I’ll Call It ... “CIRCLE”

strange, funny, sad, thought-provoking, challenging, shocking, emotional, joyful, beautiful writing

from Charles River Creative Arts ProgramAugust 2015

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I’ll Call It … CircleCreative Writing from Charles River Creative Arts Program

August 2015

Three poems by Jocelyn Sabin, Maddie Vanech, and Izzy Lockhart (Poetry Plus) . . . . . . . Train Journey by Nina Kahn (Stories, Scribbles, and Spirit Animals) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Memoir pieces by Christina Falkowski (Story of my Life) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Poems by Izzy Lockhart (Poetry Plus) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Stories by Rachel Alpert-Wisnia (One-a-Day Writeamin) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Stories by Roxanne Glassenberg, Serena Almy, and Katherine Lambert (S/S/S) . . . . . . . . An Excerpt from Leela and Charlie’s Squid-tastic, Dog-filled Play of Complete Amazement by Nicholas Chiasson and Roxanne Glassenberg (Playwriting) . . . . . . . . . . . Poems by Nyaja Childs (Poetry Plus) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Pantheon of New Gods (S/S/S) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Nonsense Play and Bean Cassarole Bus by Leah Koritz (One-a-Day Writeamin) . . . . . “My Table” by Maddie Vanech (Poetry Plus) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .“Your Ever-Fragile Life” and “Something Important” by Jocelyn Sabin (Poetry Plus) . . . Memoir pieces by Joshua Rosenberg (Story of My Life) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .“Kindness”/“Identity Crisis”/“The ‘Click Moment’” by Shmilly McIntyre (Apprentice Program) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Ode to the Swing” by Maddie Vanech (Poetry Plus) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .How My Rocket Work Now? by Maia Kahn and Duck Party by Chloe Pratt (S/S/S) . . . .Journal by Leah Koritz (One-a-Day Writeamin) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .An Excerpt from Automaton Bandicoots by Nicholas Chiasson (Playwriting) . . . . . . . . . .Assorted stories and drawings (S/S/S) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Excerpts from two plays by Roxanne Glassenberg (Playwriting) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Thou Mayest by Maddie Vanech (Independent Advanced Creative Writing Project) . . . .Walter’s Very Complicated Discovery (And the Events That Go Along With It, Including The Loss of Feeling in a Certain Girl’s Leg) by Leah Koritz (S/S/S) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Two stories by Serena Almy and Roxanne Glassenberg (S/S/S) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . About the Classes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Back Cover: “Stone” by Snow Boyd Vigil (S/S/S)

Writing Department FacultyWalker AndersonLauren BlackLaurel Durning-HammondAnna OehlkersSimenesh Semine

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After Virginia Oldoini, Countess de CastiglioneA Portrait Study

She’ll place the lens on the mahogany vanityHer almond-shaped fingernails will trace its intricate carvingsShe’ll remove the chunky diamond from her small finger-Letting it rattle to a resting placeShe’ll unwrap the smooth pearls from her neck-Draping them over the ornate edge of her mirrorShe’ll find a soft scrap of cloth- Wiping the rouge from her cheeks and shine from her lipsShe’ll remove each carefully placed pin,From her soft spiraling hairSlipping into a dress without frills and lace,She’ll become part of the sceneWith the shy bowing of her head,She’ll walk the streets aloneAnd none shall notice the openness of her Eyes

-Maddie Vanech

Of Life and Death

The rafters creak under weightThe dingy rope threatens to breakLast breaths sputter outAccompanied by the sour taste

Of regretLast tears fall to the floorMixing with the dust

Of listlessDays on endLast thoughts spiral to the starsSinging sadly in solitudeThe Morose cry

Of maybe

- Jocelyn Sabin

An Uncomfortable Diamante

Itchunbearable, needy, invisible

scratch, restrain, scratchbecoming a rash, developing into trees

tumbling, resting, sproutingseedy, eye-catching, monotonous

Acorn

-Izzy Lockhart2

Train Journeyby Nina Kahn

She is on a train, taking a ride home from her day job. Her hands grip a cup of coffee, some of which has spilled onto her overcoat. Her head is leaning against the cold glass of the window, her hair spilling out of its braid. The woman is in her early twenties, wearing wine-red lipstick and thick black lines on her eyelids. She doesn’t care much for makeup, but she put it on that day anyway. The coffee cup is half empty now and she has taken off her coat, revealing a white button-down shirt and jeans. It’s the shirt she found on a riverbank, a blood stain spreading on the front, but strangely, no puncture in the fabric could be found. It’s now her favorite shirt. A pale woman sitting in the row next to her is wearing an almost identical one. This one has a deep slash on the left. The two smile at each other almost as if they were old friends. A round-faced young woman with twinkling blue eyes and red hair pushes a trolley down the aisle, full of chips, drinks, and snacks. The woman with the coffee selects a bag of flavorless crackers, but only eats a few before looking back out the window. A small town is nestled on a hill. The houses are small, arranged in a circle with white roofs, each one a different color than the next. Some house lights are on, some aren’t, but she can’t see any silhouettes or hints of inhabitants. How curious. Munching once again on the crackers, she takes her cellphone out of her jeans pocket. She turns on the power to see her background; herself sitting on a mountain, overlooking a pink and orange sunset while another girl drapes her arm around her shoulders. She’s an old girlfriend, but the wallpaper is still there, even though they broke up years ago. She still loves her. She types in her password (2483) and clicks on the camera setting. She takes a picture of the town passing by and puts the phone back in her pocket. This has been a particularly long train ride, and she’s getting bored. Taking another sip of coffee, she observes her fellow passengers; an elderly woman, squabbling away at nothing, the pale woman, a group of schoolchildren, and a teenage girl who keeps looking over her shoulder. Now that she has observed, taken pictures, slept, and eaten, she’s irritated and tired. Not even her coffee is perking her up. A strange shadow passes just inside her periphery, startling her slightly, but just enough for her to notice the other oddities aboard. A stain on the carpet, still wet, a nest of birds suspended in thin air above the trolley woman’s head, a raccoon hiding under the seats. Perhaps she is delirious from sleep deprivation. It’s definitely that, she thinks. Drumming her fingers on her thigh, she looks at her empty cup of coffee, acknowledging the overwhelming taste of menthol in her mouth. It’s most likely because of the many cleaning products used to spiff up the train interior. Now it’s midnight, and she has been on the train for longer than usual. She’s starting to get annoyed. Suddenly, the old woman stops her babbling. Her withered old head coated in white hair moves slowly, almost mechanically, behind her. The gaggle of children look back at her and mumble something unintelligible that sounds like Russian. What follows is a high pitched, hollow scream. The two parties turn away from each other. Her mouth is agape. She looks down, her cup now filled with black tea. Just as she is about to drink it, the liquid and the plastic cup became scorching hot, and the tea turns a murky wine red and foams. She shrieks, dropping the monstrosity to the floor. Looking around for help, she notices that no one is left on the train but her, not even the trolley lady. The most recent stop was a half hour ago. But perhaps the strangest thing so far is that she hasn’t ordered tea this night. She’ll definitely be back for tomorrow’s ride home.

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Communicate With Animalsby Christina Falkowski

If I could communicate with animals, I would talk to my dog first because I want to know what Daisy, my dog, wants from me, if she wants a treat or her food. And I would ask animals what do you want, what can I help to do, do you want a treat? Do you want to play? And lots more. I would love to have that power. Would you like that power? It would feel magical and lots more. What would you feel like if you had that type of power? I would also take a nap with animals, including my dog. If there’s something about to happen I would know because of the animals. They would tell me because they wouldn’t want me to get hurt. They are like my best friends. I trust them and they trust me. That is why I would love to communicate with animals.

First Day of Schoolby Christina Falkowski

One day, it was a school day and I was putting my backpack down in the line. But then, I saw the mokey bars. I was so scared I would not go near them at all. It was like thunder and lightning, that’s how scared I was. But the next day, I tried to do the monkey bars, but I cried because I could not do it. I was sad, upset and mad at the same time. So then, it was two days later and I still could not do it. But then, the next day, I did it! It was an awesome feeling to do something you’ve never done before and face your fear. So then I liked the monkey bars and I was not scared anymore. I was brave, and powerful and awesome at the same time.

THE ENDIf I Had a Powerby Christina Falkowski

If I wanted a power, I would freeze people and stop time. I could have fun and cut people in line for lunch. I would love it a lot and I could unfreeze my friends so we can play together. We would do pranks and lots more like drawing moustaches on people’s faces. I would also unfreeze them when we cut lines and ate our lunch. Would you like that power too? I know I would of course.

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Bing

It appears to be an ordinary windowthough all the bright colorsphase been wrapped tightlyin a gray film of grime.Plants peer precariouslyover the window sill,the prospect of tumbling overundeniable.Behind a sheerpane of glass, an invisible handhas swept aside a curtainlike the tresses of a genteel lady’s ball gown.There should be a facecautiously peeking out the blemished glassbut only black consumesthe slice of open.The self of the portraitis hanging off the draped clothwith her mysterious doppelganger.Mere reflectionsbut they seem so much more.

Freezing

Starsare likefalling into ice water.Cold and distantuntil feet replace headand you are rushing towards them. A moment of suspension allows for pondering the bright dots.They evolve into hot spheres of gasburning into luminescence.Then flesh meets frigidwater becomes liquid skythe stars are once moreshards of ice.

3 A.M.

At 3 A.M., Awake dragged meto the surface of my restless slumberand my eyes burst open with a small gasp of air.Darkness sat at the foot of my bedconducting the orchestra of cicadas,his inky fingers graspinga shadow batonuntil the humid breaths of Dawnrolled me over into sleepthe second time that night.

Poems by Izzy Lockhart

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Tim the Turtle

Hello! I am Tim the Turtle. Today I started making a snowman. I rolled a small, tiny snowball in the snow until it became the size of 5 soccerballs. I put it on the ground and made another snow sphere, this time a bit smaller. I then SLOOOOWLLLLYYY brought them into my house so I could keep an eye on them when I went to find my engagement ring. I was going to propose to my girlfriend! She’s a human. All of the sudden, I spotted one of the balls rolling toward me. I dropped the ring and the diamond fell off! I shouted as it bounced onto the giant snowball. Right when I was about to grab it, my girlfriend walked in. “Baby!” I screamed. “I need to talk to you!” I sat her down on our bed and got down on one knee. Tears of joy dropped from her eyes. “Hagetha Witchy Witch Witch, will your marry me?” I asked her.

“YES! OF COURSE!” She screamed happily. She put out her hand, waiting for the ring. I gulped. “Uuuhh….” I said. “WHERE IS MY RING?!?!” She screamed. “R-r-right over here honey. I’ll go get it,” I said, pointing to the hallway. The snowballs and diamond

were gone! I glanced outside and noticed a snowman wearing a ring. I ran over to take the ring when the snowman dashed away from me. I chased him. But I had no luck, I’m a turtle. I can’t chase him. He snickered and ran into an underground house. The gate closed as I pouted and walked home. My girlfriend was waiting for me at the door. She scowled.

“WHERE IS MY RING??!!” She screamed. “I don’t have it.” I replied. “OMG WE ARE THA-ROUGH!” She slapped me and slammed the door. “Honey, you forgot your coat!” I called after her. She walked back in and grabbed her coat. “Thank you. And DON’T call me honey.” She slammed the door and I knew I was doomed to die alone.

She was the only one who would accept me for who I was. A slow, small, green turtle. And now she was gone. I cried until I drowned in my own tears.

Practical Poem Author’s Note: I walked around campus asking campers questions. I then scrambled the questions up into a poem.

Donald Trump is making us eat those squishy brains.That guy with a beard will ascend to a higher being.Not Santa, not Mike Haas, but God. Cake hates Santa in your mouth. You will die at peace nowhere. Yet you will never die. After you die, Mirandas around campus will steal your wallet.

Cavity Con

Hello. My name is Walker Anderson and I am obsessed with fruit. I went to “Cavity Con” in hopes of there being fruit in the stands. When I arrived at the convention, I went straight to the snack bar. There was no fruit! All they had was toothpaste and floss! So, I walked over to the intercom. I punched the man working the intercom. I sat down.

“Fellow Dentists. If you have any apples, please bring them to the intercom,” I announced. I had dentists all over complaining.

“I don’t have any apples! Why would I have a fruit that keeps doctors away? I like doctors!” One man said. I punched that man.

Another man walked up. “Apples get stuck in your teeth and cause cavities! Let me check if you have any,” he said as he pulled out a pair of tweezers. I backed away and punched his face. I walked away, angry. I collected fruit till I was literally swimming in apples. By the end I had 3,553,27 apples and 300 tubes of toothpaste. P.S: Only two men gave me apples.

Rachel Alpert-Wisnia

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ComplaintsBy Roxanne Glassenberg

I’m in a cage next to the oven. I’m in a cage next to the oven and it smells like pie. I’m in a cage next to the oven and it smells like pie and I think I have a wart on my foot. I’m in a cage next to the oven and it smells like pie and I think I have a wart on my foot and there’s food on my shirt. I’m in a cage next to the oven and it smells like pie and I think I have a wart on my foot and there’s food on my shirt and I have an itch I can’t scratch. I’m in a cage next to the oven and it smells like pie and I think I have a wart on my foot and there’s food on my shirt and I have an itch I can’t scratch and I can’t stop thinking about unicorns and my hair feels too oily. I’m in a cage next to the oven and it smells like pie and I think I have a wart on my foot and there’s food on my shirt and I have an itch I can’t scratch and I can’t stop thinking about unicorns and my hair feels too oily and my pen broke and sprayed ink everywhere and when I sleep I have nightmares and I think I have a booger hanging out of my nose and my anklet is poking me and Pusheen scares me and I have an ingrown toenail and I think I missed the season finale of Gravity Falls and I think that I being possessed and my legs hurt and I think I’m getting the flu and I have a song stuck in my head and I feel like someone is breathing on my neck and I’m getting sick of complaining!

By Serena Almy

The Glumpf By Katherine Lambert

In the year 1 million, a scientist crossed the DNA of a pig, a salamander, a tarantula, and a cat. The result was a pig/salamander/leg-messed-up/cat thing, or Glumpf, as the scientist called it. The scientist, Dr. Bob, loved his creation, even when it broke loose of the high-security laboratory and destroyed everything in its path. Fortunately, it escaped into a barbed wire enclosure. Also, it was only 2” high, so all it destroyed was 3 blades of grass. Eventually somebody accidentally stepped on it.

THE END 7

An Excerpt from Leela and Charlie’s Squid-tastic, Dog-filled Play of Complete AmazementA Play by Nicholas Chiasson and Roxanne Glassenberg

Leela and Charlie are two unlikely friends who meet in a magic shop and immediately hit it off. This is a scene that takes place in their science class.

MR. TREPIDATION: Okay class, today we’ll be dissecting squids. You’ll be working in groups of four. Have some gut-tastic fun.LEELA: Hey, Charlie, can you pass me the tweezers for removing the tentacles? CHARLIE: I don’t think that we’re supposed to remove the tentacles.LEELA: Um, like, we definitely are. Pass me the tweezers.CHARLIE: I’m almost positive that we don’t remove the tentacles.LEELA: We most definitely do. She picks up a squid and holds it out menacingly. CHARLIE: What the heck are you doing?LEELA: I’m telling you that you’re supposed to remove the tentacles! Have some squid, I don’t care what you do with it. LEELA throws the squid at him.CHARLIE: Okay, what? This is really ticking me off.LEELA: It should be! You’re just being stupid!CHARLIE: Wait, this seems weird. I feel like this happened before.LEELA: You know, I actually agree. But that doesn’t mean that I’m wrong.CHARLIE: Okay...chill.LEELA: How can I chill when you’re telling me not to remove the tentacles? The tentacles get removed!CHARLIE: Wait, first can we just figure this out? Because if we both think that this is deja vu, then this is like, weird. LEELA: Weirder than how people’s feet can be? Because people’s feet can be weird. Trust me, I know about this kind of thing.CHARLIE: Wait, did you go to Tiny Baby’s Kindergarten Science Buddies camp?LEELA: Uh, yeah I did. But I remember that I got expelled for some reason. My mom doesn’t really mention it that much. CHARLIE: Okay, I think that we got in this same argument twelve years ago.LEELA: Yeah, we started throwing squids at each other and ended up being expelled from the camp!CHARLIE: What the heck? This is crazy.LEELA: Oh my gosh, I was so little. I can’t believe we’re having the same fight again! This is absolutely the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. And I’m an aspiring foot doctor. I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff. You can trust me on this.CHARLIE: Well, that was a longish time ago. So wanna just like, chill?LEELA: Yeah, I think it’s fine. Let’s ask Mr. Trepidation if we’re supposed to remove the tentacles or not.CHARLIE: Ok, sure. Whoever is wrong has to buy the other person an ice cream after school.LEELA: Mr. Trepidation, are we supposed to remove the tentacles or not?MR. TREPIDATION: Yes, of course you are. Continue working.LEELA: Ha! I told you so. Now, I like my ice cream with chocolate sauce and marshmallow fluff and caramel sauce and sprinkles…CHARLIE: Aw, fine.

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TODAY IS LIKE….

Today is like fresh paint. Fresh paint is like a new car just bought.The car’s engine roaring like a lion wakingup from a wonderful nap. Today is like the bright colors ofthe rainbow. Today is like fresh paint, GREY, BLACK, PINK.Fresh paint is feelings of gloominess, depression, and ecstasy

Poems by Nyaja Childs

Feelings!!!!

Feelings have a mind of their own.Feelings can make you sad, mad, happy, scared, or even hurt.Feelings can make you laugh, cry, or maybe even both.Feelings can be outspoken or shy and scared at times.Feelings so enthusiastically introducing themselves to random strangers.Feelings hiding and nowhere to be seen

PLATE

SO shiny showing your sparkles so vividly when cleaned.Scrape, Scrape taking food remnants from your surface.

You are a very important part of my life. You allow my food to be on you.You allow yourself to be dirty even though sometimes you disagree with some things I do to you. So thin and so fragile.PLATE!!

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CHALTA, ANIMAL GODBy Brigid Traub

Chalta, Son of Summer/Rivera, twin of Carrona. His cat is named Skye. He is the animal God of Loika. He is a Cat/Human/Fairy/Goat hybrid.

God of ClocksBy Chloe Pratt

The God of clocks gives the gift of a free pocket watch and the ability to know the time whenever you want to! This god does have punishments too, though. One of them is: whenever you close your eyes, you see a clock counting down to your death.

By Julia Fitzgerald

God of Clogged toiletsBy Roxanne Glassenberg

Powers: To clog or unclog your toilet at will and to suddenly heighten your sense of smell. Why you pray: If you don’t, you toilet will be forever….clogged. Bum bum bum….Preferred sacrifices: Your time, energy, and appetite.

A Pantheon of New GodsCreated by Stories, Scribbles, and Spirit Animals Class

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By Roxanne Glassenberg

Goddess of all-around fabulousness.Powers: Mind control, conjuring an army of zombie poets, bent on world domination. (But that’s another story for another day.)Why you pray: OR ELSE!Preferred sacrifices: Lots and lots and lots of printed dresses!

By Maia Kahn

The God of Comfort Food has the power to make any yummy, simple food appear from thin air and brings deliciousness to all who worship him. If dishonored, he will curse you with eternal health food.

Denise, Shane, Jeff, Herman, and Lucy Entity of Bat Mitzvah PartiesCreated by Nina Kahn

By Maia Kahn

GeorgGod of Bad PunsCreated by Nina Kahn

ToddGod of No Air ConditioningCreated by Nina Kahn

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Goddess Of Internet Celebrity Cats, Tartar Created by Katherine Lambert

Whenever Tartar feels a cat is worthy of internet-tional celebration, she instantly causes an event that makes the cat an internet celebrity. Every time you post an internet celebrity cat joke, she welcomes it as a sacrifice to her. Unless you are making a mean joke about the cat. Then, she hates you, and will make you think every internet celebrity cat joke is mocking you, so you slowly go crazy from thinking the whole world is against you.

FebreezaGoddess of Air ConditioningCreated by Nina Kahn

Created by Boyd Snow Vigil

By Maia Kahn

This is the God of DIYs. It is a giant floating mason jar with pipe cleaner arms and button eyes, wrapped in a string of holiday lights. It is frequently toting numerous DIY supplies at once. It rewards its followers with Etsy memberships, yarn, glitter in every color, and an in-home Michaels craft store for the truly committed. It takes offerings of homemade paper banners, chalkboard-painted items, and many more crafts.

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A Nonsense Play by the One-a-Day Writeamin Class

Scene One

Sherbert: It’s real, I swear! I heard about it at Bingo Night!

Clyde: Well… okay. You’re my best friend, Sherbert.

Sherbert: Clyde, I’m in a really weird situation. I really need your help on this buddy. I - I’m wearing a dress!

Clyde: So you have a singing mushroom. It’s a little weird at first but once you get used to it, it’s about as weird as showering with your tomatoes.

Sherbert: What? That doesn’t even make sense!

Clyde: You mean the vegetable?

Sherbert: Anyway… my real dilemma is that I really want to eat the mushroom, but how can you eat a mushroom that sings?

Scene Two

Sherbert: We used to be friends, Clyde. What happened?

Clyde: It’s the hot dog situation. You remember, right? Now I know what a true hero is.

Sherbert: Happy birthday, Clydie!

Clyde: You know I hate it when you call me Clydie! My name is Clyde, remember?

Sherbert: Of course I do, Clydie! We’re twins! And, aren’t you going to wish me a happy birthday?

Clyde: Don’t eat it. You can go back to the store and just buy more, bring the mushroom to the local high school, set up all the hurdles in the gym, and put on a show!

Sherbert: Why not? They respect me and love Christmas!

Bean Casserole BusLeah Koritz

Worst Invention In the World: Bus Made of Bean Casserole. There have been countless accidents in the Bean Bus, since there are no windows, and no window shields. It is like blind driving. It is like driving a car with black paper all over every window. Just today, a Bean Bus knocked down three buildings, but then again, it is 3015, and everything is made of carboard/plastic. Stupid plastic! Horrible cardboard!

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My Table

My house is eggshell yellowwhite trim graces the window sills and doora white picket fence encircles the artificially green grass

In my housethe table’s legs reach for the glistening chandelier abovewe don’t have chairs, we just sit on the smooth wood floor

At my tablethe blue and white porcelain dishes, piled high with foodbalance on the four unwavering legs

My familyserves themselves slowly, no one dares disrupt the balance none want to send dishes and food tumbling down and crashing over us

We don’t talk at mealtimeour words could cause the porcelain to shatterchange in the silent stillness means something will break

It is comfortableand natural the silence and balance calm us

Our table has always been like thisI can’t imagine using a table in a different way

Last night I had a sleepover

Her house is robin’s egg bluewhite trim dances round the window sills and doora white picket fence encircles the sweetly green grass

In her housethe table stands firmly upon its four legssix sturdy chairs surround it

At her tablethe pink and white porcelain dishes, piled high with fooddon’t need to balance, they sit comfortably on the tabletop

Her familylaughs while they serve themselvestheir dishes don’t need to balance

They talk at mealtimestories of the day are shared, the food is complementedlaughter through full mouths wraps the room in warmth

It is comfortableand natural for themthey delight in the clumsy chatter

I asked her why their table was upside down

She was confusedshe told me her table was right side upshe can’t imagine using a table in a different way

-Maddie Vanech14

Your Ever-Fragile Life

I couldn’t live without youI just don’t know what I’d doIf you were eaten by a tiger On our next trip to the zoo

And if you someday soonDrove a golf cart off a cliffI’d likely go there tooAnd quite discretely “slip”

If on your trip to TurkeyThe plane was going downI’d die right there and thenIf you began to drown

For our lives are quite connectedFor better or for worseTo be completely honest It really is a curse

I live in constant fearOf your ever-fragile lifeI can’t feed my echidnaInstead I live in strife

Still I couldn’t live without youI don’t know how I’d dieIf suddenly a baby grandFell on you from the sky

Something Important

The back of my hand is covered with skinStretched over long splintery fingersThe light blue tint that surrounds it Makes the pulsing pink veins popThree spindly fingers with three sticky jointsEnd at long deadly nails sharpened to an edgePerfect for pointingI remember the back of my hand absolutely Though what one forgets is hard to pinpoint

Poems by Jocelyn Sabin

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A Trip to the Basementby Joshua Rosenberg

I was walking down the stairs to the old building basement. The stairs were making creaking sounds when you walked on them. The first thing I saw was the stone wall covered in spider webs. The lights were flickering. I walked left. I saw a wall lined with old lockers. Then I saw a room and it turned out to be an office. I saw that there was a room full of tables. Then I walked into a room full of power tools. Then I went back up the stairs. The end.

Letter to My Future Selfby Joshua Rosenberg

Dear future self,

Me again! First off do you have to wear those odd white strips over your teeth because you aren’t brushing them? Ok, enough of personal hygeine. I really like crcap, oh, I mean remember how much you liked it! Anyways… did you get into a good college? Oh, and you probably remember M_____… she was so anoying. Oh, but Jane and Sarah :)#@%$#&^**(

See you not later,Joshua

Sand Boxby Joshua Rosenberg

I was in preschool and I was building a sand castle and then this kid kicked it and the sand got in my eyes so I went to the emergency room. Then they washed it out and it was fine.

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1. KindnessBefore my 10th birthday, I didn’t understand kindness

I mean, I knew giving my last piece of dark chocolate cake to my brother was kindness, or letting my parents choose the movie, but I never really understood how one simple act of kindness could change someone’s life.

I remember that day like it was yesterday,

Only yesterday had sticky ice cream and a raging band filled with counselors,

But not really all counselors because soon enough I was invited up onto the vibrating stage

To sing a happy birthday song to me with a voice that was stronger and more powerful than my own

Except the words “happy birthday” were replaced with “Born This Way” and everyone on stage moved together not as individuals but like one machine

And the singer dressed in all black with colorful tattoos sang with me telling me to be who I am and that different is okay

I looked down at the camp that I love dancing and singing words I didn’t know but knew were true as if they would follow me over a cliff

And in that moment I forgot about all the people compelling me to change, all the people that made me want to be someone who was not me

And I looked at this singer dressed in black and realized that one small act of compassion changed my life

And I hope that kindness will touch your life the way it did mine.

The following are three moments from my camp experience that changed my identity and who I am, rewritten as a collection of poems. Without these specific memories at camp, I would not be the person I am today.

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2. Identity CrisisFunny isn’t itI took a class describing how I felt about myself,Hoping that maybe trying on different identities would help me find my ownAnd yet stillI was the daisy in a field of tall, beautiful, long haired, pretty eyed, rosesRoses that wore long ball gown dresses covered inSequence that sparkled like stars,Perfect flowing wigs,and spotless makeupWhile I modeled a fat suit and a beard.I know being Santa Claus isn’t the most graceful, beautiful, amazing thing to be, but truthfully I amnone of those things.But walking onstage into the blaring light and hearing youI forgot all about how I hated different and I forgot all about the sounds in my head telling me to bejust like everybody elseAnd I listened to the sounds of the camp that I love laughing and cheering me onAnd you told me to accept myself and to love my individuality

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3. The “Click Moment”Magic flows through Production every year,The group becomes linked together like magnets,But that’s not why this time was different.

The lights blinded me as I stood onstage in my lavender dress with light pink butterflies that looked as if they wanted to fly away they were so uncomfortable

The audience clapped like seals as a character in the play discovered that she shouldn’t have to hide her family to her new friends, and that she shouldn’t be scared of people’s opinions because she has two moms.

And time froze.

Looking around at the rest of the cast dressed as if they were going to a ball,Looking around at the audience, anxious for their next chance to applaud,Looking at the band smiling and laughing as if it wasn’t the end of summer,Looking at the lights as if they shown for only me,

Looking at the camp that I love

I became that girl,

I became the girl who would no longer let tall dark shadows push her family around.the girl who would not let voices on the news makes her feel ashamedthe girl who would fight until her loved ones were accepted.

I became the girl who was proud of her family.

And time unfroze.The band’s blasting music resumed as the audience continued to applaud the closing numberAnd only I knew that my life would be changed forever.

-Shmilly McIntyre

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Ode to the Swing

my childhoodis made of woodit creaks and it singsas it swoops and swings

My Fatherhad cut a long splintering boardfrom a fallen oakhis rough, stained hands sanded the plankto a gentle understanding of the world around it

He’d coated it in shellac - a thick skinto take pounding rainheavy snowfallscorching heatand screaming lightning

If I had a Mothershe might’ve insistedin covering the smooth pure surface with thick reserved paintbut my father was happy to let the board remain itself

Using coiled ropethat would never snapmy father suspended the boardfrom the sturdiest branch overlooking the lush grassthat tumbled down from our backyard to the valley

The breezewould tickle my bare, pink feetas I looked over the world beneath

With a pump through the sticky summer airI could kiss the cloudswhile looking over

The flowersthat shouted blue and yellow and pinkThe treesthat held up the pale blue skyAnd the birds nests they heldcarefully crafted cradlesof smooth delicate eggsbrushed in creamy colors

Bugs and Frogs and Birdscreated a chorusand the sound of rushing waterechoed through the serenitythough I never found its source

For my whole lifeI’ve been happy to add the creakOf the soft wood and tightly twisted fraying ropeto the symphony below

But until nowI’d forgotten to thank my FatherFor the Swing

-Maddie Vanech20

Duck Party

Okay, so I’m going to tell you about a duck party. Every year, there is an annual duck party, but one year the duck party went seriously wrong. A goose came to the party.

So it was the year 1371, when annual duck parties became a thing. They were started by a duck named Duckie D. Ducker. He sent a message to all the ducks that there was a duck party taking place during the next week. He even sent a message to the Ugly Duckling’s family. But the party got delayed 1001 times, so it took place in the year 1999 on New Year’s Eve. By this time, most of the ducks who were invited to the party had passed away, and the Ugly Duckling’s mom was very old, so she sent the Ugly Duckling and his 2000 siblings to the party by themselves. But, the Ugly Duckling was now a goose, so technically the Ugly Goose was sent to the party with his 2000 siblings by themselves. When the Ugly Goose walked in, all the ducks shouted “Murder that bird! Kill him!” and the Ugly Goose got hung on the disco ball until he starved.

-Chloe Pratt

How My Rocket Work Now?a story inspired by picture telephoneby Maia Kahn

Jeremy the robot sat down on his work stool, defeated. Another dud. This was his 57th time testing out his rocket ship, and he still had no luck. Jeremy had changed the engines, taken the ship apart and put it back together, and done everything he possibly could to make it work, but even after weeks and weeks of excruciating, frustration-fuelling tedium, he was unsuccessful.

Everyone said Jeremy would never build a functional rocket all by himself, and they also taunted him because of his flawed speech programming, which prevented him from using proper grammar when he spoke. “Why this unfair?” he sighed. “I work hard on my rocket but my rocket no work!” He felt hopeless.

Just then, his friend Jessica came around the corner. “Hello, Jeremy,” she said. “How is progress coming along on your rocket ship? I hope it is going well.” Jessica had perfect speech programming. Jeremy hated that.

“Nothing happen!” he cried. “I try and change rocket so many time, but it not work!” “Well, maybe you haven’t tried everything yet. You could---”“Yes, I have! I try no more. Is pointless.” Jeremy began to cry (he cried robot tears, which are made of a

special mixture of chemical fluids that doesn’t make the robot rust). He was sad that his rocket would never be a success. Now he would continue to be that one robot who can’t talk right or do anything.

As Jeremy wept, Jessica took pity on his sorrow and tried to console him. “Well, I think we should try to make it work one more time. Just to see.”

Jeremy was certain it was hopeless. Why, after 57 tries, would his rocket ship suddenly function? But he obliged solely for the purpose of amusing his friend. “All right,” he mumbled as he stood up. “But probably will not work. I try for you.” Jeremy stepped inside the rocket and approached its control pad. There were rows and rows of buttons, which operated hundreds of commands that, time after time, failed to do their jobs. Jeremy’s robot hands passed over the many buttons, which included “Fire Missiles”, “Activate Artificial Gravity”, and “Switch into Suspension Mode, Engulfing the Vehicle and Everything Inside it in Suspended Animation for a Previously Set Amount of Time”... until he reached the most difficult and complicated operation of all:

“On”.For the 58th time, his finger came down on the button. There was silence.Dejected, Jeremy turned to face his friend. “Me right,” the robot spoke solemnly. “It no work--”He was interrupted by a deafening roar. Fire and exhaust blasted from the rocket’s engines, and the

vessel began to rise. Jeremy was elated. “HOW MY ROCKET WORK NOW??!?!??!!?!!!!?!” he shouted, running around and frantically pushing buttons. The ship dipped and twirled gracefully.

“Congratulations, you did a good job,” exclaimed Jessica.But Jeremy was so proud that her superior grammar skills had no effect on him.

EL FIN

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Journal Leah Koritz

June 9, 2099I’m supposed to leave on an expedition tomorrow, June 10 at 4 AM. I’m going on a journey with six

other people to find out more about the island. We don’t know what to call it. Nobody that we know of has been there. For all we know, it could be another world. The six other people have been gathered from around the world. We need the best of the best to explore the island. Max Snow is the only other American explorer who will be accompanying us on the journey besides me. There is also Sherbert Jacobson-Merca. What an interesting-sounding name! Also, Margaret Baymark is an explorer from France. The rest are from places not more than a few hours away from Costa Rica. For all I know, this island we’re going to could have nine-winged unicorns. It could have narwhals that jump out of trees. The island seemed to have popped onto the map. Before, it was just many, many miles of deep blue water. But, a year ago, when Martha Winke saw the place from a stunt airplane, we knew we’d be going from the beginning._____________________________________________________________________________

June 10, 2099The car will pick me up in six minutes. Now, I’m waiting on the front step of the tiny, rat-infested

apartment I’ve rented for the summer. I will be writing in this to keep notes of what I’ve found - if anything. The car is here. I take my backpack (filled with the bare necessities: toothbrush, clothes…). There will be everything else we will need for the trip at the station. The station/airplane will hold out food until it’s time to exit the plane, and get onto the island.______________________________________________________________________________

June 10, 2099 We’re on the plane. We took off six hours ago. The flight is about sixteen hours. The plane is tiny, somewhat like a fighter jet. I’m sitting next to Jorge Benson, a talkative man with dark brown hair. He seems nice. He’s a very young man. This was probably his first real expedition, which makes me wonder why he’s going on a mission that only the best of the best can go on. I’ll keep you updated.

To be continued ...

One of the projects that we did was to make our very own continent. It could have anything we wanted on it. After we made the continent, we were supposed to write anything we wanted about the continent. I chose to do a journal by someone named Aaron Dune.

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An Excerpt from Automaton Bandicoots A Play by Nicholas Chiasson

This is the first scene of a play about Robot Koalas and evil people.

In the beginning:!#@$$%^%$%(*?4)%%**_-- (Robot koala ancient language)

Koala Town Mayor: KOALAS! Our leader’s cousin’s best friend’s fish’s past owner’s ex-wife’s brother-in-law’s kid would like to say something!Leader’s cousin’s best friend’s fish’s past owner’s ex wife’s brother-in-law’s kid: Fellow oalas with a K at the beginning! Us folks in Koala Town ARE THE ONLY ROBOT KOALAS LEFT!!!All Koalas: NNNNNNNNNNNN OOOO OOOO OOOO Koarnold Schwarzenegger: HASTA LA VISTA, BABY!!!News man: Fellow koalas, we are all going to die so stop wasting your time watching TV and GO DO SOMETHING FUN!Narrator: Koalas were rioting, becoming cannibals, and protesting Earth. Also, the world is being destroyed by Je- AhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhNarrator 2: He just got eaten by Je- Mariachi Saratchi: HOLA, IT’S TIME FOR YOUR BUDDY MARIACHI SARATCHI- Narrator 2: Shut up, dude. Anyway to reiterate, the killer is Je- Wait a sec, I have got an itch on face. Okay, the killer is Je-Camera Man Of Koala News: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND That’s a wrap, people. I think that Narrator 2 did a good job of telling the koalas EVERTHING they needed to know.Je- (and because the news reporter never said his name the rest of Je- remains a mystery.) I will rain down on Koala Town and later the universe FOR MY NAME IS JE- ring ding ding ring ding ding- Wait, I’m getting a call.Random caller: Who is this?Je- (and because the news reporter never said his name the rest of Je- remains a mystery.) This is Je- wait I’m getting another call.Random caller: Hello, can I speak to Dork Face Stupidious Maximous?Je- (and because the news reporter never said his name the rest of Je- remains a mystery.) Stop prank calling me you !#@$$%^%$%(*?4)%%**. Sorry, those were some prank callers. Anyway, I am the president of the DTWF or the Destroy the World Foundation. Anyways, what do you want?!Random caller: I am the Robot Koala Leader! And “anyways” is WRONG GRAMMAR! You see, all I want is for you to not destroy Koala Town, you !#@$$%^%$%(*?4)%%**_-- !Je- (and because the news reporter never said his name the rest of Je- remains a mystery.) How do you know my number?!Robot koala leader: You know, that girl that is Karcellus Wallace’s wife, who is going to take you to the Jack Koala Slims Annual Dance Contest. Well, she is a koala in disguise as a human.Je- (and because the news reporter never said his name the rest of Je- remains a mystery.) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.Narrator: And because Je- was preoccupied by saying NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, the koalas enslaved every human including Je-. Until this…

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Cat from Horror MovieBy Julia Fitzgerald

By Leah Koritz

My ZombieBy Brigid Traub

My zombie is in bed Because he broke his head, and when he gets back up again, he shall be undead

BunnyBy Brigid Traub

Armadillo StoryBy Nina Kahn and Snow Boyd Vigil

Once there was an armadillo that was sad. She was tiny and lived in the cave where the dinosaurs lived. Her cave was the best! One day, she went to the forest to get food, berries, and saw a pterodactyl. “Oh wow!” she said. She watched the pterodactyl eat some meat and then kill another pterodactyl. “Eek!” said the armadillo, running away quickly. She went to her cave. A dinosaur said, “Hi, are you okay?” “Yes,” sniffled Hilda (the armadillo). But she wasn’t. The dinosaur ate a leaf and then hugged Hilda. “It’ll be okay,” the dinosaur said. The pterodactyl was looming in the distance, ready to strike again. “I am Jasper and I’m HUUUNNNGGRRRYYYY!!” said the pterodactyl. Hilda ran, but it was too late for the other dinosaur. “NOOOOOOO!!!!!” she screamed and the pterodactyl ripped into her flesh. Luckily, the armadillo got away.

R. I. P., Dinosaur Friend.

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The Hamburger who Hated EarthBy Julia Fitzgerald

Once, there was a hamburger named Hammyburg. Hammyburg was born at McDonald’s (in real life I hate fast food, so obviously I hate McDonald’s). Hammyburg was ordered by a little boy. Hammyburg, then, was taken to a table to be eaten. As he was being lifted into the boy’s mouth, Hammyburg jumped onto the table, grew arms and legs and ran out the door. Hammyburg kept running until he reached a mouse hole. The mice just stared in shock and fear as Hammyburg stepped in. The mice pooped in fear and ran away. Hammyburg sat inside the mouse hole and plotted his revenge on the “burger-eating-people-filled-world”. Five Years Later: Hammyburg had finally finished plotting his revenge. He had a whole board of evil plots.EVIL PLOTS TO KILL HUMAN KIND1. Break into a science lab and steal their growing-chemical juice.2.Drink it and eat all the humans to show them what it’s like to be a hamburger.3. Pollute the Earth 4. Stab the humans5. Go to McDonald’s, kick the door down, and shout, “EVERYBODY FREEZE THIS IS A RAID!”

Hammyburg walked to McDonald’s and tried to kick the door down. Unfortunately, Hammyburg is a poopy-weak-head. So, he just opened the door and shouted “EVERYBODY FREEZE THIS IS A RAID!” *Cricket Sounds*“UGH,” Hammyburg thought. He walked to a chair, sat in it, and plotted Something Different. Then, Hammyburg realized that it was getting darker. He turned around. A big butt was leaning down on him. SQUISH.

Museum By Brigid Traub and Maia Kahn

Once upon a time in a museum, there was a ghost. It was nighttime and some kids had wandered in. The kids didn’t realize, but they were not alone. Suddenly, the ghost started screaming and running around like a pig. The kids were confused. “Why is this ghost acting like a pig”? one asked. “I don’t know.” “Is he crazy?” “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH - I’M NOT CRAZY!” he shrieked. ”I JUST DON’T KNOW HOW TO ACT AROUND HUMANS”! The kids started to turn into ghosts. “Why are we turning into ghosts?” the kids exclaimed. “Well, now that we are ghosts, we can haunt the museum together.” They had a great time haunting the museum, especially in 34001, when rebirth was invented.

WalkerBy Chloe Pratt

One day, Walker was running. Then he had a migraine and bumped into a telephone pole, but he kept running. All of the sudden he lost his whole upper body. So anyway, Walker’s legs were running, and then the pants on the legs ripped which made the legs trip. That led to a horrible and embarrassing scene for the legs.And the moral is: NEVER RUN WHEN YOUR NAME IS WALKER!!!!!!!! 25

An Excerpt from Hoarfrost and KateBy Roxanne Glassenberg

Hoarfrost Equinox is a frost spirit who falls, with no warning, into the life of one Katherine Gonzalez. Their friendship develops and blossoms into something that is more like sisterhood. The following is the opening poetry and scene from their first adventure.

Kate: On a cool, fall eve she walks, treading softly through harvested fields and dried-up meadows. Her hair is as long as the coming winter nights and the same color as the falling chestnuts. It is woven with the last of summer’s green creepers. Her dress is green like a cool, still pond, and she wears bracelets of flushed ivy. She moves with such grace that the reeds of the field barely shift when she steps. For a moment, she stops and surveys a farmer’s plot. The remains of the last pumpkins appear eerily luminous in the night-time. She raises her steadfast gaze upward. Up, up, up to the glassy sky. Then, she thrusts her arms skyward towards the heavens. A single shaft of moonlight catches her eyes. She begins to float. She drifts on towards the town, gaining height as she goes. Soon, she is soaring, flying, gliding so high up in the autumnal sky. The stars part ways for her as she moves steadily on. In the morning, the pond has a thin sheet of ice over it. The grass in the town has a slight crunch to its usual lushness. And the meadow is covered in still, pale frost.

Kate: Okay, who are you?Hoarfrost: I am Hoarfrost Equinox, bringer of yuletide, giver of light. All hail my-Katherine: No, really. Who are you? I’m Katherine Gonzalez. But never call me Katherine. It’s Kate, and nothing else. Hoarfrost: I’m a season-bringer. A frost fairy. Basically, I’m awesome! Oh, and you can call me Hoarfrost. Kate: Hoarfrost, season-bringer, whatever. What are you doing here? You look pale. It’s the weekend; I don’t want to get sick... Hoarfrost: No, I just fell yesterday when I was spreading frost and stuff...I guess I’ve just been kind of stressed out lately.Kate: Cheer up! Maybe I could help you…?Hoarfrost: I don’t know if that’s a good idea…Kate: Pretty please? Just one night?Hoarfrost: Fine. You’re cute and funny. I like you. Grab hold of my hand…

An Excerpt from ParadiseBy Roxanne Glassenberg

In the next and final step of Kate and Hoarfrost’s journey, the two go to visit Hoarfrost’s mother in the magical kingdom of Paradise. But while visiting the notorious Horizontal Equinox (Hoarfrost’s “mumsy”), Hoarfrost’s past sorrows are unearthed. Kate steps in and helps Hoarfrost regain her mother’s trust and her own self-confidence. This the second scene in the play.

Kate: Are you okay?Hoarfrost: I’m fine, sweetie. But being with my mom brings back some bad memories.Kate: Like what? I mean, you don’t have to tell me...I’m just curious…Hoarfrost: No, no...it’s fine. See, I wasn’t always the model child.Kate: Not hard to believe.Hoarfrost: Don’t interrupt, this my life here! Anyways, I was always asking questions and exploring the area of Paradise, which was fine for awhile. But when my questions became “rude,” and “stupid” daydreams about exploring started to get in the way of my school work, Mother was very mad. She had been a graduate of Firwood School on the other side of Paradise and held education as a high priority. But you see...well… I had to drop out of school. It just wasn’t right for me! But I knew I couldn’t go back home, to this. Gestures around. So I hid for awhile until I got my nerve up and crossed the River Fine. I didn’t know my way around. Finally, I got a job in the human world spreading the frost. But on my first night, I fell from the sky and into your yard. And I just...begins to cry.Kate: Oh, Hoarfrost! Don’t worry, we’ll get you through this. Falls on her and hugs her. Shhh…it’ll be alright…

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Thou MayestBy Maddie Vanech

The Fairkeep Public Library was one of the most underappreciated establishments in the town. From the outside, it blended perfectly into the façade. It was composed of rusted bricks, crumbling cement and chipping white trim. The paint on the sign was dulling in the sun but “Fairkeep Public Library” could still be made out in what once was bold red on forest green. The sign hung crookedly above the heavy brass double doors. The librarian was a gentle old man, who licked the tip of his finger before turning the page of whatever dusty volume he was currently working on. He peered over the dilapidated cover of East of Eden at the whoosh of the doors opening. “Ah, James, here to return Mockingbird?” “Not yet, Mr. Cromshell, I want to read the trial scene again.” “Oh, yes of course you would.” He cleared his throat with a deep rumbling sound, pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose and resumed his reading. James pivoted to the right, and expertly navigated through the bookshelves and desk tables, making his way to the very back of the building. Upon reaching the last table, he heaved his backpack off his left shoulder and pulled out a notepad and pen. He glanced at his wrist and the face flashed 4:17. He was early. School had ended at four and James had stopped at home to grab a snack. His father was still at work and Stephanie had went out to get groceries. James had no desire to join the Friday night hanging out of his classmates, so he went to the library to meet his partner for the end of the year group project. He sighed, pushed his dark hair back from his forehead and began scrawling out ideas for the endangered species group project, concentrating on the possible animals instead of the conversation he was going to need to endure.

James looked up when he heard the front doors bang closed. He turned his head to hear better.“Allison Booker! Why, it’s been a long time!”“Yes-um, sorry, I’m looking for James Thompson?” Her speech was sweet but rushed, echoing the rapid

state of her frenzied mind. “Are you a friend of his-”“Oh no, we’re just partners for a school project, is he here?”“Sure, dear - he’s in the back, just past-”“Philosophy Section?”“Yes-”“Thank you!”She flurried through the aisles and James put his head down, pretending to work on the endangered

species project. “Sorry I’m late” She tossed a blonde lock over her shoulder and plopped down on the chair opposite James. Unzipping her backpack and pulling out a laptop laden with stickers, she said “I had to talk to my dad about something.” “For half an hour?” James mumbled without looking at her. “Yes, sorry, it was important.” “Important? Like money?” He scowled at his paper. Allison glared at him. James’s writing sped up with his voice. “Because not everyone’s rich, Alli, money is important to some people. Not everyone gets their life handed to them in a banknote.” He ended his sentence with a period that became a passive aggressive flourish of his pen. His words were harsh, and forced Allison to take a deep breath before she spoke. “He didn’t do it.” “Then who did?” James said, meeting her pained brown eyes for the first time. “How am I supposed to know?!” “Well you seem pretty convinced that your dad hasn’t been draining my dad’s bank account!” The two were silent. 27

“Whatever. We need to work on this project. You said you had to go at six, right? Meaning we only have an hour?” She opened her mouth to plead her father’s case, then closed it again. “Ya.” James showed her the list of endangered animals he’d been compiling, and they briskly agreed on one, and to make a poster. They divided the labor, then resided to their silent work on opposite sides of the table’s invisible wall.

The teacher had announced partners for the long-awaited 7th grade endangered species project the day before, and the entire classroom had gone silent when James Thompson and Allison Booker were announced as partners. Twenty-four sets of eyes had bounced between Allison and James and one could already hear the gossip whispering around the school. “Did you hear that James Thompson and Allison Booker got put together?” “Does the teacher know what Alli’s dad did?” “She must! The whole town does! And I swear I saw her at the bank run.” “You did not! It was crazy that day! I could barely see my mom in front of me!” “I know! But I just feel like she was there, you know?” “You should stop feeling and start thinking or we’re gonna fail this project for sure.” And the bell rang.

Allison’s mom, Marilyn Lane Booker, ran the only hair salon in town. Upon opening the door to “Marilyn’s,” a woman’s senses were bombarded with the jingling of bells, whirring of hairdryers and relentless clucking chatter. The aroma was the tingling scent of hairspray, alluringly feminine shampoo and a unique cocktail of various mousses and gels and dyes. The smell never seeped from the building and could never be bottled and sold, though many women agreed that if it were a perfume it would surely break the bank. A man was a foreign creature at Marilyn’s, and the town liked it that way.

Mr. Richard Booker, Allison’s father, was currently Public Enemy Number One in Fairkeep, but it hadn’t always been that way. Mr. Booker ran the only bank in town, as his father had, and he had never once been out of Fairkeep. He had met Marilyn Lane when she was fresh out of beauty school and exploring the many small towns the Midwest had to offer. She was bubbly and kind. Her hair smelled of product and she was constantly chewing pink bubble gum that matched her lipstick. With time, money, and a growing family, his tall stoic build would wilt under the layer of pudge that would spill over his shining belt buckle. His sugar-coated vocabulary was still there, but it came out more slowly and gruffly than it did in his youth, and his large strides had been clipped with the hint of a limp. He’d captured Marilyn’s heart with the sweet tone that he’d later pass on to their daughter. But Richard Booker had been a sturdy, dedicated young businessman with blue eyes that danced with motivation and long legs that took steps matching the speed of his thoughts when the two had met, and Marilyn held the former him close. The eight Bookers had always been known as good, upstanding people, and model citizens of Fairkeep. He was liked, respected and trusted, until the police chief’s bank account began to drain with no explanation or record of withdrawals.

“Shoot.” Allison broke the library’s silence.James’s head snapped up “What?”“I just lost the paragraph I was working on.”James smirked, “You can’t just lose a paragraph, it’s either here, there, or gone. Like money.”She looked at him blankly.“It was supposed to be a clever jab.”Allison pretended she hadn’t found him funny and rolled her eyes. Then she began to rewrite her

paragraph.

James’s father, Officer Michael James Thompson, was new to town. He’d once been high in the ranks 28

of the Detroit Police Department, but a bullet through his foot forced him into a prosthetic and retirement in a far off suburb. But his love of the police force didn’t keep him house-ridden for long. As soon as he got himself used to walking and into spritely shape for 45, he applied for a job in Fairkeep’s police department. He quickly made his way up through the station’s hierarchy, eventually taking over for the chief when he chose to retire. The old chief’s right hand man, Brian Gussman, became Michael’s trusted advisor, despite how much Brian detested the sound of his superior’s scraping metal foot.

Officer Thompson had once been married to a black-haired, blue-eyed woman named Sarah Jane. Sarah Jane was like the summer breeze: she never settled and warmly provided comfort to all around her. She was small and slight with tiny feet that seemed to dance. Their many friends in Detroit said it was like Michael had captured a fairy in a glass jar, and just as Sarah Jane was under his spell, Michael was under hers. The two lived in a hypnotic love story that seemed to suspend them both in eternal youth and happiness. Their toddler, James, would stick his tongue out at them when he witnessed the whirlwind of his parents’ infatuation. Because of the sickeningly sweet status of his parents, James never quite knew sadness in his earlier years. Everything was so steady and calm to him. He had no siblings, but plenty of friends about the city, and his parents had minimal house rules. Neither parent was home while James earned straight A’s, his father was busy climbing the ranks of the D.P.D., and Sarah Jane was attending medical school with the money she made from modeling locally.

But now it pained James to recall this life. He could no longer remember the way his mother swept her hair out of her face to kiss him on the forehead before he trotted to the bus stop each morning. He could only remember how his mother had seemed to fly, and one day she just fell. She had to drop out of medical school and spend her time hopping between the hospital and her own bed. James wasn’t told about her cancer, he just stood by her bedside and told his mother what he had learned in school that day. But he figured it out when his mother’s sleek black hair began to fall from her head. The depression that fell over James made it seem that he, too had lost his ability to fly. His grades dropped, as he refused his assignments if he even showed up to school. He began getting involved in things he knew were wrong, but he couldn’t help himself, he just didn’t care anymore.

When Sarah Jane died, Michael wasn’t sure that his son even noticed, for James was just as absent as before. Without each other to lean on, both men resorted to coping mechanisms that would’ve made Sarah Jane furious.

“Aww!!” Allison Booker cooed.“What is it?” “I didn’t know the red panda was this cute!” She turned her laptop around to show James the small

foxlike creature that looked nothing like a panda to him.“Cool.”“Cool? That’s it? Come on James Thompson,” she said mock seriously, “lighten up.”James looked at her blankly, but smirked at his notebook when she went back to her work.

One morning, at around 3, the wind had howled coldly through Detroit and blown Michael into yet another bar. He had to venture further and further from his home each night, as he’d been kicked out of many of the pubs in his area. He sauntered up to the blonde bartender, ordered a whiskey and winked at her, then took a seat.

Stephanie Stenson was shaking a mixed drink when she noticed a new customer stumbling toward her. She turned away to pour the drink, as she hated the sympathy she had for the struggling men that came in after midnight. After popping a pink umbrella into the orange liquid with a shaking hand, she delivered the drink to a shriveled ex-model crying over the beauty she’d once possessed. Stephanie then turned to the new man slumped over her mahogany counter. Despite the dark circles under his eyes and the saliva gathered dryly at the corners of his mouth, he seemed attractive to her. His silvering brown hair was mussed but she could see it gelled into a professional side swept style and he was sturdy, with long limbs and smooth features.

“What can I get for you?” Stephanie asked through peach lip gloss. The man yawned and Stephanie could smell the booze dripping from his breath. 29

“Whiskey. The good stuff.” He stared at her and blinked forcefully, as if trying to tell her something. He was trying to look at her eyes only, and Stephanie wondered if he noticed the bruising that she’d tried to conceal beneath her eyeshadow and foundation. He blinked at her again, then stumbled backwards, trying to sit on a barstool, nearly missing it and grabbing the edge of the bar for support before easing himself on.

Stephanie cringed and got Michael a large mug of water. Her hands shook slightly as she carried it to him “On the house,” she said as she set it in front of him. He glanced down at it; the deep brown color of the mug made the liquid look murky, so he shrugged at it and the bottom of the mug smiled at the ceiling.

Michael refused to leave, despite the bar closing at four, and Stephanie didn’t want him to, as their half drunken conversations had filled a void for both of them. Michael had just lost his wife, Stephanie had just gotten out of an abusive relationship. He was trying to be the head of the D.P.D. and she was trying to get through beauty school, getting the money for it from moonlighting. That chilly night was the start of many more late night conversations, and the absence of liquor from Michael’s life. Conversations turned into dates and soon enough the two were happily together, despite the almost 20 years between them.

James knew of his father’s relationship, but he was too absent to care, yet Stephanie was convinced of her maternal instincts, even though she had no siblings and barely spent time with children, and she took an interest in James. He had no opinion on her whatsoever, to him she was just another stranger walking past him on the street. But when Stephanie and Michael got married, James was forced to acknowledge the woman who had been living in his house for almost a year. He decided that he didn’t hate her, didn’t love her, and didn’t know her well enough to trust her or not, but she made his father happy again, which rubbed off on James and slowly pulled him out of the hole he’d fallen into.

Balance had just returned to the family’s life when Michael was shot. He and Stephanie decided that the city wasn’t the spot for them anymore. Since Michael couldn’t be a police officer and Stephanie had just graduated beauty school, they needed jobs. James wasn’t happy about it- he had just readjusted and was content once more, but he wasn’t consulted and the family moved to the far off suburb of Fairkeep.

“So,” James broke the silence, “I made a list of supplies for our poster.”Allison sat back in her chair, “Lay it on me.”James read his list and realized that he didn’t hate the girl across from him. “Cool,” said Alli. “I’m free later tonight, we can go shopping then?”“Okay,” James said cautiously, “Meet you at 8?”“See you then.”And they packed up their bags and parted ways.

On his walk home, James lost himself in his thoughts, as he often did. He knew he was an outcast at school, but he didn’t mind. None of the kids in this lame town would understand him anyway, so why bother associating with them? He missed his friends in the city, and how if he wanted to go for a midnight walk the locals wouldn’t look at him like he’d grown another arm. He planned to go to College for Creative Studies as soon as he could. It would get him back home and on track to being a designer like he wanted. Everything that wasn’t part of his plan was irrelevant.

Though nobody knew of his plan, James’ peers acted as if they did. So no one approached James and James approached no one. This included the once-popular Allison Booker. But now that Mr. Richard Booker was the only suspect when Officer Michael Thompson’s bank account was suddenly missing thousands of dollars, Allison was an outcast as well, and seemed to have no problem associating with James. James reached the front door of his small cream-colored house. He opened the front door, dropped his backpack and called out, “Dad, Stephanie, I’m home!” But there was no reply. “Dad?” James walked cautiously down the hall, noting that the bathroom was empty. “Stephanie?” He turned into the kitchen. His father spilled over the edges of a white stool at the counter. Despite his stature and dominance, over 30

the chair he seemed small. His elbows rested on the polished countertop and one large hand covered his neck, the other, his eyes. “Dad what’s wrong?” James was immediately at his side. Officer Thompson inhaled sharply but didn’t respond. “Where’s Stephanie?” James awkwardly rested his hand on his father’s shoulder. “I don’t know.” He managed. “What do you mean you-” It was then that James noticed a balled up piece of paper a few inches from his father’s elbows. James picked up the crumbled page of innocuous type and smoothed it out. $10,000 a week, and she lives. First payment Monday by Midnight. Leave the cash behind the dumpster at Marilyn’s. Try anything funny, and you won’t see her again.

***

(To Be Continued... xoxo, The Author)

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Walter’s Very Complicated Discovery (And The Events That Go Along With It, Including The Loss of Feeling in a Certain Girl’s Leg) By Leah Koritz

Walter’s family was a prodigy. His father had not won but invented the Nobel Prize. His mother had won ten gold medals in the Olympics for swimming in the 3090 Olympics and was planning to be in the 3094 Olympics, again. Walter’s grandmother had invented the MediaWatch: The newest, fastest, watch that worked as a phone, it’s face as thin as a piece of lined paper, it’s touch as smooth as silk, it’s ability to work better than the new car: the 2017 Flier: the first car that could fly. Along with that, Walter’s grandmother had also invented the Live200: a device that made you live up to one hundred years longer than the average lifespan. That’s how Walter’s grandmother had lived up to age two hundred three. Walter’s grandfather had invented the Time Travel 365: the first, only, and best time machine. He’d started working on it at age thirteen, but the problem was, nobody could recreate it because at age thirteen, he was too naive to know to write everything he had done, and every mistake he made. The Time Travel 365 had helped countless numbers of scientists go back to the Ice Age and to the time of the dinosaurs. Thanks to the time machine, scientists found dinosaurs that had nine legs, a dinosaur with only one arm, and many dinosaurs that were bigger than any dinosaur on record. Unfortunately, when using the time machine, Walter’s grandfather got stuck inside and hasn’t been found to this day.

Walter had thirty-two brothers, and one sister, his oldest brother named Willard. Now, Willard was rounding his thirtieth year, the last of being a teenager. Willard was about to graduate college though he had an offer from one of the most prestigious college in the state ten years back. If he went then, he would have been the second youngest person ever to go to college in the Winterbottom family, after his father, Wilbert. Willard had made one of the most important- and useful machines that had ever been made in the past hundred years (said by a doctor). The Time Predictor could tell what you’d look like in five, ten, twenty, thirty, sixty, eighty, and one hundred years. It had already been used countless times in hospitals to detect cancer in thousands of patients, and because of that, it had saved a countless number of people’s lives. The machine had already been tested many times and had always proved to work. Many people had said that the way Willard was inventing things, he’d win a Nobel Prize by the time he was fifty!

Walter’s other siblings had invented many machines and thought of many new innovative ideas: some that could predict the weather (it was one hundred percent accurate), a special kind of water that could change your mood… It went on and on. The list seemed

to never end. But, Walter was different. He never enjoyed science, he never could think of anything important to invent, and even if he did, Walter didn’t know if he’d have the courage to show it to anyone, being scared his invention wouldn’t live up to his sister and brothers machines.

Walter’s whole family seemed to tune him out, including his parents, who would never speak to him at dinner, or ask him how his day was. They tuned him out because they always wanted him to use the inventions, but he never would. “It isn’t right.” Is all he would say. One of the only days of the year that they would try to engage him in a conversation was his birthday, where they would make him a special cake, and his favorite thing to eat: spaghetti. But, Walter dreaded the time where he would get a present. It would always be one of the inventions his brothers or sister made. Sure, they’d be interesting, and sure, the machines would work without faltering, but, Walter hated those presents because he always had a bad feeling about them. His parents always told him to use them after he got them, and that was the time Walter would laugh nervously before squeezing his eyes shut, and pressing the button to turn the machine/invention on. Last year, his brother, Watt, had given him the Mood Changer. The Mood Changer was a series of twelve bottles: every bottle was a different mood: happy, sad, scared, surprised, relaxed, and so on. It made no sense to Walter why someone would want to feel scared or sad. When his parents had told him to drink the potion-like concoction, Walter had closed his eyes and dumped the drink into his mouth. He hoped for the best and tried not to think of the worst: the water-like drink would poison him. When he tried the concoction, it had tasted like a mix of baking soda and water, with too much salt added. But, because Walter wanted to get over with the Presents part of the day, he hadn’t looked at the scrawny lettering on the bottle: scared. Before the drink kicked in, he thought “What could I be afraid of? It’s my birthday!” It turned out, there were many things he could be scared of. Suddenly, he was scared of his parents, his sister, and brothers, his birthday… He seemed to be scared of everything. He didn’t turn back to normal for three days.

Walter was a short boy for his age: around five feet, his eyes a deep shade of green, his face the shape of an oval. His hair was a shady brown color, different from the rest of his family’s bright blond hair. The rest of Walter’s family was tall, with dark brown- almost black eyes, their hair such a bright color blond it seemed as if it had been dyed. Walter was an outcast in almost every way, including his looks, and it started to bother him, especially the fact that nobody could see that there was a dark side to these new inventions.

A few days ago, Walter’s third youngest brother, Wilson, had used the Time Traveler, and once he came back, he seemed different. Wilson seemed to be taller, and he had refused his favorite dinner: frise salad. A few days

32

ago, Wilhelmina, Walter’s sister, came up to him and said “Something’s wrong, Walter. You were right.” It was only then when he looked up at her. A wheelchair was where she was sitting, her usually bright blond hair fried into a black bob. Her eyes- usually brown, were a white-ish color. The light and spunk that used to make her who she was seemed to be gone; drained out of her.

“Okay,” was all Walter could say. He just stared at her. What had happened to his younger sister? Wilhelmina was the youngest of everyone in the family, and Walter felt it was his job to take care of her. He was the only one that ever paid attention to her, even if she didn’t pay much attention back. He was the one that stayed up late watching movies with her when she wanted to have a “sleepover”.

“I was using the time machine to see grandma and grandpa,” Wilhelmina took slow and heavy breaths between each word, “and, I got stuck in between the two realms. That’s what happened to my legs. When I was stuck between the realms, my legs wouldn’t work, so I had to use my hands instead of my legs to walk. The rest of it is from the MediaWatch. It zapped me when I was about to take it off. I think you’re right, Walter. I think everyone else is crazy. We need to do something.” Wilhelmina closed her eyes briefly and wheeled off to her room. Walter followed. He couldn’t let her in there by herself, being in the condition she was in.

“We need a plan. To stop all of this.” Said Walter, as his sister managed to get onto her bed without falling.

“Okay. We need a plan.” Wilhelmina closed her eyes, this time to sleep for ten hours straight. She woke up at four in the morning. She wheeled over to Walter’s room.

“Walter. We need to look in the basement. There’s a room in the basement that’s locked. I don’t think anyone’s been there for a long time. Let’s go. But I’ll need to slide down the stairs, or you can carry me down.” Wilhelmina said. She looked tired though she’d been asleep just a few minutes ago. Walter was tired, and he wanted to stay in bed, but he knew he had to help Wilhelmina. Walter slowly got out of bed, and they walked down the stairs into the basement.

Walter hadn’t been in the basement for what seemed like ages, so what was down there surprised him: a series of six doors, all on the left side of the room. The last time Walter had been in the basement, there were only two rooms, one locked, and one room with couches and a television. Now, as Walter opened up each and every door, most were filled to the top with storage. One was a tiny room with a couch, but nothing else was inside. As Walter tried to open the last of the six doors, he found that the door was locked. This had to be the one Wilhelmina was talking about. He looked around. Where was Wilhelmina?

“Wilhelmina?” Where was she? He scanned the

hallway. One of the doors was open, despite the fact that he’d closed every one of them. The one with the couch. There was a slight noise coming from the room. Walter tiptoed over to the room, careful not to wake the rest of his family.

“Wilhelmina? Are you there?” He peered inside. There she was, on the ground, using all her might to move the couch.

“Yes. Can you help me?” Walter realized what she was doing. There must be something behind the couch.

“What are you doing? You’re crazy!” Walter tried to pick his sister up, but while doing so, she managed to hold onto the couch, and behind the couch was a door.

“I knew it! I knew there was something behind there! We have to go in! Come on, Walter.” Wilhelmina was like a little kid, begging for ice cream, except, Walter wouldn’t give in, unlike when you wanted ice cream. He wasn’t going in. It was simple as that. He just wasn’t taking any chances.

“No. It’s not safe. We can’t. I’m not letting you.” He wasn’t going to let his younger sister get hurt again. Maybe the time machine was just the beginning. Maybe the worse was yet to come.

“Come on, Walter. You’ve always been the one trying to stop everybody from using the inventions. Now, all of a sudden, you don’t even seem to care. It’s like we switched places. Come on, Walter. Are you scared or something?” Walter considered this for a minute. No, he wasn’t scared that he would get hurt. He was scared that she would get hurt.

“I’m not scared. I just don’t want you to get more hurt than you already. I mean, look at you. You can hardly move! You shouldn’t be doing this now. You should be asleep, I mean, you’re twelve years old, and it’s four thirty in the morning. Seriously!” Walter said. He stared at her.

“No. I’m going in. I don’t care if you’re not, but I am. And, by the way, I can move. I’m not stuck in this chair. I can move.” And with that, Wilhelmina crawled into the small space. Reluctantly, Walter followed.

Books. Books. So, so many books. Books of all shapes and sizes. Books of all different weights. Books with widths of a foot long, and some as small as your hand. Books with covers so gory they shouldn’t be allowed for children to see, and books with just a rainbow. Books with words, books with just pictures. Poems, thrillers, romances, and so many more. But, what Walter found was a bit weird was a whole side of the large room filled with books that had to do with one thing: technology overtaking humans, and the world. But, it seemed the books were from long ago, from the two thousand. There were DVDs of documentaries about the new technology, which was the iPhone.

Why? Thought Walter. it seemed so strange that 33

there would be a whole wall filled to the brim with books like these. Walter examined a large couch that seemed to have been sitting in a corner for decades while Wilhelmina scrounged around the bookcases.

“Look, Walter.” Wilhelmina motioned for Walter to come over, her voice barely over a whisper. Walter came over, and she pulled out a disc from a case. On it read, The Problem: Erased.

“What does it mean?” Walter asked Wilhelmina. His heart was pounding, his hands were sweating so much he thought he’d drop the disc. Walter gave the disc to Wilhelmina, and she inserted it into the tv across from the couch. The tv was old, maybe one of the first flatscreens. Now, they had air screens that worked so much more efficient that the old flatscreen. Air screens were invented about fifty years ago and floated in the plain air. They didn’t have to be held up by a stand or stand on the wall. The movie started. A picture of a human, asleep stood behind the words The Problem: Erased. A Documentary. The movie started, and what Walter and Wilhelmina saw for the next hour seemed horrible, and not at all possible.

The summary was that in 2090, technology was getting more advanced than ever. People were developing new ways to do things, so much as even live. Their whole lifestyle was changing, way too fast for their bodies to adapt, so scientists adapted their bodies for them, adding mechanical parts that made the way they walked differently, the way they consumed food different, and even the way they breathed differently. Walter had never known that his body was mechanically altered, and he was taken aback by it. He never knew that people used to get tired when they ran a long distance and that people actually had to exercise to be fit, not just press a button. One day, the circuit controlling all the mechanically altered parts blew a fuse, and everybody who had the parts put into them (which was 99.9% of the population in the world) couldn’t remember a thing. Everything was reinvented, and new things were too, like the time machine. But, every hundred years, there would be a problem, a gap in the way people lived, but just a few hundred. After about a thousand years, things would start to go wrong, and what happened back then would happen again.

This must have been the thousand year mark. Walter remembered at the back of his mind one of his siblings telling him about many people having gaps in memory. They had to educate people. They had to tell them what was going to be happening. Walter could feel the cold running down his spine. He felt as if everything that had happened- everything he’d been told- was wrong. All wrong. This couldn’t be happening. What about the time machine? What about everything that was a major event in his life? Were people actually living normally, after something so major had happened?

Posters. Posters. Emails. Emails. Posters. Posters.

Emails. Emails. Walter’s sister started telling the computer she pulled out of her bag to write what she was saying. Stop the Technology! Go Without the Screens! Put Them Away, Before They Overtake our Brains (But, they might have already). We’ve Got to Go Without the Advances, or else Your Life Will Be Forgotten. Would You Like that? Would you Like to Have no History?

Wilhelmina told the computer to print the poster she had made, along with a picture of technology with a big X over it.

“It’s kinda funny we’re using technology when we’re making a poster about not using technology. It’s funny, right?” Wilhelmina smiled as she said that.

“I guess.” Walter stifled a laugh. “Hey. Hey! Hey! I think I’m able to walk

again! Wow, does that feel good! I never realized how fun it was to walk! Walter! Walter, look! I can walk! But, I am very achy. I don’t think that’s a good thing, but still, Walter! I can walk!” Wilhelmina danced around the room, periodically showing signs of pains in her knees and ankles, but she didn’t seem to care.

“I can walk! I-can-walk!!!!” Wilhelmina jumped on top of Walter, and he tumbled over. Walter started laughing, a thing he almost never did. He couldn’t stop. It felt so good to laugh. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he laughed. It was amazing.

“You should probably take that thing off,” Wilhelmina said as Walter glanced where she was pointing. It was the small, green ring he had on. All of his brothers had one. It was something every male had been required to get when they were born. It did something to alter their memory, to make them remember more than they would have if they didn’t have it. But, females didn’t have it. They didn’t need it. They were trained to remember more when they were young, unlike boys who didn’t have the patience. It didn’t even occur to Walter that he had the ring on. He stared at it for a minute. The one piece of technology he didn’t mind was the ring because he’d had it since he was young.

“Why?” Walter asked as he stared at it some more.“Because. Maybe it would do something if you

took it off. Come on, Walter. Try it.” Walter started to tug, but it wouldn’t come off. It was probably because he’d gone to the mechanical doctor to get it tightened a few years ago, and because of that, his finger was a light shade of blue, just like everyone else who had gotten theirs’ tightened. As Walter thought about it more and more, he couldn’t remember why he wanted it tightened. It slowly came back to him. One of his brothers had told him that he’d get a special discount at some store he liked if he got it tightened. Of course, it was a joke, and he’d gotten it tightened for nothing. Thinking back, it seemed like such a stupid thing to do. It made no sense.

“I’m trying. It’s not working. Help me.” Walter pulled and pulled, but it didn’t move a bit. 34

“I’ll get the pliers!” Wilhelmina ran off to the storage room to find the pliers that might pull his finger off. She was back no more than thirty seconds later, with dark gray pliers.

“Give me your finger!” Wilhelmina said. She sounded a bit like a crazed maniac. Without even trying to pull his finger away, he let her tug and tug. Finally, the ring that had been on for so many years came off. Something in his brain changed.

“Wilhelmina… Wilhelmina! This is amazing… No. It’s not amazing… It’s horrible. They’ve been keeping so many things from us. Wilhelmina, we need to go to the headquarters and shut it down. There’s all this information they’ve been keeping from us. Everything is coming back to me. This hasn’t been improving my memory. It’s been controlling me… us.” Walter said. He examined the ring. Inside, it read outcast.

“What?” Walter sat down, puzzled. “Huh? What’s wrong?” Wilhelmina came over with a book in hand, still a bit wobbly in the legs. “It says I’m an outcast.” Walter closed his eyes in thought. What could that mean? “The rings give everyone a different personality than they had before they used the ring. You know how Wilson

loves biology? Well, he probably would have a whole different hobby if it weren’t for the ring. I read it in this book.” Wilhelmina pointed to the book. It all made sense now.

“Come on. We need to go tell our brothers. And everyone! Let’s go.” Wilhelmina pulled Walter up. Just as they were about to walk out of the door, someone stepped in front of their path.

“What are you doing in there? You’re not supposed to know about that room.” It was their father.

To Be Continued…

The Young Sociopaths Imaginary Best Friend (aka The Whale Project) *The protagonist in this story is the best friend of the sociopath.

It was a large whale. On September 19th, it swallowed my best dog, Rufus. The whale then subsequently devoured me. It was dark in the stomach. Me and my dog were not being digested! So I got a fire started and cooked and ate the dog. I was now sad that I was alone. I made a hat out of the dog’s fur and made a chair from the dog’s bones. It was pretty comfy in there. Now I was warm and comfortable in the cold, cold, cold, whale. During my stay, I entertained myself by going up the esophagus to the mouth of the whale, and saw the Indian Ocean, which was weird because I was consumed in Hong Kong! Boy, do I miss eating dog with seasoning. Sometimes, I think about my life before the whale; I don’t remember anything. One day as I was nearing comatose, a swift stream of steaming water propelled me upward to the sky. The sun behind me, I fell…The End!

-Serena Almy is cool like bowties -Roxanne Glassenberg is totes fabulicious

#UnderH2OBy Serena Almy

Me and my friends were in Las Vegas for my 21st birthday staying in the Wonder Shell Casino.

At the Wonder Shell Casino, we were playing poker (I set aside $3,000.00, I now have $2,100.00, but I won $305.00) and having some drinks. I went to the bar to got some more wine. At this casino there was a HUGE fish tank (hence its name) across from the bar; it had tons of fish and sea creatures. Then, in the corner of my eye, I saw these men; they had guns and shot the aquarium (they were addicted to gambling - this made them particularly more aggressive). They were part of an organization made up of scientists (mad scientists). Their group was the Mermaid Project in Casinos (MPiC). Their goal is to turn people into mermaids (I know - crazy!). These people in this posse are crazy, and they only go to casinos, as that is where you gamble.

So, the floor started to flood and I was back to playing poker. While playing poker, when it was not my turn, I opened up my Instagram and I was like #pokerunderwater2k15. 35

36

About the Classes ...

While there were only two campers this session in One-a-Day Writeamin, both Leah and Rachel produced a lot of great stories. A typical start to class would be writing games such as “picture telephone” to get our minds going and to find inspiration for the main activity. A highlight of the session was when Leah and Rachel shared some of their writing in the Noontime Show, including a nonsense play and a musical number about a lunch tray. It was a pleasure watching them grow as writers! - Simenesh

In Playwriting, we worked on developing specific, distinct characters who face problems that they either solve or do not solve. We talked a lot about how dialogue functions as characterization and furthers the action of a play. Roxanne and Nicholas each wrote a number of short plays and they also wrote a collaborative piece during the last week of camp. - Laurel

In Story of My Life, we spent the session writing about ourselves and our memories. Every day we had new prompts about parents, playgrounds, and prized possessions. Then we compiled all our writing into mini-autobiographies, and put our favorite excerpts here for you to enjoy! - Lauren

Poetry Plus was like two classes; you never knew which you would get. Some days, we were deeply focused on creating thought-provoking poems, and revising them carefully to make every word count. Other days, we had trouble focusing, and devoted our energy to snacking, joking, and political dis-cussions instead. Whichever kind of day we were having, we bonded a lot and had many memorable moments. - Walker

A new class, Stories, Scribbles, and Spirit Animals, was a great place to explore creativity through writing and drawing. We created a new pantheon of gods, wrote collaborative stories one word at a time, and used games to spark our creativity. Every day, we started by creating a portrait of our spirit animal for the day, a way of getting in the zone for making some weird art. - Walker

Two students undertook unusual writing projects this session. Maddie planned out and began to write a short mystery story as an independent advanced creative writing project. We met daily to look over pages and figure out the very complex plot structure; the end result, while not yet a finished story, is filled with excellent characterization and memorable turns of phrase. Shmilly wrote three poems as her project for the Apprentice Program, a chance for older students to undertake a self-driven project of their own devising with counselor mentorship. Her poems, detailing three mo-ments from camp that shaped her, include some beautiful figurative language, and important messag-es about identity. I am in awe of both of these young women’s powerful voices.- Walker

Stone

Stones trickle down from the sky as I fly towards the sun and I notice the bluebirds as they walk on stars are winking as I fly

-Snow Boyd Vigil