Writing

The Pen and the Sword

Anonymous

Upon a windswept moor,
Upon a windswept moor lay the silence of a forgotten world,
Upon a windswept moor lay another story,
Of magic and power,
Of dreams and hope,

Far from the windswept moor lay a gleaming city,
Far from the windswept moor lay a city of lies,
Far from the windswept moor lay another world,
A world of injustice,
A world of agony,

Beyond the gleaming city was a battlefield of blood,
Beyond the gleaming city, was a battlefield of red-stained cloth,
Beyond the gleaming city was a battlefield of mourning,
A lost song,
A story still untold,

Away from the battlefield rest a home of pain,
Away from the battlefield rest a home of forgotten laughter,
Away from the battlefield rest a home of remembrance,
A abandoned home,
A love long lost,

This, is the world we live in,
This is the world we forgot,
This is the world you stand for,
And this is why I tell you,
Stand for change,
Stand for us.

 

Haunted Lights

Brooklyn Kelly ’28

The storm swelled like a living thing. Clouds turned black, swallowing the last rays of sunlight.
Mark and Fredrick sprinted through the rain, hearts racing, soaked to the bone, towards the
crumbling silhouette of the lighthouse perched on the cliff. Waves roared like angry beasts
below, crashing violently against the rocks.

“Do you think it’s safe?” Fredrick asked, glancing back at the darkening sky.

Mark shrugged, his mind already racing ahead. “We don’t have a choice. Better than being out
here.”

The door creaked open, revealing a damp, musty interior. The air inside was thick and stale,
carrying a hint of salt and decay. They stepped inside, drenched and trembling. The old wooden
floor groaned under their weight. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through cracked
windows.

“Whoa,” Mark whispered, his voice echoing in the silence. “This place is creepy.”

Fredrick shivered, rubbing his arms. “Let’s just wait out the storm.”

They moved deeper into the lighthouse, the walls lined with peeling paint and faded photographs
of the sea. Each step felt like a violation of the space, as if the ghosts of the past were watching,
waiting.

“Look at that,” Mark said, pointing to a narrow staircase spiraling upward. “I bet the view is
amazing from the top.”

“Let’s not,” Fredrick replied, unease creeping into his voice. “What if it’s not safe?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Mark insisted, his adventurous spirit rising. “Just a quick look.”

Fredrick hesitated, glancing nervously at the staircase. The walls seemed to close in around
them, shadows deepening. “Fine, but let’s be quick.”

As they climbed, the air grew colder. The wind howled through the cracks, a mournful sound that
chilled them to the bone. With each step, Fredrick felt a tightening in his chest, an instinctive
dread.

When they finally reached the top, the lantern room was a ghostly sight. Glass panels were
shattered, and the once-bright beacon lay dormant, covered in dust. Mark stepped forward,
peering into the darkness beyond.

“This is—”

A whisper interrupted him, soft yet insistent. “Turn it on… please…”

Fredrick froze, his heart pounding. “Did you hear that?”

Mark nodded, entranced. “It’s just the wind.”

But the voice grew clearer, laced with desperation. “Help me. Turn on the light.”

The room felt alive, pulsing with a malevolence that made Fredrick’s skin crawl. “We should go
back,” he urged, stepping back.

Mark, however, was already moving toward the lantern. “It’ll be epic. Just think about it!”

“Mark, wait!” Fredrick called, panic rising.

But Mark was already reaching for the switch. The moment he touched it, the temperature
plummeted. The shadows twisted and swirled, as if they were alive. The ghost of an old man
materialized before them, eyes hollow and mouth twisted in a mournful smile.

“Turn it on,” he repeated, voice echoing like a distant thunderclap. “You must turn it on.”

Fredrick screamed, gripping Mark’s arm. “Get away from it!”

Mark’s fingers hesitated. The lighthouse trembled, a deep rumble shaking the very foundations.

The ghost’s face twisted in anger. “You must help me! Turn on the light!”

In that instant, fear gripped Mark. He pulled his hand back, but it was too late. The old man
lunged forward, icy fingers wrapping around Mark’s throat.

“Help me!” the ghost howled, a cacophony of despair. Mark gasped, struggling against the grip,
but the old man’s strength was overwhelming.

“No! Mark!” Fredrick shouted, desperate.

Mark’s eyes bulged, terror etched across his face as he fought for breath. The room spun,
shadows closing in.

With a final, desperate push, Fredrick lunged forward, shoving the lantern switch down.

Light burst into the room, blinding and bright. The ghost screamed, an ear-piercing wail that
echoed through the lighthouse.

In an instant, the light pulsated, glowing fiercely before flickering out. Mark’s body crumpled to
the floor, lifeless, the ghost dissipating into the air like smoke.

“Mark!” Fredrick screamed, falling to his knees.

The lighthouse trembled again, the walls shaking as if the very building mourned. Fredrick
stumbled back, heart racing. The door suddenly swung open with a force that sent him crashing
into the wall.

“Get out!” he yelled at himself, scrambling back down the stairs.

But as he reached the ground floor, he felt a cold grip wrap around his heart. The old man’s
laughter echoed, a chilling sound that filled the air. The light flickered back on, illuminating the
lighthouse one last time.

As Fredrick stumbled to the door, he glanced back. The ghost stood there, a twisted smile on its
face, beckoning him closer.

He reached the threshold just as the light cut out again. The last thing he felt was the icy grip of
death closing around him.

 

The Tides of Time

Louis Troccoli ’28

Life’s ancient vessel
She’s as old as time itself
Secrets softly swell

Seeker of tenor
Years go by, she stares and stares
The wisest of all

Driven by her tides
Lap-lapping like a cat’s purr
Sound fills emptiness

She tells stories; Ones
Of nature, beauty, and truth
Even with eyes closed

Crashing with great sighs,
She throws herself forcefully
into jagged rock

She will embrace. But
Approach her with thoughtlessness
Lessons will be taught

She carves her story
In banked sand, waiting for those
Willing to listen

 

The Unknown

Kylie Lee ’27

Pain and suffering
Derived from the unknown
The not knowing
The regrets

Contemplate the price
We pay for things not done
The in-between

So take a step
So live free
Free from the unknown

 

Fool’s Game

Paradise Chow-Stuart ’27

Scarlett Meadows, a small, but bustling settlement in the Wild West, was practically a lawless
town; crooks ran rampant, especially with the recent death of the town’s beloved sheriff, William
Murphy. The circumstances motivated Anisa Murphy to assume her late father’s role. She was
nothing if not determined to root out the outlaws of this town. And with great regret, she knew
precisely where to begin.

June Robins was her culprit: a woman who she used to think she’d one day share a name with,
though it seemed their fates were not intertwined. June was critical of the law, but Anisa never
doubted her seemingly-pure intentions—and the deceiver her past-lover turned out to be,
fraternizing herself with a gang of outlaws. Murdering her father. That betrayal was fresh for
Anisa. She knew revenge was a fool’s game, but was this not simply justice for the town? Trepidation caused her to hesitate to execute her plan, but eventually a letter to June was sent.
The proposition was simple: June would meet her in the town square to settle everything with a
duel. Once and for all.

With the clock striking noon on the next day, Anisa stood in the dusty town square, a gun holster
hugging her hips. A few people briefly glanced at her, but a crowd didn’t form until another
figure appeared. June Robins.

“Sheriff,” June said, her tone lacking the warmth she once used with Anisa.

Anisa merely nodded in acknowledgment. “Let’s get this over with fairly.”

A humorless laugh escaped June’s lips at her words. “Fair? I don’t believe that’s in your family’s
vocabulary.”

“I beg your pardon?”

June scoffed. “Are you that thickheaded that you’re unaware what the company you and your
little lackeys work with actually do?”

Anisa’s brows furrowed. It’s true that her father worked with the major company in town that
controlled most of the goods, but she’d never bothered looking further into the circumstances.

Anger rose in June. “They’re exploiting the farmers, y’know. Paying them pitifully at most for
their hard work, forcing them off their land if they don’t accommodate, it’s bullshit!”

Genuineness was evident in her tone.

Recognizing her words as sincere, Anisa’s desire for retribution faded, and the gun at her hip was
long forgotten. “Let’s talk about this in my office.”

June opened her mouth to speak when a gunshot suddenly resounded. Anisa’s eyes widened in
horror when she processed what happened: her deputies had just entered the square, with one
releasing a bullet at June. Blood promptly gushed from a wound on her stomach. Anisa rushed
over to break her fall to the ground.

“June!” she cried out.

June reached up to brush back a lock of brown hair from Anisa’s face as tears spilled from her
eyes. “Don’t waste your tears on me, Annie,” June murmured. Then her body went limp, with
her blonde hair sprawled out like a halo.

With her death, Scarlett Meadows was free of crime. But was that outcome worth the cost?

 

Gravity (of the Earth)

Anonymous

Instead of the crushing weight
it is pleasant, the pull
feel her gentle tug
how she loves you

A profound understanding
that will disappear
but for now I am safe
for she carries me another day

Cradled, in her warm embrace
you are tethered to all things