We live in a fantasy, a predetermined world; Like a fairytale with a happy ending, except without the happy ending. Where your end goal in life is set in stone. To control this destiny is on par with licking one's own elbow. Impossible. Every self conscious action is not really self conscious. Your first steps into your college campus as an independent soul, are not your first steps. Your decision to endure blood, sweat, and tears by working double shifts so you can put food on the table for your family, is not your decision. Every spontaneous feeling is not really spontaneous. The overwhelming smile at the first touch of your newborn child is not your smile. The overwhelming tears that drip down your face when you have lost a loved one, are not your tears. And thus all accomplishments made in life are based off of luck. Fate sets an arbitrary standard for who is successful. It has the same odds as flipping a coin, but the impact of a lottery number. If hard work leads to success, fate decides who works hard. If you die alone, it is not your fault, If you die happy, it is not your merit. I hate fate. Because if it is real, it chooses both pleasure and pain Giving humans an inherent equity of evil and good Thus, fate has scarred my life. Everyone's life. I hate fate. Arun Sood
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Darkness. Sharp pulls to my hair. Screams leave my mouth and tears spill, soaking my face. Was I living a nightmare? Was this all a dream? I opened my eyes in hope of seeing the light of day. I stared into pure darkness. No light. No shine. No hope. My hands found their way back into my hair. They tug and yank until my scalp burns with pain. The pain, this feeling of suffering. It made my lips twitch into a small smile. My thoughts went wild: “What if you pulled harder? What if you used those hands on your neck? What if the light never comes back?” I followed my evil thoughts and brought my hands to my neck. I gulped and wrapped my hands around my neck. It was loose at first but the demons came back: “Pathetic, can’t even do something so simple.” I shook my head violently and squeezed, the choking sounds erupted from me. I pressed on my neck tightly but my hands began to come loose when the oxygen began to run out. I pulled my hands away and they rested at my side. I gasped -- the air seemed to burn my lungs as I took it in. I sat on my bed and processed what I had done. The tears had begun to dry until the demons spoke again. “Worthless.” I cried and I cried and I cried until tears could not come out. I screamed and began to rip out my hair once again. I curled up in my bed and breathed heavily. The darkness surrounded me, but then the door opened. My head snapped to face it. Light. The light. My eyes seemed to gleam with hope, but they soon realized there was a darkness blocking the light from reaching me. My mother. She stood in front of the light with a look on her face I wish to never see again. She looked at me with disgust. She looked at me as if I was a rabid dog that was going insane. She looked at me with a look of pure hate. I was a dirty animal that she did not want in her house. A sour taste in her mouth. A demon lurking in the corners. “Mom! Please!” I called out to her. I stared back at her, with a face that was worried and desperate. The light, I needed it. “Mom, please leave... please move! Please don’t look at me like that!” I begged and begged. She did not move. She was a black cloud blocking the light. Blocking my ability to smile. Blocking my ability to shine. She stood. She stood and stood. She stared and stared and stared until I was screaming again. “Leave! Leave! Please!” I yelled as loud as I could. I felt my throat dry up from screaming so much. She didn’t move. I reached a hand out to cover my face from being viewed. “Don’t look at me!” I said. She didn't speak. She watched. I became hysterical, my mind going insane. “Leave! Leave! Leave!” My breathing had become short gulps of air as I opened my mouth to pant. I sucked up more air but it made me cough. It burned, it hurt. Everything hurt. I was in hell. I choked on my words, “Please...” I begged once more. She turned her head and exited. She was gone, but so was the light. She left but stole light. She left, but slammed the door. She left, but ended my chance of feeling the light. It was dark. I was alone. The light escaped again. My body ached. I felt my eyelids become heavy, and they closed fully. I laid down fully on my bed and my consciousness left me. I was asleep. I wished I didn’t wake up but I did. Life in darkness is what I have. The dark. It will forever lurk within me. It will always haunt me. It will never leave. Jordan Solis
Shadows fill my eyes Everywhere I walk Everywhere I talk It follows me The darkness fills my eyes I’m never safe I try to reach for the light But it never works The darkness fills my eyes I don’t know who is around me The darkness fills my soul I wish I could stop it The darkness fills my eyes I want to see I try and try It never works The darkness fills my eyes It will never happen, right? Or will it? The light is starting to creep into my eyes. Cassandra Rendlesham
War It is a single word, but it lingers. It is a single word, but it lingers In the newspaper and on our minds. Igniting fireworks in the White House. A struggle between two worlds, our own and A place on the other side of the world. It is such a grotesque and distorted Word. War. It batters and tears people apart, Putting a massive wedge into societies. Into our consciences and our history. War It’s a vicious but stealthy murderer. A dagger slashing the piece of paper, Which happens to be our lives. War Is the thing you see on the poverty-ridden streets. In the eyes of the people who’ve Witnessed never-ending horrors in their lives. The helpless child standing on the bloody corner, wide-eyed. The family that can not sleep at night, Gunfire singing out under a clear, luminous sky. War Crushes us under its burden. Watch the cities ignite, Scorched around the edges, consumed by the golden flames. Hope and dreams swallowed by the rapacious jaws Of War. Men, women, and children lifeless in minutes, And their last breath is agony And then silence. War. Ellie Millard
A yellow pencil. A bluepen. A redmarker. A greenhighlighter. All used, To tell a story. Each scribbling onto smooth pages One By One. All different yet the same. All needed to tell a tale. African. Spanish. English. American. All born, For a purpose on earth. Different but equal. All needed to make the world go round. While some of us, May be highlighters, Or pencils, Or pens; We are all needed to tell the story of life. We are each a utensil to be used To make a mark in our book. Our differences are what make us ONE. Different doesn’t mean unequal. Being Male or female, Does not change my worth, For both are of equal value. We are all necessary parts, Needed to create the story. We are the writing utensils in the story of life. Olivia Artuso
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