IIMAZINEMAZINE 20132013 VOLVOL. 3. 3

New Castle County Libraries’ Annual Teen Magazine

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Cover: Frame of Mind by Taylor B. (age 17)Cover: Frame of Mind by Taylor B. (age 17)

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Table of ContentsTable of Contents

(cover)(cover) Frame of MindFrame of Mind Taylor B.Taylor B.

55 A Grimm Fairy TaleA Grimm Fairy Tale Chloe M.Chloe M.

66 Lotus in the Night SkyLotus in the Night Sky Sangeeta Sangeeta

77 Alexander and the StarAlexander and the Star Chloe M.Chloe M.

1010 If Life Was One of UsIf Life Was One of Us Medha R.Medha R.

1212 Colossal TransformationsColossal Transformations Kayla V.Kayla V.

1313 SpiritedSpirited Jordyn V.Jordyn V.

1414 Beyond the Looking GlassBeyond the Looking Glass Taylor B.Taylor B.

1616 Bonnie and FrankBonnie and Frank Matthew W.Matthew W.

1818 Complementary ColorComplementary Color Chloe M.Chloe M.

1919 Fall LeavesFall Leaves Sangeeta Sangeeta

2020 Sleeping BeautySleeping Beauty Taylor B.Taylor B.

2222 Game of the SeasonGame of the Season Benjamin Benjamin

2424 Rise of GoldRise of Gold Caroline Caroline

2525 Beauty of FallBeauty of Fall Sangeeta Sangeeta

2626 The Suspicious FriendsThe Suspicious Friends Donovan T.Donovan T.

2828 TimeTime Arianna H.Arianna H.

2929 SundialSundial Taylor B.Taylor B.

3030 To the Voices Inside My HeadTo the Voices Inside My Head Medha R.Medha R.

3131 Mistakes MatterMistakes Matter Jordyn V.Jordyn V.

3333 Winding Path in Shadow and LightWinding Path in Shadow and Light Taylor B.Taylor B.

3434 DamselDamsel Taylor B.Taylor B.

3636 Give MeGive Me Arianna H.Arianna H.

3737 SmileSmile Medha R.Medha R.

3838 VibrantVibrant Jordyn V.Jordyn V.

3939 Now this is emptiness…Now this is emptiness… Taylor B.Taylor B.

4040 Room 401Room 401 Rebekah M.Rebekah M.

4242 Wounded SoldierWounded Soldier Caroline Caroline

4545 The HumThe Hum Chloe M.Chloe M.

4747 Day's EndDay's End Jordyn V.Jordyn V.

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A Grimm Fairy Tale

by Chloe M. (age 16)

Like looking through a looking glass,

that's not completely clear

a beautiful and dark

glimpse of neither here nor there

a world of dim light and foreignness

of deep shadows and night

a place where demons kiss

and angels learn to bite

you see it in old stories

that warn of curiosity

where innocent and desperate

unleash the caged ferocity

those frightening tales of caution

of a place that we all know

that from the time we're children

we fear but want to go

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Lotus in the Night Sky by Sangeeta C. (age 19)Lotus in the Night Sky by Sangeeta C. (age 19)

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Alexander and the Star by Chloe M.

(age 16)

A tiny spacecraft glided through space, a silver bullet streaming a trail of light behind it. "Destination approaching," a grainy computer voice echoed inside the cabin. A young man pushed his dark locks from his forehead and leaned back in the control chair. "I said as far away as possible....and this is where you took me?" he muttered, staring out the cockpit window as the visor cleared. "We're not even near the Avis System yet!" he said exasperatedly. The computer gave no reply, empty silence punctuating his sentence. Alexander sighed and reflected on the events of the past week. Nothing had gone right. He had lost his home... again... along with his friends, and his master. His master.... How could a man who had once been his role model become what his master had: bitter, corrupt and power hungry? Alexander felt the memory flash back into his minds-eye like a reappearing nightmare: his master standing at the helm of a spaceship while a fleet burned in front of him, his own fleet. "Alex, I had to. They were going to betray us." His master had told him, stony eyes that had once been warm, an open mind now warped into distortion. "I had to..." he said. Alexander blocked the memory from his mind, massaging his temples and looking back out through the cockpit window. Outside was a massive orb of light. Angel wings of fire flared, rippling out from its surface of molten gold. He lurched forward in his chair and rebooted the ship’s system. "Bring us in closer," he told the computer breathlessly. The ship rumbled to life and glided closer to the light. As they drew nearer, Alexander could feel a pull, a tug at a distant part of his consciousness that he had never felt before. Curious, he brought the ship to a stop right alongside the star and found it wasn't hot. The star released a soft warmth but nothing close to the diamond-melting furnace a star was supposed to generate. "Engage oxygen and gravity field," he told the ship's computer, leaving the controls and opening the ship's ceiling hatch. Agilely, Alexander pulled himself onto the roof of the ship, the stars winking around him as he sat on the edge, his legs dangling over the edge above numerous galaxies. He placed his hand on the ship's shell and couldn't feel it shuddering like it was supposed to when resisting gravity. Something was definitely odd about this star. Not only was it not hot, but it had no gravity; it wasn't pulling them in like a sun should. He glanced back at the star, its bright form wreathed in heatless twisting flames of champagne gold, like the soul of god. Spirals of energy rippled across its surface like water on a lake.

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It had once been said that the Travelers could talk to stars: That the heavens would converse and share its wisdom with the children of the vortex. They had the friendship and guidance of the universe itself. However, those legends had died with his people and the stars had been ever silent for him. Still, if Travelers could still talk to stars, then he might just find a being as alone as himself. “Hello?" he asked hesitantly. For a moment there was silence and the emptiness of space, but then....

“Hello," replied a rich voice of tone and fire, a voice that hummed with energy. Alexander was silent for a moment and completely in awe. “You are beautiful. I've never seen anything like you," he whispered "You've never looked," the star said. "I never knew to try," he answered "Isn't that most things?" The star replied, its light pulsing with every syllable. Alexander smiled. "What’s your name?" "Some things are so old they don't need names..." The star responded. That threw him for a second, because Alexander had never met a being without a name. "What is your name?" asked the star, soft warmth wafting from its surface and cloaking itself around him. Still a bit awestruck, he cleared his throat. "Alexander." "And why do you seek the stars?" Alex thought for a second, brushing his loose hair from his face. "Because I have no one else," he replied at last, the thought a heavy weight. "I understand," whispered the star, its comforting warmth permeating his t-shirt and tugging at his mind. Alexander felt himself growing more and more interested in the odd sun. How could something so old still have empathy for someone as young as he? "I have to ask, how does time pass for a star?" he asked after a pause. "Time passes in the same way for us both. I have been alive many, many millennia. I have seen histories unfold and witnessed many races’ first steps amongst the stars. The beauty and sadness of humanity and a thousand other species were laid out before my eyes," the star said. Alexander watched a meteor fly past him and strike the surface of the star haphazardly, ripples of light and fire flaring up like fireworks and cloaking the star in a halo of light. "Are you happy?" he asked, watching the flames and bright gas fly across the star's surface like seasoned dancers. "I desire to be part of life, not just an observer," the star replied slowly. "Do you know that there are people that probably wish they were in your place? That they were stars and didn't have to live their lives?" Alexander smiled. "I don't doubt it, I have heard their wishes," the sun replied, seeming almost to laugh, a ripple of golden color splashing across its front. "So if you could live differently, what would you do?" Alexander asked. "I would travel the universe at the speed of light, I would be the fastest and the most clever of stars," it answered, its whole surface lighting up with passion and nearly blinding Alexander with brilliant flares of fire.

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"I can help." He grinned. "From one immortal to another, life is too long to spend in one place." And Alexander closed his eyes, reaching out to the vibrant vivacity of the star and opening a channel within him that hadn't been awakened for a millennia, the channel that connected his people to the heavens. The star surged and exploded into a celestial cloud of light so powerful and bright that it could be seen galaxies away. Alexander breathed in the liquid glow, the star flowing through his veins and streaming through his hair as it licked into a sphere around him and surrounded him in an immense womb of fire. Alexander shivered with the intensity of it and with the effort of moving a mountain he directed the glow towards the ship beneath him. A torrent of light surged into the little metal body, igniting the ship in golden white fire that burned brighter than any supernova, blossoms of stardust swirling like calligraphy against the stars. Alexander was thrown by the impact and floated, dazed, in an emergency oxygen bubble, watching in awe as the ship was contorted. The body had turned a fiery white, shaking violently and stretching, its chunky oval body lengthening and reinforcing itself into a sleek manta-ray form. Tear-drop engines formed under its wings, blue concentric circles pulsing a heartbeat as a silver casing spread over the body like paint on a canvas. Alexander watched the essence of the star embed itself in every crevice and curve, engraving itself into the ship like a second skin. Then he felt himself being pulled in closer, the missing puzzle piece. His oxygen bubble was sucked through the ship's hull like jello and he found himself standing in a gorgeous cabin. The floors were a map of the stars and the walls itself flashed data and maps making the whole cabin a computer. Alexander walked over to the control desk, its silver levers and buttons tantalizing beneath the glow of the massive static orb ceiling. A smooth voice echoed around the cabin. "Welcome aboard, Alexander." Alexander chuckled. "And what ship is this?" There was a pause as the ship thought up a proper name for itself. "Welcome aboard The Spiorad. Set destination," it replied. Fingers sliding over the smooth silver take-off lever, Alexander grinned. "Prepare for take-off and set course to the end of the universe. We'll take detours along the way." The ship roared to life, the static orb flashing erratically as Alexander felt the ship climax for the jump to vortex-speed. "Destination: Everywhere," the computer chimed, as the ship lurched forwards and shot off into the stars.

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If Life Was One of Us If Life Was One of Us

by Medha R. by Medha R.

(age 16)(age 16) If Life was one of us He’d have eyes the color of Mud that’s soaked in the rain And a nice baby face The kind you’d underestimate Until it’s much too late If Life was one of us He’d have hooded lids the color of rust A cruel-set mouth, but a Voice that never shouts The kind that creeps into your sleep And interrupts your dream If Life was one of us He would offer you some gloves that Are blood-red like an arena A bully and a teacher, and he’d Look at you through those mud-colored eyes Cool with indifference, and he’d ask you to fight If Life was one of us He’d smile as the audience cussed Doesn’t matter if you live or die Just give us a goddamn fight And you’d fumble and you’d stumble But you’d say to yourself, “It’s time to rumble.” If Life was one of us He’d never throw the starting punch But he’d watch and he’d wait for Your mistakes that are his bait, and as you Fumble and stumble blindly, he’d Take his chance, and he wouldn’t do it kindly If Life was one of us He might occasionally help you up Only to push you back down again Again and again, but then, wait! You’d look up at his face, timeless and rough And start to think, “Enough is enough.” If Life was one of us he’d have The aura of a storm without the grace of the sun Inhale the smell of lime juice and beer He’d potter about and repeat the crowd’s cheers

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There are strings in his back, so it’s not because he cares A slave to our commands, our wishes, and our dares If Life was one of us His fists would crush and bust Stop lying on the floor Everything hurts, even your core But you have to get up Get up, you little beast, get up! If Life was one of us He’d eventually just give up And disperse like fine dust But that doesn’t mean you’ve won The arena’s shutting down You’ve got no jeweled crown If Life was one of us He’d leave you alone at dusk Where you can escape from the grays And dream for a quarter of a day Escape from frustration and sorrow Until he tells you, “Same time tomorrow.”

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Colossal Transformations by Kayla V.

(age 14)

Freedom is born on the back of a horse, because horses are therapeutic, and they don’t

just offer freedom to traverse for miles without effort, but they offer freedom of acceptance. A

horse doesn’t care about one’s appearance, social status, or disabilities. He doesn't care. Even if

nothing else in a person’s life is going well, this animal loves them. He’s their ally. Friendship

is what everybody wants, to feel safe and willing to trust in something or someone. When a

horse makes one feel needed, they can forget about disabilities, lack of friends, or troubles in

school. Nothing else going on in the world makes any difference. For some people, they’ve

never had anybody in their life who cared, nobody to ever appreciate them or tell them that they

love them. Imagine how it would feel to be appreciated for the first time! It would change their

outtake on the world. Maybe even save their life. And that’s exactly what happens every day at

a therapeutic riding ranch filled with rescued horses.

You see, horses are heroes, and they shouldn’t be thrown away just because their life is

a little banged up. But many heroes on rescued ranches around the world were days or even

minutes away from termination. For example, Stormy, a jet black horse, was abused for most of

his early life. He was petrified of everything and refused to trust humans. He’s now an amazing

addition at a therapeutic riding farm, bringing many smiles to impressive amounts of faces with

his sweet temperament. A creamy beige, headstrong colt named Hero was rescued from a kill

pen at an auction. He was going to be slaughtered, and he wasn’t even four. Today, he’s at a

therapeutic barn and offers so much to so many. All of his benevolence would have all been

destroyed at a slaughter house.

Horses are worth rescuing because they will come to someone else’s rescue. When one

is on a horse’s back, they forget their troubles and their life makes sense again. They’re willing

to ignore sore muscles and work through pain, because all the things demanding their attention

when they’re on the ground are diminished from this colossal viewpoint. They metamorphose

from “I’m really sore, can we stop now?” to “I’ll try one more time,” longing to get it right. The

feeling of being a 120-pound human controlling a massive, 1,000-pound animal is exhilarating.

It’s a thrill being astride such a creature’s back. What makes one “in control” of this animal? It

all starts with a mutual understanding. “I respect you, and you’ll respect me. I trust you; you’ll

trust me.” When someone is forced to put their trust in something they may be afraid that

whatever they trust in is going to fail them. But, on the other hand, what

if they're not disappointed? What if the animal they trust turns out to be completely

trustworthy? That’s what makes someone let go of their bulwarks of self-defense. They start

assessing, “What if that horse, just that one animal, really loves me? Regardless of my

disabilities, regardless of my family issues, regardless of the fights I get into in school, that

animal loves me unconditionally.” Now THAT is the kind of thing that transforms lives—love.

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Spirited by Jordyn V. (age 17)Spirited by Jordyn V. (age 17)

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Beyond the Looking Glass by Taylor B.

(age 17)

I gaze at the pale face in the mirror. I wonder how Alice felt when she returned home. Did she breathe a sigh of relief? Or did she gaze at this layered world with blue-eyed disbelief? Because since falling down that rabbit hole, Everything has become so much stranger- and yet so much clearer. And I always thought that you could make me laugh. -But that belongs in the past. ... And in the cold façade held within the reflection. But I looked beyond the looking glass. The careless crowds assume that I feel no emotion And yet here I am drowning in a depthless ocean. Everyone just blindly skates across the smiling surface. But if they looked beyond the looking glass, They would see that their starry-eyed girl left when she realized That you would never be coming back. They would see that the train is about to run off the tracks. I once so easily believed in every storybook ending. But I looked beyond the looking glass, And now I know that nothing is as it seems. Sometimes you wake up and find yourself still within that perfect dream. There, friendship will always last And you will never ache for the past. Yet other times you wake up and just find the cruel reality. Because here, to you I waved farewell And the wishes didn’t come true when I spared a penny in the wishing well. So, farewell to the backyard fireflies that we so gaily chased beneath the summer star-light. Farewell to the Prince Charming who I so naïvely thought would whisk me away atmidnight. Wonderland has straight lines compared to this chaotic world. Whatever happened to that wide-eyed little girl? I looked beyond the looking glass. My family, My friends, Life- They ripped down the Veil and I saw the gears in the machine.

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And some things can’t be unseen. Some things can’t be unheard. Some things can’t be unlearned. And long ago I realized, That I can’t return the innocence to my eyes. ... Nothing feels real anymore. Two days before my sixteenth birthday an old friend cleaned out his closet And for the last few years, she showed me ravaged scars that I wish I never saw. And over this last year, I watched you, watched us, grow farther and farther apart. Every confession and change left me open-mouthed and wondering If anything is for certain besides the beating of my heart. And I don’t want to grow up because that means losing a golden age. I don’t want to lose you. But... I still survived every painful grain of truth And now I’m old enough to pen my own page. And here in the real world, I stand on my own, But in the rain, I can still dance like a little girl. Maybe losing you doesn’t mean I have to be alone. We sang along to the radio in the car And you banished the pain from my heart. But you also taught me how to let go. ... Thank you, signed the girl that loved you so. And now... I look beyond the looking glass- Seeing past that fairytale façade, Seeing those fractured forget-me-knots. And until now, life and love had never seemed so beautifully bittersweet. I gaze at the pale face in the mirror. And like Alice, I climb out of the rabbit hole with scraped knees. We both looked beyond the looking glass. Until now, life and love had never seemed so beautifully bittersweet.

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Bonnie and Frank by Matthew W.

(age 12)

It was a delightful morning before the first day of seventh grade. Bonnie was all

dressed and ready wearing a nice fall dress, new light magenta Toms, and a tan fedora with a

rose on top. Frank on the other hand, was still in bed asleep. To wake Frank up, Bonnie pushed

Frank on the ground screaming at him. Frank put on a new highlighter yellow Nike Dri-fit

shirt, a black, yellow, and green Jordan shorts, and brand new orange and gray Nike free run

fives. He was ready to make a statement for this new school year. Frank and Bonnie were

fraternal twins who didn't have a lot in common. As Frank ran downstairs ready for breakfast,

Bonnie had already made him a egg white frittata, with hash browns on the side. Bonnie, with

the always jolly smile on her face, was munching politely on a yogurt parfait with banana

slices, and a pinch of cinnamon on top. After Bonnie cleaned the dishes and put them in the

dishwasher, they waited together at the bus stop sharing with each other cheesy knock-knock

jokes.

When they got on the bus Bonnie sat in the front of the bus with her Math Club pals,

while Frank sat in the back with his gang from the Shoe Club. Frank and Bonnie were glad to

see their old friends again, especially Frank so he could show off his new shoes. During the

bus ride Bonnie and her pals reunited by doing some math problems with their calculators, and

Frank and his friends talked about the latest shoes coming this fall and how they hoped that

they didn't get Mr. Finely for math like they did last year. Mr Finely was the strictest teacher in

their school, especially if the students didn't do their homework. His favorite hobby was, by

far, to give struggling students a failing grade for his own amusement.

When Bonnie and Frank got off the bus, their principal was waiting at the front of the

school handing out the schedules and telling the students which homeroom teacher they had.

Bonnie happily looked at schedule knowing that she and Frank were in the same homeroom

class and their homeroom teacher was her favorite teacher, Mr. Finely. Frank let out a loud

wail, knowing that he had to have his least favorite teacher in the whole school. As Frank and

Bonnie gradually walked towards Mr. Finely's room for the homeroom period, they passed the

other seventh grade class. They could hear the loud hooting and hollering coming from the

little party that their homeroom teacher made for them. After Frank saw the scene going on in

the other homeroom of a bunch of his closest friends, his head drooped towards the ground for

the rest of the walk to his homeroom.

As Frank and Bonnie reached their destination, Bonnie ran happily into the class, while

Frank stood at the threshold of the classroom waiting for something to happen to make his day

any better. Mr. Finely sat in his rolling chair behind his teacher's desk, collating his papers of

summer math work he had collected. Frank was oblivious to why Mr. Finely had a grim grin

on his face as he stared at Frank. He was thinking of what he could do to make Frank's seventh

grade year miserable. Frank saw none of his friends from his shoe club so he sat in the middle

of the classroom next to Bonnie. Bonnie couldn't sit still because she was so excited for the

first day of school. On her desk she had almost every piece of supply you would need for your

school, from protractors to Dixon Ticonderoga pencils. As Frank sat peacefully in his desk, he

read his schedule. All of his teachers were great teachers, except for the last name he saw. The

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schedule had written, "Algebra 1, Mr. Finely's Class Room 208." As he read that, his frown got

even bigger and he was glummer than ever. After Mr. Finely finished the attendance he kept on

thinking of annoying nicknames for his least favorite students, and a nice nickname for his star

student, Bonnie. After he made the nicknames, he dismissed his students to their classes, with a

satisfying look on his face.

Frank had a mediocre day, with having gym and a delectable lunch at the cafeteria.

When he was walking back from lunch, he realized that he had math for his next subject, and

even worse he had it for two periods, since he was in honors math with Bonnie. As Bonnie and

Frank walked into class, Mr. Finely was sitting behind his desk happily texting on a new yellow

iPhone 5c. Today Mr. Finely was in a good mood, because he had just gotten a new phone and

he had four great classes so far. Mr. Finely was going to teach the class about pie charts, and

since he was in such a good mood he said at the end of the class he would give the class

pumpkin pie. Mr. Finely decided not to give his students annoying nicknames, since he was so

joyous. When Mr. Finely was writing on the chalk board, his iPhone 5c dropped out of his

pocket, slamming onto the ground, breaking the whole screen. Mr. Finely stared at the ground

that was covered with the glass from the screen, with a frown beginning to form on his face.

First, a few students started to gasp and some even walked up to see what had happened. Then,

kids started to whisper to each other about what was happening, and what Mr. Finely might do.

As kids were quietly whispering to each other, Mr. Finely fell to the ground on his knees

screaming and crying at the same time. Bonnie was praying that Mr. Finely would become

happier, when all that Frank could think was "Drama Queen." When kids started to look back at

Mr. Finely's face, they saw that his frown was forming into an angry face that no one had seen

him make before. Mr. Finely, to help his anger go away, gave all the students a one hundred

question pop test to put on their final grade. Also, Mr. Finely slammed some of the pies he made

for them to the ground to help his anger. Now after Mr. Finely quieted down his temper, the

whole room was silent. All you could hear was the tapping of pencils against desks. After Mr.

Finely finished picking up the mess he had made with the glass and pies, he started to meditate

to soothe his mind. No one knew what he was doing, but the only thing everyone thought was

"this year math is going to stink." When the final bell rang and class was dismissed, Mr. Finely

quietly collected the tests he gave and brought them to his desk.

As Frank and Bonnie walked quietly back to their lockers to get their backpacks and

other stuff, they didn't talk that much to each other because of the experience they just had in

honors math. Once they got their stuff, they started to walk to their school bus. During the walk

to their school bus, Bonnie started to talk about Frank's shoes to change the subject. Even

though Bonnie tried to change the subject, they both knew what was going on in their minds.

The bus ride home was quiet from the people in Mr. Finely's class, but everywhere else it was

loud because they where all talking about their great day. Frank and Bonnie were the last stop

for the bus, so they had a forty minute ride home. By the time they got home, it felt like then

were on the bus for hours. The first thing Frank did when he got home was check his email. He

called Bonnie to come to the computer when he saw an email from, mr.finely@fakeemail.com

with the subject of, "My apologies." The email was saying sorry to the kids in his math class

because of his behavior during class. He wanted to let them know that math class would be

better this year. After reading this email, Frank and Bonnie knew that this year would be great.

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Complementary Color

by Chloe M. (age 16)

I am a complementary color

the creamy pastel of light on milk

catching vibrant hues of personality

like a river catches autumn leaves

I surround myself with the vivacious

the ones who burn like summer bonfires

and strike colorful madness

onto my soft-hued canvas

We are the passionate ones

our obsessions should be shared

our anguish should be mutual

life is our masterpiece

and I am its complementary color

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Fall Leaves by Sangeeta C. (age 19)Fall Leaves by Sangeeta C. (age 19)

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Sleeping Beauty by Taylor B.

(age 17)

I walk down a cobbled street in Old New Castle, My shoes making only silence. Dried autumn leaves skitter across the road, Like a lost and lonely love song drifting down a Parisian street. I recall that visit from this summer- The last time we talked, just you and me, on this street, The last time we talked, as friends. By then, I had already given up, on us. And soon Halloween will come from around the corner. It’s been almost 14 months, since I first saw Nothing in your hazel eyes. Yes, I recall standing there, sweltering in the summer heat, That July 7th. Chocolate ice cream had dripped onto my shoes. 14. How funny. My lucky number. It took me only 9 months to get over you- pretty good, right? I once hated you, Because I couldn’t stop myself from loving you. But now, I could live my whole life without ever seeing you again. For a hundred sweet years I slept, Caught in a foolish child’s dream. But last summer I woke up to feel the thorns. And I felt them when you just sat there beside me. I no longer see that brown-eyed girl when I look in the mirror. I place my hand on my breast, And I feel nothing beat beneath my shirt. And I could cast you as the villain in this Shakespearian tragedy, But you just changed your mind. Everyone eventually does, given time. No one bothered to mention that when I was a little girl. No one bothered to mention that the fairy tales died in the real world. No one ever mentioned how much numbness could ache. No one ever mentioned that we would eventually break!

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... Sleeping Beauty woke up alone. She found herself in a dusty room, Everything she had ever known, gone. And I know what I felt was real, But I was young and lonely and impressionable. Were your jokes really that funny? And did you really mean that childhood promise? Because I thought forever lasted longer. And I hope you know that Even the memories have gone cold. No amount of sunlight can warm that dusty room. Yes, I hope you know that You planted a kiss and didn’t even have the decency, To stay with me! The sun disappears beneath the Delaware. The shadows return to work, So I turn away, clinging to my black jacket. I begin to sing that love song to myself and to my utmost surprise, I feel tears slip their way down my cheek. I had never realized how much I missed the brown-eyed girl from that old dream. And then I catch sight of my tired eyes in a store window. I still have the scars from those thorns. Oh, why didn’t they ever mention how much numbness could ache? ... Sleeping Beauty woke up alone And I found myself in a dusty room. And still, I walk down a cobbled street in Old New Castle, Like a lost and lonely love song drifting down a Parisian street.

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The Game of the Season by Benjamin H.

(age 13)

The Championship Soccer Game was in four days and the Bridge Way Tigers had practice. They had been working hard all through the season but still lost to the new first place team, the Newtown Knights. Not only did Henry's team play badly but the Knights were playing amazingly well. The way they passed very quickly from one side of the field to the other before the Tigers could set up made them almost untouchable.

After the game Henry felt like he let all of the fans down. He took most of the blame after missing a penalty kick in the first minute of the game. Minutes after he missed the shot that would have put the Knights in the lead, he decided to dribble and not pass to his wide-open teammate. He lost the ball when he tried to dribble and the Knights went down the field and scored the first of four goals. He later told the school newspaper writer that he wanted to make up for the penalty he missed. The school newspaper was a big hit at Bridge Way High School and the very next day everybody had a copy of it.

The only thing that kept his teammates and coaches from yelling at him was that the Tigers were in the Championship Game. They had one final chance this season against the Knights which was exactly what Henry wanted. His goal for the year was to win a championship. The Tigers were 9-1 in the regular season which put them in second place. Henry's team was getting ready for the Championship. Henry knew their chance of winning was low but he would not tell his team because it would give them little hope. In the Championship they were going to play the Newtown Knights, the powerhouse team who won the Championship the last four seasons and also who they played last week.

At practice the Tigers practiced hard and worked mostly on their defense because they knew that if they let the Knights get four goals again they would not have a chance of coming back. The practices before all the games were not hard. They worked on some shooting and then on their defense. Their coach had led local grade school teams to their championships years before the Tigers hired him. They hired him this year because last year they had finished in last place. Coach Brad was always the first to practices and games, setting up drills and going over strategies for the game. Henry could not wait for the big game to start.

The director of the league gave both teams one practice on the field where the game would be held. It was a turf field with stands wrapping around the red eight lane track that they used at the state championship for track that spring. There were approximately twenty to twenty-five rows of seating where the crowd would sit. Henry could already picture what it would be like when the stadium filled up Saturday night under the lights.

The practice at the field felt like a game from the intensity and heart the Tigers brought to every practice and game. The practice ended in a full field scrimmage. Every week brought a new starting line-up and the players knew that. The players tried hard to stand out in front of their coach. Henry was back to normal, stealing the ball from the opposing teammates then passing and trying to be patient when he was thinking about shooting. He pictured himself against the strong, tall defense of the

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Knights, dribbling past one defender then passing the ball to his teammate, who would shoot and score. It was his job on the team to dribble and then pass. He was the play-maker for the Tigers. It was an easy task that he excelled in. He was always expected to do so much because of the way he rescued his team in the final seconds on the game. He was one of the most valuable players on his team because of all the assists he got from making the perfect pass.

Henry stayed after his practice ended to watch the Knights practice. On his way home he went over all the drills they did. All they did was scrimmage and yell at each other. As he was thinking he began to have a little hope in his team that they could win.

The next morning he went to school and all he could think about was the game. He got a seventy on his math test because he could not focus. At lunch he did not eat. His friend brought him to the nurse to lie down. He knew that he was having a bad day and when he got home he took a nap.

The next morning he stayed home from school because the nurse told him to so he could get back on track with school work. He woke up late and his mom had already gone to work so he ate breakfast and went to the park. At the park there was a game being played so he sat down and watched. It was a group of men. They split the teams and started to play. It was a group of people playing the game right and having fun. Henry never really had fun when he was playing soccer. It was always so serious for him ever since his dad signed him up for his local soccer team when he was eight. He felt like he missed out on something fun. He decided from this day forward he would have fun on the soccer field. He stayed at the park for longer than he had expected. These fifteen men played for two hours straight, eight on seven. Henry stayed to watch every minute of it. He would never get mad at his team and would give them the spotlight.

Saturday night came fast and the Tigers were ready. They were in the silent locker room waiting for the coach. They could hear the crowd on their side screaming, "Tigers, Tigers" and on the other side the Knights fans were screaming, " Knights, Knights". It was an inspiring sound that got the players ready to play one of the biggest games of their lives. The Tigers' coach walked in and began his pre-game speech. He said "We need this win more than anything. It would bring a lot of fame to your school and yourselves. Your fans deserve a Soccer Championship win because there has not been a trophy brought to the school for soccer in thirteen years." Henry began to feel that this game would be one that he would never forget. The Tigers' coach then told them a story about a small army who fought a bigger and better army. The smaller army fought together hard and won. He really inspired the Tigers to leave everything they had on the soccer field. He called everybody into a huddle and said, "Tigers on three!"

"1-2-3 TIGERS!" The whole team screamed. The Tigers' fans heard the scream and cheered even louder. The starting lineup ran onto the field for the National Anthem. When Henry first saw the Knights he felt like he was already winning the battle. Both teams ran to their positions. The ref blew the whistle and the game was on. The Knights moved the ball fast but the Tigers were ready. On a bad pass from the Knights' striker, the Tigers attacked the Knights' goal. The ball was passed to Henry, who dribbled until he was surrounded by the Knights' defense. He passed to the open

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man for the perfect shot blazing past the goalie and striking the net. GOAL! The fans went crazy, jumping with their hands in the air. The Knights were stunned. They never got any good opportunities in the first half. The first half ended one to nothing Tigers. When the ref blew the half-time whistle the Tigers' fans erupted with joy for an amazing first half from the offense and defense. The Tigers were relieved.

The second half was full of opportunities and missed chances. In the final seconds of the game the Knights had a corner kick which made both teams' fans cheer for their team. It came in and the Knights' striker headed the ball to the goalie's right. The goalie was fast and got a hand to the ball and hit it off the cross bar. The Tigers retrieved it and kicked it away. Not long after, the ref blew the whistle for the final time and the Tigers' fans screamed. The players ran to their goalie and dog-piled him. The fans came running onto the field in delight. Henry felt great and he was the main reason they won. Most of all, he had fun.

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Rise of Gold

by Caroline D.

(age 12)

Did you think that if you left I would survive in this world of life,

Did you know that someone would pierce my heart with a knife,

Did you watch as tears poured down my glossed cheeks like sun drops in rain,

Did you love me through the mournful mountains of pain,

Because I thought you would not leave me to this life,

I knew that another would pierce my heart with a knife,

I watched in the reflection as tears poured down my glossed cheeks like sun drops

in rain,

I loved you through all of the mournful mountains of pain,

But did the love carry from me to you,

From one gold heart to another,

Did the gold light of the morning brush your lashes of dark to the sides to peel

them away from what was waiting before you in the morning rise of gold…

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Beauty of Fall by Sangeeta C. (age 19)Beauty of Fall by Sangeeta C. (age 19)

27

The Suspicious Friends by Donovan T.

(age 12)

At Rivers Academy they were having their annual back to school carnival. All you

could smell was the fresh soft pretzels and cotton candy. All you could see was the rush of

children running to go onto the rides. The screams and laughs of children filled the air.

At the Super Looper Coaster, Peter Jefferson was laughing hysterically as the cart

looped and made all kinds of sharp turns while going as fast as lightning. He started to yell

louder than a wolf's howling at a full moon. He was yelling at the nerdiest kid in school, Jeff

Peterson, who was crying and screaming like a little baby. Peter was yelling at him to be quiet.

Jeff refused but the second the ride was over Peter was on his knees begging his mom for more

money so he could go on the ride again. He got what he wanted. A little while later, Peter was

in line for popcorn at the same time as Jeff. Peter said, "Hey, why do you cry so much, you big

baby?" Then Jeff said, "Well, I'm sorry we are opposites of each other. Wait, we must have

something in common." Then Peter shouted, "No we don't; well, do you like cowboy movies?

Jeff replied in awe, "That's my favorite type of show!” Peter screamed even louder, "Did you

see the new series Good Cop, Bad Cop last night?" Then Jeff said, "Yeah, that Alex guy seems

really weird. "Peter quickly responded with a whisper, "Hey, I think I see him behind the Ferris

wheel. Follow me." Peter screamed, "Holy mackerel, that's Alex from Good Cop,Bad Cop."

Alex glared at them and they both ran away back to the popcorn line." Jeff said, "Hey I'm pretty

sure they were exchanging money." As Peter was about to comment on the suspicious act

they'd just seen, both of their moms came and said they had to go home because the carnival

was starting to close up for the year. So they both got home around 11:30 and went to bed.

During the following day at school, Peter and Jeff were in the same science class. The

teacher, Mrs. Brown, assigned Peter and Jeff as partners for the latest project. Jeff was furious.

He didn't want Peter as his partner because he knew that he would have to do all the work by

himself. Mrs. Brown told Peter that if he didn't help Jeff then he would get a detention and she

would call his parents. Peter said that he would help Jeff with the new science project.

Later that day they met at Peter's house to start the new science project. They were in

Peter's bedroom talking about how to organize the new bacteria that they had learned about in

class. All of a sudden, as they were writing in their labs, they heard a loud bang coming from

the next door neighbor's backyard. Jeff and Peter ran outside as fast as cheetahs. Behind the

neighbor's house they saw a police officer holding a garbage bag as he was running to his car.

He quickly jumped into the car and sped away. They looked around for anything else that

looked suspicious but they didn't see anything. They would have kept looking but they had to

go inside and finish the science project. After a few hours Jeff had to go home because it was

getting late and they had school tomorrow. Peter and Jeff both had trouble going to sleep

because they were up all night thinking about what happened earlier at Peter's house.

At first period the next day, Peter and Jeff told Mrs. Brown what happened in Peter's

neighbor's yard. She said there must have been some logical explanation for that. She asked,

"What did the police officer looked like?" The two boys gave a brief description including only

his height and hair color. She said his name was Officer Alex Gordon and she had seen him the

other day directing traffic near the school and at the Back to School Carnival. Jeff and Peter

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both said simultaneously "how long has he been working here?" Then she said "I'm not really

sure but I think about two days. "Jeff and Peter gasped in amazement because Good Cop, Bad

Cop started then. Right after school they went back to finish the science project. They were out

front again looking for bacteria and, sure enough, they saw Alex again, except this time there

was another police officer chasing after him screaming "Give it back now!" Jeff and Peter ran

as fast as they could trying to get them to stop and yelling, "Hey wait for us!" The police officer

and Alex each got into a different unmarked black car. Alex was the first to start driving and the

officer sped after him. Jeff and Peter both realized just then that Alex wasn't wearing a police

officer uniform. After that Jeff and Peter went back inside to Peter's house. They both talked for

a while and decided that since the police couldn't catch Alex then they would have to catch him

themselves.

Jeff decided that they could quickly get on bikes and ride up to the police station. But their plan

was stopped because Jeff's mom pulled up to bring him home since it was getting late and they

had school tomorrow.

At the recess yard the next day Jeff and Peter were talking and they saw Alex running

out of the nearby woods, into his dark black car before speeding away. Again he wasn't in his

uniform. Luckily Peter had his iPhone so he took a picture of Alex without his uniform while he

was running to his car. After school Jeff went home with Peter. The second they got home they

got on bikes and rode to the police station. They snuck into the backseat of Alex's car and

waited for him to get in. Alex finally got in and turned on the siren. Alex quickly sped to a

house and it looked a lot like Peter's house. Alex walked out of the car and opened the back

door of the car. Then he shouted, "Why have you been following me?" Jeff and Peter both sat

there in shock. So Alex repeated, "I'm going to ask you both just one more time. Why have you

been following me?" Jeff, quiet as a mouse, whispered, "Why do you act so suspicious all the

time?" Alex shouted, "What do you mean?" Jeff said, "We saw you behind the Ferris wheel

exchanging money." Alex jumped in defending himself, "I was giving my rent money to my

roommate." Jeff paused to think then said, "Hey, what about you running with a trash can into

your car and speeding away?" Alex exclaimed, "I forgot to put out the trash so I sped after the

garbage man to throw my trash away." Jeff stopped and said disappointedly, "so you're not from

the TV show Good Cop, Bad Cop?" Alex looked very confused and ended the strange meeting

with the two boys who thought they were on to something. "Well, you guys go back home and

do your homework then maybe when you're older you can be a police officer like me." Jeff,

appreciative that Alex wasn't angry with him and Peter, said, "Ok thanks."

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Time

by Arianna H. (age 16)

Time isn’t just numbers on a clock,

Or the ticking of a watch.

Time is the moments we share.

Time is the memories we create.

Time is a precious gift that many don’t receive.

We spend so much time thinking;

What if?

We spend so much time dwelling on the negative.

We spend so much time not appreciating.

We take time for granted.

Don’t think what if;

The perfect time may pass.

Don’t dwell on the negative;

There is not enough time for that.

Time is limited.

Grasp your opportunities,

Because the worst thing to waste,

Is all of time’s wonders you never got to taste.

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Sundial by Taylor BSundial by Taylor B. (age 17)(age 17)

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To the Voices Inside My Head by Medha R.

(age 16)

Dear Voices,

I hope you are having fun where you are now. Maybe it’s because of you that my brain is squeezing and releasing itself like a hot pink stress ball, hoping that you pests will fall out in the process.

There are many things you tell me when you think no one is watching (and usually, they aren’t). I can drown you out when I’m too busy laughing at my friend’s joke, or when I’m cracking my own. And if I hear you even at those times, I can pretend that it was just wind tickling the trees, or that it was simply a ray of sunshine screeching playfully in my ear.

I can see multiple versions of you stacked on top of each other, forming a head, neck, stringy arms and legs, and that god-awful smirk you’re wearing as you lean against my door.

I’ll hiss, “What do you want?” And you’ll just cross your arms and continue smiling. You look quite nice when you smile, have I ever told you that? It’s better than when you start

talking, because I recognize every single pitch of tone. “Why don’t you pick something practical? What, writing? Maybe if you want to starve…” “I don’t think that’s a good idea… I don’t think you’ll get picked.” “Are you really going to wear that? Ew.” “Why are you so fat?” “You have absolutely no credibility.” “Liar.” “Liar.” “LIAR!” Amongst all the shouting and the wild cackling, I hear my own. “Will you ever be good enough?” “What college would want you?” “Why. So. Mediocre?” This is too much. How can you imitate my own voice? How can you sound like me when I’m too

paralyzed to even part my lips? Just as I ask myself this question, you decide to finally leave, when I’m most broken. You think you will come back. I can tell just by your confident stride, the way your arms swing. But you can’t. I know that now. If you do, it has to be a once-in-a-while occurrence. Is there something you want? Because I’m tired of you dripping out of my eyes and falling onto my

cheeks; I’m tired of tasting your acridity on my tongue. It’s because of you that my stomach is a rollercoaster. So you have to stop. No, you won’t stop, so I’ll make you. Who do you think I am? Some weakling who

can entertain your twisted sense of humor? No, that’s not me. We will meet again; I’m sure of it. But I hope that the next time we do it’s because you’ve learned what

maturity is. I hope that instead of being an imitator of people, you can come up with your own thoughts. And I hope these thoughts are positive, because a part of me wishes we could be friends.

It’s okay if you say things occasionally that saw my heart in two. I understand that no one is perfect, and that we all say things we shouldn’t. But you need to understand that while I’m working to get better, you should be doing the same thing. Otherwise, you’re going to have to find a new home, and it won’t be anywhere in my body.

So go take some time to figure things out. You know where to find me in the end.

Love, Medha

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Mistakes Matter by Jordyn V.

(age 17)

The sound of metal connecting with metal is one I will remember and carry with me for the rest of my life. So much power and force connecting can never be forgotten; especially when people’s lives are changed as they were on that crisp January morning. I will never be the same, but the person who changed my life doesn’t even know how she’s affected me. People don’t realize how mistakes can change not only their lives, but also the lives of people around them. Just one blunder, like driving too fast on an icy highway, cannot be reversed. On January 6th, I woke up at 6:30 a.m, stumbled out of bed into the bitter cold air, and shivered while throwing on a pair of jeans and my favorite hoodie that I had laid out the night before. While pulling on my pink Converse, I hopped into the bathroom to brush my teeth before hurrying downstairs for breakfast. I didn’t know my life was going to change that morning. If I had, I would have rolled over, snuggled up in my warm covers, and gone back to sleep instead of racing to get ready. That below-freezing, frosty Sunday morning I was meeting my youth group to help serve breakfast to the homeless. I never got there. The car ride started like any other, Kayla dozing off in the seat next to me and Logan, Mom, and me laughing and making fun of the country accents on the radio. “This is gonna be fun!” we mocked over and over again, adding more of a country accent every time and still finding it hilarious 10 minutes later. As we got on I-95 and picked up speed, I started to nod off. “Wow, there’s another car spun out,” Mom announced. This had been the second one of the morning. I glanced at the clock: 6:54. “Ugh, we’re going to be late.” I turned to get a look at the car mom was talking about, only to see a black mass and bright lights coming at us through the dark grayness of the morning. Every muscle in my body anxiously contracted. I wanted to scream, but the next instant I heard the nauseating crunch of one extreme strength meeting another. I cannot put the sound in words, but all of us who have been in a car accident know the sound, the sound we want so badly to get out of our heads, but can’t. It’s permanently engrained in our brain. What happened after that? I blacked out when my head smashed into the window, so I have no idea, but my sisters later explained to me that the black car, after hitting us, had swerved across traffic again, ending on the other side of the highway. I woke up to ghostly silence. Then another smash demolished the silence, and brakes, squealing like a groundhog that just became prey, led to a third collision. I was sure we were going to die. Cars rushed around us, completely ignoring the fact that a 5-car accident had just happened. Policemen appeared and started blocking off traffic, as people started exiting their cars to give their statements. We sat in shock, gawking at the demolished cars around us, scanning the debris littering the highway, and listening to the dramatic blubbering of the girls who had hit us. We were so stunned, we didn’t notice the frigid January air seeping into our car.

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“It looks like you have another concussion.” Seven words and one error changed my life. I was aghast and silent as I stared at Dr. O’Brien’s clean white coat and her hands folded in her lap. The thought had crossed my mind that I could have a third concussion, since I was sitting in a concussion clinic. I had forced myself into thinking I didn’t have one, I was somehow mistaken, and I would be fine. I had already had two concussions, and chills ran up my back as I remembered how Dr. O’Brien had told me that a third could kill me. I couldn’t cope with another one; this would put me farther behind in school, keep me out of softball, stop me from mentoring my robotics team, and distance me from almost everything I loved. “You need to stop everything, let your brain completely rest for a couple days,” I tuned out my doctor, having already memorized what she was saying, and continued screaming inside my head, “This cannot be happening.” “Once you start healing, we’ll talk about whether you can continue with softball.” That brought me back to the narrow, blue examination room. “You mean I have to quit?” “If you want to continue with it, I’m not going to stop you. I will help you become stronger, and get back into softball, but every time you go up to bat, every time you slide into a base, and every time you dive for a ball, you are risking your life.” This was the worst appointment ever. I was confused and hurt. Why did this have to be happening to me? It wasn’t my fault. The thing that hurt me the most was that the blubbering girl in the black car had no idea. She didn’t know how her flighty driving had permanently affected my life. Sitting on the sidelines while I watch my favorite sport isn’t easy. I watch the dust fly up as the shortstop fields a ball. I hear the crack of the softball meeting the bat. I listen as the team screams from the dugout while the runner rushes for first. That could be me on the field. The runner slides into home and runs off the field with her pants dirty and ripped. She has blood running down her leg, but she’s wearing a triumphant smile on her face; she’s helped her team. As I watch, I feel invalid. I gave up softball, deciding a game was not worth risking my life. Everything in me wants to be on the field though, with a team backing me. I will never again have the satisfied feeling of knowing I made the right play, I will never get to hit my first home run, and I will never get to make a coveted double play. What if we hadn’t been running late? We would have been ahead of the accident. What if we had stayed home that morning because of the snow? I wouldn’t be behind in school, I wouldn’t have missed out on mentoring my robotics team at their important qualifier, and I’d still be perfecting my softball abilities. Six months after one person’s lousy mistake, I still constantly make up different situations and outcomes in my head. Making up new scenarios where we don’t get hit, and I don’t have to give up softball. But what has happened can’t be changed. I don’t want this accident to be forgotten, because a lesson can be learned from it. If people stopped to think about what they were doing, like driving too fast on an icy highway, how many accidents could be avoided? If people slowed down long enough to consider their actions, they might realize their mistakes affect not only them, but also others around them.

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Winding Path in Shadow and Light by Taylor B. (age 17)Winding Path in Shadow and Light by Taylor B. (age 17)

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Damsel by Taylor B.

(age 17)

A scream echoed in the dark night. The glowing moon hung high in the Stygian sky as it drifted behind a collection of thick, gray clouds. Beneath a dead and blackened tree with gnarled branches, wavy blonde hair shimmered. A woman knelt in the moist, rich soil. Her blood-stained hands cradled a man’s blood-soaked head. “Come on!” she squeaked. “It’s-.” Crack. Silver-lined foliage quivered deep within the forest. “Coming,” she finished, wide blue eyes staring into the void. The mansion. Recalling the parlor room: the fireplace, the oil paintings... and the phone, the young woman leapt to her feet. Crack. Closer. Shrieking to the lonely darkness, the woman in the white dress leapt to her feet. She threw her arms into the air, sprinting into the shrubbery. Crack. Crack. Crack. The forest floor tore into her bare feet. Sticky blood soon coated her heel. Risking a glance over her shoulder, a hulking figure appeared between the trees. Black fur covered its body, and the beast had two piercing red eyes like a rat’s. Her screaming grew louder. Pulse pounding, hands shoving, legs galloping, and the fiend was still gaining. The wind began to howl. No no no no no. The woman broke free from the suffocating woods; the decaying, ivy-covered mansion loomed over her. French doors trembled in the heavy winds. Almost there. The beast roared close behind. Sprinting, nearly tripping over her long gown, she pushed aside a door. She then fell to her knees at the fireplace, knocking over the tools. The clanking of a poker rang out. Crash! Bursting through the glass panes, shards filling the air, the monster appeared. Its foul breath contaminated the atmosphere. She fought the urge to gag. Towering over her, it revealed a mouthful of sharp, glinting teeth when it flashed a broad grin. It stalked its away across the room. Screaming, “NO! Stay away!” the woman cowered in the dark figure’s shadow. It stood right over her. She gripped the poker. “I warned you,” she said. And then she drove the iron poker into its chest.

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Screaming again echoed in the dark night. And the beast collapsed, blood rushing from its punctured heart. “Idiot,” the woman scoffed, pushing off from the floor. She looked herself over. “Ugh! Such a mess!” Wiping at the dirt on her white dress, she surveyed the damage. Glass littered the Persian carpet, and dejectedly hanging from their battered hinges were the French doors. A dark-haired man staggered in through the destroyed doorway. Blood ran down his face. “Vincent!” The woman ran to him, and he embraced her tightly. “Are you all right?” she demanded into his chest. “Quite fine besides this bump on my head.” “You always did bleed like a pig.” Vincent pushed her back, his blue eyes taking note of her bedraggled appearance. “Such a shame,” Vincent sighed. Blood and dirt coated the white gown. “My sister’s going to be upset.” Shrugging indifferently, his lover replied, “She knew who she was lending it to.” Vincent rolled his eyes. He then noticed the slain beast. He raised an eyebrow at her. “We’ll need to get a new carpet,” she only said. “I don’t think we’ll be able to get the stain out. And you can pay for it. My intentional screaming was the only thing that saved your ass.” “You screamed on purpose? That’s either completely genius or stupid,” Vincent mused. “I’ll go with the latter.” She punched him lightly. Ignoring the assault, he touched her shoulder. The fake victim looked up at Vincent. “Joss,” chided the bloodied man, his dark eyes growing serious. “You abandoned me in the woods and went off by yourself.” Concern colored his lecture. “Well, someone had to deal with that monster,” Joss retorted. “Besides,” she added, flashing a white-toothed grin. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

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Give Me

by Arianna H.

(age 16)

Give me time;

I need to heal.

Give me space;

I need to breathe.

Give me my heart;

I need to feel.

And if you can't give me what I want,

Then I can't show you what's real.

Give me my life back;

I want to live.

Give me my sanity;

I want to think.

And if you can’t give me what I need,

Then I can’t give you the words to wish to believe.

For I am not a liar and you are not a thief.

All I really want is the need for you to give me, ME.

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Smile

by Medha R.

(age 16)

I learned something this week, a life lesson that only Life can teach. I learned that, as

Bradley Cooper’s character says in Silver Linings Playbook, the “world will break your heart

ten ways to Sunday.” But I also learned how to love this crazy, messed-up world, to expand

your lungs so that you can breathe in as much as cool air as possible before it’s too late.

I learned to feel pain and joy at the same time, to accept the watery beads that are

constantly within the pockets of your eyelids while simultaneously dealing with the process of

your heart shattering and mending itself. I learned what it means for someone to appreciate you

but to never tell you just how much, to keep you guessing whether you are loved at all or not,

until you find out one day that you are actually “friends”. I learned that two simple words such

as “shut up” can turn your whole day upside down, from calm complacency to an ache that

floods throughout your body like a choppy river.

I learned that people are not who you think they are, and that sometimes you don’t

realize you’re injured till you turn around and see a knife sticking between your shoulder

blades. I learned that from time and time again everyone is going to disappoint you, but you just

have to live with it. I learned that old friends are sometimes meant to be that, even if it means

leaving behind those dreams of becoming old together, sitting under fiery trees and the bruised,

purple sun in a gazebo, watching our children becoming best friends.

I learned that there are some things that aren’t worth living for and some that are, like

that cool rush of chocolate pie filling, rich and thick, that invades your tongue, or that breeze

you feel tickling the prickly roots of hair on your legs because you forgot to shave. I learned

that even while you feel as if everything’s gone wrong and that you’ll never be the same and

that he or she will never be the same, the sun will keep on shining and invite you to smile.

So smile. It’s the only thing left to do in this godforsaken place.

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Vibrant by Jordyn V. (age 17)Vibrant by Jordyn V. (age 17)

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Now this is emptiness... by Taylor B.

(age 17)

Now this is emptiness... I wander through this hollow house, Larger than a life worth living. My voice is muffled by the mountains of STUFF That spill out from the dusty rooms. Where is the laughter ringing through the halls? Where are the rushed to and fro footsteps so small? Where is the static of a fading radio we should be dancing to? We? Ha. There is no we. There is only me. Yes, there is only me and my rusted voice shouting for someone, anyone. But, it is muffled by the mountains of STUFF. Money talks, but only about the ladies who lunch. He offered me nothing but a patched heart And I instead took the world. ... Stupid, stupid girl. I wander through this hollow house, Larger than a life worth living. Now, now this is emptiness...

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Room 401 by Rebekah M.

(age 13)

Evangelista Lanes used to live in sunny Santa Fe, until her father got a job in a place called Unknown Valley which turned out to be a wasteland.

“Come on Dad!” she said, “Why did we have to move all the way out here for a job?”

“Don’t complain,” he said, “This job pays more anyway and I thought that we could use some change.”

“Great! Just great! I finally get to 8th grade, the year to change and instead of doing things with my friends I’m stuck moving into a dusty old apartment with my dad and no one else. Thanks a lot!”

The apartment they were moving into was a two bedroom with a small stove for cooking. Evangelista’s room was black and a little bigger than her dad’s room. Hey, at least it was her favorite color. She set her laptop on the desk and her phone and speaker next to her bed. After two hours, a bunch of posters and some unpacking it finally looked like a room she could live in.

“Now I can live here,” she said to herself.

The room number was 401. She never really remembered things like that except when she took a picture of it for her photography project, which she did for her friends whenever she went away for a while. She pulled out her Polaroid and took a picture to send to her friends.

“Maybe I should label this one ‘Road to Loneliness’,” she said to her

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dad.

“Stop complaining!” he yelled.

She took the picture out of the lip of the camera and put it in an envelope. All of a sudden she felt a chill go down her spine, like someone or something had blown on her. She turned around; her dad was across the room unpacking the books on the shelf.

Eva went around the apartment taking pictures of all the new things. She looked at the one stained glass window in the place; all its colors spread across the floor. She took another picture and looked at it.

“What the-”

Eva looked closely at the picture and saw in it a little boy, only he didn’t have eyes. Where his eyes were supposed to be there were black spots. She just blew it off and took the picture again and the same boy popped up, only he was closer.

“Dad?” she called, “Did you mess with my camera as a prank for Halloween?”

“Sweetie,” he said, “I never touched your precious camera.”

Eva, already scared as it was, put her camera down and ran to her room. She didn’t know what was going on but she couldn’t deal with it especially coming from her camera.

Later that night she heard a voice calling for her.

Evangelista, it said, I’m coming for you.

For days she stayed outside or after school. When she finally made some friends she would stay over at their place and not come back till the next day. Halloween finally came and when she finally slept at her house the voice came again.

Evangelista, it said again, I’m finally here. Open your eyes.

She didn’t want to but some invisible force made her. When she

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opened her eyes she was in a river, but she wasn’t drowning.

“What do you want!?” she yelled.

“To be noticed!”

When Eva turned around she saw the same boy from the pictures.

“I notice you!” she shouted.

The boy’s eyes then showed. One was blue and the other green.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

At that she awoke in her room, finally, peaceful and quiet.

Evangelista.

Or was it?

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Wounded Soldier

by Caroline D.

(age 12)

I remember the burning sensation and inflammation,

I remember the symptoms that came,

I remember the labored respiration coming from his mouth,

I remember how sensitive people were towards his failing heart,

I remember his healthy and fit constitution before the attack,

I remember when he was with us,

But, I realize that I can never get him back.

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The Hum by Chloe M. (age 16)

As I walk I hear the hum The humming of deep winter The low note of sacred silence of stillness beneath the ice I close my eyes and can feel it thrum A still and steady whisper A gentle prayer of rhythmic chant As soft as falling snow I listen close and hear the drums The solid earthly heart beat The slow and constant reminding That I am not alone

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Day’s End by Jordyn V. (age 17)Day’s End by Jordyn V. (age 17)

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Thank you to thoseThank you to those

who made this magazine possible…who made this magazine possible…

Jeanne Benzel – Editor in Chief

Julia Tucker – Editor

Cheryl Clem – Layout & Design

New Castle County Libraries Teen Services Committee: Renate Cumming – Appoquinimink Library

Lisa Burris – Bear Library

Jeanne Benzel – Brandywine Hundred Library

Julia Tucker – Claymont Library

Alex Monroe – Delaware City Library

Cheryl Clem – Elsmere Library

Terri Jones – Hockessin Library

Elisabeth Simmons – Kirkwood Library

Sara Thomas – New Castle Public Library

Pat Birchenall – Newark Free Library

Lauren Gouge – Newark Free Library

Kim Tull – Woodlawn Library

A special thanks to Brandywine Hundred Library

for help with funding.

Look for the online magazine at:

http://www2.nccde.org/libraries/default.aspx

We will be launching the 2014 magazine with Teen Tech Week

(March 9-15). Look for information on our website to make

submissions and find information about upcoming workshops after

that date.

New Castle County Library System • Department of Community Services

Thomas P. Gordon, County Executive