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Shining in the spotlight, shining on the stage and shining in their performances. Theatre is their shining place for some professional actors to appear on stage in performances. However, there’s only one kid who is working for the lobby during performances. And that's me, Andres Perez-Lopez. New person to the production crew at West High, but sometimes on certain teen stories like “New kid in the block”. Well, I am here because I am new, but I look older than the other kids in the school. I am talented and a great helper. However, did I join the production crew earlier in the role of marketing? How did I feel interested in joining marketing/advertising earlier? It is the first month of 2022 and I found out there is an audition for the spring play, The Crimson House Murder . I felt like there was a theater play because the directors and stage managers were putting up the Spring play since I joined the Drama Club via Zoom after the 2020-2021 school year. I didn’t go to Drama Club often due to a lot of homework and projects to do. Rather than audition to be on the cast (which I would be embarrassed and underperformed if I didn’t practice or memorize the lines), I filled out an application to do the marketing crew for the play, because I do need to find an activity to do for NWJH after I did one activity for Trimesters 1 and half of 2 for boys basketball team for the Winter season. I got called for the interview via email on January 26. One of the directors of the play, Ms. Freund, asked to take the offer for the role of Marketing/Advertising member. I typed a 155-word interview for being interested in being a tech crew and the schedule for the Spring play after the end of Spring Break, then I submitted.  A few days later, I checked my email and to my surprise, I got listed on the Marketing/Advertising team. I feel surprised as if I won the tickets to the Taylor Swift concert. After I got cast, I started to think about what the production would look like, such as getting along with the crew and getting to know each other, since I am a socialist. The time is production as the first meeting hits on January 31, 2022, and I attend here alongside many kids for the meeting. They are in the spot for the meetings and beyond the show for the spring season of school. A month later, after spring break on March 21, 2022, it’s back to school for me. Another rehearsal is happening and it’s just for select crew members. Even though I am not required to be in attendance since the marketing is not required until performance week, I decided to stay at the little theater for the remainder of the rehearsals and even do my homework and play with my Mario Red and Blue edition of Nintendo Switch. Several weeks later. Friday, April 29, 2022, is the day that the performance opened. The cast and crew are be ready for action, but they are overreacting as it’s the opening night to the point that one of the stage manager escorted me in a serious tone as the directors and managers are really stressed, stressed as like if the Black Friday shopping is happening in November like they told me “We are very stress as today is the opening night”. I decided to give up on being weak and forced myself to watch the performance. It’s like they are having a great time while I am being silent. I think to myself, “Am I the ghost, am I a nobody, am I, who am I?” as they are performing while I sit in the auditorium, watching the show and doing nothing for 3 performances for 3 days. After the final show on Sunday night, it’s time for the cast and crew to strike, which means cleaning up the entire auditorium, disposing of costumes and destroying any of the background on the stage. I decided to help it along with cleaning up the set. It’s a long wait until the pizza arrives. The entire team is having pizza as a job is done. I also gave the invitation cards to some crew members since it’s my 16th birthday during the pizza dinner. I met a new friend who wished me a happy birthday, and we started to get to know each other for a while until it’s all over. The spotlight was shut, the curtains closed and the performance was silent though the darkness. It’s a regular day of school, as if the performances were nothing. Over the months since the final curtain was closed, I’ve been more focused at NWJH with the finals and it’s challenging for me to do final projects and quizzes to get a high grade to leave for school to enter West High School (which is the place where I am right now). I found out about Theatre West for the 2022-2023 school year with both Clue  and Beauty and the Beast , however, I declined the offer as I chose eSports over it, as it has fun activities like a trampoline park. As time passed by to 11th grade, I decided to join Theatre West as a sound crew member, but the director, Ms. Nahra, told me to switch to production to have less work time than the other crew. So I joined in. To this day, I’m in the production crew for Theatre West as doing theatre for NWJH inspires me to join the production crew, as facing my past-self has inspired me for my future choice to join the crew for a single early job becomes a production team, becomes responsible and becomes the new person in the theatre crew.

A blue boat rests on my dock It arrives once a year It brings no one, and it takes no one It holds no maps, no navigation, no sense of direction Every year, it leaves The next year, it comes back It stops on my dock It leaves from my dock No one sees it but me Even then, I don’t hear it leave I wake up, and it’s gone A fleeting memory Was it ever really there? Or was it a fragment of my mind, Something I conjured from broken pieces of my life? Yet, I think again– If madness had taken me wouldn’t I feel its breath? No, I recall: There is no captain, no passengers, no crew The boat is always empty I simply must be going insane After all, when I see the boat It always seems to be night And darkness tells too many lies You think you see things Like monsters under your bed It turns your heartbeat into footsteps Thudding inside your skull But it’s really just your mind Restless and ill at ease You let these thoughts linger too long, Making you run in circles Until your body finally finds sleep Maybe that’s what my mind does Tire me Maybe I should forget it Maybe I should move on But it’s never that simple I come back to my dock Every Year I look for the boatThe boat with no purpose But to taunt me with its peeling blue paint And its tattered, muddied sails Which leaves its imprint in my head, So when I close my eyes, I still see it But it always comes empty It always leaves empty And somehow, it leaves me a little emptier too

The Life of Our Death, Inspired by Hao Jingfang’s “Invisible Planets,” which was inspired by Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities BENDARAN Meet the Bendaran. This species lives on a crystalline planet, Shadar. This planet has a crushing atmosphere that makes life practically impossible on its surface. However, the underground of this planet is riddled with vast subterranean caves. These caves are where these aliens live. During their evolution into an intelligent species, they learned these caves would sometimes collapse for mysterious reasons. Because of this, the Bendaran would constantly move around in order to stay safe. As the Bendaran grew more advanced, they found ways to strengthen these caverns to reduce the chance of a collapse, which eliminated the need to constantly move. However, the Bendaran still culturally show positive emotions by moving and negative emotions by standing still, as standing still traditionally implies that the Bendar feels like being crushed by the ceiling for whatever reason. As the Bendaran grew technologically, they eventually ventured out to the surface of their planet, where they found the reason for the cave collapses. The immense pressure of the atmosphere led to a surface full of ever-growing crystals. These crystals started off small, around five feet tall and of a yellow-green color (the Bendaran called these “spines”). As they grew, their color dulled to a gray and grew into enormous rectangular or spike-like formations. Finally, when the crystal grew too large, around a hundred feet, its weight would be too much for the rock, and any caverns below would collapse. Soon the Bendaran created explosive technologies to collapse the crystals in a controlled manner, as well as tracking which crystals were too large so that warnings could be issued to the caverns below them. Eventually, as space technology developed, they created flying, space-worthy ships that are capable of completely vaporizing these crystals, vastly improving safety for the population below. Soon after, this species began venturing out into space with only the best intentions: discovery, exploration, and helping other life they may find. The Bendaran suspected that there was other life out there, possibly life also struggling with crystals such as theirs. They vowed to help any life out there that might face the same problem. They first found life on a watery, bluegreen planet. As their spaceships neared the surface, the Bendaran realized that whatever life was on that planet had a massive infestation on their hands. Great gray blocks hundreds of feet high clustered on the surface everywhere . Even more numerous were the large squares of spines. Due to the lack of air pressure, the Bendaran suspected the water had something to do with such widespread crystal growth. As the Bendaran approached a massive cluster of spikes, they realized there was indeed intelligent life there. The mysterious species was moving around constantly, just as the Bendaran had long ago. They seemed to be trying to systematically disassemble the crystals, as some blocks looked like partial skeletons compared to the rest. At the rate they were working, it looked like it would take this species centuries to get rid of all the crystals, by which time new ones would surely pop up.  The Bendaran determined that the crystals posed the same threat to this mysterious species that crystals once posed to them. So the Bendaran decide to help out. They vaporized the biggest spike in one particularly massive cluster that took up a whole island. Once it was gone, the Bendaran saw the mysterious species moving around even faster than before. They were moving fast and moving away from the destroyed crystal, which, if this species was anything like the Bendaran, meant they approved and were clearing the way for them to keep going. So the Bendaran kept working. After about a week of vaporizing, the Bendaran finished clearing out all the crystals, and even destroyed the squares of spines to ensure no new crystals would form for a while. Hardly any of the species was visible, so the Bendaran assumed they went back underground. That species never tried to get in contact with the Bendaran, but the Bendaran reasoned it must be because they were still lacking in the necessary technology to do so. The Bendaran congratulated themselves on a job well done and left, vowing to come back every three hundred years, to make sure the infestation was completely dealt with. Who knows? Maybe that species would grow advanced enough to communicate with the Bendaran, and they could be friends. Unbeknownst to them, they had obviously just ruined the human civilization. The Bendaran, with their good intentions, essentially doomed humans. The destruction of cities and crops and the deaths of so many people led to the collapse of civilization. And every time the humans try to build back up, the Bendaran come back, every three hundred years, and destroy all of the progress they try to make. And so the humans die, not from war, but from kindness. Oops.  JUKAZAMAN Meet the Juzaka. Wait, that’s a few days inaccurate. Meet the Kielat. Or was it the al(o)sk(u)h(o)g(i)d(y)s(a)lesal(e)k(o)hls(a)kejhsaats? (The vowels in parentheses are added in to make the word somewhat pronounceable by humans). One of those. They live on a planet called Juzan. Or ghak(e)lsej(o)h(a)b. Or was it Bill? Let me explain.  The Jukazaman (I’ll call them that for now) live on a planet much like Earth, suitable for life in the same ways Earth is. Their planet rotates slowly, with one day being roughly equal to one month, two weeks, four days and seven hours on earth. Because of the longer span of time between each day, the advent of a new day is more special on Juzan (I’ll call it that for now). This special event is usually celebrated with the turning off of the lights ceremony, parties, and overthrowing the government. Yes, overthrowing the government.  Each day the Jukazaman start out supportive and excited about their new government. Pride, support, and passion comes flowing from the people as the sun moves higher. But the Jukazaman start to get impatient and annoyed at the government as the sun dips lower. By nightfall, there are complainings and mumblings of conspiracy. By midnight, protests, riots, and uprisings. And when the sun rises again, a new government is formed in the old one’s place.  All the Jukazaman are part of one faction or another, each with its own ideals and standards. Each faction has rules, laws, and staff ready to go in case it will be the day they take control. Each government is wildly different. There are democracies, totalitarian monarchies, communisms, and more. Some have almost no rules and are essentially anarchy. Others are strict and militarian, removing rights from everyone and everything. One faction, the Akblots, only allowed the use of two words: Ak and Blotutosntobatuakop. Another faction, the Blagas, had one law: Try not to kill each other. That same day, the economy crashed, cities were trashed, and resources depleted. After that, some guidelines were made for what factions could or couldn’t do, but there’s no telling how long that will last. The official names of things are changed with the governments as well, such as the official name of the species, the planet, their language, and pretty much everything else. Hence the problem in naming the species. The transition of power also varies. Some factions know that their government won’t survive the night, and they peacefully nominate another faction to control the government for the next day. Some factions seize the government despite a nomination and then try to hold on for longer than a day. The record for the longest lasting government was ten minutes past a day, by the Kakavan, who tried to fight off the angry people before being banished or executed by the Typhlon, the next ruling faction.  Enough backstory, let's get back to Earth. When Earth scientists first established contact, it was through simple means. Therefore, they didn’t realize that the Jukazaman scientists they contacted were undercover, trying to evade the Hullatot who were hunting them for being scientists. By the time proper communications began the Juzaka faction had taken control. The Juzaka faction was a democracy, mostly non-violent, very secretive, allowed the creation of treaties, and had several sister factions with similar values that could inherit the government later. This was the government the humans communicated with. Before establishing trade and transit between worlds they made many treaties, including that the Juzaka wouldn’t fire antimatter missiles at the humans, and that the humans wouldn’t use atom bombs against the Juzaka. There were also treaties that required declaration for war, thus preventing sneak attacks. The two species then met and established trade and travel. Humans interacted with the Jukazaman and learned what they could. However, because the Juzaka government was highly secretive, the humans never learned about the process of government on Jukazaman. A Jukazaman day later the government was handed down peacefully to a sister faction, Juzaca. The difference between factions was so small the humans did not notice the transition. Translation between languages meant that the human name for the aliens’ government was the same, and no treaties or ideals were changed. So the humans were none the wiser.  The first warning signs to the humans happened the next Jukazaman day. The next faction that took power was also a sister faction, but it was slightly different, Juzacaca. It still translated to the same name, but its ideals were highly against granite imports, which the Earth was providing. Without warning, the Juzacaca shut down the trade and turned away the merchants. The humans were initially confused why the trade had been shut down and that no notice had been provided, but they didn’t think much of it. After all, the Juzacaca were more open to lemon trade, which made up for the loss. If only the humans had considered that the granite trade was not the only deal that could be broken. That Jukazaman night, the hammer finally fell. The Jukazaman populace was tired of the string of Juzaka factions. That night, the Kielat faction stirred an uprising that overthrew the Juzacaca. The Kielat had extreme, militaristic ideals, and they had no honor or mercy. They also hated anything that had a prime number of fingers on each hand. Which meant the humans had to die. In a flash, they tore up all the treaties with the humans and quickly devised a plan for their destruction. The next trading vessels that arrived on Earth were filled with antimatter bombs, each with a five hundred megaton yield. And these trading vessels went to every country on Earth. The humans were caught completely unawares. Well, if it makes the massacred humans feel any better, the next faction on Juzan made a movie about them. VOLANGO Antavola was once a beautiful place. Forests of flowers covered the planet, each a different vibrant color. These plants had their own circle of life, each suffocating each other for food, living off each other’s remains, and towering above others to reach more light. It was an ecosystem much like ours, except with only plants. That is, until the Vola came into play. These flowers were about the height of a human, and were considered unremarkable for a long time. However, about a million years ago, through some miracle of evolution, they created an entirely new subspecies. They evolved the ability to create servants, ones more resembling rhino’s   from earth (though somewhat humanoid), to protect the Vola. This subspecies is called the Volango. The Vola, with a great deal of effort, could produce a single Volango. This Volango would have more mobility and intelligence to protect its parent Vola. In return, the Vola gave the Volango nutrition in order to keep growing, by having the Volango connect back to the Vola at times. As evolution continued to push its course, the Volango got more intelligent. The smarter the Volango were, the easier it was for them to protect their parent Vola.  Eventually the Volango flourished into an intelligent civilization. Because it was hard for the Vola to produce even one Volango, the Volango evolved the ability to give birth, allowing for generations of Volango to be protecting, and living off of, the same Vola. The young Volango were able to photosynthesize, or get nutrition from the sun, unlike their parents, in order to grow faster. The adult Volango lived long lives, spanning hundreds of years. The Volango civilization was completely centered around the Vola, as it was their life source. The flower forests were cut down and destroyed, with only select other flowers being allowed to keep living. Family, trade, and war were all different, each centered around the Vola. It was a thriving civilization, full of life and promise. That is, until the great hunger. A virus, perhaps natural, perhaps artificial, spread through the Vola like wildfire. The Volango tried desperately to stop it, but to no avail. A few weeks later, the last Vola died. That day, the Volango civilization was no more. Without their life source, nutrition, and unity, the Volango species dissolved into chaos. No alternate food source had been created, as there had been no need to, with the Vola. Billions died of starvation, and the remainder’s minds turned to one driving goal: survival. Things got ugly fast. Many, mad with hunger, tried desperately consuming other species of flowers and died of poison. Not only was this pointless, but it destroyed the few remnants of life on the planet. Soon, the realization came that the only thing on the planet that they could eat was, terribly, themselves. Cannibalism and starvation ensued until there were few Volango left, all spread out across the planet, too far to interact with each other.  But, somehow, the Volango did not go extinct. One Volango realized that their offspring was able to feed off the sun, unlike the adults. This meant that potential offspring would still be able to grow up for a few years, before being unable to photosynthesize and dying of starvation. However, the offspring would be able to obtain nutrients for a few years, which the parent could then obtain by, well, consuming their offspring. This Volango then found and convinced another Volango to go forward with the plan. It was successful. After much time, the two Volango spread word to the remainder of their kind that there was a way to survive.  Slowly the Volango staggered on. Over thousands of years the Volango evolved to better survive with what they had. The offspring, when consumed, began controlling the parent, renewing the mind while still keeping the old. This gave the Volango generations of experience and knowledge. When an adult finally grew too old an offspring would be allowed to grow up to replace them. To dissuade the offspring from eating the parent, which would throw the system off balance, the adults evolved hard, impenetrable shells. Slowly, very, very slowly, the Volango started to rebuild their population. However, due to numerous setbacks their number remained around just a few thousand. They were unable to grow new flowers in hopes of cultivating something edible, as there were no more flowers. A single hiccup in the system would mean their extinction, and they knew it.  So when the humans made contact, the Volango knew that they could not pass up this opportunity. They invited the humans to come to Antavola, and said they were starving and in deep trouble. The humans arrived shortly after, bringing supply ships loaded with food. For the first time in thousands of years, the Volango had food. But it wasn’t enough for them. Perhaps if the Volango had been kinder, they would have considered that collaboration with the humans would mean a good chance of survival and regrowth. But the Volango were not kind. They were hardened by thousands of years of constant starvation and death. They trusted no one but their own kind and weren’t taking any chances. Those who would’ve had mercy died long ago.  They pretended to accept the human’s kindness and went with the humans back to earth. There, they met with Earth’s leaders. And subsequently killed them. Thus began a short war with the humans. The humans fought desperately and ferociously, and were of greater number, but the Volango fought harder. They were stronger, smarter, and knew that their survival depended on winning. In the end the Volango won. Who knows, with the human’s planet full of food and technology, maybe the Volango will pull themselves out of near extinction. At the expense of the human’s extinction.

Poetry - Grapevine, Spring 24/25 The worm had grown near a foot in length Eating Eating Eating through all my strength, of my roommates, none mov’d against the worm,  “It’s just been cleaning out our trash!” it was too cute,  too novel  Just to burn it had been so boring in that room the last 2 years and 50 days so we let the worm march on and my roommates, They let it take stage utilizing, repurposing all our trash , Churning, crushing  building mass Snipping, slicing it ate a page They kept it “What good is a book when the worm is at play!” the house got sparser  forgotten lives in the sieve. Those things, Those  pests, had no right to live the lives of simple bugs and rats, Gone “For the better in the end!” I left that home, weary of the sight No eagle could kill the worm now Only salting the earth would suffice but I was just one man, shouting out against the tide the worm would eat itself to death  so I waited for its strife When I came back to see my home  I had to stop to cry Void Husk Empty Gone Nothing left for life

Prose - Grapevine, Spring 24/25 Beginning I sat at the dinner table in my house, eating. My family sat there, too. They were talking about their days. At work, at school, at home. I was barely listening, sitting in silence. Petrified, but I would say rightly so. I let the conversation fade in and out as I ate, getting little snapshots of what they were talking about. “Ugh, my boss is so annoying. Do you know what he said today? He…,” said my mother. “I got an ‘A’ on my math test!” said my little brother. “I cleaned the bathroom and living room today,” said my father. None of this mattered anyway. The sirens still blared outside, as if screaming. The sound filled my head, my body, my soul. I couldn’t bear it. Every day. Every day. Every day. Inescapable. Every day. “How can you sit here and talk about this shit?!” I blurted out. Everyone looked at me, concern on their faces. “What do you mean, hon?” asked my mother. “The sirens! They’re so loud, so urgent, and you don’t do anything !” “Oh hon, they’ve been doing that for a long time. You know that.” “What sirens?” asked my brother. We ignored him, as we always do when the subject is brought up. It was for his own good, after all, to not know. “Y’know, you keep saying it’s always been this way, but I’ve never heard any proof. If they’ve been going for so f***ing long, why is there no old recording of the sirens? Why are they so quiet in old news clips? Old shows? Old movies?” “Oh, they had special equipment to dampen the noise.” “WHAT!” I shouted, exasperated and slightly panicked, “So they had the ability to dampen it in the seventies, but not today!?” My father shook his head. “Sofie, I have some old TV recordings of the news that my father gave me. Would you like to watch them to see that it’s always been like this?” “Fine.” I said, breathing heavily. He went to his bedroom while the rest of us waited at the table, alone in our interpersonal silence with the sound of sirens in the background, fighting, fighting to be in the foreground. He came back out carrying a disk case, opening it as he walked towards the TV. He popped in the disk, hit play, and the sound of a siren blared from the TV, much deeper and quieter than the sirens outside, as if calmer, less panicked. Less alarming. As the picture faded in, revealing the man who was president 70 years ago, he began to speak. Speak . Not shout, like everyone has to do now. The sirens were so much quieter on the old broadcast. I shook my head in frustration and pulled out my phone and found a video to play. The sound of the siren from my phone drowned out the sound from the TV. It matched the pitch of the sirens outside. “Can you not hear the difference?!” I screamed. “Let’s just drop it,” my mom said, turning off the TV with the remote. Ending One And so I did. After that day, I never spoke to my family about the sirens ever again. At some point, two or three years later, my brother called me in a panic, shouting at me that something had to be done. I told him he was being silly, that everything was fine. Then I hung up.  After all, everything was fine. The sirens had remained, growing louder and higher of course, but nothing really happened. Nothing ever happened, and the world kept on spinning.  My parents were right. Nothing ever happened, and the world kept on spinning.  * I was shopping when it happened. It was midafternoon, and, as always, the sirens blared. It had been twenty years since my father showed me the news clip, just five years since my brother called me. It passed so quickly. The sirens had been growing steadily louder, more insistent that entire time, and I ignored it as my parents had told me to. At some point, people’s ears began to bleed. Everyone ignored it, because it really wasn’t that painful, and eventually it became the norm. The same thing happened when people started to go into random coughing fits. It just became the new normal. Which of course it was. Normal, that is. When I was in the check-out lane, though, something happened. Everyone around me started coughing, rasping, grasping at their throats. They were coughing up blood, and their ears were bleeding profusely. I fell over, too, and began to do the same. It was so painful, as if my body was trying to expel my heart through my mouth and ears. Eventually, it stopped and I stood up. Looking around, it seemed like only about three-quarters of the people around me were getting back up. The rest of them laid on the ground, silent. Dead. This, too, became normal after just a few weeks of it happening every few days. Everybody around the world adjusted the way they lived to accommodate these fits. They got used to watching people around them die on the floor. And it was normal. All of us were just waiting to die. And all the while, the sirens reached a fever pitch. Ending Two “NO!” I screamed, “C’mon, you can’t say that! We have to do something !” “Well maybe you can be the one to fix it,” my mother said. I bolted to my room and slammed the door. I flung myself onto the bed sobbing. That’s how I slept that night. That’s how I slept every night for a long while. Years crying myself to sleep, with nothing but the sirens to accompany my wails.  One night, my brother called me in a panic. He was crying, saying that something needed to be done about the sirens. It broke me to hear him say it. To hear someone who had been innocent for so long cry about it. So I told him about a group of people that had figured a way to stop the sound. They simply wore noise-canceling headphones, and lived in peace and quiet. I hadn’t taken up the practice, though I didn’t really know why. It seemed like a good idea, to not have to listen to the soul-crushing, all-consuming sirens. I think I had thought that to be a well-rounded person, I needed to hear the sirens cry. How silly. I took up the practice, wearing noise-cancelling headphones everywhere I went. The world was so much more peaceful that way.  At some point, people started bleeding from their ears and having awful coughing fits. It was a terrible, terrible sight to see, so we began to wear blindfolds as well to maintain the peace that we had lived in. I was told many times that I was strange for wearing the blindfold and the headphones, but I didn’t care. I was happy. * About five years later, something strange happened. The sirens had been growing steadily louder and more panicked that entire time. I had even been forced to get better noise cancelling headphones multiple times just to block out the growing noise.  It started midafternoon one day, when I was in the check-out lane, grocery shopping. At first, I thought my ears were ringing, but it was the sirens. I could hear them again. I sighed, knowing that I’d have to get new headphones. The sound kept getting louder as I finished checking out and turned to go back into the store to get new headphones. As I was walking, though, I tripped over something. Then something else. And then again. Finally, I took off my blindfold to look around, and all around me people were on the floor, their bodies twisted in what looked like pain as their ears bled heavily and they coughed up blood.  I stepped back and tripped over somebody else that had fallen behind me, landing on my butt. The sirens were getting so loud, louder than they had been for me in so, so long. And then I felt something in my ears. I reached my hand up and felt a warm, sticky liquid. Blood. I panicked. I jumped up and ran to get new headphones. I must’ve jumped over two dozen people to get there. Once I got my hands on a new pair of headphones, I ripped them out of the packaging and replaced my old ones. For the brief moment that I could hear the sirens more clearly, I felt as if my eardrums nearly burst. But then it was quiet again.  I looked around. The people on the ground had stopped moving. Most had gotten up. Some of them, though, laid motionless on the ground. I put my blindfold back on, and the world was peaceful again. Ending Three “NO!” I screamed, “C’mon, you can’t say that! We have to do something !” “What do we do?” my mother asked, clearly exasperated at this point, “Hm? What do you think we should do to help?” “I don’t f***ing know!” I yelled, “But we can’t just do nothing !” “We can’t do anything if you don’t have an idea, because we don’t,” my father yelled. And on and on it went. Any time I spoke to my parents after that, we fought. In fact, I fought with almost everyone in my life. I fought with people online, I would always tell cashiers and waiters that something needed to be done. At some point, late at night, my brother called me, crying, telling me that we had to do something about the sirens.  “What do we do?” I asked him. I could hear him stammering on the other end. “What do we do, then, huh?!” I asked, frustrated. “I-I dunno!” he said.  “Well then, f*** off!” I shouted, and hung up. I walked over to my bed, and I could feel my eyes watering. I flung myself onto the mattress and screamed into the pillow, and for a brief moment, the pitch of my wails matched that of the sirens. I stopped. I screamed again, louder this time, and again my pitch matched the sirens, and I felt good. I felt happy . I hadn’t felt really happy for so, so long.  * Five years and one day after my brother called, I laid in my bed again. Screaming, at the top of my lungs, matching the pitch of the sirens, so that, even for a moment, they were dampened. Even when people started bleeding from their ears, even when they started collapsing into coughing fits during their daily commutes, I had done the same thing every day for the past half-decade. My throat was on fire, and when I wasn’t screaming it felt like it had been ripped to shreds. But God, did it feel good every night to scream . To hear my neighbors pounding on my walls, telling me to stop, disturbed by the noise. To feel the pain in my throat. At some point, I told my neighbors how good it felt to do, and that same night I could hear them screaming, too. And the sirens were forced further back into the background, our screams filling the foreground. Soon, everyone in the building was screaming at night in the most beautiful, human chorus I’d ever heard.  But that night, the sirens were too high. We couldn’t match their pitch. But God did we try. I could hear people trying all night, destroying their vocal cords, making themselves hoarse. But as the sirens got higher and higher and louder and louder, people’s screaming became broken, as if interrupted every few seconds by something. I didn’t know why at first, but whatever. I kept screaming. But then I collapsed, a horrible pain shooting through my head, my ears bleeding profusely. I began to cough, harder than I ever had before, as if my body was trying to eject my heart from my ribcage. Between each cough, I screamed. Everyone else must’ve been too.  As the night went on, people stopped screaming altogether. Nobody seemed to stop, so I kept going, too. My body convulsing, my ears gushing blood, my coughing more and more violent, and still I screamed. And slowly, as the night went on and my throat was in such pain that it no longer hurt, I was alone, and I was screaming. I was screaming into the void, into the world, begging that someone would hear me. I was screaming into dawn. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming. Dead.

Poetry - Grapevine, Spring 24/25 A life never lived Is rarely revived A phantom of hope A well made disguise. But if one does choose To revive a life They must choose three things To sacrifice The first thing must be Of glamour and gold So pretty and shiny So striking and bold The second must be Of passion and talent It must represent A thing, so gallant The third thing must be So ugly and vile That when it's picked up It does secrete bile Some three twisted sisters Took upon themselves To resurge a life To restock the shelves For then they thus brought The three needed items That universe sought That can thus enlighten The first thing they brought Was a ring of ruby They reasoned that it Shall compel one to be The second thing was A basket of cane A simple creation Pricked fingers and strained The third item was A brother rat’s liver So slimy and bloody It forced one to quiver The three twisted sisters Drew up a new cauldron And then one by one Took up their pauldrons A large ladle spun And turned the pot green The three twisted sisters Dreamed of being queens So sudden the wreck So sudden the trouble So sudden the shriek So sudden the bubbles A spirit then rose Out of the pot It peered at the sisters And rested its fraught These three twisted sisters Could not have awaited This undescribed fate A thing they created They failed to remember The tenet of trope That a lost life revived Is a phantom of hope It is not a path Nor a journey alive It is simply just trouble That toils and thrives So foul and fair Through toil and troubles Do the three twisted sisters Discover their nubbles They have learned once more That life is not simple It cannot be tricked Nor covered by wimple

Visual Art - Grapevine, 24/25 "Autumn Overlooking The Lake" "A Girl's Floral Portrait" "Art Room Whirlwind"

Poetry - Grapevine, Spring 24/25 I once put a person on a pedestal. It stood high. As if held by an angel. Out of reach its miracles, human actions. Bewildered and blinded my eyes. And the thing that once stood on solid ground. It transcended. Above the clouds, above my mind. The human dissipated and the perfect being was created. In my mind. And I suffered. To try and prove myself to the being I had made. At the precipice of torment. I saw the breaks in the pillar I raised. Do not build from the earth to the heavens a man. That man will crumble with its pedestal. As did The Tower Of Babel.

Visual Art - Grapevine, Spring 24/25 There is something magical about clouds. They are ever-changing, forming breathtaking shapes and patterns in the sky. With my phone, I try to capture these fleeting moments, preserving the beauty that often goes unnoticed. Photography has made it easy to document the sky and its endless transformations. Whether it's fluffy white clouds on a bright day, golden-hued clouds at sunset, or dark storm clouds signaling rain—each moment is unique. The key to a great shot is timing, lighting, and a bit of creativity. Through cloud photography, I have learned patience and the ability to appreciate small details. The way the sunlight filters through the —depth and emotion to every shot. Every cloud tells a story, and with each photo I try to capture the wonder of nature and share it with others. After all, beauty is everywhere; we just need to look up.

There are spiders that live in my head As they grow restless, they creep down my throat and into my stomach Burrowing through the soft flesh of my abdomen, digging tunnels into the delicate tissues coating the underside of my skin  I feel every sharp slice of their pincers, every brush of the scratchy hair sprouting from their spindly legs I feel every beady little eye squeeze in and out of the small spaces between muscle and bone There’s thousands upon thousands of them, taking up every inch of my body, their small frames squeezing my heart so tight I can feel the blood slowly oozing out of its veins and filling my lungs with a rich, copper tang.  Often I can't breathe.  The spiders harmonize with the ringing in my ears as they scurry up and down the expanse of my body,  I can feel them, I can feel them, I can only feel them. It’s not mine My body isn’t mine, it will always be theirs  I itch and pick and scratch and pull at the skin that used to be mine, hoping that if the red welts on my arms outnumber the ones that are embedded into the fleshy planes of my insides maybe my body will come back to me. I can only hope that maybe one day I’ll feel the stinging stretch of their small bodies squeezing out through my tear ducts Or maybe I’ll feel the tap of their legs scratch against my tongue as they pour out of my mouth.  But maybe, after my skin is mine once more I’ll see their small bodies, covered in blood and bile, bulbous eyes shining with fear and dread.  Maybe, just maybe my eyes will be drawn to the slight tremor of its leg, broken and bent, curled around its failing body protectively, clinging onto the last moments of its meaningless life.  So maybe, just maybe, I’ll cup each of those pathetic, withering masses in my hands and lay them gently in the grass.   A final resting place for a creature that was nothing more than small and scared.

Visual Art - Grapevine , Spring 24/25

Poetry - Grapevine , Spring 24/25 I want someone to look at me the way the moon does With cold beauty of the dark night and the gentleness of the bright sun With the sharp pale light against the black world With the shattering intensity of winter ice on a frozen lake  I want to dance with someone like the breeze does Winding through the tall stalks of golden wheat And running through the waving movement of green ferns in spring Flowing gracefully through the soft fur of the young deer  I want to grow old with someone like the grand oak trees  Roots twisting and winding a knot together in the earth Breaking and splitting the the earth and stone that holds them in place  The branches forever stretching towards the summer sky I will die with that someone like the autumn leaves falling My conscience drifting away like a leaf from my grand oak With theirs in tow behind me, we will land in the mud Waiting till we’ll see each other again