Tag: Portfolio
I Can’t Stop Thinking About Gorillas
by Fiona Clarke '23 on October 20, 2022
Portfolio Staff
Portfolio
I’ve never been afraid of the Mafia, but when my parents were informed that the house that they were on the verge of buying was a Mafia safe house, I was thrilled. Even after someone explained to me that it was a safe house for the Mafia, not a safe house from the Mafia, I remained convinced that we’d be safer there than anywhere else in New England. Better the Mafia you know than the Mafia you don’t, I thought. My parents were not so sure, so we moved to a tiny Massachusetts town where our greatest causes for concern are that the garbage disposal company is in cahoots with the Irish mob and that mysterious trucks from a swimming pool company roar ominously down our dead-end country road several times a day.
A few years prior on the other side of the country, we almost moved into the house whose exterior was used for the Palmer House in the 1990s series Twin Peaks. As if this weren’t exciting enough, the town was also home to four prisons. At the age of ten, I didn’t quite get why this caused my mother so much worry. Growing up, I spent hours imagining how I would escape prison, devising schemes wilder than the Count of Monte Cristo’s. I was often a captive soldier in my brothers’ war games, or one of Robin Hood’s men imprisoned by the Sheriff of Nottingham, or a hobbit in the hands of trolls and Orcs, or an Elizabethan Catholic hiding from the Anglicans. The toy towns my siblings and I constructed invariably included a church, a saloon, and a lockup that would have made Guantanamo look like a gingerbread house. If I ended up in prison, I thought, I’d be out before long. It was a few years before I realized that my mother’s fear was not that her children would end up on the inside, but that someone else would end up on the outside. (Let it be noted that I still think I could escape from prison. Easily.)
I once tried to make a list of my own fears—and what was on that list, you ask? Let it suffice to say that if I had been roaming the earth when God sent the mighty rains, I would have taken my chances with the flood rather than set foot on Noah’s Ark. My childhood nightmares were filled with coyotes, bears, whales, bats, owls, snakes, panthers, and, above all, gorillas. The horror of gorillas runs in the family. My brother, two years older than me, would wander into a sibling’s or parents’ room in the middle of the night, and, greeted by either loving concern or an exasperated “What-the-hell-are-you-doing-go-back-to-bed-or-I’ll-give-you-something-to-be-afraid-of”, he would say, plaintively: “I can’t stop thinking about gorillas.” I don’t know what he was thinking about, but my own intrusive, primate thoughts almost always involved being taken captive and kept in the jungle. I was sure I could escape from a maximum-security prison, but I had no hope of escaping from a gorilla.
I’ve often wondered if my brother’s and my shared fear of gorillas had anything to do with the three gorilla statues in a neighbor’s yard, or with the Kix-like cereal called Gorilla Munch. But I loved the gorilla statues. They were a neighborhood spectacle. They weren’t just any gorillas; their owners dressed them up. Taking a family walk to see them was a treat, not a punishment. The gorilla on the box of Gorilla Munch, though, still gives me the creeps. He stares me down and looks like he’s going to leap off the box and pummel me, or, worse, pick me up, toss me over his shoulder, carry me off to his tree in the jungle, and peel me like a banana. But am I afraid of the Munch Gorilla because I’m afraid of gorillas, or am I afraid of gorillas because of the Munch Gorilla? As one of my Civ professors used to say at the end of his lectures: “Anyway, things to think about…”
The Forest Trail
by Connor Rohan '24 on October 20, 2022
Portfolio Staff
Portfolio
I wish I’d never set foot outside that day. I wish I’d stayed home. Ever since that day, I’ve felt a strange emptiness, like a part of me is missing.
It was a gentle fall afternoon and I wasn’t trying to do anything, like usual. Well, anything except moving as little as possible. I was snuggled under a huge blanket with my snacks and my phone, and I had just decided on what show to binge on Netflix for the sixth time.
Suddenly, my friend called and told me about this really cool forest path they had found. They decided they wanted to explore the path and wanted me to come along with them. I, of course, told them they sounded insane; it was bad enough that it was almost dark out, but now they wanted me to explore a path they had just found. Absolutely not.
I should’ve declined and continued watching my show. I should’ve ignored their pleas and persistence, made a decision on my own… but I didn’t. Instead, I got up from my comfort cocoon and put on a coat and pants, then went outside to wait for them to pick me up.
We drove for what seemed like twenty minutes before finally pulling into a parking lot of a seemingly abandoned building. My body was screaming for me to ask to go home, but my friend looked excited, so I shrugged those feelings off and put them in the back of my mind. I tried to convince myself that it would be fun. I was led through the abandoned building before we stopped at a large hole in a wall leading out to a broken rusty fence followed by a seemingly empty stretch of wood.
This is when I finally opened my mouth to protest.
“I thought you said this was a forest path,” I said. “Not a creepy, abandoned, broken-down building.”
My friend only smiled and replied, “Oh, there is a forest path! It’s just a little out of the way.”
“Out of the way?” I blurted incredulously. “This isn’t just out of the way. This is the type of place people go to get murdered. Have you never seen a horror movie?”
My friend looked confused. “I have,” they said, then turned and made their way through the hole.
Reluctantly, I followed, as I didn’t want them to get lost or worse. We crouched under the broken rusty fence and explored deeper into the woods, and as we walked, my nerves started to settle. The forest was pretty; the evening air felt nice on my face. Plus, my friend seemed to know where they were going. A smile slowly crept onto my face as I silently enjoyed the walk. It was quiet and peaceful. The building we had walked through was now gone from view, but I wasn’t worried. As a precaution, I had been marking trees along the path with tiny bits of glow-in-the-dark tape just in case we got lost. As we walked, it slowly started getting darker, and my nerves started to rise again.
“Shouldn’t we start heading back before it’s too dark?” I asked, a hint of worry in my voice.
“Ah, we’ll be fine!” they responded. “We still have plenty of light left! Besides, you’ve been leaving a trail of tape, right?”
That did little to reassure me. “But what if one of us gets hurt and we have no cell service?”
“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.”
“Of course, I don’t want to. But I can’t exactly leave you behind. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.”
“You’re worrying too much. I’ll be okay; I promise.”
Despite my friend’s claim, I still felt uneasy about leaving them alone, so I swallowed my fear and continued forward, when suddenly my friend broke out into a run.
“Hey! Wait! Slow down!!” I called as I chased after them.
“I think I see something up ahead!”
What did that mean? My heart pounded against my chest. I just wanted to go home.
Suddenly, we came to a clearing. We both stopped to catch our breath and my heart refused to stop racing.
“Woah! Check it out!” My friend pointed into the clearing, and what I saw made me sick.
Before us was a large stone cube covered in symbols, darker even than the unwelcoming woods around us. Around the stone were dozens of faceless human statues. They were all different sizes and body types, each sporting different bodily expressions.
“Woah,” my friend said, before casually approaching the murder cube.
“Isn’t this so cool?” they said with an unhealthy amount of excitement in their voice.
“Cool? It’s terrifying!! I don’t think we should be here!”
“Think I should touch it?” my friend asked with a grin.
I shook my head violently at the question. “No, you shouldn’t touch it! What If it’s dangerous?”
My friend only laughed. “It’s a rock! How dangerous can it really be?” And with that declaration, they laid their hand on it. Nothing happened…
“See? It’s not a big deal!” They laughed triumphantly, but those laughs quickly turned to screams as stones slowly built up around their body. Their eyes were filled with fear, they tried to move but couldn’t. They reached out to me for help but no matter what I tried, I couldn’t do anything. I was crying, and they were crying, screaming in pain as the stone covered more of their body, until suddenly the screaming stopped.
I stood up, now facing a faceless statue that reached out to me. I shivered at its eeriness. I wanted to go home. I couldn’t remember coming out here all by myself. I don’t even remember how I had found this place to begin with; all I knew was that the stones were creepy, and I wanted out. So, I followed a tape trail back to the building and continued walking until I was at the empty parking lot. Not a single car was in sight, so I called an Uber home.
Since that day, I feel like I’ve been missing something. My body feels like someone cut something out of it, and I can’t figure out what that is… that part of me is back in the forest… but I’m never going back there. There’s nothing of importance to me there.
The Season of the Witch
by Caitlin Bartley '24 on October 20, 2022
Portfolio Staff
Portfolio
Dark sweaters, messy hair,
Something odd is in the air.
Flushed cheeks, wide grins,
Goosebumps traveling up skin.
Boiling potions, brews of caffeine,
The steam leaves little to be seen.
Frantic pacing, long nights,
Someone has turned out the lights.
Wild winds, scratchy threads,
Nails painted in the deepest red,
Sweet lips, pumpkin pie,
They have fun making boys cry.
Stunning creatures, the women of fall,
Their power has nature in thrall,
Lively eyes, laughs in high pitch,
October is the season of the witch.
Nightmare on Elm Street
by Anna Pomeroy '23 on October 20, 2022
Portfolio Staff
Portfolio
He lurks in the streets,
Avoiding the illuminating glare of street lamps.
Passing each house, you can feel his presence in your heartbeat.
You fight the urge to sleep,
Dozing in and out. You’ve tried everything to stay awake
But as your eyelids close, darkness creeps upon your pupils.
Not summoned by the lack of light from your closed eyes,
But a figure of darkness that lurks in your state of slumber.
Preying on humans in their most vulnerable sleep,
He inhabits dreams and Nightmares.
Hispanic Heritage Month
by Mariela Flores '23 on October 7, 2022
Portfolio Staff
Portfolio
Quien soy yo, si no una flor rompida de la tierra de mi madre, de mi padre.
Who am I, if not a flower ripped from the soil of my mother, of my father.
Tierra que una vez era mía––o así dicen. Tierra de gente con piel de oro.
Land that was once mine––or so they say. The land of people with skin like gold.
Quien soy yo, si no alguien robada de algo mejor.
Who am I, if not someone robbed of something better.
Una ceremonia para el sol, una canción para la tierra, un sacrificio para un dios.
A ceremony for the sun, a song for the earth, a sacrifice for a god.
Yo no se quien soy. Yo no sé a quién fui.
I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who I’ve been.
Celebrando herencia con otra vida en mente.
Celebrating heritage with another life in mind.
Quiero saber––quiero conocer a mis ancestros, entender su lenguaje.
I want to know––I want to meet my ancestors; I want to understand their language.
Pero los quemaron. Ahora son polvo, hundiéndose en el fondo de nuestra historia.
But they burned them. They are now dust sinking to the bottom of our history.
Que descansen en paz. Que descansen en paz. Que descansen en paz.
May they rest in peace. May they rest in peace. May they rest in peace.
“Tea Time”
by Sara Junkins '23 on October 6, 2022
Portfolio Staff
Portfolio
Step right up.
Which hat will you put on today?
All are made in the old-fashioned way,
An eternal quality each does hold,
Passed down from times of old.
Those who wore them
Were no different from
You or I,
So what do you say,
Do you dare try—
To don or not,
That is the question.
Ribbons of mercury dance
As imperceptible perfume
Seeping into the bonnets,
Snaking between the vibrant rows
Of peacock plumes and glitzy gauze,
Lavish lace et cher chiffon…
Shimmering.
Beguiling.
Glorious to behold
Through the hypnotic haze.
Nothing new under the moon,
Hats that will make you swoon,
Yet you should think twice,
Beware the real price…
Sold in the style of slander,
Accessorized with accusation,
Gossip guised
Behind jaw-dropping gems.
Spinning silk stories
Of artifice
Yet speaker nor subject
Receive any glory.
Destructive diadems
Demolishing identities,
Intoxicating us
With words of death.
Mad as hatters,
We pour poison
Into the porcelain
Placed around the table.
As host,
We implore
“Drink and see,”
When one inquires
“What’s the tea?”
Yearly Tradition
by Connor Rohan '24 on October 6, 2022
Portfolio Staff
Portfolio
My favorite time of the year is coming up. Finally, a chance for me to express myself and be who I want to be! The world is so beautiful around this time as well! The leaves change from green to red and orange, like the trees captured sunset in their leaves. People bundle up and decorate the world with scary things. I’m especially excited this year, since I was chosen by the great ones. I’ve always dreamed of being picked. Jealous, I’ve watched friends and family be chosen. Able to serve their purpose. Taken from our home and given a new one full of love and joy. They must love their homes so much because none that have been picked have ever come back. And why would you want to? It’s an honor to even exist around them. I can’t believe they finally chose me. I’m on my way to my new home now. When I get there, they show me around a giant room, which I soon learn is something called a kitchen. I love how gentle they are with me. It makes me feel incredibly special. I know things are going to be perfect. After a while, they leave me by myself. Probably didn’t want to overwhelm me since this is all new to me. I am tired though, so I find myself nodding off, in my new house. It is warm, full of light, and much nicer than my previous home. I wish things would stay this way.
I don’t know how long I was asleep, but I eventually woke up to the feeling of a sharp pain near the top of my head. Startled and groggy, I have no idea what is going on. I can’t see anything; it is much darker than before. I have been moved from my spot in the kitchen and now reside on some paper on the floor. I am confused and the pain won’t go away. I start to panic. I want to call for help but I don’t know if anyone can hear. That’s when I feel them…hands on my body, holding me down as the pain spreads in a circle around the top of my head. I scream in agony, but my screams fall on deaf ears. I can feel hands removing the top of my head…reaching inside me and removing my insides. Ripping out my guts and casting them aside…I am helpless as they hollow me out, each scoop causing searing agony that I can do nothing to lessen or prevent. Then the pain returns. This time on my body…They carve triangles onto me. Each movement erupts in ceaseless agony across my entire body.
Why are you doing this? What did I do wrong? Is this a punishment? I thought I was good! Please stop! PLEASE!
This is what I try to scream. I want to beg for them to stop, beg for this nightmare to be over, but my pleas are only met with the sounds of joy and laughter. The carving stops and I can feel empty spaces where my body used to be. I’m not whole anymore…Perhaps the punishment is done…but then comes the worst part: the fire. They put it inside me, resting the fire on where my insides used to be. My body burns. The pain is unbearable, it takes all I have to not pass out from it. But I am terrified that if I fall asleep again I will wake up to something even worse. I can’t take it. The pain from the fire spreads throughout my body, entering the empty spaces that are carved away, causing searing agony. It is too much, and I find myself going unconscious once again. I don’t know how long I am out this time, I want to wake up. I am having a nightmare.
That’s it! This isn’t real! I’ll open my eyes and everything will be okay!
And that’s when I feel it. Cold. Biting at the holes and the flame inside my body. Freezing the exterior of my body. I shiver and open my eyes. They cast me out of my new home. I am forced to sit at the doorway of warmth without being able to feel it. I desperately want to be back inside. I am even willing to forgive them for what they have done to me.
I’ll apologize for being bad. Please just let me back in. I forgive you for punishing me!
But they ignore me, my pleas not even reaching them. They keep me there, outside in the cold, for days…weeks…I lose track of time. As time passes, I can feel myself getting weaker. My once-hard exterior is now soft and weak. I have lost my natural color, becoming a sickly greenish brown. The searing pain I felt the first day I was chosen is long gone and replaced by emptiness. I long for the days I had the fire inside me. As much as it hurt it kept me warm.
And that’s when it happens: one of the great ones picks me up. Finally! My punishment is over! I am being allowed back inside the warmth and safety of my new home! Yet we aren’t going towards the doors to the home, but to the woods. Suddenly I feel myself being lifted into the air…then I am flying. As I fall towards the ground, I see the broken and rotten bodies of those I was jealous of previously scattered across the forest floor…I’m not jealous anymore.
What Happens Between the Hours of 4:00 A.M. and 2:00 P.M.
by Taylor Maguire '24 on October 6, 2022
Portfolio Staff
Creative Non-Fiction
I woke up early to the sounds of a stranger’s snores filling the air. You could tell it was early in the morning because the birds weren’t chirping yet. Crumpled paper hearts and record covers were peppered around the walls of the room, blue LED lights lined along the ceiling and a stolen stop sign stood as a trophy by the door. I looked down to discover myself wearing a t-shirt that read “Best Ex-Boyfriend” in big chunky letters and a pair of someone’s highschool basketball sweatpants. I shimmed out of the navy blue duvet I was tucked under, climbed over overlapping limbs, and tiptoed over dreaming bodies until I reached the door. As I descended the staircase, I saw what could only be described at the Island of Misfit Toys sprawled around a fraternity living room. People slept on couches, curled up on the floor with bathroom mats acting as blankets, their arms as makeshift pillows. I noticed a coat rack full of jackets by the front door. I quickly grabbed one of those oversized shearling corduroy jackets and slung it around my shoulders, completing my treasure trove of borrowed clothing, before closing the door silently behind me. At first it’s very still and quiet, the usual weekend visitors that had once crowded the streets have now vanished into their little boxes with windows that shine inauthentic colors of yellow, pink and blue. Quietly and quickly, snow begins to wrap the streets in a blanket of white. You could believe that this specific moment in time mirrors the winter wonderland trapped inside the snow globe you had in your childhood bedroom. I watch as the wind scoops up the flickers of snow with its nurturing hands and drapes them around the sky, making them appear to be a herd of flying insects taking part in a syncranative dance above me. I walk down the six blocks alone before I manage to clamber back inside my own home. The smell of apple cinnamon welcomes me with a warm hug, as I abandon the stranger’s jacket on the little hooks stationed by our door. Ramona’s ex-boyfriend sleeps soundly on our couch, drool dripping onto our couch. I hurry up to my room, letting sleep take me again.
The laughter from my three roommates stirs me awake as they discuss the events from the night before. Ramona’s flipping pancakes when I arrive, her makeup from the night before still smudged along her eyelids.
“Joalie! You’re here. Whose clothes are those?” Eloise asks. Eloise looks like a mermaid. She has blonde wavy hair that hangs along her back like dwindling ivy that cuts off at the small of her back. She’s wearing a chunky sweater that shows a snippet of a scene from Vermont and gray sweatpants she stole from Brandy Melville when she was 15.
“They’re Doonie’s aren’t they?” Natalie asks.
“Yeah they’re Doonie’s,” I nod.
“I knew it,” Ramona calls.
“Hey Ramona, Joshua owes us a new couch. There’s a little drool splotch that still hasn’t dried,” I say.
“Wait, Joshua was here? Ramona, no!” Natalie says with dramatic disappointment.
“What happened with Doonie?” Ramona asks, avoiding the subject.
“Well, we kissed, and then I told him I had to use the bathroom, then I fell asleep in his roommate’s bed.”
“Which one?” Eloise asks.
“Was it the dumb blonde one with the freckles? He’s cute,” Ramona says. “Oh my god did you sleep with the dumb one? I tried talking to him once but it was like the lights were on and no one was home,” Natalie says.
“God no, Doonie actually was asleep next to me.”
“In his roommate’s room…” Natalia says with a quizzical look.
“Where’d his roommate sleep?” Ramona asks.
“Oh don’t worry, he was still in his room. He just slept on his floor, with the girl from our philosophy class cuddled up beside him actually,” I say.
“I don’t know why you are avoiding Doonie, he’s perfect for you,” Eloise says, scooting her chair closer to mine.
“He’s got the most beautiful hazel eyes, and that hair, Joalie. You could get lost in those curls,” Ramona says.
“And he loves Phoebe Bridgers. Not ironically either. I think he may even love her more than you do,” Eloise says, elbowing my ribs.
“Fuck off,” I smile.
“I am serious, Joalie. You are totally smitten with him too. Don’t even try and deny it,” Eloise says.
Ramona places a stack of pancakes in the middle of the table before she sits criss-crossed on the chair across from me. I stare past them at the snowstorm camouflaging our home in snow.
“You’re endgame. I know it,” Eloise sighs. “Now eat your pancakes,”
Tiff and Earl
by The Cowl Editor on October 6, 2022
Portfolio
Dear Tiff and Earl,
This past weekend, Khalid came to PC and put on a really good show! I want to get more into his music, as I had never really listened to his stuff before the concert. Any songs you’d recommend and why?
Thank you!
Newly Converted Khlowns (this is Khalid’s fandom btw)
Dear NCK,
Khalid’s music is great! If you liked the music he played at the concert, I’d definitely recommend his album American Teen! There, you’ll get his classic hits like “8TEEN,” “Location,” and “Young, Dumb, and Broke!” For some slightly less mainstream music, you can check out his recently released song “Satellite,” or peep some of his unreleased music that was leaked on YouTube!
Keep Rocking!
Earl
Dear Khlowns,
The only “pop” song I know is “Tequila.” You’ve come to the wrong place.
Cheers!
Tiff
Listomania
by The Cowl Editor on October 6, 2022
Portfolio
Things to hide from my parents before they visit
- My extensive stash of alcohol
- My Urban Outfitters corset
- My credit card statement
- My unopened textbooks
- My shot glasses
- My “White Lies” T-shirt
- My bowl
- The 100s of opened tabs on my laptop
- My significant other’s sweatshirts (they think I’m single)
- My significant other