Falling Leaves

Falling Leaves
 Justin Rocha
 6/24/15
 I wander underneath the endless canopy in the rich oak forests pondering life. Turning around, I look through the last of the green leaves, back at the Andover Academy I attended the past four years. Summer is ending soon, and this will be my last time in the forest before I go to Harvard. I feel a tear trickle down my face, thinking of all the memories I’ve had here. I continue walking and stop at the swing. Now weathered down, I place my hand on the weakened rope and plant my Nike on the wooden board. I remember my first time swinging across the elegant river, looking down at the water the same color as blueberries, dark but still calming to look at. I depart from the swing, feeling a rough object float around me. I snatch it with my blistered hand, and examine it. The leaf, orange as candy corn on a Halloween night, is light like a newborn baby. Another leaf falls and it's pure as a lime.  Water drips to the muddy ground as if the leaf is crying that this is my last time in my home away from home.  It's the reflection of me, young and embarking to a new place. 

Half Full or Half Empty?

Is the glass half full or half empty?

People see it differently;

But inside is a smile waiting to be let out

A family, moving

Packing up their thing;

They’re bringing all their memories,

Not knowing what tomorrow brings

Old friends being left behind,

Yet the choice is somehow right

Because new friends will be made,

In tomorrow's light

Is the glass half full or half empty?

People see it differently;

But inside is a smile waiting to be let out

A burden people carry,

Causing them to seem glum;

But the choice to be sad,

Is odd to some

Just grin a little,

Smile a tad;

Please don’t worry,

Not everything will be bad

Is the glass half full or half empty?

People see it differently;

But inside is a smile waiting to be let out

Choices

By: Neha Dacherla

I found this journal on the table I’m now sitting at, these may be my last words on Earth so I'll state them wisely. I don’t know how I got here, all I know is that someone captured me and put me to sleep with an antibiotic medicine. The dining room, it is elaborately designed with granite and neatly carved wood. My legs are cuffed to the chair I am sitting at, and they gagged me with a piece of cloth that I keep choking on. I wonder why they didn’t handcuff my hands.

 In front of me there is a beautiful, fragile golden hammer, it glistens as the sun peeks in from the curtain. Next to the hammer is a glass of what I think is water. The water is sitting in an intricate copper cup; the cup resembles something I remember seeing before. Then, for the first time I see a note that says to pick up one of the two objects.

I scream, yell all the questions that are now flooding my mind. Why did they choose me to come here? Who picked the objects that are now sitting in front of me? Why these objects? I want the answers now, but I can’t get them and now I know I have to pick one.

When you are given objects such as these, it’s hard to understand what difference it would make if you pick one or the other. So, I look at the water that is now tempting me, for I hadn’t had a sip of water and the thirst inside of me is overwhelming. Then again I don’t want to die because I drank something that I thought was water, but turned out to be poison. I look over at the golden hammer; I guess I’d have to pick the hammer over the cup of what seems to be water.

I touch the handle of the hammer with my pointer, and I hear a noise. It is coming down the stairs now, footsteps making a loud noise and disrupting the peaceful silence that once had control over me. Somebody is coming for me and whether they are here to rescue me or not, I have to hide this journal. I quickly hide the journal in a cabinet I am just able to reach; I turn to see they have arrived, the two people that I was least expecting to see. What are my parents doing here?

What Was Supposed To Go To HR

I climb into the workroom, the elevator is broken and I barely got up the steps to the 7th floor. In my hand is a thumb drive. I was told to give it to HR immediately. Immediately could wait. I plopped myself down in a surprisingly comfortable swivel chair. I set the thumb drive on the table and log into the computer. The black, sleek thumb drive threatens me to plug it in. Staring at me and taunting me until I give in. The usb ports are all under my desk so I reach down and feel for one. The thumb drive resists a little bit, but a nudge helps it click in.
Suddenly, the table stars to move. My desk is the only one shaking like this. But strange enough, nobody looks over. Suddenly, I drop into a chute and dive into darkness, table and everything.A pair of buttons appear before me. One purple, one red. I don't want to wait until something gets me, but I also don't want to choose before someone comes to explain what these buttons will do.
I decide that it was a smart idea to press the purple one since red buttons are usually associated with bad things following. The button doesn't come back up after I press it, But the table fades away into the darkness. I can't see anything in the room, even when my eyes have adjusted.
After five minutes, a little toy monkey comes, with a post-it note on its back. The post-it note says only one thing


WRONG DECISION


Before I know it, the monkey disappears and something grabs me from behind, hand over my mouth, and in the other hand, a frying pan. I feel a sharp pain in the back of my head and then everything is black.

Adrift in color

Adrift in Color

Thomas Nazzaro

First comes the blue. A cool, stagnant blue that you sink in to until it submerses you; pulling slowly down all around as everything else is numbed and quieted.  Soon there is only the blue, soaking in to you, chilling your senses and drowning you in the blanket of its heaviness. Then, bleeding out of this blue comes a swirling, sour purple, which pushes away the blue and whisks you around until you lose all sense of direction and become overwhelmed by the sour, vibrant flow. Suddenly, you feel yourself being pressed into a mass; a grainy but solid clump of a silt-like substance that crumbles away as you push against it. Though it crumbles into dust and scrapes against your skin, you grasp at this mass, which is the only substantial thing around you, and pull yourself up out of the swirling purple to fall on to the warm, sun-baked mass to which you had earlier clung. It is a deep, golden brown that reflects light into your eyes and makes you squint. You turn away and see all around you the splashing, churning ocean of the purple within the blue. The purple evaporates from the surface of the water in clouds that smell like fermented sugar, akin to the liquid flow you were tossed about in. You think you can hear the sounds of others like you, tossed and turned as they splash and struggle in the blue and purple. You have found an island of stability, but who is to say whether the others will do the same?

Lake

            This greenish body of water stood still, surrounded by tall, coniferous trees. One could smell the natural salt from feet away. As soon as the little boy jumped in, ripples flew quickly through it. Thousands of ripples filled up the whole lake. Oh, the beautiful lake!