VOLUME XIX
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A Note From The
Editors 4
Dear Readers, We would like to introduce you to this year’s theme for the magazine. It is centered on our understanding of history, where man edured unimaginable horrors and celebrated mythic feats, and how that understanding shapes our perceptions of the present and the future. For a Marksman, the past represents all we seek to understand and then surpass. Our future is full of dreams and aspirations, many of which we will never achieve, and our deepest, innermost fears and anxieties, most of which will never come to pass. Our present is muddied by our perceptions of both the past and future. These comingling and contrasting ideas are reflected in the first two section dividers: Struggle and Pride and Hope and Fear. We close the magazine with where we are today, simply Managing the Chaos. Our cover image is one with which every Marksman is familiar. Located at the heart of our campus, the statue symbolizes our current journey from a young child, carried on the older generation's shoulder, to a courageous, honorable man, carrying the younger generation, and eventually the world on our own shoulers. We chose to wrap the statue in the colors of our past, present, and future to symbolize our struggle to honor all the statue represents to us and future Marksmen. We hope you enjoy our magazine. With sincerest appreciation for your time and attention,
Keshav Krishna
Morgan Chow 5
past Shame and Pride In a word james thomson 10-11 Not so pawfect Thanksgiving svanik jaikumar 12-13
walls, worries, wisdom James thomson 14-15
New York, New York morgan chow 16-17
metamorphosis arnav Lahoti \ kevin lu 18-19
A cold december hunt morgan chow 20-21
Course of humanity morgan chow 22-23
sunset is a scary monster john tagtmeier \ bowden slates \ sammy larkin 24-25
the darkness
Cover Design | Morgan Chow | 8
thomas goglia 26-27
Section Header Design | Morgan Chow | 8
a plan for peace
Table of Contents | Thomas Goglia | 8
Ol’ Fluffy and Endless Fear
sam adams 28-29
james thomson 30-31
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future
present
SALZBURG SCHRANNE
THE HIKE TO SKY POND svanik jaikumar 54-55
HOPES AND FEARS
james thomson 34-35
THE OFFICE thomas goglia 36-37
MANAGING THE CHAOS
THE SHREDDED OLD BOOK bijaan noormohamed 56-57
A PERPETUAL TRUTH
A NEVER-ENDING FALL henry baxter 58-59
THE WORLD IS NOT CRYSTAL CLEAR bijaan noormohamed 40-41
LIVING WISH
THE JOY OF LOVE
keshav krishna 38-39
james thomson 42-43 MONOCHROME
james thomson 44-45
THE DISTANCE
morgan chow 46-47 REGRET
thomas goglia 48-49 MOUNTAIN ESCAPADES james thomson 50-51
bowden slates |
john tagtmeier 60-61
NATURE’S SERENITY adrian lutgen 62-63 OUT OF OLD sam adams 64-65 A PEN’S VIEW ON LIFE svanik jaikumar 66-67 THE AMAZING JUNGLE harrison lee 68-69 AKA branden song | morgan chow 70-71 FISHING james thomson 72-73
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History
illustrates both the virtuous and sinister facets of human nature. It not only spotlights countless tyrants such as Adolf Hitler, who exemplify the worst of man’s violent tendencies, but also the unwavering perseverance of suppressed people striving to obtain liberty and equality like Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. But these are surely the exceptions. For the average boy, the past can represents good memories - a first time riding a bike or finally getting a puppy- and many regrets - a friendship lost due to a meaningless argument or a state championship lost because of a mental error.
This cycle of apogees and nadirs, crests and troughs, peaks and valleys, creates a mosaic that defines the human experience and that is what we present in this section. Our past and what we learn of our history instill in us qualities that shape our character.
Our past is the pathway to our destiny. 9
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In a word
Poetry | Jonathan Mcsween | 8 Photography | James Thomson | 8
A few decibels and a couple of hertz, He said they can’t hurt, But they did. They can take lives on cold nights, even cause fights. Or maybe, they can give Give energy Caused by audible synergy. It gets to me that a waveform can wreak havoc, But it does. Like a flood, Tears fall like years Time passes by. Eventually, everyone gets tired of being told that men don’t cry.
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a not so pawfect thanksgiving Nonfiction | Stice Neuhoff | 8 Digital Art | Svanik Jaikumar| 8
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t was a crisp November night in 2011. Around fifty of my cousins were packed into my aunt’s house for a Thanksgiving party. Any normal sevenyear-old child would not have been bored, but not this seven-year-old. My family is huge.; 150 people is called a small reunion, so I was used to big parties.
kindly to a small boy’s hands waking her up from her sleep. There is a reason they say let sleeping dogs lie.
It happened in an instant. I had no time to process what was happening until I was crying on the ground, surrounded by blood. No one could hear me, however, so I had to get to After I had eaten a hearty meal of four the door before the dog got more slices of pizza, I decided I was done with angry. As I banged on the door, my this party. My parents, however, said “I was crying on the ground, cousin Laura screamed. Everyone we were staying, and told me to talk to turned and saw me, a hysterical and people. They were watching ESPN, which surrounded by blood” bloody child. They quickly let me in I didn’t understand at the time, so I snuck and locked the dogs out. Thinking around and got some Skittles. I was still fast, Laura got me a towel to sit on and bored and also hot, so like any rational another one to dab my nose. My mom child, I went outside. To my surprise, there lay my called the hospital, but all of the ambulances were aunt’s two labs, Annie and Hallie. in use. We could either wait at the house or have I love dogs. I always have. The highlight of any someone drive me over to Medical City Children’s. We decided to wait and see how bad it was and day in my toddler years was seeing a dog. And now then decide. When the blood was mostly cleared, I had my choice of two. I couldn’t decide which to the wounds became visible. The dog had bitten me pick, so I just went and sat next to the closest one, from the top left corner of my nose down to my lip. who happened to be sleeping. That dog, Annie, was The blood would not stop flowing, so we drove to still relatively young and hyper, so she did not take the hospital.
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Most of the lights were out, so we thought it was closed. We drove around for about five minutes until we realized we were on the wrong side of the building. My parents took me to the ER section while someone parked the car and I was put on the waiting list. The wait was not long, and although the waiting room was full of people, we got a doctor quickly. Unfortunately, since I had eaten less than an hour beforehand, the doctor had to wait and give me medicine to make me throw up before he could operate. I threw up around three times before he said they could begin the surgery.
I will forever have a faint scar on my nose, reminding me of my painful experience. While this story might sound like the root of cynophobia, or a fear of dogs, it hasn’t affect my love for the species. I still begged for one day after day, and when I got one on my tenth birthday, I loved him.
When I woke up, my parents were right by my side. As the groggy feeling subsided, I sensed that something had changed on my face. I asked what had happened and they said that I had gotten stitches, forty of them to be precise. At the time, I had no idea what that meant, but they made it sound so bad that it scared me. The doctor came in to check on me and told me that the surgery was a success, and I was on my way to recovery. After we signed out, we were on the way home as if nothing had happened.
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Walls, Worries, and Wisdom
Nonfiction | Christian Youst | 8
O
f course, there was a warped wall in the course; there just had to be one. At the time, six years ago, I was neither extremely fast nor tall, so that combination would just spell out disaster anytime I tried to beat the wall. In fact, height was always my biggest issue as a Ninja Warrior when I was younger, so anything that suited taller people was a struggle for me. This beast towered just over eleven feet tall, almost three times my height. As any experienced Ninja Warrior would know, the best strategy for tackling any obstacle course is to formulate a plan of action for each and every section. I was fully aware of this, so instead, I spent the entire time leading up to my turn brooding over the titanic nature of the curved monster. Considering how new the sport of American Ninja Warrior was in 2012, this competition drew a humongous number of athletes and spectators. If I failed, I would fail spectacularly and publicly. The time between the course walkthrough, or explanation, and my run was only about thirty minutes, but it felt like an eternity of a never-ending barrage of troublesome warped wall notions. Given that I was one of the final runners in my age bracket, I had a general idea of what I needed to accomplish in order to win. When the course wrangler finally announced that I was up next, I attempted to act cool and relaxed, but that persona proved fake as I staggered my way over to start the course.
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Digital Art | James Thomson | 8
The course started out trouble-free. In fact, it was a piece of cake. The two easiest parts of the whole course were the first two obstacles, the quintuple steps, which were five squishy steps with forty-five degree angled faces, and the jumping spider, two parallel walls approximately four feet apart with only a miniature trampoline a couple of feet away to access them. I bounded through both of them like they weren’t even there. During my run, the balance tank also proved to be a piece of cake. The objective to completing a balance tank is very simple: roll a cylindrical barrel from one point to another by simply walking on it. The small, red tank in this competition had a soft, fuzzy covering and rolled on squishy blue carpeting, so the amount of friction involved immensely changed the type of roll I was accustomed to. By taking the barrel across the carpeted track one step at a time, I crossed the red piece of tape on the floor, and in no time, I completed obstacle number three. Obstacle four, the balance bars, might have given me a few issues to fret over before I began my run, but they proved to be one of the easiest balance challenges I’d ever attempted. The balance bars were extremely thin cylindrical pipes attached to blue slabs of wood on either end. My best chance to finish that obstacle was to run across the bars as fast as I could. A wave of relief brushed over me as
I defeated the fourth obstacle. The relief, however, was not long-lived, instead turning to terror as I came face-to-face with the dreaded warped wall. The rules for beating this wall were the same as the rules for beating the Ninja Warrior television show’s wall: You get three attempts at conquering the mammoth-like wall. If you fail, you’re done. After my completion of the balance bars, I jogged as far away as possible from the warped wall in order to achieve maximum run-up. At this point in the game, my stamina was not holding up well, so I took a few moments to catch my breath and slow my heart rate down. The chant already began: “Beat that wall! Beat that wall! Beat that wall!” I ran as fast as I could, and when I reached the curved wall, I took three steps and jumped. I came up just short. Try number two ended almost exactly the same as my first attempt-a run and a miss. The audience’s chanting should have given me the adrenaline that I needed to fulfill the crowd’s demand, but the sound was completely drowned out by my pumping heart and heavy breathing. I glared at the wall one last time as if to say, “You’re not the boss of me,” and then I took my final attempt. I sprinted faster than I ever had before. I couldn’t believe it; Four magical steps later, my day was essentially ruined. No, not just my day, my entire week, maybe even my whole month-ruined! I settled down and watched the rest of my competitors take on the course while I felt a mixture of both hatred for the course and depression over my performance. My time for completing four out of five
obstacles was by far the fastest; however, four of my opponents cleared all five challenges, so I ended up in fifth place. After a gloomy plane ride back home, I hardly felt like training anymore for Ninja Warrior. What was the point? I asked my former coach what he thought of my fifth place finish, and he said, “Honestly, I’m kind of glad you didn’t win.” When I first heard him say that, I figured that I must have misheard him. That couldn’t be right. “The reason I’m glad you didn’t win is because if you had won, you would have figured that you had accomplished all there is to being an American Ninja Warrior and may not set any more goals for yourself or even quit.” That didn’t make any sense to me at the time, but I understood it down the road. The whole bit about goal setting really inspired me to set new goals for myself, including working on both my physical and mental preparation for future competitions. It took countless hours of practice and planning, but eventually, a year or so later, I got another chance at the warped wall. Once again, the wall was last, so I was tired; however, this time, I had experience under my belt, so once the crowd’s rhythmic chant began, I confidently looked at the wall and said, “I got this.” I bolted towards the wall at breakneck speed and took my first step.
Then my second.
Then my third.
Then I jumped.
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I
t was a supposedly sunny day when the aircraft took off from Beijing International Airport in pitch black surroundings, breaking through a dark barrier of the intense air pollution. I looked out the window and stared at the once beautiful city turning into a toxic warzone by manufacturing companies with “Made in China� labels. The brightly lit city turned dimmer and dimmer until the plane shot through a dense layer of clouds into the blinding light of the sun. The thirteen-anda-half hour flight was in front of me. Upon landing at JFK and going through immigration, we got on a taxi and headed towards the train station, where we planned to take the NJ Transit to Secaucus, which was where our hotel was located. As I was looking out the window, curious of the never-before seen traffic jam, the sky turned dark, and snow started to fall from the heavens. Our driver took us deeper into the city to drop us off at Penn Station, I had a glance at Times Square
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where hundreds of movie theater-sized screens projected advertisements of products, Broadway shows, and even countdown clocks in preparation for Christmas. The streets were packed, leaving no room for our taxi to pass by. Stuck in the midst of a five hour long traffic jam, I looked around and noted the landscape. I noticed the costume men who charge you five dollars for a single picture, the six different hot dog stands, the police dogs with their ears and noses alert for something suspicious, the different tunnels that lead to the same subway station. Even at 11:40 PM, New York was a congested place.
gloves and had made its way to my hands. With my hands dangling by my sides uselessly and my legs starting to freeze, we decided to go back to the car and drive back to the hotel. But my mom had other plans and decided to make us stop at the Empire State Building before going back to the parking lot. We went up to the 102th floor observatory and looked down at the entire city that was sparkling with light. The Rockefeller Tower was vividly illuminated by a pattern of rainbow lights, along with many other buildings in the distance. The honking of the yellow cabs was in perfect sync with each other, and for once, it sounded musical. From that moment on, I fell in love with New York.
After a ten minute express train ride, we arrived at our hotel ten minutes before 2AM. I collapsed onto my bed and did It was a painful process, “New york was a place not wake up until noon. Once I did, moving from Asia to America. that always had something Although I had made up my we decided to go back to the city in order to learn more about New York. mind about staying in this new to discover.� At first, I thought I was not going charming city, my parents had to like the city. The loud music, a tough time trying to make gigantic flashing screens, huge mobs of people it actually happen. However, with enough making their way through a narrow street, all of persuasion, we were able to find a small town these, made me feel uncomfortable. But I soon in New Jersey near New York, where I spent learned, I was utterly wrong about my initial almost five years. misgivings. From talented musicians making I’m glad that I convinced my parents to stay their way down into the chaotic subway stations to in New York. If not, our family would have never the interesting foods that were invented over time have moved to the U.S. and I would have missed from mixtures of various cultures, New York was a out on so much more than the sound and the cold. place that always had something new to discover. By the end of the first day, the only thing I truly disliked about New York was the weather. My hands almost froze into ice that day. The cold had fought through my tightly bound wool
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Poetry | Noah Norton | 8 Photography | Patrick Flanagan | 8
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I used to be young and carefree But that all changed when age came for me. Though age is not always evil It is sometimes a friend It is always fickle, And it chooses who to help in the end. I was just a novel, But age turned me into a full-fledged saga. I was just a pocketknife, And age made me a sword.
I remember the days of the playground, But now, I am riding a roller coaster With my best friend, Age, beside me. To sum it up, so I don’t take up too much of your time, Age is a constant companion. He’s always there Right to the bitter end of the line.
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A Cold December Hunt Photography | Henry Baxter | 8 Non-Fiction | Blake Malouf | 8
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he smell of the cold front wind is not a new smell to my nose. I parked the ranger about 200 yards from the stand and began to make the short trek. I made sure to make a wide turn to the stand so that I left no scent in the way of the deer’s path. I made it to the perfect opening and I saw the stand in the tree, but this time it seemed almost twice as high as it used to be. I hooked my bow onto the silver and orange carabiner that hung from the stand. I laid my first touch on the black stainless-steel ladder and began to climb. Hand by hand, foot by foot, I began to scale to the top.
coming right into bow range. When he went to the edge of the clearing I drew my bow, and knew that if he took one more step he would be dead. I waited, and waited. He just sat there and stared straight at me with his front leg hovered over the ground. A minute had passed, and I was still drawn back. My arms began to shake with doubt. Finally, he stepped forward. The second his foot hit the ground, I released my arrow. The arrow spun through the air, the fletching’s screaming in the wind. The arrow pierced through the cold, winter air, as it headed straight for the vitals.
Thump, clap. I nailed him right in the heart. He did Finally, I reached the top, sat down, hung my bow a donkey kick and took off. At first sight I thought I on the hook, and began to watch. As I sat in the dark, hit him high because my arrow flew right through I could hear the howls of coyotes and the groaning him with so much ease. I kept my eye on the spot of of cows. “Gosh dang it Cole come get your food,” where I lost him in the brush, and I saw said a man to his cow on the next door The his towering rack. He began to stumble property. The sun took its first peek over adrenaline raced and fell flat down on his side. “Smoked the horizon, as the faint rays of light met through my veins. him,” I said to myself. the blades of grass in the food plot they My breathing was The first thing I did was just take it turned almost golden. While I was sitdeep and shaky. all in. I didn’t want to go find the buck ting in the stand staring off into the food yet because I wanted to make sure he plot, suddenly I heard the best noise that was dead, so I waited about 10 to 15 minutes. Then I could think of, a crunching in the dead fall leaves. right after that I called my dad and told him what The tall rack of the old buck caught my eye in the happened. Then I went to look for the deer, I headed tall brush. He hobbled through the woods down straight for where I saw him fall. I had only walked one of the beaten game trails that lead straight to about 50 yards when I saw the white belly sticking the opening. All of the long days at the range. The out of the grass. This was everything I wanted is to summer heat shining in my face while I fine-tuned shoot a buck and find it by myself and watch it drop my bow. The repetition of shooting at the same in front of my eyes. I love hunting so much and it distance over and over again. The familiar sight of means so much to me. Hunting is really a way for the pins gleaming in the sunlight. All of this pracme to chill out and connect with God in a way that tice came down to this moment, and I only had one is different. Hunting humbles me as a person and shot. My heart began to beat and my body started to it brings me to realize how small I am compared to shake as the adrenaline raced through my veins. My other things in this world. breathing was deep and shaky. Nothing, I repeated nothing gets me more excited than a mature buck
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Nontfiction | Keshav Krishna | 8 Digital Art | Morgan Chow | 8
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ver the 2oth century, the world rapidly evolve,d and as the second decade of the 21st century arrives, humanity seems to be at its pinnacle. This accomplishment can be attributed to the hard work and sacrifices of past generations. It would be inconceivable to imagine the world today without the technologies and luxuries that humans enjoy, technologies and luxuries that reflect humanity’s achievements over the past 300,000 years. Although there are some very important turning points in human history, like the invention of the printing press, three emerge as the most prominent: the Neolithic Revolution, the invention of democracy, and the Fall of Rome. These events changed human civilization forever. To begin with, the Neolithic Revolution changed humanity forever. This event occurred between 10,000 to 5,000 years ago. Before the Neolithic Revolution, humans were nomads who followed animals and gathered berries and nuts. During these 5,000 or so years, humans began to shift from food gathering to food producing. Because of the Neolithic Revolution, agriculture began to develop. This facilitated the growth of villages as humans no longer needed to hunt for food. Humans then mastered the skill of taming wild animals for their diverse skillsets and resources. For example, people in Mesopotamia used sheep for wool and cattle and goats for milk. People in Europe used horses for transportation. The overall enhancement of the food supply created specialization and a division of labor, a key part of a modern society. Becuase this age occurred, we were able to focus on becoming tool makers, and breakthroughs in technology sprung.. Humans began to polish stones and make saws and drills. They also could now make fire. Without any doubt, human civilization owes much to the Neolithic Revolution.
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Another key turning point in human history was the invention of democracy. The invention of democracy was as much a philosophical change as it was a political one. Before democracy, monarchs and aristocrats held all power. Their rule was unchallenged, convicting common people without evidence, oppressing people with their despotic laws, and leading lavish lifestyles while their subjects were impoverished. Athenians, enraged by this injustice, demanded new laws. A man name Cleisthenes stepped up to solve these problems. Cleisthenes wanted to give power to the people. Thus, around 500 B.C.E., Athens became the first democracy and a model for many. This idea of democracy shaped the future with democracy-influenced documents like the Magna Carta, which announced that everyone was subject to law. Democracy, in turn, played a vital part in the creation of the American Constitution. Without the invention of democracy, humans would be ruled by kings and aristocrats, and most people would have limited rights. They would not have the rights that so many Americans treasure today, such as the right of free speech, the right to participate in government, and the freedom of religion. Everyone is in debt to Athens for the invention of democracy. The Fall of Rome brought an end to an era that lsted a thousand years, spread Christianity, and outlined the modern geopolitical structure of Europe. At around 117 C.E., Rome was at the zenith of its power. It stretched from the scraggy hills of northern Britannia to the harsh, brutal desert climate of the Sinai Peninsula. Life in Europe was peaceful and productive, and the quality of life was unimaginable for the time period. Then in 476 C.E., nearly 1,226 years of prosperity, Rome fell to the Huns. This marked the beginning of
the medieval ages and departure of the “Roman Era.� During this time, starvation was the norm. Diseases spread like a wildfire and rapidly engulfed the entire continent. Europe, divided into small kingdoms, waged wars for tiny slivers of land. Knights oppressed and tortured peasants. Vikings terrorized cities in western Europe while Magyars swept in from the east. The advancement of knowledge and innovation was nonexistent during this time. Luckily, a new religion continued to grow in popularity, eventually uniting many states: Christianity. No king nor emperor was the ruler of all of Europe: the Pope was. The divided Europe was unified by this new ideaa. The Church deterred knights from committing crimes against peasants. No institution, country, nor person was more influential or powerful than the church during those times. Christianity influenced a small revival of art. In some aspects, Christianity brought back the advancement of knowledge and culture of Rome. The Fall of Rome was a far-reaching turning point since it instigated the Middle Ages, and setting Europe on a trajectory that would change the world forever. It is hard to imagine a world where we are forced to be nomads, ruled by a despotic king without the strictures of a constitution, but if it weren’t for the Neolithic Revolution, the invention of democracy, and the Fall of Rome, these hypothtical instances would be reality. Without question, these events altered the course of humanity forever.
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A tinge of red spreads through the dawn sky. It disappears in a blink of an eye. Birds are happily singing, every one, But I still shed tears.
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The cold water is in the river, Making me shiver. Just like when I think of them, My body feels numb. The memories won’t go away, And the hurt will stay. Forever in your mind, They will always be reminded. Sunset is a scary monster, Making you wonder. Your brain blinks As the sunset turns pink.
Poem | Tommy Zheng | 8 Picture | Bijaan Noormahamed | 8
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The Darkness, Some say it is despicable; Some do not dare speak of it; They avoid it, But it is God. We rise from it. We fade into it. And when we are forgotten And everything is gone, but It remains - Forever
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a plan for peace Fiction | Jonah Perez | 8 Photography | Branden Song | 8
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etey and Dakota, the brave survivors from the unfortunate battle that raged moments before, looked for any help they could find. A boy in distance was signaling for them to come into his home. Fighting their way through the fray, they finally reached him. The boy, Wichita, introduced himself. Wichita’s parents, who were also in the house, started talking to him in a Native American language, which Wichita translated: “My parents said that we need you to help us because we believe that you could reason with the outlaws who started this terrible war. We want to live in peace again.” Petey, Dakota, and Wichita contructed a plan, and Wichita ran off to tell the rest of the village the survivors’ solution.
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“Okay, we’ll try and reason with him,” said Petey.
Petey and Dakota started their short journey to approach the outlaw who has frightened many people in the area, including Wichita. They hesitantly crept toward the outlaw and Petey started, “Hey, these people do not want you to be here, so if you don’t mind, could you please leave?”
gun, but it was too late. The gun was knocked out of his hand as fast as he pulled it out of his holster. It hit the ground with a thud, triggering a shot that echoed across the sandy terrain. The outlaw’s horse jumped with fright, knocking him to the ground. In an instant, Wichita rushed over to the gun and picked it up to make sure that the outlaw couldn’t use it against him. The outlaw let out a sigh, defeated, realizing he had nothing to protect himself with. Within a few minutes, the sheriff arrived in response to the gunshot.
“We want to live in peace again.”
“Do you really think I’m that dumb? I came here to gain power, gold, and rule the desert and I expect to get what I want,” said the outlaw with great prominence. “Hey! Wichita! It’s time!” exclaimed Dakota. From behind a few war-torn buildings came several people from the village on horseback who started to charge at the outlaw. The outlaw was a bit confused by the commotion. As soon as he realized what was happening, he pulled out his
“What happened here?” asked the sheriff. Petey said, “Well, it looks like this outlaw messed with the wrong village.”
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Ol’ Fluffy & Endless fear Nonfiction | Nat Fisher | 8 30
Digital Art | James Thomson | 8
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’ve always been short. 1st grade. Short. 2nd grade. Short. 3rd Grade. Short. You can see where this is going. This disadvantage gave me a substantial advantage on one thing -- a trampoline. Today was the day I would land my backflip. I just knew it, I had my good luck charm and “the best trampoline in town.” First, I tried a couple of practice jumps. Some knee bounces and casual jump like that. Now was the time; I had warmed up, watched countless YouTube videos. This would most definitely be my life’s peak. Again, time slowed. I smelled fresh air, felt the slight breeze. I took a deep breath, flexed my fingers around my stuffed animal, and jumped into a pole.
We were cornered. I saw the face of this hideous creature. Or should I say faces of the creatures. Over one hundred monkeys had us cornered. So much for brave Nat Fisher. The air stank of feces and that smell only grew stronger. One monkey bared his teeth to ‘assert dominance’ as I was told later. All I saw were teeth that were like rotten moss. I was backed up against the door whenI lost my balance. Thankfully, the door opened. Ruby rushed inside, and we slammed the door. Then I realized the monkey I left behind.
I tried to open the door, but Ruby told me it wasn’t worth it. The weekend was supposed to be the best weekend, but I had lost Ol’ Fluffy. I knew I would never The throbbing pain in my chest discouraged me from be forgiven. I failed my job. I couldn’t stand myself. I jumping again, but there was something else. I heard a kept asking myself how I could have been so ignorant. I would have to walk into class on Monday rustling in the trees. I looked up and saw say that I lost Ol’ Fluffy. There would nothing. Something eerie was afoot. “It “Those vile monkeys had and not be an Adventures with Ol’ Fluffy premust be the ghosts,” I said to myself. I heard the rustling again and clutched Ol’ Fluffly, taken Ol’ Fluffy along with sentation for me. our class stuffed monkey with a missing my dreams...” After spending over three hours of eye, even tighter. I asked my friend, Ruby, looking for Ol’ Fluffy, I gave up. Those vile if she heard the rustling. She nodded yes, monkeys had taken Ol’ Fluffy along with but didn’t seem concerned. I asked if there were ghosts. all my dreams of presenting my weekend to the class. I She continued to explain that it was the wind. But it had knew my class wouldn’t forgive or forget. gotten colder which meant it had to be ghosts. When I walked into class the next morning, people Suddenly, a brown wave of fluff was rushing towards started to ask me where Ol’ Fluffy was. I began to stutter, the trampoline from all angles. There was no escape. trying to find the words, when I saw him. Ol’ Fluffy was I let something slip through my hand and fought my perched on top of the Wheel of Fortune where I was way through the trampoline net. I looked back to see supposed to return him. Confused, I walked over to the teacher to ask how, and was immediately cut off. Two the brown wave chasing me. Ruby was in front of me, minutes later my teacher explained that she knew what running to the door. I caught up and started pounding happened and “rescued” Ol’ Fluffy from the monkeys. I on the door. Death was inevitable. We ran to the garage, let out a sigh of relief, but in my mind, I saw her going but then the wave caught up with us. to the store and buying another Ol’ Fluffy. Confused, I asked her to tell me the truth, but an answer never came.
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Great leaders, Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, Churchill, were able to analyze the plethora of possibilities the future presents and predict the possible outcomes. This ability led them to take decisive actions, disregarding their fears and enabling them to further themselves and their communities. For young Marksmen, the future represents what we will have and what we will lose and all the adjustments that we will have to make along the way. The future is when we will apply all that we have learned in school in the real world and it is glorious and it is scary.
We will strive for balance while we seek to strengthen our communities and contribute to society.
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Fiction | Akash Ragunathan | 8
Photography | James Thomson | 8
Salzburg Schranne
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ou take an overnight train to Salzburg, Austria. You arrive at the station at 4:00 AM. You trek to your apartment, which is a least one mile away from the train station. Once you arrive, you gaze outside to absorb the view of this old city. You’ve never seen such a sight. The warm, dawn sun radiates across an open-air market where merchants are setting up old-fashioned, wood stalls on the brick streets. Today is market day, and you see that the merchants have started to bargain loudly with their customers to sell their produce and meat. Your stomach growls at the sights and smells. You glance down at you watch and realize the time is already 10 in the morning while still having an empty stomach, so you decide to buy breakfast there.
of the time when you grew tomatoes in your little, side yard garden. As you take a bite, the flavor bursts out of the tomato. This definitely doesn’t remind you of the tomatoes at Tom Thumb, picked green in Mexico, shipped to the U.S., and sprayed with Ethylene gas for ripening. The tomatoes you are chewing are garden-grown, just like the ones you cultivated in your own backyard. You realize that the quality and care of the people’s food here is astounding.
After you take the shortcut through the back of the egg seller, you stand infront of a rustic-looking tomato stand. You can spot many tomatoes that come in extensive shades of orange and red. The decision for just one of the bunch would be impossible! Luckily, the woman running the stall offers a sample for you to try. You take the offer and take a piece of the oddly-shaped tomato; it reminds you
Your stomach growls one more time. You tramp back to your apartment, a delicious sandwich lingering in your mind. Once you finish assembling, you immediately stick it in your mouth. The flavors combine with each other to give you a feeling of satisfaction you’ve never experienced before. It is the best thing you’ve tasted.
You decide to find and purchase some of the worldacclaimed condiments. You walk around the area, glancing at certain stands that look interesting. You walk by a yellow sign that says “Senf”. Judging by the yellow paste on the table, you realize that you’ve found the famous mustard. The mustard is not the color of the mustard that you have in your fridge at home. Instead, this is a darker, Once you reach the streets, you notice that every product flaxen yellow, not a bright, naples yellow. You doubt the is home-grown and authentic Austrian food. You stroll credibility of the sauce based on the color, but you decide around, scanning the vicinity, and notice that there are a to try it anyways. As soon as you take a lick, however, wide variety of choices. Just in front of you stands a small tangy flavor shoots up through your body. You stall, about the size of a lemonade booth, can feel the strong flavor of mustard seeds and with an old man selling eggs. However, these aren’t your typical eggs that one would find in “It’s the best thing turmeric in your mouth. You understand why the condiments were so highly appraised. America where people stuff chickens inside you’ve tasted.” cramped cages. No, these eggs are natural Now, your stomach is grumbling louder than and come from humane sources. It takes ever. You decide to head back to your apartment some time for your purchase of the eggs to to make that sandwich. Yet as you walk by the be completed, after trying to get a reasonable deal with the rustic vegetable stands, through the shortcut behind persistent old man for fifteen minutes. After some back and the egg dealer, you spot the cheese stands. You cannot forth, you finally acquire the farm-fresh eggs for a somewhat resist the temptation of the food, so you amble over to the reasonable price of 2.5 euros considering the quality. As you stands. Cheeses line the counter, from muenster to brie, resume your adventure through the market, you notice there in all different shape, sizes, and colors. You spot cups with are a vast number of stalls, filled with a rainbow of fresh samples. You taste one bit of the cheese, and you realize vegetables. You decide that, instead of a typical breakfast, what you’re missing out on at home. Even through all the you will eat sandwiches for lunch. different cheeses, you decide to buy mozzarella.
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The Office Matthew Dasilva | Fiction | 5 Morgan Chow | Photography | 8
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R
oland Goldpick stifled a yawn as he rubbed his eyes. His head pounded and he felt sick to his stomach. He checked his watch as he tried to stifle another yawn but to no avail; it read 10:30 pm.
I have to finish this payroll for the boss, he thought to himself as he punched a few more keys, his fingers feeling as if they were lead. He looked up at the computer monitor and felt a wave of relief wash over him when he saw he had just filled out the last box. Yawning, he logged out of the computer, stuffed a file overflowing with papers into his briefcase, and shut the latch. Roland walked to the elevator and pressed “pitter the button, but it only flickered. That’s weird, Roland thought. Sighing, he started towards the stairs when he heard footsteps. No one is here at this hour, not even the janitors. Maybe another late night worker?
He rubbed his eyes, starting down the stairs, his eyelids drooping with each step, bringing him closer to unconscious. Until he slammed into the lobby door. Grunting, he tried to open the door, but it was locked.
Wait, the building doesn’t close until midnight. Suddenly, he heard the pitter-patter again. Something isn’t right here, Roland thought to himself as sweat began to gather on his brow. He pushed open the door and walked in the lobby. He heard the footsteps a little louder this time - pitter patter, pitter patter.
patter, pitter patter.”
“Mark, Laura?” Roland called out, but there was no answer, just an eerie silence. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I’m sure I heard... pitter-patter, pitter-patter...
Let someone else deal with whoever it is, Roland, just get out of here and to your home and to your sweet, sweet bed.
I have to get out of here now. He just needed his car.
He ran to the elevator frantically pressing buttons until the door opened. Thank God, Roland thought to himself as he stepped into the elevator; the tiny metal box had never felt so welcoming, but then he saw the bloody footprints on the steel floor. Suddenly the lights in the elevator went out and he heard the footsteps again. Pitter, patter, pitter patter. An empty cold dark voice came from behind him. “Hello darling.”
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I stare at the cold and blank mirror, searching for answers. Questions and confusion, my ignorance crushes my ego and leaves me in a disaster. My undying efforts, every sweat and tear, do they even matter? I try to be the best man I can, Put on a fake smile to show the world the best of what I am. But sometimes the feeling of bitter disapproval just can’t be expressed by paper and pen. Every drip of my tears, followed by the trails of my sweat, seem to remind me of struggle again and again. Happy memories rack through my head. My vision is marred by my tears as I clutch my mother’s death bed. Sadness and loss ramming into my head like hard lead banging again and again. Just a day ago I was the richest man in the world . I took what I had for granted, and I found myself stumbling and spinning in twirls. As you go through life, You start battles and end fights. And in your last war you realize all the scars weren’t worth being deep enough to leave a mark on you. But they are already engraved in your skin, deep, harsh, and coarse at first They soften over time, but they are always left in your skin, submersed. But it’s to late change those scars. When we are grunting our last breaths We realize how important people are Life becomes somewhat humorous, ironic. You start to accept that it takes absence to appreciate presence And sadness to appreciate happiness.
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A PERPETUAL TRUTH
Poem | Sal Hussain | 8 Photography | Raja Mehendale | 7 mm xix
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The World Is Not Crystal Clear Nonfiction | Andrew Kogan | 8
E
ver since my first flight, I was curious as to how aircraft manage to fly through the sky. The truth to the matter lies in balancing air resistance with lift, but a three-year-old could only begin to comprehend these unfathomable concepts. But my young mind found a very intersting (and humorous) solution to this question. Along the way to the DFW International Airport, I experienced one of my first illogical assumptions. My mom, dad, sister, and I were about to begin a trip to Cleveland, Ohio. I was very enthusiastic and eager to get to the airport, so I quickly hopped into the car, our navy-blue Honda Odyssey. Waiting patiently, I sat in my clunky booster seat until my mom strapped me in. The remaining family members entered the minivan, and we headed toward the airfield.
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Photography | Jacob Weinstein | 8 I was so excited to see my extended family that the thought of traveling on an airplane completely left my mind. I had been on one before, but I was much younger then. I did not remember the experience. Now that I thought of it, I had a major problem to sort out. How do those planes work? I asked myself. I just don’t understand. Big metal boxes, floating like a bunch ‘o beach balls in the water. How!? I was puzzled by the magical, mystical ways airplanes and aircraft stay in flight, so I scoured my small brain searching for an answer. I was a jungle explorer, looking for the most valuable Mayan artifact. Unveiling the answer, like finding the treasure, would result in a greater understanding of the surrounding
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world. Information is very important for a toddler since judgment is based upon personal experience.
my mind; I was drowning in my own discovery. I was the conductor of my “Train of Thought,” and I had led it to the final destination. I figured out a problem, though not correct, all by myself, for one of the first times in my life. I didn’t give up, like an immature infant, and I had successfully used the natural power of deduction.
Well, I thought, what else soars in the air? Birds do. They flap wings. Planes don’t flap wings, though. As my family approached the airport, I noticed and observed multiple vehicles in the sky If planes drive on glass roads, I analyzed then and on the ground. I began to draw similarities, how many glass roads are up in the moving my head up and down, sky? Where do they begin? Where do focusing on the characteristics of both cars and airplanes. Okay, cars go on “Questions swarmed they end? Questions swarmed in my head like bees in a hive. Fortunately, the road, and planes go in the sky. Cars in my head.” my family car had made it to our have wheels, do planes have wheels, designated gate, so I would have too? As a closer inspection, I took a plenty of time to think the questions glimpse at the bottom of a passing over while on the imminent flight. It suddenly plane and found an answer. There indeed are occurred to me that my answers may only come wheels on the bottom of the fuselage. Ah! There from experimenting in the gate of the airport so are! I privately noted. But why? I don’t see a road that I could see how the planes “take off.” Shoot! I for the planes. That is when it hit me. There WERE better be quick! With speed and efficiency in mind, roads! I just couldn’t see ‘em… so they must be I grabbed by sized-down suitcase from the rear of made of glass! the minivan and sprinted toward the Was the year 1969? Because I felt like a man on entrance of Gate A2. the moon. A sudden wave of jubilation flooded I was now facing a head-tohead battle with Time himself. Unfortunately, the slowest line in mankind’s history was feet away from me: the dreaded security checkpoint.
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I am discarded in an empty bin, Left as a mistake by my creators. I was stapled and taped. Maybe I was created in anger or made to become
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Photography | Brandon Song | 8 Poetry | Zane Wallace | 8
something yet failed. I have been stapled and taped and paper clipped over and over, so that I cannot move. mm xix
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Monochrome Fiction | Andrew Kogan | 8 Photography | James Thomson | 8
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B
ehind it’s dark and gloomy look, Reville is home to many. Although everything, including the inhabitants, is gray and bland, there is much life. The citizens do not speak, however, and not a single word has been heard by anyone. Looking is much easier than talking, anyway. There really is no need for verbal communication, since everyone does the same thing every day, all week, all month, and all year. The entire population is divided into four, even groups. They are called: 1, 2, 3, and 4. Members of each group are born together, work together, and die together. All groups share the same conditions and are all born at the same time, which creates equal lifespans among everyone. Also, everyone does not have a name, but has a number printed on their forehead, so it is visible to all.
One day, 11905 notices a strange feeling in his head. It is becoming more and more difficult to concentrate during laboring hours. This sensation is very odd. It is like an uncontrollable fear that haunts his dreams. It is like a cryptic code rewriting his brain. It is manipulating the way he thinks. It is recognition of curiosity. With this new sense, 11905 begins to question his reality. His conscious keeps asking, “Why? Why am I living like this? Why is everyone living like this? Really, what is the point of this?” These thoughts are going over and over inside of his head, trying to grasp his actions. However, 11905 is unable to set these ideas into effect. That would all change the next morning.
He needed to set himself out of place in this town, and that is exactly what he did. When the wake-up siren blared early Until death, every person has an order “Until death, every to follow. It consists of waking up at the person has an order in the morning, 11905 watched all of his peers get out of bed and change community alarm, dressing, washing, to flollow.” their clothes, all in unison. This time; and walking to the work stations. At however, he did not join them. Instead, these stations, repetitive tasks are he got up and ran. He ran out of the performed; these include examining and measuring door, out of the grouping of homes, and out of food portions, sewing clothes, and constructing Reville. Outside of the town, nothing was blank everyday items. All of these jobs are performed on and gray. Everything was full of color and 11905 large conveyor belts, and all workers complete one could see creatures flying happily through the step in the process, over and over again. In one day, air, each taking their own path. He also found a surprising amount of work is finished, but this something very interesting. A great blue substance same amount is accomplished every day. was flowing through the land. He tried to grab it, To everyone living in Reville, 11905 is just like but it washed right past his hand. Water, just like everyone else. He wakes up on time, goes to his 11905, flows about is not restricted by rules. job station, and is an efficient sewer.
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The Distance Photo | Keshav Krishna | 8 Writing | Trey Stager | 8
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eluctantly crouched at the starting line, I am looking at my opponents, ready for anything. Engines pumping and thumping in time, Just like my heart with adrenaline overwhelming my body. The green light flashes, the flags go down. Inside my mind, I say, “Here we go!” I push the Hot Wheel with all my might; my dad and brother do the same. With “The Distance” by Cake playing in the background, I feel unbeatable. At five years of age, I feel as that this race decides my existence, my fate. Our cars are even at first, but in an instant, my dad takes the lead with my brother slowly trailing. That order stays the same throughout the short race. No trophies, no flowers, no flashbulbs, no wine; I’m left in the dust, barely finishing.
I feel terrible, but my dad assures me that it doesn’t matter as much as I think. He says he wants a rematch. I have a chance to redeem myself. “The Distance” by Cake restarts while on repeat on my dad’s speaker. The yearn for the cup. My dad starts counting down “Three… Two… One… Go!” I push the minuscule Hot Wheel with all my might, thinking my dad is doing the same. My car is in the lead, and in the short race, I know I am going to win. He’s going the distance... At the time, I did not know my dad threw the race. The joy on my dad’s face indicated that he cared less about destroying his five-year-old son in a race with toy cars than letting me underservedly win.
That day was the start of my love of cars and trucks that I have carried through my early childhood, including not-so-playful games with my brother. “Three… Two… One… GO!”
Engines pumping and thumping in time, I was holding down the throttle just behind my brother. We were both crashing into walls and falling off the course; it was a vigorous race and I was going for speed. Three whole laps of pure intensity. I was still behind my brother trying my hardest to catch up. But he was racing, and pacing, and plotting the course. I accidentally ran my kart into this mysterious box. My kart started glowing, and it became a lot faster. I discovered that these boxes
gave my kart mysterious powers for a short period of time. Now I had a chance to catch to my brother, biting and fighting with monster-truck force. I threw a banana peel in front of my brother’s car, hoping and he would spin out. Then my brother would splash oil in my face, and I wouldlose my vision for a couple of seconds. On the final lap, I was barely ahead. Then I accidentally crashed into a tree and my brother took the lead and won. He wasn’t as nice as my dad. I immediately called for a rematch and the whole race started over.
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REGRET Sky Park | Poetry | 8 Bijaan Noormohamed | Photography | 8
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The worst thing in the world is a missed opportunity. The moments that make you lay at night asking yourself, ‘What should I have done?’ ‘What could I have done?’ “What if?” Instead of dwelling on what could’ve been, what should’ve been, Let go of the past. You can’t change what’s already happened, but you can change what will. When opportunity comes knocking, don’t hesitate. Carpe diem.
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Non-Fiction | Will Grable | 8
T
he cold, brisk air envelopes me as I slice through the icy finishing run. I look back at the mountain, a huge fortress, full of unknown passageways. Long explored, my knowledge of them was nearly complete; tree runs like the dark, twisting dungeons of the medieval castles, and wide sweeping runs like the courtyard in the middle. As I finally slide to a stop after many hours of skiing, there is a gloomy, deep, slate-gray cloud looming over the aspens and the mountain, but I still had one more run I hadn’t skied yet during my time on spring break, and if I didn’t get on the lift soon, I wouldn’t have another chance for a year. All day, I skied my normal favorite runs, and when the day was coming to a close, I got a cup of hot
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Photography | John Stephen Hohmann | 6 cider at the hut and skied down with the rest of my family. Unfortunately, it was only about that time that I remembered a run I had been meaning to ski, a new one that year. The weather was not cooperating, the lifts were closing in only a couple of minutes, and visibility was about two feet because of the downpour of snow, but I couldn’t just leave it there and go idly back to the car. So, I popped my skis on the rack of the gondola. About to head up, I realized I was alone. No one else was there that I could see, except for the lift-runners who were packing up their bags. I realized the complexity of my situation as I was carried up to the top of the mountain, the gentle humming of the lift running
in complete contrast to the chaos raging through the jagged edges of the mountain. The gondola flinched as it was carried up and up into the snow storm. The grind of the massive wire created a hostile atmosphere many feet in the air. The box smelled like mildew, the result of melted snow seeping into the grimy seams of the seats inside. It seemed as if it were being carried by only the forces of nature, swaying uncontrollably and being trampled by flakes of snow biting into the cold, steel edges of the box. As it eventually slowed down at the top, I finally stepped outside of the comfort of the heated gondola, fastened my skies, and started off. I remembered having to go down to the left, but I was unsure of my memory as it had been a year. I prayed I wouldn’t accidentally go down a closed slope or fall and get buried in a block of ice. I had started regretting my decision, but I had come this far and
I wasn’t going to be turning back. Emerging from the mystery of what lay beyond the storm of hail and snow, to my relief, lay the run I had been looking for, Half-Bell. One has to hike up a steep hill and then ski for about a minute to get to the entrance. The sign that said “Experts Only,” normally wouldn’t concern me, as I have no trouble skiing gracefully down double-blacks, but because this was a new one for me and there was no one around and I couldn’t see anything twenty yards in front of me, I was frightened. Step after step, I pushed off in my boots in two-foot-high powder, panting excessively. I started to taste blood, my lip cracked and my throat became dry and bare. My back ached as my skies seemed double their weight when I slung them over my shoulder shoulder. Nothing was left, but cold, suffering, regret.
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People view the present as the mundane reality between the past and the future. They remember the past with longing and wish that the current times were like the “good old days.� Many endure the present while hoping they move on to greener pastures and better times in the future. However, both the past and the future exist in us today. As young adults, we look at or immediate future in everyday life both with excitement and dread. One exhilarating moment we are looking forward to spending time with our friends, and the next moment we are dreading an impending exam. When we broaden our perspective, we are frustrated by politics and a lack of global awareness, but awed by technological advancements and buoyed by a sense of global community.
We endeavor to live in the moment. To manage what we have learned with what we seek to understand.
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The Hike to Sky Pond Akash Munshi | Non-Fiction | 8 Svanik Jaikumar | Digital Art | 8
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he day started as a moderate hike to a smaller waterfall. The hike was a measely 1.5 miles. After we left the waterfall, we were feeling good and that’s when the very steep and hard part of the hike started. We hiked up the mountain on cliff edges, and it felt like we were on the edge of the world, dangling precariously. We passed another waterfall, then another until the last one, and it poured crystal clear water into the river below.
My heart was beating, pounding, but luckily a nice man grabbed my hand and pulled me up. I am sure my little brother was thinking the exact same thoughts as he got ready to climb the steep cliff. Should I really climb this? I don’t really want to. Can we just turn around now because Sky Pond is probably not that great? I guess Akash is already up so I have to do it. Well, here I go. Finally, I’m halfway up the cliff and its’ not really that bad. Let’s see what the view looks like from here. Oh my god! There is literally a 200-foot drop down to the lake. I want to come down now!
We descended until we came along the stream which was quickly turning into a raging river. From there, we had to cross a torrent on a very rickety bridge. Past the bridge, came a sort of tall grass swamp area that we crossed on I waited for about 10 minutes for my parents and another set of rickety bridges. From there, brother to get to where I was. From there, we came to the second lake which was by far my family climbed up the last stretch of the biggest, and we could see many bright the waterfall. We had to hike past a glacier “It was peaceful blue glaciers feeding into the lake. We until we reached Sky Pond. The sun shone began to hear the roaring of the monster, and silent.” through the clouds and reflected off the waevoking fear. The torrent of the waterfall ter. It was peaceful and silent. Not a single flowed down the mountains, collecting in bird chirped. The wind carried chill and many lakes and rivers. As I got closer, my brought along the aroma of pine from the land below. heart raced. Fear. Doubt. Danger. These were the words I lay down basking in the sun. The water was still and racing through my mind as I ascended the snow. calm, giving me a more relaxed feeling. There were some I started the ascent up the waterfall. At first, the climb did not seem too bad and there were many people there to accompany us. My mom, especially, was struggling to get up and my brother was crying. I wondered why, but when I turned my head, I saw that there was a straight 200-foot drop on my left side. Now, I began to regain my fears in the worst of times, as we came to the 20-foot vertical ascent. I was the first one from my family to go. I put my footing in different holes and ascended smoothly up the precipice. As I was climbing, I took time to look at the marvelous view of Rocky Mountain National Park. Then, I began to descend the most challenging part of the waterfall. I put my left foot in one hole of the rock face, and then I put my right foot in another hole. That turned out to be too far up from my left foot as I soon found out. I lost my balance and slipped, holding on by just one hand.
brief whispers of people entering the lake and witnessing its beauty. The lake was a crystal blue, with glaciers slowly melting away, and feeding into the stream. The mountains rose up over the valley and formed a jagged line on the horizon. Truly, we had found our paradise.
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That Shredded Old Book Poetry | Andy Browne | 5 Photography | Richard Lannen | 6
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My ruby red animated graphic novel was shredded
Onto my shoe
By the deadly pink and purple paper shredder
Into the forest
Onto my friend Winnie the Pooh. My ruby red novel regenerated
Onto helpless Old Pooh and
Through the woods
Onto my rabbit;
The rabbit knew what to do
When my ruby red animated graphic novel Ended its week off.
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A Never-Ending Fall Svanik Jaikumar | Non-Fiction | 8 Thomas Goglia | Digital Art | 8
I
have had many dreams; not pleasant daydreams about going to the store to buy the latest videogame, but spine-chilling nightmares about disturbing events. But this dream is the most horrifying and recurring nightmare I have ever had, and I can recall its details perfectly. It all starts on a road in India, a road without a name in a city without a name in a state without a name. In this nightmare, I am surrounded by the darkness, but even in the dead of night, sounds of animal life, such as the piercing screech of a hawk, can be heard. At midnight, this shrill shrieking seems ominous, warning us to stay away from the road ahead. The air smells aromatic and salty, defying the shrill screaming of the birds. I know we are going home, but from where, I cannot tell. As we keep walking, a small roadside gutter emerges from the darkness, not even a few hundred yards away. It is drizzling, but this water is cold, freezing cold. As the water flows toward the gutter, like the water swirling around in a whirlpool, it drops down into a hole so deep, I can’t even hear the dripping sound of water. I keep walking, but space
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and time seem to warp and stretch apart, making what should be a short walk past the gutter into a never-ending trek through the pelting droplets and chilling cold. “How many more minutes until we reach home?” I ask. “Just ten more minutes, then we can catch the bus back to Coimbatore,” my dad replies. “The bus ride is only five minutes.” Fifteen more minutes. I I am old enough to add ten and five together. Right then, we walk past a sign marking the distance to Coimbatore, five kilometers. This hike continues for about two more lengthy minutes, and then it suddenly stops. All is silent. The birds are gone. The water is gone. Everything is gone., everything except the gutter, the
humongous gutter doubling in size by the second. What is that monstrosity? I ask myself. Almost as if it was destined to happen, one of my parent’s phones slips onto the angled asphalt of the street and begins inching toward the gaping hole in the universe: the gutter. Oh no! Let me grab the phone before it is lost forever, I quickly think. We all dive down to pick it up, but the elusive phone escapes our grasp, and that is when it happens. My spirit practically floats away to watch the next scene: the greatest nightmare in my life.
After the school day ends, my parents drive me back home. I start my math homework, but my mind is in a different place, thinking of the horrific dream I had the night before. Why did I get this creepy dream? Of course, my thoughts are not voiced in the complicated vocabulary of an eighth grader, but in the simple terminology of a very young second grader. I tear my thoughts away from the nightmare and quickly finish my homework. I play videogames for an hour, eat dinner, and return to my academics, studying for a few impending quizzes. After about one more hour, I am tired and cannot resist the comforting mattress of the bed. I sprint to the stairs, skip several steps on the way up, and reach the bed before the count of thirty. Finally, I can sleep and forget about the unknown tragedies of the previous day.
Gravity is completely annihilated and the gutter, perhaps a black hole in disguise, wrenches me into its light-devoid depths. My mind is swimming with many questions - What is this place? Does this even exist in the world, or is it just a fragment of my mind? I unsuccessfully attempt to stay rooted to the asphalt. As I fall, the “As I fall, the sound of my sound of my screaming resonates all As I lay in bed, drifting into sleep, I around me, eventually becoming a tiny screaming resonates all pull the covers up even farther until around me.” echo in the vast underground chamber. my head is completely encompassed I fall, keep falling, fall some more, and in an act of self-protection. I can feel then I finally stop, suspended in midmyself subconsciously traveling into air. How endless, yet short-lived; how dreadful, yet the magical realm of dreams. My tense shoulders calming. In the utter silence, the sound of dripping relax and my breathing grows deep. water resumes. First, a slight disturbance in the Suddenly, the night is illuminated by a soft, quiet, then a hammering drip, then a tedious drop, white glow, as if someone were shining a flashlight gradually growing louder and louder. from above. I am back on the familiar tar road, In a final attempt to save me, my parents shriek walking the same inevitable journey to the same loudly, “Where are you?” And then the torture ends. bloodthirsty hole in the ground. The horrors of the Only silence fills the room as I lay awake, palms night before had returned! cold and sweaty, breath ragged. The night finally comes to an end, but the story does not end here. in the awful quiet. The next day is just another normal day. Surprised by the unnerving dream that came to an abrupt stop, I feel as if I have been defeated by something I cannot name. mm xix
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Living Wish Writing | Cooper Rabin | 5 Photo | Branden Song | 8
I wish I were A cave painter In the Hidden Cavern, Brush gracefully gliding across the coffee-colored wall, Creating a beautiful lion.
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I wish I were
I wish I were
A pharoah
An everyday human
Sleeping in a confortable bed instead of a coarse mat
In an ordinary house,
With everlasting riches
Not worrying about the perils below,
Binging peace throughout all of Egypt.
relaxing, Able to spend time with my loving mom.
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Nature’s Serenity Poetry | Christian Youst | in 8 a place of pure tranquility, Away from all human civilization, Photography | Adrian Lutgen | 7 Where the birds sing to the beat of their own drum, Away and fromother all human Butterflies wingedcivilization insects flutter about, high in the in a place of pure tranquility crisp blue skies, Where the birds melody sing to the beat of their own drum, A harmonic pervades throughout, though there are no instrument, Butterflies and other winged insects flutter about, high in the crisp pillars blue skies, In a place where wooden stack tall and house countless creatures and critters, A harmonic melody pervades throughout, though there arefluff no instruments. Cotton-like cloud fills the endless canopy above all,
In a place wherecurve wooden stackfor tallmiles and house And rivers and pillars serve about on end, countless creatures and critters, Innumerable life forms coexist in one place, the irreplaceable, Cotton-like vast glory of nature. cloud fluff fills the endless canopy above all, And rivers curve and serve for miles on end, Innumerable life forms coexisting in one place, the irreplaceable vast.
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out of
old
poetry | sam adams | 8 picture | svanik jakumar | 8
continuously the wheel of time trudges on into the future
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Fiction | Svanik Jaikumar | 8 Photography | Henry Baxter | 8
I
am a pen. A simple, blue pen with a school logo on the side, but so essential to life that I am kept in a special case. It may be a musty, tattered case, but it is a case nonetheless. The logo is that of a lion, a poised, muscular lion, ready to strike out with its sharp sword and sturdy shield. In my opinion, that logo is a symbol of me, a tool eagerly ready to transfer the raw ideas of the writer onto a piece of paper. My purpose is so important that when dust accumulates on me or the spring inside me breaks and makes it hard for me to function at my best, my user takes special care to clean me and keep me operating well. Without me, would my user be able to create such exquisite and wonderfully crafted essays? The answer to that, dear reader, is no. I am so important, that whatever my user feels, feel. So important that when I run out of ink, he does not search for another pen to replace me; he
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simply orders a new ink cartridge on the Internet, all due to my importance. When he is frustrated, I feel the pain of being thrown against a rough and bumpy wall. When he sees an error, I override it with a single strikethrough, and when he sees the perfect idea, I emphatically circle it to draw attention to it later. If my user needs to write, I am there for him, and if he needs to revise, I am there as well. His trust in me has never faltered, and I have never failed him. But tales that start out well do not always end well. The next day, I ran out of ink as usual. My user placed a new cartridge inside my compartment, shook me furiously, and attempted to write. Nothing appeared on the paper. He shook me again and nothing appeared again. He took me to an older adult, spoke some unintelligible words, and shook his head. I was dropped into a very filthy bin filled with recyclables; my fate had been
pushed into the confines of a container. After a day of loneliness and solitude in a bin, a gargantuan, green truck stopped by and emptied the contents of the bin into another colossal bin attached to the truck; the time had come for me to be thrown away and forgotten forever. There had been rumors among my fellow writing utensils that, occasionally, pens and pencils that did not operate efficiently were disposed of like ordinary trash, but of course, I believed that the rules did not apply to me. Meanwhile, I was harshly flung onto the ground in a relatively hilly area and then I realized a very important truth: I was not as special to my user as I thought. And so, the days passed slowly in the landfill for me, idly staring at the new trash brought in each day. My only consolation was that my life could not get any worse. But even my consolation was proved wrong when I discovered a new
piece of information that my fellow castaways of society had known long before. Another pen like me, manufactured by the same company, told me that there was one more final destination to which trash was transported, a place where trash is taken and crushed to reduce the size. I learned from that wise pen that there are many sites where trash is compacted and it is usually done in large quantities. Then the crushed waste is brought back to the landfill and left to decompose. The next day, another gigantic truck, similar to the one that brought me to the landfill, approached the vast expanse of garbage and shoveled large amounts of it into a container. I knew without a doubt that the truck was going to a trash compactor and watched in dismay as my fellow pen-friend was lifted away to his demise. I wonder when my time to join my friend will come. I will happily wait.
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The Amazing Jungle Poetry | Preston Lambeth | 5 Digital Design | Harrison Lee | 8
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Giants peacefully Sleeping blanketing the woods In a forest of Kapoks Splash Splash through the pond Rip the piranhas attack In, out with no trace Pitter Pat rain falls Swish Swish Swish a snake slithers Through the leaves bye bye frog A foolish tree frog Creeps upon a tree branch The poison strikes...dead
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AKA It is everywhere: In the lights of a braking car, The fading scarlet of a wave-beaten Japanese torii gate, In the warm glow of a dying fire, The flushed face of a love-stricken teenager, Or in the auburn fur of a wily fox. It is in the carmine angry ink that covers a failed essay, The very essence that courses through your body, In the blood-stained shirts of wounded soldiers, In the reddish skies that glow overhead when they take their last breath,
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Photography | Morgan Chow | 8 Poetry | Morgan Chow | 8
The blood-matted feathers of a dying dove, In the blinding rage that controls us until it’s too late, The claret of a sign screaming to stop, In violent reprimands of anger, But It is in the crimson of a single rose growing in the barren garden, Or in the red ribbons of a Valentine’s day chocolate box, In the Christmas tree in the living room, Or in the firecrackers exploding in Chinatown; In dark times and in light, Red will be there.
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Fishing Poetry | James Thomson | 8 Photography | James Thomson | 8
Fishing
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A fresh summer day I wish I was fishing Out on my boat in the ocean No problems to reach me I am one with the elements The blue green water Reflecting the cloudless sky Although I may not catch one I will certainly try The sun on my back The fish biting the hook What more could I ask for? Except a gentle breeze Perfect as a painting Captured forever in memory The perfect moment fishing In the middle of the sea But I have to return now Sail back home to port I must tie my boat up So I can find it tomorrow As I arrive at port I can see with my eye Far off in the distance A brewing storm
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Memberships and Awards Columbia Scholastic Press Association (Membership) National Scholastic Press Association (Membership) CSPA Gold Crown 2016 CSPA Gold Crown 2017 CSPA Gold Crown 2018 NSPA Pacemaker Finalist 2018
Mission Inspired by its upper school predecessor, The Marque, the Mini-Marque aims to showcase the literary talents of the middle school. Mini-Marque is a student-driven, extracurricular club that meets after school hours. The club accepts any interested seventh and eight grade students, regardless of experience. Submissions are encouraged in fifth through eigth grade and are judged blindly and equally for publication. The club is responsible for reviewing and selecting submissions, editing text, and creating spreads as a team. Each member is responsible for cultivating their design skills, collaborating with other members, evaluating modes of writing, and teaching other members as they develop their editing and design skills.
Colophon
Copy Number ______ of 400
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The Mini-Marque is a mutimedia magazine created by the St. Mark’s School of Texas Middle School. The magazine cover is printed 4/4 in 4cp plus overall soft touch finishing on 130# Polar Bear Velvet. The body text font is ArcherPro Book and the title fonts vary by section. In order of section, the title fonts are LetterPress, Arkibal Sans, and Butler Typeface. The staff used Adobe InDesign, Illustrator, and Photoshop to create the magazine content. Publication was done on Mac desktop computers and personal laptops. 400 copies were printed for distribution to students, staff, and families free of charge.
Thank You Special thanks to the administrative team who allow us to produce this magazine: David Dini, John Ashton, Dean Clayman, and Nick Sberna. We would also like to thank the upperclassmen of St. Mark’s, especially Luke Piazza and Jonathan Yin, who donate their time and talentes to assist us on our journey. Thank you to the humanities and fine arts departments for encouraging submissions. Lastly, thank you to our advisor for keeping us from playing on our phones.
Team Members Advisor Danielle Clayton Samuel Adams Henry Baxter Morgan Chow Shreyan Doulat Thomas Goglia Svanik Jaikumar Keshav Krishna Arnav Lahoti Sammy Larkin Harrison Lee Kevin Lu
Adrian Lutgen Bijaan Noormohamed Jake Park Baxter Perry-Miller Akash Raghunathan Bowden Slates Branden Song John Tagtmeier James Thomson Zane Wallace Dillon Wyatt
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