Echoes 2019, page 1
Edited by: Jordan M. Milenka M. Thanks to Ms. Esmond, our faculty advisor
Sending the echoes of Pingry Middle Schoolers' creative works to the the general public.
Vol. 2 Iss. 1
"I"m Gonna Need a Moment" by Max W.
ECHOES So what's Echoes?
We know that so many people who love to write, draw or express themselves creatively don't get much of a chance to share their work with the rest of the Middle School.
ECHOES
Jordan and Milenka decided to change that. Echoes is a creative newsletter that is sent out periodically, featuring short stories, poetry, artwork, and photography from Pingry students. Echoes is by students for students, and all three Middle School grades may submit! Jordan and Milenka also lead the Creative Writing Club, which meets on Tuesdays in Ms. Esmond's room. The Club focuses on free writing using different prompts along with working on things like detail and character development.
Echoes 2019, page 2
SPOOKY
SSC A R Y KELETONS Milenka and Jordan both love being unique, and Writing Club reflects that. Each issue has two prompts that Jordan and Milenka choose, and they like to give the Writing Club writers a small challenge to spark their creativity. Normally prompts are words, phrases, or pictures.
"THEDOORYOUHADLOCKED, ISWIDEOPEN." In this issue, one of the two prompts available to submit for was 'The door you had locked, is wide open.' The phrase is meant to tie into the holiday Halloween, and the image was meant to contrast that with a more homely vibe. Milenka and Jordan also wanted to share that this past November marked the 19th year of National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. Authors are challenged to write an entire
novel (50,000 words) in a month!
Lastly, this issue contains many works from the Form II D.C. trip in September.
Echoes 2019, page 3
"Spying for Keys" by Milenka M.
PUPAP E T S H O W NONYMOUS They come at night. Don?t ask me. You know them. They come to greet you and dance for you from the ceiling. Sometimes from the fan, sometimes on the dresser and sometimes they dance right in your face. Their plastic eyes reflect your eyes right back, morphing your face into something you don?t recognize. But that?s fine right? After all, you?re having fun. They all snicker back, dresses bouncing up and down, up and down, knees bent in at strange angles. Mouths open and close as their heads bob up and down, collapsing and then pulling taut once again to their toes. Some of them shatter
against the wood floor and some sink. Porcelain, wood, paper, felt. Arms reach out towards you, pulling all heat from your face, sweat glistening, legs numb. They take your arm, a small snake-like pattern of stitches running down it all the way to your shoulder. And their laughter turns to silent focus as they prod your face with brushes and paint? white and just a touch of pink. Maybe just a hint of cobalt on the eyelids. Their arms move up and down. ?C l o se y o u r ey es,? they whisper, casting you into a trance. The frills on the pink and white dress scratch your legs as your
bow bounces on your curled pigtails. They tell you that their time is up and you nod a small ?Thankyou.? You are trying to get up, but your arms won?t move as they lie dead at your side with your legs. All you can see are their glass eyes.
Echoes 2019, page 4
"Halved" (Left) by Ashley L. "Sidewalk" (Right) by Jordan M.
THEREARE
EYE SONME ANONYMOUS It is a Saturday night with me getting ready for bed. I go into my closet to change and make my way to my bathroom. I brush my teeth, my tired eyes looking at my reflection. I get in my bed and snuggle up, yawning and eyes starting to slowly drip.
The door creaks and creaks. I look over to see my door wide open, being tired, I don't question it and closed my eyes. The door creaks again. I ignore it. It creaks three times; I snuggle deeper under my fluffy blankets. The creaking halts and I soon fall to sleep. My feet become cold under my warm blankets which seemed to have disappeared. My hair stands on end, and my hands go numb. I open my eyes and peek my head out from my covers. Standing
there are eyes upon eyes staring at me. My heart starts to beat loudly, the eyeballs blinking to the beat. I lay there petrified, my breathing rapid, and my eyes glued to my bedroom door? it?s still wide open. I should get out of here. I should just forget everything. I should just go back to sleep. I?m hallucinating. It?s just a nightmare. With frozen effort I curl myself in a C and go back into the safe covers. It?ll be fine... I?ll be fine.
OURCANLEA TION BP. Our nation is beautiful. It is almost too beautiful. The blinding white statues, and the monster-like monuments stand up in the sun. The tourists and citizens, bustled around the sunny landscape, taking pictures in peace. The fountains bubble and shimmer. As I look up at the towering obelisk, I am filled with peace and tranquility. Then I look deeper. The names are drilled into my head, each a different voice, a different life. This is a triumphant place. This is a graveyard. It is a graveyard of lost souls, who fought in a war that never should have been. They were fathers and mothers who died for their
countries. But they still stand proud in spirit, even after leaving this world. Would they be happy to see what we have done to honor them? These thoughts race through my mind as I am brought back to this world. I see their faces smiling proudly at their nation.
Echoes 2019, page 5
SEEINGTHETRUTH:
AHOLOCAUSTJOURNEY NUBIAG.
KESE PGOING YDNEYL. Tears fall down my face. It hurts Because
Walking into a brightly lit room, I sat down and listened to a man speaking with passion in a different language. He was a death camp survivor explaining to another man everything he saw and experienced. I picked up the book next to me with the translations and was appalled at what it said. He described the look of hunger and desperation in people's eyes; that these people would give their soul just to get a piece of bread. Hunger controlled their very being.
I do care. I want this.
Hunger.
But I keep going.
Pain.
I want to do this.
Sadness.
I?ll keep going...keep believing..keep doing
Children, women, men.
I have to keep going Through the tough times. Losses happen... Yes. It hurts. It?s almost like torture.
Regardless of what I?m told.
This hunger and hurt ran deep inside of them.
I won?t watch
All they wanted was a loaf of bread to quench their empty stomachs, pain, and depression.
my dream
As I read this, my stomach began to curl into a knot. I had this deep sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, trying to imagine the pain they went through. I didn?t know what it felt like to go hungry. I had three meals a day, while these people barely got a slice of bread.
A dream doesn?t become reality with magic.
shatter right in front of my eyes.
It takes diligence, hard-work? So,
So many thoughts ran through my brain. So many different emotions hit me, knocking the wind out of lungs. I felt extreme sorrow for the people who had endured this abuse. They suffered and underwent great hardships because of their beliefs.
I won?t stop...ever wipe away the tears And put the hard work in.
Men. Women. Children. Hunger was not friendly to anyone. Everyone there was affected and hurt. These people sometimes had to push all their emotions aside and beg for food. Beg to their captors for a basic necessity.
This doesn?t define me? I will get back up I do have the fire within me And nobody will be able to stop me. ever. I?ll just keep going until I get there I will
Children starved and slaved, begging their parents and captors for a decent meal.
Keep going... keep persevering
Echoes 2019, page 6
I just kept picturing my parents, who were very poor and most nights went without food when they were younger. I imagined them as one of these people being beaten and tortured; thin, sickly begging for food to survive. This made me think of all the family members of these poor people, who were not in concentration camps. They were probably worried sick about their relatives. Shutting the book, I got up, a little shaken up about what I had just read. Walking on to the next station something to my right caught my eye. As I walked to it, I realized it was a video. The clip started, and immediately my entire body tensed up. My eyes grew wide and I felt my heart rate speed up. I saw a woman. Not just any woman. This woman, in particular, was deceased. She had no meat on her body and I could clearly see every single bone. If this wasn?t bad enough, a man flung her over his shoulder as if she was a rag doll. The next thing he did was what really shocked me, and made my blood run cold. He threw her. She fell into the pit, with countless other mangled bodies. The man that threw her acted as if this was not a new occurrence and completely normal. I felt my throat begin to burn and my eyes start to tear up. This man and countless others believed that other people?s lives did not matter. It was as if he was saying he didn?t care because they were beneath him and their lives were not worthy of mattering. As I thought these things, tears began to freely flow down my face. I looked onto the video, petrified of what I was seeing. However, as the video kept replaying and I kept wiping my tears, I turned my sadness into determination. From then on I was determined to ensure that everyone knew that their lives mattered and to take action about this horrible event and events like this.
Echoes 2019, page 7 v
BREAKINGDOWN
THE W A L L MAXW. Nothing has intrinsic meaning. Everything is meaningless before it is given meaning somehow. But how can you give something meaning? How can everyone agree that an object has meaning? As I shuffled through the hallowed halls of the Holocaust museum in Washington D.C, I encountered this question at every corner: What gives all this meaning? As I neared the exit to the permanent exhibition, I came across an enormous stone casting, slightly protruding from the walls of the building. Curious, I lifted my eyes from their position stuck to the floor. As I began to process what I was seeing, the world around me seemed to grind to a halt. I hardly noticed as the boisterous conversations around me seemed to fade to a dampened blur. I ran my finger over the wall?s Hebrew writing, feeling its grooves and notches, and I nestled them in a crevice between two of
"In the Mist of the City " by Sydney L.
its gravestones for a moment. My hands trembled. I was paralyzed as the world twisted and contorted around me. I felt my whole body go cold. And then, I realized.
The haze gave way to sounds of gunshots and muffled screams. A people once great, slaughtered on the graves of their ancestors. A once sacred plot of earth, then an execution ground. From layers of beaten down, blood-soaked tombstones, hardened during the years over countless generations, I realized, the wall was built. From terror and
Echoes 2019, page 8
"Focus" by Jordan M. (right)
JOKE COLUMN What's a brass player's favorite genre of music? ....HEAVY METAL
HEWORLDAROUNDME " ...T SEEMEDTOGRINDTOA HALT. "
What do you call a dirty fencer? ...Sword-id
Why are violinists always so nervous? demise, the pieces had fallen into place.
edifice and looked to the shadowy room standing before me.
...they're too high strung.
They did not choose to die. And then I realized. They weren?t sacrificing to some greater cause. They weren?t soldiers in an army or members of a resistance. These people were ordinary. They were afraid of what would happen to them. Their stories were erased in an instant of pure fear and in the release of the endless void beyond.
I released the stone from my shaky grasp. I tore my eyes away from the light bathed
What is meaning? Meaning has no meaning. As much as I can describe what I felt in that room, that which holds meaning to me will never mean the same way to anybody else. Though gravestones in a wall may stay the same for an eternity, their meaning will never be set in stone.
Why are scissor jokes so great? ...they're on the cutting edge of comedy.
Why don't people like branch jokes? ....they just don't...stick!
Echoes 2019, page 9
" THISISA QU TV EE WE LO O INYOUR SER IEE SB!AR" SID
NOTTAH E R E P A R T I NONYMOUS Aiko headed towards a locker that had signs posted all over it saying, ?Aiko, kendo team captain.? Once she was changed, she entered the arena once again in her white and blue outfit, black helmet, and heavy bamboo sword. There was no one in sight-at least to her. Aiko ran back into the locker room to check the time. It was 2:30 p.m. and the team was supposed to assemble at 2:20 p.m.
Echoes knows that not every story fits within the page limit. So for the last two pages, we've
Aiko stood there, puzzled as she waited for the rest of her teammates and the kendo teacher to arrive. When it was 2:45, she thought that she had waited long enough and headed towards the still, quiet locker room to change back and head home. All of a sudden, a group of squealing girls entered the locker room, startling Aiko. ?-I bet Aiko is going to be late for about the twentieth time again,? one of them sneered. ?Where were you guys? It?s already 2:45. I thought you would be here before me like always,? Aiko burst out.
decided to have a
?What? do you mean? It?s only 2:25,? one of them spoke up.
spot where an
Aiko put her hands on her hips and said, ?It?s 2:45. The 2:40 bell already rang.?
ongoing, full-length
Just then, a loud sound was heard, and a voice from the P.A. System, ?Attention all students. It is now 2:40, so it is time for you to either go to your club practice or exit the school building. Thank you.? there was an ending beep tone.
book can spread between issues. The story can continue for as long as the author writes it, or it can finish if the author decides they don't want to work on it anymore.
Aiko backed up into the wall and covered her head, her indigo eyes wide open. Black. White. Black. White. Beep, beep, beep. Aiko woke up, her eyelids felt heavy, and her head was throbbing, pounding as though someone was playing drums inside her head. She wanted to go back to the darkness. She could feel the tug of the dark pulling her back into her head, but she didn't refuse. It embraced her and soon she was within the waves of black. Tsugumi Aiko. What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Why do you allow yourself to be sucked in? Think. Use your head. Where am I? Think. Ok? beeping noises? I must be at the hospital. Why are you here? What was the last thing you saw? The last thing I saw was? was? oh my god? it was? She was hyperventilating;her body temperature had risen and she had soaked through the sheets? It was him. His eyes? they weren't there? Aiko opened her eyes breathing heavily. Her chest heaved up and down, eyes bloodshot as if she hadn't gone to sleep in days. ?Aiko??
Echoes 2019, page 10
A brown mop of hair peeked from the curtain and seeing the state Aiko was in, rushed to her bedside. ?Aiko? Oh my god, what happened to your eyes? Hold on I'm getting the nurse.? Shaoran pressed the red "attendance needed" button in the bed and waited for the nurse. ?Oh my god, thank you for coming. My sister is? she's? ? Shaoran looked up from Aiko. The nurse didn't have eyes. In their place were Akio?s. ?? You're? what happened to you?? Shaoran?s eyes were wide with terror. He blinked and no one was there anymore. Turning to face Aiko, he gasped. Her eyes were fine and she was playing with her bedsheets. ?Shaoran, what's wrong?? Aiko said in a concerned tone. ?Oh hi, umm? nothing is wrong, but didn't I call the nurse. Have you seen her? Or did she just leave?? ?I was watching you the whole time. You never pressed the button.? To be continued...
mhmmmmmmmm WeTotally Rocked
CuttingEdge Performance
What!!!
"Rock, Paper, Scissors" by Courtney C.
I said... Wewerea bit flat andour expressionsshould belessblank.
Echoes 2019, page 11
In this issue, we're echoing:
YOUR
WHO R K ERE! Echoes is still just an embryo of an idea, but it won't work without people submitting their work! You can submit your works by filling out the Google form (link provided at the bottom of the page). We'd love to feature your work, and right now we're accepting photography, artwork//illustrations, poetry, and short stories (Max. 1000 words, if you exceed the limit by a little bit, you can still send it to us since this is a little bit flexible). Echoes publishes works in the order that we receive them, so try to send your works in as early as possible. We can't wait to see your creative work! - The Echoes editors :)
mmen2023@pingry.org jmiller2023@pingry.org lesmond@pingry.org https://goo.gl/forms/wWLFVqiNtqEcV7RD2 (Check out this link to submit and see this week's prompt)
Jordan M.
Courtney C.
Milenka M.
Ashley L.
Annika S.
Sydney L.
Max W.
Nubia G.
Caleb P. Two Anonymous Writers