Writing | View Fall 2017 Issue

Montville Township Public Schools

Montville Muse Staff

Co-Editors in Chief: Shreya Mahajan & Pooja Shetty
Sr. Fiction Editor: Vicki Iasso
Jr. Fiction Editor: Kelly Phalen
Sr. Non-Fiction Editor: Amna Al Obaidi
Jr. Non-Fiction Editor: Sarah Samdani
Sr. Poetry Editor: Mia Teresa
Jr. Poetry Editors: Chelsea Burns & Claudia Colatrella
Sr. Staff Writer: Brian Laurito
PR: Kelly Chan & Emily Chen
Art Directors: Mikaila Ullal & Shikha Shah
Advisors: Mrs. Kurland and Mrs. Zoppo

Submit Your Writing:

i saw flowers in his eyes—
           wilted
drowning in the pain of
           words
whispered from pale lips cracked
like dry malevolence of their hearts

a face stained red with tears
and flames rushing to the skin,
he would not bleed for them.

wildfires are good.
they burn dead brush once lush,
make room for life reborn

the soot in his irises settled,
stale tears washed away—
tears once taunted

i see flowers in his eyes—
           gilded
dancing in a sunlit breath
           incandescent,
no longer lackluster
like the dull transparency of their

fading

voices

sunflowers by Emily Chen

She left no feet for doubt

Her hips can’t handle no further.

She dug these graves of ground

Till her fingers cursed the numbness.

She saw tomorrow’s face

Shine

Towards her.

But, her smile

Reflected silence

That wave no flag of thunder.

The tongue of the night

Was threaded into her eyes

But, she gave no look forward.

She swam through galaxies

Far across the distance

Through bent stars

And wide cracks of hunger.

Till she reached the point of wonder.

Still her feet crossed the distance

And her scorched shoulders

Dug through inches

Then, she curled to rest

On tomorrow’s shoulders.

Her eyes hugging the light

With open arms.

The Tribulations of Being Human by Anonymous

you told me you loved:

me, because i was like gold

burning brighter than a flame,

moonlight dreams & low sapphire tides,

used books that had more than one story,

drinking coffee only from teacups,

going on runs at 7 PM so you could see the

bleeding sky,

jeans frayed & folded at the ends,

glasses sitting on the tip of your nose,

earrings that decorated your ears like

constellations,

beat up sneakers that were almost always untied.

you told me you loved me,

until one day i was silver and no longer

gold.

tell me you love me by Anonymous

Could it be?

Both all around you and buried within you,

In every aspect of your world and, at the same time,

Only to be found within your lungs.

The breath of your lungs, the exhale, the letting it go,

Only to realize you must once again take it in.

All of it.

A cry for all that was good and, now, all that is lost.

Leaving you lost, wrestling, questioning,

What could possibly quench this thirst of my soul?

Yet, in this darkest space I hear it,

The whisper a thousand times magnified.

Here, I listen to it beg: Go on.

For that is the only way.

To accumulate the pain, to reassemble the broken pieces,

To know it’s there, to accept it’s presence,

And to pray for a tomorrow.

To open up your eyes for just a moment,

And find your story far beyond complete.

To know that this tenderness inside you,

It reigns with purpose, much bigger than what can be seen.

One day, though, you’ll find it: a promise.
You will breathe it in, and let it go,

Hanging on to the hope,

Holding on to tomorrow.

Holding onto Tomorrow by Claudia Colatrella

writer’s block.

my eyes burn -

from staring at a computer screen for

what seemed like hours, months, years

my fingers freeze upon the keyboard

no will to spill soul-touching poetry

no agony to write heartfelt tragedies

just a chilled indifference

fills me, plagues me,

blocking my desire to write

everything i’m feeling

everytime my heart is bleeding

everytime my mind unspools like film

i keep sitting in this goddamn chair, waiting

for an epiphany?

for god to speak to me?

i don’t hear anything but my own

b r e a t h i n g

soft and still,

trembling in a dance

with a quiet mind.

but writers aren’t allowed to have quiet minds.

writer's block by Pooja Shetty

View Spring 2017 Issue

View Fall 2016 Issue

Voicemail by Victoria Iasso

Noise cancelling headphones slide over my ears, the end plugged into my keyboard, volume reaching the highest capacity. I rest my fingers on the keys, an ache deep within my heart ceases beauty. I dig my nails into my palm, squinting my eyes to hold back tears.

Beyond the realm of headphones are the frantic voices of my flustered parents. Each scream attempting to out-do the other. Their arguments have become irrelevant to those listening but of high importance in their minds.

I wipe a fallen tear from beneath my eye, discarding it onto the floor along with scraps of torn paper. My journal - a gift from my dad that my mom decided wasn't worth keeping, not thinking to ask the owner before destroying it.

I throw my fingers onto the keys, a disarray of noises blare into my ears. I lift the headphones for a moment, hearing silence, hoping the thunder has passed, but the yelling continues. My hand searches for the phone that was tossed onto my bed a little while before. Finding it quickly, I speed dial Mark, hoping he's available.

Three rings bring me to voicemail.

I call again.

Two rings. Voicemail.

I drive my phone into the carpet along with the headphones, ripping my body away from the piano, tears flowing at raging speeds. My feet stomp over to my dresser, a clean scissor calling my name. No I shake my head. Not again. You promised that you wouldn't. My lip curls, a heaving noise escapes. I don't have a choice.

You killed me -

bury it to let go

put on a smile so my friends know

i’ll be alright

i still see the light

find myself so i can grow

i am alone

never thought You could make me this cold

float in the middle of the ocean

rip my brain out to escape the commotion

won’t stop

cathartic in the dark feelings raw

replay it like a record

smash it to pieces like i did to myself

because i put my happiness in You

wrong move

permanent bruise

did you think of what You would lose?

me and You

You shot in the dark

dead of the night

my worst fears came true

look down and see the bullet in my heart

bleeding blue

look at me now i’m see through

show You my scars and all You can say is sorry

You’re trying to be there but it’s just reminding me--

i’m suffocating can’t breath

let me find me

grieve the space so i can find peace

float in the middle of the ocean

going through the motions

You killed me but forgot to silence my emotions

rip my brain out to escape the commotion

dead of the night

look me in the eye

when did you know?

You used to make me glow

now i walk the plank forced to grow

i am on my own

swim good

FLOAT by Mia Teresa

Or contact us at themusemths@gmail.com if you have any questions and/or want to submit your writing and art!

Untitled by Brian Laurito

The angel came last night

and took my love away.

I saw her lying there this morning

and knew everything had changed.

Where once there was color

now there’s only gray,

Where once there was happiness

now there’s only pain.

I know this feeling will fade

But for now it’s where I stay

However, it gets easier

Every

Single

Day.

Gold by Shreya Mahajan

“Oh, Granny,” he drawled, in a singsong voice. “Where are you?”

There was no response, so he stopped in his tracks and listened for a bit. The pitter-patter of running water was soon heard and he bounded up the stairs, not bothering to muffle the sound of his footsteps.

Steam billowed out from underneath the bathroom door and a soft singing voice floated into his ears.

How can she stand there and just sing? How can she just sing when nothing is alright anymore?

The simple rawness of her voice infuriated him more than he already was.

Nutty old lady.

Mere moments later, the water shut off and the singing dropped to a soft murmur. Now all there was left to do was wait.

But how am I going to do it? Should I use a-

The door swung open and his gran stepped out, muttering to herself.

“Where’s the soap? I think I’ll go with lavender this time. But how am I supposed to get the darned thing off? Oh, Kyle!”

In spite of himself, he smiled a wide smile.

“Hey Gran!”

“Hi baby. You have perfect timing Kyle, as usual. Come, help me get this dreadful necklace off, I just can’t seem to reach the clasp,” she chuckled.

He obeyed and stepped closer to her, hands going to her neck as she turned around. As her arms went up to pull away the few strands of white hair she had left, Kyle noticed how sickly pale and saggy her skin had actually become.

Her fingers were gnarly old tree branches, left to decay because the termite that was arthritis had attacked them. His heart went out to her, but he brought himself back to reality as soon as he realized where his thoughts were going.

Can’t chicken out now, Kyle.

Mind whirring in a million different directions and teeming with a million different ideas, Kyle’s big fingers gently took ahold of the tiny necklace clasp. As he struggled with it, he struggled with the idea of-

“Kyle, dear, what’s the holdup? My bath water is getting cold. I was sure a strong man like you could have got this open in a jiffy for me,” Gran joked.

That’s it!

“Just a sec, Gran. Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon,” he smirked.

And with that, he looped the back of the thick gold chain around his fingers and pulled. Pulled hard enough to make her gasp for air, hard enough for her to desperately claw at her neck and his arms. She was a fish out of water. He pulled until she slumped backwards onto him.

Hoisting her into his arms, he deposited her in the bathtub, pushing her face beneath the water. With the heel of his shoe, he shifted the mat until it was slightly askew and dropped a few bottles and makeup brushes in choice positions on the floor. No one would ever know.

And that’s what you get for cutting me out of your will.

The Girl Who Was My Sun by Emily Chen

She called me that day in the summer after fifth grade, saying things that made me bleed. I stood in the foyer and watched as warm sunlight flooded through frosted windows. Suddenly, the light was too bright for my eyes. She said that she wouldn't be going to school with me anymore––that she was leaving me. But it wasn't just her. Part of my heart left me too, because she would be leaving behind a void I could never fill. She left knowing all too well that she was leaving me alone on the dark side of the moon that we used to share, but I guess

sharing was not caring after all.

She never bothered to call after that. That last phone call was flames falling on the horizon as the sun vanished into oblivion. Darkness was harsh, and I was thrown into the dim obscurity of judgmental and mocking hormonal pre-teens known as middle school. The sun never shined much anymore.

She was fine, though. But, how could she be fine? Four years of being each other's suns and she had already adapted to living in the darkness? I didn’t know how she could feel so free while I felt trapped in my own solitude. It took me years to realize that I was never really her light. I was her moon, orbiting around her, falling in earthly shadows like a lunar eclipse

She called me on the last day of eighth grade. She was two years late, but I didn't care.

“Hey, you there?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you?”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

I told myself I had been fine in the dark. I didn’t need the burning sun on my skin. But the more I sat frozen in blackness, the more I realized that sun and moon cannot survive alone. Without her, I was alone and vulnerable, but, even with careful words and sheltered feelings, having my best friend here was my warmth, the only thing that kept away the darkness. Without me, she

was a fire with no companion––insignificant.

The calls were short, sweet. I guess they didn’t hold as much for her as they did for me, but that was fine. It took revolutions and orbit to get back to where we once were, but we refused to move back in time.

Cracks of piercing light shone through, their asteroids streaking through empty sky and into our hearts.

She was the only thing that could keep away the shadows, and she gave me back the sun as fast as she had taken it away.

Brutal Changes by Shreya Mahajan

As I approached the stadium, the roar of the crowd reached my ears. I gulped, hand involuntarily reaching for the sword that was strapped to my side, trying to hide my nervousness from the nosy ‘psychics’ that milled around the entrance to the stadium. But I had been spotted.

A woman dressed in outlandish purple robes and a silk turban sauntered up to me, swaying her hips in a manner that anyone with eyes could see was forced. Desperate. Just like most of the other women who were there at the time. Everyone wanted to get into bed with a gladiator. But all this gladiator wanted was to get into the stadium, fight, get out and pray. To relieve himself of his sins. He didn’t want to kill or maim. Circumstances had forced him to.

“Before you say anything, let me speak,” she purred, in a voice that was trying too hard to be seductive.

I rolled my eyes. “You people can’t take a hint, can you?”

In response, her eyes fluttered closed and a low hum resonated from within her. “I sense a deep pain. You wish you weren’t so kind, don’t you?”

“Are you done? How many times do I have to tell you that I am not intere- wait, what?”

My interest was piqued. Finally, a fortune teller that could see the inklings of the truth. In response, her thin lips curved up into a sly smile.

“Follow me,” she whispered.

***

Behind the dust covered window of a random store, little bottles labelled in an exotic, looping font were on display. My eyes scanned the racks of ‘Frissons’, ‘Euphoria’ and ‘Inhumanity’ until they fell upon one specific bottle:

‘Brutality’ it said.

Brutality? Now that, I could do with. I was sick of the overwhelming vortex of guilt that came with killing for sport, the kind that threatened to suck you deep into it until you were completely at its mercy. I knew killing wasn’t a choice I had made on my own. I had to protect my family.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

Should I take it…?

As if under a spell, my hand shot out of its own accord, getting closer and closer to the bottles.

“Take it,” she whispered encouragingly. “Just one sip.”

“Isn’t there a price? I don’t have any money.”

“Don’t worry, little gladiator. You will pay the price soon enough, in ways different than what you could ever imagine.”

I saw the glint of her evil in her eyes and I knew in the back of my mind that there was no going back, but I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed the bottle and tipped it into my mouth; the warm, frothy liquid trickled down my throat. For a few seconds, I felt fine. But then something began to change.

A searing heat started to emanate from my skin. I felt this anger, an insatiable hunger to kill. I felt lithe, more agile. Gone was the guilt. Gone was the fear. Gone was the dread. I felt my muscles crack as I stretched. Baring my teeth, I let out a feral growl. It was time to go to the fight.

Like a young bird coming out of his nest, I was ready to take on preschool. I was eager to make my first friends and talk to people other than my parents. Before I moved to New Jersey, I lived in St. Louis, Missouri, until the age of 4. Even though I do not recall much from that time period, I remember the racism I had to endure being a minority in the city. In my preschool, I was the only kid that was Indian, and for that matter, the only Asian kid. It must have been a strange sight to see to a young kid, discovering a new color of skin. Most did not seem to mind, however a group of two African twins took my difference in skin color to their advantage.

These two twins acted like they ran the place, intimidating anyone whom they

encountered. Me being the innocent, friendly child I was, I tried to befriend the twins. The response I got was sickening. Before the start of preschool, I had taken a vacation to Disney, buying plenty of Disney toys while at the park. I decided to bring them in one day to show everyone, and hopefully play with them during recess. I showed the figurines to the twins and they took my toys away from me. They sprinted away like cheetahs that have not consumed food in months, and I still do not know where those toys are to this day.

I was scared to talk about the subject with my mom, fearing she might get angry at me for letting other little kids steal my toys. I pretended like nothing had happened and ignored the bullies. Until one day they bullied me again. In my preschool, we would get a day of the month where we would be able to use the McDonald’s learning CD to have fun and gain knowledge. It was my turn to use the computer during class, the only day I would be able to express my mind in a creative way. As predicted, the twins stole the computer from me, claiming it was their turn to use the computer when it was actually mine. This went on for a few more weeks, with the twins constantly humiliating and insulting me. I thought it was normal for this to happen to children until I noticed that it was only happening to me.

One day, I was sick of those two no-good-doers, and I ran home to tell my mom. I came home bawling, “These two kids - they weren’t letting me - they stole it - why are they so mean!” My mom realized that I was being bullied, and she decided to call my teacher. Miss Donna was her name, a mean teacher who took a liking to the African children. “My son has told me these two African kids are pestering my child. I would like to know more information,” demanded my mom. Miss Donna replied, “It’s okay, they’re only trying to have some fun and make new friends.” My mom did not know what to do with this issue. One day, she sat down with me and gave me some advice. My mom told me, “Ignore the people who are trying to put you down, and only care about the good.” I still take this advice with me today, and I utilize her advice when making friends.

One entire week the twins stopped coming to school, which was a blessing in my eyes. Then a month passed by and they still did not show up. My mom informed me that the two kids would no longer be bothering me as they had left the school. I thought to myself that it was because I ignored them, but that was most likely not the case. In any case, the bullies had left the preschool, allowing me to have a proper childhood. To this day I still do not know why I was discriminated against by these children. The boys and I had been more similar than different, since we all were a different race from the rest of the children in the school. One positive thing I learned from my time there was to always be nice to others, no matter how similar or different they may be from you.

Conquering my Bullies by Salil Khanna

“AND ONE!!!!”

As I walk onto the basketball court, I hear the sneakers sliding against the court, the echoing sound of the basketball bouncing, and the trash talking of the players. Four boys were playing 2 on 2 basketball on the far side of the court. One of them, already sweating, dunked with full force over his defender. Then comes me, a 5 foot 9 inch guy who cannot even touch the rim, while all four of them were over 6’3 doing windmill dunks.

“Oh god, we got a middle schooler playing with us today.”

The rest of the boys laughed as I walked back to the bench, receiving insults even though they have not yet seen me play. As more and more players came, the smaller I looked. Out of the 15 boys that were trying out alongside me for a club basketball team, I was the smallest kid there. Many of them saw me and chuckled. I knew that they were making fun of me because of my height, as it was not the first time I have been made fun of for it.

In life, some traits are god-given, while others can be gained through hard work. Since the 8th grade, my height has been a problem for me, especially in basketball. In basketball, height is everything. You can become really good at basketball being short, but it is much harder to become better than the other competitions if you are smaller than all of them.

“First off, get into pairs and work on jump shots.”

Nobody picked me, and I had no hoop left to shoot on.

“Just wait a few minutes and we’ll get you in,” the coach explained, but we both knew he was discriminating me because of my height and wanted the taller kids to get more shots.

“Alright guys, make 3 teams of 5,” said the coach. I knew what was coming. I was the last guy picked and people thought I was bad even though I haven’t even taken a shot yet.

My team was up to play, and I found my defender. His muscles were huge, hands the size of my head, and he had the look a bull had when it was ready to attack its prey. I took a deep breathe and thought,

“I know he’s bigger and stronger than me, but I’m smarter than him and I know how to score on him.” For a person of my height, I knew what to do to work around my disadvantage.

Throughout the game, the player I was guarding got the ball a lot because everyone thought I could not defend him. Oh my, were they wrong. The player I was guarding made only one layup and couldn’t get a shot off away from the basket.

The game was very close, as it was 19-19 and we were playing to 21. I had 4 points, but the other team and even my own teammates thought of me as terrible because I was small. I could not dunk and I did not have a long wingspan, but I played tough and held my own.

The other team had the ball, with the next basket winning the game. The player I was guarding came off a screen, and I met the defender’s screen hard as if I ran into a brick wall. The man with the ball went to pass the ball to my man. I pushed past the screen, dove straight forward in the direction of the ball, and tipped the pass as I fell hard to the wooden floor. I immediately jumped up and sprinted towards the ball. With my defender right behind me, I dove again for the ball, ignoring the cuts and bruises from diving, and got control of the ball. I then passed it to an oncoming teammate, got up and was open for the shot. I received the pass, immediately shot the ball, and got decked by my defender on my way down. Through excruciating pain, I looked up and saw the ball go right it to win the game.

After making that shot, I gained respect from the players and coaches. No longer did I see players laughing at me and discriminating me over my height. I was accepted by the players as a good player and got the ball more often for the rest of the tryout.

“For someone of your height, you're tougher than any of these kids. I respect that. Congratulations, you made the team.”

I was overjoyed and satisfied that someone gave me credit for my hard work. For the rest of the season, I was no longer the kid who had to sit in drills, but instead the kids Leah’s always involved in every play.

This shows how even if you are discriminated against because of your height, in sports or in life, do not let others tell you what you can and can’t do. Do not let others put you down and show them that, through hard work, you can overcome the adversity of being small.

And One by Blake Hunsinger

Untitled by Livia Shine

Drop by drop fluids rush down a long thin tube into my arm, as I gazed around the room.

I see a sharp knife lying next to me. Tall figures peer down at me as my world went completely black. What happens now? After 3 long hours, I was awakened by a bright light, and the fear of the unknown filled my mind. My sports career just took a sharp right turn, and I might never be the same again. Now began the road to recovery.

I woke up a few hours later, feeling woozy and very sore. I saw my parents, and for the first time that day, I felt safe. My leg was completely numb from my knee down, and my body

was weak. It felt like there were weights on my eyes, and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Recovery is a process. It takes time. It takes patience. It takes everything you've got. I kept telling myself that everything was going to be okay. The pain is going to be gone, and I'll be back to sports soon. I crutch into my first physical therapy appointment, feeling great. As soon as the exercises start, that feeling is gone. The pain was indescribable, and I couldn't do anything about it. Just simply flexing my toes, made a waterfall pour out of my eyes. The realization that there was a long, grueling road ahead of me hit me hard. This wasn't going to be a piece of cake.

There was a huge mountain in front of me, and I was going to have to conquer it. I knew I was at rock bottom, but I also knew that the only way I could go was up.

Three months passed, and I can walk perfectly now, but I was still not back to my normal daily activities. I was going to physical therapy three days a week and three months later all I could do was walk. I imagined myself being back to normal by now. Some days were better than others, and occasionally I felt like I was waiting for something that wasn’t ever going to happen.

Some things are just never meant to be no matter how much we wish they were and maybe I was not supposed to play sports ever again. This thought kept racing through my mind, and it angered me. I was going to fight through the pain and get back on the field. Nothing was going to stop

me.

For the first time in six months, I felt unstoppable and powerful. This one run was changing my life. I was strong throughout this process and overcame many challenges. Even

when nothing was going my way, I kept my head held high because I knew that this was not going to be how my legacy ends.

This surgery eventually played a role in shaping me as a person. It was this incident and subsequent rehabilitation that helped me develop several of my best characteristics including commitment, responsibility, and perseverance.