Short Story by Christian Carrillo, Senior

The Session

Christian Carrillo

“Monday 15, 2024, therapy session number 13. Patient has been waking up feeling restless for four weeks now,” Dr. Wick said into her voice recorder. “Deku, how did you wake up feeling this morning Deku?”

“Well, Dr. Wick not much has changed if I’m being honest,” I responded.

“Hmm, you don’t say” she said with uncertainty. “Well to be honest there should’ve been some type of progress or improvement by now,” Dr. Wick strongly expressed.

“Well what do you suggest we do now?” I said.

“I usually would never suggest this for one of my patients but this seems urgent,” she said with worry. “I’m going to give you a stronger medication and with this particular medication I have to give you a shot behind your neck to enhance the medication to help your sleeping issues,”

“Well, um, you’re the expert,” I said very anxiously.

Dr. Wick went to grab the needle and I could already feel sweat beginning to manifest all over my hands. “This is only going take one second I promise,” she said reassuringly. She inserts the needle and I feel myself begin to get light headed. “All done,” she giggled. My neck felt so numb and I felt as if there was some sort of little ball in there.

“Dr. Wick, is this lump going to stay here,”

“Oh don’t mind that, it should ease down in a few hours,” she said with a smile.

“Um, okay, thanks Doc I’ll see you Wednesday then,” I said excitedly.

“Yup, see you on the 17th, now go get some rest,” she said in a soft voice.

Before I left the small white office I looked outside the 12ft window looking down from the 27th floor. All I could think to myself was, “Wow, this is going to be the start of something new,” So I left the office and took the elevator down. I walked out into the loud and busy streets of New York, New York where everyone is always on their grind, hoping to be noticed and make it big.

My walk home was a short one since I only live 5 minutes away walking distance.

By the time I make it to my house I can already feel the medication kicking in. Not wanting to waste any time and ready to finally have a restful night of sleep, I start to get myself ready for bed. I go to turn off the lights in my already dark and dull room. As I walk towards my bed I feel myself getting heavier and heavier with every step I take. By the time I knew it, pitch black was all I saw.

“God, I feel even worse than before, what the heck type of medication was that,” I said to myself in the morning. The pain I felt on my head was worse than its been before.

“Ping—”  I get a video sent to me from an anonymous number. I open the video and, I see me! I see me, or at least a person who appears to be me. In the video there's a person in a dark empty street, dragging a tied up man and little girl into a hidden tunnel near an alley. He leaves the tunnel so nonchalant, as if he literally did not just drag two bodies into a tunnel. The video ends with him tripping and hitting his head on the curb.

Whoever this person is, must definitely be sick and needs to be turned in to the police right away. However I can’t help but think why this video was sent to me. Could that person be me? No that’s crazy. I don’t even have any type of recollection of this. If it were me though, that would explain why my head hurts so much. I know I’m definitely going to have to tell this to my psychiatrist on our next session.

I decide to play it safe and record myself that night. So I set up my camera in my room on the corner of the ceiling. When I looked at the footage in the morning I couldn’t believe my eyes. Sound asleep I am, then suddenly, I get up. Approaching the camera I look directly into the lense, smirk, and walk away with a wave before disappearing for nearly the entire night, and returning four hours later.

After watching that video I feel completely hopeless. Not knowing how any of this is possible and why I look so awake. Where did I go? What did I do? Why don’t I remember? Questions that cross back and forth through my mind. Now all of a sudden me being that guy in the video doesn’t seem like a crazy possibility after all.

“Ping—” I get a text from the same anonymous number. “If you wanna know the truth about everything you’re confused about, skip your therapy session today and meet me at the Dunkin’ Doughnuts down the streets from your house,”

“Who are you, and why should I trust you?” I asked him

“Look, be there at 6pm sharp, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.” he responded.

Its five minutes til six and I’m standing inside Dunkin’ Doughnuts, when suddenly, I hear a deep voice come from behind me.

“Stop looking like a lost puppy and take a seat why don’t you,” he said with an aggressive tone of voice.

“Okay, okay, just promise me you won’t kill me,” I said with a shaky voice. “I still have a lot to live for.”

“Oh shut up you fool,” he said monotonically. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

We take a seat in a small booth. He sits in front of me wearing a dark cloak and dark hat so big that it’s covering half of his face. When he removes his hat, he appears to be an ordinary man which took me by shock considering that Batman like voice.

“The names Joe, Joe Dingleberry,” he said seriously. “And you’re Deku Todoroki, Dr. Sonia Wicks’ patient.”

“Ha, Dingleberry” I chuckle under my breath. “Well I’m guessing an introduction isn’t needed,” I said with uncertainty. “Wait, how do you know my name and that I see Dr. Wick.”

“I used to work under Sonia as her assistant,” he said with disgust. “But she fired me because I didn’t agree with her ways.”

“Okay, so what does any of this have to do with me?” I said with confusion.

“Dr. Wick is up to something and I’m not sure what it is,” he said. “What I do know though, is it has to do with you. I believe she has something to do with why you’ve been having these issues with your sleep schedule.”

“Okay you have my attention keep talking.”

“She has a notebook. I took a peek at it one day while she was distracted and it said something about a shot that can make a person do anything that you could program them to do.” He said with worry.

“Wait, program?” I asked.

“Yes. The shot inserts some type of technological chip inside you that she can control from her end,” he explained. “Which is why I brought this.”

He pulled out a mini knife and took me to the alley behind Dunkin’ Doughnuts. At this point I already knew what he was going to do and just accepted it. He made a slight incision on the back of my neck and squeezed it like a pimple. Sure enough, he was right, there was a chip in there.

“When you see her this Friday the 19th you have to obtain that notebook from her.” He said gripping my shoulders and staring me deep in the eyes. “I was the one who took that video of you dragging the man and little girl into the tunnel. If we want to save them we have to make sure Dr. Wick is out of the way and we have evidence that you are innocent. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I mean, I guess so.” I said perplexed.

“You have one day to rest up and think about how you’re going to do this because Friday is two days away. It’s now or never.” He said reassuringly.

I went home so confused and scared. Anxiety of the unknown has to be by far one of the most terrifying things. I decided to take his advice and take Thursday to rest up because Friday was going to take all I had to keep my composure.

Friday approached and I headed off to Dr. Wick’s building. I head up the elevator and make it to the 27th floor and that’s where everything internally takes a turn for the worst. As I approach her door my heart begins to beat as if I just finished running a marathon. I enter the room and I suddenly become as cold as death.

“What’s the matter Deku? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Dr. Wick said giggling.

“Oh nothing i'm just feeling a little under the weather today that's all.” I say softly.

“Ding—, Ding—” “Will you excuse me? I’m going to take this phone call real quick in the hallway, i’ll be right back.” She said with a smile.

That’s when I knew it was the perfect opportunity. I quickly run over to her desk to grab her notebook. The adrenaline runs through my body so much that I’m numb and my legs give out. I know this can’t be good because she’s going to be back any second. I crawl behind her desk and begin to get carpet burn on my knees and hand. I’m digging and digging through all her drawers when I finally find the notebook.

“BAM!” The door shuts, and my body is completely paralyzed. I look up and there she is, towering over me with a gun pointed at my face.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to respect a woman's privacy?” She asked.

“It’s over Sonia, I know you’re up to something evil and I’m going to take you down.” I said raising my voice.

“Evil? take me down? What are you a superhero? I don’t believe we’re in a Marvel or DC movie right now.” She said chuckling. “Now then, let’s get this over with.”

As she takes the safety off the gun everything begins to move in slow motion. This is it. If I don’t make a move now then I’m dead. I tackle her down from the legs and toss the gun by the door. She grabs a pen from the floor and tries to stab me to get off of her. Finally I get a hold of her hands and hold them down against the floor.

“You’re pathetic, once I kill you I’m going to tell the authorities how you tried to rape me and that you were very mentally ill.” She said with a struggle in her voice.

“You’re insane woman. I’m not going to let you get away with all the fraud that you’ve been putting up.”

Not knowing what else to do and knowing that I have to get that notebook back to the authorities, I punch her one good time in the head. At that moment I knew that I just bought myself some time. She was no longer moving. I check her heartbeat and to see if she’s still breathing and she is. I grab the notebook and quickly run over to the table to grab the voice recorder then I get out of the building as quick as possible.

“I got it! I got it! Where can I meet you?” I text Joe.

“This is great! But we have to act quick meet me at your house now.” He replied.

Finally, I make it back to the house to look through the notebook with Joe. All I can say is, this women had some serious problems. She was using me as a hitman to kill her husband and daughter so that way should could collect all the insurance money and move far away with her side man.

‘Oh shit! The man and little girl!” Joe and I yelled.

“We have to get to them ASAP it's been four days since they’ve been in that tunnel.” I said worriedly.

We ran over to the hidden tunnel by the alley. By the time we got to the man and little girl they were barely responsive. We called the police and ambulance to get the emergency medical attention. Once the paramedics got there they took the man and little girl to the emergency room right away. We explained everything to the police and gave them the voice recorder and notebook. I explained to them the physical altercation that I had with Dr. Wick and that I didn’t know if she was still going to be there. They took Joe and I into custody and drove us down to the the police station while they called another team of cops and detectives to check the crime scene.

“I don’t understand why they’re treating us like criminals we did nothing wrong.” I cried.

“Pull it together man this is standard crime procedure it’s just for our own safety.” Joe said laughing at me.

“But it’s dirty and cold in these cells plus I think that guy over there in the other one thinks I’m cute, he keeps winking at me.” I said fearfully.

After a few hours the police comeback and take us out those god awful cells. They pull me into an investigation room and ask me to tell them more about mine and Dr. Wick’s relationship. So that’s just what I did. A man in a white lab coat walks into the small small grey investigation room and makes himself known.

“Dr. Bridge, nice to meet you Mr. Todoroki. I’m so sorry for the trauma you have been through.” He said with concern. “I’m just going to run a few test on you to make sure everything’s okay. Fear not I’m one of the best psychiatrist in the United States.”

He ran test on me and I came out having dissociative amnesia. After that he prescribed me medicine and was going to check back in with me on Sunday the 19th.

I went home and turned on the television, shockingly the story about Dr. Wick was all over the news. I tuned the TV off and went to sleep. In the morning I felt a lot better, no headaches no soreness, so I decided to sleep in all of Saturday and take advantage of all the sleep I could get.

Sunday morning came around and I get a call from Joe. Not really wanting to be bothered by him ignore the call. He calls again and that's when I start to think maybe this might be serious.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Dude you’re not going to believe this!” He shouts through the phone.

“Just get on with it.” I say impatiently.

He tells me how he has connections with people in the police station and how he received some information about the Dr. Wick case. He told how when the police made it to her office they found her hanging from the ceiling with a suicide note beneath her feet. It read “That little fool got me there’s no point in running away it would be pointless. Just let my husband and daughter know that I never loved either of those degenerates.” He then told me that she had antisocial disorder and she wasn’t even a real doctor.

“As fascinating as this all sounds I really just want to leave it all behind me now.” I said. “I’m actually heading off right now to go see Dr. Bridge. I can't wait to thank him on the new medication, I’ve never felt better.”

“Well that sounds good for you buddy. I’m really happy you’re getting the proper care you needed.” Joe said sincerely.

“Joe, thanks for everything. I mean that. Considering the fact that you don’t even know me.” I said.

“No problem, see you around.”

The End.

Short Story by Angel Carr, Senior

Between life and Death

by Angel Carr

Some stories end in tragedy some in fairytale but this just may be a mixture of both, you see my name is Yara and my life is far from perfect. Right now at this moment I’m already attempting suicide, I’m attempting suicide not because of some boy or some devious bully, I’m committing suicide because of myself and I know I can’t blame everything on myself but in this case I can. I don’t think life is worth living I mean we live in a crazy world where I can be killed by anyone, you can’t get into Lyft or Uber without praying that it won’t be a crazy serial killer, men are being more and more hateful towards women and goddamn Kanye is running for president. I mean what is this world?, a world of deception, jealousy, and most of all greed. I know that if I keep telling myself about the bad things in the world the more and more I don’t blame myself for my suicide. Everything seems to be falling out of place, I’m not the same anymore I used to be on top, the pretty girl, the popular girl that was voted most likely to be Elle Woods from Legally Blonde but the smart version, or so I hope that’s what they meant.

When I was younger my mother used to take me to the beach and I would lay in the sand and look at the waves crashing on the sand just back and forth, back and forth, and that’s just how my life feels my emotions crashing back and forth till one day they all will come crashing down which is why I’m doing what I’m doing. I’m committing suicide today and there’s absolutely nothing that anyone could do to stop me. If you wanna know about me you don’t have to pry I’m still here to tell you sheesh I’m not dead yet. So my mother is a psychiatrist and she is always coming home late from work and that’s fine I just wish she would slip me some happy pills, she’s very hardworking, and she loves The Cosby show reruns I just wish that our family was like the Cosby’s. We’re far from that but I have a dog named Oliver “Ollie” is his nickname he is the sweetest companion I’ve ever met I take him for walks, I feed him, and I love him. I rescued Ollie from a lamp post when I was 5 but now I’m 16 and Ollie is getting older. We get old together through every hard time, through every tear, through every battle Ollie has been there for me, my only friend, my best friend. I mean we watched the Incredibles together, and he’s been there through slumber  parties and all of my troubles. I still talk about him like he’s still with me but I know he’s not coming back.

Last summer I took Ollie to the park, his favorite park tied him to a pole so I can use the bathroom and I heard loud noises like “Grr” I heard a squeal and ran out and saw Ollie lying there in blood and coyotes running away. So I took him off the leash, picked him up and ran home as fast as I can because I can’t pay for a vet and of course my mother wasn’t home so I tried to save him I put as much pressure on the wound as I could but nothing was helping Ollie was dying and there was not much I could do about it so I sung to him as I was holding him. I sung a rendition of my girl by the temptations and replace it as “My boy” while heavily sobbing that was my first time I ever felt like my emotions were coming into place and I can see how much I cared for Ollie and how I wish he was still with me at a time like this. I bring Ollie up because Ollie would know what to do he’s seen me upset and always was there to make my day better. It’s hard to find someone to lean on and I don’t have my best friend anymore to help me. I feel like I’m suffocating myself by pretending I’m okay ever since Ollie’s death and so many other things that has been happening within me.

My mom took me to therapy when I was younger but it didn’t help I’ve always been someone who was in my shell and all of the friends I had turned their back on me because I’m not as popular as them. I walk around feeling sorry for myself because somehow it must be my fault why people walk into my life to just go away like my father. My father was a huge role model to me when I was little he was the glue that held our family together we did everything together and he loved my mother so much. What they had is what I like to call endless love the undying love he had for her was incredible I need to stop thinking of people that were in my life right now I’m in a bad place because of me, that’s all I can blame not Ollie or my dad just myself. I knew as a kid something was off in my head I always felt sad but since I was kid I didn’t pay attention to it all I knew was my dad was gone and I couldn’t get to see him anymore.

The days my mom was home she always ridiculed me over little things and it made me insecure which is part of the reason why I am like this today but the other half is I was diagnosed with depression at 12 and that’s a very young age and my mother thought I was crazy even though she diagnosed me with it so she used to give me “happy pills” to make me feel better I wish I had them right now.

My life is in such shambles just waiting to crumble around me my boyfriend recently broke up with me. The last thing my ex-boyfriend said to me was “ Hey babe it’s not you, it’s me”. I definitely knew it was me I mean how can someone just leave with no explanation there must be something wrong with me I know it and I know that I’m an emotionally draining person to be around always saying how ugly I look, always being introverted and always looking down. I always relied on my support systems for help but I always tell myself to never get too attached because I know I couldn’t handle myself when they finally leave.

My best friend left too, her name is Diana or should I say the new Elle Woods of our school the “Smart version” I see her everyday and I want to say hey because I just need someone to talk to I don’t because society says we are not socially compatible anymore it’s crazy how high school can drastically change everyone from their personalities, to appearance, and how they talk. I remember last week the closest I got to talking to Diana was accidently bumping into her in the lunch line and her yelling at me saying “Bitch”.

I’m sorry I can’t stay on topic to save my life and now I’m holding these 16 900 mg ibuprofens to numb my pain I’m at home in the bathtub reminiscing on my past then suddenly I heard a voice, not just any voice but my father’s voice I can’t believe it I jumped up and all I hear is “Yara don’t do it, I love you” I looked and said “Dad is that you?”. The next thing I know is I’m seeing my actual childhood the time when my father and I went to the park and danced around and him trying to fit on every seesaw he laid his eyes on, me eating vanilla ice cream cone with sprinkles and him biting almost the whole cone off. He then took me to an amusement park I’m 5 at this time he’s there with a funnel cake and Dippin’ Dots making me go on every carousel he saw he didn’t let me go on the big rides no matter how hard I begged him because he never wanted me to get hurt and that’s what I admired about my dad he always kept me safe from a world I felt was out to get me but the only person that is really out to get me is myself. I feel so insecure without my father in my life he is the greatest person I’ve ever known. He made me feel like I had a golden heart that I could do no harm and swore that I was going to become a famous writer one day.

I keep everything in my journal which I’m writing in as we speak I like to keep memories so when people find me they’ll have my backstory on why I had to do what I had to do. As my flashback of my father continues I think of the night we were coming home from the carnival he played his favorite song called All my life and he was just happily singing it when suddenly a huge semi was coming towards us on the highway he then swerved and all I remember is waking up with a headache and a flashlight flashing in my eye with a lot of first responders around the car. As they were taking me out of the car it was in a ditch and I kept saying “Daddy are you okay?” seeing him still in the car he said “Yeah, sweetheart I’m fine”. I don’t remember much after the accident happened, all I know is mother told me my father was dead. How can that be? We were just singing and laughing he can’t be dead I don’t even understand what that meant all I knew was he wasn’t coming back. I snap back to reality and here I am standing here with the pills in my hand writing down my final thoughts realizing that this isn’t what my father wanted, my father wanted me to be strong for him as much as he was for me I don’t feel like myself at times and it’s fine it’s just the stages of grief I’m going through.

I didn’t think that after almost a decade I’d still feel grief but how can I not feel this way I lost my best friend at a young age and I was and still am too young to process this. Maybe this is why I hate everything about myself, maybe this is why I isolate myself so much, maybe this is why I feel depressed, and how could I not know this what am I doing? These pills aren’t going to bring my father back and these pills going to bring myself back. I have to bring myself back and suddenly I felt a cold chill on my shoulder I turn around and it’s my father I know it is because he wrote “my sweetheart” on the mirror, mirrors don’t write on themselves and as I look into the mirror I see myself crying so much and I see the reflection of my father proud of me as I’m flushing those pills down the toilet. I’m glad I had a guardian angel watching me today what would I do without him and when I’m feeling like hating myself I know he’s there right beside me even if I can’t see him but I can feel him and that’s all that really matters to me so this isn’t going to be the ending but the start of a new chapter of my life of bettering myself so my father can be proud of the daughter he raised and that is worth living for.

Poem by Ethan Naegele, Senior

Poem

By Ethan Naegele

Traveling down the road rife with seemingly indefatigable chaos,

I look in the rear view mirror to warm scenes and warm dreams—

memories that have me swimming in my head so pleasantly.

On the first morning of kindergarten I looked up to a strange sky—

one that caught the orange glow in a way so novel and breathtaking,

The same sky in the same light seen a thousand times since.

Coming home from first grade, the first time with petrichor in my nose,

muddy earthworms in my hands, I explored in my own backyard—

the same backyard that now turns plain and dull in my eyes.

Now through the windshield I see again all that is beyond me,

in more ways than one.

There are meteors crashing into the distant forest—

dozens of deer flailing across the road wildly—

all that is the chaotic potential of the universe lies ahead,

and maybe it will ruin me,

but I see the sky ahead catching the light in a new way today, so perhaps it won’t.

But surely this is the beginning of madness, I say to myself,

as I ride down the fading pavement into dirt, through air increasingly nebulous,

but as I carve through it, the air becomes more tame and relaxed.

I become more tame and relaxed.

Yesterday I thought those youthful days of exploration were lost forever,

but now I find that they’ve only fled down the road of life;

they are there between the forest trees in the gaps of darkness—

there in the mind, perhaps fatal, perhaps not—

there behind the fog and down the road—clandestine, unseen.

Short Story by Ethan Naegele, Senior

The Meaning of Love

by Ethan Naegele

Mrs. Horwitz forgot to take her medicine.

The September sun beamed through the large westward windows of her upstairs room. The daylight transformed into its familiar twisted dark gold color of late afternoon, and through the curtains she saw light so beautiful that it enchanted and disintegrated her all at once, because it reminded her of a time when she was younger and prettier out in the park before sunset—younger and prettier and filled with blind passion to live and die in the arms of a charming young man, so elegant and respectable and perfect—younger and prettier. She sat in the white room with the large windows, soaking in the daylight, soaking in the memories of a life so beautiful, so imaginary.

Mrs. Horwitz got that way whenever she forgot to take her medicine. Before long, she’d recall the memories of Dear Old Dad who, when she was fourteen, decided that he wouldn’t have a whore of a daughter and decreed that she was never to leave her room. It was never long after those memories that she’d remember the night when he didn’t come up to her room to make sure she didn’t somehow escape through the bars on the windows like the dirty whore he knew she was. She’d remember how she waited another night to emerge, in order to avoid the risk of being beaten harder than last time, and on that next night she found the corpse with asphyxiated skin tinted light blue, contrasting the cold, black beads of his eyes that stared into infinity. She’d remember asking God for forgiveness—because her tears were anything but mournful.

Those memories tainted her consciousness and prevailed all these years, lightly skating across the edge of perception until the day when Mrs. Horwitz forgot to take her medicine, when they would finally shatter the surface and plunge into her mind and corrupt her every thought.

Mr. Horwitz sat in the kitchen directly below her room. A carefully crafted meal of chicken and peas rested on his plate. The peas were hardly softer than rocks and the chicken was still blood red in the center and still displayed a disheartening rubbery texture. He could hardly complain, though. She spent hours of her life creating this meal, and—since he was not allowed to cook—his lack of choice, and lack of knowledge that there was even a choice, led him to chew and swallow the green rocks and bloody rubber with a mellow smile on his face—pleasantly, ignorantly.

Now and again there were fleeting moments in which a moment of higher consciousness produced a thought that invaded his mind and shattered his ignorance. It only ever lasted for a fraction of a second: a thought not even put into words, no more than a fleeting feeling. Such a feeling invaded him when he wished that he was allowed to leave the house today, but then the perverseness in him settled and replaced itself with a docile, mellow internal smile—as it always did—and as he stood up and looked at their wedding picture, he reminded himself that this is love; this is happy. Never again would he find himself in the dark place where he was always shivering from the cold and crying from the lovelessness, where the sky was always concrete gray so that no gold could ever seep through, because he found love; he found happy.

Upstairs, Mrs. Horwitz now paced back and forth across her room. In her mind, images of her husband alternated with images of her father. The dark gold of the room seemed to strengthen for her eyes only, and upon noticing, that color bombarded her mind and represented all of that which was forever lost in that room, where—between the bars and beyond the branches of the distant trees—she could see those golden rays as they danced into her eyes, and in her mind came a flood of yearning and desire for open fields and freedom, for young love—a feeling to which she could surrender herself completely—for the feeling of human touch, for the twinkling energy of staring into the eyes of another human being.

But those feelings are only idealistic, only idiocies, she told herself. She did not marry a man but an idea, a prevailing idea that told her it was possible to separate the tyrannical nature of the father from the husband. Impossible, she now told herself. Her anger boiled. She reached for the knife under the bed.

Mr. Horwitz had just finished his meal. Standing up, he began to notice the dark gold color that cast itself into brilliance. A vague emptiness swept through him and shook him, but only briefly, like a ship through desolate water momentarily riding upon threatening waves before steadying again. As much as he wished to go to the backyard to witness the transformation of sunset into dusk, he reminded himself that she didn’t allow him there out of love, nothing other than love. She couldn’t function if she was without him, so she had to keep him inside where nothing bad could ever happen to him—inside where he was hers and she was his and they could love each other for all time. He knew that.

It was there. Always there. Always will be there. She tried for a decade now to remove the devil from him, but it remained, prevailed, thrived, even, only ever shifting from his conscious to his subconscious. She had to contain him, tame him, before he strangled her. Had to. If she didn’t, Satan himself would emerge from him and she would only see slivers of gold from between the bars on the windows again. She knew that.

She held the knife behind her back, with both arms crossed behind her, behind her white dress with spots of roses. Mrs. Horwitz was ready, ready to go further than any other time when she forgot to take her medicine, and she walked down the stairs like a bride down the aisle.

Mr. Horwitz heard her soft footsteps. He let the sound of them float in his mind pleasantly. He turned his head slightly and closed his eyes. The woman he loved was coming to join him.

“Let’s go to the yard,” she said.

He never questioned it.

She followed him out the sliding door. He breathed in the enriching air of the emerging September evening, fine and rare. The sunlight on his skin was palpable yet delicate. He closed his eyes and allowed the light to create graceful forms through the lids.

The knife plunged into the side of his neck. It was as if his muscles truly relaxed for the first time in ten years as the weight of his world broke away from him, as if gravity itself had been inverted and allowed everything to float away into the heavens. He collapsed, and the bright red poured onto the unkempt grass.

The devil finally escaped him, she thought. Yet so did the life from the man she could almost love, if it wasn’t for the tyrant within. But he was pure now, cured, released, she realized, so now all that was left was the man without the tyrant; now he was not her father and now she could love him!

So Mrs. Horwitz chased after the man. She knelt down beside her husband. A swift puncture of the carotid artery and she was there with him, following him. She removed the knife from her neck and allowed the divine crimson to pour, and then she collapsed perfectly beside the body, then both faces stared up into infinity. She caught up to him. Her stream coalesced with his, where they met to form a crimson lake that glistened under the dying sun, where their souls had married in everlasting peace.

Short Story by Cora Chavez, Senior

Scary Story

by Cora Chavez

Home is where the heart is supposed to be. I don’t feel love in this house, only fear. My house is not haunted with demons or ghosts, it's forever haunted by my family. Some nights I’m woken up in the middle of the night or maybe it’s more safe to say in the morning, by my younger brother screaming at the top of his lungs. I run to him every time but when I ask him what’s wrong he just stares down with tears in his eyes fumbling with his blanket. He’s never spoken to me about it but I think he dreams that he’s free from this loveless house only to wake up and find that he’s still here.

This house would make anyone scream.

When I get up in the morning to make breakfast I always see my mother in the kitchen but she’s never cooking, she sits in a ball on the dirty tiled floor and rocks back and forth.

Nobody says anything here but me. I’ve grown so used to talking to myself. This place is literally making me insane. Was I already insane to begin with? I can’t leave, I’ve tried so many times the doors and windows won’t open. When I ask my family why they don’t answer. What are they keeping from me? I’m so scared it’s going to be like this forever that I’ll never see any of them smile or hear their laughs.

It was a Tuesday morning when I found myself digging through my mom's drawers out of pure boredom. She was in her room while I was doing it, surprisingly enough she didn’t care! She just laid in bed doing nothing...that’s all most of them ever did. Especially my older little brother, he didn’t play video games anymore he was always under his blankets. I never saw him leave his room. He’d cry a lot. I missed his laugh the most.

My ma had so much stuff in her drawers. I found a bunch of double A batteries, coupons, like 18 quarters and a little tiny stack of papers, probably just old receipts I had thought to myself. I started to unfold them curious about the last things she bought that were worth saving the receipt for.

These weren’t receipts.

I saw my handwriting and I started to scream. I screamed and screamed until my voice was gone. How could I do this to them? I broke them and now I was stuck here forever to watch.

I wasn’t in a haunted house, I was haunting it.