Pins. Small, inconsequential objects, right? Wrong. Pins may be small objects, but they hold so many memories. Collecting pins bring back, for me, vivid times spent with either family or friends. Maybe eating lunch under the Leaning tower of Pisa, maybe taking a lift to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Maybe even going to Bethany beach, Delaware is something you want to remember. Is it not amazing how something so small could hold so many memories.
“My Grandma is My Hero”
Her hair shimmers in the bright light
She laughs at every joke I tell her
She took me to the park when I was younger
My grandma is my hero
She is a very spiritual person
Close to God
Never strays from Him
My grandma is my hero
She may give me money & gift cards
But I do not need any of that
Because I have her
And my grandma is my hero
“Live life to the fullest.” She says
I love her so much
And I live my life to the fullest with her
My grandma is my hero
The day I say goodbye
There will not be a dry eye
But she will inspire others in heaven
And she will be their hero
Alex Anderson
Murderer in the Classroom (Chapters 1&2)
By: Alex Anderson
Ch.1
Sheila woke up different than any other day. Deep inside her she felt a gruesome ache. She sat up and turned on the TV. The Ohio State news was on. Across the top of the monitor was, “Local high school teacher found dead.” Pictured at the top of the screen was an image of her beloved teacher, Mr. Garcia. She knew that going to school was going to be dreadful. Sheila met up with her best friend, Angela, and discussed the matter. Angela was also very distraught. They both stood in the doorway of the classroom. The room reeked of death. Sheila took her seat which was positioned right in front of the deceased teacher’s desk. A few days passed, and the school community was still looking for how Mr. Garcia died. Finally, the next day, Principal Lopez come on the P.A. system. The school was completely still, and for the first time all the pupils were dead silent. Principal Lopez spoke softly, but firmly he said that Mr. Garcia’s autopsy showed that he had been murdered. Now I was livid I shouted, “How could someone have murdered Mr. Garcia!” The police examined the house where Mr. Garcia might have been murdered. They found nothing. Not a single lead to who killed him. it had been two months after Mr. Garcia’s murder. No leads. No suspects. No hope.
Ch. 2
At this point I was infuriated. Two years have gone by and nothing has changed. Angela came over for a study break. Finals are next week and all I can think about is who murdered Mr. Garcia. I talked about it with Angela and I came to the conclusion that we should just work on the case by ourselves. She agreed with me. We put our books aside and we started to make a suspect list. At the top was Mr. Garcia’s wife, Annabelle, who had gone through a bitter divorce with him. She was cheating on him with his best friend. She has a clear motive. Next on the list was Johnathan Gilmore, he flunked out of Mr. Garcia’s class after he decide to ditch a whole month of school. He cannot graduate this year with his friends. He also has a motive. Last on the list was Mr. Garcia’s mother who he said despised him and said she thought he was worthless. Suddenly, Angela said, “What about…” >>> To be continued.
splatter
Samantha Tyler Engler
One flick and
color splatters
And another flick
Droplets fly
You grab colors
and brushes
Hand writhing in
Anger
Arguments and
insults flung
away from the body
Exorcise demons
Unrepentant guilt
Unrequited love
Red blood, anger,
passion, fear
Don’t let them see
Throw the blankets
over, Pretend it’s
ok. Ok?
Bright, bubbling
false facades
Standing in the
whirlwind. Ok?
Everything’s everywhere
Messes are for making
Pristine canvas
turned battleground
You’ve done it
again, no surprise
Life imitates
art imitates
Life, and
You know how
to ruin the
both of them
In the Kitchen
By: Isabella Briggs
In the kitchen, there is a secret door. It leads to an unused pantry. Mom has always kept the key with her. She will not let me through the door.
One day, I decide. I will go down there. She can not keep me from the pantry forever. I steal the key. I run and unlock the door before she can stop me. I enter the room. Just then, I stop. Everything stops. Suddenly, they are there. Memories I did not know I had. Things I did not know had happened. I feel the sorrow and pain of the past. I run from the room. I slam the door shut, locking it tight. I search the house for mom, but I can no longer find her. I know why. She has fled. She always knew what was there. She had only been trying to protect me. To save me from the pain. Now she is gone because she knew i saw everything. She knew I saw everything. She knew i went against her only wish. So i wait. I wait. I wait until I can wait no longer. Why did I wait? In the beginning, I had hoped she would return. That she would except my apology. She never did either.
In the kitchen, there is a light. It went out long ago. Without mom there to change out the bulb, it will never turn back on.
Teacups
By: Adora Brown
In the kitchen sat four identical teacups. Each had the same swirly designs, as paint danced along every curve and crevice. Mama told me I couldn’t touch the teacups. They are not your toys, she would say. But now, Mama doesn’t seem to care about her good china anymore. Inside those cups sat cold chamomile, Papa’s favorite. But Papa and the boys never returned.
In the kitchen there is a window. In the corner is a small crack where Billy nearly shattered the smudged glass into a million pieces. There are two symmetrical lines of dust along the windowsill. Each day Mama would open that window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the troops finally returning home, hoping to see our broken family again. Correction, nearly broken. Just as Billy’s baseball nearly broke the window. There’s still hope, Mama mutters to herself sometimes.
In the kitchen there are ghosts. A small remnant of what used to be our family. Papa would sip his tea as the boys would dance around the kitchen table singing jolly tunes. Mama would scold them, but I would catch her small smiles from time to time.
In the kitchen there is a letter. It sits on the counter, taunting me, but I don’t dare move it. When Mama opened that yellow envelope she dropped her teacup, that fine piece of good china she once cared so much about, to the floor. It shattered, breaking into hundreds of little pieces. MIA, Mama whispered. Missing in Action, three words that broke apart our family. Not nearly, anymore. Completely, utterly, shattered. The remnants of what used to be now strewn across the kitchen floor. Delicate, sharp, shards of us. Now Mama sits upstairs, broken. Papa and my two older brothers, three teacups, but the tea is no longer warm. And me, an empty cup in an empty family.
thoughts from a cherry wood shelf
By Maddie Jaffe
to be an overthinker,
you must first understand what it means.
is there such a thing as an underthinker?
whose skull is a dusty, hollow, echoing shell?
or a just-right thinker,
with thoughts piled neatly on cherry wood shelves?
maybe not
or maybe so
but the point is
what makes the overthinker? what encourages one to flirt with insanity?
is it the never-ending nights watching your ceiling as
1…2…3…
hours pass, your beauty sleep a runaway paper on a windy day, always, always
blown just out of reach
or is it the fact that decisions as simple as what flavor of ice cream you want
are traumatic
painful
and leave you aching, wondering, still, an hour later, if strawberry was the right choice?
maybe it’s the eraser marks
tainting your page with an irreplaceable, indestructible gray from half-finished,
scrapped ideas and answers
that are now long gone.
so what, out of these, truly makes an overthinker?
what does it mean, and how do you become one
or make it go away?
well, friends.
I suppose we’ve overthought it.
after katy richey’s “therapy”
kaja rae lucas
write a letter to your father.
don’t send it. just stare at it until it
becomes you and you become it.
take your medication like your lover
took your soul out of the paper cranes you folded
for her (about her / with her).
if you were paying attention to the news;
stop.
if you were eating donuts sparingly
eat them more regularly.
prepare for hibernation.
prepare to die.
prepare for electroshock with
little nodes on your skull where the electricity goes
when you come home, pray it doesn’t snow
don’t tell your therapist he already knows
a moment is a moment even when it’s not about you though;
he tells you “you think about yourself too much”
you tell him, “who else thinks of me?”
and that’s the disorder,
you don’t think anyone
is thinking of you
not even your lover.
and some days she does. most days she doesn’t.
prepare to lie to your therapist
he doesn’t know you
he only gives a damn about you in the tongue
of pity
please reward yourself with a drink
(not an overdose)
reward because you have learned the thing
that matters most; you are only as human
as you let yourself imagine you are.
because otherwise, you’re just a devil with no
imagination. this way, you’re at least creative.
learn how to write a novel.
learn how to write a eulogy.
one for yourself / one for the ancestors.
learn how to ache without body.
learn the message of soul.
learn to feel human.
therapist tells you; “you know you never
think of yourself as human.”
and you laugh, because you’re more psychotic
than person. psychiatrist tells you “that’s not
a state of being, it’s an illness” you tell him
try it for yourself and tell me how you feel.
that letter; actually write it.
one for yourself and one for your father
in which you imagine them both as your abuser
(which is a lie in both cases.)
send it with your suicide note
notice it will probably take seven days for it to
make it to your family
scrap it. scrap the letter. scrap the therapist.
you’re hurting but not enough to talk about it.
My Two Worlds
By: Elisabeth Paulk
I jump into the car with my mom
Start going on and on about my day
Till I hit something that twists my heart
Something that doesn’t fade away
She understands what I am going through
So she tells me everything will be okay
I enter the car with my dad
I don’t talk about things that made us feel down
We might talk about things that make us mad
But that’s it
Usually we talk about history
Or maybe politics
We talk about things that interest us
These things might seem boring to you
But to me these conversations are worth the fuss
These are the two worlds I live in
They both frighten and excite me
And that’s okay
Because both of these people help me see
The world differently
Soulmates
By: Angel E. Young
What is a soulmate?
It’s that one person that you’ll always care about no matter what people say. You don’t have to be around them to feel the connection, and just a glance can make you feel like you’ve been to the moon and back. When you find your soulmate, you have the strange urge to commit to them even if the relationship isn’t “confirmed”. The love you have for them is unconditional. And you find yourself consistently praying for their safety and happiness. That my friend is a soulmate.
Meeting my soulmate will always be the greatest memory gifted to me. With soft curly hair, a quiet smile, warm brown eyes and an artistic hand I couldn’t help but feel instantly drawn to him. Walking by myself through the hallways I would always find myself meeting his warm gaze, even in the most uncanny situations. After a while, I began to feel a slight pull on my heart strings every time our gazes met. I called it the “soul-bond pull”. The reason for this was also due to the fact that even though I wasn’t near him half of the time, I could still feel the warmth of his presence coursing through my veins. Being as nervous and shy as I was, it was a surprise when I finally mustered up the courage to speak to him. (This took many long weeks- months even) With fumbling words and rushed phrases I introduced myself to him before quickly hurrying away. For the rest of the year we’d share seemingly longing glances with each other. The burning inferno of unsaid words rising within the spaces between us. But we never said anything, the fear of what the other might say, holding us back. Sitting here today I continue to wait, keeping myself pure and loyal until the day fate decides to bring us back together again.