2013-2014 Literary Magazine

THE
Literary Arts
Magazine
OF
MT. PLEASANT MIDDLE SCHOOL
REFLECTIONS 2014
Blank
REFLECTIONS
The Literary Arts Magazine of
Mt. Pleasant Middle School
A Student Publication of Literature and Art
Mt. Pleasant Middle School
Livingston, New Jersey
2014
Cover Art: Joanne Cao
Andrew Ruiz
FORWARD
A reflection provides us with a unique view; one
in which we not only see ourselves but our place in
the world around us. Reflections Literary Magazine is
a compilation of literary pieces and artwork submitted
by Mount Pleasant Middle School students. As the club
advisors, we encourage the reader to use these pieces as
you would a mirror; try and see what parts are reflective of yourself and use the parts that are not to better
understand the world around you.
It is thanks to the creative imaginations of our
student body that we can offer so many exciting pieces
that will take you into the minds, hearts, and souls of
their authors. In preparation for beginning your journey into the following works, think back to the last time
you viewed your reflection in a mirror. What happened
next? Did you fix a hair that had fallen out of place, or
did you reposition an article of clothing? It is our hope
that this magazine becomes your mirror through which
you will be able to see through others’ eyes and deeply
reflect upon how you may want to improve upon yourself and positively contribute to the world around you.
Mrs. Laura Richards & Mrs. Lori Palazzo
TABLE OF CONTENTS
You can’t Write a Poem about…
You Can’t Write a Poem about Soccer by William Illescas........................2
You Can’t Write a Poem about the Last Cookie by Morgan Levy...........3
You Can’t Write a Poem about Homework by Sebastian Bruno..............5
You Can’t Write a Poem about Chess by Dina Brustein............................7
You Can’t Write a Poem about Books by Philip Rodrigues......................9
You Can’t Write a Poem about Doritos by Rohan Nambiar.....................10
You Can’t Write a Poem about Stealing Third Base
by Reese Campanalonga............................................................................11
You Can’t Write a Poem about a Wedding Ring by Baylee Sessler...........12
You can’t Write a Poem about Sleep Away Camp by Farah Gonik..........13
You Can’t Write a Poem about Reading by Maddie Arsht.........................14
I am…
I am…by Asanah Alghali................................................................................16
I am… by Christian Concepcion...................................................................17
A Good Poem is…
A Good Poem is a Doorway by Menglin Guo............................................20
A Good Poem is like an Ocean by Asanah Alghali....................................21
A Good Poem is Hidden by Isabella Chen..................................................22
A Good Poem is a Tree by Emma Boxer.....................................................23
A Good Poem is like a Glistening Stream by Alissa Kalyan.....................25
A Good Poem is like a Riddle by John Bailon............................................26
Where I am from…
Where I am from… by Bailey Krug.............................................................28
Where I am from… by Julia Raspin..............................................................29
Where I am from… by Samuel Hall.............................................................30
Where I am from… by Victoria Hostetler...................................................31
Where I am from… by Anna Sang...............................................................33
Where I am from… by Shayna Turbin.........................................................36
Where I am from… by Anthony Lopa........................................................37
Poetry in our Lives
I Emerge by Ethan Reiter...............................................................................39
Accepting the World by Nirav Patel..............................................................40
War by Pierce Rubenstein...............................................................................41
Rain by Jacqueline Levy..................................................................................42
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Starry Night by Samuel Hall...........................................................................43
Star Mom by Karin Berger................................................................................ 44
The Americans by Anna Zhikharev................................................................. 45
Times Square by Jonah Giat.............................................................................. 46
Backpacking by Patrick Zotti............................................................................ 47
Nonfiction:
Orangutans by Shayna Turbin........................................................................... 49
Content Area NonFiction:
The Water Cycle Comic by Aaron Jacobowitz............................................... 54
Narratives:
Doomsday Yard Sale by Andrew DePasquale................................................ 56
Batter Up by Zachary Flaksman....................................................................... 59
Breathing in One Child at a Time by Ilana Chalom................................. 61
Flying Through Water by Jonah Giat............................................................... 75
Let’s Go Crabbing by Andrew DePasquale.................................................... 78
Not Giving Up by Andrew Brennan............................................................... 82
Look Out Below by Zachary Flaksman........................................................... 86
My Life as a Pencil
Introduction by Ms. Angela Buggs.................................................................. 89
My Life as a Pencil by Kelsey Silver................................................................. 90
My Life as a Pencil by Ryan Bader................................................................... 91
My Life as a Pencil by Alex Liebman............................................................... 92
My Life as a Pencil by Victoria Hostetler........................................................ 96
Artwork:
Tiger by Joanne Cao................................ cover Strawberry by Ivy Tang......................55
Earphones by Nicole Rong...............63
The Orange Eye by Ruta Gomez.......... 1
Turtle by Eden Quan..........................77
Tree by Anjani Kockonda....................... 8
Monkey Mask by Owen Kenney........... 15 Peace Sign by Eden Quan..................81
Hand in Chain by Isabella Chen............ 19 Roller Skate by Leah Silvestri............88
Sneakers by Victoria Choe...................... 24 Girl’s Hair by Spencer Konecky.......94
Medusa Mask by Subha Chopra............ 27
Sunset over Water by Shani Winkler..... 35
Shell by Victoria Choe............................. 38
Drum by Karen Hu................................. 48
Ladybug by Eden Quan.......................... 53
You can’t write a poem about...
Ruta Gomez
You Can’t Write A Poem About Soccer Games!!!
By William Illescas
You and your teammates go into a white hole, the stadium!
People in the seats jumping like rabbits!!
As the other team approaches, you go into a line like for lunch
Bip!!
The coach whistles kick!!
The ball flying in the air like a bird escaping from its predator!!
Your teammates running to get the ball. Kick again, score!!
Goal!!
Running around the field like mice being chased by a cat!!
0 to 1
You and your teammates get so nervous that you think the other
team is
Going to make you pay for that!!
And your feet start to wiggle
Next thing you know, the other
Team crushes into the players trying to score!!
You get nervous if you are the goalie, you can’t do anything to stop
them from scoring
Because you are paralyzed!!
But if they score, your teammates say it’s your fault!!
But it isn’t your fault, it’s everyone’s fault!!
The only thing you can do in a game is to be relaxed!!
Wait for the moment or it to come to you, not you to it!!
Try your best, even if you lose, you will be proud of yourself
Because you tried your best, you can!!
You Can’t Write a Poem About Soccer Games!!
REFLECTIONS 2
You Can’t Write a Poem about the Last Cookie
By: Morgan Levy
Our eyes meet
our hearts beat
We know we both
want it
but we both can not
have it
Our mouths leak water
like fountains
after a heavy rain
Our throats
are the drains
My stomach growls
like a hungry
wolf ’s howl
We eye it greedily
like animals
hunting their prey
I picture the melted
chocolate chips
and the crunchy
cookie part
I can almost taste it
My mom
is an amazing chef
We are both aware of that
This is a rare treat
Now, there’s just oen left
it is all alone
if I don’t’ get it first
my life might as well
be done
3 REFLECTIONS
We lunge,
my sister grabs it first
and shoves it
in her mouth
She gives me a smirk
and quickly
leaves the room
I might cry
I might die
There is nothing left
not even
a crumb
My mom comes into the kitchen
her hands
behind her back
She pulls them in front of her
slowly
and she holds…
a whole new batch!!!
REFLECTIONS 4
You Can’t Write a Poem About Your Homework
by Sebastian Bruno
The pencil snaps with a loud crack
I run to the sharpener as I desperately
Try to resurrect my pencil. My new
Sharpened pencil is beautiful and I
Rush back into my seat.
I can hear my sister enjoying her freedom
As I long for something fun to do. I envy her.
I look at my clock it is six ten I have a race
Against time for dinner.
Numbers and letters and equations I can barely
Figure out. I already can smell the food my
Mother is making. I can tell it will be delicious.
I would love it more if I could finish.
I battle the homework. My pencil is my sword
And the equations are fighting back. The words
Are their bows and their numbers are the arrows.
They launch a volley of three, eight and two at me
But I deflect all of them.
The last problems are still standing they desperately
Try to defeat me but they are no match for me. They
Are destroyed with a quick move of my pencil sword
And they are defeated.
My dinner is ready as I step into the kitchen the
Amazing scent tickles my nose. I am ready to enjoy
a good meal after a long day of battling my math
homework.
5 REFLECTIONS
Struggle forward, being all that is left.
The pawns trying to get to the back rank
And get promoted to something else.
The rooks are traded
And kings and pawns become the only survivors.
White’s pawns outnumber black’s
But only by one
And black has some hope left.
However, when a white pawn
Steps up to become a queen
It is clear that white
Shall gain the trophy
The kings stand in opposition.
The black kind is black no more
But pale and terrified.
The end draws near.
Check.
The king moves away.
Soon, white queen moves in
For the final blow.
Checkmate.
Black’s king is done for.
The game is over.
White has won.
REFLECTIONS 6
You Can’t Write a Poem about Chess
By Dina Brustein
Pieces march
Across the black and white squares.
Little pawns scurrying ahead
Knights vaulting over other pieces
Bishops struggling to develop.
The chess clock is ticking
Waiting for a move
The players intensely jotting down notation
In their big, thick scorebooks.
A king gets castled
Seeking to save his life
When suddenly a cry rings out:
The white queen has been captured, long live the queen.
Suddenly the white player needs a new queen.
A pawn steps forward
And is promoted to queenhood
With all privileges and honos thereof.
A rook develops,
Starting the middle game
Captures and trades are made
Until the white queen
And black queen
Finally meet.
The white queen
Immediately captures the black queen
And a knight grabs the white queen
Without hesitation.
The endgame has begun.
Kings and pawns and rooks
7 REFLECTIONS
REFLECTIONS 8
You Can’t Write a Poem about Books
By Phillip Rodrigues
Books; each one with a different story to tell,
An elegant story, each word precisely picked,
Like finding the most perfect apple at an orchard.
Books; most people say, “Why books? Why not movies, videos,
shows?”
Books don’t need pictures to create a scene,
They’re like watching a movie but in your head.
Books; you’re able to read them anywhere you choose,
In the car, at the store, in a foreign country,
There are no limits on what you can do.
Books; your choices are limitless,
Autobiographies, Fiction, Fantasy, History,
While Realistic Fiction is the one that I seek.
Books; can take you places you’ve never been before.
Experiencing new sounds and sights,
The Moon, the Sun, the Stars, and countries afar.
Books; a whole different experience than anything you’ve ever done,
Every page you turn, “whoosh,” as it lands on top of the pages you
already read,
But once you’ve read the first page, “Boom!” … You fall in.
9 REFLECTIONS
You Can’t Write a Poem About Doritos
By Rohan Nambiar
You can’t write a poem about Doritos,
What is there to say?
The finger-licking, good, orange
Powder on your fingers which you
Munch on happily.
The crunching sounds of the delicious
Orange chips, slowly being devoured
By your taste buds making you
Feel excited.
The salty, spicy taste of the appealing
Tortilla chips brought straight to
Your mouth, giving you the feeling
Of satisfaction.
Trying to hide the bag from your
Friends hoping they won’t ask for one.
Watching them suspiciously in case
They steal one.
Begging your parents for a dollar
To get that mouth-watering taste
Just one more time, hoping they
Will say yes to your appeal.
Impatiently waiting in line
Praying there will be a
Bag left for you. It would
Be hard to imagine a world
Without Doritos.
REFLECTIONS 10
You Can’t Write a Poem about Stealing Third Base
By Reese Campanalonga
Watching your coach
suspiciously as he gives
you the steal sign.
Then you turn to the
stands and see everybody
watching you.
Then you turn back
to the game, and your
reflexes turn on like
a light switch.
The pitcher releases
the ball, and you run.
Looking cautiously for
the ball. Then you slide
hoping the third baseman
didn’t tag you.
Waiting impatiently for
the umpire to make the
call. Safe! The umpire shouts
so everybody can hear.
When you stand up in
relief, you smile. Everybody
in the stands cheering. Then
you wait for the next pitch…
11 REFLECTIONS
You Can’t Write a Poem About Wedding Rings
By Baylee Sessler
You can’t write a poem about wedding
rings. The smooth feeling on your finger.
The roughness of the jewel. Many details in
a ring, far more than I can say. You can’t
write about it anyways.
The memories within the historical ring.
Past down from generation to generation.
Thinking about that spectacular party, when
you saw the friends you haven’t seen in
years. The glamorous night when the man of
your dreams knelt on his knee, and you
agreed to this thing called marriage.
It is touch to write a poem about a ring you
leave everywhere; from hotels to museums!
The ring slipping off when you hold his
hand, sinking into both of your palms. A ring
so magnificient that it straings your eyes to
look at.
You can’t write a poem about a ring you will
eventually pass down to your daughter on
her special day. The tears brought to your
eyes like waterfalls on your cheeks. Your
baby is finally growing up, and will add to
the memories compacted in this ring.
Dancing at her party bring you back,
remember how you felt at your party.
This is all
caused by the wedding ring that I
supposedly can’t write about.
REFLECTIONS 12
You Can’t Write a Poem about Sleep Away Camp
By Farah Gonik
You can’t write a poem about sleep away camp.
Seeing your camp counselors and friends staring at you
as you walk through the bus door.
Screaming with joy as each bus arrives.
Waiting for the camp family to come back together.
Smelling the burnt wood sizzling in the campfire.
Rich chocolate.
Crispy graham crackers.
Soft marshmallows.
Going for a cool swin at the pool or the lake.
Swimming in sky blue water.
Smelling like strong chlorine.
Looking forward towards the flowing lake.
Fish leaping through the cool breeze.
Clothes thrown around.
Bed not made.
Fans powered up.
Living with no sign of air conditioner.
The feel of sweat dripping down your face
after playing hours of sports.
Pouring freezing water above your head.
Drying rain boots and raincoats after a rainy day.
On the cold summer night,
the full moon shimmers your eyes.
Tears rushing down your face.
Missing home and family.
Writing desperate, sad letters.
Counting down the days until you go home.
The day comes when you say goodbye as you cry,
The tight hugs cause you to stop breathing.
Packing up all our belongings.
Until our bunk is completely empty.
Leaving the campus, screaming, “till next year!”
Can’t you tell, you can’t write a poem about sleep away camp!
You Can’t Write a Poem about Reading
By Maddie Arsht
Words.
Many words.
Swarming on the abundant pages bound together in a book.
My eyes dance across the white sheets of paper.
Line by line.
I get a whiff of the scent that accompanies a new book.
The smell fresh,
crisp.
The magical story pulls me into it.
I am stuck.
A genie grants me three wishes.
I wish. I wish. I wish.
There are witches, princesses, wizards.
I hope on to my broomstick,
and fly high in the sparklingly nighttime sky.
It is wonderful; escaping the Earth around you.
My broomstick ride comes to an end.
I leap into the moonlit water below me.
My toes, knees, legs.
Replaced by scales.
A tail.
I swim to a dark, dark cave,
Losing the entrance/exit behind me.
Everything is black.
I see nothing.
My heart starts to beat quickly,
Panicking.
How will I escape?!
My hand touches something,
smooth and familiar.
Thinner than cardboard,
thicker than paper.
I push it and it closes.
I am relaxed.
Safe.
I look around at my classroom.
My peers’ heads in their books,
trapped in their own stories.
REFLECTIONS 14
I am......
Owen Kenny
15 REFLECTIONS
I am Poem
By Asanah Alghali
I am electric blue
The savory sense of a smell
Bright and eye catching
Cool and blended
Bursting with color and excitement
I am a gazelle
A harmless creature of beauty
Does not hunt
But is hunted
Despite others stands alone
I am lettuce
Blending in
But always standing out
I am snow
Cascading gently one minute
Pouring down the next
Attitude, pirouette, plié
I am ballet
Interesting to watch
Precise, perfected, and planned
I am the song “Dark Horse”
Beautiful yet mysterious
Different shades
Different parts.
REFLECTIONS 16
“I Am” Poem
By Christian Concepcion
I am the rain
A soft pitter-patter
Lightly fluttering down
From the heaven
Of clouds
I am a Jalapeño
Spicy with sass
And savory with taste
Giving essence
To all around
I am a bright orange
Like a traffic cone
Not afraid to stick out
And standing up for what’s right
Without a trace
Of doubt.
I am Los Angeles
Where stars are being born
Where dreams are becoming realities
Where palm trees are dancing
And people are swaying
To the sound of love,
Passion,
And angels.
I am a pair of combat boots.
Daring, edgy
And strong,
Through wear and tear
Living life simply
Without a single care.
17 REFLECTIONS
I can be described as a lion,
I stand tall with pride,
majestically viewing the scenery,
and roaring with excitement.
I am a river,
flowing calmly and steadily.
And streams of questions,
flowing through my mind.
I am a city similar to New York,
I am very busy flowing with conversations.
Comments, events, and gossips,
everything happening at once.
I am a Porsche,
creatively colored and customized.
A vehicle energized by fuel,
that can run for miles.
I am described as many things,
Things that are different to what describes me.
You can call me whatever you want,
but I am who I always will be,
and I am Christian Concepcion.
REFLECTIONS 18
A Good Poem is...
Isabella Chen
19 REFLECTIONS
A Good Poem is…
By Menglin Guo
A good poem is a doorway, a portal like Dorothy’s slippers.
A good poem is magical like the works of Aesop, Lewis Carroll, and
Brothers Grimm.
A good poem is like a genie that will grant you wishes of imagination.
A good poem is magnificent allowing you to dance with princesses
and queens.
A good poem is maleficent like witches that are evil to the core.
A good poem is an adventure such as killing the Jabberwocky with
your vorpal blade.
A good poem is whatever you desire, from Ali Baba to the forty
thieves.
But a great poem will bring royalty and you to tears.
REFLECTIONS 20
A Good Poem is…
By Asanah Alghali
A good poem is like the ocean
treasures, riches, and plunder.
Ebbing and flowing beyond
the mysteries that loll beneath
and the wonders that lie amidst.
21 REFLECTIONS
A Good Poem is…
By Isabella Chen
A good poem is hidden
Like how vivid colors are mixed together
To create new brilliant tones.
A good poem is detailed,
As each stroke of a sketch
Has a value.
A good poem has a meaning,
Every mark is place carefully
To convey feelings and emotions.
A good poem is blended,
With dark and light colors
Sharply contrasting each other.
A good poem is a work of art
That an artist poured their soul into.
REFLECTIONS 22
A Poem is..
By Emma Boxer
A poem is a tree.
Mighty and strong, keeping you dry,
even when a storm attacks,
with great acrimony.
A poem is branches,
always reaching out to help those in need,
always ready to lift a heavy burden,
from your back for you.
A poem is intricate leaves,
in abundance,
fluttering down to the ground softly,
reminding you that there is peace in the world.
A poem is a labyrinthine roots,
complex in their tangled, twisty, ways.
Growing deep down,
and giving you a view of the world,
you may never have seen before,
Or may never see again.
A poem is a bird,
resting comfortably in the braches of a tree,
singing its elegant, wistful song,
reminding you that everyone has their song,
and provoking you to listen,
to everyone’s music.
23 REFLECTIONS
REFLECTIONS 24
A Good Poem is…
By Alissa Kalyan
A good poem is like a glistening stream,
the words flowing smoothly off your tongue.
A good poem is cool and crisp,
Like small dew droplets clinging onto petals of tall plants.
A good poem is like a sip of water after a long day,
necessary and refreshing.
A good poem is a rushing river,
Always changing, always different.
A good poem is hard to find,
But can be enjoyed over and over again.
25 REFLECTIONS
A Good Poem is..
By John Bailon
A good poem is like a riddle
Intriguing and fascinating
One that hooks you in
And never lets you out
A good poem has fog around its meaning
Only clear, if you attend to detail
And if you investigate further
A good poem is like a secret
Only known by few
And shadows importance
A good poem is fast paced
One moment it’s there
Next it disappears
A good poem is mentally invigorating
It spins the cogs
And powers your imagination
REFLECTIONS 26
Where I am from
Subha Chopra
27 REFLECTIONS
Where I Am From
By: Bailey Krug
I am from the worn old baseball,
From the thick green grass and powdery dirt.
I am from the zucchini squash,
The one I grew myself.
I am from the Jersey Shore,
The floor covered with grainy sand.
I am from two weeks of vacation, and happiness.
From Matt, Mary, and Brie.
I am from the up-earlies,
And the sleep-ins.
From brains and brawn.
I am from Saturday
Night Church 5 to 6.
I’m from Livingston’s pizza and bagels
Tasting so good.
I am from the jokes
I tell about my sister and
The ones she tells about me.
I am from the Canon camera that flashes;
It looks like lightning on a rainy night.
REFLECTIONS 28
Where I am From
By Julia Raspin
I’m from days of being with friends,
from the delicious sensation of Haagen Dazs ice cream,
and the warm, sunny days filled with laughter.
I’m from the welcoming home with a lingering smell of tasty food.
From where the bees buzz and the gerberas grow,
bringing happiness to my day.
I’m from celebrating New Year’s Eve with my family.
From hazel eyes coming from generation to generation.
I’m from the “Good night, honey,”
and the kisses that seem to never end.
From the “I love you!” like a broken record.
I’m from receiving presents on Hanukkah,
with thrilled faces waiting for their surprises to be revealed.
I’m from the travelers from Ukraine, to the immigrants in New York.
I’m from the generations of my family grinning in the photo albums.
29 REFLECTIONS
Where I am From
By: Samuel Hall
I am from backpacks as big as plump pumpkins,
Filled with endless exciting books I’m bound to read.
I am from the miniature pencils exhausted with years of writing
homework.
I am from festive Chinese New Year parties,
From moon cakes that tasted like candy and cupcakes mixed
together,
From the friends unknown to me that were my fathers.
And the Thanksgiving feasts the church hosted,
This had so much food that the food even seemed to have gotten
fatter!
I am from the gigantic city of Boston,
And the populated country of China.
I am from the sweat pools of Xi An farmers,
And the immigrants who came to America in search of a better life.
I am from the brown house with two pointy roofs,
That seemed to be a dormant volcano ready to burst.
I am from the kitchen table filled with memories of family
conversations.
I am from my grandpa who grew tomatoes that tasted like heaven.
But most important;
I am from the piles of picture albums neatly stacked on shelves,
Like bread stacked in a bakery,
From the people I’m certain to meet in the future
More expensive in memories than actual money.
REFLECTIONS 30
Where I am From
by Victoria Hostetler
I am from humorous, suspenseful novels
that bring my heart rate up a billion;
from fluffy, miniature Ty’s,
and an immense, ancient,
glossy, black radio.
From Chicka Chicka Boom Boom
and Dr. Seuss.
I’m from home-sweet-home Livingston,
and a homey, two-story dwelling
that’s filled to the brim with aromasfood, air freshener,
and the not-so-nice nail polish.
I am from the magnificent flowers
that dominate the dinner table.
From the star of the galaxy,
that glares down on me with its fiery rays.
I’m from Grandparents at Christmas
and Thanksgiving,
with a hearty feast that overflows the tablea turtle with a shell of food.
From delectable pizza oozing with cheese,
and restaurant boothsboth comfy and cold.
31 REFLECTIONS
From church every Sunday,
with a gargantuan cross outside,
and colossal hearts inside.
From obliging Mom,
whose support lifts me up
like a balloon;
and benevolent Dad,
whose humor
makes my day.
I am from cameras and phones,
and the pictures they contain;
from the smiles,
sweet as honey
in those portraits.
I’m from the sizable minds,
substantial talents,
extensive smiles,
and vast hearts
of the people
from those photos.
I am from memories,
captured by a click and flash
I am from
REFLECTIONS 32
Where I’m From
By: Anna Sang
I am from the bounciest trampoline,
From rainbow loom,
And number 2 pencils scattered everywhere.
This is where I’m from.
I am from the 4 house neighborhood,
From the street as busy as a ticking clock.
This is where I’m from.
I am from the ripe raspberry bush,
And the dark yellow daffodils we planted.
This is where I’m from.
I am from Seaside Heights;
Stronger than the storm,
And fighting back the fire.
This is where I’m from.
I am from an affectionate, adventurous, awesome family,
From Mommy,
From Daddy,
From Yana.
This is where I’m from.
33 REFLECTIONS
I am from begging for an expensive exclusive vacation,
And begging for the most marvelous phone.
This is where I’m from.
From no jumping on the furniture,
And no flipping after nine.
This is where I’m from.
I am from lovely Livingston and crazy China,
From as calm as a midsummer night’s sky,
And as crazy as a lunatic.
This is where I’m from.
I am from sand dune sledding
And camel riding
From camels grinding their teeth,
And sand as soft as snow.
This is where I’m from.
I am from multiple pictures,
From smiles across the face,
From back before I budded until now.
This is where I’m from.
I am from happiness.
REFLECTIONS 34
Shani Winkler
35 REFLECTIONS
Where I am from Poem
by Shayna Turbin
I am from my nonstop buzzing I-phone, from Apple and Yahoo.
I am from a house with many windows as bright as the morning sun
and a big circular driveway as high up as Mount Everest.
I am from a garden with fiery red tomatoes, cucumbers that are as
green as grass, and eggplants that are majestic and magically purple.
I am from my cousin’s house where my Aunt cooks a massive
gourmet meal, where I always become completely stuffed with food.
I am from curly brown hair, Shari and Roger Turbin’s first born.
I am from spending fun and enjoyable vacations with my family and
always making jokes with each other.
I am from being honest and always trying to be the best I can be.
I’m from the Garden State of New Jersey and brisket that swims in
juice.
I am from spending Passover in Israel with my family, and meeting
new people every single day.
I am from my great grandfather who was amazingly one hundred
nine years old, who I had always looked forward to visiting.
I am from the best friends and family in the whole entire Universe.
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Where I am From
by Anthony Lopa
I am from Livingston, NJ,
the place where I will start my journey.
I am from busy streets,
cars sprinting by all day long that makes me feel like I’m in New York City.
I am from Nike’s Elite Socks
and basketballs scattered around my house.
I am from the pool in the backyard
which I call “heaven.”
I am from watching baseball
every night with my family.
From Helene Kraeutler, Tony Lopa, and James Gumbert.
And the family friends that are so close, we call family.
I am from loving the Yankees,
and hating the Red Socks like they are poison.
From “I love you,”
and “DO YOUR HOMEWORK!”
I am from Catholics,
and the church with the stained glass windows in every direction.
I am from the hot, cheesy, and saucy pizza
that waits on my stove yelling out my name.
From the buttery pasta with red sauce
and bread that wears a coat of butter.
And making delicious homemade pizza and pasta
that makes me feel like I’m in a restaurant.
I am from the Uncle who moved to Paris
and the grandmother who makes pasta from scratch like a professional.
I am from fun filled, and beautiful L.B.I.
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Poetry In our Lives
Victoria Choe
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I Emerge……
By Ethan Reiter
I emerge from colorful freshwater lilies,
To glare upon the rising sun,
And to watch the gourds turn fluorescent,
As the autumn leaves fall down.
I emerge from chaos turning to harmony,
From land becoming sea,
From hearing but not listening,
And from everybody being me,
From being happy in a sad life,
And sad in a happy life,
From finding solutions to problems,
And problems to solutions,
From sustaining natural life,
To watching it die,
And then wondering why.
I emerge from a proud mother,
But created by a father,
With love and time invested into me.
I emerge from this world,
Tragic or wonderful,
Normal or abnormal,
Silent or loud…
I emerge to do wonderful things.
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Accepting the World Through My Eyes
By: Nirav Patel
I have lived…
I have lived to see the Sun.
I have lived to wonder why I am here.
When I have lived,
I’ve learned…
I have learned that the world is not what it seems.
I’ve learned that many people do not accept themselves or the world
around them.
When I live,
I have learned to love…
I have learned to love the world.
I have learned to love the world for what it is and to forgive and
forget.
When I learned to love,
I learned to accept…
I have learned to accept that the world on which we live has a few
flaws.
I have learned to accept that no one is perfect.
I have lived…
I have lived long enough to see that I live to learn and learn to love,
and to accept the world for what it is.
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War
by Pierce Rubenstein
War is destructive,
Dangerous and Unending.
Please let Peace Prevail.
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Rain
by Jacqueline Levy
Rain
Torrential, Wet
Dripping, Dropping, Pounding
Quenches the Earth’s thirst
Precipitation
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Starry Night
By: Samuel Hall
It is filled with endless amounts of color;
Stars- red, white and blue.
Stars as bright as fire, engulfing the universe with flames!
Literally collapsing under their own weight,
And then exploding into shreds of atoms.
In the middle of the forest on a campout,
Isolated from civilization and forever ruining smog,
Locating Cancer, the dimmest constellation, is as easy as the “ABCs.”
The Orion constellation, one of the brightest in the sky, is clearly
visible, but not in an urban area.
Polaris pointing north,
For runaway slaves to receive their freedom,
And for humans to find where north is.
Helping humans, since the first humans roamed the Earth.
Bring your telescopes to see the planets,
Jupiter, Mars Venus.
In addition to the gigantic nebula “Pillars of Formation,”
Mothering multiple stars every day,
But was formed when a massive star died.
The starry night is a net of undiscovered stars.
Bringing you to isolation,
And letting you see what you would never see in a city.
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Star Mom
by Karin Berger
I love you, Mom, and want you to know,
I feel your love wherever I go.
Whenever I have problems, you are there to assist,
The ways you have helped me would make quite a list.
Your wisdom and knowledge have shown me the way,
And I'm thankful for you as I live day by day.
I don't tell you enough how important you are,
In my universe, you're a bright shining star.
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The American
by Anna Zhikharev
From the “Masters” point of view
In ELA, we read an African American folktale called “The People
Could Fly.” It told of slavery—the slaves, an overseer named
“Driver,” and an unknown master. This poem is about what it means
to be an American and how you can tell a person is American just by
looks, from the master’s perspective.
An American
A strong man
An iron fist
While others on a list
A gleaming white skin
One of our kin
Others with a burn
Will have to learn
That we are American
And they’re with a tan
This makes them not human
An American is easy to spot
They rule over those black lots
A beautiful field
A whip they wield
Overseers watching
Slaves washing
A white skin
With no sin
Rule over
While others run for cover
We are American
It’s plain to see.
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Times Square
by Jonah Giat
Stepping out of the cab,
stepping into the light,
I’m suddenly blinded,
It’s so bright.
I’m surrounded by Broadway stars,
and fancy cars,
by hot dog stands,
and roadside bands.
I’m surrounded by subway stops,
and candy shops,
by giant ads,
and young kids and dads.
Stepping into the crowd,
stepping into the noise,
the adults around me
seem like young girls and boys.
I see the tourists,
I see their faces,
They all look like
They’ve been dealt aces.
I’m surrounded by joy,
I’m surrounded by wonder,
I am astounded,
by the urbanite culture.
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Backpacking Poem
by Patrick Zotti
Out in the wilderness,
You have steep slopes
On rocky paths
On long, hiking trails that last miles.
Out in the wilderness,
You are away from all civilization
No Mommy and Daddy
To comfort your days and nights.
Out in the wilderness,
You carry fifty pound packs
And gallons of water
You eat freeze-dried food.
Out in the wilderness,
You find small campsites
And with those campsites,
You make tent lines,
And you hurry to get your
Things in tents
In order to keep them dry
Before the rain starts.
Out in the wilderness,
There are no large lamps or
House lights to guide you,
There is just you and your flashlight
But sometimes,
The wilderness is not all that hard.
There is fresh air
And green trees near leafy plants, it is pretty darn beautiful.
The wilderness is the waterpark slide,
Twisting and turning.
You embrace nature
And you power through difficulties.
This is what backpacking is all about
And this is what I love to do.
Non-fiction
Karen Hu
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Orangutans
by Shayna Turbin
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Bibliography
What are orangutans?
What is happening to orangutans and their habitat?
Differences and similarities between humans and orangutans.
What orangutans eat.
Baby orangutans.
Chapter One, What are Orangutans?
Orangutans are a fascinating type of monkey
Orangutans are a very interesting type of monkey. Orangutan
means “person of the forest” or “wild man.” They are very intelligent
animals. In fact, orangutans are the smartest of land animals. These
animals use their hands as tools. Sometimes these animals act like
human beings. Orangutans have many different characteristics.
How Orangutans travel
Orangutans swing from branch to branch. They are animals
that have two arms and two legs. They can swing from both their
two arms and two legs. All orangutans are different. They might
have different colors of hair, different shaped faces and different
personalities. Orangutans are really interesting animals.
What these fascinating animals are
Orangutans are long-haired primates. They usually sleep in
trees. Therefore, they spend most of their lives in trees. They live
in only two places, so they need their habitat. Since their habitat is
trees and the trees are being cut down, these innocent orangutans
might become extinct due to the fact of human activity. Orangutans
now need to learn new skills to survive in the wild because of
humans. They are also very intelligent and close relatives to humans.
Orangutans are an extremely smart type of monkey.
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Chapter 2 Where do orangutans live and what is happening to them?
Different types of orangutans
There are two different kinds of orangutans. They live on
two different islands. Some live on the island of Borneo. Others live
on the island of Sumatra. Orangutans from Borneo usually are more
orange and grey, dark skinned, and larger in size. Orangutans from
Sumatra are most likely taller, more slender, and have a lighter skin
tone. Also, these orangutans usually have more narrow faces. No two
orangutans look alike.
Help the orangutans
Orangutans’ habitat is being destroyed! Because of that,
they might become extinct. People want the land where they live to
become malls, houses, and stores. People have to cut down trees to
do that and orangutans need the trees in order to survive in the wild
and in their habitat. Orangutans might become extinct. People need
to stop cutting down the trees and save orangutans.
Why orangutans are important
Orangutans are very important. If orangutans become
extinct, the food chain will become disorganized and unbalanced.
The food chain links animals to each other. A predator of
orangutans then would become extinct because there would be no
more orangutans left for them to eat. The disruption in the food
chain would go on and on. People should stop cutting down so many
trees and save the orangutans.
Chapter 3, Differences and similarities between Humans and
orangutans
Differences
Humans and orangutans can be very different. Human
skeletons were built to be on the ground. Our legs are more powerful
than our arms. For orangutans, it is the exact opposite. Orangutan
jaws are bigger and more powerful than humans. Their thumbs are
shorter than ours. Also, orangutan fingerprints are more pointed.
Lastly, they have stronger teeth than any human being. Orangutans
and humans are very different.
Similarities
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Humans and orangutans are also very similar. We are all
primates with opposable thumbs. Both of us use them as tools. Both
humans and orangutans have 32 teeth and can get cavities. If an
orangutan had a lot of sugar and didn’t brush its teeth, it could get
a cavity. In addition to that, we all need air to breath, water to drink
and food to eat. There are males, females and babies. In conclusion,
we all need shelter. There are many similarities between humans and
orangutans.
How do males and females look different?
Male and female orangutans can look very different. Male
orangutans usually have big cheek pads that are on the side of their
faces. Females are usually half the size of males and have no cheek
pads. The male orangutans are usually loners. The males make sure
to stay out of each other’s way. They do that by howling very loudly
which is called the long call because you can hear it from very far
away. Even though males and females are both orangutans, they are
still very different.
Chapter 4, Orangutans’ Food Chain
What Orangutans Like to Eat
What do orangutans eat? Orangutans eat a variety of plants.
In addition, they eat different kinds of fruits. Orangutans also eat lots
of other things. Examples include bark, flowers, wood, soil, honey
and berries. Orangutans really eat a variety of different everyday
items that one might not think any animal might eat. If you want
to learn about an interesting appetite, you should learn about the
orangutans.
The Predators
Ow! Run, jump, fight. Animals will do whatever they have
to do to get away from their predators. Like all other animals,
orangutans have predators too. If they don’t get away from their
predator, it isn’t fun for them. In fact, orangutans don’t have that
many natural predators. These animals are usually protected because
orangutans spend most of their time in trees. The Orangutans’ main
predator is the tiger. In the end, orangutans (like any other animal)
still have predators.
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How Orangutans get their Food
All animals have different ways of getting their food.
Humans buy food at a store. Dogs get dog food fed to them in
a bowl. Penguins get their food by waiting at a hole in the ice for
fish. Orangutans get food by swinging from branch to branch
and from the top of trees. Orangutans don’t usually travel on the
ground. These magnificent creatures only travel on the ground when
they don’t have a good or big enough supply of food in the trees.
Orangutans have their own unique way of catching prey.
Chapter 5, Orangutan Babies
After an orangutan is born
All animals haven’t been alive forever. New animals are being
born every day. Orangutans, like all other animals are born too.
When orangutans are babies, they do not look the same as when
they are older. Baby orangutans are only half a meter (50 cm) long.
Orangutans are different as babies.
Baby Orangutans and their Mom
A baby orangutan and its mom strongly connect to each
other. Infants can stay with their mother for six to seven years or
until they learn all the skills they need to know in order to live on
their own in the wild. Mother and baby orangutans like to spend time
with each other.
Orangutans in captivity
Some orangutans are being held in captivity. The thing is, they
are not being held there because they have been stolen, captured or
have done something wrong. Since, orangutan’s habitat is the tree
and trees are being cut down, orangutans are starting to have no
place to go and are becoming endangered. Some animal rescuers are
taking orangutans to safe protected places to stay so they can survive
without their habitat disappearing and being destroyed. Like us,
orangutans need a place to live even though they are animals. People
shouldn’t be allowed to cut down trees where orangutans live. Save
the orangutans!
Bibliography
Bonett Wexo, John. Orangutans. 123 South Broad Street, Minnesota.
Creative Education Inc. Copy right 1988.
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Content Area
Non-Fiction
Eden Quan
53 REFLECTIONS
REFLECTIONS 54
The Water Cycle
By: Aaron Jacobowitz
Narratives
Ivy Tang
55 REFLECTIONS
Doomsday Yard Sale
by Andrew DePasquale
You are about to read a magnificent story about a trapped
2-year-old and the great miracle that happened on holy ground to
show that GOD IS NOT DEAD BUT ALIVE AND REAL. It all
began on a day where rain clouds were quickly replaced by brilliant
sunshine against a blue sky with scattered cumulus clouds – the type
of clouds that seem to imitate the shape of actual things. The “holy
ground” was my church’s parking lot where an all-day yard sale was
taking place. Yard sales are a good time for people to get rid of their
unwanted things and sell them to people who want them. Just like
the old idiom “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure.”
I was having a great time with my friend Drew while we were
selling old toys to yard sale customers so other kids could have the
enjoyment and fun we had with them. The yard sale was about twothirds of the way done when a brand new white Lexus SUV pulled
into the church parking lot. A lady and her two young kids got out
of the SUV and the two kids were drawn to our old toy stand like
moths attracted to bright light.
I got a good laugh watching the 2-year-old boy and his older
sister because the boy kept picking up my old blowup stars-andstripes baseball bat I had won at a state fair and kept hitting his older
sister with it. Then he noticed my blowup alligator that I got at my
5th grade school fair. He hugged it and held it as if he was holding a
hundred dollar bill. Then the family made their way over to the other
people’s stands until the young boy got restless and was put back into
the SUV by his mother.
The mother and her daughter walked back to our toy stand to
buy some of our toys, including the blowup stars-and-stripes baseball
bat. I guess the 2-year-old hadn’t whacked his sister enough with the
bat so they decided to buy it so he could whack her some more! The
mother sent the daughter back to the SUV to get some change and
that’s when all the drama began.
Upon reaching the SUV, the daughter cried out, “Mommy the
door is locked, the door is locked!”
The mother then screamed, said some things in Spanish,
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and rushed over to the SUV (still holding the blowup bat she had
not yet paid us for!). After that the mother and daughter started
to panic and yell for help. Tony, a church member and retired fire
fighter, went over to see what was wrong. As I looked over at him,
the expression on his face went from curious to worried in an instant. Now a crowd was gathering around the car. Drew and I ran over to
the car to see what was going on.
When we got there, we heard people saying, “Oh my gosh!
What are we going to do!?” and, “Call the police!” So Tony called the police. It turns out that the mother
realized she had left the keys in the ignition with the car still running.
Now not only was she locked out of her vehicle, but the 2-year-old
was stuck inside of it and was sitting in the driver’s seat playing with
the gear shifter. As if the situation itself wasn’t intense enough, the
heat from the sun was becoming more intense making it very hot
inside the car. The little boy could be seen sweating – A LOT.
At first the mother tried talking to the kid in Spanish to press the
‘unlock’ button as she nervously called out his name saying, “Yankee,
Yankee, Carlos”, and saying in English, “Oh God please help me.” (I
wished I could have spoken to him in Spanish, but even after seven
years of Spanish, I couldn’t think of anything to say that would have
helped in the situation.) Unfortunately, the boy just tuned her out and started playing
with the windshield wipers. Boy, did he love those windshield wipers! The mother must have told him to do a thousand different things as
he pressed, pulled and pushed almost everything in that car known
to man; until he found the most annoying thing on every car - the
horn. And, of course, he pressed the horn at the exact moment my
dad was leaning over the hood trying to get the boy’s attention! Poor
dad! It looked like my dad suddenly went deaf or even had a heart
attack! Yeah, I know, it wasn’t a time for laughter but we all laughed
anyway – even the boy’s mother – and it helped ease the tension for a
moment.
But the laughter quickly turned back to fear, as the boy again
started playing with the gear shifter. At this point in the story you
may be wondering, ‘where are the police?’ and ‘why are they taking
so long to show up?’ To be honest, I wish I knew the answers to
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those questions. Sure, we could have given up on the cops and found
something metal to smash the car window, but a) it was a brand new
car and b) the broken glass might have cut the little boy. Instead, I
had an idea that might take his attention away from the gear shifter.
I took that blowup stars-and-stripes baseball bat that he loved so
much and began tapping on the driver’s window with it. It worked! The boy stood up on the seat and was reaching with his hand to try
to touch the bat.
But his mother and I could see that he was sweating so much
more now and she cried out, “Oh God, help me now!” Suddenly, the little boy’s eyes started to close until they were fully
shut. Then he fell back in the seat as if he were falling asleep or
passing out, and as he did, his arm landed on the ‘roll down the
window’ button. As the window started to roll down, my dad quickly
reached in, unlocked the door and turned off the ignition as the
mother reached for the boy.
The mother pulled him out of the car and held him tight as
she cried, “Oh thank you, thank you God!” The little boy cried, “Mommy, Mommy!” Everyone cheered and celebrated, and yes, wondered why
the police still had not shown up. After the mother and her two kids
hugged each other, I brought over the blowup bat and alligator that
the boy loved so much, handed them to the family, smiled, and spoke
the only words that seemed appropriate after what they had just been
through.
“Here you go – no charge!”
The grateful family drove off and we all breathed a sigh of
relief. As I gazed up at those cumulus clouds, I saw one that I swear
was shaped like an angel. It was directly over the church parking lot. Soon the yard sale was over, and everyone packed up their things and
went home. What started out as a typical yard sale ended up being
anything but typical. Sure, some might say it was ironic or a coincidence that
a tragic accident was avoided and that it all happened on church
grounds. But I say that it happened for a reason - that God
intervened - and now I can’t wait for the next church yard sale!
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“Batter Up”
By Zachary Flaksman
Have you ever felt so nervous that you feel like you’re going
to throw up? Felt your throat fill with bile? Almost passed out
because of terrible butterflies in your stomach? Well, I have, a lot. But, this is just one of the many times this has happened to me. I gulped as I withdrew from the car. I was having a baseball
game. We had just arrived at the field. My forehead beaded with
sweat. I headed for the field. I was scared out of my wits…but I still
went on. As I approached the field, I realize that I was the only one
there, along with my brother, and one of my teammates that we gave
a ride to the game, Griffin. I headed onto the field. I dropped my
bag with a big clang, since I didn’t know where our dugout was. I
started having a catch with Griffin. As the rest of my team trickled
in, I became even more nervous. And before I knew it, the game had
gotten underway.
I nervously stepped up to the plate. The first six batters
before me had gone by in a flash. I was up at bat. Before I started
my impossible task, my Dad had told me, “Take the first strike.” I
nodded along, but suddenly I was overcome with a new feeling,
determination. I protested against my Dad, and said I was going to
hit the ball. If it comes down the middle I’m swinging, I said with
newfound determination. As I stepped up to the plate, I realized the
seriousness of the situation. I broke out into a cold sweat. The
pitcher wasn’t even that good, but I was still as nervous as an alligator
hunter. As I stepped up to the plate, I watched the first strike blow
right by. I nervously played with my lip. Suddenly, I knew that the
next pitch was going to be right down the middle. The pitcher went
into his windup. I was right. As it neared me, I watched the ball hit
the bat, and swung with all my might. CLANG!
My breathing was short and haggard, but there was a huge
smile plastered on my face. I was standing on second base. When I
hit the ball, it had been a rocket past the first basemen. As I neared
first, the coach waved me on to second. They threw to second. I
didn’t think I was going to make it, but I slid anyway. I then realized
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that I had been safe by a mile. I raised my hands in triumph. I called
timeout and stood up off the base in order to not be tagged out. The runner ahead of me had advanced to third. The batter after me
came up to the plate. The pitcher looked rattled. He pitched the ball,
and muffed it. It went right passed the catcher. The man on third
stole home, as I ran with all my might onto third base. I watched as
the pitcher came to cover home. The catcher threw… and it was
right over the pitchers head. The man on third scored. The coach
waved me home. I slid. The ball was thrown home. And I was…
SAFE! I was so happy. My team went on to win the game, 5-4. My
brother had a save, (which means he pitched the last inning, and got
the last three outs, without the other team scoring the winning runs
to win the game) and Griffin earned himself a triple. Our record is
now 8-4, with us in 1st place. It was one of the greatest moments in
my short baseball career.
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Breathing in One Child at a Time
By Ilana Chalom
The door to a small haunted cottage burst open. The only light was
from the moon shining brightly through the cracks of the broken
glass window.
“I’m back,” Reyam squealed in a rusty old sound you call a
voice (that sounded like a dying cow). A little girl was tied to a chair
and was unconscious. “Lunchtime!” Reyam had a snarling ugly grin
on her face. She ran to her cabinets and grabbed powders, bones,
dead bugs, potions, and all the other things you can fit into a pot that
would make a normal person gag while eating. Then she stirred the
potion up.
Reyam chanted, “Evah siht noitop eb etelpmoc I llahs eb os gnuoy
niaga!” She took the liquid and poured it all over the poor little girl.
The warty old witch looked like a mad scientist with a lot of split
ends. The little girl’s body dissolved leaving only a blue swirling light
floating in mid-air. “Come, yes that’s right. Come to mama,” Reyam
cooed. The swirl came closer and closer and then it was close enough
for Reyam to inhale it. It went into her body. She cackled and looked
younger.
Anali woke up in cold sweat. She panted in her bed sitting up.“She’s
back.” She calmed herself down a little but was still a bit freaked out.
“She’s back.”
Anali and Reyam go way back to when Reyam used to be nice.
They were very close until one day they got into a fight and Reyam
moved away. She has been an ancient creature since. “That warty
old hag,” Anali muttered under her breath. “She just comes back as
if she’s invited.” Then Anali whispered something to herself that
wasn’t so complementary to witches. She threw the covers off her
lap and turned her lamp on as she got out of bed. She poked at
her cozy little fire and then put it out. Anali was about to go wash
up when she stopped dead in her tracks and barely mouthed the
words, “The trigger. It has been activated.” She looked up and yelled,
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“Just because I’m a W.I.T. (Wizard in Training) it doesn’t mean
you can send me visions to put me on quests. You know what the
headmistress thinks of me, she thinks I’m worthless and can’t win a
single battle. “She hates me!” Anali glared upward and started walking
again. She went to get a lantern, walked to the well, and freshened up
a bit. She got dressed in dirty boots, camouflage pants, an olive green
tank top, and an old leather jacket.
It was in the midst of night and no lights in any houses shone. Anali
ran to her shed with the lantern swinging in her hand. She grabbed
the pack she took to Wizard Trainers School. The shed was dark and
creaky because it was passed down from generation to generation.
When she got back to her cottage she filled her pack with a spare
change of clothes, 2 water bottles, a mini campsite and nonperishables along with an extra jacket knowing it would be a long
trip. She thought, trying to be honest with herself “I’m going to
have to battle Reyam no matter what.” Then came the part where
she had to be really honest with herself. “Who am I kidding? The
head mistress is right. I can’t battle anyone without getting myself
killed. I’m a chicken who is a klutz. I can’t battle an ant. ” “No you
can. Just believe.” Have you ever had a fight with yourself, between
the positive side and the negative side? It’s like little people on your
shoulders that are exact replicas of yourself except for the fact that
they’re tiny and one is evil and the other is good. Well, this was
kind of like that. “I’m going to do this to prove myself to the head
mistress and save the village of cheer because I will not let Reyam
take over!” She quickly ran to the toilet before she could doubt
herself. Anali stepped right in. “Toilet teleporter the dark lord has
arisen in the dead of night. Take me to help to battle and fight!” She
flushed herself down and popped out at the other end. She was in a
forest but no ordinary one. The sky was pink and the leaves on the
tree were golden. Every blade of grass was cut with a sharp point and
a periwinkle tip. She walked and a wind chill went straight through
her jacket. She heard a moan and tried not to be scared. “Just the
wind,” she whispered to herself, “Don’t be scared Anali.” Then she
heard a voice.
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Nicole Rong
63 REFLECTIONS
“Kool, ew tog a nosrep,” a tree shouted with joy. When Anali looked
closer, the trees had faces. She jumped and let out a yelp.
“Definitely not an ordinary forest,” Anali was very freaked out! She
then heard another squeaky voice coming from a tree.
“T’nod eb deirrow. Ew era tsuj seert,ew t’now truh uoy,” a tree said
with a comforting face with a smile and a branch waving hello.
“For all I know you could be human-eating trees!” she yelled. She
screamed and started to run. A bigger tree whistled and she was
cornered. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Mommy help!!! Curse you toilet
teleporter!” The biggest tree looked at the two trees that talked to
Anali before and yelled with a duh tone,
“Ehs t’nac dnatsrednu uoy sepod!” Then that tree explained “I’m
so sorry. First of all, we are not human-eating trees, humans taste
horrible. What a weird thought.” Anali was starting to calm down
now but was still a little bit creeped out. “We are the trees of
Gnikaeps Sdrow Drawkcab. We speak words backwards.”
“Tahw????” asked a smaller tree who was either very confused or
fairly stupid.
“I’m guessing you’re the only one who can speak both ways.” Anali
asked. The tree nodded. The other trees were looking at each other
saying stuff like “Tahw ni eht dlrow era yeht gniyas.”
“I’m Gib Yddad, you are?”
“Anali is my name. I toilet teleported myself here.”
“You can only toilet teleport yourself in emergencies.”
“This is. Reyam’s back and worse than ever. I had a vision. What I
saw is going to happen soon.”
“Ah. So what do you need?”
“Well, first what did the trees say?”
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“The first one said ‘Look, we got a person.’ and the second said,
‘don’t be worried we are just trees, we won’t hurt you.’ Then I said
‘She can’t understand you dopes.’ Then I started talking to you and
the small tree said ‘what?’ Everyone else is saying ‘What? What is he
saying’ and stuff like that. Now, why are you in Whisperers’ Woods?”
“I don’t know actually. The toilet teleporter took me here.” All the
trees were very confused for they could not speak this extremely
complicated language.
“You can only use the toilet teleporter for emergencies, though.”
“This is. Reyam’s back and worse than ever,” Anali reiterated.
“Who is back?”
“Reyam. The evilest witch of all times that inhales the souls of
children to be young. She devours them for breakfast, lunch and
dinner. First she kidnaps them, knocks them out, and devours their
soul. She does this to take over the world. She believes kids are the
only ones who make a difference by having dreams. Your dreams
develop when you are a child. When you get older and your dreams
don’t come true you stop believing. Once all the kids are gone, no
one believes anymore. Kids inspire adults because you can’t say no to
a child’s dream. Adults only believe when the kids inspire them to.
She needs to wipe out all the kids to take over the world. Reyam has
to be stopped. I guess the toilet teleporter thought you could help
me. Can you?”
“It sounds serious. We call her Mayer. I thought she thought kids
tasted yummy I didn’t know that was what she wanted to do,” Gib
Yddad replied.
“No one does.”
“Then how do you?” Gib Ydadd’s eyebrows rose as he questioned
Anali. She now felt as if she was in a trap for this question she did
not like answering. This was a very fine question indeed.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Anali whispered as she looked over her
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shoulders side to side to make sure no one but Gib Yddad heard her
which was a stupid thing to do because the trees couldn’t understand
English, they just spoke hsilgne. “Reyam and I are sort of…. I don’t
know,” Anali procrastinated. She looked at the sharp green and
blue grass and scraped the dirt with her feet. “I guess you could say,
related,” she rapidly said hoping ever so badly that Gib Yddad didn’t
hear her. Gib Yddad was outraged because Reyam was evil. Who
knew if Anali was too? Once the other trees saw his expression,
theirs hardened too. In fact, one small tree put his hand in his fist (or
branch) making a small smacking sound.
“You are related to the dark lord?”
“Calm down. We adopted her as a 7 year old and we’ve grown
attached ever since. Then we got into a fight and she moved away,”
Anali explained. “When I went to apologize, we fought even more.
I asked her what she was doing because I saw her through the crack
of her door doing something to a little boy. When she proudly told
me her plan, I quickly ran for it. I was a little chicken. When I heard
she died, I thought the plan was over. The last time I fell asleep (she
had no idea how long it had been because when you travel by toilet
and go into a wacky forest, time gets messed up) I had a vision in my
sleep. It showed me a small part of what is happening right now.”
Gib Yddad apologized for yelling at her and the all the other
tree’s expression cooled down too. He was blown away. It was almost
impossible.
“A vision eh? I thought only wizards could have visions.”
“I am a wizard.”
“Oh. Well, it must be tough getting the courage to kill your sister.”
“I never thought of that. To be honest I have no courage.”
“Sure ya do,” he tried to convince her. “I’d never be able to do what
you are doing. Well, that and my roots are stuck and I’m too old to
fight and I have back problems and I-”
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“I get the point.”
“I’m sorry. I’d suggest to go to Clovers Castle and see if anything
there could help you. Oh, and why do you need a pack if you’re
traveling by toilet?”
“Well, it doesn’t go to Reyam’s realm because she is the dark lord.”
“Oh, right. Bye”
“Wait what.” She felt the teleporter sweeping her back in. She was
going to Clovers Castle next. “Thanks. Bye, eyb.” She was swooped
away, for she had a battle awaiting her.
Anali popped out of the teleporter. When she landed with a
thud, a cloud of dust spread around her feet. She took a step forward
in the abandoned creepy castle and there were footprints where Anali
just stepped. Clovers Castle looked horrible. There had been a war
and all the people had fled long ago. No one besides Anali had been
in it since. Trap doors were flung open; there were glass shatters on
the dusty old floor. The only light came from the broken windows
that were partly covered in ripped and tattered drapes. The only door
that survived the war looked heavily locked with chains and there
was not a key in sight. “There must be something important in that
room for it to be heavily locked,” Anali thought. She walked up to
it and touched the lock which immediately fell off along with the
chains. “They must not have had time to lock it before they left.” She
pushed at the doors which wouldn’t budge. “Never judge a book by
its cover because nothing is what it seems to be,” she scolded herself.
All of a sudden a glass table was behind her. She turned around and
saw it. “Was that there before?” on the table was a drink that read
“I’m yummy, drink me all up.” Anali thought “What harm can it do,
it’s only a drink.” She gulped it down and felt herself flattening like
Flat Stanley. “What in the name of crazy spells is going on? Wait a
second, I can slip through the doors.” She brought herself to the
ground and slithered under the door. As soon as she was on the other
side, the doors opened. “Oh now you open???” There was another
table with an apple that said, “I’m yummy, eat me all up.” Again she
realized there can be no harm in just an apple. She took a bite and
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she was regular size again. She looked in the broken mirror and,
trying to be optimistic with herself, thought “What do you know,
the apple made me fatter than I am.” She went into the next room
and it was a library, but no regular library. The books floated and
spells danced in the air and there were wands and witch brooms and
everything. “Wow,” she shouted. The room wasn’t damaged at all.
“Yehawww, this is awesome,” she sang. You do know the rule though
right? No shouting in a library. All of a sudden an angry book fell on
her head.
“Oh gee, great, a human. Hasn’t anyone taught you to stop
your blabbers and jabbers in a library. You better shut that pie hole
of yours,” the book said rapidly in a sassy tone.
“Ahhhhhhhhh, I’ve never seen anything more ugly,” Anali
truthfully spoke. “I mean look at the warts and the crooked eyebrows
and the…”
“Hey!”
“I’m sorry but that did hurt and you were being fairly obnoxious.”
“At least I was being fair. You said I was fairly obnoxious,” the book
teased. Anali glared at the hideous creature.
“How rude of you,” she gasped “You try to save the world and you
get mocked,” she muttered to herself. “Please be more polite.”
“I’m sorry. Please shut your mouth - it is utterly annoying! Is
that better doll?” the book mocked.
“Yes, it is much more polite….Hey! I’m not utterly
annoying!” This time Anali yelled and then another book fell on her
head, yet this time luckily a nicer book.
“You did hear the book didn’t you?” the second book asked
kindly. The first book was, dusty, old, wrinkly, warty and cross. The
second book was kinder and a bit better looking (for a book). “Here
let me introduce myself,” the second book started. “I’m Nice and he’s
Mean. And you are?”
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Anali giggled.
“No really those are our names. Who are you?”
“Anali.” She replied as she took a water bottle out of her pack
and sighed. She put it to her lips and all of a sudden a flying broom
knocked it away. “Hey,” Anali complained like a 5 year old. “That’s
my water!” she stomped her foot.
“Try this you old hag,” Mean snarled. He handed her a can
that said ‘Magic Coke’. Anali took the can.
“If I’m old, what are you?” She burst out laughing. Nice
even showed a slight smile because she hates Mean. Anali eventually
calmed herself down. Mean glared. Anali started talking again.
“Sorry, you asked for it. Plus what makes a coke so magical? This
one isn’t even zero calories!” She sipped it anyways and burped up
a wizard who probably could have passed for 123,432,275,000 years
old but probably was only 123,432,275 years old.
“Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooo little missy,” said the
wizard as he smiled a toothless smile at her. He pat her on the head.
“What have we got here?”
“I’m Anali and I’m going to battle Reyam. She got-”
“I know your story,” the wizard cut her off. “Learn these
spells and drink these potions,” he demanded as he grasped spells
from the air. Spell books floated down as he called their names and
burped up potions. He poofed them into a different room that Anali
wasn’t sure was even in Clovers Castle. “You’ll also need this,” he
told her as he took a tiny sword from a pedestal in the middle of the
room that looked like it could pass for a sewing needle. He also gave
her a golden mask that had a hole for breathing. Anali put it on and
breathed in and… it wouldn’t let her breath out. “No no pretty lady,”
he told her. “It is not activated and that means it won’t work.” Anali
was confused. “How do you activate a mask? He’s old, he probably
doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” she thought.
“How can I use this if it isn’t activated?” She asked him.
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“You’ll know when to use it when the time comes.”
“Thank you?” She half questioned and halfheartedly said. She
felt the teleporter sweeping her back up.
“Ta-ta,” the wizard said. It was hard for Anali to understand
him because he had no teeth. She glanced at her map. “Take
me to the place that will help me get to the dark lords realm,”
Anali chanted. All of a sudden she got stuck “Who clogged the
teleporter?” she screamed. The teleporter wasn’t very smart so it had
no idea where such a place could be. “Just take me to the Village of
Cheer,” she compromised. It was the closest place to Reyam’s cave.
She started moving again. All of a sudden she popped outside in
the Village of… Cheer? There was no cheer in this village. “They
must know about Reyam’s return,” she thought. The people were all
locked inside their homes. There were no cars on the street except
the ones that were speeding to get home. And the people who were
outside running home were scared-looking adults. Just adults. The
sun was setting over the village while Anali stood on the plains. Even
the sun looked upset. It was all dull and grey, no regular sunset. Anali
was hungry and tired. She took her pack off her back, unzipped it
and took out two shells. She threw them both on the ground. One
turned into a campfire with frogs and baby sea monsters, and the
other turned into a tent with a sleeping bag and a lantern. She picked
a stick off a tree and put 2 baby sea monsters, 1 frog and 3 wild
mushrooms that she picked fresh from the ground. She roasted them
until they were good. She ate the skewer kebab followed by water.
She crawled into the tent and fell asleep in the blink of an eye.
She dreamed about battling Reyam and epically failing. She
was inside the head mistress’ fortune ball. The head mistress was
cracking up at the sight of Anali chickening out and losing the fight.
The head mistress was laughing so hard she fell off the chair she was
on. The popcorn bowl in her hand went flying through the air. She
cackled “Hahahahahaha I knew it, she’s no real wizard. She’s a phony
and a chicken. Bock-bock.” She motioned her arms in chicken-like
movements. Reyam snapped her fingers and inhaled Anali’s soul.
Anali’s eyes fluttered open, but she still heard the cackling of the
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head mistress in her own head. The ugly sun that wasn’t shining was
just starting to rise. She crawled out of the almost collapsed tent.
“I’m a rough sleeper. I caused the tent to fall,” she realized.
Anali snapped and the two shells were in her hands. She dumped
them into the pack. She hiked up the mountains and saw the colorless
village below her. Anali took one last look at the village, realizing it
might be her last. When she turned around there was a dark cloud
surrounding a cave. Anali hiked and marched up the mountains just
in time to interrupt for lunch, children stew.
“Hello, long time no see, eh. Have some children for lunch
with me, will you? Have you come to join my side? Have you realized
you were wrong?” Reyam squealed with glee from the presence of
the scared child.
Anali gulped. She knew the child on the chair. She was the
headmistress’ daughter, Bianca, who was the most popular kid in
wizard school and was supposedly the “best wizard” but that was just
because of her mom. Just as much as the headmistress teased Anali,
Bianca bullied her much more. Then Anali scarcely squeaked, “I’m
here to stop you.”
“You were never brave, what got your courage up now?
“You’re evil. No matter who the child is,” Anali glared at the
child, “you have no right to do this.” Anali was still very young and
was afraid Reyam would gobble up her soul too. Anali was probably
the most cowardly girl, the total opposite of brave. “What if Reyam’s
right? I should turn back.” ‘Stop thinking like that. She’s using her
powers to trick you!” Have you ever had one of those fights where
you split yourself in half and argue with yourself ? Well, that’s exactly
what was happening with Anali….again. Although Anali knew Reyam
was trying to trick her, she wasn’t sure if it was the smell or power.
Whatever it was, it was very tempting. Reyam’s icy home was dark
and scary. The only light came from the lightning strikes. Anali tried
all the spells she knew from turning her good to making her go
under Anali’s command but the spells don’t work on witches. All of
a sudden, a lightning strike hit the golden mask barely peaking out
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of Anali’s pack. Anali remembered the wizard saying “No no pretty
lady,” he told her. “It is not activated and that means it won’t work.”
Then he said “You’ll know when to use it when the time comes.” The
time had come for the mask had been ‘activated’. Anali reached her
arm behind her and grabbed the mask.
“You fool; you think you can scare me away with a mask? You crack
me up!” Reyam cackled and chuckled while Anali’s face was red with
anger. All of a sudden Anali’s vision blurred and the moaning little
cave disappeared around her. She was in her own world for what
seemed like scores but was only seconds. The world almost froze.
Everyone and everything was flashing around her. She put the mask
on and started to inhale. “The only way to get rid of Reyam is by
inhaling her soul because she already died but came back to life. I
have to kill her.” Or so Anali thought.
“Just what do you think you’re doing,” Reyam asked
nervously. But in fact, Anali didn’t even know what she was doing
herself. Slowly but surely, Anali saw the darkness escaping Reyam
and when she was getting lighter so was her cave. Cob web by cob
web, bat by bat, dark nights by dark nights, bad memory by bad
memory, it was all escaping. Reyam’s warts and pimples popped one
by one. Anali started to inhale faster and faster. Then, Anali noticed
something she hadn’t noticed until long ago, only once Anali saw
it. Reyam had a necklace with a witch on it. Slowly it was starting to
fade. Anali remembered the story Reyam told her long ago.
During Hanukah, her aunt, who was the evilest witch of all
times gave her that necklace. Then the aunt/witch passed away. Of
course this was before Anali’s family agreed to take care of Reyam.
Reyam told her this story once and cried and begged Anali not to
tell anyone, afraid Anali’s family would kick her out because Reyam
was related to evil. Reyam used to say, “This is how I’m still with my
aunt.” Anali jumped figuring she discovered Reyam’s whole secret
life. Reyam got her evil powers from her aunt who she was being
possessed by. Reyam was only evil because she was channeling her
aunt’s powers. When Anali went to wizard school, they taught the
students not to possess anyone because if they get too powerful
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they can take over your body. Reyam’s aunt had taken over. If Anali
destroyed the necklace she could get rid of the evilness without
killing Reyam. Anali realized if she kept inhaling Reyam’s whole
soul, good and bad would go with it. Anali quickly jibber jabbered,
“Tel siht lleps nrut em elbisivni.”This turned her invisible. She ran
to Reyam and grabbed her necklace. She ran to the other end of the
room and the invisibility cloak spell broke. She threw the necklace
on the ground and finally realized what the tiny knife/sword was for.
She stabbed the glass witch hanging from the silver chain right in
the heart. That was a rare wizard and he could tell the future, that’s
why he knew what to give Anali. Glass shatters flew everywhere.
Darkness exploded all around and filled the cave. When it left, the
cave was clean and bright. Anali passed her class. She was no longer
a W.I.T. she was a wizard, a full one too and also, a hero. She earned
her last badge, to win a battle. Not only that, but Anali proved the
headmistress wrong. Reyam was holding on to a polished wood table
that used to be old and splintery. Her eyes widened when she asked,
“What in the name of live elpoep dna tnua mcartney happened?”
Anali just laughed although she wasn’t able to see Reyam’s confused
face because the darkness and dust was still covering the room.
Then blue wisps of light started appearing and creating bodies, the
bodies that Reyam had devoured. When the dust cleared away with
the darkness and Reyam eventually got up Anali gasped. Reyam was
unrecognizable. All warts, pimples, split ends and unwanted facial hair
was gone. Her red wavy hair fell behind her shoulders as her glowing
tan skin shone and her green eyes were sparkling and looked so much
different without a speck on it. Anali of course never saw her like this
because Reyam was a possessed witch when they adopted her. Anali’s
jaw dropped and clanked as it hit the floor. “Y y yo you… Are you
Reyam?” Reyam laughed and her voice didn’t sound like a dying cow.
“Yes, I am.” They smiled at each other enjoying the moment
when a fat little boy Reyam had once devoured (who was probably
taller lying on his back then standing on his feet) waddled up to
Reyam and punched her in the stomach and ran off screaming like a
little girl. “I know I deserved that. Thank you Anali, for saving me.”
Anali nodded as they returned to the Village of (not so) Cheer. Anali
and Reyam delivered the wonderful news. They explained that Reyam
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was good and there was no reason to hurt or kill her. Anali was
carried around the block and a feast was made in her honor. Guess
what? The headmistress was there too. She smiled and waved at Anali
and then whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry and I misjudged you.”
Anali might have been the happiest girl in the world hearing that.
Later that night a feast was held in Anali’s honor. With the
king of Slyfantand (the country that they lived in) and the mayor
and all the citizens of Cheer with a few extras were there. There was
everything on the table; roasted duck, broccoli, carrots, lamb stew,
veal chops, dumplings, steak, chicken, asparagus, chicken soup, clam
chowder, sushi, rice, minestrone soup, ribolita soup, oysters, cheeses
and crackers, calamari, caviar, mussels, chips, guacamole, pasta
parmesan, gnocchi, paparadelli, chicken francaise, chicken marsala,
mushrooms, wine sauces, red sauces, vegetable sauces, teriyaki and
more. There was every drink in golden cups from apple juice to the
finest Italian wines.
“Hear thee, hear thee. All you fine lads are here in the
palace in honor of Anali, wizard and hero. She defeated Reyam with
courage and made the Village of Cheer cheerful once again. She
saved Slyfantand. Now if you please, would you kindly tell us your
story?” The king of Slyfantand asked.
Of course, you know that story. She told her whole story, all
from when she went to bed a couple weeks ago when she had the
vision. Evil was out, cheer was in. Reyam was going to wizard school
as a W.I.T and she had the best teacher of all, Miss Anali Molahc.
Anali returned the lives of the lost kids and went back to her little
cottage with pride.
Epilogue
“Thou’s soul shall never be born again, no soul like this until
her candle of death is lit,” the man who buried Reyam’s body in the
graveyard of evil recited. 200 years later, she is forgotten and a forest
fire occurs. In all the commotion they forgot about the trigger, the
candle of death as it had been lit…
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Flying through the Water
Written by Jonah Giat
I was surrounded by extremely athletic people on the docks. It
seemed like they were taunting me with their great talent. I had seen
them do turns, jumps, and even flips, all on water skis. They did
tricks with such elegance; they were flying on the water. My mouth
was always wide open as they zoomed by, getting a face full of lake
water; they were amazing. Then, there was me; the scrawny, clumsy preteen who couldn’t
do anything more than kneeboard. I had practiced every day for
the three week session at my camp, but it just didn’t happen. Each
time the boat started, my legs flew out from under me. After each
attempt, I had to get in the motorboat and take the “ride of shame”
back to the docks. It was a curse.
I hadn’t gotten on my feet once, and the visiting day water show
was coming up. Every time I slipped on my skis, I was doomed to
flop on my face. I tried again and again, I wanted to succeed, but just
couldn’t.
After some thinking, I decided to ask the best skier I knew for
help; my instructor Tom.
“Hey Tom,” I said. “Do you have time to give me a ski lesson
today?”
“Sure Jonah, what’s your concern?” he asked.
“Well, each time the boat starts I do a split, and fall on my face.” I
stated, slightly embarrassed.
“Okay,” he said with a smile, “I’ll see what I can do.”
That day I met Tom on the docks, I had my skis on sitting on the
edge of the water.
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“What are you doing, Jonah?” He asked. “Come on, get out of
the water.”
Surprised, I took off my skis and walked with him to the beach. He instructed me to put on my skis, and crouch like I was about to
start skiing. I felt ridiculous; I must have looked like I was sitting at
the wheel of an invisible car. But, I trusted Tom; if he thought this
would help me learn, I would do it.
“You see Jonah,” Tom explained. “when the boat starts, you need
to be ready. The initial jolt will be surprising, but stay crouched. Then
when you pick up speed, push hard, stand, and just lean back.”
The next day was the water show, and my parents arrived just on
time. Before I knew it, I was in the lake, in a crouched position, with
a rope between my legs.
“Remember,” I thought, I heard Tom’s voice in the back of my
head. “Stay crouched; when you pick up speed, push hard, stand, and
lean back.”
The boat driver gave me a signal, and I answered hers with
thumbs up. When the boat started, I did exactly as Tom told me.
I got to my feet, and I was overjoyed. I waved to my family on the
beach, and their smiles matched mine.
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Eden Quan
77 REFLECTIONS
Let’s Go Crabbing
By Andrew DePasquale
There we were, Dad and I, cruising down route 35 in Lavallette,
New Jersey, as “Hot Fun in the Summertime” was playing on the
oldies station on the car radio. Yes, it was summertime down the
shore and Dad uttered what has now become my three most favorite
words of the summer: “Let’s go crabbing.” Have you ever wondered
what lurks below the bay and frolics in the depths of the water? Here’s an idea: grab a crab cage, tie in some bait, lower it in the water,
pull it up and you’ll find out – just like I did!
On a typical day of crabbing, you need a crab cage, a whole dead
fish for bait, a pair of tongs to grab the crabs out of the cage, a big
bucket to hold the crabs, a good spot on a pier and a lot of patience. After hooking the bait inside the crab cage, you lower the crab cage
into the water using a small rope and wait for a few minutes. Then
you pull up the cage to see if any crabs are inside. You can’t get
upset if there are no crabs the first couple of times because it takes
a while for the crabs to smell the bait. If there are crabs in the cage,
you use the tongs to grab them and put them in the bucket. You are
only allowed to keep crabs that are 5 inches or more from point to
point. If you catch a crab with a round dark spot on the bottom it
means it’s a mother crab with babies and you have to put it back in
the water. Repeat this process until you have either run out of bait or
are tired and want to do something else!
But this was not a typical day of crabbing. At first, the sun was
shining brightly, the bay water was calm and as clear as crystal, and
the crabs were feisty. By crabs I mean blue crabs, the same blue
crabs that can be found as far north as Nova Scotia and as far south
as Argentina. Within a couple of hours, I had caught 20 crabs. Catching them in the cage is one thing; getting them out of the
cage and into the bucket is the real challenge. Crabs are decapods
meaning they have 10 legs. If you are the crab and you don’t want
to be caught, it’s amazing how fast you can move with those 10 legs!
Yes, a few got loose and tried to run away, back into the water, but
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they were no match for me. The bucket kept rumbling and tumbling
with the sound of crabs that were fighting with each other and
climbing on top of each other, obviously not too happy about their
predicament and hoping to somehow get to the top to find a way out. I removed the crabs that were too small and mercifully returned them
to the water. I swear it looked like some of the crabs were raising
their claws at me as if to say, “Ooo, ooo, pick me, pick me!”
Our fish bait was nearly gone, and since we were having so much
fun, we decided to drive back to the bait shop to get another fish, or
“bunker” as it’s called. A bunker is an oily fish which attracts crabs. We returned to our lucky spot on the pier by the Lavallette Ocean
Beach and Yacht Club on the Barnegat Bay. After we paused for a
cold and refreshing can of Coca-Cola, we prepared the cage and bait
for crabbing part two. But the weather was changing. The bright
sun was gradually being replaced by dark storm clouds. The calm
water was now rough and choppy as the wind was picking up, and
boaters were starting to head back to the docks. With it looking like
a thunder and lightning storm might be rolling in, we quickly lowered
the crab cage with the fresh bunker as bait into the water hoping for
one or two more big catches before having to take cover. Off in the
distance the crackling sound of thunder could be heard which usually
means lightning is not far behind. I am not a big fan of thunder or
lightning so I wasn’t planning to stick around for the show.
Suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder. Then things got
electrified…literally! And I’m not talking about the lightning. With
haste, I raised the crab cage out of the water. It felt a lot heavier than
before and I was thinking that we must have caught the mother lode
of crabs! But when the cage reached the surface I froze in disbelief
at what I saw. It was a ginormous electric eel. (Ok, maybe it wasn’t
electric but it was an eel and it was ginormous – by our estimations
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it was about 3 feet long. Dad said it was the biggest eel he had ever
seen.) As my mind went into shock because of the eel, I didn’t
realize that the thunder clouds were now directly over my head. Dad
rushed over to grab the line holding the crab cage with the eel inside,
trying desperately to keep the cage from opening up. As I ran to
get my camera, figuring I needed evidence of this or nobody would
ever believe me, Dad was now fighting not only the force of the eel
banging against the sides of the cage trying to break free, but also the
strong winds. Wham! Wham! Wham! The eel was banging its body
more rapidly and fiercely into the cage which now drew the attention
of other people who were on the pier. Everyone oohed and aahed
at the unusual sight. Dad, realizing he was about to lose the battle,
yelled out, “Now Andrew, take the picture now.” So I pointed and
clicked. The next flash of light was from the camera, not the sky.
After I took the picture and looked back at it, three things came to
mind: 1) either the eel was a con-artist, or 2) the eel was a magician
or 3) the eel was camera shy. Because all I had for my evidence in
the picture was an empty cage against a dark background. No eel! I
looked at dad and saw him holding an empty cage that had gobs of
slime all over its sides. The eel was gone, as was the whole bunker we
had just bought and tied inside the cage. In one gulp, that eel cost me
$5.99 and the chance to do any more crabbing for the day.
I have no evidence that there even was an eel, other than my dad
and the other people who witnessed it. But the memory of that day
is as vivid in my mind as any photograph could ever be. It was a day
I will never forget and a memory that Dad and I will be talking about
for a long time. Who knows? Maybe one day in the future when dad
says, “Let’s go crabbing,” and I return to that same pier again, I will
pull up the cage and find $5.99 inside! Then I’ll know that this eel
was also a practical joker!
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81 REFLECTIONS
Not Giving Up!
by Andrew Brennan
"Mom, hurry up. I don’t want to be late for the playoff game."
It was finally here the playoffs for baseball. My team, the Texas
Rangers, is currently in 2nd place right behind the San Francisco
Giants, and eager to move passed them. It was about 10 minutes
before the first pitch, and my team was warming up. Today, we had
to face the St. Louis Cardinals, and we could not lose. The way the
playoffs work for us is if you lose one game it's okay, but if you lose
a another game, your team is out.
My team and I went storming on to the field to get to our
positions. I was playing centerfield. My coach likes to switch everyone
around so they have a chance to play every position. The only
position he does not switch is pitcher. These four kids are always
pitching, Derek, Chris, Evan, and Jack. I've always wanted to play
pitcher, but I have never gotten a chance. The first pitch was thrown,
it was a strike. The whole game lasts nine innings and if it ends in a
tie we go to extra innings.
It was the second inning and none of the teams had scored yet.
Chris was up at bat and everyone was chatting for him to get a hit.
First pitch was a strike. Chris didn’t want to swing because he thought
it was a low pitch. The next pitch went right down the middle and
Chris swung at it with all of his force, back, back, back and over the
fence it went! Chris hit a homerun! We were winning 1-0 thanks to
Chris. After Chris hit his homerun it was time for me to try to do
something. I got up to the plate. It was my first time batting in the
game. I could hear my family cheering in the stands. The first pitch
was low and into the dirt. The second pitch was right in the perfect
spot but I was just a tiny bit late. A few pitches later, it was full count.
The pitcher threw the ball and I swung and I hit it. The only problem
was the ball went flying up and the shortstop caught it for an out.
The inning was over. I was disappointed that I didn’t get a hit but I
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was still happy that we were winning.
The fourth inning was here and we were still winning 1-0. The
Cardinals were at bat, and their best hitter was up. This would be
huge for us if we could get him out. Evan was pitching. Evan threw
the pitch and the kid hit it so hard you could hear a loud bang from
the sound of the bat. It landed in leftfield. Everyone was trying to
get it into the infield. They finally got it in but not before the runner
slid into third picking up a triple. The next batter was up and he
smacked the ball right into the outfield. The score was now 1-1. With
a man on second, our coach came out to replace the pitcher. Now,
Derek came onto the pitcher's mound. The first pitch Derek threw
went straight over our heads and into the stands. After a while, Derek
finally got the last person out and the inning was over. Now, with
great disappointment our team went into the dugout trailing 3-1.
It was the seventh inning and our team was trailing by the same
score 3-1. The only good part was that we were batting so we could
score some runs. The first person up was Chris and I was up after
him. Chris unfortunately did nothing at bat. He just hit a groundout.
Now it was my turn to try to do something. The first pitch I took was
low for a ball. The second pitch I took went low and fast and BAM!
I was lying on the ground holding my knee. The coach and my team
came running out to help me.
I heard my coach yelling, "Get him some ice!" and my
teammates asking if I was okay.
With all the support of my teammates trying to help me get up,
I just couldn’t. My mom came over and tried to help me. I looked at
my knee and it was very swollen. Eventually, an ambulance came and
I went to the hospital. Before I went, I wished my team the best of
luck to win the game.
In the hospital, they took care of me and took some x-rays. I
was healing slowly. At one point, I was starting to walk again. My
mom informed me that my team won 5-4! I was elated when I found
out that my team came back and pulled it off. All of a sudden, my
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doctor came out and requested to talk to my mom in private. Then,
my Mom came in crying and sat down next to me. She told me I was
diagnosed with Bone Cancer. My doctor came out and talked to me
about it. I was speechless, I couldn’t believe it. My doctor told me
that they were going to do the best they could to get rid of it. My
doctor also told me I couldn’t play baseball or any sport for a while.
I was so depressed that I couldn’t play baseball because I loved it and
the playoffs were just starting.
My coach came to the hospital to find out how I was doing
and my Mom told him about the news. She told him that I couldn’t
participate in the playoffs and couldn’t play again for a while. My
coach was supporting me and telling me to get better. As the week
went by, kids from baseball and school came to visit me and cheer me
up. I told everyone who visited me about the news and that I couldn’t
play in the baseball playoffs.
As the baseball playoffs continued I heard about all the games
that my team played in. My team was doing great; we won three
games in a row. We just have to win two more games and we make it
to the championship. My mom said I could go to one of the games
coming up and cheer my team on.
My team won the next game, and then the next game, and
finally, they made it to the championship! My Mom said I could go
watch them in the championship. So, I was so excited to watch my
team in the championship that I couldn’t stop talking about it the
whole entire week. Then the day finally came, the championship!
My Mom brought me to the dugout so I could talk to all of my
teammates and give them confidence that they were going to win.
When I saw them, they were getting nervous, and I told them that
they could do it. Our team was playing the San Francisco Giants. The
Giants are in first place and the first time we played them we lost by
four. I knew though that my team wanted revenge because they were
mad about that loss.
Right before the first pitch, my coach called me and told me
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to come on to the pitcher's mound. I was so confused, and then my
coach asked me if I wanted to throw the first pitch of the game. I
was speechless, I was so excited, and I always wanted to be pitcher.
I said of course! After the nation anthem, it was time to throw the
first pitch. I did my windup and then threw it. It was right down the
middle of the plate for a strike. Then the game started!
It was the bottom of the ninth inning and my team was down
6-5. Chris was up at bat with two outs and Evan was at first base. The
pitch came, Chris swung. It was so hard, it went back, back, back and
then…….. The left fielder robbed it. The homerun was no good and
that was it. My team lost by one run. I was so disappointed, but my
coach said we always have next year.
Throughout the offseason I went to different MLB games and
had a blast. I also learned that my cancer might not be as bad, if I
think positive.
85 REFLECTIONS
Look Out Below!
by Zachary Flaksman
The grass was green. The birds had been singing. There was fresh
air and pine trees. It should’ve been a great day. But no, it wasn’t. “AHHH,” I screamed as I let loose a bloodcurdling wail.
The branch had suddenly broken under the tension of my body.
My arms flailed out aimlessly, grabbing for anything, just anything. I
broke into a cold sweat. I scrambled around, looking for something
to hold onto. I wouldn’t be able to hold on for long. My hand
slipped further and further off the branch. I squeezed my eyes
shut, preparing for the impact that was inevitable. I opened my
eyes, curious why I had not fallen yet. Suddenly, I spotted a single
branch, moving with the wind. It was a gift from the Lord himself.
I reached for the branch; my eyes grew big in anticipation. It was so
close I could already feel its bark and rough surface. It was only a
couple of centimeters away. Every bone in my body screamed with
pain. I reached for it and…. Oh wait! Maybe I should start from the
beginning.
It was a flawless summer day. The sky was as blue as a Smurf ’s
butt, and the air was fresher than a Febreze commercial. I stepped
outside. It was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.
“Dun du dun du dun,” it said.
I took a deep breath, savoring the sweet fresh air. As I exhaled, I
remembered what I was doing. We were going to the town pool. Bursting from excitement, I called out to my family “HURRY!
HURRY!”
We decided to walk since we lived a couple of blocks away. But I
couldn’t wait. I started to sprint. By the time I got there, my cheeks
were flushed and I was breathing heavily. As I arrived, I spotted a couple of kids from my school playing
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hide-and-seek. I was the hide-and-seek master. I walked up silently
to them. I wondered if they would let me play.
“Can I play”? I asked shyly. They looked at me, obviously
sizing me up. After much consideration, they agreed.
As the counter counted down from 80, I considered where
to hide. Hmmm, I thought to myself. Where to hide, where to
hide? Maybe the woman’s bathroom! No, too unsanitary, I thought
to myself. I crossed that idea out. Maybe the shed! No, too illegal.
I crossed that idea out too. Suddenly it hit me. I would climb up a
tree, and hide in it! As I rushed to the tree, I started doubting my
idea. As I started ascending the tree, I broke into a cold sweat.
“Hush,” I grunted as I climbed up the tree. My eyes shined with
determination. My face flushed as I teeter-tottered on a small limb
of the tree. As the counter raced out of his position, I did my best
to camouflage myself into the tree. Despite my efforts, he spotted
me right away. As he approached the tree, I stuck out my tongue,
taunting him, knowing he couldn’t reach me. He reached up and…
touched me right on the foot. Maybe I wasn’t as high as I thought I
was, I thought to myself. As I started the journey down, I ran into a
problem. I couldn’t get down!!
I started to panic. I started to sweat and my legs turned to
jelly. My face paled. I stood there for what felt like 5 hours, but was
probably 3 minutes.
“AHHH,” I screamed as I let loose a bloodcurdling wail….
Every bone in my body screamed with pain. I reached for it
and…. missed. As I plummeted to the ground, everything seemed
to go in slow motion. I saw a bird in midflight. I saw the horrified
faces of the kids from my school. I saw a man playing tennis, the ball
hitting the net. I just hoped it wasn’t too painful. And then, BOOM. I hit the ground. I was wrong, it was painful. As I opened my eyes,
I saw black dots dancing at the edge of my eyes. I tried to remain
conscious, but it was too hard. The last thing I saw was my dad
standing over me, mouthing, “Are you okay?” But I couldn’t hear any
of it. Then, everything went black.
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My Life as a Pencil
Leah Silvestri
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THE PENCIL CHRONICLES
Introduction
by Ms. Buggs
Over the course of mankind’s history, many philosophers have
come our way. Notable men and women such as—Socrates, Plato,
Aristotle, Hannah Arendt, Forrest Gump. These wise men and
women have pondered a plethora of important questions: What is
man? Why do I exist? Is life really like a box of chocolates? All
very profound and significant questions, but there is one important
question that until now we have failed to answer: What is life like
for a pencil? Or better yet! What is life like for the pencil of a 6th
grader?
Read on to discover all about life, from the Pencil’s Perspective. 89 REFLECTIONS
The Life of a Pencil
by Kelsey Silver
You’ve thought about what life is like as a cat. You’ve thought about
what life is like for an American. But have you ever thought about
what life is like for Number 2 pencils just like me? Can you imagine
every day being dropped, stepped on, sharpened and being stuffed
into a dark crowded pencil case when someone better than you
comes along? Well, that is what it is like for me every single day of
my life. Being in a pencil case is like being in a cage. When you are
in a pencil case, you are locked away from all society and you can’t
get out. I used to live with my family, but they all were thrown away
because their points fell off. Now I am all alone. In case you were
wondering, this is my everyday life as a pencil.
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My Life as a Pencil
by Ryan Bader
I hate being me.
Locked up….Here alone.
Nobody likes me; they never use me.
All these people like my hip cousin the PEN!
And when they do use me, they drop me and forget me
in that small annoying desk. When they touch me, it hurts.
Those teachers make them grip me so weirdly. Soon I will be split
in half by that big, scary, loud sharpener that rips up
my spirit. Hopefully soon, life will ease up,
and I will get picked up by a new
owner.
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My Life as a Pencil
by Alexandra Liebman
Dear Diary,
My life is almost over. I only have an inch of lead left and
a tiny eraser left in me. I will be replaced, and I can feel it in my
broken heart. 0.7 mm lead is scarce these days, and my owner wastes
it with doodles on the side of her papers. This may be my last diary
entry because I’m losing more lead each second. I really want to live,
but I can’t hold on to my life. More lead is being pushed out of me
each second. My life is almost over. Good bye forever.
Love,
Mr. Pencil
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My Life as a Pencil
by Victoria Hostetler
Owner to owner,
Hand to hand,
I will go through many people
Before I get to
My true owner.
Love will envelope me then,
Unlike it does now.
Now
Gripping hands
Grip tightly.
Uncomfortable,
Unlovable.
I live
Inside,
Confined.
My high quality
Yellow
Smooth
Sleek self
Rubbing.
Rubbing.
Pencil sharpeners,
Pens,
Highlighters.
But then I will be loved
Forever,
Or at least until
I have been sharpened away.
Away.
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Spencer Konecky
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REFLECTIONS STAFF 2013-2014
MEMBERS OF THE LITERARY
MAGAZINE CLUB
Shaam Beed
Anjani Kockonda
Kristen Rosario
Meghann Duvivier
Spencer Konecky
Ian Xiong
ADVISORS
Mrs. Laura Richards
Mrs. Lori Palazzo
MANY THANKS TO
The MPMS Literary Magazine Club for assisting with
the collection, editing, and sorting of pieces.
Nancy Babey, MPMS Art Teacher
Mrs. Steckert, Mr. Schwartz, Mrs. Incognito,
Mrs. Buggs, & Mrs. Palazzo,
MPMS English Language Arts Department
Board of Education
Mr. Barry Funt, President
Mrs. Pam Chirls, Vice President
Mr. Arthur Altman
Dr. David Jasin
Mrs. Leslie Winograd
Jeremy Knopf, Student Representative
Central Office Administration
Steven K. Robinson
Acting Superintendent/Business Administrator/Board Secretary
Mary Oates
Assistant Superintendent of Curriculum and Instruction
Barbara Linkenheimer
Interim Assistant Superintendent of
Student Services and Instruction
Mt. Pleasant Middle School Administration
Mrs. Debra Ostrowski, Principal
Mr. Andrew Espinoza, Assistant Principal
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