2017 muse lit mag

MUSE

East High 2017 2017 EHS Literary Magazine

Page 1 Art by Julia Floyd

Table of Contents Poetry

Christy Johnson 4 Alex Owens 4 Gracie O’Brien 4,5 Zaena Helm 5 Satchel Owens 6 Allison Owens 7 Dai’Shaun Davis 8

Art

Faith Burgar 3,4,11 Sam Hutchinson 4,7,9 Adam Lenk 6,7 Deitrich Rose 6,11 Vivian Pham 13

Fiction

Sycarrea Sanders 10 Alexis Shamburg 10 Alexis Bissel 11 Justin Gordon 11 Anonymous 12-13 Emma Walsh 13-15

Poetry

Editor: Zaena Helm

Art by Faith Burgar Page 2

2017 EHS Literary Magazine

2017 EHS Literary Magazine

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Tsunami

By Gracie O’Brien The student sits on the floor surrounded by papers.

His eyes are heavy, but he keeps writing.

His mother opens the door holding a plate of food.

He’s starving, but he keeps writing.

His work piles up beside him paper after paper.

It flows out of his wrists almost as blood, or water.

His hands are tired.

He feels as though he has been consumed by a tsunami, a rushing wall of water that opens its gaping jaws and snatches him up from the lake called Life.

His homework is a tsunami and it has taken him away.

His eyes are falling shut he keeps writing.

His hands go cold and numb, he keeps writing.

The tsunami finally fades, late at night when nobody stirs, he finishes.

His homework is no longer a tsunami, but a cool, calm ocean with moonlight shining upon it.

He then realizes that he has died, and his half-written essay, due tomorrow, sits unfinished on his bed as his body is carried away.

The tsunami returns.

Art by Faith Burgar Page 4

Astronomical

By Christy Johnson Oh how vast you are.

You hold the simplest and most complex.

Your mind works in such a beautiful way.

Your stars twinkle with optimisim.

Your planets turn with hope.

Your comets are so ambitious.

But must I be a black hole in the midst of it all.

My destruction; unfathomable.

But here we are coexisting in your marvel.

You are my universe.

Photo by Sam Hutchinson

Dawn till Dusk

By Alex Owens

With the Dawn warm glow To Dusks cool breeze Day and Night Are Black and White As unalike as can be Yet as One They dance among The Heaven and its stars A balance so much in Harmony They are One or None at all.

2017 EHS Literary Magazine

Singing

By Gracie O’Brien Singing is like washing dishes Rinse and repeat until it’s perfect spotless, and shining each plate is clean each note is perfect Sometimes we drop a glass the pieces are sharp Sometimes we miss a note it’s sharp but it can repaired clean up our mess Practice makes perfect rinse and repeat Singing is like running thump, thump rhythmic heartbeat footsteps Keep going we can do it our voices stretch to the highest clearest notes, our legs reach farther faster singing is like writing sometimes it doesn’t flow We have to try practice makes perfect is what we want and when it flows, every word streams out like water occasionally it turns out really good and we’re proud Singing is like washing dishes rinse and repeat rinse and repeat practice perfect every plate is clean every note is loud 2017 EHS Literary Magazine

every glass is clear every note is clear every spoon reflects every note gleams silver in the faux lighting practice makes p e r f e c t

Reverie

By Zaena Helm the pale golden light let off a dull brilliance inside the small glass bowl. her hand, enchanted by the flame, wavered closely above, desperately craving its embrace. her crooked finger drew closer to the candle, only a small distance away when fire began to trail down her finger and up her hand, down her arm and along her torso. her kerosine body beckoned the trails of fire as they consumed every part of her, piece by piece. the fire trailed up her chest and onto her face, crawling inside of her mouth and down through her legs. soon, her whole body had become exhausted with a sharp crimson as she stood silently, finger still hovering over the candle. she had become powerless to the flame. she stood and watched her skeleton burn, unable to save herself as her body crumbled to charcoal ashes swiftly swept up by the night shift janitor.

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2+2=5

By Satchel Owens 2 + 2 = 4, right?

Of course it does, I know that, You know that, Everyone knows that, …right?

2 + 2 = 4, It’s that simple, Taking 2 and adding 2 makes 4, It’s just simple math, But some people say that 2 + 2 = 5, Why? It doesn’t make any logical sense, No matter how you look at it 2 + 2 = 4, That’s what I try to explain to these people, But nothing seems to get through to them, Instead they just yell and scream About how I’m wrong and that I’m offending Them and their beliefs

Art by Adam Lenk Page 6

2 + 2 = 4, not 5, That is a fact, Not a belief, But not according to these people, They’ll attack, shame, and humiliate Anybody who says it is 4, And so many people are becoming More and more afraid of them, 2+2=4 Will not be permitted, They’ll yell and scream and force That 2 + 2 = upon others Until one day, 2 + 2 will = 5 2 + 2 = 5, That’s all I see now, That’s all everyone sees, And now nobody, including me, Dares to question it.

Slam Poem

By Dai’Shaun Davis

I can do anything a guy can do. I am just as equal as you. But my name gets slandered for the same things you do. I know this to be true because you can go out and party and have sex and get praised for it and play around with it like it’s a bet. But me? I get called the slut and a whore and told I need to stay in the house and not go out anymore.

Now boys I know you have a reputation to live up to. You don’t want your boys to look at you like you’re weak or soft. But you need to take the time out to look at us women’s point of view.

Think about your mother, sisters and future daughters and then look at the things you do. Do you want them to go through the same thing you put us through?

I can do anything a guy can do. I can embrace my sexuality just like you. But when I do I get told I’m acting too lavish and doing too much. You get the congratulations for touching a girl’s butt. I can wear little outfits and embrace my fashion, but I’m told to cover up because I am too much of a distraction. But you guys can wear half naked women on your shirts and people walk by and not say a word.

As I walk through the halls with my cute little top, I hear this loud voice saying “Hey there, you stop.” What’s the problem? What did I do? You’re showing too much skin, you’re breaking all the rules. The rules? What rules? They don’t exist because the boys do the same thing and you don’t even bother to throw a fit

I can do anything a guy can do. I can defend myself if my feelings get hurt just like you.

You can degrade a woman and call her bitch but when I do it I get called miserable and told that I need to quit.

What makes you think that you are better than me? We breathe the same air, you are no better than me.

Art by Deitrich Rose 2017 EHS Literary Magazine

Art by Sam Hutchinson

Assimilation

By Allison Owens There is a culture dying beneath my skin trying to break free.

But I can’t be a part of it, so instead I become like you.

There is a colour flooding beneath my skin trying to show itself.

But I can’t see it, so instead I become like you.

There are stories screaming beneath my skin trying to be heard.

But I can’t hear them, so instead I become like you.

There is red blood running beneath my skin trying to know me.

But I can’t know it, so instead I become white.

2017 EHS Literary Magazine

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Fiction

Page 8

2017 EHS Literary Magazine

Art by Sam Hutchinson 2017 EHS Literary Magazine

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Stars

By Sycarreya Sanders Because I shook, trembled and cried. Everyone saw it. But I kept on denying it. I ignored the signs. One day it got so bad.

I was tired.

Tired of all the lying the excuses. I was done, done with everyone. I had lost my sanity I had gone mad. I wanted to give up. Then, one day I meet her.

She had the spirt of someone who could do no harm, to anyone. She taught me how to trust and how to love. She changed my life.

I see entire galaxies in your eyes and it makes me so sad because when I look in the mirror I can’t seem to find a single star in mine.

And I’m terrified that you will someday see me as I see myself and, realize that perhaps you deserve a daisy rather than a dandelion, and I would pretend to be okay with that because no matter how depressed I am no matter how much it’s killing me, I can’t leave because I care and love you more than I hate myself, and just seeing you smile makes me think, that there’s something to live for in this world, and even thought, I swore to myself that I would never trust a single living soul again, you make it so impossible not to trust you.

I wish I wasn’t so socially inept so that I could tell you exactly how I feel about you. I don’t know what it is, but something about you, is just so right. Maybe it’s your smile, your laugh, kiss, or even just the way you look at me.

It might even be you. In your perfect imperfections you are you. And maybe that’s what I like most.

When our eyes meet and suddenly it hits me, you’re all mine and I’m all yours. Without the inconvenience of anxiety causing my voice to shake and stutter, so I’ll keep it all inside instead.

So when it’s time for me to leave and I’m gone, I need you to hold on to all the times I cried on your shoulder, to all the times we were together.

Not the One

By Alexis Shamburg Why? Why did he choose her? Why did he put them above me? Why did he throw me away? Why was it so easy for him? But why did I choose him? Why does every part of my body hurt and my heart at the slightest thought of him? Why do I still wish he was mine when I never even had him in the first place? Why can I not let him go?

I know why. It’s because he was the only person who I didn’t get mad at so easily. Because he asked me to come over and be with him when he felt alone. Because we shared every story together and held nothing back. Because we showed everyone that our bond was so extremely strong it couldn’t break. Because when my sister was dying he was the only one I could talk to and he let me cry on his shoulder. Because he wanted me. He wanted me.

He doesn’t know that I cried myself to sleep for months because I knew I couldn’t call him. He doesn’t know I stopped eating because eating seemed pointless and the food had no flavor. He doesn’t know my thoughts haunted me throughout the night and the day as I wondered, “How am I not enough?” he doesn’t know that I still think about him today and wish I could call him.

By Alexis Bissell

Time is not the father we all were told to believe, Time really is a woman. Her hair is a rusted bronze that looks gold in the light. Her eyes change from blue to violet as day changes to night. She is beautiful and to Death, she must be his wife.

For without Time there is no Death and without Death, there is no him. However, Time only has fear and hatred for Death.

For with Death there is an end of Time, and with the end of Time, it is the end of her life. Now Death has Time in his sight. She tries to flee, but she is running out of places to hide. She screams as Death catches her in his knife like claws. He smirks running his fingers through her hair as it turns to white.

Time shakes and cries as the bright colors fade from her eyes. Then she dies.

Death smiles as she passed.

He could not help but to laugh as Time ended.

He laughed and laughed as his skin melted from his face and his bones turned to ash.

For without Time there is no Death and without Death, there is no him.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him though right?

But what I don’t know might kill me.

Yes I was young when he left me and that has been so long ago, but my heart knows no time, just hurt. He will always be a piece in my heart.

Art by Adam Lenk

Hold on to all the good and the bad, even if the bad outweighs the good. Hold on to my smile, and hold on to my laughter, because one day, I won’t be able to hold on to our memories when I’m gone.

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Time and Death

Art by Deitrich Rose 2017 EHS Literary Magazine

2017 EHS Literary Magazine

Art by Faith Burgar

On The Field

By Justin Gordon

We grew up on the field, from the desolate lot to the ninety thousand seat arena. Off the field, we live normal lives, moving day by day until the fantastic moment of kickoff arrives.

The carnal aspect of the game drives our adrenaline and helps us garner the strength to overpower our opponent. We move around the field with malice toward all, only those with the guts to fight through any and all pain succeed.

There will always be the cynical fans jeering at us with an insurmountable verve, but we persevere.

There will always be those who doubt us from their couches, these lethargic obstacles do nothing to stop the ambition and passion we have.

Pure athleticism can’t succeed.

Only the fearless succeed.

As the old saying goes, hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.

The ecstasy of victory.

The agony of defeat.

The bipolar nature of the field drives the best of us insane. Off the field we are branded with labels. Off the field we are praised.

On the field, we win.

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Untitled

By Anonymous

Harold was her assigned assistant, he was prompt and filed her documents without complaint.

The perfect assistant save for his daily pestering.

It’s raining. Wet, pouring, showering. She shoves Today was no different, she had barely started in on her hands intro her coat pockets and rushes faster her third page when he wandered by. Picking up the down the street until she arrives at her destination. records on the edge of her desk, Harold placed them She pushes open the door of the small building tucked on his cart. He selected one and flipped through it. away behind much larger buildings around it. Walking “Harold! Stop that, you know the rules,” repriinto the large room with walls covered top to bottom in manding him without even looking up she continued books, she makes her way toward her desk. She takes scribbling her current record. He rolled his eyes, off her coat and settles in at her desk. Another long day “Haven’t you ever wondered about all the stories of record keeping. Her latest completed journals lay off we scribble down here?” the side, she makes a mental note to remind Howard “Of course I have, but you know the rules just as to put them away the next time he wanders past. well as I do, no peeking.” Harold rolled his eyes.

Uncapping her pen, she joins her peers in docu“Come on, lighten up.” She narrowed her eyes, menting the earlier seconds, minutes, and hours. She eyeing him reprimanding. picks up where the night shift left off starting new “No looking!” she exclaimed, reaching out and page. Soon this record will join its thousands of comtaking the record from him. panions on the walls and shelves around her.

“Look, no one is around. If we just peeked inside These records tell the story of every moment in at one page, what would be the harm in that? No one time and everything which has ever existed on Earth. would ever know.”

There is a record of every droplet of water which ever She looked around, contemplating the thought fell, every droplet of water drying on her coat now. for a moment but quickly put it to rest.

Next to the records of each droplet lie records of ev“No. We go through this every day, Harold. The ery puddle, river, and ocean. answer is still no.”

The keeper works to scribe every moment, diliHe huffed in response, “You’re just scared.” gently transcribing each second of history. Surround“I’m not scared, I am following the rules! You ed by documents, writing hurriedly never stopping to know, those things we signed an oath to respect.” revisit the pages already written. Somewhere in that “Scared. S-C-A-R-E-D.” room of records lies documentation of her as well. A “I’m not scared of pieces of paper!” She cried page of everything she has ever done. Every tear she indignantly. “Why are you even pressing this-”, she cried, every smile, every laugh. There must be a repaused catching the mischievous smile which apcord of every word she ever sat to write she assumes. peared on his face, She will never know. Scribes never view their “Oh, no you did not! You read one didn’t you!” own records and never seek out other records. Her Standing from her chair, she waved an accusing finger curiosity often tempts her but she has never seriously at him. Harold backed away, throwing his hands up in considered venturing out and finding it. It is the first defense. rule taught to young keepers but she never under“Woah, okay, maybe I did take a look at one of stood it. them but c’mon haven’t you ever wondered about Why keep histories when no one will ever read what is inside? All the information you never learn them? Was there a point? when you aren’t writing down the small pieces you’re She could not fathom why she would be engranted!” trusted with such a pointless task and did not care to “Of course! I already said that but the rules, Harthink about it. Thinking about it only made her day old. The rules!” seem tedious so she avoided such thoughts when at “Rules, what? I’m not dead am I? Nothing has all possible and focused solely on doing her job to the come to destroy the Earth, has it?” best of her abilities. Or at least tried to.

“Yeah, but-” Continued on page 13 Page 12 2017 EHS Literary Magazine

“But nothing!” he cut her off, “you’re just scared.

Stop unquestioningly following the rules, why write these histories if we can never read them? What’s the point?” Harold waved a record near her. She wasn’t scared, she was curious. Of course she wanted to read what was in those documents more than anything.

“Stop it.” She demanded, snatching the document from him. “There’s absolutely nothing in here, it’s probably just the documentation of dirt or leaves.

Nothing of importance.” He sighed.

“Then what’s the harm in opening it?” She had to admit to herself that he had a point. There couldn’t be any harm in just reading a page right, it was probably just the history of dirt or an infinitesimal insect.

She opened the front cover, eyeing him suspiciously.

“See, no lighting, no gaping openings in the floor.” Ignoring him, she turned the first page, reading.

It was raining outside. Wet, pouring, showering.

Inside, she was reading. Reading records which would tell the story of every moment in time and everything which has ever existed on Earth. She will know.

Art by Vivian Pham

2017 EHS Literary Magazine

Untitled

By Emma Walsh Claire pushed open the door to her two story loft apartment and set her reusable grocery bags on the kitchen counter. She carried screaming baby Nathan upstairs into the nursery and placed him in his crib.

When she descended down the dark, wooden stairs, Nathan grew silent and Claire exhaled with an unfamiliar sense of peace. She returned to the large, silent kitchen and looked around the room before starting to unpack the groceries. She had just placed carrots in the vegetable drawer when she was interrupted by the sound of loud, wailing cries. Feeling defeated, Claire hurriedly put away the perishables and shuffled back up the stairs.

She spent almost two hours soothing Nathan.

She tried feeding him his bottle, she tried rocking him in the little blue rocking chair, she even tried making his favorite funny faces, but he would not stop crying. She even cried a little bit, herself, out of pure frustration. Finally, after about an hour of holding him against her chest and pacing around the room, he stopped screaming. She looked down and Nathan’s eyes were closed. He was breathing softly with occasional muffled sniffles. She cautiously placed him in his crib and tiptoed out of the room.

After moving to the bathroom, she slid down her door into a seated position and started to cry.

Although Nathan’s arrival wasn’t planned, she never expected mothering to feel so unnatural and forced.

When David spent more time at home, it made things a little easier, but he hadn’t been home in a while.

She was beginning to think she couldn’t keep up the motherhood lifestyle anymore. Of course she loved Nathan, but babies can be a handful. She dug through her purse and pulled out her cell phone, dialing David’s phone number, which she knew by memory.

David always had his phone on him. It rang six times before he picked up.

“I miss you,” Claire said into the phone. “When will you be home? There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

“Babe, I told you I’ve been really busy,” David responded. “The company needs me right now. I won’t be home for a few more days… I’m sorry.”

Continued on page 14

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Continued from page 13 Claire inhaled sharply. “That’s what you said last Claire finally reached the row of benches but weekend. Nathan needs his father and I’ve been workthey were all full. She took a quick glance a few rows ing, as well as dropping him off at daycare and picking back, and was disappointed to see her favorite, quiet him up every day. I need a break.” bench had been taken by a woman with a stroller There was another pause. Claire spoke again. similar to hers. Claire examined her to notice that the “You can’t keep doing this,” she said. She hung up the woman had on a worn out t shirt with paint stains phone and tossed it on the counter with a frustrated down the front and a jean jacket missing the second sigh. button. Her brown and grey hair was half pulled up Putting off her relaxation until Tuesday, she into a loose bun and if you looked closely, you could carefully adjusted the faucet handles until the water see a bit of spit up on her tan cheek. Claire had alwas comfortably warm, cupped her hands until the ready instinctively started walking towards the bench, water spilled over her fingertips, and brought the so by the time she got closer, she timidly sat down warm water to her face. She pumped the bottle of face on the opposite end of the bench. Claire distractedly wash twice until her hands filled with foamy soap. She rolled the stroller back and forth as Nathan screamed tried to hold back tears as she gently rinsed her skin, uncontrollably. She watched the other woman, who before patting her face dry with her fluffy, blue emhad taken her baby out of the stroller, as she bounced broidered towel. By the time she dug her fingers into him on her knee and he laughed freely, exposing three the jar of cool moisturizer, her sadness had passed scattered teeth along his gum line. and she applied the mixture until her face was fully Claire hadn’t acknowledged how long she had covered. been staring until the woman turned to her and said The next morning was a Sunday. Claire woke up “That’s a cute kid. How many months is he?” exhausted after having to put Nathan to sleep four Claire shook herself out of her daze, startled. times in the middle of the night. All she wanted to do “Oh, um…10,” she replied. “He’s 10 months old.” was drop him off at the daycare, but after she already The other woman chuckled. “He sure is a crier, dressed him, put him in his stroller, and left the comhuh?” plex, she remembered the daycare was closed that day.

Claire laughed nervously. “Yeah, I just can’t get She thought to herself that maybe if she had gotten him to stop. It’s like he cries all the time,” she commore sleep she wouldn’t be so forgetful. Regardless, it plained. The woman set her own baby down in the was a beautiful day and Nathan was quiet, so Claire stroller and brushed off her jeans. Pieces of her hair decided to take a quick walk to Central Park. had started to fall out of her bun and were scattered She strolled into the entrance and made a baround her head like a flower crown. The woman line for the row of benches in her favorite quiet spot. stood up from the bench and walked around Claire to Although it was quite a long walk, she was able to get to Nathan. distract herself from Nathan’s constant screaming “Sometimes it helps if you pick them up and rock with the laughter of small children, the happy cyclists them back and forth,” she said. She looked down at shouting to each other over the crowds, and the couNathan, who was still wailing. She hesitated to lift him ples casually holding hands. The relationships looked out of the stroller. “May I?” she turned to Claire. “I’m so carefree and effortless, similar to the way Claire Mariana, by the way.” She gestured to shake Claire’s and David were in the beginning. She never planned hand. to marry him at first. He was a wealthy man, and Surprised, Claire laughed nervously, reached out was always very generous, but their relationship had and replied, “Sure, go ahead. It’s not like I can ever always been purely physical. He bought her expensive make him stop screaming.” jewelry, took her on romantic getaways to Fiji, he even Mariana lifted screaming Nathan from the bought the whole loft apartment when they moved stroller and started to rock him back and forth. She in together. Although Nathan was an accident, David talked to him in soothing voices and even began to took it fairly well and took the next step by propossing a lullaby. Nathan’s cries turned into muffles sobs, ing. Now that the novelty of the happy family scenario and Claire looked over at Mariana’s baby, who was had worn off, David had been taking more and more already asleep, resting peacefully in his stroller. Claire business trips, barely stepping outside of the financial envied the ease in which Mariana casually got Nathan Continued on page 15 Page 14 2017 EHS Literary Magazine

Continued from page 14 Throughout the next hour, Mariana spent a long time telling Claire about how much she loves being a mother. She was a single mom, but she explained that her son, Christian, brought an incredible amount of joy into her life. Mariana continued to talk and Claire spaced off, imagining a life where she never questioned her lifestyle or despised motherhood. Maybe if she just tried a little harder and embraced being a mom, she would learn to like it as much as Mariana did.

“Sorry, I should probably take this,” Mariana said. Claire snapped out of her daze to realize she was taking a phone call. Claire smiled and nodded and Mariana answered the phone. She sounded angry so Claire decided to head home and give her some privacy. She stood up from the bench and mouthed the word bye before taking her stroller. Occupied by her conversation, Mariana gave a distracted wave without looking up.

Tuesday morning, Claire woke up peacefully, with the sun streaming in through the window, projecting a heavenly glow onto the bed. For the first time since Nathan was born, she felt well rested. The last few days had been perfect. Nathan hardly cried or gave Claire any trouble, and she was finally starting to feel some relief. She couldn’t tell if there was some drastic change in Nathan’s behavior or maybe talking to Mariana made her appreciate her life and her son.

Either way, she was embracing motherhood and the stress had washed away.

She spent the day painting in her studio, something she hadn’t done since her pregnancy. Nathan sat beside her easel in his bouncer and smiled quietly, even laughing every time Claire turned to make a silly face. After a few hours of painting, she took a break to feed and change Nathan. She was preparing his food in the kitchen when she heard keys turning in the lock of the front door. The door pushed open and David appeared around the corner. With a big smile on his face, he rushed towards her and gave her a big hug. Taking in his scent, Claire asked, “Why are you home so early?”

Still hugging her, he said, “I got put on an earlier flight so I had a shorter layover. It’s so good to see you.”

He placed her well-expected gifts on the counter and Claire fixed him a glass of water while they talked about his trip. “How has your time alone been?” David asked.

2017 EHS Literary Magazine

“Oh, it started off not so great, but Nathan and I have had a great time these last few days. I was just making him some lunch,” she said. “He’s right around the corner in his high chair.”

David’s face lit up. “I can’t wait to see him. He’s probably gotten so big while I was away.”

David picked up his water, stood from his chair and turned the corner around to the dining area. A few seconds later, Claire heard his glass shatter. Surprised, Claire rushed over. “What happened?” she asked.

He looked at her wide eyed and frantic and exclaimed, “Whose baby is this?!”

Claire laughed nervously, kind of scared. “It’s Nathan… Honey, are you alright?”

Running his hands through his hair, David shook his head in disbelief and said, “This is not a funny joke.

Where is Nathan?”

Claire looked at him, blank and confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Jesus, Claire! I can’t leave you alone for three weeks!” he yelled.

He frantically ran around the apartment looking for Nathan while Claire picked up the baby and sat down on the dining room chair, calmly bouncing him on her knee.

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