"A Slippery Slope" by Betty Rizzo

We stepped out hastily into the frosty air.  It was long past midnight, but the fallen snow reflected off the ground and lit up the sky, shedding everything in a quiet, angelic glow.  My friends and I trudged our way up to the slopes, our sleds lugging in tow behind us.  Icy water seeped into my boots; cold air bit its way into the unprotected space where my gloves and jacket sleeves met on my forearms.  Usually I would be too uncomfortable, too reluctant to continue on the trek, but tonight was different. I was numb. I was comforted by the warm laughter of my friends. I was filled with a bubbly disposition, an undying courage and an anticipation for adventure.  We made it to the top of the mountain and stood there for what felt like forever, high above the sleeping town below us. A flurry of snow fell around us, engulfing us in a fog of misty, chilled air.  Christmas lights on the houses nearby twinkled and faded in and out of the trees that lined the mountain side. There must've been some reason that the slopes had been closed for the weekend, but that thought never crossed our minds; we were too busy stumbling around, yelling at the top of our lungs, and making snow angels.

After a while, we decided we were ready to make our descent. All we needed was a running start and there we went, flying down the mountain on our plastic sleds.  Snowflakes nipped at my face but I didn’t care; adrenaline flowed through me and my blood boiled. We realized quickly that the sleds had no steering capabilities, but that surely didn't stop us from trying our very well best to stay on course. As we tumbled down the mountain, the slope curved around and we ventured into a patch of utter darkness.

It wasn't long after that, that we discovered why the slopes were closed. The first casualty occurred in a swift and single movement. Part of a crushed sled flew up, churning the fresh snow up with it, and crashed down. It teetered on the edge of a steep hill before sliding right down the mountainside.  That saucer was gone forever; we all knew it and We could not stop laughing. The operator of the sled, hannah, sat there bewildered as to how her sled came right up from under her behind.

We strained our eyes in the darkness.  The slope was no longer smooth and snowy, but rocky and uncovered. There was only a thin sheet of slush to cushion our falls now. The warm fire glow from our cabin at the top of the mountain was far out of sight and I knew that my friends would be dead set against hiking back up there and accepting defeat. So we laid there for a time, on the empty trail. I let a thin layer of snow fall and cover me, blanketing my face in frost. Snow clumped on my eyelashes and weighed them down. I thought about falling asleep right there: closing my eyes and letting the night take me, letting the mountain swallow me up whole.

That sounded nice and all, but I knew that it was probably just the onset of hypothermia talking.  there was no turning back. We still had half the mountain to descend, and giant rocks jutted out in every direction before our eyes. I feared gaining momentum. We  found out the hard way that going fast would only make an impact with a rock that much more crippling. So we went down in short little spurts, laughing the whole way down, constantly wiping out. Somehow, my friends would jump right back on their sled  time and time again. We just couldn't feel  pain:  we were invincible, partly from the lack of blood circulation and partly because what we were doing felt so unprecedented and scandalous.   Time flew by and all the sudden we had made it all the way down that slippery slope, that rocky road. By the time we were done,  our shiny new sleds were all broken: they had gashes, cuts and tears in them. We still didn't care. I knew that my friends were feeling the same elation as I was when we were finally tucked back into our beds after the night's festivities. The next morning, we awoke with gashes of our own, shooting pains, and tears in our pants. We didn't complain, only laughed until our stomachs hurt. Our bruises were just a testament to the fun we had: battle scars that memorialized our time together.

"Color" by Ella Wade

When I look around, I see color. The shades can range from vibrant to dull but they are incredible to admire. Color can be taken for granted if you’ve seen it all your life. People's eyes glaze over color without stopping to examine each shade closer.

I was bored one day and got sucked down into the black hole of youtube recommendations. I came across multiple reaction videos to people receiving special, tinted glasses as a gift. These glasses were made by Enchroma, a brand that claimed to cure the colorblind.  

I believe I've watched nearly all of the available reaction videos on the internet. I found it fascinating to see a person who had been living their whole life without the same range of color as others, finally see their familiar world change.

The reactions to the glasses varied from looks of gratitude, to excitement at an unexplored new world, although all held the same look of awe as they suddenly saw color. Purple was a huge shock to many, and it brought many grown men to tears. The most common type of colorblindness is the inability to see the colors red or green. Many families gave the recipient the sunglasses outside, and the wonderful awe they expressed for the bright greens they began to see or colorful autumn leaves and flowers. One father was in awe at the deep blue color of his young daughter’s eyes. He cried happy tears as he studied them.

Noticing color could become so instinctive for me if I didn’t take the time to recognize why it was special. After watching people be so fascinated with colors I had always seen, I took a step back. I attempted to look the world as if I’d never seen it before, and I found myself once again captivated by color.

"Skills" by Bill the Basil Plant

The world in which live, school, has dominated my every moment of my life changing what I do and when I do it.  For me I can easily calculate the rate of change in the surface area of a shrinking sphere, yet I cannot cook a meal.  I can write one mean essay, but I do not know how to ask a girl out.

I wake up every morning to do one thing, study.  I study before school, during class, between classes, after school, and I repeat this process 200 some times a year.  I have no sense as how to live because my life has been dominated by school.  My grades today dominate the future college I attend.  From their careers, the Master's Degrees, family, life, everything.  I understand this is a slippery slope fallacy, but it is true to some degree.  I am applying to difficult colleges to get into, and because of this, I am forced to have my grade excessively high.  If even one class slips my GPA will dip and I may not be recognized.

My entire life I have focused on school and never attempted to have a social life.  This is partially due to trying to live up to my sister who applied and is attending a prestigious university.  I know that I am not as smart as her, yet I have missed a large chunk of time that could have been used for fun.  Instead I have isolated myself with my studies and restricted my social contact.  This is ultimately seen as my “love” life is completely non existent.  What kind of person simply skips over homecoming, and prom? This guy apparently.  I have never asked a girl out and now that I wish to, and have no idea how.  What do I say? where do I begin? I am a senior in high school and by this point most people already have some of this figured out, yet here I am yet again alone on a Friday night with nothing, and few to keep me company.  

The realization has just hit me that I am currently in the end of the beginning of my life and all the things that I have done and are doing are about to be snatched out from under me.  Sports? Gone.  Parents? Gone. Long known friends? Gone.  Life as I know it is about to end and I can do nothing as the endless march of time is infinite and to look too far forward one loses sight of now.  This is precisely what has happened to me.  In school I put on a facade of being confident, fun, and had a full life.  Yet this could not be more false.  I am a afraid to do the most simple things in life yet I can easily lead people and help others with a direct topic.  I am not the person I act like I am and how can others judge me for it?  What can I do to change my life? What can I do to be the person I so often act to be? I don’t know.  

After this my life sounds to be in shambles, but it’s not.  I have an awesome family, a good group of friends, and excellent grades.  Yet, I look around at all the facehuggers in the schools and ask myself, why is this not me? Did I trade my social life for the grades that are just numbers and letters on a piece of paper? I never take my grades for granted as I have worked and continue to work to keep the grades as good as they are, yet I often hear stories and see couples cheating on each other and to think that these people find their relationships so menial is hard for me to comprehend.  This coming from a guy who has been “friendzoned” the only times I have ask any girl out.   

I only wish that everything I want to do and achieve could be done in a short time to allow for time that I can do to learn about anything other than that of school.  There is a running joke in my friend group: Taxes? I don’t know what those are but whoo boy let me tell you all about the Pythagorean theorem.  Sad but true, I know this entire depth of knowledge that I will not likely use unless I go into the field.  Yet, the general things we need to know to survive are either lumped into one class or simply skipped over by teachers assuming we already know it.  This includes everything from Taxes and mortgage to healthy cooking and home maintenance.  I know I have missed out and I can not get those times back.  I know now that I need to live every moment to its fullest and not worry too much about the future.  

"Cycle of Tears" by Kelly Shepherd

It starts

One word

One phrase

Or years and years of pressure created by the one

Whos currently cracking

Breaking under the stress it has produced.

The years of As

The years of sticking every dismount

The years of “you are so perfect”

Finally adding up to a young girl

Upset,

Stressed,

Overworked,

Exhausted.

Wanting to live up to the expectations

Wanting to be who they want you to be,

But slowly

Without you even noticing,

They are no longer the ones who want you to be one way or another

It's you.

It’s you

It’s you

You want to be perfect

Because you are used to it

Because without it,

You feel unworthy.

You did everything you could as a child.

Everyone noticed,

You noticed

But now life isn’t so simple,

No longer can you get all A’s,

No longer can you stick the dismount,

No longer do they say “You’re so perfect”

What they don’t realize is by stopping their expectations for you

They are only fueling your own expectations.

You want it back,

You want to hear that you are enough.

But even when your mother tells you everyday that

You are enough,

Even when your Dad tells you everyday that

He is proud of you

You yearn for more

You’ve fallen into the rabbit hole

Surrounded only by your misguided insecurities

And your evil expectations,

You feel alone.

They don’t understand you anymore,

You know in your heart that you’ll feel better if

You just fix yourself and everything you do wrong

You pick up some new habits,

You twirl your hair,

You bite your nails,

You can’t sit still

Your mind is on the run

You never sleep,

Each night your mind brings back every single mistake

Every single word you’ve said

Soon you are filled with regret

For everything you said

For everything you’ve ever done

You cry yourself to sleep every night,

But your dreams are no escape,

You dream of everything that could happen

You dream of deaths

You wake up in tears.

A cycle of tears.

A cycle of pain.

A cycle for perfection.  

“The Hallowed Halls of High School” by Ella Wade

The bell rings. Everyday, it sounds at precisely the right moment. Looking on, you’d see a split second of calm. The halls silent, classroom doors shut. The emptiness seemed eerie. Suddenly, waves of students moved all at once, flooding the narrow hallway. I walked parallel to the wall, weaving in and out of crowds to avoid bumping into others. There are certain days that the crowds are worse than usual.

This was one of those days. Crammed together, movement was futile, only serving to antagonize the rest of the students. I stood, surveying the chaos, shifting in between small gaps, arms pressed up against my sides. I had made it about halfway to the staircase when the shoving began; everyone pushed whoever they could in an attempt to clear a path. Raised voices, frustration, and the scent of sweat combined to create a sense of urgency, as the late bell rung. I made incremental steps in the direction of my class, though I felt consumed by claustrophobia, pressed against others on every side. I was apprehensive about being late, though I’m not sure why. It wasn’t like I would be in trouble, or I would miss anything. I silently moved amongst the crowd, taking in the noisy scene that was in disarray. I didn’t push, nor did I add my own shouts into the mix. That’s what I do. I only watch, never becoming involved unless I must. I prefer to observe on the outskirts rather than participate in the middle of things. I avoid conflict like the plague, fearing confrontation of any kind.

My reaction to the hallway jam was not unlike my typical reactions in life. Whereas most responded with anger, verbally letting out their frustration, I remained passive. I like to believe this is because I am a kind and easygoing person. However, I think that in reality, it is because I give up too easily. In an argument, I am far more likely to back down than to continue the fight. If someone was angry with me I would do everything I possibly could to reconcile. In the hall I make myself as small as I can, shrinking, rather than making my own way. My actions could be compared to such attributes only pushovers or people-pleasers possess. Instead of standing up for myself, I just step aside. Reflecting on experiences such as this has made me realize that it’s time to change. I need to toughen up and defend my beliefs instead of placating those around me. Now, shoving my way through a crowd may not be the best place to start, but I can use this experience to learn and grow in the future.  

"The Fall" by Alex Lasagna

After escaping my prison, I enter through the gates of the cemetery, recalling how my friends had told me to hold my breath when passing through a graveyard, to protect myself from inhaling ghosts or evil spirits. Ridiculous. They’re just dead people underground, without any way to view them. My dulled sensitivity to death and corpses can be attributed to the many TV shows. Out of sight, out of mind. A field of small stones and rocks, nothing more.

The dry concrete road led my shortcut to home. Strolling under a tall oak, kicking seeds out of my way, I enjoyed the solitude of my music. Looking around and deciding no one could hear me, I belt out a few verses to the graves. The names on the headstones flashed through my mind: Dey, Grimes, Jones. I paid them no attention as I rounded the final turn and exited the graveyard.

Leaves pile high on the sidewalk, trapped between cars and a faded yellow wall. People rush to get to where they’re going, disturbing life in their wake. Dying vines curl their way through the cracks, desperately clinging to their roots as the harsh wind huffs and puffs them down. My suede coyote moccasins tread lightly atop the clumps of damp, dead petals.

Once the leaves were magnificent. Following an intense, laborious season, these farmers harvested their sunlight, rushing the energy to feed their king. Day-after-day, without fail, loyalty coursed through the tree like a boiling blood. And when their service was fulfilled, they were repaid with exile. They burned the skies with their explosive infernos. A final fury of their life. A message that they were alive, if only for a season.

Steps became shuffles, disturbing the fallen farmers. A wind awoke, lifting them from their slumber, swirling them through the brisk autumn air. Hands in pockets, I craned my neck to the sky to view the revolution unfolding. A hurricane of leaves swept through the air with a newfound life breathed into their souls. They took to the skies to take back what was rightfully theirs. And for a moment, their dirty shells were shed, and they were their glorious golden selves again. Glints of amber sparkled within them as they flurried around me.

Scurrying across the cement like rats, the leaves clawed at my jeans and clung to my shoes. My wonderment quickly morphed into irritation as I was swarmed and scratched by the mobs of the fallen, like a cloud of bats. Shutting my eyes to protect from the onslaught of debris, I stumbled forward blindly for a moment. I emerged from the storm and brushed off my clothes, bending down to retie an undone shoelace. Straightening up, I turned around and watched the hurricane make it’s way through the sky, a dark cloud of death. I shook my head, letting the leaves fall from my hair, and continued home.