Introducing Creative Claws, a vibrant gallery space curated by The Panther Post, where students' artistic talents shine brightly.
Join us in celebrating the rich tapestry of creativity within our school community as we showcase a diverse array of artworks for you, the reader, to enjoy.
By Mia Hinh | Gr. 12
In the small tribal village of Vipevale, Swanilla and her best friend Medley were ready to embark on an adventure. No sooner had they set foot out of Medley’s house when a crowd of winged snakes surrounded them with praise and blessings. Vipevale was home to a tribe of winged snakes called the Quetzalcoatlus, magical beings of the weather. Medley was one of them; Swanilla, on the other hand, wasn’t, for she was more so an anthropomorphic beast in her neighbors’ eyes. A cherished one, to be exact.
“My children.” said the Chief of the tribe as he came forward to Medley and Swanilla. “Rarely is it for our own to leave a tribal way of living. I’m not saying it’s a curse to think that way, but to move on in pursuit of navigating through the wonders of life is a treasure in itself, more valuable than, I daresay, the gold our ancestors treasured. Tell me, children, why do you plan to abandon tribalism for exploring beyond the safety of our village?”
Medley, the confident scholar he was, was the first to speak: “Chief Sympho, I am not one to move past tradition. In fact, I plan to use the shamanic magic passed down from my forefathers to learn more about magic and knowledge! I no longer want to pursue them passed down from books alone. In order to study both old and new magic, I shall leave my comfort zone and do so in practice, not just in theory. And in doing so, I will read more books, learn more about magic, and spread the word! That is what I want to do, Chief!” Medley snooted his serpent snout, a proud gesture and proof of his outstanding intelligence.
The Chief nodded at Medley in approval, before turning to Swanillla. “And what about you, Sweet Swan?” he asked, “You may not be a Quetzalcoatl, but you’re one of us nonetheless. What is your answer?”
The shy, yet courageous Swanilla hesitated to answer at first. After hearing her friend’s question, she’s unsure of how to describe her desires. She thought back to her childhood in the village. Before befriending the quirky Medley, she often perched in her favorite banana tree, watching the winged snakelings frolic in the rich hills of green.
She watched them fly in the air and twirl. Even if one messed up the twirl, they would laugh not with pettiness but with joy, as if having fun was more important than fighting for who was the best at twirling. Even if one was fat, or sloppy, or pushy, or feisty, the villagers reacted with patience, discipline, and kindness. To the young Starling, she witnessed a perfect world of unconditional peace—the ability to live with one another without hatred and prejudice, and the ability to love no matter what.
“Chief..” began the hesitant Swanilla, “I cannot depart without expressing my gratitude towards this village, the village that raised me without a care about my out-standing appearance or my shyness. I am thankful for my parents, who provided me here a second home since the day I arrived blindly on this planet. I am thankful for our teacher, who taught us well the beauty of nature—from the abundance of green and critters to the Cloud Dragons’ blessing of rain and wind. I am thankful for everyone in this village, especially my best friend Medley, for reminding me that all who live on this planet deserve to be loved, and most importantly, to feel at peace.
“Chief Sympho, my reason to leave the warm, embracing wings of this village behind, is to fulfill my quest for peace. It is not only in my instincts to do so, but in the post-era of corruption, abuse, and isolation, I feel that it is time to find and spread the light that is peace and love.”
When Swanilla finished relaying her final answer, she grew shy again from the realization of silence from her own speech. But she needn’t worry, for the Chief nodded in approval. “Though what you believe in is beyond my understanding of the new world, and perhaps, foolish and impossible, I undoubtedly know that you two will bring forth a new revolution in our broken world.” concluded Chief Sympho. “But remember, my children, with big dreams come with big challenges. Medley, in spite of your quest for knowledge, you will inevitably encounter the unknown, things that aren’t meant to be discovered or known. Soon, you shall find yourself unable to distinguish truth from lies as a result. Remember, in a situation like this in which logic and reasoning are useless, there is no shame in following your gut instincts and expressing empathy towards what you believe is the truth.
“And as for you, Sweet Swan, it is not common knowledge that you are a Starlestial, a reincarnation of the fallen Stalspike, and the ‘result’ of the end of a near world-ending crisis by a corrupted monster…Your pledge to bring peace will not be enough in the eyes of the heavily scarred, whose lives were negatively affected by an event that was out of your control. Not only that, but finding peace and love is not as simple as asking two parties to forgive and forget, to love and be loved. Rather, it is far more complex and, undeniably, near impossible to achieve true peace, for conflict and war are inevitable. Therefore, your quest for peace is not about the result, but about the significant effort to bring people together and to understand the bigger picture that is love.”
“My children, I believe that it is time. Your words alone have proven to me that, with great reason, you are ready to leave the village and embark on your journey to find what you’re looking for.”
After the hugs were exchanged, and blessings were given, Medley and Swanilla, carrying the wisdom of their beloved Chief (quite literally and figuratively, for he bestowed them his feathers for good luck), left behind their peaceful little village. In front of them now would be the hardships and new friendships that they’ll encounter in their quest.
By Naza Chang | Gr. 12
From the Nov/Dec Issue...
By Dylan Alcala | Gr. 12
By Jingwen Ruan | Gr. 9
From the October Issue...
By Jocelyn Wong | Gr. 12
By Jacob Porras | Gr. 10
Fallen girl from the sky
Hold my hand as we walk by Never knew what beauty meant
Until you eased my hearts lament.
Within' the sound of your voice I'm happy I made the right choice To stay forever, your loverboy Dont worry, love, Ill bring you joy.
I remember dreaming of this spot, In my yard, with a bright yellow daisy, Pulled off each petal, lost in thought— She loves me, she loves me not.
She loves me, she loves me not.
She loves me, she loves me not.
She loves me, she loves me not.
Now I have you, Just as you have me I'm so addicted, I could never get enough When I'm sad, you lift my spirit up high, Then we kissed as I reached for the sky.
By Anonymous | Gr. 12
By Anonymous | Gr. 10
Yesterday, while I was walking home
I saw something strange
I saw a TV in a shop
It was playing music
There was a pretty girl singing in it
I feel as though I've seen her before
Her voice is familiar
I wonder...
You and your tricks again?
To be honest, I'm starting to forget the reason why I did all this to begin with
...I think I deserve what is happening to me
Thinking too hard about the past makes my head hurt
Stil, the sun speaks to me
Who are you?
The thought makes me wonder
Whoever she is, I think she was right
I’m just a walking corpse,
Pretending that I’m still alive
Today, while I was walking to school
I saw something strange
I saw a packaged fish in a store
It looked like it’d bite me if I thawed it
I suppose most of them don’t really last long
But who knows
Is it really a fish?
You would’ve laughed at me right?
No... who am I talking about?
Who wants to hear how weak I am?
Who wants to hear how I fear death?
Wow, technology is amazing
Ow...
My head hurts
From the September Issue...
By Diana Garcia | Gr. 12
I am scared of changing times,
Scared that the wind will forget its rhymes.
I am terrified of drying rivers,
And the gradual shrinking of my dinners.
It frightens me when the raven no longers caws,
Because neither will other birds sing their songs.
But hope returns to me each night,
Once I turn on my night light.
The biggest cause of my fears,
Is the dark’s voice in my ears.
My anxiety, in dark, festers and grows,
In light, it shrinks and slows.
Tonight, I have no light.
I am scared.
By Mia A. Hernandez | Gr. 12
Lena had always believed in the beauty of fleeting moments—those brief encounters that felt timeless, like they existed outside the boundaries of normal life. But nothing could have prepared her for meeting Ethan.
It was in a small bookstore, tucked between shelves of worn-out paperbacks and dusty hardcovers. She was lost in a novel’s first chapter when a quiet voice broke her concentration.
"Is that any good?" he asked, his eyes warm and curious.
For a second, she didn’t respond. The suddenness of their connection, the way his gaze seemed to hold hers, like it was the most natural thing, took her by surprise.
From that day forward, Lena found herself drawn to him in ways she had never experienced. They talked for hours about everything and nothing—books, life, dreams, and the quiet hopes they had long hidden from the world. With every conversation, she felt the weight of her guarded heart lift, allowing a delicate, intoxicating joy to seep in.
But as the weeks passed, joy was replaced by something else—an ache. A knot in her chest tightened each time he smiled at her, each time he touched her hand. She couldn’t shake the fear that one day he would disappear, just as quickly as he had come into her life. The thought haunted her at night, unraveling the peace she had found in him.
What if he leaves? The question followed her everywhere, darkening even their brightest moments. She would catch herself staring at him, as if she could somehow memorize every detail of his presence, hoping that if he did go, she could hold onto something—anything. His laughter, the curve of his lips, the way his eyes softened when he spoke about things that mattered to him.
The beauty of their connection began to feel like a double-edged sword, cutting deeper with each passing day. She had never known that loving someone could feel so much like drowning. The more she clung to him, the more fragile her world became.
One night, as they sat together on the edge of her bed, Ethan turned to her, his expression gentle but serious. "Lena, you look so far away lately. What’s wrong?"
The fear gripped her then, tighter than ever. Her words trembled as they left her lips. "I’m scared you’ll leave."
Ethan was quiet for a long moment, and in that silence, her heart plummeted. But then, he took her hands, his touch steady.
"I’m scared too," he admitted softly. "But that doesn’t mean I’ll run."
It wasn’t a promise, and she knew that. No one could promise forever. But in that moment, his words were enough. For now, they were together, and maybe that was all she could ask for.
The beauty of meeting someone was never in its permanence, she realized. It was in the now—the fragile, fleeting moments when love bloomed, even if it always carried the possibility of loss.
By Lucy N. Doan | Gr. 10
1/2
it’s the withdrawal of something you experience everyday,
everyday without fail,
then you mourn,
you grieve,
you move on
the loss of feeling,
the overwhelming expression of emotion,
the hurl,
the nausea,
the ache
the chest compresses into a gaping hole,
tears it apart everyday,
looking for an answer,
find it,
deny it
it’s not true,
it’s not real,
wait for it,
yearn for it,
pray for it
it won’t come,
won’t return,
you’re on your own,
there’s no fixing it,
get it over with,
it’s infuriating,
why,
how,
it doesn’t make sense,
it was there,
why is it gone,
it shouldn’t be,
there shouldn’t be anything wrong,
it’s not fair,
why mine,
2/2
well maybe it’s not at fault,
maybe it can be fixed,
fix the hole with something new,
find the new,
like it
it’s filled,
halfway,
barely there,
draining,
no difference
mourning is a funny thing,
you want to die,
to cry constantly,
feel as if you’re being dried out from the inside,
dehydrating yourself and saving the drought of the world
you curl in your blankets,
sobbing amounts no sane person would, it’s sadness,
it’s longing,
longing is a torturous pain, a constant need for them to be there,
a plea,
an ache
but the sun rises,
and the sun sets,
and as your world spins back on its axis, you finally realize it’ll be okay,
the ache is gone,
the hurl,
the migraine
it breaks and bends,
repairs and shatters,
dies and rises,
it doesn’t stop,
the pain is gone,
and it stitches itself back over again
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