Premiere 2019-2020
This edition of Premiere was made during the 2019-2020 Coronavirus Pandemic.
Waubonsie Valley High School Aurora, Illinois
ii
Sponsors
Mollie Bozarth Jen Kastner
Staff
Gustavo Azevedo Caitlin Cannon Elliah Chamberlain Olivia Jackson Ashley Janes Teja Jayaprasad Aaliyah Julius Mayson Kaminski Anika Manelkar Kira Morris Michael Ruiz Katie Smith Leslie Tuszynski Logan Williams
Staff
Letter from Editors
iii
Dear Writers and Artists, Thank you for being brave enough to share your work. It has provided much needed light in these dark times. As some of Waubonsie’s premiere students (pun intended) we hope that you continue to take advantage of time to grow your artistic talents despite the new world we’re living in. Dear Reader, Thank you for taking the time to read our magazine despite the turbulent times we’re currently experiencing. Through the thick of it all, we’ve managed to put together the best creative pieces from Waubonsie’s 2019-2020 school year. We hope this inspires you to add a little creativity in your life. Dear Ms. Kastner and Ms. Bozarth, Thank you for the nurturing environment you created for us. We would like to welcome and thank Ms. Bozarth for joining our editing team and playing a key role in the creation of this year’s magazine. And to Ms. Kastner, thank you for giving us the confidence we needed to believe in and share our work; we could never have done it without you. Sincerely, The Premiere Staff 2019-20.
iv
Emma Schwarz Gustavo Azevedo Maria Gudino Caitlin Cannon Karla Lares Olivia Jackson Jonathan Treuhaft Ashley Janes Nyah Bruce Mayson Kaminski Emelyne Lin Haley Julian Destiny Ausby Aaliyah Julius Leslie Tuszynski Ashley Baker Kira Morris Lilly Soyars Constantine Economou Logan Williams Adam Ouabi Julia Pavuk Jack Angus Jordyn Walker-Cummings Aidan Iwasyk Michael Ruiz
Writers
We Are 254 Miles Away You Don’t Remember With Baggage Comes Strength Anatomy of Us The Cinema Monsters of Blanchard Creek A Letter to Dr. Sauer The Water Below Him Midnight Memories Dear Society Being Biracial To Whom It May Concern Affliction Stereotypes Exposure to Technology Picture Perfect Shakes in the Night A Siren’s Sorrow Gulls (co writer) Gulls (co writer) Failure or Success Failure Willow Tree Breathe Pathway to Greatness
2 4 6 7 10 12-15 16 18 20 21 24-25 26 28 29 30 33 34-37 38-39 40 41 41 42 43 45 47 49
Artists
Ananya Ram Andreya Rodriguez Elliah Chamberlain Rishi Mahadevan Fiona Shao Ashley Doray Caitlin Cannon Layla Erickson Vialetta Lokshin Therese Hagen Helen Barton Madison Rowlands Katie Thomsen Olivia Zeiml Christian Cielo Nicole Santucci Zulia Bueno Vanya Sharma Jason Morin Audra Thompson Christina Kemp Sarah Pabin Samantha Wang Raven Ruble Katie Thomsen Alicia Morris Rachel Hickey Olivia Zeiml Elliah Chamberlain Katie Smith Malaya Pascual Abigail McGregor Daniela Flores Lizzie Barbosa Kayla Hess Vidya Devarajulu
Painting Photography Digital Painting Photography Digital Art Photography Drawing Charcoal Portrait Charcoal Portrait Drawing Digital Art Photography Mixed Media Photography Drawing Painting Photography Photography Photography Photography Photography Photography Painting Digital Art Painting/Drawing Scratchboard Scratchboard Photography Painting Drawing Drawing Digital Painting Winter/Fall Photos Spring Photo Summer Photo Photography
v
cover iii 3 5 6 7 8 9 9 11 15 16-17 19 21 22 23 23 24 25 27 28 29 31 32 34,36 39 39 40 41 43 44 45 46,47 46 46 48
2
We Are
We are made of the cosmos and stars From distant planets, like Neptune or Mars We are made from the sun and its rays We are the light, like on those sunny days . . . We are the moon that controls the tides We are the stars, rulers of the night We are the clouds that soon turn to rain We each have our own journeys, each our own pain We are made from the mountains, the proudest of them all They are here to remind us to always stand tall We are made from the greatest of trees Roots spread wide, with rich histories We are the leaves that fall when the winds turn cold We show our splendor before we grow old We are the wildflowers that rampantly grow Our inner beauty can not be controlled We are the raging rivers for we have force We have anger that shakes us right down to the core We are the rocks deep in the earth You shall not budge from your place, you show your worth We are the magma that boils and bubbles Melting away our darkest of troubles We are the earth and the sun, We are the same We are all one.
3
4
254 Miles Away
John just got the call that his wife died today. He grabs the handle as soon as the shock hits. The coldness and steadiness of the handle are tested by John’s sweaty and shaking hands. He squeezes it even harder when he feels the tears coming. He’d rather bend this innocent piece of metal than let a single tear come out, not only would an emotional breakdown be hard to clean, it would be embarrassing. He notices the chief is still talking. “Are you ok, son?” he asks in such an amicable way that seems completely out of character. John can’t come out with the words; in a moment of panic, he hangs up. He takes a deep breath, letting the cold air of the station fill his lungs. He holds it in for a few seconds, he breathes out, it has calmed him down. He looks around, all the wires and the mess that the science wing is known for increases his anxiety. A breakdown starts coming and he is not sure how to stop it. He thinks he needs fresh air. He catches that thought before he gets his hopes up. He decides to go for the second-best thing and watch the sunrise. He lifts his feet off the ground and reaches for the handle on the other side of the wall. Floating, he launches himself towards the end of the long white hallway. The weightlessness was always something that calmed him down, it doesn’t seem to be working this time. He manages to make it to the suits, but not without going past a few sleeping quarters. Yeun’s quarters were always the neatest. No photos of family or friends, his wires and chargers all neatly placed into tiny Ziploc bags that are stuck to the wall. John envies Yeun's disattachment to anyone. He goes past the quarters that belonged to Grace; they’re now empty and await the arrival of their next owner in about 1 week. Finally, John moves past his mess of a sleeping arrangement. Through all the mess one thing stands out, a picture of Her. He remembers the day he took that photo and quickly brushes the memory off.
254 Miles Away
5
He slides into the suit, disregarding the communication headset, he wants no one to bother him. Every single screw, plug, and zipper feels like an unopened pickle jar. He pauses, takes a deep breath, the shaking stops. The suit is on, he releases himself from the wall and hooks the tether to his hip. Another deep breath. He lifts the handle, the door opens. He can see the nothingness through a small window. He steps into the claustrophobia-inducing room and the door closes behind him. Another door opens and takes all the sound with it. He knows that everyone will wake up in a few minutes and that pushes him to make the jump. John finds himself facing a completely dark Earth, not counting a few weak lights coming from what he thinks is Switzerland. The first ray of sunlight hits him, quickly the planet starts to get consumed by it. The feeling of loneliness is overwhelming, realizing that at this moment, he is the only person in this vast and endless universe, everyone else is either asleep in their oxygenated sleeping quarters or stuck on the big blue rock. She would love the view. She always talked about how she couldn’t wait to watch the sunrise with their family. Family. They never had the chance to make one. He will never get to hear their laughs and giggles. He will never get to see how good of a mom she would make. He finally let's go and a single tear comes out. He misses her.
6
You Don’t Remember
You don't remember but we lived among the stars as we kissed beyond an exploding nebula and danced on top of the sun. You don't remember but we followed dinosaurs and watched as the ground cracked and floated away. You don't remember but we lived in castles and bowed to kings and queens. You don't remember but we built pyramids and carved our lives into stone. You don't remember but we died holding each other as disease wrecked our bodies and rats swarmed the streets. You don't remember but we aimed our guns at enemies and died fighting a meaningless war. You don't remember but we kissed in vintage cars and turned the volume up high. You may not remember all these lives but right here and right now we can dance to our music and love each other unconditionally.
With Baggage Comes Strength
i wish i could put it all in a bag. every conversation left unsaid, every sweaty palm handshake, every fall up the stairs, every slurred word in front of class, every should have, every should haven’t, every inappropriate laugh, every overshed tear, every five year ago reminder that sends a shudder through my whole body, all of it. in a bag. send it off to somewhere, and never have it again. but instead, the bag just keeps getting heavier and heavier. and it just makes me stronger and stronger.
-
with baggage comes strength
7
8
9
10
Anatomy of Us
I am made of crushed dreams and salt streaked cheeks, wishing to take back what I hoped for, but a broken heart makes me learn. It keeps me from trying again because why learn to love when learning to hate is much easier. I am made of cracked ribs and torn muscles, because a fighter, although wounded, fights with the vigor of a dying man that has nothing to lose. I am made of sleepless nights and unfinished art because my mind hums with fragments of bad poetry I write at 4 am that I know will never make the light of day. I am made of bad memories and forced laughter, though I can’t help wanting to one day fall asleep with a smile on my face. I’m also made of fruitless hope and unrealistic expectations. You’re made of paint streaked cheeks and sore wrists, your canvas always filled with bright colors and meaningful stories that you could never express out loud. You’re made of fragile hands that haven’t seen the terrors of life, callous free and soft as cotton. You’re made of self-doubt and second-guessing, but you shouldn’t worry because you’re made of finished art pieces that get appraised for their originality. So put the paintbrush down and give yourself some credit. You’re also made of sleepless nights. But you don’t spend yours contemplating the uselessness of the universe, you spend yours sketching down ideas and practicing human anatomy. You’re made of stardust and infinite galaxies because when I look at you I see that they are stored in your eyes. We’re made of a friendship that will be nothing more, but I’m okay as long as you are.
11
12
The Cinema Monsters of Blanchard Creek
I will always remember the first time Dean and I
movies when we were supposed to be working; and the
realized our town of Blanchard Creek was filled with
one time Dean found a stray cat outside and brought it
monsters. It was a stormy evening, the rain pounded on
into the theater. He named the cat Ferguson and took it
the windows and the thunder boomed. Dean and I
home with him after work. Dean was a huge softie for
happened to be working at the local cinema that day.
cats and couldn’t let the poor guy live in the dangerous
Work had been slow because of the weather and the
outdoors.
evening didn’t get much better. If anything, it got worse.
Whenever Lucille caught us in one of these
There were about five people in the whole theater, not
situations she went livid, and I could almost see smoke
counting me and Dean. And our coworker Lucille.
emitting from her ears. When angry, she was like a kettle
Working concessions, I was excruciatingly bored.
whistling on a stove top, about to erupt. Sometimes I
So bored that I decided to go sit in on one of the movies
thought that she was going to go into cardiac arrest from
playing. It wasn’t like anyone would need me, anyway.
how angry she got.
Service was practically nonexistent today. Absolutely
Dean and I didn’t even make it into the screening
nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen. So, I
room when we heard screaming. The small group of
grabbed a bucket of popcorn and made a mental note to
people that were in the theater came rushing out, looks of
deduct that from my paycheck next week, then headed to
sheer terror on their faces. Dean managed to stop one
watch Revenge of the Werewolf. Dean was cleaning one of
lady in her tracks and placed his hands on her shoulders.
the bathrooms that I happened to walk by. “If it isn’t my best buddy Jaxon!” He stopped working to smile in my direction. “What’s up my dude?” I smiled back. “Hey, Dean!” I walked up to him so that we could fist bump.
“Mam? Mam, what happened?” The woman looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and her lip trembling. “The monsters! Oh, the monsters! Run! Get out of here before they catch you.” She pushed Dean away and
“Where ya going?”
continued to run out of the theater. Dean looked over at
“Thought I’d sit in on one of the horror movies.
me, his eyebrows crinkled in concern and curiosity.
You wanna come with me?” Dean grinned, “Heck yeah! Lucille is going to kill us,
We both rushed to the screening room that all of the people had run out of only to see that there was
though. The last couple times we did this she got so mad.
nothing there. The movie was still playing, but no one was
Her face was as red as Elmo’s.” He held his stomach and
in the theater.
bent over with laughter. I joined in, tears forming in my
I sighed, “I guess it was just some prank.”
eyes from laughing so hard.
Dean's eyebrows were scrunched up in concern, “I
Lucille, our coworker and manager, was always annoyed with me and Dean. Our shenanigans “could cost her her job” she always said. By shenanigans I of course
don’t know, man. Those people looked really scared. I don’t think that kind of terror can be faked.” I couldn’t help it. A laugh burst out of me. “Dude,
mean using our jobs to get free popcorn; pretending that
you can’t be serious. There’s nothing here. It was probably
the brooms were magic and playing quidditch with the
some dumb kid from our school who decided to scare
sponges that were used to clean the counters; sitting in on
people.” Dean let out a small laugh, but didn’t look so sure.
The Cinema Monsters of Blanchard Creek “Come on, dude. My mini bucket of popcorn is empty, and I want some more.” Dean scrunched up his face in disgust, “How can
13
“Yeah, definitely not, Sherlock,” I spoke with disturbance lacing my voice. The electrical box had been split open by gigantic tooth marks, way too large to be
you eat popcorn?” He had an unfortunate popcorn
rats or racoons. There was no way I was going to be able
allergy, so he didn’t understand what was so great about
to repair that. Both of us jumped when we heard Lucille
it. I always teased him, saying how much he was missing
scream. Running out of the storage room, we were met by
out. We were just about to walk out when Lucille stood in
the gigantic form of a popcorn monster.
the doorway. Boy did she look angry. “What in the world did you two do? Why are all of
As Dean and I looked around, we saw that the popcorn monster wasn’t alone. There was also a giant
those people running out of the theater?” Her arms were
sour patch kid with razor sharp teeth in his gummy
crossed against her chest and she glared at both of us.
mouth. His teeth looked like massive nails that had been
I put my hands up in surrender, “It wasn’t us. We
dipped in melted gummy bears. He was holding a
just came to see what all the commotion was about and
screaming Lucille. Then I glimpsed my worst nightmare.
there’s nothing here.”
The black licorice gremlins. They were about the size of
She didn’t look convinced. She turned to Dean. “Is that true, Dean? I don’t trust Jax.” I placed my hand on my chest in mock offense
my knee down to my foot and were round with evil grins and beady red eyes. I froze, sweat dripping down my palms and my
and gasped, “Lucy?! You don’t trust little old me? I would
mouth going dry. I despised licorice. They swarmed
never cause mischief.”
around the giant sour patch who was holding Lucille. The
Lucille glared at me and opened her mouth to argue when all of the lights in the building shut off.
sour patch was at least 9 feet in height. “Dean, back slowly toward the storage room,” I
“AAAHHHHH!” Dean let out a high pitched shriek.
whispered. He did as I said, and once we were close
“Dean, stop being such a big baby. It’s probably a
enough to the door we rushed inside and slammed it shut.
power outage from the storm,” I said. “I’ll go fix it. Dean,
Dean started pacing, holding his hair. “What are
you have to come with me so that you can hold the
we gonna do? I’m allergic to popcorn and there’s a giant
flashlight.”
monster made out of it outside with an army of licorice
I heard Dean mumble something incoherent in the darkness. We got a flashlight from the break room and headed to the storage room to find the electrical box.
and a sour patch partner! And they have Lucille! This is extremely unordinary! I wasn't trained for this.” Being Dean’s best friend made me equipped to be
As Dean shined light on the box, my eyes widened and he
the brave one. He was the biggest coward I knew and
gasped.
panicked at any scary or abnormal situation. I looked “Jax, I don’t think this was just a power outage.”
around the storage room, immediately getting an idea that was, in my humble opinion, brilliant. “Dean,” I said, “stop pacing and hand me the mop.” Dean looked at me quizzically.
14
The Cinema Monsters of Blanchard Creek
“What?” He asked. “Dean, we don’t have time for questions right now!” I yelled. “Hand me the freaking mop!” He moved
Dean had jumped with me and we ran around the seats, trying to see where the little gremlin went. My heart beat hard in my chest and I reached
quickly after my outburst and tossed the mop towards
over for Dean. I held on to his shoulder. Out of nowhere,
me. I grabbed the tool box from the storage room shelf,
the lights came back on.
then took out the sharpest screwdriver I could find and duck taped it to the stick end of the mop. Dean got a clue of what I was doing and looked
Dean sighed in relief, “The backup generator.” I sighed as well, thankful that we could at least see again. Then I saw a flash of black rush out of the door.
around for things that he could use. He found the broom
“Come on! We’ve got some monsters to fight.”
and followed my idea, attaching a screwdriver to his.
We ran out of the room and into the lobby, where
Then he grabbed the hammer from the toolbox. It was
all of the monsters had assembled. Sure, they had
hard to see in the dark, but the flashlight helped as much
numbers but Dean and I? We had weapons.
as it could. “You ready?” I asked, holding my makeshift spear and attaching the last two screwdrivers to my belt. “Let’s go kill some monsters,” Dean said. He looked pale and scared, but tried to put on a brave face. We barged out of the room, shining our flashlights around. The monsters were nowhere in sight. We decided to stay together and not split up. Splitting up
“Charge!!!” I screamed, running at the popcorn monster first. He growled a thundering growl that blew my hair back. “That’s a pretty powerful growl,” I said nervously. But I quickly stabbed the monster in the gut. He paused and then grabbed my makeshift spear out of his gut. The monster's grin was not at all welcoming. He threw the spear and growled in my face again. Meanwhile, Dean was surrounded by licorice
was for dummies. We’d seen horror movies, and we knew
gremlins. They muttered in some kind of gibberish
exactly how splitting up would end. With both parties
licorice language and began to circle Dean. He looked like
dead. We searched the bathrooms and went down the
he was about to cry but stabbed one of them with his
concessions hall. Finally, we decided to go into each of the
spear. The licorice stopped moving in on him and looked
screening rooms.
at their speared friend. They turned to Dean and bared
“What if we don’t get to Lucille in time?” Dean asked.
their menacingly sharp teeth. I ran from the popcorn monster, searching for something that could kill him.
“Oh, we will. Besides, I’m sure Lucille is capable of
I jumped over the concession counter and that’s
fighting for herself. She’s not a damsel in distress.” Dean
when I realized. He was made of popcorn. I climbed on top
silently agreed with me and we decided to go to the
of the counter and called the monster over.
screening room where the woman had said she saw the monsters. “Monsters,” I called, “come out, come out
“Yoohoo! Mr. Popcorn monster, sir?” He started to charge toward me, and that’s when I leapt off of the counter, launching myself at him. It was as if time slowed
wherever you are!” Suddenly, a licorice gremlin came
down, and it felt like ages before I was able to grab on to
rushing at us from the side. I jumped out of the way.
his giant popcorn shoulder.
The Cinema Monsters of Blanchard Creek That’s when I took a massive bite of his buttery,
15
She always thought it was me and Dean who did
delicious popcorn shoulder. The monster growled and
things like this. Heck, if there was a murder on the news
swayed, then he fell backward.
she thought it was us, even if we were at work when it
I made quick work of the monster, devouring every last bite of popcorn. Then I stood up off of the floor and wiped the butter off of my face with the back of my sleeve. I was a warrior now. I was going to save my friends. “AAAAAAAHH!” I rushed towards the licorice that
happened. “I have no idea,” I replied, “but maybe we can research it.” “That would be a good idea,” Dean agreed, walking towards us. He brushed black licorice off his hands. “We
were surrounding Dean, wielding my mightiest warrior
really killed some movie theater monsters, didn’t we guys?”
scream. A screwdriver in each fist, I began stabbing the
He sounded triumphant, and I was proud of his bravery. All
little monsters . When there were enough gremlins for
of a sudden, a licorice gremlin bit Dean’s leg, and Dean
Dean to handle on his own, he turned to me.
shrieked before passing out.
“Go, Jax! Help Lucille. She can’t fight that giant sour
I killed the licorice gremlin and grabbed
patch alone.” I looked into the eyes of my best friend. We
semi-conscious Dean. “You big baby,” I said. I guess that
were both warriors now. I gave him a salute.
was all the bravery he could exert in one night.“Well, our
“So long, soldier. See you on the other side.” I ran towards the sour patch and stabbed the leg of it with all my might.
shifts are over. Time to go home.” I sighed, walking away with Dean. Little did we know that that was only the first time
It screamed down at me and tried to use it’s other foot to stomp on me. I rolled under it’s foot and was able to confuse it enough for it to drop Lucille, who wouldn’t stop beating it in the chest. I caught her before she hit the ground and gave her one of my screwdrivers. “Thanks,” she said. And before I could say ‘You’re welcome’ she was running towards the sour patch, who began to spit some kind of citric acid saliva at us. Lucille got some in her eye and became outraged, stabbing the sour patch everywhere she could with the screwdriver. Eventually, the sour patch’s leg began to crumble into sour patch pieces. It fell down, screaming. Lucille leapt on top of it, slicing it’s giant sour patch head right off. “Looks like you didn’t need my help,” I said, smiling at her. She glared at me. “How did these monsters get here?” Of course she would ask a question like that.
the Blanchard Creek Monster’s Inc. team was going to be killing monsters. “You guys better come back here! Who's gonna help me clean this mess? Jax! JAAAAXXXX!” That also wasn’t the last time that Lucille would be yelling after us.
16
A Letter to Dr. Sauer Munich, March 3, 1911
My dearest colleague and fellow taxidermist, The strangest thing occurred a few months ago while I was in my laboratory. The day had begun as usual. There were a few repairs to make on some of my old works, and The Demented One needed to be fed (I’m confident you remember him from the last time you came over; he was the wretched little boy that would prepare dinner for us and hunt rats at night). At noon, I decided to go to the Hofplein railway station to find another client. I was glad I wore my thickest coat, for the weather was chilly, and I waited for hours. At nightfall, a child finally approached me. He kindly introduced himself as Stefan Luzhin. I waited for his train to leave and then suggested that he stay at my residence. The poor child had no idea of the trap he was falling into. I let him stay in one of my nicest rooms, feeling obliged by his total compliance. After confirming that he had fallen asleep, I quickly headed to my laboratory and prepared for the operation. At midnight, I sent The Demented One to retrieve the boy. When The Demented One returned with the boy, I strapped him to the table and waited for him to come to. As I studied him, I noticed a hint of Russian in him. This, I realized, would be a great addition to my collection. I remembered that I had forgotten my gloves in my room and hurriedly retrieved them. When I returned, the boy was awake, looking around fearfully. As I had suspected, he was Russian. He was a whiner, so I made the usual bargain with him. He was the most naive client I’d had, so I got the candy ready. I was utterly baffled when he demanded that I write his biography. Of all the children I had operated on, he happened to be the only one sane enough to warn other children of the dangers of society. Do not worry, though, my dear friend. I have never known a single newspaper, so it will never be published. I have sent the biography to you with this letter and would like you to read over it. Keep in mind Sauer, you must never trust that an unaware child will not use his mind every once in a while. Take this as a warning. You wouldn’t want to be discovered, you know. Sincerely, A. Schrek
17
18
The Water Below Him
He felt his stomach turn with anxiety. It was not every day that a man stands on the edge of a bridge with a noose around his neck. He knew that one step forward would change his life forever and that there was no turning back. Yet, the opportunity to be reunited with his son and wife was enticing. He glanced down at the water and took a deep breath, thinking about the rushing waves below him that claimed their lives and bodies. The longer he stared at the water, the clearer the image of their deaths came into place. First, it was his son. The seven-year-old boy never did learn how to swim. He flailed his arms above the water as the waves pushed him. Eventually, the strength of the water was too much and he gave in to the water’s call. Only hours later the man’s wife joined her son. The people that lived by the river claim that she was looking for her son. It was getting late in the evening when she went by the water. She must have gotten too close to the river, because it wasn’t long before her head was underwater. Unlike her son, she knew how to swim, but a strong force kept pushing her farther and farther into the water until she stopped struggling. Her corpse slept in the river, only to be moved by the tides. The man readjusted himself on the ledge. If this was where he was going to die, he might as well be comfortable beforehand. The noose around his neck must have already been cutting off oxygen because he could see vivid hallucinations of two figures. One was his wife, the other was his son. They emerged from the water, completely unmoved by the tides. They made their way up the hill and onto the bridge. With blank stares on their faces, they approached him. His wife joined his right and his son joined his left. The man knew that they weren’t real. Even his hallucinations of them had death’s kiss. They were dripping in water, their skin was pale and peeling and they were bony enough that if you looked for too long, you could make out the outline of their skeletons. The man could sense his wife’s cold hand on his shoulder. He did not dare to stare into her dead eyes.
19
“ Jump in the river,” she whispered in his ear. Her words felt cold across his face. “ Join us, sweetheart. We can be a family again.” The man felt a slight tug on his arm. He turned to see his young son. His face looked tired and his eyes were as pale as the moon. The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew he could not stall his death forever. The man turned back to the angry crowd behind him, there to make sure he is punished for his crimes. He could not blame them for their anger. Most people would feel disdain towards a man who killed his wife and son. The man turned his face back forward. He reflected on the day he threw his son into the rushing water and how he pushed his wife’s head underwater later that evening, all while keeping the blank stare that now resides on their corpses. With that in mind, the man took his final step off the bridge to be with his family once more.
20
Midnight it’s hard to believe there’s a calm after the storm when you’ve spent years drowning coming up for air and falling short overtaken by unrelenting waves and unrelenting rains will have you thinking rainbows don’t exist and so I’m wary of any signs of happiness if luck is true the world will try mine and good can quickly turn to bad four-leaf clovers fall to three and shooting stars die alike all the better years spent in the absence of light makes even a flicker seem too bright so I don’t believe in happy endings poison apples taste just as (sickeningly) sweet and all clocks must strike twelve until then I’ll be biding my time waiting for the other shoe to drop but when it does it’ll have me thinking: is this what fate had planned for me? or was it a self-fulfilling prophecy?
Memories Taking detours Running through aisles Making bad choices Turning the volume to max Screaming the lyrics at the top of our lungs Laughing at your road rage Pulling into the parking lot to Take silly pictures of each other One of my sweetest memories‌ Staying out late with you
21
22
23
24
Dear Society
Dear society, why are you so obsessed with perfection? What even defines and validates your expectations? Why are you making people hate their reflections? And deny themselves of any self-affection? Tell me what is perfection? Dear society, why are you making us afraid of being honest? Why are you forcing us to mask our pain and say we are not stressed or depressed? Why are you making our lives become a masquerade ball in which we are all your guests? Why are you not allowing us to talk about our scars but instead tell us to stay suppressed? Tell me what is perfection? Dear society, why are you creating a culture that just wants us to pretend, And tell us money, filters and the illusions of happiness is what the heart requires to mend? Why are you preventing us from being truthful about our imperfection and discuss? Why are you creating a land where if we show our scars people would just leave us? Tell me what is perfection? Dear society, why are you creating a leash of fear, Where a mask is an accessory that we always must wear? Why are you constantly insisting we are not breaking on the inside? Don’t you realize that this mentality is hurting our minds? Tell me what is perfection?
Dear Society
25
Dear society, don't you see that our hearts have one plea That people can be unafraid to be real and show empathy Don't you see that what we long to hear is that we are not alone For we are not an emotionless, manufactured clone Tell me what is perfection? Dear society, don't you see that your expectation of perfection is poison In the minds and hearts of our children from within Why are you not letting us be authentic and forcing us to lock our hearts? Why are you forcing a target on us when we are authentic and make harmful marks? Tell me what is perfection? Dear society, why do you try to sweep our struggles and your mistakes under the rug? Is it because you are afraid that instead of us you will be the thug? Why are you trying to protect your own reputation and covering up your mistakes, And let us suffer the consequences and not protect us and wait for us to break Tell me what is perfection? Dear society, don't you see that your expectation of perfection is not giving us life But rather your expectations are in our hearts feeling like knives Having us try to become something impossible is no society's cure It is loving and accepting the reflection in the mirror We are done with being your puppet, your pawn, your toy. Your impossible expectation is killing our joy Don't tell me what perfection is.
Being Biracial
26
Dear, anybody reading this I was born, November 28, 2001 at 2:32 am to Brian and Candiss Julian. Named Haley Annemarie Julian. My sister was born 6 years later. When she was born they believed that my mother wasn’t the mother of my little sister even though their wristband numbers matched. Do you know why that would happen? Do you know why the doctors would think such a thing. It’s because my father had to leave the hospital to take care of me and my brother. Still confused? They wouldn’t give my little sister to my mother because my mother is a different color. The color of her skin contrasted too much with my little sister. So they thought it must have been a switch up. Even though she literally came from my mother. Now why does that seem acceptable that they wouldn’t let my mother hold my little sister when she was born just because my mother is black? Why was my mom asked if she was the nanny when walking around with my siblings and I? Why did I have to choose between black or white in elementary school when taking standardized tests? Why were my friends confused when I told them my mom was black? Why does everybody ASSUME that my father is the black one? Stereotypes. In short, stereotypes are the answer. People don’t understand that a dark mother can have light children. People don’t understand that it isn’t just “white trash” women who have “ghetto” husbands that have biracial children. People don’t understand that everything is different now. YOU don’t understand that everything is different now. People don’t understand that it’s hard to fit in as a biracial kid. You don’t fit in with the \ white kids cause you’re not white enough. You don’t fit in with the black kids cause you’re not black enough. And the small amount of biracial kids that there are I don’t fit in with either cause I’m not dark enough. I’m not mixed enough. The only thing that solidifies me as biracial is my hair. If I have it straight then I just look white, and people automatically assume I am. These things make me question my identity. These things make me question who I really am. I talked with my parents about this and they said they’re glad I don’t “identify” with anything. Yet they don’t realize that it’s harder to fit in with anybody or anything. They don’t realize that they identify with their race, and it makes it easy for them to fit in with certain people. On the other hand my brother or my sister or myself, we struggle. We struggle to fit in, and it hurts sometimes. So my wish is for YOU and everybody that sees me or another mixed person to not automatically assume. Don’t assume that if you see a dark mother with light children you don’t wonder if they’re truly her children. Don’t assume that if you see a light mother with dark children you don’t wonder if they’re truly her children. Don’t exile a mixed person because they’re not enough of anything for you. Don’t refuse to give a mother her newborn because her skin tone doesn’t match the newborn’s. Don’t force me to cast away my ‘blackness’ to be accepted. Don’t force me to straighten my curly hair because it looks unprofessional. Don’t force me to talk a certain way. Don’t force me to “act more white” because it’s “the right way.” Get rid of stereotypes about mixed people and their parents. Please I ask of you only that. Sincerely, Haley Annemarie Julian (The Mixed Girl)
27
28
To Whom It May Concern
To whom it may concern, Many people believe that America is a great place to get away from where they come from. They believe that it is a place to fulfill dreams and achieve success. I understand why they think that. To whom it may concern, My mother often cries when she thinks that I’m asleep. She fears for my future. I don’t blame her for it. To whom it may concern, I find it hard to wear my hair the way it is. They want my hair to be straight and silky like theirs, Because my natural hair is not beautiful.
To whom it may concern, I’m struggling to figure out my identity. My color has been what has defined me and many others like me. To whom it may concern, We have worked hard to support a nation that has not wanted to support us. We must fight to get what belongs to us. To whom it may concern, We are still a confused nation That is torn into pieces. A shadow has been cast on the world, but let the sun rise into a new dawn. Sincerely, the Black Youth
Affliction There is not a single soul unvisited by This affliction. Robbing us of unity, and moving those who’d sing to cry. Above all, we’d stay perfect over affinity. The affliction has us running from who we are to the latest panaceas and pills; We trust candid photos staged and glued ‘Cause truth’s a stranger; lie’s a friend who kills. Rather than listen to own hidden pain, We point and blame. But our affliction is just A reminder to grow past all self-shame, To deeper compassion for all we trust. Hiding from self is the greatest lie to tell, Truth in this regard frees us from self-hell.
29
30
popular, pretty, make-up, short skirts, crop-tops, open-toed shoes.
Stereotypes low self-esteem, hides herself because she doesn’t think she is good enough, embraces the dark because she has never seen the light she craves.
or... and... emo, dark, shy, quiet, glares, gothic art, piercings. or... muscular, handsome, tall, smirk, girl magnet, jacket, attractive, jock. or... thick glasses, books, pencils, sketchbook, quiet, shy, braces, white shirts, plaid skirts these are the stereotypes in school, and they are found in every single one. however, they are wrong. they do not define who we are. try to look inside, behind the looks outside, placed up like a wall protecting the soul from an onslaught of society.
heart-broken, rejected, depressive, plays basketball because it gives a great excuse for the bruises he wears. and... smart, strong, keeps all her problems on the inside and writes them down on paper, in poems she knows nobody will care to look at. colored lightly to be able to capture the radiant light, color ,and natural beauty of the roots.
behind every person in school is someone special, or someone suffering, or someone angry. behind every drop of makeup, every dark piece of clothing, every basketball uniform, every set of glasses, is a student craving love. craving attention.
self-conscious, lonely, desperate, anorexic, does drugs because it allows her to escape reality.
craving care.
and...
but they do not define who we are.
stereotypes are in every school‌
31
32
Exposure to Technology
33
Picture Perfect
34 “Look,
it’s
Amber.”
A
girl
whispered to her friend, both of their hair curling unnaturally, nails painted pristinely, and iPhones with bedazzled cases in their hands. Shailee and Ashley, wearing makeup as though teenagers, looking as though 10 or 12 at the oldest. The girl in question had many qualities that could be pointed out as different from these two, from most girls her age, in fact. The first, most obvious fact was that Amber wore no shoes, tip-toeing through the freshly mowed green grass like she was a ballerina in a dance studio. Her hair was frizzy and messy, several artificial leaves from the modified trees hung in her hair like ornaments on a Christmas tree. “If she likes dancing so much, she should just go to Wentworth.” Wentworth was a prestigious dance academy for students with exceptional abilities in dancing or gymnastics. “Or Lullany.” Lullany was where any mentally ill or physically disabled students were sent, and most tended not to come back either. “What is she doing? Only the Wentworth students dance.” Shailee scoffed, several other girls from their class joining, each with unnaturally, perfectly curled hair as they looked at the strange frizzy-haired girl. “Maybe the psychos would like her better.” Amber merely looked up at the sky, which was perfectly cloudless, all the morning fog and mist collected by Pumpers, devices that naturally gathered unpurified water and took it to treatment plants.
Picture Perfect
35
“Mental break is over, students! Inside.” Miss Casey called, waving her class inside. Amber leaned down suddenly, plucking a yellow flower from the grass before she picked up her shoes and followed. Miss Casey was writing down the date to be copied in the corner of their worksheets. “Who can read the date for the students in the back?” “May 8th, 2072!” A chipper girl by the name of Mandy shot her hand out, speaking without being called upon. Her makeup was more defined in order to be seen through her round glasses. “Very good Mandy, but please do not speak out of turn.” Miss Casey rebuffed. Amber spun the yellow flower through her fingers. It was unlike the ones that her parents had to buy, it was softer, the yellow petals were drops of sunshine against Amber’s fingers, the nails unpainted and dirt pushing to her nail beds. Her face, nearly unseen through her frizzy hair was also peppered with specks of dirt and a scratch on her cheek. “Amber has something!” A girl tattled. “Now, now. Amber, would you please put that away?” Miss Casey addressed. “ . . . ” Amber didn’t move for a moment. When Miss Casey opened her mouth to repeat herself, Amber’s head turned up slightly. “It needs water.” “Amber please, plants don’t need water, they live just fine wherever you put them, now put it away.” Miss Casey sighed, tiredly. “Told you she should be in Lullany,” a girl whispered. “I’ve got the situation under control, Shailee.” Miss Casey’s head turned sharply. “Amber?” “It’s not a normal flower, it’s . . . alive.” Amber furrowed her brows, tapping on the center lightly, surprised at its smooth buds. “Amber, go to your room. I’ll speak to you after class,” Miss Casey said and Amber stood, still staring at the flower as though it were diamonds or gold. The other girls snickered as she walked away.
36
Picture Perfect
Out of the classroom, Amber passed several elevators and evaporation chambers but chose to walk up the stairs instead, feeling the marble against her mud-covered feet. Behind her a little robot with a squealing whistle screamed as it scrubbed the polished floors. Amber made it to her room, shared with another girl in a different class and took a seat at her desk. Amber took her pencil cup and dumped it out. She leaned over and put it under the built-in dispenser, crystal clear water coming out. Amber slid the flower into the cup. The room had two beds, two desks and a bathroom, as well as a small corner kitchen. Amber’s roommate didn’t cook, but Amber often tried to deconstruct any meals they were given and recreate whatever it was. Her experimentations rarely went well. Amber watched the flower. Her phone rang twice, but she didn’t answer. Eventually, the sun hung low and Amber’s roommate entered, texting feverishly until she noticed Amber. “What the hell is that?” she asked, a valley girl accent stressing certain syllables. Amber didn’t like her accent. “It’s a flower.” “So like, why do you have it?” “Because it’s dying.” “Amber, flowers don’t die. Does this one change color?” “No, it’s dying. It’s alive right now, but it’s still dying,” Amber stressed. “You’re literally, like, insane.” “Aren’t you afraid? One day we’re going to die too, and no one will give us another thought. We don’t have family.” “I have friends, freak.” “Maybe. But I want to leave more behind than some SnapChat pictures and makeup tutorials. I want to be more than hair extensions and pretty nails. What’s important anymore? I want to play and scrape my knees and dance until my toes hurt and sing way off-key.” Amber continued to study the flower. “I want to be more than a profile picture.”
Picture Perfect
37
“I am so calling Miss Deven.” Amber’s roommate left, marching away. “You lived, little flower. I’m sorry I took you from your home; you’re very pretty.” Amber whispered. “At least you changed one person’s life.” “And she’s talking crazy about dying and dancing and singing!” Amber heard her roommate and the principal burst through the doors, but her eyes were fixated on the flower. “Amber, please come with me,” Miss Deven said crossly. “Bye-bye little flower. We’ll meet again,” Amber whispered as she stood. Maybe she hadn’t reached anyone here, but Lullany was full of people who sounded like they needed a little hope.
38
Shakes in the Night
In the night, the place is dark. Blackness swallows four walls with occasional stripes of white light from the cars passing in the dead of night. Cover of darkness hides the mess that lies in the bedroom. It hides the backpack spilling its contents in the middle of the room and a basket of laundry still needing to be put up. Only soft snores fill the room. Two lumps are seen in the bed. With the occasional light filtering in and out of the blinds you can tell that the shapes are of a boy and a dog. The hum of a passing car can be heard but neither figure moves. The blanket of night is covering them both. Suddenly the dog’s eyes flicker open, the brown orbs flash with uncertainty and they dart over to the figure sleeping peacefully. It started with slight vibrations. The curled body struggles to unfurl her legs in a blind panic. Sleeping boy is soon disturbed and struggles to find a light beside his bed. The light fills the room and the frame of his dog is illuminated. Quickly unwrapping himself from the mass of blankets, he hurries to wrap his arms around the dog. Warmth and violent shaking. That's what the boy feels as he holds his pet close, keeping her from thrashing about. The dog's eyes are wide as she struggles to stand. She herself is unsure of what is happening but the boy is quick to support her uneasy body. This wasn’t strange. The same thing had woken the boy from much deeper slumbers before. At times like this, thousands of thoughts are pounding at the boy's skull, but his biggest worry is for his friend. “It's okay, you're okay,” the boy whispers into the dog’s flopped over ears. The dog leans into the boy's touch, allowing her uncontrollable body to be protected in his loving arms. Fat tears roll out of the dog’s large eyes and land on the boy’s shirt. All he can do is hug her and whisper words of support and love, even if those words fall on temporarily deaf ears. Moments pass and the pet’s body stills, but a stench of urine is quick to fill the room. They both know that is the least of their worries, and the boy leans forward to plant a soft kiss on the dog’s nose. He will stay here with his pet for a few moments more to ensure her safety. The bedsheets can wait, his best friend can’t.
39
40
A Siren’s Sorrow
Once, she had driven me Once, I had sacrificed for her Once, I tried my best despite the odds Once, she had been there unconditionally Once, we had been so close Once, we drifted too far from shore Once, I drowned for her Once, she swam back without me
Gulls
41
To kill a gull is to kill a sailor Symbols of the sea, and the Lord in his majesty To shoot one down Is to kill the White Dove himself White stained, Eyes gazing into a dead and thoughtless sky. A sky once ruled by wings of angels, Now ruled by mechanical raptors Raptors hunt. Once done dining on “dinner� They clean themselves in a Self-righteous baptism. Their murder being nothing but vanity, A trophy on the wall, A freshly made dinner. A phrase of bad luck. Out of the lighthouse beaconing civilization The raptors enter their wooden tools like clockwork . Coming with their gunpowder and peaceful arms To kill another gull- another dove- to kill themselves To commit suicide of their own souls To turn to sparkless ash at the end above sullen and soundless winds To eat something that need not be eaten To kill a gull is to kill a sailor.
42
Failure or Success
I am a failure And don’t even try to tell me I can just try again I HAVE tried a billion times but As I try, I continue to countlessly fail Even though The more I fail, the more I learn The things I learn don’t matter It is a lie that My mindset impacts success Because I don’t always succeed when I am positive My achievements make My mindsets I give up Never once in my life will you ever hear me say I can achieve greatness and success
(Now read from the bottom of the poem to the top)
Failure
43
Failure is the lack of success Failure is the consequence Failure is what you get for trying your best Failure is the poison that freezes your blood Failure is what keeps you up at night Failure is scary The fear of Failure is Atychiphobia The fear of failure is what keeps us from trying The fear of failure is what keeps people down But we shouldn’t fear failure We should welcome it with open arms Failure is what teaches us Failure is what tells us how to improve Failure is how we strive for perfection Failure is what makes the world go round Failure is inevitable Failure is inescapable Failure is good.
44
Willow Tree
45
I’ve known this park for almost my entire childhood. I remember the woody smell of the oak trees on rainy spring days. Staining my white shoes in the dark grey mud. Plucking and blowing dandelions and watching them blow away like fairies in the wind. I remember childhood friends, who I thought I would keep forever, running around in the green hills, ripping up the thick grass with our pink light-up Twinkle Toes. Even when I cried over accidentally stepping on my pet caterpillar. This park is where I chased around my friends playing tag. I always, always won. My exhausted friends going home with muddy dirt all over them from our roughhousing. We had no worries, no sense of impending doom. No worrying about SAT and AP scores or being upset over 89.9% in their English class. Not worrying about which colleges would accept them. They never worried about being good enough. The most pressing thing we had to worry about was whether mom was making macaroni or chicken nuggets for dinner. I’m older now, less naive. My dreams have drifted away from being a princess, or a pop star, to being able to finish college and make enough money to support myself. I came back here to remember not only who I was, but who she was. I planted a tree here when I was 16 after my mother passed. A willow tree, they were her favorite. With wood as dark as her skin and branches as wild and unpredictable as her hair. Just like me, the sapling had grown from two weak little leaves into a strong and magnificent tree that stood out from all of the others. I came back here so I could always remember her, and so that she would always remember me. I promised that I would never leave her side, and I intend to keep that promise. She always told me about how she grew up with a willow tree in her background, and now my children will grow up with one in theirs.
Breathe
46
A brisk winter.
A wet spring.
A humid summer.
Breathe
47
A long fall. Seasons pass but it remains unchanged, unbroken and cared for. The backyard. Flowers of all colors, all shapes and all sizes. Luscious green shrubs, shrubs robbed of their life and shrubs that are homes for creatures of all kinds. Green grass, drenched, recently cut and reeks of freshly rained water. A moist breeze flies through the air. Reminded of memories both good and bad. The firepit, dead, empty, a symbol of family and togetherness now washed down. The chairs around the pit, rusted and beaten-down. The grill, which once held food and made it safe for us to eat, is now dirty, unused and covered in webs. A place of peace. A place that every house needs. A relaxing and natureful home.
Inhale. Exhale. The sun falls. The moon rises. Darkness. Emptiness. Loud and repetitive sounds of bugs and small animals. A figure wanders but makes no noise.
48
Pathway to Greatness
49
“Don’t beat yourself about it mama, I’ll be back before you know it. Time in college will fly by quicker than any other year.” That’s what I told my mom before I moved into a dorm to start college. It was in a city that appeared to be monumental compared to the armpit I lived in. The weather was just awfully inconsistent from where I lived, and the city looked breathtaking. Obviously, it wasn’t easy to say goodbye to family or friends that didn’t join me at the same university. I thought it would be easy when I was promised by my dad that all the hard work would pay off because I had considered myself as a hard worker; now, it’s just stressful. I didn’t just do this for me; I did this for the family. We could be making good money, and I can become successful. I’ll get a house that resembles those on tv and maybe marry my very own prince charming; what a drag, man. I’m still waiting for these miracles while my brother is living it up in the high life. His missing presence was felt when he left without looking back. Afterall, he managed to leave our mom swiftly and professionally, while I struggled to calm her down. I thought some time away from my parents would build me up as an independent citizen. But I still get wake up calls from my mom, and my brother still feels the need to send money to my bank account. I’ve always felt like I’ve never escaped the bubble my parents kept me in. That’s probably why I don’t want to graduate or begin my future because in some strange way, I don’t want to leave my family. I didn’t mature in the way I hoped to. I don’t feel like I’m making any progress to change from the standards my parents kept me in. It’s probably why it took me a long time to become the person that I am right now. Success doesn’t feel rewarding when you get there, because the feeling is just, “Well, you did it. What now?” But why haven't I given up? I wouldn’t want to disappoint my parents and myself. I had not gotten this far to quit, and maybe this is my opportunity to escape the bubble I’ve been put in. Ultimately, I don’t think I helped myself leave that bubble because I didn’t want to leave the comfort of my parents’ safety or help from them. My parents must’ve known that I was lacking motivation to finish college, so they sent my drawing of them to me.