The Arrow 2024 – Post #2

Welcome to the 2024 Arrow Online. So excited to share some incredible art & writing by Hackley’s middle schoolers!

This is our second post of the season. This post highlights some wonderful writing from across the middle school.

Stay tuned as over the last couple weeks of this 2023-24 school year, we will continue to share all kinds of visual arts and writing.


The Day The Cement Dried

by Oz B. ’28

          The day I have dreaded the most. One last kick of the perfectly round, black and white spotted ball. I can’t hear the whistle tweet like a bird, music to my ears, after today. Soaking grass sliding off of your achilles. Defenders sliding through on a slip and slide, just to get the ball, whether or not the victim gets injured. I have played my dream for 18 years, all on Everton Football Club. I have won fifteen Ballon D’ors, and ten champions leagues, a room decoration that kids dream of. This final is my chance to cement myself as the greatest player of all time, hoping that that cement dries out, and never gets knocked down. The birdy sings in my ear, as Liverpool starts the game off. The first half is as boring as a Student Led Conference. I head into the locker room, whose personality is a flip of the coin, dreadful like a graveyard or bursting with spirit, waiting for the second half to commence. The second half bird sings for the last time in my career, starting off not as we had hoped, the striker for Liverpool slams the ball like a wrecking ball into the top right corner, and spirits are looking low. Is my career really going to end like us, my cement will never dry out? But, my feet flow through the grass, gliding gracefully through the defenders, like a figure skater, and I calmly place the ball into the net, past the brick wall of Liverpool, slowly breaking it down. 1-1. In the 98th minute, I get past the Liverpool brick wall, turning it into a fence, like a Bull, charging through, smashing the ball for the final time into the net, as that cement finally dries out.


Get Ready for Baseball

by Jack F. ’30

Oh no my game is in 30 minutes and I need dinner. As I say in my dirt brown and dark grassy green stained formerly white pants and blue baseball jersey we can stop at mister nicks on  the way and pick up a piece of pizza. No, their Hawaiian pizza is horrible. The pineapples aren’t cooked and the ham is cubed, we are going to capri for pizza or I won’t eat. Fine, we can go there but call in ahead of time. Okay then can we go there now. We jump into our Sting Gray Jeep Grand Cherokee Covered in dry mud  top to bottom. The only clean thing was the bike rack. My dad likes to say that people from New Jersey drive like maniacs so he pulls a few jerseys and we are there in three minutes. I jump out and run towards the building but my dad reminds me not to run. I have to be patient and walk so I don’t get hit by a car. I walk slowly into the brick redpizza shop and when the bell on the door rings it scares me because it is a new thing. Then the delicious aroma of pizza hit me and I smelled it of my Hawiian pizza cooking in the oven. I smell the burning wood and the pineapples, I see the pizza man getting ready to take the pizza out, I feel the heat from the oven, I hear the clamorous chatter, I taste the air moistened by the toppings dried by the flour. Finally I get my pizza now it smells good. I take it back to the car and start eating. We finally got to the field and the pizza was so good I played the game of my life.I batted two times and got two hits and they were both doubles. A short way of saying that is 2 for 2 with 2 doubles. I also hit two runs in, R.B.I.s. After that we win and we get a big 4 foot tall trophy with the majority of the height being three three foot tall bats with black around the handle and brown everywhere else, on the top there is an pentagon with three eagles around it and a gold cup with two people playing baseball, The bottom or the base is also a pentagon. It has a spiral with a baseball at the top. And the bats come out of it, there is a plaque on the bottom that says 2021 TNTBSA CHAMPIONS ALLAN BLOCK INSURANCE which was our name I get M.V.P and ten dollars at an ice cream shop and the night of my life.


My First Day of School

by Shaleen S. ’30

  I opened the car door, walked underneath an arch, and opened the door to my new school – and the next seven years of my life.

Poison Candy

by Shaleen S. ’30

            A girl dressed as a black cat was walking among the ghosts and goblins. One asked, “Want some candy?” But they were not candy givers.

Too Much Candy

by Shaleen S. ’30

       I bought candy for trick or treaters. Skittles, Twix, and Tootsie Rolls. But on Halloween night there was none left, and my stomach really hurt!


Good Old Fish and Chips

by Ryan L. ’30

          Seven years ago, I sat at a place called PJs on Cape Cod, and I decided to order the fish and chips. Little did I know how much I would come to love them. Every year I go to Cape Cod to my grandparents’ summer house there. It’s always the same routine: leave at 6:30 in the morning, sit through a long five-hour car ride, get there at twelve, and meet them at PJs. There, I would first have my favorite food in the world, fried fish! The first time I went to Cape Cod, I ordered them. A guy with a long beard and small half-moon spectacles walked over. As he spoke, in his mouth there were blood-red braces, and at the time, I was very intrigued by him.  When he came back, I remember seeing the fish and chips. The dish looked almost foreign to me then. I remember my first bite, and oh, did I like it. I loved the oily, rough, hot, doughy outside and the hot, mushy, white cod on the inside, the sea-like smell emanating from the fish. My mom has a video of me eating it for the first time, and I had the widest smile on my face. I have had that every year since. As soon as I got home, I went to the supermarket to buy the ingredients for fried fish because I wanted to make some myself. It was the morning after we got back; there was a crisp smell of grass in the air and a feeling of utmost humidity. For some reason, the car was having trouble starting up, so my dad had to jumpstart it. We drove to the nearby grocery store, DiCicco’s. Once we arrived, we were greeted by a horrible, burnt, oillike like smell coming from the parking lot. We went into the store, distinctly hearing the loud sound of people yelling at the bar/pizza parlor next door and the smell of burnt chicken coming from it. Once we had everything, we returned home. I remember when she pulled into the driveway. I was so excited. I helped her make the fish and chips. We slowly applied breadcrumbs and prepared the fish and chips. Then we fried it over the stove. We invited one of our close neighborhood friends over for dinner and we all had my fried fish. When she gave me the fish I made I had the realization in the moment that fried fish was more than just a food for me. It was meaningful. It tasted so good. Even though it was not a substitute for PJs I still loved it. This past June I went to London and I had Fish and Chips for every meal. I even went to the place with the best Fish and Chips in London. It was called the Mayfair Chippy. It was a hike from the subway to it. There was a humongous line outside filled with British people chatting while they waited to get in. We walked in and as soon as we came in I immediately noticed the fish on the walls and all the people eating Fish and Chips ONLY. As I walked in, the smell of fried cod filled my mind and I heard the forks and knives cutting into the fried fish and the welcoming familiar smell and I knew it had to be good and oh it was. As the waiter brought over my fried fish dripping with oil, steam came off rapidly and bread crumbs sprinkled evenly all over. It was crispy, oily, delicious, fried fish. Every bite I enjoyed to the fullest. It tasted wonderful. Throughout my life I have had different types of fish at different places and I have always loved fried fish the most. Fried Fish has a sentimental meaning and value to me because of all the memories I have making it, eating it and watching people prepare it.   Fried fish over time has become very important to me and I love it the most out of any food I have had.


Micro-fiction sample by Kayla R. ’28

          BOOM! More chunks of rock plunge into the ground. BOOM! I’m running as fast as I can towards the rocket; it’s the only ticket out of here. I look back to see it in all its glory: that humongous, off-gray, crater-filled sphere. The sky turns a red-orange while rocks fall from overhead like raindrops hitting every inch of the earth. I face forward to see the colossal, 800-foot tall titanium rocket and faceplant straight into the ground. The taste of dirt and sulfur fills my mouth. I grunt through the pain. Something is definitely broken. But my wails won’t do anything, everyone is just running past me, not even giving me a second thought. All of a sudden, I hear a familiar voice. “Racheal!” It’s Mom calling from outside the rocket. A feeling of relief washes over me. I limp as fast as I can.

When I finally arrive, we hear the worst possible news,“I’m sorry ma’am, only one more person can fit,” the Military personnel say with no stutters or sympathy. What?  I look around, everyone else is still running towards the rocket. “We must depart now,” they say. My mom sighs. She has the saddest expression I’ve ever seen on her face. Tears start to flow as she hugs me like it’s the last time she ever would.

Then, she whispers in both agony and somehow reassurance, “I’m sorry. I love you so much.” My body crashes to the ground; I‘m too exhausted to do anything. The rocket starts rumbling as my body is forced against the floor. Eventually, I’m able to drag myself over to a window. I look outside, but after one glance, I can’t see a thing. Water just keeps pouring from my eyes. The entire world was engulfed in flames.


The Egotistical Turkey

by Navika K. ’30


Out of the way, losers!

I am the star of the show.

You think I’m joking?

Who do you think they compliment at Thanksgiving?


This whole holiday revolves around me

When they have to think of just one food at Thanksgiving,

they don’t think cranberry jam.


They think of me. Just me.

I am the star of the show



by Delilah M. ’30


The noise surrounds you




But the best soon of all

The one you long to hear

Except there is no sound


A trance

With birds in a blur sky

A blue sea

Fresh salty air makes you laugh and smile

Not an inch of trash to be seen

The voices turn back on

Rain clouds in a grey sky

A brown-is green sea

Smoky air makes you cough

Trash floods you

Back into reality

People don’t know what to do

So silence will never be true


Grow up.

by AMY LOREEN C. ’31

          When I first saw the world, I was five and filled with joy. No one told me that I had to grow up. I walked the street with my mother, holding hands. A man on the street said, “Do you wish to grow old?” I responded,”Yeah, I wish to grow up faster.”

          Grow up.

           I blinked once more, and it was my birthday; I was now seven. I asked my stuffed animal, “How are you?” He said, “You’re eight now.”

          Grow up

          My little heart shattered. I threw him, and he yelled. I simply responded with, “Grow up?…”

          My parents called me for dinner. My feet grew bigger with each step until my slippers were unwearable. I took them off; in my head, those words lingered, Grow up.

          With every step, I grew older until I was at least ten. I blinked, and suddenly, I was in an argument with my father. His face melted into a terrifying smile.

          Grow up.

          Grow up.

          Grow up.

          Grow up.

          I said under my breath,“I wish I had never grown up fast.” I blinked once more. Where did my parents go?

          I was alone on the streets. I saw a little boy walk past me. He said,”I’m not a mama’s boy! Grow up, mum!”

          People from the village surround me and the boy, shouting.

          “Grow up.”

          “Grow up”

          “Grow up”

          I felt a kiss on my forehead. I woke to find my mother and father around my bed saying,”Happy birthday! Don’t grow up, mi hija!”

          The boy was outside of my window, smiling.

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