Paw Prints (Spring 2014)
Short Stories The Park…………………......David Sorbaro’18 The Life of Walter Holt…Wesley Peisch’18 Phenomenal Phil…………….J.J. VonOiste’18 Even Good Is Bad……………Nicolas Saah’18 Student Poetry Ant Farm……………………..Jared Wolfson’18 Hockey Day Dreamer…………..T.J. Lewis’20 Google………………………….Aaryan Chinai’21 Artwork Photographs………Amit Ramachandran’18 Weavesilk CollecRons……………8th Graders Student Drawings……………….MS Students This I Believe Nicholas Breckenridge’18 Amit Ramachandran’18 Lance Johnson’18 Anonymous’18
The Park David Sorbaro’18
The man had been in the park for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t sure how long that was. Surely there had to be other places than the one he had come to know. He was not that dull. Yet he just did not remember where. The man thought to himself that, in a way, he had never been anywhere but the park, because he could not remember where else he had been, therefore the other places he had been could not exist. He figured that it was useless trying to decipher the meaning of him being there. For it was his park, and that’s where he was. Once in a while, he would take a walk along the main pathway that ran through the park. He enjoyed seeing everything around him change as he went, seeing how everything changed, no maZer what precauRons the human race had set against them. The man took great pleasure scanning the area, searching for the impossible, and yet falsely idolized certainRes that doZed the horizons of the park. But the never-‐ending change fascinated him. He saw the trees and grass and plants uniformly green, as if the whole of nature was unified and orderly, all given the idenRcal command to be as vibrantly green as possible. In the cohesiveness that was its being, nature understood each other, all on that same dark green hue, which at
that point was their life. It was as if every plant had been given the order “be green” and the vegetaRon had no choice but to comply, whether it believed in the cause or not. He looked up and saw the sun, streaking indefinitely across the blue sky, its linear moRon seeming staRonary, yet sRll eternal. The man wondered how the sky could possibly be blue. The area so far above the park, he knew was black, or at least he thought he knew. And yet the thought of absolute nothingness and the uncertainRes of the worlds around him or above him were frightening, so he placed his faith back into the park, for it was all he knew and all he cared to know about. So he put the thought of darkness and the nothingness that accompanies it behind him. As he kept walking he saw the wheel that is history conRnue to roll along the path beside him. The law and order nature implemented, which kept the plants bound to their green shade, was dissolving. The plants began to rebel against the obviously tyrannical system that kept them all in single file lines. The grass was the first to go. It shook from the grasp of nature and began living on its own, in a society composed of only itself, waiRng for others to follow. The temperature was next. Finally free, it dropped and rose inconsistently; unsure, eventually lowering to the level the grass had adverRsed as being freedom. The trees were last. In a violent blast of singularity they severed the bonds that nature had forced upon them all, and became its own enRty, with contrasRng colors, different shades, the leaves bursRng with the pigments of a new found freedom. This was the mans favorite part.
He enjoyed observing something so orderly change into something of complete opposite in such a short amount of Rme. This burst of color was also short lived. Soon, the temperature, as unsure as it was, began to drop more oaen than it rose. Without any rules to constrain it, it fell and fell, unsure of what it was doing. As it fell, it became lonely, and sad, gazing up at its comrades that once stood at his side. It beckoned for someone to help it, save it from the cold abyss it had driaed into. The grass tried to help, following the temperature. The grass was unsure as well, what to do now that it had broke the bonds of society. As it clashed with the temperature about the new ideals of the forsaken society they were trying to form, it became cruel and hard, and subsequently became an unruly shade of brown. The grass and temperature sulked, biZer, angry, and freezing, wishing they could go back to their former care-‐free state. They begged the trees to help them. They knelt at their trees feet and wept, saying that the trees were the only ones that could save them from their cold and isolated prison they once had mistaken for liberty. The longer the trees refused, the more the temperature dropped. They shrieked at the other populaRon of nature watching them, whom had been standing by in quiet pity, as if they were all hunters witnessing a wounded animal suffer and die. Soon, the lakes and rivers could not stand it anymore. They too were unstable about the change of rule, and weren't sure how to flow. They too began to drop, and the temperature seized them as soon as they were within its icy reach, making the rivers and lakes
cold and frozen as well, turning them into immobile slaves of the crumbling ideals of liberty. The trees were now all alone. They realized that no maZer how hard it would be if they followed the rest of their brothers, it would be harder to stay in the false posiRon of hope they were aZempRng to project onto each other. So in a quiet, solemn goodbye to the world they once loved, they shed their leaves and lea, seZling into the cold dark world that was now reality, the cold silently blankeRng itself on the bare and briZle branches that once were a symbol of life. On their way to the present, they had effecRvely destroyed themselves. This was the mans least favorite part. That was because he too, became cold. It meant he needed several layers, and he did not like that, he decided. But soon, things began to change. The trees opened their eyes one day and looked about themselves. They looked at the desolate frozen world they called home. They knew something had to be done. They called out to all of nature, told them what they must do. Orders were given, restricRons were placed, rules were drawn, and slowly nature regained its hold on the kingdom it once ruled. The man watched this cycle occur oaen throughout his walks, not thinking much of it except the occasional shiver, or the bead of sweat that ran down his wrinkled forehead. As he walked, he watched children in the park playing with each other in a blithe lifestyle that they figured would last forever. He did not blame them. The present always seemed like it stretched out indefinitely into the distant future. Every so oaen the man would watch a child disappear into a bush to
grab a ball and come out in a jacket, Re, and briefcase, clutching his cup of coffee close to his vest. Occurrences like this happened oaen on the mans walk, and he rarely acknowledged them. The one thing the man acknowledged was what would happen at the end of his walk. Whenever he reached the end of the park, he felt such an uncertainty inside. He felt solitary and unsure of what was to come next. And the man feared these feelings because they were meant to be unfelt, but yet he always felt them at the end of his walk. But in a way that’s the only reason the man took the walks. Because there was the reassuring end, the promise that the walks always ended. There was a security that the man couldn’t get anywhere else throughout the walk. The only thing he knew for sure was that the walks would end. And that’s why the man never lea the park.
The Life of Walter Holt Wesley Peisch’18 Every morning she does this. Every morning, Mrs. Holt makes her husband breakfast. And he’s preZy sure she gives him the stale pieces of bread, the ones lea by the previous morning and exposed to the moldy mouth of the bag. She never closes it, and it sits on top of the toaster all day, watching Walter as he passes it. Of course, he never closes the bag; that’s her job. She used it last. Margaret Holt couldn’t care less about his breakfast, but she loves to quietly lord it over him in the evenings. That’s why she tells Rosa not to make breakfast, even though she never works. When Walter and Margaret are out, Rosa sits on his bed and calls Mexico and eats her chips and puts her greasy baby carrot fingers all over the furniture. She cannot speak English, and barely knows how to work a dishwasher. He doesn’t even like being near her. Walter knows she steals money from his wallet. SomeRmes, when he comes home, he can’t find it. He wants her fired. Margaret claims that cooking for each other makes them closer, but he knows that she loves the feeling she gets when Walter owes her. Maybe because she is insecure. Probably on account of her weight, or maybe she knows her friends don’t like her. Either way, Walter knows that the toast is a power play.
He tastes her apathy with each bite of breakfast, even with the dollops of buZer she dumped on it. Cold and tough, the toast feels like a sRff, dry rag. Margaret can’t bother to store it in the toaster oven before she leaves the apartment. She knows that he doesn’t get up unRl at least nine and she lets it sit on the kitchen table with a souring glass of milk. DissaRsfied with his day already, Walter exits the apartment building and steps into the back seat of a waiRng company limousine. The man driving is probably around the same age as Walter. His dark hair is flipped away from a broad forehead crossed by parallel wrinkles formed from years of squinRng through dark sunglasses. His grey Re extends from a neatly Red half-‐windsor knot across a white dress shirt, terminaRng above the zipper of his dress pants, A good driver, he never speaks more than a few words at a Rme and never asks for Rps. In fact, now that Walter realizes it, he doesn’t know the man’s name. They may have been introduced at the very beginning but talking is the last thing either of them want to do. Neither of them parRcularly care. Instead, they sit in silence and watch the bundles of scarves, coats, and miZens who have to walk in the biZer December weather of New York City. There are twelve offices and forty cubicles on the floor, but only two people. The other one spends all morning on the telephone in his cubicle, leaving at quarter to twelve. The rest of the office is out on account of it being Christmas Eve. Walter would follow suit if not for rouRne and Rosa.
The day, covered in a thick, sleepy layer of fog, drags on without punctuaRon. Having no work to do, he manages to pull a thread out of his right cuff unRl it shortened an half-‐inch and Rckled his wrist with its black fuzz. The only distracRon he receives is a phone call at half past two from his wife. He knows before answering that it concerns the Christmas Eve Party to which Margaret was invited at the Cliaon’s trophy home an hour and a half outside the city. “Hello?” Walter answered the phone with his head lying limply away from his desk toward the window behind him. He stared at the ceiling. “Honey, it’s me” Walter doesn’t respond. “Margie.” Silence. “Remember that we’re going to a Christmas party at the Cliaons’ winter house tonight. Make sure to come home early because it’s a long drive to the house, and the roads will be muddy want to be on the road by five” “I hate these things” “I know, just come. You can meet my friends. It will be fun.” He knows that it won’t be. Of course, Margaret would deny it and insist on doing it again. “I hate your friends, Margaret” “Please don’t say that, honey. I would visit my family but I can’t. The Cliaons are nice people. We can leave early if you want. We’ll decide when we get there.” Margaret never leaves before twelve. “I’ll be home at four.” Walter sets the phone into the receiver and resumes leaning back in his chair. Three hours into the party already, Walter finds himself in the corner of a large room signg on the edge of a couch next to his wife facing two occupied
chairs between which paper napkins and half-‐empty glasses cover the edges of a small table. As his wife and her friends begin howling with laughter, Walter stares toward the center of the room, where the white noise of overlapping voices comes from as a small crowd mingles. An impressive main room, it stands two stories tall and is decorated with various animal heads on the walls. One of the four walls, covered in glass, hosts a view of the tops of lush pine trees beneath the house lit by the glow of the lodge. The window extends upwards another story to a low-‐ pitched tradiRonal ceiling with thick beams running from wall to wall, between which a graceful antler chandelier casts shadows upon the atrium. Upon looking at these shadows Walter noRces wild shapes being flung across the room. Amid the chandelier lights is a small shadow with the frenzy of a buZerfly but the with the size and density of a bird amid the chandelier lights. The bat, Rny compared to the chaos of bright lights around it, stumbles and bumbles clumsily around the giant crown, unRl a stray bounce sends the creature tumbling to the floor. Gasps and clumsy drunken steps away from the creature interrupts conversaRon and draws loudly whispered quesRons from the partygoers. Walter, relieved at the interrupRon the scene causes, walks directly into the circle of people surrounding the bat. Square in the center, the ball of black fuzz piRfully flops across itself and circles with slow, erraRc moRons directly beneath the bright lights of the fixture from which it fell head over heels. Its eyes, blinded and terrified, roll around dizzily as it tries
to regain comprehension from its blind twisRng fall from grace. Walter, wine glass sRll in hand, calmly steps forward, leans down, and gently places the cup over the struggling animal. He traps it at the boZom of the glass with a nimble flip to the sound of polite claps and compliments from the houseguests. Stepping out of the circle, he walks to a sink above which cool winter air blows into the house through an open window. Leaning forward, he fills the glass with hot water and leaves the creature by the sink. He closes the window, turns around, and joins his wife in conversaRon.
Phenomenal Phil J.J. VonOiste’18 Before his best friend Tony told him to go see the psychic, Phil led a life of a party animal. He would wake up at one in the aaernoon, find some food to eat at the beach café, and meet Tony in the lobby. Later, they would find a party to crash, party unRl they both pass out, and repeat. Phil lived at a luxurious resort on a French-‐Caribbean island. He was completely content with his life, but Tony insisted that he visit this psychic. Tony said that his aunt Patricia had visited him, and had been given great advice. Phil thought this was worth it, although the psychic was very far away, and Phil did not have a car or bike or anything except for his legs. Phil and Tony decided to go see the psychic aaer a parRcularly wild party. They made the trek from one side of the hotel to the other. This trip took four hours to complete; this was record Rme. Now, they were in the garden of the resort looking for the psychic. Phil asked Tony, ”Hey, what did your aunt say this guy looked like?” Tony responded, “He’s tall, real skinny, and has long legs.” “I’d like my fortune told today, so let’s find this guy,” Phil replied sharply. “OK OK I’m looking,” Tony said, seemingly annoyed.
Aaer another thirty minutes of searching, the pair of friends found the psychic. He was taller than they imagined, standing five inches off of the ground. His six legs seemed like individual skyscrapers. He had the skinniest neck that Phil had ever seen. Phil being a cockroach, and Tony being a June bug, were naturally scared of bugs that eat other bugs. This psychic said in the the wisest, deepest, richest voice Phil had ever heard, “Call me ManRs. I am the last of my kind on the island.” Phil and Tony were shocked at the size of ManRs. Although he was the most highly respected bug in all of the resort, Phil felt sympathy for this lonely creature. Phil had his family and other cockroaches, while ManRs was a solitary creature. Tony respeckully asked for words of wisdom from ManRs, to which ManRs responded in that soothing, harmonic voice “Keep your eyes open. In a maZer of Rme, you will find the love of your life.” Tony thanked ManRs and moved out of earshot of Phil and ManRs. Phil asked ManRs, “ManRs, I know my life consists almost completely of sleeping, scavenging leaovers from humans, and crashing human parRes, but do I as a cockroach have a purpose to serve in this world?” ManRs was quiet for a long period of Rme, and finally said, “Why, Phil! You are more important than any other bug at the resort, even me! Your desRny involves saving us all from destrucRon by the humans. UnRl your future is clear to you, observe the humans. Don’t just party among them, observe them. One day, people will respect you even more than they respect
me.” Phil was speechless. He thanked ManRs and joined Tony for the walk home. As soon as they began to walk back from the visit with ManRs, Phil said, “Hey Tony, rather than that bar-‐ mitzvah we were gonna crash, wanna go to that fancy wedding party?” Tony responded, “Yeah, dude. Wedding parRes serve the BEST food.” “Instead of partying, do you just wanna, like, observe the humans?” “Why would I do that? Does this have to do with what ManRs told you?” “Well…Yeah, it does.” “What did ManRs say to you? You heard what he said to me about the love of my life at a party.” “Basically ManRs said I would save the whole resort, and that I should study humans. I’m not sure that ManRs knows what he’s talking about. I was born to party, and that’s it…I think.” “Well, who knows? We might as well go to the wedding party. Maybe the love of my life will be there,” said Tony half-‐joking. At the wedding party, there were fancy humans in suits, dresses, Res, rocks aZached to humans’ ears and necks and wrists, and high-‐heeled shoes. There were high tables with fabric draped over them, tables with free food, and a large man with a piece of paper, checking people off. Phil found most of this bizarre. Why would someone hang a piece of fabric from their neck? Why would you want shoes that make it harder to walk? What is the purpose in enshrining yourself in gemstones?
Why do different-‐gendered humans wear different clothes? Why do the humans have different lengths of head fur based on gender? Why wear clothes at all in such warm climate? Now that he paid aZenRon to them, the behavior of the humans intrigued him. He looked over at Tony, who had appeared to meet a june bug who WAS the love of his life. He decided that he would try some of the dark, round, minute spheres the humans were eaRng. Phil heard a white-‐furred lady human with folds of soa shell on her face call them caviar. He was signg in the caviar when that same human picked him up on what he assumed was what they called a cracker. She screamed and called over a French-‐sounding, tan, average height man, who was as skinny as his pencil-‐thin moustache, which was almost invisible. This man was the head of pest control. In a maZer of hours, the war for the resort had started. Phil told every bug he knew to raise havoc all across the resort. They were chewing through walls, chewing electrical wires, climbing in the guests’ food, crawling over guests at the beach, and hiding in the sheets guests were sleeping in. All of the guests were completely horrified. Phil even ordered some of the mosquitos and spiders to bite guests. Phil’s goal was not to drive the humans away, but to get the skinny human fired. Phil was actually intrigued by humans and the quirky way they led their lives. With Phil’s acquaintances ruining the island experience for the guests, and destroying the hotel itself, the war was beginning to look like victory for Phil’s friends. This infuriated the skinny human.
He was trying as hard as he could to kill all of the bugs in the resort. The skinny human had three other human helpers who would put on masks and spray toxic gas to kill Phil’s friends. The fumes were so strong that Phil could smell them from across the resort. The skinny human made a final, dire aZempt at ManRs. The Flying Force, Tony, and his sweetheart saved ManRs. Tony’s fiancée heard the humans talking about “spraying down the garden.” She told Tony, who assembled the roughest, wildest wasps and hornets that lived at the resort, also known as the Flying Force. Tony informed ManRs about the humans’ intenRons, and he agreed to act as bait for the humans. The Flying Force hid in flowers in the garden while ManRs stood in the in plain sight. As soon as the humans put on their masks, the Flying Force darted from their hiding places and swarmed around the four humans. The humans sprinted to the parking lot, and entered their vehicles to never return. The skinny human and his acquaintances were not seen again at the resort. No one had elected Phil as the leader of the survival aZempt, but every bug listened to him, and respected him. Phil had finally found his purpose, and when the skinny man failed, and bugs could finally live in harmony with humans again. Tony got married to the love of his life, ManRs’s prophecies had come true, and Phil finally knew his purpose.
Even Good Is Bad Nicolas Saah’18 If I got asked who the person that came in to feed me was, I would say Jane. I can’t recall her last name, but I remember her calling herself Jane mulRple Rmes to nail it in my head so I wouldn’t forget this Rme. She also kept saying that today was my day, and would probably be the last of my days. Jane kept asking if I was ready for the surprise and I told her to wait unRl Noah got here. I don’t know what surprise she is talking about, or if she is just tricking me. Someday I will understand why I am here. Noah should be coming soon to visit me at my new home. I told Jane to make sure he won’t get lost and go to the real place. My new dose of food was coming along with Jane. When she walked in to my room, she knelt down on one knee and moved the fork with something gray on it towards my face. It may have not have been gray, but that’s what it seemed like, just like everything else in this dump. I wish I could hurt her right now, but I can’t get seem to get my arm up. I try my leg, no luck. It goes into my mouth and I move it up and down, then the food goes down. Then I see Noah walk in with his cane, just like the one I have but his doesn’t have wheels or a seat on it. Noah is seventy – wait no – eighty – something around that. I love him, my liZle brother, eleven years
less than I did before I got here. Jane knew I was ready for her surprise. She brought in something that had darker air coming out of it that smelled like the Rme I was cold and built a – the, the orange thing that was really hot at the real place. Then I saw the real thing, white fluffiness with the darker air coming from the top. I remember people talking about heaven, and this reminded me of what I heard. Maybe I am due on ‘my day.’ But I was told is that I am not near the end of my problem, but it is not far away either. It is called Olzhymur’s disease, but I think it’s with an ‘a.’ So I have Alzhymur’s disease. I heard it is bad but – oh so that’s why I am here. So I don’t go to the white fluffiness and dark air. “Honey, I am going to give you this special day food. Do you think you can do it all by yourself?” Jane said. I nod my head and bring the special day food closer to my body. Something rushes through my head and I feel it hard. I suddenly had a drive to hurt. The food is flung at Noah who sits beside me and I realize what I had done. The white on Noah’s face is amusing, but I realize I am the one who caused it. “I am sorry.” I say to Noah. “No, please, it is alright. I know you don’t have a choice.” Noah remarks. I hear him call them “mood swings,” but I just call them emoRons, which I am told I have to control beZer by Jane. Suddenly, I hear a not quiet noise, which goes against the rules of the sign that says, ‘PLEASE, DON’T BE NOT QUIET,” in the hallway. It sounds weird to me,
but Jane says that people understand it beZer. The food flies out of my hands and onto the ground. I make out a person in black through the small window in the door. I hear not quiet noise and more gunshots. Noah runs out, and I try to make a not quiet noise myself. Jane is over me for some reason and I think she doesn’t want the person in black to see me. I hear Noah’s voice, then a not quiet noise. I watched a movie earlier today and something like that happened. I could only think the worst. Something wills me to get up, and I do so. I run to the door, and I as do that, I then see Jane’s hand and the food coming closer. I run out of the room, and I see Noah on the ground and the man looking at me. Right as I hear the not quiet noise, I feel the food go into my mouth. Noah is standing in the corner of the room as he finishes the special day song. I ask Jane to leave me, and she takes Noah out with her. I shut my eyes and wish I never have a special day ever again.
“My Ant Farm” Jared Wolfson’18 My garage was nothing but vast space. To fill the void I ordered an ant farm off the web. It took six days to ship. It came with ant eggs and dry untamed mulch. I had to fill the terrain and hatch the inhabitants myself. As soon as the eggs hatched I was their everything. I gave them light, food, warmth, and a sense of meaning in the garage. They hatched in all different colors and each burrowed in their own secRon. Separated they began to blindly fight for their queens. They hated each other, all different sizes, colors, and shapes. They became independent of my help and I abandoned them to their fighRng. I came back a week later and they were all dead. Seems their baZle royal ended with all parRes being destroyed. Rinse and repeat another six days, then another package. The pesRlence, squalor, and war of these insects don’t faze me. As I know they are just an inconsequenRal spec in my vast garage…
“Hockey Day Dreamer” T.J. Lewis’20
There’s a boy Si;ng in class Falling asleep to History. While sleeping, he dreams of being a professional hockey player Who plays on the New York Rangers. While he was in this dream, he’d made it to the Stanley Cup Where he scores the winning goal. But does he? No. He makes the shot, but then realizes there is only 15 seconds leP. In excitement, his team skates over to the face off center knowing that they would win. WaiUng and waiUng for that puck to hit the cold, hard ice. And once it had been dropped, the opponents Quickly Snatched The Puck Bringing it over to the Ranger’s net He makes a shot. And does the puck go into the goal? Yes… But you can’t end a hockey game to a Ue Which means there must be a overUme. A shootout occurs. While everyone is missing the net It is finally his turn to shoot the puck. But all of a sudden, he noUces a fan Screaming at him “Wake up, or else you’ll get a detenUon!” Then, he finds himself in the detenUon room WaiUng… And waiUng For that clock to buzz.
“Google” Aaryan Chinai’21
Where is it? I don’t know It’s in a hat It’s under your toes It’s by the whale It’s in the ball Have you checked the scale? It’s under the doll It’s over there Look it’s in the doodle Have you checked your hair? Just look it up on Google!
Photograph CompilaRon Amit Ramachandran’18
Weavesilk CollecRon Eighth Graders
Student Drawings
-‐Anonymous
-‐Charlie BurneZ’20
-‐Logan Darrin ‘20
-‐Julian Trahanes’21
-‐Jonathan Citron’21
-‐Jonathan Citron’21
Nicholas Breckenridge’18
My story starts back in 4th grade. I was 9 at the Rme, and I had just started school at Brunswick. It was preZy rough, changing to a new school aaer going to another for your enRre life. I was really shocked by the enRre experience. Would I fit in? I wondered when entering the lower school. I'll never forget the sight that awaited me. My first thought of that place was the size. I definitely felt out of place in this gargantuan building. But that was only the beginning. Aaer I finished marveling at the dinosaur that hung from the ceiling, I headed to my teacher, Ms. Foyle's classroom. Every person in the class looked like people who deserved to be here, unlike me. Aaer having an awful moment of bashfulness and awkwardness, I tried to introduce myself. I think I said something along the lines of, "H-‐ hi, I'm Nicholas. Nice t-‐to meet you." I remember cringing at how patheRc that sounded. So on went the morning. I didn't really talk during those hours of horror. I would only speak if being spoken to. So all in all, it wasn't the best day. Then, something happened that I'll remember to this day. I was working on some work with my group, and I was having a hard Rme on this worksheet. I didn't want to say anything to my classmates, because then I thought they would think I was a loser.
Then, one of the people at my table asked me if I was ok. When I replied, he said that I didn't look that way. Then, he said, "It must be preZy awful to switch schools right now. I'm really sorry about that. Just tell me if you need anything, and I'll help you out." I was touched by his empathy. Aaer that occurrence, the rest of the day was a flash. I remember playing football and tag with our class at recess, and signg with my newfound friend at lunch. When I got home from school, my mom asked me if school was ok. I told her in jubilaRon that I already had a new friend. Fast-‐forward to the Friday before spring break. My family had to pick me up early because we were going on a road trip to Nantucket. My mom came when I was in recess, interrupRng our classes' football game. As I was walking down the sidewalk to her car, two of my classmates came up to me and my mom and asked, "Is Nick coming back on Monday?" My mom told them yes and they both said bye. As I got in the car, my mom asked me who they were. I smiled and told her, "They were my friends." I believe that everyone can fit in. I believe it takes only one person to change your life. I believe in finding happiness somewhere, someRme, when you least expect it.
Amit Ramachandran’18
I believe that respect for others’ beliefs and cultures is a driving force in the world. Without respect, you cannot have a stable society. Without respect, you cannot appreciate the ideas and creaRvity of one another. Without respect, the world would never get anywhere. Having two purely Indian parents yet living in America can be quite unusual. For example, I never know what to answer when someone asks me where I’m from. If I say “I’m from America,” they usually say, “You don’t look American”, or “But your parents are Indian.” If I say “I’m from India,” they usually say, “You don’t sound Indian”, or “You don’t act like an Indian.” I try to avoid answering this quesRon directly whenever I can because aaer the debate, none of us get anywhere and we end up having a stronger opinion than we did before. Before the summer of 2013, people more oaen than not called me Indian. I went to India that July with this thought in my head. When I got there, it was easy to tell that I did not fit in. Sure, I looked like them, but I could not speak the language, consume the water, or tolerate the climate. On top of all of that, I am definitely not the biggest fan of Indian culture and
food. If I was dropped off on the street corner, I would not last very long. One Rme while I was there, I was having a conversaRon with my grandfather. When I was done speaking, he just stared blankly back at me and just said, “I have no idea what you just said. You are completely American.” How could he say that when everyone back in ConnecRcut had said otherwise? I realized from that moment that I wasn’t going to care what people told me where I am from. Arguing about it would not do anything at all. I couldn’t just talk back to my grandfather like that. All that maZers is what I think of the issue. I’m not saying that we should not debate any problems; the world would not get anywhere like that either. All I’m saying is that I believe that people shouldn’t be so judgmental about others’ beliefs. Doing so only creates even stronger opposite opinions.
Lance Johnson’18
Bad karma has always found a way to track me down. It seems to lurk in the darkness waiRng for me to make a poor decision so that I can be punished. Although I control my everyday acRons to the best of my ability, the results of my acRons never seem to be in my favor. One moment I will be having the Rme of my life, but since I, along with every other human being are not ‘perfect people’ I proceed to suffer bad karma’s wrath. I had just stepped off of the bus, when I was informed by Mr. Fischeg that all Brunswick Eighth Grade students could roam freely around NaRonals Park unRl the eighth inning of the NaRonals game. I walked up the stadium’s steps to the front entrance and got my Rcket scanned. Since there was Rme before the game actually started, I decided to get some food from the Shake Shack. I quickly ate my food in an open seat in center field, savoring every last bite of it. It was almost the start of the game and I was about to find the seat on my Rcket when Mr Fischeg’s last words before we lea the bus replayed in my head. I smiled and began walking to the expensive seats that were unfilled behind home plate.
Upon arriving there, I immediately lost hope in my chances of evading the Rcket checkers because they were at the top of every aisle blocking the entrance. As a result, I began to think of a strategy. I came up with the idea of waiRng for the Rcket checkers to become distracted by talking to the fans with the real Rckets. That is when I would sneak past them and stay in large crowds unRl the start of the game. I successfully did so and found an open front row seat behind -‐ my favorite team -‐ the Angels’ dugout. Every inning the Angels player that made the last out would throw the game ball to my row on their way into the dugout. At the end of the seventh inning Howie Kendrick, the Angels second baseman tossed the game ball to me. Although it was a perfect pass, I Rpped the ball and the person behind me caught it. This was only the beginning of my bad karma. Minutes later I had to leave the excepRonal seat because it was Rme to meet the grade in center field. When I stood up, I couldn’t feel my legs because I was wearing shorts when the temperature was forty degrees. I hobbled up the steps and awkwardly walked to our center field seats. When I arrived there, I bought more Shake Shack food. We lea in the boZom of the eighth inning when the Angels were winning 4-‐2. When the bus started to move I began to feel very sick from the fiay dollars of food that I ate at the game. I went to sleep to try to escape my stomach ache, but awoke to someone yelling, “The NaRonals won! There was a walk-‐off comeback!” I sighed and asked myself how much worse my bad karma could be.
I believe in karma because to me there is no other explanaRon for why bad things randomly happen to people who have made mistakes. Karma is important to me because it gives me incenRve to be a beZer person. Although karma is not provable, it conRnues to dwell on my life for both the good and bad.
Anonymous’18
I believe there is nothing more powerful than love. There is love every minute, hour, day, and year. Everywhere you go, love surrounds you. I remember just being a liZle 4 or 5 year old and telling my Mom that I loved her. I never really knew what that meant; the words were special, but how? I knew that you didn’t say it to everybody because you don’t love everybody, but I just didn’t know what it really meant yet. When I became older I learned that my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was in pre-‐k. As a child I wasn’t aware of anything while it happened. My Mom would pick me up early and we would just spend Rme together doing whatever I wanted. My Mom carried on with her life like nothing was happening; she would make my sisters and me her first priority. She was determined to see out the cancer for us because she was not ready to let cancer take her life. My Mom loved my sisters and me too much to give up on the cancer. When she was diagnosed with cancer she showed that cancer messed with the wrong woman. She never lost hope because of her children and she fought for us.
My Mom taught me what “I love you” really means. My Mom would sRll care for us and act completely normal for us because she didn’t want to worry us. She would put my needs first and make sure nothing was wrong with me before worrying about herself. She didn’t want to tell me about her cancer because she loved me too much to scare me with the thought of losing my Mom. My Mom helped me understand the true meaning of love. Now whenever I say “I love you,” to her it’s not just something that I say unconsciously, I mean that I care deeply for her and I want to make sure that she is ok and ask if she needs my help with something. Every person in the universe loves, but it takes a real experience to understand what you mean when you say, “I love you.” Everywhere in the world there is happiness, joy, friendship, graRtude, and hope, which radiate from love, this I believe.
Edited and compiled by Zachary Mothner’18
The Park David Sorbaro’18
The man had been in the park for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t sure how long that was. Surely there had to be other places than the one he had come to know. He was not that dull. Yet he just did not remember where. The man thought to himself that, in a way, he had never been anywhere but the park, because he could not remember where else he had been, therefore the other places he had been could not exist. He figured that it was useless trying to decipher the meaning of him being there. For it was his park, and that’s where he was. Once in a while, he would take a walk along the main pathway that ran through the park. He enjoyed seeing everything around him change as he went, seeing how everything changed, no maZer what precauRons the human race had set against them. The man took great pleasure scanning the area, searching for the impossible, and yet falsely idolized certainRes that doZed the horizons of the park. But the never-‐ending change fascinated him. He saw the trees and grass and plants uniformly green, as if the whole of nature was unified and orderly, all given the idenRcal command to be as vibrantly green as possible. In the cohesiveness that was its being, nature understood each other, all on that same dark green hue, which at
that point was their life. It was as if every plant had been given the order “be green” and the vegetaRon had no choice but to comply, whether it believed in the cause or not. He looked up and saw the sun, streaking indefinitely across the blue sky, its linear moRon seeming staRonary, yet sRll eternal. The man wondered how the sky could possibly be blue. The area so far above the park, he knew was black, or at least he thought he knew. And yet the thought of absolute nothingness and the uncertainRes of the worlds around him or above him were frightening, so he placed his faith back into the park, for it was all he knew and all he cared to know about. So he put the thought of darkness and the nothingness that accompanies it behind him. As he kept walking he saw the wheel that is history conRnue to roll along the path beside him. The law and order nature implemented, which kept the plants bound to their green shade, was dissolving. The plants began to rebel against the obviously tyrannical system that kept them all in single file lines. The grass was the first to go. It shook from the grasp of nature and began living on its own, in a society composed of only itself, waiRng for others to follow. The temperature was next. Finally free, it dropped and rose inconsistently; unsure, eventually lowering to the level the grass had adverRsed as being freedom. The trees were last. In a violent blast of singularity they severed the bonds that nature had forced upon them all, and became its own enRty, with contrasRng colors, different shades, the leaves bursRng with the pigments of a new found freedom. This was the mans favorite part.
He enjoyed observing something so orderly change into something of complete opposite in such a short amount of Rme. This burst of color was also short lived. Soon, the temperature, as unsure as it was, began to drop more oaen than it rose. Without any rules to constrain it, it fell and fell, unsure of what it was doing. As it fell, it became lonely, and sad, gazing up at its comrades that once stood at his side. It beckoned for someone to help it, save it from the cold abyss it had driaed into. The grass tried to help, following the temperature. The grass was unsure as well, what to do now that it had broke the bonds of society. As it clashed with the temperature about the new ideals of the forsaken society they were trying to form, it became cruel and hard, and subsequently became an unruly shade of brown. The grass and temperature sulked, biZer, angry, and freezing, wishing they could go back to their former care-‐free state. They begged the trees to help them. They knelt at their trees feet and wept, saying that the trees were the only ones that could save them from their cold and isolated prison they once had mistaken for liberty. The longer the trees refused, the more the temperature dropped. They shrieked at the other populaRon of nature watching them, whom had been standing by in quiet pity, as if they were all hunters witnessing a wounded animal suffer and die. Soon, the lakes and rivers could not stand it anymore. They too were unstable about the change of rule, and weren't sure how to flow. They too began to drop, and the temperature seized them as soon as they were within its icy reach, making the rivers and lakes
cold and frozen as well, turning them into immobile slaves of the crumbling ideals of liberty. The trees were now all alone. They realized that no maZer how hard it would be if they followed the rest of their brothers, it would be harder to stay in the false posiRon of hope they were aZempRng to project onto each other. So in a quiet, solemn goodbye to the world they once loved, they shed their leaves and lea, seZling into the cold dark world that was now reality, the cold silently blankeRng itself on the bare and briZle branches that once were a symbol of life. On their way to the present, they had effecRvely destroyed themselves. This was the mans least favorite part. That was because he too, became cold. It meant he needed several layers, and he did not like that, he decided. But soon, things began to change. The trees opened their eyes one day and looked about themselves. They looked at the desolate frozen world they called home. They knew something had to be done. They called out to all of nature, told them what they must do. Orders were given, restricRons were placed, rules were drawn, and slowly nature regained its hold on the kingdom it once ruled. The man watched this cycle occur oaen throughout his walks, not thinking much of it except the occasional shiver, or the bead of sweat that ran down his wrinkled forehead. As he walked, he watched children in the park playing with each other in a blithe lifestyle that they figured would last forever. He did not blame them. The present always seemed like it stretched out indefinitely into the distant future. Every so oaen the man would watch a child disappear into a bush to
grab a ball and come out in a jacket, Re, and briefcase, clutching his cup of coffee close to his vest. Occurrences like this happened oaen on the mans walk, and he rarely acknowledged them. The one thing the man acknowledged was what would happen at the end of his walk. Whenever he reached the end of the park, he felt such an uncertainty inside. He felt solitary and unsure of what was to come next. And the man feared these feelings because they were meant to be unfelt, but yet he always felt them at the end of his walk. But in a way that’s the only reason the man took the walks. Because there was the reassuring end, the promise that the walks always ended. There was a security that the man couldn’t get anywhere else throughout the walk. The only thing he knew for sure was that the walks would end. And that’s why the man never lea the park.
The Life of Walter Holt Wesley Peisch’18 Every morning she does this. Every morning, Mrs. Holt makes her husband breakfast. And he’s preZy sure she gives him the stale pieces of bread, the ones lea by the previous morning and exposed to the moldy mouth of the bag. She never closes it, and it sits on top of the toaster all day, watching Walter as he passes it. Of course, he never closes the bag; that’s her job. She used it last. Margaret Holt couldn’t care less about his breakfast, but she loves to quietly lord it over him in the evenings. That’s why she tells Rosa not to make breakfast, even though she never works. When Walter and Margaret are out, Rosa sits on his bed and calls Mexico and eats her chips and puts her greasy baby carrot fingers all over the furniture. She cannot speak English, and barely knows how to work a dishwasher. He doesn’t even like being near her. Walter knows she steals money from his wallet. SomeRmes, when he comes home, he can’t find it. He wants her fired. Margaret claims that cooking for each other makes them closer, but he knows that she loves the feeling she gets when Walter owes her. Maybe because she is insecure. Probably on account of her weight, or maybe she knows her friends don’t like her. Either way, Walter knows that the toast is a power play.
He tastes her apathy with each bite of breakfast, even with the dollops of buZer she dumped on it. Cold and tough, the toast feels like a sRff, dry rag. Margaret can’t bother to store it in the toaster oven before she leaves the apartment. She knows that he doesn’t get up unRl at least nine and she lets it sit on the kitchen table with a souring glass of milk. DissaRsfied with his day already, Walter exits the apartment building and steps into the back seat of a waiRng company limousine. The man driving is probably around the same age as Walter. His dark hair is flipped away from a broad forehead crossed by parallel wrinkles formed from years of squinRng through dark sunglasses. His grey Re extends from a neatly Red half-‐windsor knot across a white dress shirt, terminaRng above the zipper of his dress pants, A good driver, he never speaks more than a few words at a Rme and never asks for Rps. In fact, now that Walter realizes it, he doesn’t know the man’s name. They may have been introduced at the very beginning but talking is the last thing either of them want to do. Neither of them parRcularly care. Instead, they sit in silence and watch the bundles of scarves, coats, and miZens who have to walk in the biZer December weather of New York City. There are twelve offices and forty cubicles on the floor, but only two people. The other one spends all morning on the telephone in his cubicle, leaving at quarter to twelve. The rest of the office is out on account of it being Christmas Eve. Walter would follow suit if not for rouRne and Rosa.
The day, covered in a thick, sleepy layer of fog, drags on without punctuaRon. Having no work to do, he manages to pull a thread out of his right cuff unRl it shortened an half-‐inch and Rckled his wrist with its black fuzz. The only distracRon he receives is a phone call at half past two from his wife. He knows before answering that it concerns the Christmas Eve Party to which Margaret was invited at the Cliaon’s trophy home an hour and a half outside the city. “Hello?” Walter answered the phone with his head lying limply away from his desk toward the window behind him. He stared at the ceiling. “Honey, it’s me” Walter doesn’t respond. “Margie.” Silence. “Remember that we’re going to a Christmas party at the Cliaons’ winter house tonight. Make sure to come home early because it’s a long drive to the house, and the roads will be muddy want to be on the road by five” “I hate these things” “I know, just come. You can meet my friends. It will be fun.” He knows that it won’t be. Of course, Margaret would deny it and insist on doing it again. “I hate your friends, Margaret” “Please don’t say that, honey. I would visit my family but I can’t. The Cliaons are nice people. We can leave early if you want. We’ll decide when we get there.” Margaret never leaves before twelve. “I’ll be home at four.” Walter sets the phone into the receiver and resumes leaning back in his chair. Three hours into the party already, Walter finds himself in the corner of a large room signg on the edge of a couch next to his wife facing two occupied
chairs between which paper napkins and half-‐empty glasses cover the edges of a small table. As his wife and her friends begin howling with laughter, Walter stares toward the center of the room, where the white noise of overlapping voices comes from as a small crowd mingles. An impressive main room, it stands two stories tall and is decorated with various animal heads on the walls. One of the four walls, covered in glass, hosts a view of the tops of lush pine trees beneath the house lit by the glow of the lodge. The window extends upwards another story to a low-‐ pitched tradiRonal ceiling with thick beams running from wall to wall, between which a graceful antler chandelier casts shadows upon the atrium. Upon looking at these shadows Walter noRces wild shapes being flung across the room. Amid the chandelier lights is a small shadow with the frenzy of a buZerfly but the with the size and density of a bird amid the chandelier lights. The bat, Rny compared to the chaos of bright lights around it, stumbles and bumbles clumsily around the giant crown, unRl a stray bounce sends the creature tumbling to the floor. Gasps and clumsy drunken steps away from the creature interrupts conversaRon and draws loudly whispered quesRons from the partygoers. Walter, relieved at the interrupRon the scene causes, walks directly into the circle of people surrounding the bat. Square in the center, the ball of black fuzz piRfully flops across itself and circles with slow, erraRc moRons directly beneath the bright lights of the fixture from which it fell head over heels. Its eyes, blinded and terrified, roll around dizzily as it tries
to regain comprehension from its blind twisRng fall from grace. Walter, wine glass sRll in hand, calmly steps forward, leans down, and gently places the cup over the struggling animal. He traps it at the boZom of the glass with a nimble flip to the sound of polite claps and compliments from the houseguests. Stepping out of the circle, he walks to a sink above which cool winter air blows into the house through an open window. Leaning forward, he fills the glass with hot water and leaves the creature by the sink. He closes the window, turns around, and joins his wife in conversaRon.
Phenomenal Phil J.J. VonOiste’18 Before his best friend Tony told him to go see the psychic, Phil led a life of a party animal. He would wake up at one in the aaernoon, find some food to eat at the beach café, and meet Tony in the lobby. Later, they would find a party to crash, party unRl they both pass out, and repeat. Phil lived at a luxurious resort on a French-‐Caribbean island. He was completely content with his life, but Tony insisted that he visit this psychic. Tony said that his aunt Patricia had visited him, and had been given great advice. Phil thought this was worth it, although the psychic was very far away, and Phil did not have a car or bike or anything except for his legs. Phil and Tony decided to go see the psychic aaer a parRcularly wild party. They made the trek from one side of the hotel to the other. This trip took four hours to complete; this was record Rme. Now, they were in the garden of the resort looking for the psychic. Phil asked Tony, ”Hey, what did your aunt say this guy looked like?” Tony responded, “He’s tall, real skinny, and has long legs.” “I’d like my fortune told today, so let’s find this guy,” Phil replied sharply. “OK OK I’m looking,” Tony said, seemingly annoyed.
Aaer another thirty minutes of searching, the pair of friends found the psychic. He was taller than they imagined, standing five inches off of the ground. His six legs seemed like individual skyscrapers. He had the skinniest neck that Phil had ever seen. Phil being a cockroach, and Tony being a June bug, were naturally scared of bugs that eat other bugs. This psychic said in the the wisest, deepest, richest voice Phil had ever heard, “Call me ManRs. I am the last of my kind on the island.” Phil and Tony were shocked at the size of ManRs. Although he was the most highly respected bug in all of the resort, Phil felt sympathy for this lonely creature. Phil had his family and other cockroaches, while ManRs was a solitary creature. Tony respeckully asked for words of wisdom from ManRs, to which ManRs responded in that soothing, harmonic voice “Keep your eyes open. In a maZer of Rme, you will find the love of your life.” Tony thanked ManRs and moved out of earshot of Phil and ManRs. Phil asked ManRs, “ManRs, I know my life consists almost completely of sleeping, scavenging leaovers from humans, and crashing human parRes, but do I as a cockroach have a purpose to serve in this world?” ManRs was quiet for a long period of Rme, and finally said, “Why, Phil! You are more important than any other bug at the resort, even me! Your desRny involves saving us all from destrucRon by the humans. UnRl your future is clear to you, observe the humans. Don’t just party among them, observe them. One day, people will respect you even more than they respect
me.” Phil was speechless. He thanked ManRs and joined Tony for the walk home. As soon as they began to walk back from the visit with ManRs, Phil said, “Hey Tony, rather than that bar-‐ mitzvah we were gonna crash, wanna go to that fancy wedding party?” Tony responded, “Yeah, dude. Wedding parRes serve the BEST food.” “Instead of partying, do you just wanna, like, observe the humans?” “Why would I do that? Does this have to do with what ManRs told you?” “Well…Yeah, it does.” “What did ManRs say to you? You heard what he said to me about the love of my life at a party.” “Basically ManRs said I would save the whole resort, and that I should study humans. I’m not sure that ManRs knows what he’s talking about. I was born to party, and that’s it…I think.” “Well, who knows? We might as well go to the wedding party. Maybe the love of my life will be there,” said Tony half-‐joking. At the wedding party, there were fancy humans in suits, dresses, Res, rocks aZached to humans’ ears and necks and wrists, and high-‐heeled shoes. There were high tables with fabric draped over them, tables with free food, and a large man with a piece of paper, checking people off. Phil found most of this bizarre. Why would someone hang a piece of fabric from their neck? Why would you want shoes that make it harder to walk? What is the purpose in enshrining yourself in gemstones?
Why do different-‐gendered humans wear different clothes? Why do the humans have different lengths of head fur based on gender? Why wear clothes at all in such warm climate? Now that he paid aZenRon to them, the behavior of the humans intrigued him. He looked over at Tony, who had appeared to meet a june bug who WAS the love of his life. He decided that he would try some of the dark, round, minute spheres the humans were eaRng. Phil heard a white-‐furred lady human with folds of soa shell on her face call them caviar. He was signg in the caviar when that same human picked him up on what he assumed was what they called a cracker. She screamed and called over a French-‐sounding, tan, average height man, who was as skinny as his pencil-‐thin moustache, which was almost invisible. This man was the head of pest control. In a maZer of hours, the war for the resort had started. Phil told every bug he knew to raise havoc all across the resort. They were chewing through walls, chewing electrical wires, climbing in the guests’ food, crawling over guests at the beach, and hiding in the sheets guests were sleeping in. All of the guests were completely horrified. Phil even ordered some of the mosquitos and spiders to bite guests. Phil’s goal was not to drive the humans away, but to get the skinny human fired. Phil was actually intrigued by humans and the quirky way they led their lives. With Phil’s acquaintances ruining the island experience for the guests, and destroying the hotel itself, the war was beginning to look like victory for Phil’s friends. This infuriated the skinny human.
He was trying as hard as he could to kill all of the bugs in the resort. The skinny human had three other human helpers who would put on masks and spray toxic gas to kill Phil’s friends. The fumes were so strong that Phil could smell them from across the resort. The skinny human made a final, dire aZempt at ManRs. The Flying Force, Tony, and his sweetheart saved ManRs. Tony’s fiancée heard the humans talking about “spraying down the garden.” She told Tony, who assembled the roughest, wildest wasps and hornets that lived at the resort, also known as the Flying Force. Tony informed ManRs about the humans’ intenRons, and he agreed to act as bait for the humans. The Flying Force hid in flowers in the garden while ManRs stood in the in plain sight. As soon as the humans put on their masks, the Flying Force darted from their hiding places and swarmed around the four humans. The humans sprinted to the parking lot, and entered their vehicles to never return. The skinny human and his acquaintances were not seen again at the resort. No one had elected Phil as the leader of the survival aZempt, but every bug listened to him, and respected him. Phil had finally found his purpose, and when the skinny man failed, and bugs could finally live in harmony with humans again. Tony got married to the love of his life, ManRs’s prophecies had come true, and Phil finally knew his purpose.
Even Good Is Bad Nicolas Saah’18 If I got asked who the person that came in to feed me was, I would say Jane. I can’t recall her last name, but I remember her calling herself Jane mulRple Rmes to nail it in my head so I wouldn’t forget this Rme. She also kept saying that today was my day, and would probably be the last of my days. Jane kept asking if I was ready for the surprise and I told her to wait unRl Noah got here. I don’t know what surprise she is talking about, or if she is just tricking me. Someday I will understand why I am here. Noah should be coming soon to visit me at my new home. I told Jane to make sure he won’t get lost and go to the real place. My new dose of food was coming along with Jane. When she walked in to my room, she knelt down on one knee and moved the fork with something gray on it towards my face. It may have not have been gray, but that’s what it seemed like, just like everything else in this dump. I wish I could hurt her right now, but I can’t get seem to get my arm up. I try my leg, no luck. It goes into my mouth and I move it up and down, then the food goes down. Then I see Noah walk in with his cane, just like the one I have but his doesn’t have wheels or a seat on it. Noah is seventy – wait no – eighty – something around that. I love him, my liZle brother, eleven years
less than I did before I got here. Jane knew I was ready for her surprise. She brought in something that had darker air coming out of it that smelled like the Rme I was cold and built a – the, the orange thing that was really hot at the real place. Then I saw the real thing, white fluffiness with the darker air coming from the top. I remember people talking about heaven, and this reminded me of what I heard. Maybe I am due on ‘my day.’ But I was told is that I am not near the end of my problem, but it is not far away either. It is called Olzhymur’s disease, but I think it’s with an ‘a.’ So I have Alzhymur’s disease. I heard it is bad but – oh so that’s why I am here. So I don’t go to the white fluffiness and dark air. “Honey, I am going to give you this special day food. Do you think you can do it all by yourself?” Jane said. I nod my head and bring the special day food closer to my body. Something rushes through my head and I feel it hard. I suddenly had a drive to hurt. The food is flung at Noah who sits beside me and I realize what I had done. The white on Noah’s face is amusing, but I realize I am the one who caused it. “I am sorry.” I say to Noah. “No, please, it is alright. I know you don’t have a choice.” Noah remarks. I hear him call them “mood swings,” but I just call them emoRons, which I am told I have to control beZer by Jane. Suddenly, I hear a not quiet noise, which goes against the rules of the sign that says, ‘PLEASE, DON’T BE NOT QUIET,” in the hallway. It sounds weird to me,
but Jane says that people understand it beZer. The food flies out of my hands and onto the ground. I make out a person in black through the small window in the door. I hear not quiet noise and more gunshots. Noah runs out, and I try to make a not quiet noise myself. Jane is over me for some reason and I think she doesn’t want the person in black to see me. I hear Noah’s voice, then a not quiet noise. I watched a movie earlier today and something like that happened. I could only think the worst. Something wills me to get up, and I do so. I run to the door, and I as do that, I then see Jane’s hand and the food coming closer. I run out of the room, and I see Noah on the ground and the man looking at me. Right as I hear the not quiet noise, I feel the food go into my mouth. Noah is standing in the corner of the room as he finishes the special day song. I ask Jane to leave me, and she takes Noah out with her. I shut my eyes and wish I never have a special day ever again.
“My Ant Farm” Jared Wolfson’18 My garage was nothing but vast space. To fill the void I ordered an ant farm off the web. It took six days to ship. It came with ant eggs and dry untamed mulch. I had to fill the terrain and hatch the inhabitants myself. As soon as the eggs hatched I was their everything. I gave them light, food, warmth, and a sense of meaning in the garage. They hatched in all different colors and each burrowed in their own secRon. Separated they began to blindly fight for their queens. They hated each other, all different sizes, colors, and shapes. They became independent of my help and I abandoned them to their fighRng. I came back a week later and they were all dead. Seems their baZle royal ended with all parRes being destroyed. Rinse and repeat another six days, then another package. The pesRlence, squalor, and war of these insects don’t faze me. As I know they are just an inconsequenRal spec in my vast garage…
“Hockey Day Dreamer” T.J. Lewis’20
There’s a boy Si;ng in class Falling asleep to History. While sleeping, he dreams of being a professional hockey player Who plays on the New York Rangers. While he was in this dream, he’d made it to the Stanley Cup Where he scores the winning goal. But does he? No. He makes the shot, but then realizes there is only 15 seconds leP. In excitement, his team skates over to the face off center knowing that they would win. WaiUng and waiUng for that puck to hit the cold, hard ice. And once it had been dropped, the opponents Quickly Snatched The Puck Bringing it over to the Ranger’s net He makes a shot. And does the puck go into the goal? Yes… But you can’t end a hockey game to a Ue Which means there must be a overUme. A shootout occurs. While everyone is missing the net It is finally his turn to shoot the puck. But all of a sudden, he noUces a fan Screaming at him “Wake up, or else you’ll get a detenUon!” Then, he finds himself in the detenUon room WaiUng… And waiUng For that clock to buzz.
“Google” Aaryan Chinai’21
Where is it? I don’t know It’s in a hat It’s under your toes It’s by the whale It’s in the ball Have you checked the scale? It’s under the doll It’s over there Look it’s in the doodle Have you checked your hair? Just look it up on Google!
Photograph CompilaRon Amit Ramachandran’18
Weavesilk CollecRon Eighth Graders
Student Drawings
-‐Anonymous
-‐Charlie BurneZ’20
-‐Logan Darrin ‘20
-‐Julian Trahanes’21
-‐Jonathan Citron’21
-‐Jonathan Citron’21
Nicholas Breckenridge’18
My story starts back in 4th grade. I was 9 at the Rme, and I had just started school at Brunswick. It was preZy rough, changing to a new school aaer going to another for your enRre life. I was really shocked by the enRre experience. Would I fit in? I wondered when entering the lower school. I'll never forget the sight that awaited me. My first thought of that place was the size. I definitely felt out of place in this gargantuan building. But that was only the beginning. Aaer I finished marveling at the dinosaur that hung from the ceiling, I headed to my teacher, Ms. Foyle's classroom. Every person in the class looked like people who deserved to be here, unlike me. Aaer having an awful moment of bashfulness and awkwardness, I tried to introduce myself. I think I said something along the lines of, "H-‐ hi, I'm Nicholas. Nice t-‐to meet you." I remember cringing at how patheRc that sounded. So on went the morning. I didn't really talk during those hours of horror. I would only speak if being spoken to. So all in all, it wasn't the best day. Then, something happened that I'll remember to this day. I was working on some work with my group, and I was having a hard Rme on this worksheet. I didn't want to say anything to my classmates, because then I thought they would think I was a loser.
Then, one of the people at my table asked me if I was ok. When I replied, he said that I didn't look that way. Then, he said, "It must be preZy awful to switch schools right now. I'm really sorry about that. Just tell me if you need anything, and I'll help you out." I was touched by his empathy. Aaer that occurrence, the rest of the day was a flash. I remember playing football and tag with our class at recess, and signg with my newfound friend at lunch. When I got home from school, my mom asked me if school was ok. I told her in jubilaRon that I already had a new friend. Fast-‐forward to the Friday before spring break. My family had to pick me up early because we were going on a road trip to Nantucket. My mom came when I was in recess, interrupRng our classes' football game. As I was walking down the sidewalk to her car, two of my classmates came up to me and my mom and asked, "Is Nick coming back on Monday?" My mom told them yes and they both said bye. As I got in the car, my mom asked me who they were. I smiled and told her, "They were my friends." I believe that everyone can fit in. I believe it takes only one person to change your life. I believe in finding happiness somewhere, someRme, when you least expect it.
Amit Ramachandran’18
I believe that respect for others’ beliefs and cultures is a driving force in the world. Without respect, you cannot have a stable society. Without respect, you cannot appreciate the ideas and creaRvity of one another. Without respect, the world would never get anywhere. Having two purely Indian parents yet living in America can be quite unusual. For example, I never know what to answer when someone asks me where I’m from. If I say “I’m from America,” they usually say, “You don’t look American”, or “But your parents are Indian.” If I say “I’m from India,” they usually say, “You don’t sound Indian”, or “You don’t act like an Indian.” I try to avoid answering this quesRon directly whenever I can because aaer the debate, none of us get anywhere and we end up having a stronger opinion than we did before. Before the summer of 2013, people more oaen than not called me Indian. I went to India that July with this thought in my head. When I got there, it was easy to tell that I did not fit in. Sure, I looked like them, but I could not speak the language, consume the water, or tolerate the climate. On top of all of that, I am definitely not the biggest fan of Indian culture and
food. If I was dropped off on the street corner, I would not last very long. One Rme while I was there, I was having a conversaRon with my grandfather. When I was done speaking, he just stared blankly back at me and just said, “I have no idea what you just said. You are completely American.” How could he say that when everyone back in ConnecRcut had said otherwise? I realized from that moment that I wasn’t going to care what people told me where I am from. Arguing about it would not do anything at all. I couldn’t just talk back to my grandfather like that. All that maZers is what I think of the issue. I’m not saying that we should not debate any problems; the world would not get anywhere like that either. All I’m saying is that I believe that people shouldn’t be so judgmental about others’ beliefs. Doing so only creates even stronger opposite opinions.
Lance Johnson’18
Bad karma has always found a way to track me down. It seems to lurk in the darkness waiRng for me to make a poor decision so that I can be punished. Although I control my everyday acRons to the best of my ability, the results of my acRons never seem to be in my favor. One moment I will be having the Rme of my life, but since I, along with every other human being are not ‘perfect people’ I proceed to suffer bad karma’s wrath. I had just stepped off of the bus, when I was informed by Mr. Fischeg that all Brunswick Eighth Grade students could roam freely around NaRonals Park unRl the eighth inning of the NaRonals game. I walked up the stadium’s steps to the front entrance and got my Rcket scanned. Since there was Rme before the game actually started, I decided to get some food from the Shake Shack. I quickly ate my food in an open seat in center field, savoring every last bite of it. It was almost the start of the game and I was about to find the seat on my Rcket when Mr Fischeg’s last words before we lea the bus replayed in my head. I smiled and began walking to the expensive seats that were unfilled behind home plate.
Upon arriving there, I immediately lost hope in my chances of evading the Rcket checkers because they were at the top of every aisle blocking the entrance. As a result, I began to think of a strategy. I came up with the idea of waiRng for the Rcket checkers to become distracted by talking to the fans with the real Rckets. That is when I would sneak past them and stay in large crowds unRl the start of the game. I successfully did so and found an open front row seat behind -‐ my favorite team -‐ the Angels’ dugout. Every inning the Angels player that made the last out would throw the game ball to my row on their way into the dugout. At the end of the seventh inning Howie Kendrick, the Angels second baseman tossed the game ball to me. Although it was a perfect pass, I Rpped the ball and the person behind me caught it. This was only the beginning of my bad karma. Minutes later I had to leave the excepRonal seat because it was Rme to meet the grade in center field. When I stood up, I couldn’t feel my legs because I was wearing shorts when the temperature was forty degrees. I hobbled up the steps and awkwardly walked to our center field seats. When I arrived there, I bought more Shake Shack food. We lea in the boZom of the eighth inning when the Angels were winning 4-‐2. When the bus started to move I began to feel very sick from the fiay dollars of food that I ate at the game. I went to sleep to try to escape my stomach ache, but awoke to someone yelling, “The NaRonals won! There was a walk-‐off comeback!” I sighed and asked myself how much worse my bad karma could be.
I believe in karma because to me there is no other explanaRon for why bad things randomly happen to people who have made mistakes. Karma is important to me because it gives me incenRve to be a beZer person. Although karma is not provable, it conRnues to dwell on my life for both the good and bad.
Anonymous’18
I believe there is nothing more powerful than love. There is love every minute, hour, day, and year. Everywhere you go, love surrounds you. I remember just being a liZle 4 or 5 year old and telling my Mom that I loved her. I never really knew what that meant; the words were special, but how? I knew that you didn’t say it to everybody because you don’t love everybody, but I just didn’t know what it really meant yet. When I became older I learned that my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was in pre-‐k. As a child I wasn’t aware of anything while it happened. My Mom would pick me up early and we would just spend Rme together doing whatever I wanted. My Mom carried on with her life like nothing was happening; she would make my sisters and me her first priority. She was determined to see out the cancer for us because she was not ready to let cancer take her life. My Mom loved my sisters and me too much to give up on the cancer. When she was diagnosed with cancer she showed that cancer messed with the wrong woman. She never lost hope because of her children and she fought for us.
My Mom taught me what “I love you” really means. My Mom would sRll care for us and act completely normal for us because she didn’t want to worry us. She would put my needs first and make sure nothing was wrong with me before worrying about herself. She didn’t want to tell me about her cancer because she loved me too much to scare me with the thought of losing my Mom. My Mom helped me understand the true meaning of love. Now whenever I say “I love you,” to her it’s not just something that I say unconsciously, I mean that I care deeply for her and I want to make sure that she is ok and ask if she needs my help with something. Every person in the universe loves, but it takes a real experience to understand what you mean when you say, “I love you.” Everywhere in the world there is happiness, joy, friendship, graRtude, and hope, which radiate from love, this I believe.
Edited and compiled by Zachary Mothner’18
