Vindex 2021-2022 Staff Editors-in-Chief: Sydni Williams ’22 & Taylor Zhou ’23 All Editors: Marianne Lyons ’22 Katie Mao ’22 Daniella Pozo ’22 Madison Hoang ’23 Mandy Hui ’23

Arianne Motakef ’23 Gina Yang ’24 David Zhou ’24 Steven Zhang ’24

Faculty Advisor Ms. McCann

Cover Art: David Zhou ’24 2

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All Staff: Caroline Stanizzi ’22 Grace Lee ’23 Coco Chen ’24 Crystal Hui ’24 Henry Wang ’25 Addie Zhang ’25

Table of Contents Editors’ Note Planting its root in the fast-changing 1910s and 1920s, Surrealism was experimented with by a group of artists who sought to depict the chaotic yet progressing era through painting seemingly illogical events that release the unbridled imagination of subconscious. They expressed the confusion people felt towards this unconventional time and confronted it with a mixed attitude of rationality and insanity. Similarly, the world in the winter and spring of 2022 posed challenges to ideology as we observed the deterioration of international relationships and watched world peace being endagered. As the world continues to wrestle with these topics, we at the Vindex wish everyone would apply the idea of Surrealism–to actively seek the solutions to these issues with logic, but also to allow the free-flowing mind to search for the unexpected, magical, or sometimes even uncanny beauty residing in our lives.

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8-9

[untitled] Kendall Sommers ’22

24-26 The Lady with Soft Steps Perry Schmitz ’22

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[untitled] Kendall Sommers ’22

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10-14 Crimson Lacrimation Michael Ferlisi ’22

Beauty Yoonjeong Yang ’24

28-29 To the Only You David Zhou ’24

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The Emperor Mandy Hui ’23

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[untitled] Kendall Sommers ’22

31-33 Blood From Trees Nashua Poreda ’22

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Tehom Kendall Sommers ’22

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Salt Should Fade Brierley Barber ’25

18-22 Her Yellow Bandana Tess Barrett ’22

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Spring Rolls Madison Hoang ’23

20-21 Scent of Spring Yoonjeong Yang ’24

36-39 Chosen Avery McInerny ’22

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[untitled] Kendall Sommers ’22

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[untitled] Kendall Sommers ’22

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Harmony Yoonjeong Yang ’24

Screams Daniella Pozo ’22 Mirrored Yoonjeong Yang ’24

42-44 Grandpa’s Silhouette Coco Xia ’24 45

Colorless Yoonjeong Yang ’24

46-47 Furball Sophie Chiang ’23 48

[untitled] Cathy Shi ’24

49-54 Transparency Sam Galanek ’22 55

Sleeping Orchids Mandy Hui ’23

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I can’t help but think i prayed to you in a way And yet when you came to my holy space Unmounted form your horse And the lap of a man a foot taller than me, came down to earth to sit in front of me you couldn’t meet my eyes I was so hurt yet i couldn’t shake Because her arms were around me And they felt good But i wanted yours Not because they would comfort me But for some reason I like the pain you caused me Whenever your fingers were on my skin Inside of me would bleed And your bare body would cry on mine Saying you wish you wouldn’t hurt me And so i cleaned up my own blood and drove you home Never eating Always apologizing Never realizing my hurt Nor that god is to be feared Not loved And i cant forgive her Kendall Sommers

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Crimson Lacrimation

Michael Ferlisi

Quinn awoke with the first alarm; before any of the other boys rose from their thin cots, Quinn was at the window, face pressed to the glass, watching the first rays of sun streak across the barren terrain to the courtyard of the camp. Hardly able to contain his excitement, he forgot his floppy plastic sandals, he ran through the mud to the shower room and hummed himself a marching tune as he lathered the bar of soap onto his scrawny body and over his shaved head. As the others stumbled in, Quinn was already drying himself off and throwing his oversized uniform. Quinn had some time before the ceremony. As he wandered the empty buildings of the camp, he found himself in the mess hall. On the back wall was the standard-issue stained glass depiction of the first female president, Madam Washington, that watched over him at every meal, but the morning sun refracted through the glass and illuminated Madam Washington. It brightened the pupils in her eyes, giving Quinn the feeling that she was watching him. He gulped and headed to the amphitheater. By the time the other boys filed in, the sun had reached the crest of the dome behind the amphitheater, drying the wooden benches and warming the waiting crowd. Quinn’s bunkmates, Thomas and Daniel, shuffled down the row to sit with him; their eyes hung low like they hadn’t slept much the previous night. Quinn sat straight and asked cooly, “Are you two ready for choosing day?” It did not look like it, not for Thomas nor Daniel nor the rest of the crowd. People spoke in hushed voices, hunched over, looking around with sullen eyes. “I can’t believe it’s finally here. How are we already thirteen?” Thomas said with an empty voice. “Just yesterday it seems like we were reciting our first Pledge to Servitude,” Daniel responded, “or going through our first emotion purge. 10

Do you guys even remember feeling your last emotion?” Quinn shivered. He remembered in gruesome detail the shackles of the wrist and neck braces, the brightness of the screen on which they played everything from cat videos to cartel executions. Even the most minute change in facial expression triggered the nano-dose of highly concentrated neurotoxin, resulting in excruciating pain for several minutes. “Dude, your eye!” Quinn blinked and felt moisture; his heart jumped, and he wiped it away before anyone could see. “It was just the sun, don’t worry guys. Anyway, what guild do you guys want? I definitely wouldn’t object to the combat guild.” He looked over at the section of soldiers from the combat guild, all muscly and serious. He faintly remembered someone telling him his brother was somewhere in there, but he couldn’t be sure. “Imagine all the ladies that would want you if you looked like that!” He nudged Thomas and Daniel with his elbow; they did not react. “Woah, speaking of ladies!” Quinn’s jaw swiftly dropped, soon followed by Daniel’s and Thomas’s. An elaborate procession of the most beautiful creatures they had ever seen daintily strolled on roped-off carpets that had been laid down beforehand. They had seen pictures in their textbooks, but they failed entirely to capture even a fragment of the majesty before them. Long, flowing dresses bursting with color and rich, elaborate patterns outlined the bodies of several hundred girls and women, varying in age. A couple matriarchs accompanied the procession; they stood out by the glimmering of the millions of jewels sewn into their dresses, and by the long veils held up by their male attendants. Suddenly, Quinn was acutely aware of how shabby and dirty his own uniform was. He blushed. The girls strolled and giggled, whispered and pointed, and took their seats in opulent leather booths shrouded by a velvet curtain. Some girls, perhaps a couple years senior to Quinn, stuck around and surveyed the crowd of boys. They held their 11

dresses in their hand and strutted confidently to certain sections, certain boys that sufficed, and whispered something to them. Some girls didn’t even say anything; they just pointed at a boy, who was patted on the back by jealous friends as he left. “Lucky bastards.” Quinn said, sucking the drool back into his mouth. “Imagine catching the attention of one of them. Dodging the choosing just to attend to a lady, making children for her. I’d work a hundred lifetimes in the mining guild for one lifetime with them.” He looked over at the empty faces of the miner section. Broken bodies and worn down bones held the remnants of childish laughter and joy, eroded to echoes by decades of supplying the commonwealth with the countless precious metals it needed to thrive. Thomas and Daniel nodded slowly, still captivated by the scene in front of them. Quinn did not fail to notice, however, that the lucky boys to be chosen were largely from the combat guild. “Most gracious ladies, if you would please hurry with your selections so we can begin the choosing for the rest of the lot.” The few remaining girls sighed and hurried off with their mates. “Yes, many apologies, but we can now begin!” The MC cleared his throat and spoke with a solemn tone “Boys, from the moment you were so lucky to exit your mother’s womb, you’ve been clothed, fed, and sheltered by the commonwealth of the great society you were born to serve. And now, after 13 long years of preparation, you are ready to give back.” After a long pause, the MC brightened up and waved to one of the leather booths. “Madam Wynchester, if you and your attendants would please have the honor of conducting this year’s choosing.” Both the girls and boys applauded as one of the matriarchs took the stage, followed by two attendants. She took the microphone and said, “I will now call the names of every inductee here with us. After each name, that inductee will stand, and my servant David here will spin this handle until a marble rolls along the track. After my other servant Victor retrieves the marble from the track and hands it to me, I will read the symbol on the back and announce 12

what guild that inductee has been chosen to serve, after which the inductee will proceed to the proper section. Our first inductee is Rick Atkinson!” A petite, underdeveloped boy shyly stood from his seat. Without delay, Madam Wynchester gestured, and David cranked the handle twice around. A small wooden marble rolled and stopped at the guardrail. It was swiftly snatched by Victor, who rushed to Madam Wynchester and knelt, holding the marble up to her. She delicately held it up and announced, “Farming guild!” Relieved, the boy ran to the farthest end of the amphitheater, where the dusty overalls and sun-baked hands loudly applauded. “Lucas Halls!” A stocky boy hoisted himself up. “Factory guild!” A raucous hoot went up in the section over. “Stephen Gallagher!” A muscular boy. “Combat guild!” The soldiers stomped their boots and cheered. The names continued on, and soon large swaths of the crowd of inductees sat empty. Silent, Quinn watched with bated breath until Madam Wynchester said into the microphone, “Quinn Quagmire!” Legs shaking, Quinn stood up slowly. Thomas and Daniel watched, rapt with anticipation. “Mining guild!” Quinn did not move. Even as the unenthusiastic applause of the miners died down and more eyes fell on him, Quinn stood still. Finally, he felt his body start to move, though he did not will it to do so. His legs carried him up the stairs to the stage in front of the matriarch. The crowd hushed, and he stuttered, “Pick another.” Madam Wynchester looked at him with a mix of shock and bemusement. “Pick another!” Her expression quickly soured. “I won’t be a miner, I won’t!” He felt the vice grip of the MC on his arm. “Boy, so help me, continue to embarrass all of us in front of the matriarch and you’ll find yourself very quickly out of a job and on the streets. Go take your seat. Now!” 13

Yet still Quinn stood. He wouldn’t be a miner, he couldn’t, no matter the consequence. He concentrated and felt something build up inside him, climbing from his toes to his knotted stomach, burning his fingertips and bringing his face to sweltering heat. He blinked and blinked, but nothing. A lifetime of conditioning was doing its job perfectly. The knot in his stomach dissipated, along with all the heat except that from the sun. The sun! Quinn pulled his eyelids open and stared straight at the white ball in the sky. The crowd laughed; Thomas and Daniel sat silent, for they knew what was coming. A single tear, glistening in the morning sun, rushed down his cheek and splashed onto the stage. The laughing came to a screeching halt, and the entire crowd recoiled. The soldiers saluted and hung their heads. The MC held his head in his hands. Thomas and Daniel covered their eyes. Madam Wynchester calmly drew a gorgeously engraved ivory revolver from her dress, crossed the stage to Quinn in just a couple graceful strides, and held the barrel an inch from his head. Quinn closed his eyes. The gunshot echoed several times around the camp. Madam Wynchester put the revolver back and looked down, disgusted that a blood splatter had stained her left breast. As one of her attendants dragged the body off the stage, leaving a long crimson smear, the other scrambled to find a cleaning rag. She returned to the microphone. “Simon Pond!”

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The Emperor

Mandy Hui

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Tehom ocean is a melted monster Not one that lives within the sea But is made up of its deepest parts Its teeth are built of hardened salt And dissolve under the pressure of the sky’s horizon line dipping beneath the surface The only life that exists within immunity Are the witches that choose to drown over burning the ocean is stronger the fire Perhaps it’s more admirable To die beneath flames of airy concentration Than to scorch as they can hear your screams, sound that is drowned out as lungs fill with water which once breathed poems of holistic medicine Words stolen and rewritten like the bible Healing, then, recentered in the church But watered down Blessed by the hands of a man His fingerprint visible in the dust on the cover The word witch was not one Until the church made it so God was not one to be feared Until god made him so The church took our words Our healing Our lives In order to have control over our bodies And steal from our minds

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Kendall Sommers

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Kendall Sommers

Her Yellow Bandana Tess Barrett The market was a dusty patch of open stalls selling squares of sheep’s milk soaps, hand-crafted jewelry, fresh farm vegetables, bouquets of bright flowers, and homemade tote bags. Along the dirt road, dozens of vendors loudly announced their merchandise and prodded at the passing foot traffic. After the previous day’s storm, the market was not as bustling as it typically was. Its outward appearance was grimy and unpleasant. Despite the poor appearance of the market, Blaine found himself meandering along the soft dirt road. He did not come here often, in fact, he tended to avoid this place. The last time he came to the market was the most painful day of his life. It was almost seven years ago. He and his brother fought over his brother’s girlfriend. Both brothers were in love with her, but the girlfriend was bound to his brother. Still, Blaine pursued her. It started out as something innocent until it became something more, and it was not a problem until his brother caught them lying together in their house one afternoon. His brother stormed out of the house, with Blaine quickly pursuing. By the time he reached the market, he found his brother on the bridge, white knuckles clenching the railing. Blaine ran towards his brother, but when he made it to the spot where his brother stood, all he found was a pair of smudged footprints. Looking down, he saw where his brother disappeared into the churning dark foam. After that day, Blaine swore he would never return. He despised the market and especially despised the bridge. Today, however, he found his legs dragging him along the dirt road towards the heavenly smell of fresh hotcakes.

As he wandered through the market towards the pancake stand, he 18

noticed a girl standing alone by the bridge. She was probably sixteen, or maybe a year older. Her hair was tied away from her face by a yellow bandana, emphasizing the blonde highlights in her brown hair. He glanced at the lamppost on the bridge and felt red anger rise in his chest. The girl saw the heat reach his cheeks and froze, but Blaine simply put his head down and kept walking. The vendor at the hotcake stand smiled as Blaine approached. “What will you have today, sir? The classic, special chocolate, or strawberry surprise?”

“I’ll just have the classic, please. Two cakes.”

Steam billowed from the stall as the vendor slopped two large ladles of batter onto a griddle. Nearly five minutes later, he flipped two goldenbrown pancakes onto a plate. He slid a pad of butter across the pancakes, sprayed them with a glob of whipped cream, and handed the plate to Blaine. “Thank you.” Blaine licked some whipped cream off of his fingers. “How much will that be?” “Three-fifty,” the vendor replied. Blaine handed him a five-dollar bill and walked away. He sat on the riverbank eating his pancakes, and when he had finished, he turned towards the bridge and began to walk home. As he neared the bridge, he noticed something bright yellow laying on the ground; it was the girl’s bandana. He looked up and down the rows of stalls but did not see her. Finally, he looked across the bridge. Next to the lamppost, on the railing, he saw the girl, the wind whipping her untied brown hair across her face. No one else seemed to notice her, but Blaine did. He felt the red anger rise in 19

his chest again, but he pushed it back down to his feet, urging them to move forward. His body lurched forward so quickly that he felt the pancakes return to his mouth from his stomach. He grabbed the yellow bandana from the end of the bridge and ran towards the girl. Tears streamed down her face and her knuckles clenched the railing, turned white from her terrified grip. Blaine reached his arms out to the girl, but she shook her head.

“What happened?” A little boy asked his mother. All around Blaine, people stared and began to talk. Eventually, he wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at the crowd. “Why didn’t you help me? Why didn’t you save him?” The red anger rose once again as he shouted at the crowd. No one was there to save his brother just like no one was there to save the girl. He pulled the yellow bandana from his pocket and slowly held it up to the railing.

“I have to do this.”

“Please,” Blaine cried. “You don’t understand who you are going to hurt.” Her gaze shifted to the churning river below. She smiled at Blaine and leaned backward. “NO!” Blaine screamed and fell to the ground. His body trembled and his breath shook. When he could finally stand back up, everyone in the market had gathered around the bridge. Scent of Spring

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When the day was finally over and Blaine was sitting in his house, he no longer felt the red anger, only regret. No one would ever understand what really happened at the river. He lost his brother to the river and he could not save the girl from the same fate. If only he had gotten to the girl a few minutes sooner. If only he had respected his brother’s relationship. Blaine would not talk about what happened, but Yoonjeong Yang

every day, he walked out to the bridge and tied the girl’s yellow bandana to the railing beside the lamppost. Every night, he would return to the bridge and untie the bandana. He did this as a sort of tribute to the girl, but deep down, he felt it was the only way to feel like he was near his brother. The splashing water below him seemed to drown out the pain he felt. The bridge was a stronghold of his worst memories and Blaine was mad about what happened. Even so, he had fallen in love with the river.

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Kendall Sommers

I’ll write this in pencil As I do But in honor of telling you That i see you in the future so clearly I know you have it all planned out And I can see your desk and ring But i picture a somber face Under kitchen lights Apron tied around the waist I held Your eyes dry from contacts Because you left your glasses and never wanted to get a new pair I see you thinking of me And I know I’ll be better You’re a bump in the road Because I couldn’t lean into turns And because I don’t love you as I should I love you between the walls of my heart The darkness of my mind You are candle lit A small wick ablaze And you have a part of you reserved for me And you are in me too Perhaps those are the pieces of us that fit And i’m not sure what else really does

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Kendall Sommers

Perry Schmitz

The Lady with Soft Steps

The subway is the calmest place in New York, he thought; It’s a place where a sea of strangers have to sit and slow down. There is no option to press the pedal a little harder or to just skim through the yellow light. It moves at its own pace, and it won’t wait for anyone. James Jones had always loved the subway, but not because he loved the train cars or the machinery within the train cars; he just loved to watch the people on the subway. His day was excited by the collective grouping of businessmen, children, mothers, artists, musicians, and local screamers. Each day came with something different, and he lived for the thrill of change. James would write a letter to one passenger in his journal every day, but he wouldn’t send it. He wrote about what he would want to say to a stranger if he dared to talk to them; however, today was different.

He started with,

Hello, The moment you walked onto the train, my eyes fell over you. Your soft steps bless the floor. Your white sneakers are pure as newly fallen snow. With each step, your knees falter as if you don’t know where you want to go. Your hips, covered by the oversized sweatshirt, shift back and forth like water. Your dazzling smile stands out like a lantern on a dark winter night. I’m speechless as you sit across from me. We’re strangers, but I don’t want to be just that. There are hundreds of people on the subway and millions of people in the city, and I’ve found you. That has to mean something. I’m writing to you because you’ve caught my eye. You’ve caught my eye over a fisherman holding some earthworms bare in his hand, over the little girl with pink bows trying to peel an orange in one peel, over the soon-to-be mother reading a ’What to Expect, When Expecting’ book. I chose you, and I need to know more. What do you do for fun? Where are you from? Are you close with your family, or are your friends your family? Who are you? I need to know. Sincerely, An admirer from across the train

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James sits back as he finishes the last line. It’s his favorite letter he had ever written, and it’s because of her. She did something to him that no one else has ever done; she had made him feel comfortable with his writing. He was excited to show others his letter. He wanted everyone to know who she was, but more importantly, he wanted her to know how he felt. James stood up and walked over to the lady with soft steps. He took a deep breath in and ripped out his letter from his journal. Then, as he stood right above her, he handed her the letter. He watched as her eyes dropped to the writing and began to read. His heart began to beat faster and faster as she finished each line, watching her eyes glaze across the striped white page. His breath shallowed. She looked up at him with a blank stare as the train came to a stop. As he held his breath, she opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She stood up in a hurry and got off the train, dropping the letter as she ran out.

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Beauty

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Yoonjeong Yang

You.

Days, after days, after days, after days, after days, after days, after days. Noon, afternoon, afternoon, afternoon, afternoon, afternoon, afternoon. Relation, after relation, after relation, after relation, after relation, after relation. Limits, after limits, after limits, after limits, after limits, after limits, after limits. People, after people, after people, after people, after people, after people, after people. Time, after time, after time, after time, after time, after time, after time. All, after all, after all, after all, after all, after all, after all, after all.

To the Only You

28 David Zhou 29

Blood From Trees

Nashua Poreda

The first warm days of spring are very important. This is when the sugar maples start to run. Once the temperature rises above freezing, the trees begin to build up pressure causing the sap to flow from the tree when they are tapped. The winter days are short so he got used to the darkness. The man and the boy would walk out on the lake after dinner. They looked up at the sky and listened to the frozen land thaw around them. That is how he remembered it. Each year the man took the boy out to set up the taps and barrels with their dog Willow. The forest was a good place for a dog like her. She could wander freely for hours through the woods. There were times when she would disappear for a day or two and mother would worry. Willow always returned. That’s what good dogs do. When you tap a tree the concept is similar to how the Maasai people of southern Kenya and northern Tanzania tap the jugular vein of their cows and collect blood. To make the most of each cow, they only perform this tradition once a month on an adult cow and never during slaughtering. A maple tree should only be tapped if it is at least 12 inches in diameter. A second tap should only be introduced if the tree is over 21 inches in diameter. These rules maintain health and prosperity.

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Mother would make snacks and invite friends over to do the sugaring. They drank and watched the sap boil down all night. Those nights were long but mother made people laugh. At the end of each night, the boy, barely awake, would notice mother’s tired face as she tucked him in for bed. He knew that sleep was never enough for her. 31 Harmony Yoonjeong Yang

Most sugar maples have 2 to 2.5 percent sugar in the sap. This means about 40-50 gallons of sap creates one gallon of syrup. No matter your boiling system, it can take days to get through all the barrels of sap. The man liked to take the sap off early before it really thickened into syrup. He would make the boy use it instead of the richer syrup. Most of the sap was boiled until it congealed into a rich golden liquid. Occasionally mother would treat the boy in secret with a little spoonful of the heavy syrup or the maple sugar.

sap never get warm enough to grow anything. The cold can be an issue when the sap freezes in the barrels overnight.

One day, mother left.



The man told the boy “Mother is gone. She’s gone somewhere new.”

The boy saw the man’s pale face. The boy remembered and understood. Mother didn’t like it here.

The Native people of North America understood the wonders of maple trees. They made syrup and often boiled the sap until it crystallized into sugar. Maple sugar is much easier to transport and store. The man was quiet and kind. The boy remembered watching the man’s futile attempts to make mother cheer up. The boy thought the man didn’t try hard enough. If Willow, the dog, could make mother smile, why couldn’t he? The boy could make mother happy, especially when he laughed or danced. Maple syrup can last years in the right conditions and maple sugar can last indefinitely. Just like jams and jellies, the high sugar content prevents it from expiring. The man always worried about it going bad even though the boy knew it never happened before.

The man cared more than the boy knew and more than most would.

As the years passed, mother became quieter. The boy couldn’t understand why she was so unhappy, so he blamed the man. Although the maple sugar and syrup can last, the sap can go bad because it is mainly water. Usually that’s not the issue because the barrels of 32

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Salt Should Fade The grass I saw on the hill had turned golden The sun boiling the dirt and air whipping up sand The moon sets and the hill falls into the golden straws of grass I lay my head down to feel the cold grainy ground And the night sweeps me away The water comes to comfort me Flying on the waves fighting with the sand And then they drag me simultaneously Sand and salt Scraping my face and burning my eyes The sun comes and the water dies The ground grows hot The hill is green The snow falls I am left there in between Sand in my fingernails grass on my feet Snow in my hair And I start to weep Left behind The memories should fade As the seasons change

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Brierley Barber

Spring Rolls

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Madison Hoang

Chosen

Avery McInerny

It couldn’t be true. As Sophie untied the red ribbon wrapped around the box, she heard a faint whimpering noise. With anticipation, she slowly lifted the lid and peered inside the box. Her heart was beating out of her chest, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up. Suddenly, a brown and white speckled head popped up and gave her face a lick with its tiny pink tongue. “A PUPPY! THANK YOU SO MUCH. OH MY GOD. I LOVE YOU FOREVER!” she shrieked. Her mother sat on the brown leather couch giggling with a steaming cup of coffee in between the palms of her hands. Her father stood beside her mother, holding a camera in front of his face while he captured the perfect Christmas morning surprise. On the other side of her mother, Sophie’s older brother held his ears tight in an attempt to block out the high-pitched screams.

“Do you like it?” her mother asked.

“I love it. This is the best Christmas ever. Is it a boy or a girl?” Sophie now held the puppy in her arms and cradled it like a newborn baby. “It’s a girl” her dad responded excitedly, “we know that you’ve always wanted a girl puppy. And check out the colors, isn’t that the exact one you wanted?”

“Yes!” Sophie exclaimed, “She’s perfect.”

On Christmas Eve, her father had snuck off to pick up the puppy. They waited several months on a waiting list, and when it was finally their turn to pick out a puppy, the breeder sent them several pictures for them to choose one from. The mother, father, and older brother studied the pictures for weeks and became increasingly excited to take one of them home. They 36

arrived at the breeders to choose from six different puppies. They knew that they wanted one that had brown and white spots. The brother noticed that one of the two puppies with that color pattern had a perfect brown circle in the center of its head and two symmetrical white patches around its eyes. ’Sophie will love this one’ they all agreed. *** The puppy was now two years old, and Sophie still loved her more than anything in the world. But her life was different now. Sophie looked back on Christmas two years ago and it made her sad that as the holidays approached, the world would never be the same. After the assasination of the president, chaos broke out. As the whole country panicked, severe social and economic problems emerged and a new society was formed in the midst of corruption. Sophie sat with her dog on the edge of her new bed, in her new house, with the still unfamiliar strangers that served as her new parents. Her heart was heavy and her eyes burned with tears, but she reminded herself that she was lucky. Friends and family her age would do anything to be in her position. In a comfortable home with parents that care about her. She even continued to attend school which not all of her family and friends had the freedom to do. The Child Distribution took place at the beginning of the summer, but to Sophie it still felt like yesterday. Every household in the country was assigned one of two statuses. Households were grouped into Elite and Ordinary statuses by the government. Of the Ordinaries, there were two different categories that would determine the order individuals would be chosen by Elite families. Those who had superior genetics but did not come from an Elite household were labeled Pure and would be chosen first at the distribution. The rest of the individuals remained Liberties. Liberties were the “weakest” in society and included those with illnesses, disabilities, and 37

people above the age of sixteen. Sophie’s family was not assigned elite status. The four of them showed up to the Distribution, each with one bag of belongings, and Sophie with her brown and white dog. They stood together in silence to listen to the bids. Their regional distribution consisted of 100 Elite families. The families with the lowest number chose first. They would stand up on stage and put in their request for their first ordinary, who would become a part of their family forever. Almost all of the families picked ’pure’ newborns and toddlers. A government official would step up to the baby with the hair color, eye color, and skin color of the elite’s request and take the child out of their parents hands. Any parent who threw a fit and expressed anger would be escorted out of the arena immediately. Fear filled the arena and little by little, children were stripped from the arms of their parents and handed to their new families. Sophie’s family stood together in complete fear through the first two rounds, soaking up the last moments they had all together. The third round began, and families were forced to choose from a higher age bracket. Sophie and her family knew that she and her brother were both labeled as Pure prior to the distribution, but Sophie, being ten years old with green eyes, would likely be chosen before her brother. As each family took the stage, their hearts skipped a beat and her mother squeezed her wrist tighter and tighter. Couple Number Sixty-Seven entered the stage. They were a young couple, each with dirty blonde hair and big smiles. Sophie thought they looked almost like siblings. She also recognized that they had chosen a blonde haired baby boy and a blonde five year old girl with hazel eyes in the first two rounds. Something about this family made Sophie’s stomach drop, and it was as if she knew what was going to happen. Her mother squeezed her even tighter than before, and her father placed his hand on her shoulder. “For our third ordinary, we are looking to welcome a pure female with blonde hair and green eyes between the ages of eight and ten,” the woman said with a smile. 38

Sophie crouched behind her mother, but she could not hide. All four of them began to weep, and Sophie was dragged away with tears flowing down her face, clutching her small dog in her arms. At that moment, she felt as if her dog was the only thing she had left. Her head spun around one final time to see her mother hit the floor and her father attempt to comfort her and lift her to her feet. At the end of the distribution, it was revealed that the remaining ordinaries would be taken to the “citizen quarters” out in the suburbs. Most of the remaining were anyone above the age of sixteen or children with medical issues or disabilities, also known as liberties. There, they would be separated into different houses to live in for the rest of their lives. They spent most of their time praying that an elite family would put in a request and choose to adopt them forever. Christmas was not the same. It would never be the same ever again. Sophie wandered down the stairs and took a seat on the white plush couch surrounding their tree. She watched with her dog in her arms as her little sister untied a red ribbon. As she lifted the box she screamed with excitement. “YOU GOT ME A DOG! Is it a boy or a girl?” “It’s a girl. She’s almost eight years old and she was born with a rare heart condition. Sophie picked her out from the shelter last night.” Said the woman with a big smile and blonde hair.

“I love her so much,” said the little girl.



Sophie smiled and looked down at the old, obese dog.



“All dogs deserve a safe home.”

39

Screams

40

Daniella Pozo

Mirrored

41

Yoonjeong Yang

Grandpa’s Silhouette

Coco Xia

Daylight had dried his freshly-washed shirts and given them a sweet fragrance. He stood on the balcony, collecting them as the sun began to set. It cast its last bits of golden-red hue onto his upright back and turned his gray hair golden. I was sitting inside, watching his silhouette while tears welled up in my eyes. He would soon forget me, and yet I would have no more time to imprint my image into his fading memory. My plane was leaving the next day, and until now I hadn’t cherished my limited time with my dear grandpa. Every day since the fifth grade, my grandpa had picked me up after school in his dusty, ten-year-old Mazda. The poor car was scarred with scratches, and whenever it stopped the engine would grumble and whine, complaining of old age. I always furrowed my brow in dismay at the sight of its brownish-yellow tires, and at the tiny insects that would land on the windows, crawl down into the car, and never come out. When my classmates turned their heads to watch me duck down into that cramped space, I wanted to disappear just like those bugs that slid inside. Grandpa would cheerfully ask me about my day, but since his hearing had been damaged a few years ago in an explosion at a construction site, I had to yell the same answer to him five times before he heard me. Tired and annoyed, I would shrink back into my seat and keep quiet to avoid starting another difficult conversation. And yet, Grandpa would still whistle his happy song. To him, it was such a privilege to pick me up and be able to spend half an hour with me, and only me, every day. He usually brought me homemade cupcakes, despite my always telling him that I wasn’t hungry. The only things I cared about on the way back home were the video games I had added to his phone. Grandpa wasn’t too familiar with any piece of technology too different from the pen and paper of his youth. So, with the newspaper as his only entertainment, 42

his phone had become an unimportant accessory that fell into my hands. I would put all of my video games in a single folder and hide them on a separate page to steer clear of the curious inquiries he would make if he ever discovered them. Silence always dominated our drive home as I fell into my own world, and I would secretly pray that grandpa wouldn’t ask any questions so I could focus on, and finally win, the games I’d stealthily installed. In eighth grade, I was admitted into a boarding school in the United States, which meant I would have only one more year to spend in China before I departed to begin my high school education. Grandpa laughed like a child when he heard the good news. He hugged me tightly and teased me, asking me if I would soon become an "American" and forget the Shanghai Dialect. He still picked me up after school and sang his merry little song, but I caught glimpses of him wiping away his tears before he turned back into happy Grandpa again. When I was twelve, Grandpa was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease or senile dementia. It wasn’t until three years later that I understood how seriously ill he had been, for as a young kid who wasn’t supposed to worry, my parents had always told me that Grandpa was as healthy as a horse. However, as the days passed, I became vaguely aware that something was wrong with him; he would murmur the same story three times in a row about an experience that had occurred during the Cultural Revolution, but then forget what he had eaten for dinner the previous day. He often stared blankly at the Chinese stickers on the wall without recalling that there was still a pot of water boiling on the stove. He started to depend heavily on his phone, using it as a dictionary for the words he forgot. A few months later, he couldn’t tell me the names of his sisters, and on March 4th, 2020, he failed to pick me up from school at four o’clock.

Just a few months before I had to leave for the other side of the 43

globe, my parents finally told me how serious Grandpa’s disease had been this whole time. Panicking, I burst into tears, allowing all my worst fears and worries to fill my body up until I couldn’t breathe. I wept as I recalled myself shouting at Grandpa and putting his cupcakes aside. My sobs grew louder when I glanced at the small folder on his phone with all of my video games. It was just a tiny box on the phone, yet had deprived me of so much time that I could have spent with Grandpa, and deprived him of memories to help him remember his granddaughter for just a little longer. Grandpa had sheltered me with the most wholehearted love, but what had I given him in return? An irritated frown? An impatient sigh? An annoyed eye-roll? As I processed my parents’ nightmarish news, I lowered my head and fell into shameful and hopeless silence. After that, no matter how much I tried to enjoy every moment I spent with Grandpa, time slipped away in the blink of an eye. Now, even the last day I had with him was running out: the sun had almost vanished entirely below the horizon, blurring Grandpa’s silhouette into a dark shadow. He was looking into the distance, so I couldn’t tell if he had tears on his cheeks or if he even remembered that I was leaving tomorrow. I heard his faint sniff. I sniffed too, trying hard to remember his silhouette; Grandpa’s silhouette. It was a silhouette I had never appreciated before. The next morning, my plane would be high up in the sky, and Grandpa would forget me.

44

Colorless

Yoonjeong Yang

45

Furball You squeal in your sleep. and I whistle to bring you out of another probable nightmare of Cathy the Cat chasing you when you were young. and so you pop out your little head with a familiar rustle from a puff of birch wood shavings. Your eyes half-closed, you breath short and sweet like a cup of warm tea on a pleasant afternoon when your gray, lustrous fur gives off a pearly sheen in the tender sunshine. A sleepy yawn, A chubby face, And you wriggle your tiny fingers To get out of the comfortable bed That has cocooned you the entire morning.

I hide behind the door so you cannot see me. And I watch you Turn your head thrice Go for a short run on the hamster wheel Huddle up again And become a quiet fur ball. Furball, how much I miss your sunshine. A sleepy yawn, A chubby face, And you wriggle your tiny fingers To get out of the comfortable bed That has cocooned you the entire morning. I hide behind the door so you cannot see me. And I watch you Turn your head thrice Go for a short run on the hamster wheel Huddle up again And become a quiet fur ball. Furball, how much I miss you.

46

47

Sophie Chiang

Sam Galanek

Transparency

The barren landscape appeared endless; the grooved, tan salt beds seemingly reached the edges of eternity until meeting the blue sky far off in the horizon. There was nothing to see, until there was. The only thing in sight for miles were two massive bubbles. These two bubbles could fit thousands of people within its transparent walls, and there was no way out. The people living within the walls of the two societies were seemingly unconcerned with the fact that they were enclosed in a bubble. One of the utopia’s was built up; there were people driving through the perfectly cleaned streets in lavish cars, businessmen in suits rushing to work, and children attending beautifully built universities. All the homes were futuristic looking and two or three stories high, each with white picket fences and manicured gardens. Everything within this bubble was moving at a nonstop, fast pace, as if they were never satisfied; nevertheless their lives seemed perfectly materialistic. Every now and then, you could see the perfectly primed people glance though the bubble and into the other utopian bubble, separated by only 500 feet of salt flats. Typically, a look of pity, disgust, or disapproval would fall on their faces. The community enclosed within the other bubble did not possess material luxuries like huge buildings or glamorous shoes, yet they did not seem to care. They also did not have the futuristic technology that the other society had because this bubble community was living in a part of the past. Instead of cars, kids rode around on bikes, laughing gleefully with each other on their way back to their wooden shack houses. Adults would sit in rusted lawn chairs in halfdirt, half-grass backyards, soaking up the sun’s powerful rays, while engaged in some type of enthralling discussion. They seemed to not have a care in the world about time or punctuality, and would sometimes look through their transparent walls and into the buzzing, fast paced bubble world sitting just 500 feet away, often feeling a tragic loss of hope for the grounds of the human race. 48

Cathy Shi

49

Jessica stared out of the large stained glass window in her kitchen and saw women in colored trench coats walking down the street, with their heels clicking as they moved along. All were different fonts of each other, and each seemed to have somewhere better to be, with their minds clearly not focused in the present. Jessica could see her dad’s looming office building from the kitchen window. At thirty stories high, it towered over the rest of the small city. It cast large shadows over some of the houses and most of the sidewalk, and it almost hit the top of the bubble. There were many other buildings that looked similar, but none of them reached a towering thirty stories high. Her dad took pride in working in the finest building in the city, and having the office on the top floor. “Jess! You’ve got a birthday coming up soon… if you keep those grades up, I’ll work overtime to make sure you get whatever presents you want!”

“Oh… Sounds great. Thanks, Dad. But you don’t have to.”

“Nonsense! Just tell me what you want. Those new sparkly shoes I’ve seen you girls wearing? A red car? That would be a nice gift. You are sixteen after all, and plus, I’d love to show the neighbors who’s truly the best at gift giving,” he said with a satisfied smile planted on his once gentle face. “I’ll think about it,” Jessica uttered, trying to sound appreciative. The only thing she really wanted was to spend some time with her dad, just them two, for one full day. Yet she knew all too well that was unrealistic, as her birthday fell on a Tuesday, and he would fall behind in his work. As she left the kitchen and walked up the stairs to get ready to meet her math tutor, she began to think of waking up for breakfast on her birthday. Her dad would be rushing out of the house, and maybe he would muster out a, “happy birthday, sweetie!” on his way out. A singular tear fell from her cheek and dropped onto the chestnut colored floorboards of their perfectly tidy house. She did 50

not wipe it up, rather, she left it melting on the floor and continued to walk to her room. She went to math tutoring in a building near the edge of the bubble. As she walked she kept her head down to ensure she did not step on any of the cracks in the sidewalk, causing her to walk straight into a tall man. He spilled his coffee all over his white button up shirt. “Hey! Watch it kid, now I have to change, and I’ll be late for my meeting!” “Sorry!!” Jessica walked the rest of the way with her head up. As she approached the edge of the bubble, she saw the watchguards wearing all black and solemn expressions, ensuring no one came near the edge of the bubble. She peered past the guards and into the inside of the other bubble, or as her town liked to call it, “The Lesser Bubble”. Then, she saw something peculiar; a girl on the other side who was sitting down reading against a tree with the same dirty blonde hair, button nose, and emerald green eyes as Jessica. It was as if she was looking in the mirror, like she had seen a clone of herself. However, this girl was not wearing anything similar to what Jessica would ever put on her body. The other girl suddenly looked up from her book, and they locked eyes. Not knowing what to do or how to feel, Jessica started running. She arrived breathless at her tutor’s office. *** Jamie tried to think nothing of this girl and attempted to settle back into her book, but she had an uneasy feeling. It was like she had just let something important slip away from her. She put her book in the basket at the front of her bike, and pedaled away in the direction of her home.

Jamie liked to sit under the tree close to the edge of the bubble so 51

she could observe the other world that was so close, yet impossibly far. She would ’people watch’ with awe at their consistent frantic pace of life; how children moved like robots going to and from school, and parents to and from work in their high speed cars. It was a world that was always bustling, but filled with people who were never present. She saw that everyone’s faces were devoid of something… happiness maybe? Fulfillment? Whatever it was, Jamie was grateful to not live in a world filled with parental pressure to attend a high strung university, followed by an expectation to get a high paying job. But sometimes, Jamie wondered what it would be like to live in a huge house, or to sit, just once, in those moving vehicles with tires they drive around in. As she arrived at her one story wooden shack home, she stumbled into the kitchen for lunch, out of breath. She hadn’t pedaled that hard in a long time. “Hey!! How is my almost birthday girl?” Jamie’s mom asked enthusiastically. “Great!” Jamie replied. “Hey mom, have you ever watched the other bubble, like, really watched the other bubble?”

“Sure, sometimes. Why?”

“Because, I think I just saw something really weird. It was almost like the edges of our bubble turned into a mirror, and I was looking at myself walking inside of the other bubble. Is that normal, can the bubble deceive us like that?” Jamie’s mom looked up quickly from the cutting board where she was chopping carrots for lunch. She stared at her daughter with slight concern for a moment, as if she was trying to gather a response, and then said, “Why, no, 52

that’s interesting, but it’s never happened to me before. Anyways, I wanted to tell you that the Richardson’s want us to come over for your birthday tomorrow. You know they really love you, and they want us to do something special, all together!” “Ok, sounds fun. Maybe we can play red rover, or manhunt!” Jamie said gleefully. “Sure, whatever makes you happy on your big day. Sixteen years old. Wow. Where did the time go… ” Her mom commented. *** The night of her birthday, Jessica lay in bed looking up at the stars through the sunroof in her room. She questioned what the point of getting a good night’s sleep was when she wouldn’t even be doing anything for her birthday. She has school and wouldn’t be able to see her dad until 8pm. Suddenly, she stood up with a rebellious idea. Jessica had plenty of these defiant thoughts, yet never acted on them, but she finally decided that tonight she would. She snuck out of the house and slinked across the street, finding herself at the base of her dad’s thirty story office building. She walked through the front doors, which were oddly unlocked, and she pressed the ’up’ button on the elevator. Upon hearing the ding, she rode up to the top floor. Her dad’s office had a balcony, and every time she stepped out onto it, she could look up at the top of the bubble, which was so close that it seemed to be beckoning her. She wanted her dad to notice her, or maybe have a reason to stay home from work. The edges of the bubble on the ground were guarded, but she was free here. She went inside and dragged a couch out, then a box, and then a chair, and proceeded to climb atop this contraption she had made. After uneasily balancing herself, she gazed up, and there it 53

was; the transparent, glowing rim of her reality. With a breath of courage, she held out a singular finger and pointed it in the direction of the bubble. Although was forbidden to touch, curiosity and frustration got the best of her, so she lightly grazed it anyway. A feeling of electricity shot through her veins, and from her bird’s eye view, she looked over the entire town. From a distance, she saw the clone of herself doing the same. The girl was touching the edge of her own bubble near the same tree where Jessica initially spotted her. They locked eyes, and chills ran down Jessica’s spine. Terrified, she leapt down from her contraption. The world began to violently shake around both of them… suddenly, free falling, and pitch black silence. When she opened her eyes, she was lightheaded, but couldn’t mistake the mirror image of herself staring back at her with bright green eyes. Except this time, there was no bubble separating them. The city she lived in was still intact, and so was the “Lesser Bubble” community, yet the difference this time was that there was no bubble separating the two utopias. Everything was enclosed beneath one, transparent, bubble. One side was composed of a society with shack homes, and the other side with white picket fenced houses.

“Hi, I’m Jessica.”



“Hey. The name’s Jamie.”

54

Sleeping Orchids

55

Mandy Hui

ST. MARK'S SCHOOL

25 Marlboro Road Southborough, MA, 01772 508.786.6000 | [email protected]

INTENTIONALLY SMALL, THINKING BIG.