quartet - Hastings-on-Hudson School District

quartet Volume 2 Issue 1

About quartet!

quartet is the 7th grade Farragut Middle School Literary Magazine. It was founded in 2014, and this issue is part of volume 2. quartet show-cases a variety of literary forms including short stories, poems, book reviews, as well as vignettes, art work, and more. Further, it presents the voices of a culturally diverse student body by featuring a spectrum of languages including English and Ukrainian. For additional infor-mation about the contributors of this issue and for more student work, please visit us at: tinyurl.com/fmsquartet.

Staff

Editors-in-Chief Christina Silver, Cayla Ossen-Gutnick, Hazel Pucillo, Sonja Cherry-Paul

Managing Editors Josie Simon & Caroline Anderson

Layout Editor Roisin O’Flaherty

Website Coordinator Roisin O’Flaherty

Faculty-in-Chief Sonja Cherry-Paul

Digital- Media & Web Director Christopher Keogh

World Language Coordinator Ms. Silver

Cover Designer Cayla Ossen-Gutnick

Celebration Coordinator Alexander Seleznioff

Contributors

Caroline Anderson

Leo Belsy

Sharin Clark-Deutsch

Luca de Novellis

Kate Diep

Elie Hamerman

Asher Herbstman

Atomu Hicks

Rex Jacobson

Emma Korz

Zach Kotronis

Devin Lopez

Roisin O’Flaherty

Cayla Ossen-Gutnick

Chris Prahl

Hazel Pucillo

Henry Rogers

Finn Rowley

Stella Rubin

Alex Seleznioff

Christina Silver

Dedicated to

all who love

literature!

Josie Simon

Maddy Sledge

Will Torgoff

Ty Van Der Sande

I know it’s there. Waiting for me. Bated with delicious tidbits, I almost can’t resist. The nerve of it! Teasing me with those delicacies, knowing that at one time or an-other I will try to take them, which will be the biggest mistake of my life. But I am too smart for it. I will never give in to the temptation of sinking my teeth into that mouth watering, piece of… mmmm. Wait! No! Must stop thinking of that stinking piece of food! That stubborn piece of wood and its snack keep trying to lure me into their trap.

It’s dusty, dark, and the days are tedi-ous. Always having to be alert. Waiting for that sneaky rodent to show its pointed face. Every piece of my wood and wire body is tense with anticipation. The day I catch that scrawny mouse, there will be a celebration for my bravery and cleverness. The hu-mans will thank me and I will show the oth-er mousetraps my prize. Everyone will be talking about me!

It’s getting hard-er to resist the trap’s lure. Obtaining other food is getting harder as more mousetraps appear. All trying to get me! What have I done to receive such torture? The humans have plenty of food and I have none. All I’m trying to do is sur-vive. Why won’t they share?

This is taking longer than I expected, but I know the mouse is getting desperate. Eventually the mouse will take the bait, and my celebration will take place. Those oth-er mousetraps are nothing compared to me. It will be me who catches that mouse, I know it. The mo-ment that I have trained for is about to take place, and if I could move on my own, I would go look-ing for that mouse. If I could move, I would’ve slain it al-ready.

The situation for is getting worse. Every day I fear to venture from my nest, in case I find myself being tempted

to take the food from the mousetraps. Every way I have used to get food has been blocked. Slowly I am starving. My once vi-brant, smoky colored fur is now dull and musty. Never have I been so hungry be-fore. There is no way out of the house that isn’t blocked and I squeak at myself over and over again for not leaving when I could. The one thing I know I mustn’t do, is give my-self up. I will not give those merciless pieces of plywood the satis-faction. They will never get me!

Trapped by Cayla Ossen-Gutnick

Page 4 quartet

“My once vibrant,

smoky-colored

fur is now dull

and musty.”

The tall stature rises above the land,

its shade covering many

and bringing comfort to all.

The bright, green top giving

a wonderful sensation

to all who look upon it.

Its arms, long and thin

holding up

many different creatures.

Old and yet still young,

dies and still lasts a lifetime.

room, in the dark hallway, just slightly il-luminated by the light from their room, I say, crying, to my aunt, that, sometimes, when Дідо would get mad at me when I did something wrong, I would wish for him to die, but that now, I don’t want him to be gone.

I walk with my aunt to the faint light coming from my room, and slip into bed. Still crying, I think about my Дідо, for just a short while, before I start dreaming about him. I dream that he is still with us, just sleeping in his black leather chair, in the corner of the room.

¨Дідо умер.¨ ¨You… you… you’re joking!

Right… ?¨ Dropping my book on my bed, I follow my aunt down the dark hallway to the light in Дідо’s room. As I walk slowly past Бабця, sitting on her bed, I see my Дідо resting, like he did every night, in his black leather chair, in the corner of the room. He looks like he is sleeping, as if he just fell asleep watch-ing the TV. But when I touch his wrinkly, old skin, it is cooler than normal, and it is getting colder.

Right outside of Дідо and Бабця’s

My Дідо by Christina Silver

Computer by Josie Simon Tree by Alex Seleznioff

Page 5 quartet

The brain awakes, the face turns bright. The sound is welcoming saying good morning. The hand is used every time. Click click click, every tap opens something new. Sleeping, it’s black. Two small circles glow, with green and orange color. The hand rests, no movement. Not until the brain, and face awake.

A body of steel,

revolutionized by mankind,

takes flight.

Wings of a bird,

it launches into the air,

destined for the skies.

Befriended only by white clouds,

it pummels through a land

once unknown by mankind.

Gliding through the wind,

endlessly awaiting

Its

destination,

the new adventure,

all is still...

me tightly. Soon Lila comes. “Today we are moving,” she says plainly. I cringe trying to hold back tears. It feels like I am drowning in the memo-ries that we once cherished but we will soon forget.

Their house that was once filled with laughter and joy, and floors that were scattered with toys and games is now gone, packed in boxes to be moved to a

My hand vibrates as I knock on Lila’s front door. It’s hard for me to believe that this day is already here. What if I never see them again? I clutch the basket that I am holding, filled with games and movies as a gift for their long car ride.

“Reese!” Lila’s little sis-ter, Janey, yells as she scurries down the stairs like a mouse. She grasps the doorknob then flings open the door and throws herself into my arms, hugging

new house.

I hand Lila the basket I was carrying and then give her a goodbye hug. As soon as they get in the car, Janey rolls down the window and waves. Lila’s face is blotchy because of the tears that she’s trying to hide. “Goodbye Reese!” Lila and Janey say in sync. I wave while watching their car pull out of the driveway and down the road.

Plane by Zachary Kotronis

Page 6 quartet

Last Goodbye by Sharin Clark-Deutsch

Smartphone Miranda has been utilizing me since noon. Curled up on the living room couch like a docile cat, she just keeps scrolling. The amount of time humans can keep at a task is extraordinary, es-pecially when it involves a screen such as mine.

However, I feel myself growing weaker as Miranda keeps scrolling through her Instagram photos. She is obsessed with her Instagram, liking and unliking photos, following and unfollow-ing with intense, demented determina-tion. She keeps scrolling and tapping, oblivious to the fact that I am at 5% of battery life and am only growing weaker. Using all the force I have left I send her one last final call for help.

Miranda

A message shows up on

my screen, informing me that

my phone is almost dead or as

the icon says the ‘device is al-

most depleted of energy.’ I

look at the battery icon. 5%.

No. NO. I can’t survive without

my phone! I need my phone like

I need water. It has become

vital to my existence. I must

find a charger. Smartphone

Finally, Miranda is aware of my energy crisis due to the message I sent her. She jumps up, springing off the couch like a frightened cat and dashes across her carpeted floor to the nearest charger, at the speed equivalent of an Olympic sprinter. But despite her valiant effort, it may be too late. I am now at 2%. I lower my brightness in a desperate attempt to survive.

Miranda

I’m almost there, only a

couple of feet away from the

charger. As I barrel through

the room, my knee hits the leg

of the coffee table. I stumble

and find myself staring at the

shag carpeting of my living

room. My phone hits the ground

but its fall is dulled by the car-

pet.

Smartphone

I hear a table leg groan and I hit the shag floor, facedown. My life is flash-ing before my eyes. So many emails,

texts, and notifications…

Miranda

I regain my balance and

complete my sprint to the

charger. I plug in my phone,

only to see that it has died and

is now restarting. I groan in

frustration. Great. Do you

know how much could happen

on Instagram in the amount of

time it takes for my phone to

charge? But the phone soon

chimes and I look down to see

the cold, artificial light of my

phone screen. It is the most

beautiful thing I have ever

seen.

Smartphone

I wake and the first thing I see is her relieved, mollified face staring down at me, her features lit up by the artificial glow of my screen. Miranda’s done it. I am safe, at least for now. But there will come a time when once again my life will be put in peril, whether it be because of low battery or a cracked screen, but so is the life of a smart phone.

tling made me freeze like a statue. My body couldn’t stop shaking. They were getting closer.

Then Dylan said, “He is in the bush.” I darted in the opposite direction from them. They were going to attack me like a wolf pack attacking a deer. Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back.

I looked back to see where

My face was drenched with sweat while I screamed for them to leave me alone. I ran through the woods trying to escape my ex-friends, John and Dylan. Then John said, “There he is, let's get him.” As I was running through the woods, I jumped off the path into a bush.

The noise of the trees rat-

they were. Then I tripped on a rock

and fell. I attempted to get up but I

was too weak. John and Dylan started

laughing at me. Dylan grabbed me.

“Next time don’t run,” he growled.

They both kicked and punched me.

After they ran away, I crawled

into a ball like a piece of paper burn-

ing in a fire, and sobbed.

The Struggles of a Smartphone by Roisin O’Flaherty

Page 7 quartet

Don’t Look Back by Luca de Novellis

Anya was read-ing a book in her room, when Mara, her new step-mother called up to her.

“Anya, do you want to go to the farmer’s market with me?” Mara’s voice was timid, as if she knew that Anya was going to turn down her offer. Anya sighed, she missed her own mother terribly. Even after she deserted An-ya at her father’s house when she was five. Life with her fa-ther had been great, until he met Mara and got married. Mara was nice, but Anya didn’t feel like she needed to love Mara and act like Mara was her mother.

Anya had noth-ing to do that day, and she did need to return and renew some books from the library. In the small town of Bakersville, the farmer’s market was always set up right across from the library.

“Anya? Are you up there?” Mara’s voice called again.

“I’ll come,” Anya murmured wearily.

“Great! I’ll meet you outside in a mi-nute or two,” Mara

yelled up the stairs, then added, “Oh, if you want anything at the farmer’s market I’ll pay for you.”

“Thanks,” Anya muttered back, for she had no idea where her wallet was, but she was-n’t going to let Mara know that. Anya then gathered up her library books, put on a head-band to tame her long ginger brown hair, and stomped down the stairs to the front door where Mara was waiting for her.

“Ready?” Mara asked. She was wearing fashionable clothes, too fashionable for a walk to the farmer’s market. An-ya nodded, still looking at Mara’s clothes. “Then let’s go!” Mara said cheerfully, starting to walk briskly down the sidewalk towards the street. Anya had to jog to catch up with her long strides. Finally, Mara slowed down.

“Thanks,” Anya said to her, a bit out of breath. “You have long-er legs than mine.”

“Don’t worry,” Mara said brightly, “Your legs will grow as you get older.”

They continued in silence for a few minutes. Then as they

walked by someone’s garden, Mara leaned over and picked a sprig of lav-ender. She handed it to Anya. “Here, stick this in your sock drawer; it will make your socks smell good.” Anya pushed the lavender back at Mara.

“I think you need this more than me,” she joked stiffly. Mara looked hurt for a moment before she realized Anya was joking. Anya skipped ahead and turned around to wait for Mara to catch up. While she waited, An-ya noticed some grass and flowers that were growing through the cracks of the broken slate sidewalk. She crouched down to look at them more closely and found a baby blue jay looking up at her.

“Aaahhhhh!” Anya screamed, jumping away from the clump of weeds. Mara ran to her side in an instant.

“What is it Anya? Did a bee sting you? I have your medication if you need it!” Mara frantic-ly looked through her big, fashionable bag for An-ya’s medicine.

“No, no, I didn’t get stung by a bee!” Anya said. “I was just startled by the baby blue jay in those weeds over there.”

A Snapped Feather by Cayla Ossen– Gutnick

Page 8 quartet

“Anya had to

jog to catch

up with her

long strides.

Finally, Mara

slowed down.”

“A baby blue jay? You screamed because of an adorable baby blue jay?!” Mara looked like she might explode with laughter.

“It surprised me!” Anya said, trying to de-fend herself. “Blue jays don’t normally hide in weeds or on the ground, they like being in the trees,” she paused thoughtfully. “I wonder if this one fell out of its parent’s nest.” Mara be-gan looking up to the trees.

“I’ve got an extra sweater,” she suggest-ed excitedly. “We can use it to pick up the bird and put it back in it’s nest.”

“Ok,” Anya agreed grudgingly. “Just don’t touch the bird with your bare hands.” Mara then pointed up to a clump of sticks, leaves, and feathers. The baby blue jay’s nest was lo-cated on a low hanging branch of a dogwood tree in the backyard of a light yellow painted house.

Anya, still a little uncomfortable with the plan, reluctantly took the sweater from Mara and slowly crept toward the baby blue jay. When she got close enough to catch it, the little bird

hopped out of the weeds franticly. Anya tried again.

“Come here little bird,” she whispered. The bird stopped hopping away and Anya ap-proached it for a second time. Then out of the cor-ner of her eye she saw Mara on her phone. A moment later the phone rang loudly. Brrrring, brrrring, brrrring! Spooked, the baby blue jay agitatedly fluttered on-to a nearby fence. Anya’s blood ran cold, she knew that on the other side of the fence there was a steep dropoff. Mara obliv-ious of the setting, put her phone away and quickly stepped toward the bird. The frightened baby blue jay then decided it had had enough of Mara and Anya and clumsily flew to the roof of a nearby build-ing. It then landed un-steadily and toppled into the building’s gutter.

Anya gasped in dismay and ran as fast as she could around the fence to where the build-ing’s gutter would’ve emptied out. Although to her horror, she found that the gutter didn’t empty out, it lead straight into the ground.

“Oh no,” Anya whispered, staring at the place the gutter met the ground. She then turned

around and raced to the front of the building. Anya bolted up the stone stairs to the doorway and pounded on the wooden door with all the force she could muster. No one answered, so she tried to open the door. It was locked.

“Anya! Anya!” Mara’s voice called in panic, “Where are you?”

“Here,” Anya called, her voice dripping with de-feat and her face dripping with tears of frustration and sorrow. Mara followed the sound of Anya’s voice and appeared behind her.

“Woa! What hap-pened? Where’s the baby bird?” Mara asked as she saw Anya’s face. Anya rounded on her.

“It’s all your fault!” she shouted at Mara angri-ly. “Before you came every-thing was perfect! Just dad and I! Then you come along and mess everything up! Even now because of you and your stupid phone that innocent baby blue jay is now probably dead! Its body is most likely floating in a sewer somewhere! And it’s all because of you!”

Anya then sprinted

all the way back to her

house without looking back.

When she got in, she

locked the door behind her.

A Snapped Feather (cont’d)

Page 9 quartet

“Come here

little bird,” she

whispered. The

bird stopped

hopping away

and Anya

approached it

for a second

time.

Lost, in a strawberry-blonde jungle! Usually, I’m un-aware of where I am, even though I spend most of my day here. Individually, the strands of hair are like thin branches in a forest, but put all together, with my help, they form an enormous trunk that I wrap around. I hate it here, but I am used to it. Eventually, I’m pulled out, and placed on Anna Thomson’s wrist, where I wait. My day starts when An-na grabs me by the neck and twists me in a hundred different directions. Finally I am still. She sits at her vanity, looking at herself, just staring for a good ten minutes. I hear a yell from downstairs. “Breakfast!” Debbie, her witch-like step-mother, hollers. I can tell by the way Anna glares into Debbie’s hazel eyes that she does not want her around. Tensions rise when they stare at each other.

The silence breaks when Anna heads to her room. She then rushes out the door.

It’s winter and I’m freeeeeezing. The whole walk to school, I shiver, getting colder by the second. After a while, I have a sheet of ice covering me. I wonder how much longer this walk will be. Once we walk into the build-ing, a wall of warmth hits me like a punch.

Soon, gym class comes. I’m drenched in a warm, salty substance. If I could talk, I would scream into her ear and say, YUCK! I’m truly disgusted. I marinade in her sweat all day, becoming a bug repellent to anyone who dares to step near her. She carries me to every class, strapped to her wrist, for the whole day with no breaks.

Finally, we come home. Time for my least favorite part of the day; shower time. Anna

always forgets to take me off of her wrist. I feel like I’ve been put into a boiling cup of tea, drowning, gasping for air, but there’s no way out. Alt-hough, afterwards, I feel re-freshed. I dry on her desk un-til I’m put back on her wrist. She walks around her room for a little bit, watching tiny figures trapped inside a black box. I wonder who are these people?

My life is pretty terrible but, I see that life is hard for Anna also. She has a working father who’s never around, and a stepmother who could care less about her. All I know is that I serve one purpose in her life, and that is to control her crazy hair. She takes me off her wrist, and begins tying me into her hair. Out of no-where, the worst thing hap-pens. I snap. I take back my sympathy.

It looks at you, with a straight face. Its hands moving in circles, It continues to stare, straight into your eyes. Like hypnosis, it mesmerizes you. Then, like a bird, it flies away.

The Clock by Leo Belsky

Tied In: The Story of a Hair Tie by Sharin Clark-Deutsch and Kate Diep

Page 10 quartet

The smell is like a hundred bottles of medicine are being pushed under my nose. The feeling of nausea engulfs me. The sound of a child screaming is a siren in the small building. Holding my heart in my throat, I wring my hands and bite my nails.

I hop off the bulky bed. For what feels like an hour, I pace, all the while feeling the tension grow dark and even more thick.

“Calm...calm down.”

Footsteps hushed and close, sound like a drum in my head. Sitting down, I dig my nails into my arm. “Deep breaths,” I whis-per. A glance toward the shad-ed window proves there’s no way to get out.

In walks a doctor. He puts out his hand for me to shake. “Dr. Harp,” the man says in an authoritative voice. As I shake his hand, it feels smooth, not bumpy like mine. “Are you ready?” He snaps on a pair of rubber

gloves. “No,” is my mumbled answer. I glance toward the door. If I perfectly timed it, I could run out the door and duck past the nurse’s desk. As if reading my mind, Dr. Harp slides in the way of the door, shutting it tight.

Looking up, I see a tube full of blue liquid connected to a long needle pointing up to the sky. Slowly, quietly, the needle slips under the surface of my skin.

steps. She hurried down the hall to the stairs like a mouse, fast yet silent. She knew someone was in her house. As she approached the stairs, she slowed down her rapid pace. Her mind raced. Who is this stranger? Why is this person here? Step by step she crept clos-er. The man stood silently, waiting to know who she was.

He was in the middle of the stairs. Trying to flee would give him away. Emily

finally reached the stairs. She was looking down, too petrified to see who or what was waiting for her. She glanced forward. Their eyes locked.

Man on the Steps by Josie Simon

The mysterious man head-ed up the stairs. Each step made a horrible creaking sound. He hoped that no one was home. Or if someone was, they were sleep-ing, unaware of what was going on.

Emily awoke from her doze. She heard the creaking get-ting more powerful each step the man took. Emily’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She jumped out of bed, taking the co-vers with her.

The man heard Emily jump and listened carefully for her foot-

A Tube Of Blue By Hazel Pucillo

Page 11 quartet

The building was at the border of town, raising the children as prisoners for losing their parents' lives to death's waiting hands. Zaelee pushed the spi-derwebbed wheels. She stood up for only a mere second, because her legs were like a toddlers just learning to walk. She sat back down, pain grasping her legs. Her pale ocean eyes cov-ered in gray, cloud mist with a golden sun and grass flecks held sad-ness through the waves of color. The orange peels with streaks of cardinal that waved down her back were pulled into a thick French braid.

When Mistress Fabienne walked into the room with her dignity high atop a mountain, nothing ever went well. Her crisp facial features lathered in makeup, her heels clicking against the newly polished floor. Her wooden eyes glanced at the beds like they were rubbish.

“Neaten the beds. Mr. Haworth is coming today and there is no reason he shouldn’t be impressed,” Mistress Fa-bienne reminded them . Her lips pressed togeth-

er like the pages of a book. No expression leaked out of her.

Mr. Haworth walked in with a smile like a stretched out rub-ber band. He looked at all of the orphans like they were shining stars shooting across the sky. He discussed some-thing secret with Mis-tress a few feet away from Zaelee.

“I think…. she’s just a special…. well… can I?” Haworth said but Zaelee could only catch some of the words.

Mistress Fa-bienne just glared at him and eventually said, “She’s a hard one…. you’ll regret it… read the no return… fine… sign the papers by…”

Mr. Haworth took the papers and left shutting the peephole to the world. Everyone walked slowly back to the room, sadness hold-ing onto them as they thought of a possible adoption. Zaelee pushed the chair on the dreamcatcher net wheels towards her bed. On top of the bed was her only visible home. Her old home lay atop a hill inhabited by death and tears. It was

a mute memory from her heart. No matter how far the thoughts took her on their joyful wings, the wings shatter like glass and she landed in the hands of the Mistress Fa-bienne’s words and or-phanage.

Morning arose from the treetops’ finger-tips and floated upwards like a leaf during fall. The children started at their work after checking their job on the job wheel. Everyday the wheel turned and the children checked their job. Some people had their high spirits snapped in half when they looked at their job, while some people just shrugged it off. The job Zaelee got stole her smile. She had “Mistress Fabienne’s tea maker”. She would make tea for the queen. “Go make me

some tea in the kitchen,

please,” Mistress Fa-

bienne commanded, the

last word dropping sar-

castically. Zaelee went to

the kitchen, a small room

the size of a walk in clos-

et. The stove wheezed in

pain, because it did not

get many breaks from

work.

Trapped in Sadness’s Snow Globe by Caroline Anderson

Page 12 quartet

“Her

wooden

eyes

glanced at

the beds like

they were

rubbish.”

The water bubbled like a person breath-ing under water. When it was ready, she poured it in a cup. The tea bag was placed in and slowly lost tea leaves to the water’s wanting hands.

Zaelee placed the tea in front of her Mis-tress. Mistress just sighed and dropped her frail shoulders.

“What’s wrong Mistress Fabienne?” Zaelee asked, afraid of the roaring response that would be thrown at her.

“This… ! This isn’t what I asked for! I wanted orange spice not raspber-ry sugar! You’ve been do-ing this for almost two years now, you should get it right!” shrieked Mis-tress Fabienne disgusted with childish mis-takes. Zaelee turned around and rushed back to the kitchen. She pulled out box after box looking for the correct tea. Each box made her lose more hope for she had found no orange tea. Her head was down like a puppet with no instructions, as she walked in with no tea for her Mistress. Mistress just sat there like a rag doll, with sad eyes sewn onto her face. Her head rested on her skeletal hand, and with her free

hand she shooed Zaelee away like a fly.

Everyone glued their eyes on Zaelee’s figure, because they did-n’t expect her back be-fore their small supper was given. Their heads turned almost as if one, as she made her way across the room. Her bed opened its arms up to her small shadow as it crawled like a bug into the warm embrace. Sinking into the covers, her tired self became more exposed to sleep’s gentle touch. Dreams caught her and took her off to their world, a world of escape.

The days went on like plants grow in a gar-den. People came and went, sometimes taking others with them, the children clutching them, not wanting them to leave. Zaelee stayed to the sound of hushed, forgotten voices of the building, under the shoes and guard of Mis-tress Fabienne.

The window haunted her, as she looked outside to the seed of bursting light. People, like snowflakes caught in a snow globe floated by and came back at the shake of the globe. Grass sprouted,

like words in minds, little wonders coming from the dirty soil that kept them in their palms. The pine tree’s arms held the world, rocking it back and forth in the pine needle’s dreams. A sigh escaped the puppet girl’s red flower petal lips and floated out into someone else’s open mouth, going through the open crack in the door. A girl with pale, ghost’s breath skin and brown ringlets down her back came into the or-phanage. Her beginning autumn forest eyes were caught in the net of her dark lashes. When opened her eyes were flower petals opening to the weak sun above. Her skin was smudged with dirt like a chalk drawing in the rain. Her clothes were kitchen rags tied together and wrapped around her small, frail limbs. Her breath was drawn and forced back in . Sadness had taken over her form like domi-nos falling over each other.

Mistress assigned her the bed above Zaelee. She took her doll with her. The doll had a serious face, with

Page 13 quartet

“Dreams

caught her

and took her

off to their

world, a

world of

escape.”

Trapped in Sadness’s Snow Globe (cont’d)

painted features, like a soul trapped in a case of paint and lies, the heart made of ash. “What is your name?” Mistress Fabienne said, mimicking a sweet person’s greeting.

“My name is Waverly,” her small voice said. Mistress Fabienne just started, not im-pressed the least with the dis-play of life standing in front of her. She just walked to the wheel and placed a tag that said “Waverly” on the work wheel.

Dinner was served on the small table. It was a bowl of canned chicken soup that had been heated up in the mi-crowave, but cooled down on the counter back into its origi-nal state.

“Is it always this sadly silent?” Waverly asked Zaelee seeing confusion in every cor-ner of the orphanage.

“It’s not sad; it is beauti-ful. It is the only happiness we hold. With silence we know Mistress doesn’t have a com-plaint to push us with. This place is usually loud and full of comments on our work,” Zaelee explained.

As the year flew by, Zaelee and Waverly’s rope knotted together in a tight friendship. They helped each other stand and go through the day’s work. One morning Mis-tress Fabienne woke them early to start their day. A family was coming for the first time in two months looking to adopt

one, maybe two. The chil-dren spent the morning get-ting themselves ready for presentation.

The passage to the world opened and closed be-hind a couple and their son. The young seeds of hope lined up as Mistress Fa-bienne said to. The people talked to Mistress and some of the children. The family didn’t belong in the room of dark with their light touch. They said they would sign the papers and be back next week for the child of their choice.

One week went by, dragged out like the plot of a story. The people came back with the papers that held someone’s future. They were handed to Mistress Fa-bienne. They walked over to Waverly. The mother reached out a worn hand like a book that was read many times. Waverly put her seed in the hand’s ground and started to grow happier from her love. They walked through the passage into the world’s snow globe. Zaelee followed behind as their shadow, breathing just a blow of wind. She walked into the world, the globe hav-ing the little, glass fairy snowflakes dance around. The sun up above was a dream of light caught up in the sky’s hands. Zaelee

watched as her only friend ever walked down the golden path to her home. The path’s gates were still closed for Zaelee. She was a gleam in the globe. The gates closed to Zaelee’s light.

Page 14 quartet

Trapped in Sadness’s Snow Globe (cont’d)

Like an eagle, soaring in the wind, captain of the skies, he pedaled me to-wards new adventures. Samuel and I were best friends since our first ride. We had explored lands un-known to many, traveled across towns, cities, states. Bikes have always been im-portant to humans. Sam thought I was special. This was my life; an extraordinary bikes’ life. When Samuel was twelve, he had asked his par-ents for a bike, one he could ride for as long as he want-ed. When his parents brought me to him, Samuel was ecstatic. For hours he would ride me across his neighborhood. For the next six years, Sam rode me eve-rywhere. He never looked back; my wheels knew what

to do. When we crashed we recovered together. Samuel would bring me to the bike store. He grew bigger, strong-er, faster, but he never re-placed me. I was his captain, his best friend. Soon Samuel had to leave for college, his parents were so sad and teary-eyed. I was not to be left alone, though. Samuel decided to take me with him. “Oh joy!”I exclaimed by the faint squeak of my wheels. Off to California we went. Samuel loved to ride me across the fine sand and around his college. There I saw Samuel develop in school and become a great athlete. He might even be picked for the Los Angeles Galaxy! Through-out our time together, Samuel always kept me inside a special place in his heart.

One day, zooming through the streets of Los Ange-les, my tire popped. My chain collapsed. Sam knew I could not go on any longer. I was in seri-ous pain. Sam heaved me up in his arms and rushed me home. He laid me down in front of his dorm. He told me that I would always be his best friend.

Suddenly, the pain left my weary frame. Samuel, my great-est friend. Hearing him say those words made a feeling rise inside of me. The feeling of great friendship. Sam said goodbye to me, and headed inside his dorm. As I saw him for the last time, I realized he would become a great leader, a great man. And then, darkness.

Bike and Boy by Zach Kotronis

Page 15 quartet

Elegant, like a ballerina Quietly, singing its joyful tune to the world. Loud, like thunder shaking the ground with its power.

Piano by Ellie Hamerman

Page 16 quartet

By Cayla Ossen-Gutnick

I was once a uneven stone, lying on the ground, free to watch life in the wild. Now, I am rounded and smooth, watching sad faces disguised by black veils. A week ago, I was placed in the ground, an-chored down with cement. Condemned to a life of sit-ting in the ground looking at melancholy faces, I feel lava bubbling at my core as if my solid stone melted in-to a pool of heat. A tattoo on my stomach reads “RIP Marianne Gold; Loving mother and grandmother”.

Today, I am shocked

to see a little girl in a pink, flowy dress coming my way. She holds in her hands a single wilted daisy. I recog-nize her from the funeral. It is Marianne’s granddaugh-ter. She slowly leans the dai-sy up against my front. She has come to visit me, I think to myself.

Her voice is a nervous whisper, like sweet caramel. “Hello Grammy. It’s Olivia. I’ve come to tell you ‘bout my week.” She sits on my peak and tells me about her family celebrating Gram-my’s life. I could almost

hear her Grammy’s spirit chuckle as Olivia tells about her uncle wrestling their pig. She said goodbye when we heard a honk and a man calling out Olivia’s name. “I’ll see you next week!” Olivia called from three stones away. Solitary once more, my insides freeze back to solid stone. But I realize, I won’t al-ways be alone if Olivia vis-its. Maybe there are worse jobs than working in the graveyard, I reason with myself.

cided to go backwards. Once I said that I knew I would regret it. He pushed me down the slide, and immediately I was blinded by darkness. I wanted to close my eyes, but there was no need since I could only see blackness. Inside the slide, I was spinning and spinning, but it was almost impossible to become diz-zy. Once the water calmed down, the tube fell. As I was falling, wa-ter rained down on me, and then, suddenly, I landed.

With every step I took I felt my heart drop lower and lower. I couldn’t help myself; I skipped a couple steps on the stairs. I had so much en-ergy I felt as if I might ex-plode. I got in the tube. I could already feel the water running down my skin. When the lifeguard was about to push the tube down he said, “Do you want to go backwards or for-wards?” Since this was my first time on this slide, I de-

Then, there was total chaos! Thunderclaps popped out of nowhere and white lights flashed as if there was a rave. The noise almost blew my eardrums out and the lights almost gave me a seizure. The tube drifted to the end of the tunnel and the end of the ride.

Once I got out, I was soaking wet, and my heart was beating as fast as a race car.

Dark Thunder by Devin Lopez

Gravestone by Hazel Pucillo and Josie Simon

Page 17 quartet

It was a nice April day, and Robert Miller sat on the slab of wood in front of his little wooden shack and smoked his pipe. When he sat there with his head down, he looked like he was thinking deeply about some-thing.

"Oh, be a little happi-er, Robert. Hey, maybe our son James'll get that job to-day," said his wife, Mary in an attempt to cheer him up. She was washing the clothes and hanging them out on the clothesline.

"He won'," responded Robert. "We've been sittin' here forever, for two years, jus’ waitn' for James to get that job. Oh it's all wet!"

"Come on Robert," said Mary. "I think, I jus’ got a feelin' that today's the day. He's gonna get that job!"

They could see James com-ing with his head down from far away. He walked slowly down the path between all the other shacks to theirs. When he came within ear-shot, Robert asked whether James had gotten the job helping to build the Empire State Building. James shook his head and went inside their little shack. "You see, Mary!" said Robert. "Wuh beat, we got no cave, and we don't have squat! We livin' like animals, scourin' the dumpsters for food 'cause we don't even

got any rhino to our name! We don't even have no tin!"

"Now look, Robert, if you aren't happy sittin' here all day, just waitin' for James to get home and tell us if he's got the job or not, then maybe you should go with 'im to look for a job for you'self! It'll double our chances , and it'll give you somethin' to do all day rather than just sit 'ere," said Mary. "Fine! I'll do just that tomorrow!" responded Robert. Robert went into the shack and talked with James about Mary's plan before going to bed. James agreed to do it. They were going to wake up at dawn, and go to the employment office before everyone else to get to the front of the line.

In the morning, they got out of bed quietly, as to not wake up Mary, who was still sleeping in the bed she shared with Rob-ert. They washed up in the basin outside, and went west towards the employ-ment office. They walked to where Central Park West and West 90th Street met and headed north-east until they got to West 96th Street. They walked one block down West 96th Street to Columbus Ave-

nue. They crossed the road to get to the employment office, which was on the north corner of the intersec-tion. As they got closer, though, it became apparent that someone else had had the same idea as them and had gotten there first.

"Someone's got here first," said James as they walked passed the other people to get in line.

"So it seems," ob-served Robert. "I should have known someone was gonna get here first."

"But the job person doesn't seem to be here yet, so even if these people weren't here, we'd still have to wait," said James.

"Yeah, but we'd be first in line," responded Rob-ert. "And I don't mind waitin'."

At this time, another person arrived behind them in line.

"Well, I'm at least happy we came when we came,” said Robert.

Two more people came before the job person came. The people in front of Robert and James were slightly annoyed with the la-dy, but Robert said that he was happy to wait for as long as it took.

Robert’s Search For A Job by Christina Silver

Page 18 quartet

"I'd be doin' the same thin' in front of our shack, so this's fine."

The line moved into the small room on the ground floor of the mostly empty apartment building.

"Just like our old buildin'," said Robert, shak-ing his head. "Everyone's been' evicted."

When the group of men that were in front of them didn't get the job they wanted helping to build the Empire State Building, Rob-ert told James to go up to the desk first.

"James Miller. I can work well in industry and I can also build," James told the lady.

She said, "Well, you look like a strong builder, but I don't have any availa-ble jobs working on the Em-pire State Building at the moment, but in a few days, maybe they'll want another worker or someone 'ill quit. But we know there's no chance of that!"

She and James laughed.

"But I'll tell you if there's an openin' that you might like, if these men don' take it firs'," she said. James went over to where the group of men were waiting looked at how his father was doing.

"Robert Miller. I may be a bit older, but I can still

work well on… er… maybe the Empire State Buildin' or somethin' like dat. I know a little industry, too… ," said Robert to the lady. "Hmm," said the lady. "I don't know… the job own-ers might want someone a little bit more skilled an' able bodied… I don' know. You wanna work on the Empire State Buildin', or no? Or you wan't somethin' more… er… on the ground?"

"Um… er… I can, uh, work on the buildin' or sometin' else. Anythin' real-ly," said Robert. "Alright," said the lady. "I’ll tell you if a job becomes available."

"Thank you," replied Robert. He went over to James. They watched and waited as more people got on the waiting line. They waited all day. At noon they ate the crackers that they had brought with them. It was about four thirty when the of-fice closed but by that time the lady hadn't even told the people at the front of the line that they had gotten a job. Robert and James were not happy, but James did this every day, so he was used to it, and Robert was used to hearing about it from James every day. They exited the office and crossed Columbus Ave-nue. They went back one

block down West 96th Street to Central Park West. They went down Central Park West heading southwest six blocks and, at West 90th Street, went down the path to their shack. Mary was talking with a friend who lived in a neighboring shack about how terrible President Hoo-ver was, but as she saw Robert and James coming down the path, she stopped. She looked over to them hopefully, but she could see them walking slowly with their heads down, so she shook her head to her friend and the friend left. She didn't even call to her husband and son, she just went inside and sat down on the stool with her head down. Robert and James came did not talk much and just ate the soup that Mary had made while they were out looking for a job. In the morning, Rob-ert and James got up at sunrise again and went back to the employment office. The group of men from before were not there, but the were a few other people there. Robert and James got on line, and waited.

Robert’s Search For A Job By Christina Silver (Cont.)

Page 19 quartet

They went to the lady at the desk, told her their names and what they wanted to do. Then, they waited. And they waited. At last, at around three, the lady got up, and went to the first per-son in line. He shook his head. The lady went to the next person in line. The next person in line frowned at the job the lady was offering. She went to the next person. This person was Robert. She asked him whether he want-ed a job building the Empire State Building that had opened when someone had died.

Robert looked at James and said, "Yes."

"Then it's yours," said the lady. When Robert and James got home, they were very excited to tell Mary the good news. The family was overjoyed when they went to bed, because Robert was go-ing to go to work the next day. The family remained happy throughout the week, but then, on Friday, the paycheck came. Robert came home from a hard day at work at five thirty, and

showed the paycheck to Mary and James. "We can' live on this," said Robert. James frowned and sat down. "Seventeen dollars!" said Mary. "We really can't live on this."

"I don' know what we can do," said Robert. "We'll just have to wait it out, I mean… "

The family could not do anything about it. The Empire State Building was finished in a month, so they had to continue living in their shack, scouring the dumpsters for food.

Robert’s Search For A Job (cont’d)

Page 20 quartet

by Josie Simon

Step by step, I slow-ly walk through the cafete-ria. I feel my stomach churning and spinning like a roller coaster. How will I fit into this new school? Will I be made fun of? These thoughts are attack-ing me.

So many horrible things can happen. What if I throw up or pass out? I can live with all of these things happening but the real fear that has plagued

me since the beginning of summer is what if I don't make any friends?

It will be easy, I tell myself but I know that saying it doesn't make it true. My objec-tive of getting to a table seems simple, but my heart which is pounding like a drum makes it im-possible. I need to find a seat where I will be able to make friends. It should be so easy to sit

down, but every time I try all the possibilities go through my head of what might happen.

The door of the cafe-teria attracts me like bees to honey. I wish I could go home but I can’t. Slowly I walk toward a table, but what will happen? I decide I don't know but it's worth a shot as I blindly slipped down into a seat.

Oh the book, constantly being judged just by the way it looks, often being neglected. However one fantastic day somebody takes the book under its wing maneuvering its old arms every minute or so, studying carefully its unique markings and patterns but once again, the book is returned back to its home, waiting to be used again.

The Book by Atomu Hicks

Finding A Seat by Asher Herbstman

Page 21 quartet

I see my big, brown friend, Riley, coming towards me with hopeful eyes. He looks excited and ready to play. I am excited too; I can’t wait to play with him again! He picks me up in his mouth and flings me around in the air. He pounces on me and throws me across the room. This is so much fun! It feels like I’m on a roller coaster. Then, Riley trots over to a hu-man, asking to play. Before I know it, I’m being pulled in both directions! I laugh; this is so awesome! But, my favorite thing is when the human picks me up and shoots me through the air! I feel like I’m flying. I skid to a stop by a wall. I see Riley coming, run-ning like there’s no tomorrow. He grabs me in his mouth and we make the journey back to the human. Again and

again, I am being boosted in the air and brought right back. Wow, this is amazing! But soon enough, we are back to tug-of-war. I am being stretched and stretched… Then I start hear-ing a ripping noise. I feel my fabric being pulled and strained… Ow! This hurts! I want to beg for it to stop, ex-cept I can’t. There’s nothing I can do. The last thing I see is my stuffing piled on the floor and my loveable friend sulking off into the other room.

I see my toy, just waiting there, so anxious for me to play with it. I have nothing better to do, so I grab it. I start to get ex-cited, and fling it side to side. This is so much fun! I throw it as best as I can to the other side of the room. I run over as I feel my heartbeat getting fast-er. Woohoo! I pounce on it and

throw it again. Then, I spy my owner in the corner of my eye. What a great idea! I run over to her and look up at her, my toy hanging out of my mouth. She says something I don’t under-stand, and grabs my toy that is still in my mouth. She pulls with huge force, but I am stronger. Pulling, pulling, pulling… I will win! But… I hear a strange noise coming from my toy. I push it out of my mind. I will defeat her! I see my toy being ripped, the strands and thread breaking. It doesn’t matter. Then, all at once my toy was in two pieces. There was white fluff all over the floor. I pawed through the remains. What have I done? There’s nothing I can do. I whimper quietly. Slowly, I sulk out of the room. My toy is broken.

Moon by Caroline Anderson

One Of A Kind by Stella Rubin

Page 22 quartet

A dove lost in the dark sky

guided by the yellow path.

Gray eye watching dreams float past.

Mother rising over the crib of the day

and hushing like the wind to the child.

great, black tidal wave. How could Bo-gey have survived so much and just died like that? Only last night my broth-er and I had been under the kitchen ta-ble feeding Bogey her fishy treats. May-be we fed her too many. Had that helped kill her?

Tears stained my face and I want-ed to cry out. I had never felt this heartbroken before. My dad led me over to the window he buried her un-der and together we looked out at the freshly churned earth below the butterfly bush, thinking of our little three-legged cat.

I heard the noise of the office door opening and closing. It was my dad. With a hint of a masked emotion in his voice, he called, “Thalia! Are you here?” Slowly I walked over to the dining room and an-swered with a yes.

He then looked me straight in the eye, put his hand on my shoulder and gently said, “Thalia, today I went down to the basement to get something for the office and found Bogey there looking very still. When I pet her, she didn’t move. She died peacefully.”

At first it didn’t register, but when it did, sorrow crashed into me like a

Loss by Cayla Ossen—Glick

Page 23 quartet

“At first it

didn’t register,

but when it

did, sorrow

crashed into

me like a

great, black

tidal wave. “

Black dusty food shoveled down this beast's

maw.

Round legs always turning going faster, sprinting

never stopping.

Metallic organs always pumping

chugging out waste making its

long dark sleek

form go faster.

They dive down to the ground. In one motion They hit the ground, they dance, tap, tap, tap. They run frantically, to the cold and dark finish line. There they start a new run.

Raindrops by Kate Diep Steam Train by Henry Rogers

Page 24 quartet

by Roisin O’Flaherty

Beads of sweat fall down my face. What if I can't hit this shot? My dirty, cut hands slowly move the scope’s zoom. The deer's head flicks upward. The rage from everyone telling me it's easy and simple, has gone to my head. The thing is, I don't like killing things. I despise the blood and the dirty clothing. Most of all, I hate watching an animal die. I have to put the swelling rage aside now. I in-hale, press the trigger and the knockback of a 20 pound drawback hits me hard. I miss the shot and fall to the ground.

“Ha! Knew you couldn't do it,” says Tommy. He is sit-ting on the stump of an tree with a bottle of beer in his hand. He chuckles as he eats his canned food. I feel heat rise up in my chest and stom-ach as he stands up. “You can't even hit a deer. You re-mind me of Elmo if he was from Mississippi. You’re pewny.” The insults penetrate my mind like a knife. My

hands clench around my crossbow. Tommy continues mindlessly shouting insults at me. “You'll never be a hunter, because you're a slimy, weak, hippy from the north. That's what you are.” I tremble as the veins on my neck start to become visible.

“Jack are you even listening to me. If you don't bring home a catch daddy ain’t going to feed you squat.”

“Stop,” I muttered. “What'd you just say

to me!” Tommy angrily says. “I said, STOP!” I yell

as my fist slides through the air and smacks Tommy's face.

He crumples to the ground holding his face. When Tommy's removes his hand, I see a purple eye and a swollen face. The brother who I thought was a war god is lying on the ground moan-ing and crying. I try to get down to help him, because I

realize what I've done. He shoves me away. I tremble with rage or fear, I cannot pin-point the emotion. I walk away as a tear falls down my cheek. The leaves crunch un-der my feet as I walk through the woods. I look down at my hands and blunt of my cross-bow. I cannot believe I hit him. Dad will be angry. He will kick me out of the house for a week. I realize I can't be weak anymore. I can’t be good, not with all the bad around me. The bushes rustle. Slowly the hilt of my crossbow presses against my cheek. I place a bolt of change in its slot and pull the draw back. The scope presses to my eye. No more insults. No more weakling. I pull the trigger with anger. All the rage flows out of me when I shoot. Smack in the eye.

The deer is dead.

Rocket Ship by Ty Van Der Sande When the clock hits 0 I roar and take the lead.

Soaring through the sky leaving a trail of smoke.

I’m close to the moon, I land making a little crater.

I have met my destination, now it's time to go home.

The Deer Is Dead by Will Torgoff

Page 25 quartet

I hate being tossed around! I’m sick of it. My reck-less owner, Tod, throws me and I soar through the air and tumble into the trash bin. This happens all the time. I hate it. I land next to crumpled up pa-pers and broken pencils. It's so dirty! I get picked up and shoved back into the pencil case. It's like a safe prison. The world seems so different through the blue-tinted glass of the case. I wait for what is down the road for today’s class.

I hear a muffled voice explain there will be a state test. This is a dreaded time of year for students and erasers alike.

“Oh no,” another eraser says.

“Oh my…,” says a pen-

cil. We will be working for 80 grueling minutes in addition to the rest of the day. Great. I’m going to get all dirty!

I hear a click and I am tugged out of the case and the state test starts. The hand grabs me and throws me on the desk. He starts to write and it won’t be long before my torture begins. He grabs me and starts erasing a sen-tence with my head, and I can feel my skin burning off onto the paper. It is unbeara-ble! Tiny pink marks litter the paper. When I thought the worst was over, he repeated-ly stabs me with a pencil, punching black holes in my skin as he ponders the right answer. “My goodness,” I blurt out. The black marks

leave deep scars. Then it's time for the

worst part of the test, the es-say. He writes one sentence and makes a mistake. “Not this again,” I grumble. He snatches me off the cold met-al desk. He erases one sen-tence with my bald head. I feel nauseous and a searing pain running down my back. Finally, he puts me down. I’m exhausted. Suddenly, I’m tugged, dangling while he twists me and flips me. I con-centrate so hard on not rip-ping but I know that it is inevi-table. This is my fate. “Stop! Stop!” I cry out. He continues, twisting me beyond my limits.

“Time's up!” The teach-er says. “The test is over.”

In day, it hides in the clouds nowhere to be found. Shadowing the sun,

as it stares down at the world;

At night, it glows in the sky curled up like a ball.

Protecting earth like a mother defending her children .

There is no way to miss it, unless you are asleep.

The Moon by Luca de Novellis

An Eraser’s Worst Nightmare by Finn Rowley & Ty Van Der Sande

Page 26 quartet

Файний Карлик

За горою зеленою, В трав'яній долині, В маленькі хатині,

Живе файний карлик, Який проводить своє життя

збираючи квіти у селі. Тепер він спить бо

Тепер ніч, І усе є тихо крім цвіркунів,

Які цвіркають надворі. А досвіта, сонце світить слабо

За зеленою горою, І наш карлик прокидається.

Він встає, І іде їсти снідання.

По сніданню, Наш карлик іде надвір.

Надворі, наш Карлик збирає квіти у селі. Він збирає червоні, жовті,

І рожеві квіти. Такі гарні квіти,

І таке гарне життя він має.

The Nice Elf

Past the green hill, In a grassy valley, in a small house,

Lives a nice elf, Who spends his life

picking flowers in the meadow. Now he is sleeping, because

Now it is night, And all is quiet except the crickets,

chirping outside. At dawn, the sun shines faintly

From behind the green mountain, And our elf is waking up.

He gets up And goes to eat breakfast.

After breakfast, Our elf goes outside.

Outside, our Elf picks flowers in the meadow.

He picks red, yellow, and pink flowers.

Such beautiful flowers, And such a beautiful life he has.

The Nice Elf by Christina Silver

Ukrainian & English

Page 27 quartet

It wakes up, only to bleed onto the paper. Its bones are broken by a young boy and carelessly thrown Its head is rubbed on paper, taking away the mistakes It lays down for one final rest, never to used again.

Round, green eye looking, exploring the world. Stripes in two perfect lines like the endless pattern of a zebra. Hopeful face and shaggy fur await it. Shot, high into the air soaring, up and up. Pounce! Attacking the ground, jumping over the grass and rolling to a stop. Awaiting the wet, black nose to seek it out again and hold it in his mouth, only to be brought back and shot out again.

The Pencil by Asher Herbstman

Page 28 quartet

Tennis Ball by Stella Rubin

Simple and silent, nothing more. Staring, starting, to judge it. Sizes vary, looks are never the same, and each one has a new thing to say It opens; the silence is gone, loud engaging shrieks ring. Overwhelming, but, calming. Like a siren, but not hungry. The only thing to do, is to listen.

A Book by Maddy Sledge

My hair flows as the wind blows, As many arms outstretch. Below, a tall thick torso leads to my arms which grip my colors, that change by the season. Strong, balanced legs reach far into the ground I wait for years, and years.

Tree by Will Torgoff

Page 29 quartet

By Cayla Ossen-Gutnick

On one very ear-ly morning, before the sun came up, a girl shuf-fled down the street. She rushed, desperately, deeper into the drowsy city. She wore a short-sleeved Yankees shirt and dance pants, and carried a tote bag that read the words, “Trader Joe’s”. In the contents of the bag was everything that she needed to suc-cessfully get to camp on time. The sun started to rise, but she did not take her eyes off of the side-walk, not even when she took a bite of the break-fast that she brought on her walk. The sun drifted higher into the sky. It was easy to see the girl was not more than twelve, too young to be walking around New York City unsupervised.

The damp, early morning began to turn into another hot August day. The girl noticed. She scrambled through her bag and pulled out an N.Y.U. hat, shoved it on her head, and sprint-ed down the street. She halted when she reached the entrance to an underground tunnel. The sign above said in shimmering letters, “To Grand Central.” She again scrambled through her bag and pulled out a ticket. “Platform ten.” She sighed and entered the tunnel. The tunnel

was very tight, tight enough to make her want to run through the intense heat to her home. She shuddered at the thought, but was not completely sold on the idea of going into the tunnel. She took a deep breath, and ran.

Not willing to stare directly into the eyes of the tiny space, she stared at the floor. She only took her focus off the floor when, after fifteen minutes of run-ning, she asked an old woman that was begging for money where platform ten was.

“It’s in the main room of the station, D-ai-sy,” the woman said weak-ly as she read the name tag on Daisy’s shirt from the day before. Daisy leaned against the wall, shook, and looked up. She could not see the end of the tunnel. Her legs, she was sure of, would soon give out, so she returned to staring at the floor.

“Tell me sweetie,” said the woman, “Why do you struggle so?”

“Well…” Daisy hes-itated, “Oh no reason.”

She thanked the woman and reached into her pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill for her lunch. She kindly pressed it into the woman’s hand. Daisy focused her hat on her head and ran yet again.

She began to hear voices, many voices. She grew closer and closer un-

til the echos were as loud as a roar. She smiled and looked around at Grand Central Sta-tion. The chattering of her teeth that had accompanied her here stopped, as she looked around the large, spa-cious room. Memories of her mother and her returned. She looked up on the star engraved ceiling.

“There it is,” she re-membered her mother saying, “Orion, my favorite constella-tion. Do you know why my pre-cious flower?” A small five year old was staring into the blue ceiling with huge eyes. She shook her head slightly. “Well, he always stood out to me. He is prepared for any battle, and yet he floats peacefully in the sky.” Young Daisy stretched her two small arms into the sky and made a shape that looked as if she held Orion in her hands. She giggled at the sight.

Daisy slowly came out of the clouds that took her to her mother and landed softly on the ground of Grand Cen-tral Station. Giggling rang through her head, and ceased. She stood still. She moved again when her hat fell to the ground. She dusted it off and ran to the train schedule. Many people blocked her view. They wrestled and argued. Daisy was swept off her feet with boredom. Her lucky break came when the clock struck 7 o'clock. A man came on the loudspeaker. People screeched as the terrible noise of the machine came on.

Holding Orion by Maddy Sledge

Page 30 quartet

“There it is,”

she

remembered

her mother

saying,

“Orion, my

favorite

constellation.”

“TRAIN SCHEDULE CHECK. HUDSON VALLEY LINE. PLATFORM 1 LEAVES AT 7:36. PLAT-FORM 2 LEAVES AT 7:43. PLATFORM 3 LEAVES AT 7:22. PLATFORM 4 LEAVES AT 7:15. PLAT-FORM 5 LEAVES AT 7:27. PLATFORM 6 LEAVES AT 7:50. PLATFORM 7 LEAVES AT 8:05. PLAT-FORM 8 LEAVES AT 7:59. PLATFORM 9 LEAVES AT 8:07. PLATFORM 10 LEAVES AT 8:10-”

“8:10,” Daisy said to herself, “I can do that.” Dai-sy ran down the stairs lead-ing to the food court, but stopped halfway down. She saw the arches that transport sound, almost by magic, from one corner to another at the other end of the arch. Again, she was reminded of her mother.

“Daisy come here,” her mother said to the five year old. The young girl walked over to her mother. “Look!” her mother pointed to the corner. The girl start-ed to wail.

“I DON’T WANT TIME OUT!” she cried. Her mother started to laugh. Anger raged inside her tiny body. She stormed over to her mother as if she was about to hurt her but then, her mother scooped her up.

“Sweetie, I was only going to show you magic.” Daisy stopped her endless screaming. “Look!” her mother stood in the corner. “Stand in that one Daisy.” She ran over to the other

corner and stared at the cramped room. “Well go on,” her mother said. Daisy started to cry but listened to her mother and squeezed into the wall. She closed her eyes tight but then she heard her mother, “Hello my beautiful girl.” The girl still kept her eyes closed, but smiled. She hugged the wall.

Daisy drifted around the clouds. She went downstairs to buy a bite of food, but still stayed in the same state. She sat down at a table and began to enjoy the sights around her, but then, Daisy fell abruptly from the clouds, and on the floor when she heard “PLATFORM 10 AND 11 WILL BE OPEN TO THE PUBLIC SHORT-LY.” Daisy looked up at the clock. 7:30.

Have I actually been day dreaming all this time? She ran to the plat-form in a hurry and scold-ed herself for looking like a ninny while she imagined her mother. The doors of the train opened quickly and many people trying desperately to escape the heat shoved themselves in. Daisy began to cough at the amount of dust that was kicked up by the pas-sengers. Eventually, she squeezed in and ran to a certain row of seats. She saw the seats and was about to grasp them when she heard a voice.

“Daisy? Why are

you struggling to get those seats?” Daisy turned around to see her father.

“Well…” she looked back at the seats which were just taken by a mother and her chil-dren. Daisy grumbled and turned around to sit next to her father, “Um… what are you doing here?”

“I have a confer-ence with a bank at a res-taurant in Irvington. But you didn’t answer my question,” her dad looked upon her with caring eyes. Daisy looked back at him, noticing his freshly ironed suit she had helped him with and the hair oils he wore that gave of an odor that re-minded her of shoe polish.

“I just wanted to sit in the same seats I always sat in with Mom,” she replied.

“You’ve been thinking about her a lot?”

“Yeah… I guess.”

“Did you get here in one piece?” Daisy rolled her eyes. She saw her father noticed she was shaking. “Were you unsettled by the tunnel, Paloma?” Daisy nodded. Her father smiled, “Do you want to hear what I found out?”

“What?”

“One, there’s a new star wars trailer and two, Paloma means pi-geon.”

Holding Orion (cont’d)

Page 31 quartet

“The doors of

the train

opened quickly

and many

people trying

desperately to

escape the

heat shoved

themselves in.”

“No,” Daisy said as she rolled her eyes. “Then why do you keep referring to me as Paloma, when it is not part of my name?”

“To bother you,” her fa-ther teased. Daisy frowned and continued to stare out the win-dow of the train. 8:10 came and the train began to slowly move. Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized her father’s ipad. He seemed to be writing something. Daisy ignored him and watched as the train began to accelerate.

The freshness of daylight leaked into the cramped train. The passengers sighed with re-lief, for they sat in the dark for quite some time. Daisy felt

something slip into her lap. Her dad’s ipad. There was a video for her to watch. Daisy hit play and watched as the star wars trailer came on. She sat in silence as she watched in awe. The video came to an end, and she felt eyes watching her.

“What?” Daisy demanded

“You remind me so much of when you were little.”

“Ummm… thanks?” Dai-sy’s father chuckled in response. They started to talk and laugh. Soon, Daisy’s stop camed. She kissed her father on the cheek.

“I’ll see you at 8, Paloma,” her father said. Daisy rolled her eyes once again and hopped off the train. Instead of running so

she would not be late, she slowly walked to her camp. At the door of her camp, her councilor stood waiting. “There you are! Are you okay? Your father said you were having trouble-”

“Yeah, I am fine,” Daisy respond-ed before her councilor could fin-ish her sentence. “Anything new happen to you?” her counselor asked. Daisy hesi-tated for a moment. “Nothing that should be new,” Daisy chuckled and walked confi-dently through the door.

guilty for both thinking about herself when all she should be thinking of was her grand-mother but also for being so oblivious.

When her mother had first gotten the phone call that her mother, Mari’s grand-mother, had had a stroke, Mari had not believed it. She had seen her grandmother only two days before the incident and she had been fine. Her grandmother had looked as she always had. Strong, tall and kind, with the red rimmed, studded glasses that her grandmother hated but wore anyway because Mari loved them. Mari now held her aged,

I’m afraid for her. Mari thought. That’s all. But was she really afraid just for her grandmother? Mari couldn’t or wouldn’t diagnose what she was feel-ing behind the wall of sup-posed selfless fear. But now looking at her withered grandmother, the wall came tumbling down and she realized what it was: Mari was afraid for herself.

She was afraid be-cause the fact that her grandmother had been so easily struck down meant that so could she, so could anyone. This fact she had only now realized. Because of this realization she felt

soft hand and looked at her grandmother’s faint, shut off face. Her grandmother was half frowning and one eye was closed and she looked out of place against the hospital sheets. The woman now re-sembled a drooping, broken baby doll and the effect made Mari’s heart pound. Her grandmother opened her half frowning mouth to speak but the stroke had affected more than her facial expression and all that came out was a gar-bled speech that made no sense. Mari knew now that no one was really invincible.

Fear by Roisin O’Flaherty

Holding Orion (cont’d)

Page 32 quartet

Ivy looked up at the building with wide eyes, then turned back to her friends. Two weeks ago, Ivy graduated from high school with multiple scholarships to the best colleges in the country, but she planned to wait an extra year to start college along with her friends. Now she looked up at a ratty old building in the middle of Brooklyn. Her hands shook with anticipa-tion. The building had a tattered awning, reading ‘Convenience St re’. The O seemed to have fallen off recently because there was a lighter shade of green outlining the filthy place it should’ve been. One window was broken and the other was caked with dirt. Through the frame, Ivy could see that the inside of the building was just as filthy as out.

“Do you think it’s even worth all the trou-ble?” questioned Olivia. “It would probably take up most of the year.”

“We can do it if we work together,” Ivy said determinately. The others looked at her like she was crazy, but they were used to her optimism. A van pulled up and a lady in a neon orange pencil skirt and an extremely revealing pink shirt stepped out. Ivy gagged when she saw how

badly the outfit was put together. “Hey there! It’s SO great to meet you. I’m Stacy, your real estate agent! Now, which one of you is Ivy?” The woman said quickly.

Her voice was high and bouncy. Luc smacked Fletcher on the back of the head when he noticed him staring at her. Ivy stepped forward and shook Stacy’s hand.

“That’s me. It’s nice to meet you. Ummm… Stacy, are you sure this is the right place? In this photo it looks so much… cleaner.” Ivy held up a pic-ture of a nice little store with a news stand out front. A smiling man with a handlebar mustache was standing in the doorway holding a broom. Stacy let out an annoyingly high pitched laugh.

“That photo was taken over ten years ago by the first owner. Is that what’s on our website? Our bad!” She walked to-wards the building while examining her nails.

“She talks way too much,” Fletcher whispered to Olivia. She and Avery dragged him after the oth-ers. When they stepped into the building, Ivy stum-bled backwards in surprise and fell into Luc. There were two rats sitting on the ground looking up at her. A large chalk outline

of what looked suspicious-ly like a human body sprawled out in the middle of the room. Olivia’s eyes grew wide. She looked around with an amused grin. The place smelled like rotting fruit and manure. Everything Ivy touched felt dusty and weakened with age. Stacy nervously cleared her throat and stepped over to the other side of the room, as far away from the rats as she could get.

“Uh...This was the room the last owner’s store was in. Upstairs was where he lived and had his storage room,” Stacy squeaked.

Olivia cleared her throat a little too loudly and asked, “Is that his out-line?” Avery grinned. Stacy answered with a curt nod, then quickly walked into a room at the back of the shop. “The most recent

owner didn’t use this

room, but it served as a

kitchen to the first owner.”

Stacy briskly walked back

into the previous room. “I

was informed that the

staircase had rotted away,

so I brought a ladder

along.” She gestured over

to an empty corner of the

room with a square hole in

the ceiling. It didn’t look

like there had been a

Progress by Hazel Pucillo

Page 33 quartet

“Through the

frame, Ivy

could see that

the inside of

the building

was just as

filthy as out.”

staircase there. She spun around and batted her eyelashes at Fletcher, twirling her long, blond hair around her finger.

“If only there was someone here who could go get my ladder for me. I’d hate to break a nail,” she said loudly.

“I’m one of the strongest people in town. I’ll get it,” Fletcher bragged. He jumped through the broken win-dow. Twenty seconds lat-er, he came back in with a 12 foot ladder. He dropped to the floor. Stacy rolled her eyes and grabbed the ladder. As she started to prop it up, Ivy wandered into the kitchen to see where the appliances had once been placed. Then she had a vision of what the kitchen would look like if she bought the small building.

“A large walk-in refrigerator at the back of the room would be inter-esting,” Ivy said to herself. “Next to a black couch and two matching arm chairs. A wooden coffee table would be a nice touch. And of course we’d have a dou-ble-decker oven sitting next to the sinks. In the middle of the room, we could put two steel coun-tertops. The front room will be the bakery I've al-ways dreamed of.”

“Ivy!” called a

voice. Ivy blinked hard to snap out of her daze. Luc was shaking her shoulders. “What are you talking about?” Ivy’s cheeks turned crimson red.

“Sorry. I was pic-turing how this place could look if we bought it.” As they walked out of the kitchen, Ivy saw a small grin creep onto Luc’s face. She started blushing all over again. In the first room, Stacy was halfway up the ladder. It seemed that Avery and Olivia were already upstairs. Fletcher was holding the ladder and looking peeved and tap-ping his foot.

When they all got upstairs, they noticed three rooms, one of which was a bathroom. The toilet had mildew growing in-side, its seat was stained yellow, smelling like a cow farm. A mirror was upside down on the ground, shattered. The chipped white porcelain sink had fallen on the ground.

“Stacy, do you know if all the plumbing still works?” asked Avery in a small voice. Olivia jumped with surprise. She knew her friend barely ev-er spoke unless something really interested her.

Stacy looked up and stared at Avery for a moment before saying, “The plumbing works per-

fectly, but there might be a few loose pipes downstairs in the kitchen. It’s shut off right now of course.” Avery gave a satisfied nod to Ivy to show that that was the last thing she was planning to say. The two other rooms were both large and spacious.

“You could put your dress shop in this room and changing rooms in the other one!” Fletcher suggested enthusiastically. Ivy bit the inside of her lip in deep thought and nod-ded.

“There is a back-yard if you’d like to see it,” Stacy offered warmly. When they six of them stepped outside, their feet hit a large square of pave-ment measuring roughly twenty by twenty feet in length. The crisp autumn wind flipped their hair this way and that. A basketball hoop that seemed to be in perfect condition was riv-eted to the wall. Surround-ing the square was plain old dirt, but Ivy could pic-ture a garden lining the perimeter of a picket fence with tiny cafe tables ar-ranged on the grass.

Progress (cont’d)

Page 34 quartet

“A mirror was

upside down on

the ground,

shattered. The

chipped white

porcelain sink

had fallen on

the ground.”

“So that’s everything,” Stacy said when they got back inside. “Have you decided whether this is still an option?” Ivy hesitated. She looked at her friends. Fletcher’s ex-pression was blank, Avery looked to be on another planet, and Olivia was nowhere in sight. Luc stepped up next to Ivy.

“We’ll take it,” he said. Ivy whipped around and looked at him. “We’ll buy it right now.” Stacy nod-ded and took out a notebook. A joy-ful squeal escaped Ivy’s lips. Olivia came back into the room.

Avery smiled devilishly and climbed upstairs. Twenty seconds later they heard a lot of banging and water spraying against a wall. Avery was known to be able to fix or do anything. Ivy assumed she was now trying to take on plumbing.

Ivy’s head was filled with dreams of a bakery downstairs, along with a bathroom, fitting room, and dress shop upstairs. A sweet little garden would sit in the back, filled with customers enjoying the delectables sold in her shop. The shop would have light tones of blue and yellow all around. Ivy smiled

through the whole night. The next day, Fletcher showed up with seeds to plant grass and supplies to make flower beds. Olivia carried a yellow pages book, with pages folded down to make calls to multiple other busi-nesses. Avery came with overalls on and a toolkit in hand. Luc was prepared with cleaning supplies, paint, and multiple planks of wood. Ivy held a basket of baking tools and a sewing machine. A click unlocked the door and to-gether, the friends walked in.

ly, she let out her emotions. “How is her neck? What

happened at the hospital? Is she feeling okay? Does she have to go away to recover? Did she break a bone? What going to happen to-”

“Sandra,” her father cut her off, “take your mother up-stairs. I’ll take care of your sib-lings.” He carried her brother and sister with care up the stairs carefully and Sandra followed. “But what happened!” Sandra cried. “That’s not something to discuss now,” her father snapped back. They stood in silence for a moment.

“Do you really have to go to work? It’s so late,” she plead-ed.

“I’m afraid so sweetie,” he responded, “but I’ll be back when you wake up.” He kissed her mother on the head and then walked down the stairs, and out the front door. Sandra stood still,

watching his headlights disappear into the undisturbed night sky. Sandra took her mother upstairs and tucked her in her bed. Her mother turned to face the back wall. Only when Sandra heard the reassuring sound of her mother’s syncopated breaths did she relax. Sandra stayed in her mother’s room to make sure no pain hap-pened to her mother. She pulled up a chair in front of her mother and sat down. Her mother did not wake up. Sandra stared out the win-dow into the same sky that ab-sorbed her father. She closed her eyes tight and wished that every-thing would be okay. She wished to wake in her bed because her father picked her up with care and tucked her in. She wished to be in the same universe as her brother and sister, where no harm was done and no worries came. She fell asleep and began her long journey to that promise land.

Concern by Maddy Sledge

Sandra did not know what to expect, but she figured the outcome could only be heartbreaking. She was stand-ing in the same place she was hours ago when her parents rushed to the hospital. Waiting, for message of her parents, in her home which seemed to have been lulled to sleep. Now she stood, her legs shaking, as she heard footsteps come near. The idea of her mother being okay was the only thing that kept her from falling into a pit of sleep like her siblings, who now lay on the floor without a single worry in their minds.

Two thoughts came in her mind, hide behind the door wishing her depressing state away, or to rush to her parents. When the door creaked open, she stayed in her position with the same expression as when her parents left. Silence fell again on the house while San-dra stared at her parents. Final-

Progress (cont’d)

Page 35 quartet

A good friend, whose personality is

always changing as his story

goes on.

Doesn’t care what the

critics think, and

wears his view of life

on his cover.

He’ll take you on adventures, to places you

never thought you’d go.

To castles with fiery dragons, where,

like a knight in shining armor he will lead you to

the climax.

A place with sentences like

jewels and

golden punctuation.

Letting you fill your brain

with treasures, before

plopping you back in your

living room.

Book by Calya Ossen-Gutnick

Page 36 quartet

Book by Christina Silver

Page 37 quartet

He jumped from the roof, landing perfect-ly on the bars. The file was gone the next mo-ment, and soon a shad-owy figure leaped across the street. Thorn was soon on the rooftop across from the police station.

“Alright guys! Time for the getaway!” said Thorn as he jumped down to get to the van.

“Slayer! You’re not getting away this time!” said Amber the policewoman. “Amber! How’s my favorite policewoman?” asked Thorn noncha-lantly.

“Don’t try to play with me, Slayer! I know what you’re doing and it won’t work!” exclaimed Amber. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got some pretty im-portant things to attend to. I’ll be seeing you lat-er, though,” said Thorn as the van sped towards them and, just as fast as it came, it was gone. Thorn was on top of the van, a successful es-cape.

“I’ll get you Slay-er! You can’t run forev-er!”

Thorn Slayer was part of the long line of

Slayers, the rightful inher-itor of the greatest thiev-ing book of all time. The Slayer family had put every single stealing trick in the book. From tele-porting, to how to break the fourth wall, anything you could think of, it was there.

“Nice one guys! We got the file and an-noyed Amber!” exclaimed Thorn to his friends.

“You know, it’s been two years and she still can’t figure out how we operate,” said Brian. The three of them were orphaned, becom-ing friends quickly and forming a gang. Their on-ly targets were corrupt businessmen, and greedy men, stealing from the innocent. Giving charity the money the company gained, they soon became the most infamous thieving gang in the world. Bethany was the fighter, punching her way through guards in-stead of being sneaky. Brian the smart one of the group, hacking into buildings and easily dis-guising himself. Last but not least was Thorn, the sneakiest of the group, finding hidden ways into vaults and stealing some of the most precious arti-facts in the world, and giving them to museums.

Their next target they had their eyes on was the infamous Bow of Egypt, a bow so pow-erful, you wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of it.

“Alright guys!” screamed Bethany at an earsplitting volume. “We need to think of a plan to get that bow! We’ve al-ready got that file on them.”

“Way ahead of ya there Beth, I already got a plan for it,” said Thorn.

“What! It's been an hour and thirty minutes!”

“Yeah. It’s a pret-ty simple plan. I was just working out the kinks. Anyway here it is. Brian, I’ll sneak you in so you can hack the hideout se-curity system. Beth, you distract the guards so I can get to the boss’s of-fice. While I deal with him you guys find where the bow is at. If I knock him out fast enough, you tell me where it is and we bolt outta there.”

The two were shocked, this wasn’t nearly as complicated as some of his other plans.

Thorn Slayer by Alex Seleznioff

Page 38 quartet

“I’ll get you

Slayer! You

can’t run

forever!”

“Wait, if? Like, you don’t know if you’ll win?” questioned Brian.

“Yeah, I mean it's not like I’ve gone up against someone like this before.”

“But shouldn’t I do it? I’ve handled guys like this before,” said Beth from behind the wheel. “No. This is my fight. He’s practically sto-len an ultimate power. No one should have that much power. I need to make sure he’ll pay.”

It became silent. The two tried to think of anything they could say to stop him from doing this, but they both secret-ly knew he was right. The bow was so powerful that it needed to be in safe keeping, but they were afraid of what could hap-pen to Thorn if he got hit with that thing.

“We’re here,” sighed Beth in a low voice.

“Brian, let’s do this,” announced Thorn.

“Okay.”

“But first, are you okay with this?” asked Phoenix.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m okay with it,” said Brian.

“Alright then.” The hideout wasn’t

much of a hideout. It was more a dance club. Shin-

ing lights on one giant sign that said, “Welcome to Dra-co’s bar, diner, and club. The place you’ll never want to leave.”

“Yeah right. ‘The place you’ll never want to leave.’ I want to leave right now,” chuckled Thorn.

“HEY! You guys on the list?” blurted the bounc-er.

“There’s a list? I thought it was no list Wednesday,” complained Thorn.

“No Thorn, that’s Sunday. Besides he won’t let us in anyway ‘cause we’re not in our formal at-tire,” asserted Brian.

“Come on, we’ll find another way in.”

“No. We can get in through here, we just need a more simpler approach,” reasoned Brian.

“Can you let us in?” asked Brian.

“Sure. Head on in,” said the bouncer. “It’s no list Wednesday.”

“Told ya Brian!”

“Shut up.”

The nightclub was huge. The biggest area of the club was the bar, though only thing it sold was lemonade. Music filled the air and techno beats livened up the place. People were every-where dancing to the music and drinking the lemon-

ade. It was certainly overwhelming.

“Brian, you go find the security room. I’ll talk to Beth and see if she’s ready,” called Thorn.

“Yeah, Yeah.”

“OK. Beth! Can you read me!?” said Thorn, listening with his ear bud.

“Yeah. You want me to distract now right?” asked Beth.

“Yes. Brian should be done doing whatever he does now.”

“Alright. Here goes nothing!”

A loud bang was heard. Beth had broken through the wall. Every-one looked to see what had happened, and guards came running. And just as soon as they were there, they were knocked out. Thorn made his way up to the office, and let himself in.

“Whoa.” The boss was

huge. Three times as big as Thorn and twice the size of Beth. The room was even bigger, pre-sumably to fit the guy. The smell of cigars filled the room. It was certainly not pleasant.

“Who dares en-ters?” a loud voice boomed.

“Hi. Um, I dared,” squeaked Thorn.

Thorn Slayer (cont’d)

Page 39 quartet

“The two tried

to think of

anything they

could say to

stop him from

doing this, but

they both

secretly knew

he was right.”

“Why have you come here?” bellowed Draco.

“Uh. You, you have a bow? Ultimate power, Bow? I kinda need that for some stuff I was planning,” ex-plained Thorn.

“Well if you want it, come and get it,” echoed Draco.

Draco shot, and multi-ple arrows flew towards Thorn. Thankfully the arrows just missed him. And soon he was running around trying to find some weak spot. He tried hitting the back, arms and legs, but nothing seemed to be working.

“You can’t defeat me! You’re just a small time thief, running as fast as you can ‘til the police catches up.”

“No! I’m more than that! I have stolen more pre-cious objects than you will ever see! Me and my gang have taken down corrupt businessmen after corrupt businessmen. You shall be no different!”

As Thorn said the last sentence, he jumped up into the air. And with the last of his strength, punched Draco straight in the mouth, send-ing him flying into a wall. But right before Draco hit the wall, he shot an arrow right into Thorn’s shoulder.

Thirty minutes later, Brian and Beth burst in, and what they saw terrified them: Thorn lying on the ground with an arrow in his shoul-

der. Blood spatter on the ground.

“No! He can’t be! I won’t believe that he’s-” Beth cried from across the room.

“Maybe we’re making assumptions. Maybe he’s okay,” said Brian through chat-tering teeth.

“How!? Look at him! There’s blood on the ground!” said Beth.

“Wait. He’s- He’s breathing. The shock of the arrow must of made him faint, but he is alive,” said Brian with a sigh of relief.

“Really? Then, let’s get him out of here,” said Beth re-lieved.

In the van, Thorn slowly woke up not having any recol-lection of what happened. He looked around trying to see where he was. He noticed a bandage wrapped around his chest. The darkness of the night sky was the only thing visible outside.

“Hey bud. How you feel-ing?” said Brian from the back.

“My chest, it’s killing me. What happened? Why do I have a bandage around me? How did we even get here?” said Thorn noticing the dirt path they were on.

“We found you uncon-scious in that guy's office, it’s been four hours since we left,” said Beth from behind the wheel.

“What? What guy’s of-fice?”

Thorn stopped, every-thing came flooding back to him. The break-in, the fight, the last thing he remembered was seeing a arrow flying to-wards him.

“Oh. I guess it all came back, huh?” said Brian.

“Yeah. So this is?” said Thorn with a cough.

“Yeah. An arrow wound,” said Brian taking some painkillers out of his pocket.

“Thanks. Hey, do you ever think it’s not worth it? Stealing, I mean,” said Thorn with a sad look on his face.

“It’s been fun. But sometimes, stuff gets too in-tense. When we came in that room and saw you lying there, with an arrow sticking out of your chest, all I thought was what could have I done to keep you from this. The entire trip, I thought of ways we would have made it without an arrow impaled in any of us. And I think we all need a break. For you to heal and for us to forgive ourselves,” said Bethany.

The gang decided to go their separate ways, hop-ing one day that a spark would be re-lit between the three of them. And that they would see each other once again.

Thorn Slayer (cont’d)

Page 40 quartet

The car, With eyes bright, Stares into the dark. Growling At invisible danger. The brain Guides the car To its destination With a firm grip on a circle of eternity. A rusty, bubbly noise Escapes the soul When it awakes, Starting its journey.

Motorcycle By Finn Rowley

Shiny and polished, glistening in the light. The engines rev up like a red rocket going to space. The wheels turn and propel, and they take off. The lights illuminate the earth and the vehicle comes to life.

A Ride By The Light Of The Moon By Hazel Pucillo

Page 41 quartet

It unfolds like a clam its metal innards kept safe by a rough, patterned shell like one of a turtle. Now awake the screen glares like wolves eyes cold and bright, penetrating, never to be startled by the dark. It whirrs as it churns inside, working, processing, like the whirring of the wings of a bee. It follows your every command prepared to close up like a scaly armadillo at the slightest touch.

Computer By Roisin O’Flaherty

Death silently follows its target Stalking, finding its flaw

Death takes and takes but it never gives

Pouncing, dragging its prey on a rope of grief

Death is slow

The dark being takes its time

almost perfect But every once in awhile it can be cheated

For even death itself, has its flaws

Death By Chris Prahl

The paper sits on the table quietly, a pun-ished child. The smug smile slowly creeped away, like a spider. I Im-agine crumpling it until it is just another useless scrap in the garbage. Annoyance traps me in its hands, like a bird. My anger is boiling up, with the first trails of smoke curling out, like a pot of water. ¨Honey, you’ve been watching that pa-per like it’s the televi-sion for an hour. It’s due tomorrow. Please just start, and get it over

with. Get rid of the stress,” mother reminds me impa-tiently. Her words are shoves. ¨It’s fine… I’m just generating ideas,¨ I re-spond in a shaky way. Mother just gives me a disappointed look and goes back to cooking. Her eyes are like arrows are hitting my target. My foot starts to tap as I picked up the pencil. My fist curls around the pencil, like a turtle crawl-ing back into its shell. My eyes wander down to the white sheet. It is the differ-ence between nothing

and something. With me holding it’s hand down the path it could become something. The few words on the page seemed to jump on my heart and suck out the life. With the pencil, I start to carve words into the open possibilities until the last period is placed, .

The Emergency by Finn Rowley

The clip clap of horseshoes wakes me. The sun has already risen, and the chatter of the lo-cals seep in through my open window. I look around the cabin. It is quiet.

“Father,” I say. He emerges from his room dressed for work. “I must leave very quickly. There is an emergency… an attack in Pari!”

“But don't leave now! Please!” I plead. “No, I must leave now!” he exclaims. He runs out the door and is gone. My birthday is today and he is not here. We had such a

great day planned, and he left with no pity. The day will be slow knowing that father is missing my birthday. What is the emergency? Is he is in danger? Back in bed, I drift off to sleep.

That afternoon, there’s a knock at the door. Mother is talking to a man who looks vaguely familiar. He works with father. His face is stern. And mother's expression--it’s as if she has seen a ghost.

“The attackers… they killed… your husband,” he says in a stern tone. I am in shock… the world seems hazy and I feel like my soul has been ripped out of my body. I want to see my father one last time. I pity myself for not making my last moments with him happy. I don't know what to do, what I am feeling. I am lost...

The Wordless Enemy By Caroline Anderson

Page 42 quartet

I am picked up from the table and filled up with water. She screws on my cap. Andrea O´Reilly is generally a good owner, but, some-times, she can be a little abusive. She car-ries me out the door of her house, and goes quickly to the garage. I am put in the bottle holder of her bike, and transported to school. The ride is bumpy, be-cause Andrea likes to go over potholes, but there are some nice views of the town where she lives.

When she gets to school, Andrea locks up her bike, takes me out of the bottle holder, and goes to her first period class; social studies. It´s quite boring, be-cause throughout the whole period, I just sit on the desk and she only takes a few sips out of me. This contin-ues all the way, in all of her classes, until lunch, when I am tak-en to the cafeteria and she takes a few more sips than average out of me. She eats a lot of salty food!

Lunch is fun, because there is more action than in class, but what happens after lunch, during recess, is the scariest thing that happens to me throughout the whole day. Andrea thinks it is fun to throw me, high into the air, and then attempt to catch me. She usually can't, but I am a strong water bot-tle, so I am left with just scratch marks from the asphalt, which is still as hard as rock when I fall on-to it.

After those twenty minutes of tor-ture, for her next class, Andrea goes to the computer lab. The lab is about as boring as Andreas´ other clas-ses, but, at the end of the eighty minutes that I am just sitting there for, Andrea does the unthinkable. She leaves the room with-out me. I want to cry out to her, to get her attention. But I can´t. Oh! I thought that she loved me! I was happy with her, but now… oh I do hope she remem-bers and comes back for me! I sit and wait

for her for the longest time, but as 3:15, the time when she goes home, comes around, I loose hope. Now I will just have to wait for 5:00, when Mr. Ste-vens, the computer teacher, comes and looks around for things that were left in the lab. It is 3:30, then 3:45, and then 4:00, 4:15, 4:30, 4:45. At the time that 4:55 arrives, there is no one in the lab, so Mr. Stevens comes in, looks around, finds me, picks me up, and puts me … in the big green bin. Oh… goodbye… I am going to get recy-cled now, and … may-be I´ll have a different life as something else another time. Sigh… goodbye.

Abused Water Bottle By Christina Silver

Page 43 quartet

“The ride is bumpy, because

Andrea likes to ride

through potholes, but

there are some nice

views of the town where she lives.”

My head was throb-bing. Palms sweaty. Tapping foot on the cold, hard ground. Waiting.

Thoughts raced through my head. I was starting to doubt myself. What if I mess up? I’m going to mess up. Only one chance. And that’s it. What’s going to happen? I looked around. Eyes darting. Up and down the hallway. No one else. Just me. Silence, except for the faint violin piece being played in the room next to me. Every tap my foot made created a small echo down

the hall. This time, there was no one to comfort me. No one to tell me I’ll do fine. No one to hold me and calm me down. This time, I was alone.

Too much pressure. I had to get in, so I could go to a good school and make my family proud. We had saved up all of our money for this, and if I didn’t get it, everyone would hate me. We worked so hard for this. I ran over the notes in my head. I knew all of them backwards and forwards, but I still had an uneasy feeling. If I don’t get in, what will I do? This is the best high school to

get into, and I was assured many times that I would get in. But what if some-thing happens? Someone exited the door beside me. They looked calm, like nothing had ever happened. How did they stay under control like that? “You’re next,” they said, as a warm smile ap-peared on their face. “Good luck.”

as lost as a sailor stuck at sea. The thought of going on with my day was weird to think about. There was no way I could go out-side. So, I just sat there and ached like an injured soldier. No one could step up and say everything

Sitting, as si-lent as a empty gym, no one could say an-ything. Words could-n’t come out. All I heard when I woke up was cries. Then I saw my dog on the floor, not moving, not being the usual first one up. Our loving dog was dead. I was

was going to be al-right. I felt as lonely as the last person on earth. What hurt the most was not being able to say goodbye. I was as broken as a shattered piece of glass on the floor.

Loss by Rex Jacobsen

The Audition by Stella Rubin

Page 44 quartet

A nest sits high in the sky. A flurry of ballerinas gracefully dance through the air.

They land on my tongue and make it tingle.

A soft pillow forms on the frosty ground.

The snow stops, and everything is still.

no one wanted to talk to me because of all the fake things Skylar said about me. Almost once per week I run to Phoe-be or home crying. I tell my mom but the school won’t do anything about it. Most of the time I feel invisible. Skylar tells me I’m a waste of space. Phoebe is always there for me; she’s my second half. Everyday we go back to my house and talk about our days. Most of the time we talk about Skylar and what she did that day, but I don’t want Skylar to be the topic any-more. Everyday she manag-es to make me feel worse, and I try not to let her words get to me. But it’s hard not to. During all of algebra, I tell Phoebe my plan to con-fronting Skylar. She’s on board. After algebra I go to my locker, to wait for her to

“Why are you so stu-pid,” Skylar asks while she pushes me into the locker. Her army of friends sur-round me picking at my clothes and calling me names. Before the teacher comes they run away. My teacher helps me gather my books and then I try to find my friend, Phoebe, be-cause she’s the only one who truly likes me the way I am. I finally find her at alge-bra. I’m not mean to Skylar. I just don’t understand why she’s mean to me, because we actually used to be best friends. Then one day, she stopped being nice to me and started torturing me in every possible way. Everyday it’s her goal to make me feel bad and even cry. Before I met Phoebe, I used to eat lunch in the bathroom because

shout out something she doesn’t like about me. Instead I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“What do you want!” I yell back. Nothing. I hear noth-ing.

Finally, I turn around, She’s speechless just standing there with her army. I repeat myself.

“What do you want?” She walks away with her shad-ow following her.

When Friday comes I realize I haven’t come home crying all week. Instead I walk slowly to my house with Phoe-be by my side, and we talk about everything in the world, but Skylar.

Snow by Sharin Clark-Deutsch

Page 45 quartet

A Disappearing Shadow by Kate Diep

Art by Caroline Anderson

Cole peered up at the building. The bricks had faded and left him staring at pale burgun-dy rectangles. It doesn’t always feel like a home. His au-burn hair blew in the light fall breeze as he walked inside the building. He looked around expecting something new, but nothing had changed. He saw the same chair he slept in, sat in, and ate in everyday. The cushion was like a popped balloon, and the arms of the chair had duct tape on them to keep them from breaking off. Cole stepped toward the chair and sat down. As he sat he caught a glimpse of the one thing on the wall, an old family photo.

The photo was the last one his family took together before his older sister went off to college and be-came a success. His parents split up three months later. It felt like the only reason that they were together was because of her. His parents told him that he must make a decision, either live with his father or moth-

er. He refused to choose either one so he ran away. He re-membered the first step he took out of their house when he was fifteen. He did not think to look back. Cole told himself to just keep walking. Fi-nally he came to this place. He did not know that this would be his home for the next four years. He walked in and looked at the chair he was sitting in now. Cole’s eyes started to tear up. Just thinking about his old life made him regret his decision to run away, and how he should have thought it through. Cole had not had any contact with his par-ents since. He was fu-rious about how his parents made him choose between them. He had no idea what they were doing. Dusk came and Cole rose from the chair and went to the one thing besides the chair that had been in the building. A cherry wood cabinet that hung from one screw. He kept any food he could find in the city in the cabinet. He knew it would never fall off the

wall because the cabi-net was never full. He looked through trash cans and garbage bins and he ate anything that was decent. Cole took out a hamburger that had one bite taken out of it. It was from McDonalds and clearly the person was not satisfied with their meal. He took out the tomato that was rot-ting. The horrific smell of the rotten tomato made him hold his nose but he bit into the hamburger, and he ate it in three bites.

After, he went to the chair and tried to get comfortable. Au-tumn nights had gotten colder each day. Cole took his savings out of his pocket; he counted $67.49. Three more dollars and he could buy himself a winter jacket. He had been collecting money since he got to the city. The majority of the money was coins; he always found them on the sidewalk and he picked them up as quick as a cheetah. He slowly put the money back in his pocket and he drifted off into a deep sleep.

City Of Surprises by Josie Simon

Page 46 quartet

“His parents told

him that he must

make a decision,

either live with

his father or

mother.”

won’t see me if I do it quick enough. Cole bolt-ed as fast as lightning. No one could stop him.

“Hey get away from the register kid!” the owner wailed. Cole scampered like a cat chasing a mouse. They were sprinting around the store. Cole wanted to leave, but the woman stood blocking the door in shock.

“What’s your name, boy?!”

“I’ll never tell!” Cole responded. The owner stopped running like there was a giant barrel in front of him, he looked at the ground and then stared up at Cole’s back. Cole was wearing a New York Knicks hoodie, that had a stain of rosy red ketchup below the word Knicks. The man’s eyes almost popped out of his head.

“C-C-Cole…?” the man questioned. Cole came to a halt. He recognized the man. His feet rotated toward him. Cole was speechless, his mouth was open slightly but no words came out.

“D-Dad?” Cole finally spat out. He was stunned.

The sun rose the next morning and it tint-ed the walls with a or-ange red glow. Cole awoke and stretched his arms so far he looked like a bird trying to fly. Today is the day, I am going to go to the convenience store and take money from the cash register, he thought. Cole knew that if he got caught he would go to jail. There was no one in Cole’s life so there was no way of him getting bailed out. He got out of the chair and laced up his beaten up Nike sneak-ers. Only half of the check mark was left on the left side of his foot. Cole went right out of the door not thinking about eating breakfast.

As Cole walked, he tried not to make eye contact with peo-ple. Cole had always been shy around peo-ple, even his family. When he arrived at the store he looked up at the blinding white sun. He squinted and opened the cold metal handle. The man who worked at the store left the register to help a middle-aged woman reach a box of Advil. This is my chance! He

“Son? You-you’re here! You’re alive! Son!” he ran and gave Cole an enor-mous hug. Cole let his arms dangle. He did not want to hug him.

“I can’t believe that you think that I have forgiven you! Just because you see me you think everything is okay!” Cole yelled as he pushed his father away from him. “I was so worried about you…”

“It’s all your fault! You did this to me!” Cole said furiously. “I’m sorry, for everything me and your mother put you through. It was just one big mistake that I have regretted for four years.”

“But the mistake was made, and you can not take it back,” Cole said in a very calm voice. “I do not regret my decision then, and I am not going to regret this one,” he an-nounced. Cole turned around and walked right out of the door.

City Of Surprises (cont’d)

Page 47 quartet

“This is my

chance ! He won’t

see me if I do it

quick enough.”

They had been waiting for her for so long. It had been years now and everyone had given up on her, except for a few. These few were now circled around Kobe’s bed, a doctor and a nurse, a desperate woman and a scarred teenager. The doctor told them that they could wait a week but then they would have to let Kobe go. One by one they left each looking at Kobe with a lost expression.

But then Kobe woke up. Where was she? She was on the hard ground. There was fire. That’s what she remembered but no, that was a dream. No, she was in bed. She was in bed and she was hooked up to some-thing, a clear tube that was smoothly inserted into her hand. But wait. This couldn’t be her hand. No, Kobe’s hand was clean and smooth. This hand was mottled and scarred. Where was she? It was daytime and the lazy sun streamed through opaque blinds. There was beeping in the background and someone screaming something but Kobe could not understand them. She looked around again and found that the room was embarrassingly ster-ile, containing just the bed she was lying and a bedside table, with flowers and cards on it. Kobe tried to read the cards but the letters swam before her eyes and it made her head hurt. Actu-ally, everything hurt. But where was she? It seemed like Kobe was in a hospital but why would she be in a hospital? She needed to know. Kobe tried to speak. All that came out was a croak and a squeak. She began to panic. She struggled to speak, to scream to do anything but then a loud, piercing beeping started.

The nurse on shift was star-tled. Her name was Mel Fritz and she was astonished. She had been sitting there, filing her nails while keeping an lazy eye on the monitors. She had not expected anything to come up, defi-nitely not in the in this ward, where all

patients were considered to have one foot in death’s door but the monitor was show-ing a disturbance in room ICU 27. “What could possibly…” Mel trailed off. She jumped and ran towards the room.

The beeping was loud and irritat-ing and it sent a wave of pain through the right side of Kobe’s head, so she shut her eyes tightly and tried to go back to sleep. But before she could the nurse arrived, her uniform covered in nervous sweat.

“ You’re awake?! You’re awake!! Okay. That’s ok. Oh My...Okay,” Mel said, dumbfounded. The doctors had guaran-teed that this little Kobe girl would die but here she was alive as anything else. After all these years, too? It was amazing but Mel was not used to amazing, she was used to tears and death in the ICU. Mel wasn’t sure what to do. “Wait there,” she told the girl, Kobe, and went to phone the doctor.

Wait there? Kobe rolled her eyes, miffed. Where could she go? She was obviously sick or hurt in some way, as she was in a hospital, with scars all over her body. She couldn’t very well get up and walk away! Kobe could hear the nurse talking in the hall, little bits of “ She’s awake… as healthy… why… who..” She began to hum to herself. It came out scratchy and thick but it covered up the noise of the nurses mutterings.

Suddenly Mel was back inside. “HI, HONEY. CAN YOU HEAR ME?” the nurse yelled. Kobe winced. “I’m not deaf. You don’t have to yell,” she mumbled. It was hard to understand Kobe’s scratchy voice but the nurse seemed to get it.

“ Sorry,” the nurse apologized. “ Just checking. Now, my name is Mel. I’m going to ask you some questions to en-sure that you are functioning to some de-gree. Ready?”

“Yes.” “ Ok. What’s your name?” “ Kobe.” “ Good. How old are you? Do

you remember?

“ Uh, 11. Or 13. Or... no, I’m 13

Mel had stopped talking and was writing something on a clipboard at the end of the her bed and Kobe took this as a chance to ask some questions of her own.

“ Why am I here?” Mel looked up, surprised. “Uh…” Kobe’s calm was wearing off and

she started to panic. “ Tell me why I’m here!” Mel looked at her. “ I’m sorry…I

can’t tell you that.... it’s not, well that is-” Kobe interrupted her. “Please. I

need to know something.” Mel sighed and gave in. She was no

good at being stern. “ You were in a car crash. You have been in a um...coma,” She looked at Kobe, almost fearfully, as she was expecting her to do something, to yell, to scream. But Kobe did nothing. She was terri-fied and confused but she somehow stayed calm. It just didn’t seem real enough to panic over, it was too strange. She asked her next question in her croaky, squeaky, voice, as if the news that she been in a coma meant nothing to her.

“Who was with me?” “What?” “Who was with me when the car

crashed?” “Your friend’s dad and your friend.” “Who was the friend?” “I-I don’t know. I was just supposed

to watch you.” Mel looked ready to cry. Kobe tried to ask something else, to find something that could clarify her life at the moment.

Then a woman suddenly burst into the sterile hospital room, followed by a teen-ager and an important looking man wearing a doctors uniform. The woman looked out of it and she was unnaturally skinny, with a pale, ill-looking complexion and deep stress lines carved in her face Kobe noticed. Then it was loud and Kobe’s head ached as the room filled with the screams, and confused talk. The man looked annoyed at the noise and yelled loudly and they all stopped. “Kobe,” he said regaining his disposition. “ I am your doctor, Mr. Keg. I wou-”

Forever Asleep by Roisin O’Flaherty

Page 48 quartet

“ No.” “ What? I-” “NO,” repeated Kobe. “ I want to

talk to them. The woman and the-the girl.” The doctor was annoyed. He

had taken care of and helped Kobe throughout her coma, although she didn’t know it and was hurt by her need for him to leave. It was just amazing that she had survived. He reminded himself not to be childish and forced himself to leave.

“ I shall leave. Mel, lets leave them. You get five minutes with her, that's it,” Dr. Keg said. Mel looked like she had been tasered, she was stunned but she aroused herself and followed Dr. Keg out.

Now Kobe was with these two people. Kobe stared at them and was suddenly, for no good reason angry at them. “Who are you?” She squeaked. “Why are you here?” The older woman burst into tears. “ Kobe, honey. You don’t even…” The woman ran to Kobe and gripped her hand, and then Kobe knew. This woman was her mother.

Kobe’s mother was named Carly and at the moment she was very over-whelmed. She felt grief and happiness, relief and stress, all at the same time, one big melting pot of emotions. She had wait-ed for years for Kobe to awake, had dreamed of the moment like a kid dreams of Christmas, only with ten times more longing. She had thought out what to say, what she wanted to tell Kobe, but now that the time had come all she could was cry. “ I knew, I knew...they told me...but I knew. Oh, I knew,” Carly gasped between sobs. Kobe was overwhelmed by her mother's tears, overwhelmed by the girl and the scars and her lack of awareness. She needed help and she needed an-swers, before she too burst into tears.

“ Tell everything. Now. Please…” Kobe said bluntly, trying to stop her own tears. She couldn’t cry, she wouldn’t cry, not in front of anyone. It wasn’t real. It was a dream, it must be. But at the same time, it seemed so real.

Carly regained her composure

as well as she could, sniffling between words. “There is so much to tell and so little time and you have lost so much time and I just can’t began to say, to tell.” The teenager stepped forward and placed a hand on Carly’s shoulder. Carly stopped. It was then Kobe noticed, that the teengaer had mottled, scarred skin like Kobe’s.

Carly sighed. “I’m sorry. I prom-ised Kate would tell and she will. I will leave you two to talk.” Carly took one last glance and forced herself to walk out of sterile room. It was the hardest thing she had ever done to leave Kobe in that mo-ment. The moment she was outside, she dropped to her knees and cried so hard she threw up. Carly began to mutter to herself, “Is it real? Is it real?” Mel had been waiting outside and now she came over and confirmed: “It is real. Kobe is alive.” After all these, years her daughter was alive.

Inside the sterile hospital room, Kate, the scarred teenager was talking to Kobe. “ It’s a long story. But you can wait, you’re not going anywhere anyway.” Kate quipped, smiling a smile that all a sudden was so familiar, so friendly to Kobe. She knew then who this scarred teenager was, she was the one in the car crash with Kobe but she was also Kobe’s friend. Kobe's best friend, as cheesy as it may sound. Kobe laughed but the laugh fal-tered in to a cry. So Kobe cried and Kate told her their story.

“There was a car crash. We were driving from your thirteenth birthday party and some drunk trucker got a little cocky and went straight into my dad’s car, which he was driving. The car went in flames but we both survived. My dad was hit full front and so he’s dead,” Kate said. Kobe gasped through her tears as a snapshot of a man’s face who she knew to be Kate’s father flashed through her mind. Kate smiled a grim smile, but Kobe could see the grief behind it. “I was out of it for a while. But you were out of it for

longer. You have been in a coma for two years. You are going to have a lot of math homework to catch up on.” Then the calm, funny, matter of fact demeanor Kate was wearing dissolved and she too was crying. Kobe suddenly burst out: “What am I go-ing to do? How can I have a life again? I have a 7th grade education and I’m now in highschool and I have lost two years of my life and I can’t remember who I was or who I am.” Kate stopped crying long enough to say. “I’ll help you. We all well.”

And then Kobe woke up. She was home. She was in her room in her own bed. There was no Kate , no tears, no sterile hospital room. Just her mother, Carly, by her bed, staring at her. “Everything ok?” she asked. “I heard yelling. Did you have a bad dream?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Kobe mumbled. “ I

guess it was just a dream.”

Forever Asleep (cont’d)

Page 49 quartet

Cameron felt a slight tap on his shoulder. He slowly turned around scared. He wondered, who else would be out at this time on a school night. When Cameron turned around there was no one. He thought that it was just a branch that had touched him. It was a quiet night. The trees were dancing in the wind and owls cooed from nearby branch-es. Cameron continued walking down the street and felt the same slight tap on his shoulder. He turned around and this time he saw something. He face filled with fear as he sprint-ed down the street. He couldn’t completely make

out his face. All he saw was a man in a black hoodie.

As he continued to run, Cameron kept turning back to see if the mysteri-ous figure was still there. Cameron was far up the road; he was about ten minutes away from his house. The mysterious man was chasing him! Cameron decided that he had to loose the mysterious man, so he went down an alley. But that turned out to be a wrong move! As he ran down the alley, two tall man were standing before him. Cameron’s hands were shaking as he tried to run away. The two men took him by his shirt and dragged him out of the alley

and into the street. But Camer-on managed to escape. Hands shaking, sweat

pouring down his face, Camer-

on’s heart raced. He stopped

briefly to catch his breath and

ignored his mother’s attempts

to reach him on his cell phone.

He was only five minutes away

from his house. Cameron felt a

tap on his shoulder, the same

tap he felt when saw the mys-

terious man. He didn’t turn

around this time; he just ran so

fast that he couldn't breathe.

Cameron burst through his

front door and locked it behind

him. He quickly looked out the

window and then dropped to

his knees, crying.

but the words were stuck in my throat. All I could do was pray that someone, anyone, would come.

As Troy held me against the locker, it felt like his grip got stronger by the moment. His icy hands found their way to my neck as he squeezed me with brutal strength. He said some-thing, but I was so

scared, I didn’t hear a single word he said. Then, as if none of this ever happened, he let me go and ran. My head hit the locker as I fell to the ground. With my neck throbbing and my back feeling like it was shat-tered, I sat there, trauma-tized. As soon as no one was in sight, I ran out of school crying.

Bully by Leo Belsky

Troy walked to-ward me. My face, drip-ping with sweat, was as white as powder. It seemed as if the world had frozen. Everyone except Troy and me. Then, his two giant hands grabbed me. He held me by the shirt and slammed me against a locker. Pain shivered down my spine, and I tried to shout for help,

Fear by Emma Korz

Page 50 quartet

He was overflowing with rage. His sister had hurt him in the most dev-astating way possible. She deserted him, left him waiting at the house for hours. He had his biggest basketball game of the season, the championship. He kept telling himself she would show but he waited for hours. He was broken. He clenched his jaw as if to trap himself inside for-ever.

She arrived three hours late, laughing, trying

to move past it, while he used all of himself, all his will not to release the deepest darkest, hidden away part of him. He hated her like he never had.

He felt like a water balloon just filling up to pop. But she left the house. She thought it was over, that he had gotten past it, but no. It felt like she was just rub-bing dirt in the open wound she had ripped in

him. He wanted to follow her, but he knew it would be worthless. So he stood there, thinking.

He didn’t know

what to do with all that

built up rage, and finally

the pin hit the balloon.

She came back with a grin.

He popped.

Left Waiting by Chris Prahl

Page 51 quartet

Hastings-on-Hudson Union Free School District

Acknowledgements

The contributors and staff of quartet would like to thank our principal Gail Kipper and assistant principal Hilda McGivney for their encouragement and support. We’d also like to thank Mr. Christopher Keogh for his ongoing, technical assistance and guidance that has made it possible for us to construct this magazine and website. Thank you to the FMS teachers for sharing this work with your students and for giving them time to read this magazine. Special thanks to Ms. Nidia Ferrara for copying the magazine for the stu-dent body. Thanks to all of you for being such integral parts of the quartet team!