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A Literary
Art Magazine
The 42 Edition

The Wheatley School

11 Bacon Road
Old Westbury, New York 11568
Phone: 516-333-7789
Fax: 516-333-7458

Editors Note

For 43 years, Vintage, The Wheatley Schools literary

magazine, has showcased the work of student artists and
writers. Despite Wheatleys small size, flipping through these
pages you will discover that there is no shortage of talent. We
champion and collect a variety of submissions. In this years
publication, a common theme of awareness and insight
manifests through a range of artistic expression. Although
several themes persist throughout the magazine, each piece is
decorated with its own, unique, observant, and artistic outlook,
allowing readers entrance into Wheatley beyond it halls and
The Vintage staff embodies the Wheatley persona and
strives to re-create it in printed form. We applaud, even
encourage artistic experimentation and free expression. Vintage
staff edits each piece of writing submitted, in a systematic
method. We understand how valuable and vulnerable writing
can be, so we maintain only positive and inquisitive regards with
suggestion. The staff designs the layout of the magazine and
conducts all of the behind-the-scenes business tasks necessary
to print and distribute the magazine.
This years Vintage will have the first audio CD to promote
our schools growing musical interests. Keep an open eye for
unusual and captivating short stories, penetrating prose poetry,
and thoughtful art. Our magazine features an original
screenplay, clever satires, and multi-medium artwork. This
Vintage edition has the capacity to move, to awe, to inspire, and
to question. We hope that you enjoy experiencing Vintage as
much as we enjoyed creating it!


I feel like Alice looking through a glass ceiling

My heart is racing and I can't stop the feeling
The people look at me through !closed eyes
It's an impending sense of total demise
They don't bother to ask where I'm from
No one cares about what I've done
All they see is the scarlet letter on my back
A brand that displays my alternate path
They don't bother to understand, and neither do I
I look at the world through contrasting eyes
I pay it no mind and keep on walking
All I need is to get where I'm going
I need to keep walking, no place for me here
Maybe ill find it in a day...a month...a year
Jaclyn Mellone

Do I matter anymore
You say you hate the
You say you hate being
Why do you do this to me
I was there through all the
Yet now you don't want me
- Felice Bombart


Lauren Miceli

Peeking Into the Abyss

Shannon Murphy

!Legos lied like leafs painted against and entanglement of fuzzy
white carpet and smiling school books as a protruding red brick
uncomfortably found refuge in my foot, not that I minded. The
three thirty stage was set shrouding the playroom in
imagination.I pulled the buttons off my obedient mood and
dropped it unfolded on the floor, replacing it with a cooler,
more fitting playful one.I was the creator and I was ready to
create. Each little brick assembled himself into obedient
formation,dictating the pressure of hammering palms like my
attempted class dictation of inks cryptic brushstrokes earlier
that day. An active mind and swinging, wiggling toes created an
expressive signature of multicolored walls, collectively a suitable
home for an adventurous lego man and his rakish companions.
!!!!I continued my build with another lego apartment
conveniently placed atop the green roof s symmetrical bumps,
letting the word lego stretch behind my teeth to the training
wheeled hordes on the streets outside. It was perfect, or at least
almost because, although my aim was a city, I faced a constant
battle with the lego tin budget committee. After several violent
shakes and even the twists of my extended arm, I was forced
into a repeated realization that the deepest pits of the tin were
simply not in my jurisdiction; I was forced to downsize.
!!!!The walls of my next, smaller apartment built themselves as
I thought of a viable name for the complex, or estates, or
gardens, or hotel: mansion. Brick after tiny brick was squeezed
childishly into art and story after tiny backstory flew like rogue

bullets onto a pile of dormant lego men, giving them life even
with the lost arms or backwards heads.Once each box
apartment was shaped, I stood over my domain to donate
several awe filled peeks at the creation. Finally when all that was
left was fitting each finished box together, I rushed downstairs
for apple juice and the sun set on stage; lego men subduing their
children into premature bedtimes, only to be waken up minutes
later. Allowing my citadel naptime, until dad would come home
and aid the mansions construction with complements.
!!!!When I went back to the playroom I noticed the street
outside turn a heated red in competition with a yellow school
bus, a daily occurrence that lulled my creativity. Ella got off and
danced her way across the street, parting the buss exhaust as if
swatting a horse fly. At the door she was greeted by her mirror,
her younger sister, but my twin. I could hear Ella below kiss the
ground with her feet and then scornfully reject it for another
step.The playroom was at jeopardy, again. Lego men, lego boys
and bricks, took emergency shelter as they were stuffed like
bubble gum into a slew of colors under the tongue of the
couch. !The lego men prayed the pair of giggling steps would
not get louder, but I however, was not so optimistic and within
the next seconds, I knew the door would fling open. I was right.
!!!Ella and twin came down the hallway and into the playroom
grappling evenly for the bottom hand on their prized cd,
Cinderella. Like everyday, the sisters would cling to their
possessions in a mutual awe. Like everyday, the sisters would sit
relaxed, mindlessly on the couch. Like everyday, the sisters eyes
would form bonds with the semi-static tv screen. But this day,
however, I could not bare to cede the lives of my precious lego

men to cinderella: no more. Ella popped the cd into the player,

ignoring my presence. Suddenly, in an act of immediate
defiance, I sprung from the rooms corner shouting legos,
sharply, like an angered construction manager warding off his
daring teenage, ballroom dress and slipper wielding trespassers. I
was proud, even fearful of my angry tone, yet unscathed Ella
stomped Cinderella in defiance, allowing cinder a small hiss
through the space between her adult teeth, but granting ella a
full, powerful !circle around her jaw. The sisters cries of
Cinderella sat cross legged in my eardrums and gradually my
stance was broken. With a silent ease, Ella got up and pressed
play manually. On her way back however, a red brick regretfully
lodged itself between her toes and in an histrionic fit, mom
came upstairs and discovered the mess of legos under the
couch. I was forced to sweep up my legos as the women of the
house watched cinderella, and the sun set on stage.
Michael Lituchy


Andrew Zuckerman

Smokey The Cat

A Doggy Dog World

I have fur but I am so cold. I want hands stroking me. I want
their body heat and friction make me warm. The glass between
us makes me bang and want you to take me out. I try and escape
but find that the structure of this box is strong. I exert my nose
into the air holes to get out.
I am so cold but I have fur. I need hands stroking me. I need
their body heat and friction make me warm.
But in the end it is hopeless everyone leaves. I lay down in front
of my food ball. I see a small hand on the glass on my prison.
It's a doggy dog world. How can one sweet white dog with big
flappy ears survive?
- Hannah Mittman


On the walls of this town

- Arghavan Zolfaghari

There are memories of you!

In the Darkness of this street, don't leave me
Self Portrait

Zach Wolff


Living in the Dust Bowl

Blackness. Dust is creepin through the tiny spaces in
our make shift house and I cant
see two feet in front of me. My legs as dust comes
into contact with my overworked legs, I
feel a sting and a burn all the way around. My brother
and sister are busy sittin on the chair,
playing hand games. So little, I think to myself. And as
Im sitting here, thinkin, I see my
mother to my right, fixin the kerosene light, barely
makin itself present in this never-ending
blackness enclosing around us. Its 12:00pm, a time in
which the sun should be shinin and as a
thirteen-year-old girl, I should be able to enjoy the
outdoor air. But this picture I paint in my
mind has never become a reality ever since the dust has
taken over. And as my mother is
keepin herself busy I recognize the stern look of
agitation and wrath across my fathers aging
face. These last few years have changed him, and not in
a good way. One by one families
around us have been packin their possessions. Were
goin out to California, they say. There
ought to be jobs out there. Why, they need folks for
pickin fruits and mowin the fields. These
handbills sure say so, they add with the look of hope in
their eyes and their voice. I want to
believe them, I really do. Every week we hear about the
fightin and the burnin of these camps

in which people settle, and in those moments I just cant

believe them folks.
This storm has been here for 20 hours. The twentyseventh storm of the season and
its only January. Father has been meetin with them
other farmers in the area, figurin out
what they gonna do come the next season. And each
meetin, father says a farmer decides to
pack up, leave, and try to make it new. Why we stayin?
I have asked my father multiple
times. Next year, next year the rain will be a-comin.
Next year we will have some crop to
eat, to sell. Some money will be flowin in and just
before you know it, we will be able to buy
a bigger house, father would answer. I believed him for
a while. Every year I would get my
hopes up, get excited for that new house. Maybe I will
have my own room. Maybe we would
have some runnin water. Maybe I could have my own
bathroom. And as I would add these
features onto my imaginary house, I begin to realize that
nothings goin to be a-changin.
This year, there will be no new features to my house in
my mind.
Its about 4:00pm now, or so we think, and the dust
seems to be lettin up for a little
while. But the silence of the storm hasnt left. Little light
is peekin through the boarded off
windows and we begin to see the first glimpse of the
aftermath of this dust storm. Father is

the first to venture out into the fields. Give him a

second, Ma told us. Just let him be with
his land out there. And one by one as we join him
outside, we each sigh with desperation
and hopelessness. Another storm, more dust, and
another ruined crop. The dust is piled up
to where I can barely even see the house nearby. They
too have dust covering their
windows. The tumbleweeds have piled against the
fences, makin the fence seem to
disappear. And I turn to my father, who has taken a seat
on the almost deteriorating porch
next to the house, his face in his big, callused hands
from working in the fields. Shaking his
head, he turns and walks into the house. My mother just
stands there observin the field,
what was left. With anger written across her face, she
too turns into the house to follow my
father. And as my little brother and sister follow my
parents, not completely aware of the
storms effects, I just stand there. Perplexed. What did
we ever do to deserve this? No
One day has passed. Only one day has brought so much
distraught and emptiness.
And to think this could go on for years. So as I walk into
the house followin my family,
shuttin the door, I prepare myself for what the next day
can hold for me, or at least I can try.
Madison DAmbrosio


Forever More
The yellow light gleaming down upon me
Is it a sign?
My skin shivering with the feel of the first touch of blue
Why does my body react this way?
I see the red through his somewhat translucent skin pulsing
through his veins
Is there such a thing as immortality?
Questions bundling up inside, filling my clueless and tranquil
Why is it that I ask why or any question?
Why is it that I am so curious about questions that the answers
contain to still be
unknown and will be forever more?
- Jillian Baker


Zach Wolff

Golden Gate Bridge


Andrew Zuckerman



Don't be secluded and don't say to your heart

"Everything is cold and cold"
"everything is bitter and bitter"
"everything is painful,troublesome and full of tear for me"
Nothing is like me no not like me
It is raining the bitter memories
It is raining step by step with me
You also walk with me step by step
I won't say less about my life
I comlain all the way will go up to the end
All the the time I was watching
It's a pity to die
Life is a constraint
Untill I die,become alive again and have strength
Until I die and !a drop of tear
Will fall down from the God's sky on my head
But agin evening is here
Ah my face and a smile on my lips
Do you knw the meaning of a bitter smile?
Your turn also will come and you can't escape
The mirror of the nature of the world
All will go along the wind
From the memories
When everything is over they'll know where

You also clap Walk in the street

That's it
A glance at the sky and aglance at at the earth!
Look forward and see the end too
All !those whoseveils are in their hands and
Those whose !the pockets are closed
And even the lovers
All are lost
I know that everybody in here
Is busy and tired of friends
So this world also can be heaven
If they let you
And you don't bother too
If you become just like me
- Arghavan Zolfaghari


Jillian Baker
Dearest Nicole,

Februrary 9, 3028

I just recently learned the news that our brother, Jerry, was
taken by the government and placed into a secret facility
because of his doltish decisions. It is probably just a matter of
time that the government will make him talk, and soon we will
no longer be secure. We need to flee to Africa and bring its
technology back to the United States. Our people need to
realize that the rumors they have been hearing about ipods,
televisions, cell phones, factories, and laptops are all true. When
they realize that our government has been lying to them all these
years, they will stand with us. If it our plan fails, then we can
only hope that one day our sons and daughters will carry out
our mision.
A cargo ship comes from Africa about every other month
to give supplies to the government. Its silly how the
government has technology and we dont. Everything is so
currupt and that is why we need to turn back the clock. In the
middle of the night, we will sneak onto the cargo ship. When
we arrive in Africa, we will follow the map that our father had
left for us before he was killed by the government. The map
will lead us to his partner, whose name is still unknown. From
there, he, or she, will give us equipment, such as computers,
ipods, cell phones, ect. We will then take a ship back to the
United States and show our people proof. Afterwards, I
promise that I will do everyhting in my power to bring out
brother back to us safely.


I know that we are doing the right thing. I have faith that
our plan will work and that we will avenge our fathers death.
We will be known as heroes throughout the world, and when
our people say thank-you to us we will tell them not to thank
us, but to thank our father. Its silly how it was our fathers idea
in the first place to have this type of society. I wish that he
knew how corrupt the government system would become: birds
flying high in the sky, watching our every move like spys under
cover. The only difference is that spys are good, and the
government is far from good.
The acrid food the government serves to us to show their
superiority will be long over after our mission. I cant bare
eating any more fruits and vegtables, and uncooked meat. I
want a grill. They seem so lovely. It heats itself up just like that
I hear. I want my hunger to be slaked and conciliated. Also, I
want to read a book on an ipad; it is so hard to find the exact
book you are looking for in a huge library. Our environment
has been regenerated over the last 200 years, so why hasnt the
government released us from their chains? Temperatures have
been back to normal so there is no more global warming. So
why is the govenrment so petrified about returning to the way
things used to be?
We will meet at our usual place in two days at 3:00 pm
sharp. Get ready to bring back technology and society. Come
prepared for any surprises and conflicts that may come our way.
I cant tolerate this terrible feeling anymore, knowing that there
is a television somewhere in the world calling out my name.
Sincerely, Jillian


Nancy Zang



What is
What is, What was,
What Wont, What Will,
What added fun,
Could life, fulfill?
The past has gone,
Although not lost,
And hope comes with,
But at what cost?
Today is such,
The life we hold,
Was once to come,
And soon will old.
The future lies,
Where dreams are made,
And death will come,
A debt soon paid,
Although not clear,
Although undone,
Life unravels,
One by one.
The present, Future,
Past lay still,
What is, What was,
What wont, What will
Mohammad Khanzada


Im ready.
I dont want to do it anymore. The chemo, the hospital
trips, the cancer perks. I dont want to do any of it anymore. Im
tired of being a fighter, I want to be at peace for once. This has
been going on for thirteen years. Thirteen very, very long years.
My body is tired.
Ive never been a normal kid, or a normal teenager. So Ive
never been treated like one either. It sucks, let me tell you that.
People act like theyre walking on eggshells around me. Its not
worth it, really.
Im in my room, my laptop open, music playing softly
through its speakers. A steady flow of oxygen comes through a
clear tube thats connected to my nostrils. Dry tears drip from
the tip of my nose onto the tube and follow it down the oxygen
tank. Im not worried about myself, Im worried about the
people I know and love. This is going to hurt them, and itll
make me look selfish. Maybe I am selfish for wanting to die, but
I cant help it.
My boney fingers grip my iPhone; Im dialing my best
friends number.
Hey, Jonah I sigh, I just wanted to let you know I
love you.
Whats wrong? Do you need me to take you to the
No, I answer, Definitely not. I just need you to know
that I love you. You stuck by me when I went through whatever.
Im sure it wasnt easy for you.

Emma, what are you doing? I mean, I love you too but
whats wrong? Where is your family?
Theyre not home, but it doesnt matter. Im okay.
Im coming over, He says. Keys are jingling in the
Dont. You dont need to come rescue me, Jonah, Im
ready for this. I have been for a long time.
A car engine revs behind his voice, Talk to me, tell me
whats on your mind.
I sigh. It isnt that I dont want him with me I just hate it
when he shrinks me. Jonah is nothing of a shrink. Honestly?
Honestly, Jonah, I just want to be done. This life it isnt a real
one. Im not living; Im barely breathing. And Im tired. I am so
fucking tired. I cant even sleep anymore. Thirteen years of the
same thing gets exhausting, physically and emotionally. I want to
be normal. But, of course, that will never happen. Not for me,
not ever. If I live to be twenty, Ill still need help getting around.
Im fragile and I hate it. I will never be able to go out with
friends. I will never get to do normal teenage things. Maybe
Im only thinking of myself, but isnt that what everyone is
supposed to do? Think of themselves first. My parents can
never do that. Neither can my siblings. All of that, all of it, is
my fault.
Shh... Jonah pauses. A car door slams. Shortly after that,
the front door opens. My parents gave him a key for
My door is shut and locked. Jonah, I dont want you here.
If I die, I can make it look like it was my cancer. Just go,


Im not leaving you; even if that means waiting outside

your door all night. Please, just talk to me.
I already did talk to you! My breaths are shortening and
thinning like a pen running out of ink. I told you everything!
Its not like I want people to feel sorry for me. Not at all. I just
want to be done. Okay?
But youve been doing so well. Youre winning the battle
against cancer! And, Emma, youre only seventeen.
Maybe for now! I shout, opening the door. How quickly
can that change? Id rather end my own life then let cancer do it
for me. !Whoever thinks of having to make this type of
decision? Im a minority in the world of cancer. You still dont
get it, do you?
No I understand, Emma. But
But, I roll my eyes.
Im not letting my best friend die, Jonah says. His eyes
leave mine for a second, looking for something to say.
What? !
I love you, Emma.
I take in a deep breath. Only one thing comes to mind to
say, No, you dont.
Yes, I do.
No, youre just saying that.
Why wont you believe me? I really am in love with you!
Because, Jonah, I dont want you to be. I dont want to
hurt you. I dont want you to have any worse pain when I die.
Youre not dying now. Emma, death is not a way to get
out of things! I will help you get through this, I promise you.
Im not letting you do this to yourself. You dont love

I love you and thats not something bad! He says.

Quickly, but gently, he grabs my face and kisses me.
And I kiss him back.
We stay kissing for a while, and its kind of nice.
I pull away to see Jonah crying. His thumb grazes my
cheek, wiping away a dry, salty tear. I didnt know I was crying
either. !We both calm down. A smile forms on my face for him.
Then, finally, he leaves.
My throat burns after twenty minutes of my frustrated
screaming. I wish I could love Jonah how he loves me but I
cant. All that has happened to me makes it impossible.
I pull out an old notebook and search the drawer in my
bedside table for a pen.
Dear Jonah,
Hi. Well, a lot just happened. It changed a lot of things. Except for
one. Im sure you can guess what that is. Okay, I came here to talk to you.
This may turn into a long ramble, Im sorry if it does. I was never good
with organization.
You told me that you are in love with me. Thanks. Im not being a
sarcastic bastard when I say that, I mean it. Thank you for everything you
have done. Youve been a great friend. The best; through thick and thin.
Thank you for existing for me.
There is a problem, of course, Theres always one. I cant love you the
way you love me. I just cant. And I really dont want to hurt you. But with
the options given to me, I have to in one way or another. It kills me to write
this letter but !I have to. You probably wont understand, and you probably
hate me by now. Thats okay, I understand.


But do you remember that day in third grade when we went on that
field trip? The one where we went to the planetarium? !Yeah, that one.
Thats one of my favorite memories. Maybe you dont remember, but that
was the day you waiting for me to get up the stairs when all your friends
went ahead. Then you helped me wheel my oxygen tank. Thanks for that.
I dont really know what else to say. Youve been one of the most
important people in my life. And you deserve to know why Im about to do
what Im about to do. Even though Ive told you.
I dont want my parents or my siblings to have to worry about me.
Im a burden. Cancer is. And if you think about it, cancer is just trying to
live, too. Just like me. But its impossible for both of us to live, happily, at
the same time. Live Ive said, its hard for me to do any of the necessities
one needs to live. Im not living any type of life that anyone would want to
live. So yeah, thats part of it.
And the other part is, well, Im ready. Ive been ready.
So, this is it. You should know that no one could have changed my
mind. I love you, Jonah. Thank you for putting up with me and sticking by
me. I am so sorry.
Love always,
I rip out the three loose-leaf pages and fold a blank one
into an envelope. Jonah is written across the front of it. I
write another letter to my family. Its to let them know nothing
is their fault and theyre the best anyone could ask for. After
placing the similar envelope next to Jonahs, I then retreat to my
And now Im ready.
- Shannon Murphy

Samantha Siegler


Certainly You Know (At Least By Now)

I walk through the streets of North Dakota
Rays of peace and tranquility shielded through shades
Hands of praise reach out
They need someone new to answer their questions
But theres not a soul that could answer such an infinite question
Im not anybody to get all tied up about
or to look up to
The people need a new place
Everyones constantly wondering all these things
Things that I could never give a rational response to
I dont represent anything
I dont even represent myself
In fact, you all do
All you happy, normal people out there
With their bald wigs and false eyelashes
Those are the people who represent me
They know
My body is simply a place holder


Questioning a fact like that is useless when there could never,

ever be an answer
I crawl through time, i dont own a watch
Time is the most relevant and irrelevant man made thing there is
Anything man made cannot be taken too seriously
When all these people out there look at me
They see nothing but my eyes
But, man, they really are looking for something in here
As if i have some divine message to get across
I dont have anything important to say to you
All you outsiders will remain outsiders for as long as you stay
on the ground
Ive never seen a country like us that looks up to outsiders and
I pity all you people who expect anything from me
Or who think Im something
Any one who thinks for more than a second about what I say or
feel or think or write
Just like you, Im roaming down this old lonesome road
All you bald headed men and women dont belong here
Your time is up
Youre finished

Then again there are a select few who defy age

Who really are young at the age of 72 or 97
Some guy accused me of starting riots
I find that funny, I really do
That stuff over there has been going on for centuries
That sorta fake smile, cone of silence, everyone is special kinda
It has gotten even worse in the past decade or so
Those people just arent where its at
But I am
The thing about life is, youre gonna die
And so am I
And so is your brother and sister
And your parents
There isnt anything worth getting upset about
There isnt anything you can do to change this fact thats set in
It doesnt matter what you leave behind
But what you do when youre alive
History is gonna be written either way


Thats one of those funny words

History and the past are two different things
History has been re-written thousands of times
I dont trust anything written down
I dont really trust anything to tell you the truth
Anything I dont remember, didnt happen
(Lucky for me)
Now before your eyes go blind from reading this long, old thing
I want to leave you with this.
By Rob Bruder



! Single Tear

a single tear will fall from my face

from an eye that never cries a tear
that will only shed for you,
the tear will stain my face for as long as I shall live
I will have this single tear forever in my heart
where your soul will always stay
the way you can not.
- Rizel Gil

Ribs of Consuela - Maria Hincapie



Celeste Roldan



Isabella DIorio

Uzayr Arif

On a Street in London
On a street in London,
there was a man,
playing his guitar.
He was poor.
I couldnt help but notice
his overgrown hair and beard
that needed to be shaved.
He began playing a song
slowly and softly,
not good,
but not bad.
He started to feel the music,
and that inspired me.
I am famous now,
all because of that man
on the street
in London.
I wonder if hes still there,
so I can thank him
and take him out of his shame


The Change
Now peace fills the air of black and white
Back then hatred of segregation was a fight
In the future hands of different people are held so tight
Now the crest of black and white are mixed to keep
Back then little boys and girls cried themselves to sleep
In the future they rest without a peep
Now we are a miscellaneous draw assorted and all
Back then there were gates raised so tall
In the future we will play and fall
Now Obama leads the country with grace
Back then sadden faces were caused by race
In the future to come there will be no trace
Of segregation
-Jade Marcus

Michael Lituchy


A Cure to Obesity
In the United States, temptation to eat unhealthy, even
grotesque, food is everywhere. You cant walk ten steps in urban
America without seeing a McDonalds, KFC, or any other fast
food chain. Because of this, many weak-willed Americans
cannot resist the scent of delicious non-kosher pig parts or lowquality cow organs as a possible meal. Fortunately, fast food
chains are really skilled at hiding this fact and make them seem
like meals fit for the one percent.
Americans are constantly fooled into thinking that the
food theyre eating is of the highest quality; however, theyre
usually given the equivalent of cheap leftovers. Even with this
handicap, I believe that there actually is a cure to the obesity
epidemic that is plaguing our country todayapportioning food
based on ones body mass index (BMI).

The whole idea behind the program is to introduce strict

diet for those who dont have the will power to do it themselves.
As ones BMI increases, the amount of food that person gets
will decrease, but if one is morbidly obese, then no food will be
apportioned to that person because it might have a negative
effect on the persons health if their portions are cut so
drastically. Not only will this get rid of the people who are
beyond help, it will save money and thereby decrease our everincreasing national debt. However, these people who will not be
apportioned food will still be valuable to the country by using
their bodily fats to create useful items such as soaps or even
In order to carry out the plan, a national guideline will be
produced by the Food and Drug Administration, and each state
will thereby make their own laws regarding the issue. However,

each plan made by the state will have to be reviewed by

dieticians and nutritionists in order to confirm whether or not it
would be a safe plan towards a healthy body weight. It is
expected that each plan will provide that food will be delivered
to each household every week with each family members
apportioned amount of food. Each family will receive a total
amount of food that is under their total calorie cap which is the
maximum amount of food theyre allowed to receive. The type
of food that each household receives will be based on lottery
where families with lower average BMIs will be given priority
over those with higher average BMIs. However, if a family
makes a generous donation directly to the government, then
that family may receive increased priority in the lottery and have
their calorie cap reconsidered.

As some may expect, the food that will be available will not
be the usual food that most people are used to. There will not
be and Big Macs, Double Cheeseburgers, or Happy Meals
anymore, but they will be replaced with healthier and smaller
alternatives. There are several products that will be banned and
will stop being produced as a result of this health initiative. One
product, Kool Aid, usually associated with a morbidly obese
man that doesnt know what a door is, will cease to be produced
until further notice because of its clear promotion of obesity
and its surplus of artificial sugars. Another chain of products
includes the Pillsbury line along with its main mascot, the
Pillsbury Doughboy. However cute the mascot may look, the
overabundance of cellulite centered on his stomach will not be
overlooked and should not set an example for anyone aspiring
to be like that in the future. These products, among many

others, will be eliminated from the human diet, and therefore

make us a healthier race.
I understand that this initiative will especially make a huge
impact on those who make their livings based off of the world
of food; however, those that are affected will be offered a
variety of public jobs that will certainly suffice and act as an
adequate replacement for their previous careers. However, some
people with sufficient culinary experience may receive the
opportunity to work at the several new food manufacturing
plants around the nation in order to have a trained eye oversee
the process. It is assumed that a good portion of the people
affected will already have their food supplies cutoff because of
their BMI, so this will create less competition for the new jobs.
The new job sub initiative will include several jobs in the
sanitation industry, training courses for people to become

personal trainers, and construction jobs to convert old food

establishments into gymnasiums.
Instead of manufacturing food at the old food
establishments, all food will be manufactured in state-of-the-art
factories that will be equipped with experienced workers, as
mentioned above, and a sanitation staff. These factories will be
privately-owned by several companies that originally dominated
the food industry, and there will be no monopolies in order to
create some competition. All workers will be armed in order to
prevent and hostile takeovers that may result because food has
suddenly become a valuable commodity. In the case that a
hostile takeover is successful, the factory will self-destruct
because the health of our people is more important than
anything. We cannot afford to let the inevitable food black
market grow.

The food black market is essentially going to work the

same way a normal black market does, but instead, its with
food. I predict that this illegal industry will flourish due to frailty
of the human will. Any food that does not have proper
identification that is provided by the food manufactured at the
factories will be treated as an illegal substance; however, it will
be treated with more intensity than if it were a drug. This will
bring more jobs into the police departments around the country
and give people even more of a reason to stick with the diets
because the penalties for possessing such contraband include
possible jail time and gargantuan fines.
This initiative will be carried out as long as the government
possesses the means to support it. The initiative truly succeeds
once the average BMI of the country is at a healthy number and
the obesity epidemic is completely eradicated. It will never end

because human weakness will threaten to compromise all of the

success derived from the initiative. The inhabitants of our
country cannot be trusted with their own health, so its only
customary that the government should take care of its people.
With this initiative, the United States government will breed a
new, healthy generation of people and hopefully with a better
mindset as well.
Joseph Jacob

Torn Face

Rachel Rosen

Sticky Peanut Butter

Motivational speakers
Dirty sneakers
Boring teachers
Freezing bleachers
Makeup smudges
Holding grudges
Squeaky desks
Retake tests
My pesky little brother
My overprotective mother
Popping gum
Acting dumb
Facebook stalkers
Shameless gawkers
Almost raining
Backpack straining
Pulling a push door
Always wanting more

Clothes too tight
Dog-eared books
Dirty looks
An excess of clutter
Sticky peanut butter
- Sienna Brancato


Nicole Cutinella

Kurtis Bassman

The Smile
the most beautiful smiles are
gone before you blink
splashes of bright
on a cold, dark night
the most beautiful smiles are
without a care
as necessary as water
distributed as a way
to survive the day
the most beautiful smiles are
flashes of teeth
scrunched-up cheeks
quirking lips
the epitome of bliss
because they exist
Erin OKelly

The Wall!Behind!Me
Theres a wall behind me. I raise my arms above my head to try
to push it down, but theres no use. Its indestructible. Its
invincible to my greatest hopes, to my strongest longing, to my
ever so gradually decreasing persistence. The bulldozer of my
deepest dauntlessness, the depth of with is unimpressive, cannot
dismantle it. Rather, the wall dismantles the bulldozer. Slowly,
the tires, then the steering wheel, then the hood that!covers!the
weakening motor are removed piece by piece and thrown into
the well of deep, dark well of failure that is!slowly becoming
saturated with!fragments of my prowess. Who placed it there?
Behind my back where it stands its ground!pretentiously,
proudly, definitively?!The culprit could only have been the
shadow of the drive within me, the dark side of what is inside
me that is striving, yet struggling to break through the wall; I
wish that shadow would learn something from Peter Pans. I lift
my right leg, push against the barrier with my hands, with my
aspirations, but the durability is effortlessly greater than my grit.
The material is like that of no other wall. This abrasive
limitation was put there by!someone, someone that doesnt want
to hurt me, but that doesnt know how to give me what Im
seeking. She knows what I seek,!but is preventing my finding it
for a reason that is unknown to me. Again, I raise my arms,!and
then!drop them in frustration, for I feel the rough, mocking
surface of the wall against my back. I look down. I see the
chasm of blue, never-ending blue,!beneath the!vexatious fourinch surface that my pinky toe threatens to roll off of. And for a

moment, a brief wonderful moment, it almost seems as though

the two are on one plane and that the narrow brown surface
with specks of powdery white footprints isnt a
threatening!four!feet off the ground.!Maybe Im
overestimating!the!distance of the space between the blue and
brown. Unfortunately, this moment of wishful thinking!and
specific perception of depth because of my trick-playing
eyes!passes,!and I feel the wall pushing against my
There is no forgiveness. It knows my every weakness and!my
every imperfection and!then!exploits them, but only to me.!I
look to my left. The girl next to me has knocked down her wall.
To my right, the debris of another girls lie on the floor.!Yet,
mine remains. My hands and feet start to sweat as!I rev the
engine of that weak bulldozer. The identity of the someone that
built the wall right behind me is no mystery, for it was no one
but!myself. The wall was built in the deepest corner of my mind
where an enemy to my achievement lays despite my opposition
in the forefront of my mind. And for that reason, my pathetic
dismantled bulldozer!cannot muster enough strength to destruct
the most incessant barrier to my completion of!a task that
presents little challenge to others, a task called a back-walkover,
on the four-feet high, four-inch wide surface that Ive been
staring at with hostility for years.!
- Sarah Golden

Jeanette Giacinto.

Ripped Jeans
We walk around, feeling fly as the as the geese outside
The classroom window we would watch them,
Texting under our desks
Chewing gum, popping bubbles, popping bottles
Of cheap wine with out store bought ripped jeans.
Someday I hope the rips of my jeans may be framed in blood,
Of scars Ive had and battles Ive lost.
I hope that though today I wear them to please,
That tomorrow theyll be a reminder of what Ive been.
May the rips in the fabric be more that just a trend,
That behind the hole there has been a scrape to mend.
I wish to have loved through so much that every time
I look down I see the memories of the times Ive tried
And the times Ive failed, and got up to wear my jeans once
My deepest desire is to have loved enough to have scars to
To be able to say with pride that I carry a lot of scars,
To have scars so strong that I can declare
That I like the way that sounds.
I carry a lot of scars.
I want the cuts in my jeans to be as real as the blood that was
To make them, endless adventures of failed

Attempts at doing things I was never meant to try

To mend all the fry years of my life
When I wore jeans with factory made rips
As fake as the friends I once had.
Maria Hincapie


Hebah Hassan

Lauren Miceli


The Wanderer

Ryan Helfant

Self Portrait ! !

Emily Giunta

Sienna Brancato
Wanting to grow
Wanting to stay the same
So many questions
How would you know?
Trust me, its possible
Desperate to succeed
Not knowing
In between
Too old for certain things
But too young for others
Trying to grow up too fast
Growing up too fast
Adult generalizations
My kid wouldnt do that!
Yes, they would.
Best thing about being 14: Change
Worst thing about being 14: Change
Trying to act mature
Secretly wondering
Not wanting to ask
Wanting to ask

Out of place

Innocent, but not that innocent
Trying to be someone you dont want to be
Youre too this
Youre too that
Youre too you

Hurricane 214B
James awoke in darkness. He reached for his nightstand
and felt for his glasses. Grasping them, he cleaned the lenses
with his shirt and placed them on his face. He looked at his
alarm clock, which read 6:14am. After climbing out of bed, he
walked toward the lone window in the corner of his room.
Heaving, he lifted the heavy iron covering that was placed over
the window glass. Immediately, heat was felt by his hands and
face, but the light from the outside was dim. Heavy clouds
covered the usually blue skies. A look outside the window
revealed dull, parched earth in place of the once lush garden.
James could not stand the heat much longer, and brought the
iron back to its position, covering the glass. He brushed his
teeth, changed his clothes, and made his way downstairs. He
misted his skin with cool water as required by law, before
making his way out the door.
James met an old, faded, yellow school-bus at the corner of
his street and went inside. James was never a people-person and
found social situations troubling. So instead of taking a seat next
to one of the many tired faces, James made his way to the back
of the bus and took the last empty seat. He looked out the
window, and took in the scenic view of the Atlantic Ocean and
the camera-equipped tourists that dotted the beach. Toledo,
Ohio hadnt always been a beach-town; the beaches were new,
and were created during the 100 year long Great Flood, which
flooded Eastern states like New York and Connecticut, and
caused the Eastern Coast of North America to recede to lands
further inland.
In the distance, James saw his concrete school building.
Soon enough, the school bus pulled into the school and James

got off the bus. He ran into school, already late, and found his
way through the artificially lit hallway. The school let no natural
light inside; the beaming heat from unblocked windows would
cause air-conditioning costs to skyrocket. James hurried into his
classroom and got a dirty look from his history teacher, Mrs.
Newberry, who resumed her lecture immediately:
And after the Industrial Revolution 300 years ago in the
1850s, as you know, global temperatures drastically increased.
Who read really well last night and can tell me more about
Instantly, the hand of Janet Martin, the teachers pet and
study-fanatic, shot up. Just as quickly, Mrs. Newberry had called
on her.
Well, she said, in her perky and peppy voice the
Glaciers and ice caps melted, sea levels rose, and numerous
plant and animal species went extinct
Can you give an example of an extinct species? asked
Mrs. Newberry.
Of course she can, shes Janet Martin!, Aaron Thomas,
the school bully, mockingly exclaimed. That nerds probably
read the who-
Aaron stopped, petrified. The class gaze met Aarons. A
stream of water had made its way through cracks in the ceiling.
This had happened before, James remembered. The class also
came to the same realization.
ROOM, NOW, called Mrs. Newbury.
She ran to the door and opened it. The sounds of rushing
water entered the classroom and Mrs. Newbury slammed the
door shut.

Nobody panic, assured Mrs. Newbury. Help is probably

on the way.
Her reassuring words did nothing to alleviate the class
Open the window and look! the class insisted.
No, class, you know thats against the rules! called Mrs.
Newbury, shouting.
But what if its happening again! the students yelled in
James got up from his crouched position on the floor and
made his way toward the window.
SIT DOWN NOW, JAMES! screamed Mrs. Newbury.
James ignored her and began to remove the iron covering.
Mrs. Newbury got up, but had acted too slowly. It was too late.
James had already removed the iron cover and the glass of the
window had shattered. Water, hundreds of gallons of water,
rushed into the classroom. The students and Mrs. Newberry
tried to open the door to no avail. Screaming, they slammed a
heavy metal ruler against the rectangular hallway-door window.
It was no use; by then, the hallway was also filled with water.
They were trapped. As water levels rose to their hips, the
students and Mrs. Newberry realized their fate and said their
goodbyes to one another. The water kept filling the room until
the last student took their last breath.
The United States Government would report that
Hurricane 214B had killed roughly 38,000 on the day of
October 19, 2156. Hurricane 214B evaded detection because of
its incredibly rapid formation off of the Eastern United States
Julian Nathan


-Jackie Nathan

Table Manners
Mouth open and full
Was how to make your family proud
Nasty and loud
Was the only way allowed
Your elbows being absent was an unheard fable
You could forget your parents being stable
If you didnt have these manners at the table
A punishment would be forthcoming
Which generally involved your jaw numbing
In this society verbal communication went astray
Because there was simply nothing to say
Phones always out
Fingers continually moving without a doubt
Eating before everyone got their food
To put yourself in a better mood
Who uses forks and knives?
Using our hands is what weve done our whole lives
Slouching in your chair
Loudly sucking in all the air
Not really giving a care

Leaning back and forth to make our seats sway

A game where you needed your food to play
Throwing it back and forth was the only way
It was an honor to win
To hold up your chin
And let out the loudest within
Who wants to look like fools
When you have all these great tools
So next time you sit down
Remember what youve learned
So you dont look like a clo!"#

Table Manners

Zach Wolff


Cynthia Barbey

The Queen

Ryan Helfant

The Paper Shredder

"Every act of creation is first an act of destruction. - Pablo
The time of my demise had finally come again.
The Shredder was at hand, and it would only be moments
before I gave it sustenance, before those deceivingly warms
hands would take me as a sacrifice to satiate the feral beast.
There were times during which I mourned this inevitable
destruction, when I couldn't bear to experience the unforgiving
tug and tear, which I imagined to be much akin to the feeling of
being drawn and quartered. Still, it was preferable to being
crumpled and crushed, tossed aside, so deformed and warped
that I longed for the clean-cut end brought by razors.
Now, I welcomed the rip of the blades, could feel the primal
need to revive and start anew. The awkward placement of
blundering words and stilted sentences made me feel dirty,
uncomfortable, and there was nothing more that I wanted in the
moment than to have my slate wiped clean.
This was not an uncommon occurrence, as I often experienced
the cold and calculating deletion of words by flying hands and
sticky keys. Sometimes, the eraser hurt more, the smooth
roundness burning me with every harsh tug. At other times I
found myself shuddering from the harsh press of a pen, the
vicious gashes slicing me with every crossed-out phrase.
But there were times when the shivers came from bliss, when
my surface tingled with the pleasure of beautiful prose being
inked across my skin. Then came that final moment that I
dreaded, tried so hard to postpone, catching my edge on the

side of the beast in a vain attempt to stall the death of beauty.

But even in those circumstances I did not grieve for long. I
would come back in another form, add to the world in another
way, and even if I was destroyed again, I now know that
creation has quite a lot in common with words: both are
Erin OKelly

When is a Piece Done?

A question had been crawling up and down our spines,
Of when do we know when a piece is done.
Whether painting on a canvas or writing on a card,
I do believe there is a point when the work is gone.
There is a time when you cant go back,
No writing over what you had once had.
If you read a piece from years ago and find that you
Cant disagree with yourself any more.
It is time to leave it down, and put it in a store.
You shall not feel ashamed of the ignorance you once had,
Simply accept it and make it a part of your past,
To make a piece that came out of bliss
For bliss is the main ingredient in a childs most sincere kiss.
It is immoral to go back and take the twinkle twinkle
Out of the star that so deserved to be believed
So very high up above the sky so very bright.
To ruin it with the real specks of space dust and burning gases
Of a star thats a million years gone. Dead.
Like the innocent dreams we all had of making a living as
A poet, an artist, an author, a dancer, just
To merely have our dreams crushed by those with a better grip
of reality,
Or practically, and reasoning and better judgment.

Thats why we shall not go back and paint over our ponies
Unicorns and rainbows from when we were five,
To twenty years later paint on instead nights
Of parties and cocktails
And one night stands.
The work is done, when the feeling is gone.
When you look back and cannot for however much you try,
To think like you did that one very time
And instead find that it was made by just another stranger
You once knew in the past.
Maria Hincapie

Lady In White

Alexa Copperstone

Ocho Muerte

Cynthia Barbey

The Venetian

I pull back the heavy curtains, fumble with the unfamiliar

latch, and, finally, open the window of my hotel room. I close
my eyes as a breeze hits me; I taste the salt in the air. I hear the
gentle lapping of water against the foundation. I open my eyes
to see another building, less than 50 feet in front of me. Leaning
out a little, I can see the tiny canal below, connecting two larger
ones on either side of this street. Turning my head, I can see
the motor boats whizzing by and the gondolas slowly passing on
the Grand Canal. The view is not particularly stunning. The
plaster of the opposite building is cracked and falling off in
places. The water is a grayish green, showing the pollution of
hundreds of years. The buildings are tightly packed together,
with not a tree in sight. Yet, I could stare out of this window for
hours and not be bored. With a madness similar to Don
Quixotes (who believed every inn to be a castle and every
traveler a villainous opponent), I see every canal as one Marco
Polo traversed and every building as one Tintoretto visited.
Every crack and chip is part of a thousand year history that

completely absorbs and fascinates me. Every alley may have

been walked by Casanova and every window could have been
opened by Titian. I look out of my window, and I dont just see
a crowded, old city. I see the beautiful city that rose out of a
desolate marsh, became the worlds center of trade during the
Renaissance, and is today fighting for its independence from the
Italian Republic. I see the fierce spirit of the people and know
that I am a Venetian at heart.
Maria DIorio

Objects In Ink

Heather Chau

How to Write a Strong Female Lead

As you may or may not have noticed, they recently added a
Netflix category called Strong Female Lead. I dont know
about you, but I was enthused to see this. I thought to myself:
Finally us strong women have our very own Netflix category!!
The wait is over! Unfortunately though, this category isnt very
full yet: we need more!!! So to inspire some more writers to
write strong women, I decided to provide you with some tips on
How to Write a Strong Female Lead:
First of all, these women should always have jobs which are
typically held by men; to put it simply, any job with authority.
Think along the lines of lead detectives, high-ranking military
officers, district attorneys, world-renowned surgeons, etc. It
takes a strong woman to fill one of these positions. Rule of the
thumb: strong women must have successful careers.
Your character should be a rule follower, a goodie-two-shoes, a
straight arrow; however you say it, the truth is she has a real
stick up her butt. She should always nag her fun-loving, male coworkers. She ruins everything; she is a bitch. Dont worry
though: over time her male co-workers will teach her to loosen
Your strong female should never wear skirts, dresses or, god
forbid, pink. Keep to blazers and pant suits. She shouldnt wear
a lot of makeup or paint her nails; strong women dont worry
about silly things like that. However, she should still be pretty.
Her eyelashes should be naturally long, her skin naturally clear,

and her lips naturally red. Also, she should be skinny, but she
should never be dieting or trying to lose weight. Strong women
dont have weight issues.
She should like sports, cars, guns, or something interesting like
that. Strong females dont like romantic comedies, gossip
magazines, or anything regular females like.
Keep your female character away from the domestic sphere. You
should never show her cooking, cleaning or anything like that;
women who do these things arent strong. On a related note:
keep away from stay-at-home moms.
At some point, your strong female should have some sort of
office/workplace romance. Shes the boss and she isnt supposed
to sleep with her employees, but that doesnt stop her; she may
be a strong female, but she is still a female. There should be lots
of sexual tension. You should leave your viewers wondering:
will they? wont they? Spoiler alert: they will. Itll be a scandal:
maybe itll last, maybe it wont. However it ends up, there should
be a pregnancy scare involved.
If your character is in a crime drama or a lifetime movie, at
some point she should probably be raped. And it should be the
real kind of rape: the kind where she is attacked in a dark alley,
not the kind where she is too drunk to give consent: strong
women dont get themselves raped like that. She shouldnt talk
about it or show any vulnerability; that would be demoralizing.
Instead shell internalize it and be strong.

In general, she should never cry, even when shes on her period;
strong women dont PMS. Similarly she should never ask for
help; she can handle it herself because thats what strong women
Remember: anytime you write a female character she
automatically becomes a role model for all women everywhere.
Young girls are very impressionable and arent independant
thinkers or good judges of character, its up to you to help them
learn how to be strong; we cant have another generation of
weak females!
Nicole! Cutinella

All is Fair in Love and War - Emily Giunta

Emotionless Consumption
Closed windows, open eyes
You exude confidence, which I attempt to match
With my rolled back shoulders and seemingly steady gaze
Its all about what it looks like, isnt it?
Mesmerized by these closed windows,
Closed doors
Locked, yet I hold no security in that fact.
Words jumble and suddenly, amber eyes are luminous
You stand alone, though I am beside you
Golden bars enclose golden eyes
As you kiss me, you mask your own pain with mine
My mind freezes and my hands match yours
Move for move.
You stare and see nothing
Your unforgiving mouth
Your hungry hands
I close my frozen over eyes and cower within my frozen over
I can see straight through the walls in your icicle eyes
Forcing out feelings I convince myself are there

I just wish I couldnt,

I shouldnt have to.
No room for ruminating on the repercussions of your
You only rented it for one night.
My beautiful, sick flower
Weeds poison your roots
When man discovers the true meaning of love, he will have
once again created fire.
Chasing words,
Chasing phrases,
Chasing syllables,
Everything that has ever crossed my lips,
You chase
Simply a way to pass time.
The paradox of construction and destruction
Heartless is a person consumed.


Cynthia Barbey

Keziah Chung

A First and Last

Waking up on the side of the road, I realize that I need to get
my act together. I observe my surroundings hoping to find a
quarter on the ground or a cup to hold and shake as rich,
snobby kids walk by. The people who walk by have premium
clothes from top department stores and made up faces. Their
skin looks like that of a porcelain doll. These people walk by
without hesitation; they dont even acknowledge my presence. I
search through the garbage and find a white paper cup.
Two huge coach buses come by as I sit on the sidewalk in
silence. Out of the bus come kids with matching shirts and
aviator ray- bans. All the boys and girls group together as one
older man gives them white envelopes filled with money. I walk
up to the guy and hold my hand out to get one of these
envelopes. I hear shrieking girls behind me as they run to the
side and huddle together, trying to get as far from me as
possible without going into the street. I tilt my tired, heavy head
down and walk back to the garbage. A few minutes pass, and the
kids walk away to go spend the money. They dont realize how
blessed they are and how grateful they should be, getting money
handed to them without working for it.
My paper cup isnt attracting any money, so I walk across
the street to the mall so I can get cooled off. I take a seat on the
side of a fountain. The fountain is majestic, marble, and filled
with coins. Each coin contains a wish, wished for by a hopeless
soul. The coins have been left there. No one is going to come
back to claim their coin. If I had a coin to spare, I would wish
for a second opportunity.

After long thought, I go for it. My hand dives into the

fountain and grabs a handful of pennies and nickels. They clink
together at the bottom of the cup. Before I have the chance to
turn around, a firm hand is clamped down upon my left
shoulder. When I slowly turn my head to peek at whos grabbing
me, I see a badge and a navy-blue uniform. I look no further,
and my legs take off in a sprint. I am too weak, and the cops
hand is too strong. I know this will be the last time I try to steal
money from a fountain.
Farrah Siegler

Zach Wolff

Peas and Toes

Jackie Nathan


You can forget about the past

you can hold it close to your heart
you can hate it
its always going be there
to haunt you at night in your dreams
were it controls you
the memories can cut you up
but you still have to wake up.
- Rizel Gil

Germanic View

Kurtis Bassman

Never Come Back

The stage is set up with 9 chairs in a semi circle. Tom is not sitting, he is
standing behind the middle chair talking.
Tom- Welcome to the first stage crew meeting. Im Tom, and I
am the president of stage crew. We need to get the stage cleaned
before Mr. Jameson comes to check in on us. Get to work.
Paul- Who is Mr. Jameson?
Tom gets up and stand behind Paul
Tom- Who are you is the more important question.
Paul- Im Paul, Paul Smith.
Tom- Well Paul Smith, you are a freshman arent you?
Paul- That would be correct.
The regular spot lights go off and blue lights go on.
Tom- Let me tell you something about being a freshman. You
dont only obey all the rules, but I shouldnt have to tell you to
do anything.
Boy 1- You tell him.

Tom- Not only do you do all my homework, but you do other

seniors as well.
Boy 2- Yeah!
Tom- You dont look at us in the hallway, or else well, youll
Boy 3- For real.
Tom- And dont you ever, ever, ever say hi to us in school.
Harvey- You can say hi to me.
Tom- Harvey, leave.
Harvey- What?
Tom- Get out of my presence, I cant stand to look at you.
Harvey- Why do you think youre so tough? Youre just a mean
Tom walks over to Harvey and pushes him out. The blue lights go out and
the regular spot lights go back on.
Tom- Do you understand my rules freshman?
Paul- Yes.

Tom- Great. Everybody, were out.

Paul- Where are we going?
Tom walks over to Paul and kneels down in front of him.
Tom-We are going to play basketball, and you are going to stay
here and clean the stage for us.
Paul- Oh, okay.
Everyone but Paul walk off stage. He starts looking for a broom. Harvey
starts peeping out.
Harvey- Did they all leave?
Paul- Who said that?
Harvey- Look to your left.
Paul looks to his right.
Harvey- Your other left.
Paul looks to the left.
Paul- Oh, its you.
Harvey comes out and into the middle of the stage.

Harvey- Im sorry he was so mean to you.

Paul- No! Im sorry he was so mean to you!
Harvey- He has a hard life.
Paul- What do you mean?
Now the regular spot lights go off and red lights go on. Tom walks on with
a rolling TV and an old man.
Father- Come on! My loser son couldve caught that!
Tom- They are going to lose the game.
Father- Youre so stupid! You dont know anything. A
chimpanzee is smarter then you. Get me another beer!
Tom- Dont you think you had enough?
Father- Get me another beer before I punch you in the nose.
Tom- Yes, dad.
They wheel off the TV and the red lights go down while the spot lights go
Harvey- And that was a good night also.
Paul- Does his father beat him?

Harvey- I honestly dont know.

Paul- And that is why he is angry.
Paul crosses.
Harvey- Well whats there for us to do? Alright, lets get to
The boys start to clean. Tom and the rest of the boys walk back on.
Tom- Did you complete anything?
Paul stops sweeping for a moment.
Paul- What?
Paul walks over and gets into Toms face.
Tom- I said, did you accomplish anything? The stage looks the
same to me, and if Mr. Jameson comes back and sees nothing
done, I will get in trouble, which means that you will be dead.
Tom turns away and proceeds to walk off stage only to get interrupted by
Paul- Why do you have to make everyone else miserable just
because your dad makes you miserable?
Tom turns around in frustration

Harvey- Paul!
Boy 5- Harvey stop.
Tom- I thought I told you to leave, Harvey. I dont want to see
your face.
Paul- This is what I am talking about.
Tom- Dont go any farther, freshman. You have it coming for
you. You dont know anything about me.
Paul- But I know what your father is like. There is so much
anger built up in you, that you just burst.
Tom- Do you want to say anymore? I dont think its a good
Paul- Leave. Leave that house, leave your father! No one
deserves that, not even you.
Tom walks to the edge of the stage and sits.
Tom- All my life Ive been treated likePaul- Nothing?
Tom- Nothing at all!
Paul sits next to Tom. Everyone starts cleaning.

Paul- There is so much you can do.

Tom- Like what? Leave the house? Where will I go?
Paul- Dont you have family you can stay with?
Tom- None of them want me.
Paul- Then you will come stay with me. Never go back to where
you where before and never look back.
Tom- Im sorry.
Paul- Dont apologize to me, apologize to Harvey.
Tom gets up and walks over to Harvey cleaning.
Boy 6- Harvey, Tom is coming over.
Harvey- Can I help you?
Tom- Im sorry.
Harvey- Im glad to hear that. Im pretty sure I can accept it.
Mr. Jameson walks on stage.
Mr. Jameson- The stage looks great everyone!

Boy 7- Hi, Mr. Jameson!

Mr. Jameson. Hello. Where is Tom?
Tom- Im over here Mr. Jameson.
Tom walks over. At this point everyone is cleaning the stage and Mr.
Jameson and Tom go all the way to the front of the stage.
Mr. Jameson- The stage looks so great, Tom.
Tom- Well, I cant take all the credit.
Mr. Jameson- Why not?
Tom- The crew did all the work.
Mr. Jameson- Well, thats very nice of you not to take all credit.
Who is the new kid?
Tom- Paul Smith. He is a freshman. He taught me that you can
do anything. Dont let him go Mr. Jameson. He has a big future
ahead of him.
Mr. Jameson- I wont, Tom. I wont.
The stage goes dark.
Josh Dinetz

What color is your sky today

Is it sunny or cloudy yet?
For me who is in a corner out of the world
There is no sky on top of me
There is no news of spring for me
Whatever i see are just the walls
Ah this dark and heavy air
Is the storyteller of the darkness of the night
I can't breathe!
Since the air is imprisoned here too
Is so close to me
That brings my breaths back in toy chest
My ways are so closed!
That the sight of flight remains still in just one step away from
A dim light of a suffered lantern
Arghavan Zolfaghari

Princess In The Park

Ryan Helfant


Heather Chau

My Name

My name? My name you ask? How do you not remember?

I have no name, it is nothing but a series of numbers and letters.
This is due to the fact that my world is much different from
yours. You see, I was not born, but manufactured, as my race
was created at the quickest speed possible in order fend off
impending attacks. I know you are close to death now, my
friend, which is why I will now recount to you our story of how
we crossed paths, as your Hooman brain and body are
deteriorating and you dont remember.
Approximately 80 years ago, I opened my eyes for the first
time. My people, known as the Roobots, were at war with a very
powerful race known as the Hoomans. These Hoomans were
extremely powerful and advanced, and my race needed more
fighting power. Manufactured in large numbers daily, us
Roobots were created to look exactly the same in the interest of
time; this is when all the problems began. Before I go into what
happened on this day, I must remind you about the society I was
brought into.
My society, constantly at war, didn't have much time to
stop and think about its status in the universe. Our citizens
knew that they were looked down upon by other civilizations
from other worlds, but despite this, they continued on with their
lives. Although we were all made to look the same, our citizens
banded together with only certain select groups, which greatly
reduced the number of soldiers that could fight at a time due to
chemistry problems. One group, known as the Oranges, was the
biggest group of them all. They been in power for very long

time, and although they recently relinquished their power, the

Oranges still believed that they were supreme. The Oranges
were distinguished by their notably different eyes which were
slightly ovular in shape(by about a millimeter), rather than
perfect circles like the rest of the Roobots. A second notable
group was the Apples, who had been taken advantage of for
centuries prior, and had only recently had laws made to protect
them. Despite these laws, the Apples still hadn't completely
been integrated back into our society. The Apples, distinguished
by their 801 millimeter legs rather than 800 millimeters like the
rest of us, lived together and refused to go to war as they were
treated as outcasts. The last notable group was the Bananas,
who were treated the worst out of all the groups, due to their
contrasting ideas and harmful people. Although it was true that
this group had some dangerous individuals, most of the
Bananas were innocent, but the other groups, especially the
Oranges, were extremely hostile towards the Bananas
I had just been manufactured as an Orange, and it was
already time for war. I mentioned before that there was a war
going on between us Roobots and the Hoomans, but I forgot to
tell you that there were also several hundred other wars going
on between the different groups of Roobots. Among these wars
were the wars of the Big Apple, Citrus Wars I and II, and the
Strawberry, Blueberry, Peach, Lemon, Lime, Tangerine,
Boysenberry, and Raspberry Revolutions. I was to be sent into
one of these wars that day, and I was very nervous. At the time I
definitely did not want to be placed into war with Peaches, as
their ears were a millimeter tilted to the left compared to mine,
or the Clementines, whose noses were an eighth of an inch off

center. When I was assigned to fight with Lemons, against

Bananas and Raspberries, I was relieved, but I saw a very
strange sight. It was a Roobot that wouldn't speak, much like the
Lemons, who were unable to speak. I could tell he wasnt a
Lemon though; there was something quite peculiar about him. I
later found out that this Roobot was a Kiwi, who's group was
not allowed to fight in our army because they had voices that
were a half pitch higher than normal voice. This Kiwi was
purposely staying quiet in order to blend in with the Lemons
and not get found out. The first day of war changed my entire
life, as I met someone who taught me everything I know. We
were fighting in Lemon Tree, when my squad was wiped out by
Hooman weapons, leaving me behind alone. From one of the
Hooman ships came out a man so different from anything or
anyone I had ever seen. First off, he had brownish colored
material shooting out of his head, which closely resembled yarn.
Secondly, a thinner kind of this material was above his eyes.
Thirdly, he had this outer layer of thin beige membrane; I later
learned this was called skeen. Overall, this man was the ugliest
thing I had ever seen; his eyes were such a peculiar shape,
almost like ellipses, his nose was huge and aquiline, and his ears
were almost nonexistent. Because of all of these obvious
differences, I hated this man, but he wouldn't quit being nice to
me. He asked me my name, but I had no answer; my name was
nothing but a series of letters and numbers. When I said I had
no answer, he told me his name was John, and he also said that
he wanted to leave his society. John told me that his society had
several races, people from different places with different beliefs
and customs, who were constantly in disagreement with each
other. One race wanted to take over other planets with advanced

weaponry, while another one argued for rights for their race.
There was a new argument between these races every day. I
responded by completely putting down his society by calling
them a bunch of judgmental, ignorant people who dont know
how to cooperate.
As time moved on, my relationship with John improved
greatly. He taught me English, he taught me manners, how to
behave, how to feel emotions, and many other things Hoomans
do. John was also my Science, Math, Social Studies, and English
professor all at the same time. We lived away from society
during this time, and I learned why my race was going extinct,
despite the fact that almost 500,000 new Roobots were created
every day; it was due to the lack of unity. We made it our goal to
try and reconcile the relationships between the races in our
societies, but the problem was that our societies were involved
in too many conflicts with each other and among themselves
that it would be impossible to reach our goal without a very
good plan. Years passed and we still couldn't come across good
enough plan. John aged considerably, and began to lose his
memories. It was too late, as we Roobots didn't have sufficient
resources to build and manufacture any longer, and the
Hoomans ran out currency spending on war weapons. Our races
were obliterated, while still fighting against one another.
I sit here today with you, having recounted our story. We
now live on a planet called Eart, where there are weird looking
Ailiens. John, I have failed you, as our races are long gone, as
they slowly killed each other off. We have lived a good life
together and I have learned so much from you. The most
important thing that I have learned is that two individuals
cannot alter a society; it requires the strength of many people to

change things for the better. Although you will die soon, John, I
will live forever, and I will find those few pearls in the universe
like you. I will teach them the things you have taught me, and we
will together spread our ideas and change the world of Ailiens
around us.

Justin Borczuk

The Morning Routine

Lauren Miceli


Published annually, Vintage is a literary/art magazine

produced within the Wheatley School. Each edition is launched in

the spring with a Coffeehouse hosted by the editors. The event
features student performances of music, poetry, and song. Copies of
the magazine sell for 5$. Portions of the proceeds are donated to a
designated charity.

Beginning in September, all students are invited to attend our

two weekly meetings on Thursday and Friday, where submissions of

poetry, prose, and artwork are evaluated and edited under the
supervision of the advisor. Submissions are accepted until the end of
third quarter. The layout of the magazine becomes the staff s focus
during the second semester.

Editors reserve the right to correct grammatical and

mechanical errors in published materials, as well as the right to make

any modifications to the contrast and brightness of visual arts.

Prepared in Pages, artwork is photographed with a Nikon

D3100 or sent directly via email. Titles, art titles, author names, and
body texts are set in Garamond.