Find the shape and tell it!
All Students: Be sure to read the entries for this group --March writers). Everyone is required to comment on at least THREE different pieces of writing. You must submit comments
on Canvas (for each one, include the name of the author and the title
of their piece, and then your positive, specific comment ) by Friday, April 11 on Canvas.
She adjusts his stole gently and he swats her hand away. It will not burn, she teases. His stomach clenches tightly at the sound of her laugh. He coughs, I have matters to attend to. The witch smiles sweetly and smooths his robe. He grasps her hand with impulse. You despise me, she chokes and her eyes begin to sting.
My cow fell as she passed by, a villager told the priest. An intense sickness was followed by permanent slumber. Something must be done.
I do not despise you, his hands begin to itch. He presses a kiss upon her forehead, their skin catches fire there. The fire warms the witch and crucifies the priest. You must go, he mutters. She watches him, searching for something romantic in him. She exits.
Ravens swarm overhead, the witch reaches her cottage and dreams of fire. The priest kneels and prays fervently, wishing to cleanse himself of his love for her. The woman kneels too, praying for her beloved priest.
Witch! Witch! He can hear the villagers screech at her.
He does not leave his rectory.
The man gives a sermon against witchcraft. He feels faint. The villagers exclaim passionately in agreeance. Hysteria has broken loose. He has not seen his witch in a fortnight. He goes to sleep and dreams of her. He fasts the next day through.
More livestock falls. A child has died. The priest dreams of the way the rain tangles her hair.
Her time has come.
The child was the woman’s brother. Could she be so cruel as to slaughter her own kin? They seize her and take her to the center of town.
The woman has not seen her priest in a fortnight. She has lost her brother to a sudden illness, now she is strung up before the town for judgement.
What have you to say for yourself? Followed by screams of concurrence.
The woman glares at her specters. They should be ashamed of themselves, she thinks. She wishes her priest would come. Last night she dreamt of his stoney countenance. She woke up to her last day.
The priest enters town, his visage and knuckles white at the sight of his love tied down. He feels as sickly as he looks. His guilt has waged a fierce war within him, one he fails to be victorious of.
You have slaughtered my livestock!
Slaughtered your own brother! Bile rises in the witch’s throat.
The woman finds the priest's eye. They converse silently, neither uttering a word.
You despise me.
My love is beyond salvation.
Reveal it.
The priest drops his eyes. The woman is gone by nightfall.
His body rejects nutrition. His sermons are weak. Crops continue to fail. Creatures continue to decline. The town is ravaged by blight. Illness escapes hurriedly and takes the lives of many.
The priest falls ill and dreams of the woman whose laughter was gentle and not cackling. Whose touch was healing and never damaging. He dreams of the woman he could never despise, even in his best efforts.
His last breath is for the woman whose memory will not burn.
The literary work that inspired my art piece is The Sword of Summer by Rick Riordan. It inspired me to paint this window because I read this book a while back in middle school and it’s one of my favorite books since I always liked reading about mythology. My painting represents a window that Magnus sees when he enters his new room after dying and being taken to Hotel Valhalla. Before he was taken there, he died heroically to Surt, a fire giant, while saving people on a bridge. To paint this, I leaned towards using more vibrant colors in order to represent the rebirth of Magnus’s life and how he is congratulated as a hero for his courageous and selfless actions. Also, I added growing branches and greenery to emphasize the start of a new life. In the ocean, I used a mix of pink and yellow paint in order to show the reflection of the sun on the water. Although I mainly aimed to use vibrant colors, the grey surrounding the window is used to visualize the room that Magnus lived in as it was mixed between white and grey. A small minor detail was that I added birds in the sky to show Magnus embarking on his new life at Hotel Valhalla. With the use of vibrant colors and growing nature, the message I intend to convey with this portrait is to show how beautiful rebirth can be even if you face a death physically or metaphorically and also to show hope and renewal for new beginnings.
"El avión a Guanajuato, México, aborda en 20 minutos" were the words I heard before my perspective on life changed forever. Growing up, I never knew the difference between a want and a need. I didn't know what it meant to want as my parents always got me everything I asked for. I got it all, whether that was new clothes, shoes, jewelry, or vacations. My biggest concerns were seeing what store I would go into next for my next set of clothes and deciding what ingredients to buy for the following recipe I would make. These things made me happy and were a part of my weekly routine. I lived in a world where my needs and wants were always met, no questions asked. I realize how deeply removed I was from the realities many people face. Visiting Mexico for the first time wasn't just visiting another country and seeing the culture out there but also experiencing a new reality I didn't know existed. I was part of a world where comfort was expected, not earned, and my worries were those of someone who had never faced real hardship.
As soon as I stepped foot out the airport in Mexico I couldnt help but notice how different the air quality was. The air was thicker, had an unpleasant smell to it due to the pollution, and the weather was humid and sticky, nothing compared to back home. The air quality caught me off guard but as I observed the country more I noticed a lot more than just air quality. The buildings were smaller, with almost all of them being colorful but with faded paint, cracked windows, cracks, and overall having the appearance of an abandoned building, except it wasn't abandoned, and there were a lot of people in these buildings work. Stray dogs and cats were at every corner I turned, and the city was just dirty. I was in a world far from the one I had known. There were a lot of people on the street asking for money. The people on the street asking for money ranged from mothers with newborns to disabled people in wheelchairs, elderly, and children on the streets alone without their parents selling things.
One of the people that stood out to me when I saw them selling candy on the side of the road was a pair of siblings. The boy was 11 years old, around my brother's age, and his sister was 8. However, you could see the exhaustion in their faces as if they were 20 years old. The weather was 62 degrees, and I will never forget what the little boy had on. It was a blue shirt with the number 81 on it, and it had holes everywhere. He was wearing blue jeans and grey shoes with holes in them. The little girl was wearing a pink sweater and black leggings that had holes in them, with sandals. Their appearance and clothes were enough to change my perspective, as I was covered up on this cold day, but their story changed me even more. Through hearing their story, I learned that they were working only to survive. Their parents were too poor to take care of them, so they had to sell candy to get money to buy food and water. The boy was carrying the burden of their survival on his small shoulders. As they spoke to me more, I started to realize how different their lives were than mine.
As they spoke, my stomach twisted with a knot. I was stuck in a comparison of the reality they were living with my own. My brother at the same age was so consumed with school work and sports. He was worried about what he was going to eat for dinner or what game to play next. Yet here were these two kids working tirelessly to meet their basic needs- basic needs I had never given a first thought to. I thought of my brother back home, living life carefree and most importantly without having to think about how to get to tomorrow. I was consumed by an overwhelming feeling of guilt. How could I have taken my own life for granted like this? I thought of all the things I had complained about back home. The parents and their children when they would not find an out-fit suitable, or when they were tired of the same things day after day. These children.... their entire world was tied to survival ...and leisure: food, water, an extra day for the family.
Prior to this trip, I would define my hobbies as engaging in activities that would satisfy my desires; baking, shopping and hanging out with friends. However, I came to recognize that not everyone has the privilege of worrying about those types of experiences when in Mexico many, if not most, are only concerned with the daily struggle for the basics. As I returned home and grounded myself in "normalcy," even engaging in more simple acts such as shopping felt like I was given a privilege. This trip taught me what it means to be humble and grateful, and I learned to be grateful for having food, clean water and the option to choose when and how to spend my time with "normalcy." I realized my comfort is not guaranteed and for some, they struggle with oppression and adversity to live another day, thousands every day. After being inspired from my travel to give back, I started to volunteer in my own community. This travel experience was not just a vacation; it was truly a humbling lesson that reminded me that while my world feels like "normalcy", millions of children and adults are still struggling for the basic necessities of life.
Scrolling away–some say endlessly–relationships are hindered by the second as time passes, this new way of communicating is something I don’t fully grasp. While the complexities are evident in the pattern, I am still fathoming as to how an inanimate object replaces authentic socializing in so many ways. Even as our forms of communication have continually evolved, less face-to-face socialization and engagement has been curated because of it. These technological advancements have left me confused about what truly defines a meaningful connection. This misunderstanding of relationships has led countless others, myself being one of them, into an endless spiral. But recently, I’ve begun to notice cracks in that idea.
Cherishing photos of the past has indeed become effortless with present technology. These accessible photos of the past allow a greater appreciation of these shared memories with our loved ones. Memories serve as a connection that isn’t bound by words but the actions of our past selves. Yet, while it has become easier than ever to preserve these moments with a quick snapshot, I can’t help but wonder if these greedy tendencies to constantly capture these memories contributes to the distortion of genuine relationships. Priorities have been shifted as most try to capture the present within their smartphone rather than simply taking in the moment without the lens of a camera. Constantly viewing the world through a lens blocks the emotional depth of an interaction. While I find these actions very prominent within today’s society, I have never fallen victim to it. To me, it’s a barrier placed during the very act of photography, one that displaces you and the people you're with. A deeper emotional or social bond could have unfolded, yet it was overlooked by the pursuit of the perfect shot. A pursuit that is never ending, such a simple act that disconnects us from the experience we are trying to capture.
Open relationships created through constant texting or messaging often sparks an inner fear that these “friendships” may be a false sense of companionship. Face-to-face interactions downfall began with the uprising with smartphones, and with it, the decline of real trust. Commonly perceived among many that sharing updates via text messages all the time strengthens bonds, but it misses a huge aspect. Real in-person conversations, even with the convenience present within today's advancements, still does not beat the traditional methods of communication. Where engagement is conserved among one another, without the distraction of a screen, that is where real trust is created. With the dwindling of this old-fashioned form of exchange this fear has become ever so prominent. Meaningful ties, thrown out the window, as one can be replaced simply over text. Due to the far-reaching influence of these new technological devices, trust is now replaceable. Constant availability may have created acquaintances in the process, but not personal affiliations that exceed these prominent devices. As digital platforms become increasingly more relevant within the lives of many, they highlight how easily people can connect to one another. Accessibility has brought upon the downfall of these purposeful bonds, as the balance between online engagement and real-life associations has been disrupted. Coming across a false sense connection[1] is eye-opening, highlighting the restraints placed on how far we can acquaint ourselves through the screen of a phone, unlike the limitless possibilities of in-person conversation[2] . As it not only makes it prevalent how fragmented our connections have become, but also disconnected they are, helping me realize the significance of what we lost in the process.
I’ve come to acknowledge that while technology may enhance communication, it can never replace the depth found in genuine, real-life interactions. As the years pass, the idea of relations transcending these new technological advancements is becoming rarer, as the line between online and real-life engagement continues to blur. But finding the harmony between these two worlds is what will truly deepen and strengthen these associations. Balance just doesn't maintain relationships, it elevates them. This is inarguably true, as I’ve had the experience of rekindling a friendship purely based on true authenticity and present engagement. I found that the bonds I built over the course of my highschool years are incomparable to the meaningful ties that were reignited at the start of my senior year. Structured upon both forms of communication, virtual and in-person, a balance that many have undermined, ultimately leading to the demise of many friendships. It is key to ensure that these advancements enhance, rather than hinder, these bonds. As the tempting nature of the internet is something that many fall victim to, the double-edged nature of the media’s influence. Finding the distinction between the two, a boundary that has become increasingly blurred and normalized in society, is crucial to truly finding a true meaningful connection in a world of people who are disengaged.[3] After much reflection, in the end my deeper understanding of what truly constitutes a meaningful friendship has broken me free from this endless spiral.
Jolly Ranchers and a QR code changed my high school experience entirely. During club rush in freshman year, some upperclassmen officers tossed some jolly ranchers on my lunch table with a paper with a QR code that said “Join Etiwanda Key Club!” Prior to high school and even throughout a majority of my freshman year, I struggled with intense social anxiety. I hated the fact that I couldn’t participate in class without hearing my heart pounding as I searched for the courage to raise my arm. I dreaded presentations because by the end of it, I felt lightheaded from my whole body, especially my face, burning up as time went on. My palms would sweat to the point where I couldn’t place them on the desk without leaving a trace of visible nervousness for the people around me to see. That in itself was embarrassing enough. I decided to join Key Club because of its motto to build servant leaders through service (and a bonus trip to Six Flags). I was tired of the mental exhaustion, stress, and anxiousness that I went through every time I had to speak in front of people, and I knew realistically that later in life, communication skills and public speaking would be crucial to be successful.
I was given a chance to serve as an officer during freshman, sophomore, and junior year. I took advantage of presenting meeting slides every week by mentally preparing myself to think on the spot, eliminate filler words, use hand gestures without feeling awkward or forced, and feeling comfortable with moments of silence. Lieutenant Governor was a position that people usually tried to be elected for their senior year. My immediate reaction was, “I would never run for Lieutenant Governor.” It entailed serving on the California-Nevada-Hawaii District Board that has about 80 students on it to represent their different “divisions” which is made up of different Key Clubs at schools in your area. You have to plan Division Council Meetings where all the clubs meet once a month and give updates. You oversee service hours, fundraising progress, and assist over 100 officers. Our division is named Division 15 North with a mascot of the Giraffes, and we have 8 schools: Alta Loma, Chaffey, Claremont, Etiwanda, Los Osos, Ontario, Rancho Cucamonga, and Upland. These responsibilities combined with my fear to speak in front of over 100 people in person every month made me think I could never serve on this level. However, I finalized my decision to run. I told myself if I grew this much, it’d be a waste of potential and time if I didn’t at least try.
Conclave (the name of the event where members of the division vote for their next Lieutenant Governor), was already here. I was never the best at writing inspirational speeches and that was what originally made me doubt my abilities. But then I realized one thing: when you truly love something, you don’t need to fake your passion in writing. It’ll come naturally. So, I brainstormed months prior. A hook. A theme. A resonating closing. My slogan was “reigniting the spark within our division” because we struggled with toxicity and unhealthy competition between our clubs the past year. The night before, I had a genuine, unusual excitement overpowering my nerves which carried over the next morning. Friends & family texted me good luck which made me realize what was actually happening and that it was actually reality. “What am I doing running for Lieutenant Governor? This is crazy.”
In the candidates room, I was antsy to present my speech already and it seemed meant to be because I was the first candidate to go. I used to be so nervous for caucus (Q&A session) that follows each speech, but from past practice from running for club positions three times, I channeled that knowledge on stage. When it was announced that I made it to the second and final round, I began to feel more nervous as I realized that this was my one and only chance to secure everyone’s trust in me. As I paced around the front of the auditorium foyer waiting to be called onto stage, I internalized that I only had one shot. I walked in with a sudden wave of sureness. I presented my speech and had an extremely smooth caucus session. Shortly after that, it was time for election announcements. My name was called and I heard everyone’s cheers echo the large theatre. I walked onto stage with the biggest, cheesiest smile and took pride in this huge milestone.
When I got home, I recited my speeches to my parents. Everything felt so surreal. I told them how this moment had marked the moment I have gone full circle in growing and surmounting my social fears. Forcing myself to be in discomfort during all those club meetings and not succumbing to the fear of embarrassment and ridicule felt so worth it. My progress wasn’t immediate nor drastic over the years. But every time I used a filler word, lowered my voice, or wanted to read off the slides to run away from making eye contact with the audience, I tried again the next meeting. This persistent mindset showed me that you are the only one standing in your own way, and that you are responsible for the outcomes you desire.
I am so glad I braced myself in freshman year to be uncomfortable so that I could develop the resilience I have now. It led up to me being able to enjoy my last year in the club that saw me grow the most, in the position of Lieutenant Governor of Division 15 North, “igniting into service.” I am especially grateful for those Jolly Ranchers and that small slip of paper with that QR code on it.
In my early childhood years, whenever I saw something that sparked my interest, like a toy, my parents would always hit me with the phrase, “Ba Mẹ, ngày mai mua cho con nhé?” Which roughly translates to “We’ll buy it for you tomorrow, okay?”. It wasn't until this happened multiple times for me to realize that they were just saying that to stop my bickering. I envied my classmates for being able to get what they wanted but being young and naive, I did not understand how the world worked and more specifically, I did not understand the lessons they were trying to teach me.
My family constantly ingrained into my mind that money was valuable, hence why I grew up in a very financially aware household even though we had enough money to support ourselves. “Time is money” they always said, and I understood what they meant. My parents constantly worked throughout the week to provide for our needs. But I eventually grew to be ashamed of them. I saw my friends with their parents, how they were always present during their award ceremonies and how they were the ones getting picked up from school by them. Meanwhile I was getting picked up by my brother and my cousins. It didn't help that I felt different from my peers, most of the things I said about my lifestyle they couldn't relate to. I remember telling my classmates that my family is buddhist and immediately I was told I was going “down there” for not believing in what they believed in. Seeing their concerned looks because I was not part of the norm made me question my Vietnamese identity a lot.
Throughout my elementary and middle school years, whenever my friends questioned my family I would always tell them about my siblings. They were like my second parents. My siblings knew more about my likes and dislikes compared to my parents, and still do. They gave me the best advice and because they were my brothers, they weren’t afraid to give me the hard truth. My dad was hard to talk to because his tone would completely change what his intentions meant. He wasn't good at English so his tone came off as aggressive and demanding. I knew he never meant anything bad but it was hard to have a conversation with him because he only wanted his points to come across. My mom on the other hand was the opposite, she was a lot more understanding and I consider her to be my best friend even. We always had late night talks and she would check up on my mental health whenever she saw I was in distress. But even if this was the case, my brothers and I spent the majority of our time relying on each other when my parents weren’t present.
This also meant that I stopped expecting things from my parents, I never grew resentful toward them but it was easy to forget that everything they did was for our sake. But fortunately, by being more involved with my culture I gradually improved my relationship with my parents. Again, they were the ones that wanted me to succeed so that I could be happy in life. Its everyone’s first time living and even though they weren’t there when I needed them, I would hope I can repay them for all their hard work by growing and supporting alongside them once they do get to that point where they cannot provide for me anymore. Even though I gained a mindset where I should stop expecting a lot so that I wouldn’t be as disappointed with the results, It has taught me to consider newer viewpoints and to go with the “flow”, that I cannot control everything that happens to me but I can choose to make an effort to understand and to change.
The King in Yellow is a collection of short stories written by Robert W. Chambers and published by F. Tennyson Neely in 1895.
The King in Yellow takes place in an alternative 1920s, and the events in the book are centered around a fictional play of the same name and its effect on the world. There are 4 stories contained within the book.
The first story, “The Repairer of Reputations,” follows a man by the name of Hildred Castaigne, who has had his psyche negatively impacted by a rather serious fall of his horse. His mind has been further corroded by his reading of “The King in Yellow,” which is implied to have driven him to madness, and hatches a plot to take the throne of a so-called “Imperial Dynasty of America” which relates to the figures found within “The King in Yellow.”
The second story, “The Mask,” takes place in France and is narrated by a painter named Alec, who is staying with his friends Boris and Genevieve, who is Boris’s girlfriend. Boris is a sculptor, who concocts a mysterious solution capable of turning living things into marble. At the same time, Alec has found and read “The King in Yellow,” and shortly afterwards, falls into a state of delirium, made worse by the tragedy that unfolds throughout the short story, resulting in Alec’s despair and madness.
The third story, “In the Court of the Dragon,” is written from the perspective of an unnamed churchgoer, who, while attending a service, notices something off about the organ being played. Angered by such an affront to the church, the narrator curses the organist as they view him leaving the church, but notes his very sickly appearance. At some point, the organist returns and takes a seat, staring directly at the narrator. The narrator then steps outside to calm themselves, but the organist follows, and, feeling as though this is retribution by God of some sort related to their reading of “The King in Yellow,” runs through town, all while being chased by the mysterious organist.
The fourth and final story, “The Yellow Sign,” follows Mr. Scott, a painter, and his model and lover Tessie. Scott is painting Tessie as she poses, but the painting turns a sickly yellow color, leading to him destroying it. He then notices the watchman of the church outside the window, and is disgusted by the watchman’s pale, seemingly dead appearance. Tessie and Scott then recall a shared dream in which the watchman was driving a hearse with a coffin with Scott inside it. Later, as Scott is returning home, the watchman asks him if he has found the “Yellow Sign.” At his home, Scott is gifted a black onyx with a strange symbol in gold, and soon both Scott and Tessie come to read “The King in Yellow,” despite Scott’s aversion to the play and vowing to never own a copy of it. Scott and Tessie then realize the black onyx is the Yellow Sign, and then hear the sounds of a hearse as it approaches.
The major conflict of The King in Yellow stems from human nature itself, that being mankind’s tendency to go against the rules which have been set in place, even if it is for their own good. Despite the nations of the world clearly seeing the danger that lies in “The King in Yellow” and banning the play, it seems this has only heightened people’s desire to read it for themselves. Chambers’s exploration of this aspect of humanity also contributes towards the plausibility of The King in Yellow. While the existence of a play capable of inflicting madness upon those who read it is unrealistic at best, the book’s plausibility does not necessarily rest in this, rather it lies with the characters. Supposing such a play as “The King in Yellow” existed, the situation would play out much like the book: play drives people mad, governments ban said play, people still read the play and fall victim regardless. So long as rules exist, man will break them. Chambers uses his audience’s understanding of human nature to deliver his message that mankind’s curiosity and hubris will only lead them to their destruction.
Chambers’s primary focus in writing The King in Yellow is psychological horror, mainly the madness aspect of it. Chambers begins “The Mask” and “The Yellow Sign” by writing the narrators as sane and sensible human beings who somehow come into contact with The King in Yellow, and in both stories the narrators are driven to delirium by the contents of the play, having become enthralled with it, unable to stop themselves from reading it. While this already sounds bad enough, this madness also means that “The King in Yellow” is capable of bringing about harm to those who haven’t even read it. In the “Repairer of Reputations,” Castaigne believing himself to be the rightful heir to his imaginary American dynasty, is prepared to commit murder to in order to attain the crown. Other aspects of psychological horror, such as anxiety and guilt, can be found in The King in Yellow, for example in “In the Court of the Dragon” where the narrator feels guilt for having read the maddening play. The play’s impact on the world is primarily psychological in nature, with its readers going mad, but the danger is most certainly not limited to the mind, a very real physical danger is also present.
The main characters of the stories contained within The King in Yellow are plain and unassuming. Hildred Castaigne is a man who betters the reputation of clients who have fallen from grace, Alec and Scott are simple painters, and the unnamed narrator of the third story is a mere churchgoer. The only things that truly stand out about these characters is their corroded mental state, causing them to think thoughts that don’t make sense and make decisions which are unsound. The rather plain, boring, even, nature of the characters is another way in which Chambers communicates the tragedy of the situation as a whole. These people are not monsters, but normal people who have been changed beyond recognition by a simple play they read in their misguided arrogance.
As The King in Yellow is written from the perspectives of those unfortunate enough to read the play, the language of the play is, understandably, nonsensical, and the narrators can’t be trusted on their accuracy. A prime example of this comes in the form of Hildred Castaigne, and his narration during his various interactions with Mr. Wilde, a strange man who is just as mentally troubled as he is due to his reading of “The King in Yellow.” In one interaction, Castaigne says, in relation to others’ perception of Wilde: “Many called him insane, but I knew him to be as sane as I was.” Castaigne, rather than being wary of Wilde, refutes these claims of insanity, while at the same time asserting his own sanity, in spite of his previous ramblings. While in many cases, the narrator serves a trusted representative from the world of the book to us, Chambers writes his characters in a way that the reader finds it difficult to determine whether or not something is actually true or a falsity crafted by a mind fueled by lunacy. This ambiguity allows the reader to immerse themselves into this horrifying reality, to understand the fear and uncertainty which grips the world in the wake of mass hysteria.
I could not recommend The King in Yellow enough. For those familiar with the works of H.P. Lovecraft and lovers of psychological horror and the bizarre, this book is perfect for you. The concept of a mundane, seemingly everyday object inducing some form of madness on a global scale is still quite a novel concept, even over a century after the book’s publishing. The King in Yellow is also rather short in length, my copy being only slightly over 150 pages in length. This in conjunction with the separation of the book into short stories means that the readers don’t necessarily have to carve out a lot of time from their lives just to dedicate them to reading the story. However, some readers may find it difficult to really get into The King in Yellow due to the instability and unreliability of some of the narrators. At the same time, psychological horror lends itself to unreliable perspectives due to facets of the genre itself, such as in this case, madness. It is completely okay to want a lucid narrator capable of accurately conveying to the reader the events of the book they’re reading, but readers should also do their research and know what they’re getting into. Regardless, Chambers’s telling of an unbelievably horrific universe separate from ours, while also keeping readers engaged via their anxiousness to find out what happens to the human narrators as their stories progress solidify The King in Yellow as a book with high literary significance for those willing to embrace its absurdity.
Echoes of Her Heart
The novel, “The Daughters of Madurai” by Rajasree Variyar, depicts the reality of motherhood and how often daughters do not know the aspirations, nor the sacrifices within their mother's life. Variyar illustrates the cultural belief that sons are more prized than daughters, and its effect is especially on mothers when their daughters are taken away from them forever. Janani, the mother, and Nila, the daughter of Janani that was allowed to be saved, embark on this journey to restart their relationship and incorporate the principles of trust and honesty to create their inseparable bond of mother and daughter. In my piece, I used the specific colors of green, pink, yellow, and blue, which symbolize the ideas prevalent in the book: growth, love, patience, and femininity. I drew using color pencils and left the background white to bring a sense of calmness that is brought by the end of the novel. I also specifically chose Pink Lilies as the main illustration because it represents maternal love. This love is represented through the countless actions Janani does to protect her daughter Nila from getting hurt by the stereotypical beliefs of daughters being born as a sin. Janani sacrifices often go unnoticed, similar to the beautiful significance behind flowers. I put the drawing of Janani with her sitting where only her back was revealed to represent the universal theme of the unknown of mothers' aspirations and their own personal lives before becoming a mother.
The first week of summer going into senior year and I already found myself with too much freetime. Beforehand I anticipated my summer to mainly consist of early morning football practices at school, spending time with friends, attending a couple of my friends’ graduation parties, and if I had time… maybe walk my dog. But, I also had bigger plans for my future, like my older sister; I also anticipated moving into a college dorm after graduation and I realized I needed to start saving money if I was going to make it happen. After applying to several different job opportunities, like retail, fast food, and lifeguard, I finally heard back from one of them. I ended up landing a job at Wetzel’s Pretzels in Victoria Gardens after I got hired on the spot after my interview. My manager was a bit skeptical at hiring because of my busy schedule, but nonetheless she gave me an opportunity.
My first day on the job was in the middle of June and it was memorable just like any first day on the job should be. I showed up about 15 minutes early making sure I was prepared, and as I walked in I was greeted kindly by my other two managers who assisted me and brought my apron and all the other necessary gear. The apron felt a little stiff as I tied it around my waist, but I knew it symbolized the job I had worked hard to get.
Once my shift started my manager made sure to familiarize me with lots of the basic tasks and where to find things if they needed to be restocked. After that was finished she gave me the most simple task any new person gets which is sampling, which is something you’ll end up doing 70% of the time when you first get hired. My first shift consisted of sampling and expediting, helping the person on register by grabbing things for them. During my first shift I was able to familiarize myself with lots of my coworkers and soon found out they were all in similar positions as me. Possibly first or second job working here and just looking to make some extra cash for high school and college. It took me about a month to get to know all my coworkers but for the most part it seemed to be all college students with about 5 high schoolers like me looking to save money. During the summer I essentially maxed out my availability and I started to know my way around the store. I started to realize there was more to this job than just flipping dough and throwing it into the oven, it taught me how to interact with people and provide good customer service. Once school started I essentially wanted to only work weekends with my busy schedule during the week. From about the start of the school year till late November I kept hearing this buzz about how chaotic it gets around the holiday time especially Black Friday.
By the time Black Friday rolled around, I had already worked at Wetzel’s for about a few months. I had gotten pretty comfortable with the job from register, to ovens, and even gotten okay at flipping and twisting the dough which is primarily what managers do. But nothing could have prepared me for what was about to happen. I had heard stories from coworkers about how crazy the mall gets not only that weekend, but the entire holiday season. Before we faced this madness of Black Friday, our main manager called for a team meeting the Sunday before black Friday. The mall had not yet opened but essentially the meeting called for us to show extra positive attitudes towards customers, and to go over procedures/expectations for the weekend. However, the most important thing she noted was that we needed to be upselling more than usual to maximize the store’s profit. As an extra motivation my manager told us that the employee who upsells the most and has the highest average ticket sale listed on the register earns an extra $200 for the next pay period . When the schedule got released it was revealed that it was going to be an all hands on deck situation because my manager had scheduled all 20 employees along with 7 of our managers to try and manage the crowd. One thing that had caught me off guard on the schedule however was that I was scheduled to work my first 8 hour day. I felt nervous and sick to my stomach the night before because I was already stressed about meeting college application deadlines and now I had to deal with this immense pressure of working Black Friday at an overpopulated mall. So much for a joyful and stressless thanksgiving break I thought to myself.
My scheduled shift was 1-9, so I decided to leave 30 minutes before my shift to account for the overload parking. I greatly underestimated how packed it was actually going to be. It ended up taking over 40+ minutes to find parking and just driving around over and over it midsts of finding a parking spot. Already 10 minutes late to shift I ran to the store across the mall all while tying my apron around my back and fixing my bandana on my head. The mall was buzzing and it truly felt like a movie scene where everyone was shopping in Times Square. It was so packed that they had actually shut down the street in front of the store in order for people to walk across and get around. The pressure grew as the day went by with countless orders of people, and lines stretching 4 stores down. It was getting out of hand, and it became especially nerve racking when customers would come to order and would be upset about their food because they had to wait 3-5 minutes for it to come out of the oven. As the sun began to set, the crowds did not, more people kept piling in and we began to get backed up on online orders. For the first half of the shift I was mainly just transferring pretzel bits to bags and stocking supplies.
But then my manager had let me know after I took my break about halfway through the shift I would be going on the register. I feel an uneasy pain go through my body after this, but I also knew it was a chance to represent myself in a way that I wanted to. I took a deep breath and slipped behind the counter and began to take orders. The first few customers were easy to handle, and I quickly got into a rhythm, quickly taking their orders and upselling when I could. "Would you like to add a drink to that?” or “Would you like to upgrade to a large one for only 50 cents more?” became second nature for me. But soon the line grew longer, and the pace picked up quicker. I had to think fast and keep track of multiple orders at once, and make sure I was entering everything correctly on the register. The sound of the register was constant and the counter filled with bags, pretzels, and drinks. I could feel my pulse quicken. There was a moment when a customer came up, frustrated that we were out of a lemonade because we had just refilled it. I quickly apologized and offered a substitute, all while processing the next order. The customer calmed down, and within seconds, I had them laughing with a joke about how busy we were. It was moments like that being able to handle tough situations with positivity showed how much I grew since my first day. Before I knew it my shift had ended, and my legs ache from standing so long and my throat sore from talking to so many customers.
After this week I had gone back to my usual weekend shifts and had been relieved Black Friday Weekend was over at the mall. One day during school I had been sitting in class and checked my email only to see that I had been the employee with the highest average ticket sale for not only that weekend but the entire month as well. My performance that weekend was unheard of and my managers granted me “Team Member of the Month” and gave me an additional bonus for my next paycheck. With the performance that I upheld during that stretch of November it granted me a $300 bonus for the next pay period which I was super excited about. However, what mattered to me most was the journey and social skills I developed throughout this job that I still hold. I think it’s an important part of everyone's life to experience some kind of discouragement from a complete stranger, and a first job is a perfect place for that. It teaches you to be more confident in yourself and to communicate effectively. I became more comfortable talking to people, whether it was helping a classmate or speaking up in group projects. This fast-paced environment teaches me to be poised under pressure and to stay positive when things feel overwhelming.
There stood a clearing around a hundred feet in diameter, enclosed on all sides by massive, looming trees, casting long shadows and only serving to heighten the tense atmosphere.
Near the center of the clearing stood a small group of students aged from their late teens to early twenties. Numbering no more than fifteen, they were dressed in gleaming black uniforms and stood in orderly lines, looking more akin to the shadowy trees that surrounded them than humans. None were talking; indeed, nothing could be heard other than the gentle rustle of the trees in the wind. The tension could clearly be seen in the students’ faces, taut as it was in stone-cold solemnity. However, who could blame them? After all, it was the most important day in their lives.
The Visanya Collective boasts a long and proud history, overcoming much adversity from the realm of monsters they bordered. They gained immense power and renown after the creation of Executioners, their enhanced soldiers, a millennia ago, though none of this is important right now.
What is important, is that the first Executioner wielded the weapon Unmaker: a sword able to annihilate everything in its path, and one which became so cursed with the blood of monsters that it was abandoned, left embedded from the hilt up in a platform in this very clearing.
These students (named Aspirants), who have just completed the Executioner program, have at the end of their training, one very simple task: to pull out the sword and bring about the Collective’s new golden era.
Of course, if it was such a simple task, there would be no need to test generations of Executioners. No, the one to pull out the sword had to meet some special condition, though, no one knows what it could be. It's been debated countless times by scholars with varied theories. What was agreed upon was that the one who pulled out the sword had to be an Executioner, for nothing else could withstand the terrible power of the Unmaker.
I exhaled a silent breath as I surveyed the rest of the Aspirants, finding no solace in the steely, expressionless gaze that marked every one of their faces. Though, as the survivors of the dreaded Executioner program, boasting a mortality rate of almost 99%, it would be a surprise if they looked anything but. I’m sure if I looked into a mirror, I’d see the same gaze staring back at me.
Oddly enough, I did still feel some sliver of emotion in me. It seemed no matter how many horrors I witnessed through that decade-long program, it was impossible to crush that insignificant seed of (nervousness?) in my heart. It could only be because the famed Unmaker lay in front of my eyes.
In just a few minutes, the ceremony would begin. But was I ready? Even if I could not draw the blade, even touching it was enough to make me quail.
Once again, I tried looking at the Aspirants. This time, I caught a few signs of emotions: unsteady breathing and slight perspiration. It seemed even they could get nervous, even if pulling out the Unmaker was a foregone conclusion: the one to do it would be the best of our class, A302, a natural leader and warrior whose bloodline was theorized to be the one destined to wield Unmaker.
And, while A302 is amazing, the rest were nothing to scoff at either. As the only fourteen to survive of the initial thousand, it was expected that each of them were geniuses, excelling in various arts that would prove a great addition to the Collective. And me? I was the most pathetic of the bunch. With no special talent and only above average physical skill and intelligence, I had no claim to be here with the rest of the Aspirants except by fluke. No one expected me to draw the blade, least of all myself.
“A003”
If the atmosphere was tense before, now it was frozen. The first name was called, and an Aspirant strode up to the platform, grasping the hilt and pulling slightly after a small pause. With no change to the sword, she let go and walked back. It was said that the one who would wield the Unmaker would be able to slide it out like butter; putting in effort was unnecessary.
“A689”
The next Aspirant walked out, trying and failing as the first had.
After that, it seemed the names started rattling off one by one. Time seemed to both accelerate and slow as I waited for my turn, my heart hammering in my chest.
But why was it beating? I wasn’t nervous, or excited. I knew I had no hope of pulling out that sword, so what was I feeling? Name after name seemed to be called up, as though there were many more than our small number.
“A999”
All at once, it was as though everyone’s eyes were on me, judging me as I was called up. There wasn’t any open hatred; I was still their comrade. Rather, it was a quiet disdain, telling me that there was no way I could pull out the sword.
Thump. That thought fired something within me. I walked towards the platform, faking a confident stride. I stepped onto the platform, each step coinciding with the beat of my heart.
Thump, thump
I walked closer and closer to the Unmaker. My heart felt like an engine.
Thump, thump
My hand reached for the hilt of the sword, grasping it.
Thump, thump
I forced strength into my body, pulled, and…
Nothing. The sword was as rigid as the platform I stood on.
My vision turned red, and I finally realized what the emotion plaguing me was: I was furious. Not at the rest of the Aspirants, but at myself. This fury was one I had since I began as an Aspirant.
Every day, I had trained till I was coughing blood for what the others could do easily. It wasn’t out of optimism or faith. It was anger. I didn’t understand why I was so much worse than the others, so I punished myself day in and day out to make up for it.
And all that work, all that effort, for this? I didn’t want fame or glory. I just wanted to be better. And yet, was this the extent of my potential?
I knew I couldn’t pull out that blade, but…did that really matter?
I tightened my grip around the handle. I could hear low murmurs in the background, but it was insignificant against the pulsating of my heart.
THUMP, THUMP
If my entire life was for this moment, then why not burn it all away?
I drew a clear breath, and, with every last ounce of my body, pulled. I drew on every single fiber of my enhanced muscles, feeling them shake. I could feel the muscles and tendons in my arms rip, soaking my uniform in blood.
But it didn’t matter.
I pulled even harder, trying to rip out the Unmaker. I could hear my legs crack, the bones breaking and the muscles tearing apart. Once I finished this action, I would never walk again.
But it never mattered.
Every inch of my being was on fire, but my mind was clear. I had only one path, one purpose. Anything else was unnecessary.
The sword did not move.
But that was to be expected. For I still had more of my life to burn. I dug my broken heels into the ground. The ancient podium, made of some material that hadn’t shown any wear in a thousand years, cracked beneath my feet.
The sword still did not move.
My body was broken and continued to break. But I could still give more. I crushed the hilt in my grip. What remained of my upper body continued to pull the sword. I couldn't last much longer. And…
A dull cracking shook the air. Slowly, ever so slightly, the sword shifted. Moved by an unworthy touch.
I had already lost my vision, along with most of my senses. I distantly felt the Unmaker move, but that changed little. I had only a single purpose, and that purpose was not yet complete. I had not yet given my life.
The blade continued to move out of the pedestal, slowly unearthing the Unmaker that had been buried for millennia.
I strained harder and harder, but I no longer knew why. I could feel myself fading away.
The unearthly glow of the black blade shone as the blade was being pulled out. Almost its entire length was uncovered.
My mind was crumbling. I knew my purpose would be complete. And so, with the last of my life, I -
The sword that could not be drawn was drawn. The Unmaker, which had once sown terror throughout the world, was once again bared for all the world to see. Bared by the corpse of a man.