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A short story looking at the common question “what if bad was good?” - and a slightly alternative parallel-universe tribute to One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey
CONTENT WARNING: This story contains language that references sexual violence and self-harm that may be upsetting to some readers.
* * *
I did all I could to help. I kept myself clean both physically and emotionally, and I was nice and friendly, and I showed compassion and concern. But no one really knew that I was there to help them. Everything I did was for my patients.
This story ends with the lobotomy of someone who attacked me. I wish I could say his motive, but that’s what a doctor is for. Or at least meant to be for. Dr. John Spivey, who really didn’t deserve that title, was the chief psychiatrist at Oregon State Hospital. And I could swear he was drunk more often than not. He had the type of eyes that don’t go past the surface; glossed over with a lack of sentience, as if he didn’t even know he was alive. If it weren’t for McMurphy, Spivey would be my antagonist.
When I first started working at the hospital, there was only one patient: Chief. Chief was at this time diagnosed as catatonic, or “dumb n’ deaf” as other patients would say. He would never say anything, just watch and take commands, which seemed to go against everything anyone would expect from someone who would’ve soon been the head of their tribe if it wasn’t destroyed.
There were many patients who would come and go, but very few were actually forced to stay; most of the patients of the hospital volunteered themselves. It’s hard to have empathy for grown men who are too scared of their subconsciousness to get a job and contribute to society, but having that empathy was my job, so I always held my tongue.
I think now is as good a time as any to mention my intuition. I’ve never been wrong when judging a book by its cover, but I guess I just know how to judge. Most people say that phrase because a book’s content is in the pages, on the inside. But when looking at people, more importantly insane people, it’s easy to notice all the scratches, the tape holding the spine in place, the faded parts, the way it does its makeup, the way it cuts into its soft cover, and the way it knows it's helpless. However, judgement can only get you so far, especially when the book knows it will be judged, and compromises. This is why we had group therapy, to talk about trauma, and possibly get a solution. Unfortunately, Glossy-Eyes was always late to these meetings, despite it being mandatory for him to be there. This was insufferable, because the Doctor carried around this aura of an audition. The minute he entered a room people felt like they needed to impress him, like their cover was being judged and they had to hide all the scratches and cuts and tape. I, on the other hand, tried to make it known that I didn’t enjoy a second of his presence. I felt sometimes that I was shooting the words “I hate you!” straight from my mind into his face, but they were always lost in those pathetic eyes.
He had power over all the patients, the same patients that hated me. I can’t blame them too much. A dog doesn’t like being fed medicine. So why would a crazed rapist enjoy being told he’s in the wrong? But just like feeding a dog, you find ways around the rejection of medical treatment. Whether it be reminding someone of their free will, telling them it’ll give them super powers, sometimes telling them they’ll die if they don’t take it, I always found something that worked.
It was hell when McMurphy arrived at the hospital. I had a migraine that day only to have to deal with a rapist who might be a psychopath, too. I was trying to get all the rest I could when I was told that the new patient wasn’t following protocol, so I reluctantly came down to see what the issue was. I told McMurphy that he’d need to be showered after just arriving, and he explained that he had already been showered by the courthouse and the jail, a completely fair and sane response. I told him it was just protocol, and he said he was just trying to get acquainted with the people around the hospital, which was an obvious lie. All the other patients looked like small dogs watching a hawk fly by. But no matter how scared they were of McMurphy, they were more scared of me. After all, what’s a hawk to a person forcing you to face reality.
Then there was the time with the TV. We have strict rules about TV which boil down to the question “Is it therapeutic?” This question was more often than not a passive aggressive “no” until a patient, Scanlon, decided to starve himself for three days straight until we gave in. If I didn’t know that he’d keep starving until he had no stomach, therefore not begging to change the rules, Spivey would’ve let him wither away, watching with his distant eyes.
One day McMurphy wanted to watch the TV during the afternoon to watch the world playoffs. I would’ve let him if it was as simple as that, but I didn’t feel like fighting with the brick wall for a change again.
Remember that catatonic patient, Chief? Lies. Pure lies. The day McMurphy was begging to watch TV, he found out that you can change some rules as long as you have a unanimous vote between everyone in the ward. I tried to catch him on the technicality that the Chief was in the room and he didn’t vote. But as I was leaving and listening to McMurphy’s pleas towards Chief, I looked back after hearing someone yelling “Look! Look!” and there Chief was, with his hand raised with the vote.
They turned on the TV, but I unplugged it, maybe feeling a little petty, before they got the chance to really watch anything. But then McMurphy took advantage of someone’s schizophrenia and pretended to watch, and everyone either succumbed to mental psychosis or followed willingly.
The screaming, the yelling, the misbehaving, everything was unbearable. I wanted to stick an icepick in my brain right then and there, and I knew that I’d have to deal with McMurphy soon.
One day, I told McMurphy that he could only leave if Dr Spivey approved. He acted unaffected but after I left I could hear him asking what everyone meant, that’s how I knew I broke him, but it wasn’t enough.
I knew that if McMurphy didn’t succumb soon it’d hurt him more than anyone else in the ward, but of course no one believes in authority.
Days later, McMurphy decided to have a party which led to some type of hooker friend of his taking advantage of a young boy named Billy. Billy was taken away to another room, but by the time I went to check on him, he had slit his throat. I went out there and told McMurphy what had happened, but he didn’t listen. In fact, he attacked me right then and there.
You know that you’re the villain of the story in the eyes of everyone when you are being choked to death by a rapist, and no one comes to your aid. After that it was only a matter of time before McMurphy had the medical procedure of a lobotomy.
I did all I could to help.
First, Authenticity Starts and Ends with You.
Authentic self expression has been on the rise for a while now and has been quite the trend. . .that is, when it fits society's beauty standards.
Your personal style is what makes you confident and happy in your own skin. It’s your authentic self that makes you YOU and inspires others. It's when we start trying to decide what's authentic for someone else that ruins the fun.
Let's take just one poignant example of how the fun gets ruined: Adidas' Yeezy foam slides.
So, these things look like crocs if they’d been dragged through the deepest depths of HELL. They’re hideous, and everyone purchasing those things knew it, but it’s what was in style.
A second example. Recently Kim Kardashian just released her new Skims line of customized thongs that are modeled after faux hair -- the intimate kind, not the kind on your head. I'm not kidding. The entire line is just G-strings made to look like a woman's -- [to ensure publication of this article, readers will have to finish this sentence themselves*]. It sold out in 2 hours.
BBL’s, body sculpting, 3-minute glow-up tutorials, LABUBUs. The point is none of it matters, especially negative opinions from others – even mine. If BBLs, Adidas, and Yeezys are your way of expressing yourself, then HAVE AT IT. If you genuinely like the Labubu, buy as many of the Labubu as you want. If you wanna dress like “the walking dead” every day, DO IT! If it's what makes you happy, confident, and heard, if it’s a part of your authentic self, no matter what people say about it, then do it. But do it for THAT reason, young teens.
Second, There's No Such Thing As Trying To Be Cool.
The majority of people will follow the crowd and what they deem “cool." Here's a personal example.
I learned at a VERY young age that I had absolutely NO INTEREST AT ALL in ever dressing casually. I found inspiration from goths, emo’s and punks. So I wore all black clothing, ANY form of platform shoes I could get my hands on, and without silver jewelry, I swore I was incomplete. I got odd stares and some mean words at times, but I was happy nonetheless, was me, and any meanness from others only pushed me deeper into finding who I am and how to express myself. Now I'm more into the Boho/spiritual look. Bright colors, skirts, golden jewelry, scarfs, and even then I still like to mix it up and combine the aesthetics every now and then.
I wore knee high converse throughout my freshman and sophomore years whenever I could. Of course, occasionally the mediocre boring people would have something to say, but others took inspiration from it. And look at it now: knee high converse are a trend again, sold out in stores and the main fashion accessory used in clothing for ALL aesthetics. How ironic.
Third, We ARE the Trendsetters, So. . .
I asked Asher Nelson, a student musician here at Neville, if he’s ever had similar experiences when it came to finding his personal style. Asher told me that he found inspiration within the fashion industry.
“At a young age I learned about the fashion industry," Asher told me. "I saw people in magazines and basically wanted to rebel against what the social norms were. I kept the confidence by reminding myself that my fashion was mine, and it was mine to express freely. At one point I really didn’t care anymore what people had to say.”
This realization led him to pursuing fashion photography as well. The point is we authentic people ARE THE TRENDSETTERS and for every one bit of criticism you get on an outfit, there are two people that are inspired from it. S do what you want, because it’s genuinely not that deep.
*[Note in brackets included by The Tradition Editorial Staff]
While many people are sitting and waiting for Disney to put out another movie that’s bound to bomb in theaters, others are searching for indie film alternatives. The indie animation market has suddenly exploded, especially in the past year, breathing a breath of much needed fresh air into the industry.
The representation of women for young girls was once led by Disney, but as we’ve aged more and more, it seems like Disney has slowly lost its touch that made the iconic ‘Disney princess’ so popular to begin with. What was an indie, slow rising animation company, has become a corporate entity focused on gaining money rather than providing authentic entertainment to the world. As many people age out of Disney princesses, it becomes clear that the format of the “quirky, awkward, yet girlboss” heroine has become synonymous with mainstream Disney films, specifically in the last decade, starting with the success of Tangled (2010).
Until Tangled, almost every infamous Disney princess and heroines had traits that reflected the time period, but still had their own distinct personalities. For instance, Jane’s (Tarzan, 1999) clumsiness puts her life in danger multiple times while she’s adventuring through the jungle, Ariel’s (The Little Mermaid, 1989) naivety caused her voice to be stolen, Mulan’s (Mulan, 1998) awkwardness made her struggle to be the perfect daughter. Even in more restrictive time periods in women’s rights, these characters managed to be so distinct and unique in their own ways, both in spite of and because of their ‘flaws. The authenticity of having a female lead making the same mistakes and having the same flaws as any teen girl or child could possibly help those same girls learn that they aren’t inherently stupid or ignorant– they’re human, and have the option to look towards a role model, even in fiction.
With the release of Rapunzel, however, a different type of “Disney Heroine” started getting pushed together and repackaged into the most extreme version of itself. It takes the best traits of Rapunzel, but rather than provide unique female characters like in years past, Disney chooses to market to a more and more broad audience. Rapunzel’s naivety lets her befriend the men at the tavern, her clumsiness helps her knock out Flynn and oftentimes works more in her favor, and her awkwardness endears her to people. While Tangled’s Rapunzel was the first of her kind to be written like this, her character became the mold with which future characters were squeezed into and exploited by Disney’s marketing teams. Characters like Anna (Frozen, 2019), Moana (Moana, 2016), and most recently Asha (Wish, 2023) share many of Rapunzel’s ’quirks.’ They’re socially awkward, ‘adorkable,’ and clumsy– though only relatable to some. Disney continues with this characterization of their characters because they think it sells the best, but it does nothing for true representation. Heroines are becoming more and more watered down. Instead of having strong personality traits and defining features to not only make them stand out better, but also to reflect the multicultural and living audience watching. Rapunzel's characterization made sense because she was locked in a tower her whole life– and perhaps the same can be said for Anna, but both Moana and Asha grew up around many friends and family where the personalities they’re given don’t actually reflect anything about their goals or motivations, contributing nothing to their stories. While old Disney heroines used to be integrated into their stories and formed based on the worlds around them, in the present day, it’s more like they only exist as a placeholder while not actually mattering in an overarching plotline.
Now, take this all the way back to 2020, with Dana Terrace’s The Owl House, produced by Disney. For those who’ve never heard of it, 14 year old girl Luz Noceda, after being implied to have a troubled time in school, is planned to be sent to a ‘fit into the box’ summer camp, but instead finds a portal to another realm filled with witches and demons alike. Luz is then taken in by witch and criminal Eda Clawthorne and becomes her apprentice. Luz fits the pattern as any main character of a show, especially as a teen girl– she’s awkward, optimistic, and geeky, rather similarly to the quirky girl pattern that a lot of Disney movies have recently perpetuated. Yet, even with her sharing those similarities, Luz pushes past her troupe into a much more fleshed out and well rounded character. She constantly makes mistakes, says things without thinking, and pursues half baked plans far too confidently– she acts like an actual 14 year old that just stumbled upon a magical world. Then, in season two when she’s faced with trying to overthrow the main villain: Belos, the tyrant emperor of the demon realm, she learns how to quickly mature and take the scenario seriously. When her and her friends’ lives are in danger, she acts accordingly, instead of cracking jokes and one liners like Moana when faced with the Kakamora. While The Owl House wasn’t ever an indie show, being produced by Disney, it was still incredibly good because it was written by someone who had a passion for her work, as well as someone who was actually given the proper resources and creative vision to make something special– Dana Terrace.
Photo of Dana Terrance
The Owl House Cartoon Banner
Dana Terrace, an animator, director, producer, and artist, known widely as creator of The Owl House, as well as someone who worked on Gravity Falls (2012) and worked as a director on the 2017 DuckTales reboot, started out concepting The Owl House way back in 2016. She originally pitched it to Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network, but was denied by both, until eventually being taken up by Disney in 2018 alongside Amphibia. Eventually the trailer was released in 2019, and finally the first episode premiered on January 10th, 2020. The Owl House is most easily compared to shows like Gravity Falls, Steven Universe (2013), and Adventure Time (2010); while the first season had a lighter feel for the show, the second season relates to these other cartoons, featuring dark themes directed towards a teen and older kid audiences. Personally, I didn’t start watching The Owl House until the end of season 2 was already out, but the show was already huge with all ages. At the time, I was only 13, but that was the perfect age since I was experiencing so much of what Luz was during her time in the demon realm. I related to her in such a deep way, and part of that is what makes the show so special to me. The Owl House does what so many children’s cartoons sought out to do, and just like many of the animated shows– not just by Disney but also by Netflix and other corporations– it got cut by Disney for doing just that.
If you’ve been a fan of The Owl House before, you were already expecting this to be brought up. The Owl House was officially cancelled and shortened to two seasons, leaving the show to be cut short and ending after a 3 episode finale. The official reason given for its cancellation was because it “didn’t fit the Disney brand,” but if a cartoon this charming and well-loved didn’t fit the brand, what exactly would? The Owl House features so much more than the average Disney animated movie– it has diverse characters that reach further beyond just being a placeholder for false representation, it didn’t hide behind layers of implication and instead fully showcased a canon woman-loving-woman romance for the main lead along with multiple other LGBTQ+ characters, and it still continued with an in-depth story and authentic plotline, commentating on so much of the nature of growing up neurodivergent while still appealing to a teen audience. To me, I think that The Owl House is everything that the Disney princesses intended to be– true representation for young children to be able to see themselves in. The fact that this show exists proves that Disney has the ability to hire writers and produce a piece of media with fully rounded characters– media that has the ability to become massively popular– but specifically CHOOSES not to, and instead tries to sell to a wider audience at the expense of the quality of their work.
After the success of The Owl House, Dana Terrace left Disney along with many members of her team and began working independently. In doing this, Dana Terrace has completely built a new path for animators attempting to break into the industry with her newest show– Knights of Guinevere, produced by indie studio Glitch Productions, home to The Amazing Digital Circus, Murder Drones, and more indie based animated shows. Dana Terrace’s move from corporate to indie is not just a one-off thing, it’s showing that even if you somehow ‘make it,’ and create media for corporations as massively popular as Disney, you may still end up being screwed over because of the greedy nature of these companies. Terrace is slicing through the treatment of animation that we’ve been used to and even expecting for the past few years with the decline of the movie industry and showing animators and writers as talented as she is that they don’t have to automatically sell out to do what they love. Glitch Productions, WISHBONE Animation, Studio Flimpo– these studios, backed by bigger corporations or not, are so incredibly important in keeping the art of animation alive for both adults AND children. The decline of Disney is a serious spit in the face and perfectly demonstrates the exploitation of art; the industry would not be where it is today without Disney, but that does not mean that the world can’t hold them accountable for giving up on their morals.
Dana Terrace’s Knights of Guinevere is her final ‘screw you’ to Disney, featuring two rag-tag heroines struggling in a futuristic dystopian city existing underneath a theme park overrun by androids all named Guinevere– an exact parallel to real life Disney. Guinevere herself is a middle finger to Disney, her character being the ‘princess’ and face of the corporation shown to previously run the theme park where the main leads – Franke and Andi – now live underneath in an underprivileged city in outer space. Even Guinevere’s design herself is a mimic of Disney’s Mickey Mouse, having two big buns on her head in reference to Mickey’s round ears. Terrace’s strength in spearheading this show should inspire us to look for more independent animation– pilot concepts, short movies, anything available so that more studios and teams have the opportunity to follow Terrace’s lead in creating media that could be remembered for years as masterpieces. The golden age of indie animation continues to be on the rise as Prime starts backing more shows like The Amazing Digital Circus and light the way for corporations to put in as much work and determination as these significantly smaller projects. While Knights of Guinevere and many of the indie shows listed are all targeted towards adults, with the rise of indie creations becoming more and more popular, we may finally see a rebirth of films for kids that have actual substance to them and reembrace the simple concept of girl leads, for girls.
Knights of Guinevere Pilot
Interview with Terrace about Knights of Guinevere
Music is a door
That unlocks joy
When I dance and take a chance,
I let the music take over
It's like a lover
It envelopes me in a warm hug
The day of slug is anew
I renew my love for dance because of music
I would lose it, my passion, without sounds.
Dance is a thing that you have to relove.
Music keeps me sane
Not insane
If I close my eyes
I defy the things around me
To create my own world
in my head
Music instead
is a thing you need most
at the right time.
Music speaks straight to the heart
the only problem is where to start.
It helps time pass and life to go
It gives nourishment to the body when it starts to grow
Music is like a mother as she sings you to sleep
Music gets you in that mood with every click and every beat
While music can sometimes be a distraction
Music can also put your dreams into action.
Music is a constant and has always happened
Music could make you jump to your feet and even start rapping
Music helped Jefferson
He was in a tragic accident.
He was accused of killing his friends,
And then,
he was put in the jailhouse,
where he was quiet as a mouse,
Then Grant came along,
and showed him some songs
he listened to the radio for long,
he connected with the outside
which gave him some pride,
he no longer sighed,
music helped Jefferson
Something about the way music runs like a river.
There are so many parts to it.
All of the ideas, thoughts, lightbulbs
crafted inside the artist's brain.
and I think that's the beauty of it.
It can encapture a feeling, an emotion, a moment that you never want to let go.
There's nothing better than finding a song that resonates with you.
It makes you think
that no matter how lonely this world can get,
you aren't alone.
That there's more to life than just living.
The instruments coming together in tune.
The steady beats and the fast paced ones.
They mean something.
Not just because someone spent their time writing and thinking about it.
But because you can hear it,
and a part of you can feel it too.
And that's what I
think music is truly
all about.
Whether it be a soft melody,
or a harsh snare.
i find my focus when accompanied
by sounds and rhythm.
the lyricism and musicality of
my favorite song keeps me
calm.
when times seem weary,
i simply count on the
✧ rhythm. ✧
long dark nights
with long days ahead,
when my bedsheets are too hot
and my clothes too wrinkly
and my thoughts too loud
sound reaches out its hand
pulling me out of the hole
that is my thoughts...
whether they're choices
on what to do with tomorrow
or fear of whats to come
or words i never got to say
music distracts from them
taking center-stage in the
better side of my brain
and when it bows
I'm finally asleep
and my thoughts can't
get to me in my dreams
Surrounded by darkness, blinded by hurt and shame.
Caged like a bird
Disgust holds me captive captive
Scenes muted by a cloth so thick my breath becomes labored
my sight is gone
Yet my hearing is painfully amplified, every crick and creek triggering a flinch,
The sounds paralyzing my mind with fear, disoriented by the void
Humid air fills my lungs
Someone enters the room that holds my cage,
A panic so thick it submits in my throat,
Wearing footsteps edge towards me
Different from ones I've once heard,
Starting far slowly closing in on me
I can feel the fear settling in the muggy air
On separate sides we both fear what will be left of me
Selected Poems & "A Colour Cycle"
When you walk through the forest,
Full of trees,
Stretching as far as your eyes can see,
Do you see the unrest,
Lurking around me?
I see a million different unnatural beings,
But when they see me, they start fleeing.
There in the distance,
I see a sheep.
A reflection.
No shepherd in existence,
It’s fluffy white coat looked so clean,
But it was covered in something so bizarre.
Not even I could miss it from afar.
It was draped with the skin of a wolf.
It looks at me, almost with despair,
I feel a chill in the air.
I’m frozen solid,
Almost like its eyes have turned me to rock.
There’s not a snake in sight,
They’ve run away with all their might.
I like to think that the forest thinks she’s lucky,
In this vault of grassy monies,
Covered in the mossy earnings,
This place is so sublime,
Almost as if the biology here has never heard a lie.
When I walk through the forest, alone,
With the trees as far as my lonely eyes can see,
As everything scrambles to be away,
Leaves flittering, blown,
From the feet below me.
Day after day,
I went back so I could say,
“I see you for who you are”
But I never did see it again from afar.
Instead I found,
A monster so profound.
A sheer guise of a deer.
It snarled at me with the sharpest teeth to ever appear.
I wonder why it chose that guise.
Deer aren’t always innocent, nor wise.
I’d think something so small would choose to be frightening,
Or something that makes me feel my skin tightening.
I walk farther forward,
It takes a step back,
I realize why it chose an animal
That’s supposed to be in a pack:
It is a coward,
Through and through,
This is the animal,
And I see you.
I knew it the second I saw,
That drowning feeling,
I knew I would fall.
Into that gaping mouth whenever it would open,
Forever, I knew,
It was I you had chosen.
“For a star to be born, there is one
Thing that must happen: a gaseous
Nebula must collapse.
So collapse.
Crumble.
This is not your destruction.
This is your birth.”
-Zoe Skylar
She screams, she cries
All the while The Man pours his whiskey on the rocks,
But she wouldn’t know,
Not because she’s shut the door to escape the Thomas Dekker, no,
The more she heard the gauntlets being pounded,
The more her bosom hounded.
Pitter patter, pitter patter,
Suddenly she refills her glass of woe,
Drinking it down in her fear stained frocks.
Far away,
The Man shares his mind,
Over a glass of whiskey on the rocks,
Her glass filled with orange rind,
This simpering girl, surrounded,
The game he’s played, pulling card after card,
Until he found her,
The fool, to be with him,
the fraud.
As she wailed,
This scene, sublime,
Her dainty hands that cover her makeup,
Running in a line.
The tragedy that she’ll never understand;
He never even wanted her hand.
Now she sits on the cozy throne in the parlor,
Waiting for His blow to land,
When He comes home in a state.
Now we see all that she is,
That bitch bares her teeth.
Alone inside, feeling unheard,
All she’s seen as is not someone who’s hurt.
The Man dismissed her with great haste,
Not giving her a taste,
Of her freedom.
He pours another, mud flowing between the stones,
Her will, unsheathed,
Knocking His down below.
After the butterfly flaps her wings,
The storm after it makes a sound,
One oh so familiar,
Pitter patter,
Their iron fists,
Pitter patter,
The gauntlets pound,
Pitter patter,
To put her heart back in its place,
Putting Their cage back over her, the hound.
“If you want to
Find a needle in a haystack,
Burn the haystack.”
-Anonymous
One, write down all your biggest fears.
Two, pull the paper until it tears.
Three, repeat steps one and two until you observe,
Four, the idea that someone had the nerve.
Count to four,
Make an extra stop on one,
Understand that your confetti will not be done.
Your paper will cry for all the things you’ve borne.
Count again,
One.
Two, three, four.
The magical thing about confetti,
Is that it’s supposed to be pretty.
When people throw it around,
You don’t again see them frown.
This is because they’re throwing it away,
Their fears from the back of their brain.
A puzzle you can never put back together,
Because you were never supposed to understand whether
Or not they need help.
The point is not to see how they felt.
Count to four,
One more time,
Make an extra stop at one.
Your paper will cry for all the things you’ve borne,
And when you're done, start your climb.
Look in the eye of the sun.
And don’t look away until you’re done.
The last step to making confetti,
Is to throw it up in the air.
Make it a party,
And don’t let it be shared.
The Colour Red
Angry and hungry,
Maybe some people aren’t so lucky.
Sad and cold,
Maybe some people aren’t so bold.
The colour red is where I rest my cold, hungry head.
The colour red is where my thoughts make their bed.
Angry and sad,
He said my life wasn’t so bad.
Cold and alone,
Tore me apart bone to bone
The colour red is all what these eyes see
The colour red is, too, where he may be.
Blue turned to red
The war in my bones went dead
Blood stained my water
The cold man lost his daughter
Angry and hungry,
Sad and cold,
My memory isn’t getting old
Stealing my youth, starved and angry
I guess the next monster was meant to be happy
Blue to red
The skin I want to shed
Drowning far beneath the water
Being held by a block meant to slaughter.
Angry and hungry,
I was not so lucky.
Sad and cold,
I’m still not yet bold.
The colour red is where he rests in my cold, hungry head.
The colour red is where his words make their bed.
Angry, sad, cold, and alone,
He tore me apart from bone to bone.
Left drowning with the block of slaughter,
Letting my blood stain his water.
My memory will never get old,
To save his life, I stopped being bold
I will not be left to rot,
Left to bleed without two thoughts.
Pulling you with me, screaming and scratching,
Left alone, with you slowly detaching.
Angry and cold,
Sad and alone.
The color red is where I roam.
The Colour Yellow
Happiness and wonder,
Who has a wonderful offer?
Warmth and optimism,
Things that come from behaviorism.
The colour yellow is where my life yearns to stay.
The colour yellow is where I vacation away.
Happiness and warmth,
Like butterflies in a swarm.
Optimism and glow,
How I wish my life could grow.
The colour yellow is what I wish to breathe,
The colour yellow is where my anger secedes.
Orange to yellow, bright like day,
Yellow, soon, will go away.
From the morning spring, to the chill at night,
When will my mind be that bright?
All the words listed above,
Aren’t actually words of love.
What I thought were words, shown true,
In the end, they truly revealed you,
A game of smoke and mirrors,
My happiness remains indoors.
The colour yellow, shiny and bright,
Will burn the fastest, closing streaks of light.
The weakest part of the fire, the flame,
Goes the fastest, destroying beauty, fame,
A life played fast,
One relationship could never last,
The colour yellow yearns to stay,
The colour yellow can leave, go away.
Jumping and dancing and yearning and swaying
All sound fun when you’re not the one playing,
Happiness and optimism, warmth and glow,
This stain on my memory can all just go
Back and fro,
Back and fro.
The colour yellow needs to slow.
For autumn days are left alone,
Jumping? Dancing? Yearning and swaying?
Soon to spend winter days in.
The colder it is, the longer I pray,
Because of the large depression in my eyes, willing to stay
The Colour Blue
War is over.
Peace is found.
All apologies around
No longer left to drown
The colour blue is something new
The colour blue lets me be with someone other than you.
The beautiful love I have now is something all too sweet,
Not left pitiful and crying because of deceit.
The water is clear, with neither red or green
Finally, I am seen,
The blue water clear is something you only hear,
The blue water clear is all that he feared.
For me to have, to live and laugh
To finally be excited for time to pass,
Running away was not an option
Except for you, you do it often.
War and peace, finally free,
The colour blue is nice, my future I forsee
Sad and cold,
Letting his memory get old.
Angry and hungry,
He will remain to be.
Finally yellow, outside and in,
The colour blue, a treasure trove, a sin.
Greedy greedy me,
Wanting to be happy.
The colour yellow looks a little like blue
The colour yellow looks a lot like you
Finally in the past, left behind,
You to him, can you find?
Where I put you in the past,
Ran away from you that fast.
The colour blue is my favorite time,
The colour blue, where I left him behind.
The Colour Orange
The sad day in October
The next day it was all over,
Leaves falling left and right.
Thinking you were so bright.
The colour orange was once my favorite day
The colour orange now drives me away
My worst mistake you ever made,
Filled your heart with heaps of hate.
Leaves that fell, red and bright,
Now knowing I should fight.
The colour orange made my grave,
The colour orange, my worst mistake
Orange, the cousin of red,
Where soon he’ll rest his head.
But the red is not yet found,
What I thought was a loving hound.
They say the wolf only needs to find you once
Find me, found me thus
Plated and tricked me with a smile,
I found the needle in the hay pile.
Built my skin, cell by cell,
Looking through the eyes of my own hell
My world is flooding, slowly rising,
I look through his eyes, my horizon
The sad day in October,
The next day, my life was all over.
My protections fell, left to right,
Really, I truly thought I was bright,
The colour orange was the day he won.
The colour orange, I thought was fun.
Orange the cousin of red,
All the memories, replaying in my head.
All the decisions I shouldn’t have made,
Though all the promises, caught me with bait.
Lies told through secrets,
Everything he says he regrets.
I don’t want to be alone
I made your mind, my home,
Not trying to overtake your throne,
I figure I will attach,
My eyes you have scratched
Lost, but not forgotten,
Our love will never be begotten
The colour orange was never my home,
The colour orange is all I’ve ever known.
The Colour Green
Balance and pace?
What a waste of space.
Identifying peace, power,
Looking for it in every corner and hour.
The colour green is where you find my lair.
The colour green intoxicates the air.
The colour green may be balance and power, but,
Small messages of green is why he cowers.
From top to bottom, clicking away,
Saving al the bad, making it stay.
The color green is where you find my plan.
The colour green is where I am.
Flashes of evil, saved to my roll, Finally, out of his control. My new found freedom, nice and new.
Finally me, the one no one knew.
The colour green is where you find my lair,
The colour green has streaked my hair.
Intoxicated, influenced by the blood, red,
Toxic, putting the last nail in your bed.
Finally you, pulled bone to bone,
Finally you, left dead and alone.
Tied, your own brick left to stain the water,
Drowning, down, down, left darker and hotter.
The colour green, short lasted and sad,
A mix of two colours, bad, bad, bad,
The colour green, short lived and sour,
The quick, violent burning of my small power
The colour green polluting the air,
The colour green ruined our pair.
The worst mix out of the bunch,
I still love you very much.
But the colour green is controlling me
And all you see now is what I could be.
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CORE CONTRIBUTORS
Ezra Yates
Alicia Voner
Addie Bruscato
Vhianna McHenry
Ava Ruiz
Jaylecia Turner
OTHER CONTRIBUTORS
Mrs. Rambin's English Classes
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Leah M.
Caden F.
Jairah O.
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Aster C.
Emma G.
Asher N.
STAFF ADVISOR
Ronald Donn
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