Favonius TheWSS and Favonius collaborate to feature student creativity.
West High’s Literary and Art Magazine April 2013
FROSTBITE
By Ethan Jorgensen ’14
Hi, Teddy! I’m home! Did you miss me? I missed you very much. Mommy says I can’t bring you to school, but it’s real cold out anyways so I don’t know if you’d like it. It started to snow today, so we should go play outside. Maybe we can make a snowman! Mommy won’t let me go outside, though, because it’s too cold right now and she says she doesn’t want to have to keep track of me all the time. She’s working right now, so I’m not supposed to bother her anyways. She got real mad last time I bothered her, and it made me all sad but as long as I stay in here we can play and she won’t be mad. Daddy’s been gone for a while, Teddy, but Mommy says he’s coming back today and we’re leaving real soon to go meet him. She says he has to go places very far away to work so we can get enough money, which is important so we can go to school and eat food and get toys. I learned a lot in school I want to tell him about! I can count all the way to a hundred now! Mommy says he’s real busy and she doesn’t like it when Daddy and I play together but he never gets mad and he looks like he has a lot of fun. He helps me learn a lot, too! Mommy never does that but that’s just because she’s real busy all the time. Mommy says we’re leaving to go see Daddy because he’s coming back from working! He’s at the airport, which isn’t very far away, but it’s real cold so Mommy puts me in my coat. It’s pink and purple and real heavy and it gets hot inside but it helps so I don’t get too cold. Mommy puts me in the car and she starts driving away and she says something real quiet but she seems mad so I just try not to make any noise because that makes Mommy angry. The windows are all white and I can’t see through them very much because it’s so cold outside. Once they start to get clearer, I see all the snow on the trees and all the Christmas lights and it looks real happy outside. Can you see them, Teddy? Aren’t they pretty? I always like Christmas because if we’re real good then Santa comes and gives us presents! Daddy tells us
Cover art by Colleen de Matta ’14 2 FAVONIUS INSERT APRIL 2013
all about Santa. He’s a big fat man in a red coat and he lives at the North Pole.When it’s wintertime, you have to make sure you’re not naughty or all he’ll give you for Christmas is coal! I’ve never gotten coal, though, because I’m real nice. Mommy gets angry sometimes when Daddy tells us about Santa, but I don’t know why. All around wintertime she’s real mad, though, so you have to make sure to be quiet and then she doesn’t get as mad at you. Mommy says we’re there, so she gets me out of the car. She looks a little bit mad when she sees I brought you, but you’re my best friend so I can’t leave you behind. I love you, Teddy! She grabs my hand so I can’t give you a hug right now but I real want to. We walk across the parking lot and it’s real cold outside but soon we’re in the airport. It’s like one real big room with lots of chairs. There’s a counter at the front with lots of people in suits and big smiles, and Mommy goes there first and talks for a while so I just look around some more. It’s nice and warm inside, and Mommy let go of my hand, so I unzip my pink and purple coat because I’m getting real hot. That feels better, but my Mommy sounds angry at the person and grabs my hand again and we go sit in one of the chairs. Mommy takes out her cell phone and starts to press buttons on it. She says she’s talking to Daddy! I ask her if I can say hi to Daddy, but she says no and looks mad so I decide to be quiet. She says to stay here and stands up and starts to walk off somewhere, so I just look around some more. The lights hang from the ceiling and look real nice, but I start to feel hot. I can’t pull my arm out of my coat. Where can I go to cool off while we wait for Daddy? Of course! Let’s go outside! Maybe we can make a snowman! I see a door real close to us, so I run over. It’s got a bar that I push and it opens. The cold air feels real nice! Now we just need to find a place to make a snowman. The snow by the airport is real dirty and
{DESIGN BY ASHTON DUNCAN}
Daddy says snow that isn’t white is icky, so I keep walking. In a few minutes, we’re by a lot of trees and there’s nice white snow everywhere. I don’t have gloves on right now, so the snow’s real cold, and it doesn’t stick together very good. Daddy says it does that when it’s real cold outside. I wonder if Daddy is back! Which way did we come from, Teddy? Do you remember? It’s getting real cold, Teddy. I can hear Mommy and Daddy calling out for me, but I can’t find them. It’s real windy outside and the sky turned dark. The snow all around is blowing, and it looks real cool, but I need to find Daddy! I haven’t seen him in so long. Are you cold,Teddy? You look real cold. Here, you can borrow my coat. It’s not too cold, anyways. I feel just fine, Teddy. It’s getting warmer outside, but the sky is still real dark. I’m kind of tired, Teddy. Do you want to take a nap? I haven’t had a nap today. The snow is real soft, and it’s not too cold anymore. It must be getting warmer outside, Teddy. So I lie down in the soft, downy snow and curl up in a ball. It feels nice, Teddy. It feels real nice.
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BEARD LADY
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By Ivy Lenane ’13
{DESIGN BY TYLER VOSS}
DRUG
STORE LADY
By Jeremiah Anthony ’14
She hobbles in front of the drug store Half of her teeth are gone Rejected and run over by society Has made her mind , a rotten fruit Once beautiful, now pitiful Mumbling to herself Hair matted and wild Viewed like an animal. Spat at and condemned. A deer not shot at first sight, but slowly worn down to weakness. Life says it is almost a crime that she is alive Alive but forced to endure a mental beating everyday Each step seems to be torture for her She paces nonetheless in front of the store Gazing at passerby with blank looks As if escaping the condemnation of the community Tired and haggard on the outside But inside just a human, free to her beliefs and belongings Society calls her an animal Hold their breath and power walk past her dazed face. She is like a rose trampled on the ground. Life is a series of torture camps her Spit stains cover her tattered shirt solidifying the judgment passed by her peers.
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To a Friend of a Friend
{Design by hannah muellerleile}
By Asya Bergal ’13
We went to China: Exchanged disjointed adventures in Europe, An Eastern soup in frugality, And a few rubles in good manners. We went to Bulgaria: Travelled to solemn villages by car, Finnish reveries by plane, And Scottish countrysides by stationary bike. We went to Japan: Suffered benign obsession through our youth, Bitter grins through our adulthood, And wasted memory through greying years. We went to Holland: Caught summer snow with our eyes, Autumn majesty with our veins, And winter solitude with our hearts. We went to Russia: Found rich islands and poor continents, Merry filth and beautiful sorrow, A windless airship and a broken time machine.
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Untitled
By Alex Nelson ’13
{Design by hannah muellerleile}
By Kelsey Keranen ’16
I
The Injured Party
t was not the cemetery itself so much as what it contained that drew the boy to its ivy-clad gates time and time again. Carefully pulling aside the ivy to reveal a portion of the gate that had long since succumbed to the elements and crumbled into little more than a pile of rust, Pierrot stole away from the brightly lit street corner and ducked into the cemetery, discreetly replacing the curtain of weeds behind him. It was unlikely that another should happen upon the mortuary at this time of night, but precautions had to be taken when it came to the business in which Pierrot so meticulously dealt. Pierrot began to make his way through the graveyard, nodding at some of the tombs and turning a blind eye on the ones he knew to be dangerous. The carefully pruned hedges seemed to sway in greeting as he passed, and he could almost detect the gravestones straightening as they awaited his presence. He could hear the whispers, slowly rising the further he delved into the necropolis’ shadowy depths. Phantom winds began to tug at the tail of his windbreaker, the ends of his tousled mop of hair; spindly, bodiless extremities softly caressing his exposed surfaces. If it had been any other person traversing the cemetery at this hour, these occurrences may have seemed rather unsettling; but Pierrot could tell these were but benign spirits, perhaps newly deceased, curious as to why a live one was dwelling in their place of rest after the sun had set. He was quite at home with the augural cries of ashen-coated ravens and the intangible voices that came and went faster than you could understand them. However, as incredible as they were, it was not these things he had come to see. Finally, Pierrot halted at the very end of the gravel path that wound its way into the furthest corners of the graveyard, the inquisitive whispers now little but a dull background murmur. Here the trees stood gnarled and unkempt, ignored by the veteran groundskeepers, unknown by the new. “The dead don’t care,” they reasoned, ceasing to upkeep any tombs further than those installed in the mid-20th century. Thus, the first tomb ever to be erected within the walls of the grounds was the last one to come to anyone’s mind when they entered the yard; except for the mind of Pierrot. The tomb itself was a grand one, although it had certainly seen better days. Its miniature balustrades in each of the four corners were bedecked with tin shingles that had long since lost their shine, and the wide door outlined by precisely chiseled looping flowers and vines was cracked
An excerpt from The Thaumaturge and his Pawn, a novella written by Kelsey Keranen and dull, the marble weathered down to a dull gray hue. However, Pierrot still saw the beauty of the old thing, in both its exterior and its interior. After taking a moment to appreciate the tomb itself, Pierrot gently lowered himself to the ground and withdrew from his jacket pocket a small leather bag of well-polished black stones. He hummed quietly under his breath, gingerly placing each stone on the ground before the tomb, sliding back on his hands to take in his work once it was complete; a five-pointed star, composed entirely of the black stones. With that, Pierrot took from his jacket a single candle, a simple white one that he’d purchased for 99 cents at the 24-hour drugstore on the way here, and set it in the center of the star. It flickered alight as soon as it hit the ground, sending a shock of cold down Pierrot’s spine, and a dull whistling began to fill the air, lifting the hair on Pierrot’s head and pulling upward on on his overlarge jacket sleeves. The candle shook violently, its flame frenziedly dancing, leaving pinpricks of fiery orange in the dark. Pierrot raised his hands, palms forward, to the flame, causing its movement to cease. Satisfied, Pierrot made a grabbing motion with his hands, and pulled at the air directly above the candle. A translucent swirl of steam followed his curled fingers, little more than a cloud of smoke at first, but gradually growing until it took on the lithe form of a young girl, no more than 14, dressed in a checkered frock that just reached the edge of her knobbly knees. Her hair, long and voluminous, swayed about her as her lifeless eyes laid themselves upon Pierrot. Pierrot only stared back, as if speaking would scare this apparition away, chasing it back into the world of half-remembered dreams and filmy deja-vu. It was much to his relief, as sweat had begun to form on his forehead, that the specter before him spoke first. “I’ve been waiting for you, Pierrot.” Pierrot smiled, his body relaxing, and was pleased to see that the ghost was smiling, as well. It had been many moons since they had last seen one another, before he had returned to this new and confusing time, before his memories had turned into sepia silent films and he began to question whether his entire stay in that old Brooklyn apartment had really all been a dream. “I’ve missed you, Gloria.” He breathed, his eyes misting over as he reached toward the girl whom he had killed 100 years ago.
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{DESIGN BY BLAKE OETTING}
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DREAM by Jason Uhm ’14