If

By Jasmin Gutierrez

If I could live
A thousand years
I wouldn’t
For a couple days
Is all I need.
If I could walk
And breathe
Underwater
I know I’d rather
Fly away.
If I could rule
The whole wide world
I would share
And make us all
Equal.
If
If
If
They’re the wishes
That don’t
Come true.

Falling into Winter

My foot slipped from underneath me and I fell; extending my wrist out towards the ice to break my fall. I was too cold to scream loudly, so my throat quietly whimpered. Glad that I wasn’t seriously hurt, I carefully got up from the wetness I knew would stain my brownie colored Uggs. I glided across the ice, aware that I could easily fall again. My two dogs pulled ahead of me, ready to relieve themselves and meet our neighbor’s pit-bull. My voice firmly told them to slow down and take it easy. The air around my mouth was cold, and as I spoke, I could see my breath. My ears felt like icicles. I craved some hot cocoa with marshmallows and a warm croissant as my stomach grumbled. At every bush, tree, and snow patch, my dogs would insist on stopping and marking their territory. Of course, this would leave nothing but yellow snow for me to attempt to cover up. The extending leashes jerked back and forth as they swerved through the road. As I looked over my shoulder at our rented winter cabin, I saw my dad shoveling his way into the garage door. The snow from the roof had fallen off and buried the path to the frequently used door. Heavy packs of snow slammed against the side of the cabin sounding like a stomping giant, and startling me every time. By now, two days after the big snowfall, the snow was filthy. With cars rushing through it and by it, splashing up puddles of mud, and snowshoe’s traipsing through it, within two days it was brown snow rather than white.
As I walked back, shivering, through the same path we had come on, I noticed my dad was hanging up string lights on our roof. Some of them were burned out, which made me laugh, but I didn’t mention it.
As day turned to night, I noticed that most of the houses on our street were decorated with lights and holiday decorations. It reminded me of the neighborhood in one of those over-exaggerated Christmas movies. And I realized, when looking up at the sky, that the moon and the stars were just as bright as these decorations. Still, my dogs yanked on the leashes, dragging me down two more houses. I pulled them back to our cabin and ran inside, not even thinking about losing my footing again. Once inside, I huddled close to the fire, satisfied to be so cozy.

The Shot Glass

Saga Shermis

A person can only complain so much. Bad things happen, so what. You’d end up complaining if nothing happened anyway, so why not just save your breath. You just have to learn to handle the mood maturely, otherwise you’d end up in trouble with more complaining. The trick is to move on, like a shark. Don’t stop, just go straight-keep swimming, let the problems bounce off you as you swim by.
Her voice was shrill and high pitched. The sudden sob the lashed out could not have come from her mouth. My independent sister, now bawling over the computer, not exactly an ordinary moment. She ran out, leaving the page open, and vulnerable. I saw the words that had gashed into her heart, leaving it torn, the flesh waving free of their original placement. Blood swelled over the rim of the words.
I ran out to fetch her. Sitting down, next to the rest of my collective coven, was a new object. The fluid inside swayed dynamically with my sister, her heart sat in the venomous glass. The shot was not a bullet to her heart, but to mine. Hers was slowly weaving in and out, the seams being placed together. But they looked fragile, easily breakable.
I took off. My head spinning. I was swallowed up by darkness. My mass sunk down against a tree. The rugged edges abrasive against my back. The moon was the simple sanctuary that seemed to be most welcoming. I closed my eyes. I heaved in a deep breath. And I sat there. Just sat. Waiting. Just waiting.
I felt breakable. Like a glass. Containing a very valuable liquid. Without it what was I worth? I watched as my horror disappeared as quickly as it had come. Now I was clouded with anger. The unfortunate affect of almost anything that ever jerked my emotional balance. I jolted upright. My body aware like a lion. My prey would not be able to endure the unparallel senses that now flooded my shaking body. I was in attack mode. My rage directed towards one thing... the shot glass. I stumbled, my feet staying a pace and a half behind me. A battle was inevitable now. Someone would pay for what had happened. What would break the shot glass... without dropping the heart.
I ran across the pool cover, my feet off-balance until I got to the edge. It reminded me of a lagoon. A peaceful place. I felt dizzy again. But the unsettlement of that feeling shook me back to my quest. I grabbed a lemon. And then I swung with all my might at the fence. I was angry. The power, to much for my shoulder, left it aching. A threw on. I didn't stop until the lemons insides sprawled out across the cold stones. I was at peace here. With the ability to relax as I pleased. It was like playing catch. I heard a muffled cry. My seniors walked to the house. My sisters followed them slowly. I waited outside for a while. Letting myself fume. It felt nice to let the anger slide off. I was calm, the aura of peace slightly more visible through the diminishing fog.
I walked to the cottage, through the window, the shot glass loomed. My heart picked up a few beats. The glass was empty, the heart was slowly unweaving. With every stitch I took a step. I came to her side. The balls of venom fell from her eyes. They closed slowly. and my last bit of anger disappeared with peace in it's clutches.

6th Grade Oak

For how long have you been here?
How long will you stay?
You watch
as we toss you seeds
You know more than us all
The home of creatures,
The food of animals,
You sacrifice your rough, scratchy bark
To house the squirrels
Your smooth acorns
To feed the squirrels
Your being to shade and comfort numerous sixies
And offer a place to stay
The history of Menlo
The 6th grade oak

- Em S.

Vulture and the Plummet

Heat, muggy, and no escape
Water every couple hundred miles
And food, I have now energy to hunt, neither do the predators, I envy
The agility, speed, power, control
Powers I wish I could posses

It has been days now.
Nothing to keep me going
Nowhere to hide
But wait
I see something running, then stopping, then waiting,
In the shadows, on ground, a place not safe for the likes of me
A lion, whose features I am dismayed not to scope

The patience, what more could it have in its stomach than I
Only I know it is the superior
I am worthless

I feel heavy now
But I am light, no nothing to contempt my desire for flesh

But wait
A pounce,
A yelp
I will wait now for my food, I am a scavenger

I can’t my, drive compels me
I can no longer hold on
I dive, plummet, to the ground ready to swoop
I am a scavenger
But
It is
Too late

- Saga Sunshine Shermis

Black and White

Ahhh, the perfect grass.
Just right for me, Zebra.
Long, smooth, crunchy.
Who would have known it was my last meal.
Grazing the vast field.
The copper sun shines upon the glimmering grass.
I hear the nearby vulture crowing, searching for a tasty carcass.
I’m grateful that won’t be me.
Pleasant, calm, atmosphere.
Peaceful, no reason to be alert.
Then,
A rustle, a deep growl, a pounce,
Headed straight for me.
Then, pain,
Piercing my stomach,
Again and again.
I try to fight back, but know I have no chance.
The end of my world, a mess of black, white, tan, and red.
Once again, I hear the crows of the vulture again.
The faint cry becomes louder as the bird swoops closer.
I moan, and give myself up.
I feel each muscle go limp, until, finally my heart,
Dies too.
My last thought is,
Goodbye.

- Rebecca Larson

I Am Predator

Food is scarce for most animals.
But, for me, Lion, King of the jungle, I the predator, can find food.
Zebras roam the open plains
Elephants drink from the water hole unaware of their surroundings.
Soon, they will be prey.
I am predator.
I pounce for the zebra as it tries to run.
But it gets no where.
The wonderful taste of flesh bounds in my jaws.
One dead, more to go.
Another smell triggers my taste buds and sends saliva running down my chin.
I follow my nose to the smell, and find a vulture hovering over a dead gazelle.
The fight for food is on as I leap for the carcass.

-Talie Warner