The Squadala Anthology © 2015 Michael Riedell’s UHS Creative Writing Class All rights remain with the individual authors Layout & Design by Blake More & UHS Creative Writing Class Funding for Poet Teaching and this anthology was provided by Mendocino County Office of Education California Poets In The Schools with help from the California Arts Council For information about California Poets InThe Schools, contact: CPITS 1333 Balboa St., Suite 3 San Francisco, CA 94118 415-221-4201 www.cpits.org The Squadala Anthology FOREWORD Squadala. If you’re wondering what that means, join the crowd. “Squadala? What’s that?” I’ve been asked this many times this year, and I’ve never have a very good answer. Some words go beyond definition. And some experiences are beyond words. The “real” answer is that Squadala is a word taken from some weird cartoon thing that I’d never heard of. You can find it online. A wizard is sitting on a flying carpet with his ridiculously long beard saying, “Squadala! Squadala!” Is it gibberish? Maybe. Is it a magic incantation? Who knows. And who knows how we decided to name our class that. But we did, and--strangely--it works. We have spent a year writing all sorts of crazy things, less concerned for the “quality” and more concerned with the mere fact that we’re writing, creating, bringing into the world something that wasn’t there before. At our worst we’ve been writing gibberish, and that’s alright. At our best, though, we’ve turned words into magic. The book you have in your hands contains some our our better efforts. If the spell works, by the time you’re done reading, you too will be chanting, “ Squadala! Squadala!” The magic carpets and long wizard’s beards are sold separately. M.R. 5/13/15 CONTENTS Andrew Anderson...... 6 Jonas Anderson...... 11 Abigail Au...... 20 Samantha Bennett...... 25 Quincy Boyle...... 30 Seth Butow...... 40 Kylee Caudle...... 46 Yesenia Ceja...... 54 Chloe Chevalier...... 60 Ana Corona...... 70 Gene Fillmore...... 79 Alycia Ford...... 89 Ariella Heise...... 99 Jessica Marie Hernandez...... 109 Vanessa Ilar...... 117 Tawni Kerbs...... 126 Zachary Klyse...... 132 Mahealani LaRosa...... 142 Kaylah Pardini...... 153 Becky Pederson...... 166 Sade Perez...... 174 Jordan Porterfield...... 183 Diego Pulido...... 193 Jazmin Ramirez...... 199 Amelia Robinson...... 208 Francisco Rodriguez...... 218 Ricky Rodriguez ......224 Mitzi Ruelas...... 232 Allison Rupe...... 241 Kameryn Schat...... 252 Taylor Silveira...... 261 Susan Tognoli...... 270 Michael Riedell...... 278 Contributors...... 283 ANDREW ANDERSON THE TRINITY BINDER As the tape crinkles and comes off slowly, you could have faintly heard a countdown,...10...9...8...the binder braces itself for the coming explosion...7...6...5...4...the paper flaps give way...3...2...1…, a blinding light of quizzes, worksheets, scan-trons, book logs, drawings, and plain binder paper. Then, a mushroom cloud consisting of English, Algebra, Spanish, Science, and History appeared before my eyes, but soon it dissipated into a fallout of torn and ripped pages of all subjects. But I could only say one thing: “Now my binder becomes death the destroyer of words.” 8 TITLE WAVE ODE TO FEAR Without this mental function within all of our minds, much of life would be dead, a world of fearless idiots roaming the planet. They would be like lemming jumping off a cliff. Many people conceive of fear as a bad thing, which is common, but fear is not a bad thing, it is a warning to an unknown thing or a bad memory that you constantly fight because you fear it might repeat or make matters worse. Although fear can seem like a life or death situation, it’s nothing more idea or an obstacle in your daily life, but like all obstacles it can be conquered. Things like public speaking, heights, shots, snakes and the dark can be (with a little time) become a distant memory, except for spiders, that fear never goes away. 8 TITLE WAVE THE SQUADALA ANTHOLOGY 9 THE GREAT FLAME WAR I remember the Great Flame war, I remember the crater infested wastelands of chat-rooms and video comments. I remember when people stopped fighting in the real world, bought a Mac or PC, a sweet office chair and a lifetime supply of hot pockets. I remember, instead of using bombs, poison gas & guns, people use to leave comments that caused the reader to explode in anger. The hate from the constant battling would cause it to leak out of the cooling-fan and choke the individual, causing him or hers lungs to bleed. And some words were so hurtful and horrible that is was like bullets from a machine gun shooting at the one that was aimed for, and sometimes the person who had given those hateful words pulled a gun on themselves. I remember the Great Flame War with its destruction, so great that it left websites into fiery and hollow shells of once great institutions of distribution of knowledge and information. but although I remember the horrors of this war... I see hope. I see the next generation learning from these past experiences and make the internet what it was supposed to do, unite, not divide. 10 TITLE WAVE NO STRAWS For some people in this world, first world problems are just part of life. But for those who come home and are burnt out for the day, one does not wish to make a meal. And those who do not want to make a meal need a back-up or else they will just starve. Luckily for those people there’s fast-food. A great achievement of mankind, one could just order his or her meal for a “fair” price. But like all good ideas there are flaws, poor management, brain-dead employee’s, and just crap food in general. These tales plague the modern consumer, especially for me. Mismatched orders, undercook food and of course no straw going with my drink. But today is different because I will make sure that my order will be the right order, my food will be well cooked and there will be a straw for me to use in my drink. So I ordered my meal, a bacon-cheeseburger, with french fries, and a Dr.Pepper. And then I paid at the window and got my food. And I drove off to the nearest parking lot, to eat what I had ordered. I opened up the wrapping of my burger and took a bite, it was perfect, it was not undercooked, the bacon stringy or burnt to a crisp, and was not plastered in lettuce. Then I tried the fries, they weren’t soggy nor hard as a rock. Then I faintly looked at my drink, I searched frantically for the straw and hoping that it would not be like past experiences. Then I found the straw nudged between the seats, I grabbed it, tore the packaging off and put in the drink, feeling both satisfied and confident, I took a sip from drink, although it did have ice and a straw, my drink missed a key element, the soda. THE POST-MODERN HAIKU Forgot to make a Haiku Frantically writes one Here it goes 10 TITLE WAVE THE SQUADALA ANTHOLOGY 11 ANDREW ANDERSON AND JONAS ANDERSON BUTTS BUTT! BUTT! BUTT! Have you heard about a butt? Butts, butts, butts They’re totally nuts Do you live in a hut with alot of butts? Butts, butts, butts It makes me want to struts They’re totally nuts Do you have cold cuts made from pig butts? I like pork rinds made by Utz Butts, butts, butts They’re totally nuts What’s what’s what’s Wrong with these sluts They ain’t got big ol’ butts They’re totally nuts Don’t you dare call this poem to be smut Because you’re afraid of your big ol’ butts These Butts, butts, butts Are Totally Nuts. Collaborative poem by Jonas Anderson and Andrew Anderson* *no known relation 12 TITLE WAVE JONAS ANDERSON OH, SHIT “Wait,” I called him lazily, “Don’t shit in the- Oh- Nope, You’re doing it anyways.” I made my way to the neighbor’s. “Would you get that thing off my- That vermin! Get that rotten animal out of my sight!” “Well, your dog’s always shitting in my yard, It’s not my fault I chose kids instead.” -1st place 2015 Squadala 55-word short story contest winner ************************************************************ THE FLY A lone fly, nothing more than a nuisance really. Its buzzing intensifies when it nears an ear, and then abruptly stops when it lands on something. The vermin floats back and forth lazily bothering the room’s occupants, a couple, sitting close, meaningless words running back and forth between them. The buzzing intensifies. bzzzzzzzZZZZZZZ-- “Son of a bitch!” he yells, his hand darting towards the intruder on his face. The fly finds its resting place there, on the side of his head, hidden in his dark hair. “Don’t talk to me like that, asshole!” Her hand, that had previously caressed his, flew swiftly to his cheek. She stormed off, satisfied with his reddening cheek and hurt expression. “Son of a bitch.” he sighed, bringing his hand to his face, where he had been slapped, and had fly guts smeared. Today wasn’t a good day. 12 TITLE WAVE THE SQUADALA ANTHOLOGY 13 DANCE OF THE TREES Trees dance a sorrowful salsa howling partners swaying this way and that with the grace of an eagle diving for its unaware prey They are the most limber of all timber for those who dare to resist this ballet are broken Falling without sounds for their non-existent audience the fall of a grand empress the omnipotent ruler of the forest has grown ignorant in her infinite wisdom Wisdom of birds or bees of how they thrive with the purpose of helping the flowers survive Of the silent feline who spends hours or days stalking their innocent prey by the bright yellow light of a smiling sun or the faint smirk of a mischievous moon her pale caress both sensual and sexual In the way she holds the forrest only on certain nights when she feels