The Arrow Online 2023 – Post #4

Hello! So excited for the 2023 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Arts & Literature Magazine!!!

Stay tuned for more posts to come over the next few weeks and then keep an eye out for the hardcopy, published version coming soon.

Here’s our latest post of 2023 student work:

Torii, alone

by: Anya M. ’29

…I am alone

I oversee the gorgeous mountain path

I see thousands of people almost every day

And yet, I am still alone

Tourists come walk along the path

They seek the beloved shinto temple

My wood no longer is red, but brown

I no longer smell of the old Niwaki tree

Instead, there is an irresistible musty stench.

I am dull, and lifeless

I see no sunlight, only darkness

The dense forest and treetops cover the beloved sky. 

Remembering looking up at the heavens when I was just newly made

Feelings of pure wonder and curiosity

Why have those things gone away?

I have no reason to exist now

I am tired of looking at the same path. Over and over again.

The morning dew’s scent is fresh. I smell it day after day

I am tired of the constant repetitions

I spot new faces daily, my perception of time changes

Except one elderly man, who cares for me deeply

He scrubs the dirt off my long legs

Stains that have lasted thousands of years

He usually comes often.

I appreciate him.

But he hasn’t come in a while

And now, once again…

…I am alone


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The Arrow Online 2023 – Post #3

Hello! So excited for the 2023 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Arts & Literature Magazine!!!

Stay tuned for more posts to come over the next few weeks and then keep an eye out for the hardcopy, published version coming soon.

Here’s our latest post of 2023 student work:

Emma M. ’29

Halloween Haiku

by: Annabelle R. ’29

on halloween eve

apple bobbing with grandma

false teeth on apple 

Emma M. ’29

Navon R. ’30

Like a Bird, I Fly

by: Catherine S. ’30

     The crisp wind I glide in is the current throughout life. When I take off, I feel like a plane soaring through the air, and it makes me feel empowered with hope and positivity. Like a bird, I fly down below brushing the sapphires that are the water and my dreams. Like a bird, I fly into the plants that drizzle me and my feathers in dew particles that are the thousands of memories in my life. Like a bird, I fly into my wonders and wishes that are big and fluffy like the snow-white clouds. Like a bird, I WILL fly up to the stars and won’t come down, not for anything.

Emma F. ’30

Alberto P. ’27


by: Evelyn W. ’28

The house is empty, 

but what is that creaking noise?

I’m not home alone.

Mai M. ’27

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The Arrow Online 2023 – Post #2

Hello! So excited for the 2023 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Arts & Literature Magazine!!!

Stay tuned for more posts to come over the next few weeks and then keep an eye out for the hardcopy, published version coming soon.

Here’s our latest post of 2023 student work:

Sophie K. ’27


by Zoe S. ’28

     Character Breakdown

Sadie- 14, short-tempered, sassy, dramatic   Eva- 10, Annoying, curious Mom- 46, Kind, stern

(Lights up on Sadie storming in through the door, walking straight to the cabinets full of food)


(Eva working on homework on the table next to the kitchen)


(No response from Sadie)





STOP!!!! I’m not in the mood.


What, did you lose your soccer game?


Yes, in fact I did.(Silence for 10 long seconds)Well, aren’t you going to say something?


No… Why? Was I supposed to say sorry or something?


Oh my gosssssshhhhhhh. I don’t want to talk to you right now.





(1 minute passes)

Ugh. I can’t find it.

(Sadie still looking around in the cabinet)

EVA: Really, one minute? Come on Sadie.(Eva sighs)What are you looking for?

SADIE: Lucky Charms of course, why else would I be here?  

EVA: I don’t know.

SADIE: I am really craving cereal and marshmallows.(Sadie going on to the last cabinet)

SADIE: Ooo, jackpot!(throwing snacks more harshly onto the ground)

EVA: Wait!!!!!

SADIE: What?

EVA: That’s my favorite cereal! Could you give it to me? Mom got it for me yesterday.

SADIE: I knew it! I knew it! You are mom’s favorite child. She gets anything for you even if you are mean in any way! I just knew it!(throwing the cereal, hits Eva’s head)

EVA: Ouch! You physically hurt me and emotionally hurt me. I have feelings you know!

SADIE: No, you don’t.

EVA: You’re so mean! And why do you need Lucky Charms?!! Why can’t you just buy them separately?!!!!

SADIE: Because I don’t want to. Geeze. They are perfect together. Also for your information, I am not mean; I just tell the truth!

Eva: No you don’t! You don’t! You’re the worst. You know that? You’re the WORST!! I don’t get why it has to be Lucky Charms?! Why can’t you just get marshmallows and put it into another cereal?

SADIE:(Getting angrier)It’s NOT the same! You’re the youngest; you get everything that you want. I am annoyed by you. YOU are annoying!

EVA: I am NOT annoying, ok?! I am sorry that it is so hard for you to find your stupid cereal, for your stupid game. And for the last time, I AM NOT ANNOYING!

SADIE: YOU did NOT just say that! YOU THINK YOU’RE NICE?! Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re not.(She runs upstairs as Mom walks in through the door)

MOM: Hi! I’m home!

EVA: (mumbling)Hi Mom. 

MOM: What’s wrong?

EVA: Nothinggg.

MOM: I came back from the grocery store…

EVA: Cool.

MOM: Hey, where’s your sister?

EVA: Upstairs. 

MOM: Can you tell her to come down?

EVA: She’s busy.  

MOM: Evaah…

EVA: Fine.(Shouting up the stairs) SADIE, MOM WANTS TO SEE YOU!!(No response from Sadie)

MOM: Eva, could you go to your room? I’ve got to talk to Sadie for a minute.

EVA: Sure.(EVA runs up the stairs, and Sadie comes down)

MOM: Hi…


MOM: What’s wrong?


Nothing…It’s just that I feel like Eva gets anything she wants, and I’m just there, invisible.

MOM: Oh, come on. Is this really what it is all about?! Sadie, that’s ridiculous. You know that I love everyone equally.

SADIE: Yeah, yeah, I know.

MOM: Come on, let’s go get you Lucky Charms.

SADIE: Wait, how did you know I wanted Lucky Charms?

MOM: I’m a mother; what can I say?(Lights out on Sadie and Mom putting their shoes on)

Kate F. ’30







by: Johanna H. ’29


The fluffy clouds, 

providing rain 


that keeps us 

from droughts. 












and sleet. 


Sun clears 

my soul. 

Sophie P. ’30


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Welcome to the 2023 Arrow Online!!!

Hello! So excited for the first post of the 2023 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Arts & Literature Magazine!!!

Stay tuned for more posts to come over the next few weeks and then keep an eye out for the hardcopy, published version coming soon.

Here’s our first student work: drumroooolllll please!!!

Nick F. ’28

                                                                                                                                                          Short Fiction Project

by Olivia H. ’27                                                                

The lemonade-yellow house glares at me just the way Aunt Minnie used to. The red roof is Aunt Minnie’s hair, the same shade as mine. The candy-apple-red door is her stuck-out tongue, mocking me. I take a deep breath as I look at it. This is the last time I’ll go in. New owners move in next week, and the house is almost completely cleared of Aunt Minnie’s things. This is the last time I’ll have to step into this mothball-ridden depth of Tartarus. I walk up the cement steps, eying the spongy green mold growing in the cracks. Why any person would want this dump is beyond me. I unlock the front door and walk straight down the hall. No need to look around; I already know what I’ll see – an empty living room to the left, a bare kitchen to the right. Six months spent cleaning this place. All alone. All alone except for the ghosts of the past, and God knows I don’t want to see them again. But that all ends today, I remind myself as I climb the rickety stairs at the back of the house. I reach the top and enter the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Neatly labeled boxes line the wall under white squares of paint saved from the monotonous nicotine gray of the rest of the room by pictures of the countryside, which I’ve already taken down and put into several large boxes labeled “Goodwill.” It took forever to stack them all. Aunt Minnie always had a thing for art. On the other side of the room is the closet. I walk over and open the door. An avalanche of dusty garments rolls to the floor. I sigh. Great. Just great.

I kneel down, pulling out my phone and my earphones from my backpack. I gently push back my hair and twist the buds in. I pick up my phone and open the NBC app. The news anchorwoman, Sally Cormic, provides me with my only company these many Sundays I’ve spent in this house, cleaning up a dead woman’s mess. I space out as I ruefully remember the day my family refused to help to do this last job. Like me, they have bad memories of Aunt Minnie, but I’d say that I have it worse. However, ever the dutiful one, I’ve come to complete this last favor. After all, someone had to. Sally is talking about some stolen artwork. Some Van Gogh portrait. Art isn’t really my thing. I tend to curate more historically-centered pieces for the Madison History Museum. This train of thought reminds me of a piece I’ve been trying to obtain. The stubborn MET doesn’t want to let go of it.  I pick up a red scarf and see a light at the end of the tunnel, a bit of wooden floor. I notice an odd crack in the wood. I knock on the floorboard and an echo bounces back. A hidden compartment.

I pry open the loose floorboard and find an old, beaten shoebox. Something exciting? It could be money! It could be hordes of silver and gold coins… from the Roman era! Yes! Those would be great on display at the museum! I open the shoebox, my heart full of hope, and I see… a key. How disappointing. I pick it up. On one side I make out a small Yorkie dog. The Westy storage company sign. I flip it over. “#308.” This is a storage unit key. I groan. Another thing to clean out. The key is as bumpy as the diorama of the Himalayas at the museum and rusty as the leaky pipe out front, which is to say, old. Who knows what kind of junk has piled up in the unit over the years?

I walk across the parking lot at Westy. That is, the second one which I’ve visited today. I had assumed that the key would belong to a unit at the Westy in Jerryville, Wisconsin. It’s nearest to Aunt Minnie’s home. But curiously, there was no storage unit #308 there. I am now in Madison, a full hour away. I live in Madison for my work, but why would Aunt Minnie rent a unit here instead of in her hometown? Reaching the door, I pull it open. A security guard is reclining in an office chair, his cap pulled over his eyes. A faint droning sound exudes rhythmically from beneath the hat.

“Heavens to Betsy!” he exclaims, startled. My footsteps must have woken him up. He quickly pulls his cap back onto his head. He sees me and smiles.

“Howdy, Ms. Lawrence,” he calls chipperly in his Texan drawl. I stop, unsure of what to say. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you might have the wrong person,” I offer. “My name is Camilla. Camilla Mazzala.” The security guard rises. It’s a slow process. He plants his hands on the armrests and shakily pushes himself up. He stretches out his back and walks over. His name tag reads, “Frank.”

“My mistake, Ms. Mazzala,” he says. “It’s just you look very similar to a Ms. Lawrence who often passes through.”

“Really?” I ask, “Usually I find that my red hair really sets me apart from other people.”

“Actually, darlin’, that’s what made me think you were Ms. Lawrence. Although, she usually has a red hat coverin’ her eyes and face. Anyhow, what brings you here, peach?”

“I’m here for unit 308,” I say.

“That’s just over yonder,” Frank explains as he points to the right.

“Alright, thank you.” I start walking the way he was pointing.

“Anytime, darlin’!” he calls as he gets back in his chair and covers his eyes with his hat again.

I unlock unit 308. “Maybe something interesting could be in here,” I tell myself as I start to open the door. “Maybe the boring box was just a guise. Afterall, why would she have hidden the key if it was just a bunch of boring junk?” A bunch of boring junk. That’s what the room is filled with. A mess, like the rest of Aunt Minnie’s things. I walk further into the unit, disappointed. Nothing. The boxes are filled with the same random assortment of items as her house. Just a boring, average, uninteresting storage unit.

I lock the door to unit 308, defeated. Another thing that I need to clean up for Aunt Minnie. She never did anything for me, but here I am dedicating so much time to wrapping up her life. I sigh. The key gets jammed in the lock, and I pull at it until it flies out onto the ground. I bend down to pick it up, tightly gripping it so that it can’t slip out of my grasp again. I open my backpack and drop it in. My palm stings. I bring it up to my face to inspect the imprint which the key left. It almost looks like a number. I turn my hand to see the print at a different angle, and find I was right. However, it isn’t just one number, but two. It reads ‘308+307.’ I look up. 307 is adjacent to 308. This time, I don’t get my hopes up. By now I know that there was nothing interesting or mysterious about Aunt Minnie. She was just a mean, middle-aged woman who drowned and is gone. Gone forever. I probably just didn’t see the ‘307’ because of how misshapen and rusty the key is. This is probably just an overflow unit that Aunt Minnie owned. I walk over to the door of unit 307 and unlock it, expecting to find just another room full of junk. Inside, I find some old pieces of art. Just some excess stuff that couldn’t fit in the last unit. I walk closer and look at one of the paintings. It’s actually pretty good. It has a man with orange hair, and it kind of reminds me of that famous one of the night. “What’s it called?” I ask myself. I grin proudly as I remember. “Starry Night! Vincent Van Gogh painted that!” I pause. Wasn’t a self portrait of his stolen this morning? I reach out to touch the painting. Surely this is a mistake. This is just a copy of the famous painting. Aunt Minnie did have a lot of paintings hanging in her house. She was an art lover. Yes. That makes total sense. My finger grazes the painting. It’s bumpy; real paint. There is no denying it. This is no copy. This is the Van Gogh portrait which was stolen this morning.

The police arrived a few minutes ago. Detective Sofia, a lanky young blonde woman, approaches me.

 “Ms. Mazzala, did your aunt, the owner of this unit, have a history of stealing?” she asks.

“Not that I’m aware of. And she couldn’t have stolen such important things without anyone in my family knowing,” I respond.

“Then why is there priceless stolen artwork in a storage unit owned by her?” she implores.

It’s a good question, but I don’t want to get too involved with the police or with memories of Aunt Minnie. I just want to return these paintings and move on with my life. “My aunt is dead. She has been since May. How could she have stolen an art piece this morning?” The detective purses her lips and contemplates for a moment.

“Are you sure that she’s dead?” she asks.

“Excuse me? Yes, my aunt is dead! She drowned in May, as I told you before.” I say, trying but failing to stay calm.

“Did they ever find the body?”

“No. She drowned in the ocean, and her body got swept away. But I promise you that my aunt is very, very, dead. And I would appreciate it if you would stop accusing me otherwise.”

“My apologies, Ms. Mazzala. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a little late for that.”

 “I’m going back to the station. I want to see if I can dig up any dirt on possible suspects. The rest of the officers will be out in the next few minutes.”

“Alright,” I say ruefully. The detective walks away. How dare she, questioning the deadness of my aunt. Of course she’s dead. Right?

I watch the last of the policemen leave, my arms crossed. I sigh as I look into the now empty unit 307. I lock it. As much as I say I don’t like my aunt, she did take me in as a kid. When my mom was sick, about to die sick, I lived with my aunt for a year. She took good care of me. Made me my own bedroom in her house. That was the first room I packed up after she died. After my mom passed, my dad couldn’t keep it together. My aunt thought that he “wasn’t a stable parent.” She took me away from him. Even though he sometimes forgot to feed me, came home late each night smelling of whisky, I loved my dad. I wanted to be there to help him, for us to go through this together. But Aunt Minnie took me away from him. I never forgave her. I walk over to unit 308. The police snooped around in there too, so I have to relock it. I take one last peek inside and see a box labeled “Lilith.” Lilith. That’s the name my aunt used to call me. She always told me how my hair looked just like the girl in the Lady Lilith painting. She started calling me Lilith as a joke when I lived with her. I walk over and gently open the flaps of the box. It’s filled with pictures. Pictures of me, riding a tricycle as a chubby toddler, holding up a perfect test, my face wired with braces. I start to cry.

I step out of the bathroom. I was in there for a while, reliving memories of Aunt Minnie. Contrary to my normal, not all of them were bad. I’m ready to go home. I can’t be here anymore, in this place that brings me such mixed emotions about my aunt. Before today I knew. I didn’t like her. No, I disdained her. Now I’m not so sure. I walk back to my aunt’s units. I make sure unit 308 is locked. It is. I already locked 307, but I check, just to make sure. Instead of staying firm as I expect, the door opens.

I gasp. Inside sits the painting of Lady Lilith. I touch it. Not the copy. Next to the painting is a pair of red glasses. I walk behind the painting. Nestled into the frame is a stop sign. This is a message. I hear it loud and clear. “Stop looking, Lilith.” My aunt is alive.

I speed towards the exit, my hands in my coat pockets.

“Camilla? When did you come back in?” Frank asks in an annoyingly amiable voice.

“Sorry, Frank. I can’t talk now,” I reply angrily. I need to get out of here.

“That’s what you said a few minutes ago. You walked out of here madder than a wet hen.”

“What do you mean I was in here a few minutes ago? I was here the whole time!” I ask, fed up.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Mazzala. Sometimes I get confused. I reckon it comes with the wrinkles,” he apologizes. I huff under my breath and exit.

“Bye, Camilla!” Frank calls. I lift one arm in salute. I speed across the parking lot, looking at the ground. How could she be alive? How could she pretend to die? What is happening? I bump into someone. “Excuse me,” I say. The woman, wearing a bright red hat, nods and waves her hand in forgiveness. I keep walking. Could it just be a coincidence? If she is alive, where could she be? She couldn’t have gotten far, I wasn’t in the bathroom that long. Besides, with the red hat Frank was talking about, she should be easy to… Realization dawns on me. I turn around, but Aunt Minnie is gone.

Delilah M. ’30

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Welcome to the 2022 Arrow Online!!!

Welcome to the 2022 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Literary & Arts Magazine.

Thank you to all the students who submitted their creative work! 

Pick up your copy in the middle school!

Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Off on Welcome to the 2022 Arrow Online!!!

Welcome to the 2022 Arrow Online!!!

Hello! Welcome to the 2022 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Literary & Arts Magazine.

Thank you to all the students who submitted their creative work! 

Keep an eye out for the hardcopy, published version coming soon to a middle school near you.

Skylar v. ’26


by: Sarah S. ’28


A twinkling star in a sea of darkness

Lighting up the night.

Shining bright for all who need my glow.

Through rain or snow I stand strong

Day after day.

I flicker and fade

But never go out.

Harlo N. ’27

The following photos all by: Zihou D. ’29 – select an image to view larger


by: Lola F. ’26

I jump in the water.

The gutters overflow.

Then, an ice-cold sensation runs through my body

as the water splashes my face.

I start kicking;

it doesn’t take long for my legs to start burning, 

and the freezing cold to turn into intense heat.


I spend

day after day,

practice after practice,

every single yard



and letting the water gracefully flow around my body,

not through it.


Years of practice for one race,

standing on the blocks,

my hands begin to shake. 

The whistle blows.

I push off the blocks.

Then the adrenaline kicks in.

Before I can think, my hands fly over my head, 

and I hear the beat of my own kick.

Seconds go by,

but it feels like hours.

My hand finally touches the pad.

I can barely hear the shouting over my own heart.

The joy slips away as I look at the board —

another time worse than the last,

another waste

when I thought I had the

right pace. 

I keep trying, but to no avail.

You can’t say “bad race”

or “I made a mistake.”

Just rinse and repeat;

Say you can’t be beat.

That’s it

there’s nothing else to it. 


Kalin H. ’26

My Aunt’s Apartment, an excerpt

by: Madison C. ’26

Selena’s discography was the soundtrack to my aunt’s apartment. It was a sound so melodious that even as a child I became an instant fan, shouting along in my scratchy little- kid voice to “Como La Flor. There was always something being made in her house. There was a constant smell of something cooking, baking or being given life within these walls. As I peered into the doorway and looked over at my beautiful aunt with her dark brown skin watering the discos para empanadas, delicately filling them with beef and shredded cheese, I shuttered with the excitement of learning to put the perfect amount of love into my empanadas like that. 

Evelyn W. ’28

Six Ways of Seeing Cabins

by: Mia S. ’28

  1. The best way of staying out. 

Bunk beds line the wall.


excited and nervous

in this new environment.

Warm pillows like a hug,

a new form of living. 


2.Comfy homes, connected to nature.

Nature itself tangling around you like the leash of a playful puppy,

wildlife never closer.

The exact definition of mornings of hiking to the windy mountain-top,

looking for the hues of green and blues bordering the star-speckled sky

known as the aurora.

The bright reds and oranges of the sound of laughter

ringing throughout the cabin,

and hot chocolate by the

raging bonfire,

laughing as the marshmallow begins to melt.


3. Brilliant and new, having a sort of uniqueness.

A new way of staying out,


before the trip to Iceland.

A way that feels old

but new at the same time.


4. A dump.

A place where

no human

should live.

Disastrous and

a quiet sight.


5. Majestic and tall,

stands straight like a champion.

A fashionable way

of living.


6. Staring over the hills, forgotten

after only a night.

Sitting, waiting, for the next crowd of tourists to


William S. ’28

Heshikiri Hasebe, the blade of the Oda Nobunaga, Demon King of The Sixth-Heaven  

by: Noah H. ’28


I am Heshikiri Hasebe,

the katana of Oda Nobunaga,

Demon King of the Sixth Heaven.


I am a weapon of victory, 

striking down my opponents with swift precision,

a tool of death, striking fear into those who challenge me.

I am proud.


I am also scarred,

for I have seen the twisted sight of war,

heard the sad whales for mercy, 

and smelled blood and hate,  

mixing into the rotten stench of death.  


The bodies of loyal soldiers lay on the ground of the battlefield,

each carrying their own wounds,

physically, and mentally 

some praying, 

some saluting their lords, 


but all, carrying a dark look in their eyes, 

a look of nobility and pride, 

but also regret and sadness.


I know this feeling…

No…I am the cause of this feeling,

for I am the demon blade.

I am…Heshikiri Hasebe!

Jonah G. ’27


by: Pippa G. ’28


Halloween is here,

and you can feel the fear

as the kids walk down the block

the screams are very clear

with haunted houses and trick or treating

Halloween is a blast

but be careful, it can pass very fast

from ghouls to ghosts

monsters to mummies

creatures lurk in the dark

if you listen very carefully

you can hear the werewolves howl and bark

as the children go to their houses

with buckets full of candy

the real monsters come out of hiding 

and have a little party. 

Jake N. ’26

 A Flow of Roses 

by: Saifan M. ’28

    Chapter 1

I am Isabel. It was a sunny day for me to be born. There was not a cloud in the sky and the animals were singing songs and more songs in the bright sunlight. You might know my parents, Poseidon and Aphrodite, but this is not their story. This is mine, so let’s dive in. I was a little girl born on the fifth of May. It was a lovely day when I was born. My parents knew what my powers would be when I was born. The most beautiful flowers in all of Enchantia merged to create a bed for me to lie in.  Enchantia is located in ocean lands a bit down from Greece; only gods, goddesses, or heroes can see it. In my opinion, it’s the most beautiful place in the world with waterfalls in the skies and oceans running for miles. It’s one of Enchantia’s most beautiful places. You should really go and visit it; wait, never mind, you can’t. Ummmm so what was I talking about? Oh ya, so after we knew what my power would be, we started to help control and understand my power.

 We practiced my powers. I was breaking the practice dummies with roses. I didn’t even know I could do that. I was breaking dummies so that I can practice for Superhero School or the School of Gods and Goddesses. I call it the School of Gods and Goddesses. I have always wanted to go there. I heard it was really cool. It was at the age of 18 that I got a letter saying that I would be attending the School of Gods and Goddesses of Encanhtia. I was so happy, I was jumping with joy in the sky and making a rose world in my meditation garden. I have a meditation garden to control my powers, just in case my emotions get a hold of me. After I told my parents, I started to pack even though school started in three weeks. I was just so excited that every time we had dinner random flowers would rise from the table because I was so happy. In my defense, I was only 18 and could not really control my powers that much. After we found this news, my dad and I started practicing. He thought I was ready, so we tried. Let’s say that it didn’t go so well, and after two minutes, I was drenched in water. It was not appealing. The next day, I was so close to beating him. I learned this new move to beat my dad, but I didn’t do it very well. The move was to create a vine that wrapped onto his leg and arm that would flip him over and hit him in his stomach, but I hit the arm, missed the leg and flipped him, and missed the ending rose hit. So, it did not go well, but I was learning and improving for school. 

Before I knew it, it was time to leave for school. I was so happy, my face lit up like the sun was in me.  After a little while, we were at the school. I read the name once more to appease myself School of Gods and Goddesses of Enchantia. I couldn’t believe it was time I say my goodbyes and walk into the school, not knowing what I would find or what would happen. I turned back to say my last goodbye, and I saw my family was already gone. All I saw was an indistinct sea of people coming into the school. I didn’t know where they went. I tried to leave the building, but after trying and trying, I finally fell to the floor.

When I woke up, I saw other kids with me in a large bed in a bright white room that looked like it stretched for miles. Some of the other kids were awake but some of the other kids were asleep. I looked around to find something that can help me get out of here. After a while, all the kids are awake, and the chains on us had been released. I had never been in chains, and I did not like it. My hands were cramping so much that I could barely feel my hands. A few seconds later, a big voice from a television starts to talk to me, startling us all.

Keira P. ’26

The Red Codex

A Brief Recollection of the History of the Crimson Union,

as transcribed by Albertus the Swift-Handed

by: Ace P. ’27

Chapter, the First:

The Islands Crimson, located some ways northwest of what is now known as Australia, were twice blessed. Firstly, the archipelago was blessed with bountiful natural resources. The constant rainfall enabled a lush natural environment to flourish upon the land. There could be found a diversity of flora and fauna in this, a land of warmth and beauty. The bounties of the land were matched in whole by those of the sea surrounding the islands, wherein aquatic life flourished and there could be found a plentiful reef. Below the ground, copious reserves of iron and other valuable materials were buried by giants of earth long gone. These were islands filled with life, with plenty, with potential. It is here that we come to their second blessing: the population.

There cannot be found a soul alive that knows from just where the Crimson People first sailed, nor when or why they left. Inference can tell to us that they migrated from one of the less glorious nations of what is presently known as the Australian continent.  We lack evidence of interaction between the Crimson People and other peoples during this period, so it can further be inferred that they remained in solitude on these islands.  

Dominating the northern part of the centermost islands existed the Albertuns. Maxwaldean Men. United Peoples of Kesh. Gabrielluns   

Sarah R. ’26


by: Will S. ’28



Sitting on the side 

of a chatty river bank.

Watching curious natives,

Seeing ships land on the coast.



Stands tall.

As the natives

Are stripped of their rights.



Laying in a healing hut,

As more and more get infected.

Diseases as painful as burns.



In a tent.

Hearing the sharp screeches

of genocide.



Watching others die.

From the bloody taste

of tainted water.




In a dry river bed.

The sour sight of it,




The last item remaining 

of the indigenous peoples.

Kareena P. ’26

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Welcome to the 2022 Arrow Online!!!

Hello! Welcome to the 2022 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Arts & Literature Magazine. Stay tuned for more posts to come over the next few weeks and then keep an eye out for the hardcopy, published version coming soon.

A Few Monologues:

Mother’s Day Plans

by: Calliope Y. ’26

(Lights up on the family living room. We see Jimmy, 11 years old  pacing the room with a clipboard in hand. He speaks to his siblings who are all older than 15 and his dad.)

JIMMY: Come hither my family other than Mom. We have VERY important things to talk about. I wanted to start this meeting as soon as Mom left but, of course my brother Josh could not get out of bed and just yelled “Jimmy whyyyyy”. So I dragged him down the stairs. Finally we are all here. And by here I mean this nice and pink living room that Mom decorated. Thank you for coming into my office. Now, we need to make a plan for Mother’s Day. It’s tomorrow people get ready. I know it’s late but we need to get the best present for our glorious mother. First we need to brainstorm gifts: collage, paintings, teddy bears….. I got nothing, people give me some ideas. (pause) No Derek we can not buy mom a diamond ring! You think we have that kind of money. Get your head in the game. Maybe we can give her breakfast in bed to start the day tomorrow. Maybe some pancake or waffle action. Jerry, since you have not said one word, you can have the pleasure of making and delivering the breakfast. Then, Dad, I need you to drive me somewhere, ANYWHERE. Actually Michael’s would be preferable. I need some Elmer’s glue, tissue paper, and a LARGE amount of markers. I will make Mom a collage. Ya that’s a good idea right. (pause. He waits for an answer. NOTHING.) Oh my gosh it’s like talking to a wall. Ok I’m off to my room, I need to sketch this out. Nice talk, tomorrow is all about Mom. BE AMAZING, the real work starts tomorrow.

My Christmas List

by: Leila I. ’27

(Lights up on a 10 year old girl named Athy, dressed in all Christmas patterned clothing and prancing back and forth through the living room, talking to herself.) 

Ohhhh my gosh!!! It’s almost here; it’s almost Christmas!! (Pause. She scans the room.) Wait a minute! I’m so unprepared! Where did I put the cookies? The MILK? Are there enough ornaments on the tree? Oh no, no, NO! I have to fix everything! I have to be ready! (Deep breath) Calm down Athy, calm down. You are prepared; you’re fine. (Beat) Hmm… (Beat) Let me count the gifts and make sure I have everything nicely wrapped for my family. (Pause) There’s Mom’s…. Ohhhhhhh yeah…she’s gonna LOVE the broom; it’s perfect for cleaning the house. OH! And Dad’s! I got him the coolest buckle ever, with sparkly gold and silver gems I made personally! Hmm, and Jeremy’s gift is the best thing I could think of. It came from (Puts a hand on chest) the heart…  PERFUME! (Sarcastically) Finally, he’ll actually be bearable to be around… ugh… I get nightmares just thinking about how awful his room smells. (Serious tone, hand goes back down to her side). OKAY!, so all the gifts are ready and wrapped up. I’ll put them under the tree before I go to bed. I’m sure everyone will love them. But what about the other preparations?! For Santa?! (Stops pacing in the middle of the room, looking around) The stockings are all hung up, EVEN decorated with large, sparkling and shiny name tags (muttering) in case Santa can’t see too well (Back to regular pitch), and nice and ready to be filled to the brim with candy! (In a daze) Oh yeah… it’s gonna taste sooooo yummy! (Shakes head and is knocked out of daze) Hmm, what else… The absolutely delectable, made-from-scratch cookies (Whispering) that I may have eaten one of (Regular pitch) are placed nicely AND conveniently beside the tree with a mug of warm milk. So why do I feel like I’m missing something?! Everything’s here… (Silence, as she thoroughly scans the room for 15 seconds, then, panicked) OH NO!!! I FORGOT THE CARROTS FOR RUDOLPH!! 

Late Night Ninjas 

by: Nora H. ’27

(Lights up on a costume shop late at night. James pacing through the numerous aisles with mom trailing behind.)

Ok, Mom, I need something great! Something big, SPECTACULAR. This is my first Halloween as a middle-schooler, and I need a good costume. (pause) Yes, Mom I know it’s late but 10 more minutes, pleaseeeeee. (muttering) What should I get, what should I get…. Oh look at this one! It’s a ninja costume with a sword and everything! And yes, I can bring a fake sword to school.  (annoyed) Seriously, come on, Mom. You think I’m gonna go around poking people with plastic? Focus. There are so many options here, and Halloween is only a week away, so we need to pick up the pace…. MOM! Where did you go!? (James runs around the shop and finds his mom in the kid’s section.) Mom, Jake already has his costume; we don’t need to be in the 8 and under section. (pause) No absolutely not. There is no way I am not being a puppy for Halloween. I’m going to trick or treat with ALL my friends. I don’t want them to see me in a fluffy onesie. Let’s go back to my section. The store is closing soon. (James and his mom both walk back to the older section.) Oh my, there are so many options, I don’t know what to choose from. (pause) Yes, yes, I know I’ve been over here multiple times, but every time I come over here there are more and more costumes being added; it’s like an infinite loop. And yes, before you say anything, I knowwww the store is closing. Just let me look for a few more minutes. (James looks at the clock anxiously; it reads 9:28 pm.) Ok, ok, ok, we have two minutes. Let’s go. Come on, let’s buy the ninja costume. We can always return it. (James and his mom walk up to the front of the store.) Yes, I would like to buy this costume please. (pause) What do you mean? It’s non-refundable! What if I don’t like it!? What if I want a different costume!?  (James and the man at the desk have a brief staring contest.) Oh well, ok, let’s buy this. I wanna go home. Shopping for costumes is stressful. 

The Magnificence of Hannukah

by: Zion B. ’26

Lights up on Miriam, a very descriptive fifth-grader, in her baby brother Bart’s, nursery, crouching by a changing table daydreaming instead of changing diapers. 

Miriam: Oh Bart, my little baby brother, you’re the only one in this family who listens to me, but mostly because you can’t leave when I’m talking, or at least until you can crawl. I can’t wait for Hannukah; it’s one of the best feelings on this planet: the hot wax dripping from the colorful array of candles, the smell of fire wafting through the air, the flames flicker through the night as other traditions take place. Mom and Dad grab me by my hands, and we dance around singing about run-away latkes and the Maccabees. They were the soldiers who had oil issues, I guess. When our singing is done, we fill our bellies with potato pancakes slathered in apple sauce, the jelly donuts hiding on the counter in the kitchen. I’m not a big fan of jelly, so Mom always buys some without it. When the meal is done, and the cleaning has been finished, the table is cleared for a huge game of dreidel. By that point in the night, Uncle Craig, Aunt Kim, Chuck, Sabah, and Saftah have come, and the table is cluttered with chairs and chocolate wrappers. Spinning dreidels are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, way better than any Starry Night. As they gallantly spin, caressed by the air, the light of the lamp above the table reflects each side, revealing the Hebrew letters of Gimmel, Shin, Nun, and Hay. It’s a game of chance, and I am always available to take that risk. Once I win, because I always do, and our tummies are full of chocolate, the game comes to a close, and presents are brought into the living room — boxes big and small, wrapped in blues, whites, silvers, and golds, topped with the most festive of bows. We pass them around to the recipients, and you get to watch the smile that consumes everyone’s faces. Everyone in our family is a fabulous gift giver, so I always get magnificent presents. By the end of the night, everyone is overtaken by the kind of exhaustion that is caused by a night full of fun and tradition. We all say our goodbyes, and guess what, Bart?! All of the fun happens again and again, for eight nights straight. Hannukah is the only time everyone is truly happy and at peace, and lucky for me, I always have you. When you’re older, you’ll thank me for this description of the best nights of my life, and you’ll understand in a deep way the joy that overtakes me these eight nights of the year.

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Welcome to the 2022 Arrow Online!!!

Hello! Welcome to the 2022 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Arts & Literature Magazine. Stay tuned for more posts to come over the next few weeks and then keep an eye out for the hardcopy, published version coming soon.

Select image to view larger:

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Welcome to the 2022 Arrow Online!!!

Hello! Welcome to the 2022 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Arts & Literature Magazine. Stay tuned for more posts to come over the next few weeks and then keep an eye out for the hardcopy, published version coming soon.

Jackie & Mia collaboration:

Jackie R. ’28

Sunset City

by: Mia S. ’28

The birds sing their song
As they soar
High above the sky.
The wind
Swaying the trees,
The rooftops,
People in their homes.
The sun lowers,
Colliding with the rooftops.
Filling the rooftops

With an eerie
But gorgeous
I sit
On the rooftops.
That this sunset would last forever.
I let the wind whip my hair
As I opened my arms.
I stand at the edge,
Gazing at the sun colliding with the city.
The birds sing their song
As they soar
High above the

Jackie R. ’29


by: Mia S. ’28

Mother Nature
Her sparkling
White dress
It shimmered
In the sun.
Gauzy texture.
The still-awake animals,
Stopping to stare at its beauty.
The people,
Built from snow,
Standing proud
Despite fear of melting.
The sun,
Finding the lovely folds of her dress
So devastatingly attractive,
Leapt down from the sky
To embrace her.
She was the spotlight,
On this crisp,

Jackie R. ’29

A Whole Story (Mia also decided to write a poem for this painting)

by: Mia S. ’28

Some people,
Look at this bridge,
And think,
It’s just a bridge.
this little
glazed wood bridge,
Has a whole story.
A long
Time ago,
This frail,
Little bridge
Has seen
Wars fought
Across her land.
She stood proud and tall, through
Of this.
She is still beautiful,
Ran to her,
Bowing their branches,
Or petals,

Or leaves,
To her.
Saluting her.
A lake, formed,
Under her,
Flowing freely.
Cherry blossoms,
Onto the mirror that is the lake’s surface.
Walk across
The sandy road
And greet her.
She is here.
And she will stay.

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Welcome to the 2022 Arrow Online!!!

Hello! Welcome to the 2022 Arrow – Hackley Middle School’s Arts & Literature Magazine. Stay tuned for more posts to come over the next few weeks and then keep an eye out for the hardcopy, published version coming soon.

Charlie W. ’29

A Breakup Letter to a Most Annoying Orange

by: Kubrick C. ’28

Dear Rotten Annoying Orange,

     I have decided that you and I just cannot work. I decided this when I watched your latest video and got chronic dabbing syndrome. This was only stopped after 5 hours straight of watching Dog with a Blog. I then realized why this happened: You peaked in high school and are just trying to ride that previous success. I don’t feel one bit sorry about this decision. I had to go into dab rehab for weeks because of you. I fell in love with you for your amazing ironic sense of humor, but now, Orange, all you do is pass gas and make everyone’s life a living hell.

     This relationship can no longer work. As I stated, I fell in love with you for your ironic sense of humor, competent voice actors, and the ability to realize you were a show about a citrus fruit that everyone hated. Now, you aren’t ironically annoying, you’re just annoying. About the aforementioned voice actors, they now sound like they are being strangled by a pencil sharpener. I hate how you pushed all the semi-funny characters to the sidelines. Nude Dude, gone since 2017. Lou the tick, you forgot about him back in 2015. You’re fanbase as well; it used to be fine. Now it is a cesspit of toddlers on their mother’s iPad. It seems you have embraced your fanbase’s collective IQ of -420 by making your humor even more mind-numbing. Your characters have been slenderized beyond belief. Little “McPuny shrimp” apple used to be a nuanced character: he was not only short but a talented driver, illiterate and innumerate. Now he’s just HAHAHA funny short. Pear was one of the only people who was patient with you. He would be annoyed with you, yes, but he cared about you and you were good friends. Now, he just hates you but stays around for some reason. All he does is hate you with no layers.  Overall, everything consistently around you has deteriorated. Notice my use of the word consistently. Now I have to get into your final problem. You always act on trends. Half of your newest videos are just about trends. The other half are you trying to capture lightning in a bottle again with you making sequels to popular videos and more song covers to try to replicate Fry-Day’s success. Goodbye and have an awful day.

Your former admirer,

   Kubrick C. 

Zihou D. ’29

Santa’s Secret (monologue)

by: Henry P. ’26

(Lights up on Santa sitting in a chair in his workshop in the North Pole) Being Santa is not as fun of a job as you may think. (Pause) I get bored sometimes waiting for Christmas Eve to finally come around. All day, every day, all I do is sit up here in the North Pole making and loading up present after present. Writing and writing lists upon lists separating the nice and the naughty. Just waiting and waiting for the one day when everybody knows my name. The one day when I leave this old place and see the world. (Pause) Every country, every city, every house, every street, every chimney, and even every fireplace. But, it gets boring all the other 364 days with little to do except sit up here and plan for Christmas Eve. Even on that day, I get bored because I realize that less than 24 hours later, I will be back here, doing the same thing I always do, hanging around the North Pole. All I do for 99.7% of the year is care for reindeer, write lists, write names, and write on my map. So much writing, I have to write almost 7.9 billion names each and every year. I have to look at every single person, checking every aspect of their life. Until I can finally make the decision if they have been naughty or nice. Then I have to do that 7,899,999,999 more times (sighs). But there is only one thing that keeps me motivated to do this job (pause) joy. I love to see the children by the tree, the families gathering together. 

Then, the moment finally comes when they open my present. When they see what they have been wanting and desiring for the last year. The excitement and the happiness that appears on their face, almost as if put there by a spell. So, whenever I question if it is worth it in the end, I think of that joy and that keeps me going. Plus, if I stopped, who would take up my job? Definitely not the elves, I have to constantly watch them, checking to make sure they aren’t breaking something or forgetting a wish. They definitely couldn’t handle the monumental task of going down each and every chimney in less than 12 hours. So I guess in the end, I sort of have to do this. But I don’t like to think of it that way. I view it as wanting to help make people happy.

Noah H. ’28

Seeing climate change    

by: Isabelle G. ’28


The ocean

As blue as a sapphire 

High expectations for what’s underneath

But under the surface

It is dull 

Once vivid coral, now decayed

And not a fish insight 

Just one of the sights of climate change




What a beautiful place

Home to kangaroos, koalas and so much more

The hottest country in the world

But with the bitter heat

Comes blazing bush fires

15 million + acres burnt to a crisp

If only we could have helped those animals



It hurts

My home being torn apart

I do my part 

But it’s never enough 

Is it worth it?

By the time I’m old enough

Will there still be tigers and elephants and bees?



40 years

That’s how long it will take for all of Antarctica to melt 

The earth is overheating

Suffocating itself in gasses 

Too much coming in 

Not enough getting out



There is an island in the middle of the pacific ocean,

3 times the size of France

Its 1.6 million square kilometers

and it’s all made up of trash, 

the colorful stench of  the plastic can be detected from miles away



It is sad 

But we did this to ourselves 

We let our planet go into this state of disarray 

The human race

The most advanced and the most destructive

There are no words to describe the tragedies 

Except “it’s our fault”

Noah H. ’28


    Twelve Ways to See a S’more

by: Kendell J. ’28

I have multiple colors like khaki beige, white, and dark brown 

That is just the outside

But there is more to me than what meets the eye

I am not just one thing; I have multiple layers

The graham crackers represent me being strong

Like the outer crust of the earth

The silky sight of the melting chocolate 

represents that I am sweet

The squishy sight of the marshmallow

represents I can be sensitive 

Because i am fragile like glass

Now that you heard what is inside 

I hope now you know there is more to me than what meets the eye

Jackie R. ’28


by: Lola F. ’27

Think before you talk.

You’re looking from another angle,

high up like a hawk.

But if you land on the ground, 

and see it from our view,

you’ll see the lingering effects

of all you say and do.

Just because you have

a different past

doesn’t mean you need to hide

your fate is set in stone.

Now, prepare to hear your lies.

You call us big and mean

and ignore the facts you have.

You use your friends as backup,

say sorry once, 

then continue with your wicked ways.

Calliope Y. ’26



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