Edward Hopper said that Nighthawks was inspired by “a restaurant on New York’s Greenwich Avenue where two streets meet,” but the image—with its carefully constructed composition and lack of narrative—has a timeless, universal quality that transcends its particular locale. One of the best-known images of twentieth-century art, the painting depicts an all-night diner in which three customers, all lost in their own thoughts, have congregated. Hopper’s understanding of the expressive possibilities of light playing on simplified shapes gives the painting its beauty. Fluorescent lights had just come into use in the early 1940s, and the all-night diner emits an eerie glow, like a beacon on the dark street corner. Hopper eliminated any reference to an entrance, and the viewer, drawn to the light, is shut out from the scene by a seamless wedge of glass. The four anonymous and uncommunicative night owls seem as separate and remote from the viewer as they are from one another. (The red-haired woman was actually modeled by the artist’s wife, Jo.) Hopper denied that he purposefully infused this or any other of his paintings with symbols of human isolation and urban emptiness, but he acknowledged that in Nighthawks “unconsciously, probably, I was painting the loneliness of a large city.”

— Entry, Essential Guide, 2013, p. 58.

The following are student works, inspired by Nighthawks.

NIGHTHAWKs - By Peyton Piccioni

They didn’t know that in less than an hour, they would all be dead.

“We should go to Vermont.”

The man next to her grunted.

“Would you like another drink?” I asked the man sitting alone.

He just shook his head. I grabbed his empty cup and washed it immediately, leaving no evidence behind.

“We’re done,” the lady said, waving her and her husband’s cup around.

I grabbed them from her hands and washed them out. The couple paid and walked out the door. I told the man at the other end of the bar that I was locking up. Without a sound, he dropped cash on the counter and walked out.

The next day, the show on the tv cut off to a breaking news story.

“A couple found dead in their downtown apartment and a man found dead in an alley. No suspects yet, but it is assumed that the cases are related. This incident is similar to two other crimes in the area. The police have not yet confirmed if there is a serial killer, but the answer is clear to many.”

People in the diner gasp and whisper amongst each other. I turn around and smile to myself. They don’t know the people who died, but I do. The man who sat alone at the bar, Charlie Smith, is a drug dealer who kills those who owe him money. The couple, Cara and Bradley Jones, act as if they were the richest, but are actually the poorest. Cara cheats on him and Bradley bets all their money away. The world is better without these buffoons.

The next day two police officers walked through the diner doors.

“Hello gentlemen. How may I help you?”

“We’re investigating the death of Cara and Bradley Jones and Charlie Smith. They are known to visit your diner every night. So we have to ask, did they visit your diner last night?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I feel so sorry for what their families must be going through. A serial killer? I close up early every night now just so I can get home safely.”

“We need to see your surveillance tapes.”

Trying my best to hide my smile, I replied, “Sure. Follow me.”

“Well, the tapes show nothing. Sorry to waste your time, sir.”

A couple of days passed by smoothly, but then my freedom ended.

Barging through the door, the policemen were yelling.

“Where’s the coffee pot?!”

Oh no. The coffee pot! How could I forget? I was so careful!

“I’m sorry?”

“Stop playing games. Where is it?!”

“In the back, but I don’t see what that has to do with the case!”

The men pushed past me. Returning from the back, the men carried my coffee pot in a bad labeled “EVIDENCE”. They left my diner without a word.

In the morning the policemen were back.

“You almost had us, but you messed up. You’re under arrest for the murder of Charlie Smith and Cara and Bradley Jones. Put your hands behind your back.”

The whole diner was silent. I saved the world from complete idiots and I am the one who goes to prison.

I will get my revenge.

Nighthawks - By Sarah Greenleaf

“Remember the plan,” he said.

The lady in the passenger seat nodded as she flicked back her auburn hair in the mirror. For a good half hour, the couple sat in silence, until the car stopped in a back alley. The man adjusted his navy blue suit, and placed his white hat on his head. He grabbed the lady’s hand and in one swift motion, they entered the restaurant. A man with a grey hat sat at the counter with his arms crossed, and the waiter was behind the counter gathering his tips from a jar. The couple stood at the counter, and gave the worker a heinous glare.

“Uh, Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood, h-how may I h-help you today?” the man stammered.

“The usual, Bobby,” Mrs. Lockwood ordered.

The waiter scurried towards the kitchen as Mr. Lockwood lit up a Camel.

The man sitting across from the couple coughed vigorously, scrunching his nose up at the drug between Mr. Lockwood’s lips.

“So, what’s your name, buddy?” Mr. Lockwood questioned, while flicking the ashes from the cigarette. The man looked at him for a good minute until answering.

“Scott,” the man replied. “And I assume you’re Mr. Lockwood.”

“I don’t know, am I?” Mr. Lockwood asked. He chuckled and then continued inhaling the smoke.

“I’m only kidding, Scott, I wouldn’t lie. I have no reason to,” he smirked. “Unless I was some wanted criminal.”

Scott gulped and stared intently at the man. Mr. Lockwood grinned devilishly while putting out his cigarette.

“Well, um, who’s the nice lady beside you?” Scott asked.

“My wife, Mrs. Lockwood,” he said.

“No first name?” Scott asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Oh we both have names of course, but I prefer to only go by last name,” he replied. “It seems more official, you know what I mean?”

Scott nodded his head in agreement and continued to sip on his cold coffee. The waiter emerged from the kitchen with two steaming coffees in his hand. He placed them before the couple, and hurriedly began wiping the counters. Scott noticed Mrs. Lockwood whispering into Mr. Lockwood’s ear. All Scott heard out of the conversation was an “It’s time” from Mr. Lockwood.

“Anything else, Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood?” the waiter asked.

“The money,” Mr. Lockwood ordered, with his arms crossed on the countertops. Mrs. Lockwood was checking her nails, paying no attention to the situation before her.

“But I have one more day,” the waiter stated.

“I don’t care, Bobby. Time’s up,” Mr. Lockwood grinned.

The waiter reached to the safe behind the counter, struggling with the key that opened it. Mr. Lockwood reached into his suit and pulled out a pistol.

“Remember what happened to your buddy when he took too long?” Mr. Lockwood said. “I would hurry up if I were you.”

The waiter began wiping his forehead as each key he placed in the slot wouldn’t open the safe. Scott sat twiddling his thumbs, unsure if he should step in, but the fear of a bullet piercing through his skin stopped him from interfering. He decided to go to the bathroom in an attempt to escape the crime taking place before him. As he shuffled past the couple, he was stopped by a hand grabbing his forearm.

“Scotty, you ain’t going anywhere. The fun is just beginning,” Mr. Lockwood snickered.

“I guess you’re a criminal after all,” Scott scoffed.

Mr. Lockwood only responded with a chuckle and raised his gun back up to the waiter’s head. The troubled man paced over to where the couple stood, handing over a bag filled to the brim. Hurriedly rubbing his hands together, the man looked back up to the couple with his bloodshot eyes.

“Is that enough for now? I g-gave you all w-we have,” the waiter stuttered.

Mr. Lockwood had a blank look on his face, and raised his head to look the man in the eyes. Without any remarks of what he would do, he raised his gun to the man’s head, and pulled the trigger. Scott winced at the noise, praying that he wouldn’t be next. Mrs. Lockwood grabbed the bag and headed out the front of the building. Scott stood with his eyes shut, listening to the tap of footsteps nearing closer to him. A warm breath escaped from the person’s mouth, smelling of stale smoke and coffee. Scott opened his eyes to see a policeman staring into his eyes.

“Sir, you’re coming with me,” the policeman ordered, reaching for his handcuffs.

“Why? The couple, they murdered that man! I saw it all!” Scott exclaimed.

“Ha, very funny mister, but you were the one who shot poor Bobby.” the policeman stated.

Scott looked at the man confused, struggling from the grip of the police.

“No no no, the couple. Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood, they shot him! I’m innocent!” Scott explained.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood? They’ve been dead for almost 20 years,” he said. “They were shot and killed when pulling a robbery at this same place.”

“Dead? That’s impossible!” Scott said. He was shoved into the backseat of the patrol car, leaving him to wonder about what had just happened. A person cleared their throat next to him and Scott turned to see Mr. Lockwood sitting with a cigarette in between his teeth.

“Sorry, Scott, but someone had to complete what I didn’t finish,” he smirked. Then with those words, he disappeared into the air. Scott sat there in shock, not even knowing what was real anymore.

The policeman opened the door and turned on the engine, drowning out Scott’s troubled thoughts.

“Another Day, Another Soul”

Nighthawks - by Jordan Slaughter

She sat in the corner of the diner. Her heart thrummed slowly under her skimpy red dress. The woman’s fire orange hair splashed around her upper body as she skillfully downed her tenth martini.

She gave no mind to the man sitting next to her who was continuously circling her palm with his index finger. The strong smell of the cheap cigar he was smoking and the black coffee from the machines swam in the air. His heavy breath attacked her naked shoulder, but still she gave no attention to it and instead focused on the money she has just been given by her new associate and the soft jazz in the background of the diner.

The man shifted closer to her, trailing his hand from hers to the backside of her body. Her breath did not change, but she closed her eyes as if to escape into her mind. The young woman’s thoughts immediately went to her little shabby tenement. She was standing in the door entrance looking into the kitchen. On the kitchen floor laid two little girls who resembled the same traits she had. Their messy red hair went every which way and they giggled in joy and innocence. Everything she did was for them. They were her world and the only things she had left.

Opening her eyes up back to reality, she immediately made eye contact with the diner owner and he in return gave her a look of pure disgust. He looked at her like she was a mere rat and nothing else. The women averted her eyes and looked to the other side of the diner where a lonesome man sat. He had been sitting there longer than she had, but had not moved one time. The same cup of coffee had been next to him on the counter for the past hour. His silver stormy eyes were unblinking as he stared at nothing, but seemed to be aware of everything.

The women had met men like him before. Men who had lost everything they had in the past ten years and were now just empty walking bodies. The kind of men who were looking for something that could never be found again. She’d seen em’ all.

The woman’s friend stood, signaling that it was time to leave. She stood and walked to the door unwillingly, but continued to drag her feet along knowing this was for the greater good. As she departed, she heard the owner whisper whore and also took note of the lonely man looking directly into her eyes. Entranced in the two stormy pools of silver, she did not pay any mind as her friend dragged her out into the icy night.

I Know the Bridge No More - By gAVIN SEKEL

I was standing alone

There was a place on the bridge

Where I used to be not shown

Looking out at the water

The waves rolled by

I saw them shine in the sun

Reflecting the good in the sky

And the blue below

Now I know the bridge no more

I float in the water forever

Drifting away from the shore

Always smiling

The sea is mine

Everything I used to watch

From behind a wall up high

In the dark

See me and the sea

We belong as one

We can be free

It came true

Unofficial Education - By Jordan slaughter

The day before Bison died, my father had my sister, my two brothers, and I watch a documentary about Lily Dale. Lily Dale is a spiritual place mediums live and work. People from around the world go to this place to communicate with people who they were once close with, but had passed away suddenly. It was a place of comfort and closure of the past.

The message my dad was trying to convey to us was that nothing and no one truly dies. They just move on to a better place where out mortal bodies cannot go. This was where their sprit lived on forever,

Two days later my dog was put down. Cancer has been found spreading throughout his body and he was in too much pain to continue to live. I can recall m last memory with him. My brothers and dad were just about to take him away, but somehow he escaped and found me on the back porch. He staggered up the stairs and whined at the door wanting me to let him in. I walked over looking down into his mixed blue and brown eyes which held such a deep emotion like he knew something was about to happen. I opened it and immediately brought him into my arms, crying in his brown fur. My father had to pry my arms from him when he found us.

I felt broke. Bison was my first dog and my first experience with death. I went for days after that without talking or eating. All I had were my thoughts.

He didn’t deserve this.

Throughout the next couple of months, I pondered mortality and life itself. Every thought that came to mind was followed by another question, but through tine I found my answer. My “unofficially education”

Life is short. It can be taken away at any moment as easily as it can be given. To sit around and not act on your thoughts and emotion is a waste of time. I’ve come to a realization that you don’t have control of your life. You have seconds of living. Moments. Instants that you need to soak in because they can be ended in the blink of an eye.

The death of my companion made me see life as it is. There is no black, white, or in between.

There just is.

By Stephen Smith

A crumbling ruin

A home abandoned

Cold concrete crumbled by weather and time

Vibrant pain, now faded, replaced by mold

Windows shattered, shards upon the floor

Leaves upon a forgotten floor

Tools of steel, now turned to rust

Wooden boards, now only rot

Shafts of light pass through the crumbling roof,

And in the light, a flower.

Mr. Carboni's Creative writing class was given the task of describing "What lies beneath" this door from the Tyler Arboretum...

“What Lies Beneath?” - Sarah Greenleaf

Beyond a wooden door hidden in the crest of the hill, a young dwarf sat twiddling his thumbs while scattering the gravel with effortless kicks. This particular dwarf went by the name Rockson. He was more of a coward than your average scaredy cat, which made his father, King Dwarfmaster, very disappointed. Today, he was going to prove the whole kingdom wrong. A meeting was held in the Hall of Legends, so Rockson figured this would be the perfect time to shine. With a sharpened stick in his hand, he tightened his grip and got ready to prove his worth. On the count of three, he leaped out to surprise the others.

“Good god, don’t ever do that, kid.” a dwarf spoke from the crowd. Insults were thrown at him from across the room including,“You’re such a buffoon. A loser to your entire family.” Rockson’s face was so wet with tears, you would think he dunked his face in the ocean. His father came to his rescue, ordering everyone out of the room. The king looked down at his feet, his hands clenched in fists.

“What were you thinking?” his father spoke, gritting his teeth.

“I-I’m sorry father, I just wanted everyone to be proud of me,” Rockson stuttered. He wiped the tears from his face and looked up at his father. “I just wanted you to be proud.”

“Well now I’ve become much angrier,” he admitted, looking into his son’s teary eyes.

“If you want to prove yourself, then I order you to go to the Sinister Forest and bring me back the head of the Dark Creature,” his father exclaimed. Rockson knew who this was, one of the most feared creatures in the east. Rockson thought about this quest for a minute and nodded his head.

“I accept the quest, Father,” he said.

“You better make me proud, or I will not hesitate to banish you,” he threatened. Rockson gulped nervously and quickly ran back to this room to gather his necessities. Rockson exited the door, and headed down the trail.

After thirty minutes, he finally made it to a corner. With a sigh of relief, he hummed down the trail and made his way to the forest. Goosebumps arose onto his skin, causing him to shiver. Rockson slid his sword out of its holder, and got ready to attack anything in his way. A rustle erupted from the bushes in front of him, causing Rockson to jolt and slip on the mud. He fell down with a thud. Then, a deer leaped from the bushes over his head and left Rockson to lay in pain. His head throbbed every second,

All of a sudden, Rockson’s vision went blurry, and the world before him faded black.

In the morning, Rockson awoke to his stomach growling. While starting a fire, he scanned the area to see if any creatures lay nearby for him to devour. In the brush, he spotted a rabbit. Taking his sword in hand, he threw it towards the rabbit and claimed his meal. After cooking, his stomach continued to growl. “Huh, that’s strange. I just ate minutes ago.” Rockson wondered. However, it seemed that the noise had come from something behind him. He turned to see that a towering wolf-like creature stood over him.“The Dark Creature.” Rockson mumbled.

“That’s me,” the Dark Creature smirked. “Unfortunately, I think we both know where this leads to.”

“I guess so, but I’m almost certain I will be taking your head home.” Rockson said.

“Ha ha, I guess we’ll see little one,” the Dark Creature chuckled. The Dark Creature unsheathed his claws and snarled allowing the drool in his snout to drip to the mossy ground. They both intensely stared at one another, before Rockson lunged from his position and thrusted his sword at the creature’s stomach. The Dark Creature gripped the sword before it impacted and threw it to the ground with a supernatural force.

“Oh, it seems you have to fight unarmed now. How unfortunate.” the Dark Creature taunted.

Rockson bared his own snaggled teeth and sprinted towards the creature. The creature effortlessly put out his hand and casually gripped it onto Rockson’s head. Rockson now being frustrated thought of the only way to escape his grip. With all of his force, he stomped his boot down onto the creature’s foot. Howling in pain, the Dark Creature fell back on the ground causing the ground to shake. Rockson reacquired his sword, and kneeled over his prize.

“Oh, it seems you have to have your head sliced off. How unfortunate.” Rockson mocked him. He placed his sword over the creature’s neck, and began slowly ending the creature’s life

“Just….tell….them…...I’m…...sorry.” the Dark Creature coughed. The Dark Creature heaved in and out before taking his finals breaths.

“Well, I’m sorry, too.” Rockson sighed. Placing the wolf-like creature’s head in his pack, he headed back to his kingdom to be honored with celebration, even if he felt the weight of guilt resting on his shoulders.

What Lies Beneath? - By Sienna Novelli

It was a Friday night when Olivia and Malcolm decided to walk to the woods outside of their town. They wanted to find out for themselves, if the stories they heard about the door of no return were true. Old Jim was the owner of the local pizza shop, and would tell anyone who would listen that the wooden door opened inward, and anyone who entered the door had exactly sixty minutes to get out, or they would never be heard from again. All of the teenagers, for miles around, heard about the story, but none of them really thought it was true. Olivia and Malcolm had been dating each other for the past year, and have always been an adventurous couple. As they got closer to their destination, Olivia began to wonder if they were doing the right thing. Were they heading to a dead end path? Olivia started to grip Malcolm's arm tighter as they walked for hours to what they thought would be fun. They both stopped, looked into each other’s eyes, and continued to their destination. Hand in hand they decided to cross over the bridge. Would they open the door? Or would they walk away? Once they arrived, Olivia hesitated on going any further. However, since Malcolm was the daredevil of the two he was willing to do anything. He pushed the door open as he turned to Olivia. He took her by the arm and noticed that she was shaking. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath as they went inside.

They heard noises they could not identify. The room was empty except for a table and four chairs, plus a large clock on the wall. As the couple was looking around they came upon a second door, opened it and walked down the steps to a basement. They noticed beautiful flowers, and colorful paintings that hung in the room. They were admiring the furniture, when a man grabbed Olivia by the arm, and pushed Malcolm against the wall, He was unconscious before he fell to the ground. Olivia shouted “Please leave me alone.” As he moved towards them. he pointed to an old clock over his right shoulder, and told them “They have been in his house for twelve minutes, and have just forty eight minutes left to get out, or they will be executed for trespassing.”

The stranger picked Malcolm up, and after he threw him over his shoulder, carried him upstairs, sat him in one of the four chairs, and tied a rope around him. In the meantime, Olivia was trying to find a way out when she noticed the house did not have any windows or doors, just the one they came in. The stranger started back down the steps, as Olivia hid underneath him. She found a large piece of metal and tried to hit him over the head, but he pushed her against the wall, and cut her left arm. He carried her upstairs and placed her in one of the empty chairs. She looked at the clock on the wall and realized that she had thirty minutes to live. After the stranger left the room, she tried to wake up Malcolm. Olivia could not free him, because the rope was very thick and she just could not undo the knots. Malcolm was still lifeless. The stranger returned to the room, grabbed her arm and placed her in the chair, across from Malcolm. After he finished tying her up, he took another rope, and threw it over the wooden beam above the table. He placed the rope around Malcolm’s neck, and tied the other end to a pulley that was attached to a wall. The stranger explained, “That he was going to hang both of them for just coming into his house”. Malcolm woke up, just as the stranger was placing a rope around Olivia’s neck. She began to cry hysterically. The stranger told them both, “It will be over in minutes.” The stranger walked over to the pulley, and started to laugh. The couple were yelling and screaming as loud as they could, in hopes that someone would be able to help them. At exactly 9:35, the stranger started to pull the rope, and lifted Malcolm, by his neck. Olivia could see his feet kicking, and then silence. As the stranger turned towards her, Olivia’s heart began to race, she was never this scared before. She finally passed out.

She regain consciousness in the local hospital, and noticed a nurse beside her bed. The nurse gave her an injection in her left arm, and she started to feel very comfortable. She looked around and was quite confused on how she got to a hospital. Several minutes passed by when a police officer walk into her room. She could only see his back. The officer was talking to the nurse and she heard him explain that he found her walking alone, and unable to talk on a bridge. The nurse picked up several pieces of bandages and left the room. The officer was writing something on a clipboard. He turned around and walked to the bed. She opened her eyes and froze. It was the stranger from behind the door.

By Stephen Smith

We sit and stare, gazing into black

And tell stories of gods and kings in points of light

We sing of heroes long since passed, whose tles carry on

We speak of earth and sea, and voyages to lands unseen

We tell of battles won, and fates of men

We dream of beyond, and what lay ahead

We build ships of steel to kiss the heavens, and dance among the stars

We reach up and write new tales

Out of order - by kevin kuszmaul

Never in my life would I expect the amount of pain I received today. It was in August and it was the summer where I was going into third grade. Baseball season was coming up and I wanted to go to the batting cages. It wasn't a good swimming day so I went to the Maple Zone cages. On the way to the batting cages I needed new gloves so I went to Modells and bought gloves and a new shirt with a baseball logo on it.

On the way there I told my dad I loved my new shirt and told him it was the perfect shirt for today. He agreed and when we arrived at the place it was only me and one other kid. He looked like he was in about 6th grade. I warmed up with a small amount hitting from 45 mph cages. I normally hit from the 55 miles per hour cages so I walked over to the machine and saw a piece of paper on it. In big red letters it said

OUT OF ORDER

My dad said why don’t you try out the 65 miles per hour cage you’ll be fine. Looking back on it now I am regretting it. I saw the older kid look at me so I agreed to with my Dad and was ready to show off to the kid. I was nervous but I thought it wouldn’t really be that big of a difference if it was only 10 miles per hour of what I was doing before. I stepped up to the plate and my dad asked if i was ready. I nodded my head. I had a bad feeling in my mind and my stomach did not feel right doing this. My dad dropped the coin and all eyes were on me.

Watch the first pitch my Dad yelled.

This is going to be fast I yelled back.

I turned back around and I stared at the machine. I was ready to hit the ball. I dropped into my stance.

I heard a roar from the machine getting ready to fire. It then made a sound like a cannon being fired. I hit the ball but not with my bat. The ball connected with my cheek bone. It was drilled me instantly dropping me to the ground. I laid there with my hand on my face and felt blood filling the ground and my brand new gloves. My dad ran into the cages picked me up and ran me towards the bathroom. I took a look at myself and saw a black eye. My eye was so swollen that it was closed shut and no matter how hard I tried to open it it would not open. I then noticed something I was very upset about.

“Dad my shirt it's ruined!!”

Out of what just happened today I could not believe that I cared about my new shirt over my own health.

By Stephen SMith

Cool spring rain on a cloudy day

Comfort in the shade among cups of coffee

Quiet days with cozy company

Long roads ahead complemented with miles past

Sleepy moments passed in silent comfort

A crackling radio crosses county lines

Being what we need in the moment,

And letting the moment fade

Haley Seitz

Gardens of people crowd around a stage

They’re all screaming out the lead singer’s name

The band comes on

And the screaming gets louder

Some cover their ears

But their eardrums still shatter

Some wave their hands in the air

To the beat of the song

Some surf the crowd

Until the hands are gone

Some jump up and down high in the air

The songs almost done but the crowd doesn’t care

The singer thanks his fans for coming out tonight

Then continues to the next song

The crowd is such a sight

Though the band’s a little nervous

They still play their hard rock song

Because the crowd is happy as they sing along

Nobody wants the show to end

But they’re energy is gone

The last song plays

The crowd goes home

And the post concert depression lasts for days

By Stephen Smith

We must not fear to lose our way

Lest we never find ourselves

Do not fear what is unknown

If you wish to know yourself

Though brick and stone will fade and fall

And man and kingdom lost to time

Seek that which you have not yet seen

Seek to see what lies in dreams

On old beds, body faded

In books is wonder, not yet jaded

Dear not what lies beyond, unknown

Seek it out, make it your own

The Oldest Person I Know - By Peyton Piccioni

When I walked in the room, her monitors were beeping and there was a slow rise and fall of her chest.

“Happy Birthday. You made it to 92. I’m here to celebrate with you,” I sang to her.

I grabbed hold of her sad, leathery hand and told my grandmom about my week. She never replied and hadn’t spoken for a month. I told myself she could hear me, but in the back of my mind, I knew she was already gone. I sat with her for the whole afternoon, celebrating her birthday by myself. No one showed up anymore.

“It’s too hard to see her like that,” they said.

“We should let her go,” they added.

I refused to. How could we play God and decide when to end her life? However, I knew today was the day. On her birthday, she would get to sing with the angels and watch over us. The doctor walked in five minutes later, followed by my whole family. Everyone had a ghostly face. Some were already crying.

“It’s time.”

My mother tried to pull me towards her, but I shook her off. I grabbed my grandmom’s hand one more time and held on as long as I could. I would be with her until the end. The monitor had a long beep and her chest didn’t rise anymore. The tubes cut off and the only thing heard was a shaky last breath.

I fell to my knees. Many sniffled as I sat on the floor and let the tears slide down my face. Never letting go of her hand, all I heard was white noise. Everything moved in slow motion. My parents tried to pull me off the ground, but I was dead weight. I couldn’t leave. Not without her.

That happened one year ago today. I still remember that horrific day. As I stare at the gravestone, I know that I will never forget. Even though I show up each weekend and tell her about my week, I know she already saw everything. I laid yellow daisies on the cold ground.

“When I pass, I need yellow flowers. Preferably daisies, since I am named after the flower. And death isn’t sad, it’s joyous! We get to live another life in a new world. It’s a new beginning. Besides, no matter where you are, when I go, I’ll always be with you,” she told me.

She didn’t need a new beginning. She had a loving family by her side. We would have taken care of her. But, I think she wanted a new life and the one she lived then, wasn’t enough. Once my grandpop passed, it seemed as if she gave up on living. She never smiled the same way or laughed that loud again. She lost her happiness, and now, I lost a piece of mine.

“Happy birthday. You’re 93. I wish you were here to see,” I sang.

By Stephen SMith

From heat of flame to warmth of hearth

A passion, and ember, which roars to life

Giving beauty in reds and yellows and flickering forms dance

In wells of blue, from tears which form

A song of sorrow, of love once had,

Now lost and broken

In dawn's pale glow

Of golden hope

Of dreams once shattered, now reforged

With heights unreached,

In depths unseen,

A yearning to seek what lies beyond

Clasped hands tell tales of tears and laughs,

Those passed and yet to come

In chaotic swells of emotion lies our essence,

Our being

Our soul.

The Stapler - By Stacie Preuhs

I don’t like the stereotype that all blondes are dumb, but I think it’s safe to say to say that the joke applied to me for once in my life.

I finished my school work and sat at my desk with nothing to do. My teacher spotted me and walked over to my desk.

“Would you mind doing me a favor?” she asked politely with a stack of papers and a stapler in her hands.

“Of course,” I said.

“Can you staple these papers to the bulletin board outside my room?”

I nodded my head, disregarding the fact that I really didn’t feel like it, and grabbed the supplies. I attempted to staple the paper to the board, then quickly realized that it was empty.

No problem, I’ll just go back in and ask for more staples.

I returned to the board, refilled the stapler, and once again tried to staple the paper to the wall, but it refused to work. I tried what seemed to be a million more times with no luck. Each time I pressed harder against the board.

Is the stapler broken? Am I just too weak to function normally?

No matter how hard I tried, these papers would not be attached to that stupid board. People walking past me in the hallway stared. They probably thought I was an imbecile.

Looking at the clock and seeing only ten minutes left of class, I panicked. What would I do if she came out and saw nothing on the board? I had already been out there too long, it would have looked ridiculous going back in and telling her that I got nothing done. I had to come up with a way to fix this, and fast.

I noticed my friend who was sitting in the classroom across the hall. I went in and asked the teacher if I could borrow my friend for a second. Instead of questioning who I was and where I came from like I could tell she wanted to do, she reluctantly agreed.

“Please, please help me staple these papers to the bulletin board,” I begged, “The stapler refuses to work.”

She tried but once again, nothing. With each staple that popped out and landed on the floor, I got even more frustrated. My strong desire to be perfect was eating me alive and I was getting sick of this never ending cycle of failure to complete a simple task.

With that, my friend retrieved another person to come help. After one attempt to use the stapler, the second girl opened it up.

“The staples are in upside down,” she said blankly, “What kind of idiot would put them in like that?”

I laughed awkwardly, “Yeah… what kind of idiot?”

Good save.

Just then the bell rang and I collected everything and went back to the classroom. I don’t remember what excuse I made up to explain why I didn’t finish but at that point, I really didn’t care what she thought of me anymore.

I already almost made a complete fool of myself so what difference would it make now?

“Thanks for your help! I hope it didn’t cause you too much trouble,” the teacher said.

“You have no idea,” I muttered.

Although I somehow managed to hide my stupidity from everyone else, I knew the truth inside. I was mortified by the fact that I was a junior in high school who couldn’t figure out a stapler. But then again, maybe it’s just a blonde thing.

By Stephen SMith

A winter snowfall,

Once known but now has passed by,

A memory gone

Minutes Seemed Like hours - By Madison Blair

Minutes seemed like hours as the apartment grew warmer. People packed in corners with wadded tissues balled in their sweaty palms. My sisters and I laid next to the fragile body that once resembled our strong mother as fate took over. Family and friends took turns sitting and holding her hand as the tears smeared makeup.

Her hands were warm as her body worked hard to breath. The beeping of machines seemed louder than James Blunt singing her favorite songs, but we left it playing. My sisters and I sat quietly, and gave nods too people asked us how we were. They didn’t want a response because they knew. They just didn’t know what else to say. Vases filled with flowers came one after another, and people began to leave with condoling looks, and hugs that lasted too long.

The apartment withered down to the seven of us. Our mom on a hospital bed, our father never leaving her side, and five kids watching their family fall apart. My brother max, the youngest of us all hid from the scene, but the rest of us stayed and talked. We talked about when we were little, and for a moment we laughed, and then we remembered.

Sitting around her we shed silent tears as our father tried to comfort us. Her eyes fluttered open when one of us would take hold of her hand, and she tried to talk. She wanted to tell us something, but she could never get it out, and her eyes would shut again.

I looked at my sister, “You know she’d tell us to get up off our asses, and stop all the tears.” We laughed because it was true. We cried knowing there was nothing else would do. We’d never hear her voice again. She’d never laugh with us, she’d never cry with us. All she could was lie there.

Ten o'clock came and went so we made our way upstairs. Each one of us kissing her, telling her we’d see her in the morning, that we loved her, and we were right here. We cried together until we finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

A hand on my knee pulled my from my sleep. I could see the clock behind my father's head, 7:43.

My sister lifted her head too, and the words I can’t seem to stop hearing were spoken for the first time, “You need to go say goodbye to Mommy.”

My heart began to race, and my body sunk. “Say goodbye?” He had already gone to wake up my brother. I asked my question to no one. I pulled on my sweatshirt and pants, and walked down the stairs. Each step more painful.

There she was, lying just how we had left her last night. My oldest sister sat next to her sobbing, and her parents held their daughter’s hand. I barely made it to the bed and clung on to my sister like I’d fall if I let go. My father stood back, and watched. “She’s okay now,” is all he could say. Our cries were heavy, and heartbreaking. All I could do was lie next to her as the warmth slipped away. I tried to keep her warm because I knew she hated being cold, but nothing I did helped. I tried to pretend she was sleeping, but I knew she wasn’t.

So I laid there, scared.

I didn’t move for hours. A nurse came to collect medicines, and fill out paperwork. I laid there listening, but not hearing anything. Everything seemed lagged and blurry. At 10:39 am we were sent upstairs with the dog. My sister and I sat at the bottom of the steps listening to strangers take her away. We held each other, and by the time we were allowed back out the house was put back as if our mom was just out running errands.

By Stephen SMith

Colors splash across the sky, Illuminating the world

In golden shades the day begins,

In hues of blue the day goes on

In gradients of purple it draws to a close

In points of light we tell tales of days since passed

And then we paint anew

My Bag - By Kelsey Jensen

“Now let me take the tissue paper out of my bag, and rip the tag off of my bag.”

“This way people in the store think it is my bag.”

I stood behind the glasses rack, glaring at what were obviously two sisters. Both were of the same race, their hair tied back in braids, and the same exceptionally small nose. Casually, I picked up different sunglasses and tried them on, just so I had an excuse to stay in that area and keep watching.

“Here, do you like this bag?”

“Yes, I do… I really do!”

Of course the little girl said she liked the bag: children want everything they can get their hands on. I watched the older sister, about 17 years old, unzipper a child’s pink and purple book bag. Then she pulled the crumpled white tissue paper out of the bag and simply dropped it onto the ground. She didn’t even try to hide the tissue paper, or push it up against a wall she just left it in the center of the isle. The last step to her little mission was to rip the price tag off, and put it in one of her shopping bags from a different store.

At that point my mind was full of thoughts. Did they just run out of money to purchase the bags? I mean, they had several other shopping bags. Were items in the other shopping bags stolen? I pretended to drop a pair of sunglasses on the ground to make myself look occupied, but when I bent down to the ground, my knees actually hurt. I had locked them in place for so long trying to be still.

That's when the older girl looked over at me.

Her face was unphased. She had to know I witnessed her actions, but she didn’t show any expression of worry or fear of what I would do. She put the pink and purple bookbag onto her sister and the two made their way to the front of the store, and walked out.

It was that simple.

They just stole two items, and walked out.

What will their parents think if they knew? Do they not have a guilty conscious? Will they feel remorse for their actions? The older sister cannot possibly think teaching her younger sister to steal is alright... can she? I mean I suppose she could if she had the courage to do it.

I picked up the glasses I dropped, and placed them back on the rack.

I am going to say something.

Leaving the store I searched for the girls, and found them to the left of the entrance. Noticing they were with their parents and they had worried looks upon their faces, I assumed it would be alright to observe. I was in on the crime, there was no going back inside the store until the issue was resolved. So I walked to the bench, conveniently, across from the store. Close enough to see and hear the sisters talking to their mother.

“I told you this before…”

The mother glanced around, and I for sure was expecting a bomb to drop. If she was anything like my mother, those girls would be dead.

“I told you this before…you cannot steal in a mall, only small, local stores.”

My eyes bulged out of their sockets, and my mouth dropped. In the distance I noticed a policeman. So I felt comfortable to walk right up to this family.

“Make them do the right thing… you cannot teach your daughters it is alright to steal.”

“Excuse me?” the mother said, even though she didn’t look phased at all.

“I just watched them steal…”

“So what do you care..?”

“You heard me, clearly, make them do the right thing, or I will go approach that police officer over there. I’m sure he would enjoy this story.”

With that the mother whispered into the girl's’ ears, and they walked back into the store.

This is what would’ve happened, had I had the guts to actually speak up. All the events were true up until the part of me telling the family off. I didn’t have the audacity to approach the girls and speak my mind. I was too young and immature at the time of the event. However, if a situation like this ever happened again… oh that person will get a mouthful. I would so go up and tell them they need to do the correct thing. Well, maybe I would, or maybe just say it in my head like this incident.

What do angels think about? - By Owen Parente

Have you ever wondered what an angel thinks about?

I know one, and sometimes I can tell.

She has a smile on her face at all times, and she may fool the crowd

However, she doesn’t fool me; I know she wants to cry and yell

Because behind that broken smile

Lies sadness, and she’s been sad for awhile.

Have you ever wondered what an angel thinks about?

I know one and I can tell.

She may look like she has fallen from heaven,

But what lies within her mind is most certainly hell.

Forever in an Elevator - By Jaime Simmons

Sometimes I think of life is one giant game of Tetris.

Slowly opening my eyes from sleep, I begin to think of my upcoming day, a day like most all the others. The drive to work, the fight for the parking space.

The Elevator.

Every morning, ten bodies load themselves into a vertical carriage, fitting themselves into the cubicle, politely trying to maintain each other’s personal space. Most are familiar faces on our stop-and-go ride up to the 5th floor, my home for the day, yet my business takes me up and down that elevator several times within 6 hours.

Drying off from my shower, combing my hair, and finishing by slipping into my smooth Italian leather loafers, I remember my client's revised manuscript is due in five days. As an editor, I rarely get to meet my clients until I have finished polishing up their novels.

Pressing the ignition fob, my BMW gives up its familiar throaty growl, and I note with some annoyance that rain is ruining its new car shine as I back out of the garage.

Pulling into the lot, I try to avoid puddles. Nevertheless, my expensive footwear leaves a trail of water across the polished terrazzo floor.

I press the "up" button on the elevator and wait, expecting the usual crush of people hurrying to get to their offices on time. The mirrored doors open. I find myself face-to-face with a man about my age, in deep meditation. Shrugging it off, I figure there are lots of strange people in the world, or maybe I just need my coffee. Yet, I have never seen a well-dressed adult striking such a disciplined pose in the middle of an elevator. I squeeze myself into the corner of the car, staring at the flashing numbers as we ascend. The two minutes it takes to arrive at the 5th floor feels like an eternity, as I try my best to avoid the awkward situation, way too close to my own personal space.

When the doors roll open, I head toward my office, trying mightily to erase the image in my mind during that short ride. Successfully accomplishing that mental feat, I spend the day behind my desk, rewording sentences, deleting paragraphs, and sometimes discarding pages at a time. I am man- handling somebody's baby, but that is my job, and I am paid well to do it.

The day passes pleasantly enough, with the late afternoon sun peeking through the clouds as I climb into my sports car on my way home.

A quick dinner, a few sitcoms on TV, and then sleep. Or at least an attempt. The curse of insomnia is that you are never really asleep, yet never quite awake. I spend the rest of the night working on the book I've been writing, but lately, the backspace button has become my closest friend. I Might as well stick to crafting other people's' work, as editing is what I do best. I switch off the computer and drift into a restless sleep.

Ding, ding

Another day, another trip on the elevator to the 5th floor. I stopped to treat myself to my favorite Colombian dark brew at Wawa, so I am ready to face the day. Like every other day, I pressed the "up" button and wait. Creature of habit that I am, I take my place in the corner of the car, checking my phone as I do so. I am distracted by a scraping noise to my left, and see the same guy who was doing yoga yesterday. He is holding his phone’s camera to his face as he is shaving, to make sure he gets every whisker. He wipes the shaving cream residue from his face, and as I step onto my floor, he cheerily wishes me a nice day. Great. Where did this kook come from, and where is he going in my elevator?

I hurry to my office, realizing the manuscript I am editing is due to my client today.

Hoping to get most of the last chapter done before lunch, I put the elevator incident out of my mind. Confident that after a quick lunch, I can complete the work by 5 pm, when the client meets with me. I lost myself in his words.

Back at the elevator, I press the "down" button, absently wondering why it is called an elevator when it doesn’t always elevate people. Sometimes it... Well, operates the opposite of elevation. Amused as I am, I’m startled to see the same man I encountered twice before on this particular elevator. I could’ve waited for the next car, but I’m in a hurry to get my sandwich with a slice of turkey in between two dry pieces of white bread and get back to the offic

Why me?

Why do I have to run into this nut job?

As usual I take my place in the elevator's corner, and the man turned toward me. At that moment, I consider hitting the emergency button, but that seems ridiculous. The man is certainly not a threat.

"I have new socks on today."

I nod, not in the mood to engage in conversation with this man, who I am beginning to think is a bit mentally unbalanced.

He opened his briefcase and whispered into it:

"Got enough air in there?"

"Excuse me? Is there something in your bag?"

"Oh, I wasn't talking to you. Why would there be something in my bag?"

At this point, my mind is screaming and I don’t care if I’m rude. I just want to get out of that space.

I burst through the doors as the elevator opens, and walk briskly to the deli to pick up my food order. Nervously, I head back to my building, wondering if the man has left, or if he is still lurking somewhere behind the marble columns in the lobby.

Although I consider taking the stairs, an uneventful trip in the elevator deposits me on my floor. I have to finish that manuscript, and a five- floor climb eats up precious time. Finally finished with the work, I sit back in my swivel chair and with a sigh of satisfaction, prop my feet on my desk.

As my office clock strikes 5, I hear a knoc

“Come in.”

I adjust my tie and fold my hands, trying to look as professional as I can.

You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s the elevator man.

“What are you doing here? I’m waiting for a very important client.”

“I’m here for my book.”

“Your book?”

“Yes, fifty ways to escape a date.”

“That’s YOUR book?

“Yes.”

I’m not only annoyed at this point but confused because this book is extremely well written. I’m trying to be serious and present myself well, but he is clearly enjoying himself at my expense.

“It’s really good you know, your book.”

“Thanks.”

“So aside from the book, I have a question.”

Should I ask him? I mean it’s really none of my business what his intentions were in that elevator or why he was even in it in the first place, but my curiosity is driving me crazy.

“Go for it.

“How come you did all those things, back in the elevator?”

“50 fun things to do in an elevator.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s a book I’m working on, called 50 Fun Things to do in an Elevator. I wanted to do my research before I started my outline.”

A dozen disturbing images flash through my mind in a nanosecond.

“Do me a favor, pal, find another editor for that one.”

Step into these shoes - By Jordan Slaughter

Step into these shoes.

Can you fit a size 100? 200?

Well then.

Step into these shoes.

Walk around a bit.

Take a stroll in my life. Probably won’t see the half of it.

See the things I see.

The deaths, the tears, the laughs, the cries.

Feel the things I feel.

The hits, the blows, my head spins around like a spinning wheel.

Smell the things I smell.

Rodent milk, drug stained floors.

Yeah, Momma really did try after daddy died.

What a shame that needle can’t even help with her pain.

Take off those shoes, you’ve gotten too close.

You thought your life was a struggle?

There’s the hoax.

Don’t be quick to judge because the juries ready for their session.

People are never really what they seem, so make that correction.

Jukebox Hero - by gavin sekel

Jukebox Hero

The bartender lifted his hat to rub his bald head.

“What’ll it be sir?” He asked from behind the counter. It was three in the morning and the streets were ghostly outside the large window of the bar.

“Coffee,” the old man said, taking his hat off and laying it on the stool next to him. He lifted his eyes and saw a young man and woman across the bar. The woman was watching him with a smile. Her friend was slowly teetering on his stool, hiccupping over and over.

“Whatcha doin’ out this late guy?” the woman asked.

He just sat silent and drank his coffee.

“You’re spooky,” she continued. “Has anybody heard about this loony guy who’s been robbing every place in the city? He dresses as different characters to blend in.

The old man watched the bartender carefully.

“Heard he’s a sicko, beatin’ on women and –

“I’ve heard,” the older man said, turning to look her in the eyes. She sat back in her seat.

“What a sicko. I sure hope he doesn’t think to come to Phillies. I don’t need none of that ‘round here,” the bartender said shaking his head. He was wiping down some glasses with a rag.

The woman’s friend stood up and stumbled to the restroom.

“What do you think about him?” the woman asked the older man.

“Hmm. What do I think…? I guess it’s none of my business right? I don’t know the guy.

“That’s an awful strange thing to say,” she said with squinted eyes. They sat silently for a few minutes.

The man was watching the bartender again, who had a small smirk on his face.

“I hope Jimmy didn’t fall in in there,” the woman said with a giggle. “Let’s hear some tunes.” She walked over the large jukebox in the corner.

The older man watched as the bartender pulled a small pistol out from under the bar, and tucked it behind his smock. He turned his head quickly and looked out the window as the bartender turned around.

“What do they have on there,” the old man asked as he walked over to the woman searching for a song to play.

“Nothin’ good,” she said.

“Don’t freak,” the old man whispered, coming up behind her. She jumped a little in place. “I think the bartender is this criminal guy you were talkin’ about.

“Oh no, Jimmy!” she whispered. Her eyes grew large as she turned and looked at him.

“I don’t think he’s comin’ back. Get out now. Say you are going out for a cigarette and get the police.

“Okay,” she turned and walked back to her bag for a cigarette. “I’m going for a smoke,” she announced awkwardly, before clicking out in her high heels.

The old man locked eyes with the bartender as he walked into the bathroom. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. He checked each stall, then returned to the bar area. The bartender had his gun pointing straight at him.

“Please!” the old man begged. “I won’t tell or do anything! I swear!” He had his hands up above his head.

“Put down the gun!” the police officer yelled as he and his partner came through the doors. The bartender pulled the trigger in fear and shot the old man through the heart. The police officers then pulled the trigger and killed the bartender.

By Stephen smith

Our accolades were not perfect

Our Magnum Opus marred by imperfection

Our works were mortal, as were we

As time faded so too our memory

Though imperfect we gave our all

We felt humanity at it's best

Human.

PDMIT - By Devon Parker

“Pennsylvania’s Department of My (In)Validation as a Teenager”

Whenever I waited in line with the rest of the cars, I felt my anxiety level rise. My palms began to sweat while trying to rest onto the steering wheel. My mother glanced over from the passenger seat, wishing me luck and reminding me of the faith that she had in me. She also had not forgotten to mention that I had just paid about $400 dollars for a driving instructor, insuring me that I had gotten enough practice to pass.

This was not my first rodeo with the ever so lovely Pennsylvania Department of Motor Vehicles. My last attempt had left me feeling such anger that I almost wanted to completely give up all hope on passing the test. The woman who had evaluated me seemed all smiles while we were exchanging paperwork with my mother, but it seemed that it was mask. Such as when you find a box of Oreos in the kitchen cabinet, only to find the box was left empty. Feeling all giddy inside, to being shut down by emptiness and a few crumbs spread throughout the box.

The instructor got into my leather cushioned, cardinal colored automobile. She fastened her seatbelt, turned to me and said we were ready to begin the test. I knew all of my controls and that they were working properly, so I went through that portion of the test fine.

Then it was time to parallel park. For almost every driving school, the student is taught in a company car. This was where I was shown. I often practiced in my personal car, but would not be able to fit as easily. For every 10 tries in my car, I succeeded 4 tries. The Friday night before my test I decided to give it another attempt. I was the only person in this parking lot, while all the other teenagers my age were enjoying their start to the weekend. I spent 2 hours, attempting 30 times total. I counted that I fitted in between line without tapping a barrel or the curb 12 times.

12 times.

I did not even park correctly 50% of the time.

This portion of the testing was the only area that I struggled with. I stopped for the allotted time at my stop signs, always stayed below the speed limit, let the pedestrians have the right of way. Yet, I still could not manage to fit my boat size of a car in between two sets of orange and white barrels.

Another try at the parallel parking was just another setup for failure. That is what exactly happened on every single test.

I pulled up next to the spot, used my right turn signal, put the car in reverse and started to cut the wheel. Backing in slowly I felt confident that I was going to get it right this time. I was wrong. I felt my right back tire tap the curb, which was allowed. I was not entirely sure if I had gone over the curb, but I finished parking anyway. The instructor exited the car, walked around to see if I was in the spot. I noticed her navy blue pants and bright pink top were not a great fashion choice, but I was not there to make judgements. She came back into the car, fasten her seatbelt and we drove out of the spot. I made sure to use my blinker, assuming she saw it without asking, I went on with the test.

I completed the rest of the test perfectly.

At least I thought I did.

I pulled into the designated drivers test blue parking spaces and waited to her my fate. She smiled, with her teeth as yellow as her necklace, and said that I have not passed due to neglect use of my blinker. I was livid. I felt my blood boiling.

The more vexing part of this whole situation was not that I was not able to always properly parallel park, it was some if the idiotic drivers that were out on the streets already. Some of them being twice my age, some were not even two months older or younger than me. I would constantly see other people speeding in school zones, running through red lights, ignoring stop signs. Especially talking on their cell phones.

Remembering all the incompetent drivers after I failed the test made me incredibly more livid than failing the test itself.

by stephen smith

Stephen Smith

Flowers bloom into beauty

Petals aflame with color

In time turn turn embers

And lost within the ground

To fuel a new flame

Back to the Past - By Kevin Kuszmaul

Humans have many similarities, and many differences, but I contained a special talent.. Kids all wondered what it could be like to travel in the past, but I could do it from a single touch. When I was around 8 years old I used to get a tingling sensation through my fingers when I touched pages on a book from the past. My body would get a sensation that was indescribable but a sensation I enjoyed. When I was younger I tested it before from books on the future and it has worked but and now as a 16 year old I am going to try something different. I am going to use the same method touching a page filled with words of the past to time travel to the past. The past always made me wonder what life without the 3 things I used the most would be like. I was a gamer with a growing youtube which I hoped to be my job so losing gaming would be a huge loss for me as well as computers. Without my computers I can not upload my videos, or do tons of things. People today tend to rely on the simplicities of life. Computers can do almost imaginable, and in some cases do things for you.

I always wondered what it'd be like without my technology. I then decided I can find out for myself. I grabbed my cell phone and snapped a picture of my computer and what my Playstation looked like to show someone from the past. I then reached under my bed and found a book from the 1940s. I also grabbed a book from 2016 and placed it on my lap so I would be able to transfer back. I flipped to a random page in the 1940s book closed my eyes and placed my finger on the page. After the immediate touch my body began to feel a tingling sensation come through my body. My heart began to pace faster. I was headed to the 1940s.

I closed my eyes and the tingling sensation began to rise from my finger to my whole hand and whole upper body. The sensation grew faster by the second. My heartbeat thumped faster than normal. I was actually going to the past.

I looked around. I was on a street of what looked to be from the past. People everywhere were having a conversation about anything, not with their heads down playing on their cell phones. I always heard that Libraries were the main place for people to gain information. I walked around for about 15 minutes and arrived towards the Library. In the Library spotted a few hundred people who looked to be kids of all ages and adults looking for school books Not a single computer was in sight. I could not believe that people back then had to go to libraries to get information when I can type in a question and find the answer in minutes. I did not see a single cell phone being used on the streets and on the library. Nobody was listening to music through headphones, or half ignoring the person trying to help finalizable there pay because they were on the phone. This generation has changed for the better and it is unbelievable. I could not believe that people today were okay with not being able to get information or be able to talk to people whenever or even play a simple video game to pass the time.

I walked up to the front desk where a lady worker stood.

“Excuse me where are your computers located at?” I asked

The lady looked at me like I was from the future or something

Except I was.

“What are you even talking about” she said back with a scowl.

I took a deep breath hoping when I told her the truth.

“Lady you may think I am crazy but libraries will not be as popular as they are now in 3 years.” In 3 years an invention called a computer will be made.

I pulled out my cell phone to show her a picture. This is a cell phone in 1973 you will have a cell phone which you can use to talk to anyone you please. The lady looked at me in awe and could not believe what she was hearing.

I showed her the picture of the computer and she instantly gasped.

“I caaa can’t believe this” she stammered.

I smiled at the lady and didn’t really know what else to say. Under my arm was a book from 2016. I reached out and touched my 2016 book and the tingling sensation began again. I was heading home from my short trip from the past. The sensation grew and my body shook from the tension from the shock. I looked around my room to see my computer and my video games. Everything was back to normal. I never learned so much from such a short trip.

Be grateful for everything that you have. People before you didn’t even know what it was like to have a computer or a cell phone or even a video game. No matter how bad a day is be thankful, it's the little things in life we all take for granted.

by stephen smith

Stephen Smith

Live one day at a time

See the sunrise and listen to the birds

Watch life unfold around you

Look to the sky and see the endless blue painted clouds, each one made before your eyes

Taste the air and breathe

Take a step and live.

By Katrina Gines

Rounds of built in machine guns fire off non stop, surrounding him. He feels the vibrations that rub off from the small plane onto his legs that lead up to his entire body. Another town, a thousand souls, so easily taken. “David, take them out.” a voice comes through the speaker right in front of him. “Yes, sir.” David replies. Time to do this again… another thousand lives, he thinks.

A few days later, with one foot in front of the next, he walked onto stage when his commanding officer called out his name. Blue suit, medals attached, back up straight, head up high, he walked onto the large stage hidden behind a blue velvet curtain. His head turned slightly to the left and he saw his beautiful wife standing in the crowd applauding him. “David Madson,” his commanding officer said through the microphone, “I present you with the USAF aeronautical badge, for serving your country well. Hopefully you’ll take pride in wearing these, and serve your country well for a little bit longer. Thank you, son.”

“Thank you so much. I promise I won’t let you down, sir.” David replied as his commanding officer placed the pin onto his right breast. David’s hand and his commanding officer’s hand grasped onto one another’s and shook up and down, while they looked towards the paparazzi who’s cameras were flashing a light as bright as the sun.

The next day he had to go back into war for another few weeks. After the ceremony, he went back to his beautiful, small two bedroom house with his wife. They spent the whole night together, and when the sun rose the next morning, she kissed him goodbye as he headed back to go off into war. As a few weeks went by, the President of the United States allowed some of the troops to come home. David was in one of those few selected troops.

As he watched the white clouds pass through the wings of the airplane on the way back to Austin, Texas, David decided to surprise his wife. When he got off the airplane, he took out his cell phone and dialed a number. As he walked outside, a yellow taxi drove up. “David Madson?” the taxi driver called out.

“Yes! That’s me!” David replied.

The taxi driver stepped out of the vehicle and searched David. The short, rugged man, recognized the pin on the man’s suit. He stood up straight, held his head up high, looked the man straight in the eye, and said, “Thank you sir for serving our country. It is an honor to be assisting you today.” David’s eyebrows rose. Still not used to this, he replied, “Thank you, sir.” The short taxi driver leaped for David’s luggage and gently tossed it into the trunk of the taxi. He rushed over to the door, and held it open for David to go inside. Once he was inside, the taxi driver closed the door, ran to the driver’s seat, and started the car.

Before stopping at his house, David decided to stop at the closest grocery store to get his wife’s favorite chocolates and a few dozen roses.

As David walked through the wooden door entering his home, he searched for his wife. After searching around the first floor along with the basement, David decided to head upstairs. He slowly crept up one carpeted step after another, getting closer and closer to the second floor. Once he was up there, he turned to his right and headed down the long, empty hallway that had seemed almost unrecognizable to him. He heard a noise.... it was coming from his bedroom. He stopped right in front of the white painted wooden door, knowing what was about to happen, but he wasn’t ready for it. He extended his right arm, grasped the silver handle on the door, and slowly started to turn it. As the door creaked open, he saw what he never thought he would’ve seen before… He dropped the dozens of roses he had gotten for his wife, along with the box of chocolates. The box thumped onto the wooden floor, the lid fell off, and each separate chocolate fell out onto the floor, making it’s own separate thump.

“David? David! Wait! Come back! It’s not what it looks like!” his wife yelled after him, but she was too late. David was already walking down the ever-winding road to the closest bar. It’s called The Barista. Shot after shot, the strong liquor slides down his throat, making it’s way down to his stomach. By the next morning, his vision was blurry, and his hearing became foggy. He couldn’t think clearly, was getting bad thoughts in his head of doing terrible things. For a while, he tried as hard as he could to push those thoughts away, but they just kept becoming worse.

About four hours later, he snapped. While he knew his wife would be at work, he snuck into his house, and grabbed the gun he had hanging up on the wall. Before, he had never planned on using it unless if someone broke in, but now, he had what seemed to be a good reason in his mind. David walked out to his dirty and moss covered garage, and lifted up the door. Inside, he had his favorite vehicle that he had never used, but he was planning on taking a little ride in it today.

In the center of town was a restaurant that was very popular at dinner time, which meant that nobody was going to be there around lunch time. David parked his car across the street from the small restaurant, unable to think clearly. When the coast was clear, he stepped out of the car, gun in hand, and walked into the restaurant.

He opened the glass door, and he didn’t focus on anything except for finding the man that his wife was with the night he got back.

“David?” his wife said when she saw him walk into the restaurant. “David. What are you doing with a gun?” she said with a crack in her voice. He didn’t pay any attention to her.

Soon he found the man in a back room, and without even thinking about it, he pulled the trigger targeted at the man’s chest. David’s wife came running into the room of which her husband was in. Having heard the loud bang of a gunshot, she knew what her husband had done. She started pounding her fists to David’s chest, tears slowly exiting her blue eyes, bewildered by what her husband had just done. David felt nothing. No sadness, no shock, no guilt, nothing. His wife looked him in the eyes, and screamed, “You’re a monster!”

“No,” he said. “You’re the monster.” as he pulled the trigger once more.

by stephen smith

Clear white days pass by

Thoughts are formed

Ideas others don't have

Others tell of golden days

Of laughter and of love

Of feelings steeped with joy

The broken clock ticks on

And waits for days that never come

Rust covers gears

As clocks nearby are polished and cleaned

What rust may be is stripped only by turning gears and passing pendulums

Missing parts in broken clocks are hardly ever noticed

While the clock ticks on, rotting and waiting

But knows not what for.

Jump - By Mike McAndrew

“Don’t you won’t make it!”

“I have to it’s the only way across.”

As fast as I could I ran down the hill and leaped over the chasm.

“FAILURE”, flashed across the screen in big red letters.

“Darn it! I thought I had it.”

“Don’t worry dude maybe tomorrow.”

I wasn’t the happiest guy to say the least. Most of my time was spent on the computer. This wasn’t any ordinary computer though. It was erected from old MacBook and IPad parts.

Being twenty seven and building my own computer at thirteen. It made me happy. Even though the only sunshine I saw was slotted and dull.

I wanted to go outside today. The sun was bright and there was a park across the street.

When I got there, I was disappointed. Dead trees were scattered everywhere. The swing only had one chain and the other drug across the ground. The saddest of all was the slide. It only had one half. Kids were still having fun though.

They would climb the chain and see who could hang on the longest. When they came down their hands were a brownish orange.

This is not safe, I thought.

So I didn’t have to see it I walked back across the street. When I got in the door I started to plan on how to fix it.

I booted up my computer to look for parts. I found a brand new slide and swing set for only two hundred. Looking farther I found a jungle gym for one hundred.

I ordered all three. They would be here in a week.

***

It was eight thirty p.m. when they arrived. I asked the delivery guys if they would help me set them up.

“We wouldn’t be happier.”

Four hours later they left. All of the new equipment was up and ready for the next day.

I fell asleep happy that night.

The alarm went off at nine o’clock. As I got out of bed I could hear shrills of joy. When I looked out the window there was twice as many kids as usual.

All enjoying the new things that had mysteriously appeared overnight.

The dead trees were gone and the sun shone on the happy little park.

Finally I was able to walk through with a smile on his face. I made a choice to make that a daily routine. Every day I would walk I was happier and happier. I started to spend less time on my computer and more time outside. I loved the sun and how it warmed my face under the canopy of trees.

I extended my walks to farther than the park and started to walk around the town. It was the kind of town you would see in a television show. Everybody knew each other’s names and they were all friendly. All they knew about me though was that I liked to sit in my house and do nothing.

I hadn’t been to that part in years so they didn’t know I even still lived there anymore. Well two months after the park was rebuilt they were reminded of me. I walked through the town every single day for three years and knew every person’s name, and they all knew mine.

I never knew what true happiness was until I started to take my daily walks.

Ever since that day I have never seen the glass as half empty, it has always been half full.

by stephen smith

Once we were friends.

But now cold dark nights are spent alone.

Ideas drove us apart,

And hate filled the gap,

Laughter and cheer are now faded memories

Replaced by tears.

Tables for two, now half filled tell stories words could not.

Hearts broken, now bleed, as we think on what was lost

Do you feel sorry too?

Once we were friends.

A King with No Enemies - By Alair diremigio

My father had a clock shop, but not many customers. He and I would often spend our days in peace, with only monotonous ticking breaking the silence. Such a remote place didn’t seem to have a need for any self-defense measures. In an age where one could check the time with a mere press of a button, clock theft seemed arbitrary.

My father himself was much like the shop: worn down, unvisited, and overall rather empty. Nonetheless, his craft kept him busy and I never heard complaints from the man. The dusty old place was his sanctuary, and hypothetically he would’ve done anything to protect its wooden riches. Sometimes it seemed he treasured them more than me.

On one rainy Saturday, the place felt especially dismal. Distracted by the calming tapping upon the roof, I was startled by my father’s sudden request.

“Hey, Alair,” he barked from his desk, ceasing the winding of gears. “Watch the shop for a bit. Gotta use the toilet.”

“Sure,” I replied eagerly. Under such boring circumstances, something as simple as holding the fort was exciting for me. I dashed around to the back, which was where all the technicalities occurred. Jumping up to my father’s seat, I felt ten feet taller. His clocks, desk, and myriad of tools were all in my sights – it was like gazing from a royal throne.

Several minutes passed, and my childish impatience kicked in. I jumped down from the watch post. It’s not like anyone will actually come, I thought, taking one last glance at the beaded door. My old man must’ve had an unfavorable lunch, as his absence gave me plenty of time to explore the back. Countless cardboard boxes with incomprehensible labels were stacked in surplus. The tools, rusted from years of expertise, made me ponder their purposes. However, what truly grasped my attention was found behind an assorted group of older clocks – it was a small blue box, unlike the others. Something so intricately hidden must’ve been important, I concluded. With attempted subtlety I removed the box from its crevice. Curiosity swallowed my consideration as I carefully removed the lid to reveal its contents.

Inside laid a pistol.

Black and sleek, it appeared to be unused, which was relieving enough. While one question had been answered, another formed in my mind: Why did my father have a gun in his cruddy little clock shop? Sure, the geezer was harsh sometimes, but he’d never use violence, let alone that. Just holding such a device coated my palms in sweat. Before I could even swallow such an idea, the bathroom door creaked. Oh no.

The towering man emerged from the room as I shoved the box lid back on. There was no use in secrecy, however – his face said it all.

“I’m sorry!” I choked out, with all the diction of a baby bird. But he wasn’t mad, nor was his mouth agape anymore.

He kneeled beside me, lifting the box from my hands. With a grunt, he slid a clock aside and secured the box behind it.

“Dad,” I began, “Why do you have that?” I stared at the man in a new light. He looked back to me, now with a solemn expression.

“Well,” he said, struggling to piece together his reason. “It’s just my, ahh, my little safeguard. Don’t worry, though.” He stood, gazing at the barren parking lot. “At this rate, I’ll never hafta use it.”

A smile stretched across his wrinkled face as he resumed his throne. No one came to the shop that day.

Coffee With Cream - by Julia Smith

Black obsidian irises,

Gleaming from the moon set high in the night sky.

Hazel orbs,

Glinting with bits of the sun and iotas of emerald.

Caramel skin against cream,

Colliding to make a delicious contrast.

Wisps of steam curl,

As do curious toes and inquisitive fingers.

Hands are held,

Across the crisp, porcelain cup.

Lips are touched,

The incandescence quickly spreads.

Into their bellies,

Warming and waking the butterflies inside.

Black obsidian irises,

Brighten from the sun setting in front of them.

Hazel orbs,

Twinkle from the moon set high in the night sky.

The Escape to Forever Land - Jordan Slaughter

Come here little child, into this world of light and harmony where you are always protected. Stray from the path of the corrupt and open the door. Yes, that wooden door to which you gave no second glance. The sunlight trickles down on it and the light brown wood appears golden. It sits, slanting into the hill surrounding it, still waiting for its old timber mouth to be opened and for someone to be engulfed into its stomach. Leave behind the world you once knew and come into ours. Where there was once darkness in your life, there is now only light.

Charlotte opened the door. The cold wooden handle seemed to tremble under her touch in anticipation, but for what she did not know. Maybe I should go back to Mommy, she thought, but the faintest sliver of violet behind the door piqued the five year olds interest immediately. Behind the door a magnificent violet color shone, blinding Charlotte, but also bringing a comforting warmth upon her.

“Come here Charlotte,” a soft female voice behind the door sang out to her. The child could not resist. The voice was too sweet and by this point her curiosity made her blind to the situation. Charlotte took one more look behind her, regarding the world she was about to leave and thinking. She nodded to herself, well it will only be for a little while and I don’t want to go back to Mommy right now after she drank that bad smelling juice. She’ll find me before dinner time. With that, she walked into the light.

A lengthy oak stairwell was placed behind the door leading down to the unknown. Charlotte gave no second thought and proceeded to skip down the stairs with a grin on her freckled face. All Charlotte could do was smile and hum gently to herself.

“Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down,” she hummed over and over again as she proceeded her way down, finally reaching the bottom.

She carefully stepped onto the purple, pillow-like grass, fearing the first touch of it on her feet as though it would be fire. Her eyes wandered around the mystical forest that surrounded her. Grass went on for as far as the eyes could see and trees-- spotted with violets on their branches-- were aiming at incredible heights in the sky with little animals scurrying around them. The fragrance of the air was so sweet and the hint of honey tickled her nose. The soft sea-breeze wind seemed to be humming her favorite tune and Charlotte smiled in pleasure. This place was so unlike the siren-filled, trashy neighborhood she was used to.

“Oh, Charlotte it’s about time you got here darling!” The same soothing voice exclaimed, but she was nowhere in sight. Charlotte spun around and around, seeing nothing but the beauty that swathed her.

“Where are you?” Charlotte cried out.

“In front of you silly,” the voice chuckled. Charlotte stopped moving and looked right in front of her at the small being that hung in the air before her. The woman was not over seven inches and everything about her screamed small from her tiny pointy nose to her delicate tiny hands, but oh was she gorgeous; her very essence glowed. Her blood-red hair hung beyond the point of her backside and she wore a sprinkled ember green dress, matching the color of her eyes. What caught Charlotte’s eyes the most was the fact the little woman had wings like that of a butterfly. They reached far over the point of the woman’s head and they were colored a bright crystal blue.

“What’s your name and why do you have wings?” Charlotte giggled. “I don’t have them and neither does Mommy.”

“My name is Meredith and it’s just the way of my people. This is how we were born. You and I are two different kinds of beings, Charlotte, but that’s okay. We are going to be the best of friends.”

“Oh, I’d like that. Then I could tell Mary-Lewis and Mary-Beth that I’m friends with a person who has wings and they don’t. Maybe then they wouldn’t call me mean names and lock me in the girl’s bathroom.”

“Oh Charlotte,” the little woman said. “Here no one will be mean to you. Only happiness will torment you, my darling, from here on out. Okay? Now take my hand we are going on an adventure.”

The girl took her hand and on touch she instantly shrunk like the women. She giggled in the happiness of being tiny and thought, wow, if only the Marys could see me now. The little woman held tight onto Charlotte and they flew deeper into the world of magic.

Throughout the whole flight Charlotte smiled and hummed. The woman took her on a tour of the little majestic world. They saw things Charlotte only dreamed of. Charlotte and the woman flew through small villages that were placed on the body of trees and homes to friendly gnomes that had miniature unicorns and griffins as pets. The pets joined them in the air and rubbed up against Charlotte, caressing her. Together they visited a large pond that radiated with life in and around it. It was a majestic pond that was a light purple color and was so clear the bottom could be seen. Little fish and nymphs swam in its beauty and trees covered the pond, shielding it off from everything else.

“Hey Charlotte wanna do something fun?” Meredith said.

Charlotte nodded even though she was already having the time of her life. With the acceptance, the woman let go of Charlotte’s hand and dropped her in the pond.

Water enclosed around Charlotte, but she was not panicked. The touch reminded her of the strong male arms that used to embrace her. So unlike the harsh touches of her mother after a few drinks. The water was at such a perfect temperature and brought such a calming sensation to the little girl. Her clothes clung to her tiny body and fish swam to her and tickled her nose. Finally, coming up for air she looked to the sky, seeing the woman smiling down at her.

“Will you not come down and play too?” Charlotte questioned.

“No, this is all you,” smiled Meredith. “Have fun.”

With that Charlotte played her little heart out for the rest of the afternoon in the pond, smiling and humming the whole time.

Later that day, Meredith and Charlotte lay on the soft grass looking out into the vast forest. All was quiet and still in the small utopia and all that could faintly be heard was the humming of Charlotte’s soft song. “Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.”

“Is that your favorite song?” The woman said looking over at Charlotte with her wings encasing her tiny body in a cocoon.

Charlotte had to think about that question for a second. She prodded her mind thinking about the answer. “Yes, ever since I can remember I’ve always known it and sung it to myself. I remember a man singing it to me when I was a baby. But those could just be dreams. That’s what Mommy says anyway; that I can’t remember that kind of stuff. But I remember him rocking me in his arms and singing that song all of the time.”

The woman only smiled sadly in response as if she knew something Charlotte did not and looked out into the small world again. “Oh child,” she said in a small voice. “The world is a beautiful place, but beauty is danger. Here you will never have to fear anything and you can come here anytime you want. One day you will be here forever. Would you like that?”

“Oh yes,” Charlotte smiled. “I would love that very much.”

“Then it will be so.” The woman smiled happily and reached over, pulling Charlotte into her embrace. “Now sleep child. We’ll have more fun tomorrow night.”

“But I don’t wanna yet,” though even as she said it the child had begun to drift off. Hums of Ring around the Rosy clouded her mind and warm hands shook her awake.

* * * *

“Charlotte, honey, wake up. You’re talking in your sleep again,” Charlotte’s mom rocked her gently awake.

“Oh Mommy, I had the greatest dream tonight!” Charlotte exclaimed.

“Really, baby girl? The same dream that had the little woman with wings?”

“Yeah, but oh, this time she took me to a pond and we played with fishes. We also talked about the man that we talk about sometimes.”

“Oh really?” A sad look crossed her mother’s face, but left quickly leaving no trace it was ever there. Her mom lay next to her on her small bed. “Want to tell me the whole story?”

Charlotte took a deep breath not knowing where to begin and smiled, excited to recount the night she had in the mystical forest. “Well there was a door…”

Buttered Toast - BY JULIA SMITH

The coffee shop was always a place of constant existence.

In the break of dawn, it was home to late-night party-goers,

Smudged makeup on their wilted napkins,

And 5:00 AM businessmen heading into the city.

Lunch time comes around,

The air fills with boisterous laughter of children,

And the gossip of housewives.

By night, the lights of the city reflect through the spotted windows,

Casting a bluish glow over the coffee-stained booths and torn, red stools.

Throughout the changing of the day, I sit here,

With my dollar cup of coffee and buttered toast,

And an old, yellowing novel in my hands,

Letting the days, months, years, blow away,

Like the curling, gray steam of my coffee cup.

Hospital Gown - By Brandon Saul

Entering the room, Jake saw his old man lying in pain. He could tell he was trying hard to turn his neck and look at him, but he couldn’t. Jake walked over to him and stretched his arms softly around him.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise.” Jake gave him a big smile hoping he’d smile back at him. Unfortunately, all he got was a stare. Jake felt pity for him he didn’t deserve to be lying on some hospital bed.

“I got you some flowers… I, uh, should probably go now, though. I’ll leave them beside you.” Jake left the room and made his way out of the hospital. He found his car in the parking garage and started it up. For a while he just sat there with the car running. Tears ran down his face as he beat his clenched fists on the dashboard.

“Dammit! WHY ME!?” Jake soon realized just how long he was sitting there with the car on; the parking bill would probably a bit higher than Jake’s usual visits. He pulled up to the window and handed the person his ticket.

“That’ll be thirteen dollars, please.” The young woman held her hand waiting for him to hand her the money. Jake pulled eleven dollars from his pocket and handed it to her as he dug in his glove department for two more dollars. Luckily, there was two dollar in change.

“Thank you, have a good day.” She then opened the gates and Jake made his way out of the hospital area.

Jake, came back to an empty house as he usually did, he threw the keys on the kitchen counter and slammed himself in to the couch. Then the phone started to ring, it was his so called friend. In reality it was just someone who helped him get his mind off the pain in his life, but really it wasn’t helping. He just thought that it helped because it was pleasuring.

He picked up the phone and she spoke.

“Hey, mind if I come over? I saw you driving past my house so I’m assuming you were visiting your old man.” She only lived two blocks from him and he would pass her house every time he’d be going visit his old man. The only other thing he’d do than go to the hospital is going to the market which was the opposite way.

“No, I don’t mind at all. Please come over.” She then responded saying she’d be over in ten minutes. She was always on time, the ten minutes passed by and she was knocking at the door.

They started talking and then led into the usual kissing and other things, but this time they were stopped.

The phone was ringing, it was the hospital. He gave a scared look to his friend and walked over to the phone and picked it up.

“H-hello?” Jake said while his body trembled.

“This is Jake correct?” His heart then sunk, he already knew what she was going to say. Before she could speak another word, he spoke.

“I’m on my way…” Jake knew it was already obvious he wasn’t going to make it another day in the condition he was in. He kicked his friend out of the house and made his way back to the hospital. Jake parked in one of the workers preserved parking spaces since he was in a rush. He ran into the hospital and up the steps and past the check-in counter.

When Jake entered my old man’s room there was nothing but a body drained of its beautiful color and the matching hospital gown. He’d never see those beautiful eyes again. The person who was there for him from the beginning just exited his life. That’s when he realized he was really all alone. This was Jake’s first experience with death since his mom died when he was little. Jake didn’t have any idea where to go with his life now.

Just Think About It… - By julia smith

Just think about it,

We are distinguished by color, but we are not paintings.

We are supposed to be equal, but the scale is tipped.

We have the rights, until we are told they are wrong.

We say, “green is good”, but only when talking about money.

We fill the air with toxins, in hope of making a buck or two.

We stuff magazines with tabloids, instead of real news.

We applaud commercial popstars, more than soldiers overseas.

We are expected to be perfect, but we are all terribly flawed.

Just think about it.

The Dancer - By Jordan Slaughter

Everyone was staring at him. He was like a new exotic animal brought into a petting zoo except this one was a strictly no touch zone. Imaginary caution signs surrounded him, but that did not stop the curious glares. Even the teachers were looking at him probably hoping he did not end up in one of their classes. No one wanted to be teaching a freak. Just—the new kid—sat in my study hall period, alone, oblivious to everything prying eye on him.

No one should have to endure that, I thought, even if they are unaware of what was going on. People do not have the right of judging someone for whom they don’t know. The people who claimed to be nice, unjudging, and uncaring of what a person does with their life, pointed and snickered at him like he wasn’t even human.

A group of jerky sophomore boys did not even try to hide the fact they were pestering him. They were as loud and obnoxious as ever as they motioned and cackled towards him. The group went as far as to relocate themselves to the table right next to him. The adults looked away from the boys and looked to the screens in front of them. NO MORE BULLYING, the signs around school say, but this moment didn’t count right? It was just a once in a while thing.

“Hey Justin, how’s Scum Valley treatin’ ya’ pal?” a hefty boy in the group asked.

“It’s ‘ight. The teachers really drawl though and some of the kids here are weirdoes,” Justin responded and moved closer to them.

Wrong move.

Wicked grins crossed all of the boy’s faces. He walked right into their cave with a smile on his face. They turned their backs to him and began to huddle with each other and conversed quietly. This would not end well and no one looked ready to do anything. Justin did not have the best reputation and he was not an ideal school student, but no one deserved to be treated like trash. It was not fair.

In my mind everyone is equal and perfect. Every single decision one chooses was already meant for them to choose. Basically, I believe that everything was made to happen for a reason and that reason has been planned out. Due to this thought, I believe that no one person has the right to judge another’s actions no matter how much someone disagrees with them.

No human deserves to be treated unequally. Death is inevitable. The road to death although long, is unchanging and we all are headed there, so why make someone’s road bumpy? No matter how different one is they have the right to be as equal as any “normal” man or woman.

I stood. Actions spoke louder than words. Anyone could sit around thinking they would help this poor kid another day is they say it happened again, but it was another thing to be that person who got up right away and put a stop to the torment. Walking over to the table, I felt everyone’s eye follow my movement. In the background I even heard my friend Ash ask someone what I was doing. The idea of social status and popularity meant nothing to me especially if it meant on that way to a higher level you would have to push down others.

“Hey guys,” I playfully grinned at the annoying boys, I would like to think my eyes said something else at that moment. “Hey Justin,” I sat in between the group and the boy, blocking him from the groups view. “My name is Jo,” Smiling a real smile, I held out my hand.

by stephen smith

In many masks we make our lives

We build ourselves with little lies

Days turn years turn decades turn lives

Each of hiding what's hidden inside

But if we're all liars, what do we have to hide?

Simple thought can betray us

Each of us an imposter

But if hiding is this, what would freedom foster?

by morgan ruggieri

The last image I saw was a blurry rope, as I silently slipped off the chair. Slowly falling deeper and deeper into my sleep, a beaming white light began to shine in my direction. As I got closer to the light, I finally ended up in front of a tall wooden door, that towered over me. Hesitantly turning the splintery handle, I was Immediately overwhelmed by an overpowering aroma of the smell of freshly baked cookies.

I followed the scent to 'a small bridge, which under it, had an even tinier hut. It spewed red and green lights from the tiny windows, and sparkled marvelously as I reached down and opened up the tiny door, only to reveal something I never would have expected. I saw a younger much happier kid, baking cookies with her mother.

They threw the cookie dough around, laughing the whole time, both of their eyes glistened as they sang christmas songs into their batter covered spoons, until the door shut and broke my gaze. Continuing my journey, I came across a sunlight bridge, barely casting any shade on the surface. As soon as my one foot laid against the stained wood, I felt a rush of sweet memories clog my brain.I saw my parents, they were in the hospital.

My mother spoke, with her subtle sweet tone, but I could no make out what she was saying. The doctors came to her with a pink blanket swindled in his arms. I've never seen my mother like that, her smile went from ear to ear, as she stroked the blanket gently with the tip of her index finger. An oppressive set of emotions began to stir in my stomach, causing a gut wrenching feeling of regret and sadness. I drug my feet across the dirt filled path, until it led me to a fence made out of raggedy old sticks, which resemble a beavers lodge. Inside of this beautiful fence, was what looked like a picnic table,made of logs and branches. I sat upon the logs, when I was caught in a whirlpool of emotions yet again, but this time they were darker. My brother sat upon the plaid tablecloth, sipping his apple juice and chewing his food, when he began coughing hysterically. He held his throat as his face turned blue, his arms flailed in the air trying to seek help. I ran inside and screamed for my parents at the top of my lungs, but it was too late, By the time my parents had gotten out back to him, he was lying on the ground, “sleeping” as my mom told me.

My feet tripped over themselves, I was eating my hair, but it all that mattered was replacing that awful memory with another. I slid across the dirt path after tripping over what I thought was an animal, but after further examination, It seems I had tripped over a little gnome. This time, I pictured myself, in my middle school years. I was the youngest and not to mention, the smallest, in my grade. I would always let people walk all over me especially the popular kids, and I always regret not standing up for myself. I cringe my body while trying to wipe away an awful memory, Finally, I see a set of stairs, leading nowhere. I crawl up them, taking my time on each individual step. I finally reach the top, and I am sucked backwards with such force, the wind in my lungs is forced out of me, and i'm thrown out of the familiar wooden door where I entered.

The light gets continuously smaller now, until I am in complete darkness. SNAP I am awake, but where am I? Machines beep next to me as if a timer is about to go off, and I see my parents enter. They hug and kiss me, as their tears fall onto my gown; I try to tell them my experience but words cannot spill out of my mouth fast enough. I had finally realized that this was god’s way of telling me that it wasn't my time.

by stephen smith

Stephen Smith

Security brings protection

And in it, safety

With freedom comes choice,

As well as danger

But I would rather kiss the heavens and plunge to the earth

Than to never have tasted of freedom

The runaway tattletale - by SIENNA NOVELL

Bob was a runaway tattletale who wanted to escape from town, after the word got out that he was snitching on everyone. His friends started calling him a rat. Being called names still didn’t stop Bob, and even his family realized that he told every little thing people did, including problems that happened in their home.

One incident that happened about eight months ago was his sister Shiann would often come home and complain about some of her teachers. Most of the problems she had were really minor ones. Bob would go out of his way, to tell on his sister to the different teachers. His father was so mad about what he did to his sister that Bob was grounded for two weeks.

Even after a detail discussion, from his parents, he continued to tell other individuals problems and earned the nickname “spying snitch”. One day he told all his friends that he wanted to be a cop,they all laughed and his best friend George, told him of the nickname that people gave him. George went on to explain that some of his friends knew he was the person telling tales. Bob even told tales to George’s girlfriend.

This made Bob feel bad, he would walk by people, and they often pointed and called him names but he didn’t care what anyone thought of him. One spring evening, he decided to take a walk, Bob noticed a bumper sticker that read “what you do on your own - shows your character”. A second bumper sticker was printed in large bold letters “What people think of you is none of your business” Bob pulled out his phone and took a picture of both bumper stickers. The words fascinated him. He kept reading them over and over, Finally a women asked in a harsh tone “Why are you taking pictures of my car”? He told the women, he loved the comments, and did not want to forget what he saw. By this time, traffic started to get heavy and several drivers were impatient, by blowing their horns, and even yelling out of their windows.

Several days later, the tattletale, was waiting on the corner, for a taxi cab. As Bob entered the cab, he dropped his phone, and quickly picked it up and while closing the door the taxi driver asked where he wanted to go, but Bob didn’t answer, so the driver turned around , but did not see him. The driver pulled over to the nearest curb, got out, and opened the door to notice Bob crying. “Are you okay?” “What’s wrong?” “Did something happen?” “Should I call the rescue squad?” Bob lifted his head and said he was fine.” Are you sure?” Asked the driver, Bob then explained his story of how he is known as the “spying snitch”, and how everyone makes fun of him but he explained how he didn’t care. He explained about the two bumper stickers that meant something to him, but when he dropped his phone, it cracked, and doesn’t work anymore. He went on to explain, that only bad things happen to him. He just wanted to ride around town to pass some time.

Next to the train was a phone store, and the salesperson told him he could repair his phone but it would take at least two hours. “I don’t mind, I’ll just wait here” Bob replied. He ended up falling asleep. He woke up only ten minutes before his phone was fixed.

After the repair was completed, he walked around the neighborhood he never been in, but heard of. As he was walking a guy approached him and started having a conversation, the man introduced himself as Shawn. They talked for a good hour since Bob felt at ease, so they decided to walk together. After around twenty minutes, another man approached both individuals; the strangers stopped in front of Bob and asked him for his phone. Bob told him the phone was dead, but the stranger pointed a gun at his head, so he turned to run but the man he was walking with blocked him; Bob realized he was being set up by both individuals. The gunman pulled the trigger, and Bob fell to the ground. Within minutes, police and rescue squads were on scene, and he was taken to the hospital. It was more than a month before he left the hospital. The only friend that took the time to visit him was George. Bob was questioned several times by the police department. One of the detectives told Bob that they have a suspect, and they were looking for a man by the name of Shawn Murphy.

After Bob recovered, he told the police department, who pulled the trigger. When he was well enough, Bob left the hospital, and went looking for Shawn, who set him up. He caught up with him, however Shawn told him, “I’m not a snitch, and snitches get stitches”. Bob went back home, instead of calling the police to get Shawn, and he realized how he was treating people and did not like himself. Bob apologized to everyone he ever snitched on and explained his story of what happened; he said he is not going to tattletale again.

Stacie Preuhs

On the first day of Kindergarten, every student was asked to bring something in for show and tell. When I was little, I was completely attached to this zebra stuffed animal and that’s what I chose to bring in.

I noticed a girl in my class who had bright orange hair. Too shy to approach her, I kept my distance and admired the stuffed dog she carried with her from afar.

That day at recess she came up to me at recess and we became best friends after bonding over our stuffed animals.

Another friend came into my life later on. We didn’t figure out that we lived right around the corner from each other until third grade, and that’s what made our friendship blossom.

Kelsey and I had an everyday routine of going on the swings at recess and screaming Hannah Montana lyrics at the top of our lungs. After that we would find “treasure”, a rock or stick of some sort, and bury it in the tire chips so that no one could find it. I wonder how many kids stared at us and thought we were strange. We just let our imaginations take us wherever we wanted to go and we always played outside.

We loved to talk about our dreams and to explore the world around us.

All of these friendships had one thing in common.

We didn’t need any technology to bond and our friendship didn’t revolve around a cell phone or some kind of gadget. Not until we were in middle school did we start to use social media, which usually led to drama. I used to get mad at my mom for not letting me have a cellphone in middle school, but now I’m grateful that she didn’t let me.

I have noticed in my own life that the friendships I’ve made recently have all revolved around a cell phone. I feel that I have a deeper, more personal and real relationship with the friends I’ve made from actually speaking to one another.

My childhood was a much simpler time and I think there’s something we can all learn from our own lives before technology took over.

I miss the times we had meaningful conversations face to face, but now people would rather discuss it in a group text. To avoid social interaction, we stare at our phones and try to act busy. We have hundreds of friends on Facebook, yet we don’t actually know most of them.

Instead of being fully engrossed in technology, take in the world around you and be present in the moment. You never know what you might be missing. Perhaps, I wouldn’t have the strong relationships that I have now, if I was consumed by technology in my childhood.

As we once did as children who were free of technology, let your imagination guide you through life and use it in your relationships with others.

by carly bondrowski

My face was inches from the slab of concrete on the ground. I hit the ground with a splat. An ear shattering wail left my mouth. I wasn’t even sure my legs were still attached to my body.

“Why did I think this was a good idea to jump?” I thought to myself.

I had just wanted to do what all my friends were doing and jump from the 2 foot high wall. They all jumped and landed gracefully on two feet. Then wandered off to get in the pool.

They waited for me by the edge. All eyes on me, I jumped from the wall. This would become the biggest regret of my life at the time.

I slammed the ground with all the force I had just jumped from the wall with. My best friend, who I also hadn’t seen all summer, was sitting on the bench and couldn’t help but laugh with our friends.

Without even thinking, my dad was running towards me to get me help. He was running as if he had seen a fire and there was someone who desperately needed help. My dad was the only one who had gotten up to help me. He came over scooped me up and carried me all the way back up the stairs to a first aid office.

The lifeguard on duty happened to be Meghan, someone I had grown up with making her like an older sister to me. She looked at the big mess I was sitting in the first aid office and just laughed.

“What could you possibly have done to do this much damage to your knee?” She asked me as she wiped the trickling blood off my legs.

Just as quickly as I had fallen, she had wrapped my whole knee up to make sure there was pressure and no blood was trickling anymore.

I stood up and walked across the top deck at the rate of a turtle. The pain shot through my legs with every step. As I hobbled down the stairs, my friends, still on the bench, started to giggle to themselves.

“It’s not funny. How would you like it if it happened to you?” I yelled to them.

That only made them laugh harder. On the inside, I was screaming for help but on the outside I decided to laugh along.

After they were done laughing, we jumped in the pool and enjoyed the rest of the night at the pool.

People still talk about the fall and the acts after it. Now that it’s over, the story sounds funnier than it did the day it happened.

To this day, the memory of that day is engraved in my brain. I learned to always get up and carry on with your pain. Never let someone else tell you that you don’t feel what you do.

Do You Remember? - by Jaime Simmons

He felt vaguely uneasy, restless. The dark sky cast an eerie loneliness in the city streets. Although it was late, he felt the need to escape from his empty apartment for a while.

Rounding a corner, he came upon an obscure little diner, one he had lived near his whole life, but he never noticed until now. That's New York: a big vibrant city, full of small neighborhoods and little Mom-and-Pop places like this one. He ducked into the diner, surprised at how bright the fluorescent lighting was, cutting through the dark night like a sharp blade. He slid onto a stool at the end of the counter. As he did, a young blonde waiter appeared from the kitchen behind him.

"What can I get you, sir?"

"Hamburger, plain ," said the man. "Oh, and a cup of coffee too. Black."

"Want me to bring you some sugar? " asked the young man.

"No, I'll just take it black, thank you."

After a very few minutes, the waiter placed a platter with the burger in front of him, along with a steaming cup of black coffee. The man paused for a bit and glanced at the young man, obviously new on the job, and said.

"You seem like an ambitious hard- working kid to be taking on a job like this late at night. May I ask your name?"

"Dante."

"Well, Dante, I hope you do well!"

Waiting for his coffee to cool down, the man glanced around the brightly lit room, observing the clean floors, spotless booths. He took an occasional sip as his coffee cooled.

When a blast of cold air interrupted his silent observations, he turned his head to see a young couple, faces flushed, tumbling into the diner. The man was clinging to the woman, intent on keeping her safe in the dark of the night. When he released her arm, the impression of his hand remained on her jacket. The man's coffee was cool enough to drink, and he did so as he watched the couple over the rim of his cup. He couldn't help but stare at them, wondering how the two of them found each other, and how they came to be at this particular place. He took a few bites of his dry burger, but couldn't resist engaging them in conversation any longer.

"Hi there folks. Pretty late. If I may ask, what is such a young couple doing in a place like this so late at night? Or I should say, morning, by now."

“We’re actually supposed to be on our honeymoon but as soon as we entered New York, our navigation malfunctioned and we didn’t want to risk getting lost even though it’s a little too late for that. We found this diner and even though it would be wonderful to be in Atlantic City spending our money, were happy just to be together.”

The man rolled his bloodshot eyes and let out a breathless sigh that was intentionally noticeable.

The man wasn't trying to be mean, but he felt that love never lasts, and that in the end, you are always alone. He found the actual concept of love endlessly intriguing, but no, not for him. Definitely not for him.

The couple ordered quickly, and feeling uncomfortable under the judgment of the stranger they just met, ate quickly, paid their bill, and disappeared into the cold night.

The man sighed, swallowed the last bite of his now-cold burger, and lit a cigarette.

Once again in his own world, misty thoughts swirled around in his mind like the smoke that curled from his cigarette. Hazy thoughts surfaced from the deep recesses of his memory. Images of a young woman, of sunny, happy days, that he tried so hard to stuff way, way into the depths of his brain. He stubbed out his cigarette, and shook his head, bringing him back to the present.

"Hey, I'm really hungry!"

The young counter man reappeared from the kitchen.

"Can I get you anything, sir?"

"Yes. I'm starved. Bring me a burger with everything on it. Load it up with onions and tomatoes. Oh, and a cup of coffee, extra cream and sugar."

The young waiter was staring at him, thinking this was a most odd change. A thought flashed through his mind that he should keep an eye on this guy.

"You seem like an ambitious, hard- working kid to be taking on a job this late at night. May I ask your name?"

"Uh..Dante, like I said before." Now the counterman was become alarmed at this exchange and strange turn of events.

"Nope, afraid not," said the man. “Never saw you before. Please take away this stinky ashtray. Don't you hate it when people smoke?”

"Oh, and bring me more sugar. I can't live without the sweet."

The Loner - by Morgan Ruggieri

“Go Away.” Audrey dropped her head, and clutched the latest edition of “The Demon Trials.”

Heavy screams roared into her earbuds, drawing all eyes towards her sitting alone on the bench. Audrey peeked out from her book, seeing crowds of her fellow enemies all huddled together. Although they seemed to pay no attention to her, she assumed she was the cause of all of the laughter randomly sprouting from the group, she turned the volume up another notch.

“They’re probably making fun of my new piercing.”

“What if they come up to me”

Audrey kept a blank expression, adjusting her lip piercing She closed her laptop, and pulled out her phone. Her twitter was blowing up with new notifications and follow requests. Further into examination, she found a video of a girl sitting alone, with people in the background, drunk with laughter.

“$5.00 donations to save this society” It was captioned.

“She is so ugly”

“What is she doing though?”

“What even!!”

Audrey knew the girl who posted this, her name was Jaime, and knew every police officer in the township, but not in a friendly way.

Audrey screenshotted this and sent it to her mother, “Another one ma” she said.

Her eyes narrowed, focusing in on the group. Jaime was flashing her classic bitch face. Audrey took to twitter once again

She put up a picture of Jaime, plotting something evil to say in her head.

“Not even asking for donations for this one.” She said, and added a picture that parents would most likely cringe at.

Two minutes after going viral she had hundreds of responses.

“This is so wrong.”

“Why would you do this to her?”

“Is your dark soul making you do this?”

Her mom's phone appeared on her phone, “What do you want me to do this time? Call the school or call the parents?”

Audrey felt an immense amount of eyes on her . She held the phone to her face, not talking to anyone, as she paced around the bench. After tension had died down, she hung up wth herself and took out her laptop.

Her mother called, making her phone spew demonic music across the park

“Yo.” She spat, watching all the birds flee.

“I am here. Head down and keep walking.”

Audrey looked up, seeing that blue minivan was her safe haven.

She increased her volume and sped off.

“They’re probably making fun of me again”

“What if they follow me home?”

“How far did she park?”

Audrey ripped open the door and jumped in.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Her mother asked.

“No”

Audrey fiddled with her piercings and kept silent for the rest of the ride.

by carly bondrowski

There he was, standing on stage, the red and blue lights flashing around him. All the people crowded around him and he was up there rapping to his heart’s content. My boyfriend, Alex, was finally living out his dream. I screamed to him, “Go Alex!!” In my head I was thinking, “I couldn’t be more proud of Alex for pursuing his dream.”

The day we met was one of the most tragic I have ever experienced. He had come into the hospital for a gunshot wound. I, being a surgeon, happened to be on-call that day. We had to open his chest to get the bullet out before it hit his heart. Not very many people know about his scar because it is not something he is very open about. Until this concert, when he revealed his scar that goes all the way down his chest.

He stood up on that stage and took his shirt off to tell all of his fans and supporters about his scar. Occasionally he will show me his scar when we are alone and he’s practicing his raps for me. When he did it tonight, I could see in his eyes the kind of fear people have when they see a shark. This moment hit me with utter shock and everyone around me knew it.

He mesmerized me with how well he was doing on stage, that I didn’t even realize everyone scrambling around me or hear the sirens blaring to indicate a tornado was coming. The security had to escort him off stage because he wanted to keep playing. All the people around me were trying to grab me and take me with them but I just wanted to wait for Alex.

“ALEX! ALEX!”, I started screaming. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I began to feel like a lost child in the supermarket. I turned and there he was waiting for me to go with him. He stopped and just looked at me, he gave me that look that makes me melt every time. The look you give the cute, little puppy you want to adopt even though your parents would never want you to. Everyone around us was looking at me in the middle of the commotion. I dislike the idea of being the center of attention so I got irritated with him. He dropped down to one knee and said “Kelly, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, you are the only one for me. There is no other girl I would rather wake up next to or have kids with or grow old with. Will you marry me?” This is what I had waited my entire life for. “Yes! I would love to be your wife,” I exclaimed with tears rolling down my cheeks.

The people who were watching us in the middle of the commotion had applauded until we remembered there was a tornado coming.

Sweet Harmony - by Madison Blair

When silence becomes one with two-thousand five-hundred twenty-nine people, something magical happens.

The breeze was tender, and I felt the hopes in the air. The grass was alive, and the sun sat among the clouds. People gathered, and waited for Alex and Jane’s voices to melt together in sweet harmony.

The field was filling fast, and my sister and I found ourselves in a crowd of color, and the aroma of pot filled the air as joints passed throughout clusters of people. Stepping into the field you could feel the happiness and love.

Then a droplet fell, and slid down the side of my face. This one, single drop was followed by a storm. Rain poured onto the ground, but we stayed.

Some people danced, others ducked for cover, and those completely stoned, just sat and stared.

Lightning lit the sky, and thunder shook the ground, but not our hopes.

We stayed.

We waited.

The band would not go on.

They ran their amps to cover, and tops of drums held puddles. Still we waited for the storm to pass, but it wasn’t going to.

Hope was fading ‘til to the stage walked Jane.

She sat on a stool, pulled her guitar in her lap, and smiled. People cheered as she strummed the first chord of “That’s What’s up”, but only seconds later silence fell upon us. Never before had I heard so many people so quiet to hear one acoustic guitar and the voice that accompanied it.

It was that moment that I understood what it meant to feel alive.

I could feel her voice in my toes, and the power of each strum filled me. The faces of the crowd looked mesmerized by the flow of the lyrics.

By the second chorus, the crowd sung with Jane in sweet harmony. It felt somehow magical.

“Then I found forever

hey, hey love

we’ve been best friends forever darling

that’s what's up…”

The chorus rang through the open field. It felt like even the birds stopped to hear her. Jane sung the last note as the sun lifted from behind the clouds, as if it was planned. The crowd let out a roaring cheer and the rest of the band flocked on to the stage.

My sister smiled, a grinch smile, and we spent the night indulging in each song as if it was the last song we’d ever hear.

Our hearts beat in harmony, and we were closer than we’ve ever been, and probably ever will be. There was no bickering, and no disagreeing, it was just the music.

The ride home was quiet, but our silence was roaring because there wasn’t a moment I didn’t feel close to her in that car. I replayed the night in my head, and turned to look back to watch the next day begin.

The sun peaked over the sky, and slipped into her spotlight.

Our night was over, and a new day had come to do something with our lives, do something that would make us feel alive, but we both knew we’d never feel the same way we did that night.

It seemed like only a dream.

Stages - anonymous

My life is over.

Those four words kept repeating in my head throughout the entire school day.

Why do you have to suck at math?

You could be a straight A student, but nooooo and why is that?

Math.

I wondered what would happen when I got home. Did my mother already know? Had she found out during the day or was she completely oblivious to the fact I had just bombed a quiz? Were you going to have to tell her that you did? Those are the amazing perks of having a mother whose job it is to run your school districts gradebook.

Every thought of what would happen made my stomach turn. When I had seen the grade sheer panic took hold of me.

This was what I would come to know as stage one.

I felt my heartbeat increase. I heard a high pitch tone slowly start to build in my ear as if someone was controlling it. That stage lasted for about an hour.

Then it changed. Around 10:30 my heart dropped. I slouched down in the chair I had been sitting in so far I had felt its cool plastic back rest against my neck. I stared blankly at the little Hp logo on my laptop.

Why does it have to be me?

Why can’t I just be good at math?

I don’t care anymore.

Whatever.

This was what I now think of as the deep depression stage, or stage two. I knew my life was going to be over by now and I had accepted it. My mind went totally blank. I can only imagine what I looked like. A mindless zombie just sitting there slouched in my chair. No expression on my face. My mouth hanging there catching flies. Eyes looking glassy and lifeless.The only thing that got me up and out of that chair was call of the bell sending me to my next class.

After that the day seemed to go by in seconds. I shuffled from class to class. No thoughts filled my head.

I didn’t wonder what was for dinner like most days as I had a feeling I wouldn’t live to eat it.

Now I am here.

Standing outside my front door. I looked back at the red Mazda that sat in my driveway. Maybe by some miracle it would vanish and I could forget about this whole situation. I closed my eyes and hoped. I opened them and it was still there.

Worth a try.

I turned back to the door. It looked as if it were a skyscraper.

On three...One...two...th-

Before I could finish, the door swung open, barely missing me. There, in front of me, was my mother. She looked at me as if I had two heads.

“What are you doing?”,she said.

“I don’t know”.

“Ok...get inside”.

Slowly I walked through the gates of hell ready to be struck down by the devil.

“How was school”.

Before I could think I blurted it out, “I failed my math quiz”. She turned and looked me straight in the eyes. “Ok...well, next time study more”.

I stood motionless.

I’m alive

The final countdown - by sienna novelli

My mother, Christi, was a single parent with a secret she didn’t want to tell.

Our father was a good man, or so my mother claimed. He was rich and successful, but just didn’t want anything to do with us. I texted and called him everyday but never got an answer or a reply. So I lost all hope and gave up.

Considering the fact we lived in the worst part of North Philly in a one bedroom apartment, and he lived in Beverly hills,California in a mansion I knew he was the man he proved himself to be by not being around and not returning my calls or text. My mother did her very best to make sure my brother, Carlos and I were happy. My mother would even sleep on the floor so my brother and I could sleep comfortably in the bed.

Every Friday night, we would have a movie night but only at our house, nothing fancy because money was tight.

11:30 P.M hit, Carlos and I were out like a light. Only an hour later a big groan filled the room making Carlos and I jump up. Still half asleep we sat up and looked around the room, to find our mother lying on the floor as usual, but this time she was crying out.

I knew I had to lay my brother back down before he began to worry. I told him mom was sick, and I moved him to the living room couch, tucked him in and went back into the bedroom and over to my mother who was now shaking. I kneeled down and yelled “Mommy, Mommy”. I knew something was wrong. I searched the whole room looking for her phone, but by the time I found it she had already sat up and said “I’m okay I was just had a nightmare.”

“Oh ok”.

I believed her but I was still a little frightened. I layed back down but I also stayed alarmed. I hardly slept. My anxiety kicked in, my heart began racing and my adrenaline raced through my blood making me lose focus. I tried to ignore it but it kept me awake.

Finally, 2:45 A.M I started dozing off and was able to fall back asleep. I only slept for an hour though. I was to worried to even think about sleep or feel the dizziness from not sleeping. I’m so happy I woke back up because she began holding her chest and coughing up blood, the wheezing got worse, and she couldn’t catch her breath. I had a feeling something was going on because she had been losing a lot of weight recently. At this point I had enough. I couldn’t watch her struggle any longer. I grabbed the phone and called 911.

“911 what’s your emergency?” answered the dispatcher on the phone.

“ I need a ambulance quick, my mother.” I started sobbing loudly.

“Keep calm, I need you to relax and tell me what is happening.What is your address?”

“3021 Kensington Avenue. It’s between Clearfield and Orleans.” I couldn’t catch my breath.

“ Okay they will be there shortly. Stay on the line with me so we can make sure everything is ok until they get there.”

That morning my brother got woken up to the sirens of the ambulance.

I told the Emt’s we had no guardian to stay here with us, and they took us to the hospital with her. When we arrived to the hospital they tried to occupy us outside of her room, while the doctors worked on my mother. I overheard her telling the doctor she had lung cancer and knew she only had a week to a month left. Tears rolled down my eyes and I knew this was my last few days with her. I was so upset she never told me . I then knew why she was wheezing and coughing up blood.All of the symptoms were there. . There was no way possible I could remain calm. I began shaking and crying.

The next morning they had a nurse take me to see my mother. I didn’t know if I should tell her that I heard what she had said or if I should just act clueless. I was happy to be in the same room as her. That night I got woken up to a beeping machine, and doctors yelling and running in and out.

That's when the doctor told me.

“Sweety, I’m sorry, but your mother is”…. the doctor said.

I cut him off. “No, please, don’t tell me, my mother where is she?

“She passed away,” he said as he comfortingly put his hand on my shoulder.

I fell back in tears. At that point I knew my life was destroyed. I was speechless.

How do I tell my brother? What do I tell him? Where do we go? My mind raced, but my heart raced even faster.

The Doctor came in with some more shocking news. They got a hold of my father, and my brother and I will be going to move in with him. He arrived the next night, even though it was awkward I felt at peace knowing my brother will be safe. He told us that he rented two hotel rooms, one for him and one for my brother and I to give us space, to stay in until after the funeral.

A few days after the funeral we went back to our apartment and packed all of our stuff. My dad was disturbed by the neighbor hood. He quickly got us out of there and to the airport. Off we went.

by anonymous

In the upstairs attic, where the blazing Kansas sun seemed right there beside him, Jacob Abernathy laid on a small couch cushion and twiddled with the frays on his blue jeans. The attic, which was a small addition built onto what was left of a decaying farm house, was dark and noiseless, apart from the wheezing caused by yet another heat-induced asthma attack.

“JACOB! C’MON JACOB I JUST COOKED BREAKFAST”

Jacob heaved himself up and made his way down the attic ladder to the house below, if you could even call it that. The house has looked the same since it was built in 1852 by his ancestors. The walls were decayed and yellowing from the decades of lingering tobacco smoke. Jacob tip-toed across the floor, which had begun to collapse and fall apart slowly years ago.

“It smells good Papa. What’d ya make today?”

“Just the usual. I’m ‘onna have to go out to that farmer’s market this afternoon. I need you to do the farm work today.”

“Yes sir. I’ll start now before you leave.”

Mr. Abernathy began to load goods into his pickup while Jacob slipped into his work boots. Over the years, the work became easier, just more abundant. Mr. Abernathy was always selling at the Dexter farmer’s market, but ever since Mrs. Abernathy’s death, money had been tighter than ever. To top off their suffering, Ethan Whitesides was more persistent than ever these days.

The Whitesides family was the wealthiest family in Dexter, probably even in all of Kansas. The Abernathy’s borrowed a loan after to pay for Mrs. Abernathy’s medical bills, and Ethan Whitesides wanted to milk it for all it was worth.

Soon enough, he was driving by in his polished Ford 450-Platinum, yelling the usual- “HEY! HEY ABERNATHY! BETTER HOPE YOU SELL A LOT AT THAT MARKET YOU POOR BASTARD!” Screamed Ethan Whitesides, cackling as he drove off quickly.

After letting out a quick scoff, Mr. Abernathy clambered into his 1973 IH 1100 Pickup and took off down the road.

The coast was finally clear.

Jacob sprinted back to the house and back into the attic, where he then pulled out a small flashlight keychain he had found on the side of the road. Underneath a bundle of insulation, Jacob hid a stash of textbooks he had stolen over the years. His family didn’t have the money to buy him the books for school, though he was the only one who could read well. He opened up to the folded page where he had left off in Principles of Neural Science and let the words and pictures seep into his mind. Across town, Jacob was believed to be as illiterate as his father, but he didn’t mind it much. Mr. Abernathy once said, a man like him in a world like this needs thick skin to survive. Jacob couldn’t do arithmetic, but he sure could read well.

Hours seemed to rush away as Jacob glossed over hundreds of pages of his stashed books, up until the flashlight batteries began to flicker and burn out. He returned his books to their hiding spot and laid on a small couch cushion, dreaming of a new life. Big dreams, much too big for a scrawny boy of just thirteen.

Jacob yearned for the satisfaction of attending school. He ached for the acceptance, possibly even the envy from his peers. He desired the accomplishment of high grades and receiving a diploma in his cap and gown. Most of all, he pined to leave The Abernathy Farm, and to lead a life filled with intelligence and work that required suits and ties, rather than decade-old hand me down blue jeans.

Before he could savor the dream, a loud crash and the sound of police sirens rang in the air. Jacob crawled to the break in the wall to look outside in the front yard.

Police cars came in tens, filling the property with sheriffs from all the surrounding counties. Each and every gun was pointed at Mr. Abernathy’s truck.

The police took no precautions while ripping Mr. Abernathy out of the passenger side door, slamming him to the mud below.

“He killed her! This scum killed Mrs. Whitesides!

“No I- I ain’t do nothing! I jus’- I jus’ got done selling at the market!”

Jacob rushed down the ladder, nearly falling off, and rushed outside. He could already feel his breath feeling shortened by an oncoming asthma attack. The commotion outside could be heard for miles, now that news trucks and reporters began to pile onto the property.

“He didn’t do it sir! My Father is innocent!” Jacob screamed, but he could not be heard over the rallies of the people that began to fill into on the property. His lungs were on the verge of shutting down, even walking felt impossible at this point. He limped forward, trying to push through the crowd, but he could only see glimpses of the father beating his Father about the face with a baton.

“Kill him! Abernathy is a murderer! Cold blooded killer!” The crowd chanted as everyone attempted to get a closer look at the brutality. Mr. Abernathy’s nose bone protruded, threatening to break through the skin, while blood gushed out of his mouth where his jaw hung grotesquely.

“HE DIDN’T DO IT! PLEASE MY FATHER-” Jacob collapsed to the ground, where all he could do was listen to the obscenities being chanted like some kind of vile song.

“He’s getting the chair! Better put his ass in the electric chair to rid the world of this scum!”

“I bet Abernathy killed his wife too!”

Old women clasped their hands across their chests, silent tears staining their cheeks, while men pounded their fists in the air and continued the chant. One woman even began a small prayer circle for the Westsides family.

“Keep the Westsides in your hearts in their time of peril. Lord, please guide us and the Westsides family to safety, and please guide Mrs. Westsides to Heaven. Lord, we beg you, condemn Carson Abernathy to Hell to pay for his sins. Amen.”

Everyone was walking on Jacob as they passed by, some even taking the time to stomp on his back and smear the soles of their work boots on him like a welcome mat. Soon enough, a softer sole with a short heel rubbed against his bare back. An even softer, uncalloused hand picked him up at the arm and whispered into his ear.

“C’mon, Abernathy junior. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Mr. Westsides half-dragged Jacob into the farm house, laying his down on the kitchen table. Jacob’s eyes rolled around in his head as he drifted in and out of sleep. When he regained some strength, he sat up and looked around to see Mr. Westsides sitting on the cleanest towel he could find, occasionally dabbing the sweat off his forehead with a black handkerchief.

“Glad to see you are awake. Are you hungry?”

“My- my father-”

“Don’t worry yourself about that, Jacob is it?”

“WHERE’S MY FATHER?”

“Now, Jacob-”

“HE DIDN’T KILL ANYONE! GET AWAY!”

Jacob heaved himself down from the table and limped his way to the attic ladder, which he pulled himself up with the little strength he had left. He closed the trapdoor and laid down on the ground, letting his lungs fill up with as much oxygen as they could. Silent tears streamed down his face, quickly turning brown as they caught the dirt on his cheeks.

Mr. Abernathy could never afford a lawyer, and with the treatment he was getting, they’d surely give him the dumbest attorney they had down at the court. He had no chance. Jacob’s father would receive death for a crime he did not commit. An honest man like Mr. Abernathy would never lie, and no matter what hatred he held for the Whitesides, it was never deep enough to consider murder. In the back of his mind, Jacob could hear the words his father spoke to him one morning after he had gotten bullied at school.

“Men like us livin’ in a world like this need thick skin to survive”

Jacob sat up straight, glossing his hands across the attic floor, until he finally found the small flashlight keychain. As if by miracle, the batteries gave a small bit of power, allowing the light to pass dimly. Underneath the bundle of insulation, Jacob picked up one of his stashed textbooks- Basic Civil Litigation.

“If they can’t prove you’re innocent, I will one day.”

Jacob read and re-read each and every solitary page.

RUN - by anonymous

I was gone.

The cool night air blew through my hair. The voices of my comrades were far behind me as I turned right down Weir road.

Mike, you freakin moron echoed in my head. I needed somewhere to hide, but nowhere was safe. My face then lit up as I saw my sanctuary up ahead.

The woods.

I quickened my pace and charged into the dark safe haven. I slowed down once I was a safe distance in and turned back. No one was behind me. I’m guessing that it had become every man for himself. I decided that I should wait at least ten minutes or so before heading back out into the danger zone took a seat under a tree and waited in silence.

After what I thought was ten I crept back into the street light. There were no signs of life on the battlefield. I took a deep breath.

I was safe.

I put my hood up and started down the street. I was not from this neighborhood but I had a pretty good idea of where Mike’s house was. Although I knew I was probably safe, I was alert.

As I walked I recollected the events that had just transpired. It had all started when Mike rang the doorbell to this creepy old house on Kennedy street. The house always gave me slight redneck vibe. There was a rusty old Ford pick up in the driveway. The windows were grimy and dirty the paint on the outside was a faded blue that probably looked great when it was first put up but now was chipped and discolored. There was a swing hung on a huge oak tree that looked almost dead. So, while we were hanging out front of the house Mike slowly crept away from the group, tip toed up to the front door and bashed on it three times. I remember snapping my head towards the sound to see an arrogant jerk standing there flipping me off before bolting.

The next event I recall is the absolute silence that occurred between the remaining few of us. We all looked at each other not knowing what to expect. The only thing that broke the silence was the sound of an angry, fat, tanktop wearing berserker bursting through the front door of the home Mike had just disturbed. The beast let out a mighty roar filled with obscenities. We were frozen in fear. How were you supposed to explain to a raging animal that our idiot friend slammed on his door without telling us and left us there?

The behemoth took one massive footed step out of his den and the reaction was almost instantaneous. Each one of us were already halfway down the street before his paw hit the ground. I remember hearing the roar of a beat to crap ford pickup as whipped out of its dirt driveway.

That was about it I thought. Now that it was all over I could make my way back to Mike’s house where hopefully everyone will have reconvened. Then as a group we could beat Mike to a pulp.

As I thought of a way I could get my friend back for the torment he caused me I heard it.

The roar of a engine, the sounds of feet frantically running for their lives. I turned to the direction of the sound and said one very colorful word.

In this dream i was… - By MIKE MCANDREW

In this dream, I was running rampant around the woods.

Birds sang, and the grass whispered at my feet as I bounced across the forest floor. Bow across my back and knife on my hip. As I ran the vegetation thinned out and opened into a clearing. A large white elk stood only 40 yards ahead. Slowly, I drew a new arrow, and notched it on the string.

As I drew back, the muscles in my shoulder tightened, and the bow string tensed. I could feel the cool wood brush my face. As the string started to slip from my grasp, I pointed the bow down, and watched the creature. It moved with such grace, I couldn’t possibly kill it.

It met my gaze and those eyes were full of cheer. I could only think about my happiest thoughts as I stared back. This elk was looking right into my soul and pulling everything good and clean out to the front of my mind. I was both full of love, and fear. I couldn’t move my feet as it turned away and walked off into the woods.

My body collapsed under me.

I was exhausted from standing. I looked around and saw it was dark. The birds had grown quiet, and the breeze calmed. My only guidance was the large glowing moon. It’s bright white light lite up the forest floor, and the once happy trees looked evil and menacing as I walked through.

My dreams that night, were filled with images of the elk, and my happy memories.

I had to show someone else so I brought my friend with me. I took the same path as the morning before. There it was in the same field doing the same thing, but my friend notched an arrow fast and was ready to fire. I jumped in front of her as she released the arrow. It buried itself into my shoulder, I could feel it rip through the muscle.

After, she realized what had happened, she helped me to my feet, and to my surprise the elk was right next to us.

We never heard it move.

My friend backed away in fear, but I stayed firm and stood nose to nose with the magnificent creature. The same thing happened, except it brought forth new memories this time. As I accepted the new memories of love and healing I heard wood crack and the pain in my shoulder dissipated.

It’s eyes shut and the flood of memories retreated. Behind me I heard Alex drop to her knees in disbelief. The arrow laid splintered and bloody on the lush grass. She had tried to kill it once I had to watch her now in case she tried again. As Alex helped me up, I looked into her eyes like honey and they sparkled.

She looked away quickly trying to hide her emotions, but I knew what she was thinking. I could see it in the way she smiled. Her cheeks got pink, her eyes crinkled ever so slightly, and she giggled; like a bird’s melodious tune, soft and sweet.

I turned back around, and the elk was gone.

Alex and I walked back through the forest as the sun started to fade. Hand in hand the clearing disappeared behind us, and the elk fell into the distance unharmed by the piercing arrow of despair.

In this dream, I was walking peacefully through the woods.

Gone with the Memories - by anonymous

“Alice!” I heard mother call from downstairs, her French accent thick with anxiety and intoxication. As the maid finished tying my corset I grew accustomed to the pinching feeling that began to numb my waist. I hadn’t even bothered to put on my shoes before I began down the spiral staircase, carefully holding the sides of my wedding dress up to avoid tripping. Mother gasped at the dress and I saw a single tear roll down her cheek.

“Oh Alice, c'est très beau.”

I wish I could believe it.

I felt so out of place and disgusting. The dress could not boost my confidence- it was démodé, and looked as though I had just pulled it from the waste basket. The white gown I had dreamed of was dirtied yellow with time. Traditions must live on I suppose, this dress has been worn by generations of women, which also means generations of alterations and quick fixes. The hems were worn down, and a square of fabric had been removed and replaced where the drunken bride before had spilled a glass of wine. If I had a choice, I would buy a beautiful gown fit for a queen- but sadly there are no choices here. Only decisions made by those I have now found I can not trust. I am a mere chattel in my own home. I had no say in even my husband.

Suddenly, there were heavy footsteps coming from the other side of the corridor. A deep, hearty laugh that could only belong to my father. He stumbled in, a hand on the groom’s shoulder, and the other cradling a flagon of ale.

“Aujourd'hui est un jour très spécial, oui?” my father slurred. The groom nodded uncomfortably. His eyes met mine and for a split second, and I hoped I could see the slightest hint of admiration- but of course, I knew better. There was no connection with us whatsoever, apart from the fact that neither of us wanted to be here. Both of our fathers are wealthy businessmen, and today is just a company alliance. We were to be wed to seal the deal.

The wedding would be held in the garden, where the florists and carpenters did a beautiful job with the decor. Pastel roses and flowers bordered the rows of seats and hung above the dais. The bushes had just been trimmed and began to flower. I turned back inside to find Mother and the maid waiting to finish my ensemble. Mother attached the blusher to my long blonde hair, which had been manipulated into a tight updo. Guests began to arrive, and the officiant followed. The finest musicians in France were gathered to play and told Father they were ready.

“Alice”, called Mother, escorting herself to her seat, “Rappelez-vous, ceci est pour votre père. Rendre fier.” Father stumbled drunkenly into the room, reaching out to grab my arm. I will be sure this is a day he will not forget.

The musicians summoned us with the bridal song. The violin’s soft notes gave no grace to my Father- his drunken waltz down the aisle brought uncomfortable stares. I snapped my arm away and marched up to the dais myself. Without a moment wasted, the officiant began his speech. Everything felt so blurred, no one, not even my family, cared how I felt. My drunkard father showed no shame in his actions, he only drowned them in his liquors.

“Je fais” said my groom to be, snapping me back to reality.

“Alice, prenez-vous cet homme pour votre légitime époux?” began the officiant.

“NO!’ I screamed in anger. “Je ne l'aime pas cet homme!” I ripped off my veil and shoes and ran into my home. I could hear gasps from the guests outside, but nothing stopped me now.

I ripped off my dress and corset to change into more comfortable clothes, In my chamber, I grabbed a luggage bag and began to pack my belongings. My father’s loud swears and shattering glass echoed from downstairs. I’ve grown quite numb to his ignorance, and his words can not hurt me anymore. Checking the surrounding area, I dropped my bag to the ground below. The tall oak next to my window was my last attempt at escape. I shimmied down branches and nearly lost my footing multiple times, but I made it. Discreetly, I walked down the street without a thought of where to go. Father would surely be looking for me and would put a price on my return, so I must go far.

I can never return to France.

In my purse, I had plenty of Euros, but it could not last forever.

The harbor was not a far distance, and when I arrived it was as if fate led me here. An American tradeship was docked, sailors were loading goods to the storage. My English is not nearly well enough to hold a conversation, I thought, but I had to an attempt. I approached one of them and tapped their shoulder-

“Excuse me”, I said, annoyed by my own thick accent. The man who turned around had soft green eyes and could not be any older than twenty. He stood and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Uh, can I help you?” he questioned, wondering why a woman like me would disturb him at work.

“I must ask a favor, and I need help. I must escape France and come to America. Please let me sail with you, I am in danger here.”

The sailor gave me a questionable look and peered behind him. He grinned while grabbing my bag and leading me aboard the ship down to the storage.

“You sit behind these boxes, and do not make a single noise. Understand?” He said slowly. I nodded and he began to back away, flashing me that beautiful white smile once more.

Once he left, I immediately felt lonesome, yet excited. The ship would be departing soon, it was only a matter of time before I was on my way to freedom! With every pang of excitement, another feeling set deep in the back of my mind.

Guilt.

Had I overreacted at the reception? Perhaps there could have been another way to handle things. Mother may have been understanding- I should have told her at the least. Maybe she could have came with me- I knew what went on behind the closed doors of her chamber. Muffled cries escaped through the drywall every now and again. Father was an incurable disease- the entire family tried cures- all that came with nasty side effects. Distance only brought conflict and anger closer together. Trying to consult with family or professionals was just as disastrous and showed no improvement. The alcohol had been the most effective method, but wasn’t a clear fix. Married drunkards pretending not to know each other, or trying to ignore the past only proved to distance everyone from themselves and sobriety. Father shielded his anger with hard liquor, which made a nasty return when the intoxication worn away. Mother tried to drown her pain in the bottom of her wine goblet, but once she finished her drink it reemerged, forcing her to reminisce on the better times. What will they do without me there to limit themselves? How can they stay sane knowing their daughter is gone as fast as the wind? Tears rolled down my cheeks as I felt the ship move. My hasty decisions will certainly have consequences- and now I realize they will not just affect my well-being, but also those who I have left behind.

It felt like a month went by as the ship finally came to a stop. There were empty crates that were once filled with wines and abundances of food all around me. They won’t miss them that much. I heard footsteps approaching and tried to conceal myself- but it was only the sailor who had helped me escape. He grinned and grabbed my arm, behind him were men in uniform- they were not sailors.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” yelled the sailor, his look changing to anger. “How did you sneak on this ship?”

I looked around helplessly as the uniformed men stared at me. One had a gun attached to his belt which he had one had firmly placed, and the other took out a pair of silver handcuffs. He threw me to the ground and held me hands behind my back, securing me to make sure I could not escape.

“You are under arrest for thievery and illegal immigration into the United States. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say and do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford an attorney you will be appointed one before any questioning.”

I didn’t understand a word of what he was saying. I wanted to tell him my English was novice at best, but I was too choked up to speak. Tears stung at my eyes, and the last thing I say through my blurred vision was the sailor, waving and smiling.

I was placed in a small cell in the local police station. I had no belongings, no money, and no way to communicate with officers except in simple sentences. An attorney, or whatever the man had said, could not be here until tomorrow. The cell was cold and dark, and in the back corner of my mind nostalgia began to creep close. Memories before my family’s wealth began to flood my mind. I remember how Father would take me to the playground and we could actually spend time together without someone lashing out in anger. I remember how Mother used to walk me to school and would always be there waiting, sober, patient, and dry-eyed. I think back to when I met the sailor for the first time, and thought I finally found someone I could trust again. I should have known better. I will never trust again.

A Major Difference - by Haley Kline

Let’s take it back to the times where there was no two day shipping, no app store to download new games when you were bored and most definitely no tweets and statuses being posted to show people how you were doing. It was receiving letters from far away 10 days later, running around outside when there was nothing else to do and actually seeing people in person and seeing how they were.

Although it’s become an important concept, life without modern technology could help us live happier and healthier lives. Imagine how many more of us would be playing outside and participating in other activities if we didn’t rather sit on our phones while lying on the couch for the day. At the same time, it could be a little more boring. Or so we think. When there’s nothing to do, we sit on social media and text our friends on our electronic devices. Without that hobby which we have picked up on, we would be lost.

Sure, there are other means of communication. We just happen to prefer the small touchscreen we slide in and out of our pockets. They give us everything we need. All the way from letting you call loved ones to finding out what’s going on worldwide with just the tap of a finger. We can access the news, the weather, and latest trends by clicking “refresh feed” on our social media accounts.

“What are mailmen even around for?”

Good question. Technology has taken over so much of our lives that even bills could be paid with a downloaded icon onto your smartphone. Banks, department stores, and even schools have migrated to using laptops and other pathways to get us hooked.

Honestly, I find it hard to write about a lifestyle I have no recollection of. I would love to have lived in a time period before the google search engine and app store took over my life.

Technology has benefited a lot. However, in the time of this growing matter we have forgotten little things. Remember when we used to invite friends over and we would play a nice game of capture with the neighborhood kids? What about when we dropped presents off to people’s house on their birthdays rather than sending an “E-Card” to their email?

Times have changed, and so have the people in time. Family’s worldwide live off of smartphones and laptops, and the internet in general, and we’ve forgotten what it means to have a face to face conversation with people we see so often. I’ll be the first to admit that I can’t go even a few hours without checking my Instagram or Twitter feed.

Sad isn’t it?

Breakaway - by Mike McAndrew

His heart pounded as he laced up his shoes.

Four shirts, six pairs of pants, and enough food for a family of seven. He grabbed everything he thought he would need, then disappeared into the darkness.

The dim light guided him to the street. As the adrenaline pumped through his veins, he started to jog. His previous engagements slowly disappeared behind him. The farther he got, the slower his heart rate became. He finally felt free of worry. Life would never be the same. By the time his feet fell into rhythm with his heart he had reached the end of town. His wounds could heal now; never to be reopened by the same piercing knife again.

He had to walk for hours through the cold, fall night until he reached the bus station. It was there that he bought his ticket to freedom. It wasn’t much, just a small piece of paper with his name and the bus number, but that was enough for him. The ride would be long, but it would be worth it.

When the bus pulled up he gave the man his ticket and took a seat, settling in for the long ride ahead.

They arrived eight hours later at a town named, “Humbucker Springs.”

It was a small but happy town. The clock read nine thirty and everyone was out doing their errands. He was in love as soon as he got off the bus. Not a single person had a frown on their face as if such a thing was a foreign concept.

Gabe didn’t have a lot of money but he had enough to rent out an apartment until the fall. He was content for now, all he had to do was see if it lasted.

* * *

Gabe could almost trust again.

He had found a job right next to his apartment, but unlike his previous job where he wore a frown like he wore his suit, he came to work with a bright smile. The customers loved seeing him every day. Working at a convenience store wasn’t exactly ideal, but it paid the bills. Every night he would leave at exactly 10:17 p.m. His day went like clockwork, and he never missed a beat.

It was almost like the perfect fairy tale town. Everyone is happy and nothing ever goes wrong, but was it too good? It seemed like the only thing missing was a castle and the royal family.

Gabe was happy with his new life and often wondered what happened the morning everyone woke up and realized he was gone. He imagined them all frantically running around searching everywhere for him. None of the thoughts stayed long though because Gabe was happy and that was enough.

An average day had come, and was almost gone when she came in. This girl had been in before, quite often actually, but today she came in with determination in those eyes. Gabe found it adorable when she marched up to the counter placing her soda and chips in front of him because she hardly could be seen over it. He knew she couldn't have been much taller than five foot, but what she lacked in size she made up with the ocean eyes, so big and powerful.

Gabe had seen them before, but that day those sea eyes held a storm. He could hardly get out his sentence, "Would... that b-be... all?"

She noticed the stutter.

“What are you looking at?”

“What….uhmm. Sorry, is that all?”

“Yeah, but you already asked that.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop being sorry I’m not your mother.”

Her humor cut the tension, but still Gabe’s hands grew sweaty, and all he could think is,

What is this girl’s name, and why is she here, with me? Maybe it was a prank. She was to beautiful, too perfect.

She payed and left. As he put the money in the drawer a piece of paper fell out onto the floor.

It read; Call me 523-8597 :)

Gabe was stunned. He had just gotten a girl’s number. This was the first time a girl ever showed interest in him and he felt like an idiot for missing it.

This is amazing she likes me, she actually likes me, he thought.

At the thought of a girl even considering him he got butterflies in his stomach and he could feel his cheeks heat up.

That night when he got home he tried to call her. The phone rang once, and he hung up. He cursed himself for being such a wimp and got the courage to dial again. This time he made it to three rings before hanging up. His palms started to sweat and he got a cold trail ran down his back.

He dialed the numbers again, this time slower and less confident, to quiet his anxious thoughts.

Someone answered.

“Hello?” A sweet voice asked.

“Hi, this is Gabe from Tik-Tok Stop and Shop.”

“Oh, hi. I was starting to think you didn’t get my note. I’m glad you called.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They talked for an hour before he said he had to go, and reluctantly hung up. The receiver was soaked by the time he put it down. It had almost slipped from his grasp multiple times.

They talked for an hour every night for two months. She came into the store every night he worked leaving little notes every time she paid. It was their own little secret messages. He kept everyone in a small mint container.

She didn’t know, but he was happy.

Maybe this was the person he would trust, he thought.

Maybe he would finally, fully breakaway, he dreamed.

The Train Platform - by Haley Kline

Carl and Chris were best friends. Nothing could keep them apart and they always did everything together. Looking at these two, they were totally different people. Chris had blonde hair with a tall lanky body. He was athletic and could do just about anything on the field. Carl, however, was a shorter version of Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory. He was geeky and awkward.

You’d think they were the complete opposite until you seen how they talk and act together. Watching how they reacted was like they were the same person duplicated and in disguise. They just clicked somehow.

Today, they were both going to meet Chris’ sister for the first time ever.

“Do you think I should stay behind? I know this is kind of personal.” Carl was worried that he might be interfering a little bit. He was also very shy and probably really nervous about meeting a new person, too.

“Carl, we’re already here at the train station. There’s no backing out now. Plus, don’t you want to do this with me?”

Chris has heard a lot about his older sister Nicole, but never had the opportunity to formally meet her since he was younger. Nicole was currently a senior in college while Chris was a senior in high school. They found each other on the internet and decided to reconnect. It’s been a while since then, so they decided it was about time.

That morning, they set off for the station. A ball of worry, Chris picked Carl up and they waited for their transportation.

The train they were supposed to catch was scheduled to arrive in four minutes. Although Chris looked calm as he was known to be, he was shaking tremendously on the inside. He was just as anxious as Carl to get this done and over with.

“That’s our train Carl, come on.” Chris had talked to his sister earlier that morning to ensure they’d be there around noon, so to miss this train would be a bit of a complication.

The seats filled up quicker than expected. They hopped on to find just about no empty seats in the front, so they walked further back where they sat in the last two available spots.

“Get comfy and don’t think too much, we have a long three hours ahead of us.” Carl knew Chris better than anyone in the world. So when Chris thought he was hiding his trembling body and shaky voice from him, he was wrong.

Millions of thoughts rumbled through his head the whole ride.

What if I am nothing like what she’s expecting? What if she doesn’t like me? Does she even need me now?

Right after they reached the other train station, they were to walk one block and turn right.

They followed everyone off of the train and reached their destination a few short minutes later.

There she was. Nicole was sitting on the front steps awaiting their approach. She had long blonde hair just like Chris and immediately ran up to hug him.

Nicole was really outgoing also like her new found brother. Once she was introduced to Carl, it took a large load off of his shoulders as he relaxed and watched the brother and sister bond like there was no time lost at all.

Nicole and Chris got comfortable with each other and talked about all that has happened through the years.

Chris came to see that nothing that his dad told him about Nicole was matching up with who she’d become. She wanted to be a pediatrician and she was in school for it. She claims she has always wanted to be successful; it just isn’t easy with dad over her shoulder. Chris could totally relate. Carl joined in to conversation here and there too. They had a great time and wished they could stay longer.

Chris realized he was stressing all day over nothing but by the time he loosened up, it was time to go.

It was 7:15 and they needed to be at the train station right up the street to catch their train home by 7:45. Nicole walked them to the corner of her street and watched as they made their way to the platform.

She was so glad that they had finally met. It was such a long time coming and although she didn’t act it, she was just as nervous as both of the boys.

They had set up a time the following week to have Nicole come to their turf.

“I’m really glad this happened and I am even happier that I got to experience this time with my best friend. Thanks for stressing with me, Carl.”

“Hey dude, no problem. Just promise me that when I find out I have a long lost sibling that you come with me.”

They both laughed and hopped on the train that had just pulled up in front of them.

Snow Globe - by Kelsey Jensen

A snow globe can hold so much meaning, and capture so many memories.

All throughout my childhood I have had this snow globe, embellished with pink roses in various shades and a Carousel horse sat inside. The Carousel is a classic ride that I would always buy tickets for whether it was at an amusement park, or down the beach.

In essence, this globe reminds me of my childhood. Running around in circles trying to figure out which horse is worthy of me to ride. I would always decide upon the most feminine, or elegant of the horses being a, quote, “girly girl”.

The horse in my snow globe is white, a symbol of innocence and purity, which is representative of childhood and especially girlhood. As time goes on dust collects on top of the globe, the dust portraying years going by. One day, while trying to clean the snow globe, it slipped free from my grip, and broke into several pieces. In a way, the white carousel represented me and the globe it was encased in was the safety of my childhood, the shattered glass, then, symbolizing its end.

I no longer am a little girl, but growing up into a well-mannered, reserved, young woman.

It is time for the next chapter in my life to begin.

I have saved the horse from inside the globe, and I am going to repurpose it into an ornament for our Christmas tree.

The horse has broken free from the glass and is free and independent.

Worn - by brandon saul

“It’s your one-hundred first birthday,” said a boy. The old man groaned and his jaw opened, but no words came out. The young boy wrapped one hand around the old man’s neck and the other underneath his legs. As he picked him up he teetered over to a wheel chair. The boy slowly put him down and began pushing the chair to the front door.

“What do you want to go see?” The old man didn’t speak or even look. They went outside and strolled down the sidewalk.

“Pet store it is, then.” The old man rolled his eyes.

When they arrived loud noises could be heard from outside. A young lady who worked there noticed the two and helped them inside the shop.

As soon as they entered a dog jumped up on the old man. He tried to hold back a slight grin, but you could see it creeping from both ends of his mouth. The boy decided to adopt the dog for him. The dog and the old man became very close. The dog and he would do everything together, when it was dinner time the old man would sit next to his dog and enjoy meals together, when the old man would go for walks his dog would be there beside him helping him move along.

One year later the boy fell very ill due to Malaria and couldn’t make it for the man’s one-hundred second birthday. The old man was able to manage, though, and was determined to see the boy. He unlocked the door and hooked the dog to his wheel chair. They went to a florist and got a bouquet. After that they went to visit the boy. By the time they arrived they were already too late.

The old man didn’t speak or make any facial expressions, almost as if his face was idle and he was somewhere else. Then for a moment he just stared at the empty hospital bed. He reached his hand over and nudged the dog’s back and the dog made its way back home.

The old man watered the flowers for several days which he then later took to a grave. The dog climbed up on his lap but this time tears struck the old man’s worn face.

When She’s By Herself - By Katrina Gines

“I’m bored.” Jenna said to herself. Jenna sat on her queen sized bed in silence.

She heard a loud bang come from outside her window. She walked over to the window and slid back her curtain slightly, and peered outside. The lamp sitting on her night table began to flicker. She looked back at her lamp, and watched as it blew out. Her room became pitch black.

She let out a slight squeal, then covered her mouth to silence herself. Jenna peered out again. As she looked out the window, she saw the shadow of what appeared to be a man lurking around outside her dining room door. Jenna immediately squatted down so she couldn’t be seen.

Then, she heard glass break downstairs. Her hands still covered her mouth. She heard footsteps downstairs.

Jenna froze.

The footsteps stopped. He’s still downstairs. Where do I hide? She thought.

She looked around her dark room, and tried to see where she could possibly go. Only a few feet away was her bed. Maybe I can fit under it…? She thought.

She lifted herself up, and lightly but quietly tiptoed over to her bed. She bent down and lied down on her stomach, parallel to the floor. She slid under her bed, until she was completely hidden. As the footsteps became louder, her heart pounded faster. She held her breath as the footsteps began again. This time, beginning up the stairs.

The footsteps stopped once they hit the top of the stairs. Jenna felt her ribs rub against the wooden floor. Barely fitting under the bed, she slid back out. She lifted herself up, and quietly tiptoed around her room, feeling her surroundings.

She kept feeling around until she felt a handle connected to a small door on the far end of the room. She gently pulled open the door and crawled inside. Feeling the soft fabric around her, she found the indented shelf that used to be her secret hiding place as a child.

She crawled in as far as she could, then sat down and held her knees up to her chest. Waiting a few seconds in silence, she finally pulled her iPhone out of her sweatshirt pocket.

The brightness of her phone blasted her eyes, so she scrambled to turn down the brightness. She found her Contacts app and went on it. As she scrolled through her contacts, she left the app and went on the Phone app. She silently sighed as she dialed 9-1-1, as it was her only hope.

She heard ring after ring until someone answered.

“Hello? What is your emergency?”

“My name is Jenna Franklin and I’m home alone and someone broke into my house! I live on 43 Backstreet Lane. Please hurry!”

“Hi Jenna. We’ll be sending a police officer to come and check on you. Is there anyone you would like me to contact?”

“No. No one.”

“Okay. Well just stay put and a police officer will be at your home soon.”

“Okay. Thank you. Please hurry!”

The footsteps began again, but sounded closer and closer to her room.

She quickly hung up the phone, turned it off, and put it back into her sweatshirt pocket.

The footsteps continued, but stopped right at her door. She heard the door creak open. Jenna had to cover her mouth with her hands again to contain her screams. She heard the person walk all the way around her room, and then they got closer and closer to her closet door.

She closed her eyes as tears began to flow down her cheeks. Her heart beated rapidly and it could burst out of her chest.

The closet door slowly opened, as Jenna prepared herself for what her eyes were about to see. A bright light suddenly shined in her face as she looked at the mysterious person.

“Jenna? Why are you hiding in the closet?”

“How do you know my name?”

“It’s Barry.” He let out a few chuckles.

“Barry?” Jenna realized it was him as she crawled out and off of the shelf.

She got out of the closet and looked at him. Barry was still laughing to himself at Jenna’s reaction. She angrily punched him in the arm and yelled, “That wasn’t funny! You scared the crap outta me!”

“It was funny to me! Besides, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday!”

The Bear - by Brandon saul

I was doing time in the only prison in the world. It was way back in the year two-thousand eighteen.

The earth was now only getting used to being one minuscule continent. Funding schools, prisons, and more was tougher than ever before. With funding being quite difficult there was only one massive building for each type of job or place like a library. And of course I was thrown into the only prison on earth. I was actually happy to be there. It was safer than being outside with the bear roaming around.

The bear was known for his gigantic claws. Some say they’re sharper than a katana. The bear was also known for his agility, endurance, and criminal acts. You’re probably wondering how one monster could get away with so much even considering what he is known for. Well he kept that up for about three months straight, but after that they finally caught him.

At the time I had no clue, but I found out quickly. The world police didn’t want to kill the monster due to his unique genes, so they locked him up in the only place available…

MY CELL!

I couldn’t believe they’d put that monster in my cell! The bear crushed the bunk bed so he took both mattresses. I now slept on the little floor room that I had.

I didn’t dare to communicate with the bear; whenever the monster was around I’d hold still as if I wasn’t there. Unfortunately, this lead to my lunch and dinner being stolen by it, the only time I got to eat is when it slept through the whole day.

Two days later I had my first courtyard day with the bear. I made sure to stay out of the way and just examine from far away. That’s when I saw the goriest thing I’d ever seen with my eyes. I’m four-hundred years old; you’d think I’ve seen worse since then, but no. Blood was splattered across the walls and black top. Police and prison outfits could be found in tiny pieces twenty feet away from the corpses. The survivors ran away from the bear to the corner of the courtyard.

Before the bear came to tear me apart the police were able to shock and lock it up. I hadn’t noticed it before, but the bear wasn’t that hairy for being a towering huge monster.

That night I attempted to talk to the bear.

“Uh-Uh… Hey, Bear!”

The bear snarled at me. I was persistent to become friends with the monster.

“H-h-how about we escape together, I won’t betray you.” I saw a slight nod of some sort, so we broke through the rotted bars, well I didn’t but the bear did. I came into some use when we came across a steel door that required a passcode. Luckily, I overheard the code when I first arrived at the prison. We were quickly caught when we came out of the other side.

For the first time ever the bear communicated by opening his mouth.

“Run.”

I felt uneasy leaving the bear behind even though he was a murderer. I made my way to the exit while everyone was focused on the bear. After I escaped I never saw the bear again. I’d often heard rumors that he escaped and was still out murdering. I always wondered what drove him to murdering other humans.

The girl listening to the story chuckled.

“I’m not scared; he’ll never find me even if he is alive at this moment.”

“Some people in this town say he is one among the firemen”

Her face grew stiff and pale. With her legs shaking she said,

“I-I-I… have to go.”

The Four Glorious Words Every Woman Loves to Say - by DEVON PARKER

Living in a predominantly female house, the women are rarely wrong. As rumors floated around that an addition was going to be put on, I suspected that the hearsay was coming from my father and I was right. From the standpoint a fourth grader, I understood home remodeling, financial aspects, but only to an extent. If I ever heard my parents discussing the matter at hand, my mother said “Jim, are you sure this is what you really want?” My mother wanted to give everything to her family, she’d give the world if she found out how to.

The original layout of my kitchen could hold the arm span of my father, which was 6’3, and fit it in between my refrigerator and my microwave. Other than that, we had a decent size living room, dining room and a back office. The upstairs held the master bedroom, my bedroom, my sister’s bedroom, and the bathroom.

This topic was around my house for months, hearing bits and pieces from scattered rooms in the house. The decision was made and blueprints had been drawn up. Over the time span that this project was going, there were some days that I was ill. Those days were hell. It was torturous. There was a time in the process when I was home from school for a week. To a kid it sounds like a dream. Nope, not for me. I was bedridden for pneumonia. It was the last week of school, so I had missed all the fun end-of-the-year activities. I barricaded myself under my blankets, having the door shut, and I was still able to hear the noises of my house being under construction.

At one point I wished that they would stop banging nails into the walls and start to hit my head instead.

After that whole fiasco of a week was over, the duration of the process turned to trips to furniture, paint ,and home improvement stores. This would have 3 trips in 2 weeks time. The amount of times that I walked into Sherwin Williams, I could recite the all the shades of blue from the paint swatches. There were a total of 154 shades, I prefered about 47.

After 10 countless months, it was finally finished. For the exaggeration that was made by my father on reveal day, I should I have put a red ribbon with a bow on the new mahogany front door and bought a pair of giant scissors.

For the first few years, the addition was glorious. I had the first-child superiority over my sister into getting the old master bedroom as my new room. All I thought was “Now I have room for activities.” My new room was twice the size of my old one and I was ecstatic.

Then the economy hit. The stock markets crashed and families took huge losses. My family was one of them. My mother was laid off after working for her company for over 15 years. My father took a huge pay cut rather than transferring to another location for more money. They said that some money coming in was better than nothing at all. There were countless arguments now since another house was practically added to ours. I had noticed a recurring line in the arguments, always came from my mother.

I told you so.

The Wall - by Jordan Slaughter

My breath caught in my throat. Sweat poured down my face and trickled into the small opening of my mouth. Arms limp and legs wobbly, I was about ready to pass out. This was not my ideal scene on a Saturday morning. I needed to do this though. Only two more objects stood in front of me and what I wanted so dearly. My mind went empty.

“Jordan Slaughter,” Mrs. Master Tierney stated to the crowd and my peers. It was time.

“Yes ma’am.” My voice echoed throughout the gymnasium and I walked to the head table and bowed at the instructors. “Jordan Slaughter. Jump double front kick”

Turning, I met my main instructor and another man who went to my gym in front of me already holding my boards. As I placed the boards how I wanted to be, I made eye contact with my instructor and in his eyes I saw everything I needed to see.

I could do this.

“Put everything you have into this, Jordan. You’ve worked hard for this moment and have earned it,” Mr. Master Tierney said. I nodded and shut my eyes closing out everything and everyone.

In my mind I replayed the many images and memories of the past years. I had spent hours upon hours training, preparing, and drilling myself to perfection just for this moment. The times I had come home to my mom crying over a new bruise on my body, or complaining to my father about a bloody nose were uncountable. All to become a better warrior, a better leader. The victorious and miserable tears that I have cried could not be for nothing. The copper tasting liquid that had entered my mouth on many occasions during fighting in class were to prepare me for this one moment.

It was do or die.

I was ready. Looking up to the plain white ceiling, I prayed to whatever was out there to get through this. This moment was all I ever wanted. It was all I had. Ever since the day I walked into my old dojo, my path was paved for me in shining gold.

I jumped up putting all of my energy into the movement. My black belt hit my face and in a way reminded me of what I wanted. Feet connected to the board, I crushed threw it. Not just split it in half, but crushed it in half. Wooden pieces flew everywhere and there was a loud gasp in the audience. I roared a ferocious, explosive, aggressive kihap before I landed on the ground. This would surely be the talk in karate classes for days to come.

Looking towards the audience, I saw my family, cameras out, jaws dropped, and applauding me obnoxiously. They were the ones that always supported me, who brought me up when I was down and who I turned to for the most support and love. In a way this achievement was not just for me, it was for them too because without them I wouldn’t have been standing here.

For the past fifteen years I’ve looked at life like a complicated word puzzle that could never be solved, but when I hit that board I realized that anything can be crushed through. I didn’t believe that I could be strong enough mentally or physically to break through that board, but I did it. In life nothing is impossible. Anything can be achieved is one is strong enough to go for it.

Hidden Flower - Julia SMith & Jenna dibona

"Hidden Flower" is a short film created by the students of The Media Youth Film Initiative, a creative visual arts program created for high school students that have a passion for expressing their life experiences through film. This film is written and produced by Julia Smith, who was also the Assistant Director, and played a supporting role. The film stars Jenna Dibona.

Motif

Anonymous

Madison Blair

Carly Bondrowski

Jenna Dibona

Alair Diremigio

Katrina Gines

Sarah Greenleaf

Anna Colette Haynes

Kelsey Jensen

Shannon Kaminski

Haley Kline

Kevin Kuszmaul

Mike McAndrew

Sienna Novelli

Owen Parente

Devon Parker

Peyton Piccioni

Stacie Preuhs

Morgan Ruggieri

Brandon Saul

Gavin Sekel

Haley Seitz

Jaime Simmons

Jordan Slaughter

Julia Smith

Stephen Smith

Emily Stokarski

Zoe Tutlo

Lauren Vitale

Tiffany West

Moderator - Mr. Hill

Special thanks to Mr. Carboni, Mrs. Grazel, Mr. Hartman, and Mrs. McCarthy for their contributions of student work to MOTIF.