The Arrow

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.

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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.

Let’s mix it up a bit with some writing and some visuals!

Stolen Freedom

“6 of Ways of Seeing animal cruelty” 

by: Evelyn W. ’28

 

1.

His body is dead,

But he is still here

His horns are gone just like he is.

Another flower has withered today.

 

2.

He is a poacher.

He stares down at his new victim,

his face remains flat,

He is a monster.

 

3.

He is scared,

a mouse in a cat game.

He can only watch,

and wonder if he will be next.

The freedom of the forest smelled sweet,

But the forest has turned into a jail.

A jail that tastes bitter.

 

4.

He is empathetic,

Helping where he can.

It’ll never be enough.

His anger is sharp and melancholy.

 

5.

He is a bystander,

He likes the decorations of tusks and horns.

He will not do anything,

He doesn’t care.

 

6.

He is alone,

The animals are gone.

He is a habitat that is empty,

A soul with no essence.

 

 

Lonely Colorado

by: Charlotte F. ’28

 

I am bumpy like cobblestone, 

mysterious like a haunted house.

I am a mountain.

My hair is white.

My head is very cold.

Whenever people go up to my hair,

they always bring serious gear.

My friends keep telling me,

that I am too tall

so I tell them 

that they are just too small.

I am only 14,000 feet.

I know mountains whose hair 

touches space.

My friends say 

they wish to be up here.

I wish I was down there.

I am lonely,

No one dares

To climb up here.

I never see anyone.

I am covered with animals,

such as snakes

waiting to kill.

Every day, I watch the clouds,

that is all I can see.

At night,

the clouds disappear.

I stare at the little ranch.

I feel as though

it is my only true friend.

I can’t tell with the horses.

Some love me;

some hate me.  

They love what I give them-

rivers,

food,

space.

I am dangerous.

I have poison,

cliffs,

steep hills,

hills where you can not see beyond,

trees so tall and pointed they can poke your eye out.

I am waiting 

for that one person,

someone who dares to climb up here.

I have wonders as well:

rivers filled with fish,

hikes that give you a new perspective,

animals,

glaciers that will not be here for too long.

I have some downsides,

but I am also filled with joy.

I have all the best weather – 

hot like a nice summer day,

cold like a day in Greenland,

crispy like a nice fall day.

You choose.

 

 

Theme for Going to Bed 

by: Charlie N. ’27

 

My Dad told me to go to bed. 

“Go to bed”, what? 

I’m not tired; I am still in a game. 

I am on the phone. What bed?

It’s too early. Please, ten more minutes. 

 

Am I tired? Or do I just want to stay up? 

I should go to sleep, but do I? 

No, I don’t of course not, but 

I should. 

 

 

The King 

Sarah S. ’28

 

Light glints off metal.

I will win this.

 A graceful dance,

 but in the end, there is only one winner.

 I feel the air bowing before me, fleeing,

 not daring to interfere.

I cut them all down.

 Blade meets blade,

A struggle of force and strength.

The white blur of my opponent catches my eye as I duck and dodge,

attack and retreat,

  parry and disengage.

 This is all a game to me.

         I lunge – 

  the satisfying THUNK of hitting my opponent rewards me.

A buzzer sounds;

I am the champion.

My owner sheathes me. 

    I am the king,

 The king of fencing.

     I rule every fight. 

 

 

Tapping Maple Trees 

by Elleana D. ’28

 

The fall leaves change from green, to red, orange, and yellow. 

Each day, they got older and darker.

The trees were as tall as a house.

During the fall, I recall my favorite memory,

tapping maple trees.

 

I hear the crunch as people walk over the crisp leaves 

that have fallen from the aging trees.

My dad hammers the spindle into the tree, 

and I remember the overwhelming clink as he hits it.

 

The sweet aroma of syrup fills the air. 

I remember the beautiful fresh autumn flare.

The sap is glue. 

As I touch the trees, it sticks to my fingers.

 

The bucket feels cool and heavy as I help lift it onto the spindle.

We walk away, and I look back at the trees.

The weeks drag on like years.

I cannot wait to come back to see 

what treasure has flowed into my silver bucket.

 

 

The Last Tree

by: Heidi C. ’28

 

I heard it,

Mechanical buzzing,

I felt it,

A rumble like an earthquake

And then I saw it,

The monster,

Giant cart-like car,

Monster truck wheels,

And saws, huge, spinning saws

It got closer and closer,

As the buzzing intensified,

As the rumbling got louder.

 

I heard a grinding sound,

Wood bits flying everywhere,

As my friend yelled,

“Help!”

The realization came to me,

It stung.

I could not do anything to help,

Nor could the animals

I couldn’t move.

All I could do was watch and sob,

As my dear friend collapsed,

And as he fell to the ground,

His leaves fluttered in the air.

 

And then all of the others began to

Collapse with him,

Fallen leaves fluttering,

Wood bits flying,

I waited for my turn,

Hopeless,

Heartbroken.

 

The man operating the machine yelled,

“That’s enough lumber!”

And that dreadful machine

Stopped in my face.

At this point, I prefer to be chopped down,

Along with my friends,

Along with my family,

But they left me alive,

For what?

 

I was furious.

Why?

Why did my friends get chopped down?

For paper?

For napkins?

Such insignificant things,

Compared to my friends,

My friends and I

Have kept people alive,

Providing oxygen

For all living things,

And why,

Why did I have to remain here,

All alone,

For so many animals

Rushed to me,

For shelter,

For comfort,

As their homes

Were destroyed.

 

 

Fall Poem 

by: Isabelle G. ’28

 

Every year when fall comes around and the leaves change color, 

I am reminded of my favorite fall memory:

hiking in the woods

catching the falling leaves 

feeling the smooth yet brittle leaves crumble in your hands 

and the smooth veins of living ones

the crunching of the leaves under my feet

the rustling trees in the wind

When you look up, the blue sky is hidden by the bright leaves.

So many colors

red

orange 

yellow

green and brown, 

so many more than I can count.

The crisp smell of apples and cinnamon, 

a drifting scent of maple trees and syrup linger,

warm and cozy. 

A bowl of chicken soup

makes me feel right at home in the chilly weather.

The aftertaste lingering in my mouth 

makes me feel snug in my layers of jackets and sweaters.

 

 

Love Letter to Pizza

by: Jack M. ’28

To my cheesy, wonderful Roma pepperoni pizza,

I feel so much love for you today that I had to stop and express my feelings for you. I love you so much, and I know it is strange for a 12-year-old boy to be declaring his love for a piece of pizza, but this feels so natural to me. I wish our relationship could last forever but unfortunately, you have an expiration date, and you will get moldy and gross over time. 

As soon as my lips touched your perfectly melted cheese, it was love at first touch. It was just a normal summer evening, but from that moment on, my life changed forever.

 I love your amazing combination of hot cheese melting in my mouth when I take a bite. The pepperoni gives a perfect touch to your perfectly sized crust, made from the finest bread in all of Westchester County. I just wish I could feel your flavors burst in my mouth just once more. Your pepperoni blows my mind in thirty-five different directions. You are devastatingly attractive, and I wish our love would go on forever. I am yearning for the day that my bank account can support a lifetime supply of you. I will see you soon my love.

Forever yours, 

                                                                                                                                          Jack M.

 

Unfinished

by: Jonah G. ’27

 

It winter-spread across a barren page,

the foundering island left forlorn, alone. 

And then another comes to make a mound 

of clashing changing consonantal sound     

 

and striving to find the words to string to words 

with no sign but to make the author heard. 

Fountain spelling line that follows line

and coming, follow line for one design.

                                   

But it is pain to find a followed path

and after pain comes fierce red, fiery wrath. 

But string then comes to bind all entered noise 

to show that I convince you; I have poise.

                                                                       

And from the fountain’s splashing in the sea, 

its voices sing across now mournfully.

A final purpose comes through fluffy rhymes 

repeated oh, so many, many times.

                                                                       

The fountain dries; the red sparks then release 

as writing cools to well-known final peace. 

I’ll start again; this was a golden try.

But to you, poem, I now must say– 

 

 

Color

by: Juno Y. ’26

Red.

 

The first time I saw her, I wasn’t sure she was real. The only thing I saw when I stumbled in the room was her. Auburn hair haloed her face, cascading down in perfect, shining waves that I could never accomplish, and my heart stuttered.

 

Orange.

 

Anyone would be stupid to not fall for her. She had this energy that unfurled in the air around her, an eternal wind that flowed through her hair. When she laughed, the fire flickered, and the pumpkin spice leaves spun and spun around her; she was the center, and I burned for her. 

 

Yellow.

 

Yes. Yes yes yes. Somewhere in our language of shy glances and coy smiles, she knew. Of course she did. We spun in the sunshine, laughter ringing through the halls. My life brightened, days turning into glowing swirls of bliss and smooth honey, because I was with her.

 

Green.

 

Doubt crept in, crowding our happiness from both sides. Eyes narrowed, smiles sharpened. A fog descended. I couldn’t put a finger on how it happened, or when, but over the span of several months, a poison—radioactive green—dripped into our minds. 

 

Blue.

 

Why? I don’t know. I wish I did. That wouldn’t matter. So cold. The sky in summer, a bright cornflower, descended into the lonely off-black of the edge of space. The sharp sapphire of her eyes when she told me, welling up with tears. So, so, cold.

 

Purple.

 

It was the feeling of something long gone. The whole world tipped upside down, leaving me crying on the ceiling. It was twilight when she left. She was still beautiful, bathed in the violets of the dying sun, crushing the remnants of our relationship. I watched it fracture, a thousand shards of glass revealing us in a thousand shades of color.

 

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.

And now some nature inspired paintings (click on an image for larger view):

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.

And now, some splendid writing samples:

Halloween 

by Charlotte F. ’28

Halloween, 

a creepy, cold, 

and crisp night. 

All the costumes are so different. 

All the people dressing up as something 

they wish they were. 

A toddler wishes to be a unicorn;

she has a long, pointy, swirly, and colorful horn 

and wears a big puffy tutu 

with a shirt with a snout and eyelashes 

as long as her face. 

The pumpkin seems almost alive.  

It already has a face and all it needs is a heart. 

The skeletons are nothing like your own. 

The bones are weak, unlike the strong 

growing bones inside your body. 

The ghost is white as clouds,

the sheets cut into pieces 

like a toddler’s Christmas present 

for its mother. 

Spider webs, like a big ball of white clouds 

all mushed together but can not be separated, 

they are a unit 

all wanting to go different ways. 

On Halloween, you hear noises 

whether they are inside your head 

or just right behind you.

Your sister trying to jump scare you

 when you really hear her creeping up behind you. 

The feeling of being startled 

when you knew she was approaching. 

The owls are hooting 

like a song repeating itself over and over. 

The sound of the crackling candies 

while you pick them up and put them in your bag,

 like the crunching of leaves on a nice fall hike, 

each leaf disintegrating as you step on it.

The wind blowing past your ears 

like a beat you have been longing for 

but have not found until this moment. 

The bark of the trees, losing their leaves 

feels like the underside of a dog’s paw. 

The animals try to get their last bit of food in

 before they have to hibernate, 

all scurrying around the woods 

until there is nothing left but leaves,

 trees, and grass. 

Halloween cupcakes. 

Chocolate, the color is like a dark and creepy night.  

The orange frosting is like the leaves on the ground changing colors, 

the leaves sticking out like a lollipop in a bin of gummies, 

and the pumpkins being devoured by squirrels 

while the seeds are spilling everywhere. 

The purple frosting like the witch in your dreams 

with warts all over their face, thin like a stick 

but tall like a giant.

The hair black as space and white as snow, 

the cloak and dress, purple like a plum. 

The taste of the cupcake is creamy, rich, 

like biting into heaven. 

The frosting as it sticks and spreads all over your mouth 

and the cupcake itself splits into tiny little crumbs, 

each one as delicious as the other. 

The taste reminds me of making brownies in North Carolina

 at my grandmother’s lake house. 

The birds are chirping around the outside of the house,

while the brownies start to bake in the kitchen. 

The silly designs on the cupcakes remind me of the dreams

I had as a kid, spiders with googly eyes, 

remind me of a clock as it ticks back and forth. 

Looking at the pumpkins with big creepy smiles, 

make you think while you are sleeping, 

one will pop out at you. 

 

Brystal & Snow

by: Evelyn Wang

Brystal was a smart girl, and she loved reading although her parents strongly disapproved. Her parents were very strict and kept her busy with chores. They treated her more like a servant than a daughter; of course, her parents had actual servants too. She lived in the center of the Western Kingdom, and her father was an advisor to the king. This made the family well-known and made her parents big-headed.

Brystal woke up to a sunny day; she felt cheerful because she had a test that day. Any test could please her, but she preferred math instead of home economics and how to tie bows. She put on her white dress and a matching headband and heels. She looked into the mirror. Her hazel eyes and brown hair glittered in the sunlight. Her dress flowed perfectly, and her hair was perfectly brushed. But she absolutely hated what she saw. She was another girl, an unworthy citizen of the kingdom. She purposely messed up her hair and crumpled up her dress. She looked in the mirror again.

That’s more like it, she thought. She walked down the stairs and grabbed her bag and an additional sweatshirt, just in case. 

“Bye Mother, bye Father!” shouted Brystal into their family’s mansion with no response. Brystal’s head drooped, and she walked out of the house.

Ding! Ding! 

“Class dismissed.”  said Ms. Jeran. A smile bloomed on Brystal’s face, she knew all the answers to the test she had just taken; it was a piece of cake. As she walked home, she looked at the rolling green hills surrounding her. It was nice to look at because green was her favorite color, but she also kept a noticeable distance from it. She had been told that tigers crouched in the shadows.

 Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a white fluffy ball with black stripes on it. She jerked her head toward it and saw that its head, body, legs, and tail all had stripes on it like a zebra or like a… 

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH TIGER!” she screamed for help, but unfortunately, no one heard cries. She carefully turned the figure over and leaped back.

“Oh, it’s a newborn. How cute!” she reached down to the tiger cub; it growled at her, but it really sounded like a meow. 

It’s scared …  is it scared of me? How scary can I look? Besides, it’s a tiger! 

“It’s alright,” she picked up the little tiger and wrapped her sweater around the little tiger and it slowly stopped shivering. 

“There, there, little tiger,” said Brystal in a soothing voice. Brystal inspected the cub for injuries and noticed its eyes. They were the color of her dress but a little lighter. 

“Wow, your eyes are beautiful,” she remarked. “I’m going to keep you as a pet; I think I’ll name you Snow. Do you like…” before Brystal could ask, a piercing roar thundered, and four white tigers all with black stripes surrounded her. 

“Give me that cub!” roared the biggest and most dangerous one, counting all the battle scars. 

“Wh-wh-who are you? Wh-wh-what do you want?” asked Brystal with a trembling jaw.

“Forgive me; I’m Bloodthirster, and these are my siblings Slasher, Amber, and Vice,” Bloodthirster said snidely. Brystal could feel Snow shifting uncomfortably. Only one thing was certain, she couldn’t give Snow to the tigers.

“Now hand over the cub before you trigger my decision to rip you into shreds,” Bloodthirster barked.

“No!” she snapped back.

“Fine,” said Bloodthirster through gritted teeth; it nodded at its siblings, and the tigers advanced on Brystal. 

“Last chance,” warned Bloodthirster. 

“I’ll do it!” Brystal screamed. An idea was forming in her head. She turned her back on all the tigers and took her cream-white bunny doll and threw it as far as she could throw anything. It flew across three hills, and it landed in the valley between two of the  hills. The tigers tore after it thinking it was the tiger cub they wanted. Brystal ran away from the path and zipped into her house. She slammed the door behind her and took a minute to catch her breath. Brystal and snow lived happily ever after…

The End

 

Ode to Fall 

by: William S. ’28

Oh, Fall, the best season.

When the trees, auburn, just sit there,

memorizing the evergreen next to it, 

and what the deep, red leaves begin to shed.

 

The leaves, the trees, waving in the ever so gentle fall winds,

rustle against fences and windows.

Smelling the cool, calm winds while the fall leaves blow in my face.

 

It’s as if I have been slapped in the face with nature, 

with its dense and earthy smell.

As I jump into the leaves, I feel about a thousand soft leaves wrestle against my face,

as if someone is wiping my face with a washcloth, swiping ever so gently. 

 

As I pop up, I am glared at with antagonizing eyes.

Walking past a house, I see pumpkins, ghosts, skeletons galore!

 

The pumpkin is a shimmering gem, but as I walk away,

I see a squirrel rip the pumpkin open with its very own hands,

I wish I was that squirrel.

 

Oh fall, as great as it is, so quickly turns into winter.

 

Behind the Smile

by: Mia S. ’28

She was a beacon for everyone in the little town. She was an important person from the town. She was a star, THE celebrity of the little town. She rode her carriage from her house on the hill every day. She would smile and wave. That smile on her face every day of the year. She was perfect. At least, that’s what was on the outside. Inside, she was ruined. She was forced to keep her smile up all the time. She was scared of not being good enough. She needed to be the perfect person. She needed that, not for herself but for her town. She needed to be the perfect light. She was not. Deep inside, she knew that. She had been abandoned at five years of age, running away to the little town. She worked hard and steadily every day of her life and became the star she wanted to be. Her life was a dream. Or was it? She spent the moments she had alone, letting her smile slip. Even in the moments, she was in public, if you truly gazed into her eyes, you would see the pain and sorrow building up inside her. She spent every day fearing imperfection. She wouldn’t eat for days, fearing that she would not be as beautiful. She was lonely, most of the time. She waited, by the fog-stained window for someone, anyone, to find her. She longed for someone to understand her. She still stood tall and proud, her red dress billowing behind her, in front of the crowds. Laughing, waving, smiling. No one would ever know what was hidden behind the smile.

 

Jason’s Tasks (excerpt)

Brady A. ’28

There was a guy named Jason who got into trouble with the gods, so he had to do trials to please them. You might be wondering how he got in trouble. He got into trouble by saying, “Let’s go start a civilization named Rome.” When he went to his house, he got zapped up to Olympus. Zeus, Hephaestus, Artemis, and Apollo were the only gods present. Zeus said that Jason must not go start a new place called Rome, but must do trials for the gods instead.

For the first trial, he had to figure out a way to capture lightning in a jar. So, he went out in search of materials to make a canister. His first thought was to have it strike a jar so he found a really high place on a tree and took out a ceramic jar. It took many nights until finally, lightning struck, but it hit the tree and cracked it down the middle. He scrambled down as fast as he could before it fell. After it fell, he retrieved his jar and went back to the town to ask around for help, but no one knew how. So then, he decided to get his jar and a shield and went to a place that is commonly struck by lightning. He placed the jar down and held the shield over his head. Finally, when the lightning struck, it hit the metal shield and not the jar, and Jason passed out. When he returned to consciousness, the shield was sparking and sizzling, and when he touched it, it shocked him. When that happened, he had an idea. He took the shield home and melted it then turned it into thin flexible strings and wrapped it around the inside of the jar. It worked, and he proudly presented his creation to the gods.

For the second task, he had to become the best at archery so he fashioned a bow out of olive tree wood. He began to practice, but after about six months and several blistered fingers, he realized it was a trick task. So, he told the gods he couldn’t become the best archer because Artemis and Apollo were the best. The gods were pleased with his response. 

The third task was to try and capture and bring Cerberus up to Olympus. He had to go into the Underworld, and he did not know how to do that. At first, he tried digging, but after a few hours, it seemed pointless. Then, he thought he just needed to find a hellhound to lead hin there. He searched for a long time. Finally, he found it and followed it for a while. He tracked it through trees, mountains, and near seas. Then, the hellhound tensed; Jason thought it discovered him, but then it jumped up and disappeared. That puzzled Jason but soon, he realized that it somehow jumped to the Underworld. So he went to find another hellhound and followed it, but this time he brought a rope. When he found it, he followed it; when it tensed to jump, Jason wrapped the rope around his neck to go into the Underworld. When he landed, the hellhound pounced. He sidestepped it, pulled out his bow, and shot it in its back knees to immobilize it. After that, he went on his search for Cerberus. There were so many other hellhounds, there was not a spot where you couldn’t find them, but yet none were the three-headed Cerberus. So he went to Hades’ palace, and tied to the front door was Cerberus. When Cerberus saw him, he howled, and all the other hellhounds came running. Before the hellhounds could even think of what to do to him, Jason ran and sliced the chain attached to Cerberus, held on to it, and jumped as high as he could; it almost felt as if the wind was pushing him up. Somehow, he ended up on the earth. He had to run as fast as he could because Cerberus was chasing him, but Jason had a plan. He ran to Olympus so the gods could deal with Cerberus, and when he got there, panting from the effort and drenched with sweat, the gods summoned a glowing golden cage and put Cerberus in it, sending it through the floor.  A deep thunderous voice boomed, “Well done.”  Jason looked up to see Zeus.

For the final task, Jason had to make an automaton. So, he went to the local shop and bought a ton of bronze. For the first part he decided to do the legs, so he started a giant fire. Then he took the hot bronze out of the fire and started hammering it into thin flexible strips and big sturdy plates. He did that twice because he had to make two legs.

He got  a stand that had a leg shape and wrapped the front and back of the knee with the thin flexible strips. They overlapped a small amount because when the knee would bend they would slide over each other. Then he heated up the plates again and bent them in a way so they would interlock and stay up in the shape of a leg. Then he poked holes through them and added rivets. While he was letting the legs cool he made something like a skeleton structure to go inside so it would hold everything together. After the legs cooled off,  he made a waist which would attach to the legs and the body but it was too far in the fire so Jason burned his hands getting it out. So, he had to take a break and rest his hand in cold water every once in a while. Since he couldn’t make the automaton he drew the designs and tried to figure out better ways to make it. Several days later he was able to start on it again but this time it was going faster because of the designs he drew on what to do. But, he new plans required more bronze and he ran out of it so he went back to the local store but the people were avoiding him because he was soot stained and covered in ash and he changed since before the trials finally when he got  to the store the owner did not seem to be afraid of him which was good. After he got more bronze he set back to work. Finally, he started on the head and he decided to make the head a head like shape with a welding mask. When it was done, he made the  top of the neck have indentations that would fit tabs. The bottom of the head has tabs sticking out so the head could screw in. Then he had to take it up Mount Olympus and he asked the gods to put magic in it.

 All at once the gods started muttering to each other until it stopped and Zeus declared that they could put magic in the machine for him. Then the machine began to move around and it started talking and it said its name Rocky. Then Zeus said, “Jason you might be wondering how you did not die when lightning struck you or when you were super close to the fire for a long time. It is because Jason I am your father”

The End

Hello! So excited for the first post of 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.

We’ll start with some fantastic sculptures from Ms. Coble’s 7th & 8th graders (click on the images for larger view):

Congratulations to all the creative Hackley middle schoolers!!!

Don’t forget to pick up your copy of the print version of The Arrow.

Have a great summer! We’ll see you next year!

Writing Excerpt

by: N’Darri P. ’25

“Hello? Hello? Let’s hope that they haven’t gotten a concussion. Then again, is that even possible here?”

My eyelids fluttered as I returned to what I thought was consciousness. I opened my eyes to see a field of what appeared to be soft, fuzzy, pink, grass, opposing a dark, starlit sky; both of which contrasted each other beautifully. As well as someone who looked familiar. 

Hang on…is that me?! How does that even work? Where am I? When I realized that I wasn’t in a place that I recognize, I jumped up to run. 

“Hey! Wait!” said my twin.  I took a deep breath and turned around. When I turned around and got a better look at my adversary. The thing was…they looked like me…but with key differences. Their hair was as brown, short, curly, and wild as mine, but it wasn’t as much of a mess as I’d usually leave it.

They were dressed in pink, flowing, strawberry dress, which swished with the pattern of the wind. In a normal universe, or, a normal version of whatever Bizzaro world I’m in, I’d have been dressed in a pair of jeans and the same hoodie I’ve been wearing for the past 2 weeks. Their eyes were a beautiful golden brown, in comparison to my near black ones which were always hidden by my long bangs.

 

Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks. This is the person I’d always wanted to be.

The following works of art, were unfortunately mislabeled in the print version of The Arrow. We regret our error and are very sorry for the mistake. They are labeled correctly here.

Switch

by: Fiona P. ’26

I wasn’t supposed to remember.

That was the whole point. I played the Switch card, and it didn’t work. Well, it did. But there were holes.

Memories came like consciousness, so when I was a baby I of course couldn’t recall them. When I was seven most slowly came back, dripping into my brain like dirty pipe water. Imagine if you were given a second chance at a test, but were constantly reminded about the failing grade you made that caused you to get the redo? That’s what it was like for me. But a hundred times worse.

So, of course, I played one of my two Forget cards. That didn’t work, either.

At that point, I was extremely unsettled. The cards never, ever made mistakes like this, no matter who they belonged to.

My older sister, Miranda, was baking a cake. Matilda Grace or Tilly, the youngest, was “helping” Miranda in the kitchen. My younger brother, Blake, had his friend George over and were playing cricket in the garden. Mum and Dad were at work and would be home soon.

It was a perfect spring Saturday in the Caldwell home, and I should have been happy to have no homework, no school, and time to do as I pleased.

Fate had given me the best of best families, but the card had made it so I could never escape my past. That was the point, no? Why give us the cards when they only work half way? I kept it secret for years. Not even my parents knew. The government doesn’t tell anyone, not even the person who switched, that they switched because then they’d be treated differently. Switching gave you a fresh start, a clean slate. A chance to forget and have a new life from the beginning. You even get a second Switch card and a new Do-over, Perfection, Forget, and Free Pass cards, but to you it’s not another, it’s your first. That’s what I had wanted.

Only Aurora, my best friend, knew. She knew about the Rodgers and Caroline and Ledgerville, Alabama, every detail I could recall I told her. She knew how I felt cheated, and how it was hard for me to enjoy this life when it just felt like a fake one.

Miranda’s sixteen birthday had passed without much fanfare last month, just the usual relatives coming and cake baking. I, along with everyone else in the family, would have been shocked, hurt if Miranda had chosen to play her card. I would have missed her terribly, even though the card would have wiped Miranda from our memory. She was never moody or rude; she was patient and played with Tilly; she volunteered at the local animal shelter; she made cakes. Miranda leaving was preposterous. She thought so too. Why would anyone want to leave your picture-perfect English family?

After lunch, I took the tube to Aurora’s flat. I went up the steps and knocked on her door. Her mother, Adele, answered it in her David’s Pub waitresses apron.

“Hi, Porter!” She said. Unlike most of the mothers at St. Paul’s, she had a south London accent.

“Hi, Ms. Webb. Is Aurora home?”

“Porter, for the last time call me Adele, dear. Aurora’s in her bedroom, sweetheart. Tell Aurora my lunch break is over and I’m heading down to the pub. Would you like a snack before I go?”

“No, thank you, Ms. Webb.” I walked down the hall to Aurora’s room and knocked.

“Come in,” she said. I opened the door. She was sitting on her bed in a ribbed lilac tee and jeans, reading a book. 

Aurora had been my friend since Year Two. We met on the playground, when this boy Henry was bullying me and she stepped on his foot and told him off. Whenever I get mad at her she reminds me that I still owe her for saving me. Aurora was slender, with toffee brown hair that fell to the middle of her back and tapered at the end like a flame. Whenever her hair was blown in the wind, it reminded me of Caroline’s, the way it would whip around lightly and tie itself in small nots. Her eyes were a grey-blue, round, with a thin purple outline like an atmosphere around the iris. When she was in a swimsuit, you could see her ribs in her back.

She looked up. “Oh. It’s just you,” she said, then went back to reading her book.

“Want to go to the park? Your mum just left for her shift.” Aurora was an only child, and was used to being home alone while her mum worked long into the night waitressing. Her dad left when she was three, so Ms. Webb did all she could to keep Aurora in St Paul’s. I’d grown accustomed to having Mum home by three, then Dad by five.

“Eh.”

“Please? It’s important.”

“Fine.” She slipped on her sneakers and a blue and yellow St Paul’ Basketball sweatshirt and we took the elevator down to the street. Once at the park, we found a bench with a dedication plaque under the shade of a leafy oak tree.

“What is it that’s so important?” She stretched out the so several seconds too long.

“I need your help.”

“Why?”

“I need to get help.”

“With what? Stop being so elusive here, Porter,” she snapped, to the point as always.

“I need help. With the memories. And my cards. I need a new set.”

“Porter!” She shouted. A flock of pigeons beat their wings in a hustle and flew up to the nearest rooftop.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“You know you can’t do that!”

“Why? It’s not my fault.”

“If they find out you’re screwed, Porter. You’ll become some scientific experiment or something!”

“I just need new cards, that’s all.”

“And what are you going to say when they ask why you need new cards?”

“What else? Mine aren’t working. It’s the truth.”

“And then…” she prodded.

“And then they’ll hand me a fresh set.”

“No! First they’ll check to see if you switched, and since you said your cards aren’t working that meant the switch wouldn’t work, either.”

“I’ll just say the less powerful ones aren’t working.”

She sighed, exasperated. “They’ll figure you out, Porter. C’mon, I’m just looking out for you.”

“They won’t ‘figure me out’. It’s not illegal or anything.”

“Who knows?”

“Please, Aurora, come with me to the Department of Public Health?”

Aurora sighed. “Where is it?” I smiled and pulled up Google Maps.

We pushed heavy revolving doors open and stepped through, greeted by a blast of cool air. The Department of Public Health was located near the rest of the government buildings in Westminster on a broad, busy street. We had taken the tube from Greenwich, where Aurora lived. The central hall of the DPH was quite grand, with a tall vaulted ceiling and a marble floor. A wide staircase led up to the second level. Officers dressed in navy blue uniforms strode purposefully. At a circular desk with the sign, Check In For Appointments Here hanging from the ceiling above, several secretaries clacked away on computers.

I glanced at the circle table of secretary desks, searching for an open spot. A flash of vibrant red hair caught my eye.

“Caroline?” I murmured, picking up speed as my heart rate rose – but no, it was just another secretary. My gaze dropped to her silver nametag.

“Welcome to the Department of Public Health London, how can I help you today,” ‘Amelia’ said. Though middle aged, her wavy red hair, still vibrant, was pulled back into a thick, large ponytail and a bright red lipstick was smeared thickly on her lips. Her mouth was twisted in an amused smirk. Even though she was sitting and thus below me, it looked as though she was looking down at me. 

“I would like to schedule an appointment with a card specialist, please.”

“And why is that?”

“I have an issue with my cards.”

She looked at me skeptically. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“And do you have a parent or guardian with you that is able to sign your form?”

“Um… no.”

“You have to be sixteen years of age or older in order to schedule an appointment without a parent or guardian.”

I hadn’t planned on coming here, but now that I was here it felt capable to solve my problem. I wanted it more than anything. “But please, I need to talk to a specialist.”

“I’m sorry, but you are not permitted to speak with a specialist without an appointment. They are very busy.”

“Can I just phone one? Please?”

Amelia sighed, clearly exasperated with me. “The telephones are over there.” She pointed to the wall across the way with a few phones hooked up to the wall. “The cards department is number 7.”

“Thank you!” I rushed over to the booths and quickly dialed 7. A recording answered with, “Thank you for calling the London card department. To schedule an appointment, press one. To inquire about the London card department policies, press two. To speak with a specialist, press three. To file-” I pressed three.

“London card department, how may I help you today,” said a woman.

“I would like to speak with a specialist, please.”

“May I take a message?”

“Am I able to speak to them in person? This is important.”

“They are all very busy.”

“Please? I must.”

“Alright, one moment please.” Muffled noises came from the line. “Dr. Seif, there’s a boy who wishes to speak with a specialist.” I strained to hear Dr. Seif’s response.

“Oh. Here, can I have the phone?”

“Sure

“Hello, this is Dr. Alison Seif,” said someone on the other end.

“Hello Dr. Seif!” I exclaimed. I sounded over-energetic I know, but I was ecstatic to finally be able to talk to someone who could help me. “My name is Porter Caldwell, and I have an issue with my cards.”

“Ah. Of what manner?”

I suddenly realized that they needed to know my problem. “Umm… I’m in the lobby…” I asked tentatively. “I- I-”

“Are you in the lobby?”

“Yes.”

“We honor our patients’ confidentiality. Would you like to come up to my office?”

“Yes please!” I decided to take confidentiality as my reason for 

“Alright. Take the elevator to the third floor then follow the hallway until you reach the drinking fountain, then take the hall across from the fountain until Room 313. That’s my office.”

“Thank you, Dr.”

“See you soon.” I hung up.

“Ready, Aurora?” I said to her. She looked terribly bored.

“Do I have to come?”

“Yes.”

She groaned. “You owe me for this, Porter Caldwell.”

I laughed. “I’ll add that to my list.”

Dr. Seif’s room was fairly easy to locate, and we managed not get lost. We got multiple strange looks from people, likely wondering why two kids were wandering around a government building on holiday, but other than that we arrived at her room with ease.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said a female voice from inside. I pushed the door open to see a regular office, with a desk facing the door and two chairs in front of the desk. Behind was a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the rooftops of the city. Seated in a swivel chair behind the desk was a woman of maybe forty-two, with bobbed, straight black hair, olive skin, and a warm smile. A whiteboard on the wall was covered with pictures of what I presumed to be her kids and dog. “Ah! Porter, right?” said Dr. Seif, smiling warmly.

“Yes.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Seif.”

“Pleasure to meet you as well, Porter!”

“Aurora, could… could you stay out in the hall?” I asked shyly. She rolled her eyes but closed the door.

“Alright. So Porter, let’s get down to business. You said you had an issue with your cards.”

“Right. Umm…”

“This is a safe space, Porter, remember.” A tingly heat rose in my cheeks, and I fiddled with the cuff of my sleeve.

“I remember.” I said after a moment, feeling more and more nervous as I shifted my weight from side to side.

“What do you mean?”

“I- I know that I switched.”

“Oh.” Dr. Seif managed not to look too shocked, but I could tell she was.

“Yeah.”

“And do you know everything about your past life or just that you switched?”

“Everything.”

“Goodness.”

“Yeah.” I twiddled my fingers. After a moment I said, “Has this… is there something wrong with me?” I felt like a child.

“No, no, Porter!” She said, back to her warm, comforting manner. “There’s actually a solution developed by the World Union Science Institute.” I let out a breath so big it was as if I had been holding it since I walked in the DPH. “But, you see, Porter, in order to prescribe you the vaccine – that’s the form the medicine comes in – I need to know why you need it.”

“Oh.” No.

“I know this may be hard. But could you try?”

“I’ll try. So. Well, I had a difficult home life?” I twiddled with the cupcake squishy on the edge of the desk, squeezing the foam and watching it as it slowly crept back into its normal shape.

The smell of leather and bracken and manure assaulted my nose, memories of my past life. How Father would make me come on hunting trips with him. How Mother would refuse to give me dinner when I didn’t want to go to church. The sunburnt skin and callused hands.

“And- and I had a girlfriend…” I felt my eyes water. My throat choked up. “A girlfriend named…” Dr. Seif handed me the tissue box silently. I took it, grateful. Wiping my eyes, I continued.

“Caroline. And she was one of the reasons I didn’t just leave. She was kind and funny and understanding and everything you’d ever want, beautiful too.” The memory of Caroline pushed into my mind, how her red hair smelling of honey and sunshine would blow into my mouth that day on the beach, that eyeshadow palette of coppers that could only ever look good on her, that pearl choker she wore everyday and refused to take off. The kisses we stole at midnight, her horrible apple pie.

“Then one day-” I started crying again, this time hard. “We were in the car,” I managed to choke out. “And this truck came and hit the car and she was in the passenger’s seat and she-” I sobbed into my hands. “She got hit,” I sniveled. “She got hit and she- she- she- um, died and it was all my fault! It was all my fault and I-” I hadn’t noticed it but the door had opened and Aurora, so unlike her, was patting my shoulder awkwardly.

“I’m so sorry,” said Dr. Seif. “I understand. And I know what to do. If you’ll just let me check your file we can get it to you right away.” She checked my file.

“Alright Porter. So this vaccine takes about twelve hours to work, and once it does the memories will be gone forever. By tomorrow, you’ll wake up feeling light and free, and you won’t remember a thing. And Aurora, I’m going to give you a pill to remove anything Porter may have told you about his past life. Same rules apply for about twelve hours. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aurora and I said in unison.

“Perfect. Here’s this, Aurora.” Dr. Seif handed her a small white pill and a paper cup. Aurora filled it with water and downed it in one gulp. She smiled at me.

“A nurse will come in in a minute.” She stepped out and left me and Aurora thinking as the sun streamed down, illuminating the room.

A nurse in elephant-patterned scrubs walked in with a cart.

“Porter?”

“That’s me,” I said.

“Alright.” She cleaned me up. I watched as the shot was lowered to my shoulder and punctured my skin.

“Done.”

“Thank you,” I said. I felt free. Real. It hurt to think that by tomorrow I would forget the woman who saved my life, but then I reminded myself that by tomorrow my life would be free of the pain that had weighed down on me for thirteen years.

“C’mon, Porter. Thank you.” Aurora took me outside and led me down the street to a pedestrian bridge that curved over the Thames. We stood at the arc of the bridge, looking out over the river as it wound its way through the city. The sun was edging towards the horizon, making the sky as red as Caroline’s hair, red that would disappear by dawn.

“It’s beautiful, huh?” I said.

“Yeah.”

 

See Through

by: Pippa G. ’28

I had not realized anything was wrong until people started filming me. What is so special about a teenager holding coffee. To them, nothing. They just saw coffee. That was the day people “saw” me differently. That was the day people never saw me at all. 

I do not know how it happened. One day I woke up and BAM! I was invisible. Most people would say that this is amazing but no. It rips you apart. Tell me how amazing this sounds! Your friends and family are scared trying to look for you when in fact you are begging them to see you, everyone videotaping and taking pictures of things you are holding, screaming at night even when  you know no one can hear you! It isn’t anything close to a dream. Sorry, it is just that you are the only person who can hear me. 

From now on I try to minimize the amount of time I hold things. You might be thinking ‘wouldn’t their clothes show?’ no they don’t. I am thankful for that because I would definitely not want to walk around not wearing clothes. Of course no one would see me but still, it’s weird. In school I just walk to class without books. If I need them, I just look over a classmate’s shoulder. I am one for following rules, once in a while they get broken, but I don’t want to cause chaos. 

One day, I was sitting in spanish class when the cops came in with three police dogs. I panicked. There was a reason why I never told anyone about my secret power! What if they find me? The police explained the rumors about an invisible person. I held my breath. The dogs ears perked up and they looked dead at me. The german shepards circled my knees and snarled. I warily backed up while the police walked over to me. I ran as they lunged! One police man grabbed my hand, so I tried wriggling free of his grasp. He would not let go so I dug my nails into his palm, making him yelp. I sprinted to the door and glanced back. My classmates were scared, shocked, nervous, confused.

Teton Valley

by: Anders J. ’27

6  Ways  to  Look  at  a Wet  Dog

by: Nora H. ’27

Why F1 is the Greatest Motorsport of All Time

By: Ivan L.J.