Writes of Spring 2012 - SATEC @ W.A. Porter C.I.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Into the Ocean by Stefhy Lincoln (Grade 11)……………………………………………………………2-4
New Start by Meghan DeGrace (Grade 12)……………………………………………………………..5-7
Absurd Letter: “Highway Signs” by Tharagaga Balachandran (Grade 11)…………………….7
Planet by Bogdan Stanciu (Grade 12)………………………………………………………………………8-9
Jump by Samantha McKay (Grade 12)…………………………………………………….……………..9-12
“Sometimes I Wish” by Anonymous………………………………………………………………………….12
Darkness Within by Dhanyasri Maddiboina (Grade 10)……………………………………….13-15
Secret Love Affair by Tiffany Heldsinger (Grade 12)………………………………………………….16
Absurd Letter: “Socks” by Amen Hammad (Grade 11)…………………………………….….16-17
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A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR
Thank you SATEC for the wonderful submissions for this year’s Writes of Spring! It was an honour
to have worked with a great team of teachers and to experience your narratives through writing.
A request: please never stop pushing the boundaries of your own imagination on a piece of paper.
A special thanks to Mr. Bond for organizing the Writes of Spring and helping me plan it this year.
Ms. Lim and the photography class for their beautiful images that helped bring colour to our
pages.
This publication is an utter testament to how moving and entertaining words can be.
All the best,
Ms. Shaheed
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COVER ART: Abir Mokbel
1

“Can you swim?” the words leave his mouth before
he can stop them but he does not regret them. She
has waded into deeper waters now and her
unsteady movements concern him.
She looks over her shoulder and shakes her
head, no. It’s not a lie, she decides, not really.
She’s drowning, his eyes are blue, so blue and she’s
suffocating, she’s able to but cannot swim.
She doesn’t want to.
He arches a brow and the waves drag her
unresistingly beneath the waters’ surface.
The sound of palm hitting flesh is one of the
ugliest sounds to Saya. She hears it now and her
cheek is left stinging. Her mother stands before
her, anger leaving her eyes only to be replaced by
sorrow.
Saya had never been a very vocal person,
but always a rebellious one. Hair damp, face pale,
lips blue, dress soaking wet and ruined, her glare is
nothing like the obedience her face held as a child.
What’s left of her innocence is the one part of her
that she had never learned to hide, her eyes. The
pain in them had always been evident, and her
mother knows that it is present in the bright eyes
that glower at her now.
There is venom, and tears, and pure,
unadulterated hatred in her voice as she speaks, tell
her that she’s committed a sin, that’s she tried to
kill herself.
Her mother is familiar with the pain she’s
always associated with her daughter’s cries. She
wonders when her little girl will stop fighting.
He meets her again, two weeks after he’s
saved her from the depths of the ocean, and she is a
INTO THE OCEAN – Stefhy Lincoln
She envied the sea, the sky, anything free.
He envied her, the structure, calculations of her life.
And they collide.
fallen angel. She is a star; beautiful, burning, and
barely breathing. He sees her and she is
illuminating, like the moon, like the sun. The light is
dimming though, brighter than when he’s pulled
her from the water’s claws, but dimmer than when
he’d watched her take steps into the ocean. She is
a fighter, but she is losing.
“Thank you,” she says.
Her hair is loose around her and he is
mesmerized by the sun glinting off her dark curls.
She waits for him to reply and when he lifts his eyes
to hers, he is lost in them, in her face. He sees only
pain and the emptiness that her hope has left
behind.
“Do you mean that?” he challenges
unexpectedly. She is meant for greatness, that face,
those eyes, he knows it. She is beautiful and beauty
gets you places, he knows that. And yet, she is
here, standing in cold waters, tempting the water to
take her. Take her and play her doom. Again. He is
angry.
“No.”
She is honest.
“Was I supposed to have let you die?” he
asks and he is afraid of the answer.
anyways.
“Yes.”
He thinks, he’s never appreciated honesty
Hayden’s mother watches her son from a
distance, standing by the balcony doors of their
summer beach house. It’s amazing, she thinks, how
quickly the days go by. She remembers having
Hayden perched on her hip and clutching her
blouse, pointing to the various rocks scattered in
2

the water. Eighteen years later and she feels as if
her son will never cling to her again, need her
protection, need her. He had grown into a man
who depended only on himself, afraid to rely on a
world that had ruined him as a child. He is no
longer afraid of the ocean, no longer desires her
arms holding him.
She remembers the name of the girl who
currently sits with him. Saya. It is a name she hears
often. A day had not gone by since Hayden pulled
the girl, soaking wet and skin icy cold, when he had
not mentioned her. She is observant of the signs, is
familiar to the reactions Hayden has to her. Her son
has fallen in love for the first time.
He lies down next to her on the sand and
watches her watch the clouds. This is their seventh
encounter and he finds that he enjoys her presence.
It is different, lying with her. He doesn’t hear the
shouts, the screams, the banging of doors or the
pain of his childhood. She numbs it, but it is a good
kind of numb.
He hears her, her steady breathing, her soft
giggles as she watches a baby sea turtle attempt to
climb up his shirt. He feels her warmth, as her arm
brushes his, feels her hair tickle his face when she
leans over him to play with the little creature that
has managed to crawl up to his chest.
“This little guy’s supposed to head to the
water as soon as he’s hatched,” she muses and then
meets his eyes. “Is he bothering you? I can put him
in the water, if you’d like.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer and begins
pushing herself to her feet. Hayden catches her
hand and his eyes narrow as she looks at him
accusingly. “You know it bothers me seeing you
near the water,” he tells her.
him anymore.
“I won’t do…that again.” she’s not looking at
“Why did you, on that first day?” he asks,
knowing she won’t answer him.
“My parents think I am a doll,” she tells him
instead. “Perfect, and repairable, and theirs to do
with as they please. But I’m not.”
She meets his eyes then and will him to see
the truth in her last words, wills him to see her.
“I know.”
There are tears in her eyes and it makes him
wonder what has left this girl so broken. He knows
that her parents have smothered her, and continue
to suffocate her. He knows the pressure she is
under, knows that she tries to meet her parents
expectations. How she tries to fight them as well.
He knows all this and yet, he does not understand.
Hayden had grown up watching his family
fall apart. His hero had always been his father, and
he’d watched as his very own Superman had been
laid to rest after he’d been shot in the line of duty.
Nine years old, and his father no longer with him,
he had been powerless as he’d witnessed his
widowed mother being snatched away by the hands
of alcoholism. Screamed and cried, hidden beneath
the covers of his childhood bed, as he’d heard his
mother take hit after hit by the newest boyfriend
she had managed to wrench into her life. They
were all scars that had ruined his childhood, taken
his innocence, and refused to let him move on.
They were the invisible mutilations of his life that
were determined not to heal.
He could not fathom why Saya had
everything he had lost, and was determined to wish
it all away.
Saya runs one night. Her mother watches
from her bedroom window, her daughter’s blood
still on her hand. It had been one hit to too many.
Saya had finally had enough. She was gone, the
fighting was over, the expectations she had of her
3

only child ceased to exist. She was gone, and her
mother is frightened. Because all she feels is relief.
Hayden’s mother opens the door and finds
the girl shivering and shaking in front of her. Her lip
is split, the blood leaving smears down her chin.
The skin of her jaw looks an angry blue, bruised
almost as severely as her cheek. Saya does not say
a word, and neither does she.
The stairs creak as Hayden leads Saya up the
stairs, his hand coiled tightly around hers. His
mother watches them go and allows the realization
that she had kept buried for so long to hit her.
Hayden was not her little boy, not the toddler who
had clung to her as they’d taken steps into the
ocean. He hadn’t been for a long time. He would
always be haunted by what he had seen as a child,
blame himself for failing to protect her from the
grief, the alcohol, and herself. She was just the
knife in his life, the reminder that kept the wounds
of her son’s soul open and bleeding.
She packs her bags and leaves that night.
There is yelling and screaming and he
wishes she wouldn’t look at him like that. She has
given up. She has lost her fight. There are tears
running down her face as she shouts.
“You saved me. And for what, Hayden? I
told you, I told you that you should have let me die.
I wanted to. I do.”
ARMAN BHUIYAN
He reaches for her and his heart constricts
and his eyes burn with pained, unshed tears when
she flinches. He knows how to calm her, to make
her laugh, to make her smile. And yet, he is at a
loss of what to do when Saya cries.
She struggles against his hold on her but he
easily dodges her thrashing arms and manages to
ease her onto his bed. He can feel her desperation,
her fear, her pain and he promises himself that he
will save her. He will be damned if he failed her,
like he did his mother. He saved her that first time.
He would do it again.
He is pleased when she doesn’t refuse his
attentions to her injuries. They aren’t severe but do
promise a considerable amount of pain. He sees
them, the scars on her body, but also the scars of
her soul, so similar to his own. Very softly, he
presses his lips to the bruise on her cheekbone. He
touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes
because she shudders and he finally understands.
He kisses her brow and he knows that she can swim
and doesn’t want to. He kisses her forehead and he
knows she isn’t a doll, that sometimes, she can’t be
fixed. His lips move to the corner of her mouth and
he knows she thinks he’s lying when he kisses her
lips and tells her he loves her.
The light peeking through the curtains
wakes him the following morning. He turns his
head and reaches for the spot where he watched
Saya fall asleep much like he had on those peaceful
nights at the beach. She is gone.
He feels it, feels her loss. Feels his own. He
has failed her, has failed his mother, has failed
himself. Failure is all that he feels.
The haunting sounds of his childhood echo in his
ears.
4

I feel pain in my chest as I’ve never felt
before. It’s as if my lungs were no longer working
and my heart stopped beating. But I know this isn’t
happening. I can feel my heart beating, helping the
blood in my body circulate.
I can feel everything in this room, especially
all the eyes. They burn a hole through me. If only it
was real. I can see the man in front speaking words I
can’t process.
My body aches with such
LATRICE
force, I’m sure I’m
PHILLIPS
going to pass out. But I don’t. My body won’t listen
to me. I shouldn’t be here. I should have had the
cancer instead. I should be the one lying in the
casket getting ready to be sent to God.
But no. I sit in deep thought, feeling my
world being ripped apart.
I walk over to the casket, place my hands on her
pale, soft cheeks, and kiss my mother.
I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in this world
who can say my mother is truly one of my best
friends, and actually mean it. I can talk to her about
anything and she won’t get pissed. OK, well maybe
a little bit, she is my mother after all. Like right now,
we’re sitting in a little boutique getting manicures
and pedicures, having our weekly mother/daughter
days as we do every Friday.
sparkly pink?”
“What do you think baby? The clear or
“Hmmm….definitely the sparkly, it matches
your sandals.” I say with a smile on my face. The
thing is, she actually looks good in sparkles, which
may sound weird to most kids my age, but not me. I
smile at my mom, and she smiles back with her
usual sideways grin that makes me laugh, if only I
knew, this was almost over.
I swear to heaven, Earth and all that is holy
that yesterday was a dream. I pray to whatever high
NEW START – Meghan DeGrace
power there is, but I finally understand that there
isn’t one. If there was, I would still have a mother, I
wouldn’t be forced to live with my father and
everything would be the same without him in the
picture.
I can’t even remember what he looks like
anymore. Mom has told me stories though, of how
he loved alcohol more than his family, and that
Mom finally put her foot down and filed for divorce.
I don’t like him, I don’t think I ever will, but the one
thing I can give him credit for is he never hit my
mom. That’s the only credibility he gets from me.
“Ally, come on hon. your plane will be
leaving soon,” my best friend states, snapping me
out of my daydream. In the two hours I’ve been up
here, I suddenly realize my room has nothing left,
but the boxes that prove this used to be a room of a
seventeen year old, which resembles how I feel
since we found out. I have nothing left, but the
memories, and who’s to say that I’ll always have
those, and that they won’t just leave like everyone
and everything else?
Suddenly, Amanda walks up the stairs
looking scared: scared of her best friend, who I’ve
known since kindergarten.
“Ally, do you need help?”
“It’s Alicia, don’t call me Ally, Mom is the
only one who calls me that.”
“I’m sorry. I just thought…” she responded.
“Well, you thought wrong, I’ll get my stuff,
just leave.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I
want to take them back. The look of hurt in her eyes
makes me feel lower than I’ve felt. I know she’s
here to help, but I can do this on my own – Mom
taught me how. She prepared me for this after her
diagnosis. The doctors said she only had two
months to live, but she pulled through and lasted
5

eight.
During her last few months of life, Mom
expected she didn’t have much time to live. She
started to prepare me to go to Dad’s house, I
haven’t seen him in fifteen years, I’m sixteen now.
house.
For the first time, I just want to leave my
“Mom, you OK?”
“No, I’m really not,” mom responds through
the bathroom door. She’s been in there for an hour
throwing up. I mean, the doctor said that the chemo
might do this, but I never imagined this would
happen.
“Mom, do you want me to dial?” I was
hoping it wouldn’t come to this because it might
mean that we have both
given up: on ourselves and
her fight to literally stay
alive. But an hour of getting
sick isn’t good, no matter
what the situation.
“Ya…please…..” She
throws up again. At that
moment, I run to the phone
and dial the three digit
number for the first time. As I dial, I almost hang up
because I’m afraid for my mom, which is the same
reason I don’t.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
I walk down the stairs. It’s the kind that
makes me feel like I’m a princess, especially during
my prom. I wore a pink lace dress that hugged my
shape, making me look bigger in places that needed
help. I was in a dream land.
But this? This is a hell hole.
“Alicia, I’m sorry for making you upset, I
didn’t mean it. I know you’re going though a lot
right now.”
LATRICE PHILLIPS
“Please don’t. It’s not your fault. Yes I’m
going through a lot, but that’s no reason for me to
act like a bitch to you.”
Before I know it, I’m crying in her arms
uncontrollably, until my nose runs like a faucet and
my eyes rain down my cheeks burning like acid.
“Shhh… it’ll be OK, just wait and see…” she
says more, but my body starts to shake with such
force, I can’t hear anything anymore.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m on a
plane getting ready to be sent to Dad. Reality hits,
and I’m not sure what to do. As the plane takes off,
I feel my mother’s hand on mine. I’m closer to her
up here and suddenly, I don’t want this plane ride
to end. I feel her squeeze my hand, feeling her give
me the strength I’ve been craving for. I feel my eyes
closing and I begin to
move out of
consciousness, as I think,
that maybe there is a
God after all.
“MOM! NO STOP!
THAT”S MY MOTHER!” I
scream until I can’t
breath. I’ve never seen
anything so rushed in my
life. One minute the paramedics are in my
apartment wheeling my mother out of the
ambulance, and the next, we’re in the hospital with
my Mom going into cardiac arrest.
“You’re going to have to wait outside Miss.”
Some doctor says as he pushes me out the door. I
kick and scream until I’m sure I’ve bruised both
myself and the doctor.
“No! You don’t understand! That’s my mom;
I need to know she’s going to be OK”
As I say this, I hear the doctors shocking my
mom trying to retrieve her. It sounds like rapid
heartbeats falling farther and farther apart. As I
move to the window, I see for myself. I see five or six
6

doctors doing things I can’t understand. Before I
know it, I see the straight line, life is over. I see the
doctor write the time and date of death. The doctor
walks over to me and tells me the cancer was too
strong for her heart to handle and it stopped too
suddenly. At that moment, I realize that two
precious lives are over.
I awake to a dinging sound to find that I
have landed in New York. I wonder what I’m doing
here when I should be back home. I walk off the
plane anyway and start looking for my dad. I mean,
how can he remember what I look like? I haven’t
seen him since I was a year old and I’m pretty sure
he doesn’t know what I look like. I’m a bit
more….developed than I was fifteen years ago.
May 31, 2012
I look left and right and don’t see anyone I
know. I’m about to walk away when I see a sign
saying “WELCOME ALLY”
I walk over to the sign to find a tall man with
black hair and a grey suit. I’m not too sure what to
say to him, I mean, what are you suppose to say to
someone that hasn’t been in your life when they
should have been all along?
I look up and stare at his face. I now
understand where my dark hair comes from since
Mom had blonde hair, and my eyes are green, just
like his. I realize that we are more alike in so many
ways than one. I find myself smiling up and him; he
smiles back. I take his hand and hope he leads me
towards a new start, and in return, I’ll lead him to
ABSURD LETTER: “Highway Signs” – Tharagaga Balachandran
Bob Chiarelli
Minister of Infrastructure, Ontario Government
77 Wellesley Street West
Toronto, ON M7A 1Z8
Dear Mr. Chiarelli,
I am writing to express a deep concern regarding highway road signs. I respect the font choice and size and believe
that the signs are effective. However, using blue or green backgrounds discriminates against other colours.
While blue and green have traditionally been highway sign colours, it is time to change tradition. This century has
been one of progress and change; highway signs should not be overlooked. Red, yellow, orange, and violet have been
disregarded and underrepresented for too long by the provincial government. Why are yellow and orange only used
as warnings? Why is red merely used as a “hint” of colour? Why is purple not at all represented? I want my great
grandchildren to only learn about (but not experience) a time when highway signs were only green and blue.
I would appreciate it if red, yellow, orange, violet, and any other underrepresented colours could appear in a highway
sign. I urge the provincial government to take the matter seriously and use your power to fight coloured-based
highway sign discrimination.
Yours truly,
Artie Changeman
his.
7

It was quiet outside. A ship floated by,
orbiting the lone planet. Swirls of beige and dark
red covered the globe. No vegetation added life to
the planet; no water flowed through its dry canals.
Mountains and hills protruded throughout the
arid landscape. The clear sky a canopy of space,
speckled with the bright white lights of far off
stars and suns, most, like the planet, already dead.
It was quiet.
Up several kilometres above the planet,
PLANET – Bogdan Stanciu
the ship floated on. A crew of 34 people occupied it, each person given a specific task and expected to do it.
In the bridge, the silence mimicked that of the planet down below. The captain stared grimly at the screens
set above his chair. On all of them, a countdown flashed red at 0:00:00 in the right corner. It had been
flashing for nearly 3 months now. He thought of his family back on earth. His children. His wife. He fought
back tears, and looked up around him.
Men and women manned different terminals, all of them carrying the same glazed over look on their
eyes that he did. Once again, he reminded himself that this was all he had left. He stood up and walked to
the front, turning around to face all his sailors.
“This is our last shot, our last chance. I don’t need to remind you of the stakes. Whatever the
outcome of what’s to come, I want to say, it’s been a pleasure working with all of you”
He walked back to his chair accompanied by applause. He didn’t deserve it. Neither did they deserve
his lies, but he could not bring himself to make them face the truth. The captain slouched back into his chair,
and look back at the screen, the zeroes taunting him. They all thought this was their last chance, but he knew
it was long gone. Earth was dead. They were all that was left. He gave the command to land the ship, and
leaned back, waiting.
The ship crept towards the planet’s atmosphere, letting its invisible hands grasp it and tug it towards
the surface. Landing on a planet was always risky, but this ship was built for the occasion. As the captain
ordered counter thrusters to prevent too hard a landing, the swirls covering the planet darkened, the wind
whipping them into riot. As the ship touched down, there was a scream outside, quickly lost in the wind.
Then the surface cracked, and then they fell.
He was back on earth. The Amazon, he thought, summer vacation of 2100, celebrating the
centennial. He looked at his son and lifted him up so he could see above the canopy of trees from their
lookout. His son laughed and turned back to look at him.
“Too bad we’re dead”
TAUFIQ SAFDAR
The captain came to. His forehead bore a wide gash, and that was tame compared to the rest of the
cockpit. No one else had survived. He took off his harness and stood up, wavering a bit before standing tall.
The lights flickered and cast an eerie glow around the area. And then he heard a scream from the outside.
8

Instinctively he ran to one of the windows on the side. He looked upon the landscape and saw Jungle-
Pure untamed green jungle. He staggered back unsure if he should believe his eyes. He heard a noise and
then turned around to see Jennifer. An engineer, he thought. She had a gun pointed at his forehead, her eyes
cycling through various emotions-fears, distrust, confusion, anger- before finally stopping at hate.
“Where the fuck have you been? Where were you? We needed you. You were our captain. We swore
our lives to you, and you’ve been sleeping? You took a nap while the rest of us were dying trying to protect
you while you came up with a plan. You took a nap? You’re all we had to look forward to? This is what we
fought for?”
She fell to her knees and put the gun against her head. The captain jumped to her and knocked it out
of her hand. She looked up, hatred brooding in her eyes, and opened her mouth to speak.
“You would never let anyone take the easy way out, captain, so let me explain to you what’s been
happening while you’ve been sleeping”
“There’s oxygen and water beneath the planet’s crust. It’s allowed the trees to overtake it. The light
is just the nearby suns light permeating throughout the crust at its thinnest points. But that’s not important.
This planet is inhabited”
“We...I...We don’t know what it is. It’s like a shadow. Either it’s its shadow, or it is a shadow. But it
plays with your head. It can kill you whenever you want. And you never notice, it’s just a shadow that sits
next to your own. The only way to avoid it is to stay in the light. Either way, It’s too late for me”
They both looked down, and saw Jennifer’s shadows. Both of them
“I’m so sorry”
“I’m not”
She took a step into her second shadow, cast by no light. As she did, he thought he saw her give a
crooked smile. Then he heard a scream, and she ceased to be. He fell backwards and scrambled to the light
cast through the window. He thought of the last time he had seen his family. How they had probably died of
starvation. How he was supposed to have rescued them. How he was to have found a new planet for all of
earth. He had failed-Everything: His family, his race, his planet. He stood up with renewed vigour. He would
not let this thing end him. He didn’t deserve a hero’s death. He walked calmly to the gun and picked it up.
He looked up and muttered “If there is any god left, I’m sorry”
He put the gun up to his mouth, and pulled the trigger
It was quiet outside.
I was pretty sure I would change my mind
while climbing the stairs.
Despite the overwhelming urge I had to
turn around and go home, I didn’t. I continued
ascending the stairs to my one-way, twelve story
trip into nothingness, or, hopefully, something
JUMP – Samantha McKay
better. I know I could have taken the elevator, but
elevators break, and I wanted to be in control of
my own end. Or at least, that’s what I told myself
as I clambered up the bright, bleak stairwell. In
truth, I was killing time before I killed myself. I
9

didn’t want to die, but it seemed better than
living.
I reached the roof of the building. It was
perfect – the sky was just how I wanted it,
bleeding magenta and crimson all over the
previously perfect shade of pale blue. Another day
was winding down and this perfection would only
last for a few moments before the sky settled and
the moon illuminated the silhouettes of the
surrounding buildings. I moved closer to the ledge.
An ambulance screeched beneath me. I wonder if
the person coddled on that stretcher wants to be
saved. Did you ask him before you poured his life
back into his veins?
I stepped onto the ledge and peered over
quickly. I breathed in and rubbed my clammy
palms together. Involuntarily, I swayed back and
forth and I felt the journal sliding around in my
backpack. I took it off and placed it beside me. I
thought that it would be a sufficient token,
something for the few that would notice my
absence, to remember me by.
Snap snap spit. Snap snap spit. I thought it
was my heart at first, or some figment of my
imagination, but after a moment I realized
someone else was on the roof with me. I turned to
where the noise was coming from and saw him –
he looked about 60, but he was probably only 25. I
wasn’t sure if he was just one of those hipsters
who thought having a thick beard and buying
clothes from one of those expensive thrift store
imitation shops was cool, or if he was just
homeless. Either way, his identity wasn’t my
concern, just his apparently inadvertent intrusion
on my dramatic end. I realized that the noise was
coming from the way he was chewing his nails
with reckless abandon. He’s probably a lunatic, I
thought. He had been watching me. I felt violated;
this was a deeply personal moment for me.
However, before I could express my indignation,
he rose.
“Good evenin’, miss. It’s gettin’ dark.” He
tipped his tattered beret in my general direction.
“What are you doing here? No one is
supposed to be up here.” I huffed, annoyed.
He laughed. “An’ what makes you think
you has any more right to be here than me, miss?”
There ought to be some kind of law
against laughing at people who are on ledges, one
literal step away from plunging to their death.
I stepped off the ledge and back onto the
roof. “I don’t know. You could have told me you
were here sooner.” I crossed my arms and jerked
my head away from him and the setting sun
scalded my eyes. I knew I was acting like a child,
but I wanted to be alone. It felt like he had seen
me naked, vulnerable. I hated it.
“With all due respect, miss, I was here
first, and by the looks o’ things, we is here for the
same reasons.” He was so cheery. How could he
possibly cheery if he wasn’t lying about being
suicidal, too? He continued to chew his nails,
rather violently.
I wanted to cut his hand off. “Yeah, well,
fine.” I was mad, but he was right.
“What’s your name, miss?” he asked.
“Does it matter?” I scoffed.
“Guess not. Anyhow, it’s a beautiful night,
innit?” he laid down, his hands behind his head as
he gazed at the sky. I couldn’t understand him.
Why would someone so happy want to die? I
looked up, the sky was indigo, starless.
“There aren’t any stars.” I was trying
desperately to cling onto my impatience.
10

“This is the problem with you kids: you only see
beauty in the stars. Ain’t there nothin’ else that’s
beautiful? Yous all just blinded by the shine. Ain’t
the space between them
beautiful? Look again. Look
how big it all is. Don’t it make
you feel small? It could make a
man crazy. It sure did me in.”
He was starting to ramble, but
what he was saying made
sense. Then again, maybe it
only made sense to me
because I belonged in the
loony bin as much as he did.
“I am small. Crazy,
too.” I muttered, defeated.
What battle was I trying to
fight, anyway? Being up on
that roof was pretty solid proof
that I had already given up.
“Innit funny, and kind
of impossible, how you n’ me, these two tiny little
particles of the universe find ourselves at the
same place, at the same time, on the same day,
for the same reason?” He was just talking to talk, I
thought.
“Yeah, I suppose it’s pretty odd. Not as
odd as you, though.” I said this more
affectionately than I meant to.
“You’re fairly odd, yourself, miss. Seems to
me, you’ve got the whole world at your feet and
you’re kicking it away just because it’s a little
scuffed up.” He was starting to annoy me.
“You don’t know anything.” I fumed, even
though I knew he was right.
“Alright, miss. I ain’t faulting you for it, or
nothin’, don’t be gettin’ me wrong now.” He
sounded apologetic and I felt kind of guilty.
followed me.
I got back up on the ledge, and he
“I’m sure you has some good reasons as to
WINYEN WU
why yous doin’ this, miss. Just
answer me this: why would you
choose a night as beautiful as
this to end it all?” As intruding
as his inquiry was, I was willing
to answer. What had I to lose?
Of course, I had a wide
spectrum of reasons that I felt
were more than valid, but all I
managed to utter was, “There
isn’t anything left for me here.”
“Well, miss, that is very
interesting.” He kind of
chuckled.
“That adjective is kind of
inappropriate for this occasion,
wouldn’t you say?” I wondered
how he managed to remain so
reposed about this whole thing while my insides
were erupting with the boiling waters of self-
hatred.
Now, I realize that this man shared the
emptiness that I felt in my life. Neither of us was
really sad. Nothing in particular was making us
miserable. Nothing was slowly clotting our
arteries. Nothing was numbing our souls. When
someone asked what wrong, ‘Nothing’ was we
would reply. We had been consumed by
nothingness, and when we were gone, people
would utter, surprised, ‘But there was nothing
wrong with them!”
We both felt that we had seen enough of
this world and we thought we were ready to see
what came next. Our hesitation stemmed from
the risk that this might be as good as it will get.
11

“What if what comes after this ain’t any
better? What if what’s next ain’t nothin’?” He
speculated, giving voice to the thoughts I was too
cowardly to voice.
“I think that the possible payout greatly
outweighs the risks. Whatever happens…after is
better than living in this sadness.” I sounded more
sure of myself than I felt. I knew it could be worse,
much, much worse – eternal damnation,
wandering a void for the rest of time…maybe I
would meander in limbo until after time ran out,
but at least it would be different than this, I
thought. At least I wouldn’t have to try anymore.
He laughed at me, again. Now I thought
that maybe the laughter was good. It felt good. I
thought it might be good if we just laughed at
people on ledges, then maybe they would come
down. “So sadness is a place?”
He was the only person who didn’t try to
cheer me up after I said something so macabre.
“I’ve lived there for years, haven’t you?”
“I’m glad I met you, miss.” He smiled.
Sometimes I wish
The world could see
I’m not the one they assume me to be
I don’t carry artillery around with me
But instead, I wish peace upon humanity
This thin piece of cloth that covers my head
Is a part of me that I will not shed
But, this thins piece of cloth that covers my head
Makes all the difference between and the next (person)
Sometimes I wish
People wouldn’t speculate
As I bow down in salaah, and prostrate
Is this land not yours and mine to share?
That as I worship with a look so icy you stare?
Sometimes I wish
I could go through airport screening
“Me, too.” I wasn’t lying.
Genuinely, I wasn’t. In the seventeen
minutes I knew him, I felt more of a connection
than I had with anyone in years. Maybe there was
nothing for me here, but I suppose haven’t looked
very hard. Maybe there’s something for him there.
I hope there is. I remember thinking how sad it is
that all the people who struggle to get into this life
and those who desperately try to slip out of it
always end up in the exact same place.
He gave me hope. He really did
understand, when I only thought I did. He smiled
solemnly at me as we stood side by side on the
ledge, finding the beauty between the stars. He
jumped. I didn’t.
SOMETIMES I WISH - anonymous
Without cynical looks of disbelieving
Sometimes I wish
I didn’t see the hate pages posted to hurt me
What have I ever done to you?
To be deserving of something so cruel?
Taunt me:
And I’ll stand up…
Brave and strong
Discriminate me:
And I’ll stand up…
Braver and stronger
But in my heart, Sometimes I wish
That the last six lines of this poem weren’t lies….
12

DARKNESS WITHIN – Dhanyasri Maddiboina
In the light of day the monsters leave,
But as night falls, out they creep.
Surrounded by people the fear seems to fade,
But sitting alone, the feelings raid.
It is the light they say. That is what pulls him out of hiding. Funny, how a monster of the dark would
be attracted to light. Nevertheless, he creeps out, at the first spark that dares to make itself known in the
oppressing darkness. At first, it is a slow approach. He makes sure of the light. Of course, there is not much to
confirm about a light in the night. It is as obvious as, well, a light in the night. Of course, he needs to be
certain, so all he does is peek. Then, when he is sure, he finally comes out. He glances around, his beady eyes
unseeing. For you see, he has no need for vision. In true darkness, which is where he dwells, sight is useless.
(Perhaps once upon a time he may have had clear, blue eyes, but now all that remains are colorless orbs.)
Instead, he feels. He sniffs. He can smell you right now.
You sleep, unaware. You are the instigator of the light. Not a thought was cast when you turned that bed
light on that fateful moment in the not so distant hours past. For now, you sleep. You dream. No nightmares.
No darkness. Of course, every peace must end, every feather must be ruffled.
RALPH ASTORGA
His footsteps are more felt than heard. They are a
subconscious reverberation. Nevertheless, they are
the first indicators of something not right.
Your eyes flutter slightly, afraid to open and yank
you back into reality.
A few more steps before-
You feel a chill. Dismiss it ever so carelessly, tugging
the bed sheets higher.
Coldness emanates from within him. Light is
warmth. Perhaps that is another reason why he draws closer, ever closer, his reach imminent, his features
prominent. He is close now, close to the object of his desire. That tantalizing flame. Of course, the closer one
is to one's object of desire, the more frenzied one gets. It is an instinct, to not want to lose the thing that you
have wanted for so long, and which is finally within reach, teasing your fingertips. Such a strong instinct in
fact, that it has a tendency to make one do anything, anything at all, to acquire said want, to not let it slip
away. This instinct was strong in him right now. The only problem was, he mused, was the sleeping figure in
the way...
The silence is deafening. (This is a strange concept unto itself, for silence means absence of sound; whereas
the adjective deafening usually represents a volume of sound loud enough to induce loss of hearing. So how
are they used in conjunction?) Well, simply put, there is an absence of sound, which, as you grudgingly gain
consciousness, become aware of. As it is with most things, you never realize something until it is gone. In
everyday life, there is always something in the background, buzzing or shifting, indicating life, usurping
loneliness. Not right now though. Now, there is stillness.
13

As he drags himself closer, he sucks out the life from the very air. Essences are always leftover, wherever
people go. It is imprints of their memories shared and forgotten, which truly brings a place to life. All of that
is gone now.
You can definitely feel something approaching.
A creak.
Your heart jumps.
Oh there goes one of his joints.
Irrational fears grip you. A window maybe? Or that specific squeaky cupboard in the kitchen? Your eyes shut
tight as you wrap the blankets around you and tuck your fingers and toes safe inside, the childish, “I can't see
you, you can’t see me” concept coming back.
Shhhhrrsh. Shreeshh.
You tense. What was that dragging, scratching sound? It was surely just the curtain brushing against the
floor. Right?
His feet drag lifelessly. He stops, directly beside the bed, hand reaching...
Inside the sheets, you are sweating but also clammy. Logical thoughts are quickly melting away, leaving
behind that unsure, lonely, and frightened child you thought you had repressed long ago.
They say the reason a moth draws to light is not really because of the light itself, but what it sees beyond the
light. Maybe he sees something beyond the light too. Something he's yearned for since his beginning.
You can definitely feel something. You are certain there is something there. Something there that shouldn’t
be there. Panic is overriding all, and before you realize what you are doing you yank the covers off and
blindly leap from the bed. You stumble on the strewn covers, and your heart spikes. You get caught in them
and you go down hard, your knees and elbows making a thud. Your thoughts are racing, images of demented
figures, disfigured creatures, and blood flashing. You swear you can feel something, just beyond the brink,
about to reach out and grab you. You want to run, run from the shadows that are consuming you. Faces flash
by, eerie and pale images. Every thought of ordinary things turns into demented versions of themselves. A
lamp that strangles, a pillow that suffocates. Heart palpitations, shortness of breath, a scream on the verge
of exploding, yet you're paralyzed.
The thing about fear is that it consumes and grows. The little things come back to haunt you one dark night.
Unsettled fears seep into everyday life and slowly affect your decisions. They restrict what you do, when, and
how.
Thoughts a million miles a second, you pause. You’re shaking, crouched on the floor, amidst the mess of
sheets. Slowly, you look up.
What greets you isn’t a fairytale monster, or anything else remotely defying everyday logic. There is your
dresser, your desk piled with papers, and your bag in a corner. Everything where it should be. Oh, and that
brand new bed light you bought just yesterday. It makes the surrounding objects cast daunting shadows.
14

Funny. It was supposed to help with combating the darkness, but all it does is emphasize it and make a
mockery of real light. You take a shaky breath. The adrenaline is still pumping, but now that you can see
there is nothing, you calm a little. You get up and climb back into bed, slowly slipping back into ignorant
sleep.
He laughs. Well, more like gurgles and makes a wet sound.
You’re wide awake at that. This time, there must be something there. You snap your eyes open and it’s
raining. The water is splashing against the sidewalk and running down the house. Confused, you sit up. When
did it start raining? You get up and shuffle to the window seat. The rain is picking up and is really starting to
pour. You sit, enchanted by the downfall and mists of water coming from the sky. Eventually, you begin to
get sleepy and your eyes start closing of their own volition.
He wants to make his presence known. The light is forgotten for now. So he stands completely still. Waiting.
Once again.
Your head snaps up just as you are about to nod off. You shake the drowsiness and rise. You are walking back
to the bed when-
You freeze. Slowly turn to face the direction of the mirror. Your eyes widen. Muscles stiffen. Suddenly, you
are running, towards the mirror. Hands out in front of you, ready to grab. To prove what you’re seeing.
Crash. Shards of glass fly everywhere, some stained crimson. The world is spinning, blurring, and becoming
colourless. You are aware of crashing into other things. The last sight you see is a lump. An undistinguishable
shape. Something that is not supposed to be there. Then, darkness. That same darkness you have been trying
to avoid for so long. In the end, it is the only thing left…
It is early morning and the neighbourhood is full of police cars and ambulances, all flocking one house at the
end of the street. Among the mayhem, two men, both sporting badges, are conversing quietly.
“What do you mean no one broke in?” One of them spits this out and then proceeds to look around to see if
anyone is listening.
“No one broke in,” the other simply says.
“But there was broken glass and other signs of struggle! Clearly there was an intruder.” He wipes at his brow.
“I’m telling you. It was all self-induced,” the other replies.
“So, I’m supposed to believe the victim punched up a mirror, threw the room into shambles, and then
collapsed on the floor, without a tangible reason?” He flails his hands now in his exclamation.
The other man looks him in the eye. “There is a tangible reason.” He turns and starts walking away. After a
few steps, he turns his head back and says, “It’s just that the tangible reason seems to have originated from
here.” He taps his head and walks away. The other man confusedly watches him go, trying to comprehend.
15

SECRET LOVE AFFAIR - Tiffany Heldsinger
Her eyes were never meant to see what they did. As she walked in the room she suddenly stopped,
not wanting to believe her eyes. There lay her best friend Monika dead on the wooden floor with crimson
water seeping from her slit throat. All poor Violet could
do was stare at her ill-fated friend. Soon the tear drops
began to fall on the floorboards; she didn't even feel
herself when she collapsed to the ground beside her
friend. After what felt like an eternity, Violet finally said
goodbye and got up.
She put her hand in her pocket and took out
her cell phone it was 10 o’clock. By this time her and
Monika were supposed to be all hyped up on sugar and
chocolate and consumed in some secret conversation.
Tonight was the night Monika finally told Violet who
her secret love affair was with.
As she started to dial 911 she looked up and saw an even more disturbing site. It was worse than last
nigh, causing her to instantly drop her phone. There her father stood at the end of the hallway with a
massive blood stained knife, a drenched shirt with a demented look in his eyes.
Mr. Rob Ford
Mayor of Toronto
100 Queen St. West
Toronto ON M5H 2N2
Dear Mr. Rob Ford,
ABSURD LETTER: Socks – Amen Hammad
I am sending you this letter on a matter which I believe really cannot be solved unless the
government intervenes. I’m sure in your line of work you have gotten many strange and unusual requests
from the citizens of Toronto, but this may actually be something you have had to suffer as well: losing socks
in your washing machine. You always put an even number of socks into your washing machine, but once you
have dried your laundry and made pairs of all your socks, there will almost always be lone socks which do not
have their partners.
ANTARA AHMED
These past 2 years I have interviewed the many customers of the popular Laundromats in Toronto. In
fact, there is a 2 in 3 chance of socks disappearing from our laundry loads. This is the conclusion I have come
too, which has been derived from a 2 year long extensive study. Mind you, I was one of the most prominent
sociologists of my time. I will now illustrate the severity of this problem to you with some simple
mathematics. The population of Toronto is 6,054,191 individuals. This includes women, men and children.
The average family structure in a household of Toronto includes 4 individuals, 2 parents or guardians with 2
children. Also, the average number of times a household does laundry is about 5 times a week, while the
16

number of socks owned by the average individual is 18 pairs. Therefore, when taking into account all of these
statistics I have concluded that if indeed 2 out of every 3 washes lead to the loss of a single sock, we would
be sockless in a matter of 47 days (rounded to the nearest day). So, in a little over a month, an individual
could be completely sockless.
I personally am shocked that the government has not done anything about this. The number of
annual deaths due to being exposed to the cold during our Canadian winters is on the rise. So are cases of
frostbitten toes. What really scared me was that the results which I have disclosed to you were found a
decade ago. I sent a letter giving details about my findings to our previous mayor, Mr. David Miller, but I got
a response outlining the uselessness of my findings. They also asked me, Mr. Ford, what exactly is it that I
want the government of Toronto to do?
Well, in this technological age, plenty can be done. The government can fund a website dedicated on
educating people on the loss of socks and the consequences as a result of it. It can give tips on how we can
prevent this issue and maybe a sort of sock chart which can be used to track which socks are being placed in
the washing machine for optimal organization. There is indeed a causal relationship between losing your
socks and an increased risk of frost bitten toes and I am going to further explore this phenomenon in my next
study. Please do respond. I am willing to upload content onto this website, but am not up-to-date on
technology myself so if you could please refer me to an experienced computer programmer. I’m looking
forward to working with you and your government, Mr. Ford, so that we can put an end to this horrible
problem.
Sincerely,
Dr. Sheldon Peabody
ARMAN BHUIYAN
17