It was a race against time. Five minutes to get dressed, another five to brush my teeth, and I had to be out the door with a mask while it was still dark to rendezvous at the lit lamppost at the end of my street. Cool air brushed past my ears, contrasting with the heated excitement I felt pedalling as fast as I could to meet up with the other surveyors. Rosy streaks began to creep into the horizon as we met at the intersection, signaling the symphony within the skies about to begin.
We’d discovered the mass of land while venturing to new neighborhoods earlier in the summer. As a product of a bulldozer clearing land for a new cul de sac, the hill was freshly formed and the perfect feeding grounds for weeds. It rained the night before, and the loosely packed soil at the base had turned into thick sludge -- a landmine for my new shoes but a reason to dance past the puddles. The pollen-tinted, overgrown grass brushed past my calves, triggering red welts back up to the surface of angry, irritated skin. Every time I made the trek amongst the vegetation, my calves cried with inflammation, and with each step the rational side of my mind couldn’t help but wonder why I tortured myself so. But one glance at the view from the top was enough to make up for the discomfort and the hives weren’t itchy anymore.
The landscape itself could not be described as majestic. Common amongst any suburb, perhaps. Certainly not breathtaking to an outsider. A partially constructed house and the family of trees growing behind that littered the sky blocked half of the sunrise. But to my mind, the mountains of China or beaches of Aruba I’d visited in summers of the past couldn’t compare to the scene I had in front of me. It was not some overcrowded tourist attraction shared by thousands each year, but a moment locked in time experienced by just myself and a few friends. No one else was able to survey the clouds from the perspective we had on The Hill that morning.
Spontaneity, perhaps, is the closest word that encapsulates what The Hill meant to me. It had been a strange summer. The rules of the world as I’d known them for my entire life had been turned upside down when the pandemic first swept across the nation in March. The schedules, the competitions, the school year, the appointments, the stores, the rigid supports to my organized and predictable life of a high schooler living in East Amherst came crashing down as the world went into lockdown. The Hill probably felt similarly, having literally had its roots excavated, its insides turned out by an unforgiving metal-machine to form its body. But within the mishmash of allergy inducing weeds and unkempt grasses, there were still beautiful wildflowers that emerged. And within the unexpected mess that came with a pandemic, I found myself with the time to impulsively explore and stumble across The Hill. To experience a sunrise unburdened by the guilt of procrastination, free of obligations, released from internship hunting, college researching or summer assignments. Ironic how it took a global pandemic and the summer before my last year of high school, the last year before I officially reached the age of adulthood, to feel as free as a little kid again. I tried to visit The Hill again recently. In its place stands someone’s future home, a house identical to its neighbors in the newly constructed cul de sac. Looking back nearly a year later (though still living through a pandemic), the fear, the uncertainty, the hours of Netflix binged and the unnerving question of when will it all be over isn’t what I remember about my summer under quarantine. It’s the brilliant splatters of orange and red across the blue canvas atop of The Hill, the uninhibited feelings of excitement then triumph to have discovered such a view, the notion that there’s a whole world to navigate and hold within my hands.
!!INCOMING!! By Leslie Nguyen
No place like home.
Home is a reflection of the mind and heart. It is what most people consider their safest space. So, naturally, Sansa lives in a space that is wide with lots of open space. No narrow hallways, no suffocating atmosphere for her to live in. When she had lived in a studio apartment before, she considered that to be one of her comfortable living spaces. The way she could easily traverse through the kitchen to meet her open bedroom is something that made her considerably happy. Extreme claustrophobia bleeds in each aspect of her life. Ranging from her emotions, relationships already suffocate her, to thin blankets that have no possibility of wrapping tightly around her, Sansa treads carefully with her nerves. So it makes sense that she, a woman with the inability to stay in tight rooms, lives in a home accustomed to her. It took a lot of work, changing the furniture up and breaking in some walls, to let her live without struggle. Photos are a key reminder of her life. She puts up pictures, pictures of anything that she enjoys. Pictures of herself, pictures of her friends, pictures of… Sansa startles, and makes a mental note to take down some pictures from the past.
And when Sansa knows the ins-and-outs of her home, a place she has made sure to keep safe as possible, that is when she starts to recognize odd patterns. Out-of-place things. When she hears a noise, she realizes something is deeply wrong. The noise is distant, but noticeable. Very noticeable. The noise of footsteps within her home. That is when she is chilled, her nerves clenching close. Sweat is prominent, an awkward nervous trait of hers, and she wipes at her forehead. The door knob of the entryway rattles, rattles harshly and loudly. The noise is not loud, but it rings in her ears.
She has reason to be paranoid. Extreme reasons, and when she looks back at it, she laughs at herself for not noticing any of the red flags. For not noticing how nihilistic she’s become when she stays.
Sansa laughs when she hears a door creak, she laughs when a familiar pair of Doc Martens peaks out of the door frame. She laughs when she hears a voice, deep and gruff, and memorable.
Ah, fuck… is her only thought when she moves gently away from her doorway. She moves back, slowly but surely, moves to the near corner of her living room where she keeps a careful eye on the door. Sansa has no doubt who it is that’s breaking into her house, and has no doubt that she is in prominent danger. That is why she reaches behind her subtly, because while backing into a corner is a stupid move, Sansa is sure to keep a weapon around. In her hand; a baseball bat, weighted and ready to injure. “This is how you visit me?” Sarcasm thickens her voice, and it is repaid with a half-assed laugh. “Yes, in-fact, it is. I thought you would know already, but you’re as stupid as you were before, Sansa.” The gruff voice replies, and when the door is propped open with a crowbar, a harsh crack of the wood follows the entry of Sansa’s intruder.
Ex-boyfriends are the worst, Sansa thinks bitterly.
“So, did you miss me?” he asks after a moment of nerve-ridden silence, and Sansa laughs. She laughs out of pure humor because this situation is just so awfully ridiculous and the question he asked was just so awfully ridiculous and it all was so awfully ridiculous. “No, Ryker, what did you expect me to say—” “That’s not my name.” Ryker intrudes, loudly with an almost inhuman growl, the door now swinging wide open as he pursues the living room slowly. “Ry.” Sansa corrects herself, and almost cringes internally at Ryker’s almost doting attachment to that nickname. Obsession is clear in his eyes, and it was before when Sansa had kissed his very lips. “That’s much better. Sansa, why are you so far away? You should come closer. I’m your Ry, aren’t I? Why are you so scared? I’m your boyfriend. Come here.”
She does not come to him. She stands, firmly and carefully when Ryker approaches.
“Come on, let’s talk it out. Just ignore the break-up ever happened, ‘Sa. We can go back to normal, we can ignore that all of this ever happened.” “You know that’s not possible, Ryker. You’re fucking mental for even thinking that. Do you even know what you’re doing? You’re breaking into my house like a fucking psycho, and don’t think I can’t see that shitty knife in your hand. You’re going to look so fucking cute in jail, aren’t you?”
Ryker laughs, it’s bitter and mocking, and he reveals a pair of handcuffs. The blunt metal of it shines, and Sansa’s nervousness clamps down on her. “Now, ‘Sa, don’t be so mean. You know I love you, just calm down and I won’t have to hurt you.” “Calm down, my ass, you’re a psycho breaking into my house! I should’ve fucking known when you hid all of our pets. You fucking killed them, you psycho! I put up with all your bullshit toxicity but that was the last straw!” Ryker’s patience thins at that moment, and he lunges once he’s close enough to Sansa. His hand is full of intent, the sharp tip aiming to kill. Sansa has been waiting for this moment. When he moves, she swings her arms and the metal bat lands squarely on the side of Ryker’s hand with a heavy clang. He tumbles, and blood pools where the impact was. Sansa takes this moment to run. She stumbles, a hard hand gripping at her ankle, and she screams. Sansa kicks, kicks hard without hesitation to free herself, and runs. She runs with the intent to survive, and Ryker follows quickly, burning a dark trail behind.
The Defense of Wilbert Harrison By 12 Bees in a Trenchcoat Smacking Against Typewriter Keys
Outside of HENRY NORTHHEAD’s manor thunder and lightning can be heard accompanying a heavy storm. It is currently 11 PM as everyone gathers in the library. The guests of the manor glance menacingly at WILBERT HARRISON as he paces around the room before taking a seat in a luxurious chair. WILBERT HARRISON: Tonight, a stranger enters your home and a friend exits this world. I don’t know who Mr. Mortmann was, but I certainly know who I am. A poor man all alone on the streets, with nothing but his misfortune left for company. A man fighting to stay alive in this cruel world of cruel people. A man who still looks up when around his neck it feels like Death himself will drag him down. And I don’t intend to submit to ridiculous claims of murder tonight. I have seen many things in my time at the bottom of the world you see, and my eyes have grown sharp. The death of Mr. Mortmann was no bad luck, I know that quite well. Let me tell you what a poor man sees in a rich man’s world… WILBERT HARRISON stands up and starts to pace around the room, recalling what happened. The eyes of the guests follow the man around the room. WILBERT HARRISON: He sees a crime that is oh so obvious when viewed from below, from a grounded perspective outside of ridiculous stories and dramatic settings. A dark and stormy October night means nothing to someone who’s been through many without a home. A body found sprawling in the confines of a mansion means nothing to someone who’s never even thought twice about being able to own one. And it’s from this bottom up point of view that all our murderer’s tricks are seen through. Mr. Mortman had left to use the bathroom during dinner and nobody had seen him since. But perhaps a better question to consider is who had seen his food last, perhaps making him go to the bathroom in the first place. Mr. Northhead did leave to the kitchen, claiming that he was checking on the food. From there, Mr. Mortman was found dead by myself and Mr. Northhead and the knife was found on my body, while we were “tidying up around the house”. You all may see Mr. Northhead as a careful and cautious man of the house, and yet I do believe he is most likely the murderer if I am not. WILBERT HARRISON glares at MR. NORTHHEAD. MR. NORTHHEAD just stays silent. WILBERT HARRISON: Yes, how curious indeed. It’s all just speculation for now, I agree. You are a man of trustworthy character, yes, but can anyone really be trusted at a time like this? You say so much about how I must’ve done it, but how about you? You were able to poison the food, leave, and kill the man. So what was stopping you? Your “character”? Your careful inspection of the food? And about that little slip the knife into someone else’s pocket trick you pulled, I’ve seen it a million times before! Amongst the pickpockets and thieves on the street! Truly, a careful look at everything is all it takes to uncover the lies of this night’s event. I was only ever allowed in Mr. Northhead’s pristine and beautiful home to be a prime suspect for this mystery -- the homicidal, bloodthirsty homeless man. I was set up as the easy to blame outsider for the crime. Get your heads out of the clouds and take a look at reality, like I’ve done for so long in the course of my miserable life. I may not be anyone fancy, but anyone can use their brains. I trust your brains are able to make the correct choice at least. Thank you, everyone. WILBERT HARRISON returns to his chair, the audience simply quiet in disbelief.
Lessons Found in the Predictable Cycles of Nature By Anna Lin
Sunset: A brilliant burst of colors shoots across the sky. The clouds soak the warm colors and sponge it across its canvas. It reflects in the water below. You think for a moment that you have seen liquid gold. The blue sky becomes a blushing pink. It begins to turn a lilac purple. The lampposts begin to turn on lining the street below you.
You open the window and take off the dust screen. For a second, you breathe in. You smell the late night barbeques and smoke of bonfires. It smells like the summer.
Your skin turns a golden hue before it begins to dissipate. Your eyes watch the little airplane that streaks across the sky. In time, it disappears. And in time, so does the sun.
You watch it dip lower and lower beneath the horizon and see it turn a bold red. The sky is a bright yet dark blue. The stars blink far away. The moon begins to light itself. I feel sadness.
Bye Sun. It’s time for you to rest.
Your mind lingers on the vibrant display of colors just thirty minutes ago. You blink and you see the night sky. Your eyes strain to see details with the dim light of the moon. The owl begins to coo, and the sprinklers begin to ricochet. It’s time to rest your eyes. You thank the sun for its brilliant display.
With wanting eyes, you watch the sun dip below the horizon, its display of light melting into the shadows of the night.
Sunrise: The alarm rings, but I am already awake. My eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding me. I look outside and still see the moon, accompanied by her stars. I get out and change quickly, shivering in the process. Why is it always so cold when you first wake up? With a bite of bread in my mouth, I rushed out to the garage. One hand slips through my hoodie, another adjusts the earbuds dangling off my phone. In a swift motion, my leg slips over the seat of the bike before I propel myself forward.
It is eerily silent when I first set off, but with time, I begin to hear the sounds of nature. The birds awake and the crickets chirp. Soon enough, I see the sun rear its great, round head.
I bike into the empty street and watch the course of the earth’s rotations take place. The sun, a bright red yolk, softens. The space around it turns colors. It looks like the sunset, but it is kinder. It greets you in the darkness. It leaves you in the light. The sun will always set, but you can have faith that it will rise again in the morning.
The Lime Beds By Emma Kelsall
The Lime Beds were owned by one of the nearby chemical factories, Brunner Mond. It was effectively empty land that they chose to dump the tons of industrial waste in and soon became so large that people began to mistake it for a cliff. The company bored great steel poles into the ground to keep the crumbly mound from collapsing and engulfing the entirety of Winnington Village.
The old railway ran alongside it, for when they used to transport raw materials to the factories, and manufactured items away. Trains became outdated and the company opted for lorries instead. Soon, the tracks became a part of the Lime Beds, their ghosts poking out of the lime like a splinter.
The best views in Northwich were from the very peak of the Lime Beds, on the farthest side. Overlooking fields of wheat, lush forests, and oxbow lakes, the scene presented itself like an idyllic little painting you might find hanging in your grandmother’s kitchen. I used to take my friends and some stolen beverages there on weekend nights. We just watched the sunset. And with the descent of that blinding orb and the fading of the sky from muted peach to enveloping darkness, our troubles from the past week were allayed.
They say nature has a way of coming back to you, and I have never believed it more for any other heap of inert industrial waste. After the site was filled, grass and trees and vegetation of all sorts began to push through. Wildflowers sprung from cracks in the lime, oaks littered the ground with golden leaves every fall, birds came to nest in what was now a vast canopy, snuggling with their young to watch the sunrise over the fields.. It became its own ecosystem, rabbits and birds, and drunken yobs in the evenings. But it was undeniably beautiful. Once more people found out about the Lime Beds, it became a popular dog-walking spot, so much so that I got to know a few of the people up there, matching dogs to faces to names. My old dog, Monty, used to love it up there, padding around and exploring like he was still a puppy. Sometimes, he’d sniff out a cinder block or a steel pipe, and I’d once again remember where I actually was.
Lessons From Grandma By Anonymous
How To Say Goodbye I left my grandma as she laid in her hospital bed, hooked up to countless wires and tubes. Her breathing was ragged and her cheeks were sunken in. I tried to remember what she used to look like, to breathe life back into her by imagining what she once was. But even when I closed my eyes, I could only see her as she was now.
“Love you,” I muttered to her as I walked through the door, unsure if she even heard me.
I went away for the weekend, staying at a friend’s summer house a few hours away. The air was crisp, a sharp contrast to the heavy smell of urine that hung in the air of my grandma’s hospital room. Laughing came much easier to me that weekend, free from all the pain and sorrow back at home. I faintly remember sitting around a dining room table with my friends and their parents, watching as my father stood up to take a call; he returned, shoulders tense and avoiding eye contact with me. I hadn’t thought much of it at the moment.
The weekend ended, and my father and I drove home. There was no warning. No one told me to cherish my blissful ignorance while I still had it.
We arrived home and I heard my mother’s voice as I walked through the door.
I have some bad news.
Sharing is Caring My family- parents and grandparents- sat around a table at a small Italian restaurant. Wooden lattices hung to the walls, string lights and fake grape vines covered the ceiling, and the sound of soft jazz filled the air. As we were picking at the last few bits of food, the waitress appeared and began collecting empty plates and dirtied silverware. I leaned forward and began tapping my feet on the ground, attempting to hide my impatience as I waited for her to ask the most important question.
“Would anyone like a dessert?”
I glanced over at my grandma as she nodded her head, ordering a hot fudge sundae and winking at me. I waited for what felt like hours, listening to the monotonous conversations surrounding me, until finally the sundae arrived. Diving into it, I spooned as much of it as I could into my mouth before I became too full, my grandma eyeing me closely the entire time.
With about half of the sundae gone, I stopped for a moment, contemplating if I should ignore the growing discomfort in my stomach and continue eating. My grandma must have noticed my hesitation, for she looked at me and raised an eyebrow, a slight smile spreading across her face. Giggling, I slid the bowl of ice cream across the table for her to finish.
Don’t Take Life Too Seriously My grandma cracked an egg, letting it fall onto the mound of flour she had dumped onto the counter. She poked the egg yolk with a fork, swirling it around to combine the two ingredients. An apron was hanging from my neck and dragging on the floor as I followed behind her like a miniature shadow. She began forming the dough into a ball, kneading it gently against the counter; I stood up on the balls of my feet, wobbling on the linoleum floor as I tried to keep my balance, wanting to get a closer look at what she was doing. Wrinkled hands speckled with dark spots continued to work the dough, sprinkling it with flour every so often to keep it from sticking. Eventually, she must have noticed me staring up at her with curious eyes, for she pulled up a stool and helped me climb onto it. The layer of flour that had accumulated on her apron rubbed off on me as I sat down and reached into the container, feeling the soft dust caress my fingers. My grandma knew what was coming next, taking a small step back to avoid the cloud of flour as I clapped my hands together; we erupted into a fit of laughter as the white dust fell onto her puffy grey hair. She too reached her hand into the bag, pulling it out to tap the tip of my nose, leaving a light dusting of flour upon it. We looked at each other with a shared mischievous grin, and by the time my grandpa arrived home, he would swear that there was more flour on us than there was in the noodles.
In the Eye of a Pandemic By R.B.
I have never been a fan of school. Waking up early some days even before the sun does and falling asleep in the middle of a lesson due to lack of sleep has never been something I have looked forward to. You could say I was intrigued when they shut down school for the end of the year. The only thing was, it was shut down due to a global pandemic. School life and my life outside of school became quite similar. Since no one had ever been alive during a global pandemic where shops, schools, and other places that were not necessary to be open during a pandemic were shut down, everyone was distraught to say the least, myself included. To be honest, school was the last thing I was worried about, which is rare. Most teachers didn’t have zoom classes, and if we did, it was only once a week to check in on how we were doing and discuss the materials we were supposed to be doing that week. It was all still surreal to me. Life couldn’t have changed anymore than it did. I was at home all the time. This didn’t bother me because I felt less stressed in the comfort of my home.
Before Covid-19, my school life was much different. My opinion on school hasn’t changed since the day I walked into my kindergarten class. I remember thinking where is the rest of the classroom? It’s not that the classroom was small or anything, I just had higher expectations. As kindergarten faded into middle school and middle school into high school, one thing always remained constant: stress. I have always worried about my grades, the people in my classes, pretty much everything about school. There has always been a stark difference between my personality at home versus at school. I never try to be two different people; I just can’t help it. All throughout my school career, I was known as the quiet kid. Once Covid had shut down, our school and everyone was forced to stay home. I knew school would go a lot smoother, at least in regards to my mental health.
Last year around mid March, it was announced that schools in my area would be closing indefinitely, including mine. I was more preoccupied by the pandemic, than registering what distance learning may mean for me. Everything became unprecedented: panic buying of toilet paper, the thousands of people dying from COVID in America alone, and living through the fourth term of a president so vile who incites hate with every word he utters. When the virus first hit the U.S., nobody imagined that it would last a year and even now, there is still no end in sight. Perhaps if the U.S. had acted quickly and swiftly to lockdown the country, we wouldn’t be the leading nation in COVID cases. Instead the economy was put first like it often is, when in reality, quickly stamping the virus would have in turn helped the economy. It is hard not to talk about politics or current affairs in a time like this when social media helps spread news and information so quickly. Unfortunately, misinformation is also spread just as easily if not easier. Maybe when people of different generations, than my own, were my age, they didn’t pay as much attention to the news as we do now at the same age, but it seems wrong not to. Especially, when our future is affected so much by those in power now. That is why it is hard to ignore talking about politics when discussing how my life was affected by the pandemic.
Digressing, since last year, distance learning has changed two times over. To be honest, school ran the most smoothly for me when it first shut down. Everybody was forced to stay home, zoom was limited, and teachers were the most understanding and lenient. However, with the start of this school year, the superintendent was trying to please everyone, and keep schools open even when it didn’t seem wise to do so. Yet, there was still the choice of staying home for those who were rightfully worried. Because although we are young and our immune systems generally stronger, we are not invincible. Moreover, we also go home to family members who may be immuno-compromised or even just older, therefore it never made sense to me that schools were allowed to reopen. Either way, learning changed from when schools first closed. Teachers and staff tried to make in-school and at-home learning work simultaneously. It proved to be problematic until the new superintendent decided to shut down schools completely, once more, until its recent reopening in December since October. Teachers finally got in the groove of things, and zoom was on for the kids at home, displaying our faces on the smartboard while the kids who decided to go into school sitting at their desks, masks on.
With the increase of zoom being used, I realized that I had a new anxiety I didn’t think was possible. I wished distance learning never progressed and stayed the same it had been at the start of the pandemic. Showing my face on camera was somehow different and more stressful than showing my face in person like I had been for the past eleven years. And at the mention of “breakout rooms,” my heart begins to pound, my anxiety raising even higher. Nevertheless, being at home beats going into school during this never ending outbreak. I don’t have to get up way earlier like I used to, in order to wait outside in Buffalo winters for the bus that felt like it would never come. When something I find embarrassing happens to me, I no longer have to wait six hours of a school day to vent to my sisters or my mom, I just wait until the period is over and turn my head to my younger sister and laugh it off. Although, my kitty sometimes walks over my keyboard, begging me to pay attention to him; or my dog barking at the door, begging to be taken outside; or even my siblings walking past my camera, I rather be sitting in my kitchen next to my sister who would otherwise be in a different building altogether, than be roaming the halls of our walless school.
I have been overwhelmingly lucky during these times, and I hope to continue to be so. So many other Americans have been subjected to hate crimes, let alone a deadly virus. With the vaccine finally here, a new president, and the senate flipping, hopefully we will see real systemic change for the better.