The Outlet - Spring 2021

The man would swat the flies away from his rugged face His ax feeling heavy in his worn hands Beams of light from the heavens burned his tan skin&nbsp; Sizzling the salted liquid that fell from his brows A small house built from the ground up Where the sea kissed the land On a tapestry of wildflowers and wispy grass The fruits of his labor bloomed A couple walks along the coast Pressing heavy markings into the sand The stamps of their feet littering the shore Until the tide rises and sweeps their signatures away When the clouds roll in replacing the light The rain pelts the sullen earth Lightning cracks like a heavy whip Fracturing the ominous blackened skies

The man who once bore the axe Pushes the heavy soles of his feet into the sludgy beach The off-white tidal foam washes away his markings for the final time And the crashing waves swallow him whole Behind the green shrub that blooms every spring A woman sways in her rocking chair Her toes buried in a wooly rug Reminiscent of her unclothed feet toeing the lines of the sea In her soft hands, she cradles an infant With curled blonde locks and turquoise eyes An innocent expression, pure like the white that paints the walls She gazes out of the framed windows, watching the sea’s constant breaths As she remembers her love the tide stole away&nbsp;

My grandma used to tell me in case of a fire, throw salt on it. She’d say it would put it right out. If that were true, then the tears that fall should put the fire in me right out. Do my tears not hold salt? Since that doesn’t work, I inhale as much air as my lungs can take in. The flames are gone and all that remains are embers that wait for the perfect kindling to fan the tiny spark into the raging fire that it once was. It doesn’t take much these days. The flames could easily engulf me if I let them. But I don’t. I keep them contained and save them for worse days. No one has ever seen my fire, I won’t let them. At times people who know me well may see a glimpse of it dancing in my eyes, and when they ask me I deny it.

I do that a lot. Smile even when the flames burn so hot I suffocate from the smoke, but it’s better this way. It never lasts long though. The fire will always calm at some point. It leaves traces of itself inside me. Always a spark or an ember waiting to ignite. Waiting to grow into something ravenous and terrible. I won’t let it. I won’t let them see what it can do, what it’ll do if I let it burn too long or too bright.

I am me, And I want to be. I am me, And I like to be. I am me, And I love to be. I am me, And I am glad to be.

Let’s skip the stones across the water as we walk along the pond. Let’s view the ripple of the water as the sun shines upon our face&nbsp; Let’s clean the blood from your forehead because the stone accidentally cut your face.&nbsp; Let’s wipe the tears from your cheek because you're devastated that you have a headache.&nbsp; Let’s stack the stones together from biggest to smallest because balance is all we need Because balance is the key- balance is all we need And on the days where you can’t wake up from the nightmare and lies, you are thinking

I hurt. I hurt more than ever these days. The problem is: I don’t know how to cope with The Hurt. I’ve changed, which means my methods have changed. Mostly I cry, but I have no privacy so I try not to. When I do, it’s evident that I am. Last night, I found a reprieve. I turned the shower on as hot as it went, and stood under it. It burned. It hurt. I felt alive. My skin is brown, but when I finally stepped out of the shower, it was red. I felt empty but full. My intentions were to dull The Hurt, but instead, I found myself numb. For the glorious ten minutes that I burned, I was blissfully numb. 

The Hurt was gone and I was left with nothing but the burning liquid cascading down my body. If those are the only ten minutes of reprieve I can find in the midst of what feels like 24/7 hurt, I’ll be okay. “It was a pleasure to burn,” Bradbury said. And I agree.&nbsp;

I woke up, in some dark room, scared and confused. This was it. I was doomed to die. A man entered the room, the same with the glimmering, green glare, with a sharp weapon. I was too scared to identify what it was. He screamed some unintelligible phrase, before swinging his weapon,&nbsp; “SCHWOOP!”&nbsp; Was the noise I heard as we were carried away on the ride. I hadn’t noticed, but it was all a daydream, or day-nightmare, rather, of my fears that killing for racism still publicly happened as I thought it did, coming to life --- in my head. Eventually, I got used to the world again, and calmed ↓, and talked to Elsa for the rest of the ride. We enjoyed it, had fun for the rest of the day and the rest of the trip, and we haven’t seen each other since.&nbsp; This story is about the real-life fear that I have of being in a room full of White people.”

Written and translated by Aiden, Marly, Serena, Abram, Max, Lilly, Chunky Lad, and Mishayla

Once upon a time, there was a man named Carl Smith. He was very tall. He was chunky. He liked the color red, playing basketball and eating. He played basketball with his friends. Carl and his friends formed a team called “The Nets.” They played in Trenton, but they didn’t live in Trenton. Trenton was large and urban. Carl’s friends could not dunk and Carl left the team. Carl did not have a team. He went to another city. He went to Boston. He wanted to join Boston’s Team. But, the decision was not Carl’s, it was the Boston’s team’s decision. Boston’s team decided not to accept Carl. Carl went back to Trenton. The Nets did not accept Carl. Finally, he was alone. At last, he accepted the position of water boy.

I bit into it. As the texture burst into my mouth, for the first time ever, I noticed the remaining portion of the left half of the sandwich was...leaking. Leaking?! Like a faucet. A faucet of vegetables and sauces. On my sandwich, I had pickles, sweet peppers, and spinach for the vegetables, and garlic aioli, mayonnaise, honey mustard, and honey hot sauce for sauces. The honey hot sauce was a translucent orange color and the garlic aioli was a pale cream color. 

I stared at it briefly. The wet spinach twirled around the equally as moist peppers like a dreidel atop a table and the sauces covered the vegetables like a blanket above a child whose mother had recently tucked him in. It was wonderful, amazing, awe-inspiring, even, how beautiful food could be. Maybe I was hungry after having not eaten since several hours ago, or maybe I was having a gastronomical epiphany; either way, it was truly...some good eye candy. Or an eye hoagie, whatever. I don’t know, but it made me so happy to look upon it. It was a congregation of sauces and vegetables that I had made up, and that WaWa’s had put an inordinate quantity of on my sandwich.&nbsp; How would I describe this moment utilizing one word, or one onomatopoeia, rather? Squish.

Am I broken? I wish I knew. My heart, I feel, is split in two. I cry at night and in the morn’. Between life and death, I am torn. Riding high or sitting low. On this Ferris wheel of life, I go. Kiss my head and leave me ‘lone. As Evening passes, as do I. Nevermore, these tears I cry.

I am empty, yet I give? When my cup is half full, they drink from it with no regard for its contents. I am closed off, yet open for everyone? When my book is open, they tear my pages from its spine without care. I am broken, yet I fix? When I am whole, they hack at me with their pickaxe of wants, and I let them. I am nice, yet I don’t care.

Hurt by Ego Ignis by Ego Broken by Ego Yet by Ego Mask by Avalynn DeGroat Unsafe by Eve Boone La Salida de Carl Smith by Aiden, Marly, Serena, Abram, Max, Lilly, Chunky Lad, and Mishayla Girl on Green Background by Tala Tragedy of the Red Tricycle by Isa, JDW, Pie Rosali, Mari, and the rest of the toras When the Tide Rises by Ace A Jimmy Rigged Heart by Ego Hodgepodge Girl by Aurélie Flowers

Are You Articulate? by Ego Antonio y el tobillo roto by Los Tobillos Sam the Tiger by Los Tigres Maria Clara by Tala Powerful Pandemic by Tysun Williams Mental Illness/The Brave/Freedom by YN Art Censorship by Raquel Ramirez-Nara Squish. by Eve Boone untitled by Edison Li I Am by Ego Balance by Deidre Rowe El escape de los chapulines by Los Chapulines

Covid-19's been given me trouble Paranoia occurs when someones in my bubble&nbsp; I'd hate to catch this deadly dose, From what I've seen, it has killed the most. Once, I could breathe the fresh clear air And play with friends without a care I'd jump and spin and dance and play And then I'd share some Chick-fil-A Now I never see my friends Just distant memories caught in the winds And online classes just makes it worse Can't see my friends because of this deadly curse

Some say that it's just a lie Like they don't see those people who died They don't wear masks and cough and sneeze And judge people who stay 6 feet But I'll wear my mask, I'll stay 6 feet I'll wash my hands, the death I'll cheat I won't get sick, yes that won't happen Because I'm protected, you won't catch me slackin'

One day, there was a boy named Antonio Martinez. He was skinny and tall. He liked to play basketball with his friends. Antonio was in the house. He was looking for his new shoes, when he fell. He hurt his ankle. Antonio yelled at his mom, “Mama, help me!” His mom ran to Antonio. She helped him and they went to the car. They&nbsp;went to the doctor. The doctor helped Antonio. Antonio and his mom returned home.&nbsp;

Un día, había un hombre que se llamaba Antonio Martínez. Él era flaco y alto. Le gustaba jugar baloncesto con sus amigos. Antonio estaba en la casa. Él buscaba sus zapatos nuevos, cuando él se cayó. Le dolió el tobillo. &nbsp; Antonio gritó a su madre, “¡Mama, ayúdame!” Su mama corrió a Antonio. Ella le ayudó y ellos fueron al carro. Ellos fueron al doctor. El doctor ayudó a Antonio. Antonio y su mama volvieron a casa.&nbsp;

One day, there was a tiger named Sam. Sam was very big and fat. Sam lived in a jungle in India. Sam was too fat. One day, Sam couldn’t run. Sam needed to lose weight. Sam’s friends, Chris, Jacob and Daniel, helped Sam. They exercised together. First, they walked. Then they jogged. Finally, they ran. Sam succeeded. Sam lost a lot of weight.

Un día, había un tigre que se llamaba Sam. Sam era muy grande y gordo. Sam vivía en una selva en India. Sam era demasiado gordo. Un día, Sam no pudo correr. Sam necesitaba perder peso. Los amigos de Sam, que se llamaban Chris, Jacob y Daniel, ayudaron a Sam. Ellos hicieron ejercicios juntos. Primero, ellos caminaron. Después, ellos trotaron. Al final, ellos corrieron. Sam tuvo éxito. Sam perdió mucho peso. &nbsp;

I believe I am articulate, but Sometimes my words do not flow as easily as the thoughts in my head Am I articulate? I said we be ridin’ at night unda the stars and it was mad hot&nbsp;when I really meant we ride through the night, star gazing whilst the summer heat is blazing, am I not Articulate. Is when the words flow evenly and easily you speak clearly and yearly you make the words flow when you go and talk to people that you don’t know.&nbsp; Is that articulate But you speak differently it seems to me when you’re around a different crowd&nbsp; These words they, cloud my brain, this train of thought leaves fast, I fight to stay afloat of the boat that takes all

words to that vast sea of thoughts that viciously berates my mind and what comes out is not as kind so that I seem cold&nbsp;but I want to seem old-er than I really am so I get the respect that I deserve I feel as though I need to yell just to be heard&nbsp; I am articulate

Érase una vez, había un hombre que se llamaba Carl Smith. Carl Smith era muy alto. Carl Smith era gordo. A Carl Smith, le gustaba rojo, jugar baloncesto y comer. Carl jugaba baloncesto con sus amigos. Carl y sus amigos formaron el equipo, que se llamó “Los Nets”. Carl y sus amigos jugaban en Trenton, pero no vivían en Trenton. Trenton era grande y urbano. Los amigos de Carl no podían hacer un mate y Carl dejó el equipo.

Carl no tenía un equipo. Carl fue a otra ciudad.&nbsp;Carl fue a Boston. Carl quería entrar en el equipo de Boston. Pero, la decisión no fue una decisión de Carl, fue la decisión del equipo de Boston. El equipo de Boston decidió no aceptar a Carl.&nbsp;Carl regresó a Trenton. Los Nets no aceptó a Carl. Al final, Carl estaba solo. Al final, Carl aceptó el trabajo de aguador.&nbsp;

Written and translated by Isa, JDW, Pie Rosali, Mari, and the rest of the toras

Once upon a time, there was a bull named Spots. He was very small. He was fluffy and happy. He liked to ride his tricycle. Spots had friends. They were big bulls. Spots and his friends were in a grassy field. Spots’ friends accidentally broke his tricycle. They didn’t tell him. They weren’t honest. They went to the store and bought a new tricycle. The new trike was a different color. It was red. They gave the new trike to Spots. Spots did not realize the different color. After ten days, Spots realized it was a different color. He got angry. He destroyed the tricycle. Finally, he had no tricycle.

Érase una vez, había un toro que se llamaba Spots. Él era muy pequeño. Él era muy suave y feliz. Le gustaba montar en triciclo. Él tenía amigos. Los amigos de Spots eran toros grandes. Spots y sus amigos estaban en una llanura con mucha hierba. Los amigos de Spots rompieron su triciclo por accidente. Ellos no le dijeron. No eran honestos. Ellos fueron a la tienda y compraron un triciclo nuevo. El triciclo nuevo era un color diferente. Era rojo. Ellos dieron el triciclo nuevo a Spots. Spots no se dio cuenta del color diferente. Después de diez días, él se dio cuenta del color diferente. Se enojó. Él destruyó el triciclo. Al final, no tenía un triciclo.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3F3_APnwtms

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jP2omrZLkd0

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kcNtPrIP7Xo

Pre-school literacy skills; that’s what her presentation was on. Who? My mother. She is a pre-k, special education teacher and she has been working on her doctorate’s degree for a while; as long as I can remember. Today, Monday, she had to defend the points of her dissertation with her dissertation committee. She met with them from six PM until seven PM, but it was at that point she screamed, “Why didn’t you kids remind me about dinner?!”&nbsp; “Oopsies,” I softly replied.&nbsp; She had sat at her computer for several more minutes following seven PM,&nbsp;and totally forgot me and my older brother needed to eat.

So, instead of oven-baking pork chops and cooking mashed potatoes, we went out to WaWa’s, a gas-station/convenience store off of J-Clyde Morris Boulevard. My brother ordered a sub, although my memory slips me in relevance to what kind, and my mother also ordered a sub; a turkey one. I got a spicy Italian sub. It’s one of my favorite foods of all time. My mother even came to my school on my 14th birthday and gave me a spicy Italian sub and a bunch of other food items for lunch. So many flavors, such a plethora of textures, I...it is a piece of art, I think, but might I ruminate that most food could be perceived as art? Shouldn’t they be?&nbsp; At nine PM, we arrived home and I sat down to eat. I opened the paper surrounding the sub; they always cut the sub in half but leave the two pieces together. I gently grabbed the left half and separated it from the right half, and I looked briefly at the sandwich as I placed the right half down, paying my full attention to the left half as

Un día, había un entomólogo que se llamaba Terrance Phillips. Era alto y flaco. Le gustaban los insectos y la música. Estudiaba el efecto de la música en los insectos. &nbsp; Terrance estaba en su laboratorio en la universidad de Columbia. Un día, los chapulines se escaparon. Él usó la música clásica para atraer los chapulines. Pero, la universidad de Columbia era una universidad grande. Él necesitó música para toda la universidad. Una radio no era suficiente. La banda y los voluntarios ayudaron a Terrance. Con la ayuda de la banda y los voluntarios, su música tuvo éxito. Al final, Terrance capturó todos los chapulines.&nbsp;

“It was hot outside. Crowded. Busy.&nbsp; Here I stood with my friend who I’d just met from Girl Scouts, Elsa.&nbsp; It was a very original name, not one I ever thought I’d heard before. Suddenly, I felt a tug on my arm. “Deza.” She said. I looked at her. “Huh?” The disgruntled noise softly rolled out of my mouth. “We’re moving ↑ in the line.” She said. “Oh, sorry.” I said as I moved with my pale, bark-haired friend.

Elsa was a girl I’d met earlier that week while at camp in the Smokey Mountains. We naturally got along because she was the reject from her group, and I was the reject from mine. Not that it mattered, we were still good friends, she was white, with bright brown eyes and darker brown hair, and was shorter than me. She’s in eighth grade right now. In this moment, we were at an amusement park in the mountains, Gatlinburg, about to get on a ride to go more than 3,500 feet ↑. As I looked around, I saw many faces that looked alike hers --- not in detail, but the painting of their face was...similar, if not identical, to hers. The skin color, I mean. I looked around, and more of the pale paintings became visible, their hostile glares pointed towards me.&nbsp; Before I knew it, somebody had stabbed me. My vision was blurring, and I heard Elsa’s scream for me, as the last thing I saw was the bright, green gleam of a blonde, Amish man. This couldn’t be the end. It wouldn’t be the end. Or so I hoped.

~Colophon~

~Thank You~

Editorial Philosophy:

The Outlet seeks to create an outlet for people to plug into their creativity. Throughout 2020 and 2021, many people have suffered great losses, but just as many have grown and learned more about themselves. In this publication of the magazine, we hope that you will see such a thought projected into the magazine. Our theme for this year was: Emotional Growth. We accept submissions through the grade-level Canvas courses. We give careful consideration to all submissions and accept high-quality work that best gives people an outlet for their creativity. Eve Boone Lois Carpenter Madalene Goeller Emmaleth Keathley Jeremiah Millner Kierstin Stuckey Aniyah Whitehead Tania Williams

Submission Policy:

All our authors and artists who submitted, all Warwick High School teachers who helped us promote, Mr. Huberdeau, Mr. Sito, Ms. Marcolini, our new readers, and the Warwick High School administration.

Staff:

And on the days you can barely stand on your feet And on the days you feel so incomplete&nbsp; And the days you’ve lost all hope of the visions you see Don’t forget the key, don’t forget what you need Although we want to strive Although we have pain in our eyes&nbsp; Let’s not forget why we came to the pond in the first place&nbsp; So as we stack these rocks from greatest to least, just remember if it were ever to fall- We’ll tilt right back over, to the center of the chaos, and the center of the joy. Because it’s what we create, it's what we need- balance.

One day, there was an entomologist named Terrance Phillips. He was tall and skinny. He liked insects and music. He studied the effect of music on insects. Terrance was in his laboratory at the University of Columbia. One day, the crickets escaped. He used classical music to attract the crickets. But, the University of Columbia was a big university. One radio was not enough. The band and volunteers helped Terrance. With the help of the band and the volunteers, their music was successful. At last, Terrance captured all of the crickets.

What do you do when something is broken? You fix it or get it repaired. When something precious is broken, you might cry a little and try to piece it back together. Say that precious something gets broken again. This time you glue it. Oops! That something has fallen and you have to tape it together. Oh my gosh! Did that precious item of yours get broken, yet again? I can't believe it. You pull out some cheap thread and a makeshift needle and sew it together again. This time when it drops, it only cracks. Eh. It’ll be okay. Maybe not. So you staple it, just in case. You set it up high so it isn't damaged again. Oof. It's knocked off the shelf in the midst of a 

party. It shatters. This time, you bawl your eyes out. You gather all the pieces and somehow fix it up so that it at least resembles the beauty that it once was. You put it in the back so no one bothers it. A little while later you let someone have it. They think it's cool and they promised to take care of it. You believe them. Some time passes, and they drop it. It doesn't break because you're there to catch it. But you are so angry with that person for dropping it, that you take it back. This time, you vow to take care of it forever. You promise yourself that you'll tend to it every day so that it can be as strong as it was in the beginning. You look after it until you find someone who will take care of it as if it were their own. That precious item is the only reason you dare to try.

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