"Unheard and Unknown" by G.F.

She sits alone at an abnormally large table for a single person, yet no one ever notices. Sometimes she sits in the bathroom during lunch just to hear other people socialize, craving conversation yet at a loss for words. Her voice is hoarse and shaky, quiet and unheard. From lack of use. She's the girl you see head down, clutching a binder, hiding in the mass of students as she quickly scurries to class. She's the girl who once in a while someone will ask her “are you new?” Yet they've been in her class since elementary school and were lab partners in middle school science, but she still answers yes to distract from the sadness. Her name is useless to others, her teachers even forget she exists. Everyone assumes she's smart, only because she's the simple quiet girl in class always doing work, but sadly her work is drawings of her at school dances and parties, places she'll never get to see. She loves to sing, go out to dinner, play sports, go to the mall, but what makes her so different? She's averagely pretty, long blonde hair, fair skin, green eyes. She used to be “popular” the “queen bee.” She was mean and judgmental, she was the one who used to ask “are you new?” Not once letting those around her become more than people less popular than her. As people got older, and mean became uncool, she went from the light in a dark room, to another dark figure lurking in the shadows. A year passes and she learns how to be social, yet nice. This girl is now blooming into a normal teen, finding friends. The kids walking with their face in books, she now says hi to in the hallway. The kids who sit alone at lunch, she invites over to her table. The girl who she has been in class with since elementary school, she remembers. This girl’s daily routine went from hidden and unknown to loud and happy. “She” is me.

"Racism" by Rose Gates

Life is not fair for everybody. From skin color to gender, someone always ends up getting hurt. Many people tend to harm themselves due to the words that are used upon them. Racism has been a major issue since history was recorded. Whether someone is female or male, people always have some negative insult to make against them.

Twitter is the only reason why I am still pulling through this year. Usually, the tweets the are made on twitter are mostly humorous and are intended to send a message, but recently that has not been happening. Over the past few months, people on twitter have made racial slurs and comments towards certain races. African-American women and men have been the main target. After the whole election, the media has been chaotic. 

The tweets that are made use the word such as the “N” word or they make fun of their face or the way their body is shaped. I haven’t been able to look through my timeline recently because of how disgusted I feel to be living in such disrespectful generation. Due to the racist comments that have

been made towards certain people, the victims have committed suicide, or have felt fear of showing their true self.

But not every person on twitter takes the racist comments and ignore them. As much as  hate racism, I have created a group to prevent it. It has not even been a month and racist comments have already been made towards my Latino group. Videos have been uploaded to express the hatred towards a certain race. For example, a girl from Old Dominion University uploaded a video of herself singing about African-Americans. In the video, she mentioned how she wishes the worst to these colored race people and their families.

Many people don’t understand what it is like to feel like an outcast or question why they were born a certain way. People should not make insults towards other races or genders. Recently, my friend made his sexuality public. With the whole Orlando shooting and the threats he receives everyday on social media, he has been emotionally harmed. It is obvious that if someone is getting bullied on social media and is harmed emotionally doesn’t mean they HAVE to erase their social media. Everyone has the right to express themselves without having to hide who they truly are. No one should be judging one’s ability, especially online. I have started a movement to end racism, but if it is still continuing now, it will continue in the future. It needs to end now.

"Moses of the Ant World" by Phosphorescent

I recall it being a humid summer morning. The afternoon was dedicated to cleaning the backyard before our relatives came for a get together. It felt like a middle-eastern fourth of July. My mom was prepping the marinated Tandoori chicken legs to be barbequed for the event, while my dad trimmed the lawn with the precision of a barber. It was essential that everything was prepared to the high Pakistani standards that are nationally set. The best way I could describe these standards would be to compare them to that one aunt everyone has; the one that spends all their time criticizing the choice of decor and highlighting mistakes instead of enjoying the event.

While my parents were drawn into this vacuum of chores, I decided to bag up the grass my dad had slashed through. As I picked up green strands, of what felt like silk, I saw a small hole in the ground. The hole was encompassed in a peak of sand. It was a dormant volcano waiting to erupt. I crouched down to examine the small mountain to see small, black grains of rice crawling back forth. I had stumbled upon an ant hill. The grass was their camouflage, their only method of remaining hidden from the naked eye. I analyzed the ants and what they were doing. What were these insects planning? They began to swarm, they had acknowledged that their disguise was blown. They frenzied around in fear. Fear was instilled within all of the ants; However, they all had different reactions; ranging from ants running away from their home, whilst others hid within the nest out of fear of their fate. However, there was an ant, larger and calmer than the others. Although it was larger than its peers, it was not a queen ant. It quickly collected the attention of the rest of the nest. The swarm had paused to recept, what seemed like, directions from the large ant. The population then aligned single file into a uniform line behind this elder ant. The ants left their home, as they all followed this general of an ant up and around our wooden fence. It was as if the Moses of the ant world had come to guide the ants to refuge.

I wondered in confusion, as to why this ant not instilled with fear. I then recalled a quote, unsure where from: “Everyone has fears, only some have the will to master it”(Unknown). This philosophy seemed to be the only logical conclusion. The ants too were afraid, however the leader of the ants had mastered his fear and didn’t allow his fears to control him. The general did what he needed to ensure that his colony survived and thrived. I solemnly watched as the ant hoard drifted farther and farther away. After witnessing the vital leadership that ended up saving the ants, I finished cleaning the grass up. I went back inside where I prepared for the guests to arrive.

"Mediocrity" by Autumn Ezra

The Costco Essay. Something that has haunted me since the moment my eyes first flew across the words on a pixelated computer screen. How could someone write with such grace and beauty about something so secular and trivial? After a discussion in class about how great the piece was, I removed myself. I was feeling and that meant that I needed to take some time and write alone. The coolness of the floor pressed against my legs through my leggings as I sat in the hallway. This feeling of frustration without any way to let it out was one that I had felt many times before, writer's block. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, fiddled with my earring, tucked my hair behind my ear each time it into my face, struggling to find out what to write. Feeling a warmth enter my cheeks I knew that my emotions, and by that I mean oceans, were about to flow.

The tears pooled in my lower eyelid and I felt one escape and roll down my cheeks, it almost sizzled as it journeyed from the bags under my eyes to the cliff of my jaw. Feelings of inadequacy made my heart swell, like it had just been in a fight and the black and blue marks were beginning to develop. My urge to compare myself to others was something that I could not ignore in that moment. The fact that others being good, just that simple fact, can destroy me. The fact that I let it. That sour taste in my mouth and the kind of catatonic look that develops on my face when someone praises another person. The thoughts in my mind running wild. These reactions are ones that I cannot control. So I remove myself. I find myself sitting outside of class, back pressed against the lockers and brown suede sandals stretched out in front of me, still not understanding why I am mediocre. Just that, nothing special. The worst feeling is this one.

Every time I write, it’s the same thing, a boring, typical piece, with 4 million comma splices and run on sentences, and tons of other errors. When I sit inside of the class I rack my brain questioning why I cannot write with the grace of which they effortlessly jot and type. Further, I wonder why I cannot scribble, in messy handwriting, amazing poetry with drawings in the margins. I sometimes feel like a creative outsider, like I am not creative enough. Why am I hopelessly boring using words like “extra” rather than “superfluous”? Even furthering my frustration, taking forever to even come up with an interesting word, like superfluous. I wish I was able to forget about other people, to throw away my urge to be like them or compare myself to them, but I can’t. Instead, I continue in a failing effort to be great in the eyes of others. But what is better? Being good in your own eyes or in the eyes of others? At this point I’m thinking that it’s better to love yourself. I don’t want to be like them. We come into this thing thinking that the acceptance of others will make us happy, but really it is only us who can control how happy we are. I am not boring, I’m the only one like me in this world. If this is true, why would I deny the world the gift of a uniquely me, me?

"Car Rides With Bonnie and Clyde" by Ella Wade

     I rushed outside. I heard the clattering of my keys as they hit my leg with each long stride I took. Beside me was my sister and my best friend, Kate, they too were walking with purpose as we stepped off the curb and into the chaos that is the after-school parking lot. We stayed close and were observant of our surroundings given the fact that we were walking through a lot full of inexperienced, impulsive student drivers. The day was chilly and we continued on as the strong wind pushed against us. The asphalt painted numbers ticked upward as we neared our parking spot. I pointed my keys in the direction of my car and pressed the unlock button twice. The familiar honk sounded that meant that both doors were unlocked, and we finally reached the car that was our escape from the wind. My sister paused at the trunk long enough to drop off her guitar before rushing to the passenger seat, and we all let out similar signs of relief as I turned on the hot air and we defrosted. Looking into my rearview mirror, I saw the line forming a blockade behind my car as parents and students alike tried to exit the parking lot. It was routine now that Kate would grab my phone from the center console and cue up our favorite playlist for driving to and from school. The nostalgic sounds of cheesy 2000s pop, old Just Dance and Rock Band songs bringing us back to the days when we were younger and we played the same songs on repeat.  The songs hitting our personal classics such as old Rihanna, Fergie, Lady Gaga, Adam Lambert, P!nk, Usher, Britney Spears, Katy Perry, and so on. We were stuck in our parking spot until we found a space large enough for the mammoth of a car we were in, and we wasted time until that moment by reciting each song’s lyrics at the top of our lungs. Duran Duran’s "Hungry Like The Wolf" was our theme music as I finally began to reverse the car and edge myself into the line. Snacks were distributed around the car as we chatted about how our days had been. The crazy retelling of stories from the day kept us entertained until the line of cars ahead of us started moving forward. This had been our daily routine since the beginning of the school year, and it made me feel nostalgic to rehear some of the music that reminded me of simpler times without the constant stress of a school. I don’t generally listen to most of the modern music from those genres now, but I love being able to reminisce about some of my favorite memories I’ve made with my sister and best friend while listening to the older pop hits that defined our combined childhood together. I always look forward to our car rides together and it can turn my bad mood around instantly. I will treasure those childhood memories and reflect on them as I go out and make new memories.

"Woods" by Joffrey

The cool air flows past

I certainly don’t want to finish last

Everywhere I look I see green

The only light are the beams in between

The squirrels scurry about

If you make a noise you will surely be a lout

The branches reach out to each other

The rain drains down the gutter

The trees rise like skyscrapers

Off in the distance I can hear the lawn mowers

I hate the feeling of being alone

It radiates down in my bones

I watch the black birds fly by

And see them loop up in the sky

Sometimes I feel mad at life

Nobody knows my strife

I know how I can make it right

But I just can’t seem to find the light

The pavement wants to go on forever

But in the woods it finally severs

The shadows on the ground play tricks

The sun above takes its licks

I never want to leave this place

I love the leaves and all their grace

The petals float like kites

The thorns flex their ferocious bite

You never know what you get

Nothing in life is a let

The chipmunks run by fuzzy and cute

The mourning dove blows his lute

I have to get to my car

The woods recoil from the tar

Tree bark is terribly rough

It helps to make them extra tough

I see the creek move and cut

The animals all crawl back into their huts

I feel frozen and warm at the same time

I pray that I never go blind

If I do I couldn’t bask in the glory

I would miss out on the world’s story

The trees all stare at me

I don’t want to go can’t you see

I will return at a later date

I won’t make it at this rate

You always want me to stay and play

But nevermore this day

I have to being going now

This is the time for my final bow

The cool air flows past

I certainly don’t want to finish last

"The Golden Plastic Watch" by Iris & Anton

When I was just a little girl, the biggest treat I could get was when my dad would take me to McDonalds. We would go maybe once a month, just a daddy-daughter lunch. It was such a special occasion because my father often worked late hours or went away on business trips for weeks on end. Whenever we went to McDonald’s together, it would give me the much overdue opportunity to tousle his hair, teach him all the games that I had learned at school, and, best of all, I could marvel over the golden wristwatch that he would wear. When at McDonald’s, I would always joyously yell “Happy Meal!” when asked what I wanted to order, and I would always rush to look inside of the small red box when my number was called. Why was this so exciting to me, you may ask? It was because there was honestly nothing more exciting than the magical toys that I would receive in my happy meal. Even if they were just cheap, plastic toys, it felt as if Santa had come early. After all, what child would turn down a chance to play and imagine, no matter how cheap?

On one of these rare McDonalds lunch days, my dad and I went into the fast food restaurant. It still smelled like fried grease and sweetened tea, but the atmosphere felt different than it usually did. I pulled my dad’s hand up to the line, excitedly scanning the menu, although I already knew what I wanted. As usual, I jumped up and down with excitement as we got closer to the front of the line. The smell of freshly fried French fries wafted into my nose and I sniffed contently. Finally, it was our turn to order. Before the cashier could even finish asking me what I wanted, I yelled, “Happy Meal!” The cashier’s surprised face was replaced with a sweet smile as she confirmed my order. I ran upstairs to find a seat as my dad placed his order. After what felt like hours but was actually just a few minutes, my dad joined me at the table I had picked out, happy meal in hand. I immediately jumped out of my seat to grab it out of his hand and look inside. I dug through the fries until I found what I had received: a very special toy. In fact, it was more than just a toy. It was something a grown up would use. It was a small, golden, plastic watch; and not just any watch - the design almost perfectly matched my dad’s watch! I was so excited to own such a thing that I put in on right away and held my hand up next to my dad’s.

“Hey, look!” My dad said, smiling, “We match!”

I smiled back. We did match. Now, whenever he worked late, traveled to Georgia, or simply didn’t have enough time to talk, I could simply look down at my wrist and remember that he was still always with me.

"The Breakup" by Layla Henry

“Can we talk?”

The three words everybody knows the meaning behind.

The end, the finale, the breakup.

You expected it would happen, but not this soon.

It crept up on you, like a monster in the night, shocking you to the core.

You thought you had more time, until he slipped through your fingers.

Was there more you could have done?

Was he lying to you?

Was it all your fault?

These questions swirl through your mind like a hurricane.

He wants to be friends.

You blindly accept, grasping for a last attempt to have him in your life.

It’s harder than you thought.

You know it’s what’s best for him.

You try and remember that it’s what’s best for you too.

It’s harder than you thought.

One moment everything is fine, the next you’re crying into your pillow.

Why can’t you just get over it?

It’s simply not that easy.

You try to keep your mind and your schedule full, but the thoughts, the questions, always manage to squeeze their way back in.

Your friends try and tell you there was nothing you could have done.

You know they’re right, but it’s so much easier to blame yourself.

Was it a sacrifice you could have made?

Was he worth it?

Say yes, and you loved him too much.

Say no, and you didn’t love him enough.

Did love even have anything to do with it?

Love can’t make time, no matter how much you want it to.

You deserve time.

So maybe a chapter is ending.

Or maybe a new one is just beginning.

February 2017 Statistics Report