PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2017
ONE-WEEK COMMUTER INTENSIVE CREATIVE WRITING ANTHOLOGY
An Anthology of the Works of Risktakers This work represents those students who attended the 2017 Creative Writing One-Week Intensive in the Pre-College Program at the University of the Arts. These pieces were self-selected by each individual student from the class exercises in which they participated. RAHUL MEHTA
One-Week Intensive Creative Writing Instructor BA ‘94 University of North Carolina Chapel Hill Public Policy MFA ‘03 Syracuse University Creative Writing
ROSI DISPENSA
Director, Pre-College Programs BFA ‘04 The University of the Arts Photography
CREATIVE WRITING ANTHOLOGY
THE UNIVERSITY OF THE ARTS PRE-COLLEGE STAFF
MA ‘11 The University of the Arts Art Education SHANNON GINGELL
Assistant Director, Pre-College Programs WILLIAM DEBUONO
Program Assistant, Pre-College Programs
UARTS.EDU/SUMMERINSTITUTE
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THIS IS THE PLACE. U ARTS
WRITERS 4
15
COBY KEREN
Slam
CHASE ALLEN
An Unusual Dinner
Together
Forgotten Stories
Rush .
Windows
6
BEN GAGLIARDI
Fallen receipt
The Summit
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JESSICA LANE
The World As It Is
Exteriors
Awakening
Creatures of the Night
Browser History
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IZZY GIBSON
In Medias Res
Forkless Road (101 Words)
20
Or Orange
Addiction
11
HAPPY JALLURI
Jail Fight
Marriage
Emerald River
Why Do I Write?
3.14159265358979323846 264338327 13
ELLIE NEILSON
Breast Portrait Triptych - Oil on Canvas
Recipe for Numbness (quick, easy and effective!)
21
SOPHIA SCHWAB
The Life We Plan
Heart of gold
CREATIVE WRITING ANTHOLOGY
3.14159265358979323846
Crossroads
ALVARO JODAR
New Expedition
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CHASE ALLEN Slam
I am split in two. My leg seemed to have a perfect straight line running from my knee down to my calf. I couldn’t feel a thing, I wondered why my friends and neighbors stared at my leg unconsciously eyebrows raised as high as their forehead allowed. I looked down and could see a gash the size and shape of Arkansas. I had went up for a dunk, which was lowered for dunking purposes. I landed awkwardly due to being pushed mid air, I hit the pole of the basketball goal and was greeted by an old rusty screw. The screw cleanly ripped the first layer of defense struggled through the second then stopped right before my bone. The pain was absent at first, but at glance notice the excruciating pain quivered through my leg.
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
Together
“Hey honey, the food smells great.” Justin then inhales the sweet aroma of jerk chicken. “Is that Jamaican?” Justin quickly asked. “Yes,” Rebecca softly muttered as her eyes dribble across the room finding something new to stare at with each passing second. “Well you should wash up the food will be ready in a couple minutes,” staring blankly at the finished food screaming to be plated. Justin nods his head, and scurries to the bathroom he turns the doorknob cautiously and keeps it turned to shut it as quiet as possible. Justin lunges for the faucet, the hot steamy water acts as an ally for his cold brittle hands. “JUSTIN, the food’s ready,” Rebecca yells, her voice in a steady decline through each word. Rebecca now standing two inches higher reaching for the merlot, which was gifted by a family friend on their wedding day. “Coming,” Justin yells back over the streaming water. Justin rushes out the bathroom without forgetting to flush his pockets and an old crumble recipe. Justin now hovering over beautifully seasoned chicken, Justin sees the wine bottle but doesn’t comment knowing he doesn’t want to go down that road. “How is the book coming along?” Justin asked now with each breath controlling his entire diaphragm. “Stellar,” Rebecca claimed gulping the wine with no cup in sight. Justin snapped ignoring her sarcastic remark. “Hunny you know jerk seasoning can preserve meat for days?” asked Justin. “Well you are what you eat,” Rebecca claimed. Justin chuckles, ignoring the elephant in room as he salivates the meal. Rebecca slams the bottle down. “Cut the bullshit Justin I know you didn’t have work today and I checked our bank account.” Justin now submissive, “okay hunny-,” Rebecca cuts off. “Stop with the hunny!” Rebecca now standing over Justin with scarlet red wine now staining her beautiful white teeth. Justin hands raised expecting a hit. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “I didn’t cheat!” He claims, “We just went out to eat and I left after I swear.” “That sounds like a date to me,” Rebecca declares aggressively reaching for
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the bottle to take another swig. “Rebecca I’m sorry, ever since you’ve been working on your novel I’ve just been so lonely.” “ Lonely? I’m working on this novel for the both of us, your job barely gets bills paid, this novel you despise will make things a little easier around here.” “Lonely,” she whispers taking another gulp of wine. Rush .
I’ve never felt so vulnerable . I can’t fathom life without you . I keep my guard because I fear the hurt . I panic when you are not around . I have yet to accept this demanding commitment . It’s been the hardest thing I have ever dealt with . But the passion consist even when i don’t see fit . This burning desire persists when tense . I feel at ease in the simplest sense . A walk with you is a pure evening bliss . I’ve never felt so comfortable . never so warm . A simple mean so much . 100 doves flying at once . my love for you is an everlasting blush .
CHASE ALLEN 5
BEN GAGLIARDI The Summit
A single sensation. The bitter cold of snow against my face. It is all I feel. My muscles have left me long ago, fallen somewhere amongst the waves of the white stone ocean I leave behind. My mind is going numb. I realize this as the clean white snow of the mountain slopes fades to black, a crisp white ring of light calling me to rest.
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
As I draw my dying breath, I take one final look at the heavens. Illuminating the clear, blue sky of the morning are thousands of stars woven into galaxies, their light brighter and clearer than any light I have seen before. Even with the unfathomably high summits of greater mountains all around me as I lay dying on this downward slope, I feel as though this is right for me, that I have reached my own summit in life, and that this view is the reward which lay at the top.
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I let out a long sigh of relief, my breath crystallizing in the air before my eyes. My hand is raised above my chest, sagging limp from my stiff forearm. Beholding a sight so magnificent, tears begin to well up in my eyes. They too begin to freeze, and I close my stinging eyes. Before me, the same white ring of light grows more and more defined, and then everything fades to black. The World As It Is
The hero stands alone in a passing crowd Wearing nothing but caked blood and mud-stained rags, Holding in their hands the very world itself, a thing invisible to the naked eye
Awakening
BEN GAGLIARDI
Land torn asunder Reckoning Soil and sea collide Frothing The Earth has been roused Erratic pulse A million tiny thoughts, just passing dreams Tore away at her luscious skin Her blood flowing Little dreams turned nightmares When they flew too high, dug too deep Striking a nerve, they sealed their fate Now she’s licked her wounds, cleansed the dried blood The dream is no more, just a fading morning memory Long lost The sun sits high today, morning has come Open, vibrant, flawless nature Clean water flowing Blood made pure A million years made nothing in a day
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IZZY GIBSON
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
In Medias Res
He hits the search button. “There is no known information about your parents… Their names are in the database but that is the only information…” “What? How is that possible?” “I don’t know. Nothing is coming up...” “C’mon now, I can’t have no parents! Try looking up my Grandparents. Their names are Brenda Jones and-” “I just looked you up and it says there is no direct relative known aside from cousins, aunts, and uncles, who are all marked as only children.” “S**t. I gotta go… I’ll be back later on.” “Sorry about all this, Mr. Jones.” “Don’t apologize. We’re not done yet.” I leave. I’ll never be done. Not until I know what the f**k is going on. Sorry for throwing you into the middle of all this s**t in medias res style. The name’s Ahmir Sean Jones, but I go by Sean. I’m 22 and my parents disappeared when I was six. I’m trying to find them. I step out of the Ancestry center. Fresh Philly air blows in my face and I get a whiff of a trash truck as it drives by. That jawn stank. I head back to work, hungry, because I used my lunch break to continue the search for my missing fam. I haven’t been able to find any valuable information that I didn’t already know. It’s discouraging, but I miss them, and that drives me. I work on a construction site as part of the union. It’s rough work, but it pays well, and you get pretty jacked. “Hey!” “Oh s**t!” My practical brother, Rich, scared the s**t outta me. I should have seen that one coming. “Don’t do that s**t to me Rich! You know that scares the life outta me!” “Hahaah! You should know by now that’s why I do it. Any luck?” “No, not really. But I’mma get you back!” “You always do…” He says with a chuckle. “C’mon. Let’s go, we’re like 20 seconds late.”
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We head down to the hotel we’ve been working on for the past couple months. It’s taken longer than expected because the architect wanted it to just be a renovation but then the final outcome would have come out differently than he anticipated (though it would have been perfectly usable), and that didn’t bode well with him so he blew the motherf**ker up and started anew. He’s as stubborn as a tree stump. A couple hours pass by, and I get off work early. Don’t ask me why, my boss just said I could. I was thinking about continuing my endless search, but I need some time to myself. I head back to my apartment. My two roommates are out, just as I had suspected, so I dance for a while. Not silly stupid dancing, but Hip Hop freestyling. My hobby. My passion. Flow to match the music, let it carry you. Now I’m tired as hell, but I’m feeling better. In fact, I’m quite happy. I’ll take a nap with that mindset. Hold tight I’ll be back later. Forkless Road (101 Words)
IZZY GIBSON
I stand. Not waiting, but hesitating. The forkless road carries on into the sunset, almost beckoning me to chase it. But I stand. I have a long way to go, and the tree beside me is awfully inviting. Its restful base and open arms beckon me. But I can’t. I’ve waited long enough. Only one way to go, it would be useless to go back. The future is ahead. It is becoming dark. I must not miss my opportunity. I muster up courage and take a step. I move almost nowhere. But it is progress. Or Orange
Or, the frostbitten leaves thaw because of the glowing orange in the sky. Then it will drip. It’s melancholy tears, a reminder that their is hope in darker days approaching.
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3.14159265358979323846
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
[This can be read as a conversation, so one reads every other line.]
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3. Life is weird. 1. Odd. 4. Misshapen in a way. 1. Broken. 5. But not an unusable broken. 9. Broken so that it’ll always be somewhat differently made. 2. That’s crazy. 6. Like the song “Broken” by Gorillaz. 5. That illustrates it near perfectly. 3. Good song, too. 5. It’s full of endless possibilities. 8. No two lives will ever be the same. 9. Life is also a gift not to be abused. 7. It wants to be loved and cherished. 9. We make bad decisions for small moments of happiness. 3. Like a concert. 2. Or drugs. 3. Or a relationship. 8. But mistakes are human, and we are human. 4. Just a small reminder. 6. Thank you for your valuable time.
HAPPY JALLURI Jail Fight
Anger rises in the room Filled with clothes of a bright orange, An alarm fills the air as fists come flying. Marriage
I started walking before the sun rose. I needed space, to clear my mind and forget the fight. My body felt tired, from sleeping on the couch. I looked ahead, eyeing the steep path I had to go on. As I walked forward, I grabbed a stick. Why not take the help of something to complete this stretch? When I reached the top, the sun was still rising to its high post. I laughed with joy watching the birds soar. As I returned to the house, she ran forward and hugged me. Hand in hand, we turned and started walking up. Emerald River
The water gleamed, as if the sun was reflecting a treasure of emeralds hidden below the surface. It exposed the treasure and stole its beautiful color, causing itself to become an emerald river and working to capture the eyes of any passing stranger. It was in competition with the sky, to win the eyes of the humans; but the sky was losing, as the marshmallow clouds were concealing its ocean blue essence. The tall buildings coward in the sunlight, their colors radiating as if they were the insides of exotic fruits from overseas. Statues come to life beneath the trees and under protective shadows casted by the buildings. They dance to the flow of the river, steering clear of the smoldering sun.
HAPPY JALLURI
A short piece inspired by Walter Stuempfig’s oil painting “Serenade”
Alongside the river, walk couples with their lips stretching past the edges of their face in a grin. And in a circle not far from the river, sat people of all colors. Their laughter carried with the wind and traveled down the river to other cities far and wide. They sat in the luscious grass the hue of jealousy or on boxes made of splintering wood. In the distance, their children and wives walked. The wives talked about their day spent baking bread and buying eggs from the market down their street. And the children ran, they stared at the fish in the river and wished they were able to leap in. A teenage boy idled near a hill, his shadow casted behind him while he gazed off in the distance daydreaming of a fair Verona. Not far off from him, stood an old man who wore a hat the color of a stormy sky and a coat the color of the night. In his arms he held a guitar and he played a soft beat; serenading the people and the statues, the buildings and the clouds, and even the river with hidden treasure. 11
Why Do I Write?
Because in the darkness, it serves as light. Because in the light, it serves as the night. It is the dark night with the stars. The stars. The possibilities. The world’s out in the endless sky. The ones we will never find, the ones that will rain down on us. Because, it is everlasting. I will write today, tomorrow, and always. 3.14159265358979323846264338327
Then she laughed. Boisterously. Suddenly she became quiet. Silence. Before she stood and turned. She began to walk into the deep, dark woods. Without fear. I began to follow her wearily. My bones shook, blood boiling.
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
“Stop, COME BACK!” My voice deeply vibrated, afraid. She turned around, excitement in her hazel eyes.
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“Come on, we can become explorers, do the unthinkable!” I nodded slowly, following in her steps. These woods held creatures of uniqueness, scary and deadly. I was scared. Very scared. My heartbeat rapid. My hands shook, as I held her near. She tightened her grip. Reassuring me that she was here. My hand stopped shaking. We gazed ahead. The path eerie. The trees swayed, dancing with our steps. The air filled. A howl. We jumped, but continued deeper into darkness.
ALVARO JODAR New
I am a new student. A little child ready to experience something completely new. Prepared to arrive to this task I quickly give my mother a kiss goodbye and run to the bus. Once I entered, the driver looked at me up and down and let me in. As I walk down the bus, a few children like me stare at me in awe. “Who is that?” It appeared that a new face was a strange affair for these people. The bus ride was much faster than I thought and I rushed into what seemed to be a majestic looking school. As I walk in I ask my Bus driver Buddy where to go, “Try going through the front” with a distorted laugh at the end. In utter embarrassment I walk into the principal’s to see where exactly I must go for class. I was given a locker that I did not quite yet understand how to use as I stopped by after every class, an extremely unpractical act. As the principal elucidated to where I had to go, I learned that Italian class was my destination. As I shamefully walk in with my head tilted down I mumble to the teacher sorry in spanish. Once I rapidly sat down in a strange squeaky chair with individual desks attached to them I quickly look to my left and a child whispers: “Hi, I’m Thomas”.
A crisp summer air, with the wind cooperating a struggling breath and rhythm blasting through my ears. Every second, 3 thumps of force vibrate through the uneven ground. What quickly approaches, fades almost instantly, yet the destination looms. Majestic columns that have the class of a Greek opera excites the journey. Once arrived, the challenging steps proceed to the massive museum. The run is partially complete and as I make a quick stop, euphoria quickly saturates my brain. I rapidly look around and hope not to get judged from my elevating arms up imitating the Philadelphia hero, Rocky Balboa. As I run back I realize the overwhelming diversity of physical appearance and class in such proximity. Despite all this diversity, separation continues. Even myself the observer remains a part of the immense division of the people of my surroundings. I snap out of it and observe the Philadelphia skyline. As the sun sets, I could feel the shadows of the buildings touching me and elevating my soul. The shadows, a spirit untouched overtake light to darkness like a fallen human.
ALVARO JODAR
Expedition
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Looking back at the steps, my brain transitions to the music in my ears that constantly blast a rhythm that I follow. The lyrics are almost ignored, and the beat becomes the guide and drive to my feet’s movement. My trotting continues at the same pace attempting to surpass my previous results. My struggling breath persists like a dog reaching for a cookie on the kitchen table. I quickly follow my common strategy of putting myself somewhere else at another time.
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
As I look to my right, I see the oncoming sunset on the main line in the north west of Philadelphia. My time calling it home has ended, in the same way as the day’s natural light. To my right is the past, to my left the future, and in front the present. My destination is almost grasped. The schuylkill was on my side, replicating my foot patterns with its calm, snaky rhythms. The heart of Philadelphia keeping my own feet beating tumultuously towards the end of my journey. Once finally arrived, I look up in dismay, clear my forehead of my falling sweaty hairs and look around in pure elation.
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COBY KEREN An Unusual Dinner
Marissa and John sat quietly at their table, each focused on the warm dish of Italian food their waiter had set before them. “First date in a while, huh,” John said between bites, breaking the silence. “Yeah,” replied Marissa, after a pause. Another silence followed, the only present sounds between the couple being the soft classical music drifting through the restaurant and the low conversations occurring at nearby tables. Marissa continued to spoon her food with her right hand, but her left hand clenched and unclenched beneath the table. “How much do we need to pay the babysitter?” John casually questioned, oblivious to Marissa, who was blinking furiously and looking at her food. Her lips were pursed together with the edges slanted downwards.
“So work has been pretty tough lately?” Marissa asked, with more force behind her words.
COBY KEREN
Marissa’s brow furrowed, as she muttered, “Not sure.” A few seconds passed, until Marissa finally looked up from her food and stared directly at John, with a new hardness in her eyes.
“I guess,” John muttered, now staring sheepishly at his food. He shifted in his chair, and bit his bottom lip, before continuing with, “My boss has been asking me to work late a lot.” John ever so slightly nodded to himself, as if deeming this as an adequate answer. He looked up, locking eye contact with Marissa and putting on a superficial grin. Again, Marissa’s left hand formed a fist under the table. Her fingernails dug into her palm. She started to say something, but stopped herself. The tension in the air lay heavy on the two like morning fog on a lake. Mellow classical music bubbled through the restaurant, highlighting the silence between them. “Honey, is there something wrong?” John inquired, fearing the seeming inevitable answer. Marissa sighed. “No.” She paused. “I think as I get older, I get more paranoid. That’s all.” Relieved, John quickly began to console her. “Don’t worry honey, I’m sure you’re fine.”
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Later in the night, as the two walked their car, John smiled to himself. He felt satisfied, with how he defused the situation that came up in the restaurant. John looked off into the distance, noticing the lights from the city illuminating the night sky. Only Marissa noticed the light John’s phone emitted from his pocked, with texts reading another woman’s name. Forgotten Stories
“I’ve been a writer since I was a child, getting a book published is my dream,” he muttered through his thick and unkempt beard in response to my question. “So what are you always writing so furiously on that notepad when I pass by your corner?” I asked.
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
“Stories,” he replied. “Stories that someday I will share with the rest of the world.” He looked away and shook his cup at pedestrians passing by. The jingle of nickels and dimes bouncing together rang in my ears. I moved his cardboard sign and set myself down, resting my back on the tree next to his mat. I made out the looming stench of sweat and stale urine, but I ignored it. “Can I read one?” Windows
The windows were what stood out to me about the apartment building on Willow St. It was not a work of great architecture by any means. Rather, it was a squat building, old and plain. This building didn’t exactly fit in on Willow St., a place that had recently undergone a transformation into one of the more modern, and sophisticated parts of the city. It served as a reminder of the past in a new age of modern infrastructure. The windows speckled the building like the seeds in a poppy seed cake. Sitting on a bench facing this building, I was given a glimpse into people’s lives. The light from each room enabled me to view what occurred behind the glass. I was fascinated by the warmth the windows created at night through their collective light. Varying in shapes and sizes, every window was unique, as were the people that lived behind them. The only thing these windows had in common, was that every night, one by one, the light would go off.
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Fallen Receipt
Whole Foods Market 103 Mason Street Eggs……………...2.99 Fish……………….6.49 Mayonnaise….……..2.49 Toilet Paper………..4.49 Glue………………...1.99 Slingshot……….….7.99 Scissors.……………1.49 Rope…………..…...6.99 Kitchen Knives…..17.99 Revenge……...Priceless COBY KEREN 17
JESSICA LANE Exteriors
The exterior of the building was cold. Iron fencing was thrust into the dirt, black paint now chipped and worn. Brown grass lined the seemingly empty space. Carefully laid bricks formed plain, unwelcoming walls. My feet stopped moving. I had no desire to step any closer. My gaze moved across the building once more. I froze. Two windows were now etched into the brick. A wooden chair sat upright in each, checkered curtains hanging on the edges. Suddenly I heard it, laughter drifting through the air. I took a step forward smiling. The interior was calling to me, and I followed.
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
Creatures of the Night
I muttered a curse under my breath as the rabbit a few feet away slipped out of my trap. Perched in a nearby tree, I sent an arrow flying after it, pursing my lips as it sliced through the air piercing the ground, only inches away from the puff of fawn colored fur. Night was now seeping into the forest and my chance for hunting was over. I guess berries would have to be good enough for tonight. I clutched my stomach as it rumbled in protest. I was growing tired of staining my lips with red berries, their sweetness never really filling my empty stomach. Sighing, I swung down from my perch, trudging over to my arrow, I leaned on one knee to rip it from the ground. Sliding it back into my quiver, I paused. The forest had grown unnaturally quiet. The birds no longer chirped, and it seemed as if the usually lush wildlife had all but disappeared. I knew exactly what this meant. My mind began to race. Wren. I leapt to my feet, if my sister was hurt, God I don’t know what I’d do. My footsteps began to pick up speed as my thoughts continued to race, fighting to keep my feet light on the ground, I broke into a full sprint. My quiver and bow stayed slung across my shoulder as my feet moved, barely touching the ground. As I drew closer to our hut their pungent, choking scent filled my nose. I slowed to a stop, in one quick movement I slid the bow off my shoulder and notched an arrow. I narrowed my eyes, fighting to adjust to the unnatural darkness. Creatures of the night, I remember my mother saying once, they feed off the darkest secrets of your soul, they twist your memories, leaving your mind broken and useless. Never let them inside. But what if I can’t stop them? I had responded. Then you better give up on living now, she had said, her voice as icy as the creatures themselves. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts, they were already beginning to affect my memories, bringing light to my misery.
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Browser History
JESSICA LANE
Best Dating sites How to get a guy to like you How to flirt with guys Best Italian restaurants Seattle WA Eye makeup tutorial Nail salons near me What to wear on first date Best anniversary present ideas How to tell if a guy is cheating How to ask boyfriend about other girl Period 2 weeks late How to get back period How to tell if pregnant Way to test for pregnancy Best pregnancy tests Are abortions painful Are abortions safe Abortion clinics near me How to tell parents if pregnant How to tell family if pregnant How to earn money fast Jobs available Seattle WA Will antidepressants hurt baby Will Prozac hurt baby How to be happy Cutest baby names Most beautiful name for baby girl Adoption centers near me. Crossroads
I stood, wrought iron rose from the ground in front of me, twisting around itself and spreading outwards, like branches of a tree. Ending in elegant black curls, the towering figure formed a gate. Beyond it shadows hung like torn rags, silhouettes hunched in the distance. Shivering, I dragged my eyes away, and turned. Behind me a glowing white gate rose from the ground. Beyond it sunlight bounced off every surface. I turned back to the blackened gate. Sunbeams once danced over my skin, and I longed for their warmth. But they had told me what I was, and I listened.
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ELLIE NEILSON Addiction
Addiction finds her way into a crowded room, Dripping in gold jewelry and gems Clouding my vision with her sweet, senseless lies
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
Breast Portrait Triptych - Oil on Canvas
What is it exactly that makes her a woman? Is it the way her body curves like a snake slithering across the ground in front of your toes? Is it the roundness of her breasts or the way they lay so perfectly on her chest? Is her femininity defined by the plumpness of her lips or how her cheeks flush crimson when you look her straight in the eye? Is it her shyness or the fact that she doesn’t know how beautiful she is? Or would it be the way her hips sway ever so slightly back and forth when she walks the way a ship rocks slowly on a calm blue day? What about her skeleton? Her bones. Or her smooth muscle fiber on the inner lining of her stomach? Or her lungs maybe; what about their continuous aeration and deflation that keep her upright? Do her kidneys make her feminine? Could it be her spinal cord, electrically charged and constantly firing a million times over? Look into her eyes. Gaze deeply with wonder and curiosity. And ask her. Recipe for Numbness (quick, easy and effective!)
What you’ll need: a large bowl, an electric mixer, cookie sheet, self doubt Ingredients: 1. A traumatic or neglectful childhood (either works) 2. Early drug use (optional; include for a feeling of insatiable hunger after eating) 3. Flour 4. A pinch of self loathing (maybe more depending on your particular taste) 5. A bad relationship or breakup, 2 cups (this item is optional; include for a more bitter after taste) 6. Hereditary depression/anxiety, 3 tablespoons 7. Self destructive behavior, half a cup 8. At least 50 milligrams of Zoloft (or more depending on your personal preference; shorten cook time by 20 minutes for each added 25 milligrams) 9. 2 eggs 10. Denial (mix in an entire 40 oz container until the mixture becomes a murky opaque grey) 20
SOPHIA SCHWAB The Life We Plan
Sunday ritual: walk the dog, read three manuscripts, cook dinner, order Christmas gifts. Felicity James reached for the leash that was coiled around an open coat hook adjacent to the door. “Come on Annie, come on!”, she exclaimed enthusiastically clapping her hand coaxing the dog’s eyelashes open. Annie, recognizing the noise, eased herself off the carpet leaving an imprint. Felicity reached down and clipped the leash to Annie collar and led her out the door. The mailman, who had held is hand up to knock, was startled when the door stretched open revealing Felicity and her dog hovering in front of her.
… “My dad wrote me another letter. Another letter. He has not reached out in ten years and now decides to write a letter. How did even find my apartment?” Felicity spoke quietly to herself. The brisk air grazed her cheeks coating them in pink. She turned the corner her feet pounding on the pavement and guiding her to along the path they have walked countless times. Her father had abandoned her mother and her when she was only six. Felicity, being six, would still come home waving in the air a stick figure picture of the three of them. Her mom with a heavy hurt would still place the picture on the fridge. In time, that little girl gained knowledge. Knowledge of where her dad was, knowledge of love, and knowledge of loyalty. She no longer brought home pictures of three and no longer asked where dad was or pictures at all. Instead she wrote stories of princesses and faraway lands and kept the hidden stories of her father tucked under the left corner of her mattress with her box of crayons. Felicity entered the park and steered towards a bench that had been showered with snowflakes. It had only began to snow and people were still in the park taking advantage of the day light. Felicity’s eyes fell upon and old couple. Their hands were shielded in knitted gloves and their hair with knitted hats. The man had glass with the slightest crack in the light lens and his boats were scuffed at the toes. The lady had not a hint of makeup and her eyes were glassy from the cold. They seemed to be talking about the book that sat between them, one side balancing on his knee the other’s on her knee. Their voices carried a hint of an accent and seemed to carry a
ELLIE NEILSON + SOPHIA SCHWAB
“Ms. James here is your mail” he mumbled placing them in her outstretched palm before bolting down the hallway. She had been living in this building for three years and has always been itching to ask the mailman if he read anyone’s mail. She imagined him leaning against the wall of the elevator immersed in a letter. Storing the thought, Felicity shuffled quickly between the mail unfazed by the contents. The only mail she received was magazines from clothing stores she frequently shopped at, Barnes and Noble, and the occasional letters from her grandfather. Her breath caught as her fingers held the envelope. She recognized the handwriting. He had found her.
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story. A story of two families that came from an old country, a country that contained castles and breathed monarchs. Their families moved here because her father wanted to create his own publishing company and his mother desired to open her own little book shop. Each grew up on a street with people shared the same tongue and praised the same food. Felicity’s pen ran out of ink and she glanced back at the old couple who had left the bench and began to reach the end of the park. Their hands were now interlaced and they seemed to steady each other. She glanced around the park, but the spark of creativity had diminished and she closed her notebook and rose from the bench. The letter was still sitting on her counter collecting dust and Felicity decided as the old couple walked out her sight that she would let it and her mom would never hear of it.
PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE
Heart of Gold
Little hands with little fingers. Fingers with dirt under the nails from countless hours in the sun pretending to be a knight or a superhero or the villain. Little hands that are smooth to the touch with lines pretending to be branches. Do you remember that little girl? The wanderlust and curiosity Before knowledge stole it and she learned not to ask The gift of being able to see the beauty in every single Object or living thing. Where adventures were driven by creativity When the smallest of creatures could carry a mystery Even the smallest toy seemed to be able to fill pages in a book. Being a child was a form of magic. We gain knowledge Our hearts become heavy Our hair turns gray Our hands are covered in lines Created by the signature of time. We believe we lost that creativity. But the truth is We are all still children because of love. The love we have for people, For places, For animals, For even the smallest taste of emotion. Love preserves the child like wonder.
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THE UNIVERSITY OF THE ARTS PRE-COLLEGE PROGRAMS 320 S. BROAD STREET PHILADELPHIA, A 19102 Email PRECOLLEGE@UARTS.EDU Phone 215.717.6430 Web UARTS.EDU/SUMMERINSTITUTE