
Montville Township
High School
New Life by Matthew Enriquez
A speck of dust
Floating in a different world
Every emotion from hate to lust
Every decision from no to must
A speck of dust furled
Lines of code
Sprawled across the screen of a computer
Run by a man whose genius flowed
It is traffic on the road
A click decides our future
A figment of thought
Brought upon by debilitation
A mind striving for something to be sought
A universe of matter wrought
None of it real, our mind's creation
A flash before our eyes
Before we die
A summary of our lives
As a flash ends, another comes alive
New life as one becomes awry

By: Emily Santosuosso
Some say the world will end in silence
Some say with sound
From what I've learned of silence
I hold with those who don't favor violence
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction of sound
Is also great
And would suffice

By: Amy Wang
Serenity comes in waves
One right after the other
A moment of calm
A state of peacefulness
A feeling of being untroubled
The cool, refreshing water
Pulls me back to life
And pushes me towards tomorrow
Skipping back with my feet wet
Having the courage to swim in the unknown
Puts my mind at ease
And gives me the tranquility
To see the sea in me.

By: Emily Qian
i ramble without a pause. trying to silence
the jargon
stumbling
through
my brain
i count my steps. fingers brushing against the white fence
the white noise giving me a migraine

By: Dominique Natalie
I remember reading old poetry such as tankas and The Book of Songs, and I don’t remember where this poem was from, but I remember that my English class last year had to try and decipher it. Pick out some literary techniques and figure out what the author was trying to say, and I remember it having to do with the moon or something like that.
However, I remember what the meaning was, and the author wrote this poem about how everything in the world is always changing. In this cycle of change, there is a constant, which would be the moon. At the time I found this to be my favorite poem we went over in that class because I needed to agree with the author. That change is inevitable.
At the time of reading this, I needed something that I could use for my own selfish reasons. If some ancient Chinese poet from long ago said that things would always keep changing then it had to be true.
Not to mention, this was a strange coincidence for me to read that poem because it resonated so strongly with me. I can’t explain how it started, but I’ve always loved the moon. Always. Whenever I look up at the night sky and see this radiant mass far away, I can remember how my life was before and how different everything is.
I believe in change.
A part of me has always believed that all things will come to an end and the natural order of the world must remain intact. Whether things are good and bad they will never stay the same. I want to make a difference in the world, no matter what career I end up going into. It seems like a cheesy thing to say, but to me just making a difference in one person’s life is enough. As long as the moon keeps shining, I’ll keep moving, on, and on, and on, and on.

By: Shikha Shah
FLOAT by Mia Teresa
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

By: Christine Pak
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.

By: Bessma Abouliem
A New Pink Dress by Ashley Feng
“Samantha, please come home with Ella by sundown!”
“Got it mommy!” Samantha picked up her jump rope and quickly sprinted towards the town’s playground.
“Ella! Ella!” she cried. Ella ran out to join Samantha, wearing her new pink dress and carrying her hula-hoop.
As the two girls ran down towards the town playground, other children ran along, bouncing and skipping, laughing and twirling. The sun was only just starting to dip towards the horizon, the spring air was as soft as a lamb’s coat.
From the forest bordering the playground, the satyr clenched his fists a little tighter in the shadows of the blooming trees. Children. He hasn’t been with a child for a while. Modern world problems.
He bent down and picked up his pan-flute. They tell of me in legends, he scoffed. In times long gone. Once I had been a god. I could have had anyone I wanted, any time I wanted. No one would question me then.
You are still a god, a voice in his head argued.
Hungrily, he watched the little girls in their dresses twirl each other around, jumping up and down.
They all scorn you, a little voice in his head whispered. It has been centuries. Who knows if your pan-flute even works anymore?
The satyr stamped his hoof on the ground angrily. Shall I charm them? Win over their affections slowly? Wait until they trust me completely?
It will not be fast enough, the damning voice in his head countered. Children talk. Their parents will know. Everything gets messier faster once adults are involved. If you are quick now, the world may never know.
Fair enough. The satyr blinked slowly as he stepped out into the gentle sunlight. At once, the laughter of the children ceased.
Quickly now, before it’s too late. As he lifted the pan-flute to his lips, a little girl inquired, “What is your name?”
“Pan. What is yours, little girl?”
“Samantha. And this is my friend Ella. Isn’t her new pink dress pretty?”
“Lovely,” he murmured. “Do you like music?”
“We do!” the children cried. They all gathered around in a loose circle. Not close enough.
Pan lifted his pan-flute to his lips and the haunting melody arched past the playground to reach the nearby apartments. Other children began to peek their heads out of their windows towards him.
It’s time. As Pan backed into the forest, playing his haunting tune, the children all gladly followed, spilling into the streets to the playground, laughing and dancing once more.
By sundown, Samantha’s mother was only mildly concerned that her little girl didn’t show up. It was normal for her to come home a few minutes late.
Several minutes later, Sammy’s mother was irritated. It was so unlike Sammy to come home so late; both Sammy and Ella had no trouble following their parent’s instructions. She called Ella’s mother to see if Samantha was with them, but Ella’s mother responded that both girls had not shown up.
Distraught, the two mothers then ran to the playground, only to find it completely deserted. The only trace of the town’s children was a scrap of Ella’s new pink dress, caught on the branches of a nearby bush.

By: Emily Santosuosso
Something Unusual is Sold by Ashley Feng

By: Cindy Xie
“Come see your past life! Who knows what you’ll discover!”
Curious, I watched the seller eagerly grab the hand of a customer and pull him towards a small scanner, which started to generate a series of images. The screen flashed as a deer, woman, ant, man, and rabbit, quickly typing out his lives beforehand and finally settling on his current form.
“This is a lie! I don’t remember anything of these past lives,” the customer grumbled.
“That’s how reincarnation works my dear man! Or should I say, deer man?” the seller grinned. He pulled off the sheet of paper the machine had generated and tucked a copy into his pocket before offering the slip to the man.
Frowning, the man opened his scroll, protested that he would not be reincarnated as a “foolish woman” in his next life, and immediately disappeared into the crowd.
A small girl suddenly materialized besides me. She was soaking wet, her long black hair plastering to her face, her white nightgown clinging to her body. She didn’t look any older than twelve. She stood perfectly still, staring at the seller.
“Hello,” I cautiously greeted.
No response. How strange.
“What’s your name?” I inquired.
“Samara,” she rasped. She sounded an awful lot like a chain smoker, even though I didn’t want to believe someone so young could possibly be smoking to that extent. Samara hadn’t moved or flinched, even as people around us on the street bumped into her and cars angrily honked across the street.
The seller happily ran over. “Hello,” he chorused. “Want to see your past life?”
I offered up a few dollars and was dragged along to a machine. Placing my hand upon it, I watched the screen flash brightly and settled on a Buddhist monk, an elephant, an owl, a tiger. The machine spit out my scroll and I tucked my copy into my pocket to read later.
Samara was still standing in the exact same spot as when I left her. She was quite unnerving: it was unnatural to have skin so pale, though the multitude of bruises and on her arms and legs meant she had fallen down something. Her dress was so discolored in certain places it was hard to tell it had been white. And why is she soaking wet on such a sunny day? How is she still wet on a sunny day?
Samara offered up her few dollars to the merchant, who hesitantly let her keep her money and led her to a machine. It’s bright screen lit up and and glowed, then started to beep rapidly. The merchant hurried over and pulled out a screwdriver.
The screen began bleeding violently. With increasingly alarming signals, I saw the small images spin furiously past the blood, never settling on a single image. Right as the machine spit out its little paper copy, it has more or less disintegrated, smoking gently under her hands. Samara picked up her scroll, angrily ripped it in half, and stormed off. I gently pried the seller’s copy out of his trembling fingers to find that Samara’s white scroll was now black. In blood across the little kiosk were only two words: YOU’RE NEXT.
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