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WRITING November 2021

01 02 03 04

SHORT STORIES POEMS

MOVIE SCRIPTS

PERSONAL NARRATIVES Student Work Compilation

01 02 03 04

SHORT STORIES POEMS

MOVIE SCRIPTS

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." – Benjamin Franklin

CONTENTS

PERSONAL NARRATIVES

INTRODUCTION

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ANNA GALVES

CAROL MENACHE DUDA ZAMBONI

ISABELA PEREIRA JADE ZONATO

JULIA ALMEIDA LAURA KOUKDJIAN

LISANDRA KASSARDJIAN MARCO SERRA

MARIA OLIVEIRA MARIANA FADIGAS

MILA EYMAEL REBECA SONG

SOFIA FALLEIROS SUSANA STEINBERG

VALENTINA BOECHAT DEBORAH MOREIRA

MANUEL ZEIGLER

03 "I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn." - Anne Frank

INTRO DUCTION The Creative Writing elective was an opportunity for students to discover their unique author's voices by practicing creativity and writing techniques. Through the year, students reflected on original prompts and learned different genres of writing including personal narratives, poems, scripts, and more. After a great deal of effort and feedback sessions, powerful texts were revealed, and they are to be shown in this magazine entirely build by the writers. Suzana Steinberg

Life Writing What is life writing? It applies to many genres and practices, in which the author writes about memories and experiences (either its own or someone else's). Through this type of writing, we were able to pour our heart and soul into words, transmitting important lessons we've learned through hardships or positive experiences. It allows us to explore our shadows and worries, everything we wish to share, to vent, in any way we dare to try. And even the things we want to bury deep within us can be freed through this type of writing. We were able to dive deeper into our feelings, what we've been through, and help others by writing about what's meaningful to us. Life writing allows us to sing, to dance, to scream, to travel, to cry for help, to laugh, and express ourselves in any way or format we wish to. But most importantly, by having this open space to express ourselves and let loose everything we were bottling up, we can also help others who'll read what we wrote and feel heard, feel like they're not alone, just like the letter I wrote to Gen Z for the Passion Project. There's a lot to say about it, yet it feels indescribable. What can we say about life writing when it has no limits or borders? Either through prose, poetry, fiction, a personal narrative, or any other format, we can always find a way to write away everything that bothers us, everything we've learned, everything we'd like to share to help others who might be feeling and/or going through the same thing. Life writing is therapy, it's pure knowledge and advice, it's a safe space, it's everything and nothing, depending on what you make it. Lisandra Kassardjian

C Creative Writing and Fiction Creative writing was the trigger to our trapped imaginations. It helped us to see stories beyond reality, to create characters different from our own personalities. Fiction was one of the genres that we worked with, limited only to our own artistry. We did activities to help us see the essential in writing, being careful not to let any plot holes emerge, and, of course, entertaining the readers and expressing ourselves. Through writing fiction I was able to forget everything around me and focus on the new world I was creating. It gave me a different kind of peace, even when we had so much details to consider. Ms. Bautista patiently taught us about all the pillars of writing, ranging from settings and characters to word choice and narrative structure. More than that, we also learned the difference of the impact between showing and telling, practiced writing descriptions, and planned our plots beforehand. And, more importantly, read multiple texts to guide us and give us examples, with a bonus on improving our writing. The activities given to us were great because they were inspiring and offered us limitless possibilities. It gave us ideas of our own, and opportunities to improve our work. It wasn’t a class where we actually needed to plan and use the same process everytime we write, otherwise I wouldn’t be where I am now. We had the freedom to choose our own style in fiction, do what worked best for us. In my experience, planning every single detail before transforming my ideas into words did not work, not one single time. The best way for me was to start. Once I started, the ideas would begin to flow and I would modify the sentences as my thoughts changed. One example is my passion project, the text titled “Dear Martin”. The initial idea was to write a persuasive text about how each person lives in a different world, but it became a fiction narrative that followed the same idea with a little of romance. I never thought I would like to write fiction, I can see a complete difference from my first drafts to my finals, and also in the way I set my words and expressed myself. It was a very important lesson, a process that required me to be patient, thoughtful, open-minded, and empathic. An operation that needed steps such as having an idea, writing it down, creating bullet points with multiple paths it could take, start typing, reconsider, change, receive feedback, and final touches. Reflecting back, it was also very important to notice the individuality and the uniqueness of each student, as we explored together this genre and shared our intimate ideas and perspectives of the world.

Rebeca Song

On Writing Poetry

Mila Eymael

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A N N A SHORT STORY

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A What a day today. Presenting myself to the queen as if I was an object in need to be valued or chosen. All this was always some type of joke to me. That's why I never really took it seriously, but I appeared to because of my sister. She's been struggling to get a husband, not because she's not pretty, but simply because she loves a specific person and refuses to settle with someone but him. It's sad, really, but now I'm old enough to present myself to society, which makes everything seem real for once.

"Meet me when all this nonsense finishes," He said out loud careless for what people would think. Smart move, huh?

On the way to the castle, everything seemed cold. Even the summers in London feel sad, way too often. As soon as I left the carriage next to the castle, what still hadn't felt true, started to. The doors opened to me, and even though no one there was invisible, some were treated that way. The line was gigantic, but the one commanding just put me in front, smiled, and said "I guess we found the diamond of the season". Diamond? Being called a diamond can never be bad, I guess.

"Izzie, I already told you that if you eat, you will appear to be desperate and fat" why did I even think of asking that.

As soon as the unbelievably tall doors opened, the show started. While walking across the large red runway, butterflies seem to dance in my stomach. Maybe it was the dress, which was tight as hell and started a little below my shoulders with the firm corset suffocating me and the skirt, which I needed to watch closely so I wouldn't trip ridiculously on, but something in that place felt like home.

I just nodded in response and rushed to the garden where all the ladies were waiting for the opportunity to find a husband. My mom just couldn't stop prattling about how I was a success and the future wife of the prince. Who even said I wanted to? "I'm starving mom," I said with a spark of hope she would let me eat something

"Look at Mrs. Vance and her daughter. Do you want to be like them?" As soon as I looked to the side, I saw Darry Vance and her mother ambushing the cupcakes. Poor them. I couldn't help but giggle. "Izabela, stop laughing, I can't laugh too!" my mom said holding the urge to laugh too I swear my mom is not as bad as she seems. She's just… lonely. My father is always who knows where, with who knows who, which my mother seems to know, but still ignores. I can't really understand what he could be doing. Maybe he has another family? She still cares for the house and the kids, but I always notice she's hiding something behind all that happiness she seems to exhilarate.

All I could see were the hungry men looking at each and every detail of my body. The further I walked, the more clearly I could see his eyes. Oh, the prince. Every girl would die to marry him and yet I couldn't resist but want that, too. His eyes were deep and almost impossible to read. That wine-colored waistcoat with a black smoking jacket to add more mysteriousness to the figure made him seem unapproachable. Dark colors give me that impression. His arms are always crossed and his look is cold and tense. Unapproachable defines him.

"The prince!!!" all the ladies repeated numerous times, hoping he'd come to them. Classic.

I was eye-to-eye with the queen and prince when I noticed him whispering something to her. Oh my god, this can't be good. A feeling of concern took over me and all I could think of was being the next disgrace for my family, but above all that, letting my sister down.

Of course it wasn't.

I was almost throwing up with that stupid dress when the prince looked at me and smiled. What? Is that really possible? Maybe that whispering wasn't that bad at all. I couldn't help but smile. 1 Similar to a vest

He looked me in the eyes, making it impossible for me to break the contact. His eyes were as deep as I always saw them be, but something told me that deepness had something to it. "Pleasure" he said as he approached me with a smirk. "So you have the ability to smile?" "Did I smile? I don't think that was a proper one"

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A "So, why did you want to meet me?"

"Well, Izzie. Differently from what you may think, you aren't the most beautiful girl in London. You aren't!"

"I guess you'll discover when you should" What am I feeling? What is this sensation? It feels like I'm actually anxious for something in my life. But still, something in me makes me want to play hard to get.

"I never said that Karen, why are you being so loud? What have I ever done to you?" I started to cry instantly. My sister was shouting at me like that, plus the fact I was nervous because I could be proposed to today. She really has no heart.

"Then I guess you will too" "What do you mean?" "Make your words mine. You'll discover when you should" As soon as I said that, I headed out, and I knew a part of him was feeling exactly as I was. At least I hoped it was. I've never even liked romance. For me, everything men saw us, women, as, was objects and something they would conquer even if we didn't want it that way. The more reluctant I was, the more I seemed to want him. His mysteriousness, the way everything he did was unique made everything seem more confusing and hard for me. It was inevitable. I would fall eventually. The days flew by and every time I met him again in the gardens, the parties and even the times when he came to my house, personally, just to give me flowers made me fall. Hard. My sister always told me he had quite a reputation but still, I didn't feel like he was that way with me.

"Do you want to know who I am always in love with? Why do I reject so many proposals? Yeah. HIM" Okay. What on earth is happening right now? I start to tremble. My breath quickens and my heart tightens. The feeling of guilt invades my body drastically. How could I imagine this? She never even thought about telling me that? This was the reason. This was the reason she never stopped telling me about that reputation. Could I forget all these feelings? Ugh, why do these things happen right when I start falling for someone (start… it is more of a super falling for someone). "I'm so sorry Karen but you should've told me this earlier" "Well I couldn't" "You had all the chances to, sister" "He ruined me, Izzie" "I know. You didn't even accept any suitors" "No, Izzie. I mean he ruined me"

It was Saturday morning and the queen and prince Victor had invited me for a breakfast at the palace. That was when my sister stormed into my room as I've never seen her before. She was red, restless and furious.

I'm lost "Izzie, I know there's not much we know before marriage. There's something I know though. That's because he taught me"

"I'm sick of this" Karen exclaimed "There was a night in the gardens" "What are you talking about? Are you crazy?" "Victor. How could this possibly happen? The only person you needed to stay away from. How could he get to you too?" "Wh-What? Get to me too?"

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A

"Or maybe should I say he is the lucky one to be courting a woman as delicate as yourself?" The queen said softly "I guess we're both lucky" I responded. Maybe it was a bit out of place.

"Sister, I don't get it. What do you mean by a night?" "He kissed me. No one knows about this, or my reputation would be ruined" "H- He what?" "Yes. That's what you heard. The perfect little prince, for the perfect little princess isn't so perfect now, right?" "Good morning and enjoy your breakfast with the prince" she said ironically, obviously Something about what she said seemed… weird. My mother stormed into the room. The doors banged open while the disappointment, together with the furiousness took over her figure. "You're such a church bell, aren't you Karen?" "I-I'm sorry Ma. I didn't mean to cause any stress upon you" "I'm sure not" "Have you finished putting on your rouge, darling?" "I'm almost done" She left the room awfully quiet, as I finished giving my face some health after the situation. The staff got me the prettiest pink parasol, to match my dress. I put a smile on my face and headed to the carriage. As I arrived there, the queen was wearing a scarlet and gold tunic, a navy riding skirt, and small plumed hat. She was gorgeous.

Our brunch was marvelous, to say the least. Victor was so gentle as always and I couldn't help but wonder what was this all about. Could Karen be lying about all of this? I whispered to Victor if we could talk. I needed to be sure. We walked till the garden we once talked happily. The same garden he ruined my sister. Victor hold my hand tight almost as if he knew what was about to happen. Did he? "Your Majesty-" "Please, Izzie, I already told you, you can call me Vi. Please" Oh my god. How could he? How am I supposed to discuss such delicate matters with a man that wants me to call him Vi when he is the bloody prince. I can't deal with this, I can't deal with him. "I need to talk to you about something important, your majesty" If he did such things with my sister, I won't even give the chance of talking to him with that intimacy. "Izzie I-" "My sister told me this morning there was a situation in the garden last season. Is that possible?" I looked at him with the coldest look I could. "I was afraid that would happen. Yes there was a situation. But I do not feel that way about her." How dare he?

"So you are the lucky lady to attend my brunch?"

"Are you saying you ruined my sister by doing something she didn't even know about and you 'don't feel that way about her'?"

Was it a brunch?????

"What are you talking about Izabela?" What I said earlier about calling him 'your majesty'. Yeah, I don't want to be called Izabela either. That would mean he is mad?

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A "She told me this morning you kissed her in the gardens last season but nobody knows about this except the two of you" "Well, I guess only she knows about that because I learned this now. No I've never kissed your sister. I can't believe you could think that way of me!" "Could you blame me V- I mean, your majesty? My sister told me that. You said there was a moment" "I'm sorry for screaming. There was a moment indeed, but nothing like Karen told you."

We arrived home and my first thought was going to my room and staying there forever. I needed to know what to do. I loved him, but if Karen did too, that wouldn't be fair. Sometimes we need to make decisions where the two most important things in your life are at risk, and the only right decision is one. I spent the whole week mourning my life. Should I choose the only person who makes me smile everyday or someone with my own blood. I don't want to be a traitor, even though she lied to me, too. Although everything was unclear one thing was clear. I knew what to do.

"Expand" "Your sister told me she loved me, when I talked to her multiple times, like I did to every other lady that season. I told her I didn't feel the same and I never saw her in any other event."

I took the carriage to the castle and this time, the way was way too short. I had the opportunity to embrace my love, discover the wonders of married life and create a family or be a traitor. I knew what I chose, looking good or not, that was my choice.

"That means you talk to every other lady-" "No Izzie, as soon as I saw you. I all the others felt invisible to me. I only saw you, I only talked to you, I only want you. And despite what your sister thinks or wants, I want to marry you. That's what I invited you here for. I asked you father and everything" Well. Difficult situation isn't it? How could I help it though, I was feeling the exact same way about him. Of course there was no way I could stop other suitors from visiting me but I never gave hope to any of them because the one who lived in my thoughts was him. He was my only hope in love.

It was raining, and I didn't care anymore about my stupid dress, or my stupid crying face or even what I would look like because life is never fair. When it comes to love, there is no way we can hide it. That person is everywhere. Victor is in my heart, my body, my soul, my house, that bloody garden and all around London. Karen was in my blood. He was waiting for me in the garden, as usual. "Izzie, I missed you so much!" I just held his hand as firm and I could

"Vi I-" "Have you made your choice?" "Izzie, it's time to go." "You what Izzie, what did you have to say?" "I have to go." The carriage was just me and my mom who never stopped talking about the food, the queen, the dog, the place and the prince. Mom you're about to be disappointed.

I held his hand tighter, and we came closer. I just wished everything was simpler, I wished everything would just come into place quicker. I wished so many things. I looked into his deep eyes again, and felt the same passion and urge to be with him. I loved him so damn much. We looked each other in the eyes. We both knew.

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C A R O L SHORT STORY

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C 1. A distant cottage in the middle of a forest That familiar but unknown woods. It tempted me. It called me. Today the calling was making me go insane. I finally decided to go in, see what it was all about. I left my house; It seemed like I was in a hurry. Running away from something, someone. An unimaginable force pushed me out of the house, into the backyard.

That same voice invited me to the forest called me inside the cottage. The door groaned as I tried to open it. Genuine fear ran through my veins as I took my first look inside. The air got dense again that oasis was gone, the air became dense anew, not because of its humidity, but because I could feel that force getting more vivid, more horrifying.

One Two Tree Those were the steps needed to leave my clean-cut backyard into the unpolished, tangled woods. Crunch crunch, the leaves cried as I walked through them. The colors mesmerized me in every shade of green and yellow imaginable. Their shapes, some of them formed perfect oblong shapes; others looked rugged and shriveled up. Three trunks, most of them were cordial and tall. They looked old, and somehow, very wise. They knew everything; they remember every soul who wandered here. I can feel it. It smells beautiful, but somehow... Scary? Creepy? I do not know how to describe it. It did smell nice; however, it fills up my nostrils in a heavy way. As if the air was humid and dense. What was that? A small cottage. It looks like an oasis; a beautiful rainbow can be seen when one looks at the house. The dense humid air of the forest suddenly becomes light when I get close to the cottage. The place has its walls painted in moss and dampened with water, making the wall heavy. The Windows look like crystals glimmering in the sun; each of them forms a tiny rainbow. I was mesmerized.

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DUDA POEM

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ISABELA MOVIE SCRIPT

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JADE SHORT STORY

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JULIA SHORT STORY & POEMS

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LAURA SHORT STORY

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L Addict It wasn't supposed to be that way. Finding a job was supposed to be the easiest part of the move, it always is. For the past three cities, it had been at least. I thought to myself: "what now?" as I walked through the streets of Miami. My things are still packed in a suitcase in my new apartment, lost, I headed back for some type of security. On the way over I see a sign: "looking for new employees" I go in, looking around, a clear view of the University of Miami, a good neighborhood, and a few minutes from my house, a safe place to be. A worker comes up to me quickly, and automatically says: "Hi welcome to Bite, where every bite counts, how can I help you today? " "I saw the sign, you are looking for employees?" She seemed relieved "Oh, yes yes we are, do you have a resume of some sort?" I nodded, she took me upstairs to one of many small offices. She sat me down and started to read my resume. "So Tomas, you are 34, right? And just moved to Miami from Atlanta, do you have any previous experiences working with supermarkets or coffee shops at all?" I explained how I had moved a lot from city to city, thus finding new jobs along the way. She looked at me and smiled. "I don't usually do this Tomas Jones, but welcome to Bite. I will be your manager Lisa" she put her hand in front of herself and waited for a handshake. I shook her hand and told her: "You can call me Tom" Four days passed by, I worked through them just fine, until the brunette walked into the cafe. Big green eyes looked around the room, her straight brown hair went down to her waist, freckles spread through her rosy cheeks. Wearing lowwaisted jeans with a small white top, sunglasses on her head. She laughed and teased around with both friends she brought. I tried to keep my head down, but they finally made their way through the isles, forcing me to communicate. "Hi welcome to Bite, where every bite counts, how can I-" I stopped, she looked at me with fear, as if she remembered something as if she had seen me before. She quickly realized she was staring "I’m sorry, I just… Never mind" She apologized, her friends stared at her, and they were all looking at each other with a question mark on their faces. I continued my sentence "May I help you girls with anything today" They shook their heads and walked away, whispering and gasping. Ayla came back every three days as she was friends with the manager Lisa, sometimes with and without her friends. I found out

her name when she ordered coffee at the shop, it fits her just fine. She was never in sweats, always holding something, and always coming from the university, which was right beside us. One specific day she came into the shop with white jeans and a pink sweater, sunglasses on, and a phone in her hands. She walked down the line while looking at the menu, and when she stood right in front of me she could hardly make eye contact. "Hi, I would like an iced caramel latte, um please.." she gave me money and told me to stay with the change, I stared confused and started to prepare her drink, as she nervously waited. I decided to break the awkward silence and ask: "Did I scare you? You know, the other day" she looked up "Oh, sorry about that, you just seem very familiar, as if I've seen you before" "Oh really? Where?" I asked "Have you ever been to Atlanta?" She asked intrigued for my answer "No, never" "Oh, then I must be crazy. You just brought me memories from a not-so-good time in life, but it was a long time ago" it seemed like she wanted to cry, I felt bad, as if I was that memory. "Maybe we could go out sometime, have some fun?" At first, it seemed like a good idea to ask but from the look on her face, she wasn't very comfortable. "You don't even know my name" she said "I’m Tom nice to meet you" I put my hand in front of myself for a handshake. "Well Tom, I am very busy this next week, but ask again when I’m back at the shop" "I didn't catch your name," I told her as I handed her order "I think you did" pointing at her name on the cup. And like that she was gone. For the next few weeks every time she walked into the shop we talked about something new, getting deeper and deeper into new subjects, and I would always ask if she wanted to go out, eat, have a good time, she would always tell me next time was the charm. A few weeks passed and I had grown feelings for her, her style, her energy, and touch. Abstinence from Ayla when she wasn't around as if she was a drug. Thursday she walked in with a smile, I asked her if there was a reason for her to be so happy. "Isn't there something you would like to ask me?" she smiled "Would you like to go out with me Ayla White?" I asked her slowly "I sure would Tomas Jones, pick me up at 7 tomorrow" She put her glasses on and left, you could feel her excitement as it lifted the room. I was too excited myself. I decided to take her somewhere fancy, we had a long night of laughter and chatting. She opened herself to me, about mental illnesses that she had gone

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L her name when she ordered coffee at the shop, it fits her just fine. She was never in sweats, always holding something, and always coming from the university, which was right beside us. One specific day she came into the shop with white jeans and a pink sweater, sunglasses on, and a phone in her hands. She walked down the line while looking at the menu, and when she stood right in front of me she could hardly make eye contact. "Hi, I would like an iced caramel latte, um please.." she gave me money and told me to stay with the change, I stared confused and started to prepare her drink, as she nervously waited. I decided to break the awkward silence and ask: "Did I scare you? You know, the other day" she looked up "Oh, sorry about that, you just seem very familiar, as if I've seen you before" "Oh really? Where?" I asked "Have you ever been to Atlanta?" She asked intrigued for my answer "No, never" "Oh, then I must be crazy. You just brought me memories from a not-so-good time in life, but it was a long time ago" it seemed like she wanted to cry, I felt bad, as if I was that memory. "Maybe we could go out sometime, have some fun?" At first, it seemed like a good idea to ask but from the look on her face, she wasn't very comfortable. "You don't even know my name" she said "I’m Tom nice to meet you" I put my hand in front of myself for a handshake. "Well Tom, I am very busy this next week, but ask again when I’m back at the shop" "I didn't catch your name," I told her as I handed her order "I think you did" pointing at her name on the cup. And like that she was gone. For the next few weeks every time she walked into the shop we talked about something new, getting deeper and deeper into new subjects, and I would always ask if she wanted to go out, eat, have a good time, she would always tell me next time was the charm. A few weeks passed and I had grown feelings for her, her style, her energy, and touch. Abstinence from Ayla when she wasn't around as if she was a drug. Thursday she walked in with a smile, I asked her if there was a reason for her to be so happy. "Isn't there something you would like to ask me?" she smiled "Would you like to go out with me Ayla White?" I asked her slowly "I sure would Tomas Jones, pick me up at 7 tomorrow" She put her glasses on and left, you could feel her excitement as it lifted the room. I was too excited myself. I decided to take her somewhere fancy, we had a long night of laughter and chatting. She opened herself to me, about mental illnesses that she had gone

"No, why?" I said slightly kneeling so I could look into her eyes. She looked into my dark eyes and told me all odds were against us. "School, work, my friends and family said we are moving too fast. I don't think so but my parents are my everything" a tear rolled down her cheeks slowly. "Don’t worry Ayla, everything will be just fine" I told her while wiping the tear away with my thumb. I held her in silence for a few minutes, we were both emotional. As she got into a hot shower, her phone rang desperately, her mother was calling. I stared at it while it rang, messages followed after it stopped. Ayla, where are you? We have news on Charlie! Keep this between you and me. As I heard the water stop running I sat in the bedroom. "Tom? Want to watch a movie? Tom?" Ayla looked for me, as she walked into the bedroom with a towel on her head, pajama shorts, and a tank top. "Who is Charlie? And why are you so worried about keeping him a secret?" I spoke confidentiality, but with a low tone. "What?" she said angrily "Were you reading through my texts? With my mom" "I thought we didn't have any secrets, I thought we were special. How could you do this to me, Ayla, I trusted you." The guilt made her suffer as if she needed to tell me what was going on. "I’m sorry" her tone lowered itself. "I know I shouldn't look through your texts, but I worry, and always want you to be protected." "No, it's okay, I just-" it was as if she needed to speak her mind but couldn’t, there was something on her head she needed to rant. "You need to tell me what is going on, I need to know, or else I won’t be able to help. Ayla, you can trust me, you really can. But I need to be able to trust you too, or else we have nothing" I convinced her "Back in Atlanta, when I was 16, I lost a sister named Charlie. She was my best friend, and she was in a community college at the time." Her eyes started to water up. I was shocked. "How did you lose her?" I asked while standing up and trying to comfort her. "We don’t know, my parents have been trying to understand what happened, she just didn’t show up one weekend, and the next, and the one after that. My parents filed a report, everyone from the area tried to help. Nothing." We stood in silence as I held her, trying my best to make her well. "You know what, I have a great idea, go talk to your mother while I go buy some ice cream and fries for us. Everything will be okay".

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L I came back from McDonald’s filled with burgers, fries, milkshakes, and desserts. As I closed the door behind me I looked around the apartment. It was chaotic. Books on the floor, furniture moved around and cabinets opened. "Ayla?" I shouted "Is everything okay?" her phone was on the kitchen counter, with hundreds of messages. You’ve been lied to, don't trust anyone, I told you so. I heard the sobbing from afar, the guest bedroom. As the door was slightly opened I could see her sitting on the floor, as it was filled with objects, organized in a certain format. She sobbed quietly. I came into the room and asked her what was going on. "Why would you do this to me?" Ayla said quietly, her energy throughout the room was absurd. "What are you talking about?" I asked her, my heart pounded faster every minute that passed. She looked at me with the redness in her eyes, as if I had killed a loved one. "You told me you had never been to Atlanta. You told me you didn't know her. Lie after lie after lie." Ayla's tone started to rise, the pain in her voice made everything worse. I stared into her eyes with a straight face, as I walked around the room looking at what was on the floor. Pictures, forged documents, medicine. "She was a good person. Charlie didn't deserve to die. Kind and generous, one of the sweetest people I have ever met" I told her, neutrally, the truth. Ayla sobbed as she held a picture of Charlie and me together. "She just couldn’t leave, find someone better, that wouldn’t be fair, after everything I had done for her. I remember you, Ayla, I helped you search for your sister in the forest, through the neighborhood. I remember you, just like you remember me." The funny thing is that when I said those specific words to her I couldn’t feel a thing. Numb. She made the numbness go away just like her sister did, I needed her like I needed her sister. "Dylan? My mother remembers you as well. She sent me pictures of the search team. There you were." Her voice cracked as she told me. "How am I such a fool?!" Ayla shouted at herself. She put both her hands on her eyes and wiped away her continuous tears. "I need you to leave. Now!" "I don’t like the way you are speaking to me, Ayla" "Leave Tom, Dylan, I don't know. Just please leave me" she said. I couldn't leave, I couldn’t leave and know she would fall in love with someone else, someone better. I picked up the only tool I found, a wrench. There was no other way. The closer I came to her the more she begged, as I swang I told her "It wasn't supposed to be this way."

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LISANDRA POEMS, LIFE WRITING AND SHORT STORY

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MARCO MOVIE SCRIPT AND POEMS

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M Milestone Project

Animal poem (v.2) If I would to be an animal, It would probably be a bear, Not because I'm big and strong, But because of the qualities it bares Free from the weight of the world The only weight would be myself Enjoying my life in the woods My problems put under the shelve A bear sees family As a tree sees water It comes and goes round But we can't live without one another Beyond the family there's the sleeping Hibernate through months One of the best feelings There is nothing better than being wild Being free and being mild Do my thing without the judging Just be happy to be running

What the cow though about the rain (v.2) From the glitter blue of the water To the green grassy lane She knew everything her dad taught her But from where came the rain It was a weird phenomenon Happened every two a week It fell from somewhere up above Or maybe somewhere in between The grass got greener The leaves got prettier The food would get better As it happened times a year She for certain didn't know But for sure she was amazed It felt like tears of joy Like someone was trying to communicate It was a weird little phenomenon But that's what the cow, Thought, About the rain

Around, and around. The wild, I go.

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M Postcard poem (v.2) And I just sat there as ever Eyes closed as if I didn't exist Looking down, looking clever Thinking about whether they would insist "Can I sit with you?" A single soul didn't ask Avoiding me like the flu So many people I've seen past But not one person Not two Alone again But in came you "Can I sit with you?" And you enter the scene "There's a space if you want to" As you sit by me Euforia, dysphoria I avoid your gorgeous aura On a sudden the world got smaller And by my side, I see you My heart races Feelings! Emotions! At sudden the world is in motion Something I've never indulged in And suddenly, I Feel Love And by my side, were you, And in my life, there were you And in my head, were you, And now I'm in love, with you

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MARIA POEMS

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M Flower Perfume:

Miles away I can smell the sweat and delicate sense of flower, How it reminds me of granny, The days we would run around her house, I would run straight to her hug and smell that amazing sense, It is indescribable, The memories are infinite and so is the smell, It is as I was in a enchanted garden, A beautiful place where dreams actually would come through, It is so good that this are the sensations I feel,

I remember as if it was yesterday, they day I was sure that granny was my real hero, Close to the stairs, in which looked enormous and extremely dangerous, I almost fell, sadly, And guess, Guess what Granny was the one who saved me Her desperate hug, Got me in a way that her smell sticked to my skin, And it still is,

Dance Dance is the art to express yourself, The art to be who you are and where you want to be, A magical place where you can drown yourself in emotions, A place where you can call your happy place, Your unique place Where the only judgment is rather you want or not be seen Dance until you forget who you are, Dance until you are fearless of this world Dance until you are brave Dance until you are ready with who you are

Just dance until there is no tomorrow, Just dance until there is not such thing as sadness, Just dance until the only fear you have is getting out of stage. Just dance until your inner self is proud of the amazing person you are, The magic of dancing, seems unreal, The power of it seems unbelievable And the feeling is indescribable.

It makes me feel like I am safe, I miss my happy place, I miss her.

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Badger: Me and a Badger, A Badger and I, It seems like we have more things in common that I ever wondered, Extremely excited and confident, I guess we both are, Who would rather spend their night at home than go out? I guess I am not the only one who uses emotional appeal meanwhile solving life issues, Is this good? I don't know, but we are the same... Badger's appearance are tricky, At first it seems like a delicate and sensitive mid size animal, But it is the total opposite, You better not mess with them or else you would be dead.

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MARIANA POEMS

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M Brokenly beautiful Brokenly beautiful That's one of the qualities of art Not all of it but most Follow this rule from the start Ghost Words A crack on the ceramic bowl or in the ballerina's feet A smudge on the edge of a painting or a crazy music composer Art isn't meant to be perfect, or happy or sweet It's supposed to stop you in your tracks, break you down, and make you weep But how can something be beautiful if it hasn't suffered yet? I think things are beautiful because they are broken Or have a memory they just can't forget True beauty comes from war, loss, tragedy The emotion behind the art is what shapes its soul What kind of artist only does art that's happy? No artist only has emotions that they can control Not even perfect performances are perfect The girl playing the violin just got her heart broken The songwriter with the beautiful lyrics has a mom who's an addict And the ballerina with the perfect technique has a million things she leaves unspoken

It's been 10 days since you fell through the veil And I hope you know that even in the darkest skies I still look for your star when I'm afraid Sometimes I think I can hear your voice Telling me you'll always be here if I talk to the moon But the moon is distant and blurry in my eyes And her company is nothing when I compare it to you It's been 10 days since you fell through the veil Your voice faded out and I couldn't feel your pulse But I still remember the silence it made As if nothing in the world was about to change And sometimes I wish you could come back to me Even if it's not in flesh and bone Because hearing your voice would bring me peace Even if you only say random ghost words

Pain is beauty, we've all heard that, and I think it's true What hurts one day will be precious the next I strongly believe that broken is beautiful But maybe that concept is still way too complex

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MILA POEMS

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REBECA POEMS AND SHORT STORY

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SOFIA

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SUZANA POEMS

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VALENTINA SHORT STORY AND POEMS

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DEBORAH PERSONAL WRITING

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D For most girls, a day in the salon is a day to take care of yourself, to embrace a new hairstyle, reassure your beauty. But for me, since I was a kid, going to the salon was always a reminder that there was something wrong with me, and I needed to fix it at all costs. It was a way to fit in the social groups I was inserted in. It was a prison. I was born in a mixed family, my dad is white and my mom is black. Since I was a kid, my mom was very committed to making me feel pretty wearing my natural hair, I used to wear all types of braids and twists that you could imagine. She didn’t want me to hate my hair at such a young age, what mother wants it? My mother would always tell me: “ Do not let anyone touch your hair” “ Do not let your hair down before coming home” And I’m grateful that she did it. Not only was it a protection from my hairdressers aunts that would desperately try to straighten my hair when she wasn’t around, But it also was protection from me trying to use a hair iron when I was home alone. At some point my mom’s efforts were useless in a world where everything and everyone around me said the same thing: My hair was ugly. All my black aunts have relaxed their hair, all the black girls on tv relaxed their hair, and at that time, there were no accessible hair products for curly hair. I didn’t have any reference to look up to.

Believe it or not, getting my first relaxer was not my idea, even though I wanted it, it was a painful and stressful process. It was in the beauty salons that I heard the first offensive comments about my hair as soon as I took my hair out of a bun I heard comments, I saw their facial expressions of disapproval, and even the attendants After this awful process, I went out for my aunt’s marriage with my long and straight hair. I felt like someone else, like an alter ego, like the girls I saw on TV, like the girl I wanted to be, the amount of compliments I received made me blush.

5 years ago having curly hair was completely different than nowadays, that’s why I don’t blame myself for straightening my hair and I think that the rise of natural hair movements made this process much easier for me. At the end of the day, I don’t blame myself for straightening my hair, sometimes protecting your mental health is more important. I wish I could conclude my narrative by saying that I know I have a wonderful relationship with my hair and that I feel totally confident wearing it naturally, but that’s not true. I still spend hours blow drying my hair, and I still don’t go out with my natural hair, and I’m still very insecure about it. But I’m improving, and that’s enough for me. The journey of self-love is difficult and definitely isn’t a linear progress, but it’s still progress. I wish one day I can fully love my hair just how it is, and I wish other girls would ask the same questions that I asked myself years ago: “Why is my hair ugly?” “Why does it have to be fixed?”

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MANUEL SHORT STORY

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WRITING

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SHORT STORIES POEMS

MOVIE SCRIPTS

PERSONAL NARRATIVES

"If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn´'t been written yet, then you must write it." – Benjamin Franklin