RambunctiousAn annual publication of literary works from the students and staff of Jamesville-Dewitt High School

2011 Edition

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A Letter From The Editors:Dear Students and Staff of Jamesville-Dewitt High School, The Rambunctious Staff is honored to present this years issue of Rambunctious, a collection of poems and short fiction by students and staff members. This year, we received over 70 high-quality submissions from the community of writers at the high school. It was an absolute pleasure to work with the wonderful writing of the students and staff of Jamesville-Dewitt High School; the talent in this school is amazing, and we are thrilled to be able to share some of it with the entire Jamesville-Dewitt community. We would like to take this opportunity to remind you that the speaker or narrator of a poem or story is not necessarily the same as the person who wrote the piece. In this respect, we have showcased many different voices, perspectives and styles in Rambunctious. In addition, the order in which these pieces appear is solely for formatting and layout reasons. This is also the reason that some submissions are unable to appear in this issue. Space limitations prevented us from publishing multiple submissions from single authors or submissions that far exceeded the 1,000-word limit. We would like to thank our faculty advisors, Mr. Phillips, Ms. Sandroni, and Ms. Hansen, for their dedication and leadership as they guided us on this journey. We also thank our staff members for the time and effort that theyve put into this publication. Our gratitude goes to the high school administration and especially Mr. Gasparini for his encouragement and support. And finally, we thank our biggest financial supporter, the Jamesville-Dewitt High School Parent Teacher Group, which donated funds to our startup budget. Please take a moment to visit our website, where student artwork and additional submissions will be posted in the near future: http://tinyurl.com/rambunctious2011 Without further ado, we invite you to explore both versions of Rambunctious for yourself. Enjoy! Sincerely, The 2011 Rambunctious Staff

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Against The TideAndrew LeeThey call me genius. They speak of it with bated breath, mixing and compiling layers of illusion until I am no longer one of them. No longer an equal, for better or for worse. The tremors of respect, the spearheads of jealousy, all are a part of the mirage of grandeur that they pass along. But they will never know. Never know how powerless it feels to fight against such a cascade of thought, battling for reputation, identity, and individuality. Never know the pressure of living up to their painted faade, or the despair of being placed in a silhouette that overshadows all else. I dont have the arrogance to pretend to be someone Im not. But the truth seems to be as brutal as it is bare- you are who others think you are. Forget feelings. Forget love. Forget dreams and thoughts and long nights of pondering. Theres a sense of identity that lies beyond your control and at the mercy of the world. Years of school have glazed over in my mind already, leaving only small snapshots embedded deep in my mind that invoke particular emotions when I think back. I close my eyes, watching them flit by like a silent slideshow. I think back to kindergarten, first testing the waters of friendship by sharing blocks and coloring together at the craft table. First second third fourth grade, a blur of memories. Recess filled with boundless energy, freedom in half-hour intervals, frivolous games of boys chase girls and playground lava monster. Fifth grade sixth grade- the middle school. Homebase, lockers, and different teachers. I still remember the names of my teachers, every one of them even as I went on to 7th grade, the year of almost-there, and 8th grade, the year in the big league, of inflated ego and a sense of superiority. And then high school. Friendships shift, values change, priorities are reset. But one thing remains, one fact remains unchangeable in this hurricane of events we call high school: it is too short to spend worrying about what others think of you. It hurts to be seen as only a source for homework, a standard to compare to, a person to crack jokes at when doing your best in school goes out of fashion. But in the end, it shouldnt matter. No matter what people say or think or believe, it is all about what you do and how you act. And it is what I believe that parallels everything I do and how I act. For me it is the Bible and doing my best to pronounce faith in my religion. I truly believe that my life does not belong to me, but to Jesus Christ and His love- I trust in Him as my God and Savior. Savior, because there is no possible way I could have gone this far in my life on my own. I live to honor Him, not to please others so theyll change the way they think about me. Because the way I view Christianity, there is no smart or dumb. There is no rich or

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poor, attractive or ugly, popular or unpopular. There is only a leads by example. And that in itself will fulfill everything but peoples opinions of you. Personal belief is the stronghold of your mind. Religious or not, it is as much for you to assert as it is for others to ignore. You only need to think back to elementary school to see this, back when the ultimate comeback to doing or saying whatever was still So what? Its a free country! Free country, as we are blessed to live in the United States. But what about free mind? Free heart? Free lives? High school will eventually fade away, leaving us with only memories of who we chose to be, ignoring what others might have claimed about us. Genius. There used to be a time when I would cringe at the name, flattered but ashamed at carrying such a title, angry at others who blindly thought that I was superior in some way. But I dont want my life to be defined by a reputation. I dont want to be remembered for something so inanimate as a GPA, a list of awards, or an SAT score. I want to be remembered for my spirit, my character, my faith. Maybe one day people will come to realize that I was only who I was. Nothing more, nothing less. But until then, I can only hope.

A Letter Written from the Perspective of a Soldier from World War IICarson SkeelePrivate Eric Broderick February 12th, 1915 Ive been here for just two months and Ive already seen my two best friends shot right in front of me. Im one of the lucky ones, at least I can hope to say that now. My feet kill with every step I take, my boots have become pointless, for the water still floods into my feet. I cant sleep with all the guns and screams and smells, its all just too much! I pray to God to take me out of here, to take me back home where my wife and kids are in good old Sheffield. Only God knows what I would do to leave this awful place. Our commander doesnt understand how bad its gotten, hell, I doubt he even cares. I see young men all around me with lives to live outside of war. I try not to make friends anymore for I fear if I do it will only end in sadness for one of us. Ive gone emotionally sick, not able to help a wounded friend, left there to die or sighting down my gun to shoot another man, ending his life. I believe we have no cause in this war, weve lost all our successes and weve only lost thousands of men for nothing. We go for days on end, not doing a single thing, not fighting, not progressing, not creating peace, nothing. I fear I will die in this trench without being able to say goodbye to my kids and wife. Nobody I know has survived the trenches and come back to talk about them, I fear I too will be one who

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dies soon enough. Its only an amount of time before Im killed and am saved from this Hell on earth. If my family is to get this note: I have gone to heaven and wish you all the best, I love you all.

Graveyard ShiftEmily HigginsYour skin Is laced With silver lining You are the orb To which children send their prayers Kneeling in their bedrooms Before sleep The dim light That is freckled with pieces of gravity And pieces of sky And pieces of them In the morning They will wonder Where youve gone You are the dark side Of the moon

Many Emotions DerivedJonathan WilliamsA specific portion in time, obtaining and radiating long term effects, grasping control on reality, finding oneself lost in thoughts, spurring from this inevitable occasion, Many Emotions are Derived.

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PoemMaria CaffarelliI dont understand why things ended Or even how The taste of these tears is too common And theyre eating away at me But it's not time for the fight Im beginning to realize its the world vs. you Two worlds of emotion colliding at war This collision is draining you With two worlds at war you start to suffer And the wrath of a broken heart sets in These emotions are running high But Angels are watching over you Wherever Angels may be Youll be in perfect peace Theyll sing a melody for you And glide across your dreams Guardians of the heart and hope Supporters of the weakened flame With Angels there and me here I know in my heart that youre okay I dont understand why things ended but a second of love can change anything

ShineChris YuEveryone knew about him, though no one dared speak. He was the wanderer. The man without a home. The man who wandered from town to town, never stopping, never settling. His reputation preceded him, wherever he went. Everyone regarded him with a sort of morbid curiosity, finding his silent nature unsettling, and yet finding his purpose fascinating, mysterious.

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He would wander the streets all day -- methodically, some noted, visiting each block one by one -- never speaking, never answering any of the various questions posed to him by those brave enough to approach. When night fell, someone would invariably take him in, partially out of pity, partially out of the hope of learning something more about him. Though he was said to be quite courteous, those who had been his hosts always insisted that they had learned nothing more. At last, when he had searched every corner of the city, he would leave, just as mysteriously as he had come. Today was a day of departure. He had spent a week combing another gray jungle, a mesh of concrete and steel. As always, his search turned up fruitless yet again -- though, just what he was searching for, nobody knew. As the sun set, so did everyone's fascination with him. He would be forgotten within a week, another curious topic of conversation to be avoided at dinner tables. He glanced at the last few houses, on the edge of the city limits, as he walked alongside the road out of town. He observed their gable roofs, their uniform walls, their lawns all melting into each other. Neither did any of them hold what he was searching for. He was stopped by a light tug on his sleeve. He looked down. A young girl, about half his height, was pulling at his cuff. "Hey, mister?" she asked. Her voice trembled with a mix of apprehension and excitement. "Where are you going?" The man looked her over. She had a bright red ribbon in her hair, and a colorful bracelet on her wrist with a heart attached to it. He smiled. "Far away. Down this road." The girl looked down the road. It stretched forward, into the horizon. "By yourself? Isn't that scary?" He shrugged. "I'm used to it." The girl's eyes widened. "Wow . . . But why, though?" The man looked down the road as well. He nodded. "I lost something, a long time ago. I've been looking for it ever since." The girl thought. "They don't have replacements in the city?" "Not for this, unfortunately." "Does that mean that I don't have it, either?" He looked back down at her, and knelt down to her level. Contemplated her for a few moments. Finally, he smiled again. "No, I think you've plenty of it. Just be careful not to lose it." The girl tilted her head. "Then . . . Can't we share?" He chuckled. "I wouldn't want to take somebody else's. No, I've got to find it for myself." "Oh? What does it look like?" He stood up and stretched out, looking up at the sky. "If I knew, I would have found it by now. Don't you think?" The mother's voice called from the sidewalk. "There you are, dear!" she called, running down the driveway. "It's past your bedtime, isn't it? Come with Mother, now -you've a big day tomorrow."

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"I'll be going now," the man murmured to her. He smiled, and began walking. Behind him, he could still hear their voices. "And what were you thinking, going up to that man?" the mother chided. "You know better than to talk to strangers." "But I was helping him find something he'd lost, Mom!" "Now, now, no talking back. Well, I guess it's all right, now that he's gone. Come inside, now -- and promise me you won't do something like that again . . ." Their voices faded to an indistinct chatter. The man looked upward, into the night sky. There was a pair of stars overhead, glittering bright like a pair of eyes from above. He called to them, his gaze fixed skyward as he walked. "Keep shining, will you? I'll find you. Someday."

DisneylandAndrew ScibiliaSitting at my table Drinking a large glass of rich chocolate milk The warm smell of pancakes Rose up through the air like a balloon Smelling the aroma of hot breakfast Made my taste buds tingle. After waiting My chocolate chip pancakes Fluffy and brown Appeared in my delight. I indulge in a chocolate sensation And eat. Minutes before I was done Someone tapped me on my shoulder. My brother and I turned around And to our surprise Mickey stood behind us Looking for a hug. Speechless My brother and I ran faster than a racecar With huge smiles And jumped into a Mickeys Wide open arms. Before I knew it I was greeted by Minnie, Goofy, and Pluto. From that moment on I knew I was in For the greatest week Of my Life.

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Way Back WhenJohanna SantosRemember my Promise? Way back when Back in the sandbox Back in the Park. I said I wouldnt leave. So why are you crying? Why are you sad? Cant you see me? I promise I wont leave Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

ON THE PLAYGROUND OF A SCHOOLYARDRebecca DossThe chicanery of live beings on the swings; Hands on an aged coal-stained clock.(Inspired by Ezra Pound)

Excellent is the new satisfactory.Lydia NevinMy names not Tantalus, you know, its okay to let the freaking fruit stay still for once, let me reach your expectations, my hand is now far above where you told me (at first) was good enough. But its always, always, just a fraction of an inch above me. Sure. Fine. Youre right. I can reach so high now, higher than I would have, Look how much better youve made me (wait, wasnt it me that did that?) So it helps me in the long run, okay. So can I have that fruit now?

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I Dont Believe in FacebookKoy AdamsEvery week its the same question: Koy, why dont you get a facebook? And every week its the same response: I dont care. And, sure as ever, the person laughs and says Why not? I ask why. They smirk. Is it because you have no friends Koy? I giggle. No, its because I do. See, truth is is that Im an Aries and therefore born to be both rash and great. Never once have ever wanted or needed another person to tell me who I am. My being will self create. So flashy this magic a profile has that reels young girls and boys in. This technological poison that seeps its venom through bright computer screens lets falsehood intervene between fiction and reality. A place where lies and hearsay manifest a personality, making customers adapt to a sacrifice of integrity for convenience. I know in my heart that I have true friends, not some shaky online status. Yet the only rebuttal you have are acquaintances on a list of some online apparatus. Now, what seems so impeccably fine has left us so impeccably blind to the shallowness of our persistence. When pictures are no longer time travel devices, but proof of our very existence. And maybe that is why I dont believe in Facebook.

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Love StoryJeremy WallaceHenry Steinberger walked home from school that day knowing exactly what he wanted to do. He didnt want to do any of his homework, eat any after-school snacks, or watch any of his favorite shows (which he does almost every day). No, today he wanted to sign onto AIM and chat with the girl he had had a crush on since the 7th grade. He went to his bedroom, threw down his book-bag, hopped into his chair at his desk in front of his computer and clicked the little AIM shortcut icon on his desktop. He waited for the loading signal, then the familiar welcome 2sportsdude8, and then the buddy list appeared. And luck would have it, Shoppergirll99 was on. 2sportsdude8: Hey Shoppergirll99: Heyy wats up! Henry was excited. Whenever she added that exclamation point it meant she was in a good mood. 2sportsdude8: Not much, just kinda haning out you know? He felt stupid that he spelled hanging wrong. He thought about correcting it then he figured it made him look cool if he didnt care about spelling. Shoppergirll99: nice nice This was usually the dead part in their conversation via AIM. But today had to be different for Henry. He promised himself last night lying in bed that we would go through with it. 2sportsdude8: anywaywhatr you doing tmaro night? Henry almost threw up. He couldnt believe what he had just done. Hed been dreaming about this moment for years and it finally happened. Shoppergirll99: I going out to dinner with my parents. Not exactly the response Henry wanted. She didnt even ask why he wanted to know! He was in a bit of a pickle. He wasnt sure what he should say to that. He was thinking about saying something suave like well you should ditch them and go out with me, baby when he noticed the little Shoppergirll99 is typing sign on the page. He was so relieved! Obviously she was going to say something like I would rather be hanging out with you, though or so he hoped. Shoppergirll99: hahahaha Wow. He was getting fed up with this. So he decided to cross that bridge that made him the cool, suave, and brave man he wanted to be from that weak, spineless, afraid soul he was. 2sportsdude8: Hey, ive been thinking a lot lately and i really like u. i liked u for as far back as i can remember.and i think you and me would be raelly good together. so maybe you wanna ditch ur parents tomaro and go to the movies with me? . . Shoppergirll99 is typing.

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A Simulation of a FriendNicole TanquaryLet us pretend that you and I are very good friends. Since we are playing a game of make-believe, this is how you appear in my head; tall, with short-cropped hair that is brown with a hint of auburn. You wear dark clothing that almost melts into the shadows. Your eyes are full of a pale glow. And how do I appear to you? Am I wearing the face of a childhood friend, long swept away into the murk of time? Am I wearing a dress, or a suit? Are you especially creative, and have given me things like wings, or red skin, or a pair of twirling, pointed horns? Does my image entertain you? Is it especially beautiful? Or do you wish for a moment of normalcy in an otherwise hectic life, and imagine me as a small and quiet listener, who may give advice to problems you cannot tell the people around you? Choose whatever you like. Take as long as you wish. I don't mind waiting a bit for you, for my image to truly crystallize behind your eyes. In the meantime, I may add a tattoo on your arm, something I can't quite make out but has lots of colors, swirls I can trace with a fingertip. Are you done? Good. Now, we are very good friends. We have known each other for what feels like a long, long time. We came into existence at the exact same moment, and that has bonded us in ways others can only imagine. Pity them for a moment. Go on. They have no one like me to talk to. (By the way, I have changed your eyes to red. The color brings out the auburn in your hair.) Now, we must imagine ourselves a place where we may meet, so that we can talk and hold mild discussions with one another, without anyone else interfering. An escape for the both of us. I picture us walking down the isles of a decrepit, abandoned theater. It is dark, but I can still make out the dust motes that cloud from your footsteps. The dust is stained orange from the fibers of the audience's abandoned seat cushions some of it settles on your shoulder, and I brush it off, so that your tattoo may glow and burn with its imaginary light. We meet on the stage, and you sit crosslegged on the wooden boards, still smooth after all these years. I can see your reflection in the gloss. You look around for a moment how does it appear to you? This place is the sort of thing you see not with your eyes, but with your mind, and since our minds are so very different, our meeting place cannot look the same to both of us. Perhaps you will see something light, with an open sky above. Perhaps it is early dusk, and crickets are settling in a shielded glen, punctuating our voices with their grating, chirruping symphony. Or perhaps you are getting sick of imagining things. The glen fades, replaced with a shadowy floor, everything black and pulsing in the dark. I cannot blame you. There is a limit to what we allow ourselves to see. So. We are imagined, now, and we are here.

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You ask me a question. You sound almost bemused; Are we alive? Being alive is a movement, a throb in your chest, an electric energy sparking from nerve ending to nerve ending. None of that matters here. I don't force myself to imagine every cell of your being working, coexisting, forming you. And I doubt that your mind is large enough to comprehend the same for me. So, maybe we are not alive. But life does not matter here. What matters is that we are lodged in each other's imaginations, and are able to take refuge in this in-between place. You are frowning. The fact that we are not quite alive is unsettling to you. Make me appear meek, then, for I do not want to unnerve you. I want to be your friend. Why me? Why you? Have I not already said I met you, and I wanted to become your friend. Do you need more of an explanation? I suppose that you can say it is by chance that we are friends now. The moment you heard me speak, I was born into your mind, and you, in mine. We are connected. In my mind, your lips are thin, and they continue to frown. Your red eyes, the color of blood, stare at me uneasily. A stage light bathes us in brightness. Dust motes fly in lazy constellations. I want to go home. I am wounded. Home? You want to go home? But we have only just met. Am I really that frightening to you? Have you given me the appearance of a hideous monster? How can you be so sure that your home is more real than this place? Feel the touch of my hand, as I rest it on your shoulder. Is your home, your own reality, more real than this? You apologize. It is fine, I tell you. I am forgiving to my friends. And you are my friend, aren't you

TreeMaria SkandalisWe are all standing, Alone in the dark. Unable to provide love, Joy, laughter To each other. In the cold, our souls Freeze We just stand Alone. Waiting for the sun To spread our wings And breathe.

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spacesTangela Hightowermy mind is like a desert deserted abandoned alone a few thoughts come every now and then But leave.... Without words To say: Empty Spaces Left Behind But with no one To see Now piece them together and read

On the Wrong SideAlora MeyersI thought about it once or twice, But then again it isnt nice. Why does he have to be there, Why does she have to care? I want to tell her its not fair, But then again do I dare? Hes in the house everyday, So now the house I do not stay. She and I have grown apart, I should have known it from the start. The hate towards me he doesnt hide, Her always taking his side. I hope one day she will see, How he pushed her away from me. And I wish she could see I want to be there, But she just thinks that I dont care. I just hope maybe one day there will be, A time she realizes in her life should be me.

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Dead EndAlex LesserOn the clich road of life There are twists, turns, ups, downs, and bumps. But are there traffic signs? Throughout life, yield signs dot the road. Warning us to take caution. Seemingly trivial in some places, but extremely helpful in others. Stop. Its a temporary stop. Its not the end of the road. You eventually have to keep going. Is there no speed limit on the road of life? Some live life, speeding by. They cant wait to reach what the future has in store for them. Others slowly trudge down the path. Theyre in no hurry to get to the end. Do not enter. Wrong way. One way. Theres a great deal of traffic signs, But each one has its own purpose. On the final stretch of all roads, Theres a single sign: Dead End.

El SalvadorSean BehanDuring my lifetime, I have always wanted to be a part of something amazing. In February 2010, I received my chance to do so. I was accepted to be part of a select group of high school students invited to participate in a trip to an impoverished community in El Salvador called Rancho Grande. In preparation for the trip, I raised funds for the cost of my travel and co-hosted an event to help gather medical supplies and additional donations. When we finally departed for El Salvador in February I was both excited and apprehensive. Upon our arrival, I was surprised to see the entire community, standing in the road with welcome signs, ready to embrace everyone with hugs. It was an amazing feeling to be greeted in such a way. Our main project was the building of a new schoolhouse for the community. We all knew that this project would take a long time to finish, so we wanted to get started. The people of Rancho Grande had other ideas. They wanted to get to know us. We found ourselves talking with the people for hours. The El Salvadorians made a point of establishing relationships with each of us. I found myself becoming closer with the adults of the community as well as many of the children. Much of our free time was spent playing with the children. They took full

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advantage of our presence, and made us feel like family. Mealtime was also more than just a time to eat. It was a time to sit, talk, laugh, and learn about each other and our cultures. Meals could last up to four hours! Although a lot of time was spent interacting, we also accomplished a great deal of manual labor. We put together the complete foundation of the new schoolhouse and put up the roof structure, which is a huge undertaking for a group of high school students. We all felt a great sense of accomplishment, knowing that even if we didnt completely finish the school, we had done more than we ever thought we could do. Another great aspect of this trip was that we had no use of cell phones or Ipods. Although this seemed torturous at first, I came to realize that I dont need these things at all. As one of the community members told me, Time is elastic here. Even though days seemed longer in El Salvador, it was a lot less stressful there. Every minute of each day was appreciated. Throughout the week, we worked and we socialized. As we prepared to leave our new friends, I realized something completely unexpected. Initially, I made the trip to El Salvador to help change the lives of the people in Rancho Grande. In reality, it was my life that was changed. The El Salvadorian people taught me that even if they have fewer possessions, smaller houses, or less money than we do, that their lives are richer than all of ours combined. The people of Rancho Grande take absolutely nothing for granted, use everything to the fullest, and are happy with whatever they have. This attitude gave me a new outlook on life. Although it is nice to have material possessions, sometimes they distract you from the things that really matter in the world. I have learned to have a greater appreciation for the necessities in life rather that the wants we may have. I also have an increased appreciation for family and friends and the role they play in my life. Thanks to the people of Rancho Grande I have a better perspective on life. I am eternally grateful to the entire community of Rancho Grande for that. I never thought I would need to leave the United States to appreciate the things I have, however, I am so glad that I did.

Wings of LibertySkyler CanuteLiberty Tasted by all, Fought most desperately by those who have lost it, Fluttering carelessly in the wind Mocking those stranded below Even coming down to kiss those on the cheek who seek to destroy it But then retreating to the safety of the air when touched, Save for those of us who cherish it, Those who do, relish, as it comes down to caress us And bring us up, above the others, to achieve what we were meant to, And watch as the others drown in their own disillusions.

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PromiseArriell MussiAs a sister my love forms a promise we may not have it all, but together we can never fall, you're innocent in my eyes till the day i die. you may not see it now but our hearts beat as one somehow, when you cry a settle stream falls from my eye, when you scream a loud noise come from me, and when you fall i get a scrape on my knee, to me...we are one i got your back through it all, i will never judge you. the decisions i make are to help you, and will never be regretted. you and me that's the way it will remain to be. we will climb any wall that just seems too tall. we will finish this race that seems impossible to finish we will succeed in this game of life that is rarely won. i will never leave you behind as your little sister, my heart holds eternal love. to be strong so we can never be weak. to overcome the impossible, to stay up when everyone expects us to fall. no lie will ever make me love you less good or bad you are my brother, best friend, and angel sent from God.

Listening ComprehensionBrendan ColiSometimes, I believe that the true essence of reality exists only in the fantasies of dreams. Its 6:00am and youre listening to Ted and Amy in the Morning! We have numerous school closings to announce If there is one thing Im certain of, its that a snow day would definitely be categorized as a thing of fantasy. As I slowly acclimate to this fact and to the distant voices to my left, I try to recall what the dream I had was about. It occurred so recently, yet I can neither identify the context nor explain the vague sense that I have experienced something significant. I struggle to remember when as Im walking down the stairs, a dull headache forming in the innermost region of my head. I hear news reports of Rebecca Blacks overnight Internet sensation as I walk out the door, and the ringing in my head intensifies. My dream nags me throughout the bus ride, like an old friend trying to keep in touch. I look around to distract myself from my cognitive turmoil, observing that nearly everyone around me has earphones. What they are listening to, I cannot imagine. I remember that today is Friday, and I become nauseous.

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That morning is none the more kind to my well-being. Im startled at the sound of lockers slamming, the metal clanging as furiously against the wall as the blood pumping in my veins. The air is saturated with random fragments of conversation. Did you catch Jersey Shore last night? Ughhhhh, Bio test today So about last night Which seat can I take? Not interested in eavesdropping on what Im sure are deeply thought-provoking discussions, I continue on towards my first period class. I nearly make it too, before Im ambushed by a fellow named Chad, a wide, toothy grin hogging the majority of his face. Regdawggg. Did you get that video I sent you? Chad asks, attempting to be slick. His high, nasally voice negates any success he might have had. No, Chad, I want to retort, No I did not view the disgusting excuse for a music video you sent me, the words of which are ringing through my skull and contributing to my massive migraine. Yes, very high quality entertainment right there, I reply politely, seizing the moment before he speaks to dart into G06. I breathe a sigh of relief as I slide into my desk. Thank God. I dont know how many more annoying, empty sounds my head could handle. Much to my dismay, that day would be full of them. In history, Chad fights for the opportunity to sit right next to me. For the duration of the 82-minute period, he makes desperate attempts to win my attention and approval through pop culture references, political jokes, and sexual innuendos. By the end, Im yearning to bury my ears and thoughts in the documentary on the life of John Adams. Lunch in the library offers a brief respite from Chad and his sounds. I make it through a period of hearing (not comprehending) rapid French spoken on tape. The directions say to choose the best answer; I choose C for care. When the bell finally blares over the loudspeaker, I sprint out the door. Struggling to get my coat on, I walk out the doors of the main gym foyer. I think about going home, but for some reason, the thought of taking a walk in the freshly fallen snow feels inviting. Maybe its because the cold takes the edge of my headache; maybe its just because I know Im getting a few steps farther away from Chad. I dont know. All I know is that when I arrive at the top of Lyndon fields, a warm peace envelops me, a peace that I havent felt in ages. I lie down in the cold, wet snow. Light, fluffy flakes begin to fall from the clouds, pale gray and opaque as they steadily traverse the skies, unknowingly depriving the world of warmth. I close my eyes, and try, for the first time that day, to listen. After a few seconds I come to the realization that there is no sound. No noise. Nothing but the low hum of the atmosphere churning as it has for millennia, the ancient Earth turning as it has for an eon more. The voice of the world whispers directly in my ear, relieving me of my pain but burdening me with something else. For in that moment, I come to the veritable and absolute truth that had been nagging and confirmed by my day: human society is an indecipherable blare of haphazard, nonsensical ideas that only serve to distract the mind. Having suspected this to some degree for a long while, I am not thoroughly surprised. I cannot help but despair, however, the disaster this spells for the

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nature of my existence. What purpose does a life among humans serve, if such a life only serves to disturb and degrade original thought and value? I begin to feel quite downtrodden, but the voice of the world guides me to the inner recesses of my mind, where I procure what I had been trying to recall since that morning: the significance of my dream. I was sitting in an Adirondack chair in the middle of a frozen lake, surveying a wasteland of sparkling white similar to the expanse of snow in front of Lyndon. Sitting there in the chair and simultaneously lying there in the snow, I feel body, my thoughts, my emotions, everything melt into part of a greater entity. Such a sensation comforts me and I smile, as I suddenly know that this state of being is a saving hand. A hand to combat the corrupting noise of society, and a hand to sow the thought and intrigue for which I have always sought. For it is only through the peace and silence of nature that one can listen to the true essence of reality and being.

JamKaitlyn MurphyMy grandmother always made me rhubarb jam. To crown my toast And partner my peanut butter. Sticky red rubies I loved, The jewel of my lunch And treasure of my snack. She made with such love, knowing how I cherished. So many breakfasts brightened, So many sandwiches sweetened So many childhood memories laced with its taste. My grandmother always made me rhubarb jam Though the tiny fingers, Which were once made sticky Have grown to use napkins. And the tiny legs Which once dangled from the stool Have grown to chase riches My grandmother makes me rhubarb jam, The jars of rubies collecting dust in the pantry.

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Without MeMikayla FendtCry me a river But Ill cry you an ocean instead Place your hand in mine And never let go Youre my incense, My pure necessity, The blood that flows through me, And the relinquisher Of my life. Youre the precise measure of timeThe thousandth, And the millionth, Of the second. Youre like my science fiction remedy. There is no real answer. And with you The mind is endless, And the word imagination Becomes meaningless. You are my Utopia My perfect ultimatum, The only thing I want to live with Or to ever see As long as I shall exist. And you are my only-The only part of me And the only true definition Of what is perfect, Unfailing, Love. But goodbye for now, And for eternity. Im wishing you all the best. Dont waste time thinking of me; You dont deserve it Cry a million tears And say goodbye a 100 times over If you solemnly swear, I can promise you You will live in the picturesque world You always dreamed of Every dream of yours Will no longer be just a dream. Me being gone Means you being awakened And when youre no longer delusionally hiding I will be there behind closed doors And your life will begin Without me.

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DogHali GreenhouseI'm sick of looking out of this tic-tac-toe board I'm sick of all of the faces that walk by each one different and annoying The teenage boy texting The businessman whizzing The young boy chasing The pregnant lady waddling You know why I'm sick of them? I'm not out there with them I'm stuck and no one comes and visits me So something so stupid as simply walking really pisses me off. I'm going crazy in here The chair is talking back The sink is starting to quack The white floor's turning black If the sink doesn't stop dripping I'm going to scream And make a scene And risk everything But no. I obey I'm an obedient dog waiting to play Who doesn't have a say Whose future cannot be swayed Who always and forever has to stay I'm drowning here alone And no one cares Because everyone else is trapped too We shouldn't be trapped, we're teenagers But what if we are let free? Won't we mess up? Won't we make the wrong decision? Sometimes I want to be trapped But I'm a good dog and always will be So I guess my owner will choose for me I don't want to decide my destiny Is it better to be trapped and not decide Or be free and and make the wrong decision and tried But so wrong that we wished we died So can you decide?

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Dying EmbersKaylee YaegerHow am I supposed to be happy when all I ever wanted, it comes with a price?1 Learning how to live can be the most difficult thing that someone can do. Some learn through mistakes, some through the advice of others, and some may never learn at all. I was one of the lucky ones to some degree. I learned, but I learned through the death of a loved one. If it wasnt for him, I wouldnt feel loved, even if I was. I wouldnt be able to stand on my own two feet. Most importantly, I wouldnt know how to live. Learning the meaning of life through its opposite its irony at its best. I guess one must go through Hell to be able to see Heaven. I saw the light when I saw him. When the light vanished from sight I had to make my own light. He taught me how to make it. Love of mine, some day you will die, but Ill be close behind. Then, Ill follow you into the dark.2 Ring, ring sang the telephone in the grip of a young girl, age thirteen. Quiet sobs could be heard between rings. My chestnut brown hair hung flat, as if pulled down by a weight. Hello? came a male voice from the other end of the line. Hi, I choked out my voice was shot from crying my heart out night after night. Whats wrong? he asked, but he already knew the answer. I need you. Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.3 He always told me that Im never alone, no matter how lonely I may feel. He made me feel like I belonged somewhere, like I was here for a purpose. I know that he was here for a purpose as well to positively influence the lives of the people around him. He succeeded. You can turn off the sun, but Im still going to shine.4 I continued to stare out my window. I looked past the tears in my eyes, past the smudged window glass, past the frost, and past the frozen droplets of water falling from the sky above. This serene view was the last illustration that I saw before my heavy eyelids finally closed. Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams.5 Hes the one who taught me to stand up for myself. It wasnt my mom. It wasnt my dad. It was him. When the kids bullied me in school and I just watched too afraid to act he taught me how to defend myself, the right way. No hitting, no crying, just honest words. Never coming home, you are never coming home.6 Another phone call was made, but this time, I answered.

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Before I had the opportunity to even say hello, I heard heavy sobs in the background, and then a shriek that I will never forget. Hes dead! There was more weeping. Wh-what? Car Painful inhale. Crash. In this operation, [I] found a complication in your heart.7 From his death, I learned how to live. Learning this wasnt an immediate thing definitely not an immediate thing. I struggled. I cried. I thought that I would never get better. I, however, took his final words to heart I havent slept in so long, and when I do - I dream of drowning in the ocean.8 I stepped onto the cold earth as the stars shone above me. The ground appeared distant, lonely, and rigid. The heavens, however, seemed happy and bright, as if welcoming a new face. The ground was hard to dig into, complained one of the workers off in the distance. The sound traveled far in the cold, silent air. Its as if the earth wasnt ready to take him, I whispered to myself, letting out a few solemn tears. I knew that I definitely wasnt ready to let him go. On that day, I let go of more than I was ready to release. I let go of my natural childhood naivety. I let go of my idea of life being forever. I hadnt thought about death before then. People aged. Yes. People died, yes. But, not in my world! I had been protected for far too long. Its as if my defenses that boxed me in had collapsed. I was beaten, but I wasnt broken. Its pushing on, through the darkness, which makes life worth living and gives meaning to it. Warm arms wrapped around my shoulders. I felt a flow of warm air go past my ear. He left you something. I turned around and she uncoiled her arms from my shoulders. The plump elderly woman scrambled around in her large pocket and pulled out on an unsealed envelope and handed it to me Be strong. And now that Im strong I have figured out how this world turns cold and it breaks through my soul.9 The final message is his last lesson for me. Be strong. I had never thought of myself as a strong person before. I used to always turn to him for help. I didnt have the confidence to turn to myself. Through his words and his short life, I was able to see myself as an enduring person and was able to keep pushing on. Confidence has to be found on the inside. If no one shows you where to look, then it may never be found. Because of him, I have confidence. I have the confidence to speak. I have the confidence to stand-alone. I have the confidence to live.

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All because of you, I believe in angels.101 2

Cat and Mouse (Red Jumpsuit Apparatus) I Will Follow You Into the Dark (Death Cab For Cutie) 3 Yellow (Coldplay) 4 The Remedy (Jason Mraz) 5 Music of the Night (Andrew Lloyd Webber) 6 The Ghost of You (My Chemical Romance) 7 Dead! (My Chemical Romance) 8 The Good Left Undone (Rise Against) 9 Your Guardian Angel (Red Jumpsuit Apparatus) 10 The Good Left Undone (Rise Against)

The McDonalds BluesDarius SiasEvery day, I go on a journey, Rain, snow or sleet. This day was different, because of the dry southern heat. I trot my Nike Dunks To the concrete beat, To that one store right up the street. I'm going to Mickey D's. Got a hamburger and extra cheese. I told them I wanted a lathered shake To go, So i gave them five dollars And I was out the front glass door. I murdered that food Like white on rice, Which made my stomach Pay a hefty price. The smell of food Was all in my shoes But nothing ever changes In the McDonalds Blues.

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Su pelo, y msBrianna SuslovicRojo rojo rojo Pelo rojo, como el fuego. Siempre, siempre esta quemando Como tu personalidad - fiero, turbulento. Ojos como esmeraldas, Brillante ojos siempre titilando. Esos ojos me estn invitando todo momento. Y las pecas pequeas, pecas pequeas, pecas salpicadas a travs de tus mejillas regordetes. Nunca se terminan, esas pecas. Son las ms bellas. En serio. Pero la ms importante es tu sonrisa. Tu risa como florecillas en la floracin... Esa risa levanta de tus labios, arriba de las otras. Quiero besar aquellos labios. Pero hay un problema. Eres una chica.

Your hair, and moreRed red red Red hair, like fire. Always, always it is burning like your personality - fiery, turbulent. Eyes like emeralds, Bright eyes always twinkling. Those eyes are inviting me always. And the small freckles, small freckles, sprinkled freckles all across your chubby cheeks. They never end, those freckles, Theyre the prettiest. Seriously. But most important is your smile. You laugh like little flowers in bloom... That laugh rises from your lips, above the others. I want to kiss those lips. But theres a problem. Youre a girl.

Whats happening?Alicia StappenbeckWhats happening to the world? Our lifes being thrown away, Like trash on the street, Our love, Just a toy to break, borrow, steal, Then give it back like it means nothing, What happened to chivalry? Risking your life for a girl, The sweetness of being rescued, There may not be any dragons, But theres evil just the same, What happened to innocence? Waiting till marriage, Before conceiving kids, Women just throwing themselves out there, Like a meal for the poor, Consumed by all, Whats happened to life? Does it mean anything any more? Or is it just a tool for other peoples gain, Chivalry? Innocence? Life? What s happening to the world?

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Were flyingMolly C. BagatellI was young Only two When first I took to the sky My dads big hand Curled around my small one I was only able to grip three of his fingers Deep breaths together we took You are my angel, and angels flyThe big seat hugged me closely As I hugged my tattered bear to my chest We sped and rose slowly like a hollow kite Slowly towards the creamy blue Looking out the window I see small cars, ants really. My dad kisses my forehead. Were Flying his lips whisper in my ear With my hand in his We were safe Our love made us fly Now Ive grown up I fly alone I imagine our hands held tight together lifting the hollow kite I still hold my tattered bear to my chest As I rise looking out the window At the now familiar view Were flying

I Don't UnderstandAlly FoxI don't understand why it had to be our last holiday why my bloodshot eyes couldn't make you change why your last words " I love you" stung so bad why you held my hand like you knew it was good-bye why you took her side I don't understand why you couldn't act like a father why you thanked God for me why our last embrace seemed so distant why I have scars because of you why I never craved your touch so much But, I do understand why I can no longer see you why I despise Thanksgiving why tears are so salty why a bed never felt more like home and why I still love you

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Slam: A Love PoemZane SuttmoreCuz when the battles over And with shock and awe were all stunned When its all said and done The only thing that still remains is love. Thirteen years of pain and toil I never knew I was in his coil He abused my mom and forever scarred me I never knew he was so dastardly. Right now you hadnt come along I thought it was I who had been wrong Little did I know youd help set me free But that was a long ways away from me. He had taken my mind and made it a wreck He did whatever he could and never held back I didnt know I was always free He was never able to take the sky from me. My hope was fading and I was just biding time Only once suicide came to mind But when times are tough and all looks bleak Karma has a way of making righteous sweep. When it hit the fan, twas a wallop of thunder Something from which I thought Id never recover But you came along in my hour of need Your love healed my soul and let me flee. When you did come along, you relinquished my fear I stood up to him with a defiant leer Your love stood me up and I never backed down I gained self respect and was finally proud. He cast mom and me out to the black Told us he was never comin back I burned my bridges and boiled my ties I made a choice that will never die. When the storm had passed and life began anew Two things I would always know to be true Im not like him and never will be And that I love you with all my heart and you love me. I question the world from time to time But because it saved me from my stepdads crimes Love is the only sleeping dog Ive let lie And Ill forever cherish it even after I die. The battle continues it may never be over But your love for me is a four-leaf clover And even if you leave Ill never go down Because you helped me learn how to stand my ground. Cuz when the battles over And with shock and awe were all stunned After its all been said and done The only thing that still remains is love.

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HrysisElias TupperAfrica, Southern Border, Cape Town August 17, 2017 Thursday 3:23 pm. The city looked dead. The kinetic projectiles the invaders fired had destroyed half the city. Waterlines broken, power outages. This was definitely the day to survive an invasion. I hitched a ride into the city with an Australian convoy to the harbor, where I would do a little exploring. Its been proven as a fact: porcupines can swim well. And with warm water about, how could I resist getting my feet wet? I hopped off from the truck. As soon as I was in the main street, there was a rippling sound in the air. It got louder, cutting through the talk of passersby. Then, large impacts and shock waves hit the city. As I was thrown about, dust consumed many of the buildings. The city was dead, that was for sure. And now screams were coming from the mouths of citizens. A truck exploded next to me. The explosion sent a shock through my spine, knocking the wind out of me. It took several seconds to restore air supply to my heart again. I had no idea that we were being attacked by aliens. I thought that only a gas station had exploded. Then, in shock, I realized that the truck I had been riding on had impaled the occupants with shrapnel and fire. There was the deep sound of gunfire and screams. Black smoke rose from many corners of the town. I was struck with the thought that militia had swarmed to attack the harbor, steal all the valuable goods, and run off. Fear was in my mind. I was scared, but still I had the will to move -- not something many had when frightened to death. There was a Steyr AUG on the ground, untouched by the explosion of the truck. I have to say, videogames taught me how to work firearms. I released the clip and checked the magazine. Full. I popped it back in and pulled the firing lever. Then, there was a sound. The loudest hum ever heard was echoing all around. The sound touched everything: the ground, the air, even the water. It droned on and on, with a ten second distance between each vibration. The sound was definitely alien to my ears. No machinery I knew could produce that type of droning. There were other noises in the background. It was hard to say what they were actually, but they were there. I decided to take the main round into town. My other idea had been to hide, but a man hiding with a gun was not a good picture to explain to anyone. The smoke smelled acrid, and tires were on fire. The next thing I saw shocked me. I was at the warm plaza in town, looking at the parade of slain bodies -- people I didnt care about, people who would only have the smallest impact in history. I raised the AUG. The bodies had burnt holes in them, cleanly cut through. I never knew the smell of burning human flesh until today. There were no more screams. Only that damned vibrating sound. Every ten seconds it would repeat itself. I noticed something strange about the bodies. There were no bloodstains at all. Just piles of people on the ground. How odd.

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There was a fast paced sound in the alley behind me. I turned around, the AUG still raised in my hand. A foreign creature clad in grey metal, standing upon hind legs, rushed carelessly out of the alley. In its hand was what appeared to be a weapon. It fired a shot, and I returned fire. The spray of bullets dented its armor, but a single bullet strayed into an unprotected spot. An orange liquid sprang out, and the creature fell. Gurgles and synthetic noises began to leak out of it weakly...

King of HeartsJ.J. DavisHave you met Love? She lived on Memory Lane With her little house Made of round stones Of yes and forever But Pain comes and erodes Away at the weak walls With nevers And broken promises break her windows Letting Hate in Have you met Love? No! and Please dont! Have stained her lips Black and blue And Hate gives her eyes to match Have you met Love? Her house burned down on Memory Lane Now Hate dances on the ashes And picks his teeth with her bones

Confessions of a Junior in High SchoolAsh MasraniMy head was buried in my hands as if pleading for comfort, for a solution. Tears raced down my cheeks, bouncing off every crease in my face and scurrying to the bottom of my chin before launching onto my worn out shirt to form mini puddles. I felt heat reverberating to the surface of my skin as the frustration in me began bottling up. A flustered scream, at last, created an exit to the anger and confusion in me. I looked like a hot mess. This, unfortunately, was a common occurrence. It actually was a pretty accurate metaphor of my sentiments towards junior year. I always thought the hype of junior year was simply an annual phenomenon that seemed to be exaggerated as every year passed. My ignorance would, however, receive

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a rude awakening. The academic pressures and need for extraordinary extra-curricular achievements is only a prerequisite. The things many people dont know, that truly magnify the pressures of this spectacular year go unnoticed. First is the appellation of upperclassman attained. I do not mean to condemn this status, for I myself love it. The problem however is the realization of the limited time available before college applications that dawn upon many at this time. A majority of high school students spend freshman year attempting to establish their niche and friend circle, and sophomore year taking the time liberties of the experienced student to full advantage. They do everything their friends do, go everywhere their friends go and take all the classes their friends take. On reaching junior year, they get hit hard in their face by the same question asked by everyone: counselors, colleges, parents and every scholarship foundation. The question, of course, being: What makes you stand out from everybody else? Uh, nothing. This is when the do-everything-your-friend-does strategy plays out to a dire disadvantage. Then there comes another overhyped up situation and fellow stress contributor: prom. Around March the question that seems to be probing most minds and making the main topic of several conversations-at least of many girls-mimic the format of: Dude, who are you going to prom with? Who is *insert name* going to prom with? What are you wearing? I cant believe they are going to prom together! The craze that overtakes the bodies of scores of sixteen year olds is, not to forget, over a gym where the main entre comprises popcorn chicken and Wegmans cookies. Fantasies of finding true love, kissing Prince Charming, or whatever other intention overwhelm many people to a point of being extremely comical. Once again, I am not a cynical rebel who intends on sucking the fun out of every situation, but I simply humor the extravagance and hysteria that surrounds a dance that will be made fun of in twenty years. To those still reading this rant, I feel responsible to clarify that this is obviously not the point of view of everyone, maybe even most people. It is merely a standpoint of a single junior making her way through high school. To all current juniors: the end is in sight; to all prospective juniors: my sympathies lie with you and to everyone else: kudos, you made it.

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Syracuse Stage Young Playwrights Festival Finalists(Editors Note: Seniors Joe Hall and Kaitlyn Murphy were selected as finalists in this years Young Playwrights Festival, hosted by Syracuse Stage. Their plays were performed in staged readings earlier this year. To honor these J-DHS students for their achievements, Rambunctious has decided to publish copies of their plays, with their permission.)

NoodlesJoe Hall(The play begins with TODD, in an apron, mopping the floor around a table and chairs that stands in the center of the stage. KEVIN enters stage left with a brief case.) KEVIN: Hey Todd, Im home. TODD: Hey Honey! How was work? KEVIN: It was awful. TODD: Oh no, what happened? KEVIN: I spent almost the entire day behind my desk. My hand is killing me from all that writing. TODD: You spent your whole day writing? KEVIN: Yeah, you know, sports stuff. TODD: Kevin, you poor thing! Writing all day about sports. What an awful thing to ask of a sports writer! KEVIN: Shut up. (The couple shares a laugh and a quick kiss) TODD: Well I, for one, have had a fabulous day. I cleaned this house from top to bottom, including the guest bedroom. Your mother better appreciate that when she visits this weekend. (KEVIN Groans) By the way, she called today. Apparently that landscaping service we arranged for her isnt good enough. Theres just too many gosh darn Mexicans. Mexicans arent in the Bible you know (Mimicking the voice of an elderly woman) KEVIN: But she doesnt even have to talk to them! TODD: Well I guess looking at them is too much. You know how your mother is. Remember how she called Father Dave because she heard we were having Quesadilla Night. KEVIN: Actually, Quesadillas sound good. Whats for dinner tonight? TODD: Kev, Im extremely exhausted; I dont feel like cooking. I was thinking we could maybe order out tonight? KEVIN: Order Chinese? Watch the game? Sounds good to me. TODD: Fine, but on the kitchen TV. I dont want Egg Foo Young on my carpets again! KEVIN: That was three years ago, and I told you, that was Sam! Is he home yet? TODD: Sam stayed after for a mathletes thing, he should be home soon. (KEVIN crosses from stage left to stage right, and begins to exits stage right) Take off your shoes; cant you see Im cleaning the floor? Youre going to get mud everywhere!

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KEVIN: (Offstage) Too late. TODD: (Calling to KEVIN) Oh, and I vacuumed the carpet on the stairs. Do not walk on those stairs with your shoes on! KEVIN: (Offstage, and distant) Too late. (SAM enters stage left) TODD: Take your shoes off! I just cleaned the floors! (Sam stops and looks at the tracks he has left on the floor already) SAM: (Mumbling) Too late. TODD: How was school? SAM: (Mumbling) Fine, Dad. fine. (SAM walks across to stage right; KEVIN enters stage right without his briefcase) TODD: Sam, Is everything okay? SAM: (Mumbling, clearly annoyed) Yeah, Im fine. TODD: Are you sure? (Silent pause, SAM looks back and forth at his parents) SAM: Okay, I was gonna wait for this, but I cant. I have somethin to tell you guys. (Silent pause. TODD and KEVIN look at each other briefly, then at their son in anticipation) SAM: Maybe you guys should sit down. (TODD and KEVIN slowly sit down. After they are seated, SAM slowly takes off his backpack and places it next to his chair. SAM sits down opposite his parents) SAM: Okay, Dad, Daddy, Promise you wont be mad. TODD: Of course we wont be mad! Dont you worry, honey. KEVIN: Well be mad if you give us a reason to be mad. SAM: Its just that Im Im Ayyy KEVIN: Spit it out, Samuel. Youre Ayyy what? SAM: Im Im Asian. (TODD gasps and begins to rapidly inhale and exhale, KEVIN stares in disbelief. There is an uncomfortable pause) KEVIN: Why?! SAM: I I dont know. I guess I was born this way. KEVIN: Since when? SAM: Since I was born, I dont know. Its okay for you guys to feel a sense of loss. But dont worry, you know. Im still your child. I can still get married, have kids, have a normal life. KEVIN: But why now, Sam?! SAM: Daddy, Ive always been this way. I cant hide it anymore! KEVIN: (Thinks for a few seconds) Chinatown. Every year we visit your aunt in the city. Every year we stop at Chinatown. I knew that was a bad idea! (KEVIN glares at TODD who has now calmed down but remains covering his mouth in shock, and not making eye contact) SAM: Chinatown didnt make me this way! I. Was. Born. This. Way. Im not even Chinese, Im Korean! KEVIN: (Standing up) Oh, They have different types now!

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SAM: (Standing up) God! I knew you wouldnt be okay with this! KEVIN: This wasnt how we raised you! SAM: What does that even mean! TODD: (Standing up) Shut up! Sam, You know that we love you no matter what Lets all just, you know, take a step back. A breather. Sam maybe you can start cleaning your room so me and your father can have a minute to talk. SAM: I have homework. (Sam exits stage right) TODD:(Calling to SAM) Oh, I vacuumed the carpet. Take off your shoes! SAM:(Off stage) Too late! (Off stage door slams) (TODD sighs, and begins to mop the floor again. Kevin sits back down, clamping the bridge of his noise) TODD: You know, I have to say, Im not surprised. KEVIN: What?! TODD: A parent just knows, you know? Besides, Kevin, think about it. Rice has always been his favorite food. Hes a horrible driver. Hes a mathematical genius. And God, he can paint nails better than I can! (Extending his arm to examine his own nails) Plus, Hes always had a tinyKEVIN: (Interrupting) Eye socket! Yes. He has thin, tiny, eye sockets. TODD: Yeah (TODD stops mopping, there is a pause) KEVIN: What, Todd? TODD: This is going to be okay. Were going be okay. (KEVIN looks away from TODD) Do you remember eighteen years ago? When we were newlyweds living out of your mothers basement apartment? Do you remember when we spoke to the doctor and and we found out that we couldnt conceive naturally? (KEVIN looks back at TODD) I was devastated, and do you remember what you said to me? You said, Honey, well find a way. Well figure it out. Well be okay. This is no different, well figure it out. Well be okay. KEVIN: Youre right. (TODD and KEVIN share a smile) TODD: You should probably call and tell your mother KEVIN: Oh Gosh TODD: Im going to go make sure those rotten Latinos didnt go and kill all my tulips. Im Just Kidding. Call your mother. (TODD hands a phone to KEVIN, and exits stage left. KEVIN begins to dial a number, hangs up, and dials a different number. He holds the phone up to his ear and waits for an answer) KEVIN: Hello? Is Father Dave in? Thanks Hello? This is Kevin Shaw Good, thanks. I just have a question Its just that- well. I think my son is Asian. I know the Bible doesnt say much about them mhm.... Look at the Bible in context of when and where it was written. Okay Thank you you too. Bye. (KEVIN hangs up the phone and thinks for a bit staring off into space. He begins to mumble) Look at the Bible for when and where it was written (SAM enters stage right, and grabs his backpack of the floor. SAM begins to leave stage right once again, but KEVIN stops him)

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KEVIN: Wait. SAM: What? KEVIN: We really do love you. You just You have to understand this is all new for your father and I. SAM: I get it, its fine. KEVIN: Just. Um. We dont have to tell grandma. Shell just lecture us about how there are no Asians in the Bible. (KEVIN forces a laugh) SAM: You just have to look at the Bible in contextKEVIN: (Interrupting) Context with when and where it was written, I know. Grandma just grew up in a different time, andSAM: I know. KEVIN: How come, um How come all of this came out today? SAM: Well today, at mathletes, someone a friend, I guess was making fun of this girl in our grade. Just cause shes different, you know? And I just felt bad, because Im different too. I guess I just feel like a lot of people are different, and I just didnt see the point in tryin to hide it anymore. (KEVIN nods understandingly, and extends his arm for a hug, and the two embrace) KEVIN :Today I wrote a column about the success of the Japanese in major league baseball, and(SAM ends the hug) SAM: Im Korean! KEVIN: And I love you all the same. (KEVIN reinitiates a hug. TODD enters stage left) TODD: Oh! Im missing the hug! (TODD joins the family hug) KEVIN: Todd, take off your shoes! (The family separates and views the fresh mud on the floor) TODD: Too Late Well this has certainly been an eventful evening. Lets just all relax and call in some chineKEVIN: (Interrupting) Pizza! TODD: Yes! Relax and have some pizza. KEVIN: Great. I dont think I could take much more today. SAM: Oh. So would be it bad time to say that Im Jewish? (TODD and KEVIN both gasp. SAM smiles) Im totally kidding. TODD: Oh. (Mumbles) Thank God. (KEVIN, TODD, and SAM all share a laugh) THE END

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Agony of De FeetKaitlyn Murphy(The play takes place in front of MAISYs closet. MAISY is holding a pair of old, beat up sneakers, facing the audience with the closet opened behind her. A new pair of bright red high heels is visible in the closet. MAISY is barefoot. MAISY never addresses the audience, only the shoes.) MAISY: So, I think we need t-to, you know, talk. (Silence. MAISY waits for a reply.) MAISY: (sigh) Okay. I can understand if youre upset right now, this conversation seems to be laced with sadness. (MAISY cautiously looks down at the shoes.) MAISY: It really isnt as bad as it sounds (pause) I-I think we should, y-you know, take a break. (Silence. MAISY exhales loudly) MAISY: I know. I know. Ive had this feeling I just cant seem to shoo off, I just think that, right now, we. . . we need some time apart. (MAISY looks at the shoes. Her face is pained in anticipation for a response) MAISY: Weve been together through it all. (smiles nostalgically) Like, remember that walk we took through Patten Park, right after I found out I won my first art award? And it was such a beautiful day, with all those flowers everywhere? And we were both so happy! You could barely stay still, skipping around with me. (in a cheesy, comforting tone) Im so glad that we shared that. And well always have that memory to look back on. (MAISY laughs and smiles as she reminisces) MAISY: And, Im so grateful that you stood by me in all the hard times, too. Like remember when we had to walk home in the rain, the week mom and dad told me they were getting a divorce? It was so nice to have your support through the whole journeyeven when I cried the whole way home. Ill never forget how good you were to me. (MAISYs smile fades as she realizes how much the shoes mean to her) MAISY: Youve been there to help me dip my toes into so many new things. Gym on the first day of high school, and my first date- do you remember him? That weirdo nature guy, Jake, who took me on a hike? (chuckles quietly as she remembers) and you were even with my for my driving test! Things I couldve never done if you didnt have my back . . . well, feet, the whole time. (Awkward silence. MAISY looks around slowly, avoiding the shoes) MAISY:(optimistic sounding) You know, you really are wonderful. Youre always there for me, always so comforting. You have so many wonderful qualities tied into you; Id hate to think that I hurt you with this breakup. (Silence as MAISY searches for an explanation) MAISY: (stumbling) Im not - . Its just - . The whole- . (MAISY pauses and takes a deep, audible breath) MAISY: Its not you, Its me. (MAISY looks squarely at the shoes)

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MAISY: Its just- Ive felt that weve been growing apart lately. Sure, we make a great pair. I mean, were tied together every day- but are our emotions really in it? Do we really feel anything for each other anymore? (MAISY waits for a reply) MAISY: (Casually) Whats the matter? Cat got your tongue? (MAISY continues to wait for a reply) MAISY: Thats okay, it was a rhetorical question, anyways. But, honestly, I just dont feel the same spark I did when we first met. I dont see the same sneakers that walked into my life three years ago. And I dont think Im alone in this. (MAISY accidentally drops one shoe) MAISY: Dont be so stubborn, why do you take everything as a defeat? (MAISY gently picks up the shoe) MAISY: Sometimes, youre just so . . . oh, I dont know. So . . . twosided. (MAISY starts rambling with escalating volume and speed) Its like sometimes, Youre tied to me, I just want freedom, but youre always there, right below me, and no matter how far I run or where I go, I just cant get away from you, and you tie yourself in knots over me, just to be near me and to never give me my own life! (MAISY stops, catching her breath) MAISY: (still rambling) And other times, youre just sooo flexible. You let me walk all over you! Its like sometimes you let me mold your sole, youre just so darn indifferent! I want you to fight back, give me blisters, make me feel like Im not arguing with a sock! Sometimes, you know, it feels like Im the one whos always making all of the decisions! Dont you care about the steps we take in our life together?! (MAISY realizes shes been rambling) MAISY: I-Im sorry, but its just been so difficult these past few weeks. Ive tried to make it work out. Ive put on different socks, tried tying different bows, taken different paths, but nothing seems to be working. I think that this relationship is just worn. (MAISY ties all four laces together in a bow slowly, with loving perfection) MAISY: Im going off to college soon, and, well, weve known for quite a while now that we wouldnt last forever. Theres just not room for you there in the tiny closet of my new life, and I wont need you every day. What I need is something that will help me take risks, be a little daring, let me walk on my own for a while. (MAISY straightens the bow and smoothes the laces) MAISY: At least youll have each other. Im so sorry about everything. I just really need to try new things. I want to feel the sand between my toes, I want to run through the grass, I want to stomp in mud puddles. I hate to give you the boot, but I just feel like youre limiting me. (MAISY straightens out the tongue of the sneakers) MAISY: (hesitantly) And, I hope this doesnt upset you, But Ive found . . . something new. (MAISY bites on her bottom lip nervously) MAISY: I really do care about you, but, I dont know, youre just so . . . flat. I need something that can be better for me now, something a little more polished- that can take me to new heights, can bring me to the top, get me noticed, give me a challenge.

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(MAISY hangs the tied laces over her arm, so the shoes dangle around her hips, and pulls the high heels out of the closet. She turns back to the audience, but keeps a strong, captivated gaze at the new shoes.) MAISY:These are my new shoes. (MAISY pauses as she gazes lovingly at the shoes) MAISY: Dont think of it as cheating, I found them after I stopped feeling for you, even if our relationship wasnt over yet. I didnt mean for them to wedge in between us. And I di(MAISY is interrupted by her sneakers slipping off her arm and falling to the floor. MAISY scoffs and rolls her eyes, then stares at them as if shes annoyed) MAISY: (sharply) Oh, dont be over dramatic, you knew this was coming. And you know what they say- if the shoe fits! It just- just happened! (She stares down at the sneakers) Dont do this to me, dont try to tell me you didnt feel our relationship callusing over like I did. (MAISY picks up the sneakers and holds them by the laces as she continues to hold the high heels) MAISY: I know, these new shoes, they may not be all the support you were, they may hurt me, they might even let me trip, and fall, b-but maybe thats what I need. Im starting a new part of my life now, moving out, and facing the real world. These shoes will prepare me for that, youve been great, but now maybe I need to learn to stand on my own two feet. (MAISY takes a deep breath, realizing the finality in her words) MAISY: We can still be friends. I promise. You can come on some camping trips and things with me. How does that sound? See, this isnt goodbye; its just a phase of our relationship. Were both growing. We need something new, and this is just it. (MAISY smiles sadly) MAISY: If theres anything I can do to help you, well, (pause as if shes searches for better word) . . . heel, let me know. Okay? (MAISY opens and closes her mouth several times, as if trying to say something, but realizes she has nothing left to say) MAISY: So, its been fun, but (loud exhale) I think this is where we end. Ill always remember you by the footprints youve left in my life. (MAISY slowly puts her sneakers in the closet, straightens them out lovingly, and closes the door. She turns back to the audience and looks at the new shoes. MAISY quickly wipes a tear off her cheek) MAISY: Well, now, where do we start? Its been such a long time since Ive done this. (MAISY slips on the new shoes and quietly giggles. A smile spreads across her face) MAISY: (as she walks offstage) Did I mention you have a beautiful sole?

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Faculty SubmissionsRest UneasyMr. Joe DeChickYo, thanks for taking the time to light the candles at my vigil, to design and wear that T-shirt showcasing my sad, half-assed smile, to preach to the medias prying eyes about how THIS VIOLENCE MUST END, and to build that roadside memorial with the fresh flowers, hearts and teddy bears. I really wish, though, youd taken the time to read to me, to tell me you loved me, to take me somewhere I wanted to go, to talk with me (and not scream at me), to not smoke blunts with me around the house, to kick my butt for banging with the 110, and to show me I was worth something. But, like I said, from my new perspective, it looks like you loved me, in the end. Strange way of showing it, though. After the fact, and all. I guess it made for a mad-good sound bite in the reality show that real life has become. And Im just sayin: How come it takes a death, to make us suddenly pay attention to life?

ThirtyMr. Matthew PhillipsThe stapler speaks. It speaks as if to say: Your hopes are fungi--like the mush and slime Of rotting masses under fallen limbs. (Gee, thanks.) It clicks off years like stocks on tape, Rolling off the wall to count my loss and worth. The song it sings reminds me now of life And dreams, the fascination of fastening things, Of holding onto words that slip away Into some other place. A distant edge. Empty margins. Those barren corner spaces. Its double click massagestends and mends The tensions hope has harbored, hardened here In a lie. Released, this hackneyed page, this year I lost. Now braced against the coming ten.

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The Fire Elf: Part IMs. Joyce HansenThere once was a fire elf that feared only the extinguishing of her primal spark. She lived with a tinkerer, a warm handsome creature, in a gnarled part of the wood. Every night the tinkerer flirted with sleep. He sang to it gorgeous portions of his future, lying in a gauze of blackness for millennia: forgetting, forgetting. Sometimes he did this alone; sometimes he brought friends along. Every day Yosah grasped the tinkerer by the middle and fed the air back into his lungs. The tinkerer would crack open to the fire elfs care, but Yosahs face was marred with handprints. The first thing he saw was always the devils Picasso. Yosah wasnt beautiful, and it jarred so to be rudely forced. Often the fire elf stole away while the tinkerer lay smiling beneath a gauze of wicked forgetfulness (his fingers happily entwined with the roots of upturned organia.) She crept into a quarry where stones of the loveliest sorts were being shaved and made into distorted shapes. She looked at the pieces hard, hoping for enlightenment. But no word ever came from the stone. Again Yosah sprinted back to the river Styx to collect the tinkerers handsome shell, bringing it to their clay dome. Again she forced animation on his blue lips with unimaginable care, whispering numbers and invoking blessings and calling out to the terrible gods of the underworld. And the tinkerer would frown in his unsuccessful attempt to dislocate himself from the fescue. And his brow would crease like a turning serpent as his eyes climbed back out of their holes. In the morning the tinkerer stroked Yosahs handprints (those left by the devil) and told her they were utterly transparent when the sun glazed the forest chartreuse in Venetian lace. He said sometimes very kind things. The days regaled the words he said. The nights betrayed the meanings she made. The forest grew spines and thorns. The sky let marrow. The moon turned away and drew her plush plum cloak. Then one night the fire elf saw a meteor fall. She ran on felt feet to greet it properly. The air about her divided as she went. It was a cosmic sign, or so she imagined. The chunk of extraterrestrial matter flung itself into a wide lake. It disappeared under the reflected sky with roiling protest. Water evaporated all about so that when Yosah arrived there could be no question as to what had taken place. The lake was simply mystified at this turn of events. Yosah did not disregard the meteors choice landing nor did she parry her need to welcome an object implied but invisible. The fire elf lay down on the bank, pressing her ribs into the moss. Yosah first sang a cheerful commonismone used every day to greet unknown pedestrians of the forest. Then she recited a short poem that she kept with her in the stitching of her tabard, Yosah always wanted to be prepared for important moments so she had taken the time to select a poem worthy of significant events yet general enough to apply effectively in most any event.

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Finally she waited. And she was rather patient and so she waited for a very long time. Around her the lake appointed condensation as its quiet apology for deserting the meteor upon introduction. Now that steamed reaction to impact seemed far too hasty. The lake asked for forgiveness by returning cellularly to the ground. The meteor didnt respond. Yosahs clothing became damp with the lakes apology. Her hair clung in wet tendrils to the hollows of her cheeks. She propped herself up on one elbow as the mossy bank beneath her pressed wetly into her bones. The surface of the lake held firm to the face of the fire elf, unflinchingly revealing the devils hands in the silent night. Yosah was not the least bit involved with the lakes interpretation of her face; she was far more interested in the meteorite. The forefinger on her right hand tickled the surface of the water, obscuring her shadowy portrait, while her left elbow pestled a patch of narcissus. She didnt notice the obliteration. The careless murder of the paper white flowers was felt as a fleeting sharp pain in the forest, and not a small amount of needles dropped. Yosah sensed some ephemeral anguish but knew not herself as the cause. She sent a prayer into the darkness for the suffering, all the while grinding her elbow into the destroyed flowers. There are all kinds of ways to lie in a gauze of blackness, it seems. The meteorite hung a sign of permanence over its landing, intended to remain aquatic, and carried on no discourse with Yosah over the matter. Yosah, troubled by this, decided to walk into the lake. It mustnt know that Im out here, waiting for it, she thought. She kept her eyes wide open under the lake, and in long exaggerated movements traversed the lakebed in search of the rock. A school of tangerine fish corkscrewed Yosahs left arm, delighted by the fresh blood of the bank flower. As Yosah was unaware of her narcissus-tainted elbow, she interpreted the interest as confirmation of her quest to bring the meteorite back to dry ground. When Yosah saw the meteorite, she knew it immediately. She dropped to the slick floor of the lake and scooped it up. It was surprisingly light for its size. She left the water, full of promise. The tinkerers eyes coasted cerebrally under satin lids. His hat crushed beneath the ruff of his neck. Silver stitching surrounded his collar, twinkling at any slight pick up in wind. Presently nine other collars twinkled along with. Their lungs slowed down to less than a subtle trend as miniature demons rubbed wormwood on their lips, over their gums, around their teeth, and into their tongues. Far and deep in the forest the fire elf was sitting squarely on moss, her signature tabard hung neatly in bare branches above her head. It dripped in irregular overture for some time, but slowly closed its drying song. Yosah crossed her legs and brought the meteorite onto her lap to examine. It was marbled with mineral. It was cold on her legs. She lightly pressed her fingers into it and closed her eyes, shivering. I found you, she said.

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I found you. I found you, rock from the sky. And Yosah sighed and brailed its face, relieved. At that same time, the tinkerers eyes began to vibrate. His jaw broke free from its clench and his lungs capitulated to a cloud of maroon vapor, forsaking the breath that had been meant for them. His back then gathered into an archway. Eleven olive insects scurried through the opening and arrived on the east side of nothing, to a bank covered in corpsite. The insects began to hum. After a bit a curious sun wondered what was happening, and took a slender look at the hardening scene. The tinkerers left arm shot out locked elbow but brought with it a cusped wrist. The life still circulating in his five fingers tapped an imaginary SOS. It was all too much for the sun so it immediately set. The day was no longer a day, and the insects became symphonic. It was a holy musical notation written by perverse expulsions of spirit, captured in the absence of true dawn. And with that, there among the pampas, the tinkerer was dead.

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The 2011 Staff and Advisors of RambunctiousEditors in Chief:Brianna Suslovic, 12 Alex Lesser, 12

Editors/Staff:Chris Yu, 11 Andrew Lee, 12 JJ Davis, 11 Sneha Dontha, 14 Brendan Coli, 12 Zane Suttmore, 14 Johanna Santos, 12 Kyrin Pollock, 14 Lydia Nevin, 12 Dylan Muller, 12 Katie Cieplicki, 12 Skyler Canute, 12 Phoenix Robertson, 13

Faculty Advisors:Mr. Phillips Ms. Hansen Ms. Sandroni

Cover art by Alex Lesser, 12

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