With Eyes Closed

ContentsRunBy:KateUesugi 1

TheCityBy:EricaMachida 2

WalkAloneBy:ZakeyahBroadwater 3

YetiBy:SarahLi 4

EnchantedSnowBy:AnnikaPangelinan5

WeLiveOurLivesinSeasonsBy:KaylaEconomou 6

StellarBy:SarahLi 7

TimeBy:RaianaFerrer8

ComingBackBy:FionaRutgers 9

RunKate Uesugi

1

The CityErica Machida

With eyes that have yet to slumberWhat lies under that sky of a brilliant hueOr greys that cannot interpret emotion

Is a garden full of lightsUnder the bright moonOr a maze full of towers

Reaching for the sunHolding that aura of powerIt changes like the seasons

It dies like the treesIt lives like the animals

It exist like the seasLike everything else that is a part of nature

Attracting your eyes that have yet to slumberIt lies to you all until its tongue is blue

For it is nothing more than a shell of people’s creationsIdeas and abominations

And while it stands, the trees dieAnd all that nature holds dear

Is slowly drawing nearer To its devastation

2

Walk AloneZakeyah Broadwater

It’s scary how many people you have pushed out of your life, that losing yourself now seems like the death of you. It never started out this way though.

It wasn’t you. It was the yelling and screaming of her parents.

It was the little girl lied to by her father that everything was going to be okay. It was the short days and long nights filled with loneliness and not knowing.

It is not nightfall that brings out all evil,It is the moment when we think that the light will stop anything .

We are dumb to the fact, that evil will stop at nothing. Fighting in your jeans, running away from the sun. Cause the only fear of night time that scares you,Is the moment when sun rises above the horizon.

And the real monsters are releasedOne by one

Exiting their big fancy homes, like its routine. money isn’t everything .Didn’t they know that ?

Practice what you preach, cause what goes around comes around. For what you are put through, you do not deserve.

You are merely in the middle of a battle field, you had not intended to be on. But its not your fault.

You were not planned to be there. You walked away from the crowd to make your own path.

In the events of not knowing where you were headed.You had found yourself surrounded by beauty.

To create a new life.Not knowing you fell in the same footsteps as that little girl.

The little girl we will never see again.It’s not your fault though.

For her life was not long lived, but it goes on forever.It wasn’t you.

You can not run from your fears.You can not hide nor act like they are not there.

You can not act like you have no fears.You can not act like there is not a worst situation.

You can not cry though.You must have control.

Cause if you don’t. fear will take over your lifeand then we will lose you like we lost that little girl.

3

YetiSarah Li

4

Enchanted SnowAnnika Pangelinan

6

We Live Our Lives in SeasonsKayla Economou

We live our lives in seasons. And there’s something tragic about that. It’s fall. The world readies itself for those dead cold months ahead, nature fades out, and things come to their end. It is the start of the school year; a be-ginning surrounded by endings. The walk to school is more red and orange than it is bright. Sidewalks are covered with the pale gold of fallen leaves and the skeletons of trees seem glad to be rid of them. Everything is burning with their death and along the endless streets of suburbia are neatly raked piles of flames to be thrown out and discarded. Autumn is getting rid of things you don’t want. It’s winter. The ground freezes over and no one wants to go outside—it’s too cold. Windows are painted with the scenery of a careful artist where white blankets the barren earth outside and coarse trees dot the surface. The walk to school is now stark with lights and darks. All of the 2000 square foot homes en-closed within picket fences are closed and shut off in their own little hubs. Win-ter is disconnection. It’s spring. Slowly, the world heals and rejuvenates itself. Grass grows, flow-ers bloom, and trees sprout new leaves. It is a new beginning. The vibrant col-ors and warm sunshine make the last few walks to school effervescent. Vases of daffodils and tulips sit on window sills and dining tables, breathing life back into the neighborhood. Spring is waking up. It’s summer. The days are long and sticky with sweat. Hues of green and yel-low and brown fill in. Lawns are freshly cut and the smell of grass permeates the air. Nature outdoes itself, growing, stretching, and reaching until the upcoming months of static activity. There are no more walks to school. Summer is prepar-ing for the end. The cycle then endlessly repeats. We are all fall, winter, spring, and sum-mer. We live in seasons and the tragedy of that is that the changes in our lives remain the same. 7

Stellar Sarah Li

8

Time Raiana Ferrer

Tick, tick, tick. Time can be taken, but never returned.Imagine one hundred years from now, these words would be washed away with the current. The very memory of this tale, fading into the depths of compressed history.

Peter didn’t ask for this. Nor did he, in his wildest imagination, expect what had happened from his little excursion.

Time waits for no one,Nor does it bend to anyone’s will.

The accident was all a blur to him, as his mind desensitized his emotions for the sake of retaining his sanity. He sat alone in his room, dazed. A chill from an open window provided little comfort and caused him to rustle from his position. His movement caused his soft cotton shirt to brush against him after it was disturbed. The smell of linen from the bed sheets barely registered to Peter.

Neither cruel or kind;Endless river fills your minds eye.

It was an accident, he reassured himself. Though the guilt in his conscience refused to relinquish its hold and contin-ued to linger in his thoughts.

Time is not heartless yet it remains indifferent,An impassive observer who showed no hint of intervening.

When he found an object that had the power to transcend the laws of time, all he wanted was to change a mistake that never should’ve happened. He wanted to save his older brother from making a huge mistake that had cost him his life. The relationship between his brother and their parents was a rocky one but Peter knew that his older brother would listen to him.

Peter managed to convince his brother to stay at home and not drive to the party, where he would’ve died when he would drive himself home, drunk. But when Peter returned to his time, he searched his home for any sign of his brother. But alas, his home bore no sign of his older brother’s presence, all except for one newspaper article that hung on the walls of their home. Peter stared at the clip of yellowed paper encased in a simple brown frame. It said: Local college student, Mat-thew Tarren, was killed in a hit and run walking home from his classes. Reports say that alcohol was a factor in the accident. By that time, Peter ran up to his room, his mouth salty from the tears running down his face. The only sound that registered to him was the sound of the clock ticking.

A rock or pebble Never stops the flow of time,For it washes away any attempt of submission.

9

Coming BackFiona Rutgers

You and I have known each other for a while, and that’s why seeing you like this is so painful. We’ve known each other for our entire lives; I’ve been by your side since childhood, but I guess we can say I never really knew you until college. Heck, maybe I have never known you, and maybe I never will what with a few good feet of dirt between us now. You are currently buried in the local graveyard, the same one we’d explore as kids. Those days were the best for me, when we, reeking of dust and a hunger for adventure, would bound up and down those hills with-out a care in the world. I hate myself for thinking it was a good idea, for having us both sign up at that little office with the posters that told us this was the right thing to do. For having us hop on a plane and going over the ocean, to that strange land where your best friends and worst enemies alike could disappear in seconds. That wasn’t what you worried about though, you worried about disappearing yourself. I was careless, and as soon as I turned around, you had vanished without a trace. I dig through my pockets: an old gum wrapper, a Swiss army knife you’ve had since the 7th grade, a small piece of metal that I found lying on the ground on my way here. I’m not paying attention, and someone has found their way behind me. It’s your sister, she’s sobbing and marching up the hill like it’s a death sentence. She’s been crying -- shame I can still remember her when she was younger, a beau-tiful young girl who you were always so paranoid about. She’d just push you away and call you ‘her stupid overprotective brother’ I guess she’s regretting that now. She spots me, the indigo sprawl of flowers clenched in her right hand falls to the ground as she flings her fingers to her face, “You… You’re supposed to be dead” she murmurs, I can see tears in her eyes. From where you are, you can see her pale phantom-hands reaching towards my face, to prove or disprove my existence. She looks down towards you, then back to me, then back to you. I want to tell her it’s going to be okay, that it will be alright, but all I can do is clear my throat and say:“I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you.” It comes out so coldly; I can see her face clench together to keep warm against the chill of my statement.

10

“Sorry? Sorry?!? Sorry for leaving us alone without any clue if you were okay or not? We thought you were dead! Was the funeral and the gravestone and the tears all for nothing?” She’s angry now, and in her fury, she lashes out an arm. She stops when her hands run through my body like mist. She pulls it back, then forward again, like she was trying to stroke my cheek. The tears have stopped, now there is only confusion. “I…” she breaks off. I hate seeing this, I don’t care what the rules are, If I’m going to say goodbye, I’m going to say it right. “Emma, this grave wasn’t for nothing, I really am dead, but I want you to know that I always love you, I’m always your big brother. Please don’t cry” My words are in vain, the tears are flowing again. I hang my arms out as if I were giv-ing a hug, I want to do the real thing, but it’s far too late now. This “ghost hug” I’ve created is awkward, forced, and doesn’t do much. But it’s all I can do and so I do it anyway. She steps away for a second and I try my best to smile. “Thank you for the flowers, they were really nice.” I look back down to your grave, the grave of the man I once was, and I sigh. Within seconds I’ve completely dematerialized, and what’s left of my essence crawls into the tombstone, our new home. Before I com-pletely lose conscious, I look back to her, she looks sad, but she understands. I nod my head, saying goodbye is painful, but isn’t it better than not saying goodbye at all? I’m glad I had the chance.

11