It’s Sora from Kingdom Hearts II

“Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings”.

                            –William Shakespeare

The most valuable part of English this year… was that we learned about the stuctures of poetry, and how sonnets and epics work. We learned about the writer John Milton and his epic of Paradise Lost, and we copied poems from writers such as Maya Angelou and Shakespeare.

The most memoriable thing in English this year… was our opera trip to see Madame Butterfly. I not only had a great time with my friends, but we had a wonderful experience of watching opera singers sang in Italian, which also gave us some language experience.

The lesson that made me think was… the poetry lessons, where we wrote our own poems, such as those preformed in the Poetry Smash.

Clockwork.

Humming over the large bridge, a small old car drives slowly through the crammed in traffic. Inside sits a woman and a snoozing teenager. Suddenly, the boy thrusts up and hits his head on the small ceiling of the car. Whining, he lies back down and tries to doze off once again.

The woman whispers, “Calm down, we’ll be there soon.”

Eventually, the car pulls into town; people are walking around happily, small animals scurry around in the grass, and this town just seems too lively. The family of two looks by through the sights, not much to see, but then again there’s more. A small cathedral, a cluster of stores. A spec of even more buildings, and a gathering of houses. More buildings. They all lack of interest though.

The car pulls into a driveway that’s connected to a moderately-sized home. In front of them are large trucks filled with furniture and décor, large men are unloading the items into the home.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she smiles.

He gets up slowly, stumbling onto the concrete and looks up.

“Aiden, either help unload our stuff or venture out downtown. Just don’t do anything.” A sigh.

“Fine, Fine.”

He stumbles around for a little, before reaching the sidewalk that leads outwards into the town. His shoe laces drag along the surface, ignoring the mother’s rule of keeping your shoes tied. Walking past groups of people, probably around his own age, Aiden gets stares from them. Was it because he’s new? Or was it because of the way he looked? Either way, he really didn’t care. He kept on his way, passing by a small café that filled the air with an interesting aroma. Sniffing the air, he tempted to check out what the scent was, but he realized he brought no cash with him. A sigh escaped from his mouth and he continued on his way.
It was getting much warmer, but Aiden still refused to take off his hoodie, or his hood for that matter. He felt he didn’t need to attract attention to himself, for this seemed like the type of town where everyone would know everyone and just one little disruption would put everyone in a frenzy. Passing by different shops, one settled out besides the rest. The building looked older, somewhat Victorian. It had a mysterious, inviting aura about it, and a few people were already coming out of it. He looked around the building suspiciously until he found a clue. This was a clock shop, there was a sign, and décor like it was made for a steam-punk fantasy.

Aiden had looked around as he walked towards the entrance and had carefully twisted the doorknob open. Inside were of course, clocks. A countless amount of clocks. Displayed was anything from shining pocket watches, Grandfather clocks, or even a coo-coo clock. Nothing was something found in your modern house though. Nothing even close to a digital clock. The walls were wood, furnished with what looked to be spare gears that seemed to be working to tick a hand that didn’t time anything.

While leaning over the counter, Aiden found there was someone working. A man. Long dark hair fell over his shoulders, glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and he dressed in a oldern style. Also something that seemed from the Victorian era. A vest, worn over a classy shirt, had a chain coming from its breast pocket. A pocket watch maybe? Aiden found the man was even wearing suspenders, though the straps weren’t worn, leaving them to fall next to his legs. Strange guy, Aiden thought. The man had looked up from working on the visible gears of the contraption, and looked towards Aiden.

“Can I help you?” the man spoke.

Aiden woke from his trance of watching this man, and was astonished for a second, unknowing of what to say. “U-uh, I’m sorry, am I intruding? I was just looking around.”

“If you have no business, please excuse yourself. I’m busy.” He looked back down to his work, picking up the tools again.

“Jeez.” Aiden murmured to himself and began to make his way out. While talking to the man, he heard a soft ticking sound. Of course, he was in a clock shop, but this noise was different. Softer, with a faster pace. It sounded more like a heartbeat, oddly enough.

Walking out, walking away, Aiden went off to find something else to do. Then, a thud. Aiden found himself on the ground, kissing the asphalt.

A voice softly came out from under him. “H-huh… Oh! I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

Aiden got up slowly and groggily, “Just fine.” He huffed.

It was a boy, around his age. His hair was matted around his face which was showing concern as he helped Aiden and himself off the ground.

Aiden sighed, “It’s really alright. I should have been more alert of where I was going I guess.”

The boy smiled, “That’s okay then. I’m Dimitri.”

“That’d be nice I guess. I really don’t care.” Aiden sighed.

“U-uh…” Dimitri stumbled over his words, unsure of what to say, “I noticed you had come out of the ol’ clock shop before tripping over me.”

“Hmm? Yeah?”

“Have you ever heard of the man with a clockwork heart?”

“Excuse me?”

“Clockwork heart. It’s a legend floating around this town… did you see the man that worked there?” Dimitri questioned.

“The one with an attitude? Yeah.” Aiden reminisced about how he was rudely chased out of the shop.

“They say his name is Elijah. No one really knows much about him. People say he’s never even aged since he’s been here-and no one really knows how long he’s been here too. They said something happened to him, a long time ago, before any of us was even born.

“He was a young man, working in the early industrial era. He had owned a clock shop, rumored to be the same exact one he’s in now. He fell in love with a woman. She would have always come into his shop, everyday, bringing him lunch or something of the sort. He truly thought they were going to be together. He made her something, to purpose with, I guess. From what I heard, it was beautiful, but no one was quite sure what it was.

“The day he was ready to pop the question after weeks of building this, she didn’t come into the shop. He questioned this, and soon found out, she was preparing for a wedding of her own. She was marrying some fancy rich man. And apparently, his heart was torn in two, literally. His shop closed for weeks, it seemed dead, but during that, it was rumored to be that he was building something else. A new heart, a heart made up with pieces of your average clock, ticking, not beating…

“Pretty crazy huh? It’s a real strange rumor, I don’t believe it but it’s pretty fun to fantasize, right?” Dimitri smiled.

Aiden was silent for a moment, remembering the soft ticking he heard while at the shop. He looked up and smiled curiously, “Yeah, I guess. This town doesn’t seem as bad as I thought anymore.”

Motherly Symphony

With frail, scarred-tattered hands.
Feeding, cleaning, the feathery creatures.
Seeds drizzle on the cemented ground.
Long hair, cascading on to her shoulders.
Then pulled back into a simple bun.
Held together with a painted chopstick.
Simple pattern outfits, dusted with age.
Tells about the times when she glided on the runway.
Fractured English, falls from her mouth.
Never fails to muster a smile.
From her children, she holds dear.
Especially the era, of young kids.
Scattered on the beach.
Collecting seashells, preparing.
To be made into simple jewelry. 

— Bí

Kate is a very talented artist. I look up to her wishing I had nearly the skills she has. I learn some drawing techniques from her which help me improve. Kate had been talented enough to become a state finalist for the Doodle 4 Google contest which thousands of people across the country had entered. Out of the hundreds of people in Massachusetts, she was picked as one of the two state finalists.

She also has an admirable personality. Kate’s kind and sweet, yet willing to speak her mind when someone ticks her off. She’s funny and generous, and just an overall nice person. She attracts the nicest people and has a lovely aura about her.

The person I admire is one of my best friends. Kate’s a positive person that is certainly inspiring, and defiantly someone to look up too. I told you some qualities of the person I admire, who do you admire and why?

Art is really important to me because it’s a skill I have, that other people may not. Just as some people are great at sports, and some people are exceptional singers, I will say I have talent in my artistic abilities. Other people compliment me, but I’m not modest. I tell them when something doesn’t look that great, and they complain about how good it looks to them. I say my works don’t look nice, because they could be better! I strive to improve!

I started taking drawing seriously when I was in fifth grade. Why? I was inspired by my friend, Fallon. She had drawn me a picture, and I had based myself off that. Ever since I’ve been improving more and more on things such as basic body anatomy, coloring, shading, and using different techniques. Even though I have improved this much to make pretty decent pieces, I can really learn more; the possibilities are endless when it comes to art.

Because of that, I’m satisfied with myself to call it an accomplishment, but not satisfied enough. To keep improving on my artistic talent is my greatest personal goal. I really hope I can become something great with this.

 ”Have you ever heard of the man with a clockwork heart?”

Chihiro, a young girl whom is drawn to life by Miyazaki, is moving to a new city, but misses her friends dearly. While attempting to take a shortcut, her dad drives into a dead end that seem to leads into an abandoned temple. After passing through the cave, they find themselves on a grassy hill that a Chinatown-like development sits atop. The area seems abandoned but the scent of food fills the air. While Chihiro’s parents gorge themselves, she wonders around the town. When she finds her parents again, they both had turned into pigs.

Chihiro finds that she’s stuck in this spiritual world, and cannot get back for the once grassy fields turned into a large mass of water. To get her parents back to normal, Chihiro gets a job at the local bathhouse for the spirits, suggested by the mysterious Haku, ran by the witch Yubaba. She meets new people, and befriends them while trying to save her parents. Chihiro finds that saving her parents are far on the trail of adventures she faced. From helping a powerful spirit, to saving her new love, Spirited Away is a beautifully animated tale that whisks you away to the mind of Hayao Miyazaki.

Kathryn Reiss

 Paint by Magic is a time traveling tale of a family and a dead artist. Connor is an eleven year old boy whose family never sees each other. Both his parents are constantly working, his sister is off talking to friends and doing her after school activities, while Connor does his own activities, and it taken care of by babysitter, Ashleigh.
One day, Connor finds his mom at home and sitting in a trance like state. She was just sitting there, posing. When she snaps back to life, she offers Connor homemade snacks? Connor’s mom doesn’t cook. What’s with this? When Connor goes up into his room, all his electronics are missing. The computer was gone, the TV was gone, even his stereo system has disappeared! All the TVs in the house were gone!

When he goes to tell his mother about this problem—she’s in the kitchen, cooking again. She explains that she had took out the television sets herself, because the family needs time to get away from such an addiction. Connor’s mom never acted like this before, what’s wrong with her? Connor and his family, including Ashleigh, are surprised by his mother’s actions, and why does she keep going into a trance? Connor finds this mysterious art book that has paintings with women that look exactly like his mother. But the painter died before his mom was even born. What’s this connection? Connor is taken back in time to find the answer, finding himself in the 1920s and with a mysterious painter. Can he find out why and what’s been happening? Before something dangerous happens?

Paint by Magic is an interesting book, with descriptive details that lets you know exactly how this family lives and why it’s so strange for their mother to act in such a way. The story catches your attention from the beginning and keeps you reading.

I’m not an athlete myself, along with the other sixty-something percent of people in a school. So why would people with athletic talent get all the attention—and money. There are many students the district that don’t play sports; or even like sports. Instead they express themselves artistically, visual or performing, skills with technology, or even woodshop. Those students don’t see much attention, do they? 

I know for a fact I myself have a talent for something not relating to sports. I’m an artist, and if I say so myself, I’m a decent artist. But, I’ve seen the art room in this school. Instead of nice Prisma, Treas, or Copic markers, the school supplies us with Crayolas. Cheap Crayolas, that dries out before you’re even done with a decent picture.  

Stage talent is one more thing that’s slightly unappreciated in this district. For one, quiet a few schools in this district don’t even have an auditorium. They stick a stage in the Gymnasium or Cafeteria and call it an auditorium, which is a horrible excuse. I’ve been in hallways that have better acoustics than the “auditorium”. With the horrible acoustics, you can’t hear the band, choir, or even actors on stage voicing what they do best. Our school barely funds the drama club, which can only host two productions a year. I’ve heard that a janitor themselves had donated needed money to the club. Every year, the Drama club goes to New York City, and each student needs to throw out a whopping $100, not including food, to see this Broadway production. With extra funding from the school you can do something, like reduce the enormous amount for field trips. 

Really, even an elementary school in this district has a football field. Do we really need another field? They’re alternatives to a pool—think of the other things you can do with the money. Pools cost a good amount of money to keep and maintain. With the amount of money you could buy plenty of textbooks, art supplies, things for a drama performance, or even just to expand the school’s library. The possibilities are endless—spend wisely, Cape.