The Red Raven
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The Red Raven Liam O’Connor, Grade 7 “The Raven”--monoprint MS Literary & Arts Magazine Trinity Preparatory School The Red Raven Staff 2012-2013 Agatha Advincula Jenna Chen Ava Hickman Teagan Hosebein Lauren Lee Alexandra Lipton Ayla Maugans Zoe Myers-Bochner Hayley Nash Roland Spillmann Faculty Advisor Mrs. Leanna Bird Special Thanks Mrs. Margaret Griffith Mrs. Kymberly Moreland-Garnett Dr. Barbara Clanton Trinity Preparatory School 1 Table of Contents Mackie Clarke The Beggar 6 Lauren Lee Winter Death 9 Thidarath Sukserm Unforgettable 10 Diego Santiago Think Outside the Pencil Box 13 Delaney McLinden Autumn Magic 14 Susanna Lowndes Bookworm 16 Kayla Peck Childhood 17 Michaela Issacs Superman 18 Summer Heidish Flag 20 2 Teagan Hosbein Red 21 Murder at Topaki Palace 34 Jenna Chen Brackets 21 Rain 40 Karishma Patel A Forest of Trees 22 Lara Boerth-Dryden Where I‟m From 23 Alexandra Lipton The Angel Saga 24 Caleigh Griffin Punching Holes 26 Rakhi Patel Serverus Snape 27 Prianca Nagda The Big Picture 29 Tyler Covington Killer‟s Misery 30 Haley Nepple Once Upon a Time 32 3 Ishan Perera Moments from Memory 41 Suzannah Evans It‟s the Cat‟s Meow 42 Ayla Maugans The Age of Man 45 Rachel Sharp Vera‟s Victim 46 Matthew Johnson Do You Get the Point? 48 Haley Nash The Last Song of a Mockingbird 49 4 Index of Art Michaela Issacs The Dark Night 8 Samy Asfoor Star 12 Rose Millson Pumpkins 15 Michelle Ohlwiler Embrace 20 Lauren Hongamen Enchanted 28 Sarah Martino Hearts over Secrets 31 Maya Ilagan Mama Giraffe 33 Mandy Feenstra Blue Fish 40 Kenny Spence Monarch 43 Charlie Tang Skull 44 5 The Beggar Mackie Clarke, Grade 8 The arms wrapped around an unkempt body rearranged the tattered, shabby remains of a coat fluttering gently in the wind. As a man walked by, the coarse face of the beggar was raised, a croaking voice forced over lips gone stiff with cold. “Spare a dollar for a soul down on its luck?” The man stopped and turned slowly around. His face was a mask of anger. “I am a man. You are a man. We had the same chances in life, I being born a beggar, like you. But unlike you, I came to the terms of my sad, homeless, lazy life, and I changed. I worked. I will—” the next he said in a sing-song voice, sneering, “spare you a dollar, if you spare me your trash.” With that, and a last disdainful look, he spat at the feet of the beggar. The beggar shuffled closer into himself, his crusted eyes full of pain and sorrow. Another breeze whistled past, keeping pace with the next passers‟-by quick, footsteps. A father and a son. Again, an upturned face with pleading eyes, a rasping, imploring tone. “Spare a dollar for a soul down on its luck?” The child jumped back in shock, horror plain on his face, clutching the coarse but familiar tweed jacket worn by the man. The man turned slowly toward the beggar. “I am a man. You are a man. Life must have been hard to you.” He kneeled, getting closer to the beggar, directing his whole self toward the poor man, and pulled out his wallet. “I beg of you—take this money and find yourself. Emerge from the hole of your current life, as a new, better 6 man!” At the end of his little sermon, the man‟s eyes glow with excitement and a sweet hope. He placed a twenty dollar bill into the rough, lined hand of the beggar. The beggar, looking down, accepted the money. He did not thank or even acknowledge the presence of the man. The father stood. He took the child and lifted him to his chest. He looked at the beggar for a moment with eyes dark and wet and pained. A choked puff of cold white breath left his mouth as he lifted the child to his face and shoulder. He walked away. The beggar lifted his head almost mechanically, with dead eyes. His voice, on par with his eyes, was monotonous and distant. “Spare a dollar for a soul...” His arms no longer hugged himself, but hung loosely by his sides, slightly away from his body, like a wingless bird that wanted to fly. A passerby, who had put her head down and tried to hurriedly pass, suddenly stopped. She turned around, slowest of all, eyes wide and wet. “John?” “… a dollar…” “John! It‟s Clara. Your sister! I haven‟t seen you in…Let me get you home! Come! John?” For the beggar had fallen to the ground. The woman, now quiet, kneeled and took the beggar in her arms. His wide eyes were quiet, his arms stiff—as if gliding—as if he had flown. The woman bowed her head. Her eyes shone with peace. She gently closed the beggar‟s eyes, which only now were at rest, since all worries were gone. The woman wrapped her arms around an unkempt body rearranged the tattered, shabby remains of a coat fluttering gently in the wind. 7 Michaela Issacs, Grade 8 “The Dark Night” --- monoprint 8 Winter Death Aviline, Grade 7 The chills on her arms, The blanket of winter encasing her in a tomb, For she is no longer part of the living. She turns her head To see the last breath of life Escape her lips. Then, It is blackness Swallowing her whole. Blackness - The one thing that is her friend, Her only friend. She no longer laughs at jokes Or prods her finger in your side. She is gone. Will you weep? Will tears gush From the corners of your eyes? I know you loved her, But will you Join her? 9 Unforgettable Thidarath Sukserm, Grade 8 Never in my entire life have I walked into such a breathtaking sight. The intricate carvings making permanent memories in the sleek walls capture my baby blue eyes. I am unable to turn away. The gentle breeze brushes across my face, blowing my golden brown hair back behind me. Not too hot, not too cold. The weather is perfect. I can hear tiny birds chirping in the trees as if they were singing a song to me. I feel so open to the world in a comfortable, loving way. The gleaming floorboards are a pleasure to walk upon. My ears can almost catch them welcoming a shy, little girl into their presence. I slowly walk over to the balcony as the wind whips my dark brown hair back. Looking out towards the distance, I see pink flower petals fly through the wind like airplanes. I turn towards the bare walls and think about how many memories will be engraved within them. Walking across the icy floorboards sends a chill from the bottom of my feet all the way up my spine. Outside, the beautiful, lush trees have been stripped of their green leafy clothing and left with naked brown branches. Me with my tan skin covered in goose bumps and purple, chapped lips, I shakily walk to the balcony and wish for the sun to manifest itself, to let me know that it hasn‟t abandoned me forever. But, it never comes. A million little drops of frozen rain falls from the sky, racing each other to touch the ground. The weather is cold enough to turn water into ice within a matter of seconds. I step away and look at the north wall. My big blue eyes lay upon a single picture. It‟s of my parents on their wedding day. Black and white smiles light up the picture as the bride and groom 10 hold hands. It brings a smile to my face every time I look at it. Who knew that a single picture could make my day? The old, rickety floorboards creak as if crying out in pain under every step despite the fact that a feather of a person is lying upon them. Hobbling ever so slightly, I‟m afraid that I‟ll fall through the floor if another step is to be taken. I brush a strand of stiff gray hair behind my ear. Without the protection of mahogany walls in various areas, the atmosphere can make even the toughest soldier feel vulnerable. In the raging heat of the day, perspiration collects upon the back of my neck and face. Sometimes I wonder if the sun is trying to punish those of us who‟ve committed a sin. The dilapidated wooden structure is a plant dying of thirst. They‟ve been neglected for who knows how long- slowly withering away to non-existence. The surrounding pieces are peeling away like orange carcasses. Aged pictures sit upon the walls with their yellow sun tan capturing the smiles from all over the world and bringing them together as one. How a single place can hold so many memories never fails to amaze me. I will keep the image in my mind until the day I die. 11 Samy Asfoor, Grade 7 “Star” --- monoprint 12 Think Outside the Pencil Box Diego Santiago, Grade 6 Let me start by introducing myself. My name is Buddy, and I am a yellow #2 pencil. I live in a blue pencil pouch with my three pencil brothers, my cousin the ball point pen, and my arch nemesis, the evil pink pearl eraser. We were all anxious for Diego‟s first day of school, and we all wanted to be the first to help him. As he carefully opened the zipper of his pencil pouch, I decided to take matters into my own hands (a very difficult task considering I have no limbs) and poked my freshly pointed head into the light.