Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Spring by Josh Nasiatka
The seasons change
The years go by
With no warning
Other than the change of weather
I sit outside
Lying underneath
The midnight sky
Keeping track of when the moon phases change
And
We all talk about
The man in the moon
But all we see
Is craters
The aroma of night I can smell
The birds stop chriping
The streets are calm
All you hear
Is the occasional owl
All you feel
Is an occasional breeze
Night falls
Day comes
The nocturnal animals
Now hidden
And fast asleep
While we are all awakening
Night is over
On a calm
Spring
Day
The years go by
With no warning
Other than the change of weather
I sit outside
Lying underneath
The midnight sky
Keeping track of when the moon phases change
And
We all talk about
The man in the moon
But all we see
Is craters
The aroma of night I can smell
The birds stop chriping
The streets are calm
All you hear
Is the occasional owl
All you feel
Is an occasional breeze
Night falls
Day comes
The nocturnal animals
Now hidden
And fast asleep
While we are all awakening
Night is over
On a calm
Spring
Day
Hitchhiker by Steven Pena
Raindrops lightly tapping
on metal roof and shoulders.
Safe inside the steel frame
and leather seats.
Driving.
Standing silently, arm outstretched,
awaiting.
There, in the pale light of high beams,
Thumb up.
Just trying to get home.
on metal roof and shoulders.
Safe inside the steel frame
and leather seats.
Driving.
Standing silently, arm outstretched,
awaiting.
There, in the pale light of high beams,
Thumb up.
Just trying to get home.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Eternal by Steven Pena
The wisteria blooms
in a nirvana field.
October winds, whispering autumn,
smell of bless in a moment of tranquility.
The deep blue skyline,
dotted with tiny explosions of light.
The night is siren ravishing immortality.
In a glimpse, hummingbirds sip
their midnight snack,
from lavender blossoms
This is forever eternal.
in a nirvana field.
October winds, whispering autumn,
smell of bless in a moment of tranquility.
The deep blue skyline,
dotted with tiny explosions of light.
The night is siren ravishing immortality.
In a glimpse, hummingbirds sip
their midnight snack,
from lavender blossoms
This is forever eternal.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Cityscape, by Michaela Savell
Cityscape
Sounds of the city many stories below reverberated in my ears, pulsing slightly with each beep of a horn, each siren's call. Lights were streaming outside my apartment window like fireflies, darting with a hurried fashion and unsure swiftness. My eyes closed, breathing in the putrid scent of exhaust drifting up to the open window. It stung my nostrils, making them flare in with persistence. The sun's light was fading over to the west of the city, tainting the sky with sparks of purple and embellished red.
My hair fell in curled strands down may face, giving it a fey sort of look. My green eyes glinted softly in the summer wind, taking in the city life with a bored tendency. The same lights shown, the same smells arose, and the same musty wind hit my face like sandpaper. I turned my head away in distaste, letting the light from the living room envelop me with glowing fingers. The warmth and security of my little dwelling swirled around my legs, only to be caught up in the massive drapes of crimson grasped in my hand.
I let out a sigh, observing the lights below as they seemed to drift unconsciously without purpose, without life. My mind filled with trickles of thoughts, each one either solved of forgotten in the chaos of my mind. Eyes glimmering, I looked on the world with sorrowful eyes, wondering each fate of the soul driving each small bud of light.
The phone suddenly released me from my thoughts, jerking my head upwards. It was around dinner time; surely it was just a salesperson?
I lunged for it, mumbling into the receiver as I regained my posture. “Hello?”
My other hand remained fluttered over the top of the phone, poised to hang up. However, the voice on the other line was not the confident rumble of the average businessmen. It was the voice of a young woman.
“Who is this?”
I let my hand fall to my side, taken aback. I had never heard so much vulnerability in a human being's voice, let alone from someone I didn't even know.
“I'm Amber. Who is this?”
The voice came out in more of a squeak, cracking with each vowel. “My name is Molly.”
There was silence on both lines. I could hear the woman's breathing in the background, breaking every so often with a sharp gasp. For once, I didn't know what to do. A fragment of my heart was tempted to hang up, to go on with my life. Remembrance of things long past swirled through my mind, reflecting curtly the pain I myself had witnessed, the things I had once done...
I closed my eyes, listening to the woman's breathing. I could hear a sniffle, and a delicate ping as tears fell across the receiver. My heart was beating, reverberating with each thought, each slight movement. Whispers of my job filtered through my veins, forcing my arms to shake uncontrollably.
I jerked. No. I couldn't not think of that job. It was a thing of the past, buried many years under a pile of lies and pain. I had sworn to never go back. No, never. Never again.
Yet, as I felt the woman's delicate heartbeat through the phone line, memories became more vibrant than lost vows. A weak smile was already coming into light across my face. The street sirens, the painful call of the world, was fading in and out until only silence remained. Everything was changing outside; the city lights were burning brightly against the crepuscule falling like a cloak across the high rises, snuffing out the consistency I had once known.
Molly whispered something inaudible into my ear, rippling with sound. It was pale, putrid if you will. They were the words of the hopeless.
True compassion remained vibrant in my face as I just listened to the woman on the other line, her words spilling out like a river. Her voice was filled with desperation, only to be faded out by the underlying emotion of shame, streaking the roof of her mouth. It was like I could see through a tiny window to her heart, watching as each pain and horror beat down on it with blades and axes. There were many spots where soot and ashes coated the surface, while other sections were so shattered that a thin thread of scarlet wrapped it together, desperately holding on.
“Where did I go wrong?” the woman, Molly, suddenly asked.
I breathed in the sweet words, drinking in the past. My job; the thing that I had loved.
“You can't save everyone, Amber,” my coworker said. “But those you do save are the ones that you will forever remember.”
If only those comforting words had not fallen on deaf ears. My vision was becoming blurred as one stray hair fell across my face, the circlet clinging to the moisture. Was it fear that had held me back, all of these years? Was it the regret I had so often felt, clinging to my insides like a leech? It was an emotional barrier that had been forming for years, a defense that I thought would last forever. A light flickered across my vision, igniting my dulled green gaze. It was a firefly, flickering weakly in the dusk.
I could still hear the woman on the other line, expecting me to hang up. However, I instead hung on, not letting the firefly out of my sight. Plans for tonight were forgotten, drifting to the back of my mind. I clenched the glowing bug gently in my hands as I placed into a sealed glass jar; its final enclosure.
Things were meant to be this way. Only in this moment did I realize it.
Sounds of the city many stories below reverberated in my ears, pulsing slightly with each beep of a horn, each siren's call. Lights were streaming outside my apartment window like fireflies, darting with a hurried fashion and unsure swiftness. My eyes closed, breathing in the putrid scent of exhaust drifting up to the open window. It stung my nostrils, making them flare in with persistence. The sun's light was fading over to the west of the city, tainting the sky with sparks of purple and embellished red.
My hair fell in curled strands down may face, giving it a fey sort of look. My green eyes glinted softly in the summer wind, taking in the city life with a bored tendency. The same lights shown, the same smells arose, and the same musty wind hit my face like sandpaper. I turned my head away in distaste, letting the light from the living room envelop me with glowing fingers. The warmth and security of my little dwelling swirled around my legs, only to be caught up in the massive drapes of crimson grasped in my hand.
I let out a sigh, observing the lights below as they seemed to drift unconsciously without purpose, without life. My mind filled with trickles of thoughts, each one either solved of forgotten in the chaos of my mind. Eyes glimmering, I looked on the world with sorrowful eyes, wondering each fate of the soul driving each small bud of light.
The phone suddenly released me from my thoughts, jerking my head upwards. It was around dinner time; surely it was just a salesperson?
I lunged for it, mumbling into the receiver as I regained my posture. “Hello?”
My other hand remained fluttered over the top of the phone, poised to hang up. However, the voice on the other line was not the confident rumble of the average businessmen. It was the voice of a young woman.
“Who is this?”
I let my hand fall to my side, taken aback. I had never heard so much vulnerability in a human being's voice, let alone from someone I didn't even know.
“I'm Amber. Who is this?”
The voice came out in more of a squeak, cracking with each vowel. “My name is Molly.”
There was silence on both lines. I could hear the woman's breathing in the background, breaking every so often with a sharp gasp. For once, I didn't know what to do. A fragment of my heart was tempted to hang up, to go on with my life. Remembrance of things long past swirled through my mind, reflecting curtly the pain I myself had witnessed, the things I had once done...
I closed my eyes, listening to the woman's breathing. I could hear a sniffle, and a delicate ping as tears fell across the receiver. My heart was beating, reverberating with each thought, each slight movement. Whispers of my job filtered through my veins, forcing my arms to shake uncontrollably.
I jerked. No. I couldn't not think of that job. It was a thing of the past, buried many years under a pile of lies and pain. I had sworn to never go back. No, never. Never again.
Yet, as I felt the woman's delicate heartbeat through the phone line, memories became more vibrant than lost vows. A weak smile was already coming into light across my face. The street sirens, the painful call of the world, was fading in and out until only silence remained. Everything was changing outside; the city lights were burning brightly against the crepuscule falling like a cloak across the high rises, snuffing out the consistency I had once known.
Molly whispered something inaudible into my ear, rippling with sound. It was pale, putrid if you will. They were the words of the hopeless.
True compassion remained vibrant in my face as I just listened to the woman on the other line, her words spilling out like a river. Her voice was filled with desperation, only to be faded out by the underlying emotion of shame, streaking the roof of her mouth. It was like I could see through a tiny window to her heart, watching as each pain and horror beat down on it with blades and axes. There were many spots where soot and ashes coated the surface, while other sections were so shattered that a thin thread of scarlet wrapped it together, desperately holding on.
“Where did I go wrong?” the woman, Molly, suddenly asked.
I breathed in the sweet words, drinking in the past. My job; the thing that I had loved.
“You can't save everyone, Amber,” my coworker said. “But those you do save are the ones that you will forever remember.”
If only those comforting words had not fallen on deaf ears. My vision was becoming blurred as one stray hair fell across my face, the circlet clinging to the moisture. Was it fear that had held me back, all of these years? Was it the regret I had so often felt, clinging to my insides like a leech? It was an emotional barrier that had been forming for years, a defense that I thought would last forever. A light flickered across my vision, igniting my dulled green gaze. It was a firefly, flickering weakly in the dusk.
I could still hear the woman on the other line, expecting me to hang up. However, I instead hung on, not letting the firefly out of my sight. Plans for tonight were forgotten, drifting to the back of my mind. I clenched the glowing bug gently in my hands as I placed into a sealed glass jar; its final enclosure.
Things were meant to be this way. Only in this moment did I realize it.
Things Are Meant to Change, by Michaela Savell
Yet the darkness was not a winter night at all, but the venomous stare of a young girl. Her golden hair reflected the sun, but her eyes showed her true character. She fixated her eyes on another classmate, one slouching in her seat in the corner of the room. She was singing softly to herself, nervously fiddling with a perfectly straight strand of black hair. golden hair clashed with black as the singing girl suddenly looked up, panic-stricken.
Her enemy was staring, her eyes cold with moonlight that did not shine on this bright autumn morn.
The black-haired girl bowed her head. Amanda.
Amanda was whispering something, a small sentence that made her counterpart giggle softly. Black-haired girl bowed her head, sinking even deeper into her seat. It was something about her. It had to be.
It always was, as it seemed. No one there to stand up for her. Just the notes and melodies spinning in head kept her company, giving her plain stare a spark of substance. Whether that was the cause for Amanda's jealousy or not did not matter. She was the innocent one, prayed upon by the evil one.
But who was the evil one in this battle?
For the third-grader, it did not matter. Just the hate that radiated from Amanda did.
Why? The black-haired girl wondered. Why me? Yet there was no true answer. But why couldn't the simple questions answer the seemingly simple situation?
The teacher was speaking, scolding someone for not paying attention. Amanda slumped a little, her facade broken for an instant. But it did not matter; her sadness mattered more.
But things are meant to change.
**
Elementary school faded. Middle school was a passing cloud. High school came with the dawn.
Nothing had changed.
The black-haired girl had her license, and was driving down the highway. A golden-haired girl in tattered clothes was on the side of the road, pleading for some act of kindness. Songs were playing on the radio, written by the black-haired girl herself. She was singing softly, her eyes on the road. She was not even paying attention to the side of the road, but was looking the other way.
Yet, by some coincidence, the black-haired girl turned. The golden-haired girl was wearing a sweatshirt with holes. It was nighttime, the time where darkness fell. In the light of the waning moon did the black-haired girl catch the tears on the other's face, drying with what looked to be fallen moonlight.
The darkness of night fell across the headlights of the car as the light became momentarily shattered.
Snow was falling around the golden-haired girl, yet its presence was only acknowledged. Her eyes were strained with hatred and sorrow.
It was the venomous stare of a young girl, her heart shattered beyond repair.
The black-haired girl stopped singing. The golden-haired girl stopped crying and shouting out in panic.
Both stared.
The black-haired girl bowed her head before turning away. Amanda.
Amanda was whispering something, a small sentence that could not be heard in howling of the wind or encouraged by a counterpart. Black-haired girl just stared again, forcing her eyes on Amanda.
More than anything, she wanted to drive away and leave the golden-haired girl there. This girl had to pay for all the teasing that had been uttered on Amanda's lips. She had to pay for the pain she had caused her, the black-haired girl.
Black-haired girl narrowed her eyes. Amanda had to be whispering something about her. Whether it was jealousy or not, she was not quite sure.
The songs black-haired girl had written were still playing in the background. If that were still the spark of Amanda's jealousy, it did not matter. Black-haired girl was the innocent one, prayed upon the evil one.
She turned on the ignition again, her foot ready to press onto the gas pedal.
But who was the evil one in this battle?
For the high-schooler, it did not matter. The sorrow the radiated from Amanda did.
She slammed my foot on the brakes. Why? The black-haired girl wondered. Why me? Yet there was no true answer. But why couldn't the simple questions answer the seemingly simple situation?
The voice within the black-haired girl was speaking, scolding her for not paying attention to the truth.
Amanda blinked, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She revealed her facade for an instant as her lips broke into a weak smile. The black-haired girl closed her eyes to hide her guilt. Her completely broken facade did matter; Amanda's pain mattered more at this time.
“Get in the car. We need to find you a place to stay,” the black-haired girl said.
Amanda shivered, her eyes glinting. If it were due to remembrance of the past or thankfulness, black-haired girl was not sure.
Her song hit its climax on the radio.
“You can use the blanket back there; you look cold.”
Amanda only nodded. Black-haired girl smiled.
Never in her life did the black-haired girl imagine her showing kindness towards her enemy.
But things are meant to change.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Satire by Sadie Tremblay
A Modest Proposal
Every day, girls and women are constantly bombarded by the media’s interpretation of how they should look, how they should act, how they should be. The media’s image of beauty has become something to obsess over, an impossible standard to reach for and fixate upon. The idea that a person is not enough for everyone else because of the way they look is becoming more and more popular, almost every teenage girl cannot help but let their uncreative minds be consumed by knowing that, in today’s society, they will never be pretty. Older women who can think of no better solution to their insecurities than overpriced wrinkle cream and useless beauty products are forced to look back on their glory days to see a beautiful image of themselves. Instead of doing something that will actually serve a purpose in the long run, every single one of these members of this mentality will waste their time and money on elucidations that will do nothing for them.
Being that I myself am very submerged in this cultural self esteem crisis, I am well aware of this problem’s gravity and of what needs to be done. I’ve grown up in a culture that tells everyone with a general unhappiness with their appearance that there is no better explanation to this problem that is more effective than makeup, tight clothes, diet plans, and plastic surgery. A recent physiological study was published that polled patients of prominent plastic surgeons in Northern California. Eighty-four percent of patients said that they wished that there was some kind of a way out of these drastic treatments, if there was something that they could have done early on that could save them all the time, money, and pain that treatments that they undergo now. These people represent the millions of others all across the country that feel the same way, wishing that there was some way out of the harsh routine that we all go through to fit into the definition of beautiful. I am well aware, not only of the problem, but also of how all these women feel during the course of their daily lives of inadequacy, though I can hardly sympathize because I am the only one at this point to have reached a workable conclusion on how to compound this widespread issue. So, being that I have a suggestion to solve this matter, a means of understanding the self-hating and insufficiency of the general female public, I believe that once my plan to eradicate this problem is implemented, physical self esteem issues among American women will be a brief blip in the history books.
The first step of my solution involves identifying exactly what image women strive for when they want to change their appearance. What do they see on television that makes them want to change? What is it that they think makes them desirable to men? What is it about themselves that they can’t stand to put up with, but won’t do anything about? The fact that so many women are unhappy with their appearances is not only damaging their own lives, but also affecting the lives of future generations of women who will in turn be unhappy with the way they look. So, I devised a composite image of what society tells us is beautiful. This picture of the perfect woman consists of uniform hair color, soft facial features, a slender figure, and various other details that are considered rudimentary to a woman’s good looks.
In order to make my theoretical resolution a reality, large amounts of careful planning, government spending, scientific research and development, and, as with all things that are considered progressive, time. But, I feel that all of this is worth eliminating this dilemma, since so much money and scientific research is wasted on beauty products. Animal testing is done for new eye make ups and hair products, when the need for that is nonexistent. Marketing and financing is done for hair products, make up, anti-aging treatments, plastic surgery, when none of it is at all necessary. Under my plan, though it will be expensive, the cost to benefit ratio is perfectly in balance, taking into account the hundreds of millions of dollars that will be saved.
After developing a concept of beauty, the next step is working to achieve this amongst all female members of the country. For certain women that have reached a point in their physical development and have aged to the point where they are no longer useable in the manner of eradicating the problem they are somewhat of a lost cause. But for younger women, children, and infants, there is still time to save them from feeling inadequate. This will involve, in some cases, extensive plastic surgery, genetic testing, and more. But, this is only temporary, since in a matter of a few years, genetic research will be ready to implement and can be used to edit the personal appearance of a person as they grow. This process can begin immediately after birth and will only consist of a series of examinations and injections to minorly manipulate the growth and development of the child. As she grows, the treatments she had undergone as a small child will allow her to fit into the new criteria of beauty.
When a whole generation of girls are made to be genetically similar to each other, when they eventually reproduce, their children will need less and less treatment. There will still be some need for genetic alteration considering the amount of DNA and physical traits carried on by the father, but this will be even simpler to correct than it was to do for these children’s mothers. After about five cycles of generations, the injections to modify the female children will be practically negligible.
As and added benefit to this plan, women will also all age at approximately the same time to the same degree, since the chemical treatments will not only effect their appearance, but also their general health. The treatments can be changed as scientific discoveries are made, so when certain immunizations are invented as well as existing ones, they can be included in the treatments. This will prevent many diseases and ailments early on, promoting better health among the next generation. Aging will occur at around the same time for all women treated because the chemicals used in the injections will keep cells in the body from degeneration for almost exactly sixty-two years, nearly to the day. At around this time in their lives, all women will experience the beginnings of cell death, causing their hair to grey and thin at the same rate of every other woman, and their skin to wrinkle with everyone else, and their shoulders to hunch, and their bodies to begin to loose their youthful vibrancy, and everything else that worries a woman will happen along with all of their peers at the same rate and time in life as them.
Another positive advantage would be that, over time, after generations of the treatments are used for quite some time, not only will women be uniform, but men will begin to be as well. Because of the genetic alterations made to their mothers and their mother’s mothers, and so on, their genes will no longer be diluted with external physical traits. Their minds, intelligence levels, and personalities will not, however, be at all effected by the treatments. So, even though people may look the same, they will each still remain very much their won person. This way, no one will discriminate over looks and appearance, all decisions made about a person will be solely based on the real substance of their self. They will form relationships based on interests, personality traits, intelligence, and everything that makes them individual.
Women will no longer concern themselves with harsh treatments and expensive empty promises from beauty product companies to live up to standards that they already meet. No woman will look in the mirror in the morning and see something that she wants to change if there is nothing to change. There will be no image in society that needs to be lived up to if it already is. Everyone will be healthy and happy with they way they look and the way their significant others look at them. People will be more open to finding someone to spend the rest of their lives with someone because of their personality, because looks will be entirely negligible.
It will never be questioned that one person is impossible to distinguish from another. No woman will ever look at herself and think about how it would be nice if, maybe for once, she was noticed for the way she wears her hair that day, or the color of her eyes, or the way that she looks like no one else anyone has ever seen. No man will look at the woman he loves and think that he would love her more if there was something about her that he could see from just looking, to differentiate between her and everyone else. No child will grow up in their carbon copy world thinking that they aren’t special because they are all the same at first glance. This will never happen because we all want to be what we can’t be. Every woman wants to be blonde-haired, blue eyed, skinny, tall, tan, beautiful, perfect. And every man wants to have that. Because, in this world, original is never good enough, having hair that is like no one else’s when the light hits it, or being the right size for you and who you are, or having the prettiest brown eyes that someone who loves you has ever seen, all of that will never mean anything if everyone doesn’t see you as beautiful. It will always be easier to change the way everyone looks than change they way they see each other. It’s impossible to show the world that beauty is not defined by they way you look, and that there will always be someone who sees you as beautiful. So we should just all give up on convincing girls and women that they are beautiful by paying attention to their personalities and what they are like on the inside. We shouldn’t even consider promoting individuality, and being beautiful because you’re different, instead of making the world we live in into a bad episode of 90210. And at the end of the day, being seen like everyone else is so much better than being seen as someone who isn’t good enough, no matter how beautiful you really are.
Every day, girls and women are constantly bombarded by the media’s interpretation of how they should look, how they should act, how they should be. The media’s image of beauty has become something to obsess over, an impossible standard to reach for and fixate upon. The idea that a person is not enough for everyone else because of the way they look is becoming more and more popular, almost every teenage girl cannot help but let their uncreative minds be consumed by knowing that, in today’s society, they will never be pretty. Older women who can think of no better solution to their insecurities than overpriced wrinkle cream and useless beauty products are forced to look back on their glory days to see a beautiful image of themselves. Instead of doing something that will actually serve a purpose in the long run, every single one of these members of this mentality will waste their time and money on elucidations that will do nothing for them.
Being that I myself am very submerged in this cultural self esteem crisis, I am well aware of this problem’s gravity and of what needs to be done. I’ve grown up in a culture that tells everyone with a general unhappiness with their appearance that there is no better explanation to this problem that is more effective than makeup, tight clothes, diet plans, and plastic surgery. A recent physiological study was published that polled patients of prominent plastic surgeons in Northern California. Eighty-four percent of patients said that they wished that there was some kind of a way out of these drastic treatments, if there was something that they could have done early on that could save them all the time, money, and pain that treatments that they undergo now. These people represent the millions of others all across the country that feel the same way, wishing that there was some way out of the harsh routine that we all go through to fit into the definition of beautiful. I am well aware, not only of the problem, but also of how all these women feel during the course of their daily lives of inadequacy, though I can hardly sympathize because I am the only one at this point to have reached a workable conclusion on how to compound this widespread issue. So, being that I have a suggestion to solve this matter, a means of understanding the self-hating and insufficiency of the general female public, I believe that once my plan to eradicate this problem is implemented, physical self esteem issues among American women will be a brief blip in the history books.
The first step of my solution involves identifying exactly what image women strive for when they want to change their appearance. What do they see on television that makes them want to change? What is it that they think makes them desirable to men? What is it about themselves that they can’t stand to put up with, but won’t do anything about? The fact that so many women are unhappy with their appearances is not only damaging their own lives, but also affecting the lives of future generations of women who will in turn be unhappy with the way they look. So, I devised a composite image of what society tells us is beautiful. This picture of the perfect woman consists of uniform hair color, soft facial features, a slender figure, and various other details that are considered rudimentary to a woman’s good looks.
In order to make my theoretical resolution a reality, large amounts of careful planning, government spending, scientific research and development, and, as with all things that are considered progressive, time. But, I feel that all of this is worth eliminating this dilemma, since so much money and scientific research is wasted on beauty products. Animal testing is done for new eye make ups and hair products, when the need for that is nonexistent. Marketing and financing is done for hair products, make up, anti-aging treatments, plastic surgery, when none of it is at all necessary. Under my plan, though it will be expensive, the cost to benefit ratio is perfectly in balance, taking into account the hundreds of millions of dollars that will be saved.
After developing a concept of beauty, the next step is working to achieve this amongst all female members of the country. For certain women that have reached a point in their physical development and have aged to the point where they are no longer useable in the manner of eradicating the problem they are somewhat of a lost cause. But for younger women, children, and infants, there is still time to save them from feeling inadequate. This will involve, in some cases, extensive plastic surgery, genetic testing, and more. But, this is only temporary, since in a matter of a few years, genetic research will be ready to implement and can be used to edit the personal appearance of a person as they grow. This process can begin immediately after birth and will only consist of a series of examinations and injections to minorly manipulate the growth and development of the child. As she grows, the treatments she had undergone as a small child will allow her to fit into the new criteria of beauty.
When a whole generation of girls are made to be genetically similar to each other, when they eventually reproduce, their children will need less and less treatment. There will still be some need for genetic alteration considering the amount of DNA and physical traits carried on by the father, but this will be even simpler to correct than it was to do for these children’s mothers. After about five cycles of generations, the injections to modify the female children will be practically negligible.
As and added benefit to this plan, women will also all age at approximately the same time to the same degree, since the chemical treatments will not only effect their appearance, but also their general health. The treatments can be changed as scientific discoveries are made, so when certain immunizations are invented as well as existing ones, they can be included in the treatments. This will prevent many diseases and ailments early on, promoting better health among the next generation. Aging will occur at around the same time for all women treated because the chemicals used in the injections will keep cells in the body from degeneration for almost exactly sixty-two years, nearly to the day. At around this time in their lives, all women will experience the beginnings of cell death, causing their hair to grey and thin at the same rate of every other woman, and their skin to wrinkle with everyone else, and their shoulders to hunch, and their bodies to begin to loose their youthful vibrancy, and everything else that worries a woman will happen along with all of their peers at the same rate and time in life as them.
Another positive advantage would be that, over time, after generations of the treatments are used for quite some time, not only will women be uniform, but men will begin to be as well. Because of the genetic alterations made to their mothers and their mother’s mothers, and so on, their genes will no longer be diluted with external physical traits. Their minds, intelligence levels, and personalities will not, however, be at all effected by the treatments. So, even though people may look the same, they will each still remain very much their won person. This way, no one will discriminate over looks and appearance, all decisions made about a person will be solely based on the real substance of their self. They will form relationships based on interests, personality traits, intelligence, and everything that makes them individual.
Women will no longer concern themselves with harsh treatments and expensive empty promises from beauty product companies to live up to standards that they already meet. No woman will look in the mirror in the morning and see something that she wants to change if there is nothing to change. There will be no image in society that needs to be lived up to if it already is. Everyone will be healthy and happy with they way they look and the way their significant others look at them. People will be more open to finding someone to spend the rest of their lives with someone because of their personality, because looks will be entirely negligible.
It will never be questioned that one person is impossible to distinguish from another. No woman will ever look at herself and think about how it would be nice if, maybe for once, she was noticed for the way she wears her hair that day, or the color of her eyes, or the way that she looks like no one else anyone has ever seen. No man will look at the woman he loves and think that he would love her more if there was something about her that he could see from just looking, to differentiate between her and everyone else. No child will grow up in their carbon copy world thinking that they aren’t special because they are all the same at first glance. This will never happen because we all want to be what we can’t be. Every woman wants to be blonde-haired, blue eyed, skinny, tall, tan, beautiful, perfect. And every man wants to have that. Because, in this world, original is never good enough, having hair that is like no one else’s when the light hits it, or being the right size for you and who you are, or having the prettiest brown eyes that someone who loves you has ever seen, all of that will never mean anything if everyone doesn’t see you as beautiful. It will always be easier to change the way everyone looks than change they way they see each other. It’s impossible to show the world that beauty is not defined by they way you look, and that there will always be someone who sees you as beautiful. So we should just all give up on convincing girls and women that they are beautiful by paying attention to their personalities and what they are like on the inside. We shouldn’t even consider promoting individuality, and being beautiful because you’re different, instead of making the world we live in into a bad episode of 90210. And at the end of the day, being seen like everyone else is so much better than being seen as someone who isn’t good enough, no matter how beautiful you really are.
Poetry by Sadie Tremblay
Attention Passengers
In the event of an emergency
I'm not going to lie to you
The plane could run out of gas and crash
To be honest, we'll all crash too
There aren't any parachutes under your seats
But, due to the screaming baby behind you
Exploding in midair could be a relief
Don't be shocked when I tell you
The plane doesn't actually float
It's not intended to be submerged in water
If you expected that, you should have taken a boat
Worried about your baggage?
I can tell you it's probably not on this plane
For all any of us know, it's still stuck in New Jersey or on it's way to somewhere like Spain
And this turbulence you're feeling
Won't go away
In fact, the pilot is now thinking
That this flight should have been delayed
Despite all of these problems
We hope you had a nice flight
And want to thank you for choosing our airline
And apologize because your destination is nowhere in sight
I'm not going to lie to you
The plane could run out of gas and crash
To be honest, we'll all crash too
There aren't any parachutes under your seats
But, due to the screaming baby behind you
Exploding in midair could be a relief
Don't be shocked when I tell you
The plane doesn't actually float
It's not intended to be submerged in water
If you expected that, you should have taken a boat
Worried about your baggage?
I can tell you it's probably not on this plane
For all any of us know, it's still stuck in New Jersey or on it's way to somewhere like Spain
And this turbulence you're feeling
Won't go away
In fact, the pilot is now thinking
That this flight should have been delayed
Despite all of these problems
We hope you had a nice flight
And want to thank you for choosing our airline
And apologize because your destination is nowhere in sight
Too Small
The world is too small
To be caged
Locked behind iron bars and concrete
Life waits
The world is too small
To be plain
Screaming in color to defeat the grey
Words seep
The world is too small
For war
Pounding rock with bleeding fists
They fight
The world is too small
For walls
Separated and concealed by painted protests
Lines are drawn
To be caged
Locked behind iron bars and concrete
Life waits
The world is too small
To be plain
Screaming in color to defeat the grey
Words seep
The world is too small
For war
Pounding rock with bleeding fists
They fight
The world is too small
For walls
Separated and concealed by painted protests
Lines are drawn
Listen, by Carol Hobbs
All children want the treasures blooming under rocks
and wedged like blades in the tree bark.
Their little red hoods weave through the canopy of leaves
like wind blown poppies.
All children lie and lie and scream about wolves.
At the very instant grownups tire, turn away,
the sharp-toothed maw clamps down.
We tell them, Don’t play with matches,
and they strike the match,
become proverb, become smoke.
and wedged like blades in the tree bark.
Their little red hoods weave through the canopy of leaves
like wind blown poppies.
All children lie and lie and scream about wolves.
At the very instant grownups tire, turn away,
the sharp-toothed maw clamps down.
We tell them, Don’t play with matches,
and they strike the match,
become proverb, become smoke.
Poetry and Art by Alyssa Russell
Propaganda.
And when I shut my eyes,
What should I see?
Massive crowds, burned cities,
Powerless beliefs?
And when my eyes are burning,
Should it be with empathy?
When I'm too sorry for myself,
Is it more like apathy?
And when you all are speaking
Does my silence give away
All the plans to end your uselessness
And bring forth another day?
And will your eyes deceive you
When you finally turn around
And you see that it is me
Who is rallying the crowd?
What should I see?
Massive crowds, burned cities,
Powerless beliefs?
And when my eyes are burning,
Should it be with empathy?
When I'm too sorry for myself,
Is it more like apathy?
And when you all are speaking
Does my silence give away
All the plans to end your uselessness
And bring forth another day?
And will your eyes deceive you
When you finally turn around
And you see that it is me
Who is rallying the crowd?
Untitled [two]
Pages turn under dim lights,
Reminding me of
The way you write.
The words caress my face,
And I have to turn away.
Walls fade out around me,
And I fall into
Our fantasy.
Wishes of bulbous towers,
Moonlit strolls and snowy powder.
Reminding me of
The way you write.
The words caress my face,
And I have to turn away.
Walls fade out around me,
And I fall into
Our fantasy.
Wishes of bulbous towers,
Moonlit strolls and snowy powder.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Baby Shower
by Kaity Casey
“Kenzie, hurry up!” Missy banged impatiently on the bathroom door. “I still need to put on my makeup, and I'm supposed to leave in 10 minutes!”
“Wow, Missy chill! I'm just peeing. I'll be out in a sec,” Kenzie shouted back as she thought of what she was about to do tonight. She was going to surprise Wyatt, and tell him that she wanted to get back together. She wasn't telling Missy because she wasn't in the mood to hear an entire lecture on why it was a bad idea. “Alright, I'm done!”
“Finally!” Missy said under her breath as she pushed through the door.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry anyways?” Kenzie questioned.
“Oh just a job interview...” Missy quickly lied.
“Oh really? Makeup for a job interview? Mhm.”
“Yeah...It's a good job, and I want to make a good first impression. Now leave, I have to focus!” Missy shoved Kenzie out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut in her face.
“What are your plans tonight Kenzie?” She asked grabbing her purse.
“Oh I got a crapload of homework. It's gonna take all night.”
“Oh that sucks. Well, I'm out.”
“Okay Hun! Well have fun at your interview,” Kenzie winked at her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Missy and Kenzie are roommates at NYU. They are both college freshman, and have been best friends since eighth grade. They spent basically every second together, and shared everything. Well, mostly everything.
I wonder who she has a date with tonight? And why the hell did she lie about it? Kenzie wondered as she rushed into the bathroom when Missy finally left. She quickly put on her makeup, and threw on the dress she'd just bought at Nordstrom's. It showed off all her curves, and made her look amazing. Now she was ready to see Wyatt.
Wyatt was Kenzie's ex-boyfriend, and they had dated for three years. They'd only broken up because she went off to college, and he was taking a “break” from school. He had a job at a gas station. He had even moved out of his parents house at the beginning of last summer, right before they broke up.
Missy was the main reason for the split. From the beginning she'd told Kenzie he wasn't right for her, and that he was going no where in life. Kenzie knew that Missy was right but she just couldn't help herself; she was in love. Missy only got Kenzie to change her mind by assuring her that she'd meet someone better in college.
“You don't want to spend your life living in an apartment married to a gas station owner, do you? Come on Kenzie, just give it a chance. You'll meet someone better. Who knows? Maybe even a doctor.” That was the argument that won Kenzie over. It was always her dream to marry a doctor, but they'd been in college for six months and Kenzie hadn't dated a single guy. It was time, she decided, to get Wyatt back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kenzie arrived at the Fairview Apartment Complex at around ten o'clock. She'd been texting him earlier, and he said he was staying home tonight. She parked her car, then checked herself in the mirror. She crept up to his apartment and unlocked the door. She looked in the living room but couldn't didn't find him. Then she noticed his bedroom lights were on. So she prepped herself one more time, and then flung open the door. Before she could even say a word she saw him on top of some blonde bimbo. Kenzie was struck like a deer in the head lights.
“Kenzie, what are you doing here?” Wyatt asked. Kenzie noticed a familiar face next to his. Kenzie's jaw slowly dropped open as she ran out the door crying. It was Missy.
“Kenzie...I'm so sorry...” Missy called after her.
My own best friend! My own best friend! The girl who said he was a horrible investment. Kenzie was beside herself. She jumped into her car. Before she closed the door, she whipped Wyatt's keys at his car, shattering his window. Then she slammed the door, and sped off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On a cold November night, twelve years later, Kenzie was in the grocery store buying some last minute things for her party. She pushed her carriage down the frozen food aisle.
“Oh my gosh! Kenzie is that you?” Kenzie stared blankly at this person in front of her. She had no idea who it was.
“Kenzie, it's me! Missy!”
Twelve years had gone by since that terrible night at Wyatt's, and the girls hadn't spoken since then. Kenzie had transferred to UConn, and met a guy there. He wasn't just any guy; he was studying to be doctor. Missy had been right. Kenzie and the doctor got married just after he finished medical school. They'd even moved back to her hometown and had a baby on the way.
“Oh. Hey Missy. How are you?” She said cold-heartedly.
“Wow a decade later and your still mad. You haven't changed a bit...But hey listen, I... uh...never got to apologize,” Missy said.
“Whatever, I don't care.” Kenzie snapped back.
“But I do. I haven't slept soundly for twelve years because it's been eating me up inside. I know you don't want to know everything, and to tell you the truth I don't even know how it all happened. I thought I was in love with him. I even dropped out of college to live with him, but he got me pregnant and left me when he found out. So I was forced to move back with my parents. I didn't even have the option of going back to college because I had a baby. Oh Kenzie! I'm so sorry! I should have never done that. Friends should always come before guys,” Missy said wiping the tears from her face.
“Oh Missy! You hurt me really bad, but I think that is way too much of a punishment. I forgive you!” Kenzie pulled Missy in for a hug. It was then that Missy realized Kenzie was pregnant. Then she saw the wedding ring.
“Oh my God! Congratulations!” gasped Missy.
“Thanks ,and by the way, you were right.” Kenzie laughed.
“About what?” Missy asked.
“He's a doctor.” Kenzie pointed at her wedding ring. The two girls started to laugh really hard. “Oh and before I forget! Here you go.” Kenzie handed Missy a card. Missy took it, and open it up. It read : “MISSY ROSENBURG! YOU'VE BEEN INVITED TO MCKENZIE'S BABY SHOWER!”
“I've been hoping this day would come. I take this invitation everywhere I go. My childhood best friend can't miss my Baby Shower.” Kenzie said as she pulled Missy in for another hug.
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Tuesday, March 23, 2010
He Was Always...
by Crystal Volpe
He was always the last one to leave the gym after a practice or a game. He’d be there an hour early every day just running, working on plays, working on shots; he’d do anything as long as he had that ball in his hands. Four hours out of every day was devoted to basketball. He played on three teams: one travel, the other high school, and the last recreation. He was a point guard so he always handled the ball, and was always the play maker who got all of the credit. Even though he was the best player on the team, he wasn’t a ball hog or a show off and people loved him even more for that.
His name was Matt Bay. He was the best player in Massachusetts and everyone knew it. People came from other cities just to watch his games; just to watch the upcoming superstar everyone loved. He was seventeen and had full basketball scholarships to four colleges, and partial basketball scholarships to eleven other schools. His life hasn’t always been like this, though. Matt’s brother, Tyler, died two years ago in a car accident. It was horrible. Tyler and his friend were driving home from a Boston College basketball game when they got t-boned by a drunk driver who ran a red light. They both died in the crash, and the drunk “walked” away with only a concussion and a broken arm. That night at about 11:30, the police called the Bay’s house. Their mom was asleep so Matt answered the phone.
“Hello, this is Frank from the Marlborough Police Department. Is this the residence of Tyler Bay’s family?” Asked the police officer.
“Yeah, Tyler isn’t home right now. I’m his brother Matt,” Matt told him.
“We have your brother Tyler with us. He is on his way to the Marlborough Hospital. Can you please have your parents come to the hospital? It is urgent,” Frank sighed, sorrowfully.
Matt panicked.
“What happened? What is going on? I need to talk to my brother!” Matt yelled into the phone.
“ I’m sorry but that is impossible,” said Frank.
“Why?” Matt whispered.
“He is dead,” Frank whispered back. “I’m sorry for your loss. I need your parents to meet us at the hospital. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
The line went dead and Matt was left to face this problem himself. He couldn’t control himself. He threw the glass plate that was on the counter against the wall and watched the pieces shatter and fall to the ground. That wasn’t enough to control him, though. He threw himself against the wall and started kicking it as hard as he could. Tears were running down his face. He finally stopped and sunk to the ground. He felt that if Tyler’s future was gone, his future would be gone too because he couldn’t picture his life without his brother.
While he and his mother were sitting in the metal folding chairs in the hospital’s waiting room, Matt realized that he had to be the backbone of the family now. He had to take Tyler’s place. He had to take care of his mother who was sobbing in the chair next to him. All Tyler’s life, he took the father roll in the family because their real father was a pass out drunk who left when Tyler was three. He was more than a brother and a father to Matt. He was that one person in Matt’s life that he shared everything with. Tyler loved basketball and was good at it too. He taught Matt as much as he could so that they could share the love of the sport together. Tyler was planning to go to Boston College once he graduated high school and play basketball for them. Now, that was Matt’s goal. He didn’t make it easy though. He wouldn’t do anything for the first five days after his brother died: wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t do homework, and wouldn’t help his mother with any of the funeral arrangements. Somehow he woke up from his depression. He started playing basketball again and started talking to his mother. He only pulled it together because he knew that that’s what Tyler would’ve done.
It was Matt’s senior year in high school. These were the best days of his life. He was loved by all teachers, faculty, and students because of his friendly personality and caring nature. If he didn’t win you over with that though, it did help that he was gorgeous. He had bronze skin with dark black hair and green eyes. He was the captain of the basketball team and led them to championships. Matt always thought of Tyler when he played basketball. He’d remember the pointers Tyler gave him and the situations where he could steal the ball. Before he knew it, it was the championship game against Shrewsbury High School. Obviously, this was a big game for the whole school, but to Matt it was more than a game, it was what he could do to make his brother proud. The Boston College basketball coach was coming to this game. Matt had never been nervous before a game until now. Matt was sitting in the middle of the basketball court holding a ball in his hands three hours before the game. He was waiting to remember everything Tyler ever taught him about basketball because Matt knew that he needed to have Tyler’s help during this game. He sat there in the middle of the court until twenty minutes before game time. He changed into his uniform and jogged out to the court with his teammates. Soon after the game started and went by fast. The other team was good, but Matt was better. No one had ever seen him play like this. He kept on thinking of that old country song he and his brother used to listen to when they would practice together. It was called “Live like you were Dying”, and that’s exactly what he was doing. He was playing that game to the fullest; not holding anything back! He dribbled to the rhythm of the music and shot at the end of the verses. The other team’s coach started to catch on, though. He knew that Matt was the backbone of the team, and knew that if he blocked him out, not many plays would be getting made. He told his players to block Matt out, and because of that, the game got close until the score was tied, 57-57. It was the last minute of the game and the other team was bringing the ball up the court. They double-teamed Matt so that he couldn’t stop the play. The other team’s guard shot, the score changed, and the buzzer sounded. Matt’s team lost 59-57.
Since that game, he had been moping around the house ashamed of himself. He knew for sure that he let his brother down, and suffered from depression. He wouldn’t be able to get a scholarship to B.C. for basketball. His hope was running out. Every day, he would drive home, grab practice clothes and just go shoot around the court. One day when he came home, he found an envelope from B.C. on the kitchen table addressed to him. He opened it up.
Dear Matthew Walker,
We are pleased to inform you that you have not only qualified academically for Boston College, but we also would like to give you a full basketball scholarship for the next four years to be one of out team’s point guards.
The only thing he could do was cry a tear and look at the picture of him and his brother that sat on the counter. He looked at his brother’s face and said, “this is for you, bro."
He was always the last one to leave the gym after a practice or a game. He’d be there an hour early every day just running, working on plays, working on shots; he’d do anything as long as he had that ball in his hands. Four hours out of every day was devoted to basketball. He played on three teams: one travel, the other high school, and the last recreation. He was a point guard so he always handled the ball, and was always the play maker who got all of the credit. Even though he was the best player on the team, he wasn’t a ball hog or a show off and people loved him even more for that.
His name was Matt Bay. He was the best player in Massachusetts and everyone knew it. People came from other cities just to watch his games; just to watch the upcoming superstar everyone loved. He was seventeen and had full basketball scholarships to four colleges, and partial basketball scholarships to eleven other schools. His life hasn’t always been like this, though. Matt’s brother, Tyler, died two years ago in a car accident. It was horrible. Tyler and his friend were driving home from a Boston College basketball game when they got t-boned by a drunk driver who ran a red light. They both died in the crash, and the drunk “walked” away with only a concussion and a broken arm. That night at about 11:30, the police called the Bay’s house. Their mom was asleep so Matt answered the phone.
“Hello, this is Frank from the Marlborough Police Department. Is this the residence of Tyler Bay’s family?” Asked the police officer.
“Yeah, Tyler isn’t home right now. I’m his brother Matt,” Matt told him.
“We have your brother Tyler with us. He is on his way to the Marlborough Hospital. Can you please have your parents come to the hospital? It is urgent,” Frank sighed, sorrowfully.
Matt panicked.
“What happened? What is going on? I need to talk to my brother!” Matt yelled into the phone.
“ I’m sorry but that is impossible,” said Frank.
“Why?” Matt whispered.
“He is dead,” Frank whispered back. “I’m sorry for your loss. I need your parents to meet us at the hospital. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
The line went dead and Matt was left to face this problem himself. He couldn’t control himself. He threw the glass plate that was on the counter against the wall and watched the pieces shatter and fall to the ground. That wasn’t enough to control him, though. He threw himself against the wall and started kicking it as hard as he could. Tears were running down his face. He finally stopped and sunk to the ground. He felt that if Tyler’s future was gone, his future would be gone too because he couldn’t picture his life without his brother.
While he and his mother were sitting in the metal folding chairs in the hospital’s waiting room, Matt realized that he had to be the backbone of the family now. He had to take Tyler’s place. He had to take care of his mother who was sobbing in the chair next to him. All Tyler’s life, he took the father roll in the family because their real father was a pass out drunk who left when Tyler was three. He was more than a brother and a father to Matt. He was that one person in Matt’s life that he shared everything with. Tyler loved basketball and was good at it too. He taught Matt as much as he could so that they could share the love of the sport together. Tyler was planning to go to Boston College once he graduated high school and play basketball for them. Now, that was Matt’s goal. He didn’t make it easy though. He wouldn’t do anything for the first five days after his brother died: wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t do homework, and wouldn’t help his mother with any of the funeral arrangements. Somehow he woke up from his depression. He started playing basketball again and started talking to his mother. He only pulled it together because he knew that that’s what Tyler would’ve done.
It was Matt’s senior year in high school. These were the best days of his life. He was loved by all teachers, faculty, and students because of his friendly personality and caring nature. If he didn’t win you over with that though, it did help that he was gorgeous. He had bronze skin with dark black hair and green eyes. He was the captain of the basketball team and led them to championships. Matt always thought of Tyler when he played basketball. He’d remember the pointers Tyler gave him and the situations where he could steal the ball. Before he knew it, it was the championship game against Shrewsbury High School. Obviously, this was a big game for the whole school, but to Matt it was more than a game, it was what he could do to make his brother proud. The Boston College basketball coach was coming to this game. Matt had never been nervous before a game until now. Matt was sitting in the middle of the basketball court holding a ball in his hands three hours before the game. He was waiting to remember everything Tyler ever taught him about basketball because Matt knew that he needed to have Tyler’s help during this game. He sat there in the middle of the court until twenty minutes before game time. He changed into his uniform and jogged out to the court with his teammates. Soon after the game started and went by fast. The other team was good, but Matt was better. No one had ever seen him play like this. He kept on thinking of that old country song he and his brother used to listen to when they would practice together. It was called “Live like you were Dying”, and that’s exactly what he was doing. He was playing that game to the fullest; not holding anything back! He dribbled to the rhythm of the music and shot at the end of the verses. The other team’s coach started to catch on, though. He knew that Matt was the backbone of the team, and knew that if he blocked him out, not many plays would be getting made. He told his players to block Matt out, and because of that, the game got close until the score was tied, 57-57. It was the last minute of the game and the other team was bringing the ball up the court. They double-teamed Matt so that he couldn’t stop the play. The other team’s guard shot, the score changed, and the buzzer sounded. Matt’s team lost 59-57.
Since that game, he had been moping around the house ashamed of himself. He knew for sure that he let his brother down, and suffered from depression. He wouldn’t be able to get a scholarship to B.C. for basketball. His hope was running out. Every day, he would drive home, grab practice clothes and just go shoot around the court. One day when he came home, he found an envelope from B.C. on the kitchen table addressed to him. He opened it up.
Dear Matthew Walker,
We are pleased to inform you that you have not only qualified academically for Boston College, but we also would like to give you a full basketball scholarship for the next four years to be one of out team’s point guards.
The only thing he could do was cry a tear and look at the picture of him and his brother that sat on the counter. He looked at his brother’s face and said, “this is for you, bro."
The Last One
by Allie Supernor
“The last one” Those are the words Dad last said to me, as he tucked me into bed that night. I wondered what it meant. When I woke up the next morning, he made me eggs and toast, he handed the plate to me he said “The last one.” Still confused I ate me breakfast and packed my bag for school and Dad handed me a brown lunch bag with my name scribbled on the front of it, “The last one” he said. He said it emotionally that I started to get nervous. What did he mean by this?! I got my coat and shoes on, threw my bag over my right shoulder and headed towards the kitchen where he sat drinking coffee and reading The New York Times. I bent down and pecked him on the cheek and he whispered “The last one”. I began to get very scared by this, so I confronted him about it.
“Daddy,” I began timidly, “Why do you keep saying that phrase?”
He simply replied, “Have a good day, darling.” He wouldn’t even look up from his paper, so I knew the conversation was over.
I walked out of the kitchen and through the doorway, yelled like usual, “Love you!” and went outside. I walked to the bus stop and took the bus to school. Classes went by very slowly as usual. At last the bell finally rang for school to be out. I texted my Dad, like always, notifying him I was taking the bus home and that I was on the bus safe and sound. Dad has been overly protective since Mom died. He never was the same since Mom died. He misses her terribly, and always talks about how he can’t wait to go to heaven to be with her. It drives me crazy! But this time, his response to my text was the same as it had been the whole damn day “The last one,” I slammed my phone shut, very aggravated with this message. Finally the bus reached my stop. I got off and walked home. I stepped up each step to the front door and saw a note posted on the door “The last one.” Okay, now I was getting really mad. I tore off the note, ripped it apart, threw it in the air and watched it fall to the ground. What is going on!? I stepped inside and the house was completely empty, no one was here! Dad was gone...
I was so confused and scared. I started to yell out his name “Daaadddd?” No response.
My stomach dropped, I was feeling really uneasy. What do I do? I tried one more time.
“Daaaddddy?” “This isn’t funny!” I yelled nervously.
Calm down, Sammie! He probably went to the store, he will be back soon and you can give him a big squeeze, I thought. If only it was that simple. Did his absence have anything to do with those notes? It had to! Should I call the police?
I rushed over to the kitchen, slipping and sliding in my socks, and reached for the phone. I quickly dialed 9-1-1.
“Hello, I just got off the bus and no one is home, and Dad is always home!”
I breathed very heavily, waiting for a response. Click. They hung up.
I searched my house, he had to be here! I though about the note, shredded on the front steps, and that scary phrase he had been repeating all day. What could it mean?!
I decided it would be best to search the house. I bolted up the stairs. I reached the top of the stairs, out of breath I strolled down the hall to his bedroom. He is probably just laying down taking a nap. He wasn’t there. I walked over to my bedroom, spare bedroom. He wasn’t in any of the bedrooms. Okay, he isn’t taking a nap in the bedrooms. Where else could he be? I sprinted over to the bathroom. Maybe, he is just taking a shower and couldn’t hear me calling. I opened the unlocked door, and went in. I pulled back the shower curtain. Dad couldn’t hear me because he was drowning. He was under a tub full of water. Oh no! I reached down by his neck to pull his head up the best I could. His body just slipped down further in the tub. It was clear, he was dead. I began to cry, I lost my mother and now my father killed him self! Why!!!? Right then, I knew my life would never be normal again.
“The last one” Those are the words Dad last said to me, as he tucked me into bed that night. I wondered what it meant. When I woke up the next morning, he made me eggs and toast, he handed the plate to me he said “The last one.” Still confused I ate me breakfast and packed my bag for school and Dad handed me a brown lunch bag with my name scribbled on the front of it, “The last one” he said. He said it emotionally that I started to get nervous. What did he mean by this?! I got my coat and shoes on, threw my bag over my right shoulder and headed towards the kitchen where he sat drinking coffee and reading The New York Times. I bent down and pecked him on the cheek and he whispered “The last one”. I began to get very scared by this, so I confronted him about it.
“Daddy,” I began timidly, “Why do you keep saying that phrase?”
He simply replied, “Have a good day, darling.” He wouldn’t even look up from his paper, so I knew the conversation was over.
I walked out of the kitchen and through the doorway, yelled like usual, “Love you!” and went outside. I walked to the bus stop and took the bus to school. Classes went by very slowly as usual. At last the bell finally rang for school to be out. I texted my Dad, like always, notifying him I was taking the bus home and that I was on the bus safe and sound. Dad has been overly protective since Mom died. He never was the same since Mom died. He misses her terribly, and always talks about how he can’t wait to go to heaven to be with her. It drives me crazy! But this time, his response to my text was the same as it had been the whole damn day “The last one,” I slammed my phone shut, very aggravated with this message. Finally the bus reached my stop. I got off and walked home. I stepped up each step to the front door and saw a note posted on the door “The last one.” Okay, now I was getting really mad. I tore off the note, ripped it apart, threw it in the air and watched it fall to the ground. What is going on!? I stepped inside and the house was completely empty, no one was here! Dad was gone...
I was so confused and scared. I started to yell out his name “Daaadddd?” No response.
My stomach dropped, I was feeling really uneasy. What do I do? I tried one more time.
“Daaaddddy?” “This isn’t funny!” I yelled nervously.
Calm down, Sammie! He probably went to the store, he will be back soon and you can give him a big squeeze, I thought. If only it was that simple. Did his absence have anything to do with those notes? It had to! Should I call the police?
I rushed over to the kitchen, slipping and sliding in my socks, and reached for the phone. I quickly dialed 9-1-1.
“Hello, I just got off the bus and no one is home, and Dad is always home!”
I breathed very heavily, waiting for a response. Click. They hung up.
I searched my house, he had to be here! I though about the note, shredded on the front steps, and that scary phrase he had been repeating all day. What could it mean?!
I decided it would be best to search the house. I bolted up the stairs. I reached the top of the stairs, out of breath I strolled down the hall to his bedroom. He is probably just laying down taking a nap. He wasn’t there. I walked over to my bedroom, spare bedroom. He wasn’t in any of the bedrooms. Okay, he isn’t taking a nap in the bedrooms. Where else could he be? I sprinted over to the bathroom. Maybe, he is just taking a shower and couldn’t hear me calling. I opened the unlocked door, and went in. I pulled back the shower curtain. Dad couldn’t hear me because he was drowning. He was under a tub full of water. Oh no! I reached down by his neck to pull his head up the best I could. His body just slipped down further in the tub. It was clear, he was dead. I began to cry, I lost my mother and now my father killed him self! Why!!!? Right then, I knew my life would never be normal again.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Fragile Heart
My heart is held together
With safety pins and glue
Duct tape and stitches
Do all they can do
To keep it from bursting
Or tearing apart
But you already knew this
You knew about my fragile heart
Now I’ll tell you the story
The fine print that you didn’t read
My heart was in tact once,
Long before it learned how to bleed
It beat with conviction
When it wasn’t shy about being alive
Before I was this contradiction
Killing myself while trying to survive
It had given up on pumping
And forgotten what it felt like to love
In the middle of this endless sea
There was no olive branch or dove
The flood that drowned my breaking heart
Pushed it down and down, barely breathing
To this day, I still don’t know
Why my poor little heart kept beating
In the time that it’s been with me,
My fragile heart has seen it all
With teary eyes and memories
It watched get up only to fall
My heart has been abandoned
Broken and lied to and betrayed
But after all it’s been through
By safety pins and stitches, it was saved
The Safety pins brought the pieces together
While the glue resealed the cracks
Duct tape gave it back its shape
And stitches closed the gaps
But this marvelous surgery,
You knew all about that, too
Because there was glue and duct tape
And safety pins and stitches, there was you
By Sadie Tremblay
With safety pins and glue
Duct tape and stitches
Do all they can do
To keep it from bursting
Or tearing apart
But you already knew this
You knew about my fragile heart
Now I’ll tell you the story
The fine print that you didn’t read
My heart was in tact once,
Long before it learned how to bleed
It beat with conviction
When it wasn’t shy about being alive
Before I was this contradiction
Killing myself while trying to survive
It had given up on pumping
And forgotten what it felt like to love
In the middle of this endless sea
There was no olive branch or dove
The flood that drowned my breaking heart
Pushed it down and down, barely breathing
To this day, I still don’t know
Why my poor little heart kept beating
In the time that it’s been with me,
My fragile heart has seen it all
With teary eyes and memories
It watched get up only to fall
My heart has been abandoned
Broken and lied to and betrayed
But after all it’s been through
By safety pins and stitches, it was saved
The Safety pins brought the pieces together
While the glue resealed the cracks
Duct tape gave it back its shape
And stitches closed the gaps
But this marvelous surgery,
You knew all about that, too
Because there was glue and duct tape
And safety pins and stitches, there was you
By Sadie Tremblay
What I Can’t Handle
Heat wave, sudden chill
Holding on while the earth stands still
The sleepiness I can blink from my eyes
But it’s the pain that I never will
Wash of darkness, crash of light
Waiting until I can escape the night
White noise I can take ringing in my ears
But it’s the white streaks that blind my sight
Rush of anger, full of regret
Wishing the sun didn’t have to set
Feeling empty about all that’s left I can handle
But I can’t live with having to forget
By Sadie Tremblay
Holding on while the earth stands still
The sleepiness I can blink from my eyes
But it’s the pain that I never will
Wash of darkness, crash of light
Waiting until I can escape the night
White noise I can take ringing in my ears
But it’s the white streaks that blind my sight
Rush of anger, full of regret
Wishing the sun didn’t have to set
Feeling empty about all that’s left I can handle
But I can’t live with having to forget
By Sadie Tremblay
Exist
I turn the page,
Inside my head.
I shut my eyes,
And all is dead.
Tornados whirling,
In my chest.
I shut my eyes,
And heartbeats rest.
Dancers crawling,
Through my veins.
I shut my eyes,
And all is sane.
You softly touch,
My lips so red.
I shut my eyes,
And all is dead.
By Alyssa Russell
Inside my head.
I shut my eyes,
And all is dead.
Tornados whirling,
In my chest.
I shut my eyes,
And heartbeats rest.
Dancers crawling,
Through my veins.
I shut my eyes,
And all is sane.
You softly touch,
My lips so red.
I shut my eyes,
And all is dead.
By Alyssa Russell
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Mother and Child by Mary Cassatt
She busies herself with her embroidery,
As the wind blows outside,
The sound scares her child.
In her mother’s lap
She hides.
Soon the child will grow up,
And venture away from her home,
And there her mother will embroider,
Sitting all alone.
By Laura F.
As the wind blows outside,
The sound scares her child.
In her mother’s lap
She hides.
Soon the child will grow up,
And venture away from her home,
And there her mother will embroider,
Sitting all alone.
By Laura F.
The Fall Of One
Love is complicated,
hard to understand.
There is no definition
written by human hand.
The harder you love,
The harder you fall.
But once you find that love matters after all,
It makes everything else
Seem so small.
People can be cruel
When times of troubles come,
And friendships start to break
Sometimes it hurts someone.
Some things can be given,
Others, more a steal.
You don’t understand how long
It takes someone to heal.
So go ahead and take me,
Just take my all
Don’t bother to look back,
And watch me fall
By Lauren Priess
hard to understand.
There is no definition
written by human hand.
The harder you love,
The harder you fall.
But once you find that love matters after all,
It makes everything else
Seem so small.
People can be cruel
When times of troubles come,
And friendships start to break
Sometimes it hurts someone.
Some things can be given,
Others, more a steal.
You don’t understand how long
It takes someone to heal.
So go ahead and take me,
Just take my all
Don’t bother to look back,
And watch me fall
By Lauren Priess
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