Embedded Files
Aleah Meade
Acrylic on Canvas
Brown Eyes
Most people like blue eyes
But I like brown the best
They remind me of crisp autumn leaves
And chilly Octobers
They remind me of the mud right after a rainstorm
The squishy, gooey, speckled mud that was always perfect for making mud pies
They remind me of a cup of hot cider
Perfect for after a day of playing in late November
During the cusp of fall and winter
They remind me of rich chocolate
The kind you always get in an Easter Basket
And if the light hits them just right
They remind me of golden sunsets
On the beach in late August
by Nahia Morgan
Jaycee Comeau
Acrylic-Portrait of Mom & Dad
Amelia Harrington
Acrylic-Self Portrait
The Diary of Evelyn
March 10, 1985
I didn’t sleep much last night. I felt someone watching me again. I checked everywhere but I didn’t find anything, but I know it’s there, watching me and my every move. I went to check on my mother to see if she was awake, but she wasn’t so I headed back to my room so I can try and get some sleep so I wouldn’t be tired in the morning.
March 12, 1985
I still felt it following me, so I decided to go for a walk to get my mind off it. As I kept on walking I noticed that a guy was following me. It was a random guy, so I quickened my pace so I could lose him, but he kept following me no matter where I went. I turned a corner and I saw a woman standing in front of me before she put a bag over my head, and everything went black.
March ?, 1985
I don’t know how long I was passed out for. It could have been hours or days, but once I woke up, and could see again all I could see was a pitch black room. After an hour or two a person came in and turned on the light. I didn’t see what they looked like since they had a mask over their face, but then I noticed their hair was showing and I realized that it was the guy who had been following me, and the person next to him was a woman. I looked around and the room was empty. I didn’t recognize it, and I had no idea who these people were or what they wanted to do to me.
March 20, 1985
I overheard one of them saying that it was March 20th 1985, so I have been stuck down in the basement for six full days, I tried escaping once, but they caught me and put me back in the basement, and ever since I did that instead of me feeding myself, they didn’t untie my hands, and they fed me themselves. I only ate once a day and I asked why and they said it was because if I wanted to escape again one day I would be too weak to do so.
March 21, 1985
I knew it was the next day because there was a high up window but unfortunately for me it was one of those windows that people couldn’t see through and was only useful for light to go into. This day was stranger though. They brought another person down in the basement and locked them up as well and then took the bag off their head. Once it was time for the people to feed us I asked who the person was and they said it was a girl named Emily. I didn’t know who Emily was but at least I had someone to talk to. After a few hours the people came down and put the ropes over our mouths and said they had guests coming over and didn’t want us to give up our position.
March 30, 1985
It’s been over a whole week since I have been captured, and then I found a way to get out. One of the people left a small knife on the floor that they used to cut the ropes for us to eat. So when they left without noticing I used the chair to help me move over to it and then used my feet to pick it up, then I used my mouth to put it in my hands. I then started to cut the rope around my hand and once I was free I did the same for Emily. I don’t even know why I was trying to free Emily as well since I barely knew her, but I still didn’t want her to get hurt. It was dark out and I knew the kidnappers would most likely be asleep by now, so Emily and I quietly sneaked through the house before finding the exit and escaped. Emily looked back and memorized the house and address we were at later on since we were going for the police station.
March 31, 1985
We told the police that we were kidnapped and they went to the place to arrest the people, but sadly all that was there was a trashed house, and everything they owned was practically gone. They left a note of the counter stating that they were running away since they obviously didn’t want to get caught by the police. My parents cried for hours once they found out I was safe, and ever since that day they haven’t taken their eyes off me, or stopped asking me how my day was just so they know I was safe, and to be honest I didn’t mind, since I knew I was safe. For now.
by Kaylee Bowes
Isabelly Oliveira
Grid Painting
Kennedy Deschamps
Grid Painting
Taylor Morrison
Colored Pencil Self Portrait
Arianna Dean
Decoupage Collage
Home
It’s just as if I were home
The palm trees sway in the harsh wind
The sand trickling between my toes
And the water feels relaxing
As if I were in a bathtub
Paradise at last
But the time moves so fast
Watching the sunrise and sunset
Is the best it will ever get
It’s just as if I were home
by Arianna McGivney
The Sunset
When the spent sun casts its rays on the clouds
And settles down on the West Coast
All around is quiet
All around is silent
There is peace upon the land and water
The fish sleep underneath the glistening sky
The birds shut their eyes after the sound of their babies' cry
A darkness then covers the world
The moon is as small as a dime
It is now surrounded by what feels like a never-ending nighttime
by Arianna McGivney
Lindsay Gillan
Mixed Media -Ink & Watercolor
Julia Hickey
Watercolor & Ink
London Blues
I took a trip of three steps down
Big Ben struck thirteen
It could be heard all around
I miss home
I don’t belong
London holds a lonely song
by Nahia Morgan
Lillian George
Watercolor and Ink
His Flight
There he stands on the edge of the world,
Surrounded yet alone.
They all watch, but nobody sees him
As he stares off into the sea.
Expansive. Vast. An enigma.
They all cheer “Look at her,
She’s on the edge of the world!”
And he’s thinking about the sky.
Staring at the next step,
Knowing it must be next
And they all scream
“Go on, you’re so far gone,
T’would be a shame to stop it now,”
As he takes a step and wonders how.
How could it have happened this way?
He falls. And they’re gone.
And he’s waiting for his wings to grow.
The wind rushing past his ears,
Knowing he may not hit the ground,
He is Icarus
Falling without flight,
And through his fear and tears and feathers he prays
That the stars will welcome him home.
by Lillian George
Pastel Pencil Ribbons
Julianna Raymond
John Vaz
Erin Maroney
The Typewriter
Charlotte knew she was a terrible writer. She had only gotten the job at her father’s printing press simply because she was related to him and she was too ugly and they were too poor for her to be married off. Charlotte’s mother died when Charlotte was young, so no one ever taught her how to be a “lady”. The only thing Charlotte ever had through her miserable childhood was her father’s printing press. She loved how the ink stained her fingers and the mechanical whirring in her ear.
For a while, her job was steady, her pay was good, and she was able to ger a small apartment in Trenton, New Jersey where she grew up and where her father’s shop was. But then, in 1867, a year after Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, the printing press went out of business as more and more people went to writing on typewriters for the newspapers. Charlotte lost her apartment and was forced to find another job to pay for her ailing father’s home since he was now too old to find a new job.
The printing press had been his only source of income. But no newspaper wanted to hire Charlotte since she was just that bad at writing. Soon, her father passed away in his sleep, and Charlotte was forced to the streets. Now she sat, in a musty hotel room which she managed to get for the night with some spare change a stranger had given her. She stared into space pondering her pathetic life when she suddenly noticed a typewriter the she swore had not been there before, sitting under the plain oak desk pushed up the wall of the hotel room.
Curious. She thought, creeping closer to inspect it. She lifted it up, weighing it in both hands. It looked normal, a slot for a piece of paper up top, shiny keys propped up on it.
Oh what the hell? She thought. I’ll write something.
She opened one of the desk drawers, and saw a single blank piece of paper waiting for her. She put it in the paper slot and typed, My name is Charlotte Button.
What she was surprised to see that magically appeared under her name, were the words, Hello my daughter. It has been a while.
by Nahia Morgan
Fiona Buckley
Grid Painting
Kira Mason
Grid Painting
Angie Fallavollita
Pastel Self Portrait
Julia Hickey
Watercolor & Ink
The Monster Under the Bed
Good night sweetheart
Don’t forget to check under the bed daddy
My father bends down to peer
Under the dragging bed covers
I dart to the shadows
He doesn’t see me
No one there sweetheart
He says this with confidence
Like I’m not lurking beneath
Like a predator in the jungle
I hear the door close
I creep out from under the bed
My younger self is sleeping sound
Her arm is hanging loosely over the side
So innocent, so happy
Probably thinking of the fun playground games of tomorrow
I stare for a few moments
And leave her
by Nahia Morgan
Aarron King
Notan Paper Cut Out
Arianna Dean
Notan Paper Cut Out
JOHNNY
JOHNNY
A short story based on an old war song
Oh how great things were with the old gang.
Private Phil was a joy to talk to, Eric and Bill always fooled around during training hours,
And Johnny, of course, was the best of us.
He always told tales of his wife and how he hoped to travel the world with her one day.
This was no time for fun or tomfoolery however, This was a time for war.
Johnny was being sent to fight.
He’s got his helmet, his rifle, his coat, and his supplies.
We all cheered for him and wished him luck.
Everyone in the troops talked about how he’ll score a victory for us in this war as the enemy was closing in.
Shots were fired, Bombs were blown, Jets were flown, and the Tanks came in.
The booming and the banging surrounded the field.
Voices were hard to make out, many people were hard to make out among the cacophony and havoc.
But one familiar voice cried and wailed in a scream that could be heard through space.
When me and the medics came to check in though
We did not find Johnny,
Instead we found a boneless, armless man, with the lights fading from his eyes.
After the battle, the funeral was set.
Not many came to show as the war was still raging and many still needed to prepare.
I laid down my bouquet of flowers.
I only said five words before leaving.
“Johnny, I Hardly Knew You”
by Andrew Carmo
Hannah McWilliams
Notan Paper Cut Out
Safety
She’d found it. The safehouse. After three weeks trudging through the snowy woods, she’d come across a large cabin. She knew it was the safehouse from the medical trucks, and the fact that it was the only building for hundreds of miles. She clutched her baby closer to her chest, pulling the hood back down. There were two men outside. She could get their attention, if she could scream. But her scream might be heard by the wrong people, or wake her baby. So she pulled her heavy legs further through the snow. The cold air burned her lungs, and the skin peeled from her palms. She could see it. Just a few… more… steps. A man turned. He saw her and raised his gun. Her breath quickened, digging in her pocket for the yellow handkerchief Malcom had given her before he was taken. “Wave this when you reach the safehouse,” he’d told her, “they’ll take you in.” She raised her weak arm as high as she could. The man lowered his gun, giving the man next to him a curt nod. The second man ran inside, and the first approached her. Her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed into a lofty drift. She held her baby high above, hoping the man would take them. She felt warm, strong arms pulling her up. Her vision filled with tears. They were safe.
by Hannah Corbett
Break in Case of Emergencies
A box in an almost empty room.
A heart in the box.
Words on a sign above it.
“Break in case of emergencies.”
Glass shattered everywhere
Bits and pieces that will never be seen again.
Bloody fists on the floor.
And the heart that was in what once was the box,
It’s gone too.
I thought to myself
This. This must be an emergency.
Because when I looked back,
I didn’t see you.
But now you’re gone
And all I have are bloody hands
And a heart that was only meant for emergencies.
And I think
Was this really an emergency?
It has to have been.
If it wasn’t then why am I feeling this way.
I wouldn’t have shattered the box to a million pieces if it weren’t.
You’d still be here if it wasn’t.
But you’re gone.
So all I can do is hold this heart dear to me.
The instructions are blurry if they are even there.
Or maybe I just can’t see through the tears
What to do with this heart
What to make me not hurt.
Where are the instructions when you need them?
Where are the other hearts in case of this emergency?
How do I fix this feeling in me?
How do I get you to come back to me?
How do I get you to hold me one last time
Kiss me one last time
Sit in silence with me but be at peace.
How do I have you one last time?
The answers to the questions are ones that’ll never be found
Lost in the universe somewhere out there
In the minds of people who don’t know what to do with it.
Lost in your mind.
But how do I fix this?
Is it by putting the heart back?
By piecing together glass by glass?
What to do with this heart in my hands?
My bleeding, cold, desperate hands.
How do I fix me?
How do I fix the tears running down my cheeks?
The burns in my eyes, my hands, my throat.
And what looks to be my heart.
How do I stop the sobs from seeping through?
How do I fix the broken me, that was once fixed by you?
by Ash B
Lillian George
Mixed Media Painting
Calista
It was the season of darkness
The season of despair
You were lost at the hands of a man
That hadn’t the right to steal the life from your breath
The callouses from your hands
The hopes from your heart
The color from your cheeks
The smile from your face
Oh Calista
How I wish I could repaint the color of time
In a way that you would have never gotten left behind
by Nahia Morgan
Is the Sky Really Blue?
No matter how blue the sky is
There are always clouds
No matter how blue the sky is
There will always be people with their opinions
That they can't speak of
Is the sky really blue?
When people can't achieve what they dream of
Is the sky really blue?
If half the world is feeling hopeless
Is the sky really blue?
If half of the world is homeless
Is the sky really blue?
When discrimination exists
Is the sky really blue?
If women's rights still need to be fixed
Is the sky really blue?
If people pass away
And that will be us someday
Is the sky really blue?
Cause every time I’m happy
That feeling goes away in an instant
Is the sky really blue?
Cause everytime I miss my friends
I realize how we got so distant
How is the sky blue?
When the world is living a lie
Everyone has to say goodbye
To the ones they love
How is the sky blue?
When we are going to war
And soldiers are sore
Fighting…for..
What we call…freedom?
How is the sky blue?
When people are paying debt
Struggling to get what they need for their families
How is the sky blue?
When escaping is in the picture
We can’t judge off culture
How is the sky blue?
When there is judgement
When half of the world is fake
People don't know who they truly are
The world is breaking
Maybe it’s already broke
But how is the sky blue
When all I do is pray
For a better day than yesterday
I pray that everyone will be okay
And I hope that this world will heal someday..
So I ask you one last time
Is the sky really blue?
by Arianna McGivney
Angie Fallavollita
Acrylci Paint Self Portrait
Alyssa De Araujo Silva
Watercolor Self Portrait
Hailey Evers
Grid Painting
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