Cranberry Snow-Cones Dalia Levanon Is it possible
for it to be so cold that the blood which lives within the heated shelter of my body begins to freeze turning to ice a cherry-slush inching up the capillaries in my legs solid cubes congealing in my lungs the streams of once warm liquid that rushed through my veins slowing as the particles turn into sparkling crystals and I am a human diamond with icicles for arteries and a smooth sleek dripping ice sculpture cold to the touch that sits where my heart once was? The thermostat remains silent it’s answer lost in the faint whirring of cold air circulating around my room.
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Hoarding Ivy Huang I am known to many as a hoarder. At dinners, aunts and uncles would always tease about the stockpile of food I had gathered on my plate. At home, my mom always nagged about the piles of books and pens I refused to put away. My fifth-grade desk was infamous for its seemingly miscellaneous isle of garbage. I was obsessed with preserving the world around me. I just couldn’t throw away the pieces of myself.
My family moved around a lot. I was born at a hospital in Brooklyn, but my parents sent me and my younger brother to live with my aunt in China because they were not financially prepared to raise us yet. Shortly after, my brother and I moved back to New York with my aunt. Today, I can only vaguely recall my time in the Fuzhou village. It was a part of me that only appeared in the form of a mist, and quickly disappeared as soon as I tried to chase it. All I can recall are the sword fights with the other village children, and running across busy streets with cars racing by. Everything else I know comes from stories my cousins and aunts tell. They told me of the time my brother and I had to flee to a family friend’s house because robbers with guns had come in the middle of the night. I have no recollection of this event to this day. I beat myself up for not remembering. I tried mourning the loss of these memories, but it is hard to say goodbye to someone you’ve never met. When my parents finally raised enough money to support us, we moved with them to Mississippi. We then moved to Colorado, and then back to New York. Everything was a blur. I had no friends, but that didn’t matter because nothing seemed to last. I discovered my love for writing when I was in seventh grade. My English teacher had assigned us a realistic fiction assignment. For once, I didn’t have to write a personal narrative about memories I could not access. The assignment allowed me to deviate from my chaotic life. I wrote about a girl named Stephanie Peralta, who’s super smart and goes to Stuyvesant and eventually gets into Harvard. I was unaware at the time, but Stephanie Peralta is not entirely different from me. Even though she is everything I am not (besides the Stuy part), she is a figment of my dreams and memories. I wanted to be smart, and as a seventh-grader preparing for the SHSAT, I wanted to get into Stuyvesant High School. I named my character Stephanie after a tutor I looked up to, who also went to Harvard. After this realization, I became infatuated with literature and writing. It was a way I could resurrect my lost memories into being. I began reading books like The Stranger, Hard Times, The Great Gatsby, Lord of the Flies, and Blood Meridian. When diving into this literary journey, I discovered the power writers had. The images they paint, and the techniques they use can elicit certain feelings and ideas. For the first time, I was in control. And this time, no one can throw away the memories I could hoard within paper and ink. While writing wasn’t a part of my identity growing up, it has certainly become a part of who I am today. One of the many reasons to write fiction, as C.S. Lewis says, is to let ideas “steal past those watchful dragons” that guard our hearts. For me, it is a way to reconstruct memories I had lost, and chase away the demons that have lived in my mind rent-free. I could store anything I wanted in paper and ink; they were the vessels that safely stored my memories. Some call me a hoarder; I consider myself a writer. A Truth Universally Acknowledged Ivy Huang It is a truth universally acknowledged that every youngling at the prestigious Stuyvesant High School should strive for success (Austen, 1).
“Now, what I want is Success. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Success. Plant nothing else and root out everything else (Dickens, 1).1 There are only two types of people in the world: winners and losers. Winners are those who have achieved the sole purpose of life: getting into an Ivy League. The latter, sadly, fail to meet such standards and go on to live happy lives. Many of us are aware of the substance known as ... Happiness. My colleagues and teachers alike, have all witnessed the dangerous toll Happiness can have on children. As educators, it is our duty to protect our students from this toxic mixture of dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins in their brains.” The scene was a plain, bare, monotonous vault of a school conference room, and the speaker’s square forefinger emphasized his observations by underscoring every sentence with a line on the bare chalkboard (Dickens, 1). The crowd of teachers erupted in cheers at Mr. Strangledchild’s words. One teacher was shaking in her boots as she recalled how one year, Happiness caused many of her students to pursue their dreams and worst of all: live life carefree. Smiling squarely at the applause, the speaker continued, “Raise these children with the fundamental values of Obedience, Obedience, and Obedience. Stress the importance of practical occupations. Doctors, lawyers, engineers, and accountants are all respectable positions. Discourage preposterous ‘jobs’ like that of a so-called ‘singer’, ‘writer’, ‘artist’ and even worse... an ‘actor’. Drill these thoughts into their malleable minds. Pour your spirits into their ears and when they’re finally ready for harvest— I mean graduation —they can be winners.” “At Stuyvesant, we want nothing but Success, sir; nothing but Success!” Another teacher had stood up out of the crowd of oversized tunics and mahogany sweaters. The rest slowly followed, slumping out of the plain gray conference-room chairs as their claps joined the cadence of the speaker’s wristwatch. At exactly eleven o’clock three Seniors descended to the lunchroom for a nutritious school lunch meal consisting of a pale banana and leftover cheese melted half-way on a dry hot dog bun. 98.5 did not mind the stench of the cheese, as she was more concerned with 94, their subpar peer. They2 were pronounced to be a very bad student indeed, a mixture of substandard indifference and mediocrity; they had no prospect whatsoever, no notable talent, no taste, no accomplishment. 97.15 thought the same, and added, “They have nothing, in short, to recommend them, but being an extraordinarily healthy person. I shall never forget their appearance this morning. No eye-bags, can you believe? They really looked almost wild” (Austen, 89). “They did, 97.15. They did, indeed. Very nonsensical to come at all! Last week, I heard they get more than three hours of sleep, nightly! I could hardly keep my countenance.” (Austen, 89) “Yes, and their smile; I hope you saw their smile this morning! Their smile was so wide and their composure was so lively, I am absolutely certain she has been infected with Happiness.” “No way,” gasped 96.3; “but I thought 94 got into Cornell, did they not? My mother told me it is impossible for Ivy Leaguers to catch Happiness.” “Oh please, Cornell is barely an Ivy League.” The trio’s chuckles were interrupted by a sudden appearance of 94 in the distance. To the surprise and horror of both 97.15 and 96.3, 98.5 makes a gesture towards 94, ushering them over. 1 This is from Charles Dickens’ novel Hard Times which takes place during the industrial revolution in England and satirizes economic conditions at the time as well as the education system. 2 94 is non-binary Chicken Soup Jenny Zheng The door to the patio is open, and the fresh air wafts in. The white maple wood that colors most of the room blends in with the beech floorboards. Light fixtures hang over the countertop, but it is the natural light streaming in through the windows that illuminates the room. I take a step towards the stove but pause to survey my grandma’s bright kitchen.
My grandma’s kitchen holds some of my most glorious memories, including the countless times I have watched and helped her cook chicken soup. Chicken soup, made from so many steps and ingredients, is like a Gorilla Glue that bonds us together. Each slice of carrot, each notch in the wooden cutting board, and each handful of celery tossed into the bubbling pot form another drop of glue. Chicken soup is a dish that requires both time and patience. When I wash and peel the onions, and my grandma chops them into thin slivers, these long moments allow for some storytelling, leading me to love my grandma and our family even more. She tells me stories from her childhood, including her father fishing and bringing home the fish for dinner. One of my favorite stories that she often shares is when her grandpa brought home a cat. She loved the cat, but her mom didn’t. The cat seemed to know this and would hide under the bed every time it heard my great-grandma coming into the room and would come out when she left. These tales still make my face crinkle up in laughter every time I listen to them. After the soup cooks and cools, we call in the rest of our family to try it. Each spoonful of chicken and soft egg noodles mixed into a flavorful broth builds up the flavors in my mouth until I’m left with an empty bowl. We share our love with each other, just like we share the fruits of our labor in the kitchen with the rest of our family. When I was younger, and my clumsy hands were not yet trusted to hold a cutting knife, I would get on my tippy-toes and watch my grandma as she chopped the vegetables, measured the spices, and diced the chicken. We would listen to my grandma’s favorite songs as we watched the pot shake and tremble. Now that I am older, I chop and slice with my grandma, chat with her as we wait for the soup to cook, and sing along to the songs I have heard numerous times. I realize how I have bonded with the room as well, seeing that many new additions were ones that I had suggested to be added. I see the shag rug that I helped choose when I could barely run, the plants that I begged my grandparents to keep when I started fifth grade, and the lights that I changed when I got to middle school. The pots on the stove glow, and the shiny kitchen knives, from the meat cleaver to the steak knives, all hang in an orderly row. Because I have grown older, I understand more of what my grandma says and does, and I can also realize how much I have grown to look up to her and to love her. I remember the well-lit room, the clean patio, and the cream-colored floral plates and bowls as if they were right before my eyes because I have touched this room and because I have spent time with my grandma in this room that holds so much joy. Over many years, I have had chicken soup in various restaurants. And even though these places are highly praised and loved by many, their chicken soup can never compare to my grandma’s. Simply put, my grandma’s has a mix of secret ingredients that no restaurant could ever purchase: the kitchen air, family love, and an ever-strengthening glue. Burns on Snow Christina Liu The moment I opened my eyes, a soft haze of icy pale blue filled my vision. It was the first fall of goose down, of confectioner’s sugar, of dandelion puffs. Slipping out of my comfortable bed, I was greeted with a soft chill that was just enough to make me want to fall into the warmth of my kitchen.
I slipped into my socks and made my way to the stove. Even though I was only eight-years-old, I was tall enough to see above the counters. My mom was hulling and dicing strawberries. The red stains under her nails were pretty, and when I told her so, she smiled and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. Then, out of the blue, she said, “I thought that you might like to spend the day with Sarah, so I arranged to leave you two together in this apartment, and I don’t want it to be a mess when I come back, understood?” “Yes, mom. I won’t touch the stove, use the oven, open the door to strangers, climb out the window, go outside, play with the snow, feed the pigeons and squirrels on the windowsill...” I was going to go on and on like this, but, fortunately, my mom stopped me from doing so. Soon, after bundling up, she left me in the apartment with a kiss. A few minutes later, Sarah rang the doorbell. “Hey! So, we have the whole place to ourselves! This is going to be fun,” she said. Yep, it sure is, I thought to myself. Sarah was my neighborhood friend. We had a lot in common, such as our favorite books, hobbies, and songs. I grinned at her and asked if she wanted to see a new toy that I had gotten for my birthday. It was a chemistry kit with shiny, glazed surfaces and strange chemicals and gadgets that I was dying to try out. I knew that the labeling said the set was for kids ages eleven and older, but I knew that I wasn’t clumsy enough to mess up. We set about putting everything on the counter, fitting together pieces, and sorting out the different chemicals. After a bit of mixing and pouring, we finally got to the part with the Bunsen Burner. I read the instructions on the page but misread the part about isopropyl alcohol. I thought that I should pour it into the fire and went to get a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Are you sure we should do that? My mom says that pouring alcohol into fire makes it burn even more,” Sarah warned me. “I’m sure. See, it says it right here,” I wave the page at her. Did the clocks all stop, or was it just me? Did the snow stop falling from the sky? Why wasn’t the fire moving like it was supposed to? I poured the alcohol into the fire. The fire died. Then it reared up on its hind legs, and I was momentarily stunned. My hand was close to the flames, and my nerves signaled for me to pull my hand away, but it was too late. Long sharp needles of fire pierced my palm, sending alarms running to my brain, the place where I had not adequately consulted before my foolish act. I dashed to the medicine cabinet for the bottle of aloe vera gel that we kept. I rubbed some onto my burns, hoping that they would heal. My mom soon came home, scolded me for my brainless decisions, and put more gel onto the wounds. Sarah and her mom left, leaving the apartment to my mom and me. At night, the burns had receded a little, but the pink flesh was still bright on my hands, reminding me of my rash behavior. I looked out the window, seeing that the goose down, confectioner’s sugar, and dandelion puffs on the ground had been trampled on, messed with, ruined. I noticed that the snow was still falling, so I stuck my head out into the wind to taste the snowflakes and to let a soft tear trickle down my cheek, dripping onto the already gray snow. A Beginning Page of a New Chapter Pink Peony Rushing, winding brooks filled with tiny fish.
One jumps out, a little silver jewel That dances upon the surface as if it holds a wish To make the world a little less cruel To me. Sunlight seeps through the branches of the trees And grazes the edge Of the water and seems to tease The wind at the ledge Of a cliff. The mountain in all its glory Pours its beauty and history Into a long and winding story That it shares as a mystery Tale. As I listen and follow Along to this story of growth, Fluffy sheets of cloud swallow Me whole, and lift both My mind and body up into The sky with a new Beginning. Every Day Pink Peony Plains, rolling plains on both sides of me.
Deep blue sky, endless as far as the eye can see. An off-white car, no luggage on the top. The grasses: Stubby, lifeless. The sun drains away all energy. The sky: Laughing, hauntingly blue. Only getting darker as the days move on. The car. I’m alone with no one, With a key in the engine but it’s turned off. Pillows, fluffy bags of feathers, envelop me. Only, they’re not made of feathers, but of synthetic polyester. I’m stranded, with nowhere to go, with no cash in my back pocket, with no sense of time, with no gas in the tank, with no spare tire, with no phone, with no one to communicate with. Filled with a deep sense of dread and cries of pain. Why did I run away? Life’s too narrow, and I can’t fit in it. I only have a bag of oyster crackers, that are too salty, and a bottle of water that is empty. Minutes on the Moon Krista Proteasa “But Stan, how do you ever think we’re going to find it?”
“Don’t worry, Martha. I brought a flashlight. *slap slap* I retract my previous statement as I no longer have a flashlight.” Stan and Martha were touring the dark side of the moon when their equipment ran out of life, their helmets broke, and they now had no source of light. “Stan, you always do this! I can’t believe you. We could die in about five minutes because of you!” “Actually, it’s more like 3 ½ at this point. Hate to burst your bubble.” “Stan, if we get out of this, I might just kill you myself.” The pair hopped conservatively, so as to not blow through their remaining 2 cubic gallons of oxygen. Now I’m no scientist, but that doesn’t sound like a lot. As they scuttled and scuttled, their hope dwindled. “Well, with our last few minutes, what do you want to do?” “Keep looking, Martha. We have to keep going.” “But the ground is all dusty, my boots keep getting stuck, and there’s darkness for miles.” “None of that matters, Martha. Until we see light on this godforsaken satellite, we’re not stopping.” Martha began to etch her name in the sandy ground while Stan kept trekking across the boulders and dust. If she was dying, she needed whoever could find her to know who she was. At the very least, she’d get a mention in the local newspaper. Across the ash-colored celestial body, Stan and Martha’s spirits started to become just as ash-colored. They decided to just explore aimlessly, so as to die without panic. “What do you think of these craters, Stan?” “They’re so shallow. You’d think with however many years of meteor collisions, these craters would be as deep as football fields. But alas, they can barely hold my entire feet.” “I think they’re deep enough. After all, you wouldn’t want to get lost in them. Right, Stan?” “I guess you’re right, Martha.” “Stan, I’m going to be honest. With all these rocks and craters and stuff, I don’t know how much more I can take. If this oxygen doesn’t kill me, could you?” “Martha, that’s nonsense. Don’t say things like that. We’re gonna make it, one way or another.” “Stan, look at us. We’re in the middle of the dark side of the moon with low oxygen and dust. I don’t think we’re making it another 2 minutes.” “Hey, at least we can watch the stars.” And with that, the pair simply watched the stars for their remaining minutes before they, inevitably, suffocated under the pressure of the low pressure of the moon’s nonexistent atmosphere. They watched the stars twinkle like their once-beloved stove flames. Oh, how they longed for their stoves. Nevertheless, they saw the Big Dipper, Orion’s belt, and every constellation you could ever see while on Earth. At the very least, their last moments of darkness were donned by the prettiest stars. There they laid, and there they shall lay. Tendrils of the Moment Yume Igarashi Cigar tendrils curl about the warm rainpour
In an ephemeral, gentle embrace. Eons of blue twilights brush its lips against my soul like so. How long has it been Since I last simply let The liquid luster in these descending drops of the broken city Envelop My gaze, Conscience, Inhales Without lamenting how They will, In a single breath’s life, Dissolve Into the stormy concrete underneath? alito liquido Yume Igarashi A waning sliver of burning white
Or A sharp, bleeding slash in the abyss Of the swimming darkness above Melts into the dryness of my gaze. My tips of black hair disintegrate into The shaded twists of poise In the underground world. There is no light here, So there are no chilling shadows, Only ardor. The shifting liquid air around me sighs, Languid and pensive Or perhaps that is the exhale of the swirling chasm inside, Weaving together the space between my ears. Being here, I no longer know if I am drowning or floating Maybe when everything is the end And everything is the beginning Ends and beginnings cease to exist. And so, the translucent waves have swallowed me whole, Ending in my demise, But in another dimension of a second, The translucent waves have become my entire being, And I am larger, More beautiful, More peaceful, Than I have ever been. Wind-Sown Seed Irene Hao Adrift
Surfing on the wind I am a dandelion seed Fuzzy hairs Holding onto the world By a loose grasp You desire to blow me away I desire the same O wind, hug me Be my legs and wings and guide Which way should I float today? I am one of many wispy dusts in the sky You won’t remember me But you’ll remember our goodbye O dreamer, blow us all away I carry with me the dreams of others The wishes you send my way Your warm breath envelopes me As I wave farewell I will carry this warmth with me Wherever I go in this world Across fields, across streets Across seas, across skies I will fly And bring those wishes and dreams To whomever I meet next And I will tell them about you About what I’ve seen About this warmth And between their fingers, I’ll bid goodbye And bring their wishes to my new host I am a groundless seed My time in the sky may be short And I’ll spend it being tossed about But at least I can tell you about my travels Place me in your palm Twirl me between your fingers Watch me sway back and forth and float Into your hands Let me tell you what I’ve seen And you tell me your deepest desires and needs Artistry Amy Wang I hear you calling me
a f a n t a stical life, daydreams a l i v e slow and persistent under the lasting permafrost, between overlooked crevices covered in frozen moss grassroots unknown to all, spreading for miles far and wide, waiting for spring showers to virgin tips of green, longing still, for more blooming flowers galore Abandon the tempered, grey skies of cities, so common like dense smoke before every block and every turn, to and from crowds mixed in cement, all aged and identical behind the defeated clouds peeling away for a monstrous, steel eye the unblinking, heinous glare burns red before me. e s cap e I take refuge under my own sky, k a lei do s co pi c See golden skies at the wake of dawn, stretching ‘cross newborn wings, cry soundless beginnings See mauve skies from the dust of twilight, harmonizing with the soft indies, purr breezing compassion See strawberry skies for midday flurries, welcoming warm, kindred souls, blush playful curiosity See azure skies along a silver-lined horizon, celebrating far and wild journeys, laugh reborned vitality See bronze skies guide the deepening dusk, standing last before the wicked night sleep stubborn passion Oh, see a peaceful, introverted life to create beauties unlike the world! Let me use my worries to dye my ink black, letting the sensuous words r u n down crisp, organic leaves, bathe naked in the mellifluous music around me, feeling the silk and honey f l o w down the lines of my palm, c h a se myself to strange and untouched lands, breathing in the wind, sand, stars passing by…. All I’ve ever wanted is to love and dream v i v a c i o u sly c r a z ily quivering with l i g h t Would you with me? Storm McKenna Adams Your laugh brushes over my ears, gentle
as the flutter of a butterfly's wings. The smell of the sea gently wafts over us, its melody creating a dreamy lullaby. The soft clouds in the sky are innocent and pure. I am at peace, at home in your company. Our laugh becomes passionate, devouring us from the inside out, creating a Necessity for oxygen never felt before. I feel happy, joyous, alive. The waves grow larger from the wind, and the clouds grow denser as our friendship grows. Yet I can’t help wondering, how will this end? It is rather nihilistic, but Everything pure ends eventually, and I know this will be no different. Will it be painful? Bitter? Will it be a storm of sadness, a flurry of tears? Or will it just be numb, a small disappointment, a river slowly forming into a stream, then running dry? The sun could glare down on our corpse-like bodies, Scorching. Burning. The thought of water and peace entirely consuming, ripping our body with desperation but there would be no water, no sea, no clouds, no sky, no tears. Nothing but the blinding, burning, scorching, searing desert left to shrivel us and break us into a thousand tiny pieces, crumbling into dust. We would both wish for the storm, for the tsunami, for anything but this agonizing numbness But there would be no turning back. Against all wishes our torture under this blazing hell of a sun would continue to infinity. Or your eyes could be a rainstorm with the news. Flying around me in sadness, drowning me in your blinked back tears. I might not be able to breathe, and picturing it I want to cry and laugh and scream and die. The sea would become a tsunami, splitting us apart, filling our lungs with acrid salt water. The clouds become thunder and lightning, electrocuting us as we scream into the deafening silence. Or we could just have a sinking feeling, a paper boat punctured with a tiny hole. Then time passes, the boat sinking slowly, until one day there is nothing left. We would sometimes scoop water out with a small bucket, but it would only slow the process. We would slowly turn away from each other, unclasp our hands, To go in different directions, Never looking back. Violet Wishes Dalia Levanon i wish that the whole world was my favorite color
i told my sister last night as she adjusted her quilt and pillows that would be boring she replies in her usual matter-of-fact tone You’re wrong i say before realizing that she is asleep i begin to drift off as well my eyelids fluttering shut breathing begins to slow the room is silent i wake up this morning look out the window as i do every day we never close the blinds i gasp rubbing my face slapping my cheeks but the view remains the same the sun is a sideways lavender crescent on the horizon the clouds are periwinkle puffs floating across the sky which happens to be a deep magenta i turn to examine the bedroom my desk the same shade as the delicate stripes on an orchid petal my sister’s face a bush of lilacs as i examine my reflection in the mirror i find out that my appearance is the same as her’s the entire day i am surrounded by hundreds of hues of purple who knew there were so many? i give up halfway through my classes the amethyst jewel of my screen causing my head to pound i burrow under the covers blackberry jam icicles clinging to the window pane i sleep once again yet as i close my eyes all i see is the dreaded color of wishes lacking the subtle excitement of finding a new shade and the increasing dullness of the entire world merging into one blur the next morning my sister drags me out of bed saying you were acting weird yesterday but i am not listening for the sun is a brilliant burst of glowing yellow the clouds are softly painted white the sky is a landscape of pure blue and i scoop my sister into a hug my face pressed into her espresso waves i announce you were right. Belated Birthdays Dalia Levanon our dorm room
has a certain fragrance so whenever i push open the steel door i am greeted by the gentle scent of apple vanilla scented candles kitty litter ben & jerry’s cherry garcia ice-cream which violet eats by the pint she buys it at the convenience store on the other side of campus because the prices are worth the commute she insists i rake my fingers through my choppy curls staring at the blank document on my laptop my knees pulled to my chest third period seminar begins in half an hour and i just got back from my poetry workshop crumpled gift bags are strewn across my bed each with the generic Happy Birthday written in rose gold lettering they only sell one design at the bookshop i don’t mind i cherish each of the presents i was given a dandelion chain from the friend who works two jobs and still can’t pay off her student loans the latest rupi kaur book from my peer who rarely speaks in class but once we’re dismissed never stops telling stories a blue faux succulent from my lab partner in neurobiology who claims that she couldn’t find any green ones and a candid portrait of myself from violet i look at this drawing now at the half-smile on my face my arms folded on the wooden desk eyes rolling at a comment the professor made i think back to five years ago where life was a mess of uncertainty paper masks and hand sanitizer online textbooks and walks in the dark because there was nothing else to do wondering what it would be like in college when life was supposed to get better well i whisper into the ears of this fifteen year old who mindlessly tears pieces of tape into shards of transparency it does get better it will get better life will always be a mess of uncertainty getting older is not about life getting easier cleaner more manageable it is about accepting the precariousness of each day each moment being grateful for every minute that you spend on this planet smelling the familiar scents of each home you will have collecting the gifts from the friends that you will someday meet she nods glancing at her global history homework i watch her knowing that she will not understand cannot understand until she has lived through my life and has become me just like i do not understand my life now and will not until i have experienced more of it in five years time wherever i am whoever i am. New York City Mckenna Adams Summer
Heat pulsed, no breeze of relief The air conditioner fiercely blew, driving out the worst of it The smell of cut wood and wall paint pervasive The ice cream truck playing songs outside It was indeed a cruel summer. Fall Cool air blew through the streets The classroom filled with people at work Friendships came into blossom Even as the trees lost their cover And the streets were filled with people dancing salsa. Winter The world grew white Beautiful specks floated from the sky, biting into flesh Breaths pumped rhythmically, inhaling the sharp air And the buildings downtown punctured the sky and ascended into the heavens The aroma of gingerbread and mint staining soft blankets. Spring The city woke again, from a deep slumber Green buds popped up on trees And life seemed to be carried through the air With two friends becoming inseparable But as soon as everything awoke, a pandemic caused it to sleep again. Summer Ambition stole through the atmosphere Intense focus on growth Never seemed to go away Except for the morning runs to the river and park Where the flowers bloomed and the trees were covered in green. Fall Days blended together Like vivid colors of paint mixing to become brown Everyday was filled with work An endless overflowing cup, with no escape And the world became dull with routine. Winter Soon the cold came again, carried through the air The buildings downtown lightly brushed the sky Then the buildings turned into trees as a car engine purred, And the trees became a cabin, cozy and warm, almost otherworldly Where life seeped through again. Spring Reunions slowly came, like fireflies in the darkness The trees and rocks grew green again Hope slowly drifted through the air Like a delicious scent you can almost identify, but not quite Summer And the city slowly awakened once more . Reminiscing Amy Wang 2017 is my favorite year by far.
I always went to the park right after school that year. In the park, there was a magnificent tree with one of its branches half splintered off after a violent storm one night. That branch was quite stubborn. It would not break, so it stayed in that curved position ever since, showing the world its rich, chestnut colored rings inside. I had always loved to climb in between the huge crack and watch the world from above. Yet, my favorite thing about the park was not this. I actually love the open space right in front of the tree. Most volleyball players play in this area, but it really isn’t the most ideal for the sport. There was a single water fountain stationed here with a broken faucet, so whenever the sink gets overfilled, the running water surrounds the foundation in a huge puddle. Every time the ball rolls near it, everyone will grab their heads in hysteria because the ball will mix in with the horrible concoction of mud and other questionable things. Deciding who goes to retrieve the ball after is another battle, more dramatic than any volleyball game. Our arguments were all so charming. "Amyyy, you go get it. I literally got it last time and my hands cannot deal with the disgusting mud again." "Come on, at least you have more experience now. You can take it out and clean it faster." "Yeah well, that cannot become a habit." "I think Stella found a condom stuck to it last time. It's so disgusting." "I'm not getting it." "Fine, but you’re getting it next time, okay?” “... sure!” ... “Oh my God…Why does it smell so bad!" Soon one exasperated voice turns into two because my friend would always come help me. We still argue every time, but we both knew the end drill will always be the same. The uplifting and affectionate community is what I really love most of all about the park, not the trees or the volleyball area. The veterans of this community were middle schoolers like me, from all different grades and schools. We did not know each other before, but we bonded quickly over the joy of playing volleyball. At the park, we felt like we could do anything, as long as the adrenaline of the game and pursuit of the ball ran through our veins. The regular members of the park were not the prettiest or the smartest, but they are all incredibly kind and understanding. They treated the park as their second home and welcomed everyone with love and encouragement. I still remember my first time coming to the park, when I was more reserved. They did not ignore or pressure me to talk, but simply gestured for me to sit with them. Watching the ongoing game on the steps, I felt touched and the heavy burden tied to my shoulders was released. Soon, I was light, bouncing on my feet, racing against the wind and reaching out for the ball. My voice flew through the air, calling out to my team members. Without any exchange of words, we learned about each other through the game: in how Alison jumped, how George called, how Roxanne kicked the ball. Through our split-second decisions, our heated passion, and our striking styles we knew each other in the most important ways. It truly felt so liberating, even more so than flying, to express myself in the most honest and invigorating way— with people so inspiring and kind— I could never ask for more. The park seemed to only attract people with the kindest and most carefree hearts. Stranger or not, everyone had a heart of gold. There would be kids as little as seven years old who love to show off their skills to impress us older kids. It’s adorable how they entertain us, but other times, shocking in how talented they are. Moreover, high schoolers come and go, usually with a group of friends, so playing with them is always the most lively. Other times, college-level volleyball teams come to practice in the park and we were all awarded with an exciting game to watch. Even adults as old as 50 years old would join us and like everyone else, we would share the ball with them and play together. There are always extraordinary people out there, and these are only a few:
The park also has its own small, unique secrets that only people who went there would know about. Everyone who has been to the park knows that we get hit by a pungent stench every once in a while, coming from the old Asian men smoking by the steps. It is a habit to cover our noses with our elbows or with the helm of our shirts, whenever this happens. Occasionally, we also get startled with a loud yell by a man that had lost a game of cards. We all share a cringe as when we watch the occasional stray ball fall on top of the old Asian man’s head, even though we all cry “BALL” millions of times to warn them. We all know that man would curse at us in a language that we can’t understand, so we all look guilty together. After that, we would question ourselves again, why they never listen to us even though we yell every time. People who come for more times know that onions rings and Mexican snacks are always sold on Wednesday and Fridays by a sweet lady pushing a cart. Last but not least, everyone that has played volleyball has been annoyed with the giant tree that stands in the way of the ball, whenever we hit too high. It disrupts our play and it is even worse when the ball gets stuck between the branches and we have to figure out all sorts of creative ways to get it back down, from borrowing basketballs to throw to using someone’s jacket. Thinking back, I’m overcome with nostalgia and wistfulness because I know that we can never go back to the same splintered tree, the disgusting water foundation, the shady trees, and the ever-beautiful community. This park was torn down two years ago, to be reconstructed into a new building, so we haven’t met since then. I wonder how all my park friends and the kind strangers are doing. Where are they now? Are they still playing volleyball? I can’t help but think that those childhood days were perfect, with the familiar yellow ball high in the air, the leaves rustling and the breeze against our flushed faces as we ran and kept running. We were all closer then, in all the ways that mattered and more loved than we had ever known. Friends and strangers, young and old, were all my teammates and together we learned not to talk about things that were too heavy and enjoy the present. We all laughed with them and we grew together in that small period of time. So, no matter what, I will always wish them, friends and strangers, the best that they can be from a quiet place afar. A Question of Stability Nicole Itkin Tipping, I grab
onto the railing, trying to pull myself back up. I do. Don't worry, I do. I pull myself back. I grab it and, sure, it stays. It stays but it peels, it peels, and it peels until its coating is unrecognizable, blue to grey to ash to rust, decaying before my eyes and I ask myself what it was ever there for. Midnight Rhapsodies Nicole Itkin Grey hashes its way across the room,
over the covers of my bed, over and onto my eyelids. I notice, instead, the sauna of bodies the bodies the bodies convulsing in my ears, unable, refusing to let me go. convulsing, convulsing, creating, and spreading-- I can't, I can't resist the temptation to strangle them out, to cut them, to free myself in both day and night. I want to, I want to, but then I awake, knowing I've lost, lost, lost my chance. A Recipe, A Memory Carol Chen Yan Du Xian
● 200g pork belly ● 125g fresh spring bamboo shoot ● 200g salty pork ● 100g tofu skin knots ● 10g scallion ● 5g Huadiao wine ● 4g salt ● 5g ginger There: In March, after the spring rain falls on the bamboo forests of Jiangnan, Spring bamboo peeps out from the ground to greet the world. Peeling away the outer layers reveals the tender, crunchy shoots. The star of the yan du xian soup is spring bamboo, chun shun. To me, every bite tastes of spring. Memories of my family and I digging for these in forests are to be cherished forever. Here: On Saturdays, in Chinatown, the supermarkets are packed. My mom is craving a taste of home, yan du xian. Somehow, hearing her say it in Shanghainese makes the soup sound even better. The closest we can find to chun shun are canned bamboo shoots With brine that has a chemical taste. Yet it’s close enough for us to feel as though we are back home. ~~~ Da Zha Xie Nian Gao ● 6 Chinese mitten crab ● 450g rice cake ● 10g flour ● 5g ginger ● 5g scallion ● 3g garlic ● 15g white wine ● 25g soy sauce ● 15g sugar ● 1 pinch of black pepper There: We visit the local farmers market every weekend and buy the da zha xie, mitten crabs. They are feisty and filled with orange tomalley, perfect for xie nian gao, crab rice cakes. I hate seeing them get split in half and coated in flour, but I forget about it at the first bite. Crispy on the outside and chewy on the inside, the rice cakes soak in the flavor of the tomalley. I remember my grandmother rolling out the logs of rice cake on a wooden cutting board, Cutting them into slanted, fingertip-thick slices, ready to be fried. Here: The best substitutes we can find for da zha xie are blue crabs, A dozen for twelve from the local fish markets. Blue crabs taste of the salty ocean, giving the dish a new depth of flavor. The best nian gao are the frozen kind which still have chewy centers. The sauce, made from the tomalley, is thick and pungent, Filling our kitchen with the scent of Shanghai. ~~~ Xun Yu ● 500g buffalo carp ● 30g soy sauce ● 10g scallion ● 25g star anise ● 10g ginger ● 15g salt ● 40g sugar ● 25g brown sugar ● 20g five-spice powder ● 20g yellow wine ● 20g fennel seed There: Whenever I go to the fish markets in China with my grandparents, I see rows of shiny, vibrantly colored fish. The carp is large, about half an arm long. My grandparents buy a few slices and then head home. After air-drying the fish on the balcony, it becomes a perfect snack on a hot summer day. Chewy, savory, and sweet, the taste lingers in my mouth long after I finish my plate. My family likes to fight for these juicy pieces of fish. Here: My grandfather is visiting and he decides to buy a stand fan. He uses this to dry the yu after he has rubbed the pieces with the spice mix. At first, the yu smells fishy, but soon it soaks in the spices. After a day of marinating and fan drying, the fish is ready to be fried. I love standing next to the pan to watch the oil pop and sizzle under the pieces of fish, Though I make sure not to stand too close in case I burn myself. A whistle, a hoot, a “hey beautiful”
that never made anyone feel beautiful. Ever. He looks her up and down, she looks straight ahead, seemingly unbothered until I feel a tug on my arm, a quickening of pace, an abrupt silence cutting into our chatter. She who I’ve just met today, our arms interlocked, she didn’t need to say anything for me to know that she was uncomfortable. The two of us may just be strangers loosely tied together by a mutual friend, but that day on 37th street, I could read her mind. She’s probably thinking: mouths need seals, to stop ugly words from leaking out. Your Body Your Choice Vicki Wu **TW: RAPE AND TRAUMA** CAST MELANIE: young woman who was raped and gets pregnant, age 22 MELANIE’S CONSCIENCE: Melanie’s conscience wants her to get an abortion KAELYN: Melanie’s daughter, age 5 JANET: Melanie’s supportive best friend, age 22 SOPHIE: teenage girl who gets accidentally pregnant, age 19 PRO-LIFER 1 AND 2: middle-aged women who stand across the street of an abortion clinic to protest those who want to get an abortion SYNOPSIS MELANIE finds out that she is pregnant by her rapist, and is pressured to keep her child. Not only does she have to heal her wounds and overcome the trauma she has gone through, but she also has to raise and take care of her child with birth defects. She feels miserable when her daughter asks who her dad is and barely has enough money to raise her child. They are forced to live in harsh conditions. PROLOGUE Lights on. MELANIE wakes up on the couch. Bottles of alcohol are scattered on the kitchen floor. MELANIE (looking over at the clock and placing her hand on her stomach) Ugh… What time is it? JANET You should really stop day drinking, Mel. It's 1:30 PM and you’re almost late to therapy. MELANIE But it really helps clear my mind from what happened a few weeks ago… JANET (faintly sighs) Mmm okay then. We should get going. I’ll drive. MELANIE: Okay let me go to the bathroom real quick. MELANIE walks to the bathroom and rummages through the drawers. She takes out a pregnancy test and leaves the stage. Thirty seconds later, she comes back. MELANIE (closing her eyes) Please don’t be positive. Please don’t be positive. Please don’t be positive. MELANIE opens her eyes. Dramatic music plays as she drops the pregnancy test on the floor. She drops onto her knees, expressionless, eyes wide open, staring at the floor. SCENE 1 MELANIE and JANET are on their way to an abortion clinic. They are currently outside an abortion clinic. MELANIE (shaking) I’m kinda nervous, Janet. I’m not sure if I should go through with this anymore. JANET You’ve been saying how you wanted an abortion ever since you found out you were pregnant. I’ll support whatever decision you go with, but it seems like you really want this. MELANIE You’re right. I do want this. The baby was probably harmed from all the alcohol I drank. PRO-LIFER 1 and PROLIFER-2 are across the stage. They yell out to MELANIE and JANET. PROLIFER 1 Are you crazy, lady? You realize you’re about to murder a living human being, right? MELANIE Well, I think that — PROLIFER 2 Have you ever witnessed an abortion? An unborn baby, with a heart, fighting for their life, desperately trying to move away but can’t. It’s just gruesome. PROLIFER 1 All human beings have human rights, and unborn babies are still human beings. They have the right to not be intentionally killed. PROLIFER 2 Yeah! Abortion is morally wrong. You’ll go to hell if you go through with this. MELANIE But I’ve been -- PROLIFER 1 If you don’t want the child, give birth and allow the couples that do want a child to adopt it. MELANIE starts crying and JANET puts her arm around her. JANET Don’t let them get to you, Mel. They don’t know your story. It’s your body, so it’s your choice. I’ll be with you the whole way. MELANIE (shaking) I-I can’t do this. MELANIE runs off the stage to the left. JANET MEL! COME BACK! Janet runs off the stage to the left. SCENE 2 MELANIE sits alone in her bedroom a week after the abortion clinic incident. She lays on her bed. There is a nightstand next to her bed with a dim lit lamp on it. MELANIE (to herself) I haven’t been feeling too great lately… MELANIE’S CONSCIENCE (appears from behind her bed) You shouldn’t go through with this. MELANIE But don’t you remember what those guys said? MELANIE’S CONSCIENCE So what? You’re going through a tough time right now and giving birth to a child you have to raise will make your situation worse. MELANIE What are you talking about? MELANIE’S CONSCIENCE You lost your job after you were raped, and you can barely afford to pay for yourself. Once you have your child, you can’t ask Janet for more money considering how much she’s helping you out right now. Your child isn’t going to live such a great life with your current condition, you know? MELANIE But everyone’s going to look down on me if I have an abortion… MELANIE’S CONSCIENCE Who cares what others will think? People don’t even know what you’ve been through, they’re in no place to judge you and your decisions. You’ll always have Janet by your side to support you. You shouldn’t have to go through even more pain and try to raise a child that won’t live a good life. You aren’t ready for this, Melanie. MELANIE I can’t... People will judge me for the rest of my life. Just leave me ALONE! You don’t know what you’re talking about! MELANIE turns off her lamp and goes to sleep. SCENE 3 Five years later, Melanie sits in her bedroom with her daughter, Kaelyn. Toys are scattered across the floor. Kaelyn is on her bed. Melanie sits at her desk, scrolling through her laptop. KAELYN Mommy, who’s my dad? We were drawing family pictures in class today and my friends asked me who my dad is, but I dunno who he is. MELANIE pauses. MELANIE Well, um… your dad can’t be with us. He’s in a far away place. KAELYN (frowns) Why not? MELANIE (sadly) You’ll understand when you’re older, sweetie. KAELYN (sniffles) Why can’t I know now? MELANIE You’ll understand soon. It’s okay, honey, we have each other. And that’s all that matters. KAELYN (shouts) But all my friends at school will make fun of me in class for not having a dad! MELANIE It’s okay, sweetie… KAELYN (shouts) NO IT’S NOT! KAELYN starts to yell. MELANIE kneels down and starts shaking and crying while hugging Kaelyn. KAELYN (confused) Mommy? SCENE 4 After a few days pass by, Melanie and Janet decide to meet up for some coffee. Melanie sits outside a coffee shop, with drinks on the table, and jitters her leg up and down while waiting for Janet to arrive. JANET I’m here! JANET enters from the left of the stage. JANET How’ve you been doing, Mel? MELANIE (sighs) I’ve been better... Kaelyn asked me who her father the other day was and I didn’t know how to respond. JANET What’d you end up telling her? MELANIE (sobs) Well, I didn’t want to lie to her because she’d find out eventually. But she’s too young to know the truth. I just told her she would find out soon, and then she got all upset that I didn’t tell her. Watching her cry broke my heart. And I can’t believe I fell apart. IN FRONT OF HER. I’m such a horrible mother. MELANIE I should’ve never listened to those stupid people. I should’ve gotten an abortion. Now, Kaelyn is having a hard time dealing with things because she has ADHD from all the alcohol that I drank. And I can’t even provide emotional support for her because of my depression and all the time spent at work. JANET You’re not a terrible mother. Even though you’re going through a rough patch right now, you’re trying to do all that you can for her. MELANIE But I’m not enough for her. And I’m never going to be. JANET Mel, you’re prioritizing her over everything else. You’re doing all that you can. You are working three different jobs to provide for her while also trying to overcome your PTSD. She doesn’t realize how hard you’re working for her because of how young she is. I’m sure when she’s older she’ll realize it and be more appreciative. And I’ll be there for you every step of the way. MELANIE places her hand on her cheek and leans on it, with a pondering expression, while tears form into her eyes. MELANIE I feel like I should’ve gone through with that abortion… JANET Yeah, you shouldn’t have let those two women’s opinions get to you. But what’s done is done. Don’t ponder about the past, and focus on what you can do now to heal yourself. Everything will be fine, Mel. Give it some time. I’m here for you no matter what. JANET moves her chair alongside MELANIE’s and puts her arm around her. JANET smiles and hugs MELANIE. MELANIE leans into JANET’s embrace. SCENE 5 A few years go by. Melanie is sitting at a desk in a room. Bookshelves are on the right and papers are stacked on her desk. MELANIE Hey Sophie, come on in! SOPHIE awkwardly enters the room, avoiding eye contact. MELANIE (smiles) No need to be shy or embarrassed, I’m here for you. SOPHIE (lightly) Haha yeah, right… um… I’m a month pregnant and I don’t know what to do… My mind is telling me to get an abortion because my mom would KILL me if she found out I had sex, but at the same time my boyfriend keeps telling me that if I get an abortion, that means I’m a murderer and I’ll go to hell. And before you judge me, YES, I did use protection, but it broke. MELANIE I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to help you. SOPHIE smiles. MELANIE Listen, you should do whatever your heart tells you to do. Don’t listen to what others think. I went through something similar. When I was 22, I was raped and got pregnant. SOPHIE Oh my god, I’m so sorry to hear that. MELANIE Yeah… it was rough. At the time, I wanted an abortion, but two women across the street of the abortion clinic told me the same things your boyfriend told you. My best friend supported mydecision of wanting to get an abortion, but I just let those two stupid women’s opinions affect me. If you want this, then you should do it. You shouldn’t let others' opinions affect yours. SOPHIE (tears up) Yeah, but I'm so scared that people will judge me for the rest of my life. And my boyfriend will break up with me and hate me forever. MELANIE If that so-called boyfriend of yours doesn't support and respect your decision o, then kick him out of your life. He’s not the one going through the nine months of pain. SOPHIE But what about the people who will judge me? I just don’t want anyone to think differently about me because of this… MELANIE It’s your body, so it’s your choice. And people’s opinions shouldn’t matter because they don’t know your current situation. I am here to support you. If you’re not ready for a child, then you shouldn’t go through with it. I had these same exact thoughts when I was in your place, and looking back at it, I should’ve not let those women get into my head. My current living situation with my daughter isn’t the best, and I wished she would’ve grown up in a better environment with a better mother. I had PTSD when I had her as well, so I distanced myself a lot from her. It was so hard to give her the love that she needed because I didn’t even love myself. Our relationship is still rocky, but I try my best every day. But it’s so hard to do that when I have to work a minimum wage job with long hours. I barely have time to see her because I am trying to support her financially, but I’m sure she’ll understand when she’s older. If you don’t follow your gut instinct, you’ll probably regret it when you’re older. Don’t make the same mistakes as me. SOPHIE Oh… that’s a lot to take in. I’m so sorry to hear that and I hope things get better for you, but I understand what you’re trying to say. Thank you for the advice, and sharing such a personal story with me. I need some time to rethink things and be confident in whatever I decide to do. MELANIE I’m glad I could help. MELANIE smiles as tears form in her eyes. She tries to wipe them away but tears keep forming. SOPHIE smiles shyly at the ground. EPILOGUE After a month goes by, SOPHIE decides to go back to visit MELANIE. MELANIE sits in the same room, with bookshelves on the right and papers stacked on her desk. SOPHIE enters the room. MELANIE Hi Sophie! It’s been such a long time, how’ve you been doing? SOPHIE (excited) I did it, I got an abortion a week ago! MELANIE Oh my god! I’m so proud of you for listening to your heart. SOPHIE (softly laughs) At first, I was pretty scared honestly. My boyfriend kept texting me all these mean things and threatening to break up with me. It took awhile for me to come to this decision, and going back and rethinking what you said really helped. I thought about the consequences of not going through with the abortion, and then what you said. I just feel like I’m not ready to be a mother yet. Plus, my parents wouldn’t even support me and be mad at me forever. I just came by to update you because I just wanted to share the news with you! MELANIE I’m so glad to hear that! MELANIE smiles as her heart fills with warmth. See What's Within Sylvia Lee Sylvia Lee
Dana I’m sleeping right now…. My bed is too comfortable for him to be talking to me... I wish he’d just go away… Leave me alone… Why do you have to keep hurting me? “I’m a part of you, idiot. Maybe if you stopped whining like a little bitch, you’d have a better time with me.” Ugh. As always, he’s right. Desmond might be a bastard, but everything he says is right, no matter how much people tell me to deny. Fuck’s sake, why does he always have to be right next to me? Even when I’m trying to have fun? Like this Sunday. When I went out on that picnic with Gretel and Hazel in Central Park, I was laughing, joking around like every teenage girl would. Looking on Instagram and laughing at girls doing dumb stuff. I was so goddamn happy….with all my well thought out jokes... And Desmond had to pop in and say, “You’re not funny. You’re so annoying and I seriously hope you know that.” Damn. It was hard, but I tried to hit back. “I am funny. Don’t you see all my friends laughing with me?” “Girl, are you fucking dumb? They’re just doing that to be nice because they have manners, unlike you. Your sense of humor is so stupid. Who in their right mind would laugh at dumb stuff like that?” “ " That’s not true! They’re perfectly happy with me around!” “Stop being stupid already, Dana. Are you deaf or something? You can clearly hear their fake laughter. Just look at them!” I blinked tearfully. In front of me, my two friends were laughing at something. With their backs turned to me. I didn’t hear them call out ‘Dana’, and I don’t think they did. Only the ringing sounds of pure, ignorant laughter fill my head. “Now do you believe me?! They don’t want you here! You’re just a waste of their time! And to add on, you’re an eyesore! They can’t even bear to look at you, and yet you still think that they want to laugh with you?! You’re delusional, girl. Believe me when I tell you that they don’t want you here.” Desmond’s rant ended, and for a moment, I couldn’t feel anything. I closed Instagram and stuffed my phone back in my coat pocket. Should I say goodbye to my friends? “Don’t. Don’t waste their time with your apology. Just leave. They won’t care.” Hazel turned around. Her light brown curls caught my attention. My soul re-entered my body. “Hey! You okay?” she called out to me. “Come over here!” “She’s just being nice. Do her a favor and just fucking leave.” “Come on…” Hazel’s voice became dragged out. She got up and walked towards me. “Look. You’re annoying her now. She’s wasting time because you’re so stupid. Look, she’s already got Gretel with her. You’re dead weight. She doesn’t need you when she’s got someone much better than you. You don’t deserve a good person like her, and she doesn’t deserve a fucking idiot like you.” “Uh-ummmmm…” My mouth cracked open weakly. Hazel stopped in her tracks and looked at me with sad eyes. The last thing I remember doing...is apologizing and going home. This memory is a week old, yet it still hurts. It really does, because the wounds are still fresh. I feel like I’m being bullied and I just want to hit back. Punch the guy until he falls down and bleeds out on the ground. But he’s not real. And all I’m doing right now is lying in my bed. “Stop being stupid. You know you can’t do anything about me. So don’t even think about it, alright? Besides, you need me. I’m all you’ve got right now.” “How the hell is that true?” I ask Desmond. “You’re just a bully. I don’t need you in my life.” “I’m the only thing that keeps you grounded. I’m the only one that tells you the truth when no one else wants to! Believe me, you’d be better off with me than without me!” “How the fuck do you, of all monsters, know that?! Are you in their minds too?!” “Of course. I’ve been with everyone under the sun. I tried my hardest to make their lives as miserable as possible, but they’re always strong enough to fight me off. I can’t do anything. Then, all of a sudden, I have nowhere else to go except to you. You’re too weak. You can’t get rid of me.” Sobbing, I get up out of bed. I want to call Gretel. “Hey. Don’t even bother,” Desmond whispers into my ear. “Do you think she needs you ruining her day? Nah, stay in bed. And don’t get up again. No one needs you spoiling their moods.” “I need to go to school, Desmond. Please, at least let me do that.” “I’ll make sure you don’t get up again. I can take care of you just fine.” Sigh. Desmond’s made that tempting threat before. You know, grab a whole bottle of pills and take a nap. Meh, I don’t really want to let him get to me today. I have too much work to do. My school attendance is complete shit, my grades are C’s and D’s, and I already have too much missed homework. I need to be better at school. “Stop worrying about school!” Desmond chimes. “Your teachers are all tired of you. Listen to me when I tell you that you’re better off at home. All of your peers have better things to do and better people to talk to than you and your problems. No one's gonna care. So don’t bother trying to bother them.” Sigh “I guess...you’re right. I’m tired anyway.” “That’s the spirit. It’s not like you’re gonna pay attention in class. Besides, you’re gonna die, so why take the long route and just go now?” Heh, okay. Now that’s a stretch. I’m gonna lay down, maybe fake being sick for a while. I don’t know. I don’t wanna do anything else. “DANA! Get your ass out of bed and get down here! You’ve got school!” Mom screams. I close my eyes, but it hurts. “Mom! I don’t feel well today! Can I just skip today?!” I shout back. “Who the fuck are you to demand shit in my fucking house?!” Mom screeches. I hear her footsteps storm up the steps. “Get out of bed, you lazy shit!” “See what I mean?” Desmond whispers. I squeeze my eyes, trying to shut everything out. “Mom...please. Seriously, I can’t do this. Just….give me a break, okay?” “STOP FUCKING AROUND WITH ME, WOMAN!” Mom screams while dragging me by the arm. “I’m already tired and I don’t need YOUR SHIT this early in the morning! What the fuck has happened to you?! You used to love school! You could get up early in the morning and you made my life so much easier! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Mom wraps her arm around the back of my neck and walks me down the hall, where she shoves me into the bathroom and slams the door behind me. My body now reeks of alcohol, a smell that no child should recognize. “She’s drinking again. And you know who’s fault that is? Yours and yours alone. She’s been drinking since you were born. You keep stressing her out. She was so much happier before you came along and destroyed her life. She had the ability to fend me off and now look at her! Succumbing to me like I’ve never seen before. I swear, you are the reason why she’s so miserable.” “I-I...hmmmm……..” *Sigh* Desmond… Desmond… Desmond… I can’t deny that. I really can’t. Honestly. I want to live, but at the same time, I feel like everyone’s better off without me. I’m just a waste of space. No one loves me. No one needs me. What am I doing here? Why am I still alive? I want to be happy. But obviously that’s not gonna happen, so the least I can do is...become numb. “Hey,” Desmond whispers calmly. “It’s okay. Dying is easy. Look around you. You have nothing to lose except your problems. And that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Yes. Yes it is. Just a few bottles of pills and I’m on the way… Eddie Okay, this is the first day of high school. I need to get my things ready. Alright, four marble notebooks, 20 pencils in my large pencil case, my binder, and my phone. What else, what else…? “Oh my God, that squirrel is so stupid!” “What?!” I rush to the window in front of me. There’s a squirrel munching on an acorn below a tree. Ugh, of course. Addison. Such an annoying bitch. I don’t understand why I fall for her crap over and over and over again. It doesn’t even mean anything! Sigh, forget it. Hopefully, I’ll pay enough attention in class and ignore Addison and the rest of her bullshit. Stuffing all my school supplies in my bag, I check my phone for the time. It’s- “Oh look! You just got a notification from school!” Addison giggles. “Huh! So I did,” I say. I open it up to see the content. “See now! Prom is on the way and you haven’t even gotten ready. You need an outfit ASAP!” “You’re right! What should I wear…….?” I stare wistfully at my closet. Should I wear the blue tuxedo that Mom bought for me or the black James Bond suit? I grab my backpack and sift through the clothes. Hmmmm….not this one, or that, or- “Eddie! You’re almost late for school!” OH-AAAAAAGGGGHHHH! I thought I was just gonna check the time! And then I got sidetracked by Addison and prom because I’m stupid like that. What time is it?! “Eddie! This is a great look for you!” Addison shouts in my ear. “Shut up! Okay, it’s 7:50 AM. If I run to school, I can still make it.” I nod my head eagerly. I run straight down the stairs and out the door. Looking straight ahead, I can see my school about a meter away. The usual crowd around the building is nonexistent, which makes my heart skip a beat. I take a deep breath as I take my fir- *Growl* “Hey. I can tell that you’re hungry. Look! A deli! To your right!” Addison turns my head to the right and I see a convenience store that doubles up as a deli. It’s selling…. “Turkey sandwiches! Oooohhhh…...You should get one. First, gotta check the wallet for any money. Score! Twenty bucks. Let’s go!” Addison yells. I rush over to the deli on Addison’s accord. There, we stare at the posters taped onto the windows. “Sweet!” Addison exclaims. “There’s a discount on the turkey sandwiches too! Oh, but this BLT....It looks so good and everyone is talking about how good it is. But turkey’s an amazing favorite. Ugh……what should we get?” *Beep* *Beep* *Beep* “Wait, what? What’s that sound?” Addison asks. “Is that...my phone?” I reach into my pocket. Oh! A notification from my friend Sammy. And it’s about……. AAAAHHH! WHY?! I COMPLETELY FORGOT THAT I’M LATE FOR SCHOOL. I run like the Flash to school. “Aw, you just squashed a whole anthill under your foot!” Addison whines. “Yeah, yeah. Poor bastards,” I groan. “Ugh, why the fuck do I even still listen to you?” “I don’t know. But you should, right?” “Yeah,” I sigh. “I guess.” Why am I so stupid? I mean, I’m not stupid. I get good grades without cheating and I participate in class a lot. But why does the reason that I’m good at school have to be that I need to distract myself from Addison? I don’t understand and I’m honestly TIRED of it. In no time at all, I reach the school. After a major reprimand from the principal, who roams the halls everyday, I reach my second period class. My walk of shame into the classroom is not amusing. AT. ALL. And I wanna die. “Hee hee hee, little bowl of paper flowers. So cute!” Addison squeals. Wait, really? I spy with my little eye…...oh! A little bowl with paper flowers of varying colors! Heh, that’s actually pretty cute. Wonder why the Mr.Ng put that- “EDDIE! What are you doing?!” Mr.Ng yells. “Huh?! Oh, uh….sorry. I kinda dazed off a bit,” I whimper, scratching my head with embarrassment. “Well, refocus yourself! We have a lot to do today!” Mr.Ng goes back to teaching….whatever the hell he’s teaching. Shit, why can’t I remember what this class was? I picked this class as an elective! I’m honestly so dumb. *Thunk* “Eep! What’s that sound?” Addison squeals. I groan furiously. I look out the window and see a spot of blood. Okay. …. Wait, WHAT?! I turn to the window so hard, the tip of my nose hits the pane. After an “OOF” from Addison and rubbing my nose a bit, I blink rapidly until I can see clearly again. Yup, that is indeed a blood spot in front of my eyes. What the-what even happened here? “Eddie! Can you answer the question?!” Aaaagggghhhh…..Mr.Ng is on my tail. Ouch. "Dude,” Addison squeaks. “You gotta tell him about this.” “Um. Mr.Ng!” I yelp. “Something’s happened here!” “What?!” Mr.Ng booms. “What is it?” He stomps over to my seat at warp speed. I point to the window, where the spot is. He pushes my hand away and inspects the spot himself. "It’s probably nothing, Eddie….” Addison whispers. “Yeah! It-it’s probably nothing!” I repeat. “Then so be it,” Mr.Ng replies promptly. “Now, are you going to answer the question?” Ugh, I really can’t do this. I’m just too stupid. “What’s even worse is that no one understands how you feel. I’m the only one who knows what you’re going through,” Addison sneers. “Yeah….’cause you’re the one that put me in this situation in the first place.” Sayaka I’m sitting in math class. Tap tap tap, goes my pencil on my notebook. I stare at the blank page in front of me. Mrs.Wilson told the class to take notes because the topic is calculus and the chances of us remembering anything after today are slim. I haven’t written anything down because……..I don’t know. I’m looking at the board full of limits and trigonometric stuff that I’ve taught myself several years ago. I’ve got this. I know I’m gonna pass this test just like I did the last one. “You know,” Scott whispers. “Mrs.Wilson is gonna start walking around the class to inspect notebooks. You should really start writing. She’s called the parents of kids that come to class late. Do you wanna become a part of that kind of statistic?” Scott’s right. I immediately start scribbling notes into my notebook until my hand hurts. I know that Mrs.Wilson likes me and she wouldn’t call my parents just because I wasn’t taking notes, but I really can’t risk it. “Sayaka. Can you answer my question?” What? Who’s…...that? Who’s behind me? “Sayaka. Can you hear me?” It sounds like Mrs.Wilson, except it's about a half-step deeper. Is that...Scott? Yeah, it is. I just looked behind me and there was no one there because I’m in the back of the classroom. Ugh, goddamnit Scott. You and your stupid voices…..why do you always have to do them when I’m focusing in class? Why do you do them at all? It’s so annoying and it diverts my attention in so many ways. “Sayaka. Why’d you put your pencil down? Pick it back up, or I can give you a new one…” Nope. Scott, shut the fu-oh. There’s a hand in front of me holding a black pen. Where did this hand come from? It’s as white as a piece of paper. Basically if Slenderman had hands. I reach out to it. Wait, I can’t grab it. Ugh, Scott’s messing with me again. “Sayaka….you know I love you…” “Scott. For God’s sake. Keep your mouth shut for five seconds. Stop cooing in my ear and let me focus. You told me to take notes. I’m doing what you told me to do.” ……... “Erm….Sayaka? Is there something you want to share with the class?” What? Why is Mrs.Wilson asking me-oh crap. I just said that out loud, didn’t I? Dammit, this is embarrassing. Fucking Scott. I hate everything about you. “But I love you…” Scott whispers. God. SHUT. UP. I didn’t say that out loud. Yeah, I didn’t because I’m not making the same mistake I made just seconds ago. “Yeah, but you look weird,” Scott sneers. “I mean, you look like you’re mumbling stuff to yourself.” Oh snap! Do I?! I mean, I’m staring directly into space, but I think my mouth is moving on its own! Ack! Okay then, I guess I’ll just put my head down and work quietly. …. …. *Ding* *Ding* *Ding* Ah! End of school bell. That’s not English, but I’m glad I didn’t say it out loud. Unless SCOTT wants to mess around again, I’m pretty sure I’m safe for now. “Wheeeeee….I’m falling…..wheeeeeee...” Scott whispers “Argh. Shut up, man. I don’t need you right now,” I whisper back. “Awwww...so when do you need me?” “You know what my answer is? NEVER. Yeah, that’s a good answer.” “Heh, bitch please. Aren’t I fun to be around?” “Fuck. No. No way in hell are you fun to have. I better get the hell away from me or-or else…” “What? Whatcha gonna do about me, huh?” Sigh. I shake my head sadly. As much as I hate Scott, I have to admit. There really is nothing I can do to get rid of him. Sure, I can try to ignore him, but every time I do, he just gets louder and louder until I can’t do anything BUT listen to him. Ugh, I’m so over this. "Hey! Sayaka!” Someone’s yelling from behind me. Is this Scott again? No, I’ve heard this voice before. But, how can I be so sure? I don’t dare turn around; I’m tired of the embarrassment. “What?” I whisper. “Who is it?” “It’s Naomi! We’ve been friends for, like, the past eight years!” Naomi! “Hey! How’s it, er, hanging?” I ask awkwardly. “That sounds like a threat or an ideation,” Scott whispers in my ears. “Are you sure you wanna go through with that statement? I mean, you don’t hang out with her that much anymore. You probably don’t know her situation at the moment.” “Um, yeah,” I say uneasily. “Hi.” “Are-Are you okay?” Naomi asks, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You look a little pale.” “Oh no. I think she knows. She knows everything,” Scott cries. What the actual fuck is Scott talking about?! This is one of those moments when I absolutely cannot stand Scott. I need to lie down and rest my head before I lose my sanity. “Erm, I gotta go. I’m tired and uh-I just need to go,” I giggle nervously. “Awww…..you can sleepover at my house, you know,” Naomi winks at me. “R-Really?” I whimper pitifully. “It’s a trap. IT’S A TRAP!” Scott screams intensely. “Don’t go there. Don’t go. You don’t know what’s gonna happen to you there. Go home, go home…” Okay, I really can’t deal with this. I can’t talk anymore. I can’t think because of stupid SCOTT depleting my brain capacity. I have to go. Otherwise, Naomi’s gonna get stressed, and that’s the last thing I need. “Yeah. I have to go now. See ya tomorrow!” I shout. Not risking a possible breakdown in public because of her potential response, I run away, waving back at her just so she knows that I care. And so Scott can get off my ass. “You know she can see through you, right?” Scott asks. “And you know that you’re a pain in my ass, right?” I ask. “Yeah, yeah, I know that,” Scott sighs. I roll my eyes. Honestly, I’d rather be at school or at a friend’s house and talking to Naomi. Because as long as I’m being distracted from Scott, I’m pretty open and enthusiastic. However, because Scott is a weirdo and I’m afraid that I’m gonna say the wrong thing at the wrong time and everyone’s gonna think I’m crazy, I’m choosing to isolate myself. I don’t need people making me feel more self-conscious than I already am. Andrew About five minutes ago, I thought I was crazy. Why would I call myself that? Well, just five minutes ago, Candace told me that Dad was replaced by a clone. That sounds crazy, right? I mean, it’s impossible. Clones walking around? That sounds like something out of a science fiction horror movie. Not that I’ve seen any, of course. Okay. This is what happened: I woke up in a hospital gurney. Tubes and needles in my arms. I couldn’t move my body. At that time, I didn’t know what the hell was going on. ‘What am I doing here?’ was a recurring question in my brain that I just couldn’t find an answer to. Until my nurse came into my hospital room with life-changing news: “Are you feeling alright?” She asked. “Yeah. What happened?” I responded. “I guess I should give it to you straight,” she sighed. “You were hit by a car.” “WHAT?!” I screamed. “Shhhh….calm down. You’ll be alright. Just calm down. Luckily there were no serious injuries but you do need to rest for a while.” “What do you mean ‘calm down’ ?! You just told me I was hit by a car and you want me to brush it off?! Who hit me?” “The police are still investigating. Just take a breath and-” Someone knocked on the door. The nurse rushed out without another word and left me to my shock and despair. Then, five minutes later, my sister Kaylee walked in and said: “Hey. You good?” “NO!” I shouted. “Okay, okay. So, turns out, Dad got drunk and as he pulled into the driveway, he accidentally hit you on the way to the garage-” I blink. I’m back in my bed at home. Flashback’s over, and I’m still shocked by its contents. Dad got drunk, and hit me with his car. First of all, Dad’s not the type of person to drink. He’s told us that throughout his life, he’s avoided alcohol because he was afraid of its effects. Not only that, but he tried way too hard to achieve his driver’s license. I’m talking about how he literally retook that driver’s test six times. SIX. TIMES. All because he couldn’t do a U-turn the first five times. That’s insane, but of course, he wasn’t going to take anything if it wasn’t perfect. Obviously, he had a lot to lose. And also obviously, he’s my dad. He made sure everything I and Kaylee did was perfect. Like, to the frame! He’s stressed how dangerous alcohol and drugs were. He’s constantly checking in on our grades. He’s always involved in our lives and yet...he somehow slipped away to drink and drive. Why?! “Because he’s not your dad,” Candace says. “He’s not?” I ask back. “Yeah. You know your dad to be law-abiding, non-alcoholic, and an overall good citizen. But this man. The one that hit you while driving intoxicated….he’s not your dad. He may look like it, but deep down inside, he’s not your father.” “I-I guess…” “Why would you doubt me? See, you know what your father’s like, and the man who hurt you is the complete opposite! What’s there to doubt? He’s not your father, plain and simple.” *Knock, knock, knock* “Andrew? Are you okay in there?” Mom? What the-I thought she was at work! What’s she doing back at home? “Yeah! I’m fine!” I shout back. “Come out for breakfast!” What?! What time is it? Oh, it’s 7:30 AM and it’s Sunday. Duh. I get out of bed and walk downstairs...with cautious feet. I’m practically tiptoeing downstairs because I don’t want the imposter to hear me. “Andrew!” Mom yells, suddenly appearing in front of me. “What….are you doing?” “What? Um...nothing,” I reply meekly. “Come on! You don’t want your eggs and bacon to get cold, do you!” Honestly, I could care less. Mom drags me by the arm down the steps and sits me down on the dinner table. There, I see Kaylee, Mom (of course) with her hands on her hips, and a man. Sitting right next to me. He has blond hair, chiseled jawline, dark-rimmed glasses, pale skin…. Looking on his phone for the latest news. My father. Is he, though? He looks up, he sees me staring. He smiles a doll-like smile, and says: “Hey, Andy.” I blink. Oh God. “That’s not my name,” I reply sternly. “Hmmm? I-I know,” he says with a confused look on his face. I stare at him for another moment, before finally managing to tear my gaze away from his face. Just when I think I can calm down- “Dear Lord, Andrew. This man that almost killed you. He doesn't even know what your name is,” Candace sneers. “You know, Andy’s just a nickname that my dad gave me. You don’t need to exaggerate everything!” I clap back. “Why would he call you by the nickname after a traumatizing event?! Does he not remember?! Or perhaps….this is another imposter!” I roll my eyes. I swear to God, Candace sounded reasonable when we were in our room but now….. Ouch, my stomach’s acting up. Is it because of how stressed out I am when talking to Candace? “Mom, I don’t feel well. Can I go back to sleep?” I ask. “Oh?” The man replies. “I can give you some Tylenol. That’ll make you feel better.” What? My dad would never give me pills for anything. He hates them. “That’s it. You need to strike now!” Candace announces. “This isn’t your father. Nowhere near!” “WHAT?! Candace, NO!” I can feel my body get up swiftly, my knees hitting the table. But despite the pain, I mouth off to this….MAN. “NO! I’m-I’m fucking FINE! I don’t need your shit!” my mouth screams. I don’t even wait for a response. I run upstairs into my room and slam the door. I collapse on my bed and as quickly as it accumulated, my rage subsides. But I’m still pissed nonetheless. “Candace. What. The actual. FUCK was that?!” "What?! You weren’t gonna confront him! Someone had to do it!” “You don’t know that he’s an imposter yet! And-” “DON’T YOU DOUBT ME NOW! Do you have proof that he’s not an imposter?!” “So what if I do?! It’s absurd to even think about it!” Candace shuts up. Finally. Now I can confront the imposter civilly. Jessica I pace around my room. I’m trying to walk normally. That doesn’t sound difficult, right? But it is. For me, at least. I don’t understand why I feel this way. My right leg….doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. I feel like I’m falling every time I walk. However, that feeling is just one of the reasons why I hate my right leg. It’s fat and ugly and covered with cellulite on all sides. That’s what Bianca says, at least. “You don’t need it. It’s the truth,” she chortles. “Look, I still wanna walk-” “The doctor can give you crutches! You have nothing to worry about!” I roll my eyes. “No doctor would approve of the amputation of a healthy limb.” Bianca goes silent, but her words linger in my head. She’s not completely wrong. I mean, I’ve always liked my left leg more than my right one. The left one is slimmer and stronger, and I feel like I can conquer anything. Meanwhile, the right one was fatter, and every time I press my right foot down onto the ground, I hobble. One time, I even fell down and people stared at me going “Are you alright?” with their eyebrows raised. That was embarrassing. And I’m pretty sure more embarrassing incidents await me in the future. “Let’s prevent that then!” Bianca shouts. “Cut off that leg and you’ll feel normal again!” I stare at my right leg. If people only saw this leg and no other part of my body, they would think that I’m obese and lazy, which is completely wrong. I exercise every single day just to lose that dead weight, but it somehow always trips me up and I lose all my confidence. It would make sense for me to get rid of it as quickly as possible. “That’s the spirit! How about we go to the doctor to discuss this issue?” Bianca giggles. “Ummm….give me a minute.” I walk over to my closet and pick out a hoodie with a pair of sweatpants. Normally I’d get jeans, but today I wanna try something new. I start by putting my left leg into my pants. Holding onto my closet door with my left hand, I bend my right leg until my foot touches my butt. Then, with my right hand, I pull the sweatpants up and roll up the loose right pant leg. Looking into the closet mirror, I look like an amputee. I look like I got my right leg chopped off. “See? That looks WAY better than before!” Agreed. Without my right leg, the reflection in the mirror that’s staring back at me...looks normal. Like my body was meant to look like this. “Without that pesky leg, you’ll conquer a lot more in life!” Yes. That is true. This damn right leg was keeping me back all these years. Time to go to the doctor. Wobbling downstairs with my left hand propped against the wall or a railing, I grab my car keys and put on my left shoe. It’s the middle of summer, so no need for a coat, but that also means that my cane is gonna be covered in sweat. Ugh, this is gonna piss me off. “Doesn’t matter. It’s all for the greater good. You do remember what the greater good is, right?” "Yes, yes, of course I remember,” I sigh. “You never fail to remind me.” “But you understand why I keep telling you, right?” “I do, alright? I do.” Man, Bianca’s more enthusiastic about this than I am. Wonder what that says about me. Not gonna lie, I’m not looking forward to this. And no, I’m not afraid of doctors. It’s just that...whenever I go to any doctor’s office, I have anxiety like I’ve never had before and I stress out over the possibility that the doctor will say no to the procedure. It’s already happened to me three times before, and I’m not looking forward to the fourth. “Stop worrying! This is like plastic surgery! People get surgery to look better. This is technically the same thing!” “I-I guess….” With an uneasy hand, I step out of my house and into my car, which is parked in my driveway. The walk should take less than a minute, but somehow a lifetime passes by before I sit down at the wheel and drive off to the doctor’s office. While driving, Bianca’s energy flows through my body. My right leg starts throbbing, as if it’s begging me not to get rid of it. “Once it’s gone,” Bianca says. “You won’t have anything else to worry about. I promise.” “I know, I know. You don’t have to keep repeating it.” “I have to, you know? I feel like you don’t fully understand the point of all this.” I sigh and roll my eyes. What part of this operation do I not get? Get my leg cut off, start walking around with my crutches in hand…..what? Is there something missing here? You know what? It actually doesn’t matter considering that I’m already at the doctor’s office and I gotta get out of my car. Clutching my cane, I slowly open the door and step onto my left foot. Once I slam the door behind me, I feel my whole world stop. For a moment, I close my eyes and visualize what the inside of the doctor’s office looks like: A giant, empty waiting room… I walk up to the receptionist and sign myself in….. Then, the doctor comes out… And I tell him… “JESS! WAKE UP!” Huh?! Bianca! Why are you screaming at me?! Oh, I fell asleep at the steering wheel. How did that happen? I was so sure that I, at the very least, left my car. Meh, I climb out again with my cane and walk to the steps of the office, carefully watching where I put my foot. As I enter the waiting room, I see the receptionist on my left and the chairs on my right. I sign myself in on a piece of paper at the desk and hobble my way over to the chairs and sit down in one of them. Pulling out my phone, I mentally prepare myself for what’s gonna happen inside that office. “Don’t stress about it too much,” Bianca says. “As long as you have your goal in mind, nothing can stand in your way.” Part One: A Heavy Heart
When I walk to the bathroom each morning to brush my teeth, I stare in the mirror for a few seconds, looking at my wildly uncombed hair, my half-shut eyes, and think, “Why am I here? How am I still alive?” I wash my hair and walk out into the hallway, with water trailing behind me, wondering what I will have for breakfast. I grab a Chobani drink because I don’t feel like drinking milk, and sneak back into my room, hoping that my Dad does not hear me (though he is usually awake since 3 or so unless he is tired). I sit down at my desk and tell myself that I need to get the day in order and get things straight. Yet, in the back of my mind, I know that no matter how hard I try, it doesn’t seem to matter to my Dad. There seemed to be no use in trying to do my best. I always ended up in a depressed state, with people who don’t seem to care, and yet I am always hoping, praying, that something good comes out of my life. I know it is bad for me to think of life in this way, but it hurts to see that almost nobody cares. I look out of the window at all of the other buildings and think about my friends, and their friends, and their friends’ friends, who all seem so carefree with life. “Sounds like a good life,” I think to myself. But if I give this one up, what would I do? My conscience would probably be floating up in space, thinking about how stupid I was to die, and how if I stayed, life would’ve gotten better. Would my friends even remember me after a few years? Would they use me as a pity bag so others feel bad for them? Would people say bad things about me even after I died? I shake away the thought. I worry, I worry a lot. I worry probably more than I should. It is almost like I am going crazy in my own home. I miss my friends. I miss my family too. Leaving them may have been the worst decision of my life, even if it wasn’t my choice. Maybe it was all for the better. “All for the better,” I repeat in my head. I go to YouTube and search up skating clips to watch before class, even though I am not supposed to be on YouTube nor am I supposed to skate. But it is the morning and I am tired, yet my mind is restless, thinking about all the things that are going on in the world, the dead and the living.I need a break. April Skateboards uploaded a new video. I am happy again. The lonely world that seemed to have put me here for no reason suddenly lights up, and I know that even in the times that I am at my worst, there must be something that is out there for me. Maybe if I just keep a brighter outlook on life, it will help. I look out the window and the sun is shining bright. “Mr. Sun will be there forever, but I will not,” I tell myself “I just have to keep moving.” It is almost time for my first class. I pull out my notebooks from the shelf and start the zoom meeting. Part Two: Hope After I moved away from Florida, I felt that there was nothing that I could do to fix my broken heart. Every night I would study on the floor with boxes piled around me. I shared an air-mattress with my Mom and my Dad and worried that I would have to stay in a cramped apartment forever — we moved six times in two years. It was not an ideal life; in fact, I felt that I wasn’t even living a real life, I was in an unknown place, I had no friends and no family to talk to, and soon, only my Dad would be here with me. My past was behind me, but this was not the fresh start I was hoping for. I worry more than I should. I worried that we wouldn’t ever be able to survive in New York City. The “Big Apple.” The “City that never sleeps.” I was so used to having a simple life, being able to do anything I felt like doing, and most of all, feeling like I had a future. It seemed that in the city where dreams come true, I had lost all my hope. Two and a half slow years passed by, and I was finally out of middle school and off to high school, where things started to shift. I had severe Tourette’s syndrome since I was little, had trouble making friends and was bullied a lot. I decided that I wanted a fresh new start, a new perspective on my life. I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself and feel like I wouldn’t be able to survive another day (though sometimes, these thoughts come back). Instead, I saw this as an opportunity for me, and I guess my Dad did too. Now that I am in junior year, I see that without the opportunity to go to Stuyvesant High School, my life may have still been a mess. I would not have been able to make friends, look out for the future, and help my Dad out if I had not been accepted. Having people to be with and trust is one of the best resources I received from school. Without them, I would probably still be in pain, and not be in as good of a mental state as I am in today. I probably would not even be on this earth if I had not changed my outlook on life. One thing I learned from this “adventure,” as my grandma used to put it, is that there is always, always something good that comes out of it. If I had stayed in Florida, I probably would not have graduated from high school, and though I would still have my old friends, I would not have the opportunities that I was given here to learn and make new friends throughout my life. I would have followed the path much of my southern family followed, of being too late, and eventually, that would hurt the course of my life. A lesson that I always hold true to my heart is to have hope. At one point, everybody struggles, but there is always a way out of it, and though it may seem like a miracle away, we always have the capability to achieve that miracle ourselves. So whenever something bad happens to me I just say “it’s an adventure” and go along with it to see where I end up next. Part Three: Forgiveness There must be a point in your life where you ask yourself: “Is there anyone that I need to forgive, or is there anyone I should be asking the forgiveness of?” I still have not come to the conclusion that there is someone who actually cares for my forgiveness. Yet, I am always wondering who I have wronged in my life and if the people who have done wrong to me will remember that they hurt me. We spend our whole lives waiting for others to die, and gathering people to our own funeral. But how is it that after they die, we realize that there is so much that we didn’t do with them, so much that we wanted to say, so much that we...missed? When I was little, I used to cry because I knew that everybody I loved would one day die, and if I didn’t die before them, I knew I would be alone. Alone forever. And to me, that was one of the scariest thoughts. Death. Many people who get sick, or are almost at their death point always regret the things that they didn’t do, that they couldn’t do. If I had died right now, there would be so many things, good and bad that I would have missed, and yet for so long I had wished to disappear, to be away from society, and the trauma that comes with life. When I tell myself that life is an adventure, I am really saying that I don’t want to die, because there is always a small chance that my life later could be better than it is now. It is hard to tell yourself to live, especially with depression, but I know that if I go away now, there will be so many opportunities that I would have missed and that I would be living an unfulfilled life. Now, with that being said, there are so many people constantly struggling in this world with depression, anxiety, and so many other issues that make them feel that life is a waste. However, the one thing everybody should know is that there is always somebody out there that will hurt when you die, somebody who will not forgive you for leaving this world. By leaving, you are not forgiving others, you are only increasing the burden on them. A true act of forgiveness comes from your actions here on earth and doesn’t involve you leaving it. Life may not be simple, and life may not be kind to all, but there is so much to do, and so much to see, that I hope you understand how important each and every person, including yourself, is to this world. You must forgive the fact that life is hard, and try to see the light that this world carries within. By Dalia Levanon Wildflowers My vision blurs for a moment a single moment As the screen unfocuses the borders of the tiny squares disappearing so all I see is a field of smudged faces Each expression a different wildflower sprouting from the soil of Zoom The logo flashing as I blink and the teacher turns to the next slide. Frozen They are trapped
in two-dimensional frames as the Wifi disconnects Each yawn stuck forever a hand muffling the sound Each stolen text message eyes darting below the screen Each moment of peace as a camera is turned off so briefly That they are sure no one would notice Yet I did I won’t tell I promise That you were letting the exhaustion roll off of you like a tide letting your eyes flicker shut Before my screen unfreezes and the yawn is over the phone is put away And your face can be seen again. |
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