Snow is gone, and the grass is back here on campus! Spring has finally sprung, so say goodbye to winter coats and snow pants and say hello to our recent fashion looks on campus. Here are some popular spring looks that are seen around campus and some ideas to add to your outfit:
Now that our spring clothes are out, I’ve seen a popularity of light colors like yellows, pinks, and blues, with cool patterns. Including designs such as floral and stripes are simple to find in shirts, pants, and shoes. Some easy ways to add a pop of color to your outfit can be with accessories like earrings, a cool pair of sunglasses, a necklace or a bracelet. Why not get a pair of shoes that’s not all one shade? Add some color to your feet as well!
Another big trend in spring shirts has been babydoll tops. This is one of our blog editors herself, Casidhe! In this picture, she has a floral-pattern, light pink babydoll tank top. These kinds of shirts look super summery, fitting loosely during the perfect sunny weather and goes perfect with any outfit, adding a nice burst of light colors.
Next, we have jeans. Yes, jeans can be worn through every season, but there are so many styles of denim. Specifically, low-rise baggy jeans or jean shorts have been a popular choice on campus. Jean shorts are definitely great for the warmer weather, and baggy jeans are a comfortable fit in this heat. And if you’re not so into jeans, why not try a jean jacket?
Lastly, an option that is perfect for spring is linen! Pants, shorts, or a blouse, linen has a loose, comfortable fit for this pretty weather. You can get these pants or button-up shirts in all kinds of patterns and colors that you can easily style.
In the end, what you wear is all your choice. So if you’re stuck on some ideas for your spring outfits, have some fun and maybe add a bit of color or trendy patterns.
After finishing Kafka’s classic novella The Metamorphosis, World Literature students were asked to reimagine the iconic opening sentence. Guilhermo Felis’ fantastic take on Kafka’s dilemma has a message for all of us.
When Guilhermo woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he transformed into a monstrous Golden Retriever. The sunlight warming his furry body, the missing hands replaced by paws, and the alarm ringing in the background all confirmed it: this wasn’t a dream. Panicked and sloppy, he fell out of bed, still learning to balance on four legs like a newborn. Alone in the dorm room, he tried to call for his roommate, Philip, but only a bark echoed back at him. Dizzy and confused, Guilhermo’s mind went crazy. Why me? Is this permanent? He pawed at his laptop, barely managing to email his teachers with a fake excuse: “Flu. Can’t come to class.” Just as he hit send, the door opened. It was his roommate and, without thinking, Guilhermo hid under his bed, holding his breath as Philip muttered something in Swedish about being late and rushed out, never noticing the oversized dog.
After an hour, Guilhermo crawled out, opened the door with his snout, and, without knowing why, driven by some new instinct, he turned and lifted his leg, peeing right on his door. A strange, primal satisfaction was released and he knew that he was changing, not just in body, but in ways he could no longer fully control. He sniffed the hallway, going to doors and picking up scents that told him far more than he ever wanted to know. Who skipped class, who had food, who needed a shower. He followed it down to the bathroom, looked into the mirror, and saw himself fully: a large, golden dog with the same anxious eyes. Horrified, he rushed back to his room and curled up in bed, hoping sleep would change it. But when he woke, nothing had changed. It was lunchtime. The door opened. Philip walked in and froze. “Whose dog is this?” he said aloud. But as he stepped closer, he noticed the Brazilian jersey around the dog’s neck. His eyes widened. “No way…”
The days that followed were strange and lonely. Guilhermo stayed hidden most of the time, sneaking around the dorms and only going out when it was quiet. Philip eventually figured out that this dog was Guilhermo, but there was little they could do. Guilhermo watched from the sidelines as life moved on without him. Classes, practices, and friendships all passed through his dog’s eyes while sitting quietly. Then one morning, after a nap filled with barking and strange dreams, he opened his eyes not in his dorm, but in a sunny backyard. The air was different with warness and the smell of cut grass. He blinked in disbelief. This was his home in Brazil. And standing across from him, was his childhood dog, Zeus. Another Golden Retriever. Guilhermo stepped forward, heart sped up. Somehow, in this place, they could understand each other. “You’ve finally made it,” Zeus said, his voice calm, almost human. “I brought you here for a reason.”
Guilhermo stared at him, stunned. “You… what? How? Why would you do this to me?” Zeus sat down in the grass, looking up at the sky. “Everyone thinks being a dog is easy. That we don’t worry, don’t stress, don’t think. But that’s not true. We feel everything, loneliness, fear, boredom. We just can’t tell anyone. You always said you wished you could be a dog, remember?” Guilhermo’s ears drooped. He had said that before. On rough school days or when the pressure got too high, he’d joke, “Man, I just wish I could be a dog: eat, sleep, play, and that’s it.” Zeus continued.“So I gave you a chance to see life from my side. You think it’s freedom, but it’s a different kind of cage. You don’t choose your schedule, your food, or even when you can go outside. You sit by the door, waiting. You sit by the window, hoping. You learn patience because you have no other choice.” Guilhermo looked down. The memory of those quiet hours at school, lying curled in his dorm, suddenly felt heavier. He hadn’t been free as a dog. “But why me?” he asked. Zeus gave a small, kind bark. “Because you needed to understand. You were starting to forget how lucky you are. To think for yourself, to learn, to speak, to dream. So I chose you to live like me. Just for a while. So you could come back grateful.” The words hit hard. Guilhermo felt tears in his eyes, even though his body couldn’t cry the same way anymore. Zeus stood and walked closer, nose to nose. “It’s time to go back now. Remember what you’ve seen. And never wish to be anything other than yourself.”
When Guilhermo woke up the next morning, he was back in his human form. His hands, his voice, his body. Everything had returned, but his thoughts were not the same. That summer, he flew back to Brazil. The moment he stepped into the backyard, Zeus came running. They embraced, man and dog, and in that silent hug, there was no need for words.
After finishing Kafka’s classic novella The Metamorphosis, World Literature students were asked to reimagine the iconic opening sentence. Emily Finch’s chilling take on Kafka’s dilemma resonates with everyone shivering through spring in New England and waiting for the summer Sun.
When Emily woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, she found herself changed in her bed into a monstrous moth. She looked around her room, which now seemed a tinge more red and purple than before. That’s when she looked down at herself to see her body, fuzzy and gray with six separate legs tucked into it. Her wings shot out to either side spontaneously, one slamming against the wall and the other toppling various cans of sparkling water from her nightstand to the floor. She jolted, fluttered, and spurred about until she fell from her lofted bed to the clutter of clothing and random objects strewn across her floor. She stirred around the contents of her floor with her wings, sending wrappers, pencils, paper, clothing, and coins flying around to cover even more ground than before. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” she told herself, but she couldn’t keep from spiraling and spinning about. She finally was able to settle onto her legs, but she still felt the continuous unease and panic inside as she’d had. Her body still felt prickly and had a chill as always; at least some things never changed.
It must’ve been around 8:20 a.m., the time she usually woke, because Emily’s roommate, Aiva, was absent from the small room. It was a relief to her, as she never wanted anyone to see her in such a low state. It was almost as if her feelings from the night before had multiplied tremendously and manifested in her sleep. It panicked her, but dually was a blessing as she would certainly not be attending any classes for as long as she’d be like this. She always avoided missing school no matter how badly she wanted to at times, but now she had gotten to such a state that maybe she could excuse herself until she got things together and turned back.
Another chill tore through her body. She couldn’t stand the persistent chill, so she scampered over to Aiva’s lamp, which never turned off whether night or day. She clung to the light, trying to absorb any heat that she could, but the chill still troubled her unbearably. She scuttled to the door and fluttered her wings until she hit the handle and sent it ajar. She pushed herself out into the hallway, her wings dragging across either side of the doorframe. Crawling up along the wall to the ceiling, she sat upon every light, but none could fill the chill in her core. She began to fret in search of a cure or a solution or something to numb the chill until she came to the dorm door.
She got a running start and spread her wings as she jumped into the door and slammed it wide open. She tumbled down the stairs, crashing against the pavement and scraping up her delicate body. That’s when she looked up to the sky and saw it: the Sun. And in that moment, she knew that her chill would persist until she flew there. She looked at her body, fuzzy and bloodied. It was at that moment she decided that, in order to free herself, she had to reach the Sun, and so, she fluttered her wings and began to fly.
She watched as the ground fled from her, and the campus dissipated slowly. She looked up and began to flutter faster and faster, hoping to see the Sun grow bigger. From then on, Emily flew higher and higher in desperation towards the Sun, hoping maybe for enough to rid her of the chill.
After finishing Kafka’s classic novella The Metamorphosis, World Literature students were asked to reimagine the iconic opening sentence. Peyton Grebinar’s humorous take on Kafka’s dilemma resonates with every Hebron student struggling to wake up early and make it to class on time!
When Peyton woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, she found herself changed in her bed into a monstrous tortoise. After waking up to this new form, Peyton was extremely startled. Most people would freak out and call 911, but she could not because she did not have fingers. Instead of freaking out, Peyton climbed onto her bedside table, then onto her desk, then took a leap of faith onto the ground, landing with a thud. Being a giant tortoise meant moving a lot slower than normal, but it also saved a lot of time. As a giant reptile, you do not need to spend time doing your hair, makeup, or picking out an outfit. Peyton decided the smartest thing to do would be to get an early start to her day, so she had the idea of leaving to go to class at 7:45. Just as she began her crawl to the door, her roommate Beccy woke up from her sleep. Beccy climbed out of bed, eyes still not fully open. She grabbed her toothbrush and headed towards the door when she caught her foot on a large solid object, and BOOM! Down went beccy.
After getting up and pulling herself together, Becy gasped as she looked at what Peyton had become. She started laughing out loud uncontrollably for at least five minutes. Once the hysterics were over, Beccy realized Peyton couldn’t do anything on her own, so she grabbed Peytons bag and put it around her large turtle shell, opening the door for Peyton. Beccy watched Peyton waddle her way to the stairs, and begin her walk. While making her time down the stairs, Peyton felt determined to have a good day even though she was now an animal.
By the time she made it to the last step of the dorm, and out the door, Peyton was famished. To this she decided to stop and grab a bite to eat. She found the most beautiful, scrumptions, tasty looking grass! When she got to the grass she began to nibble, and ate until her belly was full. She then carried on and made it to the sidewalk. At the side walk there were many cars zooming by, but none of them could see little Peyton, only a few inches off the ground waiting to safely cross the road. After a little while there was a break in the line of cars. Peyton decided to be brave and cross quickly. She stepped into the crosswalk and made it about half way when all of a sudden, a giant eighteen wheeler came barreling down the road. In this moment she went into sheer panic mode, wondering whether she should turn back and try to make it back where she started, or to get across to the other side. In all of this time she wasted thinking, the truck had gotten up to her, and she hasn’t moved an inch. What Peyton forgot was that she was now a tortoise. A tortoise with a big strong shell on her back. She used her shell, hiding her body into it and shut her eyes, hoping for the best.
Peyton waited a moment before sticking her neck back out to check if she was safe. When she looked, she saw the coast was clear, so she wasted no time and quickly crossed. Peyton now began to hurry on her way, still frazzled from what had just happened. She walked across the mile long senior path, smiling at everyone she passed, until she finally made it to the school building. She waited for a group of students to walk out, slipping in the door behind them. Once inside the building, Peyton looked up and saw her arch nemesis: The stairs in the school building. She bravely began her trip up the stairs, looking up as if looking up towards the top of a mountain. When she made it to the landing she stopped just until she caught her breath, then she carried on. She climbed for what felt like forever, passing by many of her fellow friends and teachers. She looked up and realized she had made it up all of the stairs. She hobbled towards Ms. Watermans door, only to realize it was shut and all of the lights were off. Peyton also realized the building was extremely quiet. She pushed open the door to the fire escape only to see the moon smiling back at her. Peyton then heard the bells of the clocktower ring. One ring, Two rings, Three rings, Four rings, on and on until she counted ten rings. TEN RINGS!? That was when Peyton realized how long it took her, and that she had missed her entire day of school because she was turned into a tortoise.
At this point, all that Peyton could think of was how she was going to explain this to Ms. Teske, and the attendance office. Peyton was in big trouble but hey, at least she got to be a tortois for a day!
I am truly honored to have the opportunity to be here, to even just breathe this air in front of me. But I am even more blessed to be able to speak on a matter that is very near and dear to my heart. A matter that binds us all, a challenge that knows no borders, no class, no creed, no social hierarchy. A matter that is taking one life every eleven minutes.
When nations wage war, it is one versus another. War is hell. War is publicly condemned because of its capability to steal human lives too soon. When nations wage war, there are protests, demonstrations against it, and pleas to make it end. The act of war itself is hell. Those in war can attest that being caught in the crossfire of a war…is hell, being in the frontlines of war…is hell, being on the sidelines of a war, witnessing untimely death…is hell. Battling against a war is hell. Yet in almost every national conflict, there is a group of people that come together to fight this hell. Soldiers in war murder the enemy.
This dreadful matter I speak of is one of self-murder. Suicide: the seemingly only answer when the struggles of the mind win the war.
I have hope that the silent battles of the mind will one day be welcomed and not discussed behind closed doors. I see a time when a chorus of empathy and understanding will ease the weight of depression, anxiety, and despair rather than being carried alone.
I have a hope that one day, people who fight behind closed doors would no longer feel ashamed and will instead stand tall in the light of acceptance, surrounded by people who say, “We see you, we hear you, we are with you.”
I have a hope that the stigma that suffocates the soul will crumble like ancient walls, giving way to a society where mental health is not a secret to be hidden, but a truth that is unanimously accepted.
I have a hope that instead of demanding that peacefulness be sacrificed for work, workplaces would become shelters to the artillery that is mental hell. Shelters where everybody will feel appreciated and complete.
I have a hope that our hospitals will treat not only broken bones but broken spirits, that our leaders will legislate not only for the economy but for the emotional well-being of the supposedly free people.
And so I say, let us rise from the commentary and judgement of others. Let us rise up with the courage to speak openly, for there is no solution in silence. Let us rise up and embrace each other, for there is no shame in struggle. Let us rise up and create a world where mental health is no longer a war that one must fight alone. Let us rise up and fight this war that is more lethal than total war. Let us rise up until every soul knows the joy of being cared for and looked out for. Let us lead in love and acceptance, not judgement and belittlement. Let us rise until the day this war against the mind is put to a permanent ceasefire, where society is the victor, and suicide is the defeated. Only then we may sit down in contentment.
That is my hope…it is your duty to carry this hope with you until all of us do, so that this no longer remains just my hope, but all of the souls of this beautiful world we can make. Turn this hope into a reality, so that when the war of society and mental health is discussed in future history classrooms, the teachers and students can say with a smile–a real smile–that “society won”.
Chance. The abundance of our food measures the scarcity of theirs. The purity of our water measures the dirtiness of theirs. The health of our children measures the sickness of theirs. We have much while they have little. We have fortune while they have poverty. The blessings we have failed to count measure the hardships of theirs.
Chance. In October of 2023, I traveled to Nairobi, Kenya, for an opportunity to experience a foreign culture. I dreamed of laying my eyes upon the gigantic animals that rule the savannah, tasting the powerful explosion of color and heritage that is East African delicacy, and hearing the tales of sorrow and joy that originate from ancient people whose descendants still tell them. That was my dream. I wanted to experience life, novelty, and diversity, and I was granted this opportunity through the education my parents have so generously given to me.
Chance. Reality was a nightmare. Reality was the powerful kings and queens of the savannah being captured and killed for their mighty tusks and beautiful furs. Reality was eating familiar European-style meals affordable only for the tourists while just outside the window the nation’s own people starved in the streets, covered in dust and feces with dry mouths and empty stomachs. Reality was a nation of uneducated and impoverished people forced to steal, kill, prostitute themselves just to provide unclean food for their children that will inevitably follow the same path. Reality was death, disease, and distress.
Chance. Chance is a strange thing. A thing that has determined the outcomes of war, the collision of atoms that triggered the creation of our universe, and even the quality and path of your own life and death. By chance, some people on this Earth will not live to see their first birthday. Others will outlive nations by that same chance. Some will starve, while others will feast. All because of chance.
Tell me then: is it right to bask in the warm sunlight of good fortune while your own brothers and sisters shiver in the darkness of poor fortune? Is it right to take this chance for granted? Most of you were born in a first world country out of pure luck. You have the opportunity to access as much food, water, and shelter as you need for the rest of your life if you work hard enough. There are many people in this world who do not and will not ever have that.
But you… you have a chance. You have a chance to split your plate in half and give half to the hungry individual sitting across from you watching you eat. You have a chance to let that freezing man or woman into your house instead of letting them die on your doorstep. You have a chance to follow the Word of Jesus Christ and clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, and visit the imprisoned. You have a chance to look down at the people that this cruel Western world tramples on as it moves forward hastily and expediently and in an act of kindness offer your hand.You can give them a chance. My dream is that one day as a society we will all be Christlike and recognize how blessed we are, and how vital it is that we share our blessings with those around us. So far, we have failed miserably at this. Our vanity has taken hold and blinded us to the unnecessary suffering of our brothers and sisters. My dream is that we finally see.
Imagine a kenspeckle individual, a child who appears free-spirited, unbothered by society, unafraid to stand out, living in a different key than the rest. Imagine how adults complimented and encouraged all of the strangeness and told the child it was a good thing. Imagine how the child’s parents told them that it was a good thing to be different, to stand out. Now imagine how lonely that child must be and how confused they are by their total lack of companions despite doing what they were told to do. A child going through life always feeling like the real them was buried beneath a circus-like facade.
I was that child once upon a time.
I am still that child looking back at myself.
I’ve always been a little bit strange, but rather than quell that strangeness, the role models in my life encouraged it. I was told it was good to be odd; however, this seemed to cause kids my age to avoid me like the plague. Adults rewarded me with praise; the more I stood out, the more nauseating my fashion choices, the brighter my false smile. Eventually, I strayed so far away from the truth that I had lost sight of who I actually was. I was stuck. Stuck in a lie. All of our personalities create beautiful puzzles, but I felt like half of my pieces were missing and the rest belonged to somebody else’s puzzle. Should I keep living this life of lies, glittering as bright as the sequence on my clothes? Or should I dive deep into the unknown depths of self-discovery and hope that I don’t hate what I find? I’d been living a ruse for so long that I wasn’t sure how to remove the mask and what I would find beneath it.
Slowly I came to the realization that I must begin chipping away at my shield of lies before it suffocated me. It is very difficult to enact a change when those you trust have always told you to “never change,” and to just stay free from society. Little by little, I began to sort out which parts of my identity were real and which were not. Which parts were inflated to the point of making them unrecognizable and which were hidden behind layers and layers of falsities.
There were small things such as my favorite colors, not including pink, my plain brown hair kept down to my waist which I always hated, or the fact that I strongly disliked unicorns despite often being found wearing a unicorn horn headband. Then, there were also larger things beyond physical appearances. How I interacted with people was not genuine; I would not let myself feel my emotions, and I never displayed any facet of myself that my parents wouldn’t like. I was not being my authentic self so I could not make real connections with my peers, or with anyone for that matter.
As I began to strip away my falsities, I began to find my sense of self. Piece by piece, I uncovered bits of myself, hoping that I could fit all of the pieces together to reveal who I actually was. Sometimes, I found a piece that didn’t seem to fit in with my puzzle, but I realized that if I found enough pieces, it would eventually have somewhere to fit in, so I kept searching. As my own puzzle grew, so did my confidence, so did my connections with people, and so did my comfort in my own skin. I became more felicitous, and I was finally able to begin to live my life in a way that made me happy.
Looking back at who I used to be, I have made bounds of progress toward piecing together who I am, but there will always be more to uncover because I know now that there is no such thing as a permanent state of self. The puzzle I am piecing together of myself will change as I do; I will find new pieces, and lose a few as well, but no matter what pieces I have, I do not have to hide the picture it creates. I will probably be a slightly different person in a few weeks than I am now, and I do not owe it to anyone to pretend to stay the same. The journey of self-discovery is never done because humans change as we grow, as we learn, and as we gain new experiences.
Chameleons are animals who change their color depending on different factors such as light, temperature or emotions associated with anything that happens around them. They are frightened easily and very often are a target of predators. Chameleons are very small and harmless animals. However, these skills very often save their lives. It is weird to compare yourself to a chameleon but if you think about it, we function pretty much the same way. It is important to always stay yourself and don’t let other people affect the kind of person you want to be. But sometimes I find myself in situations where it’s hard to be myself. Many things go through my head. Should I fit in or should I be different? Should I be better or just let them take the lead? Sometimes I don’t even think. I just pretend to be someone else without even noticing it. How can I make them like me? That is the main question I used to ask myself. The question that was causing my duplicity and sometimes still is.
The last time I was asking myself this question, I was on a plane. It was August 27th and I was flying to Boston. It was the start of my year at Hebron Academy. I was alone on a plane flying to another continent where I didn’t know a soul. It was like that question was stuck in my head and it wouldn’t leave until there was something or someone to just make it disappear. Just like that word on the top of your tongue that you just can’t remember, that one embarrassing moment that you can’t get outside of your head. As we were landing the question started to get even more annoying. At this point it was getting crazy, jumping around my head not letting me think. When I first started talking to everyone at the airport I was
smiling, shaking hands and introducing myself. But as I started to get to know everyone, the question was taking over. I agreed to everything anyone said and never said what I thought. “I love rock music,” somebody said. “Me too!” I agreed even though I have never listened to a single rock song and rock was my absolute worst genre. I started to question whether I was doing the right thing by listening to the question because nobody really seemed to care that I loved rock music. They all just smiled. I thought maybe they would do the same if I told them I actually like classical music and pop. Maybe they would even ask questions and be interested in it. But what if they just thought I was weird for liking it. I didn’t want to take the risk of them not liking me, so I just stuck with being a rock music lover. The rest of the night at the airport I continued listening to the question and, in addition to being the rock music lover, I also became a Formula 1 fan, a poetry lover and my favorite color became brown. That one really hurt.
Later that night we were in the bus driving to the school. It was late at night and the drive was long. A lot of people were sleeping, but I was wide awake thinking about the question. I was sitting in the front part of the bus by myself looking outside at the night sky. My attention was caught by one of my favorite constellations, Cassiopeia. As I was looking at it I remembered how good it felt to think about something I truly love, which for me is astronomy. I got lost in my thoughts the second I looked up at the night sky and the thought of all of those things I said I liked and people I pretended to be that day made the question disappear just a little from my head. I realized I made some really good friends that day but if that friendship is based on a lie, then it doesn’t really mean much. However, even that realization didn’t make the question completely disappear from my head.
The question was there until one thought that came to my head. I thought of a chameleon. A chameleon changes its colors depending on its surroundings. That’s what I did that day. I changed my colors. I changed who I am so people wouldn’t think badly of me just
like a chameleon changes colors so it wouldn’t be eaten. The thought of that made me feel bad, like all the friends I made that day weren’t really my friends. But then I realized that even when a chameleon changes its color and you can’t see it, it is still there and it is still a chameleon. So even though I sometimes change who I am, even though I act differently in front of different people, I am still a human. A human that makes mistakes. And when I feel safe enough around those people, I will change my color back to the original one. I don’t think the question will ever completely disappear and that is okay. Humans are social creatures and being a part of a group is in human nature, so sometimes we simply do what seems the best in that moment even though we might regret it later. It is just important to remember that sometimes it’s okay to be a chameleon but it is never okay to lose your real color.
We were crouched in the grass, kept neatly trimmed by her mother, rotting twigs and strange flowers littering our feet. Lilies, ferns, and unruly shrubs threatened the border of this upkept backyard, in constant rebellion to my aunt’s pruning. Our laughter, reaching to the blue above, tangled with that of the gulls on their way to the nearby sea. With the sun on our backs and the afternoon ahead of us, Audrey and I prepared to build. It’s been a while, but I still know the ritual well. The perfect fairy house is constructed by two essentials: the right materials and the right mindset, the right mindset being believing in the existence of fairies. I never struggled with the first part, but since I had stopped believing in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny at five, at eight, fairies didn’t seem very realistic to me either. But if Audrey believed in them, that was enough to at least make me play along.
My cousin and I would run too fast and too far down the road in search of the ideal fairy house materials. So determined in our adventure, we hardly noticed the pavement callusing our feet or the inevitable thorns tearing at our legs while we searched for the most fantastical ornaments nature could provide. Audrey and I spent many days like this and by the end of these summers, I wore every scratch and bruise as a trophy of the summer now gone. But right now it was still summer and there was still a fairy house waiting to be made.
As we began to construct, the disproportions of the house started worrying me. If Audrey saw how absurd it was that the chairs were twice as big as their acorn table, would she then see the absurdity of the whole bit? I was sure that if Audrey realized that fairies couldn’t exist, our quiet sanctuary of flowers and forest would be gone. After a minute, I asked her if she was sure that all of the makeshift furniture would work for the fairies, and she assured me that because they were magical, all of the furniture would be just fine. Audrey and I continued on until we could barely see our creation by the dimming skylight. She told me that the fairies were going to love their new home and that we’d better get inside so they could move in in peace.
Her imagination far outstretched my own; while I wished that there was magic in the world, Audrey already believed it was there. Building fairy houses on those hot summer days, salty breeze knotting our hair and strawberry lemonade on our tongues, I never once saw a fairy but I shared in Audrey’s belief of magic. Because there, in those moments, I could feel it. I held on tight to Audrey’s imagination, hoping that if I pretended enough, we would stay children forever.
Summers passed quickly and soon Audrey and I were eleven and twelve. The summer’s dull fog clung to our clothes and gathered on our skin. Rain clouds lingered in the corners of the sky. Having exhausted water balloons and spilling secrets, we sat on her front steps throwing pebbles on to her driveway. With each throw, the contrast from this summer to the ones still sharp in my memory seemed to grow. The past summers spent unafraid and imperfect had been weighing on me, taunting me with the fact that I could not go back. It was then that Audrey suggested we build a fairy house. All of my worrying had been for nothing; summer was still here and Audrey still saw the magic in it.
We set out in our familiar routine, looking for the best flowers and most creative decor for the fairies. It was just like it had always been or at least I tried to make myself think that. In truth, it didn’t feel like magic. It felt like forcing a sequel to something that could have wrapped up beautifully a long time ago. This feeling that fairy houses seemed so ingenuine now forced me into a confession.
“You know I never believed in fairies, right?” I asked her. “I just pretended for your sake”. For a moment I didn’t know what she was thinking. Our sweet summer seemed to rot in front of my eyes. Then she laughed.
“That’s funny,” she said, “because I was always pretending for your sake”. With that, we left our flowers and twigs scattered on the tar and returned home.
Sit down and take a moment of your time to listen to something other than the bustle of the town.
One could call this a rhyme, others may call these words of wisdom, others may just call this a waste of time.
But before you run away I have more to say that may stay with you until the end of today.
Ones that understand the way of life, may also understand the constant hurrying of life, which almost appears to be catching a dropping knife, but how come when others come together they still seem to be under the weather
Can the man with the plan please stand to tell me the story of this boy who ran just to escape the drama of his land. Language changes like a strain of a virus to adapt to the constant change of life. I keep running out of time, like people with power who seek to devour.
People spew the hate to which brings up the pace I don’t know if you could last, but of course you can laugh when left to decide between do or die I think that’s just a lie, but keep sputtering and muttering we’ll see what it’ll be, let’s see to the tea like bloody backs in the back, is it just me or have we forgotten just that. But keep spreading the scuttlebug like disease under your rug.
Though now there are cheats that try to play you at your game, all they care about is the money found at the end. Here comes the pay that’s what they all say, will they ever change at all, I’m not one to say.
One last thing before you leave to join the bustle of the town once again, why oh why, do people continue to lie about things that seem to fly like leaves with the wind. Am I the one who is speaking on a whim or was this mind always here along with the constant plea to subside to the side to observe from a distance as the sphere begins to erupt into flames, but this does seem lame. Will you stop and burn out or will you continue to go, until you grow old with an afterglow that indeed will blow this sky away.
Now you can stand up and hurry outta town with a frown that seems
to bring everyone down, just turn it around to hear this sound. Farewell to this town.
