VIRGE

The Virtual Edge FLVS Literary Magazine

Fall 2012

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abigail Greentree Pages 61, 65

Adachi Pages 21, 58

Adrian Pages 29, 33, 60

Anamarie Wright Pages 45, 62, cover

Anastacia Caskey Pages 8, 48

Blair Luchte Page 57

Brian Smith Pages 31, 69

Carla Bobé Pages 15, 49

Carle Page 46

Carylanne Joubert Page 23

Cassandra Machart Page 59

Cheyanne Perry Page 47

Claudia O’Flaherty Pages 16, 19, 23

Connor Newman Pages 10, 32

Dallas Rosenthal Pages 3, 27, 52

David Neiberger Pages 32, 62

Emily Alonso Page 13

Erin Bradenburg Page 39

Gail Fletcher Pages 28, 49, 73

Grant Page 41

Harry Larimer, Jr. Pages 28, 31, 46

Jade Rivera Pages 36, 37

Janilice Rivera Page 40

Jazmine Velez-Carpenter Page 34

Jessica Varney Pages 70, 71

Jocelyn Picado Pages 20, 48

Julia Pages 11, 61, 64

Julia Fleurantin Pages 6, 73

Katharyn King Pages 14, 26, 47

Kayla Hardin Pages 6, 38, 70

Kiara Meadors Page 16

Laurah Pages 3, 21

Lauren Applegren Page 25

Lucy Whitehead Pages 36, 42

Maria Becht Page 53

Marissa Curtis Pages 43, 45, 54

Marlee Pages 7, 8, 65

Marly DiFruscio Page 34

Melissa Larimer Page 12

Patrick Killen Pages 11, 14, 26

Rachel Vickers Pages 15, 56

Ruth Lewis Pages 35, 59

Samantha Morris Page 51

Samantha Oakley Pages 5, 9, 72

Sarah Brooks Page 22

Sarah Rabinowitz Page 53

Skye Coyne-Livingston Pages 12, 41, 52

Talia Fradkin Pages 18, 22

Tiana Ferrante Page 17

Unity Eiswert Page 40

Yael Lilienthal Pages 35, 50

Yeidi Page 30, 60

Zenia Ramos Page 55

COVER ARTWORK – “ART AT EVERY TURN.” ANAMARIE WRIGHT, GRADE 11

STUDENT EDITORS – NICOLE SILLS, YAEL LILIENTHAL, MADISON ISZLER, ELIANA LOZANO, PRISCILLA GONZALEZ DEL REAL, DYLAN SEXTON, DELANY PESHEK, SAMANTHA MORRIS

STAFF ADVISOR – JENNI NEWTON

Books, More than Just Pages Dallas Rosenthal, Grade 11

Another world can be found in a book, Another world can be found if you look

Between the soft, crisp pages - A journey that takes us through the ages.

Many places far and near, Much to learn, so turn your ear.

See the emotions, catch them flying, Some see us laugh, while some leave us crying.

Feel the passion, anger, rage; As potent as a tiger caged

Feel the rush, the thrill It leaves me gasping still.

Feel the love that burns the soul. If it leaves, it leaves a hole.

Sense the anguish, feel the joy, An opportunity for any girl or boy

So find a good book, sit down, and read. If you’re like me, you will feel the need.

“En

d o

f D

ays.

” L

aura

h, G

rad

e 8

“Dad.” Samantha Oakley, Grade 11

Crystals

Julia Fleurantin, Grade 12

Capsules of peace

Descending

Delicately

Bringing in sanity

Sabotaging technology

You’re not appreciated,

you’re damn near hated

But that’s what makes you so great,

You’re so careless and free

And you’re bringing that back into the world

You seem to know exactly when we need it most

Flawless and serene,

Is the combination even possible?

“Ger

man

Sh

eph

erd

Po

rtra

it.”

Kay

la H

ard

in, G

rad

e 1

0

The Tomato Marlee, Grade 6

A little emerald plant pushed up from the dry earth. Its leaves drooped in

the hot July sun. A small yellow flower was forming.

A little girl, eight or so in age, walked out with a pitcher of clean, cool wa-

ter. She poured a thick stream of it out onto the parched plant. A rivulet

of clear liquid formed before being sucked into the anhydrous ground.

The flower flourished.

As the month wore on, a little golden ball began to form at the base of the

perished flower. The little girl continued to water the plant. But as time

wore on, she also started singing to it, and whispering how well it would do.

The plant liked this and looked forward to the little girl’s visits. The ball

grew bigger.

As the fruit grew, so did the invisible, untested bond between girl and

plant.

One day, the fruit turned orange, then red. The girl started reading the

once-parched plant poetry, though she still sang with a nightingale’s voice

and still watered with welcome rain.

Then, one day in August, the ball turned red as a ruby sunset and big as a

fist. The girl cried out in joy and picked the little tomato. She knelt by the

plant and expressed her sorrow that she must take the carmine efforts that

the plant had given her, but that she would still love it. The plant was sad

to part with its fruit, but for a good cause, it would bear with the conse-

quences. Because after all, there were plenty more beautiful fruits to come.

The Language of the TreesThe Language of the Trees Marlee, Grade 6Marlee, Grade 6

By and by the wind doth whisper

Gently, subtly o’er the glade

Bold protection when heat doth blister

On carpet of moss my body’s laid

An oak, an ash, a pine tree thin

Around the edge in regiments brave

A curvy willow, all her kin

Fearsome enemies off they stave

The day does pass it fades away

A blood red sunset paints the sky

And still by crystal stream I lay

Reluctant to leave where I reside

Stars like drops of dew on silk

Pepper the ceaseless heavens above

The moon sends rays as white as milk

And I experience a trill of love

The simple joy of graceful trees

Lit by many a heavenly sphere

I feel quite peaceful and at ease

I am protestant to leave here.

“The Lady’s Lake.” Anastacia Caskey, Grade 8

“Deer Heads.” Samantha Oakley, Grade 11

“Monkey.” Connor Newman, Grade 8

Looking out from my windowpane

Don’t you know it is the month of May?

I see the flowers are fully bloomed

You are beautiful

Winds blow soft right through you

Rain so quick to become water too

I am sad if someone else should pick you

Or your flowers will turn to gray

I wish so hard to take you away

Lilies turn to gray

You should stay where you were laid

Lilies turn to gray

My eager hands have run away

Skies so blue have turned to gray

Pick you from your roots I take

What could turn back my mistake?

Just as my love has kept you to grow

My love will let you not die

In my life now you will stay

Lilies will never turn to gray

Patrick Killen, Grade 12

“Blossoming Colorless.” Julia, Grade 9

Sleep well, my dear father

Your deft work is done

And carry on no farther;

Breaketh now the blessed dawn

Upon the rocks and hills and streams.

Peaceful now be thy dreams

Of aerial snow and icy chill

And children sledding down the hills.

Ah, the sound of elfin chickadees

Singing sweetly amid the trees;

The splash of trout in rippling creeks

Winding through the forest silent;

Sleepy fox pups peep from dens

While above flutter fledgling wrens;

Buttercups burst brilliant yellow

Amidst violet thistle in the meadows;

All synthesized in gladsome harmony

Compose mine artful symphony,

All this I unto you sing,

Dear Father,

I, your daughter, Spring.

Primavera Melissa Larimer, Grade 11

“Ripening.” Skye Coyne-Livingston, Grade 11

Awaiting the Night

Emily Alonso, Grade 9

The heat on my skin

As I wait for the night to take me away

I sit and wait, the sun shining bright

Waiting for the moon to bring me the night’s cool breeze

In the night’s breeze I vanish into the unknown

I leave my world and travel to another

A world of magic, friendship, love and happiness

A world meant for a person like me

I wait for the night as I lay in my bed

The night overcomes me again and again

It takes me to worlds

Of happiness

Of magic

And some of love

The feeling of freedom is thick in the night’s breezy air

I breathe it in by the gallon as I await the reality of day

Knowing that the price to pay for a night into those worlds,

Is living in the reality of day, making the best out of everything I can

Waiting for the night with a smile on my face and peace in my mind

Hoping to God that I have earned another night of freedom in my dreams

Lady of the sun

Goddess with all power

Ruler of all men

You know she can’t get much higher

What do you see of us?

Slaves of your desire

Ruling empire by day

Love by night’s hour

For the benefit for whoever

You love tonight

There will be a show tonight

All men would have wondered

Where you run

You are the missing sun

Every day you’re in power

The sun rises with the morning hour

Every night when you have met love

The sun lowers nightly and brings love showers

You see that the woman rules the day

And all her troubles are far away

But when she loses all of her power

The sun will set and the darkness shall come

That is why we have a missing sun

“Against the Wind.” Katharyn King, Grade 7

Patrick Killen, Grade 12

Carla Bobé, Grade 11

The forest canopy molds onto my flesh,

the way a glove is tailored to hold a hand.

It sweeps the echo of my movement with leverage,

and thus produces a greater volume,

of rotting, rusting leaves.

Thoughts of the afterlife flood my mind,

of how organic it will be;

the photonegative of this moment,

with the tree,

the paper,

an ode to me.

“Magnolias.” Rachel Vickers, Grade 10

UNTITLED

Kiara Meadors, Grade 8

You’re the one in the spotlight.

I’m the one in the crowd.

You’re busy fixing your hair, while letting me down.

You drown me in your evil words.

You cut me out and make me feel like a fool.

Where did I go wrong?

Why are you so cruel?

I’m humiliated.

Miscommunicated.

Let down and thrown to the wolves.

I’ve been in hiding, slowly dying.

You threw me out, made me feel like such a fool.

Friends are supposed to stay together.

Friends are supposed to help you out.

I’ve been in hiding, slowly dying.

You threw me out, made me feel like such a fool.

Yeah, you made your point, are you happy now?

You are the cruelty in life.

I’ve been in hiding, slowly dying.

You threw me out, made me feel like a fool.

Yeah, you made me feel like a fool. “T

he D

oo

r.”

Cla

ud

ia O

'Fla

hert

y, G

rad

e 9

Gift of the American Tiana R. Ferrante, Grade 11

America

You who are free

You who gave freedom to me

And others, who by nature need

Freedom, you gave it them-to bleed

From soldiers sacrificing greats

For everyone in every state

Freedom is, will be, and always has been

The gift of the American.

It Began with a Church: The Search for Jamestown's Fort

Talia Fradkin Grade 8

Only a church tower stood

with quiet dignity,

its bricks a reminder

of the fort we could not see.

This seventeenth century silent tower

counted the minutes and counted the hours

until the site of Jamestown’s fort would be uncovered,

and its rich history would be discovered.

The search began in 1893 one day

with Mary Jeffrey Galt, founder of the APVA,

the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities,

who searched and ran into many difficulties.

Jamestown’s first archaeologist began excavation,

and it was she who uncovered the church’s foundation.

Later efforts produced a crucible and a relic,

while the church tower stood watchful, hopeful and stoic.

Years passed, and digs found artifacts for gun repair,

but as time wore on, fewer seemed to care.

Most people thought the fort washed away,

but William Kelso disagreed and had something to say.

He dreamed of digging in rich Virginia soil,

like Mary, he was willing to dig and toil.

One hundred years after Mary began the mission,

William Kelso helped her dream come to fruition.

Evidence of Jamestown’s fort was uncovered and found.

It did not wash away. It was underground.

Dark stains in the soil marked where posts had been.

It was now a question of not if but when.

Treasures were catalogued, and remains uncovered.

The real story of life in Jamestown could now be discovered.

A historical dream passed from woman to man,

and the church tower stood as their biggest fan.

“Dracon.” Claudia O'Flaherty, Grade 9

“Self Portrait.” Jocelyn Picado, Grade 7

Remembering Rosa Adachi, Grade 6

Rosa Parks was a Black woman, who needed transportation.

She decided not to worry about hate and segregation.

She sat right down in the front of the bus.

“Oh no!” someone cried. “Here come cops with handcuffs!”

Yes, they arrested her.

Then they brutally tested her.

But it is for this bravery that today we remember her.

“Gra

cie.”

Lau

rah

, G

rad

e 8

In this age of competition, corporate ladders, financial matters,

take a minute just to think. You are standing on the brink.

What if you and many others

gave your time and really cared? An old concept, don’t be scared.

Imagine what we could do, if I helped and you did too.

Enhance the present, build for the future,

when you help, we all prosper. Change your mindset, change your world,

let your banner be unfurled.

People are hurting. Their money is gone,

no hope until you came along. We can build it and repair it.

If we don’t how can we bear it?

Floods and famine won’t deter us. Grab a sandbag and some flour,

volunteering gives us power. Our time is precious, in demand,

but sometimes you have to take a stand.

When you share something, it takes flight,

growing bigger than the plight. If I ask, how will you answer?

Excuses and silence just won’t do, simply imagine if it was you.

Enhance the present and volunteer.

We can make it a better year. It’s a simple thing to do.

Give from the heart and lend a hand, that’s what makes this a grand land.

Talia Fradkin, Grade 8

“Su

mm

er.

” S

arah

Bro

oks,

Gra

de 1

2

The Hero's Choice Carylanne Joubert, Grade 11

There was once a young hero of Greece,

Who wandered the land searching for peace. This he did until he dreamed,

"A great sign from the gods," he deemed, That he would journey to find Delphi,

Apollo's prophet, and his destiny.

So he left his home that very night, To make the journey of a fortnight;

Hoping that he was right, About the Oracle's wise, keen sight, On destinies that the gods do write.

The prophetess received him kindly,

But warned of seeking prophecies blindly. Many men, she said, had sought their futures,

And upset by the grim news of hers, Tried to change what they still had to endure.

“Apollo.” Claudia O’Flaherty, Grade 9

He acknowledged her warning, but said, "Whatever my future is, in the end,

I'll live as I have lived, and then be dead." She admired his logic and words, So began by consulting the birds.

From the signs of the gods, she did find, This prophecy for the hero's mind:

"In your life you will have to make a choice, A hard choice, made only by your voice.

"If you go East, you will discover, A woman who will be your lover. But first a child she will deliver,

A child of Zeus, by the river. If you choose to be their caregiver,

There is one small thing you must consider.

"You would be free to live a happy life, With the child, your children, and your wife; And Zeus would smile upon you with favor,

For being his child's great savior. You will die young, yet find your peace,

If you choose this path and go to the East.”

"Yet I see something else if you go West, Where you will prove yourself with a test,

Initiated by Hera's request. There you will find fame and glory,

That would befit such a hero's story.

“You will live as long as if you went East, For you will be killed by a great beast;

But every year there will be a feast, To remember your feats and your name.

But either way, your life will not be in vain.”

"And now you have that for which you came, Either way, your fate will end the same.

Only you can choose based on what you wish, But I will only tell you this:

You alone can make your destiny, Your freewill, not the gods or prophecy,

Will make you who you are and help you choose, The path you'll take for this life you'll use.

Go now, young hero, and live your life, Whether for fame, or a child and a wife.“

He thanked the prophetess profusely, And then set sail immediately.

He sailed to the East to find the girl, For though both ways led to early death in this world,

Love conquers all, not fame or glory, But that was his choice, and the end of my story.

“Colorful Sunset.”By Lauren Applegren, Grade 9

“What did you say?” said the wind

“I don’t know. What did I say?” said the old man.

“I don’t know what you said,” said the wind.

“Well what do you think I said,” said the old man.

“I don’t know what you said, shouldn’t you know what you say?” said the wind.

“Why should I know what I say, everything I say you should be able to hear?” said the old man.

“I don’t know, maybe you should know what you say when you say something that you have

said,” said the wind.

“What do you want me to say?” said the old man.

“I don’t know; tell me what you said,” said the wind.

The old man not hearing the question that the wind asked then asked the wind “What did you

say? The trees were brushing their leaves too loud whilst you were talking.”

Patrick Killen, Grade 12

“Sun

in th

e Mo

rnin

g.” Kath

aryn K

ing, G

rade 7

Who is that out in the pasture

Who brings unto me such joy and rapture

Whose voice can be heard, a sweet nicker

Whose touch I crave, those soft whiskers

Why, the horse of course,

the horse of course.

Imbued with such strength and pow’r

Who, at birth, can stand in less an hour

Who has the grace of a swan

Whose majesty glides o’er the lawn

Why, the horse of course,

the horse of course.

Who has beauty that rivals the angels

Whose structure holds the sharpest of angles

Who challenges the eagles in feats of great speed

Who stands there for man in his greatest of need

Why, the horse of course,

the horse of course.

Who paints the fields with so much color

Who offers men service, service galore

Who gives me wings with which I can fly

Whose wings carry me high, high into the sky

Why, the horse of course,

the horse of course.

Who carries me far, far across the land

In search of adventures, so great and so grand

We travel together, we travel, we two

And I say, “Dear friend, what shall we do?”

Why, my horse of course,

my horse of course.

Who speaks to me through our minds connected

I can tell for your ears are intently erected

Who never takes fright at small horsy fears

But listens to me: mind, soul, and ears

Why, my horse of course,

my horse of course.

We leap over logs, fly over streams

We are as one, stitched at the seams

We charge into battle, into the fray

We travel paths where few dare to stray

Why, my horse of course,

my horse of course.

We will never be parted

Together forever.

We will never be parted

Never, no never.

Though at journeys end

My strength wavers thin

And I say unto to you, “Take me home, my dear friend”

You deliver me away from your nature, into the world of men

Who serves and who loves with unyielding devotion

Though the distance between us may be a vast ocean

Who saw me through to the end without fear

Though peril and danger hovered so near

Why, my horse of course,

my horse of course.

Who carried me far, o’er mountains high

Those mountains whose peaks touched the sky

Who carried me far, through valleys far below

Who plowed through white fields of snow

Why, my horse of course,

my horse of course.

My girl, who tires never

Who is never lazy

My girl, whose name graces the flowers

My girl, whose name is Daisy.

My horse of course

My horse of course

My Daisy

My Daisy

My

Dai

sy

Dal

las

Ros

enth

al, G

rade

11

I Rick rolled my cat His name is Milky Way

Now I will be on my guard ‘Cause I know he’ll make me pay

He’s swift, fast as a cheetah And you know he’s up to something

When he’s in his orange speedo He’s an evil spy

And a genius all the same He runs around meowing

And you know it isn’t a game His tail is a crooked hook When he enters the room

And when he rides his Harley, He revs it up, vroom vroom

He has a studded collar And wears it proudly ‘round his neck

His shining eyes make you feel Like a tiny black speck

He stands up on two feet When he gets really enraged And when he charges at you You know he can’t be caged

He’s the meanest beast I’ve ever seen With claws like shiny swords

He eats and eats and eats and eats From his giant food hoards

He sits upon a stool Like a king upon a thrown

And when he grins at that ping-pong ball You know he’s in the zone

He can beat me at any sport Be it baseball, football or tennis

‘Cause when you look into those eyes You know that he’s a menace

My cat can’t be controlled, Despite his size, he’s really bold,

And he’s the one I’m about to scold, Because I just got Rick Rolled!

I Rick Rolled My Cat

Harry Larimer, Jr., Grade 8

“Light Seeker.” Gail Fletcher, Grade 11

“Mushroom.” Adrian, Grade 11

Claws & Fangs & Poison Yeidi, Grade 8

Claws and fangs and poison dripping from their lips

Without any of them realizing Although they rip and bite and infect

They expect you to be blind Just like them, until someone makes them turn over And you see the bitter truth of the covered side

You see and know that it can never be only roses and light ever again A house full of kind, cheery, glowing faces

An unnoticed veil lifted and burned And the shock seeps into your bones and floods your heart

You can't believe your eyes and you feel like you will implode The veil had mercifully masked the truth and you wish you still wore it The people were mutated, with claws and hooks and fangs and toxic spit They attacked each other with blindfolds and had given everyone wounds

You notice your own cuts and shreds of flesh, oozing yellow pus, burns, and assortments of scars You are furious and hurt and in despair at the scale of carnage

A helping hand helps you see that you can be useful and are needed You muster up your courage and bind your own recent wounds

You push the poison out of your veins, flushing it out of your heart and put on your armor You bravely step into the fray, the attacks on your armor are nerve-wracking You grab a sick soul and slowly flush out the poisons from him despite howling

You painstakingly take out the barbs and spikes from their skin despite struggling You lovingly stop the bleeding boils despite crying out

There are too many for you to fix alone But perhaps as cured ones and unveiled people see

Maybe they can help fix and cure and soothe So you bravely march on and hope for an eventual happy ending.

The Day Technology Died

Harry Larimer, Jr., Grade 8

An apple in a world of oranges

A genius among men He knew the world for its true worth

And knew everyone Better than they knew themselves

A rarity among businessmen A man of wealth and knowledge

It’s hard to believe That he dropped out of college

A hero among those Who inspire to be like him

A devil to those of wrong doing How could a man So mighty, so wise

Be brought to the climax Of his demise

By something so low, Something so very cliché?

As the tears of others Glided down their cheeks

Whispering words of sorrow

Those who loved him shed tears Of sadness and joy,

Knowing his legacy will always be history The day Woz’s twin left this world

On the day technology died First the Blue Box, then the iMac

The iPod, iPhone, iPad Revolutionizing animation and the world

Through switches, buttons and circuit-boards As I relax, listening to music

I can’t help but wonder How would the future world differ

If the spirit of Steve Jobs never went away The day that technology died.

“Top o

f th

e R

ock

.” B

rian

Sm

ith,

Gra

de 1

1

Time Paradox David Neiberger, Grade 10

I sat in silence as I watched my television. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened today. Today at 11:02 am on February 29th 2012, my wife died in a car accident and I had no idea until I turned on the TV. She had called me this morning and asked if I could take off today. She had just got a new job and wanted to celebrate with me, but I couldn’t take a day off, especially on a Wednesday. I just couldn’t… There was a flash from the kitchen. I didn’t bother to look to see what it was. I just continued to stare at the television as the report on the car-crash continued. I heard a knock at the door of my apartment I tried to wipe the tears from my face as I walked over to answer it. I knew my face would look a little red but at least the tears were gone. I unlatched the door and opened it up to find my next-door neighbor’s son. His name was Adrian. He was about 8 years old. “You told me to give this to you,” he said as he handed out what looked like a big black bracelet. “What?” I said a little confused.

“You said you needed it,” Adrian replied. “Um...thanks,” I said accepting it. Adrian ran off back to his apartment as I closed the door. There was a bright flash outside the door. I paid it no mind. I studied the bracelet closely. It was completely black and it had a small screen. I touched the screen and it came to life. It showed the current time. I walked over to my kitchen to get myself a drink. “It’s a watch,” I thought. It looked to be a touch screen. I tried to slide my finger across it from right to left. The time on the clock showed changed to that of five minutes ago. I pressed it wondering if I had done something wrong. Suddenly everything became white and hazy. Then everything came back into focus. I was in my kitchen still. I looked at the clock on the wall. It said the time, but it was five minutes behind. I looked out into my living room and was shocked by what I saw. I was in the kitchen, but I was also out in the living room watching TV like I was five minutes ago. I ducked back into my kitchen as I tried to comprehend what I just saw. Then it hit me. The flashes of light, this strange bracelet, it was a time machine! My heart rate began to climb. The endless possibilities, the endless things I could do, I was overwhelmed. “I could save her!” I thought. “But wait, wouldn’t that create a paradox?” I thought back to the one documentary I watched on time travel just last week. Yes, by going back to fix something, I eliminate the need to go back in the first place to fix it. I couldn’t save her… “At least I can be with her...” I thought.

“Blooming Inferno.” Connor Newman, Grade 8

I slid my finger on the screen so the time of it read that of the present. After getting ready to see her and walking out-side of my apartment, I changed the time on the bracelet so it said that of this morning, 8:00 AM. Then, I pressed it. I knocked on the door of our apartment hoping she’d be home. “Coming,” I heard her say from inside the apartment. The mere sound of her voice made my heart flutter. I heard the door unlatch and it opened. There she was, the most beautiful girl in the world… Her name was Christine. She had auburn brown hair and her beautiful hazel eyes were the perfect combination of blue and green. She had cute light brown freckles under her eyes. She smiled as she saw me causing me to smile as well. We hugged and kissed. Then I asked her if she’d like to go to Central Park with me. She kissed me again and gladly said yes. We took our small compact car to Central Park. After I bought us some coffee, we began our walk. It was 9:00. I had two hours left… For the next hour we just talked. I told her that I decided to take the day off because I never knew when would be the last time I saw her. She smiled at that. Then we just talked as we walked through the snow of Central Park. She told me about her new job and how she was so excited. I told her she would do great at her new job as I tried to hold in my tears. 10:00. I had less than an hour left. We walked back towards the parking lot where we were parked. It took us roughly 30 minutes to get there. We were about to leave when I spotted the oak tree where I had proposed to her. I pointed it out and we walked over to it as we reflected on the time we had. Suddenly she got a phone call. It was her best friend Jennifer. She was going into labor. 10:52 Am. She asked me if she could take the car to meet her. I said sure as a tear found its way down my face. 11:00. I watched her get in the car and pull out of the parking lot. I turned away as I heard the screech of wheels and the sound of the crash. 11:02... I pressed the bracelet and found myself in front of my apartment 10 minutes before all of this had begun. I found Adrian; told him to knock on my door, and give me the bracelet in exactly 5 minutes. Then I went back to the present and back to my apartment.

My only question is though, where did the time bracelet come from?

“Purp

le.”

Adri

an, G

rade

11

Shepard rubbed her forehead lightly, feeling exasperated. It would never stop; the Council would never listen and they would never understand. How many times did she have to bring evidence of the reapers before them, before they finally understood? She looked to her left at the Omni-Tool on her bed. To her right was the aquarium filled with her many exotic fish. She stood and placed her hand against the cool glass. “Their life is so simple...” She murmured. “They just swim around, calm and collected... The Reapers won't even give them a second look.” She sighed and shut her eyes, trying to forget the little boy’s face as he was engulfed in flames. Her heart was pounding against her chest, and she felt herself wanting to cry. She hadn't cried in years. “Shepard,” a deep voice said at the door behind her. She turned her head to see Garrus, the most amazing alien aboard the USS Normandy. He was Turian, scaled and much taller than she was, but the very sight of him made her smile. He was her best friend, always lightening the tension when the air was too thick. “I figured you might like some company,” he said walking into her quarters quietly. She looked him over and then walked over to him, placing her head against the chest plate of his armor.

“I'm glad you came.” She whispered. “I can't stop thinking about the Reapers, about Earth. Garrus, what if we fail? Do you know how many lives depend on us,” she whispered, frustrated. Garrus chuckled and put a hand on her back, pulling her even closer to him. “I know, Shepard. But if there is anyone who can pull it off, it's you. You know everyone aboard this ship thinks that too.” He pulled her chin up with a finger and

grinned. “And we're all behind you. I'll follow you into hell and back, Shepard. But, if this does end badly, meet me at the bar in heaven?” he said lightly. Shepard smiled and kissed his scar-covered cheek, result of an explosion that nearly killed him. “I love you, you know that right?” she said simply, watching his face for any

hesitation or discomfort. He chuckled and pulled her away. “I love you too. Oh, and if we die in a Reaper explosion,” he said, staring into her eyes intently. “Remember, I took the kill-shot.”

A short story for video game lovers everywhere Marly DiFruscio, Grade 12

“I can’t stop thinking about the Reapers,

about Earth.”

“Sphere of Influence.” Jazmine Velez-Carpenter, Grade 7

A dark curl caresses a rosy cheek

Which marks the end of a limitless smile

A hazy hand, once delicate and mine,

Catches the tiara as it slips off,

And places it back

With the attempted poise

Of an aspirant princess

I fold up the memory gingerly

Careful with the fragility of this travesty,

A memory threatened by the passing of days,

The murderous tricks of time.

All bundled up, I place it in a box

Labeled “Innocence”

By a hand quivering and unstable.

I tie a ribbon in a foolish way

A stamp of childhood beauty

To close the box

Which holds a piece of my past.

Then I settle the box

On the front shelf of my mind,

An accessible place

Even for the most decrepit and faded.

It remains there until

It is grabbed by my voice, the hands of tradition,

And handed over to the princess of my princess.

Bygones Worth Saving

Yael Lilienthal, Grade 11

“Masq

uera

de.”

Ruth

Lew

is,

Gra

de 1

1

“Music Without Color.” Jade Rivera, Grade 11

Lucy Whitehead, Grade 9

I know this seems so hard and rough,

But I think we have had enough.

So maybe stay awhile tonight,

And watch my heart take one last flight

For you,

One last time

It’s almost a shame I can’t believe,

In anyone except you.

‘Cause all of my doubt,

Seems to fly away somehow.

And when you take my hand,

Everything seems to fade away.

I need you to hold my hand,

As we fall,

Because I love you after all.

And I realize as we gaze at the stars,

That for once, love is ours.

When black and white return to grey,

Remember all the mess we made.

Goodbye,

Goodbye.

When tears were falling from our faces,

As we went our separate ways,

Goodbye,

Goodbye.

Hold my hand as we’re falling,

Because I love you after all.

Now watch my heart fly,

‘Cause I never got the chance before

To tell you from my core,

I don’t want to say goodbye.

“Striped Diamond.” Janilice Rivera, Grade 9

“The Meadow.” Kayla Hardin, Grade 10

Fleeting Erin Brandenburg, Grade 11

She gave her love for a moment in time.

I weep for her impossible crime

The child played a grown-up’s game.

For a moment she’ll think she’s won

Until it loses all its fun.

Decisions made cannot be undecided

I do not cry for what she did,

My tears are shed for why she did.

A home that’s torn in jagged halves

Can lead one down such dangerous paths. She sought the comfort that she’d lost

She did not know what it would cost. ~*~

He gave his love for a moment in time

Because he thought he’d always call her “mine.”

The child played a grown-up’s game.

He loved her so and to prove

That he was one she would never lose.

At seventeen he felt too ready,

Alas the path of life is rarely steady.

I did not know him half as well,

But I ache for the trouble he befell.

~*~

If I could turn back time I’d say

“I form the future, now obey!

This month you have will be your last,

Then you’ll be each other’s past

Do not squander what you can give

On something that will never live.”

But I am not the Lord of Time.

They made a choice, it wasn’t mine.

They gave their love for a moment in time.

Love Poem

Unity Eiswert, Grade 8

If love was true

Then why do I feel so blue

Sometimes I cry

Wondering why I even try

I stay strong

Waiting to find out what’s wrong

Thinking ahead

Helps me get through all this dread

But I never have a doubt

Because that’s what love’s all about

“Pin

k P

eta

ls a

nd P

erf

ect

ion.”

Janilic

e R

ivera

, G

rade 9

Always Remember Me Grant, Grade 8

Though at times the yawning black

Seems to have no escape

Never surrender or give up the fight

Always remember me

And the warmth of my touch

And the kiss of my breath

And the feelings we had before

I loved you then, I love you still

And I'll love you 'til the end

And if you’ll still love me

I can change, be a better man

If you’ll love me, I swear I can

So now, my love, do not bend or sway

Even though at times I know

The yawning black

seems to have no escape

Always remember me

“Florida Sunset.” Skye Coyne-Livingston, Grade 11

Lucy Whitehead, Grade 9

A bloom from a beast’s hand,

Starts a love that is oh, so grand.

A petal falls from the delicate rose;

Separated from the rest,

While the remnant grows.

Resting on my fingertips,

While I feel a fluttering in my chest.

The petal touches my smiling lips,

Lush colors embellish the flower,

And when given, I did not cower.

Unlike most,

I am not afraid.

As I lay here by the fire,

I believe a truth has been made of a desire,

One that was once foggy, and now clear,

Even though, it may be odd to the unknowing ear.

An epiphany is making itself known,

Which warms me to my very bone.

This single, beloved rose,

With petals as soft as the feathers,

as soft as those of a dove,

Is what started this enchanted love.

And all ‘twas, only one thing in this fair land,

All this adoration,

From a loving, beastly hand.

The Wall Marissa Curtis, Grade 10

I’ve put up a wall I hope it never falls

Then all my secrets would be revealed

It’s sturdy and strong But then you came along

Now it is harder to stay concealed

But I don’t break easily, I’ve been building this for years Brick by brick with my own hands, it slowly covered my fears

Finally, I step back, and my beautiful wall appears No way I’m going down just because you’re here

People without walls

They tend to lose it all Though it may be gradual and slow

Their hearts aren’t guarded

And all is light-hearted So the hit is a much harder blow

If only they’d put up at least a fence to stay hidden Or perhaps a simple sign, saying love is forbidden

Others then again may think, it was a joke miswritten If it were me instead, they’d know I meant good riddance

You would feel the same It’s all a numbers game

How many times could one heart shatter?

While you’re in the air They’re planning your despair

To them it doesn’t really matter

They only want to break you, make you different than you are A barrier is needed, or else you’ll never go far

You’ll be stuck writing love songs that will only be sub par If only you had listened and kept your feelings in a jar

Look at me and my wonderful wall

Nothing could bring me down I built it with a purpose

No matter how it may sound

My heart should be protected So I’ve taken every measure All of you should do the same Treat your heart as a treasure

Though all this time here I was, saying I wouldn’t fall

You were here brick by brick, taking down my wall

But I don’t break easily, I’ve been building this for years Brick by brick with my own hands, it covered up my fears Finally, I stepped back, and my beautiful wall appeared

Now here you are and I find, my wall is no use with you here

Please forgive me if I do not say hello For in my seat, I try to sink deep down below

In my head, I know just what to say But my mouth cannot speak the words

You’ve seen me before But my voice you’ve never heard

I’ll smile big, and wave hello or goodbye But once you go and leave, I’ll give a sigh

I let you go, and didn’t even try To strike a conversation or make small talk

Instead, I spared you the pain I let you walk

I didn’t try to spit out the words, I spared pain indeed Probably not so much for you, but more so for me

When you try to speak to me I sit there dumbfounded and not bright

When I get home and realize what happened I quickly begin to write

I can express myself with words, though they are unspoken When I write, my train of thought is almost never broken

I can try to speak with you, I can try and try

But it will never happen, for I am so painfully shy

Painfully Shy

Marissa Curtis, Grade 10 “W

ha

t L

ies B

eh

ind

th

e E

ye

s.”

An

am

arie

Wri

gh

t, G

rad

e 1

1

Lovers Quarrel Carle, Grade 9

Intricate little knots

Placed in my heart.

Evil bleeding shots

Each time we part.

One more new hole

Yet again you come back.

Forgiveness by burnt coal

A bitter lovers attack.

So come here my sweet

The anguish hovers

Revenge is a treat

It’s a quarrel of lovers.

“Th

e S

pri

ng

Tri

o.”

Ha

rry L

arim

er,

Jr.

, G

rade

8

Landlocked Pleas

Cheyanne Perry, Grade 9

I’m landlocked now But my heart is at sea

Drifting away, so delicately With every beat reality sets in

And I dream about what might have been

I’m landlocked now But I yearn for the ocean

My heart thrives with every motion of each simultaneous wave

Save me

Permit the tides to rise And rip away my shore

I’ll float away to what I have been waiting for

“Pa

lm S

unri

se

.” K

ath

ary

n K

ing

, G

rad

e 7

The Reflection Girl Anastasia N. Caskey, Grade 8

I see the world through a window.

My face hidden behind the glass,

A small view of the world,

My voice unheard,

I scream. I hit the glass wall.

I have lost my mind, if I had it at all.

The window cracks, crack, crack, crack…

The glass has fallen the world now blacks.

I start to fade,

My fate now made.

The mirror is gone

And I the reflection with it...

“The Girl in the Mirror.” Jocelyn Picado, Grade 7

“Jumper.” Gail Fletcher, Grade 11

Soul Train Carla Bobé Grade 11

A story is a train; yes, it should have much soul and rhythm to fuel it, from beginning to caboose.

Yael Lilienthal, Grade 11

I guess I’m the little toddler who hates taking a bath, who’d rather continue zooming his racecar along the

tracks. I wish I had the means to throw the same tantrum, but I don’t. My voice is conditional, dependent

on a human to bang me against a glass or drop me on the floor, and my body is limbless.

The problem is that just as a child fails to see the need for a bath when it didn’t play in mud that day, I

myopically disregard the need to be washed. After all, I have been completely combed by the gluttonous

tongue which will never leave me soiled by even a crumb. So a second cleaning seems rather unneces-

sary.

Yet, since spoons are not protected under the Constitution, and thus I cannot express my disregard for

this redundancy, here I am again, strewn in a plastic rack, immersed in steaming water. No one taught

the dishwasher the etiquette of “keep your hands, and anything your hands may contain, to yourself,” so

it continues to mockingly splatter me with water, as I sulk, defenseless. Parents need to revise their up-

bringing tactics.

The serving fork I am pushed against comforts me in the darkness, which I know well, yet still fear. At

least this time I am right side up, instead of being forced to stay in headstand position for a whole cycle. It

really depends on who drops me in my cubby. Usually, when the diamond-ringed and golden-braceleted

hand grasps me, it lays me softly, face up. The hairy hand is rougher and more careless.

When the floodgates have closed, the hot steam begins. I have never experienced the scorch of a breath-

ing dragon, but I imagine it feels like this. The heat stings a little more on my left side; it is uneven, a hero-

ic scar from when I was abandoned in the garbage disposal, and somehow escaped the menacing blades

alive, not without trauma.

At least here, in this abysmal cutlery hell, I am not being clutched by oily hands, nor dropped in salad

dressing. I am not being pressed between two lips, or worse, two teeth. I am not being rocked between

mindlessly impatient fingers, nor forced to carry loads of aromatic delicacies. Here, I am allowed to bond

with my own kind.

They say the life of a dog is hard, but I say more so the life of a spoon.

Wise Words From A Hopeful in a Dreary World Samantha Morris, Grade 9

Smiling eyes and sinking sorrows,

You will never know what might occur tomorrow,

But you keep your happy countenance,

Laugh, grin and forget all circumstance.

I don't understand you,

How can you be happy in this world?

Clouds and darkness envelope the sky,

Your wings are clipped so you cannot fly.

Yet you smile anyway,

Your teeth radiating, you say,

"I am happy because I am alive"

And though it's full of strife,

"I am happy because I am alive"

For there are far worse things than life.

My God, my strength, and my refuge,

You’ve heard it before.

My God, my strength, and my refuge,

But I will say it some more.

I worship You, Lord,

For You are so true!

I worship You, Lord,

For You loved me before I knew You!

You created everything on earth here below

Your heaven so grand, but You already

know.

You know that I love You

For You know my thoughts afar.

I know Your love will reach me

Wherever I am, for Your love goes with me,

No matter how far.

You are Master, Ruler supreme,

Glorious Maker, loving Shepherd,

Hero, and Savior; hold my heart forever.

Where can I go, that I will not find You?

Your presence is everywhere, mind you.

You seek me out like a hound to its prey

And I pray You will continue day after day.

Show me Your will, Lord I seek

To be humble, gentle, and meek.

Tell me Your ways, glorious Master

That I may follow You faster and faster.

Show me Your light,

Your glorious life.

So I may love without spite

And without strife.

Teach me Your way

To truth and to life.

So I may follow and lay

Down my life.

To You, oh Lord

All riches and glory.

To You, oh Lord

Tell me my story.

Tell me my story,

So I may learn to serve.

Tell me my story

That I may have the nerve

To do what is right,

Through thick and through thin,

To do what is right,

So evil can’t win!

To You, oh Lord,

To You, let us rally!

To You, oh Lord,

Fight through the Valley.

The Valley of Despair,

So fearful, so dreaded.

Be careful, Beware!

Watch where you’re headed.

Keep a sure eye on our Master,

Our Maker,

Our Sovereign Creator,

For He’s leading us on, faster and faster.

Persevere to the end.

Don’t ever give in!

And we’ll get to serve Him

And go where He sends.

His love everlasting,

May He find us fasting,

And praying for that day

When we can say,

“I‘m home, dear Lord,

Take me, I‘m Yours.

I‘m home, dear Lord.

Open the doors!”

He’ll let us in

And say with a grin,

“Welcome, good servant, good child.

You‘ve traveled so far, over thousands of

miles.

Come in and rest,

For you‘ve done your best.

I want you to know

That I love you so!”

“Refl

ecti

on

.”

Skye

Co

yne-

Livi

ngs

ton

, Gra

de

11

My God Dallas Rosenthal, Grade 11

“Surreal Lucidity.”

Sarah Rabinowitz, Grade 11

There are 86,400 seconds in a day

What will you do with them?

Will you read, write or draw –

Or even save a life?

In one day the possibilities are

Endless,

And go on for infinity.

Everyday teachers teach,

Doctors lend a helping hand and

Mothers give a shoulder to cry on.

All in just 24 hours.

YOU

Have the ability to do anything your heart wants,

Go sky-driving,

Or even volunteer.

The little things add up to the overall picture and sum of your life.

I have been alive for 14 Years, 9 Months and 10 Days.

Or otherwise

466,053,311 seconds:

I plan to make the most of my time here.

Just like I hope you will.

14 Years and Counting Maria Becht, Grade 9

A smile could light up a room It could brighten your day It’s always the way to go

When you don’t know what to say It’s something simple and warm

But it can say a lot So smile wide

Smile with all you’ve got You never know who needs it Or what they’re going through

It could make them feel much better It could even help you

Smiling is medicine Kind of like a cure

Whatever you’re going through It can help you endure

So even when you’re down Don’t frown for even a while

You never know who’s falling in love With your beautiful smile

Smile Melissa Curtis, Grade 10

“Interpreted.” Zenia Ramos, Grade 11

“The Rusty Old Car.” Rachel Vickers, Grade 10

When you’re a kid and you’re growing up, all you want is to become an adult already. When you finally reach that stage of life where you are officially a high school graduate with a mere few months before you

are thrust into the real world, ready or not, the picture is significantly less rosy. In other words, take it from a

veteran of growing up: when adults tell you to enjoy being a kid and having everything provided for you, take it to heart. I’ll admit that a good majority of the time I don’t believe half of the things that come out of my parents’ mouths, but they occasionally spew a few good words of advice. Before skimming through your childhood and flipping the bird to all adults who get in your way during your “know it all” years, take it from someone who has experience. I can guarantee you that within a year or two you will come to your senses and realize just how ridiculous you are. Been there, done that, and not only is your pride damaged, but mothers tend to forbid you from burning photographs. Also, before thrusting yourself into the real world, be sure you know how to do your own laundry. It’s a beautiful thing when the huge pile of dirty clothes on your floor magically reappears, neatly folded, ironed, and ready to wear. I have also found that cans that come with tabs to open them and easy-to-unwrap cellophane packages are your friends. Then again, you’re probably ahead of me in that department and can open your own beverages and food. I’ll be lucky if in college I can find a nice neighbor who is willing to spare me starvation and dehydration and lend me a helping hand. I have a theory that the can openers of the world are conspiring against me in an elaborate plot to never operate properly when in my hands. I am not

one of those “handy man” types that can open their can of soup with just a pocket knife. I would be more likely to chop my finger off than to successfully open the can. There would be more blood in the bowl than soup. My kindergarten teacher once urged me to become an independent problem solver. I don’t think she took into consideration that I suffer from hemophobia. I’m not one of those great budgeting types, either. I am of the conviction that if you have checks, you must have money. I cannot begin to convey to you how traumatic the experience was for me when I realized that food does not automatically appear in your refrigerator, and that instead of it magically appearing, you not only have to make a run to your local Kroger’s, but you also have to have money to purchase your vittles. I’m also not a huge fan of exercise or early rising. When recently visiting a college campus I was positively horrified by the amount of walking that would be necessary to even attend classes daily. They don’t even provide you with some sort of mass transit - they actually expect you to walk! Not to mention the fact that many of the classes are scheduled before noon, which is way before my usual wake-up time. Not only will I have to find money for food, I will also have to manage enough to purchase an industrial strength alarm clock. As if all of this stress wasn’t enough, I have a new man in my life. I didn’t find him, he found me, and Sir Remington Doodle is a very demanding member of the feline species. I’m fairly certain he is of the Siamese variety, but he didn’t come with any papers; in fact, upon further consideration, he didn’t come with any warning either. Speaking of papers, another expense is going to be maintaining an ongoing supply of newspapers. Not that I read it everyday, but Sir Doodle has an unusual newspaper fetish. Along with his few requirements, I am also going to have to find

him a caretaker during my one year of required dorm living. Today I received my on-campus housing con-tract in the mail. This prompted an immediate anxiety attack registering at least a seven on the Richter scale. I am familiar with the concept that at least one year of dorm living greatly enhances the college experience and teaches valuable socialization skills. Here is my dilemma: I really don’t like most people. I realize that I am a very unfair and harsh judge of my fellow man. The problem is that little things that wouldn’t bother most people drive me up the wall. What things you ask? The color pink, improper grammar and punctuation, and people that use toothpicks. I find that most women use entirely too much perfume, which gives me a migraine headache and irritates my deviated septum. I pride myself on my alabaster skin, which many Floridians describe as “pasty,” and am oddly irritated by fake-and-bake tans. Oh, and another thing! It bothers me to watch most people eat. Don’t get me wrong. I realize I am no one’s dream roommate. I am a self-admitted slob when it comes to picking up after myself and contradict myself by having a phobia of being anything other than immaculate in appearance. I take roughly three showers a day, which is going to cause another problem, because I have this fear of public bathrooms and the strange sounds that people make in them. Sharing a dorm bathroom with three or four other people may be out of the question.

Author’s Note: The above are random musings and rants compiled by the author and reflect her fluctuating state of mind as she prepares to embark on her next great collegiate adventure.

“When you finally

reach that stage of

life...the picture is less

rosy”

“Sharing a dorm bath-

room with three or four

other people may be out of

the question.”

“They actually

expect you to walk!

Blair Luchte, Grade 12

Multiplication Complication

Adachi, Grade 6

You have to learn your times tables?

Start at one.

But if you do start at one,

You might as well start at none.

So let’s begin instead at two,

And from there I can teach you.

It’s just as easy as picking up sticks.

You just go like this – 2, 4, 6.

Now let’s move on to 3,

It’s fairly easy.

You’ve got to keep in time.

Try it – 3, 6, 9.

We’ve only reached 3, and you think I’m a bore.

But if you don’t practice, you won’t know them anymore.

The more you go on, the further you will delve.

Try this combination – say 4, 8, 12.

I think that we should stop now,

You don’t want to go on.

When you get to school next day, though

You’ll have more brains and brawn.

Just remember to say who taught you,

And as always, keep rocking on!

Spinning, spinning, make it stop, stand still

Hold me, hold me, don’t let me fall

Down, down, I see it now

As I slip away from your touch,

Trusting you were trustworthy

I lost the trust in myself.

Love, love, it’s a lovely thought

And you let me believe the lies,

I want what I can’t have

I grasp what I can’t hold.

And I tried to hold on to you

Push, push, you pushed me harder

Down’s the only way,

I try to keep my hands on rocks, lost the trust in you.

Death, death, it’s all I see as I look into those eyes

I whisper I love you,

Fall, fall, I’m falling now as I fall into the sea.

Pixie Stick Cassandra Machart

Grade 10

“Floral Springs.” Ruth Lewis, Grade 11

But you yell back angrily, “No need for you to save!”

I think you are nuts as you're pulled under again

Your maniacal notions are quite insane

So I jump in a boat, riding your way

But you say, “Your efforts are in vain!”

I ignore your screams to stay away

And I pull at your shirt as you sink more

You yank away, your shirt has tore

And you plunge into the sea's snapping jaws!

I am befuddled and depressed and mystified and bewildered

As I scream for you and stare for a sign of you in the violent black waters

I wonder why you got out here in these dangerous waves, for starters

And then I head back to shore with my eyes downcast wondering why you did not want help.

Yeidi, Grade 8

It's a hideously cold and rainy day

I pull my jacket tighter to keep the chill at bay

I am hurrying along the pier

When I hear a shriek of fear

My head whips around

And I see you in the sea

You're being sucked down

And my run turns into a bound

I scan the water with eyes like radar

As I reach the ocean's breaking wave

I scream and holler at you to keep afloat

Re

je

ct

ed

He

lp

“Mee

t Ze

ke”

Ad

rian

, Gra

de

11

“Th

e B

eau

ty o

f B

roo

klyn

.” J

ulia

, Gra

de

9

Cutting the Strings

Abby Greentree, Grade 9

The world around me is a dream,

I must cast away this sleepy seed,

To cut the misguided seem,

And rid myself of false reality,

But to do that would be cutting the strings,

To which the puppets hands rely,

And return to unwishful means,

Where comforting has gone awry,

A world where truth is seldom spoken,

Lies beyond my slumbered steps,

For when it is the heart that’s broken,

Less mindful thoughts carry on resent,

To wake up would bring me back,

Beyond this changing paradise,

But which is full and which shall lack,

This previous or present life.

Lucid Dream David Neiberger, Grade 10

I was walking down the beach with my best friend. No one else was there but us. I guess that should have given away the fact that it was a dream. Her name was Brianna. She was an inch or two shorter than me. Her hair was like mine though, a dark brown. She had the most beautiful green eyes. We’d known each other since we were little kids. For some reason she appears often in my dreams, whether it is as a mere bystander or as someone I talk to. This was the first time that I had dreamed that we were in love though… The mere thought of it was so foreign to me at first. Then I realized, that maybe I could love her as more than a friend. Could it be? Could I possibly love the girl that I grew up with, that I had been friends with for so long? I’d soon find out the answer. We were holding hands as we walked under the pier. All of a sudden, the dream went dark. Everything seemed to be caught in a dark shadow. Out of nowhere, a figure bathed in shadows appeared in front of us. It seemed to be walking towards us. It was only a few yards away when we decided to run. We didn’t get far though. Before we knew it, the figure had caught up to us. It pushed me down while we were still running. I slid in the sand and was temporarily blinded. I turned to my side to see the figure grab Brianna. A scream permeated from her mouth but was stifled by the hand of this dark figure. She got away for a few seconds and ran towards me. “Aaron!” she screamed. The figure caught her again and they disappeared. Leaving the dream as it was - no more shadows, no more darkness. All that could be heard were the waves of the ocean. This is the part where most people would have woken up, but I didn’t for some reason. I got to my feet as I caught my breath. I looked around me for any sign of where they would have gone. “Brianna!” I yelled out hoping she would answer. Nothing. After a few more tries, I realized it was hopeless. That was when the whispering began. It was as soft as the breeze, but as loud as the waves. The whispering, telling me something, telling me to do something. Control the dream... Make it move... Use the dream... make it help you… I could feel my heart race as I began to understand what it said. This is my dream and I am the one in control. I can change it; I can make it my own. All I needed to do was think. As a thought crossed my mind, the dream changed. I was now in the middle of New York City, but there was no one there. I was alone.

“Strasburg, Germany.” Anamarie Wright, Grade 11

I began to think in my mind of what the figure looked like and what Brianna looked like. Maybe I could force it to appear. The dream began to go dark again. Suddenly the figure appeared in front of me with Brianna. She looked to be unconscious. The figure dropped her and began walking towards me. He turned back for a second. He raised his hand causing Brianna to levitate and moved her away. She now was slumped on the stoop of a building unconscious. The figure turned back to me. “Impressive...” it said. Its voice was human, but seemed malevolent. It sounded kind of like a man and spoke. “No one has ever been able to summon me. They’re usually too scared.” “Not me...” I replied. I thought. The dream did. Chunks of asphalt rose up from the roads and threw themselves at the figure. But when they hit the figure, they seemed to just go through it. “An interesting approach,” he said, “But you cannot injure or fight me. It is the nature of my being.” Then I had another idea. I began to think a variety of thoughts that culminated into one final thought. Pieces of metal from all over New York came to my aid. They came together and formed a sphere around the figure; a heavy, thick and impenetrable sphere. He was trapped, or so I thought. A few seconds later, the figure just passed through the sphere with a chuckle. “No one can trap me,” he said, “I have to commend you for your efforts though. You truly are quite the fighter. Of course, with the stakes so high,” he said turning to where Brianna lay, “I can see why you’d fight. Even so, no one can ever defeat me, nor can anyone contain me!” Then he hit me, and suddenly I figured out how to win against this dark figure. It was so simple yet I had completely overlooked the option. I’d just un-dream him. As I began to try though, the figure just laughed. “You think you can just un-dream me?” he said with chuckle, “I’ve been working dreams for a long time now. I know how to work the dream. You’ve only just discovered the power of dreams! You can’t un-dream me because I’m not a part of the dream!” I gasped at the thought. Could he be something that came into my dream, not a part of the dream? That stuff seemed only possible in movies. It didn’t seem possible. “It doesn’t matter...” I mumbled, “This is my dream and I do not want you here anymore. Now get out of my dream!” The whole dream rumbled now. Nothing stood still. The figure himself even had trouble standing. He snapped his fingers and disappeared. I took this moment to run to Brianna.

“Worn Love.” Julia, Grade 9

The Bells Marlee, Grade 6

A clear silver note pierced the cold, sunlit December air, shattering the silence that

filled it. The pearly, frantic bodies of sheep pressed against my legs, scrabbling over

my feet, bruising my toes. The sounds of their bawling filled the crisp air.

“Ralph!” The dog’s ebony-streaked head shot up, his dark eyes searching my green

ones for instruction and guidance.

I pointed to the quickly scattering sheep and Ralph bounded after them, barking with

joy.

I began to direct Ralph, motioning for them to weave and turn, keeping the frightened

sheep in a group.

“Hark! Look over yonder!”

“Self Portrait in Three Mediums.” Abigail Greentree, Grade 9

I turned to the source of the voice, an older man who was gesturing over the valley

and Mount Vaena. There, just visible over the snow-capped peaks, a silver bell was

tolling.

“What’s the time?” I asked.

“How should I know? The only clock I know of is miles away.”

“Then why is a bell knelling? It looks to be about late afternoon.”

“Aye. Who knows the motives of your old man?”

Ralph barked a warning. A solitary sheep had broken away from the herd and was

tearing off toward the stream and the field of fleur-de-lis.

Calling out an oath, I took off after the sheep, leaving the elderly farmhand under

strict instruction not to let the rest of the sheep escape.

I saw an ivory splotch on the horizon, clearly defined against the emerald grass and

amethyst fleur-de-lis that covered this part of the countryside. It was true that back

along the north side of the mountains there was a fair amount of snow and there

were leas covered with snowdrops and cowslips at some of the foothills, but over on

the east side, where I was, there was no danger of me losing sight of the straying

sheep.

I followed the sheep for miles, over rocky crevices, lush hills, flower-covered fields

and through bridge-less creeks. Once, the sheep stopped for a moment to drink

from a shallow pond, and I thought for sure I had caught him, but with a loud cry,

the senseless creature hurled itself through the frigid waters and on, on to an un-

known destination.

The sun was setting behind me, casting bloody, ruby hues in my path. Soon the

pearly moon would be rising and I would be left out in the far reaches of the

mountain range, lacking food, water and light.

Yet I still had not quite lost sight of the sheep. I could see him running up ahead,

and while he was becoming increasingly lackadaisical, so was I. I wistfully fantasized

myself away, back at the farmhouse with a raging flame in the hearth and hot stew in

my belly.

At last, I saw the sheep slow. To my relief, there was a small glade up ahead. I

would at least have shelter from the icy gale.

I followed the sheep inside the glen, vituperating loudly. In fact, so caught up was I

in my raving that I didn’t notice the sight before my eyes.

A woman, barely older than I, sat on a fallen limb, holding my runaway sheep close

to her breast and murmuring soft comforts in his ears. All the while, she kept one

eye on my shouting form. A sort of paradisiacal aura surrounded her.

Breathless, I stopped bellowing.

“Who are you?”

The strange girl stared deep into my eyes. Her own were sort of green and starry,

half hidden by her lustrous gold hair.

“Why are you shouting at this beast?”

I was utterly surprised by her voice. It was as clear and low-pitched as a bell.

“He ran away. I am now unable to return home for the night. He disobeyed me,” I

said in my most manly, commanding voice. I don’t know why, but I felt as though

my attempts to mollify this phantom woman were futile. But I tried anyway.

“Yet you followed him.”

“Well, of course! I couldn’t let him get eaten! I would be beaten and besides, who

am I to let a brainless animal get slaughtered without warning?”

“In short, you care about him?”

“Well….”

To save me time, I looked at the dress that the girl was wearing. She was in what

appeared to be a pure white shift and bloodred slippers. Her eyes never left my

face.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I care about him, but I would be considered heartless to

leave him here alone.”

“So you would only help an innocent creature if there was benefit in it for yourself?”

“I DO beg pardon! I see no benefit now, and here I am, in this glade to retrieve

this sheep.”

“You met me.”

The woman said it as though it was common knowledge that she was a great benefit

to anyone.

“I am Daena, the one who protects the creatures who roam this earth. I only

appear to those who need to be taught a lesson of sorts. So, have you learned one?”

I realized that I had learned something, though I couldn’t quite place it. I nodded.

“Good. Your reward for being agreeable will be known to you in its entirety on

summer’s eve. Farewell, Caleb the Wanderer.”

On midsummer’s eve, I looked out of the kitchen window. The sun was setting and

casting an unearthly glow over the mountain range. Mother sat down next to me.

“Caleb.”

“Yes, Mother?”

“’Tis midsummer. Should we celebrate?”

“With what? There won’t be a cargo ship for another fortnight and our resources

are low.”

“True to your word, son. But we could find something. We could gather flowers and

put them in a vessel. Or dance by the moonlight.”

“Mother, you were better suited for a daughter, not a son.” Mother laughed, a sound

that I loved. I leaned my head against her breast and smiled.

*****

That night, I heard a low-pitched sound, like a bell. I sat up in bed. I saw no one,

only a large sack at the foot of the bed. I stood and looked at it closely.

I gasped in wonder. It was full of pearls, rubies and rough gold. I rushed to the

window and looked out into the dark night. I didn’t see a living soul, but I did hear

the far off tolling of a silver bell.

“Nicaraguan Sunset.” Brian Smith, Grade 11

TO FREDERICK Kayla Hardin, Grade 10

Dear Frederick of Ishmolsed

Your eyes are nearly as big as your head

And you’re nearly as wide as you are tall.

Your teeth are yellow and crooked and gross,

And your ears are what I hate the most!

You’ve certainly got to trim those nails,

Because they’re getting as long as elephant tails!

And you’ve got to cut your hair some more,

‘Cause wow! It’s all the way down to the floor!

You certainly have some personal issues,

But man! You need to get you some tissues!

Huh! I don’t have anything to say for your toes!

I guess there’s nothing wrong with those!

“Bo

nes

.” J

essi

ca V

arn

ey, G

rad

e 1

1

“Yin and Yang.” Jessica, Grade 11

Ma

gic

Mysti

c W

om

an

Sam

anth

a O

akle

y, G

rad

e 1

1

The magic runs through your veins, like sap through the veins of a leaf

You shed from a tree and you're flowin' through the breeze.

Dancin' in the forest ablaze, you breathe with ease

Magic mystic woman!

You're telling me all these things

Can you hear the trees, whispering your name?

Can you tell a bird to sing?

Can ya read into the stars?

And can you feel the force of the world, pressing on my heart

You like to disappear into the woods

Let nature speak to you from time to time

To communicate with the Earth, you say

And when you return you tell me you seen

A vision of a magical thing

Your stories, they ain't worth anythin' to me

You gotta speak to my soul

Tell me did you step into the grass with bare feet?

Magic woman, you talk so sweet

You say you got a serum for me

You ain't tellin' me no lies?

Can you heal me with the magic behind your eyes?

You talk too much, woman!

There are no miracles I can see

You say that you're the witch doctor, but

You can't cure anyone's disease

You gotta tell my soul!

'Cuz I don't know…

They're on a hunt for you, they carry torches and knives

In the dark of the sleepless night

What'cha gonna do, magic mystic woman?

Pick up your skirt and run through the woods

They're coming fast, they're looking for you

They gonna burn your house, set your land on fire,

Til the flames meet the burning stars

You thought you knew it all, but you shoulda known

Woman, you make yourself look like a fool!

The sun's gonna set on your wayward ways

You ain't gonna mess with me no more.

Julia Fleurantin, Grade 12

My name comes from a person who lived to be 103 years old

A resilient, strong, warrior.

A woman.

A woman who was willing to sacrifice it all.

She was here to change lives.

My name honors a woman who could live on a quarter a day

A quarter she would gladly share with those who didn’t have a dime.

She was here to be everyone’s guardian angel.

My name comes from a person who always knew what to say

Words which could lift up an entire village

Words that served as life lessons to anyone who listened.

My name comes from a person who had a heart of steel

A heart of steel that easily bends backwards to help others

My name comes from a wise superwoman

My great-grandma, Julia.

“Su

nki

ssed

.” G

ail F

letc

her

, Gra

de

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