Laurel Loop 2013

Am

anda Sachs

Rachel Estafanous

We hope you enjoy this year’s edition of Laurel Loop,

our middle school art & literary magazine!

2013 Laurel Loop Editors:

Sofia Ayres-Aronson

Deepal Nadar

Zoe Neely

Lael Raven, PR Chair

Julia Rusnak

Bess Sullivan

Elizabeth Thompson

Tristan Whitt, Submissions Chair

Christina Stanek, Faculty Advisor

Coco Benger

Lael Raven

How to Meet a New Idea

Based on the Study of a Pencil

Put your best face forward.

Record your observations.

Leave your mark.

Be open to change.

If you feel worn down, sharpen your skills. Don’t be afraid to try a different angle.

In fact, viewing the world upside down can clear your thoughts.

Remain firm—stand up for what you believe in.

Christina Stanek

Persephone’s Return by Christina Stanek

Celeste Bohan

Mother Earth cries at our promises and lies,

Promising we would take care,

But all we do is cut down trees,

And place new buildings everywhere

Mother Earth is nonrenewable and will die out like the trees

We add solar panels, power plants

Promising that in time of need we will do better

And yet all we still do is burn

Fossil fuels, create smoke, kill

What has been given to us

Murder what we’ve got

Yet Mother Earth gives more

Soon Mother Earth will blow apart like nuclear energy,

Exploding, and bursting

She is the hot water we use in geothermal energy,

We boil, burn, and simmer her

We use biomass, we use her, steal her, kill her

We recycle but we still hurt her like never before

Soon she cannot give anymore and will wink out of existence like a

Fluorescent light bulb.

By Caroline Downey

Annella Fernandez

Gemini Prologue by Sofia Ayres-Aronson

The rectangular, white-washed room was glaringly bright; its pristine and unflawed surfaces

were free of any stains that might mar its unblemished cleanliness with which even the most sanitary

doctor’s office could not compare. Standing against the two smallest sides of the room opposite each

other were two identical opalescent shelf cases filled with row upon row of identical glass beakers.

Each beaker contained the same amount of the same dark blue liquid. Severely bright wall sconces lit

up every inch in the room and even the cement floor was painted a pure white. But the most peculiar

object lay spread out on a white table in the center of the space.

A machine sat in this room looking like a cross between a radio, TV, computer, and lawn mow-

er. Blue tubes connected it to the floor through neat gumball-sized holes in the table. Neon green zig-

zags ran across a screen on the top, and a radio antenna at least two and a half feet long poked out of its

steel shell. Thousands of buttons of all different colors were arranged in neat rows underneath the

screen, and below it on each of the sides were three small fans. An oval basin about six inches across

with no bottom to it was the machine’s only opening.

It was to this room that two figures emerged through a white door, one missing a part of the left

ear and the other bearing a thin white scar on the base of the neck. Both wore crisp white lab coats and

latex gloves. The one with the missing ear carried a black briefcase; the one with the scar, a clipboard

and a pen. The pair sauntered, stone-faced and serious, over to where the machine sat on the table.

“Beaker,” said one, gesturing impatiently to the case on the left. The figure with the scar obedi-

ently shuffled over to the case and handed a beaker to the accomplice, whose eyes never strayed from

the machine. The entire beaker was poured into the basin and the liquid disappeared down the chute,

causing a loud gurgling sound. Fans began to whir and the neon zigzags ran across the screen when a

large red button was pushed. Twin wicked smiles appeared on the lips of the mysterious figures.

“Write this down: 673.44.02.5rpm-22.9.64 #977527. “

“Yes” came the reply as the one bearing the scar scribbled a series of numbers and symbols onto

the chart attached to the clipboard.

The figure with half an ear continued to stare intently at the machine, looking at it like a parent

would their first child: full of joy, satisfaction, wonder and pride. A voice broke the silence.

“Father, does this mean…“

“Yes. We will put our little contraption to the test tomorrow.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Grace Redmond

Next

by Maddy Massey

Before I turned around, I felt the blast. I immediately ducked and covered but I

knew it was too late. They were gone. My family was gone and I was next. I should

have ran the second I saw them coming. But like an idiot I stood there watching. Then

when I finally had the sense to run, it was too late. So I could only watch as my family

evaporated, taken down in one single blast, while I stood behind them, staring at the

place where they had been just moments before.

The strange shape came towards me, fast and scarily silent. It was no wonder

my family hadn’t seen it coming. But I did, and I didn’t do anything but watch – horri-

fied as the shape snuck up behind them. I turned to run, so I didn’t see them, only

heard a scream – half of one really, and I knew I was next. And now, it advanced in

my direction, and I steadied myself, preparing to be evaporated.

The blast shook my whole body, making me freeze. Then quickly my body began

to disappear, from my feet, up to my head. When my eyes disappeared, everything

went black.

A few minutes later, my body began to rematerialize, starting with my head.

When my tunnel vision stopped, I looked around. Wherever I was, was dark, so I

couldn’t see anything. Anything, but millions and millions of the shapes. Slowly they

came towards me, pushing me towards something unseen. And then, somewhere in

the dark, I heard a voice call out:

“Next!”

Lainey Childres

Bellerphon’s fame

By Simran Fulton

As soon as Chimera was dead,

Bellerphon’s fame went to his head.

The people of Lycia crowned him king;

He acted like Pegasus didn’t do a thing.

Bellerphon thought he was as powerful as Zeus,

As sharp as an eagle, as strong as a moose.

Bellerphon thought he could live with the gods,

But Pegasus thought this was quite odd.

So he kicked Bellerphon hard when the air was getting thin;

Zeus had no problem letting Pegasus in.

Grace Redmond

Touch

by Emily Knight

Colors fading Mind fogging

Connection growing Darkness seeping

Memories flying

Pain hitting Trust breaking

Understanding cracking

Controlling Obeying Seeing

Screaming

Zoe Neely

Where do I belong? By Maddy Massey

I belong to an untold story

I belong to that empty corner

I belong to the land of my own imagination.

I am a dreamer

I belong to tales long forgotten

I belong to the lakes and the sweet fresh rivers

I belong to pure nature

I belong to the legends

I belong to something more

I am a wisher

I belong to the darkness

I belong to the light

I belong to the air and the earth, fire and waves

I am complicated

I belong to no one

Deepal Nadar

Emily Ross

My complexion doesn

’t own m

e.

I own m

yself.

I might n

ot be perfe

ct,

but I am in

my own w

ay.

So Barbie isn

’t real,

but I am.

Coco Benger

Rachel Estafanous

Cape Cod

By Angela Kissner

German Village Life by Angela Kissner

Green Tuscany by Angela Kissner

Tuck Revisited: How I Think Tuck Everlasting Should Have Ended

By Lia Snyder

Epilogue

“We’re back” whispered Mae Tuck to no one in particular, herself if anyone. The

Tucks looked around at the little town, so different yet so familiar at the same time.

They were silent, each lost in their own thoughts: Tuck remembering 10 year-old Win-

nie Foster when they first had met. Miles, recalling how Winnie refused to kill a fish

when they went fishing, Mae, lost in her thoughts of how brave Winnie was, saving her

from a hanging. Jesse remembering how he had proposed his love to her that first

night. He thought of everything, except the possibility that Winnie hadn’t drunk the

spring water.

Miles broke the silence and cleared his throat. “We should probably find Winnie

now.” Nobody pointed out Winnie could be dead; after all it had been 94 years.

“Where should we start?” asked Mae.

“Her house, then the spring?” suggested Miles.

“Good. Now let’s get started as soon as possible, preferably, right now,” said Jes-

sie firmly.

The Tucks ventured toward the Foster’s old house, marveling at the changes the

town had experienced. The Tucks reached the old house, which looked exactly the

same as it did ninety-four years ago. The Tucks reached the gate that bordered the

yard. Nobody made a move to open the gate; they were all thinking the same thing:

whatever lay beyond would change their lives forever.

“I’ll go first,” said Miles, his voice tight with the effort to hold back tears.

He took a deep breath, and then opened the gate. He began to walk toward the

house, his family following a few paces behind. The Tucks reached the front door of

the house. Mae immediately knocked on the front door with the heavy brass knocker.

After a few seconds, when nobody came to the door, the Tucks glumly trudged back

down the yard.

“What now?” asked Jesse, sadly.

“We’ll try the spring next,” offered Tuck. The Tucks began to make their way toward

the wood.

~~~

As the Tucks approached the spring, they saw a figure sitting on a log nearby it.

The Tucks froze, not daring to move an inch. Jesse’s heart skipped a beat. Then the fig-

ure turned its head and looked right where the Tucks were hiding.

~~~

Winnie was sitting on her log in the woods where she had met Jesse for the first

time so long ago. She had drunk the magical spring water six years after the Tucks had

left town, at age sixteen, just as Jesse had requested. Winnie had come to this exact

spot every day since the Tucks had left ninety-four years ago, hoping that they would

come back for her as they had promised. She always came back to this log and thought.

She thought about her past, her future and everything in between. Winnie’s thoughts

were interrupted when she sensed that someone, or something, was watching her.

Winnie looked up to see who her observer was. She then stood up and waited for

whomever it was to come out and face her.

~~~

The figure stood up and the Tucks could clearly see who it was. Winnie! Jesse

could not stop himself; he burst out from where he and his family were standing and

ran toward her.

~~~

A boy burst out of the trees. A familiar boy she hadn’t seen in ninety-four

years…..Jessie!

The Beginning

Mae Lee Held

Charlotte’s Diary Days by Maddy Byrnes

Dear Reader, This story is about a girl named Charlotte who likes Shakespeare and keeps a diary. She isn’t doing well in school so she is being tutored, but she gets to do a very fun project. Will she stay tutored or will she be able to keep up with her classes?

School tutoring?!Where you’re the only one in the classroom and the

teacher’s looking at you most of the time and you don’t see your friends

until fourth period or lunch! No way! I had to find a way to get to

school on time. All day, I thought about how to do better in classes so

I won’t fail. Then, in sixth period, Ms. Quentin said to me, “Mrs.

Rodriguez told me about the tutoring. In a situation like this, I will

allow you to miss class this once to go see Mr. Roster.” So here I am

in the principal’s office, discussing with Mr. Roster about how I

need to start doing better in classes. How could this day get any

worse? Sincerely,

Charlotte

If you want to see more of the story, contact me @ [email protected]

Kat Tomsich