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CLINTON SOUP
Winter 2016
Staff
Luna Barujel
Angelina Chen
Jacqueline Choe
Jessica Glogover
Malena Glover
Ava Gordon
Carmen Gray
Lola Gunter
Stella Hannert
Rue Hocke
Viola Hsia
Bobbi Kurens
Lola Otero
Annabel Sexton-Daldry
Luke Studley-Roberts
Maya Stolarz
Julija Vizbaras
Zia Williams
Cassius Winkelman
Senior Staff
Dinah Bianchi
Wendy Doncourt
Maya Holtham
Kai Huie
Maddie McNally
Sky Rattray
Catherine Saccone
Advisor: Mrs. Nelson
Front cover art by Wendy Doncourt
Back cover art by Sky Rattray
TABLE OF CONTENTS
LIFE & DEATH, XAVIER YOUNG
WINTER, KAI HUIE
NAUSICA, LOLA GUNTER
REALLY BAD HAIKU, CASSIUS WINKLEMAN
THE GALAXY AND THE WINGS, LOLA OTERO
STEVEN’S LANE 7: PART 2, SELINDA LAWREN
FEAR OF THE MANGO TREES, BOBBI KURENS
MY STORY, XAVIER YOUNG
PRINCESS MONONOKE, LOLA GUNTER
STUCK, VIOLA HSIA
MIDNIGHT, KAI HUIE
ICE, XAVIER YOUNG
DR. SPOOL, ANNABEL SEXTON-DALDRY
MERRY X-MAS, STELLA HANNERT
WRITER’S BLOCK, MADDIE MCNALLY
CLIMB, ANONYMOUS
JOHN CENA, SKY RATTRAY
THE WORLD, JULIJA VIZBARAS
STARDUST, STELLA HANNERT
THE COMBINATION LOCK, RAMI SIGAL
TWIG GIRL, MAIREAD O’NEILL
THE NOISE IN THE CLOSET, ANNA NIELSEN
SURROUNDED BY FEAR, SPENCER ROSEN
THE FINAL BATTLE, SIENNA FAHEY
ORIGINAL CHARACTER, TESS MILLER
RUNNING, LOLA GUNTER
THE GIRL THAT DANCED IN STARS, ELIANA SCHAER
BAD EGG, SKY RATTRAY
SUMMONERS, GRACE ABSHIRE
SOME KIND OF NATURE, DINAH BIANCHI
DREAMS, ELINA MUKHARAMOVA
LOCKED INSIDE MYSELF, ZIA WILLIAMS
SKWISTOK, DINAH BIANCHI
ENTHON’S ADVENTURES, CASSIUS WINKELMAN
THE LISTENER, MAYA HOLTHAM
PORTRAIT OF VIOLA, TESS MILLER
FALLING LIKE DOMINOS, SKY RATTRAY
HATTIE PULLMAN, MALENA GLOVER
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LIFE AND DEATH
By: Xavier Young
WINTER
By: Kai Huie
Life,
The star,
Of the universe,
A brave strong hero,
A knight in glowing armor,
With the magic,
To fight evil
The wind,
Flickering,
Our light is,
Fading,
Our hero,
Growing older,
He never had a descendent,
No family,
Born from hope,
But that hope is fading,
Death is coming
Death,
The being,
Watching over us,
With the magic to send,
Innocent,
Helpless,
Souls,
To sleep.
NAUSICA
By: Lola Gunter
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I am not depressed
Because I am jubilant
Are you not depressed?
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But what do I care?
Because the world is ending
Attacked by giants.
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REALLY BAD HAIKU
By: Cassius Winkleman
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THE GALAXY AND THE WINGS
By: Lola Otero
I walked down an oak staircase,
Barely seeing my steps,
And a black night covered me,
At midnight
Trying not to trip,
I gripped the railing
With my sweaty hands
A full moon shone
Through a crack on the wall
Landing carefully,
On the dusty floor,
My eyes adjusted to the darkness
I saw a light
A small candle,
Drip,
Drip,
Dripping,
Stood near a grand painting
Of a fanciful lady
I touched her clear blue eyes
When it suddenly opened,
Revealing a tunnel, an opportunity
Leading me to the room
A simple room
Nothing but a desk,
And a bubbling pink drink
A figure approached,
A mess of silver hair
And a dirty lab coat
The figure,
A foot taller than me,
Stepped forward
“What are you doing here?”
He boomed
My hands trembled with fright
My mouth not able to muster a word
Without a doubt,
The man grabbed my hand leading me to
another room
A blue light shone,
So brightly,
Blinding my sight
A shuffle of feet,
A clasp to my back,
A cold shiver
He shot me out of the window,
Into the sky,
Into the bright world
Thousands of shimmering diamonds,
Hundreds of small rocks
The air was cold and thick,
My head was spinning
But I was liberated,
Free, wind pushing past me
I closed my eyes,
And stepped onto the moon,
The dark planet
There were craters,
Thick with dust
When I looked up,
I could see a thousand stars
But when I opened my eyes,
I was back in my room
Two wings beside my bed.
STEVEN’S LANE 7: PART 2
By: Selinda Lawren
“How many today?” the man asked.
“Only two,” Nick replied, “I took them in to do the second test.”
“You will take them to camp tomorrow night. They’re done waiting.”
“Will they be like the rest of them?” Nick asked with a frown. The man nodded. “But they’re
only kids! They shouldn’t be toyed around with and made into weapons.” Nick ran his hands through
his light brown hair in frustration.
“We already went over this, and it isn’t that bad,” the man replied.
“You wouldn’t know...dad.” It had been so long since he had said that word, the word sounded
rough on Nick’s lips. The man looked as if he had been slapped. His eyes drifted onto the corner of the
room behind Nick, to avoid his son’s dagger-like glare.
“I’m sorry,” Nick’s dad said in a soft whisper, turning as Nick walked out of the room without a
word.
Ten years ago, Nick was one of the chosen to “make the world a better place.” They’d
brainwashed him, and made him do things that were illegal and could’ve gotten him killed. They only
used seven-year-olds, because they were young enough to think of the impossible, and old enough to
follow instructions. That was why on the day Nick turned eight, Nick was kicked out, and forced to go
back to his normal life. Even after ten years of his dad buying him gifts, and months of therapy, Nick
never got over the fact that his dad had given him away to such a horrible organization.
The organization was called the E.Y.E.S. and Steven’s Lane 7 helped fund it. Nick’s dad knew
what was going on, but he would do anything for his country. He would even die for it, so sacrificing a
bunch of seven-year-olds wouldn’t affect him a bit, even if it meant giving up his only son.
FEAR OF THE MANGO TREES
By: Bobbi Kurens
I amble down the aisle, my hair drifting in the wind. My hands clutching the bouquet, as sweat
cascades down my back. In the process of walking, I continue to stumble on my eyelet lace train. Oh
great, I think; another thing to worry about. The dew from the grass makes marks on my 490 dollar
cream Louis Vuitton pumps.
I then mutter to myself in a sarcastic tone, “Yep, that’s just perfect.” The crisp fall air fills my
lungs with a cool, calming sensation. I look upwards at the rolling green hills and the mango trees. I
remember the mango trees we had as a kid, the sweet scent and the way my father used to pick them,
but if they weren’t ripe, he would just walk away.
“Ha,” I said, talking to myself. “Just like the family he walked away from.” Going back into the
real world, I saw the unripe mangos on the tree. I saunter over, and look carefully at the mangos. This
is my last chance to walk away, to not pick the mangoes. I could run off like my father did, go to an
island and start a new life.
“Maybe Bermuda?” I think. But it could just be the fear of the mango tree putting these
thoughts in my head.
MY STORY
By: Xavier Young
My story,
Lives,
Never to be told
But I,
Shall make an exception
I sailed,
The seven seas,
In search,
Of hope
The seven Seas,
Were crowded,
With the monsters,
In my dreams,
The people in my crew,
Across the seven seas I sail
My life,
My unraveled adventure,
My revealed secret,
My story,
For you.
PRINCESS MONONOKE
By: Lola Gunter
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STUCK
By: Viola Hsia
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction!
You think you know stupid? Well let me tell you what stupid is, because I don’t think there is a single
person who could have topped me of all the stupid deeds in the world.
My name is Joy, and I’m a seventh grader at the Clinton School for Writers and Artists in Union
Square. I’m in class 705. My best friend is named Selene, and normally, I don’t do stupid things. That is, until
Monday.
It was first period, and we were in math class. We were doing one of the investigation worksheets. As I
was graphing out my data, my pencil dropped into my bag.
“Shoot!” I muttered, and dove my hand into the bag. Instead of feeling the dry canvas of the bottom of
my backpack, I felt something wet, something gooey, something...sticky. I pulled my hand out of my backpack to
find a white substance dripping off my hand: glue.
“What the—?” How the heck did that get in my bag? Normally, I would immediately ask to go to the
bathroom to wipe it off. But instead, I was mesmerized by the slow, drip, drip, drip of the glue. For some reason,
this glue didn’t seem like regular glue, in fact, it looked strangely familiar…
Suddenly, Mr. Morrash was walking by to see how we were doing on our worksheets. I panicked. What
would he say if he saw me staring at my gluey hand when I was supposed to be doing my work? Would my
grade go down? In my worry, I did the most stupid thing ever: I stuck my hand into my back jeans pocket. He
didn’t see it.
“Whew,” I said to myself. Then I thought, “oh no,” because suddenly, I couldn’t seem to get my hand
out of my pocket, literally. I tried jerking it, jumping up a bit, trying everything I could to pry it from its place.
Luckily, Mr. Andrews was helping Amanda a couple seats away, so he didn’t notice. It was no use. My hand was
stuck. What was even worse was that it was my right hand that was stuck, and my left hand is practically a goodfor-nothing hand and can barely do anything without the help of my right. Also, out of all days for my to get my
hand stuck, was the day Selene and I were going to go skating (who wants to go skating with one hand?). I. Was.
Such. A. Downright. Idiot.
Thank God the bell rang when it did. I packed up my things as best as I could with my left hand, which
is probably why I was the last one to leave the classroom. I immediately knew this was not going to be my easiest
day.
And believe me it wasn’t. There were times when I was afraid that they’d find out about my glued hand.
Like the time we were standing outside the ELA classroom, I was scared that Mrs. Albrecht and Mrs. Weg
would find out because of my messy left-handed-handwriting. (1. I usually have neat handwriting, and 2. It’s
ELA. I think your handwriting matters.) Some of the teachers didn’t seem to notice, like Mr. Driscoll, and Ms.
Giberson, but that was because they were both busy teaching or helping students. Others, like Ms. Bauman, or
Mr. Jacobi seemed a bit suspicious. I probably did look weird, running with one hand in my pocket during PE. I
also probably looked a bit weird in music, because I think Ms. Moe was probably wondering why I was doing
the solfeggio signs all one handedly. But overall, I think the teachers seemed to notice I was worried about
something, and I was: about skating one-handedly!
It seemed forever until after school. I was sitting in the cafeteria, wondering how I was going to explain
to my friends, when my friend Selene confronted me.
“Joy,” she said, “is there something wrong with your hand?” I tensed up.
“N-no, nothing's wrong,” I said. Selene narrowed her eyes.
“You sure, because all day I couldn’t but notice that your hand was stuck in your pocket. Mr. Snyder
actually asked me why your hand was in your pocket all class, plus why you seemed so worried.”
Dang, I thought I went through Social Studies unnoticed. “Joy,” Selene said gently, “Let me see your
hand.”
“What?!”
“Let me see your hand!” Before I could react, Selene was investigating my hand.
“Wow,” she muttered, pulling, “Your hand IS stuck. What did you do, superglue it?” She meant it as a
joke. But it got me thinking: superglue. Superglue! That’s why the substance was so familiar. It was superglue,
the super strong glue that my dad used to hold his plane models together! How could I have been so stupid?
“Selene, it’s super glue!”
“What?” I told her the incident in the math room. I think I also blurted out something about skating.
When I finished, her eyes were wide. She peeked into my backpack, and pulled out a leaky bottle of superglue.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, “Joy, I could have helped you! I feel like such an idiot for not
noticing earlier.” Without another word, she dragged me to the 3rd floor bathroom (the cafeteria ones were
locked). We stayed up there, missing our classes, trying to get off the superglue. It took forever, but we finally
managed to get it loose, before going skating. Two of our classmates, Tess and Elena, came and helped out for a
bit. Elena knew that salt and hot water took off the superglue, so she sent Tess down to the cafeteria to convince
the lunch ladies to lend us some salt. I later found out my little brother dropped the glue bottle into my bag by
accident. Stupid Dennis.
So, you see, if Selene hadn’t found out about my hand, she wouldn’t have taken me to the bathroom,
Tess and Elena wouldn’t have helped us, I would have never got the “Magic” Saltwater Solution, and would
have been Clinton’s clumsiest left handed skater.
MIDNIGHT
By: Kai Huie
ICE
By: Xavier Young
The cold heart,
Of the millions,
Who were framed
The evil
That was once good,
The traitors,
Who were once loyal
The cold,
That was once warm,
Accused
The lies,
The ones that hit them,
In the face
They froze,
Turned to ice,
Their hearts,
Lost,
In time,
Space,
And life.
DR. SPOOL
By: Annabel Sexton-Daldry
Dr. Spool walked into her stuffy examining room where a tired looking patient sat. The room was a
sad attempt at a welcoming, child friendly, doctor’s office. Sad looking posters of children getting flu shots
hung on the wall, and faded Mickey Mouse wallpaper covered the yellowing. The small light bulb flickered
overhead, and the sound of a fly buzzing around filled the dusty air. Dr. Spool began examining the
middle-aged woman that sat on the old examining table in the center of the room.
Dr. Spool took out the different materials necessary for the examination. Then, she pressed the cold
metal stethoscope to the chest of the shivering patient. Dr. Spool dipped a cotton ball into hydrogen
peroxide and roughly rubbed it on the woman’s upper arm. She pulled out a syringe with brown, menacing
looking liquid inside, and slowly walked toward the examining table. The woman whimpered. Dr. Spool
put the syringe in her fist and approached the woman. The patient squeezed her eyes shut in preparation
for the pain. Instead of injecting the shot into the woman’s arm, she jabbed the syringe into the pulsing neck
of the patient. The woman’s eyes popped open and she cried out. She fell onto the cold ground, while she
twitched, and withered around. With one final cry, and one final breath, the patient was dead.
Dr. Spool watched this happen with no emotion. When the woman was finally dead, she dragged
her out of her office, down the hall, and into the waiting room. The receptionist took no notice of this, and
continued to file papers.
“Congratulations on yet another successful examination, doctor,” the receptionist called out as Dr.
Spool stuffed the body into a garbage bag.
“Much obliged, Jessica,” Dr. Spool called back as she threw the garbage bag out the back door,
where a pile of garbage bags lay. The bell above the door rang, and in walked a middle aged man.
“Hi, I’m here for my 1:00 appointment,” the man stated.
“Fantastic, come right in,” Dr. Spool replied with a smile.
MERRY X-MAS
By: Stella Hannert
WRITER’S BLOCK
By: Maddie McNally
My head is a desert
I have nothing to write
My ideas stopped flowing
at 10 o’clock last night
There is nothing to do
I have nothing to say
My mind has gone blank
My imagination is gone
What to do
What to write
Writer's block
Blegh.
CLIMB
By: Anonymous
It’s a weird thing, because last year, when I was a sixth grader, I never would have thought I would be
the seventh grader looking down on the new sixth graders like babies. Then I went on to seventh grade, and the
new sixth graders came in. It was almost my instinct to hate them. Every time I looked at one, I thought, “Why
are they so small?”
It’s ironic though, because I am one of the tallest kids in my grade, so I was never really as small as
them. It’s all a social climb. People want to be loved by the people who hate them. So it’s in my mind, that if I
strive to act like I hate them all, they will plead for my love. I also take advantage of the fact that they want the
respect of their superiors. By superiors, I mean kids in the grades above them.
It’s also a vicious loop. The seventh graders were mean to my grade, now I’m mean to the sixth graders,
and I’m sure next year, they will act the same way to the incoming sixth graders, but I will be an eighth grader
by then. I will be too mature for that drama.
Next year, when I’m in eighth grade, I will treat the seventh graders as my friends, rather than my
lowers. The eighth graders mostly treat me well now. Mostly.
There are those eighth graders who are so arrogant and rude. They thought they owned the school since
day one of sixth grade, but then again, everyone hates those kinds of people.
Then, there is the seventh grader, who treats everyone as an equal, and has a whole friend group. We
hate those people, because they can’t let go of the past. Or there are seventh graders who have friends in the
grade above. We hate those people, because they are in the “in” crowd, and we are not...and they are also too
eager for the future.
That’s why it is safe to be like me. As a seventh grader, I limit my friend groups to the people in my
grade. No one has true freedom to not be judged unless they are eighth graders. Eighth graders can talk to
anyone and get away with it, because they are at the top of the school. I am counting down the days until I am
an eighth grader. I can hardly wait.
JOHN CENA
By: Sky Rattray
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THE WORLD
By: Julija Vizbaras
The world will never find peace. We like to think that we’re safe, like the end to the planet is not our generation’s problem. However,
it is. One mistake can have the system tumble down. The world’s end. One mistake can end the existence of humans. One mistake.
And I was that mistake. So this is my story.
Chapter One
My wavy brown hair flew behind me as I made my way down a cracked cement road on a rusty bike.
Little beaten-down dirt paths led into the forest that surrounded me. My leather shoulder bag swung from side
to side as I slowed down, the fast wind turned into a light forest breeze. When I came to a dirt path numbered
23, I hopped off my bike, and timidly walked down the dusty path, excited for the life that awaited me. The
sweet smell of pine leaves was in the air as I headed into the forest, and before long, I came to a little wooden
cabin. I grinned, knowing that this was the house that I would live in for many years to come.
That morning, when I woke up on a hard, wiry bed, I lay there for a moment, thinking of all the things I
could do now. In Cypresslen, it was a custom when children turned 18, they would move away from their family
to get jobs and new responsibilities. I sat up, trying to remember what the Assigner told me.
“You will receive your schedule next morning, lying on your dining table. Don’t let anyone know what’s
on your schedule unless you truly trust them. And I mean this. Only the people you trust with your heart and
soul. Good luck in the new life,” I remembered him saying. My future was waiting for me downstairs. I jumped
out of bed only to bang my head on the low ceilings. With my head still throbbing from the sudden pain, I made
my way down the spruce stairs, and found a scroll tied by a blue ribbon on the little oak table. This was it. My
shaking hands undid the yarn, and unrolled the curved paper. There lay a printed message at the top from The
Keeper, the highest in our government, but it was obvious all of the new 18 year-olds received this.
Growing Citizen,
Congratulations on your new life and surviving so far. I hope you will enjoy your future.
The Keeper
My face broke into a smile. Whatever my assignment was, I wanted to remember to be happy to still be
alive and well, and that I came this far in my life…I took a deep breath to smell the aroma of pine trees, before
looking back at the paper.
Dear Ms. Corylus,
You have been chosen to have the assignment of a Preserver because you show promising skill. All of your questions will be
answered tomorrow, 8:01am sharp. Please wear the outfit provided upstairs, and take the time to explore your cabin.
Glenn Ash, Main Assigner
I gasped. To get your job chosen from the Main Assigner was a big deal. Preserver. I never heard of that
duty, even in class in school where the teachers taught us all the jobs that we can possibly get assigned to. I guess
I would find out tomorrow. I headed up the stairs to my petite bedroom, and opened the squeaky closet next to
my wire-framed bed. There lay tight black cargo pants, a teal shirt and a pair of gray leather hiking boots. The
outfit gave off a feeling of freedom. I felt like I had seen those clothes somewhere before, but I couldn’t put my
finger on it. I walked outside, the big green trees glaring down at me. I wondered how my Mother, Father and
my younger brother were doing. Did they miss me? Were they thinking of me right now? I wondered if I would
ever hear my family's voices again. I know for a fact my grandparents wouldn’t miss me—they always saw me as
some nonsense, only thinking about their work, job, and retirement. I started hearing my brother’s little voice
echoing in my head: “Ceda, Ceda, Ceda Ceda Ceda Ceda! You did it! You got a job!!!” squealed his highpitched voice.
The only problem was that I didn't know what the job was. I went into the kitchen, which was made of
stone and wood, and found sandwiches in the mini fridge. I grabbed one and sat down on one of the padded
wooden chairs, my mind in the clouds. What I didn’t know was that my every movement was being watched
and noted.
Chapter Two: Waiting for a Life
I woke up, this time making sure that I wouldn’t bump my head on the ceiling again. I headed down to
the kitchen and ate a slice of stale pumpkin bread that I found in one of the cabinets. This was the day. I went
over in my head the questions I wanted to ask. However, it always came back to one main question:
“What’s a Preserver??”
I walked out the door, and sat down on a tuft of grass near my cabin.
What’s a Preserver?
The question pulsed in my head. If I didn’t get answers soon, my mind would burst. Being near the
beautiful natural greenery comforted me, but I still felt unsure. Deciding that sitting on the grass would not help
me at all, I headed inside and got dressed. I examined myself in a mirror in the bathroom, and put my hair up in
a messy bun. A clock ticked away on the living room wall, counting off the time until I could get the answer to
my burning question. Tick. Tick. Tick.
I sat down, imagining all the things a Preserver could be. I imagined exotic animals and plants, I
imagined the blue sky and the dark night. Although my mind came up with many things a Preserver could be,
none of them seemed to fit. My thoughts were interrupted by eight identical chimes. The clock. I rushed outside,
where one of the tree stumps near my cabin started glowing a brilliant blue. I started screaming. Alien activity.
Since I was a little toddler, people were constantly reminding us at school that if we saw anything alien, to
contact the most nearby guard. There was a phone inside the cabin. Blue light slowly crept down the stump,
spreading at a steady slow rate. I still had time to sprint inside and call the nearest guard station. A message
appeared on the blue light just as I was trying to remember the guard’s phone number.
“Ms. Corylus, please remain calm. Step on the tree’s base and you will be instantly teleported to the
meeting area,” a robotic voice said clearly.
I felt my eyes widen with shock and excitement. I ran to the stump as fast as my feet could run and
jumped on the light. Here I come, Preserver Life.
To Be Continued...
STARDUST
By: Stella Hannert
THE COMBINATION LOCK
By: Rami Sigal
It was a hot August afternoon, and I was preparing for my first day of school at Clinton. I had
memorized my schedule, finished my summer assignments, and bought school supplies. One more
nagging thing left on my pre-Clinton to-do list was to learn to open a combination lock for my locker.
As a dyslexic, opening a combination lock that turns right-left-right and memorizing numbers is a
challenge. I emailed Mr. Levin, the principal, and asked if I could use a lock with a key instead of a
combination. I was given a firm “no.”
I plopped down on my couch with my dad’s old gym combination lock and practiced. Right 18
- around once to the left, pass 0, stop at 24 - right to 32. Pull, nothing. Right 18 - left 24 - right 32.
Nothing again. After countless tries, I resorted to a trick shown in an old Bond movie: I put my ear to
the lock and strained to hear clicks as I turned the dial, just like 007. I’m a big fan of Bond, but also of
MythBusters. On one MythBusters episode it was questioned if a safe could be opened simply by
listening closely for the combination that caused the lock wheels to click into place. The Mythbusters
used a stethoscope and heard nothing. I would not have any special tool to open my dad’s combination
lock.
I wondered how I would get my books in and out of my locker between classes. The bell would
ring, everyone would slam their lockers shut and run off to class, while I was stuck staring at my closed
locker, holding my winter coat and boots. I wouldn’t have the books I needed for class, I would be late,
unprepared and fail out of school. Even if I managed to get everything into my locker, I wondered
how I would get books and my lunch out quickly. Or ever.
I continued to practice. My hands became sweaty after holding and turning the metal lock for
hours. They started to smell like rusty, used gym socks but I was not going to get up from the couch
until I could open this lock. At this point, I had memorized the combination: 18, 24, 32, nothing, 18,
24, 32, nothing, 18, 24, 32 - click! Then victory! A pull of the lock and the shackle opened. My stomach
jumped, I could not believe it. I wondered if I could do it again. I really opened the lock! This was
such a great accomplishment for me. Satisfied, I clicked the lock shut on the top handle of my
backpack.
“What are you doing?” asked my mom.
“Packing up for school tomorrow.”
My mom was confused. “You don’t need that lock at school, you’ll be given a lock.”
My jaw dropped. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you see the email I forwarded? Your teacher will give you a new red combination lock
to borrow for the year.”
“That’s a catastrophe! I won’t be able to open a different lock! I’ve been practicing opening
this one for days!” My mom reassured me that after all this practice I would figure out how to open a
different combination lock. My heart started pounding and I became anxious about the start of school.
I thought things through and realized I wouldn’t have too much to carry – no coat, no boots, not even
books yet, so at least I could scope out the lock situation, and maybe have a chance to practice.
Turns out we weren’t even assigned lockers and locks until the second week of school. My
teacher, Ms. Langbein, walked around the room placing a lock on each student’s desk. There was a tag
attached to each lock with the combination. I examined my numbers. All double digits. This was going
to be tough. Ms. Langbein calmly explained to the class how to open the locks. I listened, but I tried at
the same time – right-left, pass zero, hit the number-right – pull, click! The shackle falls.
In the end I didn’t need a stethoscope, a laser wristwatch, or an antennae from my cell phone to
pick the lock. I opened the lock on the first try.
TWIG GIRL
By: Mairéad O’Neill
“My friends all think it’s weird I refuse to eat. I can’t. If I eat, I’ll get fat, and my modeling
agent won’t like that. I have to stay thin and beautiful. If I don’t, I’ll lose my job,” I thought to myself
as I walked down the halls of South Sea Junior High. I was skinny, sickly, and altogether miserable. My
friends were worried, my parents were worried, and my teachers were worried. I looked horrible.
People would call me ‘twig girl’ when they thought I couldn’t hear.
I opened my locker and looked at my mirror. I wanted to cry.
“I look so chubby and ugly,” I said to myself out loud.
“Fiona! Don’t say that!” said my friend, Hazel, at the locker next door. “You are beautiful! You
shouldn’t judge yourself like that. It’s not good for your self esteem.”
I shrugged and got out my books. “I know I’m disgustingly ugly,” I said with a frown. “You
don’t have to pretend.”
I did look sickly. But I didn’t look fat. I know that now. But I couldn’t seem to see myself with
any respect.
I shut the door to my locker and walked to my next class, History. My History teacher, Ms.
Gabinete, or Ms. Gaby, welcomed me into the classroom.
“How are you, Fiona?” she asked with a smile.
“Good,” I lied.
“Are you going to stay behind and help me clean up again today?”
“Of course,” I replied. “I love to help clean up.”
I sat down in my seat and stared at the board, but I wasn’t really looking at it or listening to the
lesson. My mind was on the runway. My next show was for Gap, and I kept telling myself they’d fire
me because I was too fat.
“Fiona? Fiona?” I heard. I felt a shove at my shoulder and realized I had fallen asleep. I looked
up and saw Ms. Gaby staring down at me.
“Oh my gosh, I—” I began, knowing I would get in huge trouble.
“Fiona, it’s okay. Class is over. I’ve excused you from your next class. I want to talk to you,”
Ms. Gaby said with the knowing smile all teachers have.
I sat up and looked at her.
“I’m worried about you, Fi. You look sad, worried, and sick,” she said.
“I am worried. I’m worried about looking fat and being fired from my gig,” I slowly whispered,
tears pouring down my face.
“Fiona, I want you to go home. Sleep. Talk to your mom and dad. Relax. I can talk to the
principal and excuse you from school for a while. I would like you to give this note to your parents.
Okay?”
I took the note from Ms. Gaby and put it in my pocket.
“Now go to your locker and pack up, and head on home.”
The next thing I knew, I was on my couch, in my mother’s lap, crying my eyes out as she read
the note.
“Honey,” my mom said, stroking my hair, “we need to talk.”
My mom told me that when she was my age, she was obsessed with becoming skinny. She said
her parents told her about anorexia, which was starving yourself to become skinny. My mom said that
that’s what Ms. Gaby thought I had.
The following months included visits to therapy, being force-fed in the doctor’s office, three
modeling gigs including the Gap one, and me hating myself. My life. My body.
One blistering hot, spring day, I was at out-lunch, sitting by the shore. It was only a few minutes
from the sea to my school, so we could have picnics by the ocean every day, which I loved. Except for,
well, you know, the whole eating part. Even though I was starving. But the sea was gorgeous, and it
made me feel calm. Happy. Loved.
“Fiona, how was your gig last week?” my friend Hazel asked.
“It was good. The clothes I was wearing really showed how fat I am, though.”
At that point, Hazel had stopped telling me to eat, since she knew it wasn’t getting anywhere,
and I was already struggling with being force-fed. All she would say to my remarks were, “you look
pretty today.”
“Hey, we got these cool smoothies on the way here, and they’re supposed to be super healthy,”
said my new-found friend, Mia. She was a transfer student from England and her accent was beautiful.
“Would you like one?”
“Sure,” I said, as she passed me a pink colored smoothie. I did know that I needed some
nutrition.
“Gah, I forgot a straw for you,” she said once I had a hold of it.
“That’s okay, I’ll just sip it,” I said. I raised the cup to my mouth and drank the refreshing
drink. It tasted like what I remembered strawberries tasted like: fresh, sweet, and juicy. The drink was
like heaven in my throat. I sat there and sipped it for five minutes straight. I loved it.
Soon, I was in math class, hanging on to the taste of the smoothie in my mouth, because it was
going to be the only taste in my mouth for the next day or so.
Everyday after that, Mia would bring me a smoothie, always some delicious flavor from the
mysterious smoothie place. We would talk, and she’d tell Hazel and me about what she did in England,
or some wild story about her old dog that always made us laugh. Little did I know that slowly, I was
becoming less and less sick-looking.
And one day, a year later, while I was about to go home, Mia came up to me.
“So, I see you’re no longer sick.” She smiled.
“Yep. My doctor says I’m at a healthy weight now. I’ve been really working hard to get back in
shape and feel good about myself.”
She looked at me and grinned.
“You know, I made those smoothies.”
I did a double take. “Wow, they were great.”
“Yea, my smoothies have the nutrition of an entire meal,” she said as she walked through the
crowd.
And that’s the story of how I survived anorexia.
THE NOISE IN THE CLOSET
By: Anna Nielsen
Today, school felt never ending. Like, there was no stop to it. All of this started last night, when I was
reading a book in bed. Suddenly, I heard a strange noise that seemed to be coming from the inside of my closet.
My heart immediately stopped. Was something in my closet? Should I call for help? Should I hide? There were
too many thoughts running through my head, that I had no idea what to do. As my brain filled up with one idea
following another, unexpectedly I heard someone whisper my name...
“Ally?” a voice said. “Psssst!” I raised my head up from my desk with my eyes halfway open. I turned
my head to get a quick look at who was whispering to me. “Psssst!” the person said again. It was my best friend,
Emily. “Can you respond to me already?!” she said again in a soft voice. I opened my eyes wide open as a signal
of my attention. “What’s the answer to number 4?” she spoke. That was the moment when I realized where I
was...at school.
“Ms. Ally!” someone began, “are you cheating in my class?!” I looked up quicker than a lightning bolt.
It was my teacher, Mrs. Z. She was the most meanest teacher of all time, there has to be some kind of record.
“Huh?” she said to me.
“No Mrs. Z,” I responded. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she knew I was lying, and that I was
too afraid to admit it.
“Are you absolutely sure?” she responded in a confident voice.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes.” The rest of the period went fine after all that chaos with Mrs. Z. Other than her
giving me her usual death stare, I think that I managed pretty well. Our next and final period was PE. Our
teacher was pretty cool. He let us chew gum and listen to music as we exercised. But at that point, nothing in the
whole wide world mattered to me. Not the fact that our PE teacher was nice. Not the fact that I was chewing
mango flavored gum right then. And not even the fact that I had a bunch of unfinished assignments due the next
day. Nothing mattered at all...but there was one thing that came to mind quite often. It was that noise. That
noise that came from my closet last night. I couldn’t stop daydreaming about those minutes of darkness.
Last period ended. “Finally!” I whispered to myself, as I walked across the gym towards the locker room.
I entered and began to change from my dirty, smelly gym clothes into my normal, everyday attire. Then, out of
the blue, a beep came from my bag. I knew that it was my phone and that I’d gotten a message, so I slowly
reached over to grab my backpack. As I got a hold of my bag, I searched through my girly mess, trying to find
my phone...no phone. All I could see were balled up receipts, a few dollars, and one more thing. My phone! I
was so relieved as I unlocked it and clicked “messages” to see what was up. The message was from one of my
teachers, and it was being sent from Jupiter ED. I read: “Reminder: Tomorrow’s assignment on coming across a
magical object due tomorrow!”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?” I whispered to myself. My day couldn’t possibly get any worse…
“Home at last!” I looked up and spun around as I threw my jacket and book bag to the floor. I was full
of relief, all my worries seemed to die down. I was glad to be back in my house. Although quite hungry, it wasn’t
the right time to go and grab a snack out of the fridge. I had to figure out who, or what was in my closet. So I
sprinted up the stairs, being careful not to tumble. As I reached the top of the steps, I knew that whoever or
whatever was in my closet, could sense my presence. So I began to tiptoe down the hallway towards my room. It
was hard to keep quiet because the floor kept creaking. It took forever to reach the front door leading to my
room. Each of my steps went so slowly that I almost dozed off a few times! I stretched out my arm, trying to get a
grip on the brass handle attached to my bedroom door. “Yes!” Ahold at last, I suddenly burst out. Before I even
opened the door, I put my left hand over my mouth to prevent myself from saying a single word. 1, 2, 3. I burst
open the door and ran straight across my room heading to my closet. I placed my hand on the handle of my
closet door and thought to myself, be brave. After a slight pep talk convincing myself to just open the door, I
finally began to pull...I couldn’t believe it. Why was there nothing there? I went through all of this for no reason?
This didn’t seem quite right, so I went down to my knees and began to dig through my clothes, one by one
throwing things behind me. This was hopeless, completely hopeless. But suddenly, I heard that noise again.
Where was it I didn’t know, but I was up for a challenge. I began to dig once again, faster by the second. About
two minutes into the process, I stopped. I couldn’t believe it. In front of me lay no monster or alien.
No skeleton or zombie. Just a necklace. But this wasn’t any necklace, it was one that I had never encountered
before. I picked it up and held it in my hands, shaking furiously. A smile crossed my face. “Ha!” I said aloud,
“How funny is this? Probably a ‘magic amulet’ or something. What a joke this is!” I rolled my eyes and threw the
mysterious object back into the closet, slammed the door, and went straight to bed...As I said, I went straight to
bed, but who said anything about sleep? “Magic huh?” I blurted out. “Well, I wish I was the last person on
earth. There, let’s see if this ‘amulet’ will grant my wish,” I joked.
The next day went smoothly as a summer morning. I jumped up from my bed and began to head
downstairs. “Mom!” I shouted, “what’s for breakfast?” To my surprise, there was no answer. What was going
on? Sometimes in the morning, my mom would sit on our front porch to catch a glimpse of the sunrise. So to the
porch I went. But no one was there. Another thing that seemed to catch my eye was the fact that there were no
cars on the road, and no people on the sidewalk. All I could hear was the chirping of a nearby bluebird. It’s
soothing voice seemed to calm me. But was it actually true? Was the amulet not a fake? I couldn’t believe it, I
knew it couldn’t be true.
And yet…was I the last person on earth?
To be continued...
SURROUNDED BY FEAR
By: Spencer Rosen
I fear being in the ocean surrounded by hungry sharks. I know it’s cheesy but hey, it’s my fear.
And there I was at the beach, everyone having a fun time around me, splashing water in the ocean
carelessly. I was just sitting on the sand while all my friends were trying to convince me to go into the
water. I denied every request to go in.
“A shark!” a man yelled. Everyone fled the ocean like a pack of deer during hunting season. A
little girl was in the ocean and I knew she wouldn’t make it. I think she knew it, too.
I jumped in the water like the idiot I am. “Swim towards me as fast as you can!” I screamed.
She made it into my arms and I brought her to shore. Right before I climbed ashore, the shark bit my
foot.
“OW!” I yelled in pain. The shark dragged me into the middle of the ocean.
“Brandon!” I heard faintly across the ocean, but it was hopeless. The shark was biting down on
my foot and it hurt like heck.
Soon enough, the shark stopped swimming, and I was suddenly surrounded by sharks like my
biggest fear.
“Help!” I yelled across the ocean. But it was hopeless. I knew I was going to die. But then… I
saw the sharks swimming away as if they had seen a ghost. Then I looked behind me and I see a family
of dolphins. My face brightened up as if I saw God. I rode the dolphins through the sunset, and I
looked pretty cool riding them, too.
Ring ring ring! Ring ring ring! I woke up. “Oh God, that was some dream,” I said.
THE FINAL BATTLE
By: Sienna Fahey
I spawn in my world, on the ipad, a plan for the day already in place. I go across the ice bridge to my
giant house, sprinting to the front door. Once inside, I go to the second floor, my room. In a chest, I take out one
full stack of diamonds. I cheated to get them, but I don’t care. Walking over to the crafting table, I make 3 sets of
armor, 2 swords, and get some sticks and string from a chest, a bow. I then walk to my enchantment table,
seeing I have 10 levels of Xp (Experience. In the game, it’s very useful). I enchant everything, using some lapis in
my inventory. My sword has Sharpness 2 and Unbreaking 1. The other sword is Smite 1 and Unbreaking 2. I
put the bad sword into the back of my inventory and take the other one in my hand. My armor has Blast
Protection 1, Thorns 1, Protection 2, and Feather Falling 1 on the boots. The other 2 sets are similar.
Then, in real life, I yell across the room to Mason, my younger brother, who’s watching
Stampylongnose minecraft videos with the head set. He’s been waiting awhile to join my world and hearing this,
he gets excited. He jumps on the ipad, and soon he’s in my world.
“I’ll give you armor and then we can go to my battle arena,” I say, handing him the bad armor and
sword, while putting on my own. In my world, nobody is allowed to be better than me. We set out over the ice
bridge that connects my house to the mainland. “Wait,” I pause, going back a few blocks so I can get into my
dog pen. “Lemme take a few wolves to help us,” I say.
“Letsgo Letsgo Letsgo Let's Gooooooo!” Mason says, impatiently sprinting ahead of me. I catch up just
in time to get there. I switch it off peaceful, a setting where no mobs can spawn (mobs are fictional creatures that
hurt you if they touch you), and all is quiet for a minute. Nothing has fallen from my mob trap, and I wonder if I
did it wrong. All of a sudden, they spawn. ALL AT ONCE. Spiders, Skeletons, Zombies, Creepers, Cave
Spiders, Zombie pig-men, they all come charging forth. Instantly, I regret the creepers; my walls may be blast
proof (they were made with obsidian), but my floor is definitely not. I charge into battle, tapping left and right on
the ipad. For a second, I’m invincible, deadly weapon in hand and shining armor. Mobs die in a two block
radius around me, flashing red then falling over and disintegrating in a poof.
Then, all at once, another wave of mobs spawn, and I start to lose health, backing up from my position
in the middle of the arena to the corner. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mason doing the same thing. Soon,
we reach the wall. Mason has 5 Zombies, 2 Cave Spiders and a Skeleton tagging him, and me? I have the same
thing plus 5 Spiders and Skeletons. I see my screen flashing red, even my overpowered armor can’t protect me
now. “Nooooooooo!” Mason cries as he dies. I make the mistake of looking at his screen, which gives a small
Spider the chance to deal the final blow. Everything goes red, and then it’s
GAME OVER.
By: Tess Miller
RUNNING
By: Lola Gunter
Running, Running, Running fast
Running, Running, from the past
Running, Running, far, far away
Maybe
I’ll come running home some day
THE GIRL THAT DANCED IN STARS
By: Eliana Schaer
My feet traveled along the glossy stage, matching the rhythm, keeping my posture, and kept me
from making a complete fool out of myself. The bright light shone against my open back, giving me a
ghostly look, which was my purpose. As one of the lonely ghost in Nick’s play, my solo was subtle, with long
movements and a sad feel. I finally ended the dance in first position, with my head hanging low, my black
curls resting on my shoulder. I waited for the applause, my heart pounding like when I first went to dance
in front of Queen Elizabeth. I sighed in relief as applause surrounded my ears. I even heard whispers like
“She is the girl that danced in front of the queen! Why did she get such a minor part?” And the old British,
who had the high pitched voices with the upturned noses, said, “I have seen better, but she was...ok.” But I
did not care about all the compliments and comments (even if they were rude ones) about my dance,
because I had danced like I had never danced before. Like it was my last. And little did I know, it was my
last.
I coughed everywhere I went. Coughed in school, home, everywhere you could imagine. Mum said I
most likely had a small cold, and then she said, “In my days, we didn't have a throat!” I laughed at her joke,
but made a coughing fit. I went to the nurse in my school, a lady named Ms. Antebellum, who wears too
much eye makeup and lipstick, and pops a piece of Hubba Bubba gum in her mouth every five minutes.
She smacked her teeth on the gum really hard, and talked like she was from Transylvania, pronouncing
every A and E vowel like it was her job. She checked my temperature and said “Geet back to class. Gawd,
keeds in England!”
I got home later that day, coughing hard. It was getting pretty annoying, and I was getting a bit
tense. I would wake up and my back would feel so tight, I would scream silently. I also started wheezing a
bit, and getting skinnier by the day. Mum was in the kitchen, chomping on chips and fish. “Mum? The
nurse said there was nothing wrong with me.” My mum looked up at me. “Oh Lily, that lady has no idea
about health. I mean, you are coughing nonstop! And I hear you struggling to breath at night. We will take
you to the doctor. Maybe it’s the flu?” I nodded at Mum and went to my room, not mentioning that the last
time I coughed, blood was in my hand.
At the doctor’s the next day, we walked past a lot of kids crying, screaming, coughing, wheezing,
and a bunch of other things. I shuddered, recognizing my own symptoms. We finally got to the doctor’s
office, and I sat on the patient bed. The doctor checked my temperature, throat, ears, and a bunch of other
things. Then he started digging deeper. “Have you been feeling stressed lately?” I was about to speak but
Mum cut me off. “Well, she just had a performance, a dance performance. Maybe she has been feeling
stressed from all that dancing. She had just performed in front of the Queen. Of England.” I rolled my eyes.
“I am not stressed, Mum. I am completely...completely…” My vision started getting blurry. My jaw felt
tense and my head felt light. I fell to my side, closing my eyes.
I felt a light squeeze in my hand. I fluttered my eyes open and was hit by a bright light. I turned to my
side to see my mother silently weeping beside me. I furrowed my eyebrows.
“Mum?” I said, realizing how hoarse my voice was. She looked up at me, wiping away tears.
“Oh Lily...are you okay, my little flower bud?” I smiled faintly at my childhood name.
“I’m okay. What did the doctor say? Just a little flu?” Her faint smile turned into a weep.
“I should have protected you, Lily! This is all my fault!”
“Mum! Just tell me…what happened?” She gulped.
“Oh...my precious little flower bud...you have gotten lung cancer and…” She began to weep again,
while I stayed silent. I took my hand away from hers, closing my eyes. ‘Please...be a mistake…’ I prayed,
over and over, until my prayers became weeps. I cried my eyes out. It felt like my whole world had sunk
into a deep hole of despair. I had lung cancer. I had lung cancer. For some reason, I kept saying it over...and
over...until I realized that this was my life. I had lung cancer, and that was never going to change.
“Lung cancer? You have lung cancer?” I expected my best friend, Amelia, to never want to hang out
with me, but she was having an emotional break down. “Oh no no no no no no no! Lily...you can not have
cancer!” It was difficult to see my best friend having an emotional breakdown, while I was over here eating
chocolate from my grandmother.
“Calm down, Amelia! The surgery is going to be successful.” I smiled, trying to tell Amelia that
everything was going to be alright. “We are going to live our dreams. We are going to travel to New York!
We are gonna perform The Nutcracker! You will be the sugar plum fairy, I will be Clara. We will perform
with the Rockettes! You would start the domino, and then I would end the domino. Amelia…” I gripped
her hand, squeezing it. “I have you, you have me...we will be perfect. Nothing will happen to me, okay
Amelia?” She nodded, returning a squeeze to my hand. Then she got a call from her mom. She had to go
home and get ready for a dinner with her Aunt, Jodi and her Uncle, Ben. She was going to meet their
newborn daughter, Victoria. She said bye and left, leaving me alone in my room. It felt like I was drowning
in my own despair. And trust me, it was hard to escape lung cancer.
But hey! Maybe this lung cancer will help me embark on a new adventure. I may be sick, but I am still
strong.
To be continued...
BAD EGG
By: Sky Rattray
lil
U^dtll
SUMMONERS
By: Grace Abshire
The day my dad bought a stove was the last normal day of my life. Sounds stupid. Right? Wrong.
My dad is a really nice person, but he can get tricked WAY too easily if you ask me. That’s how we
ended up with an exploding garage sale stove. Very bad.
Oh! I didn’t even introduce myself! My name is Hali Christopher. I have been attending the school
for summoners for about a week now. So here’s the story.
“Hiya Hali!” My dad was home. “Guess who’s cooking dinner tonight on the new, state of the art,
ultimate stove!”
“Uhhhhhh, that’s great, dad!” I had said, trying to give a false smile. I knew where that stove came
from.
“Lets bring it in, I can’t wait to get to cooking!” he exclaimed. My mind was screaming: ‘BAD!
BAD! BAD!’ already, but I helped him drag the rusty, garage sale stove into our cluttered kitchen.
“Jiffy pop popcorn, coming right up!” yelled dad, not seeming to notice that I was cringing. But the
moment he touched the handle, the stove set aflame.
I had never actually seen fire before. Jeez, I had never seen the outside of the NEIGHBORHOOD
before! But the fire was not how I expected it. As a little kid, I was always told that fire was bad, and it could
kill you. But I saw that fiery mass of heat as a friend, as a helper.
“AAAAAA! HALI! DON”T GET NEAR IT!” my dad screamed, but I ignored him. Like a moth
drawn to a light, I reached out and touched it, but it didn’t hurt. I slowly picked it up, and assured my dad
it didn’t hurt. He immediately pulled out a phone book and waved it at my hands, trying to put out the fire.
An ad fell out. In huge print it said “Summoners” and the fire disappeared.
As did the rest of our house.
And we arrived here, where I belong.
……………
“Haaaaaaliiiiii!” That’s Sapphire.
“Whaaaat?!” I respond.
“Get down here! Quick!” I slowly trudge down the spiral staircase.
“What’s the big deal?” I ask her. “THAT’S the ‘big deal!’” She points behind me, and there’s this
girl.
“Who are YOU?” the girl asks.
“Uhhhhhhh, Hali, the fire summoner.”
“HA!” the girl sneered. “Amara, the water summoner.” Amara laughed. I did not like her.
“I’m surprised you didn’t see that. So you’re the one who burned down your own house.” Amara
teased. I was shocked. How did she know?
“Uh...NO! I just… um… my dad…” I started.
“Don’t deny it. I saw the records. You’d see them too if you had my experience. Later Hal!” She
laughed. I was furious. No one had ever spoken to me like that. “That girl…” I growled. Sapphire laughed.
“She’s your elemental enemy. Of COURSE you guys don’t get along!” I still didn’t feel any calmer.
“I wish I had your powers.” I sighed. “Wind doesn’t have any enemies.” Sapphire shook her head.
“If only you knew.”
……………
“Hali Christopher! Your task is to start a basic flame,” Mr. Henry said. I gulped. I hadn’t practiced
that! I held out my hands and saw them glow! I felt like I had so much energy built up inside me, so I closed
my eyes and let it out.
When I opened my eyes, I was holding fire!
“Nice job, Christopher!” Mr. Henry exclaimed. “Alright. Amara Wilson!”
Amara stepped up. “Basic wave,” Mr. Henry commanded. Amara looked back at me and sneered.
She executed a perfect wave!
Right on top of my head.
“HEY! What are you doing?!” I yelled.
“Oh, did I get you wet?” Amara laughed. “Too bad you’ll have to go through all your classes
soaked.” I was FURIOUS. I began to see red.
“That’s not right!” Sapphire exclaimed. “Mr. Henry, you have to at least give Amara detention!”
Mr. Henry sighed. “As much as I would like to, I can’t punish Amara if no one got hurt.”
I was so mad. I saw trouble in that girl. And if we waited around for it to happen, we’d all regret it.
I had to find out more.
To Be Continued...
SOME KIND OF NATURE
By: Dinah Bianchi
DREAMS
By: Elina Mukharamova
Dreams are made up from wishes and love,
Dreams are like a soft white dove,
Dreams, you’ve got so many, some are big
some are small
choose a couple, not them all
Hold your dream tight,
For if it dies,
It’s a dove without flight,
It’s the soft cries at night,
Hold on to dreams,
For, when it’s time, you can go
and soar, just beam!
And be happy about something
that was once just a dream.
LOCKED INSIDE MYSELF
By: Zia Williams
At the age of 13, Dawn has been faced with too many problems. She mostly tries to stay invisible.
Though she does have some friends, they’re the same as her. Dawn’s a generally depressed person who
wants to stay away from others. She believes that she's a broken mirror that will hurt anyone who comes
near. Of course, she has gone through countless therapy sessions where she usually ends up falling asleep.
Her mind goes places that she never wants it to go, and when she wakes, she’s always told that she did
something terrible…unspeakable. Things have changed for her. Her therapist has put her on a new
medicine and sent her to the asylum.
“Wha-what is this…where am I?” Dawn questions as she looks around at a room that’s almost too
sterile. A nurse walks in carrying what seems to be a key and a notebook.
“What’s the key for?” Dawn rudely and abruptly scolds the lady. She has forgotten to look at
herself, not noticing that she is in handcuffs.
“WHAT?! WHY AM I IN THESE?! I'M NOT A MONSTER!” Dawn quickly snaps as she stands
up.
“Dawn…please calm down. Everything will be explained, I am only permitted to give you minor
information…so you must understand my situation,” The nurse snapped back.
“I don’t care about YOUR situation! Where am I? Why am I here? Who is Dawn?” Dawn didn’t
want to listen to anything the lady said except if it benefited her. Most importantly, she couldn’t remember
anything. She was scared…and fear takes over. Dawn launched at the lady and then collapsed from over
exhaustion. The lady stood over Dawn and said one word: “Dream.”
Dawn sat up quickly to see herself in her own room. A dream? She remembers everything. A sign
on the wall reads: I’m Dawn. I’m 13. I’m in a mental asylum. The nurse Emma is mean. I don’t know why I’m here. I
need to find my way out. I CAN'T take my medicine or I’ll dream. I CAN'T dream or I’ll think about coming here. I NEED
TO LEAVE NOW.
“Ok. I need to leave. How? I don’t get it. All I can remember is that my Mother is waiting for
me…somewhere. Why am I in an asylum? I don’t feel insane. I hate this. I have so many cruel thoughts
running around in my head. Wait…medicine.” Dawn looked up and saw a nurse. “Emma.” She came up
to Dawn and grabbed her arm.
“Thank you, Dawn. Finally you've cooperated. Now, time to take your medicine!” Nurse Emma
said in an annoyed tone. Dawn threw the nurse off of her and dashed for the door. She got halfway down
the hall before the nurse finally raced after her.
“Dawn! Get back here now!! Stop it you little brat!” the nurse screamed frantically down the hall.
“Leave me alone! I want out of here! I want to see my family! You stole me from them! You’re
evil!” Dawn bellowed back at her, as if these were the first emotions she had felt in a long time. She thought
she had won. It was over. The door was only a few meters away. Then…the nurse just stopped.
Dawn turned as if she was stopped in her tracks. It was utter terror. The nurse stared at Dawn with
an evil grin. “Stupid child. You think you’re so innocent. You’re not a monster? HA! Well, you can go out
there. Though I don’t know why you’d want to. Soooo many people hate you. I wonder…what happened
to the ones who cared for you? Oh right. THEY’RE DEAD.” The nurse spoke to her in a tone as if she was
interrogating Dawn.
“W-what do you mean? D-dead? They can’t be Dead!” Dawn cried as she dropped to her knees.
Two “white jackets” came and picked her up.
“Oh… Dawn. Do you want to know who killed them? Someone you know very well. That’s right
Dawn. You killed your family. You’re insane Dawn. You’re cruel. You’re a sociopath. Call me what you
want, but you’re the one that’s mean. That can’t be changed,” the nurse whispered this with the same
menacing grin.
Dawn gets locked in her room. Again. 17 times this week. Yeah…maybe she’s a bit insane. She
talks to herself, she has some obscure thoughts. “Good job Dawn. You screwed up again. AAAAGH! I can’t
take this! I hate that nurse! I hate the white coats! I can’t stay in here. I just can’t. Though…why would I
want to leave? Sure nurse Emma is mean, but she’s never lied before. My family is probably dead. I hate
this! I hate it here! Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? I just…want to sleep. I want to forget. I
don’t want to think.” Dawn slumped over to her bed with tears running down her face.
“Let’s just leave the real world alone for now. It didn’t have to be this bad. I just should have made
myself more apparent. I could have gotten real help. Not this, I shouldn’t have hid what was really in my
mind. Good job Dawn, you were so scared of who you really were that you hid yourself. Look where it got
you now.” She lay there and cried until she finally fell asleep. Hopefully this time, long enough…to forget.
SKWISTOK
By: Dinah Bianchi
ENTHON’S ADVENTURES
By: Cassius Winkelman
Rat a tat tat! The laser guns were coming at me from all sides. The only way to defend was to retreat! Or
attack. “Yah!” I yelled, blasting into the fray. Jetpack roaring, slug bombs blasting “Ethon!”
“Wait!” I said.
“Ethon!!”
While distracted, a blast hit me in the chest. “Game over,” read the simulator.
“Noooo!!!”
“Ethon!” said my Mom. “Get out of there this instant!”
I walked out of the simulator. “Time for dinner,” she said.
“I was in the midst of a war, I was blasting aliens in the face and you call me for DINNER??!!?” I yelled.
“Yup,” she said.
I rushed through dinner, ate my soylent green1, and drank my nutrient-shake. I wiped my mouth as I
slammed the shake on the table, breaking the plasi-fibers to atomic dust.
“Done!! Ohh...whoops,” I said.
“You want seconds?” asked Mom.
“No.can.I.go.on.the.simulator?” I asked.
“No. It’s about bedtime. Go take the tooth clean pills and go jump in the trance-bed. Sweet dreams!!”
“In the morning can I watch cartoons?”
“No! School’s tomorrow!”
“Oh, Yeah. Night!”
Okay, it might be kind of late now, but I'm Ethon Yakano, a Patriarchal, eleven-year old from Cdkl5iany born and raised on Edqol-five in the southern edge of the galaxy - one of the closest planets to Mars2. It
only takes 5 microseconds to get there! It’s only about 50,000,000 light-years away! Well, I’ll just go to trance,
(sleep, to you) and create a neurological world to play in.
*10 hours later*
“Good morning, Edqol-five!” I tromped downstairs to get a bowl of cereal and watch cartoons when,
suddenly, my Mom appeared.
“Congratulations! You’re up early! Eat your soylent green and you can jetpack to school! I already set
the coordinates,” my Mom said.
“Glurp,” I said. (It’s a 780s curse word. 192,589,780 A.E3 of course - a long, long time ago). I sadly sat
down to eat my green, mushy, soylent green (breakfast green). As I took my fork to the soylent green, I thought:
“maybe today won’t be so bad after all! I’ll probably be able to play on the simulator after homework!” I ate my
bitter, slightly raspberry soylent green, gulping it down, trying not to regurgitate after my expectations of cereal,
and almost spat out my nutrient shake hoping for health milk - the most unhealthy milk ever made. Delicious.
Not this vitamin shake.
“You done?” my Mom asked.
“Yup,” I said.
“Great. Go put your day fiber [clothes] on!” said Mom.
After I put my fibers on, I thought, “I guess there’s no avoiding it. I’ll have to go to school.” So, I
jumped into the jetpack and said goodbye to my Mom. She gave me my backpack and lunch, which I
miniaturized and put in the front pocket of the jet pack.
“Bye!” said Mom. “Don’t forget to eat your soylent green!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I thought.
So, I took off. I jetted through the air, stopping for every person and finally reached school. I stepped on
the jet-pad, docked my jetpack on the 6th grade jet-racks, and took my backpack and lunch out of the jetpack
enlarged. I put my backpack on and slung the grey lunchbox over my shoulder. And, since I had a couple of
minutes to spare, I looked at the glow. The grey and black buildings where most of our wonderful city but on
1
2
3
Not human skin anymore, the company reformed from its cannibalistic ways.
Earth exploded, so we moved to mars before colonizing other planets.
A.E. - after earth
North there was the giant purple & building. East had a giant red E. West had a massive blue W, and South had
a massive green S.
“I like this place,” I thought, right when I heard a rumbling. “That’s not the school bell,” I thought as I,
in blind fear, ran to my jetpack and took off right before the school exploded. Many of the children had time to
get out before the chaos but, of course, only one teacher. They were all inside preparing. We stopped there for
about a minute, stunned with fear.
Then the N fell.
I was scared out of my wits. Then, I heard something buzzing. Out of the blue came these weirdos on
ovalish, circular, grey hover pads and blasters. “Where have I seen this before?” I wondered. Then I
remembered. So I flew up. Up was where the central control tower was and “they must have guns,” I thought.
“This is almost a video game!”
I crashed through the floor, holding my hands over my head to lessen the impact. I blasted through the
room, looking at the shocked employees and grabbed some hyper blasters from the main storage room. With my
supercharged hyperblaster, I ran to the window…and jumped. I fell about 1 kilometer before realizing that I
didn’t have my jetpack running. “Oh,” I thought, turning it on to “liquidate”. Then I blasted down through the
clouds in blind anger. “You can’t destroy my city without destroying me first!” I yelled.
Rat-a-tat-tat! The laser guns were coming at me from all sides. The only way to defend was to retreat! Or
attack! “Yahh!” I yelled, blasting into the fray, jetpack roaring, slug bombs blasting.
“Ethon!” said a voice inside my head.
“Wait!” I said.
“Ethon!” said the voice.
“Oh, no not again iiiii…” while distracted, a blast hit me in the chest. But this time there was no
pixelated game over with a cheery voice telling me I died. No. This time it was for real.
“Not-a-game…” were my last words before...darkness.
Are you still reading? Great. You must’ve realized that it can’t be all over for our budding young hero.
Well, you’re right! Now, back to our not well going story!
I woke up dazed, and with something incredibly heavy on my chest. “Is this heaven, or am I having an
incredibly slow death?” I asked myself. I checked my contact lens (who needs phones when you have these
things?) for the time. It said October 10th. “I’ve been here for 6 weeks. This is bad. Really bad.”
PORTRAIT OF VIOLA By: Tess Miller
THE LISTENER
By: Maya Holtham
I've picked my ears since I was conscious they were there,
And yes, society has trained me to be ashamed
Of something I've carried subconsciously since I was three...
People make assumptions and look at me disgusted.
As if my body isn't efficient, or my mind's delayed.
But before you ramble, and scold on and on,
Believe that I have heard the words of all of those I know.
FALLING LIKE DOMINOS
By: Sky Rattray
Caden started to sob as she walked among the lifeless bodies strewn across the street. She collapsed
onto the still warm body of her brother. Everything she knew was gone. She closed her eyes, willing
everything back to where it had been. Back to life, back to normal, but all she could see was the last
moment of life. People brush by, clothes pulled tightly to their bodies. The street cracking with salt, and the
clatter of footsteps. A dog barked. But now, there is no noise. Now, there is no life, she doesn’t even know
how she is still alive.
Caden saw the light, just like everyone else, painful and blurry. She saw everyone around her
crumble, falling like dominos in some sick game. She saw it come to her, terrifying and paralyzing. A
darkness covered her vision. Then it was over. She opened her eyes, and for a split second, she forgot what
happened. She forgot the screams. She forgot the pain. And for a split second, she forgot the two seconds in
which it happened. Caden felt it, herself. Her mind was slipping. She knew there was no point trying to
fight it any longer. There was nothing to live for. She felt the darkness slowly overtake her life.
HATTIE PULLMAN
By: Malena Glover
The only people at #15, Sewall Avenue on January 12th, 1942 was the murderer and the victim.
Not a single person had seen what had happened. Of course, that was only what people believed. But there
was one other person in the house that night. Her name was Hattie Pullman.
The victim was a very rich woman named Natasha George. She was around 60 or 70 years old, and
Hattie took piano lessons from her. Although she was very rich, she didn’t seem it. Hattie arrived at her
lesson one day with Natasha staring at a letter, not looking like herself. But as soon as she saw Hattie, she
jumped up.
“Have a seat, Hattie! Come to the bench.” Hattie sat down and began to play.
Halfway through the lesson, footsteps began to sound outside, and Natasha peeked through the
curtains. She went pale.
“What is it?” Hattie asked nervously. But Natasha gestured wordlessly toward the closet and
mouthed “in.”
Hattie opened her mouth but Natasha silenced her and again gestured towards the door. This time
Hattie walked inside and pulled the door shut behind her. She heard a click. She tried shaking the knob,
but the door was locked. Again she rattled the door slightly. And then she heard the steps again, climbing
up the front stairs. She kneeled among shoes, clothes, and other assorted objects. She pressed her face to the
crack under the door. At first she could see only Natasha’s blue ballet flats at the piano, but soon a pair of
men’s work shoes, glossy and black, appeared. Above the shoes she could see the hem of black dress pants.
They were approaching the blue shoes.
The man spoke. “This is it, Natasha. I have given you many chances to tell me where your fortune
is hidden, and you have not given me any information.”
“I am aware, Thomas, and I will not tell you where I keep my money and possessions, thank you
very much.” Natasha’s voice shook slightly but was firm.
“But surely…you can tell people where it is hidden? You have told people, am I correct?”
“Oh, you are correct, Thomas. I can and have told people. I’d just never tell you.”
There was a bang, and Natasha fell to the floor. Hattie gasped.
Slowly, the feet turned. And Hattie watched as they walked towards the closet door.
Want to see your name and work in the
next issue?
Submit to the Soup!!
Email your writing and artwork to:
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This program is funded by the Department of Youth and Community Development as a part of the
city’s Comprehensive After-School System's middle school model, School’s Out NYC (SONYC).
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