The Talon Online (2022-2023)

I looked around the room and shuddered. The cold metal table and hard seat were offset by the eager almost kind eyes of a fat police officer with a large mustache. His partner was not friendly at all; he had a weird looking nose and harsh eyes.

“The more time you waste the more time your brother is gonna have to spend in that jail cell,” said the fat police officer.

“Ok, we were driving home from a party around one a.m when Derek, my brother, asked me to pull into a gas station on Franklin Street for some reason I can’t remember what exactly,” after I told them this they looked at me a little bit weird.

Then the skinny cop replied,“Alright, what happened at the gas station.”

I could feel their eyes squeezing the breath out of my throat so I croaked, “well, well, well… I was just getting there.” I shifted in my chair and continued. “He told me that he wanted to go to the bathroom, so I just waited for him to return.”

“What time was this?” the skinny cop asked instantly.

“He entered the gas station around 2 a.m.,” I said.

The fat cop looked at me strangely and said, “It’s ok Mr. Smith we just want the truth we’re here to help prove your brother innocent.”

“Of course, What else do you want to know?” I asked.

“Just tell us what happened son,” the skinny cop replied sternly.

“Ok, so after he walked into the gas station, I just filled up on gas and he came out about ten minutes later with the snacks he told me he was gonna get and then we drove home,” I recounted.

I looked up after I finished telling them what happened and was surprised to see both of them with a newfound intensity I hadn’t noticed prior in the interview.

The fat cop took a deep breath and said, “Around what time did you get home?”

“About 2:30 a.m.,” I replied. I watched them walk out of the room and shut the door leaving me in the cold interrogation room. I thought back to when we were kids. I used to tie his shoes before school. Derek was always my baby brother and I just wanted him to come home free.II sat there thinking for what felt like hours with the walls closing in on me and my palms drenched from anxious sweat. Eventually the cops opened the door again and walked in.

“What’s going on officers? Is Derek allowed to go home now?” I blurted.

The skinny cop looked at me and glared as the fat cop slowly said,“We're gonna tell you what we know and this time you're gonna be truthful. Can you do that?

“I was truthful, but we can go over it again I guess,” I stammered.

“I’m gonna be flat out son, We have a security cam of the gas station from 12 am to 3 am so we saw everything. Do you want to reconsider your story?” said the big cop.

“Well... well what do you mean I.. I.. I.. told you the truth,” I stuttered to them. I could feel my eyes getting wide and my body starting to shake. There was a pause and eventually the skinny cop bent over and looked me right in the eye and said,

“We saw your brother rob the gas station, we saw him shoot the clerk, and we saw you drive the getaway car.”

A Grave Talk with Trine Wells - Unreliable Narrator - Screenplay - by Sean Ciesielski - Junior

Note: Some formatting was lost on the transfer to the website.

INT. A MAN IS SITTING ON A WOODEN CHAIR AND HAS A BEER BOTTLE AND A GUN IN HIS HANDS.

NATALIE WILLS

Dad come here. I need your help with this.

TRINE WILLS

I'm coming just to wait a sec.

Trine says this as he drinks the last of his beer and puts the gun under his shirt.

TRINE WILLS

What do you need my lady?

NATALIE WILLS

I need help with this level can you get past it for me please.

TRINE WILLS

How it is a lego game they are so easy

NATALIE WILLS

Are you going to help me or not

TRINE WILLS

I will just give me the controller

Trine says this as he burps and ruffles Natalie's hair.

The two play for hours and a montage of the two playing are shown.

JODIE

hello can anyone hear me

TRINE WILLS

Hey Natalie I will be right back ok put the game on pause for me alright?

NATALIE WILLS

As Trine is leaving the room Natalie disconnects the second controller and starts playing.

Trine opens the door to a young women with a notebook and pen

TRINE WILLS

How may I help you?

JODIE

Hi yes can you answer some questions for me?

TRINE WILLS

Sure what are they about if I might ask?

JODIE

About what happened a month ago.

TRINE WILLS

No go fuck yourself I answered everything those fucking pigs wanted !

Trine goes to shut the door and Jodie stops it.

JODIE

Give me a moment to speak god damn it!

JODIE

I have been looking over the files again and I just want to make sure my predecessor was correct or didn't leave any details out.

Trine allows her to walk in but with a scoff and a look.

JODIE

This is a nice apartment

TRINE WILLS

Yeah ok but let's get this done and out of the way I am currently in the middle of something.

JODIE

It won't take that long. I just have some key points I want to cover and then I am out of your hair ok.

Trine closes the door that he was playing games with his daughter as Jodie is saying this.

TRINE WILLS

Do you want water or something?

JODIE

No I am fine

Trine sits down with a grunt.

JODIE

First things first how’s your back?

TRINE WILLS

My back is doing alright. I am currently trying to pay the bills with what money I have.

JODIE

Your insurance hasn't paid for it?

TRINE WILLS

Only half of it but I will be getting money from my wife soon.

JODIE

Sorry about your loss. I can't believe how hard that must be losing your wife.

TRINE WILLS

I have been going to therapy then I pick up Natalie from elementary.

Jodie gives him a look before grabbing his wife's folder.

JODIE

Ok here is your wife's case. I want to go through some things that I found that didn't make any sense to me.

TRINE WILLS

Alright what is it?

JODIE

You said to the other investigator that your wife was drunk and cut herself right?

Trine adjusts his chair with a loud creak and crack coming from the chair.

TRINE WILLS

This is correct.

JODIE

The thing is I went to the evidence box and I didn't find a knife.

Something falls in Natalie's room and makes a noise and Jodie makes a look.

TRINE WILLS

Oh it's nothing, it's just Natalie's stuff, some thin must have fallen.

Jodie gives Trine a look and then looks back to her folders. Trine is now sweating and looking at Jodie up and down almost like a lion eyeing up his prey.

JODIE

Anyway back to what I was saying we could not find a knife.

THE CAMERA SLOWLY SPINS AROUND THE TABLE THEY ARE SITTING AT AND GHOSTLY SHRIKES START TO PLAY.

TRINE WILLS

Well I don't know what to tell you mam I saw her with a knife cutting her arm open!

TRINE WILLS

That is why I crashed my fucking car!

Trine slams the table and is trying to hold back tears and he is also shaking.

THE CAMERA STARTS TO MOVE FASTER AND THE SHRIKES START TO SPLIT OFF TO MOANS AND NOW AN ALMOST DEMONIC CHOIR STARTS TO SLOWLY RISE.

JODIE

Can you describe the knife that she had then... since you saw her cut her arm open.

TRINE WILLS

I remember it like yesterday, it had a white handle almost marble like and had two tigers on it on either side of the handle.

JODIE

Are you sure you saw this correctly?

THE MOANS AND DEMONIC CHOIR START TO GET LOUDER AS THE CAMERA ZOOMS INTO TRINES FACE SLOWLY.

TRINE WILLS

Y...yes I am sure I remembered it correctly

THE CAMERA ZOOMS OUT SLOWLY AND ALL SOUND DIES OUT AND ALL CAN BE HERD IS THEIR BREATHING AND JODIE STARTING TO MAKE NOTES IN HER NOTE BOOK.

TRINE WILLS

What are you doing?

JODIE

I am keeping track of everything we are talking about here.

Trine starts to sweat even more and starts itching his back nervously.

JODIE

Ok next question...

TRINE WILLS

How many questions do we have now?

JODIE

We only have two this one and the next so I will be out of here in no time alright.

JODIE

Alright the next thing I want to cover was when you got out of the car there was a blood streak leading out of the car right.

TRINE WILLS

Yes this is right.

LOUD THUMPING BEGINS TO FORM IN THE BACKGROUND WITH A SINGLE STRING OF THE VIOLIN BEING PLAYED SOFTLY IN THE BACKGROUND.

JODIE

You said that it was your blood when you came out of the car is this correct?

TRINE WILLS

Yes it was and I still am trying to wrap my head around why this is still being thrown around when the case was closed!

JODIE

I know but..

TRINE WILLS

BUT WHAT I LOST MY FUCKING WIFE!!

JODIE

I know this but it just doesn't make sense to me and could you please lower your voice.

THE MOANING, THUMPING AND VIOLIN GRADUALLY GET LOUDER AND LOUDER TO AN ALMOST DEFINING ROAR.

THE CAMERA STARTS TO SPIN AROUND THE TABLE WITH NO CHARACTER SOUND JUST MUSIC.

Trine stands up and starts beating his head with his fists while Jodie starts to point at facts in her folder and then pulls out a bag.

JODIE

This was the knife that I found that had your wife's blood on it!

THE CAMERA ZOOMS IS STILL AND ALL MUSIC HAS STOPPED ALL AT ONCE.

TRINE WILLS

That isn't true, ask Natalie she is in the other room!

Trine starts crying and snot comes pouring out of his nose

JODIE

The reason why I am having trouble believing you is the fact that your daughter also died because of that same crash.

Trine starts shaking his head no violently and yelling "no" and "not true".

JODIE

I have her medical records, she had severe head trauma and internal bleeding... she was dead when they stopped the ambulance.

Trine starts crying even louder and heavier.

TRINE WILLS

No it isn't true she's in her room playing her Lego game!

JODIE

I will make sure you get the best mental treatment possible Trine.

Jodie starts to walk away before Trine stops her by grabbing her arm.

TRINE WILLS

No please just go into her room please!

All of Trine's crying stops and he starts to grow a smile but tears still pour from his eyes.

Jodie walks down the hallway and slowly opens the door and she sees a Lego video game playing on the TV but it is paused and on mute.

When the door opens fully there is a girl tied up trying to get out and knocking stuff off the shelf on the wall and they make a thuds on the floor. She also starts screaming and wanting Jodie to untie her

JODIE COVERS HER MOUTH AND STARTS TO CRY IN FEAR QUIETLY, THEN IN THE BACKGROUND TRINE APPEARS OUT OF THE DARKNESS WITH HIS EYES WIDE OPEN AND HAS HIS GUN DRAWN AND POINTED TO JODIE.

Cut to black with the sounds of police sirens getting louder and louder.

Acadia - Unreliable Narrator - Poetry - by Kyra Horlander - Senior

Arcadia

In a world where there was no cruelty and peace was upon us, I lived.

White picket fences and friendly neighbors.

No one had to do hard labor, and everyone would do you a favor.

Healthcare was free and there was never a problem with money.

In Arcadia all was sunny.

The grass was always green and the ocean always blue.

At least from my field of view.

There is no greed when all is free and fair.

No other place could compare.

Come to Arcadia and enjoy our fresh air.

Here all is equal.

This place could hold no evil.

I believe all would agree.

Oh to be here sitting under the elm trees.

In Arcadia is where you should be.

Everyone minds their business.

And nobody comes down with sickness.

You can leave your doors unlocked,

I promise you won’t be stalked.

Arcadia offers forgiveness.

No need for weapons,

I swear you’re in the clear.

There is nothing to fear,

In sweet Arcadia my dear.

Although there is one sacrifice.

Everyone thinks alike.

But this place is a paradise.

Come to Arcadia for only a small price.

Four Poems - Unreliable Narrator - Poetry - by Mateo Galdemez - Senior

The following poems make use of the sympathy seeker and self-preservationist unreliable narrators.

Felix’s Horrible Prank

My name is Felix Morgan,

And I just got expelled for no good reason.

I may have done pranks that damage the school,

But my classmates love me,

Because I put a nail under the math teacher’s seat.

He knows better than to teach us boring things,

Like an hour long lesson of Algebra,

And difficult shapes in Geometry.

So what was the prank that ended my life?

Well my ultimate prank started with the teacher’s desk,

Me opening his shelf,

And then putting a rattlesnake inside his desk.

Then snake bit him,

Then one quick hospital trip later,

The principal expelled me!

So thanks to some boring people,

My life is ruined!

Phill’s Nasty Prank

The Name is Phil Pat,

And I had to do something to an annoying kid,

A kid named Felix.

He can’t stop annoying me with his pranks,

So I told him that our Math teacher loves pranks.

I whispered a plan to end all plans,

With him ending up grabbing a rattlesnake in the desert,

So he can put it on her desk.

I worked really well,

As he was soon expelled.

When he pointed fingers on me,

I simply knew it wasn’t gonna work,

Because everyone in the school loves me,

From my teachers who gives me good grades,

To Felix’s friends who actually hate him.

So to put it simply,

I got away from the hook.

In fact,

When Felix tried to frame me with audio of “our” plan,

I asked my friend Trevor to edit the audio,

To make it sound like Felix came up with the plan,

And I wasn’t involved at all.

Trickey Mike

What’s up!

The name Mike Ice!

And I had to get rid of this guy named Felix.

Cause ever since he transferred here at my school,

He got me in trouble with his pranks.

So he told me how his first school treated him,

And then I convinced him that his school must miss him,

But I really know that his old school despises him.

So I convinced him to sneak into his old school at night,

So that he can create a mural in the school.

Now this part is really funny,

Because the plan would be deep trouble for him.

Last morning,

The teachers at the school found him,

But where you might ask?

In the girl’s locker room with a mural on the lockers,

And the words were “I’m back loser!”.

Now yes,

I was asked about any relations to his latest prank,

But I made a fake note from my doctor,

Saying that I have short-term memory and don’t remember Felix’s plan,

So I became innocent and Felix got expelled once again.

Felix’s Truth

So before my life became a big flop,

I was at the top of my game,

Because I had a girlfriend who loved me.

Okay actually I paid her to be my girlfriend,

But the people around us didn’t know that,

So it was our secret.

But then she ruined all of that by telling her best friend!

So I came up with a new idea,

To make my fake girlfriend’s best friend look like a liar,

By telling everyone in my school that she convinced me to pay her best friend.

Everyone bought it,

And I got away from the hook.

A few weeks later,

I called my fake girlfriend to say that I want to make up for it,

So we meet at the the front of the school,

And then we shook hands,

But I had spit all over it,

And she was so ignorant to realize.

So to sum up,

I’m the victim and she’s the villain,

Because if she didn’t broke our deal,

Then her hands would be flu-spit free.

Ever After - Story Behind a Cliche - Poetry - by Ashanti Ottbridge - Senior

Children laying in their beds at night

Parents reading story to hush their fright,

Of the monsters that live under their bed

Hiding in the closets, leaping out from under their stairs.

Different stories of girls walking in hoods of blood red

Princes looking for their princesses who have fled,

Who knew that even after their Happily Ever After

There behind the page, there lies another chapter.

Let me now instead tell you a tale

Of what is written in finer detail

What is to come with this Happily Ever After,

This is a plan that someone conspired

This won’t be a wish anyone desires.

There was a man who never knew any love in his life

Throughout his life he wished for a son, and always a wife

Someone to grow old with, to hold at night,

But fate had cursed him with a mark on his eye

Some would say beautiful, others would cry, “devil” just at the sight

His left one was a light shade of blue, like the color of a bright day

The other grey, so bright it looked like a bright shade of winter’s white sky.

Oh, how he craved to be loved

He wish he had his heart’s true beloved

This man would do anything to stop feeling blue

So called upon a creature who could make his wish come true.

What a sight this holy beast was

He had teeth so sharp, and blood ridden claws

His fur was the color of night, eyes the color if the sun shone so bright

He growled with his chest, and spoke even without making a sound.

“Wish what you want of me, the first bloodhound

But know your fate is bound, if your true love is never found

You have till the first rise of the blood moon

Hopefully for you, your true love swoons.”

The man's heart was beating fast

He had to find a woman, who love would last

He had only three days, and two nights

He looked up and down, all around the land

But no one would catch his eye

No one make his heart beat, make his blood rush

When the last day came about, he knew there was no one that could love him.

For that he sang to the bloodhound a hymn.

“I could not find the love’s true desire

Every girl was a cheater and a liar

There is no such thing as love, only sexual attraction

For this I ask for one thing that will give us both satisfaction

Give me the power of life and transformation

I will be your servant for eternity

Working tirelessly, to find your happily ever after

The ones who cry and plead that they love each other forever

Well forever they will stay,

For the deal for a Happily Ever After, to lose your love for the other

Trap with each other, but not feeling the warmth of love

This is everyone’s price to pay, for not really wanting affection

Treating love like a game to play, well they will play my game.”

The bloodhound thought this through, and found this to be fair

To show the man was a servant, he made the man one grey eye shine like his

He had an eternal life to serve the hound, and he did well to prove his loyalty.

In ever big Happily Ever After, you can see this man appear

Never the same character, but is always near

Sometimes he is good and sometimes he is bad

No one can tell who he is,

Once the true love pair is put together, he comes in offers a deal

To have their fate sealed together

It's a test to find if their love was real

If found it to be unreal, it was too late because their life was marked with a seal.

Never evening knowing what is was your were reading or hearing

The stories that makes little girl want their knight in shining armour

How to boys want to sweep the girls off their feet,

Are horror stories, of what is to be their life

To be a trap in the man's never ending cycle, there is never an escape.

So next time you see a Happily Ever After

Know this is the truth, the happy ones have on their carved smiles

The loyal ones hands are sewn together, never to be seen apart

Having their hearts pulled from their chest,

For there is no reason to have a heart if there is no love to bare

So in the end, I guess this is what everyone wanted

For the couple to say I do, knowing the seal it will place

Just like they wanted, they got their Happily Ever After.

Why Do We Think the Butler Did It? - Story Behind a Cliche - Personal Essay - by Filippo Paoleti - Junior

“The Butler did it” is certainly one of the biggest cliches in mystery writing’s history. I've heard people nowadays say this phrase occasionally also in everyday’s life for making jokes or funny statements. However the general opinion leads us to think that this cliche’ came from some random servant who suddenly turned out into a cold blooded serial killer by murdering an entire aristocratic family he used to work for. Honestly, I used to have the same idea about this, until I decided to delve into the specific topic seeking for the actual both real and literary origins, what I found out after investigating over the evidence surprised me and I honestly felt a little bit disappointed.

Because, after expecting such intriguing and creepy stories about misbehaving and criminal butlers in real life, the lack of this type of evidence made me think that the butler was actually framed for no reason.

The two earliest examples of felony butlers come from two literary works from the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th.

The first one is “The Musgrave Ritual” of the famous Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The second one is “The Strange Case of Mr. Challoner” by Herbert Jenkins which was part of the collection Malcolm Sage: detective in 1921.

This one, as the historical evidence told me, is the first story ever written where the author made the Butler the primary bad guy and guilty of numerous murders.

However, neither of these two writing pieces contributed minimally to the creation and the fame of the cliche’, it was indeed the american writer Mary Roberts Rinehart with her novel “The Door” published in 1930 who put the spotlight on the concept of “The Butler did it”.

Mary Roberts Rinehart was a very successful author throughout her career and she’s also known as the “American Agatha Christie”. Her immense influence all over the literature culture is still felt nowadays as one of her most famous plays “The Bat”, inspired the creation of Bob Kane’s Batman.

“The Door” turned out to be a huge success mainly because of the popularity that Mary Rinehart had gained during the so called Golden Age of mystery writing which lasted between the two world wars.

However, before the publication of The Door, the author passed some time without writing because of an illness which hospitalized her.

The novel was actually written quickly (very unusual for a careful writer like her) during her recovery because of the love of a good mother for her sons.

Indeed, Rinehart’s two sons launched a new publishing house and they needed an early success to make sure to start off in the right way by giving to the young enterprise fame and renown.

For this reason, the author broke her old publishing contract and signed with her son’s new one and in a short period of time wrote the novel that would’ve ended up to create one of the most famous and long-lasting cliches in literary history.

The major success of “The Door” went down in history also because of the very particular situation in which the novel was published.

Indeed, only two years before the publishing of the novel, the well-known literary critic and detective novelist SS Van Dine drew up a list of rules which mystery writers had to follow in a much-quoted titled “Twenty rules for writing Detective Stories”.

In this essay, the eleventh rule mentions precisely “A servant must not be chosen by the author as the Culprit. This is begging a noble question. It is a too easy solution. The culprit must be a decidedly-worth-while person, one that wouldn’t ordinarily come under suspicion”.

In my opinion, this fact is way more surprising and admirable than the one of creating a life-long cliche’, because the author was able to create a novel going against the guidelines imposed by one of the most respected critics of the period and still manage to write a bestseller which also nowadays still lives and has a certain importance in the genre.

After the commercial success of “The Door” by the way, the butler was considered out of the limits recommended for the drafting of mystery and detective stories making him the main character of only two novels all over the literature history.

The legend of the butler continued to live in the common sense after “The Door” and acquired more popularity thanks to comedian and satirical writers who turned the butler into an easy target for jokes and pronounced it as the murderer archetype.

Short stories like “What, no Butler?”, “The Butler did it” and many others satirical novels contributed to change the general view of the butler from the bad guy murderous manservant to a satirical and derided character by the public opinion.

Another detail which in my opinion makes the legend of the butler even more intriguing and noteworthy is what actually happened to Mary Rinhart exactly seventeen years after “The Door” was published.

The well known “Queen of the Mystery Novel” and the person who gave birth to probably the most famous cliche’ in mystery writing’s history was actually the subject of an attempted murder by, drumroll… a butler!!

Yes, this situation seems unreal and tragicomic, like if it was written afterwards by some dark-humor comedian, but unfortunately really happened to the American writer in the morning of June 21, 1947.

Rinehart owned a summer mansion in Maine and she needed a butler to take care of the house. So she decided to promote her long-time chef into this position which he longed for many years. But on the morning of the 21st of june, while she was reading in her library, the chef came in without the coat of ordinance and after Rinehart asked him why he wasn’t wearing the uniform he answered back by screaming “Here is my coat!” and pulling out a gun from the pocket.

Fortunately, the chef wasn’t able to shoot the fatal bullet because the firearm jammed so the woman was able to run away towards the servants wing seeking help while the killer was chasing her trying to adjust the gun. Before being able to fix the gun the chef was tackled by Rinehart’s chauffeur and then the housemaid tossed the gun away from him. When the situation seemed to have calmed down and Rinehart called the police the raving chef managed to escape from the chauffeur's hold and started to go after Rinehart after grabbing two knives in the kitchen.

Another time the author’s life was saved by one of her manservants, the gardener came inside the house and helped the chauffeur wrestle the chef and disarm him before the arrival of the police.

The chef was arrested and questioned at the police station, his confession resulted inconsistent and not coherent, the man was found the next day in his jail cell hanging from the ceiling dead.

It’s incredible to see how the story behind a popular way of saying can actually come from an apparently simple episode like the writing of a book, in which, by the way, the phrase “The Butler did it” wasn’t even mentioned.

On the other hand, this story is also characterized by a lot of strange and particularities which make it unique. For example, the fact that the novel became a bestseller even though it broke one of the rules to follow when writing a mystery book. Also, the story of the mentally insane manservant who wanted to kill the queen of mystery novels, as well as the one who created the cliche’ of the butler seen as the bad guy, makes the whole story behind this cliche’ very interesting.

I always thought that the desire of self improvement and knowledge is the key for rising yourself over the general opinions and cliches imposed by a modern society which is always more led to think with someone else's brain and believe blindly at everything they read online or whatever their favorite influencer says.

I know that this statement can seem a little bit out of pocket and exaggerated talking about cliches, but the lack of culture and the the mental crystallization by the people were the cause of the worst disgraces of the modern world like racism, violence, religious discrimination and dictatorships. Therefore I push everyone who’s reading this piece to research and read about what you are interested in and try to think about situations with your own mind, do not listen to general ideas and set phrases, make your ideas develop freely and undisputed in your brain.

Confessions of a Travel Freak - Day of the Week Personification - by Madison Hahn - Sophomore

Click here to go to Madison's imaginative travel blog for Monday Gallagher.

The Week - Day of the Week Personification - by Brandon Plough - Senior

Sunday is a young child just before its terrible twos.

We all love Sunday, but we never want him to turn Monday.

We know that once Sunday is over we all lose.

Sunday is the beginning that none of us get to choose.

And now Sunday is Monday, not much older now

But many milestones are made.

Monday learns to walk, Monday causes us a lot of pain.

Nobody wants to care for Monday.

We thought that Monday would be better when he turned Tuesday.

This was not the case at all, Tuesday was less sudden.

Tuesday was just a little closer to the end, but just as painful.

When Tuesday ages once more we see a change.

Now Tuesday has turned Wednesday, he cares for himself now.

All of a sudden he is halfway through

He still has to deal with his usual struggles, a crisis maybe somewhere in the middle,

but there is hope now.

Turning Thursday is interesting, you are almost close to the end.

Thursday is on his own now, he has a job

maybe he has a couple kids.

One thing is for certain, he can see he is close to the end.

This is what Thursday thought was the end of the tunnel.

Unfortunately for Friday he is not at the end,

But he is happy now his kids are all grown up

And for the first time Friday can see the end.

This was the light that Friday could foresee

Saturday is a happy man, he is old,

so he needs time to recover,

but he hopes that this rest can last forever.

My Hands - Body Tribute Poem - by Ashley Bergeron - Junior

My hands

The more I look into my hands

And feel as if only the darkness is swallowing me whole,

I start to think that

My hands are the most insignificant thing on my body.

My hands are skinny and small,

And some days I’m afraid

They’re too skinny and small.

Whenever I flex my hands toward me,

The metacarpals start to reach towards the surface of my skin

Like as if they want to break free.

Whenever I use my hands,

I can see my bones move

And my hands start to tense up,

Which makes me wonder if I am truly living in sixteen year old girl’s body.

I know I’m lucky to have a skinny body,

But there are days where I wonder

If it is truly worth the reputation

And there are days where I want

A more muscular, thicker body.

Up! and It- Up! Adaptation by Nika Anderson - Sophomore

Up and It Comic by Nika Anderson.pdf

Side by Side Love Story - Up! Adaptation by Indiana Go and Madison Hahn - Sophomores

Side by Side Love Story - Up! Adaptation

Rewritten Nursery Rhymes by Various Students in 2018-2019 Creative Writing

Rewritten Nursey Rhymes

This I Believe Series - Various students in 2018-2019 Creative Writing

Agatha Wright - Junior

Kindness

I believe in kindness. I think that many people try to hide their need for basic human compassion; perhaps they don’t want to seem “weak” or find it “unnecessary.” Maybe they truly do find life compelling enough without it to continue on, but I think that kindness is important for everybody. One might raise the question of why should they bother being kind to those who have done horrible things? I would reply by starting in on a short tangent. The human race is a dismal thing. We steal land that it not ours, we take the lives from innocent creatures for sport, we tear down countless environments because the people who could invoke change find it unnecessary or a threat to their own well-being. We can’t even seem to get along with each other; people form polarized groups based solely on how we feel the world should be run and then demonize anyone who isn’t a part of our group, we pummel each other to the ground over suspicions and whisper hurtful words behind each other’s backs. All this to say, it’s a good point. Why bother being kind to someone who doesn’t seem to deserve it?

I think that kindness can only really help the world as a whole if every single person participates. If someone does their best to be sympathetic and pleasant to others, then they won’t perform the horrible acts in question, and we can be kind to them in turn because there will be no excuse not to. Humans are greedy, selfish, and petty. If we catch wind that even one person is being cruel, the whole system will fall apart. We’ll think, well what makes them so special? Why should I bother being cordial if they don’t have to? We may start to wonder what we gain from being kind if someone else isn’t even reciprocating it. But, if everyone plays along, then it could act as a cycle. With everyone busy being kind, maybe there wouldn't be a need for anyone to behave any other way, and everyone could be happy. This is unlikely to happen, so I suppose the best we can do is just try to be the kind of person that others want to be nice to, so that we’ll want to turn around and be nice to them too.

I believe in being kind for other reasons to. I believe that doing so can help someone with their own needs. What I mean is that it can give you a purpose. When you wake up each morning, and feel like you’re still dreaming, like you’re walking through the fog of life, with the world beginning to fall more and more rapidly around our ears, it can feel like there is little use doing much of anything. People say, ‘it’s the little things in life,’ and I think that one of those little things is kindness. When I wake up each morning and start to wonder why, I can tell myself that my job is to make other people happy. When I do something that makes my friends happy, I feel like I’ve accomplished something. When you can do something that cuts through the dismal fog of existence for someone, it makes you feel better yourself. I believe that by assigning yourself the job of making other people happy, you can become happier. Many articles today center around self-care and self-love which are both two very important things, and I believe that being kind to others can lead to both. Simply knowing that you have the ability to make someone else enjoy their life just a little bit more can make you feel powerful. It’s easy to hurt someone; you can yell at them, call them names, sneak around behind their backs, but it can be so hard to do something that can make somebody truly happy that it feels like some kind of special skill.

I believe that kindness is hard sometimes. I think that looking at another human being, especially one you’ve never met before, and deciding that putting forth any effort for their well-being can seem like pointless work. But I also think that it can come naturally. Not every day is a good day and doing something you find annoying or unnecessary on a crappy day is that much more difficult, but there’s a good chance that there’s someone out there somewhere in the world finding something bothersome or annoying at any given point. We all have troubles and perhaps being given kindness from someone else will even make them seem less glaring. If we just try to show compassion for a while, then it will eventually become second nature. If kindness were to be no more than a habit, then it wouldn’t seem like a chore. Whether someone has grown up being kind or must learn to do so, I believe that courtesy can help both the recipient and the giver.

Brigid Reilly - Junior

The Danger of Social Media

Three hundred twenty likes. Twenty-five comments. People I’ve never talked to in person telling me I’m pretty through a screen. It’s just one photo taken at the perfect angle. Just one tiny glimpse of my life, perfectly cropped and filtered. And yet, their praise fills me up. As the likes roll in, I’m on a high. I am overcome with a temporary confidence built on these superficial ratings. I feel important. I feel well liked. What’s wrong with that? After all, that is what everyone wants, right?

What’s always hard for me to understand, is that these comments and likes are insignificant. In the grand scheme of things, they mean nothing. They have little to do with the way my peers truly view me. And I’m aware of that. I know that the likes I receive mean nothing. I know that followers don’t matter. Only, in the moment it doesn’t feel that way. The moment I hit the “share” button, these thoughts disappear. All I can do is meticulously count the likes and read the comments. And I will admit that it makes me feel good about myself. But only temporarily.

In a few hours, I will notice that the activity on my post is slowing down. I typically start to get discouraged. “If people actually liked me, then I’d have way more likes,” I’m always thinking. I begin comparing my post to the others I see. And suddenly, that high that I felt only hours ago, diminishes until I am back to the same insecurity I started with. I know the cycle all too well. It’s toxic and self-destructive. But for some reason, I can’t stay away. So, I guess the insecurity and self critism is worth a temporary feeling of confidence. And in this way, Social media is a drug.

At first, it builds me up. But it isn’t long before I start to feel bad about myself again. Social media has us constantly comparing ourselves to others. It always feels like everyone else gets more likes and comments. Their pictures are always so much better. Their lives seem so good. I find myself wishing that I could be more like the girls on Instagram. Wishing that my life could be as perfect as theirs. But this is a toxic way to think.

Not only is it cruel and harsh to compare yourself to others, but social media only reveals a tiny portion of someone’s life. It is wrong to assume that someone has a perfect life just because they take aesthetic Instagram photos. But I’m definitely guilty of it. I often compare my life to those I see on Instagram. But how can I compare my life to that of someone I don’t even know? I can’t. We are often under the impression that social media displays everything. Only, that is far from the truth. It is hard to learn everything about someone from a few photos. Many people only post the things that make their lives seem good. They highlight the good things and cease to shed light on the bad things. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I think it’s normal that everyone wants to share the good parts of their life. I do it too. But it is wrong to assume that someone’s life is perfect, just because it seems good on Instagram. And that’s what I have to keep reminding myself.

I know that social media is bad for me. I’m fully aware that it’s toxic and harsh. So, I don’t really know why I keep going back. But I do know this; I am tired of comparing myself to others. No one should have to feel like they need to become more like someone else to be happy. I’m trying to decrease my use of social media and learn to find happiness within myself. And I suggest that you do the same. I know that it is much easier said than done, but no one deserves to feel like they aren’t good enough when they’re just being themselves. Comparison is self-destruction. It doesn’t matter how many likes you get, or how many followers you have. Your comment section doesn’t accurately represent who you are as a person. Just remember, that you are so much more than what social media can often lead you to believe.

Fabien McGuire - Junior

Human Dignity

I believe in basic human dignity. I believe that we should all have our own opinions, but we should also have our own rights. Just because someone thinks differently than you do not mean they should be judged immediately, nor should they be stripped of their dignity and shamed for being different. As a society, we need to be better about this, especially with everything that is happening in the news that is a violation of human rights, such as locking immigrants away in cages and the shootings of unarmed minorities.

As a transgender person, I am used to people judging me simply because of who I am. My community is heavily discriminated against, and we are used to being treated unfairly. After a while though, the faces of those who hate us slowly fade away into the background, and their voices become muted. I start to realize that the dignity and pride they are trying to take from us cannot just be destroyed with harsh words and fists. No matter what they do to us, another human being just can´t control someone and make their choices about belief for them. I believe that it is only when we let other people´s hateful opinions get to us that they have power over us.

We are at a period of time in this world that differences should be celebrated. Our species has never been more advanced and powerful. Humans are incredibly intelligent, and we should use that intelligence for good, and to create things rather than just wage war and destroy them. There is no dignity or humanity in war, despite what some say. In the end, you are still ending other lives. It is the same way when it comes to differences in society or race or class. We are far too quick to judge someone simply by outer appearance or opinion. We should be humane and hear others out when they are saying something, and we should respect their beliefs. Our brains have the capacity to judge others, but we also have the ability to understand and accept. If this was not useful to us in some way, then we would not have that ability. Understanding others, and not just fighting and destroying is something very powerful that humans have. We should sit down and talk and learn for once rather than attack. I believe that through dignity and humanity we shall begin to understand and accept differences and treat them as if they are normal.

Jeremiah Kittrell - Alum

Aftermath

I believe that it’s the thought that counts. By giving someone love and spending time with them, it is worth more to them giving a physical object. A child giving their parent a drawing of their family is the child way of saying they love you. Even if the parents are drawn like potatoes, it is the thought and the meaning behind it that counts.

Without thinking, we wouldn’t have the initiative to do anything. Laziness and procrastination would take over. The thought that counts is the one you make for someone who is close to you for they will understand what the meaning is behind fog.

I believe in love being an action word. I can say I love to someone but without proof, they’re empty words. Arguments and debates without evidence are easy to discredit. Taking action displays your drive to achieve a goal and love is no different. Without action, the foundation of love we have for one another crumbles. Showing that you love someone means doing something for them, even if the actions are minor. Even the tiny mustard seed can grow into a giant tree. Love means action, and when you do, the next time you say it to someone, it will have greater weight to them and to you.

I believe that the end of our lives is the most important part. It is the time at which we look back on all that we have accomplished. It is the time when everything comes to a close. For it is at that moment when we truly appreciate the life we had. For wherever we end up afterwards, we can look back on the path we took to get there and reflect. Reflect on the good times we had; all the laughter, jokes, and relationships we had with our friends and family. Reflect on the bad times; all the sadness, pain, and anger we felt with stranger, friends, and family. For it is at that moment where we think about every small thing that happened in our life. It is then that we understand that we don’t have long left and that we must cherish every second of it.

I believe in the wisdom of the past. The tales of heroes who fought bravely only to die by their own decisions. The old wise proverbs told by the ancient kings and our ancestors. For they been through times much harder than us and understand the beauty of peace and the horror of war. They cherish the events of the past and know the effects it has on the present. I believe in the silence of hearing a wise tale or reading a wise quote, for the speakers know and understood their meanings and it is up to us the find out their meanings for ourselves. All in an effort to retell those stories and proverbs to the next generation so they can understand what came before them and what lies ahead.

I believe in the hope for the future for it is there that we must face going forward. Our actions now determine our fate then. The future is uncertain and is mysterious for what it has in store for us, but the present is always telling. I believe that the changes we make today has rewards waiting for us in the future. It is only up to us at this moment whether to make a future that is bright or to have one that is dark. I have made my decision and it is my hope that the future is the one that we can be proud of.

Julian Martinez - Senior

This I believe

You know one day I sat down and really thought about my life story. I thought about all the memories I have, and all of what makes up me, me. How there is everything I have ever loved, everything that I have ever spoken, every belief I have held in passion, and every piece of beauty in life that my eyes have ever been so fortunate enough to take in. But most importantly, how my life alone, yes, my life, as Julian Alexander Martinez, has impacted the world and the people who live in it.

However, unfortunately, not everyone gets this chance. The beauty and journey we call life isn’t able to be enjoyed by all. Believe it or not, some people don’t get that opportunity because they are viewed as burdens, or inconvenient. Some people were given life, but have it stripped away from them. It infuriates me to know that there’s a certain group of people who are most affected. And unfortunately, in America, it’s the unborn.

While I view this as particularly disturbing, I can understand that it’s not a simple discussion and it isn’t one that’s black and white. I validate the understanding that abortion is a very sensitive topic as well. But I believe firmly that we should fight for the unborn. I believe, with every fiber in my body, that we should fight for those who can’t fight for themselves.

I believe that even the unborn should be able to take their first breath and open their eyes and see their new world.

I believe even the unborn should be able to hold mommy’s hand and walk alongside warmth and love.

I believe even the unborn should be able to feel the hot summer sun, and hear birds sing the night away.

I believe even the unborn should be able to know what it’s like to hear the ice cream truck and scrap up 4 quarters for ice cream.

I believe even the unborn should have their first day of kindergarten.

I believe that even the unborn should know what it’s like to have their first crush.

I believe that even the unborn should know what it’s like to have their first kiss.

I believe that even the unborn should know what it’s like to complete schooling, grow up, and go to college.

I believe that even the unborn should know what it’s like to get married to the love of their life and grow old with that person.

I believe, that the unborn are people like the rest of us. I believe in their right to life, and I believe in their sanctity. I believe that they deserve to love, be loved, and reproduce to leave a part of their own legacies in this world. But most importantly, I believe, that the unborn are created in God’s image and likeness and are ever so precious. And until I am presented with evidence that the unborn are NOT human, that will never change.

Loredana Tirri - Alum

Hardships are another way to feel hope

I believe in never giving up, no matter what the odds are. I think that 'Failure is temporary. Giving up is permanent.'

When I came to the United States I felt like a complete outsider, in naked flesh trying to accomplish something that I didn’t have any idea what it was. I was just standing there without how to set my path. I wanted to go to college, but that dream seemed so far away for what I can reach. It was surreal. Me being an immigrant trying to speak a language that I cannot totally understand going to college here in the United States was ridiculous and by that time I kinda understand why the people laughed by my idea. I’m no one. I don’t have money. I don’t have hope. How can a girl coming from a destroyed nation live her dream? That’s what I told myself everyday.

I was just standing there with my eyes closed. Lost between the deserts and oceans, wondering where I should go but with fear holding me back, filling my head with despair and spreading my worries like cancer. Thinking of throwing away my future because of other’s standards of success. I thought that my hardships were invincible.

I felt like others were running ahead being accepted to college and I constantly found myself pushing with the own barrier that I create, trying to go through a harsh rainstorm that it wasn't even there.

Luckily by the mid of the first semester, Mrs. Miller talked to me. She gave me some ideas; her ideas didn't allow me to drown into my hopeless. She gave me the strength that I needed. She encouraged me to apply for college and see what was possible because I had options, but I was so scared to try it. I was so afraid of the idea of failing. That's when I realized that failure is temporary and the fact of me giving up, letting my dream go away was permanent and maybe my hardships were actually hope.

Without Mrs. Miller, I would have given up a while ago. Mrs. Miller knew what I was struggling with when she talked to me. She gave encouragement and a new way of looking up for my dreams. Because of her, I believe in never giving up, no matter what the odds are and I going to be attending Saint Mary's College this fall. All thanks to her.

Marissa King-Ramirez- Alum

Love

Love is defined as an intense feeling of affection, a great interest or pleasure in something. I believe in love. I believe everyone deserves love and that anyone can love anyone or everyone or both. I was loved the second my mom found out she was pregnant. I imagine her holding her stomach, loving me before I even had eyes and ears and feet. I see her hurt by my father's absence, but continuing to hold on strong because she has never loved someone or someone as much as she has loved me. I don’t give her enough credit, but my mother taught me to love by showing me, love.

I love everyone, even if it is just a little bit, because everyone deserves love. I love my biological dad even after he left my mom. I love him because he gave me five sisters and two brothers. He is the reason my hair is thick and my skin an olive color. I owe my Mexican ancestry to him. I also love my adopted dad because he is technically my uncle yet he claims me as his own. He has taken me in, given me an even bigger family than before. I love Grandpa King, even though I have never seen him outside of a prison visitation room, and I never will. He was given a life sentence years before I was ever even a thought. I love Grandpa Chongo. I remember the first time we met, he took me out for barbecue and we talked about the 16 years of my life that he had missed. He died a month later.

I love places. I love Houston because I am never there enough. I love Vermont because I was born there and I love Kalamazoo because all of my childhood memories belong there. I love Indiana because that's where I grew up and I will learn to love Muncie while i go there to further my education.

In third grade, I struggled because I was ahead of the class. I caused disruption and was deemed a behavioral problem but in reality, I was just bored. Mrs. Goforth worked with me, she loved me and helped me. Because of her, I love teaching. I love making lesson plans and loving on children, giving them the same love she gave to me. I love helping people and can’t wait to work in an underprivileged school systems and show children love so they grow up loving others.

I love God. He is not touchable or seeable, only feelable. Regardless, He shows me an agape love, unconditionally and sacrificial love. He has loved me despite my sin and so I love Him. My sophomore year of high school my cousin invited me to this church retreat. I grew up Agnostic so Christianity was something unknown and unfamiliar to me. While at the weekend retreat, I met the most amazing people. We all shared our stories, our backgrounds, and it was amazing to see how much I actually had in common with these strangers. This is the first time I recognized my love for God and His love for me.

I love my unborn child. Someone I have never met, and never will because my body changed it’s mind nine weeks in. I imagine a girl with skin soft and the color of caramel. She would be born with a headful of hair, just like me. I already planned out that once she was three months I would get her ears pierced. She would be a little princess, my queen. I also imagine a boy with the same caramel skin. His hair would be tight and curly along his head, his feet small but his hands even smaller. He would have big eyes like his dad, almost bulging out of his head. It’s too late for any of this now, but I still love my baby, regardless of if it was A’Nyla or DeonTray. I never got to find out.

I love Destiny. I love her even though she’s the reason I have court dates. She is the first girl I have ever loved. I love her hair and her dimples and the support that she gives me. Even after we broke up, she has remained my best friend. She calls me every day just to see how I'm doing and to make sure depression isn’t winning that week. The months we were separated because of the court order were the hardest. Imagine being separated from everything you love in a matter of a day. Once the ban was lifted everything fell back into place. There’s another girl I love, Courtney, even though she broke my heart and left me while I was in my lowest place. She taught me what love is not supposed to be and how not to treat people, and because of that, I love her. I love girls, but I am a girl. This freaks some people out, my grandma especially, but I believe I should be allowed to love in any way I want too, judgment-free.

I love boys too, even though I would never admit it. Tray is the first boy I ever loved. remember the exact moment I realized I truly loved him. He and I were at my first prenatal appointment. It was supposed to just be a checkup and to confirm my pregnancy past a positive test. They didn’t have a lot of walk-ins that day and I was further along than what I had originally thought so they let me get an ultrasound. I heard my baby's heartbeat for the first time, and Tray squeezed my hand. He tried to hide it, but I saw his eyes get glossy and tears stain his cheeks. He looked at me and smiled, the biggest smile I have ever seen someone smile. This is when I realized I loved him, more than I had loved anyone before.

There are other people I love too, people I haven’t seen in a long time. My brother, Rashawn, for example. He left a year ago, and it will be a couple more month before I see him again. I love him though, even though his actions are what sent him to juvie. My cousin Marcus loves adrenaline and he let that love turn into a shoplifting spree. I love him too but I will love him more when he is out of juvie in 2020.

I love material things. I love that I can be in contact with someone three days away within three minutes all because of technology. I love Marquan, my car. He’s the biggest purchase I ever made and I was 16 when I paid for him in full and got him all in my name. Driving him home from the car lot, my stomach was hot and my palms were sweaty. I was nervous but I was overwhelmed with a sense of joy, and of love.

The list of things goes on and on and on. What I love is tailored for me, just like what you love is tailored for you and so forth. I believe love can bring people together, or tear them apart. It can build people up or tear them down. Everyone can love anything they want too, especially because I love things people tell me I shouldn’t. Love is love and I believe in it.

Matt Anella - Senior

Older Siblings

I believe that being a big sibling is one of the most important jobs in the world. Little brothers, little sisters they need someone they can look up to. Someone who went through the same things they did and survived. They need to know that everything will be okay despite the mistakes that will be made. As an older brother I do not really have to do much, I usually just mess with my littlest brother and make fun of my sister and my other younger brother. It is quite fun actually I kinda love it. However, it is not necessarily what older siblings do that makes them good older siblings, it is what they represent. As a kid I remember being so scared for a lot of things, like my first day of school, first time trying out for a team, or having a big presentation. I remember being so anxious over little things like that, that I would literally start sweating. No matter how much I talked to my friends, my teachers or even my parents the anxiety would not go anyway, because I knew they had never gone through this and if they did it was a long time ago so they would not understand it. However, my brother went through it, and he managed to get through it just fine. Whenever I would ask him about something, he would say something like, “Your so dumb, it’s so easy”, or he would be super sarcastic about it and say something like “Yeaaah this is soooo hard”, and even though he was being rude about it on the surface, I felt something different. Not only is that just how we communicated with each other but, it helped me to calm down, and it helped me to realize my overthinking. My older brother represented this person that went through the tough stuff I was about to face, but he managed to come out the other side as the same person enjoyable person that he was before. This gave me peace, and it made me happy to know everything was going to alright.

Older siblings are some of the most important people in the world. Life is hard, especially for little kids growing into different stages of life. They need to know it is going to be okay and everything will be fine. Every older sibling everywhere has a job to do, and it is a very important one.

Sara Deren - Alum

The Ultimate Passion

I believe in finding your passion.

Three years ago, I was a shy, inactive freshman, who was terrified of trying new things. I had no intention of joining a team or a club, but then I became friends with someone who played a ‘sport’ called ‘Ultimate Frisbee”. I laughed at the fact playing toss with a frisbee was considered a sport. But, after I was dragged to a spring practice and convinced to participate, there was no question about it- I was going to play too. From tossing the disc around in the front yard with my dad to watching YouTube highlights of tournaments around the country, come spring of my sophomore year, Ultimate Frisbee was all I had on my mind.

Despite the fact I know I will never become a professional Ultimate player and my career in the sport is more than likely near its end, I still continue to improve my skills in throwing, reading the plays of my opponents, and being a team player and leader. Not because I made the commitment for the season, but because I would be nothing without it. From the people I have met and the values I have learned playing, this passion has undoubtedly shaped me into the person I am today.

I’ve not only learned about the importance of sportsmanship and leadership, but about spirit of the game, keeping my eye on my goal, and that if I push myself hard enough, I can make it. I used to find it hard to work with people that were still ‘new’ to me, but after playing an extremely team-oriented sport with nothing but strangers, I no longer struggle with adapting to work with those around me. During games, it’s common to hear your teammates yell “Keep your eyes on the disc” because, as I have learned myself, taking your eyes off the disc for even a second can result in a bloody lip or crooked glasses. It does sound silly, but outside of ultimate, this has taught me to stay focused on what I want to accomplish. When working towards a goal, I never used to push myself more than I had to. After going to tournaments and having to play four games in a day with only two people to use as subs, I quickly learned in order to win, or to accomplish my goal, I would have to push myself past my limits.

I believe in finding your passion and I believe by finding that activity, whether it be baking and cookie decorating or boxing and karate, you find joy and comfort in can change your life.

Lilly Betts

7th

Poetry

Poem

Horror/Comedy

Silence fills the house

No sound is heard

The ghost killed my mouse

And my bird

The mumbling of sweet leaves fills my ears

My eyes are filled with tears

I fear death as it is standing in front of me

His face full of glee

I beg for my life

To see my wife

I beg for sweet mercy-

Trick or Treat

Accept defeat

Candy is for children

This game is for men

I will win and you will not

Your battle was fought

But it was not won

I lose to no one.

Lily Pads

By Genevieve Horvath

There was something in the water at Reynolds Lake.

There seemed to be a second layer hanging just beneath the ripples, like oil but sitting below the surface instead of above. The small fish that clustered close to the docks were unlike any other I’d ever seen; if I stayed still enough to convince them to come close, their eyes seemed almost human.

Then there was that decaying… thing that floated by the shore one day. It was so close I could’ve reached out and touched it, but something in me screamed that I absolutely shouldn’t. It could’ve been an octopus tentacle, if it didn’t have so many slimy branches coming off the main stalk. Also, we were landlocked, and I’d never seen an octopus in a lake.

I could’ve ignored all that, brushed it off as a reflection of my lack of experience with the outdoors. I could’ve stayed close to the shore, let the weird fish dart around my ankles before going back up to the cabin. I could’ve listened to my mother when she said we shouldn’t go out to the far side of the lake. I could’ve made it out alive, if it hadn’t been for the lily pads.

It was our fourth day at the cabin, and the heat was blistering. I felt like I had to put on sunscreen just to be near a window, much less down by the water. But my sister insisted on taking the kayaks out, so I pulled out the SPF 100 and slathered it on thick.

“Don’t we need life jackets?” she asked once we made it down the steps to the shore.

“Yeah, but they’re all the way in the shed. The lake isn’t even that deep, it’ll be fine.” I hauled the neon green one-person boat into the water, cringing away from the cold splash as it hit the surface. Katie rolled her eyes at me and went to the shed herself, grabbing two jackets out of the cobwebbed depths.

“At least bring one out in the boat with you,” she said, holding one out to me. “Mom’ll kill us both if she sees you without it.”

“Fine, fine,” I replied. I set the jacket in the bottom of the kayak, kicking it under the seat as I got in. The sooner we got out there, the sooner she’d want to come back in.

I used my paddle to push off from the pebbled shallows, floating into deeper water before I started to row. Katie followed behind, squinting into the sun as we paddled towards the center of the lake. Reynolds Lake wasn’t particularly big, but it was long and narrow. Cabins lined two thirds of the shore, leaving one area marshy and untamed. The energy of that corner was off, I could tell even from the other side of the lake. I’d seen birds fly in to land among the dense trees, but I never saw any fly out.

We kept away from it, not wanting to tangle our paddles in the weeds. I pulled my kayak up next to Katie’s, splashing her a little with one of my strokes.

“Hey!” she protested in her shrillest voice. She shoved her paddle deep into the water and heaved it up, dumping half the lake into my lap.

“Oh, is that how it is?” I asked, brushing off a piece of algae that stuck to my thigh. It fell to the bottom of the boat with a wet slap, sounding heavier than it should’ve been.

“You started it,” Katie pouted, reaching out a hand to shove my kayak away from hers.

I let her push me away, drifting with the current. It was a windless day, so there shouldn’t have been much to carry me off, but I still ended up having to paddle harder to avoid the shadowed end of the lake. I closed my eyes against the sun, trying to gauge just how pink I was going to be after this little excursion by the feel of my shoulders.

I felt something brush across my bare foot. I opened my eyes and glanced down, expecting it to be a dragonfly or some kind of bug. It was the algae from before, writhing across my toes. It moved like a slug, cold and slimy against my skin. I froze, looking at the creature that I previously thought was inanimate.

Letting out a strangled little gasp, I picked it up and flung the green thing out of the kayak. It sunk beneath the surface, trailing bubbles in its wake. I looked down at my foot again. The places it had crawled against my skin were stained green, like I’d been injected with chlorophyll.

“You okay?” Katie called out to me, further away than I’d remembered her to be.

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied, trying to sound less unnerved than I actually was. I rubbed at my foot, trying to make the green come off. It didn’t budge; if anything I actually spread it further underneath my skin. I forced myself to look away, paddling back towards her.

“I’m getting hungry, I think grandma said we were having hot dogs for lunch. Wanna go in?” Katie asked, already starting back for the dock.

I glanced down at the green on my skin again. I didn’t want to have to explain it to my mom. She’d make a whole big fuss about how I need to be more careful when handling unfamailiar plants, and we’d never leave the house again.

“I’m gonna stay out a little longer I think,” I said, “tell them I’ll be in soon.”

Katie tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at me. I never wanted to stay out later than I had to. I shot her a look that told her not to ask, so she just paddled back to shore. I watched as she dragged her kayak up onto the dock, leaving it there to dry. She stripped off her life jacket and took the steps two at a time.

I turned away from her, looking back into the water where I’d seen the not-algae-thing sink out of sight. I ran my paddle under the surface of the water, watching the ripples as they spread beneath the water. My kayak was drifting again, back towards the overgrown edge of the lake. For some reason, I let it.

I was closer to that shore than I’d ever been, floating among pieces of old wood and wide lily pads. I pulled my paddle up out of the water, not wanting to touch anything. I was beyond the sun’s reach now. I felt like I was being pulled into the shore, propelled by a current with no source.

For no reason other than the fact that I could, I reached out a finger to stroke the surface of one of the lily pads. It was smooth, but felt almost spongy. And it was warm. Too warm for being hidden in the shadows all day. I recoiled, pulling my hand back into the safety of the kayak. I examined my finger, which was putrid green now too. I looked into the copse of trees along the shore, trying to see past the first layer of greenery. It was still and dark, not revealing anything. The air had fallen eerily silent. Gone were the normal buzzing of the dragonflies and mosquitoes. The dull roar of the occasional speedboat had sounded from the other side of the lake not ten minutes earlier, but I couldn’t hear anything beyond my own heartbeat now. It was like I’d entered an entirely different world. One I didn’t belong in.

I was seized by a sudden burst of panic, and I shoved my paddle back into the water. I tried to turn the kayak, but I couldn’t navigate the maze of tangled weeds hidden beneath the surface. One paddle got stuck on something. I tugged, jerking the other side up into the air as I fought to free the trapped end. My kayak rocked from the effort, splashing water in on both sides. It pooled around my feet, cool and clinging like congealed blood.

Whatever was holding my paddle stole it from my hands, leaving my palms rubbed raw from the effort of clinging to the grips. I was still trapped, drifting deeper into the thick green pads and twisting deadwood. I had a sick feeling that even if I called out for someone, they wouldn’t hear me. I could still see the rest of the lake, but I felt invisible. I was cut off, corralled by the lily pads choking the waters of the lake.

In a moment of desperation I jumped out of the boat. If I couldn’t paddle away from here, maybe I could swim. I had never been a strong swimmer, but I dragged myself through the greenery. If I could just get back into the sun, I’d be safe. I could get the green off me and go home. A singular beam of light fell on my outstretched fingers before a hand grabbed me by the ankle.

The five points of contact burned against my skin and I screamed. My mouth was still open as I was dragged under the water. I clawed for the surface as my lungs filled with cold. My head broke through and I gasped, choking on the smell of decay. But then another hand tangled my hair and tugged, jerking me back. There was nothing I could do but drown as I was pulled deeper into the lake. I saw the bottom of my kayak, and the paddle floating at the surface once more. I couldn’t help but think of my life jacket resting under the seat. But I know now not even that could’ve saved me.

I rest at the bottom of the lake among my brethren. Long chords sprout from my sickly green arms, ending in lily pads atop the surface. My once blonde hair drifts around my face, now stringy and clumped with algae. I peer up to the surface, my vision blurred by the sheen of the not-water. There is a boat drifting among our leaves. Any minute now its passenger will reach out and touch one of us, sealing their fate just as I had. I felt a finger trail across one of my lily pads, and I shivered at the touch. It was finally my turn.

I am the something in the water at Reynolds Lake. If it hadn’t been for the lily pads, you might’ve made it out alive.

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