Rumble Into Eternity by Literary Arts

Rumble Into Eternity

Rumble Into Eternity 2008-2009 Student Online Chapbook © 2009 Literary Arts, Inc. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be duplicated in any way—mechanical, photographic, electronic, or by means yet to be devised—without the written permission of the publisher, except in the case of a brief excerpt or quotation for the purpose of review. Printed in the United States. Literary Arts Staff Andrew Proctor, Executive Director Kirsten Collins Susan Denning Kristin Loebbecke Jennifer MacGregor Marshall Miller Mary Rechner James Rishky WITS Interns Alex Behr Kelley Burnett Chris Cottrell Colin Cowden Sarah Daus Merriwether Falk Sabrina Goldsman Board of Directors Jodi Delahunt Hubbell, Chair Connie Christopher Rick Comandich John Daniel Barnes C. Ellis Michele Glazer

Susan Hathaway-Marxer Kurt Hutton Susheela Jayapal Frank Langﬁtt Phillip Margolin Per Ramfjord Strunk & White Society An Honorary Society of Distinguished Advisors Brian Booth Bart Eberwein Brian Gard Diana Gerding Molly Gloss Carrie Hoops Ursula K. Le Guin Julie Mancini Brenda Metlebeke Diane Ponti Halle Sadle Steven Taylor Steve Wynne

Chapbook Staff Editors: Mary Rechner, Chris Cottrell Designer: Chris Cottrell Proofreader: Sarah Daus WITS is a program of Literary Arts, a statewide, nonprofit arts organization that enriches the lives of Oregonians through language and literature. For more information please contact: 224 NW 13th Avenue, Suite 306 Portland, or 97209 503.227.2583 www.literary-arts.org Cover Art: Haily Skye Dehler, Renaissance Arts Academy

Table of Contents Writers in the Schools...iv...Support...v...Introduction by Mary Rechner, Program Director...vii... War by Liban Abdullahi, Franklin High...1... Find Yourself by Juan J. Rogel, SEIS, Roosevelt campus...2... Elegy to Aaron by Seth Jared Iverson, Open Meadow...3... Madness by Aidyn Smith, Franklin High...4...Kayla by Mayra Alejandra Chavarría-Santos, Roosevelt—SEIS...5/6...Lisandra by Hamda Jama, SEIS, Roosevelt campus...7... Untitled by Katelin Zywicki, Cleveland High...8...Untitled by Gabriela Andres, Franklin High...9...D.E.A.D. by Taylor Harrison, Franklin High...10...The Reality of Truth by Tanner Bragg, Franklin High...18...Empty Chair by Kilee Coffelt, Franklin High...19...A Guy’s Worst Dream by Noe Rodríguez, SEIS, Roosevelt campus...20... Monday Morning by Wendy Soriano SEIS, Roosevelt campus...21... When I Was Six by Noe López SEIS, Roosevelt High...22...A Convenient Truth by Trevor Houghton Cleveland High School...23...Walk by Emiliana Sacayón, Marshall Campus Schools...24...How to See a Duck by Nick Retchless, Cleveland High School...25...Al Final del Día/At the End of the Day Por Luis Mejía, Roosevelt-SEIS...26/27...Ways of Looking at a Glass of Water by Brandon Proppe, Benson High School...28...Light by Billy Pham, Benson High School...29...Say Something by Taylor Montgomery, Cleveland High School...30...The Antique House by Cante Nakanishi, Madison High School...31...

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Writers in the Schools Writers-in-Residence Turiya Autry, Lorraine Bahr, Carmen Bernier-Grand, Carson Cistulli, Raphael Dagold, Michael Dickman, Hunt Holman, John Isaacson, Joe Kurmaskie, Jessica Lamb, Amy Minato, John Morrison, Laura Moulton, Emma Oliver, Mark Pomeroy, Donna Prinzmetal, Carlos Reyes, Kirsten Rian, Joanna Rose, Natalie Serber, JoNelle Toriseva, Cindy Williams GutiĂŠrrez, Matthew B. Zrebski Visiting Authors Turiya Autry, Geraldo Calderon & Cindy Williams GutiĂŠrrez, Matthew Dickman, Mira Nair, Vitaly Paley & Robert Reynolds, Richard Russo, Crystal Williams Participating Teachers Diana Bentley, Matthew Boyer, Barbara Brown, Gloria Canson, Therese Cooper, Michael Cullerton, Anne Dierker, Jacque Dixon, Jerry Eaton, Bianca Espinosa, Jennifer Frederick, Elena Garcia-Velasco, Stefanie Goldbloom, Kelly Gomes, John Patrick Gonzales, Garin Gregory, Emily Gromko, Barbara Hansen, Leslie Hillen, Samae Horner, Paige Knight, Steve Lambert, Chris Lane, Naomi Leavitt, Eric Levine, William Lovatt, Dorie MacCormack, Manuel Mateo, Ginny Maxam, Eve McAlister, Pat McCormick, Anne Meadows, Dave Mylet, Amanda-Jane Nelson, Karen Polis, Pam Quale, Mary Rodeback, Al Rowell, Chris Rudolf, Andy Sorensen, Eddy Shuldman, Mike Sweeney, Serena Talcott, Amy Taramasso, Trisha Todd, Dana Vinger, Kristin Wallace, Tracey Wyatt, Anna York, Jamie Zartler Participating Principals Devon Baker, Sue Brent, Peyton Chapman, Leo Colegio, Paul Cook, Rosemary Donnelly, Cynthia Harris, Shay James, Fred Locke, Joseph Malone, A.J. Morrison, Stevie Newcomer, Steve Olczak, Elisa Schorr, Frank Scotto, Pat Thompson District Liaison Marcia Arganbright

Support The following individuals, businesses and foundations made Writers in the Schools a success in 2008â&#x20AC;&#x201C;2009:

Sponsors Autzen Foundation The Collins Foundation The Bill Healy Foundation H.W. & D.C.H. Irwin Foundation Juan Young Trust Carol Mayer-Reed & Michael Reed PGE Foundation Templeton Foundation Trust Management Services, LLC Major Supporters Brijesh & Ann Anand Kenneth Arnold & Constance Kirk, KenArnoldBooks, LLC Ray & Jean Auel Bank of the West Nancy & Roderick Boutin Broadway Books

William & Miranda Burnett Chelsea Cain & Marc Mohan Joan Cirillo & Roger Cooke Mary Clark Debi Coleman Rick Comandich & Maya Muir The Commerce Bank of Oregon Joanne & Joseph Delahunt Penny & Ken Durant Sue & Ed Einowski Barnes C. Ellis Wayne & Sandra Ericksen Mary Fellows & John Russell Brian & Rhonda Gard Gard Communications Robert D. Geddes & Cameron G.R. Geddes Family Fund of The Oregon Community Foundation Bob & Diana Gerding Nancy & Andy Glass Jane & Howard Glazer Susan Hathaway-Marxer & Larry Marxer Josh Hinerfeld & Andrea Binder Deborah Horrell & Kit Gillem Jodi Delahunt Hubbell & Todd Hubbell Judy & Hank Hummelt Cecelia & Robert Huntington Kurt & Michele Hutton Susheela Jayapal & Brad Miller David Johnson Mac & Molly Jones Michael Kalberer & Kalberer Company Barbara & Jock Kimberley Frank Langfitt & Mary Janet Steen Carol Schnitzer Lewis Kristin Loebbecke Phillip Margolin Janeen McAninch John Meadows

Brenda Meltebeke & Scott Stuart Violet & Robert Metzler Lora & Jim Meyer Susan Morgan, VMD M.J. Murdock Charitable Trust Corrine Oishi & Lindley Morton Diane Ponti & Ward Greene Elicia Putnam & The Shop Per & Liana Ramfjord Mary Rechner & Barry Sims Reuben Rich Halle & Rick Sadle Barbara & Steve Sanders Paul Schneider & Lauren Eulau Norm & Barbara Sepenuk Howard & Manya Shapiro John & Joan Shipley Victor Trelawny U.S. Bancorp Foundation Michele Wasson & Jordan Hantman Brian Wilson Steve & Deborah Wynne Thank you to the following people who contributed through Willamette Week â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 2008 Give!Guide campaign: Peter & Marcia Austin-Zacharias Josh Bachman Blair Batson Mary Ellen Boles Laura Bolster Candace Bonner Christine Bourdette & Ricardo Lovett Kylee & Jesse Brandt Richard Brown & Ruth Robbins Richard Brown & Laura Washington Catherine Bull Lynn Burditt

Patty Busse Ellen & Jack Cantwell Linda Carpenter Adams Carroll Valerie Cashman John Chapman Jenny Chu Brenda Clark Kathleen Clarkson Scott & Carrie Cohen Kirsten Collins Maura Conlon-McIvor & Andy McIvor Elizabeth Cowin Susan & Michael Denning Barbara Donner Deborah Downs Kerry Drury Emiko Dubose Zachary Edmonson & Rebecca Stefoff Jena Ferrarese Andrew Fuller Kortney Garrison & Andrew Poundstone William George Lorian Gray Stephanie Guerrasio Cecelia Hagen & Craig Spilman Charles Halberstadt & Ann Buenzli Tom & Woesha Hampson Mykle Hansen Alexis Harris William & Elizabeth Hathaway Tom Haydon Linda Haynes Susan Hereford Deborah Herzberg Jillian Hicks Deborah Hobbie Cody Hoesly

Kathleen Holt & Alex Dupey Catherine Huck Chelsey Johnson Wallace Jones Alan Kiphut Gregg Kleiner Lori Salus Ed & Christie Kline Kristy Wallace Knight & Eric Wallace BettyLou Koffel Ute Kongsbak & Robin Kinnaird Susan Kuhn Barbara & Barry Larrain Kirsten & Christopher Leonard Linda & Steve Leslie Elianne Lieberman Nancy Linnon Patty & Richard Lofgren Sarah Long Lynne Ludeman Jennifer & Haig MacGregor Michael Madias & Elaine Pepper Nicholas Manusos & Kristin Berger Richard & Elizabeth Marantz Laura McCue Sue-Del McCulloch Jeanne McGinnis Richard Meeker & Ellen Rosenblum Lora Meisner & Glenn Baly Dave Mendenhall Ben Moorad Marianne Morris John Morrison & Kim Anne Thomas Mark Nedleman Phoebe Olson Lilian Ongelungel Jollee & John Patterson Shelley Peters Julia Peters & Bruce Brown

Debra & Mark Pettijohn Terry Phillippi Sandy Polishuk Sean Pollack & Cris Paschild Donna Prinzmetal & Stephen Kirsch Katie Radditz & Bill Kloster Charlotte Rubin & Rick Rubin Elizabeth Scott Shaun Semseh Eddy Shuldman & Jeff Edmundson Joanne Skirving Pamela & William Small Paula Small Rita Smith Kingen David Stout Cynthia Stowell & John Miller Michael & Michelle Van Kleeck Stephanie Vardavas & Mike Radway David Varner Lois Waldron Julia & Bill Wayne Marcia Weinstein Maud Whalen Margaret Willer Shannon Wolf Lora Worden Kathleen Worley George & Betsy Wright Esther Wright Rebecca Youngstrom & Ronald Atwood Jeanne Zuelke & Russ Albertson

Introduction

Mary Rechner, WITS Program Director

Writers in the Schools (WITS) believes in relationships that last. We began working with Grant High School in 1996, and have since grown to serve all of the comprehensive Portland public high schools and five alternative high school programs, serving more than 2,000 students each year with semester-long creative writing residencies, mentoring, and author visits. To help schools achieve their goal of teaching writing across the disciplines, in 2008-2009 WITS provided residencies in African American Studies, Advanced Biology, Advanced Theatre, Biology, Earth Science, English, English Language Learning, Global Studies, Language Arts, Photography and Spanish for Native Speakers. In order to keep our relationship with schools vital, we are developing new partnerships with other arts organizations and hiring writers with diverse backgrounds. Each year we publish a print anthology to showcase student work. Our 2008-2009 print anthology, A Whole New Subject, is available at local independent bookstores and on our website http://www.literary-arts.org/wits/anthology.php. We also publish a blog, W.o.o.t.s., http://www.literary-arts.org/blogs/ to provide even more publishing opportunities for the students we serve. Our PDF chapbooks, Swing Set, What Now, and Against the Indigo Sky, are our newest way to publish student work. Publication is important because it validates effort and enables writers to share their creations with readers. The printed page (whether on paper or a computer screen) provides a tangible record of ephemeral work that takes place, primarily, in the imagination.

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War

Liban Abdullahi, Franklin High

War is pointless guns, bombs and killing each other people dying and people flying 80 dead, 93 wounded guns, bombs and killing each other. Why canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t we all be peaceful and grateful, waste of time and money and lives all war over a stupid issue. Why canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t we all be peaceful and grateful? Greedy and ungrateful is what people are, pointless and negative wars. Innocent lives being ended, death tolls rising Greedy and ungrateful is what you are. Watch where you walk by, you get shot might not be in a parking lot but watch yo back the block is hot.

Find Yourself You can find yourself. I can do it with a piece of paper and pencil. My soul can leave a print between the walls of the real and the unreal. But there’s always a tornado. Remember life is momentary One sigh to live, In one second… I dream and I prefer to keep my eyes closed But if I open my eyes, it’s unavoidable to keep in my tears In one minute I start to suffer and when I start to suffer I start to feel and when I start to feel I start to love more and more. There are not paragraphs bleeding because… In one moment… I convert my dreams to actions because the most beautiful act in the human is the word converted in actions. Although I never could see the words, I could feel them. In my last sigh… I can manage the immortality in the memory of the humans. My life will rumble into eternity…

Juan J. Rogel, SEIS, Roosevelt campus

Elegy to Aaron For all the jokes that kept me laughing endlessly, This goes to you Papa, never forgotten. I’ve been asked many questions fearlessly. If I could who would I be with freely. My father, never forgotten. For all the jokes that kept me laughing endlessly. My fear persuaded mountains to sink into the sea. But I took their place to call down angels from the clouds. I’ve been asked many questions fearlessly. So I can beckon my father to an untainted life. I could be baptized with his love, For all the jokes that kept me laughing endlessly. Take a deep breath of what life should’ve been. Fear washed away. I’ve been asked many questions fearlessly. Remembrance drives every ripple of my life. Anger washed away. For all the jokes that kept me laughing endlessly. I’ve been asked many questions fearlessly.

Seth Jared Iverson, Open Meadow

Madness

Aidyn Smith, Franklin High

The man sits in the park. His book held firm. The story is â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Ballad of the Flexible Bullet,â&#x20AC;? a story of two men experiencing the genesis of insanity alongside one another. The story says that madness is a flexible bullet, twisting and turning, shredding and slashing the mind. As he sits, he sees two children. Teens really. About to fire that flexible bullet. They play basketball. He realizes that madness is not a flexible bullet, but something far simpler. A rubber ball. He thinks of a boy playing. He tosses the ball at a wall. He catches it. He throws again. He misses. The ball rolls. A line of ants, with order prevailing, are crushed by its chaos. A flower, with its desire throughout, falls aside, never to rise. A battle, in all its temptation, is touched, and it rolls alongside the ball. A car swerves to avoid the little ball. The car hits the unseen boy, running for the ball. The ball rolls to broken glass. The ball sliced. It will never roll again. There is a wake of destruction. A short end. The man looks back to his book. He reads. His ball rolls on.

Kayla

Mayra Alejandra Chavarría-Santos, Roosevelt—SEIS

Kayla left us a letter and money for her funeral. She was a girl with a nice personality. Her eyes were the color of the rainbow. They changed color with the clothes she wore. Her hair was blond and her skin was light, like Snow White. She was super friendly and she had it all. All the boys in high school wanted to go out with her, and she wore the best clothes and she died because of drugs. Once she tasted them, there was no way out. First it was just for fun, or the typical “to see what it feels like”. At the end all she felt was loneliness and depression. Slowly she lost her family and friends. She was so into the vice she was stealing money from her mother and her siblings. She stole their money, jewelry, television sets. She sold everything she could. Her mother tried to help her but it was impossible. She didn’t want help. She said she wasn’t hooked and she wasn’t crazy. Her mother got tired of talking to her and begging her and telling her it was for her own good. I remember she liked to smoke marihuana listening to oldies music. I remember too that one month before she committed suicide a bunch of us went to pick her up at her house. We waited for her to come outside so we could go dancing. Then she came out. She told me she was saving money to buy a car and she would invite me out as soon as she bought it. After that day, I didn’t see her again until her funeral. The money she was saving was because she was planning her death. She put the money inside the letter she left behind.

KAYLA

Por Mayra Alejandra Chavarría-Santos

Kayla nos dejó una carta y dinero para su funeral. Ella era una mujer de buen carácter, tenía unos ojos como el color del arco iris. Cambiaban de color con toda la ropa que se ponía. Tenía el pelo güero y su piel era como la de Blanca Nieves. Era súper amigable. Lo tenía todo. Todos los chavos de la prepa querían salir con ella. Traía la mejor ropa. Y murió por causa de las drogas. Cuando las probó le gustaron y ya no tuvo salida. Primero empezó solo por diversión o por la típica frase de a ver que se siente. Al final lo único que sintió fue soledad y depresión. Poco a poco fue perdiendo a su familia y amigos. De tan enviciada que estaba le robaba dinero a su mamá y a sus hermanos. Les robó dinero, joyas, televisiones. Todo lo que se encontraba lo vendía. Su mama trataba de ayudarla pero era imposible. Ella no quería. Decía que no era una drogadicta y que no estaba loca. Su mamá se cansó de tanto decirle y suplicarle que todo lo que hacía era por su bien. Me acuerdo perfectamente que a ella le gustaba fumar marihuana escuchando música oldies. También me acuerdo que un mes antes de que se suicidara estábamos todos mis amigos y amigas afuera de su casa esperando a los que faltaban por llegar porque nos íbamos a bailar. Entonces ella salió. Me dijo que estaba juntando dinero para comprar un carro y que cuando lo tuviera me iba a invitar a salir. Ese dinero era porque ya estaba planeando su muerte. Después de ese día ya no la volví a ver hasta el día de su funeral. Dejó el dinero de su funeral en la carta que nos dejó.

Lisandra

Hamda Jama, SEIS, Roosevelt campus

Oh, my God! When Lisandra is on the phone, she always says first, “Hello” and then starts the conversation. She walks a lot, moves her hands a lot, and laughs a lot. Sometimes she uses her soft voice. Sometimes she talks her language and, when she is talking, her body language seems funny. She also likes to sit in a chair. When she is done with the conversation, she always says, “Thank you for calling me. See you later.” AYKM. Oh, my God!

Elvis Goes Wild

Katelin Zywicki, Cleveland High

Untitled

Gabriela Andres, Franklin High

My hands are soft right now but time will pass and they will harden, they will harden because it’s like life, one who barely is living life hasn’t lived life until life really and truly has lived itself. It’s like a baby’s hands, so small and soft and fragile until that baby is no longer a baby but an adult, free and fragile like a butterfly in the outdoors knowing it will learn and grow but not knowing what life will bring for it.

D.E.A.D.

Taylor Harrison, Franklin High School

Scene One Opening scene: three guys, Jack, George, and Marcus, are sitting in a car George is driving, and the rookie Jack is actively moving about in his shotgun seat and Marcus is in the back, loading up on ammunition. There is a person in the trunk that cannot be seen. Jack: I don’t care if it’s wrong, I just want to hug you! (Leans over and tries to hug George while he’s driving.) George puts his hand on Jack’s forehead and pushes him back in his seat. George: What? NO, get off me you rookie! Marcus: (Looks up from his ammo) What’s he doing? George: Little punk’s trying to hug me… Marcus: (To Jack) Look kid, George DOESN’T get touched, understand? Jack: Yeah, but he got me this great job! Both George and Marcus look at him quizzically. Marcus: It’s not all guns and roses…well…it IS guns,…. but not…roses…(Confusing himself) George: Nah, one time, I killed this guy and he had roses with him, the petals went everywhere! There’s roses too… Marcus: (Glares at George) Alright, FINE, guns AND roses, now drop it! George pulls up to a big rock with the car. George: The boss said to make this quick, Marcus, show Jack the loops. (Starts getting out of the car.) Marcus: (To Jack, who also starts getting out of the car) You with me kid? Jack: YEP! (Makes hands into guns and playfully pretends to shoot Marcus.) Marcus: And don’t do (grabs Jack’s hand roughly)THAT again…

Jack: Okee dokee! Marcus: You naïve little son of a bitch. (Glares at George again) Where’d you find him? George: (Coughs loudly, then mumbles)…a favor. Uhuh… All out of the car by now, George takes the keys and throws them to Jack. George: You can pop a trunk can’t you? Jack: On it… Marcus: I’ll help you get the guy out, he’s pretty heavy… Jack pops the trunk, revealing a man tied up and gagged, Jack grabs the feet and Marcus grabs the arms and they cart the man towards the river side of the rock. Marcus: Alright rookie, so what would you do in this situation? Jack: What situation? George: You dimwit, THIS situation! (Closes the trunk.) Marcus: Where’s your gun?’ Jack: Ooh…(gets gun out of pants) this one? Marcus: In this occupation, it’s not a THIS, it’s a HER…SHE’S going to be closer than even your mother, she’ll get you out of tough situations, but you need to respect her like a lover, don’t use her too much or she’ll get you into even deeper shit… Jack: That’s kinda weird… George: (Slaps Jack on the back of the head) Pay attention… Marcus: Now, in a situation like THIS, where you’ve got your target all tied up and ready to roast like a plucked chicken… George: Easiest job in the world…(Elbows Marcus.) Marcus: Let me teach, George! George: Sorry… Marcus: So what you do, and you’ve got to be very careful about this, cause if anyone suspects that the noise of the gun going off has anything to do with a death, you’re fucked. Jack: No witnesses…got it. George: Another thing, have at least one person watch out for onlookers, the buddy system is a good thing cause you know someone has your back… Jack: Easy! Think I got it (Gets cocky and spins gun in hand, gun goes off and shoots the tied up man squarely in the forehead. Jack starts panicking, has a gun in one hand, a set of keys in the other) Oh my god!…oh…shit I didn’t mean to!

Marcus: (Dragging the body to one side) Shut up! You got us into this mess! Jack: I…oh…he wasn’t…my target! George: Whatever, he asked for it, but what are we going to do now? Jack: (Constantly pacing) Shit, shit, oh god… Marcus: Dammit Jack! Shut UP! No one noticed and I DON’T want them to start noticing now! George: (Points to reservoir in distance) There’s a tar pit over near the reservoir, it’s pretty deep, no one’ll find it. Marcus: Won’t someone go digging around in it… Jack:…Easiest way…they’ll kill me anyway…(Raises gun to head) Marcus: NO! Jack DON’T… (Reaches out to stop him, but knocks him) Jack shoots, keys fly out of his hand and into the river, George and Marcus don’t notice. George: Why did he have to go off himself??? Marcus: Now we’ve got two to worry about…(Contemplating) George: Nah, we can do what they do in the movies on the telly… Marcus: What? George: Have any rugs? Marcus: Why do you care? George: Don’t answer with a question. DO YOU HAVE ANY RUGS? Marcus: Yes, but what does that have anything to do with this? George: Where are they? Marcus: At my house, where’d you think? George: Good, let’s go pick them up…(Starts moving towards the car) Marcus: (Grabs George by the arm) Hang on a second, what are you going to DO with them? George: Put the bodies in them, why? Marcus: In MY rugs? George: yeah… Marcus: Can you not see a reason why I wouldn’t be OK with that? George: What?

Marcus: Well, if you haven’t noticed, their brains are everywhere but where they should be, if my rugs get involved, who knows what kind of shit’s going to end up on them… George: So get new rugs Marcus: (Points to random area in the distance) I had those rugs imported all the way from INDIA, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you get Jack’s brains all over them! George: Alright, fine, you think of something genius! Marcus: Jesus, you’re immature. George: Well I’ve got nothing… Marcus: If I buy them, will you leave mine alone? George: Buy what? Marcus: RUGS! George: Oh…yeah sure, I can’t promise your dog will leave ‘em alone though… Marcus: What dog? George: The little terrier…had brownish spots… Marcus: Oh yeah. Him. He got hit by a car. George: (Pats Marcus on the back) I’m sorry man, that must have really blown. Marcus: Not really. It was mostly my wife’s dog. I think she cried more than anyone. George: I’ve got this really awesome dog right now, he’s house trained and everything, he used to be a sniffer dog for the police. Marcus: How’d you get your hands on that kind of dog? (Genuine interest) George: Just an online website, so what color rugs should we get? Marcus: (Sarcasm) Why you wanna pick out matching furniture? I Dunno, black I guess, it’ll keep the red from showing. George: Sounds good…aw fuck, I hate Jack… Marcus: Why? George: Jack had the Car. Marcus: Car’s right there. George: What about the keys, genius? Marcus:…ah… George: So whadda we do now?

Marcus: Here, I’ve got some change. We can leave the bodies here; the 15 bus will take us all the way to Washington St. There’s a nice little rug shop around the comer from there… George: Alright, fine, gimme some change… Marcus: Man, I really need a drink. George: Since you’re buying the rugs, I’ll buy us some drinks after all this shit is taken care of. Marcus: (Sarcasm) Gee, really generous of you… George and Marcus depart. Lights Fade. End Scene One. Scene Two Opening scene: they are walking outside of a rug store, the street is desolate and hardly any people are out and the streets are grimy with age and wear, they have just stepped off the bus and they are heading into the store. George: Alright, we can just get the cheapest thing… They enter the store. Salesperson: Good afternoon…gentlemen, what can I do for you? Marcus: We need two rugs, matching would be good. Salesperson: AW, new apartment? That’s just lovely! George: We DON’T live together… Salesperson: Don’t deny it hun, we have gay couples in here all the time! I think it’s cute! Marcus: And we are not GAY! Salesperson: (Pats Marcus on the shoulder) Still in denial I see… George: (Fuming silently) Marcus: Listen, we are not here to talk about sexuality, I’m MARRIED, so it’s a moot point. Salesperson: Oh…already married huh? The little wifey doesn’t know? George: Excuse me, if you are going to help us, by all means, PLEASE do, if not, I humbly request that you FUCK OFF!!! Marcus: (Looks at hanging rugs) Salesperson: That one is a beautiful one, it will go great with any paint job…it’s even soft enough to lay on…if you know what I mean… (Smirks but stays strikingly pleasant and nice.) Marcus looks at Salesperson with utter grotesque shock.

George: (Getting fed up, picks up two rugs and carts them to the cashier) Come ON, Marcus… Marcus follows George out the door with the rugs. Salesperson: Have a nice day! After they are out George glares at Marcus with seething anger. George: I do NOT hate you…but you are seriously PISSING me OFF Marcus: What’d I do? George: You could have started heading OUT THE DOOR SOONER! Marcus: Well sorreee! It’s not my fault she called you gay! George: (calming down) She called you gay too… Marcus: Yes, but like I said, I’m married, moot point. George: So? Marcus: You’re still single… George: Yeah and? Last relationship ended…badly…I don’t really want another right now. Marcus: What does that mean? George: Long story. Marcus: (Points to bus coming up street) Long bus ride, start talking… George: Nah, I don’t wanna. Marcus: You’d be okay with covering my rugs in blood but not telling me about a “bad” relationship? George: Sounds about right (Steps onto bus, both pay fare and sit down, bus is empty). Marcus: No wonder you’re single… George: HEY! At least I don’t marry for money! Marcus: Who said I married for money? George: INDIAN rugs? Come on, we don’t make THAT much money… Marcus: She’s a School Teacher! George: She must be running a drug— Marcus: DO NOT accuse my wife of drug trafficking! George: I’m just sayin…

Marcus: I don’t want to hear it… Ride in silence that is tense and agitated . George: (Turns head towards window)…The weather was nice today… Marcus: (Blows up) I DO NOT want to hear about the goddamn WEATHER! We’re in a shit of a situation and I’ve got enough on my mind without you accusing my wife of drug dealing!!! Bus Driver Looks back. Driver: Excuse me Sirs, you will have to refrain from cursing in public, or you’ll have to get off my bus George: (To Marcus) Shut up, I don’t want to walk with these… Marcus: How the Hell is this a PUBLIC place, no one else is in here! I’m In a SHITTY MOOD and people like YOU (points to bus driver) ONLY MAKE IT WORSE!!! Driver: (Has stopped the bus and starts approaching Marcus) I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now…the other bus riders— Marcus: WHAT OTHER BUS RIDERS!?!?!? Driver: Please sir, you’re going to have to get off now… George: Let’s just— Marcus: NO, I paid my fare, and you are going to get us to where we need to go! (Takes out gun.) Driver: (Stares at gun with bug eyes and starts backing up) There’s a camera in here, I suggest you put that away and leave without a problem (Starts reaching towards an alarm button). Marcus raises his gun at shoulder level and shoots the Bus driver in the chest, who falls to the ground and dies quickly… Marcus: Now that’s taken care of… George: What’d you do??? Marcus: (Starts laughing) Couldn’t you tell I was faking? I planned the whole thing, now we’ve got a bus and a grave for the other two. George:…Damn…why didn’t I think of that? Marcus: I did say the secret words “Drug dealing” didn’t you catch that? George: No, Fuck man, you scared the piss outta me, you should be on Broadway… Marcus: Hah…nice. Nah, I like my job… George: I guess so. Marcus: Now, let’s go get the other two deadbeats and get to the damn tar pit before anyone catches us… George: Good idea.

George gets into the drivers’ seat and starts the engine again. Marcus: (Takes the dead bus driver and hides him in a seat near the back) You know how to drive this thing??? George: There’s a first time for everything isn’t there? Marcus: (Laughs nervously) Yeah, just don’t get us killed please… George: No problem, Now I won’t have to carry the damned rugs! This day’s turning out to be pretty successful! The engine roars to life and the bus lurches forward, the lights go out ·with George and Marcus at the head of the bus driving off .

The Reality of Truth

Tanner Bragg, Franklin High

Truth and reality sometimes one is not itself without the other Truth can always change reality But reality is the truth in so many different ways Truth is something that you may never hear but reality is always there Truth is something that may slip from a sentence While reality is always in your face Truth can hurt if you can catch it Reality can kill because of the force when it hits you Truth is powerful but only small little pieces But in reality truth all adds up

Empty Chair An old man, whose skin is wrinkled, is sitting in his chair. He is looking around, like he has never seen the things in front of him before. If I make a noise, his monster might break loose. No longer will it be a quiet and calm room. He must have been angry, he must have been frustrated, time passing by him so quickly, every second getting closer to death. Not remembering things, to eat or to bathe. Then he started forgetting his wife and kids, then he started to forget me. Now I look at that empty chair missing the times he would speak to me. Even if I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t remember him before he was sick and frightened. I miss him, I miss his company.

Kilee Coffelt, Franklin High

A Guy’s Worst Dream

Noe Rodríguez, SEIS, Roosevelt campus

I was walking to school when I felt someone following me. I turned to look. It was a girl. She looked beautiful. She was at least two blocks away from me. I walked slower so that she could catch up with me. I wanted to turn, but I thought it might look weird if I turned a lot. About five minutes later I heard her steps coming closer and closer. I turned and smiled so that she could have a good impression of me. But when I turned I couldn’t believe what I saw. The girl had a mustache and a beard. She was wearing a skirt. Her legs were hairy, hairier than mine. I felt like dying. It was the most horrible thing I’d ever seen. To top it off she spoke to me in a deep voice, like a grown man. Never ever in my life, I thought, I had seen something as horrible as that. I had seen ugly things but not that horrible. That day when I woke up I asked my mom for a ride to school. I was praying not to see that thing walking by.

Monday Morning

Wendy Soriano SEIS, Roosevelt campus

Monday morning—a new month with new things to do—I woke up feeling weird. Life felt different, happier, excited. I tried to stand up, but fell out of bed. Why? I couldn’t reach to see myself in the bathroom mirror. I was a different person, a short person with short hair and little hands. How did I get like this? How did it happen? I called my uncle’s house. He said that my cousin wasn’t there. I was my cousin. I was in my cousin’s body, with a new brain, with mostly everything new, with a new life to begin and to keep on going.

When I Was Six When I was six I used to steal a lot of things: watches, toys, candy, money. I used to steal these things in stores, my brother’s bedroom, my friend’s house. I used to steal these things because I wanted revenge, payback or I thought I was borrowing.

Noe López SEIS, Roosevelt campus

A Convenient Truth

Trevor Houghton, Cleveland High School

A family turns on a religious station and I say, “Think outside the box; don’t be afraid to question the answer.”

And they tell me God is A virus that humans are immune to that wipes out all danger and panic.

I tell them, “Sounds like me; a brave hero; a shield protecting our environment. I am a fire extinguisher and I’m going to spray you with my generosity.” They give me a weird look, “How?” “I’ll give you one of my two keyboards to you, for you are an interested family who do not have the money to pay for me. I can pass on my musical talents to you while I’m at it.” “Why would you do that?” they asked. Their eyes smiled at their faces turned to tomatoes. “If there was one word to describe me: caring. I will give you sunshine when you feel blue. I will take a shower and share my water with you when you’re overheated. I will give you fascinating life and a beautiful world.”

“We admire you,” they say. Then the truth is revealed. “I’m God,” I tell them.

Walk

Emiliana Sacayón, Marshall Campus Schools

Lying on the bed, my mind started to spin without control. My eyes weren’t able to see anything but dark with a shining dot. I walked, trying to reach the dot, but the dot kept moving away from me. Not even the beautiful dot wanted me. My family always argued. They never paid attention to me. People always picked on me. Why should I be here if nothing is by my side? I stopped for a moment and the dot above stopped, too. I grabbed a rope that looked as if it had no ending. I walked on it, thinking of the issues my parents had, issues that came before me. I slipped! I flew without wings, but I wasn’t an angel because I fell into a big dark hole. Suddenly I was walking on the rope again, with no fear, toward the dot called the moon.

How To See A Duck

Nick Retchless, Cleveland High School

A pair of wings flying Next to an open pond. Down the steep narrow river, As loud as a horn being blown, As fast as a pointed dart Coming toward you.

Al Final del Día

Por Luis Mejía

Al final del día veo llegar a mi papa del trabajo. Lo veo muy sudoroso y con mucha hambre. Veo a todos los niños desde el balcón entrar a sus casas. La noche se acerca y todos entran a sus apartamentos. Veo el sol desvanecerse entre las montañas. Todo se pone oscuro y es hora de encender las luces que hacen brillar la noche. Estoy aburrido porque es de noche y no hay nada que hacer o en que distraerse. Todos descansan porque vienen cansados del trabajo. Mi hermana cocina la cena. Me llega el olor a sopa. Ya es hora de cenar. La noche significa el final del día. Oigo al viento pasar como en zumbido, siento que fue un día muy largo, pero llega el final del día y es muy bonito que la noche llegue porque es hora de descansar después de un largo día.

At the End of the Day Luis Mejía, Roosevelt-SEIS

At the end of the day I see my father come home from work. He is sweaty and hungry. From the balcony, I see all the kids go inside their houses. The night is getting near and they all go inside their apartments. The sun vanishes behind the mountains. Everything turns dark and it’s time to turn the lights on. They make the night light up. I am bored because it is night and there is nothing to do, no distractions. Every one rests because they are tired from work. My sister cooks dinner. I can smell the soup. It’s time to eat. Night means the end of the day. I hear the wind go by making a buzzing sound, I feel the day was too long, but the end of the day is here. The night is very pretty because it is time to rest after a very long day.

Ways of Looking at a Glass of Water

Brandon Proppe, Benson High School

When I see a glass of water I see a river When the glass shakes I see the waves In the light I see a rainbow When the glass spills I see rain falling When I see the glass I see a snowy mountaintop When I see a glass of water I see a book.

Light

Billy Pham, Benson High School

I am from the deep blue sky, Far from the world, I am from the ceiling lights, Shining on the floor. I am from the sun, Filled with glow, I am from the door, Shut away from the world.

Say Something Anything I can say has already been said I say too much, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t listen I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t say enough I mean what I say but I regret it Can you take something you said years ago back? Would they even remember? Words said hanging in the air, I want to swallow them whole Am I not clear or do you not care?

Taylor Montgomery, Cleveland High School

The Antique House

Cante Nakanishi, Madison High School

Memories flooded her as she looked at the last thing he held in his hands. It was just a mundane object. A brand new wrench he got especially for the job. Katie walked out of the unfinished walk-in closet, pushed aside the clear tarp-like material which hung over the area where the door should be. Inside this room, more tools lay scattered in a corner. She reached for the light switch but remembered Henry had yet to install electricity…She would have to ask her brother to finish it. She glanced toward the full-length mirror but saw and unrecognizable face. In the mirror there was a girl of about twenty-three with grungy, brunette hair, swollen and puffy eyes, and an attire that looked as if she had been wearing the same thing for days. Katie suddenly ran out of the room, past the crammed 10’ tall bookshelves in the hall, down the refinished mahogany staircase and out the back door. She took two steps at a time and landed hard on the cement sidewalk filled with green weeds in the cracks. Katie glanced back as she sprinted away from the once beautiful antique house. It didn’t talk very long until she was out of breath and slowed to a jog. She knows where she is headed before the halfway point turns red. Taking a quick glance left, then right, she runs towards the hospital.