Watching Grass Grow
Wellington Highschool Literary Magazine 2020 Magic Dragon Volume 28
Programs used: Google Docs, Medibang Paint PRO, Adobe Spark Cover image taken by Raquel Garcia Art done by Katie Roark 2020 Fronts: Arial, Georgia, Local Brewery Four, Pacifico
“To hell with your opinion. I’ll follow my own path no matter what anyone else says” -Ryuko Matoi When I found out that my first year of literary magazine was also going to be my last, I felt like I was losing a part of myself that I didn’t even have yet. In the short amount of time I’ve been in this class, I have met so many wonderful people. To everyone who sat at my table: thank you. You guys have shown me what unconditional love truly is, and I can’t thank you guys enough. Mr. Laubscher, thank you for giving me this opportunity to find myself. Everyone in this class has individually impacted in a way to make me want to save my own life, because I knew that I would have people by my side helping me whenever I needed it. I have truly fallen in love with every single soul in this class, and 4-105 will always be filled to the brim with memories of happy faces and laughter. Thank you, for the first and last time -Katie Roark “There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.” -Jim Henson This year was a blast, from meeting some of the most caring people I’ve ever met, to learning everything I'm capable of. I'm devastated that this will be the end, but I'm more than glad I went on the journey. Thank you to everyone that spent time to get to know me and became my friend, I’ll cherish that forever. -Nikolas Litras
Editors in Chief Katie Roark Niko Litras Managing Editor Dimitri Litras Production Editor Parker Barry Copy Editor Katie Roark Publicity Director Abby Wescott Head Poetry Abby Wescott Associate Poetry Niko Litras Sophia Sanaia Kris Damaso Saliya Quinones Head Prose Ryan Fallmann Associate Prose Rudy Burton Katie Roark Ava Gold Mckenna Tosner Head Art Parker Barry Scapegoat Ryan Fallmann Faculty Advisor Trent Laubscher
Table of Contents
things that fall Sara Formanek..……………………….1 Chilling Temptations Katie Roark…………………………2 Serendipity Mercedes Pembroke………………………4 Art Haylie Wiles…………………………………………...5 Walking on My Hands Amber Ullery……………..6 Real Growth Adam Ramzy…………………………………9 Ode to The Rat King Ryan Fallamann…………….10 Art Stephanie Cabrera………………………………….12 Confinement Rudy Burton……………………………….13 Descent Elizabeth Adams………………………………….14 Walking For Dummies Nikolas Litras……………….16 Photo Raquel Garcia………………………………………..18 Heaven Dimitri Litras…………………………………...19 Motivational Change Sophia Lacosta………………….20 It’s ok. Ava gold…………………………………………...21 Photo Shannon Cooney…………………………………….23 Real Daydreams Mckenna Tosner………………….24 The Time Laura Sandobal………………………………….26 GivingGifts Katie Roark………………………………..27 Photo Jolie Skivington……………………………………..28 Letter to the Birds Living In My Wall Abby Wescott.....29 Game Day Ryan Hays…….………………………………….31 My Breathing I Love You Parker Barry………….32 Photo Megan Gonzales…………………………………….35
things that fall Sara FormanekÂ
teardrops from the eyes of broken hearted people that deserved more than the people who broke their hearts. petals from neglected flowers that never even met the inside of a vase, leftover from a mediocre valentine’s day. shooting stars that people wish upon when in reality they are just balls of gas burning up upon entry into the atmosphere. snowflakes and raindrops condemned to land on the earth that its inhabitants take for granted. the sun after an exhausting day of burning himself out for the moon and planets around him. people. people fall in love as quickly as they fall out, they are forever. eternally, falling with the teardrops and petals and stars and snowflakes and raindrops and the sun.
1
Chilling Temptations Katie Roark
Standing next to everyone else, you are a cometblazing, screaming for attention. You are full of fire, bursting at the seams. Your hands are like coals after a fire, still warm and comforting, not too hot to touch. Everyone else is a blizzard, there is still light in their eyes but it isn’t yours. Their eyes are glossed over, cold, looking into their eyes, is bone-chilling. I can feel my ribs cracking under the pressure of looking into the eyes of anyone but you. My joints are frozen, I am unable to turn away, I am foreign deep in these frostbitten pools, these frozen over lakes: I can see my reflection in the glossy lenses that cover the magic underneath. Because hiding in these frosty windows of betrayal and despair,
2
sits a one-way mirror looking in at a comet. Burnt out, no longer warm, the physical beauty now gone. You will soon become one of them. Every comet burns out at some point, usually before it ever makes a lasting impact on anybody. Every comet needs to be replaced. Glossed over with cold, meaningless pools of light, behind this soul-chilling facade, sits nothing but a pile of coals after a fire, burnt out, not even warm enough worth holding.
3
Serendipity
Mercedes Pembroke I gaze at the heavens, It glares back at me. The heat of the sun Prickles my skin As the green underneath me does. That same green Beseeches me to stay. How must it feel to be a cloud? Light, Free. My head seems To feel similar to the clouds. Dancing, Silent.
4
Art
Haylie Wiles
5
Walking On my Hands Amber Ullery
Sitting in the backseat of the car with my head resting on my arm against the door, I could feel the sun’s rays being trapped within the car. The door was locked of course. I didn’t want to hear about why I don’t want to end up walking on my hands down the freeway from my mom for the millionth time. My eyes constantly threatened to close, but my boredom overruled my need to sleep. My right arm laid at my side, loosely holding my favorite teddy bear while my left hand gripped tightly around my MP3 player. I was curled up on my seat, listening to Panic! At the Disco and imagining myself in scenarios that couldn’t possibly exist. I kept myself curled up in a tight ball against the door, avoiding the floor like lava. My brother sat across from me, splayed out across the seat with his head tilted back and mouth open. He never listened when I told him he would wake up with a crick in his neck, even though he always did. I think it was on account of the fact that I was only 11 at the time, and he was 16. I looked out the window, looking into the car driving next to us to see a brother and sister playing with their toys, smiling while their unicorn and dragon danced to their laughs. I sat across from them, trying to imagine a scenario where that could happen in this car. I took an earbud out to ask my mom for a mid-ride snack when I heard some news on the radio. A church in South Carolina had something bad happen. The guy was talking too fast, but I could make out that there was a gun involved. My mom gasped and my dad lowered his head in a disappointed type of despair. I took my chips and opened the bag, searching for a chip that was folded
6
over on itself to get the best crunch, looking up against the blank metallic inside to see if I could find it that way. I could hear my mom questioning why someone would do that, similar to how she reacted to any devastating news. Whether it’s a terrorist attack or a birthday cake crumbling to pieces because she took it out of the pan while it was still warm, my mom always knew how to use her emotions to the fullest. I always wondered how she did that. I still wonder about it. My dad sat in the driver's seat, relaying her emotions without any need for his own. He tried his best to make sense of it himself. I looked back at the door, unlocking and locking the door again just to be safe. I didn’t want to end up walking on my hands down the freeway. I looked up, noticing a tear rolling down my mom’s cheek. “Isn’t this just horrible?” I could hear the sympathy leaking from her eyes. I looked back up from choosing the next song, knowing I only had a few seconds to think of an answer. I curved my lips down slightly and looked back at her. “Yeah. It’s just awful.” She turned away, looking at the empty road while my MP3 went back to filling my ears with something other than air. I looked across the barrier between my brother and I, trying to sense any kind of emotion that I could display on my own. It was about as empty as the tissue box up front from my mom trying to compose herself after the news, while my dad tried to talk to her to keep her from having a meltdown.
7
I looked away from everybody else as I curled up against the door, letting the sun hit my face as I gazed down at the yellow line blurring past us on the road. I unlocked the door, wondering if there was a chance I would end up walking on my hands upside down on the high
8
Real Growth Adam Ramzy
Darkness. Nothing is visible, nothing is clear. The light gone for the night, And the fire in my soul not strong enough to fill the void. But in the strength of my heart, my soul is supported. And the fire burns like the sun. No fear, no longer, The void is filled. I can finally sleep in the jaws of the dark.
9
Ode to the Rat King Ryan Fallmann
This is an ode to the king of the rats that scurried on into my life. Tearing the rot from off of my bones and feeding it to all his lice. This is an ode to the lord of the scum accompanied by worms and ants. Whenever he sees a tear on my face he cheers me up with his little dance. This is an ode to the duke of the grime head being swarmed by flies. Running to me to gladly present when he molds a brand new mud pie. This is an ode to the earl of the trash his snot all drippy and green. Opening my eyes to a whole new world of fungus that I've never seen.
10
This is an ode To the count of roadkill sat atop a pile of soot. when I feel bored or a little bit stuck he will journey with me barefoot. This is an ode to the prince of the pests with his breath that smells of a hog. I love the pure joy in his crispy voice as he talks of his favorite frog. This is an ode to the baron of dirt teeth which he has only ten. Whenever I need a place to call home he welcomes me into his den. This is an ode to the filthy old man that goes by so many names. But whatever I choose to call him that day I call him best friend all the same.
11
Art
Stephanie Cabrera
12
Confinement
Rudy Burton Trapped in with all my thoughts as if I’m alone Heart cold, time is off, my spirits gone Longer nights, sleepless times, Im nonexistent To the further extent as similar to confinement Crossing paths of loneliness, staggering minds But there’s only one mind in this room As dark and scary as night I feel abnormal Hey to the person that talks to me In the inside Makes me feel decently sane No longer trapped just not easy to obtain Because no longer do I genuinely feel pain Cuz no longer do dark clouds represent rain Clouds similar to my pain holding in my brain But I run to corner to corner as if I had room As if I’m running to my certain hiding spot My hiding spot that no longer serves purpose Because while being confined it’s true The only thing holding you back is you
13
Descent
Elizabeth Adams As the altimeter begins to drop, tensions are rising aboard American Airlines flight 236A. Maya, the newest stewardess on the plane starts to assure passengers that everything would be alright. “Minor technical issues.” Nothing to worry about. 35,000. The seatbelt light turns off and Maya begins to prepare the cart full of peanuts and seltzer for the travelers on their way to Newark. Sudden turbulence stops Maya from carrying on with her duties of passing out refreshments to the impatient passengers. Maya’s stomach drops quicker than the altitude as the plane has an episode of tremors in the sky. 25,000. The shaking persists with seemingly no cause. The plane has turned into a violent cradle for a child who refuses to sleep. People are now turning to Maya for answers. They frantically search for an explanation to ease their in-flight worries. It seems that nobody can provide such information, but an announcement comes from the cockpit intercom: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing slight technical problems, please remain calm while we sort out this situation.” 15,000. Maya can now feel her small magenta hat trembling against her black hair.
14
The plane is still 500 miles from the airport and the flight attendants are called into the rear crew rest compartment to discuss their course of action. The head steward says that their main focus should be on keeping passengers calm but everyone else disagrees. The people in the last rows of the aircraft can hear the argument transpire which begins a series of whispers throughout the plane. Rumors of major technical difficulties are now swirling through the thinning air and with every breath, the passengers diffuse a new gossip into their brain, mistaking it for fact. The fact being that every crew member aboard the plane knows the technical problem is not minor, not slight. 10,000. The airplane is at a freefall now. The stomachs of panicked passengers have nowhere left to fall, they seem to be assisting gravity in pulling the plane toward Earth. Screams begin to fill the cabin but nothing can drown out the sound of Maya’s own heart beating in her ears. 5,000. 2,500. The horizon is getting brighter almost as if they’ve already reached heaven. 1,000. Hope is given up and all there is left to do is brace for impact. Like sitting in the fetal position on the floor will change the inarguable fact that the metal walls of the plane can’t protect anyone inside from the force of the collision. Maya looks out the window to see the orange sky setting above the city in the distance. Her last moments are spent imagining what the news headlines will be tomorrow morning.
15
Walking For Dummies Nikolas Litas
A simple, yet difficult task. Step 1: Get to realize the weight of your own feet. Notice how with each step it gets a little easier. Now apply a good amount of force when each foot hits the ground. You don’t want to lose your balance. What you might see as shackles keeping you down, are actually the means of your success. Step 2: Abide not by the ruling of gravity, but by your own. Even if gravity grabbed you by your ankles, It shouldn’t stop you from walking. Our feet attract to the ground for a reason, to keep us in perpetual motion. Gravity can’t stop you if you wear those Hermes boots. There is no reason an invisible force should prevent you from walking. Step 3: Walking can only benefit you. It improves your body, tones you up, makes you stronger. What's the point of having two legs, if you don't even use them?
16
Walking is a slow process. Advance further with each small step. Nothing can stop you from picking up one foot after the other, and getting somewhere.
17
Photo
Raquel Garcia
18
Heaven
Dimitri Litras A cosmonauts failed engine, his last companion dies shortly before he does. His head is tilted back and his hands lie on the controls. He occasionally pushes the handle forward. Mechanical shifting can be heard, there Is no movement though. Space is a vacuum of reason. Every star in the sky extends its years of light to him. He studies each dot looking for the subtle difference in their twinkle. He occasionally mumbles to himself just so he can hear a noise. Blooming nebula roses with solar thorns. Angel wings weaved from star systems. All the endless depth between. As he continues to drift the presence of the ship leaves him, he curls his legs and rests his head in them. All that exists around him envelops his body. And one by one, the star’s light begins to fade away.
19
Motivational Change
Sophia Lacosta Watching the grass grow The hands on the clock keep ticking Time is frozen Cars gathering dust My friends feel miles away Watching the grass grow It’s the only thing moving forward Other than the hourglass that passes the time I'm watching the world struggle But only through the glass of my window Watching the grass grow Thinking of the people who can't The people who no longer watch the time pass Forever frozen Watching the grass grow Reminds me to keep going
20
it's ok.
Ava Gold When I was little, I never questioned when someone said “It's ok”. Because back then, It always was, until it wasn't. When families tear apart, when “friends” aren't as friendly anymore, and school isn’t as easy as singing the abc’s. As I grew older, The more someone said “its ok” the harder it was for me to believe them. And pretty soon, I couldn’t believe what anybody had to say. If “it's ok” was a lie, how much more was? I started to question how much happiness was always a lie. And when you focus on how happy you really are, the small part of you that isn't, starts taking more control than it needs to. Every day blending together, like when mixing 2 primary colors in art class. Having an empty mind, like when you're little and have a pure soul. And when you listen to whatever your brain tells you, just like when you believed it when someone told you
21
“It's ok”. Sometimes, I forget how much I overthink my past. Because back then, It was really difficult for me to learn the abc’s. But now, all I can think about is how easy it was for me to sing.
22
Photo
Shannon Cooney
23
Real daydreams.
Mckenna Tosner I never really knew what Deja Vu was. When I was a child, I remember having that feeling and brushing it off like the dust surrounding my consciousness. I felt the puzzle pieces so perfectly drift into place, making the image I saw in front of me. I felt controlled, when my mother asked something familiar, I’d say what I did in my Deja Vu daydream. I call it a daydream solely because I do not know what it is and daydream is the closest thing that comes to mind. However, daydreaming has always been the opposite. What I daydreamed never came to life, but Deja Vu was always reality. When I realized everyone experienced it, I stopped thinking so greatly of the strange instances and started forgetting when they occured. The out of body moments that were once sunken into my memory, faded. The ones, I thought, had no influence.
24
So now, these small previews of reality are rare. They are marvels of the mind, unexplained and strange. They will continue to confuse and control me until the seconds that I somehow relieved, pass by.
25
The Time
Laura Sandobal I want to watch the grass grow. Breathe in the air, feel the wind blow. I want to spend forever in this moment. The moment where everything disappears The moment where I can stop, The moment I don’t have to think, just be still. Yet I’m not there. I just want to watch the grass grow. An appointment here. An assignment there. A responsibility in an hour, a distraction in a minute. All taking time never seeming to end, But I just want to watch the grass grow. Can I watch the grass grow? People are starting to stop. The world has never been quieter. The air has never been cleaner. Families have never been closer. I can watch the grass grow. No distraction here, no disturbance there. The grass has grown, but it is not done. I get to watch it more. The birds sing. The water is still. Nature is free. We can finally watch the grass grow.
26
Giving Gifts Katie Roark From the day the seed is planted, to the day it all burns to the ground. Sewing the threads for the farm of lost souls. Watching every person left without a meaning join you on your adventure. Sitting calmly on your rocking chair, as you watch them all get used to seeing people like them. Letting them know that they are not alone. Here in the meadow of lost souls, everybody has somebody made for them. Somebody exists for them to find. Giving a purpose to the purposeless, giving a home to the homeless, loving the unlovable. Helping them find a way to move on to the afterlife, leaving you to sit in the garden. Waiting for someone to give you a purpose so maybe one day, you can finally leave your garden of lost souls.
27
Photo
Jolie Skivington
28
Letter to the Birds Living In My Wall Abby Wescott The wind must’ve shook your nest a little too harshly when you were merely eggs to think a suitable place to raise your young is inside my wall You have managed to get past the tennis ball I have repeatedly lodged into the hole you’ve pecked and you’ve dodged every single pebble i’ve thrown at you and your kids I have allowed generations of your family to burrow and repopulate in my wall and yet you leave behind white excretion all over my window Now don’t get me wrong dear bird roommates I’m merely trying to give you a heartfelt push to the fresh luscious natural tree branches that are ten feet away from our home
29
Please consider moving out the bats that also inhabit my wall are filing noise complaints and that’s annoying too Now you get the choice to peacefully live in a tree as you are birds or await the wrath of my hose Sincerely, your neighbor on the other side
30
Game Day Ryan HaysÂ
I breathe in the aroma of the freshly cut grass fills my lungs, I step on the edge of the end zone, As I take my first steps on for the beginning of my final season. This is the grass that raised me, As the years went by I grew with it. The early mornings, the late nights, The green put me to sleep. It has seen me through highs and lows, As I have taken big blows. This is where I transformed into an athlete, It taught me how to compete, And made me feel more complete. My cleats are to turf, As the ball is to my heart, forever connected. I breathe in the aroma of the freshly demolished grass, I step on the edge of the end zone one last time, As I take my final steps off forever, putting a piece of me to rest.
31
My Breathing I Love You Parker Barry
So, I’m hunched over my journal, right? And I see my reflection in the computer screen in front of me, and I finally look like a poet. If that makes sense? I mean, I’m wearing a beanie and an oversized sweatshirtI am the aesthetic. I practically breathe poetic lines like like a lover breathes lies. My skin drips metaphors and when I wring out my body, my drippings are poetry. I am a sweat towel seeped in similes. Sighing angst, I am the embodiment of a rant poem. A rant poem just like my dad. My mom, a lengthy classic novel. When their letters wrapped around each other, from the fleeting love in their punctuation came me. Me, finally a socially acceptable poet type. I have candles along my window sill, crystals, and loud loud music. I’m a poet now because you all think I am. I’m talking like a poet, I’m on a stage like a poet, Spitting fair points like a poet so you’ll give me points like a poet for god's sake.
32
I’m finally everything you’ve all wanted me to be. I bleed ink! Want me to show you? I will slice off my left hand and throw it at the judges table in a spinning bloody crescendo. I’ll wrap the mic cord so tight around my bones that the tendons forget what it’s like to breathe. Listen to the sound of bones crushing underneath my voice. I am living, breathing lyrics. I’ll crack open my ribcage right here for you, on this stage for you. Let me flip through the pages I keep private. My breath making the words rise and fall in a natural rhythmEven my words have a pulse. Can’t you feel this performance breathing? Breathe with me poets, breathe. Can’t you feel it in your bones, as entire thesauruses and dictionaries burn their contents into your perfect, white skeleton. It is the only page where a poet's words are chosen for them. These words especially, are the only things that’ll never leave us. Keep your journals close and your inspirations closer. We’re poets. We have this terrible need to stay so close to our pain that it can read our poetry over our shoulders. 33
We give names to the things lurking in the dark so we can remember them for the next day when we write about all of their best qualities. We make friends with what ails usbecause we have to. We dwell too long on the poems we can’t write, obsess until we have destroyed everything in the room but our journal, a pen, and everything we hate about ourselves. Because if there’s anything left to hate, you are still there. This is me, hating myself. I’m a poet because I can hate myself and love every crack in my voice when I am up here, every drop of spit and syllable that comes out of my mouth. I am not a poet because you think I am. I am poet because I wanna be and I have tried so hard to love her the way that she loves me, and this, this is me loving her. My living breathing “I love you,” In my oversized hoodie and teenage angst, I am a poet. I am a poet.
34
Photo
Megan Gonzales
35