Tag Archives: PRIZM

Drawing of bird

By: Pwe Doh Gay

This is a picture of a bird/woodpecker I made. I made the woodpecker because I wanted to draw something different and cool. Also, I drew it because there are lots of birds in the world, and I saw one outside a window and wanted to draw one.

In this drawing, I used a pencil to make the bird and tree trunk, then I went over it with an ultra-fine Sharpie. After, I colored in the drawing with markers.

I really like how my first drawing of a bird turned out. My favorite part about the picture is the pecked trunk; I really like how it looks with the bird.

One area I could improve is the color, perhaps by adding more color to the bird. Overall, I think it looks very good.

For my next drawing, I will make a bird or something else that is cool, but it will probably be next school year.

ALICE IN WONDERLAND

By: Charlotte Bistodeau

Artist Statement:

I drew this for my art class. We were making patterns and got to choose whatever we wanted to go into the pattern. I chose Alice which was also the base choice. I chose Alice because I love the elegance of the Victorian era mixed with the craziness of dreams that get mixed together in the book.

I don’t usually do the line art on my drawings so having one of our tasks in the art project be the line art was a good thing. If it wasn’t a task I never would have done it.

One thing I’m not as proud of is that some of the tiles behind Alice have random lines because I wasn’t paying attention. Everything else about the drawing I enjoyed though, especially the shading. Well, not really doing the shading but I like how it turned out.

In the end I’m glad this was what I had to do for my art class because it actually got me to sit down and think about what I had to draw.

Zentangle 3

By: Pwe Doh Gay

This is a drawing of another zentangle but in a deck of cards style. I really thought that the second zentangle looked really good, so I wanted to make an even better one for the last zentangle drawing.

For this picture, I used a pencil to make the cards and patterns. Then first went over that with an ultra-fine point Sharpie, then with a fine-point Sharpie, to fill in some of the white spots.

I really like how this one turned out. I think this is my favorite one out of all three zentangles I made. I really like how different this one looks from the others. The patterns just look cool inside of the cards. My favorite pattern is the ten of diamond card. The one that I don’t like is the X shape pattern with the dots in it, on the ace card.

For my next drawing, I will make something else, but I don’t know what I will make yet, but I think it will probably be something that will include color.

MEET ME UNDER THE COTTONWOOD

By: Charlotte Bistodeau

Image created with Gencraft

*Warning: this story contains, depictions of violence, including suicide, and some vulgar language.

I had to hurry if I wanted to make it.

I stumbled down the street watching as the sun began to rise, just peeking over the overgrown forest, trying my hardest to go the slightest bit faster than a saunter, but I was tired from running. Not only that, the pain in my arm kept violently shooting throughout my body, making me wince each time. I could feel the bite’s poison slowly move through my veins. Hot and burning, it was creeping up to my elbow. Once it reached my heart, it would kill me. I should’ve been more careful. I was too cocky. Walkers are slow, but strong, so when I tried to push a walker twice my size off me, the walker unsurprisingly overpowered me and tore a grotesque chunk of flesh from my arm. I could barely grab my knife in time. If I hadn’t, I would’ve been turned by now. But I couldn’t let that happen. That’s why I was rushing. Trying my very hardest to get to the only place worth something before I turned. I wouldn’t allow myself to turn. I couldn’t become one of them. That was my only fear, to die and turn, then to kill and kill and kill, until I spread this curse to someone else. It was disgusting. I hated the people who were too cowardly to put down the turned. It was disgraceful to watch as a cannibalistic beast took over their bodies. I couldn’t do that to myself. So I decided to go to the only place that reminded me of a better time, before the world went to shit. A place where a smile was an everyday occurrence. Where nothing could shatter our hopes and dreams. The place I met him.

That place lay nearby; three miles, to be exact. For a slow and sickly human it felt like 20. I kept on walking, hoping I would make it before my body gave up. Just then, as I looked up, I saw it. The place I was searching for. I hadn’t noticed how close I had gotten because I was too busy trying to keep myself from being overcome by pain.

 It also didn’t help that as far as I could see there were trees. Only the road, cracked and crumbling, was an exception to the surrounding greenery. Yet, the place I was searching for was intact. The high school.

Five years ago I was here; though it seemed abandoned for at least fifteen. Standing in front of the building, I could tell it had been unkempt for years. Much like most buildings now, the concrete that covered the building was cracking. The trees surrounding were so overgrown that the shrubs underneath looked frail and pathetic from not getting enough sunlight. The building itself was the same as any other, dull, square, and beige, but now looked alive with ivy and moss. But the building wasn’t where I wanted to go, it was the garden.

The garden was located behind the school, so I mustered all my strength to make my way there. As I arrived at the far end of the school, I was shocked to see a field once plain and bare, brimming with flowers nestled within the surrounding forest. And, in the middle of the field, was a giant cottonwood tree on a small hill. The cottonwood was in full bloom, letting its seeds gracefully drift to the ground, making it look like freshly fallen snow. It was beautiful.

I let myself slowly stagger through the field, adorned with daisies and tulips, taking each step with deliberate care. I cared more for those flowers than anything in a long time. I couldn’t bear to break them. I could see him standing there in the field, smiling at me as he plucked the prettiest flower he could find. My heart hurt. I kept taking slow steps, searching for a fleeting memory, one where we were together. As I stepped underneath the cottonwood, I felt the warmth of the sun shining through the branches, making it feel as though he was there with me. Holding me. We promised to be together forever, but that was nothing but a dream.

It was the day he told me he loved me. It was the day he took my hands and smiled. It was the day I ran. I ran away with him. Running as fast as we could, away from the screams. We ran for years. Then he left. He grabbed my hands and smiled at me. All I could see was him. Yet in an instant, it all vanished as his lifeless body slumped to the ground. He was beautiful and so was his death. I chose to bury him beneath the cottonwood tree that we cherished so dearly. Now, flowers grow where he lay, where I long to lay.

I could feel the poison seeping deeper and deeper. I slumped against the tree, sliding down the rough bark, my dress getting caught on each crack. Sitting beneath the cottonwood, in snow that felt like clouds, on a hill amidst a field, with the sun gently touching my face, I couldn’t help but think there was no better place. I reached into my dress pocket and found the cold, hard piece of steel, fumbling the loose bullets. I struggled to lift it up beneath my jaw, aiming it toward my brain. I knew I was on the brink of turning, but that thought didn’t bother me. I could only find myself thinking of him. His warmth brought a smile to my face. I closed my eyes, embracing his warmth, filling me with peace. Then, as I felt a tear roll down my cheek, I took one final breath and pulled the trigger.

“We’re Alive” review

By: Munira Ahmadad

*Warning: this review contains spoilers for the short story “We’re Alive” (located in the PRIZM section of the Plaid Line)

“We’re Alive” is a short horror story written by HPSH student Daniel Kendle, and this article is a review of it and a discussion of my thoughts about the story.

The short story begins with an unnamed narrator in a jungle, they’re inside a garden sanctum when they watch a monstrous creature made of the jungle’s organic life become animated. Initially the being is referred to as the jungle’s newest creation which led me to think it never existed before, but it’s soon described as ancient and something of a folk story. The narrator watches, petrified and intrigued as it moves towards them. Spores surrounded them as they stared at each other. After the narrator’s reluctant escape, a month later, they remain haunted by the interaction with the garden’s monster and become unable to function normally. After dreaming of being with the creature in a physical and emotional loving bind, we see the narrator lose their grip on reality and by the end they harm themself with a crazed desire to return to the garden.

The story truly succeeds at providing the descriptions necessary to paint a detailed visualization of the scenes in the story. I don’t read much horror, but the narrator losing their grip on reality is a relatively common trope. After reading through, I wondered if the inspiration for this work was “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe since both use obsession as its element and have narrators you know next to nothing about. The plot itself reminds me of “The Black Cat”, also by Edgar Allan Poe.

One of the very first things that made me feel iffy while reading through was the literary diction. Written in the narrator’s perspective, they describe how they felt, what they did and thought, and what was going on. Since it’s all in past tense, I assumed this was a retelling of what happened, which explained the dramatic storytelling style. But as the speaker describes their loss of sanity due to their growing obsession, it seems as though readers are going along with the scenes at the same time as the narrator. This makes the descriptive writing come off as pretty verbose. The flowery language is prioritized over the plot which makes the first time reading through unsatisfactory, especially since the goal of the story was to capture the essence of what an all-consuming obsession feels like.

Speaking of the goal of the story, the attempt at disorientating storytelling by the narrator did not invoke any feelings of repulsion, suspense, or horror in me. It’s very tell-not-show, like instead of showing us the fear the narrator was experiencing during their interaction with the monster via description (hands shaking, heart pounding, stomach churning), we’re just told directly by the speaker that they were afraid. The conflicting feelings the narrator had towards the garden creature was very clear, to the point it feels tedious. Scary stories aren’t supposed to hold the reader’s hand and walk them through the entire thing.

For all the time spent making sure the audience was absolutely certain the narrator had an obsession, they aren’t given much of a reason to care. When we have an unnamed narrator of unknown origin, you’d assume their narration would give you more information of who they are and their personality as you read along. However, in this short story the narrator’s identity didn’t seem to matter. We’re given vague ideas about the characteristics of this person, such as their acutely aware of their flaws, immediately scorning their humanity and views themselves as a “mangy ape” in the presence of the monster that becomes their obsession. They call themselves a hedonistic wretch, and we just kind of have to take their word for it.

Overall, though, I liked reading this. Because I have my own bias against horror, I wasn’t the target audience, and so I probably didn’t enjoy it as much as someone who likes horror. I think the author definitely is a skilled writer and has the descriptive skills to create vivid imagery for the reader to enjoy. I feel as though Kendle would be an excellent fantasy writer and I hope he continues to share more of his work. This review was for fun and from the perspective of a reader despite my criticism, which itself may be flawed.

Prince of the Swallowed Kingdom

By: Charlotte Bistodeau

Once upon a time there was a prince, an o so beautiful prince, whose long hair shone as bright as the stars. But though he shone bright, his heart was rotten. Rotten and brown with greed and desire. He would steal from the poor and give to the rich. He would punish the innocent and free the guilty. But he cared not, for his father was the king, and he was the prince. No one dared to stop him. Until one fateful day, an old lady visited the prince’s castle. And as she walked down the corridors decorated with gold and gemstones, she was plagued with anger for all of those jewels he had not earned, but stole from the beggarly. There, she was let into the throne room where the prince sat haughty in his chair, looking down on her as if she were a mere roach.

”Speak old hag! You should feel lucky I have even let your eyes wander upon me, so speak!” 

“I only wish for you to give back what you have taken…”

”Taken?! What is this you speak of? All I have is what I worked for! I am not like you, who sits and does nothing but complain, you peasants are all the same,”

The words the prince spoke had angered her. And as her anger turned to rage the skies started to rumble, being overtaken by the dark clouds of wrath. The winds howled and blew throughout the castle into the throne room making all of the candles that lit the room go out. 

In the silence the prince saw nothing but dark, his guards nowhere to be found. Only a faint voice so dull and somber that one would think it was the whisper of the wind. 

“You pitiful prince,” The whisper started, “Your greed and insolence will turn this kingdom to ruin,” The wind had stopped, “So I shall give you a gift, a gift that lets you take and take and take without getting full.”

”You- YOU FOOLISH WENCH! HOW DARE YOU LOOK DOWN UPON ME!? I SHALL-“ he stopped as he heard the sound of the old lady laugh. She was laughing and laughing and as she laughed he had realized that he was no longer in his castle, but somewhere in a different realm. 

“YOU WITCH, TAKE ME BACK TO MY CASTLE!!”

”My poor prince, that castle was never yours to begin with.” 

Suddenly the prince’s vision began to haze over as a smoke thick like poison, filled the room making him slump to the ground. Then the witch spoke for the last time.

”Goodbye my fair prince, for when tomorrow comes, you shall wake-up to find yourself cursed by this old hag.”

Daybreak had come and awakened the prince from his slumber. He looked around scared to find a trace of the previous day, but there was none. He must have only dreamed it.

“My prince!” a servant cried as the throne room doors creaked open, “What are you doing in here? The king wants to see you in the dining hall for breakfast! Immediately!”

So the prince made his way to the dining hall, his stomach growling as if he hadn’t eaten for days. And having finally made it to the dining hall, he looked across a table filled with all kinds of foods. Each and every food making him drool and stare, as in a daze.

“My fine boy, does the food look so good to have bewitched you?”

The prince responds, “Ah, I believe I’m just a little hungry as I fell asleep before dinner.”

Then the prince sat down and began to eat. He took one bite, then another bite, then another bite, then another. To the king’s horror, he looked up to find the prince had started to eat up every single dish on the table, as if he were a ravenous animal.

“My son, what is this nonsense? Are you that of a beast!?” the king cried.

“No, father! I don’t know what came over me! And it’s not as though we can’t get more…”

“You fool! This is not about more, you selfish swine! I refuse to have such a beast in my house! You have done far more than enough, you don’t even know the half of what I’ve had to cover for you, do you!?” The king was furious, “I hereby banish you to the kingdom in the woods! Until you get your act together and make up for your sins, you are no longer my son!” So the prince was sent to the woods, to rule over its kingdom. Cursing and scowling the whole way there, understanding just then that yesterday’s feat was not just a mere dream.

When the people of the woods heard the coming of a new ruler, all they could do was hope he would bring prosperity to their cursed lands. But when the prince finally set foot in his new kingdom, all he could think about was the pain from his abdomen that shrouded his thoughts with agony. He was hungry again. It had only been a couple hours since his last meal, but he knew what his very first order of the kingdom would be. He ordered all the people of the woods to hand over all of their food and crops, and in return he promised to give them enough food to last them a thousand years. They believed this as they had nothing left to lose, but they realized their mistake when they heard the prince had eaten all of their crops in one sitting. 

“Such horror,” the farmer said.

“What beast is he,” the knights all sang.

”How could the king leave us to such a glutton,” all the people cried.

But the prince was still hungry. He then ordered for all the animals to be sent to him, slaughtered and cooked. 

“Such vile behavior,” the people all thought, but could not betray him as they were still hoping the prince might keep his promise to them.

Soon after eating all his people’s delectable livestock, the prince thought about the things that might fill him up other than food. He came to a conclusion and ordered for all of the jewels and gold to be stripped from his new castle walls. The people of the woods saw him as crazy, but did as he asked as they were afraid what he would do if they betrayed him. 

“Such divine jewels,” the prince drooled. He ate the whole pile and finally, no, he was still hungry.

This made him angry. The hunger he had tried to stop, that ravaged inside him, felt as though it would eat him alive. 

“BRING ME THE POOR AND THE FILTHY! NO! BRING ME ALL THE PEOPLE OF THIS KINGDOM!” He finally screamed, “I will do anything to satisfy my hunger.”

All of the prince’s servants were now terrified. What did the prince plan to do with the filth of his newfound kingdom they wondered. As his royal subjects began to pour into the castle, the prince’s hunger worsened. Scraping and tearing as if trying to rip him open from the inside out. 

“Hah…, Well, come into my dining hall,” he declared, “I told you I would have you for a royal feast, didn’t I?” 

His people didn’t know what to think about the sight they let their eyes upon. A long table filled with thousands of dishes, at least a couple helpings for each of them once over. But as the dining hall doors shut behind them, so did any chance of their escape. It was said that the screams of terror from inside those halls could be heard from two kingdoms away. A truly horrid sound.

But that was not the end of the prince. Wandering the empty corridors of an o-so empty kingdom, looking at the empty walls where gold and gemstones once adorned each and every wall, he realized the witch had gotten what she wanted. So he sat down on his brand new throne, thinking. He still had not yet satisfied his hunger. In fact, the hunger had gotten worse, as if everything he had eaten made the pain grow. Then he realized something. That the scraping and tearing was not just a feeling, but it was his stomach eating away at his very own flesh. He hated the feeling, but weak in his famished state, could only look upon the empty throne room, cursing the witch for bringing him to such a desolate place.

Zentangle

By: Pwe Doh Gay

This is a picture of a zentangle I drew. I made this drawing because when I first saw it, I thought it was cool, so decided to draw a zentangle. Also, a zentangle is an easy thing to make and is supposed to be a relaxing and a fun thing to do. All you have to do is make different shapes and patterns to make a zentangle.

For this drawing, I used a pencil to make all the different patterns, then I went over the pencil with a Sharpie. After I went over with a Sharpie, I colored in some of the white in the patterns to give it a different look.

In this picture, I really like how the different patterns look. The pattern that I like the most is the lines with the shaded background by the triangle one (by the lower right corner). I also like a lot of the others too, but there are one or two I don’t like (like the half triangle pattern near the upper right corner).

For my next drawing, I might make another zentangle but different, or I might make something else.

Slit-mouth woman (Kuchisake-onna)

By: Seng Yang

Growing up in a small town in Japan, I always found comfort in the familiar routine of my life. My name is Emi, and I’ve lived in this quiet village for as long as I can remember. My parents owned a quaint little bookstore, and I spent most of my childhood lost in the pages of countless novels. The stories I read were my escape, my way of exploring the world beyond our serene surroundings.

As I grew older, I took a part-time job at a local convenience store to help with college expenses. The job was mostly uneventful, stocking shelves, ringing up customers, and occasionally dealing with the odd late-night shopper. But it was on one of these late shifts that my life took a turn into the surreal.

It was a chilly autumn evening, and the air had a bite to it that made me pull my jacket tighter around me. The streets were eerily quiet, the only sound being the rustle of leaves in the wind. I had just finished my shift and was walking home, lost in thoughts about an upcoming exam, when I saw her, a woman standing under a flickering streetlight, her face partially obscured by a surgical mask.

“Am I beautiful?” she asked, her voice soft yet chilling.

I hesitated, recalling the stories I’d heard from my grandmother about Kuchisake-onna, the slit-mouthed woman. “Yes,” I replied cautiously.

She removed her mask, revealing a grotesque, gaping wound that stretched from ear to ear. “How about now?”

My heart pounded in my chest. I knew the wrong answer could be deadly. Frozen in place, my grandmother had told me, “If she ever approaches you asking that, describe her appearances as average. It will then confuse her and she’ll leave you alone.”

“You’re average looking,” I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady.

She stared at me for what felt like an eternity before slowly putting the mask back on. Without another word, she turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me standing there, trembling and breathless.

Since that night, I have never walked alone after dark. The legend of Kuchisake-onna is no longer just a story to me, it’s a terrifying reality I will never forget. Now, every time I pass that flickering streetlight, I can’t help but quicken my pace, my mind replaying that chilling encounter. The boundaries between legend and reality have blurred, and I live with the constant reminder that some stories are more than just tales. They are warnings.

We’re Alive

By: Daniel Kendle

*Note: The following story is a work of horror. It contains graphic imagery, and depictions of violence including self harm.

Vines coiled. Leaves flitted. The world was at pause, yet the jungle roared in praise at its newest creation: the very thing I watched in horror from across the garden sanctum.

It was tall, with the body shape of an average man, yet constructed from what looked like peat and various flora mashed together in an unholy amalgamation of death, one that looked an astral god in the eyes with malice. It was slightly bent, the bark and mud groaning from their new roles. It was a monster. It was alive.

My clothes, no longer splendid and clean from the garden’s chaotic innards, looked like rags compared to the creature’s rake-like claws. Huge and strong, they were the type of things one would expect out of an extinct animal, something ancient in look and primal in sound. Yet here we were, watching one another from opposite ends of the glass facility. What was once a folk story was real, breathing, eyes twitching. It was silent, but internally I could feel it screaming, hissing in a rage that could only emanate from a beast burdened by the eventual stroll of time.

It took a step forward. Plants rattled and shuffled, the flytraps adorning its left shoulder – or what could be seen as one – contorted ever so slightly. They were the creatures voices, part of a hive mind.

I was in a state of paradoxical stasis. I was afraid, like I imagined anyone would’ve been, yet I was also entranced. Delusioned, yes, but nonetheless intrigued by the immortal shape that skulked towards me. It was halfway across the garden’s square by now, its chrysalis now resembling a broken egg.

It reached me. Spores danced like angels in the aether. We stood, only feet away from each other, trying to make out what the other’s intentions were. Mine were of fearful lust. Their intentions, meanwhile, were something beyond this world’s mortal coil. Something beyond my stupid brain of a mangy ape.

I finally stepped back, then ran.

I didn’t leave my apartment for a couple of weeks. My fridge was full, but my stomach wasn’t. I couldn’t think straight, talk right, move like the hedonistic wretch I used to be a month ago. The monster plagued my mind. It was as if a demon had burrowed into my throat, then my stomach, and then my lungs. I wanted it out.

But even after a few hours, the feeling wasn’t gone, that emotion that called from inside me like a bat rising out of Hell. The fictitious demon continued to coil around me, its snaking body squeezing my neck like a python. I wanted to vomit in retort, but my lame throat forbade it. I curled up on the couch, breathing heavily. I finally tried to sleep.

In my trance of anguish, I found again that sensual desire from my encounter with the creature. I was stunned at this rediscovery, and blushed. For the first time since that fateful night I smiled, bashful. I imagined the creature, now not under the umbrella of fear, but under one of compassion. This umbrella was one of lust, of an attraction towards this false human.

Just before entering my tired paralysis, I toyed with the creature and I like dolls in a house. I could imagine their thick vines and bark claws raking across my face. Embraced in celestial love, I dreamed of us together. I wanted, needed their touch. Why, in that moment I could almost picture the pair of us in their nighttime world again, vines allaying my worries as they ensnared my naked skin…

My world was slowly becoming one of flora and fungi. My cat was slowly morphing into a tiger; a beast that wanted to eat me alive. Its cries rang out through my concrete jungle, thick and drenched with sweat.

My mind was blotted with an incurable smog. The end was before me. Time was no longer on my side.

Days later, my fingernails were on the bathroom floor. Blood was shed, as were tears. They reminded me of its eyes: apricot, with hints of deep coral pink littered around the edges. The difference was red strewn about my hands – and the wall.

I wanted to scream. This apparition lurking inside me hadn’t left. The thing in the garden was the only thing keeping me sane, though at this point my love for it had blossomed, for lack of a better term. A name had been endowed onto it. I didn’t just crave it anymore; my faith in it had reached its climax. It was now less of a physical want, but instead a psychological fix that festered in me.

A parasite.

I bashed my head against the wall. My cat scratched at the door in a desperate attempt to calm me. It was an intrusion, and in response I continued bashing. Bashing and crashing and bashing until…

Red.
Blood.
Relief.
I was panting, smiling. For a moment, the parasite left me, abandoning my vessel that had become polluted with the deranged clouds of the deceased. Smoke filled my lungs. Acid filled my gullet. My brain was like a hurricane that had subsided, only to return in a new form.

The cat was becoming a distraction.

Desire balled up inside me. That longing for demise, that need for the creature ate me alive like animals to rancid meat. I was that meat. I needed to die by their hand.

My hands were laughing at me, snickering at me, jackals basking in the glow of a kill. My knife joined them. My blood joined them. My cat joined them.

The garden was my fix. My mind couldn’t take it anymore; I needed to return. By crawling across my apartment to the door, grabbing my coat and wrapping it loosely around my ragged body. I stood up, bent at the knees, joints knocked together, and left my home.

The walk was quick, even though it took a half hour. I couldn’t remember much after; my blurred vision made seeing difficult, memory impossible. Humans and humans walked past me, some staring, others more direct in their traveling. I was like a lost ship at sea, until I found my lighthouse.

The park where I’d found the garden was just ahead of me, who was flailing in desperation at the sight. I sprinted – or “hobbled,” to be accurate – towards a thicket near the eastern quadrant of the fields. There it was: a bramble of shrubbery that stretched high above the oak and aspen trees, a cloud of doom. My sanctuary.

I tore through the vegetation. My stumps of hands bled out once again, but at this point my mind was dulled enough to barely notice. My brain, burdened with evolution, was escaping its chains and about to be set free.

Breaking through the final wall of foliage revealed the garden once again. The same chain-link fence, derelict gate…it all came back to me. I ran into the sanctum a moment later.

It was relatively-simple finding my way through the garden again. A left, right, two lefts, then straight. The dead architects had done well in the maze’s design.

Finally I ran into the square. It was night again; the sky’s complexion was almost identical to the fateful night weeks before – just like the monster’s.

It rose. Bark snapped against other bark; vines knotted around other vines. An air of dread was exhaled by its green, meat-hungry servants. The beauty ascended, slathered in a coat of moss and love. I felt weak. The monster was awake.

My hands were fighting at my sides. I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed towards it, tears streaming down my cheeks, demons roaring in raucous excitement. I leapt towards it, hands outstretched, body wide.

As my life was sucked away, I began to resist. The vines around me began to prick my skin, and the leaves sliced through flesh. I struggled a bit, my mind free. The parasite was gone, only now, I was too. I began to scream; the forest as well. For once, the monster let out a cry of anger, of rage. It shrieked, desperate for me as I was once for it. We struggled for a moment, a cage of bones starting to encircle me. Now that I was with it again, the world had changed. The body of a human gave way to a thinly-veiled structure of mud and dirt. Thinking jaws of flytraps wilted, alongside the rest of its body.

The pair of us were sinking, down, down, into the soil below. I yelled, hoping someone special would hear and be my ally. In the moment, I felt that recollection of consciousness. My vision sharpened, and my trance was broken. I was alive again, the monster dead.

Embraced in eternal love and death, the plants and I sank into the Earth, silent as the forest night.

Drawing of a cap

By: Pwe Doh Gay

This is a drawing of a cap, also known as a baseball cap. I made this cap because lots of people in the world wear caps. All types of people wear caps, not just baseball players or baseball fans.

For this drawing, I used a pencil, then I went over it with a Sharpie. After that, I used markers to color the cap in. In this picture, I drew the front and back of the cap. I also put the Highland Park logo and name on it. Also, I put the ‘MN’ for Minnesota and St. Paul on it.

I really like how the drawing turned out. I like the logo of Highland Park on it and the names. I like the red on the cap a lot because it is bright, and the gray on it gives it a different look. I also like how I drew a front and back to show both sides of the hat.

For my next picture, I don’t know what I will be making, but it might be a hat or something about sports or something different.