom laughed to himself. As if someone as beautiful as her could be alone. The woman looked up, the sadness in her eyes meeting his. His eyes widened and for a moment he was staring. The woman’s legs stopped swinging and she brought her belongings closer to her body. He covered his eyes with his hand and turned back to his mug. 34
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F I C T I O N “Your hot chocolate, sir.” The waitress ran off again, taking her wonderful legs with her. He wondered how old she was. Twenty? Twenty-one, maybe? She couldn’t be more than that. Whatever the answer, he knew she was too young. Maybe if he was a couple years younger, he could be with someone like her. Someone who wasn’t always putting work before him. He took a sip. The sweet taste of the hot chocolate melted his thoughts away. Sweet reminded him of anniversary cakes. Sweet reminded him of the apologies that hung in the air. Sweet reminded him of her voice that he wanted so badly. No, stop thinking about her, you idiot. How could he possibly still be thinking about his fiancée? Ex-fiancée. It was hard for him to remember the “ex” part. As in, no longer. I really have to move on. She chose not to be with me. She chose to prioritize her work. His leg bounced on the stool, up and down, up and down. He heard her scolding at him in his head, “Stop bouncing your foot!”. He stopped. Why was he still wanting her when she clearly never wanted him. Dumbass. He took another sip. I need someone, anyone. He just needed someone who couldCity Bakery. Date Night. 1:53 AM. Lady in red. -understand. Why couldn’t there be a single decent guy among the millions of people who lived in this city? No, a decent human being. Paige took a bite out of her cronut. A blind date, her friends told her. It’ll be fun, they told her. Maybe she’d even meet the perfect guy they told her. They were wrong. I mean, was it really that hard? All he needed to do was tell a couple of jokes, make her laugh, and buy her a drink or two. She probably would have gone home with him. But, no, he just had to go on talking about his job. His wonderful, fancy suitand-tie job that everyone would kill for. She remembered his blank face when she said I’m an artist. As if he hadn’t a clue what the word meant. Feel my biceps, he had said before the appetizers came out, flexing his arm for her. No, she insisted. Then he went about the 270 pounds that he bench pressed that morning. How charming, she thought. She left before dessert. And now, here she was on a Friday night, sitting by herself in a bakery, stuffing herself with a really good cronut at God knows what time. She should be heavily intoxicated and making a fool of herself on the dance floor, or hell, at home. But she couldn’t do TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N that. Home would remind her of all her failed relationships. Home would remind her of her drifting family. Home would remind her that she was lonely. That damn emotion pulled on all of her thoughts. She was twenty-six, for crying out loud! Twenty-goddamn-six. Yet, here she was, getting fat on pastries. If only she was younger. Maybe then she’d get a chance to start over. To try again. Like that waitress. She was young and cute. Life was probably a breeze for her. For Christ’s sake, she had bright green eyes and pigtails. Pigtails! Why was she stuck here anyway? She should be out enjoying her youth, kissing boys and making mistakes. Not holed up in some city bakery with pathetic customers like Paige. Especially not in this dress. Black, she liked black. Not this...what was it that Leah called it? Carmine? Or something pretentious like that. She said it would make her seem “friendly” and “happy”. Carmine? Who the hell comes up with that name. It was red. Carmine…How ridiculous. Wait a minute...then what did she normally look like? Her lower lip fell in a pout. She was screwed. For the rest of her adult life she would go on endless dates, and have a ton of regrets and a lot of liquor. She’d go into her desperate years and still not meet anyone, and by then she’d be a cat lady in a broken down house somewhere. She didn’t even like cats. It’s not like she was alone in it, though. So many wandering hearts filled the city. But that was the frustrating part. They would all pass each other in the rush to get to their next place, never touching, never meeting. Like two parallel lines. Like the sun and the moon. Appearing in the same cozy spot, just as the other disappears. She laughed at herself in pity and licked the frosting off her finger. She was just another pathetic fool, looking for someone to love. That was the sad truth: she was totally and completelyCity Bakery. Late night. 2:10 AM. Student. -alone. Laurel sighed and tore her eyes from the woman in the corner. She hated working the night shift. It’s like when the city dies down and everyone retires home for the night, all the anger, loneliness, sadness, frustration, and pain washes up at some bakery, drinking hot chocolate or eating a pastry. And for some reason, it just had to be the one that worked at. She could totally tell they weren’t happy because they all the same look in their eyes. That look when you’re off in a daze, looking at something that’s not really there. Those eyes clouded with a look of dissatisfaction. It didn’t take a bite from her bank account for a Psychology 101 textbook to know that. She had seen those eyes before in her dad when he looked at her. She had been caged in that house with her doctor dad who expected her to want the same things, who expected her to have perfect grades, perfect social skills, to simply be perfect. It was like one of those 36
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F I C T I O N awful movies with the repeated line about how the kid didn’t want to live the parent’s dream. She had lived that every day of her high school life. When she was younger, she had actually wanted the same things. The moment her father caught her interest in medicine, he was breathing down her neck. She lived with a dragon and no Prince Charming dared face this one. Instead of “good morning,” she was drilled about which college she wanted to study at. Instead of “how was school?” it was “which specialty do you want to go into?” It got to “which hospital do you want to do your residency at?” before Laurel changed her mind. That was the day her home became a hell on earth. Somedays her father looked at her with silent, sad eyes, and somedays, he looked right through her. She was either the disappointment child or not his child at all. Good thing she got away from him ASAP. But anyway, why did they always show up here? All these sad, depressing adults, shouldn’t they be out drinking their sorrows away? Isn’t that what adults did? Wasn’t it easier that way? Laurel looked back at the gorgeous woman in the corner. She could probably get any guy she wanted. Laurel would die to have a body like that. And Mr. No-Marshmallow Hot Chocolate guy wasn’t so bad either. His black-rimmed glasses framed his cute face and made his brown eyes stand out. What was he doing moping around in a place like this? Maybe if she was a couple years older, she could… “Excuse me?” She took a second to break out of her head and plaster her smile back on. She turned around and the man motioned her over. Oh God, had he seen her staring? He definitely had. But it’s not like he wasn’t used to it. He probably got it all the time. You know, maybe she just boosted his self-confidence. Maybe he needed that from her and...and… Yeah, it didn’t make it any less embarrassing. Please, someone just killCity Bakery. 2:38 AM. Man in a suit. -me. She’d been staring. How could she not? He must have looked like roadkill. What did she think of him now? One of those creepy older guys that she met at work? That’s depressing. At least he gave her a good story to tell all her friends. Shit, here she comes again. Without a word, he pushed his empty mug towards her. She reached towards it and for a moment, their hands touched. “I’m sorry.” He fumbled over his words, recoiling his hand. She said nothing, reddening with embarrassment and then settled back into her worn out smile. He slouched as he made his way to the door, saddened by the thought of TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N not bidding at least a good night to the pretty waitress. As he passed the woman in red sitting in the corner, he stopped and turned back towards her. Maybe it was the sweetness of the hot chocolate. Maybe it was the gaping hole he felt in his soul. He needed someone. What did he have to lose? … … … He stood there, eyes locked with hers. “May I help you?” She asked. Her dark hazel eyes the same as his. Potential. His lips rose into a smile. A man and a woman, two strangers. They could fill the spaces in each other’s hearts. It’d be a great story to tell. Two strangers who could share hot chocolate and cronuts on a cold winter night. And the hot chocolate steamed. “It...um…do you know if it’s still...snowing outside?” “... I uh…I think it stopped a while ago.” “Oh.” He nodded, ripping at his mind for things to say. “Well uh, thank you...have a good night.” He turned around, sinking fingernails into his palms. You bloody idiot. Ignoring all his instincts, he turned around and walked into the cool night air. And the hot chocolate went cold.
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A R T RAW Art Works / Class of 2014
J o h n
P l u n k e t t
Fishing
d r a w i n g
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A R T Phillips Academy / Class of 2015
Equanimity
A l e x
P a r e t o
p h o t o g r a p h y
Words Hurt Burlington High School / Class of 2015
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Keri Cucinotta
A R T Burlington High School
Reflection
M a c k e n z i e
/ Class of 2016
E l l i s
p h o t o g r a p h y p a i n t i n g
B l u e Fa l l
B o l l a
F o k u m
Burlington High School / Class of 2016
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P O E T R Y Groton School / Class of 2015
Samantha Crozier
Mor nings
Dew-eyed, she descends the stairs the floor cold beneath her feet, she lifts her hand to her neck and feels the ghost of garnets the shadows of pearls. And as she runs her hands through her hair (fingers catching in the tangles) glittering fragments of old evening air fall to the floor. Traces of starlight and the fading chords of songs began and ended under a navy sky smudge on the handrail. The yellow-walled room at the bottom is overfull with edges— side of a countertop, the steel lines of a toasting rack. A place created from an elixir of coffee and rose-water, maple syrup and the faintest trace of sun. Now, when the gurgle of the coffeemaker signals that everything is just beginning, she sits down at a table brimming with half-light that lets its whiteness roam free, stretching itself across the tablecloth before it is cut through by the shadows of more permanent things: an orange tea cup, chipped by careless hands the back of an old wooden dining chair and the flowerless houseplant that is green and silent and still.
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A R T
Still Life
Malden High School
/ Class of 2014
Mateo Coronado
d r a w i n g
Smile
M a t e o
C o r o n a d o
Malden High School
/ Class of 2014
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P O E T R Y Burlington High School / Class of 2014
Ariana Orne
2 Sisters I wish I could hold you every day. Freeze the aging, Warm an aching heart, Protect you from torment of men who will do you wrong. I aim for days where we’ll sit together In rocking chairs holding wrinkled hands My grandkids, your kids, Stopping by asking of our hunger, their assistance. I see us on a beach in harmony, One piece bathing suits with skirts to knees, Water shoes for fragile little feet. Sun visors, beach chaise longues Later to regret when we wiggle our way up, attempt to stand, Chuckle to one another, we munch hermits and sip warmed milk, Sneaking a gum drop here and often there. Yet, for now, all I wish is to keep getting on your nerves Fight as teenagers should, and often do.
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AA RR TT Chelmsford High School / Class of 2016
M a t t h e w
P i p e r
Retired
d r a w i n g
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P O E T R Y Groton School / Class of 2016
Logan Deming
Creation It clashed in convoluted throngs—hissing, screeching dissonance as searing Suns scorch skies not yet made and the darkness devours Itself. Nothingness permeates, yet the vacuum is Brimming with discord the box has yet to seal; Twisting, spinning, Turning, whipping, Thrashing in its twisted Dance— Until suddenly, by Chance, Among frigid fires A note rings true, Bathing the newborn cosmos in brilliance. Darkness deepens— Blanketing universes in peaceful slumber; Light brightens— Dazzling worlds in passionate flame; Twisting, spinning, Turning, whirling, Prancing in their radiant revelry.
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A R T Peabody Veterans Memorial High School / Class of 2014
Start of Spring
Jillian Stanton
p h o t o g r a p h y
The First Summer Rain
Christina Ricci
Oakmont Regional High School / Class of 2014
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F I C T I O N Hartsbrook High School / Class of 2015
A l e j a n d r a
R o j a s
Fire and Fire
Warm summer sunlight shone in a white room in Beatty, Nebraska. It was a small, quaint room; on the left wall there was a window with soft green shutters sprawled open, accompanied by pale white curtains that let this warm sunshine seep in and ooze onto the soft flower-patterned bed pushed against that wall. Across the bed was a yellow dresser with dried flowers on top slowly shedding the dead petals onto the cold cement floor – shedding a layer of skin. She laid in bed, motionless, everything around her still. Upstairs she could hear the gurgle and whistle of a coffee pot, a stool scraping hard wood floors, a few murmurs, a light laugh, and a door closing. Emily was finally able to fall asleep after a few hours, but this was not unusual. She spent most of her nights wide-awake and alert until her eyelids became heavy and forced her to sleep. Her mother Nancy would send the yordy down to wake Emily up soon after. It padded its way down the two sets of stairs, pushing the door open with a swish. Between beeps, tweets, and yowls, the yordy paced the room back and forth only to receive a moan from under a messy mat of black hair. “Five more minutes,” she grumbled, turning over so that she was now curled in a ball drawing the blanket over her face. The yordy snarled softly, crouched, and jumped on top of the blanket and opened its mouth. “No, Emily. Now. It’s 12:30; you’ve slept half the day away already; your pa’s out back waiting for ya,” said her mother’s voice, projected through the yordy. It closed its mouth when she stopped and yawned, glaring down at the lump it was sitting on that was Emily. Emily took in a deep breath and poked her head from under the blanket. There sat the yordy, expectant and poised. Emily raised her eyebrows. It stood and walked across her stomach and her pillow, rubbing its face on Emily’s cheeks, beeping and tweeting. Emily smiled. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m getting up.” With another deep breath she flung the blankets off her body and set her feet on the ground. She picked a pair of blue shorts from the floor and tugged them on. She threw on a white shirt that hung loose, along with a pair of socks, combat boots, and a sweater. She was about to leave when she looked at herself in the mirror. The black hairy mess that was assembling on the top of her head was more than impressive. She quickly grabbed a comb and ripped through the exceedingly long hair only to end up tying it up. She sighed and ran up the stairs two steps at a time with the yordy close at her heels. “Morni’n,” she said coming into the kitchen. “Look what finally got dragged out of bed.” Her mother put her hands on her hips. Emily smiled. 48
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F I C T I O N “Yeah, sorry.” Her mother laughed, shook her head, and went back to washing the few dishes in the sink. Nancy was a beautiful woman, not only physically (or so Emily thought) but spiritually as well. She was a soft, kind-hearted person and it showed in her face, especially when she smiled. “What’ll it be today? Eggs?” Emily thought for a second. “Nah… mmm… toast!” The kitchen was quite small; Emily had to slip around her mother and the table to fix breakfast. She set two pieces of toast on a plate. She felt two hands attacking her head. “Does it ever stay flat?” Nancy muttered as she tried to smooth the messy waves on Emily’s head. Emily ducked away from her pawing hands and sat at the floating antique island. “What time you gonna be back tonight?” Emily’s mother sighed. “Oh, you know. It could be 3 in the morning or 8 o’clock. Babies are unpredictable.” She turned around and kissed Emily on the head. Nancy looked up at the clock, her eyes widened in shock. “Shoot! I’m gonna be late again.” She squeezed Emily’s shoulder then gathered papers and stuffed them in her purse; Emily sat and watched her run around the living room, munching on her toast. Her mother popped her head out from behind the wall as she tugged on her shoes. “Will you stick in some laundry for me? Oh, and maybe put that other pile to dry outside today. I forgot to do it yesterday.” “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” “Bye!” The door slammed. “Ma!” The door opened. “Yea?” “Your keys and license. Oh, and your shyner.” “What would I do without you?” Nancy laughed. Emily blushed. “Jeez Ma, you do everything for me.” Nancy grabbed her things, slipped the shyner crystal around her neck, gave Emily one tighter squeeze and left. The door slammed and a quiet stillness fell over the house. Emily put her toast on the plate with a small clink and sat still. She didn’t move, as if she were scared of breaking the silence. Emily got down from her chair quietly and filled up a glass of water. She took a sip and leaned on the counter peering out the window with a view of their backyard. She started to turn when something small caught her eye; it was barely discernable in the distance – some dark figure. Emily’s heartbeat sped up. She played with the shyner around her neck, making sure it was still there. “What…” she whispered. She took a few steps towards the cupboard where the guns were hidden. “Emily!” Emily jumped and spun around, almost dropping the glass. Her father trudged into the house, mud on his shoes, and wiped his hands on an already dirty cloth. He looked up. “There you are. Come on, I need your help.” He gestured towards the barn and scratched his head thoughtfully. “The damn venter out back, it ain’t running like it should.” TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N Emily let out a huff of air. She looked down at her white-knuckled hand and released her grip from the counter. James stopped wiping his hands and looked at Emily. “You alright Em?” “Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec,” she answered with a tremor in her voice. He put the cloth back in his pants pocket, still staring at Emily with concern. “Alright… whatever you say.” He turned around and headed back to the door. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Hurry up!” James shouted from the door. Emily put the glass back on the counter and placed her hand on her heart. She tried to steady her breathing. “Damn.” She rolled her neck, straightened her shoulders, and went for the door. Closing it behind her, she couldn’t help but look one more time in the direction of the dark figure. She shook it off, deciding it was just her mind tricking her. Emily walked across the sandy gravel towards the barn. Nancy and James owned a farm of 40 acres and sold corn, squash and eggplant – some of the few vegetables her father was most proud of. They came together while James was in the military. He described the first time he met her like every teenager would dream of such encounters. He would whisper the story a thousand times, Emily always clinging on to every word. “There she was,” he would look down at the floor, but at that moment he was back at the military camp. “Mick and I just came from training, you know, when he broke his foot.” He would laugh and scratch just next to his eye, blushing. “I almost dropped the poor bastard on the ground when she came over and helped me put him on a bed. She got to working on him, not even acknowledging me until she looked up and just said ‘excuse me’; I was standing in the way. That’s when I saw those green eyes, and I couldn’t help but feel jealous of Mick ‘cause he got to spend so much time with her. I visited him almost every day to check up on him, but really it was just so I could talk to her and see those green eyes one more time.” He’d stop to touch Nancy’s fingertips. “And now I can see those green eyes whenever I want.” She would roll her eyes and laugh. She’d turned him down the first few times he asked her out. “You are a stubborn one. Thank God for that,” Nancy would add looking at him with soft eyes. After 4 years, they married and together they decided to buy a house. James explained that when Nancy saw the farmhouse she didn’t want to look at any other houses, that this was their home now. James slowly drifted from the army and worked on the farm while Nancy studied to be a midwife, gaining small assisting jobs at the hospital. Later, James and Nancy wanted to have and rear a family of their own. She became pregnant that summer. They were so happy and excited to have a child of their own. They built a nursery together, light green and white, both neutral colors because they didn’t know the sex of the baby. Nancy in particular spent hours and hours decorating the room perfectly, but that did not last. Nancy was beginning to feel odd and asked James to take her to the hospital to check on the baby, only to learn that there wasn’t in fact a baby; the baby had died. James asked if they could try again, but the doctor just shook his head and explained that Nancy was incapable of having children. Nancy became very depressed, leaving the nursery only when James forced her to come to bed. But Nancy was a strong woman; one day she decided to mourn no longer. That’s when they decided to adopt Emily. 50
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F I C T I O N “Emily! Grab that wrench, will ya?” “Huh? Oh, yeah.” She snapped out of her daydream. Emily squatted down in front of the ship to hand him the wrench as he levitated underneath it. Nancy grew flowers, which they sold on a stand in front of the house. Every surface in the house either had books from Emily or flowers from Nancy. She would tie her short brown hair into a bun with a pencil stuck loosely between strands of hair. James said that the most special thing about Nancy were her green eyes. Emily had green eyes too. He never let her forget that. Emily stood up and stretched looking around the barn littered with books, tools, papers, sheets of blueprints, and sketches of the Ship 9200 that James designed. He loved the classics; said they were elegant but fast and furious at the same time and that not many ships were able to pull that off. She made her way over to the front of the vehicle and popped open a compartment that contained a series of pipes, nobs, scales, measuring dials, and buttons. She decided to take a quick look at the front compartment while James was busy under the ship. “Red pipe line intact…check. Blue attached to green, check,” she mumbled to herself. “Pressure meter reads… forty percent…” She squinted. Emily glanced at James as he mumbled something from underneath the ship. “Uh...James?” He continued to mumble. “Don’t know why the hell I kept this damn thing…” Emily moved closer. “Hey!” James banged his head. The thud echoed slightly. “Motherfuc— Hngg! God damn it! Ugh… Yeah? What’s up?” He asked, calmly pressing the gravity release on his tool belt. “Have you tried to tighten up the tap on the pressure tank? It’s leaking. The meter reads forty percent.” He got up and walked over to the right side of the tank. He screwed the lid on tightly and set the meter, then jumped into the pilot’s seat. James took a breath, his face fixated, and let it out with a slow hiss, then commanded the ship following the protocol, lifting his left hand and placing it on the hand scan. A soft purring filled the barn. James broke into a goofy grin when the purring got louder and louder and a woosh of air erupted from beneath, pushing Emily back. She caught on to the Air-52 motorcycle to keep her from falling; papers and dust flew around her. Emily laughed at James. She squinted at the ship rising and looked up. “Alright, James! Come on. I’m gunna be tasting sand for a week just from talking in here,” she yelled at him as dust and other papers flew around her from the gust of wind the vehicle was creating. James shut it down and the ship glided back to the ground. He laughed while wiping his hands on a rag and climbed out. “It’s ‘dad’ to you, kid. Damn, you got the sharpest brain, just like your mother.” “Yeah, yeah,” Emily laughed and rolled her eyes. James turned around and looked up at the time stamp on the wall. It was close to dark now. “We should start packing up. We gotta get back to the house.” Emily nodded and they put away the tools. James entered the code in the padlock and metal sheets came down creaking and locked with a click. Ever since the towns were overrun, schools were shut down, too afraid to continue transporting vulnerable children to and from home. James and Nancy took the role of continuing Emily’s education, which she didn’t mind. It kept her occupied. TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N For once in her life Emily felt she was wanted and loved, even accepted. Its not that she had a horrible childhood or bad situation at the adoption center, but it was never a good feeling knowing that your parents never wanted you, dumping you into the arms of the first person who looked like they could handle you. Emily had always had a knack for making and inventing little gadgets and such, and that didn’t stop when she came to the Porter household. One afternoon Emily was working on a small device that would buzz around her head when it accidentally hit James in the face while walking down the stairs. Emily laughed remembering how she held her breath, wide-eyed and ready to make a run for it when James picked up the small device, now buzzing and twitching on the floor, and let out a booming laugh which made her jump. “Did you make this?” he asked, smiling and leaning down and looking into her eyes. Emily nodded slowly. There was a spark in James’s eyes. “Do you want to see something?” Emily nodded again. James showed her his studio, which was the barn where he kept all his inventions, gadgets, vehicles and sketches. She remembered being blown away with excitement and fascination with everything she saw around her. Ever since that moment, Emily began to open up. James and Emily would spend hours on end making little gadgets, James teaching her everything she now knows. Nancy would always read stories to Emily in bed; she would comb and braid Emily’s hair, telling her how much they loved her. James waved his hands in front of Emily’s face, and she was pulled from her thoughts. “Huh… What?” “I said, what were the two types of vehicles we used in 2012?” Emily scrunched her nose. “Ugh…a standard and a…automaticy? automanikis?” “Automatics.” James flipped the card over. “What did people use for transportation in cities around the 20th and 21th century?” “Um...those cart things that went underground.” “And what is the proper name for those ‘cart things that went underground’?” pressed James. “Subways.” Emily said. “Alright,” James stretched his hands over his head. “I think we’ve done enough for today.” Nancy walked in. “Hello, loves.” “Thank God! I’m starving,” Emily and James said at the same time. Nancy laughed. Both Emily and James knew how awful they were at cooking and Nancy loved cooking; she had said she felt odd and uncomfortable if there was nothing cooked for dinner. It was therapeutic for her. Nancy kissed Emily’s head and tried to smooth the messy wave of hair. “Doesn’t it ever stay flat?” Emily giggled. “It has a mind of its own, Ma.” “I like it the way it is.” James ruffled Emily’s hair, making it messier. 52
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F I C T I O N “Why don’t you go upstairs and shower? Food will be ready when you come back down.” Emily excused herself. She grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom; she turned on the faucet testing the water with her hand to make sure it was warm enough before getting in. Emily came back and as expected, food was already on the table: fish, salad and rice. Emily smiled; Nancy had cooked a feast once again. “Hello, darling. Come on, food’s getting cold,” beckoned Nancy taking a seat across from James. James took a mouthful of fish and moaned, rolling his eyes. Emily laughed; James loved Nancy’s cooking almost as much as he loved her. “Frizz iz hmamazing,” James managed to say, his mouth still full of food. “Chew first.” Nancy scolded. James smiled sheepishly and swallowed. The light chatter went on throughout dinner until they finished. Emily pulled her knees up to her chest, and leaned back in her chair content and full, sipping her tea. There was a peaceful, relaxed and almost sleepy ambience. James put his hands over his head and leaned back. Nancy finished her wine. Static sounds coming from the living room interrupted the relaxed atmosphere. James looked at Emily and Nancy intently, neither of them daring to speak a word. The kitchen lights began to flicker. It stopped and an eerie silence took its place. A horribly familiar screeching sounded in the distance. Emily’s heart dropped. “Pixies,” James spat in disgust. There was a sudden chaos when they all snapped out of the still trance. Nancy ran to the kitchen wall, kicked it and making a hole, and pulled out ziipers, tossing one to James who caught it in midair; he cocked it. Nancy and James started to board the kitchen and living room entering emergency codes in the padlocks, securing all exits and entrances to the house. Emily ran around furiously turning off all the lights. They gathered in the middle of the living room and faced the door with James and Nancy’s backs toward Emily, guns pointed. Every second felt like a year. Nancy relaxed her shoulders a bit. “Maybe it wasn’t…” “Nancy, we all heard it,” James interrupted. Emily, not realizing she was holding her breath, let out a slow hiss, dizzy from holding in air for so long. A twig snapped by the right-hand side window. James whirled, pointed the gun at the window and shot; Nancy followed his lead. Emily’s heart beat so loud it filled the steady silence that followed the loud cracks of the firing guns. James slowly approached the window when it crashed. Emily screamed. Shattered glass covered the floor. “Upstairs! Now!” Screamed James. Nancy pulled Emily to her feet and ran for the stairs pushing her up, James following closely behind. Emily heard more shots but didn’t dare to look back. They ran into the guest bedroom and shut the door. James pressed his ear to the door, his chest rising and falling. They could hear the inhuman noises of congested snarls and wet growls the pixies were making downstairs, clawing their way around their home. “How did they find us?” James spoke in a strained voice. “My bedroom…I forgot to turn my light off… I forgot one light.” Everyone knew to never leave lights on at night, especially if you live on farm land where one light can be seen for miles. TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N “What?” Nancy said confused, looking back at Emily. I have to turn it off before more see it. Without giving herself time to think, Emily sprinted towards the door pushing James aside and ripped it open, heading for her room. “Emily! No!” Nancy screamed. “Emily, get back here!” James shouted after her. Her heart raced as she ran. She was about to enter her room when a snarl ripped through the hallway wall and a hand grabbed her by the shoulder; it threw her across the hall against the wall. She cried out in pain clutching her head and crumpling on the floor; trembling, she looked up and saw the pixie. Its eyes, completely black as if possessed by a demon, fixated on her; a slight tint of blue and purple bruised skin made Emily’s stomach turn. The pixie got on all fours twisting its head looking with curiosity at her. Emily swore and the pixie broke in a malicious, sickening grimace. No. Emily thought. I will not die by the likes of you. This is what James and Nancy had taught and prepared her for. The pixie let out another snarl and lunged for her. Emily ducked and rolled out of the way. She ran into another pixie on her way back to her door. Emily threw a punch hitting the pixie with a sickening crunch; it slowly turned its head back to Emily, extended its hand, and slashed her cheek. She fell down holding on to her cheek, blood oozing from the cuts. Emily jumped on her feet, kicked the pixie, and ran as fast as she could to the door “Open!” she screamed, commanding it. The door flung open, she lunged for the opening; Emily turned around and found five pixies running after her. “Close!” The door closed on the arm of a pixie. Emily turned off the light. She didn’t realize there were tears sliding down her face. The pixie screeched and hollered in pain. Emily gasped, her hands covering her mouth; a ripping sound came from behind the now closed door, the arm fell on the ground in front of her and silence soon followed. Emily choked back vomit and held her hand over her mouth staring at the arm lying at her feet. After what felt like hours of pacing back and forth in the room, Emily decided to take a chance and return to James and Nancy. She stared at the room once full, now empty, the calm after the storm lingering eerily over the shattered glass from broken windows and lights. The moon cast a dim light over the scene in front of her. Emily stared eyes wide open, still and numb. Her body swayed back and forth till she fell on her knees. “Stupid light…” she whispered into the empty house. “It’s all my…it’s all my…” Her hands clenched the floorboards. Her chest started to rise and lower faster and faster, her breath hitched a hysterical whimper parting her lips. Her hands slithered up her legs shakily, delicately. She held herself rocking back and forth until water gathered on the floor beneath her. Emily’s eyes stung red with tears and her lips began to quiver; her breathing got heavier. She threw her head back letting out a pain-filled hysterical scream. 54
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F I C T I O N Emily reached around her blindly until she found the bat. Grabbing it, she scrabbled to her knees and ran towards the mirror in front of her smashing it. It wasn’t enough. She ran, blind with rage, destroying everything in her path, screaming in agony. Just as she was about to swing again but it was too late: the flowerpot went flying through the room and made a loud crack, soil raining down on her head. Breathing heavily, Emily held the bat now weighing a thousand pounds. It slipped from her dead gripping hand and fell to the floor with a thud that echoed in the stillness of the house. Images of her mother, her father, of the pixies raced through her mind. She held her head moaning and squeezed her eyes shut begging them to exist, begging this not to be true. Hours passed and Emily felt completely exhausted, her eyes shutting down on her. Curling up into a ball she closed her eyes; her surroundings disappeared in a dark blur. A day passed with a haze. Emily did not move. She did not eat. She couldn’t move, like she was glued to the spot. She watched the sunrise and the wind playing around the trees. Everything went on, life went on. Emily rested her head on the wall and looked plainly at the kitchen. She smiled as the warm sun glide lightly, touching every inch of surface in its path; like when everything Nancy touched had a warm, golden shine. “Emily!” Nancy stood smiling, hands on her hips. “What are you doing?” A delightful laugh slipped from her lips. “Come here darling, I’ll help you with that.” Emily scrunched up her eyebrows and rubbed her eyes. “Come on now, Emily.” Nancy spoke softly with an outstretched hand. Emily, still confused, scrabbled to her feet and walked cautiously over to her mother taking her hand. Nancy sat Emily down at the table. “Mama…?” “ Shh…” hushed Nancy lovingly, taking Emily’s hand, kissing the open cuts and wounds, cleaning and wrapping them. Emily closed her eyes enjoying the touch of her mother, wanting nothing more than to embrace her. She then felt two hands pressing down on her head. “Doesn’t it ever stay flat?” Emily smiled. “No.” “That’s alright; I like it that way.” Emily opened her eyes and saw James leaning up against the kitchen archway, smiling. “You did well kid, I’m proud of you.” The smile soon vanished and his eyes flickered to Nancy’s, making contact and giving her a short nod. “Emily, we love you so much…” Nancy gave her a squeeze. “ Wait, where are you going?” Emily whirled around to find Nancy no longer behind her but next to James. “We have to go now darling…” “Wait, please.” Emily’s lips trembled. “Can I go with you?” James shook his head, sadly. “Why…” Emily’s voice broke down. “It’s not your time,” James spoke. “There is so much more for you here.” “I don’t want to be here; not without you!” TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N “We know,” he spoke sadly, “but you have to be strong now… now more than ever.” Emily gulped down her cries and nodded, not speaking from fear of completely breaking down. “We’re leaving now…” Nancy said softly. “We love you so much!” Emily wanted to say anything and everything but nothing came out. And just like that, they were gone. Emily jerked up, her neck sore from the awkward position she had slept. She stood quickly, stumbling forward and tripping on the wood planks on her way to the kitchen. She looked around wanting to see them. Her shoulders slumped when she didn’t. Emily walked over to the faucet in the kitchen and poured a glass of water to quench her incredible thirst. She rested her elbows on the counter, and gazed out the window and into the orange sky. She felt restless and annoyed, but most of all she felt guilty; the guilt was eating her alive. Emily turned around and sat on the counter thinking deeply. It was now dark out, the moon illuminating a little outside the house. She picked up a piece of shattered glass, images of the pixies flying back. She clutched the glass tightly -she had nothing to lose, right? Emily didn’t care whether she lived or died; she had nothing left to care for in this world. She threw the glass aside and grabbed her skeets, tugging them on. Emily made her way to the hole in the wall where her parents had stashed the weapons; she found the one she was looking for. It was a laser dagger her father made for her 13th birthday: the same day they started training, the same year things really started to change. She put the laser in the bag along with other things she threw in, and a few changes of cloths. Reaching down to her skeets, Emily powered them up. A zooming noise soon tore through the dark night sky. Emily almost smiled as she flew through the night. She almost forgot how much she loved skeeting, the way the wind tangled her hair and made her eyes sting from the speed. She jumped from behind the boulder letting out a vindicating cry, digging the laser dagger into the throat of the nearest pixie. Blood splattered her face, but she didn’t notice or care; the adrenalin racing through her body was too great. Emily slashed, kicked, ducked, and stabbed everything and anything, making her way to what seemed to be their leader, now standing shocked from his seat. But there were too many; she flung her weapon in every direction but soon she was overtaken. One pixie slashed her ribcage while two others held her down. She bit her tongue not wanting to show them weakness, although her eyes watered from the pain. “Stop this at once!” It was the loud, booming voice of the leader. “She doesn’t deserve this.” His voice became softer. Emily threw her head back and laughed when she wanted to cry. “But, Lucifer,” hissed the pixie that had slashed her ribs, now bleeding a great deal with an enormous blood spill. “She’s one of them.” The leader shook his head. “We will not make the same mistake and judge her without consideration… There has been too much blood spilt; we cannot heal a scar that keeps getting reopened if we don’t give it time to heal.” The pixie snarled and took a step back. The pixies parted opening a path for the leader who started walking towards Emily. She was breathing heavily not only from the heat of the sprawl but from the pain piercing her ribs as well. The hands holding her by the arms steadily tightened as the space 56
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F I C T I O N between her and the leader closed. He reached her. They were now close enough for Emily to see the tired wrinkles around his black-filled eyes. “Child…” the leader spoke directly to her lifting a hand to her face. She jerked her head away. He sighed and let his hand fall to his side. “So much anger… this is what destroys us…separates us.” “We’ve been separated from the start; we’ve been separated from the moment you killed my mother and father,” Emily hissed through her teeth, wanting nothing more than to pick up her dagger and carve out the sympathy from his face. “Ah…yes… that blind rage.” His eyes shifted over to the pixie that had injured her. “Something that makes innocent victims of ones own fury… a vicious cycle.” The leader turned his gaze on her knowingly. “But neither deserving.” “Not deserving?” Emily laughed cruelly. “That’s funny coming from you folk who creep through the night; coming from you folk who ruin homes.” Her voice began to rise. “Who have ruined schools, have the entire world in need of help and protection; coming from a rotting species that killed and destroyed everything I know and loved!” Emily was now screaming. “You have no right to say ‘neither were deserving’,” she said barely louder than a whisper. “We are the same! Can’t you see that?” Lucifer spoke now frustrated, his kindness now breaking clear from his voice. “We are both born from a mother, born with a father, with blood in our veins and beating in our hearts. Do you think we choose this?” He hissed gesturing and pointing at his body. “We are alive. We are human.” The leader stood so close to Emily that their noses almost touch. Emily cursed herself for flinching at the sudden, small space between them. “We live. We die. And we go to heaven. Just. Like. You.” Emily took a shaky breath and stared straight into his dark, completely black eyes. She spat in his face. “When you die the only kingdom you’ll see is two foot wide and six foot deep”. There was a moment of silence, then an uproar of snarls and screeches rose up. “Can’t you tell from the look in her eyes? We are going nowhere! We live our lives like we’re ready to die… Will we ever see the end?” the pixie that had taken a whack at her screamed. “She’s just like the rest,” he spit. “Let’s give her the courtesy she gave our dear friends over there,” another pixie said moving her head beckoning to the six dead pixies lying on the ground next to the boulder where Emily hid. “Silence, please!” Cried Lucifer. They calmed down. Lucifer turned, took a look at her, and folded his hands behind his back. “Is that what our dear government has been putting into your head? That we are monsters? We are different, yes,” he scoffed. “But everyone is different; we all started the same. You know our history, yes?” Emily nodded sharply, but he chose to ignore her and continue. TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N “We were human… just like you. But one day, out of the blue, we became sick, very sick; we suddenly found ourselves in need of more medicine and light therapy. I would truly like to believe that they wanted to help us at the beginning… but that was before they became fearful. We were admitted into scientific laboratories for testing,” he continued with anger, his eyes narrowing, staring at the ground, clutching his forearm, feeling again the cords sinking into his veins. “They poked and cut us open trying to discover what was wrong with us. Then started connecting us to a computerized compartment I had never seen before in my life. They said it would make us better, they said we could join our families again very soon. We trusted them. But what we didn’t know was that they were killing us. When we discovered this, of course, we revolted – that’s how we got our violent reputation, but it was too late; we were already viewed as monsters. They even made crystals to distinguish us from the rest of humanity, allowing you to shoot at us whenever and wherever if our energy-lights were off… even our children. The very light-crystals you wear now.” Lucifer pointed at Emily’s chest; dangling from her neck there was the shyner. “They say those energy sources are protecting you from evil,” Lucifer continued, “when in fact that crystal has a mind of its own. It embeds in your head an image of monsters, us, as well as deciding who becomes sick or what you call us: pixies: blood-thirsty for anything with kinetic energy. Now, don’t get me wrong. The addiction is very real; the crystal infected us, implanting a desire to kill for energy. But we are still human, the only thing that has really changed, is your mind set.” He pointed to his brain looking at her. “Believing every story fed to you about us, creating this inhuman separation, making you feel able to kill us without a second thought.” Lucifer paused and turned on his heels striding over to her. Emily held her breath as he grabbed her hand placing it on his chest -she winced at the cold touch, and then he placed his own hand over her heart. Emily looked down in confusion. “Do you feel that?” Lucifer whispered. “Can you feel my heart?” Emily concentrated and gasped. There was indeed a heart beat, strong and steady. He left go of her hand realizing she understood. She looked up into his eyes and he gave her a slight smile and began to walk again. “The only reason the government is going along with this cruel absurdity is because our president has made some sort of life deal with this crystal out of fear.” Lucifer stared at Emily’s necklace thoughtfully. “He is allowed to stay human if he does what it says…. I believe it plans to wipe out all of humanity.” “You’re not serious…” Emily finally spoke. The leader’s face did not change its expression. “You’re serious.” Emily whispered feeling all of a sudden slightly ill. The leader made his way to her, taking the shyner in his hands and without warning ripped it from her chest. Emily gasped at what she saw: women and men standing all around her. Emily’s knees felt so weak that they trembled under her weight. Two boys were gently holding her up instead of restraining her. The leader put his hand on her shoulder very gently. “I’m sorry for your loss. There are some of us who have lost many as well; many loved ones by the hands of experienced and incredible tortures. They sought 58
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F I C T I O N revenge. I do not agree with this action; I do not think anything can be gained by fighting fire with fire. They keep going on their own taking an eye for an eye. We believe this is not the way,” he opened his arms embracing the people in the den. Emily looked into the eyes of the people before her, even children, and felt the utmost shame. “I’m…I’m sorry…I...” “You didn’t know better. How could you, wearing this?” Lucifer interrupted her and threw the shyner to the ground. Emily felt a surge of anger rising from inside her. She had been lied to. Her parents had been lied to, practically their entire lives. “We have to stop this! We have to tell them that you’re human! They are killing people!” “Do you think we’ve not tried?” the man who hit her earlier spoke harshly. “We’ve tried everything; nobody will listen to the words of an infected piece of trash.” He crossed his arms and stared down at her. “They’d rather shoot first and ask later. It’s hard to speak to a corpse, though, isn’t it?” Emily felt her stomach turn, but then an idea occurred to her. “Let me speak for you.” Murmurs echoed throughout the den. The two pixies let her go, surprised. Emily was thankful; her arms hurt from being held up so high and tight. She suddenly felt dizzy; Lucifer noticed it and quickly beckoned a woman. “Attend to her wounds; she has lost a lot of blood.” The woman nodded and bustled over to Emily’s side taking hold of her. “Come on dear, I’ll fix you right up,” she said kindly. Emily protested. “Don’t be silly. Come on now, before you faint.” “We will continue our talk when you are feeling better,” Lucifer called after them. Emily thanked the woman deeply. She did not deserve this; she had just killed their friends. “We all make mistakes; no one is perfect.” The woman said softly, reading Emily’s mind. They sat on a levitating bed stretcher, and the woman lifted Emily’s shirt to clean her chest. Emily hissed at the sudden contact. The woman had a delicate touch ripping pieces of skin from the bleeding wound. Emily closed her eyes; the touch reminded her of her mother, and she bit her lips as tears rolled down. Emily tried to hid them looking down. The woman lifted Emily’s face and wiped some of the tears. “You’ve endured such a horrific event. I’m sorry darling. I truly am. I know what its like to lose someone very close to your heart.” Emily quickly wiped the tears away, accepting the hand that wrapped itself around her shoulders. “My daughter and I were infected. She didn’t make it out of the laboratory when we broke out.” Emily’s heart fell heavy. Something was missing… “I’m sorry, miss,” she whispered. The woman smiled. “Thank you. And please, call me Lilith.” Emily smiled back. A week had passed since Emily found the den. She had become very close to Lucifer, Lilith, and Ramous, the man who had attacked her. She spent her days helping Lilith care for the sick, recovering from the poison injected by the crystal. She spent her afternoons practicing combat with Ramous; they had become very good TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N friends. Ramous was a very good teacher and he was as a matter of fact, very light hearted and a kind man. Her nights were busy with Lucifer, Ramous and a group of people planning a way to get Emily into the glass tower where the President and Mother Crystal lived. “Good!” laughed Ramous harshly. Emily had dogged an upper cut and swung low hitting Ramous making him stumble and falling on his back. She stood smiling and reached out a hand to help him up. “Gotta stay sharp,” she pointed to her head imitating Ramous’ famous line. Lilith rolled her eyes as she mapped out the safe rout to the glass tower. Emily laughed but fell back suddenly; Ramous kicked her legs from under her when she was distracted by Lilith’s eye roll. “Stay sharp then,” Ramous taunted her raising an eyebrow cockily. Emily narrowed her eyes and jumped with new energy. Ramous and Emily continued to practice when suddenly Lucifer appeared next to Lilith. “They’re coming.” His voice sounded strained and stressed. Ramous and Emily looked at Lucifer; Ramous dropped his arms and loose his fists. “What do you mean. Are they coming here?“ he called out straightening up. “They’ve found us,” Lucifer rubbed his chin. “We should have moved a couple of weeks ago, but I thought we would still be safe even if just for another week or so.” “Who found us?” Emily interjected. “When will they be here? How much time do we have?” Lilith asked standing up, fear clearly in her voice. “I am not sure. Hours; maybe a day, if were lucky.” Ramous cursed under his breath putting his hands on his hips and started to pace back and forth. “What’s coming?” Emily spoke a little louder. Lucifer, Lilith and Ramous exchanged looks. “She’s going to find out anyway,” mumbled Ramous. Lucifer sighed, the bags under his eyes deepening. “The S.W.A.T.S… this particular one, Leegan Squad, is a…” “A government military base that hunts down pixies and protects their designated areas, but take leave when given a mission…” Lucifer glanced down at Emily with curiosity. “My father was in the military,” she explained quickly. “Do you think…?” “That they were given a mission? Yes. They’ve been hunting us down for months now, but we’ve always been able to avoid them.” “Until now,” Lilith muttered. “What do we do, Lucifer?” She was scared, Emily could tell. But what made Emily nervous was that Lucifer and Ramous were scared as well. It made the fear all more real. Lucifer nodded to Ramous who grabbed Emily by the arm and jogged back to the den. Emily looked back to see Lucifer and Lilith talking closely. “What are we doing?” “We’re going to pack and get everyone ready…we have to leave; if we’ve got a day, then we’ll use it. We won’t wait around to be slaughtered.” 60
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F I C T I O N Emily nodded in agreement and ran around the den telling families to gather their belongings and to prepare for a journey north. When Emily finished her rounds, she found Ramous and the group of combats around a table with sheets and books. Night had started to fall and the sky was turning into a pink-red color. “We’ll take the hills. We’ll have some leverage there and then make our way to the north side of the city and stay here.” Ramous rested his index finger on the map. “That’s pretty close to the city… don’t you think?” a woman asked. Ramous scratched his head, frustrated. “It’ll take three days time if we go northeast, and we have children with us. It’s riskier; in those three days we could be caught: we’d be out in the open, vulnerable and defenseless.” The woman nodded thoughtfully. “So, there’s really no choice…is there?” “No…” he said grimly. “We leave tonight, as soon as everyone gather at the entrance.” He straightened up looking down at the map. “I’ll tell the others,” the woman sighed leaving the table. There were murmurs of agreement and farewells. Soon everyone paraded out of the room leaving Ramous alone. He leaned up against the table putting his head in his hands. He rubbed his face and folded his fingers looking down at the ground, lost in thoughts. Emily peered around the curtain that separated the room. He looked tired and old. It was a strange sight to see. Emily pushed the curtain back and walked over to Ramous. She sat on to the table swinging her legs. “I liked the idea of never knowing what my future held for me; it was exciting, yet I’ve always dreamed about it…” Ramous spoke softly breaking the silence between them. “But I never thought it would end up like this.” He laughed looking down. “I thought I would make my family proud, have a good job, come home and see my beautiful wife and son, teach him things he needed to know about the world, give him advice when he needed it, be there for him when he needed me… but here I am.” Emily glanced at him. “Where are they now?” she asked, hesitant. “They are not dead, if that’s what you are thinking,” he laughed. “No. They are still out there;” his eyes sparkled for a second then became dull. “I was taken from my home when my crystal went out and I was brought into a truck full with others like me; they hit us, they treated us like dogs. I was not sure where they were taking us, because they blinded us with bags over our heads. But after a while, we stopped and they pushed us out. That’s when I herd them powering up their beam guns.” Ramous took a shaky breath in. “I knew what was about to happen, and I prayed to God that I be wrong. I didn’t get a chance to kiss my wife or hold my son one more time. When I heard the man yell ‘fire’ I fell, and laid still on the ground while I heard thuds of bodies hitting the ground next to me.” His eyes winced as if he could still hear them hitting the ground. “I just lay there, pretending to be dead until I heard the truck and the men leave.” Emily shifted and Ramous snapped out of the trance he was in and coughed uncomfortably; he had never shared anything with her. TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N “No; my wife and son are still out there. When this is all over, I’m going to find them,” he smiled. “Connor, my son, must be, what? Six now?” He laughed to himself. “He must be huge.” “You’ll see them soon,” smiled Emily. Ramous looked at Emily. “I hope so.” Emily stood up and left the room. He will see his son and wife again. I’ll make sure of that. She thought, vowing it to be done. Everyone gathered at the entrance, talking among them. Lucifer cleared his throat. “My friends! We will begin our journey. Remember, same formation as we always do: two children to an adult; elderly, please stay close to the front, the others circle the perimeter.” They began walking. It was a cold night; no one muttered a word while creeping through the night. Emily put her jacket on and glanced at Lilith who gave her an encouraging smile. They had been walking no more than a few hours when suddenly a bluish light shown in the distance. The city. Emily heard a snarl behind her; one of the younger children stared eyes wide-open at the light. Her body was shifting in odd ways and her mother suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders. “Caryn, listen to me, sweetie. Look at me.” Her mother coaxed the child. Emily could tell that the girl, trying as hard as she could, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the light in the distance. “Mommy…it hurts;” the girl clutched her side, her breathing becoming heavier and still staring in the distance. “Molly!” screamed Ramous and tossed the woman a dark piece of cloth. The woman caught it. “We can’t risk it,” ramous said with a stern voice. “Sorry…” Molly looked down and tied the cloth around the girls’ eyes, whose breathing slowly subsided. “She’s still recovering.” A gust of wind whirled the group. People started to cry. Emily almost fell over. “The wind is strong!” screamed Emily over the gusts pulling her from side to side, squinting her eyes from the dust that flew everywhere. Lucifer, who had stopped walking, was now looking up at the sky. “That’s not wind.” He turned. “They’ve found us!” “Regroup!” ordered Ramous. “Emily, help me!” Ramous ran to the back gathering everyone into a circle, while Emily took the front telling everyone to gather around. Soon, a loud beating sound filled the air hurting Emily’s ears. She squinted at the sky holding her hair as it was whipping around from the gusts of wind. Soon, men on motoskies came zooming through the sky above them, circling them like neon-blue vultures. Lilith swore next to her. Ramous’ knees bent, his hands clutched into fists, and with a grin that terrified Emily he laughed as they got closer and closer. “Come on…com’ on…” Emily realized that he wanted nothing more than a chance to fight. The Leegan Squad finally landed and quickly dismounted their motoskies. One of the men took off his helmet and Emily’s heart dropped; she recognized the man: he was Mick, her father’s closest friend. Mick stuck his head up high. “Pixies, we are the Leegan; your lights have turned on, you disgusting creatures.” He spat; Emily cringed at his harsh words. She felt odd, that she was like that only a few weeks ago. He lifted his hand and his men lifted their beam guns. There were cries coming from the group. 62
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F I C T I O N “We’re the disgusting creatures?” cried Lilith speaking angrily for the first time. “How dare you! Look! Who’s the one pointing the guns!” Mick laughed. “We are protecting our families and our world from the poisonous likes of you.” Mick jerked his head towards them, his necklace glowing, falling from his jacket. It all happened so fast. There was a vicious growl from the back when suddenly Emily was pushed aside towards Lilith. “Caryn, No!” someone screamed. Caryn ran full speed towards Mick who calmly took his gun out and shot. There was a loud crack that rang into the night. Caryn drop dead mid stride, crumpling to the ground in front of Mick’s feet. “Caryn!” Molly let out a blood-curdling scream; she tried desperately to break free from the formation but friends grabbed her, keeping her in place. “Caryn, my beautiful baby,” she sobbed, falling on her knees. “Filthy bitch.” Mick kicked her body aside. Ramous lost it. A snarl erupted from deep in his throat and lungs, and he charged at Mick who quickly shot again, but Ramous dogged the beam, and punched Mick in the jaw. Mick fell back. One of Leegan men pointed a beam at Ramous who was wrestling Mick. Emily let out a cry and bolted towards the man, tackled him to the ground and beat his face with her fists, until he was knocked out cold. Then all hell broke lose. There were cries and shots. Emily stood and looked behind her: men and women were tackling the SWAT team. Ramous and Emily went back to back protecting each other as they took men down one by one. Then she heard a power-up behind her; she quickly turned around and saw a man pointing his gun at her with a grimace. Thud. He was knocked down to the ground. Ramous looked at Emily and laughed, blood oozing from his lip, and pointed to his head. Emily understood and nodded ‘stay sharp’. Ramous stood and smiled wiping blood from his lip. Then another loud crack exploded. Emily’s world stopped, the sound ringing in her ears. She saw Ramous’ eyes growing wide and his smile stopped. In slow motion he fell to his knees, hitting the sandy ground with a crunch that seemed to imprint itself in Emily’s head. She couldn’t hear herself screaming Ramous’ name as she fell to her knees clutching his body. She pressed hard on the completely exposed gaping hole on his heart, knowing it wouldn’t do anything, but she did it anyway. “Emily!” She heard Lucifer’s voice echoing in her head. She rocked back and forth while the chaotic fight went on. “No…not now, don’t leave now,” she whispered. Ramous coughed, wheezed, looking at her with still wide eyes. “Remember? Connor? Your beautiful wife?” She smiled sniffling and wiping away her tears. “You are going to find them! You’re going to finally see them!” She spoke loudly. Ramous raised his hand shakily to her face, managed to smile and shook his head. His eyes slowly drifted and a hiss of breath slowly escaped his mouth. Emily stared blankly at his lifeless body. Emily sniffed wiping her eyes and gently put his head down, shutting his eyelids. She raised her hand reaching behind her back and grasped the familiar cool handle of the laser dagger. She turned on her heels and saw Mick fighting another woman. Emily started at a jog then broke into a full sprint; TMC Winter 2015
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F I C T I O N Mick nocked out the woman, and turned and made eye contact with Emily for the first time. His face went deathly pale; he dropped his gun. “Emily?” Emily ignored him and ran straight into combat swinging her weapon left and right with him dogging it. “Emily! Stop!” Mick screamed trying to plead with her. “Emily, I don’t want to hurt you!” She slashed his arm. “Bit late for that, isn’t it?” she snarled at him. He looked completely confused. She lunged towards him again, only to be knocked to the ground. She jumped up but Mick was in full motion now; she could tell he wasn’t playing anymore. He punched her ribs knocking the air out of her; she crumbled on to his shoulder, and he lifted her trying to get her on the motorsky. She screamed hoarsely, thrashing desperately. She bit his shoulder, he cried out in pain and dropped her, and she scrambled back up. “Emily, what are you doing!” he yelled frustrated. “These are people, Mick!” she yelled back. “People. You are killing humans!” Mick laughed, “They got to you Emily,” his voice became softer. “You are confused,” he said sweetly. “I am not confused!” she hollered. “You’re the one who is completely confused. Open your eyes!” “Emily…” his eyes were saddened. “Your mother and father would be horrified…” Emily’s heart sank. “Don’t you dare speak their names,” she croaked. “James was my best friend!” he yelled at her. “Nancy was the love of his life! Who else is left in this world that loves you? I’m all you’ve got, kid.” Emily shook her head taking a step back when Mick advanced. “Need I remind you who killed your parents?” He hissed grabbing her shoulders and turning her around to face the group of people fighting to the death. “These…monsters.” He gritted his teeth, “they ripped them limb by limb, the hunger will never stop, they will destroy us Emily.” Emily stood numbly watching the scene in front of her. Her heart grew heavy; Emily was tired and confused, but it all began to clear. She turned around and put her head into Mick’s chest. Mick, surprised, wrapped his arms around her. “There… you understand now don’t you?” “Yes,” Emily nodded. “Let’s go,” he reached for the motorsky. “I understand now.” She stood rooted to the spot looking at Mick, “but you never will.” “What?” He turned back to look at her. In that split second of confusion she lunged for the crystal around his neck and ripped it off. He gasped and fell to his knees. She knew what he saw. The fighting and the lifeless bodies of sickly woman, men, not the monster he once saw. “But…I…” He rubbed his eyes, completely baffled, staring now at the crystal in Emily’s hands, Emily standing triumphant in front of him. “I don’t understand… how? Oh, Emily…” He covered his face with his hands in despair. “Emily, how did you-“ he began to ask. 64
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F I C T I O N There was a cry and Emily snapped back; Lilith was putting her hands in front of her: a man was pointing a gun at her head. “No!” Emily yelled and ran. A shot rang out and Emily felt a searing pain in her chest. She felt her body hit the ground numbly and started gasping for air. “Emily!” Her name echoed in her ears. She looked around and saw three faces. Lucifer yelled, “Hold her steady!” “Oh, God, oh, God, no!” screamed Mick. “Emily, honey, stay with us, okay? Emily? Can you hear my voice?” Lilith kept jabbering. Emily felt like she was floating. Her head was spinning. “She’s losing too much blood.” Lucifer mumbled, sweat dripping from his brow. “Mick.” Emily croaked. “Yes, yes, I’m here.” Emily felt Mick shaking, grabbing her hand. “I trust you. You know now, what to fix… right?” Mick gulped and nodded. “Yes.” Emily smiled and nodded. She coughed. “Good. Do it for me.” Mick was shaking his head. “Yes. Yes, of course Emily, but, oh God, just hang on kid, okay? We can do it together.” His voice was going farther and farther. Soon Emily was surrounded by darkness. Mick stared at the opened eyed girl he watched grow up along with his best friend. He shook as he realized he was holding his best friends dead daughter in his arms. The battle that took place on that day was one of historic proportions. Mick eventually got his troops to fall back and one by one removed their shyner crystals. The realization of not only their actions but of their own blindness caused many to commit suicide or institutionalize themselves. It was a painful processes but an entire movement against the crystals that the government was implementing was created in honor of Emily.
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express yourself Undergraduate Studies in Art History, Art Education and Studio Art with programs in Ceramics, Graphic Design, Illustration, Printmaking, Painting and Sculpture Post-Baccalaureate and Graduate Studies in Art Education
www.framingham.edu/art-and-music
Framingham State University is an accredited institutional member of the National Association of Schools of Art and Design
V I D E O RAW Art Works
/ Classes of 2014-2017
Real to Reel Films FILM I D o n ’ t N e e d Yo u Jordan
FILMMAKER Frank Santana
Salem High School / Class of 2014
Katherine Russell Lynn Classical High School / Class of 2014
Remember Sixx Gun Music
To m Q u i g l e y
Marblehead High School / Class of 2017
Blase Cataldo Lynn Vocational Technical Institute / Class of 2014
The Lonely Baker
Cyntheara Tham
Lynn Classical High School / Class of 2016
Alli McInerney
Lynn Vocational Technical Institute / Class of 2016
Ayanna Marte
Lynn English High School / Class of 2016
Viva La Luz
Ayd Mejia Lynn English High School / Class of 2015
To watch please visit: www.themarblecollection.org/video
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A R T Shawsheen Valley Regional Vocational Technical School
A Day on the Train
/ Class of 2018
Jordan Casaubon
p h o t o g r a p h y
Reflection of Eva Burlington High School / Class of 2018
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J u l i a
F e i s t
A R T
Caneman
Concord Academy / Class of 2018
Emily Marquis
p h o t o g r a p h y
The Lone Dandelion
Evan Holman
Burlington High School / Class of 2017
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P O E T R Y North Quincy High School / Class of 2014
Jennifer Liang
Unfinished Your whispers enter my ear, a scrawl of halfunwritten lines that ink my paper heart that beats to meter, the rise and fall of your laugh, that scratches my skin like pen on parchment, art unborn but existing only in the pulsing sphere of certain love and uncertain future that lies for you the pen and I the paper, here an unfinished poem, that burns within your eyes.
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A R T Wilbraham Monson Academy
M e n g k u n
/ Class of 2016
Y a o
See W hat You See
d r a w i n g TMC Winter 2015
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P O E T R Y North Quincy High School / Class of 2014
Celeste Dang
Ta n g o f S a l t Crisp air, The tang of salt. I breathe deep And swallow the sound of the earth turning Under my sandaled feet. The tar and pitch Give way to pebbles In the coarse-grained sand. The bite of shells bleached white By the sun, digging Into my bare soles. Dancing on the shore In white skirts of foam To the song of the sea, That invites with Little laps and licks On my heels. But concrete walls decline For me. And shingled roof, And windows filled with smog. Confining doors and light That’s paler, colder Than the sun. But now I hear the Drops of rain Begin their dance. And so the sea instead has come to me
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A R T The Brimmer and May School
G r a c e
/ Class of 2015
P i l k i n g t o n
Portrait
d r a w i n g TMC Winter 2015
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P O E T R Y Burlington High School / Class of 2014
Ariana Orne
I s T h i s O n e Fo r Yo u ? A white glimpse, A blurred painting On the side of 93. The rise of the sun On Warm blue skies Reveals this white image And a shadow is born. Born to a holy hell where Once that red flashing van Carried limbs. These same limbs, Six feet shorter Than they were before As their carried away with both arms Sacrificed, reaching over Each side of a bland yellow stretcher. This white flashes by At 65 miles per hour As ignorant eyes do not see The sight of abandoned Lily petals And the father and sun. Baptized palms hold this life One without an age, or name Once an old man, or young woman. As these cars zip by arms are extended And point to another roadside tribute By Mile 121, a numbered freeway.
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A R T Hartsbrook High School
L u c y
/ Class of 2016
G r o s s m a n
Der Mann
d r a w i n g
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P O E T R Y Groton School / Class of 2015
Samantha Crozier
Cosmos
As I stumbled, drunk with starlight, into your outstretched arms, you carried me through a hundred thousand galaxies and folded me into your corner of the universe. You sang me ballads of days when the stars were new and light was only a dim, wispy thing. When we lay down, held up by gravity’s finer twin, I asked you about the weight of the air and the smell of the sun and the silver of your soul, and you told me the story of light. And I carry the story with me. It will always glow within my chest, even when your light has faded because, even though the sun belongs to the world, the stars will always be ours.
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A R T Old Colony Regional Vocational Technical High School / Class of 2015
M o r g a n
F u r t a d o
Eye with Contact
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P O E T R Y Burlington High School / Class of 2016
Michaela Catherine LaPrise
Rouge
She is like dark red rose petals, matching the blood Sharp thorns prick from your gentle fingertips. Her sharp monstrous claws are dipped in adultery, clinging To the leather steering wheel of a speeding corvette. A strong wind fleets by, powerful enough To set flame to her luscious, auburn locks. The intensity of red flashing lights catches The rearview mirror. A cherry lipstick is painted Into the cracks of her lips as she dare smiles, Swallowing her dark laughter. Her bloodshot eyes glare At the harsh turn up ahead, as if impending a challenge. Her foot snug in a shiny red platform heel, pressing Harder on the gas. She jerks the corvette to the left, Knocking an opened red wine bottle off the backseat. As for that moment her eyes flash A mixture of fear and excitement as the car flung, Too quick toward the forthcoming cliff. She hears nothing but restful silence; facing pure shock As the sirens chase behind the car, shattered against the rock. Her eyes absorb the blackness of the earth as the color Flushes from her rosy cheeks. Her glistening ruby necklace, Thrown into muddy road. Blood seeps from her chin, staining her Costly, satin dress. Her head droops to her shoulders and her Lifeless arms dangle by her sides, like a crushed rose Lying in a pool of its own petals.
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A R T The Brimmer and May School
J e n n y
/ Class of 2015
B a e
Liars
p a i n t i n g TMC Winter 2015
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SMARTnet
GDT Northeast 179 Bear Hill Road Suite 204 northeast@gdt.com 781.786.7400
GDT locations: Dallas Houston San Antonio Austin El Paso Arkansas
West Coast Northeast Manufacturing
Bachelor of Fine Arts (BFA) Master of Fine Arts (MFA) Master of Arts in Art Education (MAAE) Pre-College Summer Program Art Educators Summer Program Community Education Sharon Arts Center Gallery Exhibitions and Events
DO WHAT YOU LOVE Manchester Campus – 148 Concord St, Manchester, NH Sharon Arts Campus – 457 NH Rte 123, Sharon, NH 866-241-4918
www.nhia.edu
CAPTURED
Oakmont Regional High School / Class of 2015
ISSN 2156-7298
www.themarblecollection.org
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p ain t in g
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