January 2017



He Will Be Missed

By: Allison Chen

Tick tock sounded the typewriter. The ticking stopped.

“Mr. Brown was found in the office at 10:52 pm, with a bullet embedded in his skull.”

The writer paused to sip stale coffee from his cracked mug, as he considered the stiff line of words. Glancing at the clock, he flicked the mug back onto the sticky table, hurrying to finish his quota for the Daily News. He hunched over his typewriter to speedily run his fingers across the keys.

“Mr. Brown had a wife and three kids and lived on 360 W Birmingham St.” The words appeared uniformly across the page, like a smooth parade of ink.

The streets became increasingly silent—no longer did the writer hear the constant woosh of racing cars, wheels turning as their occupants rushed to nowhere.

“Mr. Brown was well-loved by all his friends and colleagues.”

The writer tapped his foot impatiently—he wanted to get home to the delicious, home-cooked dinner waiting for him. The clock glowed in red letters, reading 10:47 pm.

He did not know what else to write.

The writer sat in his hard, uncomfortable chair, lounging in warm lethargy, opening and closing his top drawer in repeated, lazy motions.

Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. Close.

“Mr. Brown was a respected editor-in-chief of the Daily News. He will be missed.”

Envied, not respected, thought the writer, chuckling dryly.

The writer glanced at the clock again, now unsure of the glowing red letters, which read 10:50 pm.

Finally breaking the stillness of the room, the door creaked open.

“Hey, you can call it a night. You’ve worked so hard.” Mr. Brown stood at the door with an encouraging smile, his hand still on the silver handle.

The writer raised his arm, drawing the never-used pistol from his top drawer.

The clock read 10:52 pm.

Mr. Brown was found in the office at 10:52 pm, with a bullet embedded in his skull.

 

Allison Chen is a 17 year old student at Hamilton High School.



Onion or Hot Cocoa Mix

By: Perrin Jones

 

Ever feel that hunger as you walk through the door?

Doritos, Lay's Chips, Oreo Cookies,

maybe some vegan gluten free concoction if you're one of those people.

It burrows deep in your stomach,

demanding attention.

 

Ever feel that hunger last a few days?

No parents, no money, no power.

Where even one chip,

yes just one,

tastes like a delicacy.

 

Ever feel that hunger force you to insanity?

An onion or hot cocoa mix.

Two options on that cold empty shelf, a simple choice.

One outcome, hunger finally fulfilled.

Better not eat both though.

 

You'll starve.

 

Perrin Jones wrote this poem as a 17 year old in Saratoga Springs, New York.



Lavender Days

By: Eden Gately

 

With tongues blossoming

I feel your energy bursting through my nerves

I feel butterflies in me fluttering

and I sense your cold skin between our clothes

 

Take me in to fuse our souls

Let me warm your insides

Show me how to let your heart be my own

Let us share a voice

Take all I have and hold it close

 

With lavender pumping in our veins

I feel your shivers against my goosebumps

My butterflies have now turned into birds

and I open my eyes to meet yours

 

Take me into your universe

Let me be apart of it from the inside

Show me your favorite place, your favorite melody

Let my heart pump your lavender flood

Take all of my being and hold it forever

 

In the oneness of this moment

the birds in my stomach crash into one another

and I sense you through the peach fuzz

that keeps us two beings

 

Take me for an everlasting journey

Let me question how our worlds met

Show me how infinite our days are

Let my feet touch the ground besides yours

and take my hand as we walk to find the freshly blossomed lavender

 

Eden Gately currently attends the Pacific Northwest College of Art and is from Saratoga Springs, New York.