Contents

About Us

Our Team

Editor's Note

Latinos In Action

• Pricilla Trejo, Rosalva Cholula, Fernando Torres Tapia, Fernando Gonzalez Rodriguez, Alondra Chaez Gonzalez, Ailene Dominguez, America Gutierrez, Jonathan Goana-Garcia
  

1

Spooky Flash Fiction Contest

• Juliet Weston
  
• Michaelah Sherman
• Hannah Timm
• Denia Ferreira
• Angel Gonzalez
  

2

Personal Narratives

• Fernando Gonzalez Rodriguez
  
• Maritza Andrade-Arroyo
  
• Brianna De Angelo
• Audrey Phuong
  

3

Alan Calderon Lobato

4

8 Tips

• Tatiana Bender
  

5

Team-Up Short Story

• Kaeden Wise, Micheleah Sherman, Molly Graham
  
• Denia Ferreira, Marisol Reyes Gracia, Jampier Acosta Gonzales
• Ericka Romero, Aaliyah Carranza, Maritza Andrade
  

6

Kendall Todd

7

Poetry

• Denia Ferreira
  
• Magdalena Dominguez-Ryall
• Michaelah Sherman
• Hannah Timm
  

8

FGHS Poetry Club

• Fluffles the Crab
  
• Captain Pigeon
• A. Nguyen
  

9

Stories Inspired by Songs

• Melah Davis
  
• Michaelah Sherman
• Audrey Phoung
  

10

Comic Strips

• Rhaychelle G.
  
• Briana DeAngelo
  
• Noah G.B., Owen G.
• Maggie & Hailey
• Lilly S. Anna, Juliet W.
• Tatiana Bender
• Angie Reyes Aguilar
  

11

Book Series Review

• Audrey Phuong
  

12

Mrs. Sturrock

• Ava Barnes
  
• Yulianna Lopez Cuellar
• Amirrah Galvez
  

13

1st Person

• Tatiana Bender
• Angel Gonzalez
• Melah Davis
  

14

PSA

• Erika Romero Trujillo
  
• Angel Gonzalez, Audrey Phuong, Melah Davis
• Caden Cooper, Nathaneil Elstrott, Noa Gonzales Burt
  

15

Fantasy Fiction

• Tatiana Bender
  
• Marisol Reyes Garcia
• Juliet Weston
  

16

Dear Letter to A Certain Someone

• Denia Ferreira
  
• Hailey Lozano
• Juliet Weston
• Tatiana Bender
• Rhaychelle Anne Guintu
• Aaliyah Carranza-Lopez
  

17

Lollipop Moments

• Maritza Andrade-Arroyo, Hailey Lozano, Jampier A.G., Owen Grossman, Aaliyah Carranza-Lopez, Noa Gonzales Burt, Jeanette Sales, Mitchell Sherman, Juliet Weston
  

About us

Think

Create

Grow

Our Team

Audrey Phuong

Realistic Fiction

Melah Davis

Poetry

Tatiana Bender

Fiction

Angel Gonzalez

Fantasy

They are a freshman at FGHS and have lived in Forest Grove all their life. They have always been into reading, and in the past few years, they've been more into Writing. They enjoy reading and writing realistic fiction, though they are open to various genres. Creative Writing is a class they enjoy since they can have time to write and explore their creativity while being able to collaborate with others.

She is a Sophomore at FGHS and loves to write. The thing about writing that she loves most, which is extra weird because she also loves math, is that there isn't a clear answer. People can write whatever their heart desires, and there will be no penalty and nobody to stop them. Poetry is her main subject right now, and she attends Poetry Club every Wednesday in room 1112 from 3:30-4:30. Hint, hint, you should join as well!

She has lived in Forest Grove, Oregon, her whole life. She lives in a household of seven. Her house has a backyard orchard and a greenhouse that they spend much time on. She loves meeting new people and hearing their stories! She is a senior at Forest Grove High School, and after graduation, she will attend a flight attendant academy in Washington. Her hobbies include reading, writing, sleeping, and cooking (although she can't bake).

He was born in the worst state ever: California. He enjoys writing fantasy stories and playing Splatoon 3 in his free time—that's all he does. He likes marine life and Ghibli movies because that's totally interesting. After graduating from high school, he will move away to Spain to become a mandarin farmer with his cat Gordu. (Please note that this picture does not depict his full handsomeness.)

Editor's Note

I

firmly believe writing can be used as a tool for positive social change. When used mindfully, writing can help heal the soul of the writer, and it can also help console the mind of the reader.

Writing, and more specifically, spelling and grammar, have been the most significant challenges I have been learning to overcome for the past 22 years. In 1999, I arrived in Forest Grove, Oregon, after living in Guatemala for over four years, where I only spoke Spanish. At Neil Armstong, I was placed in the ESL program to help regain my English skills. After two years, my conversational English was good enough to converse with a native speaker. But my writing abilities, on the other hand, didn't come back as quickly. Throughout high school, I struggled with writing. I was lucky enough to have a Language Arts teacher who saw beyond my spelling and grammar to focus on my ideas,

and together we were able to publish my first story, "My Trial of Tears."

My confidence in my ability to create a story soared, but I still struggled with spelling and grammar. In college, I always visited the writing center and my professors to get feedback on my written work. Unfortunately, I had Creative Writing professors who questioned my ability to write my own stories because they could not believe that someone that looked and sounded like I do could have the ability to write powerful stories. On several occasions, I was accused of cheating, and I was even asked to drop a Creative Writing class because my professor did not believe in me—that class became the only class I failed in college.

Luckily, many other professors saw my writing potential. To this day, many of them are still my mentors and friends. It took me about seven years to be confident enough with my writing to the point where I no longer needed the writing center. The only way I could improve my writing was by practicing, making mistakes, practicing more, making more mistakes, and learning from all

those experiences.

Now in 2023, I want to empower my students. I want them to see the power that writing has to create positive social change, and because of this, "The Writers' Locker" exists. It will provide a safe space for my students to showcase their work to a greater audience than just myself.

Sincerely,

BYRON JOSÉ SUN, Editor in Chief

If you join Latinos in Action (LIA), you will learn to develop the six elements Quetzakuauhtli embodies. Watch her story now!!!

100

words.

Spooky Flash Fiction Contest

Winners

behind the 100 words

2nd Place

According to Michaelah Sherman, our second-place winner, her inspiration came from the beloved character Freddy Krueger, she also mentions that she watches a lot of scary

movies. She also did not find the assignment very difficult, which is probably why she won a prize. I also asked her what advice she would give to her fellow classmates. She said, "Write down all your ideas even if they aren't fully developed, I guess?" That's good advice if I've ever heard it.

3rd Place

"I don't really know where I got my inspiration from, the idea just kind of popped into my head." This was third-place winner Hannah Timm's response to where she got

her inspiration. I again, asked about the difficulty of the assignment just for the extra information. Timm responded with, "This assignment was difficult enough in the sense that I worked really hard writing and revising my story." Which is also good advice to follow.

Personal

Narratives

T

But when she's with her friends, that is a different story. Maritza can speak whatever is on her mind and be all chill and aggressive with them. And they would love her no matter what, so being at school is like another home because she can see her friends at school. And when she's with friends, it's like a whole other little family she can go to. Maritza hopes all her friends stay friends when they graduate high school. They all plan to move to California and have an amazing place or at least try to have a place. When she's with her friends, she's like a whole different person than when she is with family. Maritza loves her family to death, even when they make her all stressed out to the point that she doesn't want to go home. But with friends, she can all hang out and do whatever. Maritza loves the two masks she wears in front of family and friends. She just wished she only had one mask to wear in front of family and friends.

Over time, Maritza has met wonderful people; she met some new and amazing

friends that she hopes will still be friends until high school and maybe even after.

But the person she is pleased to have met is her boyfriend. Maritza and her boyfriend just started dating a month ago, and they have been friends for almost two years––I believe. She met her boyfriend through her friend, and she will always be forever grateful to that friend, even if they aren't friends any longer. Maritza's boyfriend has been so amazing to her, even though he doesn't go to the same school as Maritza. She only hoped for the best that she and only she would forever be his last girlfriend.

Her boyfriend is so kind, yea sometimes they get into fights once in a while, but all relationships are like that. She will be forever grateful she met such a sweet and amazing person like him. She hopes it won't happen, but if they break up, she will always hope for the best for him, no matter what.

Ever since Maritza's childhood, it's been all ups and downs, but she made it through it. Maritza is just amazing, she's someone that has gone through some horrible things, but then somehow, she makes it through the end. Maritza has met some of the most amazing people, including her amazing boyfriend. I honestly can't wait to see what Maritza can come up with when she grows older. Well, this is the part of the story where we part ways. I hope you liked Maritza's amazing story until next time.

Living in the Borderlands

When you look at me at first, you would never guess that I’m a quarter Mexican. White skin, green eyes, brown hair, just a regular American. Usually, when I tell my friends that I have a quarter Mexican in me they drop their jaws in disbelief. It makes me sad and unconfident in who I am. I wish I looked more like my other side and spoke Spanish too. I have a very big family, and a lot of times when we get together and hang out I find myself feeling missed and not fitting in. I just feel like I'm not like my family and look nothing like them. Ever since I was little, I hated my skin color.

I always wished I could have beautiful dark skin like my family and I could speak Spanish. I told my Tia Brenda how I was feeling and she said, “It doesn't matter where you were born, what skin color you have, or what language you speak. You are family and that’s what should be valued more than what you look like. And if any person says anything else, you come to me.” I realized right there what I was missing the whole time. I’m family. And even tho I’m white, that doesn't change anything. I love my family and they love me. That’s the most important thing.

Masking my Feelings

I never really liked who I was. I always felt less mature and felt missed placed because I didn't dress like all the other girls. If I were ever around the "cool kids," I would act layback and more like them. If I were around people who are themselves, I would act myself. It's very easy to pretend to be someone I'm not. Maybe that's even your case too. If I made a friend who wasn't like me, I would get into different clothes and change the sound of my voice to go deeper.

My best friend Curtis is someone I can completely be myself around quite easily. I told him how I felt about me being fake and not who I am around certain people, and he said, “You should always be yourself. Even though you think it will make people like you less, it’s still not being true to yourself. Self Love is the best love, and your body and mind will thank you for that. I like your personality and think you shouldn't have to be ashamed of who you are.” Those words were the best words for me to hear at that very moment. Every single word he said was true.

I wasn't being true to myself. I knew I needed to change that. As I got older, I improved my social skills and being who I am. Today, and from now on, I am not ashamed of who I am, and I love myself. I realized there is no reason to worry about what others think because we're all living from different perspectives, and everyone is also just living the best life they can. If anyone makes a judgment or says something negative, that’s on them, and karma will bite them back later. It’s better to learn to love yourself than close your best self off from everyone else.

The Beginning of Everything

My life starts in Chandler, Arizona, where the weather is unbearable and where the extensive deserts are. I grew up with my dad and saw my mom every other weekend. Life wasn't always easy with my dad. I mean, who wants to live with a sociopath? I was aware of how he was treating my siblings and me. I knew that it was not normal and felt the need to do something about it. Do I tell someone? Or do I just deal with it and carry on with life? I couldn't just leave my step-sister Ava and my little brother Archer, so I felt like I had to stay. One day I went to my step-sister Ava’s room and asked her how she felt about my dad. She said something that I will never forget,

“Bree, if you have to leave, never forget us. You should go for your own sake. Archer and I will be fine.” Those words hit hard at that moment. It took a little bit to get the courage and tell an adult what’s been happening at my dad’s house and after that, I had to move out. Leaving my sister and brother was the most heartbreaking thing to go through. Not being able to grow up with them hurts. I always have had hope that one day I can go back and see them. While living with my mom, I got child therapy, which helped me so much. If I didn’t get therapy, I would be very emotional and on edge every day. Having a healthy mindset saved me and made me who I am. I love my family. Going on road trips is something we do very often. I’m very grateful for who I am and that I’m in a safe environment.

Struggles and Situations

I got a spinal fusion for my Scoliosis

when I was 14. Scoliosis is an abnormal curvature of the spine. I got diagnosed with it shortly after I turned 14, and it was really hard news to take in. I got the surgery on March 9th of, 2022. It was one of the ruffest painful things I’ve ever been through in my life. I had to stay in bed for about 2 weeks to let my spine heal. I think getting my back surgery helped me be stronger and more confident in myself. I will forever have a scar on my back, but I’m proud of it. Getting my spine surgery helped me put myself in other people's shoes that have been in situations like this and realize what a hard experience it is and how strong you have to be. Throughout my painful experience, I was just grateful to know that this pain was temporary and would heal.

Altho, my best friend was not there for me. I thought that she didn't think that my surgery was that important and that she didn't talk to me while I going through it all. I told her how I felt and said, “Emily, why are you doing this to me? I’m going through something so painful and scary. I need my best friend. Why aren't you here for me?” She messaged me back, saying,” I’m so sorry, Bree. I did not realize how much I was hurting you. I was going through some of my own problems, which made it hard for me to help you with yours. I love you and do care. Please don’t be upset at me.” I had no idea she was also going through something of her own. I forgave her, and the next day she came by my house to give me a balloon, a teddy bear, and flowers. From that, I learned to think of what the other person may be going through before making assumptions.

W

T

the

mun-

dan

e

I use photography as a tool to see the world differently, to spot the beauty of the most mundane things surrounding us.

by Alan Calderon Lobato

8 tips

for a better short story

By Tatiana Bender

2

Learn from the Pros

Outlining your Plot

Having a clear outline is key! Detailed outlines take out the guesswork of what happens next and ensures you're concise.

Reading other examples of short stories will give you an idea of how yours should be structured, paced, and to incorporate meaningful descriptions.

4

Pick the mood you want to evoke

Appeal to the five senses

Tone affects everything in a story. It can help you pick what to focus on and decide what words to use to create how the reader perceives the story.

The best way to suck a reader into ​your story is to make it as if they are ​physically there. As you write, ask ​yourself if you have used all five ​senses to bring your story to life.

6

Dialogue is your friend!

Edit, Edit, edit

One type of editing is reading through a story with a specific lens to look for a particular element, such as ensuring every sentence furthers the plot.

Dialogue can (and should!) be used to develop the plot. It helps the reader understand characters without lengthy backstories or descriptions.

8

Read your story ​out loud

Get Feedback

After hours of writing, the words can ​blend together and make it impossible ​to see your mistakes. Reading it out ​loud will not only make sure it sounds ​natural, but you'll catch things you ​wouldn't have seen.

Finally, constructive feedback will ​give you new ways to improve. Using ​that feedback, you should revise your ​short story. Letting trusted people ​read your work can be intimidating, ​but it will be invaluable.

Latinos in Action (LIA) is a year-long elective. to sign up, Talk to your counselor. Click on the button to Find us on Instagram.

F

trailer

park

Fara Flawless's life was not flawless. Since the age of 5, her father has directed all his pent-up anger at her, for her mother had run away to Cuba with another man pretending to be Ronald Regan on Whatsapp. When Fara entered middle school, she started hanging out with the wrong crowd. She hung out with drug dealers and sketchy bald men. She ended up in Juvie for one and a half years; she had shot an on-duty police officer with a BB gun. While she was there, she got ACAB tattooed on her left eyebrow.

When she got out of Juvie, she lived in a homeless shelter for about six months. During those six months, she learned to box and trained like Mike Tyson. When she got out, she was able to get a job. She started working at Mcdonald's during the day while working nights at a local gas station. She started sleeping in the McDonald's bathroom because no one checked them before leaving for the night. It took a month for her to save enough to rent a room in the rundown motel.

Fara lived in this motel for about four months before she got behind on her rent and had to move out. She made a friend, Scottie, who worked the same shift at the gas station. He let her sleep on his couch in the ‘Sunnyvale Trailer Park.’ Fara started couch surfing throughout the trailer park. Eventually, she saved enough money to rent the unused trailer near the owner’s own trailer. Fara becomes friends with the owners, Phil and Randy, who just adopted a baby.

So Fara was living comfortably for about six years with her friends when Phil and Randy decided to move to America to buy a more extensive trailer park so that they would be able to provide better for their child, Bubbles. Randy decides to pass on the playground to Scottie and Fara. They are sad that their friends have moved but very happy that they are middle class now.

R

Roxanne grew up in New york. She lived with her mom in a crappy home that was in a bad area. Roxanne's dad left when she was young, and her life went downhill. They barely had money, and Roxanne picked up bad habits and struggled in school. Her mom also neglected her, which meant Roxanne had to do most things independently.

One rainy day out of boredom, Roxanne decides to go exploring in her house. She wanders around the kitchen, living room, bedroom, and everywhere else. Still bored, she decides to check the attic. She never really bothered going there, ever. She is met with nothing but boxes and other junk when she reaches the attic. Being curious, she starts looking around. All she finds is a bunch of old stuff like clothes and photos when she suddenly notices something at the far back of the attic. She goes over to it and uncovers it. It's a bunch of album discs and a player for them. She grabs a random disc and plays the music.

A couple of seconds go by, and the music finally starts playing. She starts feeling pumped up after a couple of seconds of listening to the music. It's as if it gave her some natural sense of belonging, as if it fit her soul. While jamming to the music, she accidentally bumped into some boxes, knocking them over. When she looks, she uncovers a hidden guitar. She was surprised, as this guitar looked brand new but outdated. She picks it up and plays one of the strings, which works.

While testing the guitar, she sees a photo that fell from one of the boxes. She picks it up. The photo has four people, people she's never seen before: a giant green troll, a werewolf, a bat, and a ghost. However, what stood out to her was the troll seen in front. She was confused as the troll carried the same guitar she had found. As she is thinking, she is interrupted by a loud sound. She quickly sets everything back to how it was, grabs the guitar, and runs to her room.

rox

The next day Roxanne went to school. She was completely spacing out during class. All she ever thought about was the music from yesterday. Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by music coming from the music room. She took a peek inside the room and saw the other monsters practicing for band. he thought about the guitar she had found, as she didn’t even know how to use it. That’s when she had the idea to join the band class to learn something that would help her get better with the guitar.

After school, she heads straight to the band room. She hopes they will let her in the class. She walks in but sees no one. Disappointed, Roxanne heads out. As she is leaving, she bumps into the teacher. She looks at him and is shocked to see a ghost. The ghost thought looked familiar. It looked like the same ghost in the photo she had found. The teacher apologizes to Roxanne and continues walking. She stops the teacher to ask him the question. She pulled out the photo she had found in the attic yesterday and asked the teacher if that was him in it. He looked at it and stood there for a while, not saying anything. He then asked her where she found the photo. She told him where and also told him about the other stuff I had found.

He was shocked by this. He looked back at the pho-to, stared at it for a couple of seconds, then looked at her. He put two and two together and came to a conclusion. He explains that he is, in fact, in the picture, that he knew everyone else in the picture, and that the troll in the picture is my dad. It took Roxanne a while to process this information, but once she realized it all made sense. That explains why all the stuff was in her attic, it explains why Roxanne felt some connection when she first heard the music, and it explains why her father was absent throughout most of her life and why she didn’t know much about him.

Roxanne starts to feel emotional but then re-members why she was there in the first place to ask him the real question. She asks if the teacher can teach her how to use the guitar, as Roxanne feels passionate about it. This makes the teacher happy, and he accepts her.

After years of living without a purpose, Roxanne can finally do something that gives meaning to her life. It was hard at first, but she pushed through every challenge. Her teacher also filled a role as a father to Roxanne as he taught her discipline and helped her grow as a person. This meant that not only did she work on her music, but also worked on school and herself, staying out of trouble. As time went on, she continued playing music and started playing in the streets, raising money so that, eventually, she could make a name for herself and leave everything behind with no regrets.

liar

W

“What is it now, what did I do wrong?” Alan questions himself. Alan had talked to his friend Yani like nothing days before. She was cheery like she always was. Smiling and teasing him like she always did. He tried to focus on what his teacher was saying. But his hands shook, and he tapped his foot uncontrollably. He put his head down on his desk. He felt like crying. “This is so stupid,” he thought to himself. “Why do I care so much, it's only been a few days,” his thoughts tangled up. “Why is this happening again, why do I always lose the people I want the most.”

Yani avoided him in the hallways. Or maybe he was the one that was avoiding her. She looked sad or serious. He couldn’t tell. He and Yani had the next class together. He couldn't take sitting so close to her. He wanted to hide, to disappear. Embarrassed to show his face. He quickly asked the teacher to go to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was messy, dark circles around his eyes. “Why do I do this to myself,” he said to himself.

“Alan!” Levi yelled.

“Oh, hey Levi,”

“What are you doing in the bathroom? Skipping class?” Levi said as he chuckled.

“Nah, I was just about to leave.”

“Oh, okay, you okay, man?” Levi said.

“Yup, of course.”

He wasn’t at all. But what was he to tell his friend? No one else would understand. He knew that he was making a big deal out of all of it. But it hurt.

“If she's mad at me, why can't she tell me.” he knew it wasn’t that simple. He himself would not have told her if she hurt his feelings. “Damn it,” he whispered.

“Alan?” Levi said.

“Uh, yeah!”

“Thought you were going back to class?” Levi asked.

“Yeah, I am.” He tried to walk fast.

“Alan. you sure you're okay?” Levi asked again.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Alan lies.

The day went by slowly. But soon, it was night. 1:00 am. He tossed and turned. Like the last night, he can’t sleep. Waiting and waiting for a text from her. Something to tell him that he could relax. Something to tell him that he is allowed to feel okay.

"It's always the same. I always mess up. Everything I say…is always the wrong thing,” he questioned himself all night. Pulling up theories of what he could have said or what could have happened. “It's all useless, I'm useless…”

Feeling from years and years ago. Bui-lt up. Almost overflowing as it boils. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t feel like that. For some reason, it snapped. He felt stupid.

But it wasn’t just that Yani wasn’t answering. It was how the kids used to run away from him in 4th grade. Teasing him. Running after them until he got tired. It was how the friends he thought he would spend forever with left him for seemingly no reason. Seeing them in the hallway together, happier than ever without him. It's how he has to sit alone at lunch. It's the feeling of being alone. Being unwanted. Coming up and out of his eyes. That night. He curled into a ball, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I'm being dramatic, I know I am, but why does it hurt? It hurts so much,” tears fell endlessly from his face. He wiped them off, trying to compose himself. He was almost confused. “Why am I crying?” he

asked himself.

Morning can soon after that. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He looked in the mirror. His eyes puff. Friday. “One more day, one more,” He told himself.

“Alan!” He heard his mom calling.

“Damn it,” he said frantically. He was embarrassed to show his face. He covered his face with his hair. It was pointless. The first word that came out of his mom's mouth was, “did you cry.” He hated hearing those words. He stayed in silence, not wanting to admit it.

“No,” he said.

“Oh, really,”

“Yup,” He fled the house quickly. Be-hind him, he hears his mom yell something at him. He's not sure what. It didn’t matter. He got on the bus. He saw Yani sitting. Usually, they would sit together. His heart began to race. He sat down at a different seat. Yani looked at him. He pretended not to see. He saw her get up. His heart began to beat faster he could hear it over the sound of his loud music. She sat next to him. “Hey!” she said cheerfully. He froze. Confused.

“Hey,” he managed to say.

She began to talk. But he didn’t hear anything. Anger began to fill him. “Is she not going to say anything about not talking to me? It was a whole week. Why is she acting as if nothing happened.” all the time worried, him crying last night and thinking back to how shitty he had felt. All for nothing. Thoughts began to race through his head. Getting more and more annoyed after each one. He wanted to tell her to shut up. Demand an explanation. He didn’t.

“No, it's my fault.” he landed on his last thought.

“Are you okay, Alan?” The question made him even more upset.

“Of course, I'm not fine!” He wanted to say.

“Of course I'm fine,” he responded to her.

“Alan, you're a lair…”

What was he supposed to say to that? She was the reason why he was upset. But how could he blame her for his own insecurities? It wasn't fair. He knew that. He turned to look out the window. Put his headphones over his ears.

“Yeah… I know.”

Art isn’t boring,

it has never been,

it can be unoriginal,

tacky or disturbing,

maybe cringey

but never boring.

Poetry

Write a poem about

an end that is really

a beginning

Her Demise

By Hannah Timm

A light at the end of the tunnel,

A thin veil,

A step towards it,

An end and a beginning,

A Life, to death, to a life,

A new shuddering breath

Reincarnation

Poetry

Club

A Snake in The Sky

by Fluffles The Crab

I saw a lot of things on my walk

an impressive amount of things to see in just one night

probably the only things i will ever think are important

I saw art that i had no money for

I saw a glowing red hand as i walked in its direction

and the firefly raindrop running into the windows

I saw a train track so lonely it could make you cry

it told me not to keep it company

because it was waiting on a train

I told it that trains don't pass here anymore

it didn't say anything back

I heard leaves crunching before I heard who was

stepping on them

I crossed the street before I had to find out

I heard a voice but not what it was saying

I thought it might have been god

I made them say it again

it wasn't god

just someone who wanted to borrow a lighter

I told them sorry and good luck

you see old ladies blessing people in movies all the time

while I walked away I did that in my head

I don't know if they wanted or needed a blessing

but they got one

I saw a few more things on the rest of the journey

like a snake falling from the sky

it looked unhappy to see me

i was never first

always second

just good enough

never as good as her

never as smart as her

never as normal as her

they’re right

i don’t deserve first

or second

or third

or anything

why can’t i just be her

why can’t i be first

why can’t i be loved.

11-30-22

by A. Nguyen

Someone at Safeway has a cool outfit on

"I like your outfit" I hear someone shout

They beat me to the punch

Despite every call from an unknown number being spam

I answer a call from the East Coast

"Hi, is this..." Some name I am not

"No, I'm not, sorry, have a good day though"

"You too"

This world is full of people who suck

People who don't help up old people

Or who yell at new drivers

And I am one of them

And so is everyone else

But there are also people who smile at babies

And compliment random people at Safeway

And wish people a good day

And I am one of them

And so is everyone else

I

I’ve always thought that I’d have to be good to be great, but it has come to my attention that you don’t have to be either to be perfect. You see, many people will claim you are a bad person despite not knowing the context of why you’re doing what you’re doing in the first place. They ultimately don’t know you for who you are. They see you as a spectacle, a black-and-white version of the world personified as a single person. And this begs the question: who are you if all you’ve ever done ultimately contributed to upholding a perception of yourself that you aren’t anymore? And that is the basis of this essay as I, Angeline Kongkaeo, reveal the dangers of playing pretend in the real world to a certain extent.

So here’s the thing, I am not by any means a straight-A student. I’m personally a B or even C student. Most days, I perform average, like anybody else in Tumwater. This is because I am never at school, and even if I do show up, most of what my teachers tell me usually goes over my head. Purposely drowning out their advice is a pass time for me because I ultimately know where I will end up after high school. Not a doctor or scientist, but someone who changes the world.

You see, in this perfect world that I live in, the future is there to avenge me. Whatever I do in the present doesn’t matter. It’s all filler to what I inevitably do in the future that changes the world. It would be best if you were thankful because I won't say you’re welcome in the future.

The Future

I’ll be a successful movie director or author or politician. I’ll be smarter than all of my peers. I’ll drive a sports car, have good money, and be granted the keys to the city. I’ll write awesome speeches about my shortcomings that have “Granted me this opportunity today…” to show the planet what I’m made of that I’m not weak. I can do something other with my life than grieve the losses I’ve had or be in the closet for too long.

I’ll show my therapist that it’s okay to wallow in your emotions because that’s where success comes from. That’s where things will start looking up for me.

Recollection

Today, I saw a glimpse of hope.

I was in the Girl’s bathroom at school, waiting for Julian to wash her hands, and a memory popped into my head. At first, I was confused because I had no recollection of this ever happening, but I later brought it up to Mom, and she confirmed my suspicions.

Do you remember Miss? Lola? Well, apparently, she used to babysit me before you were ever a thought. In this “recollection,” she had taken me to the bathroom to clean my hands. She held me up to the sink so I could do it all alone. In the mirror, I could see her face. Miss. Lola was young, with bleach-blonde hair and sunglasses. I think I felt safe if a three-year-old had the capacity to remember feeling safe.

But I don’t feel safe anymore. Not how I used to feel. Like nothing could ever happen to me or anybody else. Like I was protected by an invisible source. Now that I know the Earth's inner workings, I just can’t bear to look in the mirror and notice any beauty staring back at me because there isn’t any.

The Present

How I feel in the present doesn’t matter. Things don’t matter to me anymore.

I’ve started obsessing over the daydreams in my head, where I’m far away from Tumwater, WA. Once, I was so close to buying a plane ticket to California that Julian had to pry my hands away from my phone. She thinks I’m not ok.

Mom and Dad started acting like I was somebody’s sick grandparent. They speak slowly from the door to my room to see if I want breakfast. They clean up after

me as soon as I even drop a crumb onto the kitchen counter. They cry in their bedroom about me.

"Are we losing her, too?”

The present turns into the past before I can grasp any

sense of reality I am granted. I still feel sane, so maybe that’s what I should worry about.

Yesterday, I gave my first speech at a city council meeting about Suicide Prevention.

I talked about many things about you, even read a letter I had written after you died, which detailed my feelings that I could not otherwise put into words. The vulnerability wasn’t there like the city council had wanted. I could tell they were uncomfortable when I started calling out the school instead of some random bullies you must’ve had.

My face was bright red when Mom escorted me out, mumbling under her breath every curse word in the Thai language. She is amazing like that.

After the meeting, Dad took Mom and me out to get ice cream and play at the arcade in the mall. We had fun pretending we were still a family that had fun. Will all these tears come in handy someday?

Talk/Walk Like A Machine

Words flow out of me with no emotional value. I’ve often compared to Wednesday or a person who is a walking corpse. Some of these accusations are true. I do talk a certain way. Everybody does. It’s how we communicate as humans.

I take everything too literally, like Matilda. I get it. People are jealous of me for going through something so big as my brother dying and still being able to attend school at least once a week. But I’m not the spectacle that they think I am. I act like I’m the best, although I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.

I’m a senior in high school, so close to the end. I still don’t know if I’ll even be walking at graduation. These pathways I started stay incomplete. Nobody should be jealous of me.

The processional begins. One line at a time, we enter the gymnasium. Instantly, this wave of loudness hits me in the face. The processional is mixed with cheering, whistling, and screeching from the bleachers. It smells like new plastic. I'm finding my way down the stairs to the gym floor. Julian last came with me over five minutes ago. But others lead, and I lead others. As we reach our seats in the front, we are forced to face forward. Face our futures right in the eye.

The stage, the band, the Pomp. The Circumstance. I glance at the people around me, and I can feel my face crumble beneath this future facade. Couldn't help but notice all the faces I had yet to learn the names of. The faces I could've got to know but decided instead to focus on daydreams.

If I had time to walk through the seats, row by row. If I could turn the clocks, make it my way--maybe I could put those kindergarten names to senior faces. I could rekindle what's left of my childhood and the beginnings of adulthood.

But instead, I stand. Instead, I face forward, as time is irrelevant. Time feels like nothing when all you can hear is a clashing of songs and screaming. It reminds me of Aaron and how long he told his stories. Always with this deep meaning, that proceeded past the story in general and ventured out into the open air. His story about friendship being nothing but temporary safety jackets hold close. He always wanted to be here with me.

I know that that empty feeling isn’t permanent. It doesn’t get you anywhere in life. The pain I went through doesn’t mean that my life will be good or that I’ll have redemption in the future. It means that I faced tragedies in my past, and it’s my job in the present to overcome those tragedies by doing things despite death. Doing things for myself to be the most successful I can be in the present.

My diploma weighs heavy in my hands like a new beginning weighs on old ends.

Inspired By:

Oh, No!

by Marina & The Diamonds

J

Johnny pressed against the bullet wound. I’m going to bleed out here, aren’t I? He coughed up blood, hissing in pain. Like in the stories, his life flashed before his eyes, riding his horse, laughing over a drink in the bar, and saying goodbye to his mother. This is surely the final goodbye, Johnny sighed.

“It doesn’t have to be, Johnny. I could give you a chance. You only have to sell your soul,” Johnny jumped at the sound of the mysterious masked man’s chuckle.

Johnny looked around, seeing only inky emptiness as far as the eye could see.

“Where… Are we?”

“Where your deepest regrets lay. Look.” Johnny looked up at a moon-shaped orb only to see his mother's face. Johnny had left her when he was 16 years of age, and he never spoke to her again. Of course, this was one of his biggest regrets, but she was gone by the time he returned.

“Why..?” Johnny looked back to the masked man, who was pointing at the orb again.

There was a man bleeding out. It appeared that the blood was dripping off of the actual orb. This was Johnny’s, old mate. He had betrayed him when they were off at war. Johnny had so wanted to kill him, but instead, he let him run.

“What do you see? The choices you never had the guts to make? I'm sorry you never could be the man that you wanted. Regret is wasted on me, Johnny.

Do you want your chance?”

“What do I need to do?”

“Just sell your soul,” The man smirked.

Johnny suddenly felt like he was falling. The air seemed to be caving in on itself, and he was caught in the middle, a roaring cackle echoing through his ears. He landed hard on the ground. There was still pain, but no more blood. Johnny took in a big breath and let it out with a sigh.

"I can breathe again. All because of you,” He whispered under his breath, then a little louder, “I can rebuild my life and start again. All because of you.”

Johnny laughed and started on his way, not noticing the shadow slip away.

After a few years, Johnny committed his first murder. A young prostitute that no one would notice went missing. This feeling's amazing, I know. But be careful. You do not know what you wish for. Johnny heard this phantom voice in the back of his head. After his 3rd murder, Johnny felt he was going mad from this very voice.

Granted, life again, but now you've cheated death. There's nowhere to run when you run from yourself. But fear not, for you are mine as long as you live. And even in death, you will find, You've lived with regret for so long, but now is your chance to change what has been wrong.

It drove Johnny so crazy that he turned his gun on himself. Johnny felt the blood pour down his neck and fell backward, falling down into that dark nothingness once again. “Don’t ever trust the devil…” echoing around him, over and over.

Johnny hit the ground with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. Only, he never breathed again. “I’m dead this time…”

“You sure are, Johnny. I didn’t think I would see you back so soon,” The masked man stood before him.

“I never wanted this,” Johnny gasped.

“Didn’t you ever learn never to trust the devil? I think it's about time you suffered the consequences.”

“I should have known my time was up.”

“I gave you your time, now your soul is mine,” The man laughed, and Johnny felt a ripping pain in his chest before once again falling into the darkness. This time, Johnny never awoke.

Inspired By:

Johnny Ringo

by Crown the Empire

S

“Silly, silly Mrs. Mae,” the man tsked. “Got herself into trouble yet again.”

Mae sat across from the man on the cold metal chair. The man was mean and didn’t know what he was talking about. But still, he ran this place of “broken people.” Her nurse (Mae’s, that is) stood behind her. Mae didn’t mind the nurse, who seemed to have some sympathy. He didn’t belong in this cold, empty place. That didn’t mean well or what they said they did.

“That just about finalizes my assessment,” the man said, not a day of medical training in his life.

“I’m booking her surgery now. Go prep her,” he told the nurse.

“In my professional opinion, Sir, I don’t believe Mrs. Mae is ill enough for this procedure,” the nurse said.

The man nodded slowly as if he was actually considering the nurse's words. “And what makes you think she’s not… lost in the head?”

Refraining somehow from scoffing, the nurse took a step forward. Mae could see the nurse in her peripherals. “She’s always been ill, arguably much of this was her upbringing, but she’s able. She knows how to do things”.

No matter how much anyone said, that wouldn’t stop the man. Nothing could justify to him a reason not to give silly, silly Mrs. Mae a lobotomy. Not even the warnings in disguise that the nurse gave him would stop him. With the money her parents paid to “fix her,” who would?

“I said go prep the patient. That’s final unless you want to lose your job!” he snapped.

After his boss threatened, the nurse wheeled Mae back to her room, where she’d await the procedure. And given what they were doing, she’d need to cut her hair, though she would never cut her hair. It was smooth, silky lightning. Her hair was long, it would clog a pair of clippers. So it’d need to be cut and trimmed first. That was the nurse’s job. Cutting Mae’s hair, making it easier for the doctors to shave the rest off.

But her nurse, who was far too kind for this place, felt pity for Mae, the girl whose screws never come loose. “You don't want to be here. I know you don’t,” he said, pulling out a pair of scissors. Mae turned her head at him like a sad puppy, begging for love, for someone to care. Then, she just blinked and didn’t say anything. She never does.

And then the pity drove him. Drove the nurse to help Mae, to do something right in a place with morals more tinted than its walls. Because if you feel good and tell them quickly, they’ll still take you. Money‘s money.

---

After the alarms started going off, they left the closet. The nurse figured that one of the only janitors this place cared to hire would like to see the spectacle. The pay was okay, enough to scrape by each month. She didn’t want to work there anyways, but it’s a struggle when you commit a felony. The two followed the shouts and screams of the doctors.

“They’re in here,” the nurse said, going to one of the surgical suites. Watching from the observation window, they saw Mae, all her hair flowing in the incandescent air. Both smiled at the sights of the terrified faces, all scared for their lives as if what they were about to do didn’t equate to the murder of the soul.

The doctors didn’t understand that she had a pair of scissors in her pocket. And if you were up to the task, anything could be used to commit murder, though this was considered self-defense. And any pleading, any promises that could be made to reason with her were feeble.

“You know,” the janitor started, watching Mae cornering the doctors. “I’ll struggle to find a job after this. Won’t make it by as easily. It might end up on the streets. But who am I to stand in the way of justice?”

While the karma felt good, the sight was ghastly. Bloodied bodies were left in a shuddered sprawl. It was horrifying what she did. The two started questioning if they should’ve helped her. If maybe, she should’ve gotten that horrible procedure.

They were about to call the police, assuming Mae was already making her escape when the door clicked.

Spinning on his heels, the nurse looked to the door, already knowing who was there. “Mae, please… I helped you, doesn’t that count for something?” he asked, the janitor praying for her life behind him.

She shook her head with a sickening grin. That was the first time he’d seen her smile.

Inspired By:

Grow Back

by The Happy Fits

strips

By Lilly S. Anna, Juliet W.

By Tatiana Bender

By Angie Reyes Aguilar

Throne of Glass

book series review

by Audrey Phuong

The Throne of Glass book series by Sarah J Maas is named after the first book and is an excellent read for people who enjoy fantasy and romance. It includes seven novels and a series of novellas.

Throne of Glass follows the story of Celaena, a 17-year-old assassin that gets the chance to compete to be the King's Champion. From there, she makes friends with the King's playboy son and the head of the royal guards. The series then delves into the world of magic and fae as Celaena learns that only she can save the world.

Like many series, romance is not the main plot or story but a subplot that drives the characters to change. Many characters get a chance at love and heartbreak and learn that love is the most powerful thing in the world (yuck).

I was drawn into the rest of the series by the characters. There's a vast number of main

characters who all have different outlooks and views on life. You get to see that some people see things as black and white, while others see shades of grey. They all learn lessons from each other and create bonds so that they're all friends in the end (again, yuck).

However, suppose you do not enjoy complex plots or heavy use of literary elements like metaphors. In that case, this story can get confusing. In many parts of the story, skipping a page or two will leave you extremely confused and cause you to re-read, or some things won't be clearly stated, making it hard to determine what is going on.

Overall, it was an entertaining and engaging read. It's definitely worth checking out at the FGHS Library, and all books are available there.

Latinos in Action (LIA) is a year-long elective. to sign up, Talk to your counselor. Click on the button to Find us on Instagram.

Collab

CRW

Creative Writing

Writing transcends time and offers us recognition, affirmation and immortality. When we thoughtfully sprinkle the words onto the solitary stark white page we offer kinship to kindred spirits. Writers invite others to take our sometimes unsteady hand and join us as we traverse time and explore the meaning of life. Writing offers a safe space and home for all the weary hearts of the world to be accepted.

Mrs. Sturrock

Nature’s

Full Circle

Cadaver

18.

W

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the pitch black of my room, no details were coming into view, but I knew that I was staring at the bookshelf on the left-hand side of my bed; I couldn’t see it. I turned to look at the rest of my surroundings, or I tried at least. I wanted to move, to stretch my body and get into a more comfortable position, but I couldn’t. My body wasn’t listening to me, I could look around, but I couldn’t twitch even a finger or toe. Starting to panic, my eyes darted around the limited room area I could see. Luckily my eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness but not entirely. Next to the bookshelf was my messy desk that my mother had told me repeatedly to clean up; there were loose papers all over it with pencils, pens, and markers on top. The pieces had my many drawings on them. On the corner farthest from me was a small desk lamp I had gotten for my 12th birthday. The light was off like I had left it before going to sleep. Everything was how I left it. Except for one thing, I don’t know what it was, but I could feel something off with the room, something that made all the hairs on every part of my body stand on end. This feeling was different and unfamiliar to me, but I felt like I was being watched like I wasn’t alone. I tried to move again, this feeling making me want to scan my room for its source, but I was still paralyzed. So instead, I scanned what I could see, going over my desk and bookshelf for the second time. Maybe it was my eyes not adjusting to the light at first, or maybe it was in my sleepy haze but looking over the bookshelf, I noticed something. In the corner of my room closest to me, right next to the bookshelf, was what looked like a black blob, a patch of black smoke. I looked harder, focusing my vision on this thing, and when I saw it, every part of me wanted to run. Every bone in my body went cold at what I saw.

It was sitting in the corner, its skin sickly gray and peeling like ash, Its knees hugged to Its chest, the skin looking like it’ll rip at a single movement. The hands that were holding its shins were enormous, the palms probably able to cover my entire face, and the boney fingers were long and sharp and looked like they shredded skin and bone with little to no resistance. Its neck was also long and thin, slightly wider than Its terrifying fingers but still impossibly thin, barely holding onto its large head, the top of which only contained a few thin, black strands of hair. And finally, looking at its face, I was beyond terrified. It was looking at me. Staring. That presence I was feeling had been this thing. Its eyes were a bright white, almost blinding, making me wonder how I missed them the first time. It had no nose, just two black slits where one should be. And Its mouth was large, taking up every part of the lower half of Its face. It was smiling at me. Wide, with Its crooked, sharp, rotten teeth looking at me. Taking this Thing fully in caused a wave of dread and fear to take over my mind. I didn’t know what it was, how or why it was here. I wanted to scream and yell for my mom and dad for help, but I couldn’t move my body, and I couldn’t speak either. I could only look this Thing in Its eyes, unblinking. What should I do? What could I do? I couldn’t move or speak. I was helpless. My eyes had begun to water, quickly blurring my vision. I blinked to regain my focus, but when my eyes opened, the Thing was closer.

It had moved to the edge of my bed, Its face directly in mine. All I could see was its blinding white eyes and a terrifyingly wide smile. I just blinked. How did it move that quickly? I want to move, run, and get as far away from it as possible. I want my mom and dad, I’m scared, but I can’t do anything. I’m helpless. I

felt something on my face, it was the Things large, boney hand. Its touch was as cold as ice hitting your face during a snowstorm. The texture of Its skin was like sandpaper, ready to shred the soft fat of my cheek. The feeling consumed me, my mind, and my entire nervous system, the fear only rising, and I swear I saw Its smile get slightly wider, almost as if It knew what I was feeling. I shut my eyes, unable to handle the unsettling feeling of looking into its eyes. What felt like an eternity had passed by of just the feeling of Its eyes and hand on me. Then the Thing shifted. Its hand had gone from a palm on my cheek to its sharp fingers on my waist, slowly pushing into my clothes, skin, and muscle. It was going to kill me. I was going to die, and it was going to be painful. I squeezed my eyes shut tight at the ever-growing pain I felt from Its fingers digging into my side, feeling what I believed to be my blood running down my stomach and soaking into my pajama shirt.

I woke up with a startle, jolting from my bed in a cold sweat and panting heavily. Realizing that I finally had control over my body, I jumped out of bed, went to my door, and turned on my light. All I saw was my messy room, everything how I left it, and I no longer felt the presence of that Thing watching me. I collapsed on my knees, tears warming my cheeks as I sobbed, holding onto myself, partly out of fear over the dream I just had and mostly out of relief that it was just a dream. It was a dream and not a reality. That Thing wasn’t real. Calming down, I leave my room, not wanting to be in there for another second. I went to my mom and dad’s room, opening the door slowly not to wake them. I got into their bed, curled up by their feet, adrenaline fading and my exhaustion consuming me again. I dozed off to sleep, unaware of the dull pain on my side or the many terrifying nights to come.

1

H

“Ha! I told you I would get farther!” I marked in the bark chips where I landed, walking back to the swing with a smirk on my face. Alice stuck her tongue out at me like a toddler and leaned back on the swing.

“I didn’t see anything,” she shot back. The sweet-smelling breeze blew through her blonde hair, making her shiver. Instantly, I took off my jacket and handed it to her. She gratefully accepted and put it over her legs. We listened to the birds chirping and looked at the new flowers that had finally started blooming.

“So, you said you found a note in your locker. What did it say?” I asked quietly, finally mustering the courage to bring it up. I dug my feet into the ground, looking away from her.

“Oh yeah! It was so crazy, James!” She searched through her backpack, pulling out a small, folded letter. The writing was formed carefully on a light pink parchment. “It listed all the things they liked about me. And in the end, they even said they loved me!”

I chuckled nervously. “What’s so crazy about that? It sounds like they really mean it.” She threw her head back, looking at me with her pretty blue eyes. This was not the reaction I was expecting, I thought. I had read over the words I wrote until they blurred together, every sentence meticulously placed. I had dreamt of her leaping into my arms or exclaiming she felt the same way. My fears of her rejecting me came crashing back and, to my horror, were proving to be right.

“Right, well, if they felt that much about me, why didn’t they tell me face-to-face?” I bit my lip, not knowing what to say. My face flushed. She started rambling like she always does when she’s excited.

“Exactly. Anyways, it has to be just a stupid dare. There’s no way it’s real,” she ended. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed off the swing and shoved my things into my backpack. The weather mirrored my anger by forming dark clouds above us.

Alice rushed to me, picking up one of my books to make me stop. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” I muttered, feeling my eyes well up. She looked at me, scared and confused. Her cluelessness made it hurt so much more. I snatched my jacket and my book from her. “Why does it have to be a joke or a dare?” I snapped.

I could see her eyes light up with understanding. Her jaw dropped. “It’s your note, isn’t it?”

“Of course, it’s my note! Who else knows your favorite movie is Rush Hour and how much you hate The Beatles?” I laughed, throwing my arms in the air.

She stood dumb-struck, remembering everything she said about the note. “James, I’m so sorry. I just… I couldn’t believe it. I’m a trainwreck, and the girl in the note was this perfect angel, someone straight out of a movie that I didn’t even recognize. I thought it was impossible that it was true.” She buried her face in her hands.

I took a heavy breath, setting my bag down. I wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. “The girl I wrote to drove me to school every morning because I kept failing my driving test. She is graduating with me this year, and I pray that I am smart enough to get into her college because the thought of losing her is too much. She has the most contagious laugh and has been my best friend since middle school. Her name is Alice Gable, and I wrote her a note because I have been trying to say it since I met you.” She tilted her head to the side, not able to look away. I knew she hated getting compliments, but the words tumbled out of my mouth.

“I love you, Alice.”

The Note

by Tatiana Bender

A MelAncholic

Memory

by Angel Gonzalez

O

On top of this mountain lay an old village of dead buildings. The charred wood, caved-in roofs, and toppled walls gave the surrounding area an unfriendly feeling. The despair exhaling from the cracks in the cobblestone paths gave this place a horrible smell. It was depressing to look at, yet I could not take my eyes away from it. That same familiar feeling that I’d had for a long time had returned once more. The guide noticed me staring at the dilapidated buildings and informed me how they became that way. “That village burned down about 300 years ago. People attempted to clear the debris but were scared by so-called spirits.” I was too focused on one specific building. It looked the same as all the others, but this one almost seemed to call out to me. The familiarity rang like the bells atop a tall church. I blinked once before running towards it at full speed. I had not been this irresponsible in a long time, leaving Hannah and the guide behind, but I could not let this chance of finding something out slip from my grasp.

I reached the door hanging from a single hinge and kicked it down. I stood there, staring into the dark hallway. The familiar feeling grew as I continued to look. I heard Hannah run after me with her little legs in the distance, she could have fallen or gotten hurt, but I still paid no attention to her. It was hard to make out anything in the darkness. Still, I walked into the abyss. A few windows and a hole in the roof provided light to see, even if it was very little. I paid no attention to the rooms I passed as I walked to the end of the long hallway. I was sick of the darkness and decided to punch a few more holes in the roof. There was a door near the back of the house. It was blocked by stones and pieces of wood. I tore through the blocked door, kicking the rocks out of the way and crushing the weak wooden planks. This was it. This was why the building allured me, why it just had to get my attention. I lived here 300 years ago.

Everything I looked at reminded me of my “past” life. I stepped on something as I moved through the solidified memories. When I moved my foot, I found a doll made from a recycled bag of rice and a few buttons with dirty hay for hair. It was stuffed with beans and small rocks. My blind mother had made that for me one day. I apologized for stepping on it and held it tightly in my hands before sitting down against a filthy wall. My mother was the only person I loved. She was also the only person who loved me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to remember and cry until my eyes dried out… but I couldn’t. I attempted to recall other buried memories and uncovered one that only brought me anger. My male parent, a man whom I resented and swore never to become the shadow of, had returned to my mind. Hannah walked through the broken door of my old room as I crushed a rock in my hand. “Hisu! Why did you run off like that?!” She yelled. I became annoyed but still apologized. She kept asking questions, bringing my annoyance to its peak. “Hannah…” I replied in a cold tone.”Would you like to hear a story?” Those words always interest her, she never denied a story. She decided to stand instead of sitting on the rotten floor or leaning on the already leaning walls. I began telling her the story which I now regret ever saying to another living organism.

"Many years ago, a little boy about your age had done something terrible, it all started when he overheard his father say he had been poisoning his mother the past few weeks. He now knew why his mother had not woken up that morning and his blood began to heat up as if it were put on a stove to boil. He quietly walked home, where he would cry. Once the murderer arrived, he stood on his feet and faced the man. With tears in his eyes and his lungs breathing heavy, he launched himself at the already angry drunk. His entire life the boy had endured the abuse that this man had put him through and he only tolerated it. It wasn’t until he decided to mess with someone he loved that he would take out all the built-up anger inside and use it for what he thought was something good. The kid bit his neck multiple times. He had unusually sharp teeth perfect for ripping into flesh. The man was able to launch him off eventually, allowing himself to stand. He struggled to take even a small step, tripping over the air itself. He watched in horror as the child stood once again with only a few scratches on his body. The man reached for the door but fell, sealing his fate. The kid took a rusty metal rod that the irresponsible man had left lying around and shoved it into his back, piercing his heart and penetrating the floor beneath him. The boy was starving, he didn’t have any money to buy food, and the man only used his few cents to buy alcohol and food for himself. He stared at the corpse. His eyes widened as his mouth began to water. His breath got faster and faster as he watched the puddle of blood grow under his feet. He couldn't stand the pain in his stomach any longer and dropped to his knees. Slowly, he hovered the man's left arm under his mouth. He knew what he was about to do was disgusting and inhumane but what he didn't know was that he had already lost most of his humanity. The first bite he took was euphoric. Tears of joy shot out of his eyes as he chewed. Blood spilled out of his mouth as he savored the first meal he'd had in days. As the hours passed, he ate limb after limb until only a pile of bones remained on the dirty floor. Even those he did not waste, chewing them and throwing them out for the dogs that wanted a snack. Once finished, he did not bother cleaning up the blood. He lay on the floor, waiting for his stomach to finish digesting. The next morning he would take his mother's body and carefully place it in a hole he had dug the night before. He cried the last tears he ever would and left the village without looking back."

I noticed how much I had scared Hannah. That story wasn’t quite as happy as the others I’d told her about back home. “Who was that boy?” She asked with a soft voice. After a long pause, I looked into her dark blue eyes and said “It was me, I had no other choice,". I wanted to lie to her and say it was just an old legend, but I couldn’t. I expected her to run out of the building screaming, but she just stood there. After a few silent seconds, she walked up to me and hugged my legs. “It’s okay, I know you wouldn’t eat me. But that story was really scary, you used such a deep voice, too.” I was always jealous of this ability of hers, to almost forget that anything bad had happened. She was able to ignore all the chilling things she had just heard and hug such a monster like me. I gently left the doll on the floor and led Hannah to the exit.

D

Dear Aaron,

It is raining again. Not that that is weird for Washington, especially during this time of year, but I guess I thought it was a nice touch. So I put it in. It seems Weather is the only small talk I can muster these days. Although I do seem to be getting more talkative, the shrink told mom that a while back. I bet she thinks talking about the same old rainy forests and drowsy days makes someone “talkative.” But I think it just makes me boring.

Why are you so boring? You will ask, and I’ll always blame the lady who makes me talk. Then again, I wouldn’t be writing this letter if I didn’t listen to Ms. Shrink at least some of the time. She told me to talk, then I shall only write to confess. Not to talk small with a dead guy.

Once,I found myself alone in a room. It could have been anyone's room. That day, it was just a room with black drapes, a race car bed, and a clarinet propped on a stand with an Essential Elements book nearby. I could smell breakfast through the vents; waffles, whipped cream, strawberries. The day was special. Though, I could not remember why.

This was when the doorbell rang through the house. Hesitantly, I tiptoed to the window that looked upon the yard. A little boy with light brown hair was being dragged by the ear back into the house. On our doorstep was Miss. Lola, hands on her hips, shaking her head. The fog enveloped her sickly, yet aggressive, figure.

“Ow!” he cried, although I knew she wasn’t pulling hard at all. “It wasn’t me!”

The lady was relentless, spitting words in her mother tongue that I hadn’t learned yet. But he knew the words quite well; from how many times they'd been thrown at him before.

I watched the little boy cry when she gave me his waffles. I watched and I ate and I sat and I waited for someone to yell, “April fools!” I wanted to say something then, something that’d make it all better. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

He went on after that, believing that his Birthday had been ruined because of himself, not knowing that it was me. I was the one to set that tree on fire. I was the one to watch the fire burn and eat and destroy those leaves. He was never there, because he never had destruction in him like I did, like I do.

The lighter was in his room. The lady found it there when we had left for school that morning. This was concrete evidence. Not only was the boy being harassed by the lady, Miss. Lola found it her personal duty to appear on his doorstep, locked and loaded with reasons she could go to the police.

“I’ll have you know,” she’d sputter, “My home is a prize to this neighborhood and it's a damn shame…Blah Blah Blah.”

For a whole year, he spent his days in his room, at the library. I grimaced when we would come face to face, frowned when he would eventually turn away.

Then suddenly, the boy was fifteen, I was sixteen. You were somewhere else, in your

little head. I couldn’t find you anywhere. He was the only one alive then, flourishing like no other. I never knew when to talk, and this wasn’t it. Not when he was in this state, covered in tissues, coughing. I had walked by too many times not to know that he was sick.

The lady told me not to go in, that I’d get myself ill. She was afraid of him. And to be completely honest with you, I was afraid, too. I trudged on, anyway.

A bowl of half-eaten soup lay vacant on the nightstand. The bed had grown up, and so had the boy… For once. I picked up the unused trash bin and began my journey down the bed, plucking up every used wad of tissue I could find. Then, I brought in a fresh bowl of Chicken Noodles and hoped you would smell it. But you never did.

This was probably a time to speak up. Instead, I covered the boy with more blankets. I left his door halfway closed and found my way down that long hallway. With lots of mirrors, you’d think I could see myself perfectly. Though you and I wouldn’t think anything, we were floating, letting our bodies do the sneezing and not the talking.

Then there was another flame burning within. Another day ruined by the luck of myself. I can’t stop thinking about the roar of the wind when fire becomes its signal. I can’t stop feeling the heat rise and rise until there is no breath left in me to breathe. It was a little campfire, so my experience had only been imaginary.

He, who was little, who was now big and strong and smelly--had a rope up his sleeve. Something that pulled all of us in and dragged all of us out. His athleticism wasn’t the lady’s, but it was uniquely his. You never liked parties, but the boy had brought you to one anyway. He was like that in some way, a pawn being placed wherever the world felt like it.

That day, he dropped your reed in the fire, “Ain't no light without wood.”

Ain't no light without me and you and him and I. I walked across the beach, looking for an answer, something to save that wasn't gone yet. I looked ahead, and witnessed the flames enveloping his ability to play music.

I let it happen. In fact, I rummaged through your backpack and threw all of it into the flame. I even grabbed your teddy bear and your race car bed and watched them burn in my head until nothing was left. The ashes shimmering like stardust in the moonlight. Like snowflakes falling silently to the ground.

The sobs enveloped only me. But you died anyway. Before you did, you died. You died, you died. I watched it all unfold. Every silent plea, every godforsaken yawn. All this smoke billowed into your body and built until he was the only thing left.

Aaron, you've always loved me. I know you have. There comes a time when I can’t always love myself, and you felt that, too. Fighting for the right to use your body, to use him. Every day, I wonder what it would be like to let go, to know that fire is fire. To know that little boy was you all along. That I ruined his innocence, your innocence.

And if I had just set myself up in flames, let my light guide you, your only sense of realness would be the instrument you mistook for a weapon. You would’ve still left me here to rot. A storm of fire that can only be put out by the rain that washes all my grief away.

I guess the last thing to do is to be put out. Eat all the oxygen. The last thing to say is “goodbye.” The last thing is to live with the sound of music and fire mixed together.

Is this my final plea?

Is This what I leave on?

Your bigger and more crazy sister, Angeline.

Dear

Aaron,

by Melah Davis

Latinos in Action (LIA) is a year-long elective. to sign up, Talk to your counselor. Click on the button to Find us on Instagram.

Public Service Announcement

PSa

Anuncio de servicio publico

people will disappear

in pairs

of two

2.

Erika Romero Trujillo

Walk slow, get slapped

Angel Gonzalez

Audrey Phuong

Melah Davis

go to class

do not

smoke

at

school

Cadey Cooper

Nathaniel Elstrott

Noa Gonzales Burt

Owen Grossman

no.

An Unlikely Duo Working Together

antasy

F

“Finally,” Cassandria said under her breath. She smushed the red berries between her palms. Stooping over the smooth rock, she painted interwinding lines and circles, forming a sigil. She took out and placed the items inside the circles. The red lines began to glow, and the trees around her shook. She heard a high-pitched ring above her that grew louder, and the ring turned into a scream. She scrambled up, summoning fire in her hands. On the rock, a young man about her age groaned.

“Are you the Door?” She demanded. “Hey! What is that?” She almost fireballed him as he suddenly grabbed for his crocheted satchel. He pulled out a stack of letters, ensuring they were all accounted for. He smiled to himself; then looked around.

“Um, I think I smashed your art project.”

Cassandria yelled into the sky angrily, pushing him off her sigil. “Those were my last dead man’s fingers!” She salvaged what she could.

“I am Jensen, by the way. I was out on delivery. Mailman of the year, two-time running.” He held out his hand, quickly dropping it.

She stopped and sighed. “Cassandria. You fell through my spell. I was trying to get out of here, but I opened the wrong side of the Door.”

He blinked. “You’re a witch?”

“That’s all you got from that? We need to leave before the forest collapses. To do that, I need to open the Door. To do that, I need dead man’s fingers, which you sat on.”

“Well, I’m not dead, so don’t get any ideas!” He hid his fingers in his arms.

“I wish it was that simple. They’re mushrooms that grow in forests. Unfortunately, this forest is impossible to navigate–growing more twisted and denser as time goes on. Soon, we’ll be crushed.”

He nodded along, and his face grew more terror-filled as she went on. “Okay. What’s your plan?” The trees shook again, their limbs stretching closer to them. The trunk’s roots turned into legs that seemed to move.

“This is where the Door is weakest, so I have to do the spell here. We need to look for more fingers without getting lost.”

Jensen carefully took out the letters in his bag and started unraveling it, spooling the string around a stick. He tied one end to the rock. “Well, let’s go while we can still move.” He strode into the forest but promptly tripped on a thick root. He laughed embarrassedly, his ears turning as red as the berries she painted with.

They climbed over the moving foliage, looking between the cracks and leaves. Suddenly, Jensen squeaked, his foot getting caught in a hole in a root. Cass rushed over to him as the hole began to crush his foot. She carefully seared the wood and pulled his foot free. Just as the string ran out, Jensen spotted five skinny mushrooms, bent, and grey, pushing through the base of a cracked tree. With no time to celebrate, Cass snatched them up, and they followed the string back to the snow-covered rock.

Jensen cleared it while Cass repainted the sigil, placing the items in the proper spots. The sigil glowed, but the forest seemed angrier because they were escaping. A branch reached out and grabbed Cass’s hair. She screamed, and Jensen tried to untangle it, but the paint’s glow dimmed. Finally free, the pair stood on the rock. In a flash of light, the Door opened and spit them out on an excellent stone road. Cass laughed when Jensen pulled out the stack of letters from his shirt.

“I couldn’t ruin my mailman of the year streak!” He smiled.

The Warning

By Marisol Reyes Garcia

A

“Ari knows it'll be a long drive to her and her roommate's new home, so she decides to get comfy and sleep. Ari wakes up with a wack to the face from Jake.

“You need to be my GPS. Stay awake, woman.”

Ari rolls her eyes and picks up the map. She knew it would be a long, long drive. Ari studies the map and looks at the route.

“Okay, so it's a pretty long drive with not many steps. Let's get on the highway and keep going til I tell you so.”

“Got it,” mumbles Jake as Ari gets occupied reading a book. As Jake blasts music, Ari looks out the window and realizes she didn't tell him to take a right.

“Oh, crud,” she whispers.

“What do you mean I was supposed to take a right 12 minutes ago!!” Jake yells. Ari and Jake go back and forth, calling each other names. Ari finally finds a shortcut to get back on track.

“Are you sure it’ll take us there? This is sketchy,” Jake shakes.

“Oh, stop being a wuss. Maps don't lie.”

The map took them to an empty road, and they suddenly came upon a nice, clean-looking neighborhood with similar houses.

“Okay, we just have to get past this neighborhood, and we’ll be back on track,” Ari says, annoyed. They both get distracted for about 10 minutes, then realize they’ve been going in circles. “I should've been the one to drive,” exclaims Ari.

“Hey, it's not my fault this neighborhood is ages long.”

As they both get impatient, they stop the car and get out. Knocking door to door for help, but no one answers.

“What the hell?” Jake says, scared. “My phone is dead!! It just had 70 percent.”

“Mines dead too...”

Both of them get more and more impatient, hungry, and sleepy.

“Jake, you ate all the snacks, and we could be stuck here,” Ari yells.

“I was stress eating. Leave me alone,” Jake says shyly.

Ari takes it upon herself to open a random house door and walk in. “This is our place for tonight since it doesn't look like anyone is staying here,” Ari says proudly.

“You're crazy, but I call master room!!”

As both of them realize that they might be trapped, they look for any electronic device and try to call anyone or hear anything. The TV turned on, but it only had those kid cartoons.

Jake was getting more scared, realizing the sky was setting so perfectly, and when they had gotten there, the clouds looked so perfect, almost as if they were clones.

Ari noticed Jake looking at the sky. “You noticed too, huh? Creepy.”

Jake was fed up and took a ladder to get on the house's roof and check if there was a sign of anything but the neighborhood.

“What in god's name,” they both whispered, looking at the scene ahead of them. It was seas and seas of identical houses, everything exactly the same.

“What is this place,” Ari says.

“Your new home," someone whispers behind her as she slips off the roof.

“ARIIII,” Jake yells, and Ari wakes up–out of breath and scared.

“Come on, we have to go get on the road,” Jake tells Ari. “You look like crap, by the way,” Jake says as he walks away.

Ari is still sitting in shock. She thinks to herself. It wasn't just a dream, but a warning.

Coop.

W

“What are you doing?” Jay asked in a condescending tone. Gracie looked back at him with a glare.

“None of your business.” She turned back around to her desk, continuing to glue the popsicle sticks onto her mini-house design. She always loved art, so she was glad when she found it. Her 1st-period class was art class. Up until she found out Jay was in it.

Jay rolled his eyes, “I need help,” he admitted. He sat down beside her as she continued to glue the sticks on.

“Oh yeah? With what?” She asked, not believing he would ask her for anything. They’ve been enemies since the third grade. She put her sticks down and turned to look at him.

“I had a project I worked on all last night, and it broke this morning. I need your help making a new one before it’s due today.” She stared at him, her eyebrows raised.

“What even makes you think I would help you.”

“Uh, I don’t know. I just assumed, I guess.”

They both walked over to his desk, and she watched his broken project in silence as Jay watched her. She picked up the house pieces and analyzed the edges and breaks. She finally put the pieces down and looked at him.

“I’ll build it for you, but you have to do something for me,” she said.

Jay nodded as she explained how she wanted him to talk to the teacher for her and recommend her for the state-wide art contest.

“Sounds easy enough,” he shrugged.

Jay watched as she worked, he watched her eyes, and she looked over the pieces and watched her hands as she built the house. Gracie finished the house in 15 minutes. Although it wasn’t as detailed and magnificent as hers, it would get him a passing grade.

“Thank you,” Jay said. Gracie was clearly surprised by the gratitude.

“No problem,” she said hesitantly.

Gracie glared at him. “I thought you hated me,” She shook her head and stood up. “Fine.”

Dear Letter to a Certain Someone,

January 9, 2023

Dear Josh Hutcherson,

How dare you quit acting in 2015! It breaks my heart. I'll never see you in another film. Also, could you let me know why you don't use Instagram? I want to be able to keep up with my favorite actor, you know!!

Please come back, I'm begging.

Love,

Your heartbroken fan.

January 11, 2023

Dear Josh Hutcherson,

I’m sorry for my last letter. I’ve recently learned that you didn’t quit, but you’re staying away from big films, and I have found a new respect for you. I love how you genuinely love acting and not for fame. I’ve been watching your other movies, and your acting is phenomenal, as it always is. I can’t wait to watch your future films.

Love,

One of your biggest supporters

By Denia Ferreira

4/5/22-4/12/22

Dear Dory,

I love how your curly hair flows in the wind and how your sky-blue eyes sparkle in the hot sunlight. I don't think there's a girl as beautiful as you are, you´re like the star on top of a Christmas tree lighting up whatever room you're in. Seeing you walk into health class is the best feeling in the world but also the worst because I hate to know that is the only time I can see you besides lunch. I wish I had the guts to talk to you, but instead, I sit here writing this. I know you'd never talk to me your way too popular for a nerd like me, I don't get why no one likes you or even how you are still single.

Well, I guess I´ll have to keep wishing that one day you´d acknowledge me in at least the slightest way. Omg, my dreams came true. First, we kept passing the pencil back and forth then you actually talked to me, not to the whole table group. That was the best class ever. You made my day 10000x better. You always do but extra today. Now only if we actually talked outside of class or even school, but I can wait for that. Not to seem obsessed, but I'll wait as long as it takes for you to see that I like you. Even being friends with me will be okay; just being around you it´s the highlight of my day.

P.S.

It's me.

By Hailey Lozano

I don’t know why you do the things you do or say the things you say. I don’t know why you don’t think I will try. I do try. You say these things to me like I don’t think it’s difficult to deal with, like it’s only hard on you and no one else. Sometimes I wish I was the moon so I only appear silent when everyone’s asleep. I wouldn’t have to listen to what you say and the blame you put on me. Sometimes I think even the stars know what you say. They look

at me with tears, like they feel my feelings. You don’t understand how I feel, but the stars do. The stars and the moon know exactly what I’m thinking. They know exactly how I cry, how I laugh, and how I speak. They hear the words I say when I don’t say anything at all, unlike you. You can’t see what I see. You can’t see what I feel. I wish I were the moon.

By Juliet Weston

Letter to September 2016

Be bold.

Climb higher. Rollarskate in the street. Pick up the slimy worm. Run at recess. Eat the new food even if it looks gross. Get dirt on your shoes. Do the harder chores. Read your favorite book for the tenth time. Play with what you want.

Be confident.

Stand as tall as you are. Wear your side ponytail high. Keep the cropped and bejeweled jean jacket. Leave the big sweater

at home. Swim in a two piece. Talk loud. Sing loud. Laugh louder. Say what you want. Call attention to yourself. Talk back.

Be brave.

Dare to get in trouble. Make messes. Spill your water. Make mistakes. Trip in the hallway. Lose track of time. Play rough. Fail. Study harder when you don’t understand it. Ask for help. Demand change. Feel what you’re feeling. Refuse to take blame. Cry loud. Fight back. Yell louder than them.

By Tatiana Bender

I know there would be a time when we’d become each other’s memories. You being my childhood best friend to my solace, It was hard to believe at first, I just still can’t get the fact that we are in high school. Maybe it’s a phase that we go through. I know being in denial right now wouldn’t really do anything in the future, we would probably just be in the back of each other’s minds when we grow older and laugh at the fact that we thought

e were gonna make it. We’ll just be stories that we’d tell our kids when we grow old. I’ll always remember the time when we took our first photograph under that tree at the park. I knew at that time what my definition of love was, it was you. You will and always will be my definition of first love, but not my greatest. we’ll keep our love in that photograph.

By Rhaychelle Anne Guintu

Dear Anonymous,

I wish you didn't die. You were the heart of the whole project and made everyone so happy. Now everything is changing, and they're either leaving or just distancing themselves from everything. The whole project feels like a hollow shell of what it was. It feels dead. Everyone was devastated by the whole thing. We knew that you were living your best life and being happy while you were on the brink of death. I wish I could go back and change everything, But I know you wouldn't be happy with that. You were my hero and will always be like a hero.

The only thing I wish you never did was lying to us. You lied about your cancer's seriousness, which broke us even more. You said it was 99% gone. You said you were getting better. And it hurt even more that your dad told us you were lying. I don't blame you. I would do the same, but I spent months thinking there was something we could have done. Maybe if there were better doctors or if we caught it earlier. Still, I wish you were here.

I just miss you.

By Aaliyah Carranza-Lopez

D

thank you!!!

Dear Mrs. Ancell,

Thank you for everything. I honestly don't know if you remember me, but you honestly made a huge impact on my life. I’m so grateful that I had such an amazing teacher like you. High school has been a bit hard, and sometimes I've even considered quitting for a bit. But then you come to my mind. I honestly want to make you so proud. Thank you for everything. I miss you so so so much.

Sincerely,

Maritza Andrade-Arroyo

D

Dear Max,

Thank you for reminding me how important I am. The second you told me how much I meant to you & how happy you are that we met it lit up my life for the better. Definitely, the thing I needed to hear.

Sincerely,

Hailey Lozano

I

I dedicate this thank you letter to my friends and family. I would want to thank my friends for sticking up for me and for being by my side. To add to this, I’d like to thank them for tolerating me and enjoying my company because I enjoy making people laugh. I would also like to thank my family for caring for someone like me. I want to thank my parents for providing me with the love and care that I need, and I’d like to thank my siblings for helping me grow into the person I am now.

Thank you so much,

Jampier A.G

¡¡Gracias!!

thank you

the kind

I

I was told I was a massive influence on somebody because I played guitar. This was awesome because I've never really been an influence on somebody who is starting a new hobby. This experience helped me progress as a guitar player because I got more courage to improve. Since this event, I've never seen this person again, but I still remember them very well because they helped me get better mentally.

-Owen Grossman

words

that

inspire

D

Dear friends,

Thank you for improving my time in high school. I will always remember the time the you would make me laugh. During our times, you made me feel loved. Without you, Highschool would be a living hell for me.

Thank you,

Aaliyah Carranza-Lopez

D

Dear dad,

You may not have known it, but back when I was a little kid, the best part of my day was, after school, when you took me to the store and bought me a drink. If I were having a bad day, it would instantly make my day flip upside down. Thank you for all the happy memories.

Sincerely,

Noah Gonzales Burt

E

Eddie, thank you for being a friend of mine for years--no matter how much stuff I put you through, you're always there. Thanks for always helping me with my bf troubles, for giving me candy, for doing fx makeup with me, and thank you for wanting to do hot girl summer. We both have bad ideas, and I know we will have more bad ones and do a lot of dumb stuff together.

Sincerely,

Jeanette Sales

Dear friend,

Thank you for being here

with me!!!

D

Dear Jude,

Thank you for always listening to me complain and laughing at my jokes, even though they aren’t funny. Thank you for understanding my side of things even when no one else wanted to. Thank you for driving me back from school almost every day, even though you didn’t want to. Thank you for being responsible for me when I couldn’t be responsible for myself at times. Thank you for being my big brother.

–Juliet’ Weston

D

Dear, Kaeden, thank you for being mean to me every class. I love you dearly for it. Merci, sukria, grazie, gracias, tesekkür ederim, spasibo, kamsa hamnida, takk, salamat po, dziekuje, obrigado. Thank you for being my bestie(ish). Bye.

Mitchell Sherman <3