i

Inside- Poems by: Maggie

- The Legend Of The

- Podcast

featured article

X-mas ALL I want for

is... - Poetry

Four Amulets a novel by: Michael Perez

by: Isabella Luxenberg

- Student Artworkfrom: MK Miller’s Art Class“Radial”

Yu-Gi-Oh!!!

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Inside

- Featured Article

- Sonnet SLAM!!!

featured article

X-mas ALL I want for

is...

“All I Want for X-mas”

by: LeeAnn Rossi

- Counter Workby: Gioia Schwalm

a novel

- Article“Merry Christmas, Now Break-Up”

by: Kaitlin Stewart

- Poetryby: Tiffany Reazor

3 #Scrabble Challenge your

Friends

Congrats!!! Francisco Diaz for victory against Mr. Hoskins

are you keeping Your Grades Up?

Mrs. Flores

Remember, we will get an extra day of block lunch if we improve our grades by 1% for the 9 weeks.

4

PoemsHer  book  covers  her  stomach  and  thighsShe  writes  in  hope  to  make  the  hurt  lighterAnd  hides  it  with  a  few  linesBut  people  saw  the  cover  not  the  taleThey  didn’t  see  it  as  a  foreshadowThey  taunted  her  without  failIsn’t  society  shallow?

Now  the  Author  has  ended  her  bookAnd  it  was  published  at  her  funeralEveryone  that  made  fun  of  her  storycried  for  the  life  they  tookIf  everyone  gets  hurt,  Why  are  people  so  cruel?

I  am  The  Game  and  you’re  the  gamerYou  play  until  you’re  Bored

I  am  The  Lionand  you’re  the  tamerYou  want  to  rein  over  me:  Lord

I  am  The  Rabbitand  you’re  the  foxI  put  up  with  you’re  Horde

I  am  trapped  in  a  boxI  am  tired  of  fighting

She  Is  a  Writer by: Maggie

I  am  you’sed

10th grade

  I remember myself as a child rummaging through my grandfather's possessions. Vari-

ous knick knacks and ancient clothing litter the old attic. My iconic dusty brown hair

matches the wood, and my slight tan tells I am somewhat of a wild child.

I Wear a pair of jeans and a dark green shirt, I note that I have to take a shower soon or

my only pair of jeans would be ruined by the flying dust around me.

          The dust was recently disturbed by My grandpa and I on its wooden cove. Various

books and heirlooms litter now the deteriorating attic. I brush my fingers along a table to

leave a negative trail of dust.

I breathe in the nostalgic air around me, but it doesn't bother me. Memories flash through

my mind, riding my first bike, eating cookies on a cold night, my parents… now long

gone. My emotions drop as I realize that my parents are now nothing more than an old

memory. I shake it off and continue my adventure through the museum that is my grand-

father's attic.

As I stroll around the old room, I can hear my grandfather telling a specific story about

each thing every item holds, but being an eight year old boy I get tired of my old man's

tales, so I continue to look through a chest in the corner.

Then I finally find something that peaks my interest…a single engraved box. Made of

wood and about a thousand years old? I open the box to see it lined in crimson velvet with

four circular indentations. Each containing a single stone tied to a chain… all but one.

“Hey grandpa whats this?” I ask him as I held the chain.

The feeble man continues to his notes barely hearing my question. He waves a hand and

warns “Alex don't touch that or you will be in so much trouble that-”

“Oh come on grandpa I just want to have a look at it.” I interrupt holding the rock part  

Grandpa comes stomping toward me, he slaps my hand making me drop the necklace

 and growls  “You look with your eyes, not your hands!”

“I just want to know what that stupid rock is, and why its here...” I said rubbing my hands

“If you must know that ‘rock’” he starts as he grabs the necklace off the floor. “It Hap-

pens to be a great beacon of unfathomable power.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Ok...?” I ask unsure “So what do you call… this power?”

The old man looked at me for a while and then back to the rock. He gives a heavy sigh

and sat down upon a box covered with dust. He sits down sending millions of tiny dust

particles into the air.“ There is something you must know Alex. You are the beginning

product of the project my...friends and I began long ago, and part of this project was to

make those very stones you see now! Well we originally called it The Creators rock , but

the name didn't make sense so we just named it an amulet...and you are to one day inherit

it.”

“Whats it do?” I question.

“It would give a chosen few amazing abilities with the elements of nature itself, to be the

creator and destroyer of all humanity, and to-”

“Wow-that’s-pretty-cool-can-I-have-it-pleeeeeeeease??” I start to use my child like charm.

“Not yet. You must wait until you're older.” my grandfather says he didnt even look to-

wards my general direction.

“How much older? ”I plead.

“Sixteen.” Grandpa answers.

“Sixteen?” My heart sank to that. “What?! But that’s a such a long time!”

v

FictionA Continuing Story By: Michael Perez

Student

Prologue

The Legend of

The Four Amulets9th grade

Created by: Michael Perez, Samuel Jack, & Andie Martinez

“Yes, but that will show me if you're responsible enough to handle the power of the

 amulet.”

“Ugh fine I’ll wait.”

Its been exactly six years its was August 24th. I was resting for school tomor-

row, well not exactly resting just laying there looking at the ceiling. My grandpa was

in his study, working tediously on a journal of his. It all seemed like a normal way to

end the day.

         When out of no where I quickly removed the covers  that were on top of me,

because I was hot but at the same time cold. There was sweat around me (I believe it

was sweat). "Crap, I'm thirsty...” I say to myself. I get up to get a drink of water.

I walk through the living room to kitchen. Turning on the lights as I go. Amidst of

the silence there was a loud bang on the door. I was about to answer when my

grandpa shoved me, looked through the peephole, and his face began to drain of

color. My first assumption was that something was wrong.

He turns slowly and says, “Get your things we need to go now!"

“What?” I ask confused

“We have to go now!”

I just stood there unsure of what to do.

“You need to go to your room and pack your things, do it quick and only pack what

you need.. GO!” He orders as he violently ushered me up the stairs.

At this point being the brainiac I am, I realized that the man at the door had some-

thing to do with the amulet I saw Earlier. Then it came upon me even more ques-

tions. "Why? Who is at the door? Does he want the amulets? who made these amu-

lets, what are we  running from, who are the others, what’s happening anyways?”

The words were pouring from my mouth.

“You will understand later. You Just have to get out of here “

I was still confused. I ask again. “But what about y-”

But as I was speaking, a louder bang than before sounded causing the door to glow

faintly, and just before it exploded into smithereens and sent splinters flying every-

where. It was as if the door exploded from the inside out !

Through the dust and smoke, I heard the footsteps of a man entering the house. As

the smoke cleared, a dark figure emerged. It's around six foot and as thin as a rail,

looking like your everyday thin man.

Except for the man was draped in a robe…dark and sinister, almost as if the cloth

was a part of him. The robe draped down to its wrists, only to reveal two clawed

hands. The skin looked pale and cold… like the way you may imagine a corpses

hand may look. The fabric ran up his neck and covered his face to only to leave the

bridge of his nose supporting two cat like eyes that were blood red…almost as if the

very prism of red was encased in this mans eyes. The pupils pierced through me I

began to feel faint and lost. It seemed the whole world was gone all that was left was

the blazing red eyes of this man.

I began to lose all hope of fighting and just stand there.

Suddenly a voice that sounds like scratching fingernails on a chalkboard broke the

trance. It screeches only four words “Get me the boy!!”

From behind the man emerges two figures cloaked in rags comically held together

by patches and poor stitching. They didn't seem to walk they just… glide along.

They would have soon cornered the me it had not have been for a bang, a flash, a

spray of blood, and my grandfather running to grab me…still holding the smoking

gun.

My grandpa fitted me into the closet and whispered, “Okay Alex , these are very

bad men. You have to get out of here. Now. I got you your bag. It has a few things in

there some clothing, a map, some food and drinks, and a switchblade… just in case.

I realize that this isn’t a lot but it’s all you need, but the one thing you must guard

with your life… is this.” The old man placed the cold unfeeling rock in my hands.

The chain slid and plummeted only to be jerked by the tie. “I want you to run now

and don't bother coming back for me… I'll see you soon.” Grandpa Whispers as he

held me.

This kind of thing is hard for me knowing that I'm his only grandchild. “Okay...” I

said with tears in my eyes. Then I opened the door and bolted towards the back

vi

door, swinging it open. I didn’t know how long or how far but I ran and never

looked back.

I saw what I thought was a plains biome but was a field of rocks and mountains. I

was amazed to see what was out of the forest that I lived in... “Wow...” I breathed in

a surprised tone. I collapsed on the floor.

“Grandpa… are you there..?” I murmur with a slight quiver in my voice.

I was up in an instant looking around, trying to figure out what happened. My first

instinct in my confused mind was to go back to grandpa. I was just about to turn

when erupting through the land and shattering the tranquil silence, there was a

boom, a flash of red, and the next thing I knew I was staring at a humungous billow-

ing cloud of fire and ash in the sky… directly where the small cottage was located. I

just stand there, in awe of the horrible and dark sight. Unable to say anything, I just

looked. Then without warning, all the remembrance from the night before had

came rushing in, causing me to burst out in anger.

“WHY?!” I start "Why does all this always happen to me!? Why did you leave me,

why did you leave me alone?!” I didn't know who I pointed that after, my grandfa-

ther or my parents. My anger was uncontrollable. I fell steamy tears running down

the my face, unable to find a vent for my anger. Pacing around in anger and wrath

started to control me. I was so angry, so frustrated. that I punch an immense boulder

in hope to drain my anger.

Expecting my hand to shatter was soon a dream. What actually happened was the

bolder I punched shattered itself ! The huge boulder caved in and then exploded

with an array of dirt and pebbles. My anger lowered and confusion was taking over.

I needed to stay in control by doing so I punched the air, as I did this, I saw another

bolder fly in the direction I punched. I was Amazed at my grandpas work. It turns

out he wasn't lying.    

“Alright... I need some answers” I say to myself as I search through my backpack,

thinking it contained something. I quickly repeat the words, “Where is it, where is

it.” at last I found it. Searching through the backpack I found these things: clothing,

food, bottled water, a first aid kit, and a small black book.

Pulling every little thing out I examined carefully until I got to the book. The book

was black, small and had an oddly shaped key hole. “Hmmmm,” I thought, “What

can I use as a key?” Just then, I look down “Ah ha!” I exclaim while taking off my

amulet that I waited so long for. I stick it in the keyhole. It opened and first thing I

saw was a note from my grandpa; I read it carefully.  

“I know that i've haven't been real clear with you but you must know that you are

the chosen one.Here is what I desperately tried to tell you but could not. A long time

ago me and this band of people called the creators, made these amulets to protect

humanity from destruction. During this process we had accidentally created a mon-

strosity. A monstrosity of which would soon be the end of us all… if it weren't for

you. You see what we were trying to create was a band of AMULETINS of which

would be used to fight evil with the only natural weapon there is… nature itself. But

creating these we realized that no human would be correct for the amulets. As for

humans ourselves are creatures of wrath and envy. So we tried to make a perfect hu-

man, one of which would have an element of nature itself embedded in its very be-

ing. But we had decided to make a human for each element, fire ,electricity, earth,

love, water, and fear. We tried to create a human of fear first because to the old say-

ing, if you conquer fear, you conquer all else.But what we did not know was that fear

was a disease, one that would contaminate a vey soul. Thus was created a demon by

the name of Series. His plans are to drain the world of all life and destroy anyone

that is involved with the amulet so that he cannot be challenged by any other. You

have untapped power you could only DREAM of.There will be a group of others

along the way you will meet, then and only then would Seris try to drain earth of

life… he will try to drain you first.Remember You are the   leader of a band of 4

other Amuletins. find them and make an alliance and beat Series  the sorcerer. Re-

member Alex I will always love...”

I noticed then there was a blood stains all over the paper, making my eyes widen.   

“Oh dear god...” I whisper, putting my hand to my mouth; containing my tears.

vii

The Raging Fire                             

I awake screaming, sitting upright in my bed, my shirt stained with dried sweat.

“That dream- no... nightmare.” I thought to myself. The unsteady sound of my

breathing was the only thing that broke the silence in the house. That was it, the

nightmare I’ve had every night since that fateful day where I lost my grandpa, five

years ago. I decide to get up and do my daily routine to get it out of my head.

4:30- 4:50: Get dressed for school (ugh)

4:50- 6:30: breakfast

6:30- 8:00: practice skills in basement

I’ve gotten dressed and eaten my daily toast and burnt eggs, it was about time I at-

tend   to my workout session. I have done this daily workout everyday for the past

two years, but I'm not exactly the strongest of men because of my small structure

and almost no muscle mass. You may realize that I don’t have the everyday workout

you’d sign up for at an intown gym.

I have my workout session in my basement. I'd open a ratty rotten wood door. That

descends to rotting, crisp brown steps onto a dirt floor. I set a timer for an two and a

half hours. I then place the timer on the bottom step along with my shoes, socks,

and shirt. After that I’d sit with my fist together er and concentrate on that feeling

deep within the one that had all the power in the world and yet was only the part of

something big.

To then be brought back by the comforting glow and the small humm of my amulet

given to me long ago. Finally I stand with my eyes closed, breathing in the air

around me; preparing myself.

I flash open my eyes, throwing an upwards punch. Feeling the earth react with me; a

pillar of dusty brown rock rockets out of the surface. The swift movements of my-

self were just as well imitated by the ground. Punch after punch, kick after kick, and

series of complicated movements to conjure the rocks around me glide, shift, and

hover around me. The power of millions of years coursed through my veins

through, my mind, and through my soul. I would then dramatically stop, grab my

th ing s , re tu r n the g round to i t s o r i g ina l s t a t e, and l eave fo r

school.                                    

I live in a town called Hinton Town (well the outskirts that is). Just your average sub-

urban town, no particular backstory, and nothing special. Oh, and get this, it's actu-

ally special for being literally the only town with nothing special about it. It’s located

in the middle of average day Texas… surprisingly if you bring a random person to

that town, they couldn't tell if they were in Texas or Minnesota…or Canada. Its a

really bland town…perfect for someone trying to stay low like me. The town con-

sisted of maybe 1,500 population…yeah not exactly a popular town, It consists of a

small neighborhood, one fire and police station, a small high school, a local string of

shops and grocery store, and one itty bitty town hall.

As I walk through the small town. I glance at my watch and realize the time. "Not

again." I adjust my satchel, ready myself for a sprint, and run.

With great difficulty I rush up a hill. When out of nowhere a shopping cart came

towards me. (The kids around this town like to steal them and take them for rides on

hills and such and when they are done they usually don't return them.) So I guess

that this one was just abandoned.

Normally what a person would do is move out of the way, but I decide to face

the cart head on. I do so by trying to stop it. I place my left in front of me and wait

for the impact. The cart slams on my left hand, and since I'm on a hill the back of

the cart lifts of the ground. I use my right hand to grab the handle, I lift it over my

head, and toss it aside. "We'll now that's over let's hurry on to school," I tell myself.

I decide to take a shortcut. I take what I think is an alleyway. Instead I emerge from

the corner to be brought face to face with a dead cold wall. “What a dead end? "Are

you kidding me?!” I say to myself. “I have no time to go back... so I'm just have to go

over it." I strategize  in my head what I'm going to.

After a few moments pass. I turn to the wall on my right,  jump, and grab a bar that

was hanging from above. Then I push off the wall with my feet; letting go I turn my

body around and grab the other bar on the left side that was about a foot high. I

viii

prop myself over the top. “All right now what” I thought again. I look over the roof-

top edge, grab a rock, and drop it over the edge. Gravity pulls it towards to ground,

as I count how many seconds it took to hit the ground. “One…two.” "So that's

about twenty feet."

I jump over, and put my left hand and foot against the wall. Just before I hit the

ground I jump of the wall and land on the sidewalk unharmed. I skidded my right

foot behind me, and blast forward.

 I spoke to myself while running “Okay I'm almost there all I have to do i-," but be-

fore I could finished. This girl and I collide making both of our bag of belongings

explode. To my map of the town, my book, school binder, and my water bottle; to

her papers, pens, pencil, basically everything a typical girl needs for school.

Being dazed entire time I examine the girl from head to toe. She has curly, red hair

put into a ponytail that was braided, a face littered with freckles, beautiful brown

eyes, a chainmail necklace that shined in a way that was underneath her black t-shirt

that has some kind of a anime design on it, dark blue skinny jeans that were a little

worn out, and niké baby blue sneakers. She seems familiar somehow, but I couldn't

figure out why. I scramble to my feet and help the girl retrieve her items.

"I am s-so sorry m-miss!" I stutter. “Really Alex, MISS?! What are you in? The

1800's?” I coach myself in my head

She asked rubbing her head. "Ugh, what was that!?"

“Thats was me. I kind of ran into you...sorry.”

“Its ok just watch where you're going next time ok."

"Um..yeah. Sure." “This girl is actually kinda cute!” I think darkly.

We just sort stood there for a couple of minutes. I decide to break the silence.

“Um..My names Alex...what's yours?” My voice trailed off.

She answers “My names Kara  but most people call me a...nevermind"

There was a sudden pause. It lasted for several minutes. The girl Kara starts,

“so…?”

“what?” I say laying on the grass; folding my arms behind my head

“What were you in a hurry for?” she asked confused

“Well I was going to be late for the bus, but now I can't because I am…thanks alot ”

I hint with attitude.

“Ok, ok there’s no need to be a jerk about it!” she says back. The bus is probably

late anyways.

Just as she was finishing her sentence there was a loud horn. The bus pulls up and

surprisingly we were the only ones on the bus (for now). Kara and I sit together tak-

ing turns on talking about our childhood. To my favorite food and hobbies; hers as

well. We also got to talk about her just moving here!

“I’ve never actually had a real friend.” I say with a smile, I begin to actually feel hap-

piness (for once).

My dreams were then smashed when within seconds a fairly large set of hands

landed on my left and right shoulder. I hear what is a voice that I was familiar with

The deep voice with sarcasm “Well, well, well, the Dweeb got himself a girlfriend.”

I turn to see that familiar teenager that I've seen so much of. Dressed in a navy blue

blazer, a light blue collar shirt, Lightly faded blue jeans, a pair of the whitest Vans

you’ll ever see. They appeared to have never touched the ground; even the soles

where purest white. His skin looks like he spent most of his time outside but was a

little pale. His height was unfathomable for a seventeen year old…six foot two inches

I believe. His silk black hair wavered over his right eye and was adjoined by (an obvi-

ously painted) blue streak of hair. He flashed off his blue stud earing and his silver

bland ring, but above all else that stood out on him. His electric blue eyes.  

“Hey...Finn...” I mutter annoyed.

“Wow they look real cute together right guys. Ey Rico how long do you think these

dorks been dating? ” Finn asked one his gang members.  

Ah...His gang. These guys may not even have a mind of their own; it was as if the

only reason they existed was to accompany Finn. I honestly don't think they can

even take a breath without him saying so.

           Kara and I correct in unison “WE AREN'T DATING!"

Finn continues to tease us until we arrive to the school. We sit down to eat breakfast

amidst the swarm of tired, half awake, coffee drinking, sleep deprived teenagers in

ix

the café.The only sounds that brakes the dry morning was the chitter chatter of teen-

agers, the clip clop of someone passing by, the occasional car vroom passing by, and

of course the ridicule of Finn and his gang.

“You're really gonna let him push you around like this? Kara whispers

“Just ignore them they'll leave eventually.” I reassure her. I ignore The rage was boil-

ing within me and I notice my amulet hum as Finn says something that pushes it too

far. He leans over to my ear and hisses “You like her and I know it.”

I say nothing, just clench my fists, as small stream of blood trickle from where I dug

my nail into my palm.

“look dweeb, this is how I see it.” He continues  “Someday you'll fall in love, get mar-

ried, and have--”

“I told once and I’ll tell you again we are not dating, you jerk!” I interrupt.

“What did you call me…?” Finn asked dumbfounded.

          “Did I freakin stutter?!” I ask sharply, slam fist on the table, stand up bringing

the chair I sat on to the floor, and punch Finn in his annoying trap that is his mouth.

He steps from back from me, as he did Finn and I hear series of quotes from other

tables.

“What’s going on?”, “Oh my god!!! did Alex just punch Finn!?”, ”I think he did.” , “

OH MY GOD ITS A DEAD MAN WALKIN!”, and other choice phrases.

Kara  asked  to the girl next to her. "Is he usually this violent?”

The girl next to her answers “um...no…”

“Is there like a story against these two or what?” She questions the girl

“Well yes there is...ever since Alex came to this district Finn has picked on

him, I guess he finally broke. Though I never knew he had the guts to actually hit

Finn like that. In all of my years knowing him he has NEVER been one to jump

into violence.”

“Oh, and you are?”.

“Me?” the girl starts “My name’s Charlotte. Charlotte Schatten. I’ve basically been

the only one who would talk to the kid. He isn't the most social thing.”

Kara’s eyes return to the fight unfolding in front of her. Finn put his hand up to his

mouth to check for blood. Speechless he tastes blood he had nothing to say until I

turned to leave.

Finn at the top of his lungs shouts “Holy crap! Dork over here has got an

arm!”

I close, turn around, and the same time I tell myself Slowly. “In...out…in…out”

“WELL...GET HIM” he yells at his gang. With a crack of my eyes I sees the bully

advance his troop of juvenile delinquents towards me. Rico, Daymond, Elvis, and

Gasher against the one moron who had to open his mouth…me.

           And these aren't your everyday gang members. Everyone of them has a laun-

dry list of committed crimes and felonies.

Rico was charged for 13 different cases of trespassing and vandalism, and Elvis has

been in and out of prison ever since he could open a cash register…which kinda

tells you what he is in for.

Deymond actually killed a guy… and thats no rumor. He actually brags about it on

campus like it was like winning an award. And Gasher you don't wanna know. Lets

just say he didn't get his name for nothing, and the only thing that keeps these dicks

from overtaking Finn is the well known fact that he can kick all of their butts, at the

same time… it’s been done before. Three of them had to go to the hospital and one

of them was in the I.C.U. for a month.

Rico came at me, full speed punching and kicking while at the I was effortlessly

blocking his uncontrolled attacks. There came a time during the fight to where Rico

was open. Thats when I striked; by doing so I punch Rico as hard as I could in the

stomach, and kick him in face.

By the time Rico fainted Deymond leaped on top of me. I flip him off of my back.

He collides into a table. Bringing the plates on the table up into the air and onto the

floor. Making them shatter into tiny pieces.

Elvis yells as he charges toward me; alerting me in the process. I spin to Elvis swing-

ing my foot up to his cheek. His face sinks into the heel of my sneaker; causing him

to whirl around until he hits the floor.

x

           After I had defeated the three out of four of Finn's gang, I had believed that

I would live to see another day. A smile of both relief and satisfaction grew across

my face as I listen to the crowd around me cheer.

Apparently that’s not the case! Finn looks at the Strongest of the gang; Gasher and

gives him a slight nod.

He slowly walks towards me, as he did he removes his hood, flicks a cigarette out of

his mouth, rolls up his sleeves to reveal the many tattoos pasted onto his arms, and

reveals a bloody switchblade.

There was a large gasp over the crowd. I was so scared that my heart actually

skipped a beat. To boost my spirits up some idiot hollered  out “Somebody call an

ambulance.” I glance over at Kara…Her face...the face full of fear, but why was she

scared? It was me that might die today.

There was a long stand off. It lasted more than a couple of minutes. I assume

Gasher was studying me; trying to decide how to take me down.

He called out to Finn “This shouldn't last more than a minute”

I clench my fist together, and cough out the words ”You better rethink that.”

He turns to and swings for my chest with the knife in his hand. Reluctantly I block,

by bringing up his arm, and hitting a weak point to make his arm go numb. In effect

Gasher dropped the blade.

Gasher swings his other arm downwards. I put my wrists in a X formation to block

this attack. By the time his critical attack made contact with my wrists they're in-

stantly brought down.

Gasher saw this as his opportunity to attack. He brings his arm back and with full

power he strikes for my head. Without even thinking I bring myself around Gasher

dodging his fatal blow. I then jump backwards to get away from him.

He turns to me with his blank expression, as he looks at his watch as the second

hand slowly crosses the twelfth hour. He slowly at stares at me, the whole crowd was

speechless, for everyone saw this moment as the acme of the fight. After a while he

said something while taking off his jacket.  “Hphm. Well you've lasted more than a

minute you should consider yourself lucky.”( I had know idea that he took this min-

ute thing literally.)

Then he came at me throwing a right hand punch. I grabbed his arm with my right

hand put my other hand on his chest lifted him over me and basically threw him

across the large crowd. I sensed someone was behind me, so I turn to see Rico up;

breathing heavily in his fighting stance. He threw a weak right hand punch. I moved

his hand out of my way and punch him in the face. He fell face first to the floor. I

got a bit cocky so I yelled to him “Get up again and I swear!”

I Turn to see a knife to my face, so instinctively I duck. The knife that I barely

dodged belonged to Gasher that he some how retrieved. He took no to time to do a

vertical slash with the knife. Then a horizontal slice across the face. After that a di-

agonal slash towards the right arm.

I dodged almost everyone, but the last one got me. Though the amount of adrenalin

I made it to where the wound didn't even faze me.

Everyone was surprised to see if I could survive Finns entire gang. I figure that this

fight should end, so spin my fist toward Gasher hitting him on the right side of his

cheek bone causing him to fall to the floor.

There was a long pause in the crowd. “Its over.” I thought to myself.

Finn was surprised, everyone was including myself. Finn shook his head back and

forth like he didn't believed it. I looked at his face was red I knew that he was angry.

He came towards me I stepped back, but I hesitated to run. That was my first mis-

take and maybe my last.

He grabs my neck and squeezes it like it was a chewtoy. He threatens while grinding

his teeth “ Oh now you’ve done it.”

I was losing oxygen. I think to myself  “Well it was fun while it lasted,” and before I

blacked out I saw the fading image of Finns deathly blue eyes…

xi

The 16 Hour Healer  

There is a rumor that when you lose consciousness, you are aware of everything that

is going on. I have found that to be true. As I fell to the ground I vaguely caught

glimpses of what was going on.

“Alex!” Kara starts, She runs towards me, “What do I do.” She panics in her head.

“What do I do.” Just then her new friend Charlotte kneels beside Kara and I...“He's

unconscious.” Charlotte said to Kara.

“What do we do?” Kara finally gets the repeating thought out of her head.

“Well,” she starts, “we can't just leave him here.”

“Oh so we take him back to his place?” she asks.

Charlotte shook her head, “I don't know where he lives.”

“What about your house?”

(I swear if I had control of my face, I would be blushing.)

“I don't think that my mom would let me keep a guy in my house.”

“Alright. lets take him to my house.” Kara offers.

"Ok, I'll get us a ride."

They both lifted me up by my shoulders, as they did Kara thought to herself. “How

was he able to defeat this guys gang and got knocked out from one single person?”

Charlotte asked out of breath; breaking her train of thought. “Is it me or is he kinda

heavy?”

“Yeah but don't worry…well be there...eventually.” Kara pants.

As The two girls chit-chat, a nightmare appeared. I was dreaming of this dark man

covered in a dirty white robes transforming to this demonic creature of a sort. I

don't know what it was, but there and bestow him stood a band of four ready to

fight this beast. I assume that one of them was one of them, because I look like one

of them. I was dressed in garments and armor I have never seen before. The crea-

ture swiftly defeated the other three. Then it used its claws to pierce my chest…I

slowly fell...shivering uncontrollably.

“Man, is he still shaking?” Charlotte asked.

“Yeah, but Its ok I have an extra blanket for him.” Kara answers as she sets a blan-

ket over me.

(What I may have not have mentioned was that I have some characteristics of stone;

my power and one of them is to be stone cold... I don't know why, it just is)

“Does He have a fever?” Charlotte asked Kara.

“I don't think so. Why? ” Kara replies.

“Oh I don't know, its that he's shivering like he just came home from a blizzard.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You could check his temperature.” She motioned her hand towards my head

“Ugh...fine.” Kara leans over and places the back of her hand on my head. All of

the sudden I jolt awake feeling a hot sensation upon my head. Almost as if someone

had placed a hot pan upon my forehead. I wake from my unconsciousness with a

jolt, I look at Kara, and say out of breath,

“Woah…you're hot…”

Kara gave me a disgusted and confused look.

“Temperature!” I say, “Temperature-temperature hot!”

Kara turns away, red-faced. I decide not to say anything since it appeared that I had

embarrassed her.

“Great," my mind rings."You should at least you say sorry.”

“Hey I’m-" before I could finish I was interrupted by an eruption of laughter from

Charlotte.

“Wow”, she said gasping for air.“You really made her face red thats for sure!"

“Shut up!” Kara   shouted. “I’m fine, leave me alone, it doesn't matter

anymore...could you drop the subject?”

Against all that anger I thought I saw a vague hint of blushing. “Alright fine.” I say

crossing my arms.

Just then a door slams; all three of us look towards the sound of the noise. Reluc-

tantly I begin to stand up to see what was the noise. Kara objects by grabbing me by

xii

the collar and shoving me back to where I laid before I was awoken. “Stay here!”

Kara orders with a sharp voice...Kara and Charlotte walk over to the noise. There

were thoughts in my head were questions I needed to ask later.

* * *  

It was then Kara and Charlotte abandoned my side to investigate the noise, and to

leave me in the presence of only my thoughts. I began to evaluate my surroundings,

I saw a bookshelf containing various books and pictures. One of her on horseback

(pretty cool), one of her with a medal (dancing competition, or something along

those lines), and one of her parents...they look so happy there.

Visions phase through my mind. My father entertaining me when I was bored, my

mother consoling me on rainy nights, a blinding light...I shake the thoughts and

memories out of my head. It was at that point I realized how much my head hurt. I

took myself away from evaluating the room and focused on my own condition.

I have an ACE bandage around my chest and a band-aid on the left temple, not to

mention the one on my arm. It was poorly placed and was already peeling off. I

have some minor bumps and bruises here and there and a faint red mark my neck. I

am guessing that is where Finn decided to place his grip upon me.

And that got me thinking, how could the town bully be able to beat up ME?! I'm not

saying it to boast, but my powers allow me to be insanely strong, fast, and

powerful...and thats with all the earth powers put aside! How could Finn be that

powerful?  Maybe he’s a…no, no way. I decided to think nothing of it, I mean hey, I

beat up like four guys at once. Maybe I was tired! That must be it! I was only tired.

Just after I shook my thoughts away. Kara, Charlotte, and a mid-aged woman, (that

  somewhat resembled Kara in a way) entered the room. “Alright Alex, nothing to

worry. It was only my aunt coming home. I told her about what happened and she

says she will be glad to help you get better.

But first things first, we have to replace your bandages with new ones.” Kara told

me. I nodded as If I understood. Obviously I didn't. Taking off those bandages hurt

like hell! I mean my body isn't really used to getting beat up this bad, but seriously. It

felt like bones were breaking!

Kara then asked,"You just sit tight okay Alex? Charlotte and my aunt are going to

the store and we'll get you some new bandages"

"I politely nod. I felt somewhat selfish on the fact that I was making them wait hand

and foot for me, but I reasoned with myself with logic... and the fact that my whole

body hurts.

Kara then says,"Okay I will be right back, and Alex...Try not to get yourself hurt

again okay?"

I gave a faint smile as I watch her walk out the door. I lean back and close my eyes. I

listen to birds chirping, wind blowing, the familiar hum from my chest, the sound of

a car passing by-familiar hum from my chest?!

I bolt upright, ignoring the rush of blood to my head and the pain, and look at my

chest. Beneath my shirt a faint green light was pulsing vividly right where I felt the

pain of the gash in my side. I claw out of my shirt to examine that in place if my

wound was a glowing crack getting brighter and brighter along. All of a sudden it

stopped and the lights dimmed to reveal my normal, tanish, flesh. This is a thing I

like to call; the 16 hour healer. With this I have the ability to sort of heal myself.

Let me explain, whenever I experience a major injury ( I'm not talking about a pa-

per cut, I mean like a knife wound) my skin will begin to bind together to speed up

the regeneration cycle in a 16 hour time limit. The Downsides to this, are it works

one out of three times, the wounds still hurt like hell, and I can't move much or the

process will stop. Plus the fact that it takes 16 hours to kick in, so it's not the best in a

combat situation. I guess is more like to keep me from bleeding out, and I personally

find it to be relatively useful.

* * *            

The automatic doors open as Kara, Charlotte, and Kara’s aunt walked in. “So what

do we do?” Kara asked her aunt.

“Well I have to buy a few things for dinner...” She responds as she reaches in her

p u r s e .“Well what about us?” She asked again.

xiii

“You and Charlotte can buy that boy’s bandages.” She said as she gave her a crisp

twenty dollar bill. Which was more than enough to buy just a few bandages.

“Why a twenty?” She asked blindly.

Charlotte jumped in the conversation and blurted out. "Oh I don't know, a gift, a

box of candy, a get well soon card…” she grins “...a love note...” She obnoxiously

raised an eyebrow to suggest a hint.

“Wai-wai-wait- I never said that.”  Kara conceals her blush.

“Yeah.” Charlotte dove in for the kill, “but you didn't deny it!”Charlotte stood there

wide eyed and smiling. While Kara frantically tries to change the subject from the

extremely awkward conversation.      

“So…anyways, this is a nice town you got here.” Kara says changing the subject.

“Yeah, if you like complete boredom and nothingness,” Charlotte replies. “And by

the way, where did you live here before you moved here?”

“Oh I lived in New york.” Kara answers.

Charlotte stands there dumbfounded, ”NEW YORK!? ARE YOU KIDDING ME,

I LOVE NEW YORK!!!” Kara  then slapped her hand against Charlotte’s mouth,

attempting to keep the silence of the store.

“Yeah, I lived there, no big deal.” Kara says, shrugging it off as she glances at a dis-

play case.

“No big deal? New york is literally the place of action and adventure, not to men-

tion that its like at the top of the map, why would you ever leave that? Wait...why

did you move here anyways?” Charlotte questioned.

“Um…I…” Kara stalls,” I…my parents had to...leave for a while…and my aunt

was the only living relative of mine.

“Well enough small talk lets get what we need, and get out of here.” Charlotte in-

structed.   

“I agree." Kara says.

They both grab a box of bandages along side a bag of chips and soda, They paid

off their taxes, and set off towards home. The ride back was uneventful and some-

what boring. Kara  stared out of her window gazing at the trees as the flew by, as

they moved quickly towards the house.

* * *

I lay on the couch unmoving; talking to myself quietly. “I can't move or the process

will stop, but the wounds hurt so much.” I couldn't feel anything, my legs, arms, and

worst of all my head. Man I have a headache. Ever since Kara left I have been hear-

ing a constant ringing getting louder, and louder. Until the sound of a car door clos-

ing and the chatter of Kara, Charlotte, and Kara's aunt walking towards the door.

Then I realize what kind of situation I was in. “Crap! The 16 hour healer, Kara, I

can't let her see me like this.” The thought flashed pass my mind. “Ok.” Another

thought began as I stood up. “lets get out of here.” I walk over to the front door, lock

the doorknob, pick up my bag said the words. “All right feet don't let me down.”

Then blast through the backdoor.

Kara sets down the two bags full of food down on the porch. Grabs the doorknob

tries to open it but fails.

“What's wrong dear?” Kara’s Aunt asked Kara  

“The doors locked.” Kara answers

Kara’s aunt gives her a key to the house.

Kara tries the bottom lock on the door, she turns the key to the right until she heard

a click indicating that the door was now unlocked. She opens the door. There was

dead silence, not a soul was in the house. "Alex?” She calls my name "Where could

he be?"

She walks over to where I laid before I left. By the foot of the couch was a small

black book with a oddly shaped key hole. She examines the book “What’s this?" she

thinks to herself.

""Whoa What's that?" Asked Charlotte.

"I don't know some kind of book." Kara responds.

Kara flips over the small book. Revealing words engraved with golden pen. She

reads the words on the back the book.

xiv

The Owner of this book is Alexander Terrestia, if you find this DO NOT OPEN.

Also If this book is found return as soon as possible…

"HIS DIARY?" Charlotte exclaims

"No its a journal." Kara denies Charlotte's sudden out burst.

"Oh well then why does it have a lock on the front." Charlotte  ask.

"I don't know....privacy?."

"Exactly".            

Kara stands up to go to her room. When she enters she look around, as if she didn't

recognize it. Pink walls, white flooring. A pink bed that was in front of dresser; above

it a painting of a meadow. "Ugh this room is for a little girl" she thought to herself.

She walks over to the bed and hides the book under her pillow. Then she pulled

from her purse that was across her shoulder a get well soon card, She opens it, and

reads the words that were printed on the card “Get well soon Alex.” Kara suddenly

gets a burst of anger. She crumples up the note and throws it in her room trash can.

* * *

It was very difficult getting to my house from Kara's. I didn't know the way, I was

injured, and the fact that it's almost dawn. “Ok thats far enough” I tell myself. My

running slowed to a jog then to a walk.

I check my surroundings. “Dang it.” My thought starts. “Its too dark to see any-

thing." I Could only see the outer edges of the the objects around me. I stop, remove

the luggage case that was my backpack, and unzip it. I then reach my hand in my

backpack grab a flashlight, and turn it on. The ray was bright; I could see the dust

in the illuminated area. I continued myself towards home limping my way there.

* * *

The door to my house swings open. I thought to myself “Well I made it home can I

sleep now”.Then out of the silence that was my house my phone was started to

ring…well more like vibrate. I look at the digests “972-261-9027 ”. I press the an-

swer button, put the phone against my ear, and asked “Hello?” With a quick re-

sponse a very iterated voice called upon me

“Alex!” he yells.

“Yes” I hesitate.

“Where were You missed a day of work! I expect you to work double time tomor-

row!” his angered old voice rambled on.

“Dude calm down, just because I missed a day doesn't mean I won't missed an-

other.”

“I just want to know Why! Why you were here today!”

“lets just say I had a fight…with His Gang.”

“Huh…” he grunted. “Well, tell me the details...Now!”

“God, he’s done nothing but yell at me now’s the time to yell back," I think in my

head

“I tell you tomorrow at 4:30 sharp! That is if you're there! Goodnight!"

I slam the phone on the table, face-planted my body on the couch, and effortlessly

fell asleep.

xv

xvi

ArtworkStudent

We are working on Balance, a principle of Design. My students have taken a form of balance called Radial Balance where all of their designs emerge from the center of the paper. We chose to use Watercolor to paint our designs. We used various techniques such as washes, blends, gradients, and even putting salt on some designs.

Students were encouraged to add black to some of their color scheme in order to make their vibrant colors even more vibrant.

- Mk Miller

17

tournament recorded live!!!

Podcast

Listen

Student Yu-Gi-Oh Battle

litmagclublhs.wordpress.com

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An LHS-Killough Student

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Modern Age Voice less

FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO A NEW PODCAST

CONTACT HOSKINS in rm 206

Where is Taco

& Kit-Kat ?

High school couples have be-come the bane of my high school career for a while now.

I don't know if this happens to any-one else, but as I'm just casually walking through the halls at main, I’m stopped because this couple is taking up half the hallway! I get it; you think you are in love and you want to be with your “pookie-wookie” “snuggle bear”, but please have the decency to leave the hallway open for those who ac-tually want to go to class. This leads me to another aggravating subject... Couple Nicknames

Now I’ve heard people call each other a large range of nicknames; baby, babe, honey, sweetie, and plenty of others, but the one that gets on my nerves the most is the word bae. If I hear one more per-son call someone else that atro-cious word I will most likely spon-taneously combust.

Are you so deprived of creativity that you must resort to a three let-ter word that sounds like where ships come into harbor? If I were in a relationship and someone called me that our relationship would promptly end.

Another thing about high school relationships that drives me crazy is the over excessive use of the word love.

Let me tell you “sweetie pie”, you are a teenager, you don't what you want or who you really love!!! The real definition of love is being will-ing to sacrifice your wants and needs for the wants and needs of your significant other, and most of you can't even be separated from your iPhone for more than five sec-onds, how can you be trusted to care for a boyfriend or girlfriend?

Honey... you are most likely not going to get married to your high school sweetheart, so stop with the love thing because let's be hon-est, it ain't true. So here are a few bits of life advice from me:

Don't drive people crazy by cling-ing to your boo in the halls. If you are going to call each other nick-names, come up with something creative; and if you use the word bae?

I will hunt you down and, for good-ness sake, you will realize that you and your “honey boo boo” are not soul mates!!!

Thank you for reading this public service announcement.

Now,break up!!!

By: Kaitlin Stewart

satire

He arrived in the city on one of the last trains that ever ran.  With smoke billowing up

from beneath the rails, he stepped onto the platform.  The metal grates underneath his

feet did not give the impression of being the sturdiest material, especially considering the

great height of the tracks.  If the support of the grating were to falter, it would be roughly

a fifty-story fall to the cracked pavement below.  However, the man did not give this peril

any thought, as he was used to trusting this city’s precarious exterior.  Everything ap-

peared to be on the verge of crumbling away, but nothing ever did.  It was quite miracu-

lous when one thought about it, but then again, he didn’t.

His mind was set on another goal, far more specific than simply surviving the walk across

the grates to the lifts that would take him to the streets below.  On that platform, precisely

between the two adjacent tracks (one of which was now occupied by the train he had just

exited) there was a wall of small, slightly rusted metal lockers.  Wasting no time, the man

paced over to them, sliding his unoccupied right hand into his pants pocket on the way. 

His long fingers closed firmly around a small, brass key.  It was meant to be unique to him

and the train company – they shared ownership of the locker itself – but, unbeknownst to

all but for himself and the second holder, there had in fact been another copy made of it. 

This made it easy to inconspicuously slip notes and messages, sometimes even items of

interest, back and forth.

The man reached the lockers and found his: No. 1604.  He efficiently drew the key from

his pocket and brought it up to the locker’s padlock.  There was a muffled, internal click-

ing sound within the metal chamber as he turned the key.  He could tell that the locker

had been accessed recently by how easily it was opened; he did not have to exert any great

force to wrench the creaking metal door back on its hinges.  The inverted cubic interior

was empty apart from a small, white envelope placed precisely in the middle of the square

base.  Quickly, the man slid it out of the locker, secured the padlock again, and, with the

envelope tucked into his pocket along with the key, he was on his way.

He did not stand out from the crowd enough to start getting glances from the people

around him until he was in the lift.  Closed together into the metal walled space, they

peered at him uneasily, unsure whether he returned their gazes or not.  His own eyes were

concealed by dark glasses, obscuring the subject of their attention.  In addition to this ir-

regularity, due to the fact that the sky was rarely anything but a gloomy yellowish-gray

these days, he was also, as they used to say, dressed to the nines.  His clean white shirt was

tucked into the slim waist of his long, black trousers with the crisp sleeves rolled neatly up

to his elbows.  He had no jacket despite the chill weather that hung over the city.

He stood up straight, his posture well-supported by his expensive-looking shoes.  In one

hand he held a thin suitcase, and the other was tucked into his pocket.  Among the drably-

dressed passengers of the now-active lift, he stood out significantly.  Still, no one voiced

their uneasiness and skepticism toward him, and the minute-long ride to the street below

was spent in silence.     

xx

FictionA Continuing Story By: Gioia  Schwalm

Student

Chapter One

Counter Work a novel10th grade

The autumn brought with it a cool chill, one that hung thinly in the air, penetrating

all layers of the seasonal clothing the city inhabitants wore on the street.  The chill

cut down to the bone, and the dropping temperature was more like the weather of

winter than the season's predecessor.  The world had gotten colder, and while not

everyone questioned the recent patterns, everyone noticed them.

Alexandria was one of those who took a particular notice of the change.  Still, she

would never bring it up in conversation.  She despised small talk, and any topic that

remotely resembled it was one she avoided.  Today, in an attempt to fight the cold,

she wore a long coat and a black scarf.  She had on thick leggings beneath a knee-

length sweater dress.  She had bought the dress months ago at a second-hand

shop  lit only by a flickering fluorescent light directly above the register, but one

wouldn't guess it to look at the outfit.  She was used to cutting corners, making do

with what she had while appearing to get along effortlessly.

This city seemed to be the opposite; on the outside, it appeared dilapidated and

crumbling, but at its core, it ran surprisingly smoothly.  As she walked through the

wide, though not overly crowded, street the shadow from the bridge stories and sto-

ries above fell across her face.  She was passing beneath it just as a train was hissing

to a stop in the elevated station.  She looked up at the rattling tracks.  The platform

shook, appearing unsteady beneath the weight and momentum of the passenger

train, but in truth it was unfailingly sturdy, raised up on thick, iron columns.  These

were large enough in stature to conceal lifts that carried passengers up to and down

from the station.  The lifts were in constant operation, despite there being only two

trains that arrived in and departed from the station.

Steam sprayed down in hot, billowing clouds, utterly visible in contrast to the frigid

air.  It dissolved into clearness, leaving no trace of its presence.  With her neck still

craned, Alexandria looked up at the underside of the station.  Through the count-

less metal beams and grates, she could see the dark forms of the passengers stepping

out onto the platform.  From where she had temporarily stopped walking on the

crooked pavement, they looked like tiny insects crawling across a surface.

Those, too, were very common in the city.  There was no real focus on pest control,

and the population as a whole seemed to have gotten used to seeing bugs scuttling

over walls and through alleyways. 

Alexandria tucked her hands in the pockets of her coat and walked on.  She briefly

wondered about the people who had arrived on the train this morning.  Were they

travelers, planning on visiting the city for only a few days?  Or, like her, were they

moving here, relocating their lives?  There were only so many places that they could

be coming from on these tracks, but she was not in the habit of keeping up with the

trains’ schedule.  Wherever they came from, she did not know, and soon she did not

particularly care.  Her curiosity about the crawling strangers was a fleeting thing.  As

she walked further down the familiar street, leaving the massive structure behind her,

Alexandria's mind went to other things.  The well-oiled gears inside her head spun,

meshing together in the contemplative motions that she never rested from.  On occa-

sion, she wished that whatever mechanism her brain possessed that held her in con-

stant thought would function a little less smoothly, and spare her from the over-

analysis of everything.

She didn't particularly enjoy how her thoughts latched onto every detail and

churned them through their complex process.  She didn't want some things to inter-

est her as much as they often did.  The weather, for example.  It was a popular topic

for strangers to discuss in a moment that, if not for the brief conversation, would be

deemed uncomfortable.  Alexandria despised this philosophy; she found silence be-

tween two people far less awkward than starting a conversation that they neither in-

xxi

Chapter Two

tended to finish nor were actually interested in having.  Silence was comforting to

her.

She only wished that, for one moment, her thoughts could go silent.  Despite all of

her efforts, she could not mute the ceaseless musings about the weather and people

on a train that only reminded her of struggling small talk and all of the meaningless

conversations throughout her life.

She emerged out of the long shadow of the train bridge after she had walked down

the right side of the street, passing about twenty of the narrow two- or three-story

buildings that, despite being of varying height, all seemed to run together into a sin-

gle structure.  They all served as homes, mostly apartment buildings or duplexes. 

There were no specified living quarters in the city, but this street consisted mostly of

lodgings.  Despite the fact that many citizens lived on the long, wide avenue, Alexan-

dria rarely crossed paths with her neighbors.  She didn't know much about them,

but was, as usual, always noticing things.  The woman next door, whose wispy hair

was dyed a dreadful and obviously unnatural red-turned-orange, had about five

squat, borderline-mangy Scottie dogs.  Always wearing the same ratty old coat no

matter what the weather, she took them outside every morning, even before the

break of dawn.  Their restless yapping tended to wake Alexandria.

The old woman's habit had allowed the un-neighborly veil of obscurity to be slightly

lifted, and had allowed Alexandria to learn more about the people that she spent so

much time around, separated only by thin walls.  

The occupant of the building on the other side was a middle-aged man with an un-

recognizable accent.  He was an immigrant and had come to the city by boat, not

train.  Almost every morning, his sleep, like Alexandria's, was interrupted by the

Scottie dogs and their frail, fanatical owner.  He was more vocal about the nuisance,

however.  Just in case the other neighbors slept through the dogs' taste of fresh air,

the immigrant would be there with his front window shoved open, yelling down at

the woman on the street in angry, broken English.  The old woman would always

yell back, though her raspy voice never carried very far.  The worst aspect of the

nearly daily exchanges was that neither the woman nor the man could understand a

word that each was hurling at the other.  Alexandria, powerless in the situation, was

left stuck between the two sides of the battle until the woman, each morning, eventu-

ally subsided.  She always took her time, however, and stayed out long enough for

the manic little dogs to run themselves exhausted.

Now, with her duplex building in sight, Alexandria crossed the wide street.  She

stepped around a sewage grate that billowed foul-smelling steam up toward her. 

Traveling diagonally across the grimy concrete, she reached the opposite sidewalk. 

Once up the three steps of the minuscule cement porch, she slipped her key into the

lock.  She shared her half of the duplex with Annick from work.  Annick was also an

immigrant, although she was better adjusted to her new home than their neighbor. 

Although she had settled into the duplex with Alexandria nearly three years ago, she

had never talked about her big move much.  She always said that she “got out of

France before it was too late,” and nothing more.

The other half of the house was owned by a young man, about Annick and Alexan-

dria’s age.  His name was Owen, and he was a writer.  Rather, that was what he

called himself.  He didn’t actually write as a profession, but if anyone asked him

what he did, he would only ever say: “Write.”  No one ever actually did what they

loved these days.  Alexandria had always loved to sing, but even that joy had

dimmed over time.  The practice had lost its spark, and now, singing was merely a

job to be done.

Annick was upstairs when Alexandria arrived.  The sound of the shower running

resonated down the narrow staircase as Alexandria took the small stack of envelopes

out of her coat pocket and set it down on the little table in the hallway by the front

door.  It consisted of the usual assortment of mail that she had come to expect

xxii

weekly.  One was a general bill, one a paycheck for herself, and the other two were

for Annick.  Alexandria left them there for later.

She was still settling in when the shower stopped and Annick came downstairs,

dressed in an oversized sweater and loose pants.  She patted her wet long, brown

hair with a towel in an attempt to dry it.  “Anything interesting in the mail?” she

asked after the usual greeting.

Alexandria shook her head in reply.  They continued along in their loose routine,

not feeling the need to say anything more.  The two of them got along exceedingly

well.  Annick never made small talk, perhaps as a result of the still-present language

barrier, or perhaps not.  Either way, she appreciated – savored, even - silence.  Some

of the best times between the two women had been spent in silence, merely sitting in

each other’s company.

They shared a small meal; small mostly because they had yet to do the shopping for

the week.  Alexandria would go out sometime tomorrow for groceries.  For now,

though, neither of them really minded the lunch-sized dinner.  It was early to eat,

but they both had to eat now or wait until much later.  Tonight, their shifts began

and ended at the same time.  Annick waitressed at the lounge where Alexandria

sang nightly.  It was low pay, but nothing better was offered elsewhere.

As Annick washed the dishes – a quick job, to be sure – she listened to Alexandria

warm up her voice in her own shower.  She enjoyed hearing her sing.  It somehow

reminded her of home.  For Alexandria, however, it was merely a habit.  As she

worked her slender fingers through her lacquer red hair, the familiar melodies and

words she knew by heart poured out of her as if they were an extension of her be-

ing.

He savored the feeling of the steaming water on his back as it poured over him in

forceful streams.  Much to his own unrest, it was becoming the norm not to have ac-

cess to the showers that he enjoyed so thoroughly.  It had been months since he had

been in a place where he was able to indulge himself in the jetting torrents of hot

water for however long he wanted, or even at all.  Now, he intended to take full ad-

vantage of the situation while he was in the city, however long that might be.

The message he had collected earlier in the day was lying in the other room.  He

had already opened the envelope and read what had been left for him inside, and

still he knew nothing about why he was here.  Running his hands along his scalp, he

let his eyes close.  He let the darkness of his eyelids swallow his thoughts for a

moment.  It was an elusively comforting blackness, and after not long at all, the con-

solation morphed into something far more sinister.  This kind of blackness was a

wholly different breed, and it haunted him.  After each brief moment of soothing,

the otherwise constant overwhelming anxiety was never far behind.

Opening his eyes again to the mist of the shower, the man composed himself.  He

checked his watch; it had been a gift.  It was intended and enhanced for any given

condition and was thus water-proof.  After so many years, it still functioned

perfectly.  He did not allow himself to sigh upon seeing the time, but inwardly, he

wanted nothing more than the release of that seemingly insignificant expression. 

Release in general.  One last time, he ran his fingers through his well-cut hair.  Fi-

nally, he turned the faucet, ceasing the flow of water from the shower head.  He

dried off quickly with the hotel towel and then stepped out into the only other room

in the very temporary living-space.  Still unrushed, he dressed in the orangeish light

of the bedside lamp.  Again, he checked his watch.

xxiii

Chapter Three

Sitting down on the edge of the stiff bed, he tightened his thin, black tie around his

neck.  A noose, he mused.  Just part of the required attire.  He grew increasingly

vexed by the hypocrisy of his ways; he had to go out of his way to find somewhere

low-key to stay, but he was also told how to dress, and this particular requisite ap-

parel never failed to draw attention to him in a crowd, especially during the day

time.  Oddly enough, this was when he did most of the traveling around that was

essential to his work.

Out of boredom or anticipation – even he wasn’t sure which - he pulled on the suit

jacket that had been tucked in his briefcase next to his other, more essential, gear. 

Once again, he glanced at his wrist.  He stood, taking a single step with his long legs

to reach the table.  With the opened envelope now in hand, he returned to his spot

on the bed.  He quickly drew the thick paper card out of the envelope and set it on

his lap.  Reaching across the bedside table, he lifted the phone – cradle and all – to-

ward himself, evading the lamp.  The cord could only stretch so far, and the man

was left in an awkward position.  Nevertheless, it was time.  So, glancing down at the

card, he dialed the number – black type against stark white paper.

The recipient of the phone call was quick to answer.  A familiar, distorted voice

spoke, and the caller replied, “1-0, 0-9.”  At the utterance of the numbers, no matter

how hard he fought it, his throat tightened.  He cleared his throat, covering the mi-

crophone of the plastic handset.  Quickly, he uncovered it again.  In as clear a voice

as anyone could muster, he said, “I’m ready for my assignment.”

__________________________________

Alexandria wore her red sequin dress.  She liked the idea of it – it was something

flashy, maybe risqué, maybe even tawdry.  Yet what she had on was elegant.  It fell

down to the floor and was cut perfectly for her body with its high square neck and

cinched waist.  It also went well with her ginger hair.  Her absolute favorite thing

about the dress, however, was the fact that she had bought it for almost nothing at

the flea market, and no one would ever guess.  It was reminiscent of another time –

a true vintage.  It had been worn and loved by someone else, long ago – the old

woman who had sold it to her had also offered a personal anecdote.  Though her

retelling of the days of her youth had been hazy, Alexandria could clearly see that

the dress had meant more to the woman than just any piece of clothing – even one

as beautiful as this.

She met Annick at the top of the staircase.  The brunette wore her customary skirt

and blouse.  This was the closest the Alizarin Lounge came to having a uniform for

its waitresses.  Pulling on her second two-inch-heel shoe, Annick asked, “Ready?”

Alexandria sighed.  “I suppose.  Here we go again.”

“You look very good,” Annick assured her, her French accent kicking in.

“You, too.”  She started down the steps, grabbing her coat from the hook mounted

on the wall.  “Well, let’s go, then.”

They linked their arms together as they walked through the streets, huddling close to

each other in order to stay warm.  Occasionally, they would step over a grate – care-

ful not to catch their heels on the metal grids – that spewed clouds of warm vapor. 

Most of these, however, were surrounded by the less fortunate.  For the homeless,

these grates were the only means of staying warm.  The Alizarin Lounge was not

located in the most ‘respectable’ part of the city – the girls’ apartment was close, af-

ter all.  The area was frequented by vagrants, along with petty criminals, call girls

and hustlers, and, amusingly enough, musicians.  It was the perfect place for the clas-

sic musician personality – low rent, plenty of venues, and a wide acceptance of beat-

nik behavior. 

Still, neither of the women ever felt threatened by the milieu that they found them-

selves in, even now as they walked through the sparsely-lit streets.  They actually felt

that they fit in with the somewhat grimy and yet also somewhat honest way of life. 

xxiv

It was honest in its lack of the societal veil.  The absence of any pretention or mas-

querade of being high-bred or high-class.  It was honest  in  its griminess and its

harshness.

By the time they arrived, The Lounge was already bustling – if only at a lethargic

tempo – with slow, smoky, activity.  The tables and booths were mostly occupied by

men, although some women joined the fun.  Glasses and steins clinked, cigarettes

puffed.  The smoke hung in the air, drifting and swirling around the already dim

lamps that hung down from the high ceiling.  Both girls clocked in, punching their

timecards into the machine around the back of the bar.  Then, they parted ways –

Annick headed off to begin her rounds, and Alexandria headed for the stage.

Judy, the girl who performed during the early shift, when there were really only a

few customers in and out, was just finishing up.  She was a pleasant person – pretty

and simple, with a case of perpetual, but inconsequential, stage fright.  She didn't

mind singing to a small audience, especially when those people paid her no

attention.  Alexandria dealt with this as well, but she preferred a more sizable crowd.

“How was it?” she asked Judy.

“Oh, alright.  Just about the same as every other night.”

“Sounds about right.  Where’s Carlos?”  He was The Lounge’s resident pianist, and

an excellent accompanist for the two singers.

“I think he’s just taking a break.”  She stepped down off the stage.

“Are you taking off ?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired,” she said, almost sounding apologetic.  “I hope your set goes

well!”

“Thanks, Jude.  See you tomorrow.”

Alexandria stood on the unlit platform – it was a humble stage, only about four and

a half feet wide – the piano sat down on the floor – and adjusted the old Shure 55

microphone to match her height.  Where Judy was small and petite, Alexandria was

tall, even regal-looking in her heels and dress.

She headed back over to the bar, behind which its tender had returned.  He greeted

her the same way he did every night they shared a shift.  “There’s my girl.”  His

lighter clicked open and shut in his hand, one moment ablaze with orange and blue

flame and the next dark.

“Hello, Van,” she replied with a slight grin.  “Nice jacket.”

“Oh, what, this?”  He pulled the red leather collar up.  He wore almost the exact

same outfit every night – the same dark trousers, the same thrift shop loafers, and

that same jacket over a rotating variety of ironic Hawaiian shirts.

Alexandria remembered the shirts being the first thing she had noticed about Van

when she came to The Alizarin – back when she was living alone in an even cheaper

apartment.  She had even asked him, “Are those authentic?”

“You mean did they come from Hawaii?” he had asked in return.

She had shrugged, the shadow of an amused smirk on her painted lips.

“No.  I’ve never been.”  She remembered him leaning in across the bar with mock

surreptitiousness.  “I don’t think it exists,” he had murmured.  “I think it’s a lie

the government feeds us – this prospect of paradise?  There’s no reason to work un-

less you’re working toward this goal of visiting the Aloha State.”  He pulled back

away, raising his eyebrows at her.  “Just think about it.”

“Oh, it’ll keep me up at night,” she replied.

He had laughed and told her, “You know what, I like you.”

“Oh, thank god!  I don’t know how I could go on without the approval of a conspir-

acy theorist.”  

Again, he had laughed to applaud her wit.

“Thanks a bunch,” he said now.  “What can I get you, darling?”

Although he was not much older than Alexandria, his pet names for her had never

felt strange.  She pulled off her coat, tucking it back behind the bar.  “Just some wa-

ter for now.  You’re going late tonight, right?”

xxv

“I’ll be here when you’re done,” he assured her.  He turned to grab a glass from the

mirrored shelf on the paneled wall.  As he ran the tap into it, he looked Alexandria

up and down.  “Great dress.”  Handing her the water – lukewarm, as he knew she

preferred before a set – he raised an eyebrow.

“Well thank you,” she said, somewhat flirtatiously accepting his somewhat-flirting. 

“I’d better get up there.  See you after.”

“You’ll be great, as always.”

The Manager was milling around by now, weaving in and out between tables and

booths, as transient and dodgy as the arabesques of cigarette smoke that his custom-

ers breathed.  Tonight he wore a faux-designer pin-striped suit, his usual assembly of

rings.  He was truly the quintessence of Sleazy Business Owner.  His name was Ray

– or Mr. Durante, if he was power-tripping for the night – but everyone just called

him The Manager.

He sidled up to Alexandria, putting his hand on her waist.  “Looking good tonight,

honey.”  She much preferred Van’s sobriquets for her.  “Good luck up there.”

And so she began.  Carlos returned to his piano bench just in time.  The spotlight –

a dim, pale blue beam – strengthened into its full brightness, the first notes of her

first song (by tradition) twinkled into the air, and she began to sing.  She knew every

song by heart; even the ones that she had learned more recently to add variety to

her set were ingrained in her head and in her voice.  Despite her perfect memoriza-

tion, no one could ever accuse her performances of being programmed, redundant,

or bland.  Each time she sang a song, it was a little different and, it seemed, always

better.  Although she no longer thrilled in the nightly performances, she gave each

one her all.

She was so well-loved that everyone in the lounge gave her attention, and the whole

room was respectfully quiet.

On occasion, Alexandria would look out into the audience and find Annick, who

always gave her a supportive smile.  Sometimes, in the smattering of applause after

each song came to its conclusion, she could hear Van’s distinct ovation.  Mostly, she

did not mind her work, and even then it was made better by the presence of her

friends.

About thirty minutes into her set that night, the lounge door opened.  This was not

a unique occurrence, as people were always coming and going.  Alexandria did her

best not to be distracted by it, but each time the light from the flickering street lamps

outside poured into the venue, it drew her attention.  This time, her attention was

held by the silhouette of a man entering through the doorway of The Alizarin.  The

exterior light outlined the tall, thin figure like the corona of a moon.  A cigarette –

just an orange-ish, reddish glow – burned between his lips.  The ember reflected in

the lenses of dark glasses.  He was an imposing shadow in the doorway, with eyes

burning. Then the door closed behind him.

Alexandria tore her eyes away from this new presence just as she sang the last note

of her song.  She hit the high pitch perfectly, having regained her focus just in time. 

The crowd applauded.  She thanked them.  She crouched down and took a drink of

the half-empty glass of water.  Standing again, she introduced her next song.  “This

one’s called ‘Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”  Her eyes followed the newcomer as

he walked coolly through the dark room, not looking up once toward the stage.  She

watched as he put out his cigarette in the ashtray of an empty table.  “Some of you

might know it,” she said, flashing a showgirl’s smile.

She looked at Carlos, who began to play.  After a few beats, she began to sing.  The

man found his way to the booth in the very front, closest to the stage.  He sat down,

joining another man at the table.  When she heard him speak, her professional re-

solve and concentration almost foundered yet again under the sudden rush of

exasperation.  

He said: “Hello, Mr. Bower.  How have you been liking the weather?”

xxvi

Chapter FourThe set was soon over, but the two men’s somewhat one-sided conversation

continued.  In the newly quiet lounge, in lieu of the ruby-clad chanteuse’s perform-

ance, the sound of her heels resounded.  Now she was more a phoenix than a song-

bird as she flew cantankerously toward the bar.  Van was waiting there, sullied rag

draped over his shoulder and smoldering cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  “You

killed it!” he congratulated her, his arms open as if he was half expecting a hug.  His

acclamatory grin shrank, however, for now she was close enough he could see

through the diaphaneity of her fair skin that she was burning crimson underneath. 

“Whoa, there, Gossamer!  What could possibly be wrong after such a great show?”

She spared him the glare that came as her natural response.  “A couple of guys

talked through my entire set – loudly.  And right by the stage, too?”  She wrung her

hands angrily.  Though she had not been able to hear every word, the sound of the

men’s dialogue, the sound of their discourse was more than enough to be disruptive

“I hate having to deal with all of these people every night.”

“Then go tell ‘em off,” Van suggested, pouring a drink for another customer who

stood at the other end of the bar, giving the fuming Alexandria ample space. 

This time she shot him her most scolding, scalding look.  “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can.  I tell people off all the time.”

Alexandria sighed, glancing over her shoulder back toward the table.  The two men

were still deep in discussion.

“Go on,” he encouraged, nudging her elbow slightly.  “Show them your teeth.”

She nodded once, decisively, and turned.  Again, her heels clacked against the

scuffed floors of the lounge as she made a beeline back toward the stage.  The man

who had arrived more recently – the one that she held responsible as the true instiga-

tor – sat with his back toward her, and did not see her coming.  His companion, how-

ever, did.  His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the woman charging toward

them, and his mouth slammed shut at the look of determination in her eyes.

Without any more warning than the sound of her heels approaching, she addressed

them both.  “Yeah, hi, do you mind if I have a word?” she insisted rather than

asked, making it fully clear that the question was rhetorical.  “You really shouldn’t,”

she continued without pause, “Because I think you’ve done your fair share of talking

– through my entire set.  It’s fine if you want to have a little chat over drinks, but this

is my job and you shouldn’t keep me from doing it with your ridiculous weather

talk.”

Only after she finished speaking did the man turn his head.  He looked at her for a

moment, never removing his dark glasses.  Then, he turned his whole body to face

her.  “I’m sorry.  Are you saying you want to join in our ‘weather talk’?”

Alexandria’s eyes fell on the glinting, metallic object in his hand, pointed at her now. 

Her expression transformed from one of indignation to alarm, and she took a step

back.

“I thought not,” the man said.

“Listen…” she attempted, her voice still empowered by her confidence from earlier. 

“Just… take that somewhere else.  We don’t want any trouble here.”  She glanced

over toward the bar.  Van had acted as a bouncer before – even when things got

rowdy, they could all count on him.

“No, you certainly don’t,” he said, clearly having noticed her wandering gaze.  “And

I certainly don’t want to find myself in the middle of any trouble.  But I'm perfectly

happy where I am, so you'd best scurry off, now."  He turned away from her, but

kept the gun aimed.  "Thank you for your concern," he dismissed.

Finally, though still hesitant, Alexandria backed away.  She had reached a distance

where she felt safe enough to make sudden movements – at least enough to rush off

as the man had suggested – when he turned back.  “By the way,” he said.  “It was an

excellent performance, Alexandria.”

A slight tremor ran up her spine at the sound of her name being voiced by the man. 

At last, she fled. Her first instinct was to go straight back to Van.  Yet the eyes of the

man – which now she could only picture as two burning embers beneath those

shades – still seared into her back.

xxvii

So instead, she took a left turn away from the bar and pushed through the swinging

doors of the kitchen.  The lighting was far harsher – rows of fluorescents lined the

high ceiling.  Annick was right inside, hanging her apron up on the iron hook drilled

into the wall.  “Hey,” she greeted pleasantly.

“You ready to go?” Alexandria asked, unable to fully mask the urgency in her voice.

“Almost.”  Annick looked over at her.  “Are you alright?”

“Oh.  Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Alright,” she replied, though clearly she was not fooled.  “I’ll just clock us out here,

then.”

“Thanks.”  Alexandria drifted back through the doors after first attempting to look

through the round, cloudy windows into the lounge.  Backlit by the brighter lights

that were quickly muted out again, she walked hastily toward Van.  She refused to

look over at the table.

Van welcomed her back with his warm grin.  “How’d it go?” he asked.

“Fine,” she lied, finally daring to glance.  The booth was empty.  She looked around,

her eyes darting from table to table, but neither of the men were anywhere to be

seen.  There was no evidence of them having been there, except for the cigarette

butt ground to ash, left in the arbitrary tray on one of these tables.

“Are you okay?” Van asked, echoing Annick’s tone of concern from a moment ago. 

“You look spooked.”

“I’m fine, really.  Just… tired.”

He gave her a skeptical look, but said nothing.  Annick joined them at the bar. 

“Alright.  Until tomorrow night, then,” she said to Van, hooking her arm into Alex-

andria’s.

“Roger that,” Van said.  “See you two later.”

Alexandria considered asking him to walk them home.  She decided against it, how-

ever, partly because she wouldn’t know how to explain why.  She was also somewhat

embarrassed by how “spooked” she was.  She and Annick turned away to leave.

“Hey,” Van called.  Alexandria turned back.  “Don’t forget your coat.  It’s cold out

there.”  He handed it across the bar to her.

“Thanks,” she murmured.  “See you tomorrow.”

On the way home, neither she nor Annick spoke, and for possibly the first time in

her life, the silence did not comfort her.

    

 

 

xxviii

29

Poetryby: Tiffany Reazor

9th grade

Ode To The Holidays

Ode to the holidayscold, moist aircoats and glovesuggs and hats

Ode to the holidaysred and whitecandy canesSeasonal coffee beveragesdecorated malls

Ode to the holidaysbroken Christmas lightstacky blow up decorationsChristmas radio songs

Ode to the holidaysjoy and wonderpeaceful family time

xxx

SONNET SlaM

Fall, 2014

31

We think of our selfs with blind eyes were bound.Our sight is blocked by a vale of labels. A generation held down and rewound, Time and time again we look unable.

Why can't you see that we don't have to be?We can not pretend to drown any more!We shall not be unwanted. Can't you see,Swim from the current it's our tainted core.

Stand on the shore rase, your head to the stars. Don't stand forlorn your words have clarity,Your colors they sore. Don't stare at the scarsThey don't define you. Your a rarity.

You are your own don't let others decide.You won't stand alone, we are by your side.

Best SonneT

9th grade

Not Society’s Decision By: LeeAnn Rossi

LHS-Killough Shakespearean Sonnet Award

Dear Santa, All I want for Christmas this year, other than my two front teeth, is a name. I am an Eng-lish teacher, in particular, I co-teach English I at LHS-Killough. But the thing is, I’ve never liked the term English to describe the subject in which I teach. I find it to be somewhat of a mis-nomer. What I mean is, if you open up a high school course catalog you are bound to find classes with the name English I, II, III, and IV; much like, there will be classes with the title Spanish, French, or German I, II, III, and IV.

But, I don't teach a foreign lan-guage class! No, there needs to be a distinction. This is a core subject; after-all, not an elective. The other core sub-jects have such easily definable names: Math, oh I wonder what they teach? Science, no guess-ing here. History, why is this a core subject again? I’m just kid-ding, I love you Social Studies, y'all are equally important.

My point is, the other core sub-jects don’t have nebulous or confusing titles, so why does mine? Perhaps, we could change the name to what they term it in middle school? Lan-guage Arts….sounds classy;

however, I can’t help but mental picture a ninja welding a pencil ready to karate-chop a Haiku in half. On second thought, I don't think this title can be taken seri-ously either.

Why can’t we just give it a prac-tical name. Something none am-biguous. A name that reflects the essential core skill that we teach. I mean, again, we are a core subject. But what name could be given to such a skill that teaches students to be-come better readers and writ-ers? If only there was such a word!!!

Oh Santa, you see, this is pre-dicament I am in. I have spent too many sleepless nights trou-bled by this erroneous title for my subject. Can’t your elves just make a new word like they make a new toy?

But wait…there is a word that exists already that defines a per-sons ability to read and write? It’s called …wait for it…Liter-acy? By heavens!!! what a sweet sounding word, a word I’ve been looking for all my life.

Yes, Santa all I want for Xmas this year is a name…and that name is LITERACY!

- Hoskins

All I Want For Xmas Is...

a NameHoskins

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33

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