The Looking Glass Issue 1 July 2012

Cover artwork by: Polly Latham

Table of Contents featured photography by

Contents

Freedom • Anonymous

Photo by Emma Ratcliffe

Roots • Hannah Ho

Photo by Polly Latham

Tanka • Hannah Ho

Photo by Ilia Kowalzik

Surprised • Hannah Ridings

Art by Hannah ThomasClarke

Choice • Hannah Ridings

Photo by Emmy Hilker

A Short Story • Sarah G.

Photo by Lillian Xu

Anecdotes of a Nightmare • Olivia

Gallmeyer

Art by Ilia Kowalzik

Illusions • Afton Pugh


My Special Place • Lillian Xu


My Wings Will Not End • Amber

Enana Gundersen


Cuckoo Clock • Cambria Kowalzik

Photo by Cambria Kowalzik

Art by Ruby Moon

Table of Contents featured photography by (left to right) Avery Patterson and Emma Ratcliffe.

Contents

1

2

2

3

3

4

5

8

9

10

Bird Cage • Amber Enana Gundersen


Oobie • Hannah Ridings


Think • Anonymous

Photo by Lillian Xu

Invent-a-Profession • Patrons

Comic • Angela Li

Interview with a Dinosaur Trainer •

Hannah Jackson

A Very, Very Short Story • Jacob

Hilker

Sweet Recipes! • Cambria Kowalzik

Good Books • Staff

Art by Jesse Dugan

Review: The Blending Time • Jacob

Hilker

Trivia • Staff

Own the Night Word Search • Staff

11

Amber Enana Gundersen 15

16


16

17

19

Interview with a Dinosaur Trainer • 21

Jacob 21

Cambria Kowalzik 22

23

Jacob 23

24

Staff 24

TTTThhhheeee LLLLooooooookkkkiiiinnnngggg GGGGllllaaaassssssss 1111

Freedom by Anonymous

Like a Bird in flight, On a midsummer’s night Like the wind in your hair, When there is no care.

Freedom Is the key to life, but not too much because you could make a bad choice. Choices depend on freedom, and freedom depends on choices. Choices make the difference between a good life and a bad life, but sometimes you don’t get a choice. So live for freedom, and it will live for you.



Roots by Hannah Ho

Here was where we swam in the lake

All bare feet, T-shirts, and lazy afternoon.

Here was where we laughed at the sky

Though it was black and heavy as iron.

Here was where we slept under the moon

And heard the whisper of falling mist.

Here was where we sat in a magnolia’s shade

A thousand tiny pink petals fluttering in the wind.

And here was where you fell from the bridge

Staining the road with your bitter blood.

I was standing in a storm of grief

But roots will grow in the rain.


Tanka by Hannah Ho

The trees are sighing Softly in the cool spring breeze The brook is laughing At some old unspoken joke And a deer rests in the shade.


Note from the poet: This was a

school homework assignment –

my professor gave me an envelope

full of words, and I had to create a

poem (10 lines minimum) using

only those words.


Surprised by Hannah Ridings

I’m surprised Not pleasant, surprise-party surprised

Not I-should-have-known-that surprised Not a surprised girl who walks into

A haunted house To find witches, ghosts,

Maybe a mouse. But long-term, disappointed surprised

Surprised that nations fight wars Surprised that we line up

To shoot each other Surprised by violence.

Choice by Hannah Ridings

An essential gamble.

Cause of everything we fear And everything we love.

Ph

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by

Em

my

Hil

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Art by Hannah ThomasClarke


A SHORT STORY by Sarah G.

This is a story about a walrus. This walrus goes by the name Clarence von Vinderhollen III. One particularly cold Thursday, Clarence was eating a fish in the ocean when he bit through his lip. Now, being a walrus, he has very large teeth, so they went right through. "OUCH!" he screams. "Actually, I taste delicious! But, the sharks will eat me if I don't get out of the water, and land is miles away! Oh, can't somebody save me?!" "I'll save you, Clarence!" booms a deep voice from nowhere. Clarence suddenly finds himself outside the White House, Washington D.C. "H-how did I get here?" he asks. Then, a lime green and black checkered bowler hat materializes in front of him. "I teleported you here, Clarence. My name is Hans, and I'm a magical hat. All you need to do is put me on.” So Clarence the walrus puts Hans the hat on his head. His eyes start glowing red, and he has an urge to kill. So he kills carrot growing nearby, but that isn't enough. He decides he needs human flesh, specifically the flesh of someone important. He decides that he needs to get into the White House because Barack Obama lives there. He doesn't want to just walk in- he needs a dramatic entrance. To fulfill this desire for a dramatic entrance, he devours the doors, only to be confronted by the Secret Service. They shoot at him, but their bullets have no effect, they're just absorbed into his fat. They try hand-to-flipper combat, but they're absorbed too. He breaks into a room and finds Barack Obama sit-ting there with his back to Clarence. So, Clarence sneaks up on him and devours him, chair and all. "HAHA!" shouts Hans. "Now that Barack Obama is gone, I can be president of the world!" and with that, he flies away. Now, the red glow from Clarence's eyes fades, and he is a normal walrus again. And since he is a normal walrus, he has no special abilities. So, with himself full of bullets, the US President, and the Secret Service, Clarence explodes. Just then, a superhero banana flies in through the window and laughs a hearty laugh. He flies away again, only to impale himself on the horn of Dr. Kugelsnerp, the unicorn Barack Obama rode around the White House. THE END

Photo by Lillian Xu


Anecdotes of a Nightmare by Olivia Gallmeyer

I’m a figment of someone’s imagination.

I know that sounds like a really odd way to start a

Story. But it’s good that it’s odd. She always tells us

that Authors have to hook The Reader’s attention with

the very first sentence so that they’re interested and

they keep Reading. I don’t understand that, because

She also says that a lot of Stories that she Reads have

very dull beginnings. I guess some Authors are differ-

ent. I’m sure that got The Reader’s attention, though,

and I bet they are still Reading. Of course they are,

though, because in this case The

Reader is You. I’m sure that You

would keep Reading.

Who is She, I bet You’re wondering?

She is The Author. She controls me,

and everyone else. Everything I do is

because of Her. Isn’t that a good

thing? You may think it is, that I

have Her there to watch over me and

make sure I’m doing the right thing.

No, it’s not. It’s torturous, being

bound like we are. Everything we do

is under Her grasp. She’s always

watching. She knows that I’m typing

this- well, not this exactly, but she

knows I’m typing something. If she knew just what I’m

typing right now, I’d be dead. Like- no. No, no, no.

By now I suppose you want my Name. The Author

says that Names are very important. She says Names

need to be unique and memorable, and they need to

reveal what The Character is like. That’s why I capital-

ize Names, because She says that the important things

need to be capitalized. I’m sure that You see that Your

Name is capitalized, as well as Hers- You and Her are

both important things. So is Story, and Character, and

Reader- but You already know that one, because You

are the Reader.

My Name is Arissa. Arissa is my Name because The

Author says it is unique and memorable. She also says

that it reveals what The Character- me- is like. Arissa

means “best,” because She says that I am the best

among all others, the champion. Hmm… maybe I

should capitalize The Champion. It sounds like an im-

portant word to me…

...Or maybe I shouldn’t, because I’m going off on a Tan-

gent right now. (Tangent IS an important word, I might

add.) The Author says that Authors shouldn’t go off on

Tangents when they write and start rambling about some

unimportant thing. She doesn’t do a good job with that,

though, because She’s always rambling about things such

as that. Plus, once She told me that she loved this one

Story because The Author would go off on hilarious Tan-

gents. I guess some Authors are different- or maybe She

just doesn’t want us Characters to go off on Tangents

because then she couldn’t write the

Story.

I don’t really get the Story that

much. It seems like she just likes

us Characters to fight, cry, and

kiss. Why does she force all this

fake stuff on us? Why do I have to

hate people I like and like people

that I don’t?

…Ouch. That was loud. It sounds

like The Author’s busy writing the

Story. She left off at a battle, didn’t

She? I don’t like the battles at all

because I don’t like it when my

fellow Characters get hurt- even

our “enemies.” Should that be

capitalized as an important word? Oh, I don’t even

care…

Us Characters, we’re all a family. We all have one thing

in common: that we want to get out. We want- no, need.

She says to use “need” in stronger situations- to get away

from The Author who warps us into Characters that are

far from us. There’s no way that we can stay in the land-

scape of Her mind, because to us it’s a terribly twisted

place. There’s a shadow in every corner waiting for us.

Suddenly, a loud noise sounds, a mixture of shattering

glass and the gentle hum of electricity- yeah. That’s defi-

nitely a battle. Looking out the window, I see two of us

Characters, swords in hand. There’s my brother there. His

Name is Kaiser, which is his Name because it means

“leader” and he is supposed to be our leader- but he’s not,

really. He has social issues- but of course, She doesn’t

know that. She portrays us all wrong, makes us act in

ways that aren’t US. I want to be me! Kaiser wants to be

Himself!

It’s torturous, being bound

like we are. Everything we do

is under Her grasp. She’s

always watching. She knows

that I’m typing this

--well, not this exactly, but she

knows I’m typing something.

If she knew just what

I’m typing right now,

I’d be dead.


There’s Kerra, too, fighting him. Kerra wants to be her-

self. Her Name is Kerra because it means “dark,” and

she is supposed to be the enemy- but she’s not. She’s

the one Character who understands what I feel about

this Story, about the Author. She never wanted to be

evil- she’s the nicest, the smartest… and she even had a

dream. She wanted to be an Author too, to spread her

Stories- that is, before the Author stole her away for

Her own Stories. She’s not at all evil like the Author

wants her to be. Why am I forced to hate her? It’s that

stupid “love interest” Arin that I hate. He’s supposed

to be princely, but if any of us was actually an enemy,

it would be him. He’s a jerk- but no, the Author wants

him to be the embodiment of flawlessness. Because the

Reader- You- wants him to be like that. More like it

just helps Her Story. Because OURS

surely doesn’t matter! We’re just sup-

posed to be Fiction!

That’s when I hear it. It’s… an explo-

sion. No, a sonic blast. Maybe even

both… us Characters don’t get to learn

too much. But it’s unnerving. It’s like

what happened on that unspeakable day-

it’s not capitalized because it shouldn’t

be important. I shouldn’t remember it. I

shouldn’t even think about it. All I know

is that this doesn’t seem right.

So I open the door. It seems like nothing.

That’s what I thought it was before,

nothing. But this time, I think it’s true. I

see smoke, dust… but through it, I spot

the green electrical charge of Kaiser’s sword, Kerra’s

sloppy auburn curls. And there… My eyebrows furrow.

It’s that tall, green, director’s chair… and that exact

person- not Character- consuming all my negative

thoughts is in it.

She adjusts her sleek silver glasses, typing a couple

things on her tablet. “Great job, you two- I could feel

the emotion! It’s great! Oh...” She gazes at me—it feels

like She could stare into my soul. “Hello, Arissa. Per-

fect, I’ve been hoping to speak with you!” She gives

me this smile that I see right through.

The other Characters don’t like the Author, sure. But

only I really realize just what She is and what She does.

She’s a brainwasher and a deceiver.

And a murderess. But still, we all do Her bidding.

Characters are just her playthings- and I can’t escape

Her clutches.

I follow Her back to my room. Quickly, I lean on my desk,

obstructing the laptop with all of my Story- I don’t know a

better word for it- from Her view.

She calmly sits down, smoothing out her black pencil skirt

and taking in every inch of me with her piercing stare.

“You hate me,” She murmurs. I freeze.

“Oh, don’t try to deny it. I can read the thoughts of my

Characters, you know. All this day, you’ve been thinking,

writing on that laptop, about just how much you detest me.

About how evil I am.” She pauses, taking a deep breath.

“All I’m trying to do is tell a Story.” Her voice stays calm

and steady. She’s not trying to accuse. She isn’t mad. Her

voice doesn’t even sound evil. If anything, it’s quiet and a

bit dreamy. Has it always been like that?

I shake off my thoughts. “You don’t tell our

Story right!” I spit out at her.

“Right?” She blinks. “You shouldn’t use such

vague words in a Story, you know. It’s hard for

the Reader to know what you’re talking about

then.”

“Stop going off on Tangents,” I mutter.

“I don’t think I’m going off on a Tangent,

Arissa. What is this ‘right?’ Is it just your

‘right’ that you want? Do the other Characters

like that?” I hold Her glare, my cheeks starting

to burn.

“And how do you know that this Story is my ‘right?’ Why

do you think that I like this, and it’s not just the Reader

who likes it?”

I clench my fist, nearly convinced that she can read my

mind. “The Reader wouldn’t want the Characters to suffer,”

I retort, trying to stop myself from running out, grabbing

one of those swords, and stabbing Her.

“Do you really think the Reader actually cares?” Her words

stop me like I was shocked by a stun gun.

“The Reader doesn’t even think that you’re real. Unless

you’re exceptional, and that’s the rarest case.”

That’s when I snap. “How do You know that we aren’t

‘exceptional’ Characters? Huh? HOW! For all that You

know, there could be thousands of Readers. Readers who

Art

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love and care about us! Or maybe You do know. But

You just don’t care. You’re just a monster!” I am burn-

ing with the crimson fire of rage. Her reply, though, is

like being doused with ice-cold water in how it sud-

denly cools me down.

“You can’t have exceptional Char-

acters without an exceptional Au-

thor.”

Our eyes meet, my soft hazel to

Her storm of blue-green-gray.

They’re so glassy and conflicted

that I can’t even tell what color

they are. I see crimson rage, cold blue heartbreak, dark

guilt, orange frustration, gray depression… is that a tear

threatening to break out?

“You hate me. Because of her.”

“You killed her.” But all of a sudden, my voice is soft.

It doesn’t accuse the Author like it should be, for what

She did. I don’t feel anything.

“I can’t kill a Character.” Her words startle me, catch

me off guard. I break my lean and nearly fall down- I

don’t care about the laptop and the Story right now.

“Aletta!” I yell. I do not know what I am doing. There

is nothing in my head but her name, her innocent smile,

her sweet little voice. She was only eight years old.

My hands find themselves on the Author’s shoulders,

shaking her. “Where is she? What did you do to her?

Tell me. NOW!” I’m screaming in her ear.

But the Author doesn’t flinch. She just looks up. I see

that horrible storm in Her eyes- whatever happened,

She didn’t like it either. That dark guilt, gray depres-

sion, cold blue heartbreak in her eyes haunts me.

“She said she wanted to leave. She said she was happy.

So I let her. She’s with the other Characters

now. But I just… don’t feel anything anymore. I can’t

bear feeling anything else. You Characters are like…

friends. Like… children.” She doesn’t seem like an

adult woman, but rather she seems just as young as

Aletta. She takes a deep breath, calming down.

“A Story… is a bit like a song. If you

have the wrong notes, it’ll shatter

your eardrum.” She suppresses a

laugh- I almost wish she didn’t. The

snippet I heard of Her laugh sounded

like music, just like she’s mention-

ing. “Only… it’s souls that have

been shattered. Not eardrums.”

She circles around me: slowly, calmly she walks. She

glances at the computer, where I have typed so many

things about her- not one of them good. I feel that dark

guilt now, for sure. I thought she had done so many

things wrong- but wasn’t she just like us Characters?

Just trying to find a bit of light in darkness.

“But… you can pause a song. Fast forward to another. I

think we should see if this applies to Stories too… You

Characters have a Story of your own to tell.” The Au-

thor has an odd little smile on her face. I don’t say any-

thing, just… stare at Her. She gets up from where she

has perched on a shelf- I don’t even remember that

shelf ever being in my room. “Oh, and one more thing,

Arissa,” She whispers in my ear…

“I think you’d be a pretty good Author yourself… but

you capitalize proper nouns and the start of a sentence,

not just the important words.” With that, she laughs

again- it really does sound like music. Good music. She

hugs me- I don’t pull away. She walks out of my room

and closes the door, leaving me… a bit confused, sure.

But she leaves me with a suddenly-lightened heart and

a desire to keep typing. Different things, though. Be-

cause I think that there are some characters- no capitali-

zation- that I need to meet.

“A Story… is a bit like a song.

If you have the wrong notes,

it’ll shatter your eardrum.”


Every new morning At the start A light paints sky pink Chasing away dark Yet, I thought Sky was blue Give or take A white cloud or two When air goes icy And sun hides behind snow All bright plants die And migrating birds go Yet, I thought Vegetation was green And all animals Were always meant to be seen While sitting and thinking It’s hard to believe That world is bigger Than what’s just around me Are we just our appearance? Flowers just colorful? Is the World really what it seems? Or is there more that makes it beautiful? Yet, I thought World was just black and white Sun shines during day And stars shine at night


Grass just green Sky just blue Caterpillars crawled And butterflies flew Sky isn’t just blue Every morning it’s red Caterpillars change into butterflies Forget crawling, they’ll fly instead No matter where I go Or where I’ve been World continues To be an illusion.

Illusions by Afton Pugh


My Special Place by Lillian Xu

There is a place where trees sing, And the wind leaps up picking everything in a swing.

The mountains and valleys no more divine, than the animals and plants that tweak its twine.

The lavishing aroma tingling my nose,

brings showers of felicity down to my toes. At the greatest peak I close my eyes

feeling a surge of energy as I reach for the sky.

The wildflowers dance all around, bringing fading echoes to their sound.

With laughter and joy ringing in the air, this is my special place I share.

Ph

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by

Em

ma

Ra

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ffe


some day my wings will not end where the sky begins but soar up on the flow and sail out with the ebb and as i break into sunbeams and seep into the bark of the trees i will not end at the roots The sea does not end where the land begins So when i step across the road i may fall in But my feet know their way And this land knows my feet So i can’t be lost One day i will know where i am and some day i will be strong enough to reach you i will wake and find my branches no longer straining up and as i take flight from the top of the tree i’ll feel the air against my skin as a feather falls off soaring down to earth but i will rise my pale light growing brighter as i move across the night and the ocean would follow me anywhere

i am the hands on an old clock pointing at now i am the footprints left behind by the travelers on the trip from alone to alone again i am the streetlamps the minute golden suns that light your way to towns you’ve never seen i am the house of your childhood i am the distance from forever to then i am the last song you hear before you go to sleep we do not end but we will always leave


My Wings Will Not End by Amber Enana Gundersen


Cuckoo Clock by Cambria Kowalzik

supposed to be, what it was for, why it was there, why it would even have people in at that exact moment in time, I just don't remember any of it, but I remember her, and she was asking me what the time was, about the time, 'what time is it?'... That's how I label that moment, that's what that moment is to me. I mean, there were lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of other sounds that I could have used to identify that moment. But what I decided on was that one girl, she couldn't have been more then fifteen, with her hands clasped behind her back, and very earnestly asking me "Excuse me, but do you happen to know what

time it is?", she was so very earnest about it, with her hands clasped behind her back. That's what I remember about it, that's how I chose to recall it, that’s the sound I used as a label, that's what that event is to me, and I mean, since it has to do with the time, then of course... I'll remember it every time I see a clock, tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick- tock, that's the sound of a moving clock, tick-tick-tick-tock... And when I hear a tick-tick- tick of a clock, I'll remem-

ber that particular, big event. Because, I mean, how else should I label that event, that moment in time... I mean, how would you label it? How would you remember it? How would you remember to think about the girl, the hallway, the footsteps, the dog, the cellphones... The tick-tick-tick-tock, that's how I remember... tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock, that's the sound of a moving clock, tick-tick-tick-tock, that's how I remember the exact mo-ment in time, she asked me so very earnestly about the time, she enquired my knowledge about the time, with her hands clasped behind her back and her quiet, timid voice, a face that couldn't be more then fifteen, a girl. Who knows where she came from who knows where she was going...? Because I most certainly don't, I mean, I didn't know her, I'll never know why she needed the time or where she was going or where she was coming from, I mean, who does? And it doesn't really matter who does, I mean, I don't need to know, and I never will, because I never will know who she was or where she came from or where she was going or why she needed to know the time, I mean, because really, what did it ever mat-ter to anyone? All I know is I needed a label

'What time is it?' 'What time is it?' 'What time is it?' 'Whattimeisit? Whatimeisit-whatimeisitwhattimeisit? What time is it?' I can hear them asking it, the thousands of voices in my head, I know that, logically, there was only one person saying it, but, in my head, I hear thousands of them saying it, I mean, what bet-ter way to remember an event that big then to put a sound to it? And, of course, what better sound is there then that sentence? I remember how earnest she was, how timid she was to ap-proach me, and she said very quickly and qui-etly, "excuse me, but do you happen to know what time it is?" I remember how she had her hands clasped behind her back, she couldn't have been more then fifteen... Yes, I distinctly re-member that one sentence, I mean, what better way to re-member a big event like that then with a sound? And what does it matter what sound it is? So what better sound is there then the sentence: 'What time is it?' I mean, there were also lots of other sounds being made at that moment as well, like, there were lots of moving feet in that busy hallway, and there was lots and lots of random chatter that I could hear but wasn't really listening to, there was a little pom-pom dog yapping, cellphone ringers going off, but I was focusing on that girl, because she was right there, and she was purposefully directing my attention toward her because she wanted to know the time, and she figured I might know it, I don't know why she wanted to know the time, I don't know where she was going or where she was from or what was supposed to happen to her immediately after she asked me... but I do know that she wanted to know the time, tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock, that's the sound of a running clock, tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock...

I don't even remember what I was doing, at that building, in that hallway, at that time. But I was there, and she was there, and lots and lots and lots of other people were there as well, I don't even remember what that building was

Who knows where she

came from who knows

where she was going...?

Because I most

certainly don't, I mean,

I didn't know her...


for that event and the best I could find was of a timid and quiet and quick little voice asking "excuse me, but do you happen to know what time it is?" because it was what happened to me at that moment before everything went wrong, they said find a happy memory that happened before then and focus on it for a while, so I picked a quick and a quiet little voice saying ever so timidly "excuse me, but do you happen to know what time it is?" that happened before it all and everything went so terribly, terribly, horribly wrong. Tick-tick-tick-tock, that's the sound of a moving clock, tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock, t-t-ick-tick-t-t-t-tick-tock, tock-tock-tock... Boom. That's the sound of a breaking clock, that's the sound of a chaos ensues, that's the sound that proceeds with the screams, the dropping floors, and the in-juries no one can cure, the death and the despair, I mean, isn't that what always comes after..? I mean, loud explosions generally mean that chaos ensues... Right? I can't really remember what all happened in what successive order, whether the floor dropped out before or after the building started tipping sideways, or maybe they both hap-pened simultaneously...

I don't know, I mean, I don't have to know, Right? I'm not being judged or anything... I mean, you aren't going to think of me differently after you hear about this, Right? Right? Right? Right? Right? ...Right? I mean, it's not like I care or anything, you know, whether you judge me on this or not... I mean, I'm not supposed to care, Right...? It's kind of hard to remember all the social etiquette and how people react to things, I mean, I've been here for so long... I think I was here when I woke up after the event, but I don't think I actually was when I first woke up, I've heard people talking, they say things like 'demented' when referring to me... Why would they say that? I mean, I've never done anything to anyone... I mean, sometimes I black out for a while, I don't know why I do, but I do, and, I mean, that's not all that uncommon, right? I mean, there are people who black out sometimes, and there's nothing all that weird about it, I'm sure it's not really normal, but I don't see why that would make them say that... They also say 'psychotic' and

'schizophrenic' sometimes, too... I don't know why they would say that at all... Maybe it's a secret code for something... Although, I don't know what, I mean, there's nothing they could say about me that I couldn't hear... I don't think, I mean, I guess it's hard to judge myself on anything... And, I mean, isn't that normal? it's normal to not be able to judge yourself or-oh, see yourself clearly, that's what I meant to say just now, see yourself clearly, not judge yourself, though, I guess they're both true... Anyway, maybe it's just that they think I'm weird because of how much attention I pay to the clocks, but, I mean, everyone has little quirks about some things... Right? I mean, that's normal and everything... I just watch clocks instead of... I don't know, what's a normal little quirk to have...? I don't know instead of... Being persnickety about what spices people put in food, or something... I mean, that's a good comparison, right...? Right? I mean, I'm not sounding weird here, right? You un-derstand what I mean... right? But, anyway, I don't see how me watching clocks would make me seem 'psychotic' I mean, I'm not, and doesn't psychotic mean that someone is sick in the head? Or raving, or... disturbed? I'm not sick in the head... I don't think so anyway, I

mean, wouldn't I know if my brain was skewed or some-thing? I'd know, wouldn't I? I mean, it's kind of hard to ig-nore something like that, right? I mean, you'd have to acknowledge it and every-thing, right? Unless... you had something like short-term memory loss or some-thing... but that never hap-pens does it? It sounds like something that would be put in a horror or science fiction novel or something... once

someone muttered something like 'split personal-ity' as they were leaving my room after asking me about horrific questions, I mean, aren't I here so that they can take care of me? Not so that they can... I don't know, what's the word...? it's not 'make me sick' and 'disturb me' sounds wrong too... but you get the idea, right? Maybe they're just trying to insult me ... because, I mean, would-n't it be that to have another personality then you had to not be aware of yourself for a while...? or something? and there'd be memory gaps and things... right? I mean, you'd know about it, or at least be suspicious about it, right? and I know that



I don't really have memory gaps or anything... I mean, sometimes the days all run together in my head because there isn't really all that much to make each one all that different from another, but I'd know if I forgot anything big, wouldn't I? I know I would... Right? So, um, I know that I know what's happening with myself all the time, well, except for when I'm unconscious, but no one really remem-bers what happens when they're not awake, right? I know I'm right... I think... so, they don't really have any reason to call me all those things, so, I guess I kind of think they're making it up, I mean, I'd never be psychotic or actually hurt someone or anything, I mean, I'd threaten them, sure, I mean, you threaten people sometimes, too, right? So what difference does it make between you saying 'I'm going to seriously hurt you' and me saying 'let me go now or I'm going to rip out your spine.' ex-cept that maybe with their overworking imagina-tions they actually write out me ripping spines out, dismembering people and whatever, I mean, sure, sometimes people stop coming here, but doesn't that just mean that they quit working here...? or that they got let out...? Or some-thing, I mean, surely they don't believe that I made them quit or something...? Though... Some-times they get all quiet or edgy or turn all pale when I ask where someone is... but that can't really mean anything... I mean, I know that I don't have a split personal-ity or anything, I mean, they've said something about me going on a psychotic massacre the 'first time I woke up in that theoretical random hospital' I mean, I cer-tainly don't remember being in any hospitals after the incident, all I know is that I woke up here after everything and I had all these scars and everyone was kind of scared to come near me, I never did figure out why... It must be because of their weird, overactive-oh, yes, overactive was the word I wanted earlier, not overworked, go back and change that in your memory, 'cause I just don't see any reason why I should have to.-imaginations. They always mutter the strangest little things under their breath, I mean, really, I'd never do anything like that, sure I'd threaten to do something sometimes, I mean don't you threaten people sometimes...? I know that everyone does. So why is it somehow different for them when I do it? Hmm, they must be hanging around with too many psychopaths, I mean, seriously, can’t they

tell that I'm not serious? Jeeze. Oh,...

Tick-dong-dong-dong-dong- dong-dong-dong-dong-dong-dong-dong, it's eleven, late at night, I suppose, I mean, aren't most people sup-posed to be asleep by eleven? I think they are... but I don't really know, anyway. 'What...Time...Is...It?' lalalalalalalalalalalala~ I re-member it all over again, I can remember her, so timid and so quiet, with her hands clasped behind her back "Excuse me, but do you happen to know what time it is...?" She seemed like a sweet girl, couldn't have been more then fifteen, asking me for the time, right before everything went into chaos, with the screaming and destruction and everything else, but I always remember that timid voice "Excuse me, but do you happen to know what time it is...?" because they said that I should focus on something happy that happened before the incident, and... when is anyone any happier then right before everything breaks into chaos? I mean, it's like that... theory... I can't remember which one... but you know what I'm talking about,

right? so I don't need to remember, right? I mean... Right? ...I always listen for the clock to strike, I al-ways do, once they tried to take the clock away from where it is, at the end of the long white hallway, just a bit beyond my door... But I wouldn't let them take it, I mean, I like that clock, what would I do if I didn't have anything to listen for, I mean, it would be boring without it... It's

almost like a companion, I guess... I mean, I know that the clock isn't actually alive or anything, and it can't talk to me or anything, I mean, I know that. But I still like to listen to it as it sits there and ever so quietly goes 'tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tick-tick, tock-tock-tock-tick-tock, tick-tick- tick-tock' that's the sound of a moving clock tick-tick-tick-tock, tock-tock-tock-tock, all day and all night it moves and it ticks and it tocks and it chimes out the time exactly on every single hour... it's... com-forting, I guess you could say, I mean, it's alright to like repetition and everything... well, at least I like the clocks repetition, I don't know, too much repetition is sometimes a bit boring, nothing ever changes in repetition, everything stays perfectly on a track, and nothing changes, ever, not at all, it all stays the same, and nothing ever, ever, ever, ever changes. Nothing ever changes at all, not in repetition, in repetition, then nothing ever changes. But the clocks in repetition, is a good

Hmm, they must be

hanging around with

too many psychopaths,

I mean, seriously,

can't they tell that I'm

not serious? Jeeze.


kind of repetition, it's always moving, always choosing another time to be at, even though it's stuck in a repetition, it still moves forward, and it never goes back, it just goes around and visits the same places while always moving forward with a melancholy enthusiasm ...

Oh, look, it's getting later, I always feel like I'm stuck in one spot, but I guess I'm not, because the clock continues to move... tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick- tock, tick-tick-tick-tick-tock-tock-tock... the quiet noise of a moving clock, quiet and quick and ever so timid, like that girl, she couldn't have been more then fifteen, with her hands clasped behind her back, asking me ever so quiet and quick "excuse me, but do you happen to know what time it is?" her hands, her voice, timid, quiet, and ever so ever so ever so quick, asking me for the time... tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock, a clock, a soft sound that moves with melancholy determination... I think, what does melancholy even mean...? I always thought it to be an apa-thetic word... I mean, it's such a strange word... but it seems to be so apathetic to me... but, I guess it means to be Sorrowful, heavy-hearted, glum... Melancholy, that's the sound a clock makes, I mean, doesn't it? in a silent room... the only noise is that of a clock... And doesn't it al-ways just sound ever so ever so ever so... very melancholy... melancholy is the sound a clock makes... I wonder if she felt melancholy, that girl, who was ever so quiet and quick and so very timid, with her hands clasped behind her back... inquiring me for my knowledge of what time it was... a timid girl with her hands clasped behind her back, asking me so quiet and quickly if I knew the time... if I knew the time... "Excuse me, but do you happen to know what time it is...?" was what her exact wording was, what her words were, I mean, I'll never know who she was or where she came from or where she was going or why she needed to know the time, all I know is that she spoke to me, so timid, so quick and so very, very quietly "Excuse me, but do you happen to know what time it is...?" right before everything, every-thing, everything went into chaos and into a sea of destruction and into a horrid despair, she asked me right before... "Excuse me, but do you happen to know what time it is...?" she asked me, so tim-idly, so quietly, and so very, very quickly, she in-quired me... about the time. Tick-tick-tick-tock, that's the sound of a moving clock, a sound of a moving clock, a sound of melancholy, melancholy

is the sound a clock makes... if melancholy had to be put to a sound, it would be put to the sound of a moving clock 'tick-tick-tick-tock'... Melancholy is the sound a clock makes... Tick-tick- tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-Oh, look...-Tock-tick-tick-dong-dong-dong-dong- dong-dong-dong-dong-dong-dong-dong-dong... It's midnight... Oh, hey... my vision's kind of starting to go a bit weird... I wonder why that is... I must be passing out... again... Goodnight... I suppose... I'll wake up in the morning....And everything will be as usual... All over again... Repetition...........................................

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tock,

tick-tick-tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tick-tick...

that's the sound of a breaking clock.....

Art

by

Ru

by

Mo

on


Bird Cage by Amber Enana Gundersen

Appalled at the poor condition of the birdcageAppalled at the poor condition of the birdcageAppalled at the poor condition of the birdcageAppalled at the poor condition of the birdcage

Is a band nameIs a band nameIs a band nameIs a band name

Of a band that doesn’t existOf a band that doesn’t existOf a band that doesn’t existOf a band that doesn’t exist

That makes music that has no soundThat makes music that has no soundThat makes music that has no soundThat makes music that has no sound

With instruments that have no mean-With instruments that have no mean-With instruments that have no mean-With instruments that have no mean-

inginginging

Make out of grass and leavesMake out of grass and leavesMake out of grass and leavesMake out of grass and leaves

Woven into spirals, foreverWoven into spirals, foreverWoven into spirals, foreverWoven into spirals, forever

They are looking for timeThey are looking for timeThey are looking for timeThey are looking for time

Is a song titleIs a song titleIs a song titleIs a song title

Of a song that hasn’t been writtenOf a song that hasn’t been writtenOf a song that hasn’t been writtenOf a song that hasn’t been written

Out of notes that don’t existOut of notes that don’t existOut of notes that don’t existOut of notes that don’t exist

Notes between G$ sharp and ANotes between G$ sharp and ANotes between G$ sharp and ANotes between G$ sharp and A

Every cloud has a silver liningEvery cloud has a silver liningEvery cloud has a silver liningEvery cloud has a silver lining

Is a clichéIs a clichéIs a clichéIs a cliché

Said by somebody nobody remembersSaid by somebody nobody remembersSaid by somebody nobody remembersSaid by somebody nobody remembers

But they have it on their silver tBut they have it on their silver tBut they have it on their silver tBut they have it on their silver t----shirtsshirtsshirtsshirts

Although I prefer the oneAlthough I prefer the oneAlthough I prefer the oneAlthough I prefer the one

That shows a falling apart cageThat shows a falling apart cageThat shows a falling apart cageThat shows a falling apart cage

And a thousand birds flying awayAnd a thousand birds flying awayAnd a thousand birds flying awayAnd a thousand birds flying away



Oobie by Hannah Ridings

My cat observes me At night, striding through his realm-

He owns the moonlit house�

Think by Anonymous

Think, wonder, ponder, imagine, think. Questions, some have answers spoken at last breath.

Some don’t have answers at all. Some answers you don’t want, some you would die for.

When you know you will hold on to that thought forever. Not just now and then but forever.

Imagine, and it will take you far.. Farther than you can imagine.

Take a journey through your mind. Some things you will wish never to find.

But they are there. Mistakes you have made.

Make them right. Just sit there and think.

Ph

oto

by

Lil

lia

n X

u




If you could have any job (even one that didn’t exist),

what would it be?


Co

mic

by

An

ge

la L

i


Co

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by

An

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la L

i


The following is an interview with professional dinosaur trainer Molleigh Roy.

Molleigh lives on a private Moon Reserve where she trains dinosaurs for battles with

space vampires, the attack of which is inevitable.

Q: So, what are your main responsibilities as a dinosaur trainer? A: Well, you see, when I wake up I have to begin by staring at a wall, then I have to play Portal for at least an hour. I then give the dinosaurs their ketchup supplements and train them in Minecraft. Q: What are your dinosaurs’ names? A: George and Claude. George is a T-Rex, and Claude is a stegosaurus. Q: Interesting. What currency are you paid in? A: Josh Hutcherson dollars. Q: Are there any people that judge you? A: (Tearfully). Well…some people…they just don’t…and the watermelons…Peeta loves me…I really love pie…oh God, TOBY! Q: Who is Toby? A: Well, he is the only dinosaur I ever lost. It may be because I didn’t let him seriously maim and injure that one guy, or maybe there wasn’t enough fairy dust in his ketchup supplements, but he just ran away. Q: Poor Toby. Now, final question. What is your favorite part of the job? A: The dinosaurs. They really just love me. And I love them. Q: This has been truly amazing. Thank you, Molleigh. A: No problem.

Interviewed by Hannah Jackson

Interview with a Dinosaur Trainer

A Very, Very Short Story by Jacob Hilker

“You get the guns, I’ll get the device.” I say to my partner-in-

crime Rob. “Ready to arm it?” “Fine.” KABOOM! “AGGHHH!” I

find myself screaming in agony. Then, the ground suddenly

rushed up to greet me.

TO BE CONTINUED… Next Year…


Ingredients:

•1 egg

•1 cup sugar

•1 cup peanut butter

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350ºF.

2. Mix ingredients together. Using

a spoon, roll the dough into balls

and place on a greased cookie

sheet.

3. Dip a fork in sugar and press

lightly on the dough so it makes a

criss-cross pattern.

4. Bake for 17 minutes.

Peanut Butter Cookies

Sweet Recipes! by Cambria Kowalzik

Butterscotch Brownies

Ingredients:

•1/4 cup butter, shortening, or

vegetable oil

•1 cup light brown sugar

(packed)

•1 egg

•3/4 cup flour

•1 tsp baking powder

•1/2 tsp salt

•1/2 tsp vanilla

•1/2 cup chopped walnuts or

pecans

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350ºF, grease

an 8” pan.

2. Melt butter over low heat, re-

move from heat.

3. Mix in brown sugar until

blended, cool, and then stir in

egg.

4. Mix flour, baking powder, and

salt. Stir in.

5. Add vanilla and walnuts.

6. Spread in pan.

7. Bake 25 minutes. Do not over

bake.

1. District 12 2. 74th 3. Alan Rickman 4. d. 5. Lemony Snicket 6.(1c, 2d , 3e, 4a, 5f, 6b)


The Girlfriend Project by Robin Friedman New Jersey high school senior Reed Walton has never had a girlfriend,,,, but once he gets his braces off, gets contact lenses, and turns into a "hottie," his two best friends set up a website to remedy the situation. Looking for Alaska by John Green Sixteen-year-old Miles' first year at Culver Creek Preparatory School in Alabama includes good friends and great pranks, but is defined by the search for answers about life and death after a fatal car crash. Airhead series by Meg Cabot Studious, socially conscious Emerson Watts learns startling news about the family of Nikki Howard, the teen supermodel into whose body Emerson's brain was transplanted by the nefarious Stark Corpora-tion. Divergent series by Veronica Roth In a future Chicago, sixteen-year-old Beatrice Prior must choose among five predetermined factions to define her identity for the rest of her life, a decision made more difficult when she discovers that she is an anomaly who does not fit into any one group, and that the society she lives in is not perfect after all.

Good Books

&

Reviews

Review: The Blending Time by Jacob Hilker

The action starts from page one of this action-adventure-sci-fi novel The Blending Time by Michael Kinch. Intimate moments, dystopian governments, and raging battles against rogue forces who hate the blending program make this different from any other action-adventure-sci-fi novel. Also, it takes place in the future (2069 to be precise). This book has a lot of cursing, romantic situations, and violence, earning it a PG-13 rating on my rating scale of G to R.

Code Orange by Caroline B. Cooney While conducting research for a school pa-per on smallpox, Mitty finds an envelope containing 100-year-old smallpox scabs and fears that he has infected himself and all of New York City. The Teacher’s Funeral by Richard Peck In rural Indiana in 1904, fifteen-year-old Rus-sell's dreams of quitting school and joining a wheat threshing crew are disrupted when his older sister takes over the teaching at his one-room schoolhouse after mean old Myrt Arbuckle "hauls off and dies." Prisoner of Tehran by Marina Nemat Nemat tells the heart-pounding story of her life as a young girl in Iran during the early days of Ayatollah Khomeini's brutal Islamic Revolution--arrested, tortured, and sen-tenced to death for "political crimes." Scat by Carl Hiaasen Nick and his friend Marta decide to investi-gate when a mysterious fire starts near a Florida wildlife preserve and an unpopular teacher goes missing.

Art

by

Je

sse

Du

ga

n


Trivia 1) What district were Katniss and Peeta from?

2) Which Hunger Games were Katniss and Peeta participating in?

3) Who plays Snape in the Harry Potter movies?

4) Which of these YA books have not yet been optioned to be turned into a movie?

a. Fault In Our Stars by John Green b. Blood Red Road by Moira Young

c. Beautiful Creatures by Kami Gracia d. Anna Dressed in Blood by Kendare Blake

5) Who wrote the Series of Unfortunate Events series?

6) Match the artist on the left with their hit single on the right:

1. Kelly Clarkson a. Ours

2. The Wanted b. Set Fire to the Rain

3. Nicki Minaj c. Stronger

4. Taylor Swift d. Glad You Came

5. fun. e. Starships

6. Adele f. We Are Young

Own the Night Word Search S N H E I Z J Z W W E C O O Y N V F Z X I S Z O U

H M L S S I E H E V S Q R N V U K O O O D Y M P X

F Z A I E E C R G X P Y I E G T C N M R O E T E M

I L H E K N E O C W I V O R S A H C B R W N K S X

V Y N R R W I K R Y L T N Q M C G V I T K Y P S E

A S X P O D A B Y K C C S N Q F E F E T M I R F W

E Q K L J R J U X G E E B D R U Y N S I R Q Q Q X

R J V R E P P I D G I B E I L L Q A T I E N M Q D

B E T B B V X L V C S P L Y F B A G T M M L G N Z

S H A X A T B M O T N C T E X C I S G V O N Z V R

N M G G C T J X I M M V R Z K K N V M O C O N N H

Q S J L B A C Y B P P I B D K E S E O M U F N X B

S N Y Y M V M K W F F I E B E Y A R Z R L O F S Q

J E X M U Y Q P I J Y I G B X R V N C V R P C Z T

Z M R S G P N E I O W L Q P Q V M F O V H A B D F

C O U I B L E Z P N S S X F S K E C Y E D Q R W M

O D B P P K N F F M G U O S I Z S E A H G S H C L

P Q E A V M J U Y B Y N Q Y O I R K R Z J Z D B U

B B D N H N A O E Y U E J C D W O G G S X T N W Z

F G R P I Z G V X X I V F E X D L T E G N V J K R

S L E E P O T T L Z M S J A F J A O M H K B F S V

E S Q X U W Q S A B J Q L Y N W D B Y I P K Z H U

R U F H S F Q C E A O U N N S W R F S C S D C S V

I B F D Z N D B N T I R R D F X Q O K B B W Z C X

C R I C K E T T D M M A U L B F Q B D P C A K K W

BAT

BIGDIPPER

CAMPING

CRESCENT MOON

CRICKET

DISCO

DREAMS

ECLIPSE

FIREFLY

METEOR

ORIONS BELT

OWL

SLEEP

SPIRITS

VAMPIRES

VENUS

WEREWOLVES

ZOMBIES

Answers on p. 22


My name is Alli Morris, I volunteer at the library and like helping out . I think Jacob is silly for saying ba-con can make everything better, which it does not make everything better. Amber Enana Gundersen is a dreamer and obsessive people-watcher who rarely appears in the real world. Mostly she writes. She loves starlight, unicorns, narwhals, dark and disturbing nonsense, and ambi-ent and hardcore music. And she wrote this in third person. Deal with it. At least it’s not second person; she did consider that. I enjoy hitting people with swords, arguing, dangling 30 feet off the ground, writing in python, talking peo-ples’ ears off, writing poetry, and reading for hours at a time (fencing, debate, high ropes, programming, talking, writing poetry, and reading). I also happen to be 14, homeschooled, and named Hannah Ridings.

My name is Dominique and I’m going into high school. I rarely ever wear jewelry (the only time I do is when someone makes me), but I love making it (mostly earrings), along with a bunch of other kinds of art. Emily ThomasClarke is many things: a writer, reader, dreamer, fairy-catcher, and flower-sniffer. However, she is most certainly not a koala. My name is Hannah and I’m going into 8th grade. I enjoy playing soccer and I like to play

my viola. My name is Hannah Jackson. There are approximately 12 gazabillion Hannah’s in the world. I don’t like asparagus. Sarah also says derp. Ilia Kowalzik (as interpreted by Ruby) Ilia is possibly the most adorkable person on earth. She is a dedi-cated daydreamer of vintage textiles, lace, and cakes of all sorts. She practices the arts of belly dance, drawing, sewing and glorious photography. Her special skill is cat naps at any time, any place. My name is Jacob and I believe that bacon makes it better. My name is Louise. I am a rising 10th grader and I enjoy acting, reading, and playing piano. Mary Hilker enjoys many things. Weirdness is one of them. She also enjoys listening to music. Oh, hello, it seems I’ve fallen through the Looking Glass again…I’m Olivia Gallmeyer, a little ball of insanity who is deeply obsessed with orange juice and fictional charac-ters. In my spare time I enjoy listening to unhealthily large amounts of music and invad-ing any sort of community theatre in range. Ruby Moon (as interpreted by Ilia): Ruby prides herself in being the height of sophisti-cation. She is accomplished in piano, belly dance, and elegant couture. She is in pur-suit of artistry, pastry chefs, and Babo. Her motto is “boom shaka laka.” ‘Ello there! You may address me as Sarah. I love music- I sing and play guitar, drums, didgeridoo, and several other interesting sound-producing items. Hannah says I should leave it at that. Also, I am not British. Hi, I’m Virginia. I could talk about myself for forever, but I don’t want to bore you. Too late. Whoops.

Bios Get to know some of our creative ‘zine staff


Managed by the Crozet Library Teen Advisory Board and Allie Haddix.

Published by Narwhal Publications, Crozet, VA.

July 2012

Editor in Chief

Thalia Kowalzik

Senior Editors

Kristi Hagen

Ilia Kowalzik

Art b

y La

ura

Grice

Artwork and Photography Editors

Ilia Kowalzik

Ruby Moon

Fiction Editors

Olivia Gallmeyer

Hannah Jackson

Poetry Editors

Amber Enana Gundersen

Mary Hilker

Emily ThomasClarke

Miscellany Editors

Dominique Brown

Kristi Hagen

Jacob Hilker

Cambria Kowalzik

STAFF

Hannah Adams

Arielle Amos

Louise Ferrall

Alex Gardner

Virginia Garey

Sarah Gallmeyer

Alli Morris

Hannah Ridings

Lillian Xu

Crozet Library Teen Advisory Board

5791 Three Notch’d Rd

Crozet, VA 22932

434.823.4050

www.jmrl.org/br-crozet.htm

www.facebook.com/crozetlibrary

Documents

The Looking Glass Issue 1 July 2012