The Cauldron 2020
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Cover art by Ellis Wu Th 1 Tw 2nty “THE CREATIVE ARTS FOSTER WITHIN US AN AESTHETIC 3 APPRECIATION OF OUR WORLD AND OF OURSELVES. WRITING ENABLES US TO SHARE OUR INNERMOST Tw nty THOUGHTS WITH OTHERS. In establishing this endowment Mrs. Bell further said, “I can think IT MAY CREATE A TRANQUIL WORLD, 5 of no better way in which to honor 4 * A CHAOTIC WORLD, the memory of C. Gordon Bell ‘50”. It is a OR A WORLD FILLED WITH HOPE.” gift of love in memory of a man and his love for the lively art of writing.” C. Gordon So said Mrs. Alberta Saffell Bell on the occasion of Bell ’50 was a publisher and owner of The Gardner News establishing the Alberta and C. Gordon Bell ‘50 in Gardner, Massachusetts, a family-owned newspaper C ldr1 n Memorial Endowment of The Cauldron in honor of her for over a century. Mrs. Bell is currently managing Editor-in-Chief Ellis Wu late husband. C. Gordon Bell often stated, “All writing editor of The Gardner News. Her late husband and 2 is the sound of one voice speaking, and all writing can his twin brother, Shane, were both members of the Content Editor Owen Rokous be heard.” As a writer, journalist, and publisher, he editorial staff of The Cauldron in 1947, the year of its Copy Editors Miranda Chong3 committed his time and energy to helping others fulfill founding. Kent School’s student writers, artists, and their dreams of writing and of keeping their voices photographers dedicate each issue of The Cauldron to Connor Fahey4 alive. The endowment is intended to insure a medium Alberta Saffell Bell and to the memory of her husband, 5 of expression for Kent School’s student writers and C. Gordon Bell ’50, in appreciation of his past and her Associate Copy Editor Sophia Gnehm artists through The Cauldron. current loving commitment to The Cauldron. Faculty Advisor Mr. McDonough* 2 3 4 5 Photography Maine01, 2. Melany Markaryan Grandma’s Orchard ANNA JANG Running Through the maze of tangled trees Scattered with sickly-sweet oblate fruit Crisp air deeper breaths Owen Searching 1, 2 Branch after branch after branch Nestled in between the orange clusters Rokous Far away from reality Stretching Her small hand to reach the mandarin with The most vibrant rind A delicacy Nibbling Pillows of soft refreshing joy Summertime is coming to an end Bittersweet flavor attacks We cannot stay in grandma’s orchard forever Higher, Photography 1. Expired03, Photography 7 2 9 Ellis Wu1, 2 1. MDS 310, Ink on paper 2. Expert Ed, Ink on paper 8 1 Stella 1, 2 Connie Kim Tu 3, 4, 5 4. Youth, Photography 1. sociophobia 2. Post-Cinderella 3. Untitled, Photography 5. Untitled, Photography 10 11 Miska Lewis, ANC-XXX, Photography 1. the brook : a reprieve ZOE BENJAMIN1, 2 2. A SIX WORD STORY: why hello there, mr. beaver. this reality feels much like you’re looking rather cynical today. dreaming. i’ve never seen you around these parts… although to be fair i haven’t seen much of myself recently either. i hope you don’t mind - i kicked a stone into your stream. you know, to keep you company for some time. Owen Rokous, Marsupials, Collage but, it turns out, all stones do is sink. i thought maybe gravity pulled me here, too, but it didn’t take me long to realize that it was actually Necessity. you see, i’ve been inside for so long i forgot what air felt like. i’m sure you can relate… although i guess you’ve been holding your breath on purpose. the birds keep talking to me. do you know what they’re saying? i don’t speak their joyful language. but the trees, the trees i still understand. they speak of yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows - it reminds me of a song i once knew, but i can’t quite place the name. don’t worry, i won’t be here for too much longer. i just wanted to share this patch of sunlight before it disappears once more into the clouds 12 13 of mucus onto the screen door. “Ma, I stopped, I don’t live and kept him fed like a rabid dog for the following week. He seatbelt. He lay there comfortably knowing that his pain was that life anymore.” They were in their seventies already. Mr. spoon fed Oscar cans of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, a soon to be over and that he was in good hands. and Mrs. Friedrich grew up in farming families, as children main staple of their diet and the only food soft enough for The Wrangler pulled into Dr. Ernst’s driveway Three Hundred and they had worked hard, season after season in the fields. Oscar’s stump-like teeth. Occasionally Jacob would make and the opening of the garage door revealed a whole set “Pops, can you please unlock the door … for fucking sake, rounds during the middle of the night to check up on Oscar. of machinery inside. Cables and tubes were stretched Forty Six Dollars Ma, please, I’m begging you, your son, your fucking son, I’m He’d find Oscar clawing at the ground and at the walls as if everywhere from machine to machine. Dr. Ernst’s garage on my knees, begging for you.” Oscar lay in shambles on the there was a stash of methamphetamines hidden somewhere was an organized mess of a room, with no place attracting brick doorstep. He dug his fingers into the tired brown brick, inside waiting to be lit in his pipe, but to no avail Oscar any more attention than another. Oscar was shown the way and Sixty Cents which scraped a layer of skin away, almost as if he were finger couldn’t find a source of relief hiding in those cinder block to his recliner. He sank into the chair, with a wonderful wave ELLIS WU painting with blood. He laid there, in a pool of mucus, sweat, walls. Oscar’s wild howls could be heard all through the dead of relief passed over him. Oscar had never experienced this and blood. The deadbolt slid into the door, which revealed of night. The village sheriff went door to door searching caliber of service in his life and was delighted by every little Oscar bought a Greyhound coach ticket for two Mrs. Friedrich standing there motionless, teary-eyed. for any hooligans who had decided to keep wolves in their moment. Oscar took time to relax himself, allowing the hundred forty six dollars and sixty cents, including tax. “Oscar,” Mrs. Friedrich spoke through a layer of homes. But again, to no avail, the sheriff had found nothing. cushioning to envelope his tired and weathered body. His It was going to be a fourteen hour journey from his small phlegm. “Oscar … stop lying to me,” a single tear trickled III eyes scanned around the room Renal Failure 101, Transplant village of Keyser, West Virginia to Canaan, Vermont. He felt down the side of her reddened face. A face of embarrassment, Oscar stood with his head scanning back and forth for the Surgeries, Lister: Modern Surgery, and countless more books the cost would be justified if it got rid of his pain. It had been anger, and jealousy. Mr. Friedrich also appeared, slowly, like bus. Over the hill on Route 202, he spotted a dark boxy lined the shelves in the room. Each were meticulously two years since the searing sensation had started in his lower a phantom gliding into view. Mr. and Mrs. Friedrich met at ambulance-like silhouette. Its headlights bobbing up and marked with various colored stickers, peculiar numbers, and jaw. The pain was most definitely caused by years of STATE and that’s where they got their bachelors in botany. down as the vehicle hugged the poorly paved road. The bus stickers that read CPL. Dentistry was the lifeblood of this methamphetamine smoke, but Oscar would never admit to He stood with half his shoulder behind Mrs. Friedrich’s. Mr. passed the florist’s shop, the village clinic, the graveyard, and man, it seemed he had devoted his all into the study. It was his that. and Mrs. Friedrich stood watching their son strewn on the finally slowed to a stop at the terminal. Oscar was one of the job as well as his hobby. “Jacob you dumb fuck,” Oscar said, “I just ain’t doorstep separated by a screen door and a deadbolt. three people waiting for the bus that crisp autumn morning. Dr. Ernst pulled a packaged needle from a drawer brushing m’teeth,” that was definitely a causal factor as well. “Oscar, your birthday … your birthday is next week, He boarded the bus with the few material possessions he and proceeded to attach a complex junction of tubing and a Oscar went cold turkey three months ago to save up for the you’ll be thirty.” Mr. Friedrich spoke with cold pebble-like had, a rucksack with some clothes, food, directions, and the bag full of liquid. He placed the capped needle down onto a trip of a lifetime. Recycling bottles and cans, stealing from eyes glaring back down at him. “Remember what you said last hundred dollars he made scavenging for three months. He tray and took a prep pad and rubbed the skin on Oscar’s arm. shops, selling scrap metal, little by little Oscar earned his way year?” Mr. Friedrich had no change in countenance, “yeah, would spend the next fourteen or so hours absorbing the Dr.