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Volume 3

CoverArtbyCarolinaUribe

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“Happiness can be found, even

in the darkest of times, if only one remembers

to turn on the light.” -AlbusDumbledore, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

PhotographybyGianfrancoBlanco

Colophon

Terra Incognita Volume III, was produced by the Literary Arts Magazine staff at TERRA Environmental Research Institute in Miami, Florida and was printed by JS Printing. The cover was designed by Ms. Getreu, Carolina Uribe, and Sabrina Espinoza. The cover is printed on Glossy Cover. The magazine’s 52 pages are printed on 60# standard text. The 2012-2013 volume includes 52 pages in full color. All body copy was set in Century Gothic at size 12 - 16, captions were written in Century Gothic and Courier in size 12 - 14. Title fonts include Never-winter, Ashley, Bank Gothic, and Trajan Pro. The final product was submitted through JS Printing.

Terra Incognita was produced using Adobe Photoshop, Adobe InDesign, Microsoft Office, our teacher’s guidence, time, patience, food, and our blood, sweat, and tears. The tools this magazine was developed on included HP lap-tops, Apple Macbook, Macbook Pro, and Mac Air laptops.

A total of 40 pieces of artwork, 66 pieces of photography, and 29 written prose and poetry pieces were contributed solely by TERRA students. 200 copies were printed and distributed free of charge.

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Editor’s Page

Our illustrius Boss/Sponser - Ms. Getreu

Magazine Editor - Sabrina Espinoza

Website Manager - Christina Cuadrado

Poetry Editors - Ely Alba Macy Knezevich

Art Editor - Carolina Uribe

Prose Editors - Rebecca Moreda Christina Cuadrado

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ContentsBrooke Karner.......................My Bed - 17

Carly Scott.......................Perfect page - 9 The Grey - 47Christina Cuadrado........Memories of Helene - 37

Henry Cope.....................Declaration of Orcish Rights - 41, 42

Joanne Ling.....................Faceless - 21, 22 Him and Her - 51

Kristen Baldaccini...........Voices - 45

Krystal Shephard...............Friendship - 26 Love - 16

Lorenzo Cummings.........Nothingness - 48 Unfathomable Glory - 30

Mackenzie Martin-Jones.....Legacy To Life - 35

Rebecca Moreda................I Know - 40 Big Apple - 27, 28

Ryan Ballina.........................Appreciation for Nature - 10 Indomitable Tower - 46 The Westward Wind - 14

Sabrina Espinoza................Reflection - 24 Soldier’s Light - 50

Stacey Alfonso.....................No Promises - 19

Written Work

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Contents Cover Art By Carolina Uribe

Andre Thais....................................10, 11,12, 33 Carly Scott.....................................24

Carolina Uribe...............................38, 43, 47 48

Cristina Iturrey...............................23

Emily Juliao...................................45

Evan Dovenberg..........................18

Freddy Viera.................................29

Gaby Rivera.................................25

Gianfranco Blanco........................1, 2, 15, 46, 49, 50

Giselle Cruz...................................52

Jasmin Almonte...........................7, 8

Judith Catablanco.....................20

Kevin Chi.......................................13, 14

Kristina Rodriguez.........................39

Artwork and Photography

Melissa Lyn....................................49

Melody Suarez.............................22

Sabrina Yero.................................31, 32

Sigal Sax........................................35, 36

Uma Blandon...............................43, 44

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Illumination

PhotographybyJasminAlmonte

Perfect By Carly Scott

Perfect?Absolutely.

Your own eyesbetray you

and that imagein the looking glass.

Runs so deepTo threaten you.

Lie to you.Slay you.Such lies

from the creasesof thoughtsand hopes

and dreams.Sleeps.Waiting,

oh, ever patientlyfor you.

For they are you.But I am not.

My liesare to myself.Never to you.You only see

Faults,I only see

Perfection.

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AppreciationforNature Ryan Ballina

I take this time tocommemorate nature and all

if its true wonders.For many, outdoors is a place

to relax, unwind and focuson the beauty of mother nature.

There once was a timewhere all there was were

trees and valleys.It seems like now we have more tech sav-

vies.I thank you sincerely nature

for all of your glories.

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Photography by Andre Thais

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Photography By: Kevin Chi

TheWestwardWind Ryan Ballina

On the coasts of the beach, where the sea foam lies, the birds in the sky, fly so ever high, like the thoughts in a dream, blown upwards by a westward win, driven by imagi-nation and not power. Many say the “wind” is a fable, nothing to show.

The values of the wind are not as much as gold. They had never thought about the wind and what it could do. all they ever cared about were the things that were new. Mate-rialistic things and things that will not last, yet the powerful westward wind is something that has “past”. The “Ever-long” as I may call it has meaning and life. it arises in the beaches of the west at dawn to carry out the thoughts of those who believe. The westward wind is a force who’s power cannot be tamed and one that will never be put to shame.

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Loveby: Krystal Shepard

Love is friendship set on fireLove is happiness with another person

Love is when reality is better than your dreamsLove is caring about someone unconditionally

Love is what makes the world go roundLove is never giving up

Love is learning to forgive and forget Love is every time i think of you.

Photography By: Gianfranco Blanco

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MyBed

My bed, my only friendWho welcomes me with open arms

Engulfs me in its warmth and loves me for who I am. My bed, my loyal friend

Who keeps me safe from monstrous creatures and keeps me protected from anyone seeing me so vulnerable.

My bed, my thoughtful loverWho lends me it’s shoulder to cry on and to forget about all of life’s burdens.

My bed, my amazing bed

- Brooke Karner

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NoPromisesStacy Alfonso

No one promised unity, they said it would last until death brought us apart, the day came when there was no reliving it.

The anguish within oneself was once unbearable. The truth lies beneath the soul, a demoralized heart shattered along the shore.

Bringing ones dignity back to life is the hardest task left to fight. The words spoken are the token to a life unfocused. Once determined

to continue at any cost then coming to the realization that nothing goes un-touched. A dream was just a scheme, unwilling to be seen.

Art by: Judith Castablanco 19

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FacelessJoanne Ling

I was sitting in my room watching television, some TV show about archeologists in Guinea. I had just gotten home from a strenuous day, too many dunder heads, too many accidents, and not enough coffee. The boss, Carlos, had been on my case today for not handling the paper work for the Jane doe that had come in from the state hospital three days prior. Had to call the land lady too I thought passively.

I hadn’t felt like doing anything really since coming home. All I wanted was a quick shower, and box of Mac and Cheese, and some ridicu-lously inaccurate crime show to lull me to sleep (which I will inevitably then drop the bowl in my face and wake up with cheese smears all over my face but that’s something to worry about later). I had finally relaxed enough and had reached that weird asleep but not really phase when the phone had rung. My eyes snapped open and I glared at the general direction of the phone. Maybe if I willed it enough the caller would stop and disappear? Besides my better thinking I threw my fork, which was covered in ar-tificial cheese, at the phone, missing entirely and hitting the lamp a good foot away. I cursed my terrible aiming and the random caller, whoever they are, to hell and got up. I walked over to the phone and picked it up while bending over to reach for the fork that had dived into the black hole situated behind my end table.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Hi?” the voice said. Male and from the sound of it, if attractive actors I had never met where any-thing to go by, a very lickable kind of man.

“Hello. Who is this exactly?” I responded. Attrac-tive individual or not my fork was now lost at sea and I had to get up from my couch of death.

“Uh Samuel? Who is this?” he responded.

“Well David question mark, my name is Penel-ope. And seeing as how you called me what can I do for you?” I asked. Fork update: still unreachable and now contemplating leaving it for dead. “I’m sorry I think I have the wrong number ac-tually. I hope I didn’t bother you.” He said. Son of a biscuit had to get up for a wrong number. I was hoping the caller would have been the land lady who I had a beef with.

“Oh no bother at all. Well only if you call getting up and throwing my eating device into the dark depths of hell no bother any-way.” I snipped back.

“Sorry, I was just trying to call my home phone and I must have called your home by acci-dent.” He said apologetically.

“No you got the number right. Beautiful wall paper by the way. Really like how it goes with the furniture” I responded. I waited to hear him either freak his shit or to ask whether or not I was kidding. “Well if your there can you make sure the oven’s off? When I headed out I swear I left my stack of Benjamin’s in there and I’d hate for someone to take it.” He said back just as quickly.

“Who hides their money in their oven? Ever heard of a safe?” By this point I was curi-ous as to why he wasn’t reacting like I thought (the last time I did anything like this the sales man from Dubai was very confused). “I like to be special. What robber thinks to look in the oven?” he asked. The fork by this point was probably meeting the dust bunnies and trying to settle down with a lovely local to have two point five kids so I basically gave up searching.

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“They will if it’s a Thanksgiving ban-dit. Gotta get some of that white meat man.”

“Oh never thought of that. I heard that lamps are pretty good hiding places. Won’t snitch you to the cops at least.” He retorted. I heard some shuffling like he was adjusting papers and a door opening. He must have covered the receiver because I couldn’t distinguish what he was saying to mysterious person #1. When he finished he pulled his hand off the phone and coughed.

“I have to go, People. But it’s been great talking to you Penelope. Sorry to bother you and your uh, eating utensil.” He stated.

“She’s escaped the tyranny that is box Mac and Cheese. I think you did her a favor there Sam, but again it’s no problem. It’s been nice talking actually.” I assured.

He laughed and said “Well got to go. Good night Penelope…have a great day tomorrow.” “You too Sam. Try not to set your house on fire. A disaster for your insurance.” I grinned. I heard him laugh before the call clicked to an end. I put the phone back down into the charging station and I was sur-prised to realize that I was smiling. This guy Sam had just salvaged my day and man-aged to lift my slightly murderous mood and I didn’t even have to put on pants for it.

That’s definitely what I call great service.

   

Art by: Melodie Suarez

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I saw itThere on the ground in the empty street,

was a small puddleAfter such a dreadful storm not much was

leftBut there on the ground was the clear pool

of truthThere in front of me, boring into my soul was

a sight I fearedBanal drained eyes

An empty shell shaped like a human.There in the looking glass lie the inevitableJust as the storm had destroyed buildings

and carsYears or painYears of lies

Years of hidingWere suddenly there reflected back at meWho was that person staring at me in the

looking glass?It couldn’t be me

Could it?Why yes it is.

A puddle is not a magic looking glassThe image was not imaginary

There, showing me just what I had becomeWas nothing more than my reflection

ReflectionBySabrinaEspinoza

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Friendship

Friendship is such a beautiful thingYou never know what adventures it’ll bring.

Parties, movies and hanging out,Sticking with each other no doubt.

Laughing until we cry,and at the end we wonder why.

Sisters separated at birth,slowly figuring out what life is worth.

-Krystal Shephard

Art by: Gaby Rivera 26

BigAppleRebecca Moreda

It begins with a photo; a photo being taken by a stranger. She hears the camera’s click, looks up, and comes face to face with a girl. Well, face to lens, but still. A random stranger decid-ing to take her photo while she’s trying to hail a cab in New York City, being such a tourist but feeling like she’s lived here her whole life. It’s funny, she can’t help it. And when the girl of-fers to show her around, to take her to all her favorite places, well, she can’t very well say no. The girl is cute and makes her laugh and she has freckles and gorgeous eyes and her laugh makes Alaska feel...okay. She isn’t about to turn that down. For the entire day, the two of them wander the city, going to so many places and talk-ing and laughing and taking so many pictures, she swears she’ll never forget this. Here, she feels happy and free and safe. Well, minus the lack of the love of her life, of course, because she isn’t home unless he’s there. But she doesn’t want to think sad thoughts, so she decides to ignore her own head, just for a little while, and talk to the girl she just met, the one with the pretty eyes that Alaska swears were a color made just for her. Sooner than she’d care for it to have, the sun sets, and it almost makes her really, really sad, because she’s leaving in the morning, and that kind of sucks, because she likes it here. Though, she’s going home to the people she loves, so she can’t really be all that upset. It’s been a fun couple of days, she’ll admit, but going home…it doesn’t sound too bad. But for right now, she doesn’t want to go, she wants to spend more time in the city with the girl who has pretty eyes. So when the girl asks her to stay with her the night, offers her the futon in her little apart-ment, Alaska doesn’t object. And maybe that’s a bad thing, trusting the girl so easily and so quickly, but she can’t help it. There’s something about the girl’s eyes, and her smile, and just the way she talks, that Alaska trusts. And besides, it’s not like she can’t handle herself, right? She’s a big girl. Alaska sits on the girl’s couch, watching something on TV and holding her phone on her lap, wanting to call him but knowing he’s asleep. She sighs heavily, putting her phone in her bag and jumping slightly when the girl comes and sits with her. But she smiles despite herself, and the girl smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, which makes Alaska kind of sad. All day, her smiles reached her eyes, now what’s changed?“You’re leaving tomorrow,” the girl mumbles, and oh, of course, that’d do it. Goodbyes al-ways hurt. She should have seen that.Sighing, she brushes her hair from her eyes and nods sadly, saying, “I have to go back to some special people. They mean the world to me. I can’t be away from them for a long time, it hurts too much. Even just two days drives me crazy,” she explains, and she does feel bad, she does. Because the girl is so sweet, and so fun, she doesn’t want her to be sad. She wants to be happy right now.The girl sighs, too, and lays her head on Alaska’s lap, looking up at the brunette and asking, “Tell me about them? The special people. Tell me about you, and them. I know you want to talk, and I want to be the one to listen.” And she’s so fucking sincere and so sweet and ear-nest; the words just start to pour out. It’s almost like an automatic reflex.She talks about her childhood, something she doesn’t do with anyone. About Georgia and her parents and her sister and how she started playing baseball and the time she kept a gold-fish. All the memories she’s kept to herself all these years, they just start coming out. And she even remembers things she’d thought she’d forgotten.

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Talking makes it okay for her; it makes the memories more than just memories and they’re real and tangible and she remembers them and she can visit them whenever she pleases. Her granddad would be proud.

She talks about her best friends and how the people she calls her best friends have changed drastically over the past few months, with the fights she’s been in and the people she’s been around. How her neighbor is her platonic soul mate and how she’s really missed the spitfire blond she used to love so much and is so glad the two of them are okay again. Be-cause of all her friends, she really had felt awful losing that one. The two girls had been friends for ages, and losing her had really hurt. And she tells the girl about all the fights and all the drama and just…everything.

She talks about him, and everything they’ve been through, and everything about him that she knows. Everything he makes her feel and everything that’s happened between them. About how scared she was (and still is) about being in love and how he makes her forget the fear because he loves her and she loves him and just because they’re not always okay, doesn’t mean they don’t find ways to fix it; they always, always fix it. He makes her so happy, she’s sure she says that a thousand times, and he does. Sure, there are a million things that make her happy, but he makes her happiest; he makes her happy in a way no one else does, and all he has to do is hold her hand. God, she’s in really deep, isn’t she? She would go anywhere with him, anywhere he wanted to be. He is her Great Perhaps. Wherever he is, that’s home.

By now she’s been crying for a while. She almost curls into herself, but the girl’s head is still on her lap, so instead she just covers her eyes and tries her best to keep the tears at bay. The girl doesn’t say anything, just lets her cry and cry, which she’s rather thankful for, honestly. At least this way she doesn’t feel so silly about it, because the girl isn’t even bothering to com-fort her, spew all the stupid “it’ll be alright” clichés that no one really believes. Alaska appreci-ates that. And when she’s done crying, the girl gives her a tissue and she smiles at her warmly, thanking her. For everything.

Watching New York City fade into the distance, Alaska sighs. But it’s a happy sigh, knowing she’s going home and she’s…better. Not completely okay, but better. She’s begun to put her pieces back and the sad, empty feeling she’s had for a while is so dull she can hardly feel it. All she can feel right now is relief. Relief and happiness.

“Lucky to be coming home someday…”

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UnfathomablegloryLorenzo Cummings

The sound of your voice penetrated my middle ear like a jack hammer to rubble concrete, the shiver of anger down my spine cracks like whip across my body as if I were a field slave on a plantation. The immense amounts f self control I practice brings beads of sweat to my forehead in order for me not to strike you down as if a golden eagle on the final mountain pass by a nearby river.

Now is not a good time to take action I shall wait in the mud through the wind and the rain as a navy seal would, gathering other to my cause creating a comradely of supporters all of us the melting into the night being ever so patient as to discover your moment of weakness and to belittle you for everything you ever can be. And to rise up as new order that will cor-rect and defend everything you were not.

Art By: Freddy Viera 30

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ShadowsDeep into the darkness peering.long I stood there, wondering,fearing, doubting, dreaming,

dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

-Edgar Allan Poe

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Photography By: Andre Thais

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Photography By: Andre Thais

Legacy to LifeBy: Mackenzie Martin-Jones

Life is like a cardiac monitor,a seesaw teetering up and down.And, like a game of ping pong,if the opponents are skilled,it lasts long.

Everyday actions are done by people,whether is be speaking or listening,reading or writing,walking or sitting,but we will forget it all.

Things we think are important nowmay not be important later.Things we cherish nowmay be un cherish-able later.Life changes.

Year by year,day by day,life changes around us.People change,and you change.

We make friends,we loose friends.We learn new things,and we forget some as well.But, we move on.

As you get older there’s things you’ll never forget.Memories you’ll cherish,people you’ll always remember.But at the end of the day, we will die.

Will you leave a grand legacy?How long will it last?As long as the unforgettable Michael Jackson’s?As long as Pablo Picasso’s?Or as long as the timeless T-Rex’s?

Nobody seems care as much now,As they do about you when your dead.Vincent van Gogh spent a life in poverty,But now his artwork is worth millions.

So as the world changes,are you?Is it for good or bad?Leave a legacy to be remembered,Because soon it will beTHE END

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Photography by Sigal Sax

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Memories of HeleneBy Christina Cuadrado

Helene ran silver brush through her long tangle of strawberry red hair, turning in the monstrous frizz into soft curls and waves. She hummed quietly as the brush ran through her hair, eyes blankly looking into her reflection at her white vanity. Soon the morbid tune became a haunting lullaby that she sang to herself.

“Now when the world is shadowed and dark Now when the sky is empty of stars Now when the world is wrapped in sleep In a quiet endless and deep In the silence of the night…”

She continued to sing softly under her breath as her deep sapphire eyes focused on something beyond her reflection and she immediately saw it. The fire giving an amber hue to her surroundings as she sat, waiting for her lover in her tent patiently, the fire dancing in her tent mimicked the one that burned in her abdomen but something was not right and so she qui-eted the rumbling fire inside and went to search for him. His tent, the fire shone and like a horribly dark puppet show she saw it, his perfect silhouette melting into that of a soiled dove and slowly the warmth in-side faded to a cold burn that knotted up and rose to block her throat. She couldn’t breathe, the cold around her intensified with the moisture falling down her cheeks.

She gasped for breath before cov-ering her mouth out of grief, shaking her head. This could not be happening! No…no, NO!

She turned quickly on her heels racing back to her tent and she fell upon en-tering, her head bowing to her knees as she hugged her self, trying to hold herself together as sobs wracked her body. Her breath steadied and her sobs became quiet as lifted herself to sit on her heals and she looked around her tent with life-less blue eyes. Helene spotted her aerial silks and slowly rose to her feet. She was dead already so why…why must she burn with this deathly chill.

She raised the silks to the frame work of her tent and tied a noose. Climb-ing on her elegant armchair she looked through the noose with unseeing eyes before lifting it over her head and kick-ing the chair out from under her. As the chair kicked out from under her she was jerked back into the present with a gasp and she finally saw, her brush was no longer tangled into her curls but on the floor amongst shards of mirror. Look-ing up, millions of Helenes stared back at her through the shards still clinging to the frame of the mirror and she smiled at them as she sat back down in her chair continuing to sing.

“Far across the oceanA flame is rising highBreaking through the shadows and the darkShining in the nightRising with the lightHere to wake the Heavens and the Earth

Here to wake the Heavens and the EarthTo light”

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Declaration of Orcish IndependenceHenry Cope

In Mordor, First of the New Moon

When in the course of Middle Earth events, it becomes necessary for one faction to dissolve the blood oaths which have bonded them with another, and to assume among the powers of Gruumsh One-eye, a decent respect to the opinions of Orc-kind requires that we should declare the causes which prompt our declaration against Sauron.

We hold these truths to be self-evident:¬- That all creatures are created equal; that they are endowed by Gruumsh certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, women, and the pursuit of enemies. That, to secure these rights, tribes are instituted among orcs, deriving their power from the consent of the orcs which they govern; that, whenever any leader becomes to headstrong and abuses his power, it is the right of the orcs to slaughter and kill him and his family, and elect a new leader, who will appeal to the tribe accordingly.

When Sauron took power, none questioned his actions. Indeed, he led us to some of our greatest victories. It is because of him that we have come so far from our exile. However, in preparation for the Battle of the Five Armies, Sauron has overstepped his right to rule. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid Middle earth.

He has done unlawful experiments in Orcish crossbreeding, leaving thousands of orcs with birth defects and strange mutations to achieve a single specimen.

He has imposed abhorring work hours, barely a quarter of a day goes by between shifts at the forge, and all the crews are running ragged.

He has invaded privacy countless times with his Eye, giving reasons such as “checking for the Ring.” And “You can never be too sure.”

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For quartering the dreaded Nazgûl among us;

For protecting them, from punishment for any livestock gone missing during the length of their stay;

For depriving us of enough food to truly be satisfied;

For forcing us to search countless days and nights when the Eye of Sauron’s contact fell;

For the unbalanced mixing and separation of tribes engaged in a blood feud;

For the unholy spread and popularization of “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” during his rule;

For transporting us beyond the seas, to fight in unknown lands for unknown reasons;

He has plundered our homeland, ravaged our farmland, burnt our forests, and de-stroyed the lives of many Orcs

He has turned a blind eye to the enforcement of the No-Orc-Left-Behind learning program, leading to a noticeable lack of proper grammar in the orcish population. He has interrupted many Orcish weddings, by which he grabs the ring from the best man and runs out of the hut screaming “Free at last!” In every stage of these oppressions we have petitioned for redress, in the most hum-ble of terms; our repeated petitions have been met with repeated injury. A dark lord whose character is so malicious that the only words which define him are tyrant is unfit to be the ruler of orcs.

Nor have we been wanting in our attentions to our Elvish brethren. We have warned them, from time to time, of attempts by our nation to extend an unwarrantable reign over them. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our exile and settlement here in Mordor. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, to aid us in our rebel-lion against Sauron.

They, too, have been deaf to the voice of justice. We must, therefore, acquiesce to the necessity of a violent regime change and open rebellion.

We, Therefore, The Representatives of the United Tribes of Mordor, in tribal assembly, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world, Gruumsh, for the blessing of our actions. To do what is right for the people of Mordor, and for the support of this declaration, we mutu-ally pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, our wives, and our sacred honor.

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Art by Uma Blandon

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“Voices”By: Kristen Baldaccini

Art by Emily Juliao

I can hear themThey say awful things to me

Sometimes I listen

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Indomitable TowerRyan Ballina

On the brink of an Eastern coast stand an Indomitable Tower with sublime features and a mighty old moat. The drawbridge is infallible as are the mighty knights wielding their majestic old claymores without any fright. It was bombard-ed with cannons and still stood the fight for the Indomitable Tower showed no hindrance to the other’s delight. The warfare was devastating but the tower looked on, to the seas of the west and the skies up above. Its still there, standing with tremulous might after 20 grand years of the attack on the most incredible sight on the brink of the Eastern coast is where the Tower will stand when we need it

the most.

Photo by Gianfranco Blanco

“Voices”By: Kristen Baldaccini

Art by Emily Juliao

I can hear themThey say awful things to me

Sometimes I listen

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The GreyBy Carly Scott

Scarlet trod down the street, the full moon shining in the sky. Vision impaired, reality wafted before her eyes. Headlights zoomed by, illuminating her path seconds at a time. She’d long since forgotten where she was running to. Scarlet’s thoughts clouded her mind further, no unable to trap a single notion longer than a split second. Her pursuer had slipped from her consciousness as her hurried gait transitioned to a leisurely one. Dark eyes peered around the street corner, ever so cautious not to be spotted. Ever so slowly, the shadow melted back into the darkness, waiting. Patiently waiting.The time would come when it gained satisfaction. The Grey was never denied. Step by step, Scarlet moved her way closer to the end of the street. A fleeting thought jumped into her mind. If I could just round the corner. Entranced, soon forgetting why, she took another step forward, causing her midnight black hair to fall behind her shoulders. Struggling to hold on to any memories from her past, fragments of emotion flooded her mind. A kiss. A tear. A smile. And then nothing. It was almost as if she’d never existed at all.The Grey smelt her, a wide grin spreading across its face.Scarlet turned the corner.The Grey pounced. Bright white light flooded the room. Scarlet’s eyelids flickered, and then she finally opened her eyes. Peering down at her hands, she noticed, to her disbelief, that they had turned completely grey.“Am I dead?” She inquired.“Have you forgotten already my dear?” a voice from the light responded.The voice stepped forward into her line of vision. Standing in front of her was a tall, thin girl with dark, flowing hair. “Forgotten what?” “Forgotten that you were out in the real world for almost a year now. You cannot forget about us, Honey. We all deserve our turn.”With that, Scarlet turned, realizing there were hundreds of grey faces, just like her new one, surrounding her. Suddenly, she remembered where she was. Who she really was...

...The Grey turned and walked out of the room, black hair falling behind it’s shoulders.

Artwork by Carolina Uribe

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NothingnessLorenzo Cummings

Darkness washes over me. I feel safe secure and protected, floating in a vast nothingness free pr pain perception or pleasure. Nothing every speckle of light that I see is stripped

away like a puddle of water in the sub-Saharan desert.

Floating, floating levitating constantly shifting my everything. My world, my life. Everything is lost and will never be found. alone in my own thought never knowing what is coming

next but that doesn’t matter because this is life and only I matter to myself and I will con-tinue to be here for eons and eons to come with nothing but me, myself and I .

Others are just an illusion to what is important anything else, all else. The pattern of life eludes me and I will no longer to continue to try to change their minds. I have given in to the idea that only I can make the difference for myself and thus the spark of my self cre-ation and absorbing all I can be into my life to be the best I can be and not to be for you

but to be for me.

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Soldier’s LightSabrina EspinozaArt By: Melissa Lyn

A cool piercing metal blade taunted him with its shimmering smirk of sunlight bounc-ing off the metal and into the soldier’s eyes. For one blinding moment, the soldier ignored the battle, the terror, the murder, and the war around him; and was absorbed by sudden overwhelming pain in his abdomen. His blood began to paint the unfamiliar sword in his lower chest. The prickling feeling of his angry blood heating up against the cool snow-covered armor, caused stars to peak into his eyesight. Now the pain swept across his entire being and the soldier succumbed to the ravages of his quickly dying body. The sneering barbarian above the soldier bent down and tore the cruel metal blade out of his enemy’s armor. Apple-red blood spilled out onto the white snow coated field. The barbarian left the soldier to his last moments alone. Lying without his wife, with-out the sweet smile of his infant daughter, without the warm loving glow the soldier had thought he was protecting by coming into this war. His fingers were lightly coated in his quickly spilling red liquid as the soldier could feel himself slowly losing all grasp of the world. His breaths turning to gasps, each one more shallow than the last. Helpless, immovable, writhing, his every atom burning in heat and pain, the soldier attempted to move. Move a foot? Move a hand? Move an inch? Move a centimeter? No not a twitch. The blade had lightly pierced his spinal cord, making him com-pletely and permanently paralyzed. Despite the soldier’s arrogance and stubborn nature, a small crystal blue tear slipped out of the corner of his dimming eye. All was lost. His vain attempts to protect those he loved most were a waste of time. It cost him his life. And now, as the soldier lie in the midst of battle, he questioned their motives. Why fight at all? Why let innocent blood be shed for the vanity and selfish desires of others?But the soldier had no answer. The large ever-growing pool of blood slipping out of the immense gash in the sol-dier’s side began to sink into the snow, the once white blanket being dyed red. Fury-filled hot blood cooling and darkening into a slush of sticky red flesh.And the soldier? The soldier lay, going against every saying to not regret death. To not regret any-thing in life. Now he lies regretting his every mistake, his every cruel word. His every fault. Regret began to torment his last fleeting thoughts. Pain, regret, sadness, swimming around in the soldier’s dying brain. There was nothing but darkness left in the hollow shell that was once a noble soldier who fought to ward off the barbarians of the North. But in his slow painful death, a snowflake rested on his cheek. The cool feeling of the small speck melting into his dying skin gave him a quick fleeting glow of happiness. De-spite his inability to take one…last…breath… But before he could expand that small tiny orb of light in his heart to wipe away the pain and misery in his mind, the soldier’s eyes lost their light.

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Him and HerBy: Joanne Ling

Holding the book in my hand, I gripped the spine as I passed by a boy with his hand up some girl’s shirt. I waved hello to a friend passing by. A rush of people flowed past me. I turned and looked back, tugging on the hem of my loose fitting shirt, checking to make sure no one was directly behind me. I was paranoid about my body. Did I have a stain? Does my butt show in these pants? Do my boobs look small? All these questions whirl within my head.

Finally getting to my class room, I walk to the back of the classroom and sit down. Only a few others were inside. I was waiting for him, and her. There is no him without her really. She had hung the stars and the moon for all he knew. She was goddess, and he was but a lowly admirer. And what was i? I was a lonely fox in a mountain of snow gazing upward at him with eyes glowing with awe and admiration. Finally he and she arrived. She had a light in her eyes today which was a change from her usual acerbic personality. As they walked towards my lo-cation he had a look of contentment as he watched her from behind. Her pitch black hair, no lighter than mine shined in the florescent lighting. Yet I was sure mine hung limply on my shoul-ders while hers had a life I could never replicate. Her small nose and freckles sprinkled around her face seemed to give her an innocent appearance.

I imagined him touching each one of those dark freckles with the tip of his fingers, and my heart burned with jealousy. I greeted them as warmly as I could as I tried to hide my pain from them. My facade worked. They seated themselves to the left of me. They were ab-sorbed in a conversation in which I was clearly not invited to. I tried to strike conversation but it was never long lasting. Ignorant of my loneliness neither really noticed when they dropped the conversation with me like a disconnected phone call. They both simply kept falling back into their own little world. I felt like a mortal trying to gain the attention of the Olympians. She suddenly threw her head back from laughter, and I followed suit with a small timid giggle. Façade’s for me seemed so permanent for me. Always polite, always helpful, never selfish, after a while I stopped noticing where the façade ended and where I began. I tried (and failed) to engage him in a conversation yet again but his attention was only to the gods to-day. With a fake smile I joined as best I could with the topic of conversation between the two. I laughed robotically when needed. I gapped and awed when called for, even boo-ed and scowled when needed like the good stage extras were taught. But really all I wanted to do was scream. To let out what I really wanted, to release myself into the spot light and to finally have his eyes on mine instead of to her. It was a harsh feeling, all acrid and terrible. I wanted to take what was not mine like a bully in a playground. As I housed this beast it was too easy to become green. It seemed too easy to just stretch my arms and grab what I believed was truly mine in my own thoughts; I could imagine it clearly, yet in reality it was like trying to fly with only a baby bird’s strength. It was frustrating but for some reason it gave me a cold comfort to be able to hide behind my failures.

Finally, after what seemed ages, the bell rung and we rose to leave. It was my last chance to talk to him for the day, to finally get my own sliver of attention. But alas, the admirer only had eyes on his goddess. So, just like the days before, the lowly fox stayed confined to its mountain of snow and bitter frost, longing for warm springs and youthful summers, away from the mortal and his goddess.

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Artwork by Giselle Cruz

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