INK AND PAPER INK AND PAPER The White Mountain School Literary and Art Magazine
Made possible by Barbara Buckley Rob Constantine Megan Killigrew Shane McElhiney Jim Norton Katherine Desimine Tyler Randazzo Rachael Moss Mandy Mu Rong Lu Kyra Rausenbach
The White Mountain School Literary and Art Magazine
Issue 3
2013-2014
Table of Contents Pumpkin Mandy Mu Cover Photo by Gabe Bouisseau Utopia............................................. HWP................................................ Portland......................................... It’s Been Too Long........................ The Gong....................................... Moxie.............................................. Post Traumatic Sandy Disorder... Front Window................................ Wolfgang....................................... Games........................................... Sleep and The Shrink................... Camp............................................. Octopus........................................ One Step....................................... Baby Dragon................................ Cautious....................................... A Poem......................................... Pumpkin.......................................
Elias Fokine Connor Sledzik Samantha Bews Anonymous Anonymous Katherine Desimine Noah Fisk Lily Bennet Tori Breen Payge Emerson Tyson McGrew Tyler Randazzo Elliot Murphy Olivia Coots Rachael Moss Chantal Stephenson Adriano Ippolito Mandy Mu
2 3-4 5 6-7 8-9 10 11-12 13-14 15 16 17 18-19 20 21-22 23 24 25 26
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A Poem Adriano Ippolito Here I lie bored out of my mind trying to think of something to waste my time I’ve read every entry in all my onion books Which are a series of satirical news stories made for Shnooks I could work on my common app to finish applying but I need to know my mom’s college degree or I’d be lying Going to the gym might have worked out but my legs don’t want me to take that route perhaps the town might have something to show Darn, but the bus left a half hour ago I went to the art room hoping something enlightening was in store but it turns out that the room has been locked at the door my father didn’t respond to my calls so here I am now wandering these halls I then attempted playing minecraft to fight the boredom though couldn’t find anything to build that was even remotely awesome Again I sit bored out of my mind Thinking about this day’s massive decline though at least there is something good in all this dismay and that is that tomorrow is sunday
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Utopia Elias Fokine
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HWP Connor Sledzik I can’t describe this feeling. I watched you melt into the couch while you grew to touch the stars, And boy did you touch those stars, your fingerprints riddle the surface. I hate to say it but I saw this coming,
Cautious Chantal Stephenson
Our reckless behavior induced this lost mind. I could have done something, Been home, at least. I probably couldn’t have coaxed you out of finding your answer, But I’d have a better understanding as to why you asked. I’m in the dark. Where are you? Where are we? Our anchor broke free and we slipped over the edge. Maybe the anchor was weak to begin with, it had inadequate links, I think you wanted it to snap you wanted to see where it would take you.
Everyone was asleep. With the fire slowly dying, I became weary. Sleep was forbidden and dangerous -I kept the fire going. I sat alone with many unaware bodies surrounding me, sleeping noisily. Something was moving, somewhere. With a quick glance around, my alert eyes penetrated on the area of the sound. It was just movement of one's sleeping bag. Everyone was asleep. If anyone or anything was to come I would have had to save them all. Observant and still awake, my mind rummaged through the soggy leaves that piled effortlessly on the hard cold ground. I had heard more movement. What sounded like huge harmful claws that night was merely small chipmunks on the hunt for nuts.Yet, everyone was asleep.
You dragged the chain farther than Caesar stretched his rule. Our silent suffering was too much, It built up and broke out Taking the most adept mind I’ve ever known. I didn’t believe it initially, It was presented in an obscure manner. Page 3
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Once the haze lifted guilt rushed over me, Like somehow this was my fault. Did I contribute to this?
Baby Dragon Rachael Moss
What did I not do? What could I have done better? Unanswered questions. Get out. Please get out, I don’t want to have to miss you. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
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Portland Samantha Bews
short, black flute out of one of his pockets. !I picked up the knife I had been using to cut the paper, feeling the familiar weight in my hand somehow giving me some sense of safety. !There was a small click then a sound like someone shooting a blow dart, and then blood dripped down the old lady’s face and onto her flowery blouse. !Without hesitating I threw the knife at the man, hitting him just below and to the right of his left shoulder. !He slowly turned around as if nothing had happened. !I dove behind the table as he fired the gun once more before he hit the ground. !I felt the bullet as it grazed the side of my right arm, sending tingles through the nerve system hiding just below my skin. !Warm blood drip down my arm as I lay behind the table. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath as I watched from behind the cage of my arms the man fell to his knees, and then onto his face. !The guy had one hell of a shot for a dying man. !If I hadn’t moved, that bullet would have just about gone directly through my heart. !I grabbed the cylindrical glass flower vase off of the table with my left hand, dumping out the flowers as I sidestepped over to the man, ignoring the searing pain in my other arm. !I bent over and felt his neck for a pulse. !There was a small fluttering and then it stopped all together as his heart ceased beating. This is an excerpt from the first chapter of a book Olivia is writing, entitled “One Step”.
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One Step
It’s Been a Long Time
Olivia Coots
Anonymous
I looked around, taking in my surroundings. The waiting room was decorated like any other waiting room I have ever been in; shelves of flowers and stuffed animals that you could buy in the over priced gift shop, and tables with old magazines that people have torn apart. !I looked over to the reception desk where an old lady with grey hair and big glasses was sitting, pecking at the computer keyboard with her wrinkly fingers. Quickly getting bored I reached for my phone. !It wasn’t in the pocket that I usually keep it in, so I frantically began patting all of my pockets searching for it. !It didn’t help that I was wearing cargo pants.!I stood up to search my back pockets when I remembered that I dropped my phone on the floor of the car when I first saw the man in the water. !Disappointed and annoyed I fell back into the cushy chair. I got up again moments later and walked over to the magazine table. !I shuffled through them for a second, and, finding only home décor with pages torn out and scribbled on coloring books, I spun around and slumped back into the chair. !I looked at my watch and saw that I had only been there for about five minutes. I sighed, trying to think of something to do. !I reached over and grabbed one of the coloring books off the table. !I opened to a random page and tore it out. !The old lady didn’t even look up as I folded the paper into an origami crane. !By the time I heard foot steps in hallway I had about twenty paper animals scattered around the table. !I dropped the frog I was folding and got ready to stand just as a man wearing a long, black trench coat rounded the corner and entered the waiting room. !I exhaled, disappointed. ! I picked up the half finished frog just as the man pulled what looked like a Page 21
It’s been a long time since I would call your name from the peak of my driveway in hopes of hearing a reply. After school we would fight imaginary soldiers in the forest between our houses. Rocks like rockets would bombard figments of our imagination, making it impossible to escape alive. Sticks acted as pillars to hold up fake fort walls, slots like a bunker where machine gun arms would protrude We would run hunched over to avoid getting hit by bullets that could never stick, and aim down the sights that stood atop our fingertips. The point of playing is clear now, it was training in your eyes. It’s been a long time since you taught me how to fix my gun, soon people will have their guns fixed on you. We have attended too many funerals for fallen brothers, An IED took Joey, I just hope we don't lose you too. It’s been a long time since dinner at your Mom’s house was at 5:30. Sitting at the table while dogs barked at the smell of Easy Mac. I still walk past your house every day, our forts still exist as piles of rotten branches. Sometimes I pick up a rock, and throw it into the woods, half hoping it would hit you.
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Now, I wish time would slow down
Octopus Elliot Murphy
July 22nd creeps up from behind like a strategic nightmare. I fear you won't return from the war-torn land to which you will be deployed. That day will come like a storm cloud crashing down on the woods we once called home. It’s been too long since we played in those woods.
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as they head down to the huge field where the kids will be picked up at the end of the day. She asks to fill up her water bottle, and the walks her over to the tap on the right side of the field. Anya is there too, a little girl of four who loves to ask questions. She has blond hair and a huge grin, and when she smiles or laughs it is instantly contagious. She is one of his favorite campers, but not the kind of kid he would have spent time with when he was her age. Anya looks at Janie quizzically. Tyler feels a familiar pang of sadness as she asks “Is he a boy or a girl?” “She’s a girl,” Tyler says, trying to keep his tone light, not wanting her to see the pain in his voice. He feels pressure in his chest as he remembers how much he used to hate those words. “Boy or girl?”; the words put him into a box. They made him feel like he had to fit into one category; Tyler didn’t realize until much later that he didn’t have to. “She looks like a boy!” Anya exclaims. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler sees Janie staring sadly at the ground. “Why does it matter?” he asks. “She can dress however she wants.” As Anya shrugs and leaves with a friend, he lingers by the water tap just a few moments longer. “You know, Janie”, Tyler begins, “People used to ask me that question all the time. Whatever happens, don’t let it get to you”. He thinks, again, of the little girl alone at camp, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. Tyler thinks of how she so desperately wanted someone to say those words to her, to give her a reason to feel like she wasn’t alone. Tyler thinks of her, because Tyler is her. That little girl grew up to be the cool counselor, the one who spends his days playing, laughing, and joking with kids he never would have fit in with. The words; “boy or girl?” resonate with him so deeply, so clearly, because they are the words he was asked throughout his childhood. His was a childhood filled with uncertainty; filled with not knowing why he was so sad, why he couldn’t just be happy. Seeing Janie struck a chord with him that no other kid he met that summer did, or could have: he saw himself in her. He was a scared little girl who knew, without a doubt, that life wasn’t worth living unless she could be herself. She was scared of a life where boxes existed; but also scared of living without them.
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The Gong Anonymous
The ring of the gong sent shivers down my spine. The gong only rang for special occasions, or tragic ones. It was a Thursday, and I was supposed to be eating lunch when they called us all to the common room. “There has been a death in our community.” The head of school said. Her eyes stared down at her feet, she was stumbling over her words. I looked around the room frantically. I remember it never crossing my mind, that it was a student. That it was my best friend. The room escalated from silence to a chorus of no’s and why’s. I couldn’t think straight. I was infuriated. It felt so crowded, my vision tunneled. I could only see the sad and longing faces of the teachers looking out at me from the front of the room. I was waiting for them to say it wasn’t true. That she was just hurt, and everything was going to be okay. I just wanted nothing more than to leave, to get out of that suffocating area. I couldn’t stand to hear people cry. Crying over what hadn’t yet registered in my mind. I felt trapped, I looked for a familiar face to run to but I couldn't find any. My heart was pounding. I wanted so badly to run but it was as if my feet were glued to floor. There was no escape, how could they do this, just stuff us into this room like sardines, and watch our hearts break? My face glazed over, I was completely shattered. I had never encountered these feelings, this shock. The world stopped turning, time stood still. I was infuriated with the world, with the people in my life, with the cruel awakening of reality. This awakening is one that can take years of contemplation to understand. I constantly asked myself, “why her?” and speculated all of the what ifs. What if it had never snowed? What if she didn’t decide to go sledding that day? What if the rescue came faster, could they have saved her?
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My arms were trembling as I called every member of my family over and over. No answer. Instead memories flooded my mind. “The most beautiful discovery true friends can make is that they can grow separately without growing apart.” She said with a smile. It was 3:00am, she opened the window and crawled out onto the roof. We sat under the stars going back and forth about the future. “I just want to make sure that we are still a part of each others lives as we change and grow into different people.” She explained. “Always. I promise.” Our pinkies interlocked and we bit our thumbs, the ultimate pinky promise. We fully intended to keep that promise forever without knowing our forever could end so sudden. My feet broke free from under me, finally I got to leave. A group of us were guided to the annex building. We walked arm and arm. I looked around and saw her at every corner. Where I was walking in tears, was where I once ran to her in laughter. Those empty swings rocking back and forth in the field, they once held us. The tree branches we swang on after lunch, barren. I could hear her laughter, it was as striking as the morning sun. The kind of sound that can’t be mimicked, nothing could compare. The months that followed blurred together, as I waited for it to get easier. The truth is, the void of lifelong friend is one I can never fill. Coming to terms with reality, I have learned, is one of biggest struggles of growing up. Yet, had I not come to know and appreciate another person so young, the stars wouldn’t shine as bright as they do now. Had I never felt the pain of losing someone I loved, I would have never learned how to grow and adapt, to come to understand that its not the circumstances that determine who you are going to be, but how you deal with the problems and pain that come your way.
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Camp Tyler Randazzo
There is something familiar about this little girl. It is almost like he is seeing himself, his own pain, as he sees her. The counselor, Tyler, watches as she walks over to him. Her bright blue eyes provide a stark contrast to the ketchup stains on her tie-dyed t-shirt. She has short, brown hair, pink athletic shorts, and there is a mole on the right side of her face, right below her eye. Tyler notices her smile, the shy way she looks at him. He looks around at the other children that walk up to him to check in for the day. They aren’t like her. “This is Janie” his boss had said, “She’s going to be with you today”. He takes in the hot day, green leaves, sunny atmosphere. Everything about his place speaks of childhood, of happiness. The air is humid, and he feels sweat on his brow. He begins to corral the kids. He brings them up the gravel path to the beach where they will swim in the pond for an hour or so. As Tyler’s feet crunch in a steady rhythm against the rocks, the laughter of the children creates a harmony of summertime, of childhood. The counselor is younger than many of his co-workers. At 16, he has recently been thrown headfirst into his first job. He is quieter than usual, pensive almost, as he walks up the path. His mind replays a symphony of events; a little girl at an ice cream parlor, that same girl at her first sleep-away camp. She walks into her bunk, and she is crying, agonized by the way the other children treat her. His mind flashes back again. He sees her sitting alone at a lunch table, surrounded on all sides by roaring groups of 14 year olds. They are laughing, talking, and shouting. They are together, and she feels alone. Suddenly, Tyler is jolted back into the present by a group of children, smiling from ear to ear, roaring with laughter. He feels alone now, as he thinks of her. It’s late afternoon, and the air is starting to cool. Tyler makes a point to walk with Janie,
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Sleep Dancing in equilibrium,
Moxie Katherine Desimine
While laying still entering a limitless state of inertia, Consciousness no longer confined, experiencing infinity. Drifting into divine sublimity The mind is no longer observing that which has been created but is now creating what has yet to have been observed.
The Shrink Apathetically consoling the inconsolable hearing without listening looking without seeing I’ve seen a few And they’ve seen me But Only God knows if they saw anything
-Tyson McGrew
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Post Traumatic Sandy Disorder Noah Fisk
Games Payge Emerson
Ask the magic eight-ball “Should we evacuate? Will it be bad?” Wind blown, water logged wood and whipping The answer, a contemplative “Without a doubt” Without a doubt Friends, family, offer assistance Shelter, help Evacuation orders Family huddled around a cabin Wondering frightened and nervous Grandmother follows like a scared pup Unresponsive and anxious “When can we return?” Father, reclusive but holding head high and standing strong To go take a look A three mile walk, grey sky Road covered in flooded cars, eel grass Scattered boats, hundreds of them, pounds upon pounds of trash Waders filled to the top with the sea Surviving neighbors who stuck through Offer a greeting and coffee from their porch without any stairs; no cars nor shed Tells the tale of a ten-foot water surge
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Wolfgang Tori Breen
I stood at the window, watching my dad walk out the door to work, as I did everyday. He set out, blindly embarking on the path to school, avoiding our driveway. He did not see it, but I did. Wolfgang was lying in the road, as he occasionally did, but even at this young age, I could tell something wasn’t right. I screamed, and my father heard me through the open window. He turned around, panicked. He was sure something treacherous had happened to me. My beloved Wolfgang didn’t even cross his mind. Until he saw his body in the road. I rushed out the door, my dad joining me at the bottom of the driveway. We ran to Wolfgang.
Silent, unaware of the full outcome House in the distant fog The sight of a disaster A half a dwelling, no boats, no cars, no trees Everything below ten gone forever, Family heirlooms, pictures, history forever whisked away by the ocean Long nights up until dawn, camping out Neither heat nor electricity Just a sleeping bag and candles The ominous sound of looter’s cars driving by No lights on
I knelt at his feet, still wailing. He wasn’t moving. Completely still. His head was against the road, blood pooling in his mouth. My father scooped him up. He whispered, his voice tremulous and tight, as if his vocal chords were pulled taught. “Honey, would you go get Mom and call the vet?” I sprinted up the stairs, through the door, short of breath, grabbed the phone and screamed for
No lights anywhere
Mom. I raced back outside. Emotion kicked in, but I could not cry. My dad, still cradling Wolfgang, looked at me in a way I would never forget. Wise. Reminiscent. Embarrassed. I knew it was too late. Wolfgang’s eyes were glazed over. He was gone. He was still curled up in Dad’s arms, but somehow it wasn’t him. He was gone.
How does one move on from this
Across the bay, the island, quiet and placid National Guard’s truck lights on, the occasional sound of a helicopter Sleep in the cold brisk air, Contemplating, how to move on Where will all the money come from To fix anything Where to start And the answer, Without a doubt.
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Front Window
Lily Bennet
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