Introducing our Editor in Chief!

 

Hanna Stefanik - Editor-in-Chief

Being one of the younger members of this club, I hadn’t expected to be elected as an officer, but this position is perfect for me. I’ve practically been training my whole life to be an editor--I was reading from an early age, using subtitles for every movie I watched and writing stories about whatever my imagination conjured up. I have a strong grasp of the English language thanks to my mother and grandmother, both of whom are and were teachers, respectively. In fact, whenever my mom needs help wording a sentence more professionally for an email or figuring out synonyms for a word she wants to switch out, she comes to me. Regardless of my background, I look forward to giving that extra spark to these writers’ fantastic stories!

Introducing CG

 That morning was a gorgeous one.  Quiet, calm, peaceful, and overall just perfect.  With the breaking of dawn, the world was bathed in a red, then orange, and then a spectacular yellow.  It was like I was seeing it for the first time all over again.  

Walking through the forest like I did before every sunrise, I was finally able to breathe and just take it all in.  It was dark under the cover of the leaves, but I didn't need to see to know where I was going.  

Pushing through the shrubbery, I could feel the ghostly brushes of the leaves on my legs; it wasn’t very dense but, nevertheless, they rustled slightly in my presence. Continuing my journey, and carefully stepping over the branches and stones that littered the ground, I made my way over to the brooke I had spent my childhood playing in. It bubbled cheerfully as if happy to see me again, tumbling over itself in excitement.  

Bittersweet memories flooded back to me.  All the laughter and joy that once was here made my current reality pale in comparison.  My friends are long gone now.  They’ve moved on.   They’ve forgotten this place.  But I will never forget.  I used to come to play in these waters with Joshie, and Marieanna all the time, but Joshie is the only one who remembers anymore.  He remembers the waters and the trees and the fun we used to have.  It’s funny, even after everything that has changed with us, this place is still the same.  

I sigh, and tears begin pricking the back of my eyes.  I refuse to let them fall.  I’ve cried too much already, and I really don’t have much time to waste if I wanted to be there before daybreak.  So, shaking these sorrowful thoughts from my head I started on my way again, using several large rocks as stepping stones to cross the stream.  I walk more briskly now, lengthening my strides as my surroundings grow ever lighter.  I’m nearly there.

After a minute or two I can finally see it, and just in time too.  Pushing through the last pieces of brush I was finally there, in the clearing.  In my clearing.  It was one of my favorite places and had been since I was young.  Other than me, only one person has ever been here, but I don't like to think about that too much.

Pushing myself out of my depressive thoughts once more, it 

As I lay in the dewy grass I can hear the birds beginning to rouse, twittering with glee as the golden slivers of sun bring them to the air once more.  The crickets and frogs had long since resigned from their nightly serenade, leaving a gap in the constant ambiance of the outdoors that these feathered creatures were more than happy to fill.

Introducing NG

 I struggled to hold back tears as the women standing in front of me spat out horrid insults. I couldn’t understand how the woman I love, the woman I look up to, the woman I call mom, could stand there looking at my red and damp face and continue yelling any further. Eventually, I lost my battle with my tears and they tumbled down my face so fast my eyes blurred and I felt tiny water droplets land on my feet below. This seemed to anger her even more and her voice got louder and meaner if that was even possible. Her voice started to crack and she lowered her volume slightly, making me hopeful that the interaction would soon be over. Things with her were never that easy though. When the yelling finally ended I was sent to my room, too fearful to leave even to use the restroom or eat dinner. However, it wasn't over just yet. She moved to the room to my left and pounded on the door. He opened the door and stood in the doorway, waiting for the yelling to commence as it was now his turn to be chewed out by the woman. He was so small, so young, he couldn't hold back tears as long as I could, and so the yelling increased. It was hard for me to watch my playmate, my best friend, my brother, stand there and face her alone. It felt as If my heart was breaking into two, one half for me, and the other for him. It was then that I uttered words for the first time since the woman had stood in front of me. “Mom, please” I whispered slowly. 

Introducing NKD

 Self-story

The whistle blew. Before I knew what had happened, I was on the ground and couldn’t get up. As I sat there in pain, I saw my teammates running towards me. Still to this point, I don’t know what had happened. A fight broke out between the two teams. The ref quickly broke it up. My coach ran over to my side and picked me up. I yelled as he picked me up. They called for the athletic trainer to come over with the golf cart and told someone to get an ambulance over to the fields for me.

Before I go on, I need to explain how I got to this point, it started about a month ago. We were at practice when our coach told us that we were going to be playing in a tournament. Of course, I was super happy with the idea and asked when the first game was. “We have a month until the first game,” he said. One by one the rest of the team said they were excited to go and play. The next day at school, I was so excited to tell my friends that we are playing in a tournament in Orlando. A few of them were happy for us, and the others didn’t care too much, but they were also the ones who didn’t like our club. So their opinion didn’t affect me as much. I went through the day pretty happy with the fact that we were finally playing in another tournament. When it came time for practice, we had some conditioning drills and some other types of drills. In the end, we ended up scrimmaging ourselves. The rest of the time in between the tournament flew by. The next thing I remember, it was the week of the tournament. Still excited, I got up and got ready for school. As the day went on, my teachers decided to give homework in every class. Which is expected, but still sucked. Five of my teachers had decided to give us essays that were due the next morning. I got them done but ended up skipping my workout for the day as a result of it. 

The next day flew by, and practice was finally here. I was expecting to play well but ended up playing the worst I’ve ever done. No matter what I did, I couldn’t calm myself down. I drove home pissed that day and went straight to bed. The next day, I went to school as though nothing had happened, and the day went mostly normal, except for a few pop quizzes, which sent my grade plummeting to a C in the grade book. When I got home, I started getting ready for practice and went straight there. Again, I played really badly and went home pissed off. At this point, I was seriously thinking about this being my last season of the sport, and focusing on academics. If I did decide to quit, I would have to wait until the end of the season. So I decided that if this weekend didn’t go well, that would be my last season.

The weekend came, and I was getting ready for the game, listening to music while my parents were driving.  We got to the fields, me as eggar as could be, got out there and started passing with the team. At this point, there were about five of us there passing the ball around. As I put my shin guards and cleats on, one of my teammates ran up to me. “How are you doing today Nate,” he said? “I’m doing fine, how about you,” I asked? “I’m doing fine,” he said. “That’s good,” I said. As more and more of our teammates got to the field, we started to get warmed up. We got in our positions, for the start of our game.

The whistle blew for the start of the game. “Step up” I yelled, addressing the defense. Ten minutes pass, we scored our first goal. 1-0 as we lead within the first few minutes. Another ten minutes pass, and we were given a corner kick. My friend Nick ran up to take the corner kick. The defender headed the ball out of the box, and they started a counter-attack. They had 3 players running on the counter-attack, while we only had two defenders back. We had just got lucky, as one of the attackers missed the shot. The rest of the game went smoothly, and we won the game 3-1. The next game came along, which we won again. This time, the score was 2-1 us. The final game was to take place on Sunday at 4 P.M. Which was pretty nice of a time to have a game. 

Hours passed, and it was time for the final. We started to warm-up, and it was going as smoothly as you could think. It finally came time for the final game to start. The whistle blew, and we started to play. After the first half, the score was 0-0. About 10 minutes left of the game, the ball was sent down the middle. Before I knew what had happened, I was on the ground and couldn’t get up. As I sat there in pain, I saw my teammates running towards me. Still, I don’t know what had happened. A fight broke out between the two teams. The ref quickly broke it up. My coach ran over to my side and picked me up. I yelled as he picked me up. He stopped. They called for the athletic trainer to come over with the golf cart and told someone to get an ambulance over to the fields for me. We would go to win the game, but just barely. The final score read 2-1 us. The next two weeks were full of recovery, and the third week, I prematurely played in a tournament again. I didn’t do too bad, but I definitely felt that I went into the tournament a little prematurely. You need to explain at some point what your actual injury was. 

Introducing DS

It was weird. When one first thinks of the color of eyes, they don’t think much of it. Not me. In kindergarten I wondered why my eyes were blue and if they could see certain colors that people with, for example, brown eyes, couldn’t see. Honestly, I still think about the topic itself, but it’s been 10 years. Most people would have dropped it within the hour of thinking it. Also, not me. I can hold a grudge against someone that had done my friends and family wrong, but say sorry to someone that hurt me. A lot like my grandmother can. When I hear the word ‘grandmother’ I think of a woman that stands tall, but is actually short, with her leg on top of a pointed cliff holding a grey toy poodle in one hand and the other with a wooden spoon and a face set with determination. That’s my grandmother, or granny. Now, I focus on how the hell a football game works and what a first down is. I’ve heard of touchdown, never a first down. All because I want to understand why my boyfriend’s arms are covered in bruises. I think of the different shades of colors and the roads that will never be found. Now I think of the little boy whose parents just walked out the door to buy a rotisserie chicken instead of spaghetti for the fourth night in a row and the thoughts and tears from the clouds in the sky. I think of the different species and colors of sunflowers, and the latest song by The Lumineers. I think of what it’s like to be a girl with a family of gold, and what it was like being a skater in the 80s listening to Aerosmith and Ac/Dc. Even though I can't roller skate to save my life, you can never tell what that’s like because you can’t see what’s inside of a person’s mind or even a little bit past the mask they so clearly display. A person that doesn’t like meat won’t understand why a person that does like meat, eats it, or vice versa. Will I be accepted to an ivy league college or will I be the waitress struggling to provide for three kids while their father sits in a bar with a woman that isn’t his wife on his lap? Would I be a nurse if I do go to college, or will I be the English teacher that plays Americana and Classic Rock music while her children write essays about an argument they had and lost to themselves? Would I be the lady with a petting zoo for little children to come by and see everyday? Will I have children to spoil and scold for 18 years? Will I even make it to my 18th birthday?

It’s funny to think that you see a girl with glasses and a cute backpack that stumbles down the stairs to get to class, but you don’t hear the raging thoughts that reside in her little head and the feelings that rest her large heart. If only life were that easy.

Introducing HCS

 I can see my reflection in the mirror. Well, obviously--I can’t break the laws of physics. That would be weird.

But I can also see what’s within me.

A past me loved to listen to Beach Boys in a Volvo convertible. A past me idolized Malala Yousafzai and Susan B. Anthony. A past me prided herself on her eagerness to begin. A past me wanted to be perfect, and the present me wants that, too.

I can see a bobbing red heart, a metallic biped with a black velvet top hat, a little inky devil, a self-aware high-schooler.

I can see logos flashing across my vision, ones of creators I adore and look up to. A nostalgia-inducing cat, a pink mustache, an eye infected, a pixelated look-alike.

I can see towering robotic aliens. I can see a cute, fuzzy yellow animal with a jagged tail. I can see a lightning bolt scar. I can see a newcomer to the mask web-slinging across my vision. I can see animated creatures and people of all backgrounds. 

I can see magic-wielders, impossible marvels becoming actuality with new technology, fragrant romances blossoming, broken worlds rising, even that which is real spilling out in front of me.

I can see me.

I take a breath in, reach out, and touch the me I see.

The gentle press of my fingertip shatters the mirror, shards scattering within the empty black behind it.

I make to step forward, then hesitate. What am I to find there? Behind me? Will I fear it? Will I wish I had never found such a curious, deadly place?

Though if I am brave enough to take the first step, I must be brave enough to take another.

I mind the step and set one foot on the opposite side of the golden, ornate frame. The other follows it.

I can see nothing but the black: the endless, yet not dark, void. Still I go forward, pieces of mirror crunching underneath my shoes.

I hold my breath as each step pulls me in, towards an end. There must be an end. There’s always an end.

Faces blurred into vision, stepping from the dark edges--those I had seen before. They appeared one by one on my sides. Each individual showed their care for me as they waved, smiled, tipped their hats. Hundreds were soon surrounding me, a cheering mass of positivity and love, and they were kind enough to leave a gap.

I could not help my smile as I walked among them, nodding and saluting to my favorites: characters of all species, types, styles, eras, or other distinguishing qualities littered the crowds. My fandoms, my memories, my loves—they were all here for me. They always would be, no matter what hardships I faced.

In the distance, a light glowed from an open doorway. They hushed, watching me tread the path they laid down for me and tilt my head as I examined it. What was it? As my footsteps brought me closer, my confusion only increased. The light was pure and white, emanating from the unknown source. A door had been swung open, carved of wood and with a brass handle.

They spoke disjointedly, as groups tended to do, but I could hear what they were trying to communicate to me: “It leads to the Other Side.”

What is the Other Side, I asked them, and they looked at one another, murmuring as they seemed to debate on what to tell me. A younger, more blue-eyed version of me finally spoke up with her tiny voice, clutching a precious toy bear in one hand and our mother’s with the other. “It’s the place we find our peace, big me.”

Find our peace, I replied, looking at the others for a deeper answer. They all seemed to agree with her, unable to dig up better words for me.

Still, I looked back at the door. Peace was waiting for me.

I took my cue and, with a forlorn look back at the best parts of me, walked into the light.

I opened my eyes. A field--a wide, grassy field, ringed by trees on the far edges--stretched out before me. It looked like rain would come in a while: light gray clouds were rolling in from a distant horizon.

Another version of me was sitting on a bench, which was on top of a slab of concrete and covered by a metal overhang. It looked like a bus stop in the middle of nowhere, but the girl on the bench paid no attention to the oddity she was a part of. She was young, much younger than the other versions I had seen: she couldn’t be older than five. Still that bear toy was in her arms, the familiar one that made me smile. Her hair was golden, mine from a time long ago, and she was dressed in a white dress I only faintly recognized.

The flicker of memory made her shift, and she looked over at me with startling blue eyes, mine once upon a time. “Hello,” she said. “Would you like to sit and watch the rain with me?”

How do you know it’s going to rain soon, I questioned her.

“I just know. Sit with me.”

I obeyed. Just as I ducked under the cover it began to sprinkle, and as I sat, it turned into a downpour. We watched for a while, the two of us--the millions of droplets falling from the darkened (though not too dark) sky into the soil, tracing down the sides of the overhead. The patter was rhythmic and lulling, and I was tempted to fall asleep there, on that wooden bench, in the middle of a field.

“My name is Peace,” the girl told me, stroking the soft plush in her lap. “You have been seeking me for some time now, yes?”

Hesitantly, I replied. Yes. I have been looking for you for years. Why is it that now I am with you, Peace? Why is it now that I have serenity?

“You saw yourself in the mirror. You came to me as you are, and I accepted you.”

Have I not been worthy before?

“You were. You just hadn’t believed it.”

Her words rendered me silent. We went back to watching the rain, which beat down endlessly. I don’t know how long we lasted, but I do know that Peace was soon asleep on my arm. Listening to the drumming on the tin roof, I couldn’t help but smile as my mind escaped to my dreams.

Welcome Writers and Readers!

 Hello! 

Thank you for visiting our page! 

Here you can enjoy the stories and adventures created by the PCHS creative writing club and the winners of the school-wide writing contests that the club hosts on a regular basis. 

We will post new stories weekly so check back here regularly for new adventures to enjoy! 

                                                                     - - - Mrs. Hofstetter (Club Sponsor)