EXPRESSIONS

CMS LITERARY MAGAZINE

2019-2020

This year’s Expressions features Scholastic Writing award winners, as well as a few additional pieces.

Gold Key Winners Anna Bender………….………..……..……………..…Hope Ben Curtain………………………………………Almost Home Marlee Lauris…………………………………Peer Pressure Anna Abello……………………Growing Up a Little Different Silver Key Winners Kailyn Bond………………………..……….Public Schools Sophia Carson…………………………….Will This Be Us? Kena Bekere………………………….…….Life on the Line Jessica Decker………………………………………….Fear Joseph Landis………………………..Why I Detest Poems Mia DiComo………………………………….……….Prideful Brianna Mai……………………………..To Tune a Requiem Evan Manning…………………………………The Creeking Josiah Pletcher…………………………………Time Flash Julia Read……………………..………….A Cold December Jarius Davis………………………………………..Ice Cream Honorable Mention Maryam Al-Zubaidi………………….……………….Untitled Avery Landis……………………………….…….Home Alone Marlee Lauris………………………..…..……..My Reflection Jarius Davis……………………………………….….The Dark Alexis Swatter………………..……..The Screen is a Barrier Other Great Writing Adam Brandt……………….…How the Panther Got Its Fur Diellon Trinakin……………………Indestructible Mentality Maya Trowbridge…………..……..Writing is Not My Forte Gold Key Winners

Hope By: Anna Bender

I’m done hoping everything will be okay Don’t try to convince me that It’ll get better I know I don’t believe in hope I will never in a million years say Hope is the light to keep the darkness out and I know deep down that Hope is for failures It isn’t true that Hope makes things better When you really think about it Individuals with more hopefulness fall further but Some think that Believing can make life better I feel that It makes things worse I’d be lying if I said It helps you achieve your goals The truth is Hope doesn’t exist Don’t even try to tell me that Believing can be a wonderful thing When you take a closer look Wishing upon a star just makes people think everything is okay when it’s not People think Hope is astounding At the end of the day Hope is nothing Stop saying Hope isn’t just for the dreamers You are wrong. (Now read bottom to top) Almost Home By: Ben Curtain

Bones shaking, teeth uncontrollably chattering, the freezing air burning the inside of My nose Leaves crunching under my feet. The smell of sweet hickory charcoal soothing the fiery burning of the cold with every Breath Looking up to see the starry night Deep breath in Deep breath out Cold white smoke bouncing back in my face. The mesquite scent flooding my head It soothes this Tennessee night. Thought of my bed, warm blanket, soft feather pillow guiding me back to my home. I can tell I’m getting closer The gravel massages the bottom of my feet. I run my finger along the wood of the forest I’m so close So close I can smell the mesquite getting closer I can tell, I'm... Finally home Peer Pressure By: Marlee Lauris

We’ve all been in that tough situation. Your friends are doing something they’re not supposed to be doing. You know what they’re doing isn’t right but you do it anyway. Why do you go along with it? Maybe you do it to look cool or maybe to impress someone. Could it be that you feel like you will lose your friends, or are you just trying to be the “popular kid”? We all have our reasons to do something we are not supposed to do. If you’ve ever felt someone is making you do something you don’t want to do it’s called peer pressuring. The definition of peer pressure is “influence from members of one's peer group.” With technology and new trends happening all the time it is easy to fall into peer pressure. One thing that kids are doing nowadays that is due to peer pressure is vaping. Almost everyone today knows of someone who vapes. While many kids know the risks of doing it like damaging your lungs, getting kicked off sports teams, getting suspended from school, and even death they still decide to do it. Most kids do it because they don’t want to seem like they’re too scared to or not cool enough. Between 2017-2018 the number of high school students who use vapes such as Juuls and Njoys nearly doubled. (News Medical) I asked a person I know who has vaped if he knew the risks of doing so. That person said he understood the risks, but it hasn’t stopped him from continuing to do it. He also said that the first time he did it he used someone else’s device who told him to try it. Another type of peer pressure is hazing. The definition of hazing is “humiliating and sometimes dangerous initiation rituals.” Many times hazing happens at places like colleges and even work environments. A student at the university of Penn State even died from hazing. Three other fraternity brothers were sentenced to jail time. The students name was Timothy Piazza and he died from drinking large quantities of alcohol during his first night of pledging at Beta Theta Pi fraternity. If he wanted to be in the fraternity he would have to consume large amounts of alcohol which resulted in ending his life. While Timothy knew this wasn’t right he did it anyway so he could fit in. The people peer pressuring him also knew the risks but decided to do it anyway and most likely will regret doing so for the rest of their life. Another very sad scenario which could have been avoided was the Columbine shooting, the first mass school shooting in America. The shooters names were Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. After the shooting was over and news was out, many people had one question on their mind. What drove these two students to do such a terrible thing? The FBI reported that according to teachers’ accounts, Harris seemed to be a nice kid and well spoken. Klebold seemed to be a sad, depressed individual who didn’t really have anyone that was like him. In reality, Harris was more a person that just wanted to hurt people to hurt them. It seemed that Harris was the mastermind behind this crime and that Klebold just followed along. Klebold was a kid who didn’t have many friends except for Harris. While this doesn’t excuse what he did, we may be able to begin to understand the powerful influence from peers, regardless of opposition to personal values. It was said that Harris probably wouldn’t have been able to pull off the shooting if it wasn’t for Klebold. It makes you wonder if he would have not gone along with their plan, admitting he knew it wasn’t right, maybe so many lives wouldn’t have been lost. There's no absolute solution to peer pressure, nor will there be in the future. Peer pressure is in our nature. However, we can lessen its harmful impact. One thing you can do is if you see someone being peer pressured to do something, don’t just be a bystander. Stand up for them and tell them it’s not right and it’s their decision. While it can seem embarrassing, it could really help out that person. If you are being peer pressured into doing something say no if it’s not right. Most importantly just be nice to one another. You never know what a person is going through and just saying hi can brighten a person's day. Be the one who empowers others not bring them down. Together we can help live more happy, healthy and positive lives without the pressure of fitting in. Growing up a Little Different By Anna Abello

“Oh, no!” “I’m sorry,” “That must be tough.” All common responses I get when I tell people I have two special needs sisters. People also say, “So are you special needs?” “Why didn’t you become retarded too?” Then I answer, “It’s fine. I love them.” Then whoever I’m talking to walks off with a confused look. “Whatever,” I think. Truly, it doesn’t matter to me that they’re special needs. Honestly, I think having special needs siblings is often easier than having normally developing ones. My siblings never fight with me, and there is never a dull moment in our lives. But to be completely honest, I have sometimes wondered what life would be like if they were normally developing. A close friend of mine once asked me, “If there was a way to change your siblings into normally developing girls, would you have it done to them?” I didn't even take a second to think about this one. There’s an easy answer, no. I have three siblings, my older sister Maggie, my younger brother Carlo, and my younger sister Lizzie. (Carlo is normally developing.) I was born when Maggie was three, and at the time, my parents did not know that Maggie was special needs. Sure, she did not talk as much as babies normally do. Sure, she rarely ever cried. Sure, she walked later than most babies. But it wasn’t enough to trigger something in my parent’s minds. When Maggie was 3 and a half, my parents noticed that she wasn’t as on track developmentally as most kids her age. So, they took her to a doctor to see if anything was wrong. After multiple doctors, multiple tests, and multiple professionals saying nothing was wrong, Maggie was diagnosed with SSADH. SSADH, also known as succinic semialdehyde dehydrogenase deficiency, is a disorder that causes a variety of neurological problems, ranging from delay in speech development, to decreased muscle tone after birth. There are a little over 400 cases documented worldwide. Symptoms of SSADH, as described by the SSADH Association, include delays in achieving certain motor skills, speech delays, seizures, and irregularities during infancy, such as failure to cry and failure to respond to visual stimuli. All of these describe both of my sisters. So, we accepted the fact and continued to live our lives. Maggie was put into a class for specially developing children, and a tutor was hired for her. (We also later learned that she had autism too.) A few years later my brother Carlo was born. Imminently he was tested for SSADH and autism. He tested negative for both. Then 5 years later my sister Lizzie was born. I remember her as a baby the best. She was normal, she cried, slept, ate and pooped. Nothing seemed wrong. Then she turned 6 months old and everything changed. On March 4th, my mom and dad were both at work, so a babysitter was at home with me and my siblings. Lizzie was a good sleeper, and she slept in relatively late every day. But on that day, she slept a little longer than normal. By noon, I was asked to go upstairs and wake her up. So, I went to her room and started talking to her, hopefully to slowly wake her up. But she did not stir. Everything after that was a blur. I carried her downstairs, my dad came home from work, and him and I brought Liz to the pediatricians. They could not wake her up either. Next thing I know, we’re at the ER, and my mom has left work early. I do not know how much longer we’re there, an hour, 2 hours, 5 hours. They tell us Lizzie’s blood sugar was so low that if we hadn’t brought her in, she would’ve died, and that was why she wouldn’t wake up. Soon enough, my parents had someone pick me up and bring me home. In the following days, we learn that Lizzie has SSADH, alike to Maggie. This meant more therapists, more medications, more medical studies my sister’s were a part of. I will say that I know how lucky we are that Maggie and Lizzie have easier cases of SSADH than many kids. We are so lucky that they both can walk, for the most part talk, and breathe on their own. But I still have wondered to myself, “What if there was a way to get rid of their special needs.” And I’ll admit that there are times when I, just for a tenth of a second, wish that they weren’t special needs. I feel so guilty for thinking about this, I really do. But those thoughts never last long. My sister’s have influenced my life and me as a person more than anything else. They have made me kinder than I ever thought I was and most likely the most patient 13 year old, ever. They have taught me to respect and love every person I’ll ever meet, and to never take my life for granted. Plus, I now know how to handle seizures and a 3 year old who can not talk or walk well. Yes, there are small difficulties that come from having two special needs siblings. If it took a family of 6 with normally developing kids 10 minutes to get everyone in the car with drinks, snacks, shoes and jacket, then it takes our family 30 minutes to do so. When we’re at the airport, we have to manage luggage, security, and two children who will wander away as soon as you turn your back. Oh, and amusement parks. Trying to not lose a child, entertain them in line, and ignore weird looks your siblings get from other people is not easy. But I try not to care, not to think about all the small struggles in our life. Instead, I look at how much fun the 13 years I’ve been alive for have been because of them. When I was 3 and Maggie 5, I wanted to get into my grandma’s bedroom to take candy, but I could not reach the lock. So, I enlisted Maggie to step on a chair and undo the lock. I do not think I can count all the times Maggie has gotten into the cookies we baked for my Dad’s birthday, the cake my grandma brought, or the Thanksgiving pies. And Lizzie, she’s a character. I love looking back at all the small things that she laughs at, all the videos of her singing and dancing to The Wiggles in our living room. And as frustrating it can be, we always end up laughing at the mess Maggie and Lizzie worked together to make. I know that my sister’s have changed me for good. But I can only hope that their influence on me will continue to grow over the rest of my life. I can only hope that their presence in the community can change other people’s perspectives on life. I can only hope that the next time you see a special needs person, you do not look in disgust, in confusion, in pity, but instead you look and see a beautiful life, another miracle, a human just like you. Silver Key Winners

Public Schools By: Kailyn Bond

I am judgement of others. I am scared of the bullies inside me. I am the place where popularity comes before friendship. I am the place where you pretend to be someone else. I am that piece of gum stuck under your seat. I am the zone of huge food fights, I am the place that’s known for terrible lunches. I am the workplace of the frightening lunch lady who never smiles. I am a building meant to expand knowledge, yet cause anxiety due to my lunch room I am the home for number one fights I am a safe haven for those who are looking to start a fight. I am a place where bullying is a normal thing , I am a property where those who claim to be your friends could be lying. I am the place where parents send their kids scared if they will return home. I am the play set that is used for more rough house than friendly games of tag. I am the building that is dreaded seeing everyday . I am that location with the reddish bricks and dark windows. I am that basketball net that is ripped because of the hand hanging on me . I am the classroom with the rude teacher who no student wants. I am that box of crayons that everyone steals from, I am that calculator with a million pencil marks on my screen. I am that test you forgot to study for, I’m that library book you never remember to return. I am the lost and found bin with a million old sweatshirts. I am public school Will This Be Us? By: Sophia Carson

Each blade of grass prances, The soft wind dances, And the robins chirp in a trance, Along the city line. Tree branches intertwine, The stream trickles in the summertime, But fear shivers down your spine to your toes. Will it be us who owes the truth, Why the wind won’t blow? Why the crows won’t crow? Why the water is low? It is all because of greed That Mother Earth will plead, But we have not heeded. For years now, our home has needed People who are not conceited And will look at the dying reed. Our home won’t last forever, It comes down to now or never. This task would not have come to an endeavor, If humans were more clever. Will this be us? Life on the Line By: Kena Bekere

Life is like a roller coaster going up and down You can never know when death is lurking around It can happen any day It can happen any way But you won’t be prepared But you won’t be prepared Well, this happened to someone I know Someone that I thought would be smart and not go Telling me to go back because I was too small Yet, I was the smartest of them all It all started because my brother ignored my mom’s advice He didn’t listen which led to a great price I was following behind him without him knowing As soon as he saw me, he told to go back to dad , who was rowing I went back slowly as the waves pushed against my wrinkled hand And I looked back as soon as I reached the sand Fear By: Jessica Decker

It isn’t easy to comprehend that Reality Governs The mind My belief is that Fear controls everything People say It doesn’t But I say Fear controls how we live our lives what we were made for Is cowering Fear What is all-consuming And drowning It Is No longer Our own happiness We are Nothing think of it as Afraid to reach into the closet Or Scared to look under the bed We shouldn’t be Fearful of something that doesn’t exist We aren’t Brave

(Now read the lines from the bottom to the top) Why I Detest Poems By: Joseph Landis

The sea flows, winter blows, and everything is calm

it’s these sorts of poems I hate with a passion Repetitiveness that is most likely due to the lack of ideas The unnecessary thought, or lack thereof, they are made with Poems that cut senten ces halfway between lines or even stanzas Repetitiveness that is most likely due to the lack of ideas Sometimes it’s understandable as quantum physics sometimes I wonder whether the poet was mentally sound Endless underlying meanings Shakespeare couldn’t understand

Another thing is the lack of order some poems have Repetitiveness that is most likely due to the lack of ideas they alter the subject from cats to catastrophes One extremely annoying thing about poems is their tendency to be overly, extremely, exceptionally, exceedingly, immensely descriptive in a poem without order you must Repetitiveness that is most likely due to the lack of ideas Piece parts together like a murder scene to form a still-demented poem full of spools of string to face wash to cat food

One of my pet peeves is the equally-lined stanzas Repetitiveness that is most likely due to the lack of ideas due to the fact that someone forgot return and made it stick out like a sore thumb I just can’t stand it when people do this sticking the line out and saying ‘look at me, I make no sense!’

one final thing, that perhaps bothers me the most, Repetitiveness that is most likely due to the lack of ideas The questionable. periods, .commas, and. capitalizations i hate the misspelings thaat have “hidden” meenings. The carelesdnesss while writing that makEs it a claassic

The sea flows, winter blows, and everything is calm

Prideful By: Mia DiComo

My mother always said pride would kill me It changes the way you present You follow, not lead Pride killed me and it will kill you too Human nature is to compete It’s the way of the world, how it works Everything is a competition and I took part I threw you onto an open highway to get you hit Hit by the crashing force of living different Living humble You lived through it by removing yourself from pride I admire your courage I admire your strength Yet I cannot follow through My pride refuses to let me be below you, so you’re next Next on my list And yet as I prepare to knock you down I turn to see you You, who I was willing to leave Leaves me first Instead of you, it is me who dies To Tune a Requiem By: Brianna Mai

The shadow that cast upon the motionless field that night had lingered long after the sun had tucked itself beyond the horizon, leaving the moonlight filtered by clouds and appearing almost nonexistent. However, even with the lingering light that seeped its way through the heavy wisps of cotton, all light never seemed to reach the protruding building that stood isolated among strands of stray long grass and the towering mahogany tree that had evidently been there for centuries among centuries. Of course, this display had been such a peaceful one in the morning hours, with the light shining in through the windows and the wallow whispers of the breeze being the reason of the leaves’ flowing dance and the rustle of the grass that littered the field. The peace and blissful demeanor of the location had drastically changed with the night abyss covering the land, of course, the licks of light only being strong enough to show the rather less pleasing sights of the house. In particular, the dust that coated the windows, the moss that snaked around the house’s cracked wooden walls, and the stains of age that were blotted across the structure of the building. The original cheerful atmosphere of the house had turned into an eerie, anonymous aura that leered over the house, it was almost as if it were waiting… waiting for someone to come knocking on its door. Perhaps it was a coincidence that the occurrence of someone actually knocking at the door was sure to happen that night. Ever since that individual had driven the road snaked to the house and stepped out of the car with a light step, their fate had been sealed. There was no turning back as he gazed upon the house, letting the sight be engraved in his memory. Of course, the man had dealt with these situations several times before, encountering rather off- setting locations at makeshift times for the sole purpose of doing his job, which ultimately was to tune a piano. It wasn’t a seriously necessary job, but the man had the thought that this couldn’t be so bad- his whole occupation was being a piano-tuner and due to the growing decline of needs to have pianos tuned, the man couldn’t have declined the offer he found, even if it was to be at a time long past midnight, far from civilization, and the piano had been located at a funeral home that had not been occupied for an estimated couple of decades. The longer the man stared blankly at the house, the more anxious he grew, so he squeezed his eyes shut to calm his nerves and forced rushed strides of his feet to the steps of the balcony consisting of splintered and rotted wood, the planks groaning at the weight of the man. It had the individual pausing, shamefully admitting that the creak of wood had slightly jittered him a bit. He wasn’t to blame however, it took enough courage to walk up a step, nonetheless knock on the door that kept whatever was inside the house sealed inside. In all honesty, the fear that overtook him was inevitable by that point, the sensation of fear along with the bitter cold of the night had a tingling sensation dancing on his skin, one that reminded him of bugs, which being frank had made him paranoid and constantly had him clutching his arm to ensure there really was no such thing on his arms. After a shaky inhale, the man raised his arm and left a gentle knock on the door. No response, as expected. He’d leave another hollow knock on the door just for reassurance, and then laid his hand on the cold, gold knob of the door, turning it slowly clockwise as he tried to maintain the pattern of breathing and ignore the increasing rate of his heartbeat, his eyes glued ahead of him, not even daring to look behind him despite what his newfound paranoia wanted him to do. The man had simply convinced himself he wasn’t reliving some sort of horror movie, it would be absolutely fine if he simply entered the house, fulfilled the task, went home, and never returned again. That thought had been the motivation for the majority of what happened next, specifically being opening the door and letting his eyes roam the first qualities he could make out with his bare eyes in the dark. Recalling from memory, the piano had been in the same room as the room the casket was usually stored in, which was straight down the first hall and to the right..? No, it was left. The man had to reassure himself of the directions before even thinking about taking the first step into the house, which had the faint smell of musk and rotting fruit- the scent was rather a sickly sweet one, one that had quickly identified as the smell of death. Eventually, the man had to take his first step, so he did, the hollow sounds of the leather soles of his shoes echoing against the walls of the house as he walked slowly among the halls that seemed to wind in every direction while still remaining linearly straight. It almost had the man nauseous and resulted in him pausing in the middle of the hallway to catch a breather, his hand pressing against the wall to keep him balanced as he hunched over and released burdened breaths from his dry lips. Staring at the floor, he could barely make out the silhouette of his shoes, and looking up, the illusion of an endless maze had disappeared. He swiftly glanced back as well, and the path he had traversed had definitely not been as short as it had appeared then. He was sure of it- he felt it and surely something so real was not just a trick of his mind. With that thought alone, his mind was swimming in fear, the hand on the wall now noticeably trembling; he once again had to remind himself that this was not a horror film, nothing bad was to happen, nothing bad was to happen… Continuing his walk down the hall, he resulted to the tactic of closing his eyes to ignore the optic illusions the house seemed to be playing on the man and attempting to maintain balance as he walked the halls at a more brisk pace. He only stopped once his hands that were skimming the walls found a corner and the contact with the dry feeling of peeling wallpaper against his nimble fingers had stopped, resulting in his eyes fluttering open. There, he was in a room that held no light source except the light that somehow managed to seep its way in from the hall, and even then, the light had not quite helped the man try to turn left. He couldn’t even bare to imagine what things could be in the house, it was rather abandoned and he neither wanted to be informed why the house was abandoned or discover for himself on why it was the case. So instead, he just let out a quick yelp from his dry throat as he stumbled across some sort of protrusion from the floor, a raspy cough following due to the dust floating in the room, and continued pacing down the hall, now that he has found the turn to the left that he had to follow. Repeating the methods used before on closing his eyes and running his hand down the walls, this time it was less of a hassle to find the next room. The man had stuck to such method until something had caught his attention. It seemed to be a song of some sort, which had been overwhelmingly ominous due to the fact that the man was alone in that house- or at least he thought he was. It was then when he paused again in the hall, his breathing picking up as he tried to stop his mind from stirring with thoughts, thoughts that ensued fear, the frightening possibilities, the things that might happen… he had his fists clenched tight as he ground his teeth against one another. The melody sounded like a dramatic one, a piece that was quite complex in a way that it had almost several melodies intertwining into one, supported with both minor and diminished chords that most likely represented percussion. Such tune had almost depicted Mozart’s requiem mass he had composed. However, that blood-curdling connection he was beginning to form in his head with requiems and his current connection had him stopping all thought at that moment. He harshly whispered to himself, “Stop this nonsense!” He had put upon the burden of overthinking upon himself, and it had gotten him nowhere except him being frozen stiff. Unfortunately, his whisper was perhaps the loudest sound in the house, however, which had his eyes dilating in fear and shock as his forced comment had the whole house fall under a unanimous silence. Now, the only sound that seemed to be reverberating against the hall’s walls were the man’s heavy breathing. He didn’t want to continue, his body felt like dead weight as he forced his legs to lift himself up and continue walking. He forced himself to have tunnel vision, to set his eyes only to the main goal, the piano. Besides, if something was here, he’d be doing it a favor anyway, right? The way his own footsteps seemed to echo behind him and cause the effect of another footstep trailing his own was alarming and had him constantly checking back over his shoulder, despite the fact that he told himself not to do so earlier. He had begun to abhor the house, and he hadn’t spent more than a couple of minutes in it. The thought of escaping the house had seemed like such a sweet relief that it almost had enlightened the man a bit and was a source of motivation until a few steps more when the melody heard beforehand returned. The tune had only grew more drastic, and though noticeably out of tune, still had the same effect as a normal requiem, and he was not necessarily ecstatic about such fact, as it had left him with a melancholy feeling that began to pool in his mind, a fact that he hadn’t needed and despised. Altogether, he really didn’t want to hear it right now, as it brought a cold sweat to his palms, which were remained clenched, his nails now digging into his palm and his knuckles a pale white. He couldn’t bare wasting another moment in there, however he still used a snail’s pace as he tiptoed into the room he needed to be in. It was cold in there, a bone-chilling cold that seemed to penetrate through his skin, even with his several layers of clothes- not even the rest of the house was this cold, and it had the man’s tremors to derive from not only cold but fear, which was heightened by the fact that the tune that played had stopped as he took his first step into the room. The first thing that caught the man’s eye had definitely been the window- it had been positioned right where the moon was, and it cast the most sufficient amount of light he had seen anywhere throughout the house. However, this fact was not a relieving one. The shine of moonlight reflected against smooth, polished wood with a black varnish. This had sparked a bit of interest in the man somehow, thinking it was the surface of a grand piano, until the realization of what it was hit him hard. The casket room. The casket. Another rushed breath left him hysterical and the man had forced his neck to look away and observe for the piano that sat in the back of the room. He tried his best to ignore the presence of the casket and to deem it irrelevant as he advanced closer to the piano. He just needed to lift the top off and tune, that’s what he repeated in his mind and that was what he forced as his priority. The piano itself was painted the color of the sky- a pure abysmal black with a gloss that gave the piano its subtle gleam. With hesitance, the man lifted the cover that shielded one of the most important parts of the piano, the keys. The hinges resisted a bit, squeaking in agony after years amongst years of being untouched. Underneath the cover, the set of 88 keys were present, each made of cream-white ivory and all still intact, layered with dust. It had been quite suspicious to see the actual piano now though, for the fact that a requiem had been playing from that exact piano but not a speck of dust that caked the piano had been faltered, the blanket of particles untouched besides for the man’s own touch. This had been the same for not only the piano but also the keys of the piano, which by itself already had been quite concerning, causing his eyebrows to furrow in worry and concern, and the return of slick, cold sweat to return to his palms. His hands had found itself back with the original tremor as he raised both arms to lift up the top lid of the piano that had revealed the strings and pegs that were to be used to tune. A cloud of dust arose from the hollow cavern inside the piano, eliciting another dry cough from the man before setting the top of the piano down aside him, placed on the floor away from him so he couldn’t stumble on it. His hands then reached for the satchel that had been hanging from his shoulder on fraying leather straps and flipped open the cover to access the tools inside. The dim lighting of the room had not aided in such an action, as he had to simply allow his fingers to fumble in the satchel and grab out the things he had desired to grab using only assumptions from the feeling and shape of them, both of which were also determined from his touch. It took two attempts to get a specific tool, known as a piano tuning lever, that was the right size, and then another attempt to grab the electric tuner. With that all in check, the man begun with his task, trying to steady his shaking hands. He first stepped on the far-most right pedal- the sustain pedal- which raised the dampers off of the strings. With that, he easily put in the rubber stoppers between the gaps of the strings adjacent to a string found in the middle range of the piano. Each string had been clustered into groups of three, so the man had put rubber stoppers in the adjacent strings around a string he chose, which was one that was in the middle of the clusters, and then placed the tuning lever onto the pin of said string, positioning it so it was a snug fit. The absence of light in the room had made this process and the step before it quite hard, however since the man was used to these types of pianos, it wasn’t all a struggle, as he worked slowly, playing the key to the string accordingly and looking down to his tuner to check the intonation. The notes hadn’t been severely out of tune, however, it was definitely leaning closer to a flat note than a natural, which signaled for the man to turn the lever a bit to the right, which is what he had done. The tuner had indicated that the note had been adjusted, however not to the proper extent, and so more adjustments were made, each little turn of the lever being a smidgen distance but somehow always avoiding the precise note. It had the man in such an intense concentration that the man forgot to blink and had to look away for a moment due to dust wandering into his eye. It wasn’t a wise decision to look away though, for a trick of moonlight must have made him see some sort of shift of movement from the corner of his eye. He had quickly turned around in alarm, but of course, there was nothing there, so he had to calm himself down once again. Taking a quivering breath, he craned his body back to the piano with an aggressive force and forced his hands back onto the lever. He needed the precise note to even carry on, and he knew for a fact if he were to continue on with such pace, he would never leave the house. And that thought alone was morbid enough for him to refuse such a destiny, so he more anxiously began to move the lever in desperation to find the proper tone. Once again, the string had never hit the note that was needed, which had began to overwhelm the man. However, he attempted to remain unfazed as he tried again, the tune now being a bit too high for the actual tone. However, not once had the man crossed the ideal tone, not even once. Overall, the piano never did and won’t ever find the correct pitch. And due to this, the man loses it. The man loses his grasp on his own self as his mind swims in blinding emotions. And with this, the man’s fate was sealed. He, among the several piano tuners that had ever been hired, had now been pledged with the impossible task. They were to tune the piano, but that task came to no avail. So, instead, in the dead of night when no one is there, they play a requiem, perhaps to pass the time away on out of tune keys. However, their requiem was special. They had tuned their own requiem. The Creeking A Short Story By: Evan Manning

Drip DropDrip. It’s pouring down rain and you find yourself sitting in your room by yourself at midnight on Saturday. Your family went off for a weekend vacation that you said you didn’t want to go on. Since you now have nothing to do you decide to walk downstairs to grab something to eat. Creeek! The floorboards are old in your house since it was built back in 1959. Your dad said the creeking was normal and had no reason to be fixed but you thought otherwise. You open your freezer and grab a gallon of ice cream. Of course it has to be your favorite kind chocolate peanut butter that you force your mother to buy weekly. You find yourself digging around in your kitchen cabinet to find a spoon when you feel a cold shiver spiral down your spine. You find the spoon and quickly run to your room and lock the door behind you.

About an hour later it’s now 1:10 and you’ve been trying to fall asleep for about a half an hour but you keep hearing a loud rough bark coming from your next door neighbor. You decide to go back downstairs and grab a quick swig of ice cold water. As your walking down the steps again you hear the very same creeking noise coming from a different step this time. You grab your water and head back upstairs. As your walking upstairs you feel something tickling your toes from the steps. The tickling is an icy cold to the touch that seems to run back and forth across your foot. You quickly pick up the pace and lock your door once again. You try and sleep in the closet because you are nervous about these wield reoccurrences continuing to haunt you.

You fall asleep in under 10 minutes and stay asleep for a good hour and a half. At 2:40 you’re woken up by a piercing clawing coming from your front door. You run to your mother’s room to look out the window and figure out what it is at your door. You look down and see that there is nothing there but a shadowy figure you make out to be the neighbors. You walk back to your room cautiously and try the doorknob only to find it locked. You go downstairs quickly to grab the key assuming you accidentally locked the door behind you. You grab the key and go back to your room to find that your door is wide open and the doorknob has been ripped off of the door. You decide to retreat slowly backwards towards your sister’s room and close her door. Annoyingly her door has no lock due to the fact that she is only 8 years old and your parents don’t trust her.

You find yourself sitting in her room contemplating what to do next. You finally convince yourself to go downstairs and get the phone and call the police for security. You sprint downstairs and go to the phone holder to find that the phone looks like it has been ripped apart by something with long fingernails and sharp teeth from the claw and bite marks. You suddenly feel something pulling on your shirt lightly but when you turn around there is nothing there. Begrudgingly you go to your basement because everything weird has been going on upstairs. You decide to hide under the creeky staircase. You’re now getting shivers all over and are ferociously shaking. The only sound you hear are the rain and clashing of lightning. You.

Drip Drop Drip. The rain is so hard that it’s starting to seep into the basement. You don’t want to be too uncomfortable so you head back upstairs to your room. You are now staring down your room door realizing you forgot that the doorknob was ripped off when suddenly and screeching noise goes off from behind you. You are grabbed from behind and fall backwards onto the floor. The fall is so strong that you get knocked out for 5 minutes. When you wake up you find yourself in the basement tied onto the creeking stairs. You look down and see it the thing that has been torturing you all night. It quickly charges at you, claws at your chest and bites at your throat. Your family come back from their vacation to find the house torn to shreds. They find your doorknob destroyed and the phone destroyed and start to get concerned since they cannot find you. They check the basement only to find you hanging from the stairs DEAD. They call 911 and the police try to find the culprit of your death. No one can figure out how you even died and the mystery of your death still live on to this day...

Time Flash By: Josiah Pletcher

I hear the saying all the time,“ If only I could see into the future.” This statement for most people is just a dream, a fantastical idea that could only happen in a false reality. For me it’s the hard truth. The first time it happened I was six. I was at the local pool with my family, sitting on the bench at the snack bar when the world stopped. Everything sat still. So still that my eyes started to flame up until they closed. When I closed my eyes, the world seemed to start up again, but I knew life was still frozen. I saw my baby brother waddling over to the end of the pool and then drop head first in. At the moment my eyes opened. Everything resumed as if life was normal. I quickly scanned the area to find my brother, and there he was just like my vision. Not knowing what to do, I screamed for help, but with the terror in my voice know one could understand what I was saying. My mother screamed at me to stop, but when I didn’t she picked me up and took me into the bathroom. I understood that I was about to get the biggest lecture in the world, but I didn’t care. My brother was sinking to the bottom of the pool. I’m now fourteen. My name is Chris Walter. I live in Boston Massachusetts with my mom and younger brother. My brother is now ten. After surviving that traumatic experience my brother grew to love the water and now swims competitively. I have had one goal ever since my father abandoned me when I was 4. That goal was to find my father and ask why. There has been multiple cases like that one when I was six. They seem to always happen when something life altering is about to happen. A car crash when I was eight. Breaking my leg when I was ten. A fire destroying my house when I was twelve. And most recently my grandfather having a heart attack. Every single one of these I see exactly what is going to happen, but I can’t stop it. No matter how hard I try it is like hugging air. I woke up on Tuesday, July 25th. It seemed like it was going to be a normal day but I was wrong. I grabbed some breakfast and then screamed to my mom that I was going to the park. “Ok honey. Be safe. I hear there is a chance of thunderstorms at three so be home by then,” my mom yelled. I ran out the door and jumped on my bike. I was riding along the sidewalk for about two blocks when I started to approach a man. Now it was pretty typical of me to come across other people when I rode my bike, but this man was different. He stood completely still right in the middle of the sidewalk. When I got closer to him I moved to the side of the sidewalk and tried to ride by him, but he shifted over and blocked me. I slammed on my brakes. “Excuse me sir. I’m trying to get to the park,” I said. “I know,” the man declared in a very mysterious way. “Will you please let me go then?” “No,” he stated. There was something odd with this man. I felt oddly connected. He looked about forty. He had his dark black hair slicked back and he was wearing glasses that made him look like Harry Potter. “Sir I don’t mean to be rude but I’m going to have to call the police if you don’t move.” “Look into the future Chris. Are you going to call the police?” he asked. My jaw dropped. “How do you know my name.” “I’m like you Chris. I can see events before they happen,” he said. “Do you want to go talk somewhere private.” Still sceptical, I followed the man. The man had this weird familiarity to him. I felt like I had seen him before. His face flashed through my memories but I couldn’t find a match. The man led me down the sidewalk and then turned into an alleyway. The tight alley had a distinct odor that made me wrinkle my nose. “Don’t mind the smell. It’s meant to keep people out of here,” he said. “Okay then…,” I stated. The man abruptly stopped and placed his right hand on the wall. The bricks made a cracking noise, and then tumbled to the ground opening a doorway into a room. We stepped through, and the bricks realigned and sealed the wall shut. I glanced at the man confused. “Don’t worry I’ll explain everything in a second,” he exclaimed. There were two chairs in the back corner of the room next to a small wooden table. The room smelled of mildew and butterscotch. The room was very dark. It seemed there was no electricity. The room was lit up by candles placed throughout the room. The man led me over to the two chairs and we sat down. “You have a talent. An extremely rare talent. One that comes with great power. Power can be used wisely. Power can be used poorly. That is why I’m here. To teach you how to use your talent,” the man exclaimed. “What is that talent?” I asked. “Well you can see into the future Chris. You know that.” “How is that power? I can’t control it. I can never stop what happens.” “Yes you can control it. That’s why I’m here, to teach you how to control your power.” “Ok, teach me then.” The man laughed. “This is not going to be a one day thing Chris. This will take time.” “Ok I’m in,” I said. “Ok we will start tomorrow. Rest up you will need it.” He led me out through the wall. “Meet me here tomorrow at eleven,” he stated. “Ok I’ll be here,” I said

I walked up the alley and back onto the sidewalk. I grabbed my bike and pedaled away up the street. I arrived at home and went through the rest of my day normally. When I woke up the next day I told my mom I was heading to the park and off I went on my bike. My mother had been crying this morning like many mornings. Things had been hard for our family ever since my dad left, and my mom always seemed to be crying about him when she didn’t think I was around. I reached the alley, and I dropped my bike. I walked down the dark path and there he was. “It’s 11:02,” he said. “I said eleven. Do you care about this?” “Yes sir,” I said weakly. “Then show up on time next time.” “Yes sir.” We walked into the room and we sat down. The man had a different vibe to him today. He seemed much more upbeat. “What do you want to know first,” the man asked.

I thought for a few seconds and then said, “How do I use my power.”

“That’s an excellent question. Let’s see... where do I start. Well you see you have to be thinking very hard about that person or thing that you’re seeing into the future. Think about the last time you had a flash of the future. What were you thinking about?” “I was walking home from school and I remembered that I was going to my grandparents that night. I was thinking about what we were going to do. Then the flash happened,” I said in amazement. “Excellent. You see. Now it takes practice, but after a while you can become very good at it,” he exclaimed. “Can I try right now?” I asked. “Go ahead. Try to see what your mother is going to do.” I took a deep breath and concentrated really hard on my mother. Nothing came. I tried again. Still nothing. I looked at the man with confusion. “I told you it was going to be hard. Try thinking of deeper feelings about your mom. Not just her face.” I took another deep breath and tried again. This time I thought about how much my mother made me happy, mad, and annoyed. I kept thinking, and then all the sudden things started to slow down. Exactly how they did every time I got a time flash. I started to get excited, and then all the sudden time speed up and everything was back to normal. “Good try but not good enough. I will see you tomorrow.” the man said. “Come on, can I try again?” I asked. “No. You have tried enough for one day.” “Ok,” I mumbled. He led me out of the room. I was about to head back home when I stumbled upon something I never realized. “What’s your name sir?” “That’s your homework for tonight. Figure out my name. Good luck.” Still shaken by the fact that I never asked his name, I jumped on my bike and pedaled home. When I got home I quickly ran up to my room. I sat down on my bed and I tried to think of the man. I thought if I could see the man I could come up with his name. I tried for about an hour but after going nowhere I gave up. I laid down and started to tear up. I then started to think about my dad. Most kids were lucky enough to have a dad to go to when they were sad and confused. They had a father to go and throw ball with. They had a male in the house to look up to. My father left us when my mother became pregnant with my brother. He just left one day without any warning and he never came about. Then I had an idea. I wondered what my dad was doing. I sat down and concentrated on my dad. All the pain he created in my family’s heart. All the confusion he created. All the curiosity I had about him. Then it started. Everything started to slow down and then stop. I saw him sitting in a dark room. The room looked very familiar. The man had his back turned. He turned around and I saw his face. Then I started to come out of my time flash. The world began again, but still felt still. I could not believe what I saw. After a long evening I fell asleep. I woke up the next morning and did my normal routine. When I arrived at the man’s building, I approached him rapidly. “So who am I,” the man asked.

“You are Bradley Walter,” I answered. My father who abandoned me when I was 4. I have one question, why?” A Cold December By: Julia Reed

It was a quiet evening in December. A man in a four-pocket coat scurried to the other side of a dismantled car, panting; frantic. He was wounded - shot in the side of his stomach, causing his drab olive outfit to turn maroon. In a rush of adrenaline, he had practically thrown himself behind the car, presumably for some form of protection, despite being far away from any rational danger. The pistol he was holding in his hand felt like liquid as it slipped out of his loose grip, sliding into the freezing snow beneath him. Just moments ago, though, that same pistol had saved his life - sparing him precious seconds to escape the grim reaper - a figure he had grown to fear. Through panicked breaths, he attempted to calm himself for a moment, closing his worn-out eyes. He took his bloodied hands up to his face, forgetting the unhygienic aspects of it, massaging his temple. He hadn’t even noticed the man sitting right next to him. The husky voice was sudden and full of fatigue; weakness. The voice had asked a simple question, one with few words, one that was unsure and almost fearful: “American?” Jumping at the abruptness of the question, the man twisted his body so he was looking at the person who had inquired about such a thing. With a gulp, the less tired man muttered with hesitance a small, “Yes”, still jittery from being shot. “You too?” A silent prayer was made that the man sitting next to him was also an American. He wasn’t up to the challenge of defending himself against some incarnation of evil - at least that’s what he had been told they all were. “Nazi.” The other soldier replied, shifting his body so it wasn’t slouched over anymore. You could practically hear the American’s heart plummet to the bottom of his being at the word being formed. It was almost instinct to eliminate anyone that was titled such a thing; he had been - and every other soldier - trained to aim their gun at any man suspected of being a Nazi, and the fact that he wasn’t doing just that right now, made him unbearably uncomfortable. “Sprichst du Deutsch?” The so-called ‘Nazi’ muttered, his weak gaze crawling to the American. There was an unspoken peacefulness that the fellow soldier expressed, unclear if it was intentional or not. With a shake of his head, the American looked away, nervous. Beads of sweat were forming at his forehead despite the cold. The need to clear his throat became more and more abundant, something inside of him, believing that it would calm his nerves. “...Nein.” He said, unsure if he was using the correct word in the foreign language. The German sighed, but not due to disappointment, rather something unbeknownst to the American man, “Do you have a..?” He made a gesture with his hand that depicted a gun, having forgotten the English word for the weapon. “Yeah,” The American nodded, gripping his Smith & Wesson Model 10 as if he was going to need to use it in a moment. “Yeah, I’m armed.” He stated with more confidence, his finger aching to touch the trigger. He wasn’t trigger-happy in the slightest, but he most definitely was on edge due to the enemy sitting only inches away from him. He could be at his mercy in seconds. “You can kill me if you want,” The German nearly whispered, “I’ve got no use now, anyways.” He turned a bit, showing the American his right arm - or lack thereof. It was presumably blown off from a landmine or grenade just by the looks of it. Said wound was poorly bandaged up to cease the endless bleeding, but it looked like it just made him colder as he trembled in the falling snow - or maybe it was out of sadness. It was unclear. Out of respect, the American didn’t ask any further questions, deciding it would be best if he didn’t press the memory any longer. Even though the loss of the man’s arm should’ve been more debilitating towards his state of being - should’ve been more effective on his conscience - it wasn’t. If anything, it had reassured him; reassured him that his safety was guaranteed. Just the idea that he could feel that way about another human being was repulsive to his morals, yet something with his training had him conflicted - and boy, did he hate it. There was a pause of sick, itching consideration. The more the American thought about it, the more he realized that had everything in his power to kill the Nazi right there and then. For some reason though, whether it be his morals or pity, he didn’t. He didn’t take the gun and shoot right at the man, despite the shame and guilt that burdened his thoughts. This long moment of silence somehow made a connection creep upon both the German and the American simultaneously, telling them that it was safe to communicate with one another — that war did not separate them. The American quizzically glanced at the German, choking at his words as he silently pestered his smoking habits, pulling two cigarettes from one of his many pockets. It took the German a moment to process what was occurring, perhaps from blood loss or doubt, he eventually got it, reaching his hand out for one of the coffin nails. “I’ve got-” The German Nazi coughed for a quick moment, “I’ve got a lighter in here,” He tapped a beaten-up bag with the unfiltered half of a cigarette he was holding, directing the American’s attention to the Nazi’s satchel. Slowly with doubt, the American reached out to the bag, bringing it a bit closer to himself before lifting the top of it off. He put his hand into the satchel, feeling the Nazi’s gaze focused directly onto him as he felt the coolness of the lighter. Before taking it out, he threw a curious glimpse at the German, trying dearly to decipher why he was staring at him for such a long period of time. His glimpse had turned into a scrutinize as he studied the Nazi’s emotion, which, to be frank, was not there. His curiosity only continued as he eyed the aged scar gracing along his sharp nose, pondering its origins and what stories laid behind it. This whole “inspection” had tossed the American out of his concentration on the lighter, making him accidentally jolt his hand out the rest of the way when he had snapped out of his thoughts. His sudden movement had resulted in the leather satchel to fall over, making miscellaneous items to fall out of it, most noticeably a photo of the German, a woman, and two children. “Sorry— I’m sorry-“ The American rambled as he pushed the various items into the satchel quite desperately - subconsciously afraid of angering the “enemy” by his clumsiness. The German easily picked up on this, placing his remaining hand overtop the American’s, mutely reassuring him that there was nothing to fear. The small interaction had the soldier almost in a daze, his hand’s quivering coming to a standstill at the unfamiliar warmth he felt. Pulling back with uncertainty, the American’s gaze rested on the snow for a moment, regaining his common sense after he took a good moment to consider what the comforting hand meant. Finally, he brought the lighter up to his cig, pressing down the switch to erect a dancing flame, allowing the fire to lick the end of the slender shell of tobacco. Once his own was lit, he turned to the German who already had the cigarette between his lips, his palm facing upwards, implying that he could light it himself. However, the American ignored his small gesture, feeling almost obliged to do it for him due to his physical state. So, he raised the lighter up to his cigarette, pressuring the flame to light the coffin nail. When it did, he flicked the lid back on top, gently plopping it back into the satchel sat in the middle of the two men. “Thank you.” The Nazi puffed, blowing grey smoke into the otherwise rather white scenery, his piercing blue eyes somehow inviting to a conversation. The American took the offer greatly. “Do you have a family back home?” It was a bold inquiry, which is why it would usually make the American uncomfortable asking such a personal thing so early on, yet, the welcoming aspects of the German’s personality made him feel at ease whilst the words came out of his mouth. The German was not taken off guard at this, in fact, making eye contact with the American thoughtfully. Appreciative. “I do,” He began, “I’ve got a wife and two sons back in Nuremberg.” He took a pause to not only take another puff of his cigarette, but to also take a greater moment of consideration towards his words. He sighed, looking up into the sky and then back down to the ground, “They’re the reason I’m even doing this in the first place.” It didn’t take a lot of brainpower for the American soldier to understand what he meant by ‘this’ - obviously implying his stance in the war. Besides that, though, he was a bit stunned at his openness, making him curious as to his deeper feelings on the subject. The American had opened his mouth to add some more, but shut it immediately when the German continued; “I don’t… agree with what I’ve done. What I’ve become is nothing less than a monster - killing innocent people - hell, killing anyone makes me feel like one.” He swallowed shakily, taking a bigger inhale of tobacco than he had previously, blowing it past his lips quickly, shaking his head. “All this slaughter just to keep them safe. We would’ve all died if I hadn’t listened to the Führer. But… God— Isn’t four lives taken better than thousands?” He pondered aloud, his eyes seemingly glossier than they had before. He seemed guilty when he spoke, and, debatably, he should’ve been, but to the sympathetic American, he thought otherwise. The other soldier shuffled closer to the German, before quietly commenting, “I feel the same way.” Furrowing his brows, the German snapped his head to the American, shocked at his words - his sincere words. “What?” He slightly gasped, flabbergasted at the sentence he was hearing being formed, “But you’re— you’re on the good side, you-“ “I’ve killed plenty of innocent people, too.” The American interrupted, puffing smoke solemnly, “People like you. People with families and lives to get back to. People just scraping to get by. People who just want to live.” He took a moment to sigh, to allow his words to settle in. His intentions were not to overwhelm the German with his words - not to scare him into doubt. “I took that from them.” His breath sharply hitched as he threw his still burning cigarette into the white snow that rested along the ground. It seemed as though anger washed over the man, frustrated with the actions he had done. The crimes he has committed. “I’m a thief.” “I’m a sinner.” Somehow, The American laughed at the afterthought of his words, shaking his head in morbid disappointment with not only himself, but with everyone else involved. The American had become the thing he had grown to fear. The figure that haunted his dreams and his waking thoughts. He had become the grim reaper, he and all the other soldiers in this wretched bloodshed. The German had been hushed, his soft inhales and exhales of the smoke being the only noises audible from him. He was listening intently to his fellow soldier, disbelief still high as he spoke of how he could relate to his pain. His previous thoughts of self-pity and guilt had been whispered away, slipping into oblivion. Before the German could add to the conversation, specifically how he still was shocked at the speech, he rubbed the unfiltered end of the cigarette into the fluffy, fallen snow, too deep in his thoughts to speak. “Y’know,” The American shifted so he was facing the German, “I have a family, too. A daughter and a wife.” He bit his tongue, startling himself at the overshare of information he presented, “I’m blessed, really - to have them. I bet you feel the same way about your own,” He furrowed his brows, curious if he was correct. The German could all but nod, infatuated and invested with the soldier’s words; no one had ever spoken so clearly to him before, especially on such a topic. It was refreshing. And addicting. The American forced down a satisfied grin at the fact he had assumed correctly - and that the German was so focused. He must’ve been doing something right. “I think we both understand what would happen to them if we weren’t… around anymore.” The thought - no, the possibility was frightening - their children would grow up without an important parental figure, their wives would have the trauma of losing someone they loved so dearly. All their families would feel immense sorrow, their still living parents and siblings would be lost without their wise words and inside jokes. Their lack of presence would leave a mark on their worlds. But the suggestion of death was intriguing. Tempting. Captivating. The German had already noticed where this was going, the implication all too familiar to him. Slowly, without aggression or intimidation, the American grabbed his pistol, exposing the barrel. The barrel with two bullets. The barrel about to make a deal. “But we both know what we want.” The American had whispered one last time, seeing the German soldier’s eyes widen, and then flutter shut. He had never met someone so similar to him, someone that could understand and relate with his struggles like it was nothing. Because, well, it wasn’t. They both had been suffering through the temptation ever since they had begun this mission in their lives, one so intense that it was unbearable. “I’m glad I met you.” The German had muttered one last time, his hand palm-up in a friendly offering - inviting. The American took the offer greatly. A silent, mutual agreement had been made between them. It was a quiet evening in December. All besides the two gunshots that echoed through falling snow. Ice Cream By: Jarius Davis

*Beep!* *Beep!* *Beep!* “Fine! Stop beeping!” I mouth at my alarm and slam it off. My alarm sneaks in one little beep before I grab it and chuck it across the room. *CRASH!* My alarm crashes into the wall and breaks into a million little pieces on the floor. “Craaaaaaaaap!” I turn on the tv and am greeted with, “Hello! I’m Billy Bob Joe and this is ...what is this again.” “The news dummy!” “Sorry, anyways recently there have been a surge of so called ghost kids.” I start to zone out when I hear, “ our sources tell us that ghost kid are when kids disappear in a matter of seconds. I hear a knock on my door so I quickly turn off the tv and rush to the door to open it and step on the pieces of my alarm. I wince. I push through my pain, open the door, and a mass of human stumbles into me. “Just because your mute doesn’t mean you can ignore my texts.” My best friend Samantha tells me. “Sorry.” I mouth. She rolls her eyes and comes into my room and seeing the shards of glass, carefully maneuvers her way to the bed. “Me and my boyfriend are going to a meeting and we want you to babysit Jacob” I nod my head and she heads out. I start to head out but I turn and see my mess so I clean it. I arrive at their house an hour later and unlock the door. The door creaks open and I am greeted with a familiar looking face. “Aunt Macey!” Jacob exclaims. I wave and walk into the house. I look around and see that nothing has changed in 5 years. The walls are still the same eye splitting shade of maroon that they were. The floor is still a splintery mess of Honduran Mahogany wood. I continue to look around and suddenly i see the entrance to the basement. All of a sudden I shiver and turn away. I look and see that they still have their very large Peke-Faced cat named Pebbles. She slowly slides off the cushion and waddles over to me. I reach down and start to pet the adorable ball of fur. I look over and see that Jacob is playing with his LEGO’s. He has made a huge town that has a fire station, police station, and like a billion houses. “Can I have some ice cream?” Jacob whines. “Where is it?,”I sign. “In the basement.” I go over to the door and I turn on the light. The light flashes brightly and slowly dims. I walk down the stairs and turn to the right and see a glass case. I look closer and I see a figure in a red jumper wearing a blood red Mardi Gras mask. I back up into the freezer and turn around. I open it, grab the ice cream, close it and run upstairs. I hand the ice cream to Jacob and sit down. He looks at me with a look on his face that says he wants something. I tilt my head and he points his shaky finger to the basement. I instantly realize that he wants some sprinkles so I reluctantly head down the creaky stairs to the basement. I reach the bottom and cautiously turn, looking down all the while. I look up and see the mannequin. I look closely at it and see that his hand has been raised several inches and is now holding what looks to be a chef’s knife with strawberry jelly on it. I start to backup and run into the pantry door. I quickly turn around, open the door, take grab the sprinkles, and bolt up the stairs. I reach the top and slam the door behind me. Out of breath and terrified out of my mind I go over to the table and drop the sprinkles on it. Jeremy looks at me and I instantly realize that he is regretting that he has to ask me something. “Can I have a cheery? Pleeeeeeaaaaaase!?” I nod my head reluctantly. Right before I ask him, I instantly realize where the cherries are. They’re in the basement. I sluggishly walk over to the basement door and open it. As I head downstairs I mentally ask myself why. I reach the bottom and I prepare myself for what is to come. I look up and see the glass case completely empty. Puzzled, I continue onwards to the pantry and open it. I look for the cherries. I end up finding like a gazillion types of cherries. I finally choose one and rush up stairs. When I get up there I don’t hear anything. I look around but I don’t see Jacob. I look at the table to see that there is a bowl with ice cream, sprinkles, and a cherry. I step closer to get a better look and see that it is not ice cream but in fact, his head with a spoon stuck deep in it. I drop the jar and run outside. I open up the 911 app ant text what has happened. I then text Samantha. -Jacobs dead! -what happened? -I saw a mannequin in a glass case and later it was gone. I went up stairs and Jacob was gone so I looked for him and I saw his head In a bowl. -What are you talking about? -What do you mean? -I mean we don’t have any glass cases. We only have mirrors.

Honorable Mention Winners

Untitled By: Marryam Al-Zubaidi

I woke up to a strange creature. They had fur on their head and two eyes, no tail. Their antennae are very small, on the sides of their head. “Can you understand me? Are you feeling alright?” The unusual alien asked. Then they said something else, but the pain in my head distracted me from their words. I sprang up. Where was I? Who was this? Where was my brother? The questions surrounded me like planets around a star. I finally responded. “I’m fine, where in the universe am I? Who are you? I need to get back home!” I tried not to sound alarmed. “I’m Charlotte, and if I’m not mistaken, you fell out of the sky? I heard a loud thump and rushed outside, and there you were.” Fell out of the sky? What did they mean? My memory was blurry, and it hurt to think, but the last thing I remember was my brother yelling my name. Jubilee! And then everything went dark. Then, a strange smell distracted me from my thoughts. I looked over at a table near the door that supposedly led outside, and there was a bowl with steam coming out. The alien looked at me and then at the bowl. “Oh! I have prepared soup for you.” I looked at them, puzzled. “You probably don’t know what soup is, do you? It’s an Earth food, we usually eat it when it’s cold out.” Charlotte handed it to me, told me that they’d be right back, and left. I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, but I wasn’t hungry. I put the soup back on the table and started exploring this weird place. My thoughts and questions returned. What happened? I stared outside a window and pondered, while looking at the white ground. We didn’t have that at home, it seemed to make a crunchy sound whenever anybody stepped on it. My brother, he must be worried sick! I wonder where he is right now. Did he also get stuck on a strange planet? “Okay! I’m back!” I jumped and turned around, my tail knocking something over. “Mom!” They said, rushing to catch the picture frame. They caught it, sighed and turned to me. The gem at the end of my tail turned from blue to yellow. Whoops, I’m in trouble. They held it up to me. “That’s my mom, she was really nice. I wish you could meet her, she might have been able to help you get back home because she was an astronaut. One day, though, a mistake had been made on her ship and, well,” her eyes started to water, “she never came home.” I stayed silent. I had been on Earth for a week now, and I had to admit, I learned quite a lot despite not being able to get my mind off my family, friends, and home. I believed with all my heart that my parents, or my brother, at least, would come to find me. I just had to be patient. In the meantime, Charlotte taught me about snow, human technology, fashion, and plenty of other stuff. She told me that I had to be careful not to be seen though, we didn’t want to alarm the human race. You see, I am nothing like a human. I have four eyes, purple skin, a long tail, strange clothing, and so on. And along with that, humans have incredibly short lives. I, however, am currently one hundred and twenty-five years old, and that is considered young. We usually live until about the age of one thousand. Charlotte would take videos on this thing called a “phone” while she is going somewhere with a lot of humans so that I can discover more about human life from her house. While Charlotte is out, I’d keep myself entertained by watching these long Earth videos called “movies”. Comedy is my favorite. Many people don’t know this because I am quiet around strangers, but I am actually very hyper. I can’t stand being alone in her house, so I would take her dog, Rex, and play next to a forest near her home where her kind can’t see me. When I am in the house, though, I have to make sure to stay hidden until Charlotte’s father goes to work. I keep wondering, though, if aliens scare humans, then why wasn’t she scared when I fell out of the sky? Maybe it’s because she reads a lot of scary books? I wasn’t quite sure. I woke up one morning feeling strange. After a month of being on Earth, I finally had an idea of how I could have arrived here. I was reading a book with Charlotte about Earth’s solar system yesterday, and I remember it mentioning an asteroid belt. The reason why I entered the Milky Way galaxy was because my brother and I were looking through a joke book and we accidentally let go of it. It must have been attracted to the sun’s gravity because it started floating towards it. We went after it, but I remember only making it past Jupiter. It is possible that an asteroid hit me and pushed me towards the earth’s gravity. It might be strange, but it is the only explanation I have so far. Where was my brother? Wouldn’t he have come back for me by now? I was getting really homesick. I missed the food that my parents would make. Was there really nothing I could do? I also felt incredibly lonely; all I had was Charlotte and Rex. She’d try to make me feel better by telling me jokes. “Hey, Jubilee! Knock, knock!” I mean, it helped, but I still felt alone. Five days a week she’d leave for this place called “school”. We had a place like that back on my planet, but it didn’t sound nearly as exciting as Charlotte’s descriptions of her school. I was slowly losing hope. Everyday I’d tell myself that I’d wake up and find my family waiting for me. Over and over until the meaning of what I was saying had faded away. It looked like earth was my new home now. Even though this planet is fascinating, my gem had been blue for days, dreaming of playing alien board games with my old friends. Charlotte told me that winter was almost over and that the snow was melting away. She says that soon it would be spring and that the flowers were sure to cheer me up. I love flowers! They taste so good! “Woah, be careful, Jubilee!” Charlotte and I were baking cookies and as I was mixing the batter, the kitchen became a mess. The counters, walls, and doors were covered in batter. Charlotte left to wash her hands while I continued mixing. As I turned the machine off, I heard a voice. “Psst, Jubilee!” I quickly turned to see who was calling me. How did anybody other than Charlotte know my name? I squinted, looking around, until something outside of the window caught my eye. For a second, I didn’t recognize his shadow. Then, my gem turned a really hot pink. “Courage! You found me!” I shouted louder than I meant to. My brother had tears in his eyes, my parents crouching beside him. My grin was so big and I was aware of how strange my face looked, but I couldn’t help smiling. “What happened?” Charlotte came running. “Is something wrong?” “So this is your brother?” Charlotte seemed like she couldn’t believe her eyes. I mean, I guess I would have looked like that if four humans showed up on my planet. His skin was a slightly darker purple than mine and his eyes were green. “Courage, how did you find me? How did you get on Earth? Why did it take you so long? I thought you forgot about me!” I was hugging my brother so tight that he couldn’t talk. “I’m so sorry, Jubilee. Our ship was damaged and it took too long to repair, I’m so happy to see that you are alright though!” “How did you get past without humans seeing you?” “We actually arrived last night, but our landing was a bit off and we ended up in an empty piece of land. We took a while to find where you were. Your suit’s tracking must be interrupted by the other devices here on earth. Right now, though, our ship is broken to what seemed to be beyond repair and we hid what was left of it in a nearby cave.” “Cookies, anyone?” Charlotte was out passing cookies to my family. There was a long silence. “Mom, dad, do you think we will ever get back home?” They gave me an ‘of course we will’ look, but I wasn’t sure I believed them. It was silent again. “You can live here on earth until we fix your ship.” Charlotte finally said. “Maybe some of earth’s tools can help fix it. Maybe it’s about time my dad knows about you.” Everyone looked doubtful, but agreed. I looked in Charlotte’s confident eyes and stood up. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s fix our ship and go home.” Home Alone By: Avery Landis

Adapted and edited from American Folklore

“No, guys, it’s perfectly fine, I completely understand,” I sign to my parents, “I know these meetings are crucial for your work, everyone will be expecting you.” I know that they are incredibly stressed, and I want to take as much anxiety off of them as I can. “Please, just go, I’m 16, I can take care of myself.” I know the only reason they worry is because of the accident. “ And plus mom, I have Bruno, he’ll take care of me, like he always does.” My mother's face shows a minute of consideration and relaxes just slightly. I see her talking to my father, I’m able to lip-read their entire conversation right up to the moment they turn so they can speak privately. With my dad's light brown hair, emerald green eyes, and my mom’s scarlet red hair and beautiful blue eyes, they contrast so beautifully. It was clear to see that they were made for each other. I’m waiting patiently for them to turn back towards me to give me an answer. At times like this, I wish I could hear. After minutes of hesitation, they finally sign back to me. “These meetings are very important to us, and I really wish I could stay, but it’s not an option. We will be gone until 3:30 tomorrow. This is the first time you’ve been alone since,” Mom stops signing abruptly, the look of regret is clear on her face. But she quickly continues. “Nobody over, no parties, keep Bruno in the room with you, all doors locked by eight.” The list continued, but Mom eventually stopped knowing that she could trust me with anything. I assured her and dad as they headed towards the door. “Everything is going to be perfectly fine. A little ‘me’ time will be great!” I just wanted them to leave. To stop worrying about me, to get on with their trip. After I watch their car pull out of the driveway, I head into the kitchen. I grab a bowl of cereal and head towards the stairs. Just then I notice three words bolded out on the local newspaper laying on the floor with the rest of the mail :

PRISON ESCAPEE MISSING

My heart rate immediately sky rockets. I grab the paper and intensely read the article.

“Convicted sociopathic murderer, John Wolfe, has escaped through the window of a courthouse this morning. He was left unattended in the library of the courthouse and jumped from a two story window and ran into nearby wilderness. All roads in and out of the state are now patrolled by sheriffs from all over the tristate area. Please keep your doors and windows locked and please report any suspicious behavior. There has been no response from the courthouse.”

The only thing I hear now is my heartbeat. Milk begins to spill out of my cereal bowl; that’s how hard I’m shaking. I try to reassure myself, What are the odds he comes to my town, down my street, into my house? We have a safe neighborhood, police just living a few houses down. It would be statistically impossible. Plus we have neighborhood security and security systems surrounding the house. But also Bruno. There is no one able to take down a trained, 110 lbs, muscular German Shepherd. The more I think about him, the more I notice him. The beige tan contrasting with a dark grey-brown coat. His curious eyes and listening ears that with the sound of just one word will attack anyone that is unwanted at sight. With that in mind, I lock all the doors, check the security system and bring Bruno with me upstairs. He goes straight underneath my bed, it’s his favorite spot. I finish my cereal and sit on my bed, watching shows on my laptop for a while. Then, after about an hour is tossing and turning, I am finally able to fall asleep.

Zzzzzt…..

Zzzzzt…..

Zzzzzt…..

I wake up in annoyance, the oh-so familiar vibrations of my usually loved phone. There is a setting on my phone that is custom-made for people like me. It captions all the words “supposedly” said on the call. It doesn’t have much accuracy, but I’ll take what can get. Once I answer and mumble “hello” I hate the way I talk, with my “e”s making the “ eh” sound in the back of my throat. Immediately giving away that I can’t hear myself talk. Because I lost my hearing after learning how to speak I still remember how to say basic words and phrases. There are no captions appearing on the screen for at least fifteen seconds of the phone call , I go to hang up but see the words “ heavy breathing” followed by “rustling leaves”. I immediately hang up, believing it’s a wrong number, or an accidental call. I let my hand hang down to underneath my bed, petting Bruno’s soft fur and letting Bruno lick it my hand. It’s our usual routine I like it because it one, assures my protector is still there, and two, it brings me a wave of comfort. I fall right back to sleep with only a second of hesitation.

thump………..

thump………..

thump…………

I wake up because I feel the vibration and movement of knocking, not so much and knock to come in, more like an accidentally banging or stumbling into something. I come to the assumption the Bruno was turning over and hit his head against the box spring. But then my mind went wandering. What if it wasn’t? What if someone’s at the door? Who would be here at this hour? I slowly grab my phone. Ever so gently unlocking it. Skimming through apps until I find the one provided by our security system. I open it, sign in, and look through at the surveillance feature . All I see is our empty porch, with our newly planted bushes and freshly cut grass. I look through the rest of the house and there is nothing to be seen. I sigh with relief. I once again bring my arm down to under my bed and feel a lick on my hand. Much like the ones I’m usually greeted by once I get home. I feel complete relaxation and fall swiftly asleep. drrrip………. drrrip…….. drrrip……… Oh my goodness. This is the worst sleep I’ve gotten in a while. I haven’t been able to hear in ten years, and yet I hear the distinct sound of dripping liquid. I know it’s in my head, but from where? Why are these obnoxious noises waking me up?! I finally think; I’m going to wash my face and refresh myself. Maybe I’ll fall asleep then. I get up with a rush and walk to the bathroom. Before I open the door smell a horrendous scent. Ugh! I let my milk from my cereal sit out! I walk into the bathroom. I soon would wish I hadn’t. I walk across the bathroom to turn on the lights. Stepping on the wet bathroom tiles from my shower from earlier that day. I turn on the lights and I am suddenly covered in a complete wave of horrendous fear. There is an ugly crimson color is scattered throughout the bathroom. On the walls, ceilings, scattered all over the floor, this is what I mistook for water. I can’t figure out how to breathe properly. Petrified at the thought of the cause of this. The nauseating trail of liquid leads to the bathtub. I really fight the urge to scream my absolute loudest. My arm shaking, I slowly open the shower curtain. My vision blurs at the sight before me. I see the limp carnage of what once was the only thing that could comfort me. That was always excited to see me when I got home. Who would love me unconditionally no matter what. Who was the only thing I lived for after the accident. I recognize the familiar pattern of the once beige fur now turned a terrifying maroon. Like the rest of his fur. I now notice the fountains of tears streaming from my face. But I make no noise. I don’t remember how. I turn around to go back to my bedroom to call 911. But when I do I notice something I didn’t before. My giant vanity mirror. It is also stained with that horrible substance. But not is some random order. Is spells something. My knees buckle and I stop breathing. All the muscles in my body lock up and stop functioning. The mirror reads out in blood, “humans can lick too.”

My Reflection By: Marlee Lauris

I face the unforgiving mirror A reflection of myself It faces me in silence It says no words but speaks to me It tells me “you’ll never be enough”

a checklist of mistakes Acne Check An uneven smile Check Messy hair Check A desire to be perfect Check

I look at what faces me My lips don’t move But words fill my head They’re all better than you I look straight in my eyes And tel myself You’re Not Enough

A single teardrop falls on my cheek And soon enough I’m underwater In a vast ocean I can’t open my eyes But I feel myself sinking deeper The pressure of the water pushing me down Falling Falling Falling

But I reach the surface Gasping for air For hope Still in the middle of emptiness Isolated from everyone but my thoughts

I take my glare off myself And close my eyes Imagining an improved me Like the models on the magazines Unbothered by their reflection; My desire to be made of porcelain But I never did realize Its beauty is fragile

They don’t tell you That makeup doesn’t make who you are That concealer doesn’t conceal your hurt That a picture doesn’t show the whole image

I star at the glass mirror one last time as I start to walk way I realize A mirror can break It can shatter It can reflect what I look like But not who I am on the inside The Dark By: Jarius Davis

There is a forest. In the middle of that forest there is a house, your house. You are walking home from school following the rough gravelly dirt path that seems to go on forever when you hear a sound. It sounds like something familiar but you can’t seem to remember what it is. You hear it again. It sounds closer. It sounds like…like wind chimes?! There it is again! Even closer now. You shudder suddenly, feel as if you are being watched. You shake off your shock, and continue walking down the road. You hear it again. It seems like it, whatever it is, is following you. You start to run. You run as if you were running to not miss the grubby rusty bus you take to school. You see the trailer that you and your mom live in not far in the distance. You feel the rocks underneath your feet as they hit the ground over and over. You can barely hear the chiming in the background, but it is still there. Satisfied that the chimes are far enough away you slow down, but not overly confident enough to walk, and continue to jog. You finally reach your house and open the door and look around. “Mom!” You shout. No reply. You try again. “Mom!” Still, no reply. You think you hear something. Chiming, right next to you. You breath deeply. In, out, in again, then out. You feel groggy as if you’ve beenasleep for hours. You slowly sit up, shaking as you do. You suddenly feel a sharp excruciating pain on the back of your head. You ignore it for now. You look around. You see that you were just laying on a ragged sheet. You also notice that the room you are in has moldy, splintery walls. You start to get up to look around when suddenly you feel a sharp pain in your leg. You wince. You push through and start limping over to the door. You try to open the door but it is locked. You hear the sound of approaching footsteps. You bolt to a closet and slowly close the door as to not make any sound. You hear a click of a lock unlocking and the creak of the door slowly opening. Through a small hole in the door you see something. A large mass of flesh vaguely resembling something humanoid. The Thing slowly walks into the room, it’s inflamed, blistery, lower appendages slapping the old, insect infested floor, while it’s flesh sags, oozing puss, and slipping off it’s grotesque inhumanly body. Terrified you hold your breath. It takes a look around and suddenly takes some steps towards you, It’s maggot infested flesh hitting the floor. *thump* *thump* *thump* You can feel your heart beating so hard you think it is going to shoot out of your chest. As the Thing turns around and starts to walk out of the room you let out your breath in one loud breath. The Thing stops. Thinking that you are doomed you start to shake. The Thing bends down and places what seems to be a tripwire. The Thing leaves the room, slamming the door behind it. You slowly open the closet door as not to make any unnecessary noise. *click* You carefully take a step in to the room. Step by step you make it to the bedroom door. Looking down you see the trip wire. Hoping that the door opens outwards you carefully open the door. It opens outwards. Carefully you step over the tripwire accidentally cutting your big toe and step out. You utter a muffled wince and look around. No one there. You look down to see that your toenail is lying there on the floor. You continue onward to the hallway. You come to a set of stairs leading downstairs. You carefully go down the stairs. When you step on the last step it, creaks. You stop where you are. You hear footsteps. You see the Thing walk through the doorway. It notices you. It utters a high pinched crackling scream and starts running towards you. You put your hand to your head and run. You pass a door with a lock on it. You run into a room and hide under the bed. It walks past the room. You look around and see thousands of spiders. You stifle a scream. A five-inch long centipede crawls over your face. You frantically crawl out from under the bed. You run to the door way and look out. The Thing is bent down and sort of sniffing the nail. All of a sudden it turns its head towards you but you duck before it can see you. You dare a peek and look out to see its bubbling flesh right in front of you. You look up to see that it has no eyes, only hollow worm and maggot infested eye sockets. It starts to pulls you into Its gelatinous body. It’s body engulfs you, forcing the air out of your lungs. You feel a sharp pain in your chest as It forces it’s gelatinous body into your body. You walk over to the door and open it up. A rush of cold air hits your face causing you to shiver. You brave the cold despite the bone chilling temperatures. You take a step forward and step onto some fresh snow. It melts right away making you draw your foot back quickly. You put your foot back down and continue forward, the snow rapidly melting wherever your foot hits it. All of a sudden you can see the woods in the distance. You quickly pick up your pace and start to sprint. As you reach the woods you feel your body pulled back away from the woods. Something didn’t want you to go into those woods. You ignore your gut and continue onwards each step getting harder and harder as if you are pulling 1 million lbs. Somehow you are able to make it to the woods and in a last-ditch attempt to prevent you from going into the woods the mysterious being makes you throw up. You can see all of your food and a bit of the goo land on the ground. The smell hits you. It smells like someone died. You push past the smell and step into the woods, immediately stepping on some twigs. All of a sudden you tense up. It feels like something is watching you. You turn around to look and as soon as you turn back you are greeted with a face mere centimeters from yours with an ear to ear toothy grin. You stand there paralyzed, the only sound it the heavy breathing of the creature in front of you. You suddenly come to your senses and run past it and to the nearest source of light, knowing that it is on your tail. You reach the light and realize that it is a street light and you are at a road. You turn around and see the being run into the bright light. All of a sudden it starts to burn, its skin blistering and bubbling. It emits an odor that smells like a burning rotten corpse. Not knowing, nor caring how you know this you start to back away. It suddenly darts back into the woods. You turn and see a tractor-trailer pull over and a middle-aged man with a scratchy beard leans out the window and asks if you need a ride. The man driving the tractor-trailer seems nice enough even if he did ask a few toomany questions. He pulls over to the side of the road to go to the bathroom when all of a sudden there is a rustling further in the woods. 911 what is your emergency? “I was hitchhiking and the guy pulls over and gets out and goes into the woods and starts to scream. He ran back and fell and a pair of hands pulled him to the woods.” Someone will be there shortly. You swiftly head down your driveway. When you get home you stop and knock on the door. After a few seconds the door swings wide open. Standing in the doorway is your mom. As soon as she see you she bursts into tears and hug you. After a little while she stops crying enough and asks you what happened. As you recall what happened she hugs you harder and harder until you can barely breathe. When she noticed that you had stopped talking she let go a let you continue your story. After about half an hour you finish your story. She starts making you dinner, spaghetti and meatballs. “Thanks mom but I’m full.” As you lay there you think you hear something in the distance. Something familiar. Something like……chiming.

The Screen Is a Barrier By: Alexis Swantner

I hit the floor with a loud thud, and a pop echoed through my ears, I then hastily began rubbing my aching head. Where.. am I? I felt violent shaking on my left shoulder and slightly opened my eyes and then again squinted at my blurry surroundings. “Ari? Are you okay?” A blurry face warped over me. “Gah!” I start to shout, but the form over me quickly clamped their hand down over my open mouth. “Don’t,” they exhaled, catching it and freezing as something passed the blurry yet clearing exit of the room. The thing turned around, and froze momentarily over the door, and began pulling and pushing on the creaking door, eventually giving in, and dragging itself away. “Make sound..” The person over me came into focus, he was crouched over pressing a tissue over a scratch on my left forearm. Squirming back, I flinched my arm up to my torso, grabbing it from the guys hand. “Ari!” The guy shout-whispered, walking on his knees over to me. “Who the hell are you, and where the heck am I?” I, sensing the panic in his voice earlier shout- whispered back at him, once again flinching my hand back at his cold touch. The haunted Experiment.. I thought, remembering the events that had happened before I arrived. “It’s me, Markus.. Ari, how damn hard did you bang your head on the ground.” The boy fretted, the boarded up windows providing just enough light to highlight his crimson hair, out lining him in faint blue. “No, nonononono.” I panic, attempting to stand up but faltering back onto the polished ground. “Autumn, Cristine, you and I got separated, I found you passed out in this classroom, we had to find and defeat the beast remember?” Markus asked, moving towards me once again. “I’m not much for Horror Genres, why the hell did I choose to watch this, now even worse I’m in it, at least I have,” I stopped talking as Markus scooted out of the light getting the moonlight glare to fade from him. “Common sense.” Markus looks quizzed at me and supports me as I stand up again. “What do you mean, we all have common sense.” He then slowly inches over to the door, me relying on his shoulder for leverage moving grudgingly with him. “Enough common sense possible for a situation like this, especially for when this was made.” I flip the hair off my shoulder and stumble as I finally manage to regain my posture. “You’re really starting to scare me, I think you might have a concussion.” “I do not have a concussion!” I remark, Markus opened the door, it releasing a low squeak. “You’re the ‘hero’ in this story, your reliable and are supposed to make the viewers sad when you sacrifice yourself to kill the beast who is obviously Cristine as I watched the sequence go through..” I chop up my words, thinking of the events before I was sucked into this cursed disk. “..” Markus looked silently at me, seemingly taken aback by what I was saying, the moonlight hitting him again, this time his body shimmered again, but he went slightly transparent. Do I really need to explain this, or would it be like breaking the fourth wall. He looked sideways at me, most likely expecting an answer to the statement I had brought forth. “Your inside a movie, a cursed movie to be specific. The way this seems to be going, I was brought here to ‘solve’ this as its protagonist or main lead. Seen as it’s one of the old disks, 1997 or whatever.. it’s being a stereotypical lovable character dies or sacrifices themselves to end it type of things, you’d be surprised how many things like this were made.” I said, louder than meant, earning yet another sideways glance from Markus. Soon enough footsteps rushed up the hallway towards us. Markus just stood looking slightly dumbfounded at me in the hall as they footsteps grew louder. I was silent but Markus let loose a decently loud, overdramatic in my opinion, sigh of relief. It was Autumn, followed closely behind by Cristine, who was trying way too hard to play it cool. “Guys! OhmygoshIamsogladyouareokay!” Autumns words were so incredibly mashed together that I don’t know that even she knows what she said, seen as she pauses and spaces out for a moment. I laughed at her bubbly attitude, it was nice to know that with such a small cast for this movie meant that there was going to little to no gore or character death in the last 47 minutes of the plot. “So any theories on w.. where that beast thing might be hidden?” I ask cutting off a conversation that had begun between Autumn and Cristine. “It went past our door and down the hall, it walked down the way you two came.” Markus reminded me, and I turned my attention to the two other girls, and noted a genuine look of panic open on Cristine’s face, Autumn on the other hand looked both excited and fearful at the same time. “Then how about we search some of the rooms back down there?” Autumn suggested, grabbing ahold of Cristine’s right arm, who flinched heavily at her touch, before twirling around and without waiting for a response shooting herself like a silver bullet back down the hallway she had come up from. Still standing next to one another, Markus and I watched as the red head sharply rounded the corner, resulting in a head on collision between the wall and Cristine. “So about with what you were saying about us being trapped within a.. haunted movie did you say?” I turned to him after seeing both girls make their way around the corner, breaking my flatline expression that had been coating my face I grinned slightly. “That would be a spoiler now, wouldn’t it?” I have to prevent myself from laughing by bringing my sleeve up to my mouth, and closed my eyes. Taking a breath, I repositioned myself and began to walk down the hall. “And I’m just not that type of person, unless you remember what I said because, well.. that was a bit of a giveaway.” I kept walking down the hall, and heard Mark run up to walk next to me. “You were rambling, the only thing that was clear to me was ‘Your inside a movie, a cursed movie to be specific.’” He retorted back. “Well then, I guess you just have to watch and see.” I mustered up my sweetest smile and round the wall corner. He gives me a silent look of pleading. I shook my head, again telling him nonverbally ‘no’ and he sighs. I push open a slightly ajar door to see the two others, who were already looking around the room. The two of us joined them and we spread out amongst the four corners of the room, Autumn in the one to the right of the door, and I was to its left, in its far left corner just behind me was Cristine, and in the final corner was Mark. This continued, room after room after room until we came upon what seemed to be a large battle arena, I froze outside the room, but the others didn’t, and I was left alone to watch Cristine and the others walk fearlessly into the room. I put my right hand on the door, it was freezing cold to the touch, and I pulled my arm back, placing it under the left one in an attempt to warm it up. “Are you coming Ari? This feels promising.” Autumn smiled at me, attempting to wave me over into the room. “Autumn, I need you to come over here for a moment, I want to talk to you.” I finally speak after what felt like an eternity, malaise evident in mopey voice. “Oh, er.. alright!” She had a cheerful tone by the end of her short sentence, and she quickly came to be standing next to me. “So what did you need to talk to me about?” Autumn cocked her head like a dog would, and looked at me, still being incredibly positive about the situation that had been thrown on the group, getting ‘locked’ in an abandoned warehouse like place, and having a creature that has been accused of multiple disappearances. I must have zoned out, as I noticed Autumn turn ready to go back into the arena. I lunged out and hooked my fingers in the hood of her jacket, pulling her back swiftly. “Ari what are you..” Autumn started, but I cut her off by forcing the metal doors shut with a muffled bang of metal on metal, and grabbed a plank of wood that was conspicuously leaned against the wall of the hallway, forcing it upon the door and through its handles. “What are you doing, why are you barricading them inside?” Autumn stood frozen in place, and a low banging started on the door. “Ending this with the least amount of unnecessary drama, and convoluted plot line that this stinking cursed entity has, now start moving since the doors have been unlocked this entire time, but the three of you have been so terribly written that you never decided to check!” I snap out, Autumn seemingly surprised by my outburst. “You haven’t been acting like yourself ever since we got separated and the beast showed itself, did if infect you somehow..” Autumn suddenly took a step back from me, but I reached out and grasped her wrist. “My personality change is because that ‘Ari’ you were with up until that point wasn’t me, well it was but not the actual me, now let’s get moving.” I start to run off, still grasping onto Autumn's wrist. “Sl. Slow down Ari.” Autumn sounded like she was jumping on a trampoline, so after I was sure that we had gotten a better distance away, I slowed to a still quick paced walk. “Why, why did you leave Mark and..” “Mark’s a ghost and Cristine is the beast you’ve been after the whole time, I’m not an idiot, I wouldn’t leave a friend to die, Autumn.” I grunt as we reach an exit door, the ‘X’ the only letter that was still illuminated. We both stood there for a piercing silent moment, it was an uncomfortable silence, but it was soon broken as Autumn stepped forwards. “And roll credits.” I step out the door after Autumn pushes it open with ease. My vision hazes and next thing I know a somewhat staticky black screen with white credits are rolling down my television screen. I watched them roll past and it eventually faded to black. I stood up, and stretched out my arms. Ready to shut off the television I picked up its remote and my hand hovered over the power button, but a sudden set of names came up and began to slowly roll past, it listed the names of those who had completed the movie, those who had tried and then my name, Ari, in its own category titled;

Alternative Ending. The movie's title screen then reappeared over my TV, and I pushed my thumb down, shutting it off. Other Great Student Writing How The Panther Got Its Fur By: Adam Brandt

In the Amazon rainforest there were many creatures whom have thrived, one of these creatures, the panther, lived in harmony with many other creatures, even though it is a figure of the hunt, and got by in exuberant weather and harsh winds. This predator not only thrived in the dense jungle, but the panther’s fur was a blinding white that stood out elegantly, yet ferociously, to others. Whomever this panther passed by they would turn to gaze upon its fur as if it were a solemn king of the forest, yet the panther took it’s time, eyeing any targets upon he could place his mark. “Where are you going?” inquired the jaguar, the panthers close relative and hunting companion. “I’m going off to scavenge,” replied the panther, “My stomach is getting quite low on fuel, and I will not sit around wasting the little energy I still have.” Then, the jaguar followed the panther while he moved into the forest with sober steps. The panther eyed every bush looking for movement while the small rodents hurried away. “Why don’t you take them?” the jaguar pondered.

“They won’t saturate my hunger any more than an eagle ingesting a gnat,” the panther replied in an angry fashion. “I must find an antelope for my dinner. It will be a feast that will fill my hunger… and cause all the animals to run at every brush!” he suddenly exclaimed while stamping his front leg into the wet clay that stood beneath his feet, remains from a path that had been affected by the earlier storm and stress caused by a deluge. Just up ahead lied the savanna where elephants roamed and leopards soared across the plain. The panther, however, did not care about such a luxurious plain filled with little, but complementing, trees next to the setting sun. He continued forward open the horizon with little more than the few wits he had and sharp claws. The antelope started galloping cautiously among the grass into the dark, but as the jaguar followed the panther as he guided himself rapidly onto them, though his speed wasn’t enough. The antelope noticed and started running haphazardly now across the plain. The dark made it difficult for them to see and seen they trenched into a tar pit sinking steadily until they got stuck at the bottom, but fortunately they landed at a shallow haven where they could walk as the tar only reached their knees. The antelope soon crawled onto a large slate stone jotting out of the tar as a protuberant oasis in the middle of an inescapable fate. “I have an idea,” stated the panther. “It may be difficult, but you see that tree?” “Yes indeed, but what do you plan to do?” replied the jaguar, who immediately planned to give up after such an astonishing resistance from the antelope. And there it was. Roughly 3 feet from the tar pit, there was a large acacia tree with limbs that stretched close enough to their sanctuary that one such as the panther or jaguar could leap from, and high enough that the antelope wouldn’t be able to make of their features as they approached. The panther, ignoring the jaguars earlier question, started approaching the tree and stretched his legs and lept. His claws grabbed the bark of the tree and he climbed the rest of the way. His forlorn footsteps soon reached the base of the highest tree limb. He, with the slight strength he had left, pulled his own weight and thrusted his legs over the branch. The panther soon regained his balance and moved to the extremity of the branch. He lept, yet the branch he was on split beneath his back feet and his body was thrown into the tar drowning him in a sticky ink. The antelope scared bounded away from the rock and landed soundly on the dry grass that crunched beneath their feet. However, the panther was not so lucky. Whilst the jaguar helped his companion out of the tar pit he paused. With the jaguar’s help, the panther climbed out of the tar as a repulsive monstrous creature. In all his fright, the jaguar lept away leaving the panther in a lonely state where nobody cared for him. Unfortunately, the tar did not go away. From the sea to the rapids, the rain to the waterfalls, the panther’s endeavors did not avail. The tar did not release it’s hold on his fur and stained him as if he were a hideous shadow. The only time he can be seen is when he bounds away from a fresh carcass. The panther who once ruled over the forest peaking high above all animals, including the tigers, lions, and elephants, and soon became a forgotten rouge who bounds from tree to tree, but no one can follow his elusive trace.

Indestructible mentality: By: Diellon Trinaku

Confidence A state of mind hard to accomplish and truly master, Something impossible for me….. That’s what you think….. But no, confidence is having faith in yourself It is not thinking you’re better than everybody, although it plays a small part, It is not being the smartest or most athletic or anything like that, It is to have faith in yourself to be capable of breaking your own limits, N ot others, Confidence is something anyone can achieve with a little effort, It is not unreachable, You must love yourself and believe in yourself to have confidence, But how can I love myself if I have nothing to be proud of you may ask, To love yourself, you must work hard and break your limits, With this comes the confidence, A part in having an indestructible mentality, Reach your goals. Strong/Tough Big muscle mass,...... being feared……. Not afraid of anything….. most think of this when they think strong, They think it is to have strength, They think it is based on how much you can lift, Or whether or not you know how to fight, T hat’s what most think, If this is so, then why do people like Elvis Presley or Michael Jackson…. Achieve untouchable achievements that impact the whole world, They didn’t have large muscle mass, and they also weren’t feared, They were in turn loved…. To be strong is not to have insane strength… It is to be ready and willing to overcome any obstacle that comes your way, Anything…… To be tough is to not be knocked down so easily by life, But if you do get knocked down…... you are strong enough to get back up, and start again.. You are strong enough to reach your goals, just like Elvis or anybody else, You can have large muscle mass but without that strength you have —— Achieve that indestructible mentality. Reach your goals.

Learning Not necessarily related only to school, Learning can be anywhere, You might learn so many things to the point where you are used to it…. And don’t even notice…. You can’t be arrogant and not accept your mistakes, People must take those mistakes and learn from them no matter how bad or light, Without being capable of learning we as humans wouldn’t be anywhere….. Let alone yourself…… If you lose something in a sporting event or competition…. Don’t you or anybody else, dare, To blame it on your coach or teacher, Because in reality, it is your mistake, your fault Don’t blame others just improve yourself, Learn from others and especially your mistakes. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, It’s all a part in achieving an indestructible mentality, Reach you goals.

Hard work It is not a job for someone lazy, Not a job for someone who isn’t strong or tough. It’s a job for someone who is willing to do anything…. And sacrifice a nything to reach their goal or goals in life….. Hard work is achieved through that tough/strong, determined mentality, Without hard work nobody can achieve their goals, There is never an easy way out…… N ever….. You take what you learned, you will take that confidence and put it to work. Work hard to the point where your legs give out. But you’ll always be tough enough…. To get back up, Working hard is about breaking your limits Break the one you have set. Then set a new pair, and break those again It is not easy, definitely not for the weak, But if anybody wants to do it they can achieve it. Destiny doesn’t exist, you can change your future, Reach your goals, Achieve that indestructible mentality Writing is Not My Forte By: Maya Trowbridge

To me writing is like a kid in a candy store. Their parent says “you can only choose one treat”, and the kid goes from chocolate, to gummies, to fudge, to lollipops, hard candy until…. they couldn’t choose and their parents say they have to go home. That is exactly how I feel writing any genre of writing. I go from idea to idea to idea until I can’t choose one that I like and I call it a day. It is almost like I have writer's block 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and 356 days a year. I see everyone in my class writing up a storm, and I am sitting at my desk wondering how in the world they came up with such an idea that they need to be so fixated on their iPads. I can’t relate. Every idea that I come up with gets shut down because I think it’s too boring or no one will like it. I don’t have that flow of creative juices running in my veins. Once in a blue moon, I have an idea that I can work with, but then I get a planning paper. Planning papers aren’t bad, but they always get me twisted and tangled in a story. I don’t know which way to start the first sentence, whether it’s a question, dialogue, or a flashback. Then if I get passed level one then I have to get it to flow nicely. I would like my writing to flow from paragraph to paragraph like a river, but mine is almost like rapids in a stream. The authors that write those in depth stories that make you think, have events in the story that have symbolism and overall an awesome story, I am very jealous. Maybe I can’t write a book like that, but I could definitely write a kids book or a rhyming books like Dr. Seuss, but of course I won’t sell millions of copies and be known around the world. If people were given the choice between an essay or a free write, I guarantee most people would choose free write. Not me. I would have no hesitation. I would choose an essay. It could be a lot, but at least I don't have to come up with a topic or prompt. I feel like generating ideas for a question is more fun then coming up with a whole story from scratch. That is just my unpopular opinion. I think I can read your mind. You are probably wondering, well, if she’s not into writing how is she be writing this AWESOME piece. First of all, aw thank you. Second, I know this piece of writing is awesome and if you don’t think so then let’s pretend I didn’t just write that. Third, this writing is like a diary or journal. Meaning, whatever pops into my brain the little Inside Out characters approve and make my fingers type it. I know this might sound crazy, but I enjoyed writing this beautiful piece so much, I think I'm going to write a second. I think I’m going to call it Miss Maya’s Home For Peculiar Writers. Before I go I just want to make one thing clear, I never said I didn’t like writing(I actually stopped myself from doing that once or twice). That’s not the point. I said writing was not my forte.

(two hours later)

Update: I told my teacher my idea and she gave me a planning sheet. I started it and it was like I was playing twister. I think I'll come back to that idea some other time. Miss Maya’s Home For Peculiar Writers = postponed. I’m the Girl By: Kaitlin Houck and Quinn Altland

I'm the girl who always smiles, but in reality my stress goes on for miles. I’m the girl that cannot frown, even when I’m feeling down. I’m the girl who’s trapped inside, showing my fake pride. I’m the girl that does not know what to say if someone asks me if I'm okay. I’m the girl that hides my frown away, and pretends not to care about what they say. I’m the girl who wants to start notions, but has to hide her emotions. I’m the girl who is ready to be herself and break free.

Everyday you have to plaster a smile on just to fit in with yourself. If someone sees you unhappy, they echo “Where’s your smile?” Hiding your emotions is like stashing all of your all of your belongings into a tiny box. Eventually, the box will overflow like your emotions will. I tell people I’m fine when I’m a little negative, their doubt blankets me from the outside world like it is evidence. Evidence that when I don’t smile that there is something automatically wrong with me even though there isn’t. That blanket that felt like a safeguard is now my prison. It’s suffocating me, so that I can’t speak or talk. Is this what a wild animal feels like in its cage?

I’m the girl that can’t ever feel sad without feeling bad. I’m the girl who has to be positive even when I’m feeling negative. I’m the girl that has to hide and abide by positivity. I’m the girl who does cry, but people still say, “Why?” I’m the girl that feels like she cannot speak and it causes her to be weak. I’m the girl who feels like a mime all the time. I’m the girl that hides who I am despite what we are told to be true to ourselves. Am I really that girl?

Avoiding Zero-Sum Bias By: Zeke Stephens

When two people are negotiating, does a gain for one person make a loss for the other? When cutting a cake, does more cake for one person mean less for another?

Does having more skills mean being less skilled? In other words, does being a jack of all trades make someone a master of none?

Are all of these examples true? No. However, they are all examples of a type of thinking called zero-sum thinking. A zero-sum situation is a situation is which each participant’s gains and losses are exactly balanced by all other participant’s gains and losses. Humans have a tendency to see things as zero-sum, known as zero sum thinking. This is not helpful in negotiations, for instance, as the best outcome is usually beneficial to both parties. Why else should zero-sum thinking be corrected? How can zero-sum thinking be recognized and fixed? Where did this thinking originate in humans?

Zero-sum thinking probably originated as an evolutionary adaptation when food and resources were scarce. One hypothetical situation could involve a pile of food to be split among a group of primitive humans. Zero-sum thinking arises in these scenarios because there is not enough resources to go around. In this scenario, if a group member decided to take more of the food, that would mean less food for everyone else. Because of this evolutionary adaptation, when we see someone taking ‘more’, we respond as if the ‘extra’ was taken from us. This is useful when the resource is actually limited. However, when the resource is sufficiently unlimited (it is almost impossible to have a truly unlimited resource), the group members perceive competition when there is actually none. Zero-sum thinking is a heuristic technique, often thought of as an intuitive judgement, and is not necessarily a cognitive bias. Before we can explore examples of how this is a bias, some terms need to be defined. A heuristic technique (or just heuristic) is a fast strategy for reasoning or decision making, an automatic mental shortcut. When a heuristic is no longer useful for humans, when the shortcut doesn’t get the right answer, it becomes a cognitive bias. A cognitive bias is a specific, predictable error in the human mind. It is a shortcut that gets you to the wrong answer. Cognitive biases and heuristics are intuitive, meaning that we do not have to reason out the answer. Zero-sum thinking is a cognitive bias because it leads humans to perceive situations as zero-sum when they are not zero-sum. This leads to perceived competition among people. When people perceive competitive situations they react with hostility and lose focus on the actual goal. If that goal is to distribute resources evenly, Someone perceiving the situation as zero-sum might reserve more resources for themselves than they need, or believe that it is unfair when someone appears to take more than they need. This is obviously pointless when the resource supply is infinite (or nearly so). How can people avoid zero-sum bias? Zero-sum thinking, along with many other cognitive biases, can be avoided by being attentive and using logic. When people are in situations that can often be perceived as zero-sum (see the examples in the introduction of this essay), it can often be helpful to think through the situation logically. What does each person gain and lose from the situation? Thinking about things logically is the only way cognitive biases can be avoided. Although zero-sum thinking can result in correct conclusions just as often as it does incorrect ones, the truth is more nuanced. Yes, becoming a “jack of all trades” may result in lack of speciality in any one skill, that is not always the case. The same is true with negotiations. Although the two negotiating parties may benefit from each other’s losses, they should not overlook solutions that benefit both. It was demonstrated how resources can be divided. This bias can and should be corrected in all parts of life. Yes it requires logic and discipline, but so does rational thought.