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The Forum
December 2014
2 The Forum
Editor’s NoteBy Alyssa Troyer
Collegiate’s atmosphere is so beautifully diverse because of the different talents our students have to offer. The purpose of this particular literary magazine is to showcase the talents of the artists, writers, and photographers of our school. Our winter edition has a completely anonymous theme. We made this decision in order to stress the fact that ANYONE can create and submit their work. We hope this inspires students to pursue creativity: whether it be to capture the wonders around the world, or to continue the story hidden away in a file at home.
We urge you to submit any literature, artWork, or photography you have for the spring edition
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Northwest Pennsylvania Collegiate Academy
The Forum December 2014
Erie School DistrictErie, Pennsylvania
Advisor Mrs. Ditrich
Co-EditorHeba Alsahlani
Co-Editor Alyssa Troyer
Business EditorSavannah Cross
Staff Members Alexandra Jankowski Cody Dolak Grace Baek Jennifer Jung Ann Jung Jessica Belousov Keay Crandall Leah Balsan Madison Abbey Nina Palattella
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Table of Contents
Green Swirl..................................................................................................................................1
“The Lake” and City ...................................................................................................................5
Skull and Heart............................................................................................................................6
“Father from Blood” .................................................................................................................. 7
“Into the Woods” and Sidewalk ..................................................................................................8
“Sorrow by the Sea” and Sea Landscape ................................................................................... 9
“If Rome shall fall, so shall we all” .....................................................................................10-11
Blue Landscape .........................................................................................................................12
Float Away and “Tickings of the Clocks” .................................................................................13
“Lost Lizard” ............................................................................................................................14
Iguana, Orange Flowers, and Sunflower ...................................................................................15
Butterfly and Orange Cap......................................................................................................... 16
“It” and Girl ..............................................................................................................................17
“Another Day, Another Nickel” ..........................................................................................18-19
Peacock .....................................................................................................................................19
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The LakeTwo worlds
One is real and one is not.Reflections of each other.
Sometimes it’s hard to figure outWhich one’s the lake and which one’s the sky.
A single tear falls from the cloudsAnd breaks the surface of the water
Proof to all: the lake is not as perfect as the sky.
Storm clouds gather, angels cryThe tears they fall relentlessly
Shattering the lake ‘til it looks nothing like the sky.Despite this iron weight I will forever try to fly –
But it’s easier to live in the reflections where it’s all a lie.
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Father from BloodAt fifty-six, the age printed on his driver’s license, Algar Cyneric was the perfect image
of a businessman. Dressed in a suit and tie, he stood, waiting for the four o’clock bus.His eyes meandered aimlessly, taking in his fellow travelers. A solemn teenager slumped against the bench, white wires trailing from his ears. Algar noted that his grandmother
had died two years prior.On the far side of the bench an elderly woman sat, clutching her handbag tightly, and,
when she caught him looking, gave him a sly smile.Widowed five times. Husbands all dead after one year.
Algar smiled back.That’s when it hit him; the rolling sense of dread that set his hair on end. Then the image
came. He winced and clutched at the handle of his briefcase.The bus rumbled into view, putting along, belching smoke. Mr. Cyneric’s eyes went hazy
and he sat down, ignoring the startled look that the woman shot his way.The bus came and went, and still Algar Cyneric sat. He didn’t look up until a shadow
hovered over him. There stood Logan, alone. Algar’s heart sank. He smiled sadly and spoke.
“I know.”Logan shifted. “Then you saw.”
It wasn’t a question, but Algar answered anyways.“Yes.”
“I thought I would tell you in person.”Algar nodded. “That was kind of you. Would you like to sit?”
Logan sat.Both men stared out in silence.
Algar broke it.“So. He finally did it.”
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Just as Red had described, there were in fact three giant trees looming over the warm house. He got to the carved door and knocked gently. “Who-who’s there?” sounded the deathly woman. “Little Red of course,” replied the Wolf as he roughly impersonated Little Red, “I have cake and wine.” “Lift the latch,” called out the Grandmother, “I am too weak and cannot get up.” The Wolf lifted the latch; the door sprang open; without a word, he rushed over to the neat white bed. Only to find it empty. Empty and well made. Something was wrong. Without a chance to look around the room, he was struck. “Good morning Grandmother, I brought you flowers,” Wolf heard the familiar voice of Red. “Aw, thank you darling; is this why you took so long?” now the grandmother spoke; the Wolf noticed she sounded cheerful and well. “Unfortunately yes, it was my only option. Oh and mother also sent love in that early delivery.”…Only then did it hit him, neither of the two were in his stomach or fearing to be, and he seemed to be paw tied. Springing into the best action that he could, the Wolf tried to free himself, only to hear the laughter of the two family members, “See Gran? My knots hold well, surely long enough for the Huntsman to arrive.”... The furry mammal was fuming with revulsion. His nearly seamless plan was ruined by some child. Now what be done with him? Still thrashing about the cot, he realized his fate. Looking about the fire place, he saw it. Them. Pelts. All different colors of furs lined the mantle. Fox tails, antlers, rabbit feet, pulled pelts, and who knows what else. He calmed long enough to look down at the floor and see the rough brown rugs. His eyes continuing to roam, he saw the coats and hats on the hangers knowing what they were made from. Even guessing Red’s cape of crimson was once a beautiful creature and she wore it with pride. ‘How did I not see?’ It was then he knew from the very beginning, ‘it was all a set,’ the Wolf realized. ‘Why else would any little girl be so calm with a strange wolf? That’s why she didn’t run away, and why she told me about her grandmother, and exactly where to find her, even playing cute to stop and pick flowers!’ More furious than ever the Wolf looked for a way to escape. It was then that there was a knock upon the door, ‘This is the end!’ Red jumped up, revealing a giant man in the doorway, “You must be the new Huntsman here to skin our catch for us.” The Grandmother smiled at the man gesturing at the full bed. “Indeed ma’am I am, but may I just ask why, when you have so many beautiful skins, would you want more?” the Huntsman stepped inside and glanced about the cottage. “You see dear Hunter,” Grandmother placed a touching hand on his shoulder. “A hide such as that is awfully valuable, and I see many pence in your hand for this job.” She didn’t even whisper. He was nearly certain this family wasn’t innocent at all. All the while the Wolf’s life seemed to pass before his eyes, starting from the innocence of puppy years, working their way to the glory of maturity. The moment the door shut behind them and they were met with fresh air the Wolf began to beg, “Please! Please let me go! You don’t want me, I haven’t bathed, my fur is terrible, and there are plenty of other wolves that have much better skin!” Even after he was placed on the grass in the thick trees he wasn’t snapped from his nightmare. So the Huntsman cut him loose and turned the opposite direction, beginning his journey home. Two breaths went by when the Wolf realized he still lived. Taking gulps of air to calm himself he realized where he was, looking over to see the man walking away, knife properly holstered, “Why have you not slain me and taken my fur?” Something was surely wrong, maybe the deed was already done and this was the afterlife?Turning to face the creature, the man replied, “Go you silly animal, I would never take an innocent animal’s coat for money, but I would think twice before talking to strangers in these woods, who knows what could happen.” With that simple advice, the huntsman turned back towards the road.
Into the Woods
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A Sorrow by the SeaHe said the words of broken dreamsAnd sent the souls down shallow streams,The crying voices tried to tell him no,But the laughing man let them sink below.
He burned the lifeAnd took the ashTo build anotherAnd watch it crash.
He was a man of peace.A brotherly fool.Who mistook free powerAs a devilish tool.
The greening grass was pressed with pain,And the silent wind was all the same.The golden sun bleeding its rays,Like melting ice, on summer days.
But it was when the moon rose to show its sapphire face,That the god like man showed a pinch of disgrace.Disgrace for his power,Disgrace on his part,Disgrace for his soul,And disgrace for his heart.
My fire was for peace.The words, not for war.The pain was to cease.Those tears to live no more.
My hands were to build.My hope be decreed.This pain was to dieBut like the people,…Like my brother.Was swallowed by the sea.
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We were vast. We were powerful. We were omniscient. We were complete. We were destroyed. Colonies, one by one they fell. Our empire toppled like a line of dominos. Gone. Simply wiped out. It was sudden, it was coordinated, and it was simply far beyond our comprehension. 4613, that was the year it started. That was the year it ended. Humankind; the invincible, the impregnable, the ultimate. Oh, how wrong we were. The Milky Way Galaxy was an incredible place. In the 2400s, when political turmoil and overpopulation caused our home-world, Earth, to begin to die, we knew our answer would lie in the stars. Space was the fi-nal frontier. The farthest we got before that point was Titan, a moon of Saturn, rich with resources. Investors, big business, scientific research facilities, and governments all came together in a last ditch effort to discover a way to move throughout the stars… and it worked. Within centuries we were stepping into the galactic scene, akin to dipping your toes in water. After terra-forming Mars and Titan, along with establishing many space stations along the way, the pressure was off Earth. We could begin our voyage to the stars with no regrets. By 3100, we had reached our golden age. We conquered world after world. Claiming them for mankind. Empty. They were all empty. Our hopes for “extraterrestrial life” were all for naught. Or so we thought. Synthetic life, however, was commonplace. Technology in this era of such rapid development was incredible. With the discovery of so many new ele-ments, the periodic table nearly tripled. We were playing God.We were governed from Earth, the cradle of civilization, the place of Humankind’s birth. Countries, of course, retained their special sovereignty. At the same time, they banded together, in a sort of “alliance.” This collaboration was aptly named “United Worlds Space Confederation,” or “UWSC.” Our fleet was spread among the galaxy, positioned at every system, world, and station. We had nothing to worry about. The mili-taristic expansion was mainly for putting down radical revolutionaries and inter-planetary pirates. We were at our pinnacle. There was nothing we couldn’t do, explore, or conquer. Our limits were quite liter-ally, the stars. Our insatiable lust for delving into the unknown was ultimately our downfall. We sent probes propelled by anti-matter into the depths of the universe. They all had one motive in common: a message. Messages to anyone out there in the hopes of discovering that we weren’t alone in this universe. A probe returned the day before the Fourth of July. And it returned to Earth. It bore no return message, no hint of it coming in contact with anything. Scientists merely dismissed it as a fluke and retired the probe. That was all the warning we had. It was the Fourth of July, a celebration of the achievements of humankind as a whole. That’s when it started. The flagship of our inter-galactic fleet, the U.S.S Liberty, was a Dreadnought class Destroyer. In times of peace, it remained in Earth’s orbit. It was the shining star of our militaristic culmination and techno-logical advancements. Magnetic Reactors produced a force field of sorts that polarized and either destroyed or repelled unknown contacts. Rail guns the size of skyscrapers were attached to the sides of the 6.5 mile long spacecraft. Ion-based nuclear defense turrets were mounted on both the hull and deck of the Liberty. In addition, a myriad of Artificial Intelligence (A.I.) based Seek-and-Destroy drones were collected in contain-ment chambers throughout the ship. At approximately 1300 hours, the U.S.S Liberty received a short and poor quality distress call from the border colony of Kulaire. It was a small mining system, used primarily for extracting veins of Iridium and Magnesium. Moments afterwards, all communication lines to the colony went dead. The Liberty dis-patched three ASR-XII scout vessels to investigate. cies and to quell fires worked well as a preventative counter-measure. The swarms were effec-tively neutralized for the time being. Before the fleet could even begin to get its bearings straight, the next shock hit them. A gargantuan ship, at least six times the size of the U.S.S. Liberty, emerged from the shadow of Kulaire. Exact specifica-tions were hard to tell, but it was definitely nothing human in origin. It was circular in form, with smooth
“If Rome shall fall, so shall we all”
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branch-like components jutting off to all the sides. It was elegant and flowing, in contrast with our blocky utilitarian ships. Like a wolf stalks a wounded rabbit, it sat there menacingly floating above the planet. The armada sat there in complete and utter awe. A horrible low pitched thundering drone reverberated throughout the ships, a precur-sor to destruction. Local communication still being active, the commands of the Colonel echoed the word they all were waiting for. “Fire!”In unison, the 22nd First Response Team released a barrage of the most high tech and lethal armaments designed with one purpose only: to destroy. The alien spacecraft remained completely motionless. When the barrage of munitions reached about a half mile proximity to the ship, they encountered an invisible shielding that flashed a brilliant crimson. The barrage exploded at the sudden impact, and the energy released from the explosion dissipated, seemingly absorbed by the force-field. The low-pitched blare was released again from the towering ship, this time accompanied by an ominous odd-ity. A dark shape formed from one of the protruding branches, slowly swirling around until it became an ob-sidian hued orb. The orb remained still for a moment, and suddenly without warning, it rocketed at lightning speeds towards the armada. It was unable to be tracked or shot down, and immediately after being launched, it quickly grew to tremendous size as it gathered momentum and energy. As soon as it reached the middle of the small fleet, it imploded with ravenous intensity. The implosion created a crackling vortex of negative energy, essentially a miniaturized black-hole . The Destroyer was the first to go, followed by the ASR-XII, and two other frigates. Slowly, they were pulled into the vortex, and within mere minutes, they vanished. Fortunately, for the last Frigate, it was on the edge of the vortex, giving it ample time to activate Faster-than-Light speeds and retreat as swiftly as possible.It took a month before all the outer colonies were wiped out. The UWSC had no time to mobilize and even less time to coordinate relief and attack efforts. They were stretched out few and far between. We had no idea what we were up against. No information, no way to even combat them. They seemed to resist any attempt at contact and forceful intervention. There were rumors one of the Core Battalions in the Jux System took one out. They lost near to 75% of their fleet, but the victory seemed to boost morale in that sector. Other rumors included abductions in some of the middle colonies, along with supposed enemy ships numbering in the mil-lions. We nick-named them “Wyverns.” By October, our forces were decimated. The middle colonies were gone. We had no plausible method of retali-ation. We knew nothing. Their intent seemed bent on simple-minded destruction. The few victories we earned were short-lived. In a last ditch effort, the UWSC pulled back all troops to defend the inner colonies. Together, we thought, we stood a chance. Together we would survive. This was our last and final hope. Like always, Mankind found a way to survive. It failed.December. The remaining members of the UWSC fleet, led by the Liberty, attempted to make a final stand in the Sol system, our system. We managed to take out 47 Wyverns, as they were concentrated in one area. There were hundreds, thousands, even millions. The scope of their armada was so incredibly vast. The Liberty was the last to fall. Firing until its demise, the Liberty was indeed the personification of the human spirit. When, finally, it fell, that was truly when the people of Earth began to pray. I write this to you, whoever you may be, in the final moments of man. Always, the stories tell of mankind coming back from the brink, fighting off the bad guys with a secret weapon or ultimate hero. This time, in reality, there is no coming back. Earth, the great and mighty, is done. Humanity, the great and mighty, is done. We, the great and mighty, are done.They say that curiosity killed the cat… they were right.
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Tickings of ClocksCognitive wheels spin in place, rivets rolling deep inside the clockwork of a fal-lacy known as time. In this fabrication violent storms clash across the canvas with shuddering cries. The thick sheets beating against the open garden foliage without reserve as Amelia could only watch from the barred window. She walked around her room while staring longingly at the locked door, not for the first time wonder-
ing if she could somehow get out.“Why do you want to leave?” She shuddered at the question that was asked by no one. The voice was unisex and curious, but cold. Just like all the other times it had
asked.Each time, Amelia would hesitate with the words right on the tip of her tongue, and then not say anything at all. However, she knew that this couldn’t continue on like this for much longer so she inquired, “Did you know that though roses have
thorns to protect themselves, they still wither quickly?” The reply didn’t miss a beat, “Yes, much like the ripe flower before me.”
Amelia sighed and turned away from the exit, knowing that she would never get out. This room was to be her prison and grave. The men in white could keep trying to free her, but she knew her fate was to rot away with her only companion, the
clock.
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Lost LizardHe awakes. It’s dark, and he lies on a pile of clutter. He’s disorientedWhat’s gotten into him? And where’s his cage bedding? His hollow log? His light source? He grows colder and colder. It’s too dark here to sustain a simple brown anole. He grows worried. He climbs desperately over the piles of random objects in an attempt to find a place he knows, but his efforts prove futile.This isn’t happening. It’s a dream. Just not the kind of nice lizard dream he usually has. This is a nightmare.But he can very much feel his four feet on the floor. This is real.He climbs over some more and soon becomes frustrated. Why this? Why him? What did he, a simple lizard, do to deserve this kind of fate?He feels the cold reach further into him. He grows desperate and runs as fast as he can over some more stuff.But still no light at the end of this shapeless tunnel.He grows exhausted and comes to a halt. He sits on a patch of floor.He thinks of all the good times he’s had. All the happy children looking at him in the pet store. Peeing in Bob’s hand when he was holding him. Making a small bug friend once (albeit this was only because it was not good for eating).If lizards could cry emotionally, he would be crying. He misses his home. He misses Bob. He misses everything.He sits there for a lizard minute (which is about 5 minutes, give or take). He doesn’t see any hope.But really, why worry about it? It’s not under his control anyway. He relaxes on his patch of floor, content in his place. This is where it ends for him.He hears a squeak and a door closing. A voice speaks out.“Ugh, Schetner?”He hears someone stomping around the room, rustling papers and other things. Then, the rustling grows closer. Schetner is pushed aside by the clutter surrounding him. He’s startled.Finally, a large, warm appendage closes around him, and before he knows it, he’s home.“Come on Schetner, that’s the third time this week. I oughta weld your cage shut.”Schetner smiles and basks in his light for the rest of the day.
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“It”Can I help you girls? (Needles, 3ml each, $7 for 10)
She–Sorry I mean
(Nurse visits, 2x/month, $15/visit)
Why do you dress like a boy?What’s with this name thing?I’m just going to call you ‘her’.
(Testosterone Ethenate, 200mg/ml, 5ml: $36/month)
She’s – he’s –I don’t even know anymore.(laughter)I’m just going to call you ‘it’.
(Metabolic panel, CBC w/ platelets: $54)
Aren’t you kind of short?What sports do you play?Are your parents okay with this?Why can’t people just be happywith what they have?
(Consultation: $245)
So you’re a lesbian.Are you going to get surgery?You really want to mutilate your body?I saw this guy on the news; he’s
a girl now– Hey, how do you people... you know...? Highmark Blue Shield
does not cover gender reassignment surgery or any related transgender health care. We apologize for any
inconvenience.
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Another Day, Another Nickel I hated him. Every day of my life. It slowly grinded away at my very existence. His laugh pes-tered me. His pet annoyed me. His friends bothered me. His laugh, his smile, everything about him made me one step closer to breaking. The worst part was… he was completely oblivious to my utter disregard and contempt for him. We walked the same way to the same work. It wasn’t far. It was a rather mundane restau-rant that smelled like something had gone terribly rotten. The reason I continued to even enter that place was beyond me. Perhaps fate? Regardless, the owner of the establishment was a fat and greedy man. He charged customers for ice and drinking water, sadly enough. Almost every customer, although, was incredibly dull and admittedly unintelligent. I worked the only cash regis-ter there. They would come in drove during rush hours. Some would stay in line staring at the menu board for literally tens of minutes, taking far too long to decide what to order. The man I hated, however, worked the kitchen. Always laughing about some stupid joke him and his “best pal” concocted. How anyone could possibly stand him could only be a feat of God. Always grinning ear-to-ear and calling my name incessantly until finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Hey,” he chuckled under his breath, “Hey, I bet you can’t guess what my favorite Elvis tune is?? Can ya’, can ya’?” Always my answer was no. It never worked. “Fry me Tender! Haha get it, because I’m a fry-cook and the song is Love me Tender!” I sighed and continued on with my monotonous duty at the register. When it finally came to closing time, we would walk back… again together. On the way home, we would pass by his “best pal’s” house where they would trade humorless banter and ask me, like they do every day, if I would like to ac-company them on a “fun night out.” I walked into my house, shut the door, locked it, dead-bolted it, everything I could possibly do to maintain my privacy. These were perhaps the only peaceful times in my pathetic existence. I couldn’t afford a TV, nor would I want one. During evenings, sometimes I’d indulge myself with expensive wine. I would be what one would consider “cultured.” I dabble in painting. It’s usually self-portraits dabbled in with some expressionalism and abstract art. Both of my neighbors can neither appreciate nor understand my works. I’m also a musician. I’ve recently picked up playing the clarinet. It’s difficult to play, but I’m getting better. No one appreciates my talents. No one sees it for what it really is: a higher form of enlightenment. I’m alone in this world. I abhor going to bed. Not only does it mean the horrible cycle will repeat itself, but my neigh-
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bor’s animal awakens. I still have no idea what it is. Its incessant meow’s rival that of its owners ability to torment me. I’ve attempted using ear-plugs, head-phones, everything. Its nightly screeches continue to prevail in a never-ending tradition to prevent me from sleep-ing. I cry. I cry often, mostly every night before bed. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I have a dead end job. No love life. No possible friends or even acquaintances. Noth-ing but me, my art and my music. I’ve thought of ending it before, but I neither have the heart nor courage to. It’s all because of him. I hate him from the very core of my being. I mean, the man lives in a Pineapple…
School district of the city of Erie Pennsylvania
Dr. jay BadamsSuperintendent
Robert S. CasilloSchool board president
Frank Petrungar, Jr.School board vice president
Linda aleksandrowiczEdward brezezinski
robbie fabriziJohn C. harkinsAngela McNair
Mary Frances SchenleyThomas a Spagel
School board of directors
Jim VieiraDean
Collegiate academy
Ken NicksonRichard Schneider
Assistant deansCollegiate academy
