Tag: Portfolio
Pink Popsicle
by trogers5 on May 5, 2022
Portfolio
Grace O’Connor ‘22
The blue in her sparkly eyes hugged the green rim in the middle
She was careless, as her only fear was if her mom would hide her favorite rose dress from her
The cloth of her dress held infinite red roses, which she wore with a gleaming smile
Her smile could cure all the sadness around her
She was careless, as her only fear was if her mom would hide her favorite rose dress from her
In time the simplicity and warmth of life in a young eye start to fade
Her smile could cure all the sadness around her
Before the rose-colored glasses are removed and reality bleeds through
In time the simplicity and warmth of life in a young eye start to fade
She no longer was protected by her own oblivion, as the strength vulnerability isolated her
Before the rose-colored glasses are removed and reality bleeds through
Bliss is now only felt in artificial ways
She no longer was protected by her own oblivion, as the strength vulnerability isolated her
She carried the true torment of reality around with her
Bliss is now only felt in artificial ways
She now eyes the intangible old comfort from a distance, yearning for it day by day
Parasitic Hyacinth Flowers
by trogers5 on April 21, 2022
Portfolio
By Taylor Rogers ’24
Parasitic limbs curiously crawl into my brain, their furry legs hitting the organ ruthlessly, not caring about the potential dents and damage they could cause. Gradually, they begin their descent, digging a hole into my precious prefrontal cortex, not reacting as my mood shifts from confused to irritated. These annoying bugs work on creating one of many entrances, sliding down the moist caravan they call an entryway, strategically planning to infect my innocent cells with their toxic virus.
Unaware of the infection that is soon to attack my immune system, I sit outside, admiring the hyamith flowers gifted to me this past weekend from my grandmother, the baby blue color our favorite, as it reminds us of the bright sky on a sun-filled day. These buds are just growing, slowly increasing in size the same way the parasites overflow my cranial cavity. Like me, these buds urge to be out in the sun and observing the weather, so I break out a smile and take the precious flowers outside with me. My flowers and I sit on the swing my grandfather crafted for my grandmother, the white wood digging into my exposed legs, which are barely covered in a pair of jean shorts nearing their last tear. Wind blows in my hair, the sun smirks down at me, and my flowers peacefully sit on my lap. Boredly, I glance around the peaceful neighborhood, making eye contact with someone who currently trims their overgrown hedges.
Suddenly, a gunshot goes off in my brain, jarring pain attacking my head as the parasites within begin to cheer victoriously, watching as my hyacinth flowers drop to the ground like a grenade. They watch as a mysterious figure strides down the street confidently, bending down to collect the flowers as an explosion goes off in their host’s brain. In seconds, a hand clasps my own, pressing the flowers back into my outstretched fingers with a grin.
“Think you dropped these, it’s a shame. They’re stunning flowers.”
Curiously, the parasites watch my interaction with the stranger, a few pausing their digging while others grin, knowing this is the perfect chance to wreak their havoc. Quickly, they invade this cortex, twirling strands of brain that are slender like spaghetti and manipulating them to their will, creating a Prince Charming out of a being who is simply human.
Stunned, I reel back at my sudden romanticization of the simple action, confused where this feeling has come from. While I am no stranger to attraction, the hyacinth flowers that have been tainted by another are strange to me now, the bare minimum morphing into something completely foreign to me. The hyacinth has shifted, the stems gingerly reaching out to the stranger and invoking me to ask this human a question.
“Would you like one? I have plenty more inside, my grandmother brings them to me often.”
Apparently, the parasites quite like this reaction, as the pain in my head temporarily halts, as if allowing me to explore the feelings suddenly forced on my previously pure brain. Matching smiles rapidly form on the stranger’s face as well as my own, and our hands briefly collide as I hand them a sky blue bud. Above, the parasites continue to observe, deciding to gingerly adjust my nerves so my conversation with the new person can continue while they conjure unknown sensations and feelings.
“You know, you’re really pretty.”
Small gasps escape my lips as something bangs against my temporal lobe, the parasites above just as shocked as I am concerning the compliment. Instinctively, I put a hand up to my head and rub the infected area, the stranger kneeling on the dewy grass in concern.
“If I knew complimenting you would result in such an adverse way, I wouldn’t have told you the truth.”
While I would roll my eyes at most for saying this, the stranger’s words make me laugh, an off-pitched melody escaping my chapstick-stained lips as the parasites continue to harshly attack me. Gritting my teeth, I mold my face into a grin, my hands fiddling with the hyacinth that drew this new character to me.
“Sorry about that, I just get migraines sometimes. Especially, oddly enough,when I see attractive people.”
Unlike the person standing before me, the parasites fail to appreciate my joke, savagely continuing to fumble my nerves as emotions come and go, my face failing to reveal the war that wreaks havoc on my anxious body. My newly found lover laughs, the sound causing the birds around us to giggle, the sun to shine a little brighter, and the parasites within to halt their attack. Despite their pause, my feelings still rebelliously combust, passion’s painful flames engulfing any doubts or confusion that I might be confusing love with lust, as attraction to me has only been sexual and short-lived.
“Don’t worry about it, really. I’ll see you around, hopefully your migraine disappears the next time our paths collide.”
Before I can protest and force the stranger to stay, they have left with a permanent reminder of me, the hyacinth flower swinging between his fingers as I resume the similar motion on my own wooden seat. The parasites within my brain finally hatch their eggs, evoking strange sensations throughout my body and turning this insignificant encounter to one equated with a myth I had never believed: love at first sight.
Meal Prep
by trogers5 on April 21, 2022
Portfolio
Caitlin Bartley ’24
At nighttime
girls are stripped bare,
washed and dried,
slathered in oils and moisturizers and serums,
and dressed in white silks.
So soft and sweet.
Girls are put to bed,
laid on linen sheets,
eight hours to sleep until the alarm rings.
This is how girls are prepped
to be devoured
by the male gaze.
At dinnertime
chickens are skinned,
washed and dried,
slathered in oils and herbs and spices,
and dressed in wine sauces.
So tender and tasty.
Chickens are put into the oven,
laid on baking sheets,
thirty minutes to cook until the timer beeps.
This is how chickens are prepped
to be devoured
by the carnivores.
Listomania
by trogers5 on April 21, 2022
Portfolio
Best Things to Find in an Easter Egg
- A $100 bill
- Tickets to Coachella
- Another smaller egg
- Those little foam dinosaurs that grow in water
- A coupon for free tuition
- The fat squirrel from the fall
- An engagement ring
- Full-sized Kanye
- A crumpled up exam answer sheet
- A personalized poem written by Dean Sears
Tiff and Earl
by trogers5 on April 21, 2022
Portfolio
Dear Tiff and Earl,
I was walking around campus today, and I can’t help but notice the fat squirrel from the fall is missing. I need to know if he survived the winter…any ideas as to where he is?
Sincerely,
Squirrel Enthusiast
Dear squirrel enthusiast,
I ate him.
Tiff
Dear Squirrel Enthusiast,
I have it on good authority that the fat squirrel from the fall has not only survived the winter, but he is absolutely thriving. While all the other squirrels went into hibernation, he went to the Concannon Fitness Center. He’s lost all the extra poundage and is now training to be a member of Team USA’s track and field team for the Summer 2024 Olympics.
God bless the USA!
Earl
His (Our) Odyssey
by trogers5 on April 21, 2022
Creative Non-Fiction
Aidan Lerner ’22
Bringggg. Bringggg. Bringggg.
As a unit, over eight hundred kids arose and walked toward the wing of classrooms. The full mass of the entire student body was not something which Eddie had ever taken for granted, given his claustrophobic instincts and fear of crowds. But on the list of triggering things in a high school, the morning scrum was relatively low and something to which Eddie had grown more accustomed.
Eddie’s first class was Spanish III and he was dreading it. Señora Mafrey demanded that no English be spoken from the beginning of her class to the end and the results were mixed, to say the least. Eddie slumped into his seat next to his friend Anthony.
“Hola Anthony. Como te weekend?” Eddie sputtered. “Tú escribes el homework? Eso sucked.”
“Hola, el homework made me hate my vida,” Anthony replied quickly and with much less effort.
“Solamente Español!” Señora Mafrey yelled.
Eddie sighed, exasperated. He grabbed the bathroom pass, a miniaturized mariachi-style guitar, and walked into the hall. It was during walks such as these when Eddie came to appreciate the simple design of his school’s hallway. The white brick and purple streaks were so much more appealing when observed alone.
Eddie took care of business in the first-floor bathroom. The smell of vape lingered as always, but Eddie counted himself lucky to not have encountered a squad of vapers. He washed his hands, considering how he could prolong his time outside of the classroom by taking a drink from the water fountain, when he heard a bang and the lights cut out.
Eddie was thrust into total darkness. Only the very edge of sunlight lingered around the corner where the hallway windows gave way to the outside world. Eddie felt his way along the wall and stumbled into the hallway. He had always hated the noise of hundreds of students, but now the silence was disconcerting.
As he looked out into the sunlight, Eddie saw something that thrust a chill into his stomach. There was a hole in the window. It was small and round and broken glass lay underneath it. The glare of the sun hurt Eddie’s eyes as he stared at the hole, wondering if it was the source of the bang he’d heard.
He walked towards it slowly, aware of every deep breath. He thought he could see something just beneath the glare. Maybe he saw someone dressed in so much black he might just be a shadow. Eddie stopped, and the shape did too. The lights flickered as Eddie reached the hole, staring into a shapeless, colorless thing. He was paralyzed by fear.
Against the black, a pop of yellow crawled out and multiplied. The sun was blinding him, but he heard the buzz of a hornet. Eddie could feel the air pouring through the hole.
“Attention students. This is a lockdown,” Principal O’Shaughnessy’s voice announced over the intercom.
Eddie jumped. The beekeeper, clad in all black, sealed the hole closed and backed away. The first hornet sting surprised Eddie more than hurt him, but his move to slap the bee away disturbed another. The second sting elicited a yell and freezing in place was no longer an option. Eddie wheeled away taking sting after sting all over his body, on his arms and legs.
Eddie sprinted around a corner, yelling and slapping the air. Eddie found the nearest classroom and dashed inside, nursing multiple nasty stings and gasping for air. For several seconds, the only thing Eddie was aware of was the absence of pain. Then, he became aware of the darkness as well as the sound of breath.
“Hello,” Eddie said into the silence. “Who’s there?”
Out of the shadows, a reply breathed into the empty room.
“I’m normal.”
“O–okay,” Eddie stammered, unnerved.
“I kissed a girl just last night. It smelled nice.”
Eddie was reaching for the doorknob, wincing with every creepy whisper that punctuated the dark.
“So, some of us are normal. We’re not all weird. We’re not all alone.”
Eddie found the doorknob. He asked, “Who’s ‘we?’”
The darkness laughed. “We’re you, you aren’t. I’m the punchline to her joke.”
“What?”
“I’m going to do it to you now,” he said. “I want you to know why. It’s because—”
Eddie leaned on the door and fell into the hallway, sliding and slamming the door behind him. He shot to his feet and ran. Adrenaline was failing him now, and he felt his stomach open up to a new level of fear he had not previously known. Instead of butterflies in his stomach, it felt like, well, hornets.
Finally, he saw light emanating from a classroom and burst inside, screaming for help. The violinist continued playing undeterred while a minster shuffled his notes.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome!” a girl in an elaborate dress greeted him. “Are you here for the bride or the groom?”
“What? No. Th-there’s a man with a you-know-what. We need to hi—”
“Oh, Cassie, don’t be silly,” a woman’s voice interrupted. “Eddie is the groom!”
Eddie turned to his right and saw his date to the prom, Allie, adorned in a full-length wedding gown.
Eddie was floored. “Allie, what the—“
Allie smiled wide. “Eddie, please marry me. It’s time to take the next step in our lives.”
“No, you don’t get it. There’s a guy out there with a thingy.”
Allie waved her arm dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure there is. No point worrying about that right now. The ceremony is about to begin! Look, I wore my prom dress!”
Eddie stared, mouth agape. “Allie, that’s a wedding dress.”
She laughed hysterically. “Eddie, I know you like me. Let’s just do it. I mean, are you really going to find anyone you like more than me?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” Eddie replied, “Couldn’t we just date first? Also, I’m a little distracted at the moment.”
If Allie was disappointed, she did not show it. “Okay! I’m going to go marry that guy then! Take a seat!”
“Alright,” Eddie said, baffled.
The music swelled as Allie walked towards the minister and her new groom. Eddie took a seat and tried to listen to their vows. Allie got a laugh from the attendees when she asked the minister to remind her of the groom’s name. Then, the groom died.
He fell like a bag of bricks, and the sound echoed through the classroom. No one moved or made a sound except Allie, who turned to face the audience. Her face was half-covered in red, but she was smiling as radiantly as ever.
“Okay, folks! Looks like we are going to switch gears here and have a little child funeral!” Allie turned to the minister. “Minister, I assume you packed your child funeral materials?”
“Yes of course,” the minister replied. “I never leave home without my child funeral toolbox. Before we begin, does anyone wish to say a few words about the deceased?”
Eddie craned his head and recognized the shape of the man walking forward. He walked to the front and placed his thing down carefully behind him. As he spoke, Eddie realized that the man was really a boy.
“Why I did it,” the boy said slowly. “You arrogant little tyrants. You grow up here all fat and happy, sucking the life out of people with real problems. No. You don’t know true adversity, true pain, until it arrives without warning. It strikes from the dark and makes the continuation of your life feel unfortunate. You should thank me. All of you have everything one can have except suffering. And now you have it.”
Eddie stared into the eyes of a boy, brimming with pain.
The shadow continued, “So, why did I do it?” The boy grinned. “I did it because it was WAY easier than solving derivatives in AP Calc!”
Everyone, including the boy, devolved into hysterics. The sound of laughter drowned out all else; even the minister had tears of mirth streaming down his face.
Eddie shook his head. He had had enough. Still clutching the mariachi guitar bathroom pass, he left and began the walk towards his Spanish III classroom. Behind him, the lights flickered on and Principal O’Shaughnessy announced that the lockdown was over.
Eddie opened the door and walked towards the desk with his name on it. He joined his classmates in standing with his hand on his heart..
“I pledge allegiance to the flag…”
Statements of Fact and Trying Not to Look Stupid
by trogers5 on April 8, 2022
Creative Non-Fiction
Fiona Clarke ’23
Welcome back to “Stupid Things People Say.” This week, our topic is “Living in the State of the Obvious (And Why You Should Immigrate).”
A few years ago, I was minding my own business at soccer practice, surrounded by a gaggle of chirping teenage girls, waiting in line for my turn to take a shot on the goal and watching in great dejection as my teammates continually missed the ball with their lumbering feet. My contemplation of fallen women was interrupted by the girl in front of me turning around and looking me dead in the eye for several seconds. Just as I began to break out in a cold sweat, this bright bulb said: “You have very blue eyes,” and turned back around. I was relieved that she had not started speaking in tongues, or cast some sort of hex on me, but I was also flummoxed. It was neither a compliment for which I could express gratitude nor an insult to which I could deliver a scathing comeback (read: gibber silently in rage). It was a statement of fact that opened up no avenue for conversation. I have no idea what I said in response, if I said anything at all other than “Oh.” With that characteristic raw honesty, I might have said “Yes, I know.” I might have feigned sweet ignorance and said, “Oh, really?” I have no idea.
I am well aware that I have blue eyes. I should be at this point; enough people have told me so by now. Yet I feel that I have never offered a suitable response to this sort of statement of fact. I wish I had the nerve to immediately point out the idiocy of whatever remark just dribbled into my ears and took up valuable space in my brain. I wish I had the grace to do so gently, and I wish I had the smarts to do so intelligibly on the spot. But in the moment, when someone tells me, as if he were proclaiming the terrible descent of the Lord in fire and hail, with all the strut and vigor of one garbed in camel hair, reeking of honey, crunching locusts beneath his feet, that I have blue eyes, all I can muster is a small sputtering wheeze and a foolish stretch of the jaw in sad mimicry of a grin. Now I’m the one who looks like an idiot. That’s just not fair. It’s just not right. If only people would stop telling me things I already know, I would look so much smarter all the time.
King Slayer
by trogers5 on April 8, 2022
Portfolio
Toni Rendon ’24
Here I am standing on a hill
Not at the top
Just here on the hill
Made up of the bodies of the kings I’ve killed
Their blood trickles onto the ground
Barely making a sound and washing my past in red
Their crowns’ weight bowing my head
Suffocating the last of the innocence I had
My sins lay naked before me in my chambers
But I’ll have to confront them later
For tonight another castle I must storm
So, I pick up my sword and blow the war horn
Another crown added to the weight
The previous owner dragged through the street
Only to be thrown on top of the hill
Just another body of a king I’ve killed
Now here I sit at the top
Looking over the land stained red from the blood that I spilled
My sword is rusted, and my face is old
My skin just a bag for bones
The final head drops
The crowns roll
The old story of a king slayer
Waiting to be told
Wish!
by trogers5 on April 8, 2022
Portfolio
Marelle Hipolito ’22
There is wet sand stuck in my wet hair.
There is wet sand stuck in my sweatshirt, and in between my toes,
but I don’t care.
I’m busy looking up at the night sky with you,
rooting for a shooting star.
Not many things have been going our way.
Life has been lonely, and it has not been fair.
Maybe making a wish will turn things around.
There is wet sand stuck in my wet hair.
There is wet sand stuck in my sweatshirt, and in between my toes,
But I don’t care.
I’m looking up at the night sky with you,
Rooting for a shooting—
OH! LOOK! Did you see that?
A beautiful, bright shooting star!
It was quick as a blink, but unmistakable,
A beautiful, bright shooting star!
I turn to tell you to make a wish
But then I remember
that you are not here.
So I turn back around
And I wish
it was not just me, alone,
With wet sand stuck in my wet hair.
Listomania
by trogers5 on April 8, 2022
Portfolio
Artists We Should’ve Had For Spring Concert
- Pitbull
- The Rock
- Will Smith (ft. Chris Rock)
- Machine Gun Kelly
- Frank Sinatra (hologram version)
- Macklemore
- Doja Cat
- Kanye West (featuring Skeet)
- Travis Scott
- Dr. Taylor Swift
- Shawn Mendes (post breakup tour?)
- Rihanna (post hiatus tour?)
- Ed Sheeren
- My Chemical Romance
- Big Time Rush (without Dixie D’Amelio) (sans Carlos)
- R. Kelly (from prison)
- The Friar Band