L I T MAG ST. AUGUSTINE'S LITERARY MAGAZINE
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TABLE OF CONTENTS LITERATURE
PROSE P.3 THE NUMBER
P.4
PERFECT
P.7
A CIRCULAR CARRIAGE RIDE
P.8
ESSAY P.9 TRAPPED IN REPRESSION
P.10
POETRY P.12 WALKING WITH THE TREES
P.13
TAKE ME BACK TO THE START
P.14
ART
VISUAL ART P.15 PHOTOGRAPHY P.22 FILM P.26 2
L I T E R A T U R E P
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includes work by: Afeez Akinyele Grayson Chong Emilie Miranda
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THE NUMBER by: Afeez Akinyele
I finished using the washroom and was washing my hands when I saw a number scrawled on the wall. I looked
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around at the urine stains on the bathroom walls and the handprints on the mirror. I looked back to the number and noticed it had many scratches on it. I thought twice about dialing the number. I reached into my rough jean pocket and picked up my phone. I dialed the number on the phone keypad and heard constant ringing until someone picked up. As I waited for the person to respond I could hear heavy breathing and background noise. The person then responded I have been waiting for your call. You were destined by the higher council of Odessa who wish to meet you, welcome to the brotherhood Hugo. I then hanged up, my heart was beating rapidly. I tried to understand what just happened but couldn’t grasp the concept. I left the washroom in a panic and didn’t look back. I stood outside waiting for a bus looking behind my shoulder constantly. I checked my watch and it just hit 7:30. I was very anxious because the bus was supposed to be here by now. I looked around and all I could see was white descending from the sky and my breath was making little clouds in the air. As soon as the bus arrived and I started to get on a knife was by my throat and the person behind me said stay quiet I don’t want to hurt you. He slowly took my phone that was in my pocket and from the corner of my eye I could see the person behind me nod to the bus driver and the bus driver nodded back. The driver closed the door and turned right when he was supposed to go straight. My name is Hugo, I was born in Canada 1995 January 8. I live in Toronto. I am half Trinidadian half Latino. I am 6, 8 and 150 pounds. Despite all my features I couldn’t stop the fact that I just got kidnapped. The bus was empty, just me and the man in black riding in silence. My body kept on shivering and my hands couldn’t stop shaking. I tried to control myself and play along until I had the opportunity to flee. We got to our destination and I had no idea where we were. I could tell the man in black was holding back but he was trying to be aggressive in getting me to where we were going. My heart was thumping really hard, when I arrived to the room there was a giant table and 7 people staring at me as they asked me to sit down. I looked around and saw the name of the corporation which was Odessa Services. That reminded me of the phone call I got while in the washroom, I also spotted a toilet in the corner of the room. I started debating whether I should run but it came to my attention that I didn’t know where I was and my phone was not with me. The man in black let go off his hard grip on me and I slowly sank into my seat. The head of Odessa introduced himself as Van Hohenheim and explained the whole purpose of the company. Odessa is a secret service company that helps the government without them knowing and getting any credit but doing it for the good of the people. He looked at me and said we just lost a member in are team would you like to join. My heart dropped but I quickly said yes, I always wanted to be a part of secret organization like in the movies. His last comment of the day was we will be in touch, your training starts now.
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All their seats were elevated to the ceiling and I had to escape a room being flooding with water. I saw the washroom at the corner of the room and swam to it. I broke the toilet pipeline and was able to get air from it as I scanned the room. I saw a mirror on the other side of the room and presumed it was breakable so I swam there and started punching it. Next thing I knew it broke and I came out on the other side breathing heavily. Van Hohenheim said congratulations that was just step one. He said we would keep in touch as he walked away. I thought that at least they would give me a ride home but I had to get there by myself. I decided to go to a club because I needed a celebration for what I just signed myself up for. I got 2 drinks for myself and when I received them they were kind of fizzy which I thought was normal because I don’t drink often. After I chugged them everything seemed intensified. The lights were
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a lot brighter and I started losing balance. My senses felt heightened and my vision was blurring. Next thing I knew I saw the floor quickly approaching my face and I was about to pass out. I woke up strapped in a chair with no strength. I looked around and it was an empty room. I struggled to escape but the ropes were tied hard to the chair. I could feel the rope easing into my skin potentially going to make marks. As I was fidgeting to escape I heard the door open and a man welcomed me to the torture room. He said if you don’t co-operate with me you are not leaving this room alive. He then said where is Odessa services and who runs it? I confidently said I don’t know what your talking about. He said wrong answer and threw his fist to my face. Expecting his punch I squinted my eyes and looked him straight in the face. Suddenly the motion of his fist stopped. I looked over his fist and it seems as if he was completely frozen in time. I was wondering what happened but I took my chance and fidgeted with the not that tied my hand together. Soon enough it unraveled and I was able to escape. As soon as I left the room all I heard was the chair break. When I finally made it to my house I saw the man in black standing in front of my door. He introduced himself as Lincoln and congratulated me on passing test two and asked how I escaped. I explained to him that the man’s fist stopped in front of my face and I used that time to escape.I could tell that Lincoln was questioning my response but decided not to. He then analyzed me and said I’ll see you soon kid. Three months have passed and all that’s happened are the tests and training from Odessa that I have gone through, but I am finally done. I have been summoned to Odessa services and of course I have to get there on my own. I was on my way to the bus stop when a black car pulled up beside me and the window wound down and the familiar voice said get in. I looked in the car and it was Lincoln to my rescue.
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We arrived at Odessa services and Van Hohenheim wasted no time in getting me into my first mission. He explained how there is a heroin dealer name Patricia in New York who is putting chemicals in it to kill people. We have to find her and eliminate her. He sent Lincoln and me the coordinates and we were on the private plane of Odessa to New York. Not being on planes often I took the chance to see the sky and all the clouds as if I was
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a five year old child. We made it to another Odessa service in New York and we quickly began our mission. We received the woman’s address from Headquarters and were there in a heartbeat. When I made it to the porch I saw a rocking chair and questioned the address given to us when suddenly an old lady opened the door. All sweet and innocent she asked me how can she help us and I asked her if she was Patricia. Her voice changed and said you will never get me alive. She tried to explain that she wanted to cleanse the world of evil. The next thing I knew she pulled out two guns from under her skirt, twisted it around her fingers and started shooting at us. Luckily I jumped out of the way just in time to not get my head blown off. Lincoln being on the other side of the porch said that I should run and tackle her but by that time she was outside and had both guns pointed at us. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. Lincoln saw my fear and made the first move to break the standoff. He jumped which lead her to put more attention on him and he yelled at me to tackle her into the house. She looked back at me to try and prevent that but I was already running full speed right into her. I tackled her onto the wooden floor of the house which, let one gun fly off to her right. She was on the floor recovering and I could see all the drugs she stashed in her house and all the chemical alterations. Lincoln walked in and his eyes expanded at everything I just witnessed. She then got up with her last gun and shot Lincoln in the leg. Lincoln screamed as he descended to the ground. She then looked at me and I squinted my eyes and looked right back at her as she shot six times. The bullets reached my face and just froze. She dropped the gun and was shocked, so was Lincoln. I then looked at her and the bullets turned around and shot right back at her. Lincoln yelled to me what did you just do. I looked at him and said I don’t know. I turned back to the old lady and her bright red blood was flowing down the cracks of the wooden floor. I thought to myself, is this just the beginning?
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Perfect
by: Grayson Chong
Perfectly arched feet don pink satin pointe shoes. Perfect hair, not a strand out of place, is secured into perfect buns. Perfect girls dressed in leotards of black and royal blue prance around the mirrored room. Some bend in half, backs arched like that of a lion stretching its front paws on a lazy afternoon. Others leap across the polished floor, their movements akin to the graceful gallop of gazettes.
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Jumping. Turning. Floating. Flying. Perfect. “Everyone in first position.” The teacher’s entrance pulls me out of my reverie; her perfect posture demanding attention, from the regal tilt of her chin to the sharp points of her shoes. Perfect girls rush to find the perfect place at the barre. The old vinyl record hums a soft, ethereal melody; a symphony that could only be composed by fairies in a faraway land. Perfect girls rest their perfect hands on the barre one by one. I follow suit. Perfect. Only what I feel isn’t wood. Instead, my hand rests upon the metal of my imperfect wheelchair.
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A CIRCULAR CARRIAGE RIDE by: Emilie Miranda
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The house can’t help but impose its feelings on the few people who reside in it. The broodingatmosphere, deafening silence, the gloomy dust-covered furniture: its melancholy attitude mirrors Father’s. The servants speak in hushed tones, and I must admit I do get jealous watching them leave, as though a large burden is lifted from their shoulders. Father is distant as always, as he has been since I was born. Then there is me. Lonely since the first day of “normal” school 10 years ago, when the other children chased me with sticks and rocks, calling out things like “Rich dirt!” and “No one wants ye here!” and “Think yez too good for us regulars, huh?” I came home bedraggled with clothes torn and hair a mess, and the next day my tutor Alan was back with me in the library. Alan is the only kindred spirit I have. He enjoys books rather than people, and knows what it is to be a societal outcast. Growing up wealthy, his family never accepted his desire for education rather than the ‘delight’ of taking over the family vineyard. Every day is the same for me. My life is a circular carriage ride that only stops at one place. The only freedom I get is an afternoon walk in the nearby park, usually accompanied by a footman. Sometimes Alan comes, which is fun, as we pretend to spot a stray Jabberwock in the trees, or perhaps locate a passage to the lost kingdom of Shangri-La in an unexplored nook of the pond. But lately I have been thinking more and more about escaping, leaving, going anywhere. Because I would rather steer my carriage into the unknown than remain on one that keeps running in circles. I have confided these thoughts to Alan, and he seems to agree with me. He, too, feels trapped. We are caged animals, wanting to run free. We are the horses tethered to the carriage that never stops anywhere meaningful. The animals in the zoo that I always feel so sorry for, that I somehow feel akin to. Alan is quiet as he ponders what I have told him. I want to ask his thoughts, but then the walk is over and as good little horses we follow the master’s bidding and return home. Once we arrive, Alan disappears in the direction of my father’s office. If I had known then what I know now, perhaps I could have stopped him. For when I walk into the library the next morning, he is there, a redness pooling under him from the neat little hole in the centre of his forehead. A revolver lying next to him. A coppery scent in the air. The same as the coppery taste in my mouth. Alan is dead. And the carriage keeps going in circles.
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L I T E R A T U R E E
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includes work by: Grayson Chong
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TRAPPED IN REPRESSION by: Grayson Chong
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Poets weave the struggles of others within their works, adding a peculiar sense of timelessness to the masterpieces they create. The Lady of Shallot, written by Alfred Lord Tennyson, is no different. This narrative poem tells the story of the Lady of Shallot who spends her idyllic days in Camelot weaving the tapestry of her life. Trapped in her tower, she is cursed to see the world through the reflection of a mirror. The arrival of Sir Lancelot causes her to break the curse, resulting in her untimely death. The poem itself is an allegory of women’s role in society during that particular time period. This notion still embeds itself within the world today. The Lady of Shallot represents the repression of women and their struggles of entrapment, isolation, and the desire to be free.
The feeling of entrapment demands to be felt as acutely as it demands to be seen. The vast landscape where “the hay meets the sky” contrasts “the four gray walls” of the Lady of Shallot’s tower. Like a caged bird, she is trapped and unable to leave. Aware of this fact, she abides by the curse like a child abides by the rules to avoid the unnamed consequences of what would happen if she were to rebel. She weaves an intricate web of tapestry to abate the heavy weight of time. The weave not only symbolizes the imagination and creativity of an artist, it also symbolizes the fate of the role she was meant to play as a woman. The empty spaces represent the parts of her life that yearn to be filled but cannot because of the repression she faces. The Lady of Shallot represents women who weave the web of their own lives, but do so, aware that they are trapped in a larger web as well. Like all people, the Lady of Shallot represents the desire to be known. The villagers refer to her as a fairy because of the mystery surrounding her. She sings in the effort to be heard and writes her name on parchment and on the boat in the hopes of recognition. Her name is irrelevant. This, and the fact that she is given a title rather than a real name, intensifies the theme of entrapment as a woman. Isolation stems from feelings of being caged.
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The Lady of Shallot lives alone in her high, fairytale tower. Its location is paradoxal since a river runs through Camelot and the tower, dividing and connecting the Lady of Shallot to the villages at the same time. In many ways, she is on the outside looking in. The rest of Camelot views her as a mystery because of her elusiveness, almost like a ghost – neither seen nor heard, but felt. The Lady of Shallot sees the world through a mirror rather than a window. This symbolizes her seeing the world through a skewed version of reality. It keeps her ignorant to the world for what it really is. Upon looking away from the mirror towards
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Sir Lancelot, the mirror shatters, symbolizing a break in her altered reality. Like a bird in a cage, the taste of freedom is just a flight away.
The Lady of Shallot is liberated from her isolation and entrapment when the mirror shatters. Sir Lancelot is the catalyst and represents temptation of the unknown, temptation of the world of the at large. Because of this, the Lady of Shallot, who has broken the laws of the curse, walks away from her tower. But the world is a harsh place and those who go against the ideals of society face resistance. In her taste of freedom, the Lady of Shallot dies.
The Lady of Shallot acts as a warning for women yearning to escape their lives of ignorance. Freedom comes with a price, and sometimes the yearning to be accepted is futile. But that does not mean they should not try.
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L I T E R A T U R E P
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includes work by: Karling Donoghue Grayson Chong
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Walking with the Trees by: Karling Donoghue
The shadows of the gloomy night Cascading through the trees The darkness holds a certain fright Sends weakness to my knees The howl of the lonely wolf parades along the trail the stones shifting in the wind the twigs remaining frail
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Movements all throughout the floor in the autumn night the shades of red, of yellow of brown bring the darkness light The fear surrounds, consumes and pulls my thoughts I beg them please the forests traps its victims with their secrets and the trees A glimpse upon these narrow stalks and canopies of leaves made all my fears evaporate and calmness came with ease I stand still within a forest bountiful with life the tress have heard my whispers they know my secret strife I trust the trees, they stand tall and speak to all beneath I hope to know my secrets are the ones the tress will keep.
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TAKE ME BACK TO THE START by: Grayson Chong
Take me back to the cul-de-sac where herbs of thyme and rosemary bloom, handpicked by you like a bouquet of roses given to me beside your pale green garage on an August afternoon. Take me back to the cul-de-sac, a circle of endless youth. With summer nights and water fights, skipping stones by the stream, and bowls of chocolate ice cream. Take me back to the cul-de-sac, our secret kisses cloaked by the night. Petite hands dancing along the freckles decorating your skin like the myriad of stars in sight. But life is prone to wanderlust. The rosemary and thyme selected for my bouquet are devour’d by weeds. Their thorns bite my hand with malice. How can nature be so callous? Ghostly strangers occupy these houses of green and navy blue. Or maybe the stranger is me, intruding on their peace in my quest to find vestiges of you. The spots of your pale green garage are worn down from years of use, But I remember the summer nights, and water fights, and tracing the freckles only painted on you. Take me back to the cul-de-sac.
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V I S U A L A R T A
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includes work by: Connie Chan Chris Hardy Vanessa Li Michelle Quan
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Scar Ink on Paper Connie Chan
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Untitled Acrylic on Canvas Chris Hardy
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Untitled Oil on wood Chris Hardy
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Untitled Sculpture Chris Hardy
Glory Watercolour Pencil Vanessa Li 19
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The Beach Acrylic on Canvas Vanessa Li
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Octopus at Sea Acrylic on Paper Vanessa Li
Life Acrylic on Canvas Michelle Quan
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V I S U A L A R T P
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includes work by: Connie Chan Chris Hardy Allysson Linis
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p h o t o g r a p h y
Connie Chan
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p h o t o g r a p h y
Connie Chan 24
p h o t o g r a p h y Chris Hardy
Allysson Linis
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V I S U A L A R T F
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includes work by: Michael Cuni
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F I L M
(ALTERNATE REALITY TRAVEL) by: Michael Cuni
CLICK HERE TO WATCH ON YOUTUBE or go to: http://youtu.be/7xrQUMhtxnY
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CREATED BY: CAROLYN HUGHES
DESIGNED BY: CONNIE CHAN