Volume 3, Issue 1 - Lower Canada College



Volume 3, Issue 1 - Lower Canada College
Arts and Literature
Volume 3, Issue 1
June 2014
Cover Art: Eden Freyman (11)
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Editor’s Note
This year’s literary and art
magazine committee is
pleased to present to you
our 2013-2014 edition. It
contains a wide range of
pieces, including creative
writing, art, essays, and
poetry. Our artists range
from middle school students to grades 11 and 12,
and display a variety of
thoughts, emotions, values,
and opinions. Many of this
year’s literary pieces focus
on acknowledging one’s
own self and one’s place in
this world. We want our
readers to think about how
they views themselves on a
personal and global scale,
and to provoke thoughts
and questions: what is my
role in the world? How do I
deal with problems? What
are my strengths and weaknesses? How have I changed
who I am for those around
me? But most importantly,
we seek to entertain, and
bring light to our school’s
many artists.
We’d like to thank this year’s student committee:
Elizabeth O’Meara, Holly Faria, Victoria Yuen,
Jen Ben-Menashe, as well as support from Samantha Addesky, Lindsey Schneidmann and Arielle Shiri. We would also like to thank the person
who brought us all together in the first place, Ms.
Oelmann, and we’d also like to give special thanks
to Ms. Levy and Mr. Williams for helping us with
the technical aspects, as well as Ms. Loeb for providing us with artwork.
Magazine layout by Holly Faria
Julia Hornstein (11)
Page 3
Danova Gardilcic (9)
Montana Black (11)
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Camp
Where do I begin?
You start going around the age of 8
Probably your parents forced you
Living far way from your family
2 months
All these sports
Different food
How could you possibly enjoy yourself?
Drove through the gates
Past the run down tennis courts
The oval
Over the rocks
In front of the mess hall
It’s weird
How a place could change your life
It’s weird
That camp has shaped me
To who I am today
A feeling of joy overcame me
I was home
My life was changed
The people that go there
Have a special place in my heart
They are incomparable
To others in my life
When I was 8
I fell in love
With a small camp
In Becket, Massachusetts
I’ve never been the same
8 years later
Still that same feeling
I watch the calendar
Slowly pass by
Waiting for that moment
When I return home
By Samantha Adessky
Page 5
It was another bad day
Still refusing to cry
Eyes that never shine
They stay dry
Exhausted by the effort
And so the tears leave
Inking trails down wrist and palm
Scars across the heart
A mark of bleak pain
Tears brought to the surface
And for a moment
The pain escapes
A numbness takes its place
But not for long
Tears need to be shed
By Elizabeth O’Meara
Jeff Brabant (Pre-U)
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Poems by Ali Meltzer
The Towers that Clash
Two thousand nine hundred ninety six
This is something we can’t fix
Remember the fire and the flames
We are done with Bin Laden’s games
The Pentagon and the Twin Towers
Giving him too many powers
Rest in peace to the thousands
Lauren Stubina (11)
In the cold barracks
The Jewish religion sleeps
Six million dead
Page 7
Grade 10 public speaking winner 2014: David Elbaz
“I dedicate myself to the temptations of escapism and throw myself
wholeheartedly into the endlessness of unreality.”
I blame my mother entirely. When I was very young she would read me stories, all of
them fairy tales in which figured dragons and dashing princes, wolves and beasts. Without
ever pausing to reflect on the dangers of filling my young mind with unrealistic expectations,
my mother would tell me stories that all began with «once upon a time» and ended with
«happily ever after». Little Jack could defeat giants, little pussycats made laughing stocks of
ogres and clever market thieves became Arabian princes. Of course , I grew up, and princes,
Arabian and otherwise, became a thing of the past. In time, my mother graduated to stories
about incredibly powerful wizards who studied potions, and magic creatures, and I, stuck in
mind-numbingly boring grammar classes, would dream of receiving a letter inviting me to
join the fantastic world of Hogwarts.
Montana Black
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 My life- my real life- was comparatively dreary. And so, I would escape into
an alternate imaginary universe where I, a
barely 5 feet tall, not spectacularly athletic
boy, would be drafted to the NHL. Never
mind that genetics made it amply clear that
I would never reach the height required
of professional athletes. I chose to believe
-without any real supportive evidence I
might add- that my name would one day
figure on the Canadians’ team roster. Such
is the power of escapism that, for a few years
at least, I faithfully dragged myself to the
rink five times a week to play hockey.
Samantha Dimitriadis
Of course, being of somewhat moderate intelligence, it eventually dawned on me that
try as I might, I would never even make it to the NHL. Nevertheless, in my pursuit of unrealistic dreams, I acquired, without even being aware of it, discipline, grit, ambition, a head
for strategy, and a somewhat appreciable athletic form, which I can assure you, was not at
the outset part of my genetic makeup.
And that, dear classmates, is rather the point. Escapism and unreality feed and shape
what becomes our reality. I have sometimes wondered whether Christian Louboutin has not,
once upon a time, daydreamed about Cinderella’s ill fitting glass shoe and thought «I can do
better». The greatest inventions have their roots in escapism and unreality. I am certain that
the Wright brothers’ dream to fly was fuelled- pardon the pun- by Icarus’ story. It is thanks
to the fact that they had their heads in the clouds that flying is part of our everyday reality.
Jules Verne’s science fiction sparked the imagination of young astronauts who would one
day land on the moon. And if McGill University has a Quiddich team today, it is because a
whole generation of students escaped, as I once did during grammar classes, in the fantastic
universe of Harry Potter.
Page 9
Realism is overrated. Oscar Wilde blames America’s failings on its insistence on realism. How much better off America would be without what Oscar Wilde describes as its crude
commercialization, its materialising spirits, its indifference to the poetical side of things, and
its lack of imagination and of high ideals? I’ ll tell you! Without America’s obsession with reality, the world would never have been inflicted with Kardashians, Honey Boo-Boos or multiple,
copycat versions of Real Housewives! We are forced to read slight variations of the same book
and wear an endless cycle of repeated fashions. Over and over and over again. All because our
society has pledged its commitment to an exact reproduction of the vulgarity of life.
Not I. I will have none of it. I proudly proclaim my commitment to escapism and unreality. I chose, like Don Quixote, to see giants instead of commonplace windmills. And, embracing my myopia- another genetic trait, I am told- I refuse to wear glasses. It makes it easier
to see in the out of focus, blurry image staring back at me in the looking glass, the 6 ft tall,
dashing hockey player that I dream I was meant to be.
Tad Norkis-Kostka (11)
Daniel Wen (11)
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Top left: Chelsea Silva-Martin (11)
Top right: Jessica Brender (9)
Bottom left: Harry Moroz (9)
Bottom right: Montana Black (11)
Page 11
The Mouse
On the ground, a mouse
Once so very alive
Now so very, very dead
Just a tiny thing, this creature
Soft matted grey fur
And thin pointed whiskers
Perhaps victim to a kitty
Searching for a meal
Or the harsh cold of winter
One of its many victims that year
It is picked up by delicate hands
Buried in the soil beneath a plant
To become roots, leaves, and flowers
To give its life to another
The truth of reincarnation
By Elizabeth O’Meara
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Top left: Hannah Mashaal (9)
Top right: Eleni Skindilias (10)
Middle left: Marissa Kyres (10)
Middle right: Lydia Safi (10)
Bottom left: Alison Greenspoon (10)
Bottom right: Zoe Atsaidis (10)
Page 13
Vacant by Christina Papa
Emitted from rays of sunlight
The old creaky hardwood
Below the window
Lie sharp shatters of glass
Occasionally shimmering
As the sun
From behind sporadic clouds
An old, beat-up, frayed golf
Beneath the untouched bed
The logo
Half covered in crusty earth
With an even layer of dust
Just like the rest of the room
Months passed
Vines crawled
The interior wall
In different directions
Some around the bedpost
Some around the desk
Shattered light bulb
Jagged edges
Still tightly in place
By the pale turquoise lampshade
Elegantly hand embroidered
Sounds of rustling trees
And falling blossoms
Off all four walls
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 A cool morning breeze
Fills the nearly vacant room
With the scent
Of freshly mowed grass.
Once a lullaby to the ear
Crashing waves
Festers fear
Roaring, raging winds
In our memories
Triggering trauma
The punctual, heart-shaped
On the bedside table
For two short moments
Each day
From a second to a
A blink of an eye to
Everything is different
Page 15
Grade 11 and Pre-U
Character Sketches
Michelle Kim (Pre-U)
Character: “A”, main character from Pretty Little
Liars, the TV series.
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Claudia Melka (11)
Julia Hornstein (11)
Lauren Stubina (11)
Jessie Adessky (11)
Samantha Dimitriadis (11)
Page 17
Artist: Amy Chen, 11 Advanced Art
Character: ‘President Snow’ from
The Hunger Games
All of the objects depicted in this
character sketch relate directly to
President Snow’s personality and
character traits; his rose-scented
breath that also smelled of blood, the
fences that divided the districts, the
fighting between him and Katniss,
the dark evilness of his soul.
Artist: Eden Frymel, 11 Advanced Art
This visual character sketch shows Character: ‘Alice’ from Go Ask Alice.
Alice, who as a teen, got tangled
up with the wrong crowd. It shows
her slow, spiraling descent into
a life of drinking, drugs, and the
underbelly of the city. The colours
are melancholy, the tree of life is
dying, the ‘light’ of the candle is
split, candle itself is melting, the
sky is dusk. Everything within the
ray of light is alive and promising
hope, but that is shrinking and
fading into the darkness of the
day, overshadowed by the drugs
and death.
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Artist: Kaitlin Markus, 11 Advanced Art
Character: ‘Atticus Finch’ from To Kill A
Atticus Finch is a learned man who respects his
fellow man regardless of race (dual-coloured
hand reaching out in friendship or need). He is
educated (books), a man of peace (dove), and a
lawyer (gavel) who challenges the injustices of
the South (vicious dog, broken glasses) as witnessed by his daughter, Scout. The story takes
place in the southern United States (cotton
Page 19
Poems for “Tuesday’s with
By Julia Garfinkle
But I realize the dance with death
helped me to embrace.
Seasons change, time moves forward
Death is a release.
Like a tree in autumn,
The leaves begin to fall.
Soon the tree will be bare,
empty of its signs of life.
As the seasons pass, so too,
shall I.
The mysterious waves of the
ocean suck me in,
The unknown at the bottom is
what awaits me.
As the waves crash, so too,
shall I.
On my journey to the summit
of the mountain,
I’m near the end and the light
is blinding.
As the air becomes weaker, so
too, shall I.
Sharing my thoughts with others has been my therapy and a
source of strength,
In my approach to death, I
have never felt more alive.
I wish I knew back then what I
do now.
Death is but a dream
Close your eyes, let darkness in
Go to sleep, fear not
Advanced Art wrapped chair drawing
by Amy Chen (11)
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 You Can Talk
By Anne-Sophie Collier (11)
By Mikaela Ludwick
You can talk to someone for years, everyday
And yet you still don’t really know them.
You can love someone,
For who they are,
Without knowing everything they’ve been
To be torn apart
From something you love,
Is hard.
But to be torn apart
From someone you love,
Is unbearably painful.
Page 21
Vimy Song
Eleni Skindilias (10)
By Victoria Van Ryswyk
So you wanna take it all in
In a second you’ll be on your own again
It’s a third times a charm goodbye
You’ve got a little something in your eye
Your eye, your eye
It’s really nice across the pond I’d say
In a letter sent to you on Easter day
The grass is red and the sky is grey
Amongst my fighting brothers I proudly lay
Hello, goodbye are they all just lies
or the last ones in our grace
Well, maybe, baby we’ll get out of this place
I know my dues aren’t enough
Is it peace or war are they even keeping score
But what about the ones that we love
I guess we’ll try, one more time
Sitting around counting hours like they’re days
creeping all the way until the day we die
While I’m just fighting ways to cheat this maze
on April 9th
Hello, goodbye are they all just lies
So you wanna break down and cry
or the last ones in our grace
When you hear about your widowed bride
Well, maybe, baby we’ll get out of this place
Is it peace or war are they even keeping score Little baby lost her dad but she’ll see one day
Freedom cost a lot in that almost May
I guess we’ll try, one more time
So you wanna take it all in
creeping all the way until the day we die
on April 9th
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 In a second you’ll be on your own again
It’s a third times a charm goodbye
You’ve got a little something in your eye
Your eye, your eye
I know my dues aren’t enough
But what about the ones that we love
Sitting around counting hours like they’re days
While I’m just fighting ways to cheat this maze
Hello, goodbye are they all just lies
or the last ones in our grace
Well, maybe, baby we’ll get out of this place
Is it peace or war are they even keeping score
I guess we’ll try, one more time
creeping all the way until the day we die
on April 9th
Juliana Yang (10)
It’s really nice across the pond I’d say
In a letter sent to you on Easter day
The grass is red and the sky is grey
Amongst my fighting brothers I proudly lay
Hello, goodbye are they all just lies
or the last ones in our grace
Well, maybe, baby we’ll get out of this place
Is it peace or war are they even keeping score
I guess we’ll try, one more time
creeping all the way until the day we die
on April 9th
So you wanna break down and cry
When you hear about your widowed bride
Little baby lost her dad but she’ll see one day
Freedom cost a lot in that almost May
Zoe Atsaidis (10)
Page 23
Public Speaking Grade 9 semi-finalist 2014: Linda Zhu
History: His Story
Often times, our memory deceives us, which is rather unfortunate but also unavoidable
and happens to each and every one of us. But when I say that the written memory, in other
words, history, what we’re learning in history classes, is a liar too, that makes it a completely
different matter. Because, you see, my fellow students, I’ve noticed that history can be easily
manipulated by people, specifically the victors of wars and the writers of the past.
To prove that, let us go back to grade 7 history classes, to the Greek and Roman Empires,
to the beginning of Christianity, then to the medieval knights, and finally, to World War 2. So,
my first question to you all, have you ever heard of Carthage? Chances are, no, and I assure you,
it was not because you were dozing off in history class. The fact is, despite that Carthage was
one of the strongest nations and fought against the Romans in the Punic Wars, little is known
about this powerful civilization. Why? Because Rome, being the victor, wielded the pen of
history. They had the power to eradicate and to remove all evidence of the Carthaginians. Now,
all that’s left of this civilization is biased information from a Roman’s point of view. That was all
that had survived from the test of time. Fast forward to the expansion of Christianity where the
same problem can be seen. We are mostly taught at a young age that Jesus Christ was born on
December 25 and for that reason we celebrate Christmas on that day. The truth is, Christmas
was only decided on that day in order to convert the non-believers of God, to make them celebrate the Christian holiday instead of their usual Saturnalia that was on the same day. So you
see, the Christians, being the victors of this religious war, succeeded in having their story, their
history, written and passed down for many generations, while the pagans’ remained lost and
Eleni Skindilias (10)
Alison Greenspoon(10)
Marissa Kyres (10)
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 But, let us not underestimate the
power of writing, because in many cases, it’s
the writers who get their stories across, and
I’m pointing specifically to the Middle Ages.
Bards and storytellers told and wrote stories
about King Arthur’s honourable, just and
righteous knights and that image of a knight
in shining armor saving the damsel in distress stayed. However, did you know that in
the 11th and 12th century, knights were not
noble at all? They were warriors and most
of them did not ride on white horses, going
about protecting the weak, in fact, most of
them did not even respect the basic code
of chivalry. The written memory was lying
to you all along and it still happens today.
Imagine if you were an American student,
at an American school, studying about the
States’ involvement in the Second World
Jeff Brabant (Pre-U)
War, you’d learn a story about how America
was incited to join the war because of the
Pearl Harbor attack. I’d also go as far as to
So, in the end, what do these exam-
say that this recount of events made little to
ples tell us all? They tell us that in order
no reference about the horrors of the atomic
to see past the lying history and gain the
bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Now
truth, the different sides of the story must
on the other hand, if you were Japanese, you
be acknowledged and studied in detail.
would get a completely different side of the
Let us all be open-minded and make it so
story. Their textbooks would discuss the
that it is not his story, the history that the
bombings in depth while, what we would
victor and the writer decided on, but all of
call today, whitewashing the Pearl Harbor
our stories.
Page 25
Public Speaking Grade 11 winner 2014: Adrien Perlinger
When I look back at the way I was raised compared to the way some of my
friends were, I see many differences. Whether that is through leniency, curfews
or the amount of responsibility given by the parents. However, there is one thing
that I believe everyone has in common in this room. All of our parents raised
us with the ethos that lying is bad and that the truth is always the best option.
That’s why when I read that Margaret Atwood said “If we were all on trial for our
thoughts, we would all be hanged.” I was shocked. This person was literally saying
that by living our lives using the truth, we would be killed. Killed, or at least unsuccessful, disliked and ostracized from society. But then it hit me; everybody lies.
I do, my parents do, my friends do, my teachers probably do and lying, it’s what
my government specializes in! I realized that it isn’t the truth that keeps the world
running, it’s lies. Moral ideals are instilled into us as children but just as soon the
opposite is battered into us for the rest of our lives. Lying has become the truth.
Claudia Melka (11)
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 I think it’s fair to say that it is high school which really sets the foundation
for lying inside each and every one of us. The reason for that is that the bar
which we are expected to meet is set so high in so many ways. For example,
the ideal male standard in our day and age seems to be a guy who is jacked,
somewhat smart, athletic, musical, confident and I guess you could also say a
gangster. But, I think it’s fair to say that being all of this is impossible, so what
do we do? We lie. Some of us play stupid, others spend all their free time in
the gym, certain people pretend to obsess about sports they hate and finally,
some of us just speak an absolutely butchered excuse for English because it’s
Now I’m not blaming people
for doing these things, we’ve
reached the point where simply
being ourselves is no longer good
enough. The best example is with
myself in ninth grade, when I
was in my hood phase. It was
probably the part of my life I regret the most because here I was,
a lanky, 14-year old, French-Canadian who went to private
school listening to DMX, WuTang and Mobb Deep, sagging
my pants and swearing every
second word. All because the lies
around me made me so insecure
and unhappy about myself that I Angee Attar (11)
had to invent a part of myself.
Page 27
Michelle Kim (Pre-U)
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 By the time we finish university, most of us are beginning to look for serious relationships. The false identity card from earlier on is still being played, but now a
new form of lying is being instilled, fake interest. How many of us have been on
dates where we nod and smile and say “Oh that’s so cool.” or “That’s so interesting.” to things that are just absolutely boring. This applies to guys talking to girls
who go on and on about the funniest story at their manicure or guys who don’t
shut up about that “jokes” time with their bros. But instead of just going “for god’s
sake shut your mouth please.” we just smile and nod, because it’s the easier thing
to do in the moment. The problem is that the person you’ve just lied to may fall
for you because they think you care or are interested, when in fact you aren’t at
all, creating nothing but a vicious circle of pain and misery.
The final stage of lying doesn’t happen to everyone, in my opinion, but it is the
stage in which I believe lying reaches its pinnacle, when we lie to ourselves. This
occurs once we reach our forty’s or fifty’s and some of us are unhappy with our
lives. I see it with some the people in my family and their friends. I believe that
some adults reach a stage in their lives where they just aren’t happy with their
lives anymore. Whether it’s their job, partner, family or life choices. The issue is
that people decide not to change themselves, because it’s easier to just do nothing.
So they decide to lie to themselves, they say that they’re happy with what they
have when deep down they know that it just isn’t the case. Nonetheless, they lie
because it’s what they’ve done their entire lives and they’re naïve enough to believe that if lying has gotten them that far, what’s the harm in doing more of it.
So in conclusion, if we were all on trial for our thoughts, we would all be hanged.
This is because we live in a world of lies, where the truth is irrelevant and during
our lives the lies only get worse. We lie because it’s our best option in the short
term, it’s easier and gives off the false illusion that it will make us happier. But the
truth, ladies and gentlemen, is that we have become lazy and that we are selling
out, selling out to the easy way, which in turn makes lonely and miserable people.
As Albert Camus said “Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.”
Page 29
Floating on Sunset
by Holly Faria
Preface: Matsuoka Rin (Last name Matsuoka) and Nanase Haruka (Last name Nanase), nicknamed Haru, are two 17-year-old Japanese swimmers. They were childhood rivals (almost
friends), swimming a relay together until Rin left abroad for Australia. Haru only swims Free
(Freestyle), while Rin aspires to become an Olympic swimmer, and the discrepancies between natural talent and hard work cause a rift between them.
Currently, Haru belongs to Iwatobi High School's swim club with the other 2 former relay members, and Rim swims for Samezuka High School.
Note/Disclaimer: This is a fan-written work, based off of the animated series Free! Iwatobi High
School, broadcasted during the summer season of 2013. All characters and background information belongs to Kyoto Animation.
Many sunsets over the years, following the evolution of Rin & Haru’s relationship.
He can still smell the chlorine on his skin, and his muscles ache like nothing else as he swings
open the door to his room. His roommate is not there to energetically turn the lights on and
prattle in his ear, and he’s somehow grateful for that.
As he plops onto his bed dressed in his usual tank and sweatpants, he feels the weight of years
of loneliness sink onto his shoulders, and it’s more crippling than any training the swim team
captain can dish out.
He feels the rumbling of his stomach, but doesn’t feel like leaving again to find something to fill
it. On these rare moments when he doesn’t feel like taking care of his body, there isn’t anyone to
agree and understand that even he sometimes collapses under the pressure of his dreams.
He’s done almost twice the amount of recommended training, and he wishes there was someone
to bring him down a notch and tell him that his dead father wouldn’t want to see him in this
And as sunset turns to dark in his empty dorm room, Rin clenches his fist and cries; for he’s
only going to drag Haruka down with him.
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 The crickets chirp, and the nightly noises reign. It’s never quiet, but Haru wouldn’t
have it any other way.
(Because or else, it wouldn’t be worth it, to escape to the calm of the water that shows
him he belongs elsewhere.)
Sometimes, it stings to be alone at this time. He only has one dish to wash and wipe
clean, one filet to cook, and no one to tell him that he shouldn’t keep the TV running
with the water documentary with the lights off.
The house is quiet; no floorboards creek upstairs. There’s no one to come home to,
and his bed is always cold.
And as sunset turns to dark in his empty house, Haru shuffles his feet along the tatami; for Rin’s going to push him away to suffer alone until Haru can show him how
much he needs him.
Kaitlin Markus (11)
Page 31
The crickets and the cicadas are louder than ever at this resort, and he’s not sure whether to
be bothered or content. The night air is warm, the breeze slight and his body feels content.
The same cannot be said about his mind.
Because as he lounges around on the wood extension outside, he’s also anxiously awaiting
the sliding door to make a sound behind him.
He’s not quite accepted this new future of theirs, because deep inside he still fears that he’ll
fall apart and bring both of them down.
But as he’s finally joined by another presence, the warmth passing through their touching
legs is enough to push away those thoughts for now.
Their apartment is colder than he’s used to, but he makes no complaint. There’s someone else
to warm him up, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s that special time between day and night again,
and Rin feels like he’s about to succumb once more.
Happiness is within his grasp, he knows, but somehow it seems to be further than ever. Rin’s so scared
that he’s going to reach out and have it slip through
his fingers; and all of this would have been for
But Haru isn’t having any of this. The loneliness had
just finally begun to fade away. Even though great
things await them, it’s enough, what they have right
He reaches out to embrace Rin, who tumbles into his
arms. For once, they’re not crying, simply collapsing
under the weight of the universe.
But if they stand together, maybe they can overcome
all of the obstacles that continue to haunt the elusive
peace they’ve been looking for.
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 The weight around his neck isn’t familiar by any means, but it’s more than welcome. His jacket
sticks to his arms, and he’s never felt this wet after toweling off.
But as he stumbles his way off the podium, and makes it outside to where the sun is setting, he
can finally lift his face and let the tears flow; because it’s over, it’s all over.
And as Haru wraps him in an embrace and kisses away the liquid pouring down his face, he
can finally relax, and let the negative emotions out with every breath.
Now is their time; and Rin is going to spoil Haruka for all he’s worth.
Haru can’t help but smile, smile wider than ever with his teeth bared, because it’s their time
now that their dreams have been achieved.
He can see how lightheaded this is making Rin as he nearly falls off the medal stand, and he’s
torn between laughing and reaching out in concern.
Outside, everything looks orange; Haru wishes it looked red, like Rin’s hair or his heart.
And when the tears begin to flow, like Haru knew they would, he finally lets himself reach out
and say that it’s all over.
Which it is and it isn’t; because this is the start of their
new life, for themselves.
He finally tries to kiss Rin, and finds his lips accepted.
They’re finally bound, and it doesn’t matter if they fall.
Because they’ll fall together.
Julia Hornstein (11)
Page 33
Our Lady of Sorrows
By Carina Bertoldi
Running into the sunset, he would
never lie to her.
Leaving was their sole recourse,
for the hatred he felt from her noble
ancestors who deplored his suit.
He may have only had his perfervid
love to provide, for her it sufficed.
Her long red hair that he loved so
much blew in the bitter wind, the blankets he laid for her keeping the damp
air from reaching her delicate toes.
Grasping the chain that would soon
determine her fate, she yearned his
The subtle flames, fueled by her burning desire for freedom, lit the surroundings, which would soon be
gloomy, and the still water giving off
the stale scent of verdure.
The small wooden vessel swayed gently
in place, comforting her nervous stomach.
There is no near sight of him, no familiar silhouette between the trees, no
distant sound of his boots crunching
the leaves beneath them.
Her hope decays as his return becomes
He promised her he would
not be ensnared, yet urged
her to depart if he had not returned in time for the curfew
bell to ring.
When that time came, the
outlying chime hung in the
air, as she could not fathom
what would happen next.
Deep breaths, heart racing,
weathered eyes, shaking
She leaves alone.
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Green
By Helen Poumbouras
A young girl
Her piercing gaze, frozen in time
A green net, cast over the world
Capturing her indignation
Betraying a primal fear
Her dirty mouth set
Against the softness of her tattered veil
Holly Faria (10)
One cannot ignore the unsettling
But the directness of
Her laser gaze
A discomfort
There is no where to turn to
No where to go
A young girl
Trapped and alone
Haunted by her past
And whatever may await her in the
Page 35
My Escape from Reality
By Meghan Fersten
Up in the mountains, there is a
place where I go
Each time I arrive there, I always
That soon I will find that feeling of
All of my troubles and worries will
The reflection of the glaring sun on
the lake
Is almost more than I can take.
Its beauty fills my heart with serenity
Only here can I find my true identity.
All of the stress and demands disappear
As I breathe in the smell of this air
so clear.
The peaceful sounds of nature surround me
Like the birds soaring above, I am
Family time in the outdoors
Is always precious to me even if it
Just as long as we are together,
I would stay here forever.
Josie Neumann (Pre-U)
Free Verse Poem:
By Carolyn Steinberg
Art is expression
Show emotion without
Art is creativity
Be anything you want
Art is unique
It represents you
Art is abstract
There are no mistakes
Art is freedom
Simply putting paint on
Making drawings come to
Creating other fantasies
Art is immortal
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Rhyme Verse Poem:
By Carolyne Steinberg
There’s always one time of year
When we have no more fear
All the troubles float away
And everything is crystal clear
It’s like the perfect getaway
Marvelous things come our way
Beautiful flowers slowly blooming
The sun stays longer every day
All the gardens joyously booming
Everywhere the bees are zooming
All the birds soothingly sing
Fragrance of roses is perfuming
What great things it must bring
Liveliness to many a thing
This one is my favorite season
Eagerly awaited, cheerful spring
By Meghan Fersten
Notes on a sheet of paper
Words coming to life
Fills lives with passion
Gives people meaning
Raises our spirits
Excites in times of joy
Comforts in times of grief
Educates the ignorant
Overcomes prejudice
Overpowers fear
Strengthens friendships
Deepens bonds of lovers
Soothes the cries of infants
Rekindles memories of the old
Binds generations of youth
Unites our souls in prayer
Gives our nations pride
Voices coming together as one
Causes us to act for our beliefs
Opens our eyes to a new reality
Lyrics that live forever
Music is eternal
Music is life
Page 37
Je t’aime
Un récit d’amour entre deux ennemis d’une autre galaxie par Maxwell Wiltzer.
Le ciel d’Hypérion IV n’a pas toujours été rouge. Certaines personnes
disent qu’il a changé à cause d’une réaction chimique entre l’atmosphère
et un astéroïde radioactif, d’autres disent qu’il a été entaché de colère et
de haine relâchées pendant l’infâme conflit Zipheron. Il y a douze ans,
Matthias Dun’ktar, un jeune homme d’environ 19 ans, s’est enrôlé comme
soldat d’infanterie dans L’Armée intergalactique, ou L’A.I. pour participer
à la guerre entre L’A.I. et les rebelles d’Hypérion, commencée il y a 30
ans. Comme par hasard, Matthias s’est enrôlé juste à temps pour participer à l’horrible bataille finale. La
bataille a duré deux jours et a été
couteuse pour les deux camps, mais
finalement, L’A.I. a réussi à éradiquer
les rebelles. Toutefois, juste avant que
le traité de paix soit signé, un soldat
ennemi a attaqué Matthias qui, grâce
à ses réflexes rapides, l’a tué avec son
fusil à plasma. Matthias a décidé
de garder la lance zipheron de son
ennemi mort comme souvenir de ce
moment inoubliable.
Jeff Brabant (Pre-U)
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Après la guerre, Matthias a complété son contrat avec L’A.I. et voulait
voyager dans le système Hypérion lequel, malgré le conflit qui y régnait,
il apprit à aimer. Bien que le travail était rare dans le système, Matthias
a trouvé un emploi avec le service postal du système Hyperion. Ainsi, il
pouvait voir le système et faire de l’argent, mais Matthias n’aurait jamais
prévu qu’un voyage d’affaires sur la planète Hypérion II le conduirait sur
un chemin tout à fait différent. Avec son courrier, il se dirigeait à travers un canyon sur la planète étrangère et s’est arrêté dans un village sur
son chemin. Le village, appelé Todekia, était au milieu de deux ravins
profonds. Fondé au départ comme poste militaire, le village est devenu
un peu plus qu’un règlement isolé avec une population de près de deuxmille habitants. Pourtant, il y avait une vieille auberge dans le village.
Matthias a jugé qu’elle avait au moins cinquante ou soixante ans en raison de son toit d’aluminium rouillé et de ses murs en décomposition.
Malgré tout, il a décidé d’y passer la nuit avant de continuer ses aventures dans d’autres villages de la planète.
Le hall de l’auberge était assez sombre. Il régnait une ambiance mélancolique parmi les patrons, probablement à cause du panorama ennuyant du village. Cependant, un détail a attiré l’attention de Matthias :
une jeune femme dans la vingtaine était assise sur le sol dans le coin
de la pièce. Il était évident qu’elle était dans un état de dépression, et
ce, depuis bien longtemps. Par impulsion, Matthias s’est approché de la
femme. Quand Matthias s’en approchait, il s’est rendu compte de la réticence de la femme à s’engager dans tout discours puisque sa tête était
tournée vers le mur taché. Néanmoins, Matthias s’est présenté et à sa
grande surprise a reçu une réponse brève. Son geste a permis de gagner
la confiance de la jeune femme. « Je m’appelle Sarah Talius », dit-elle
rapidement, et c’est avec ses mots qu’une relation imprévue émergea.
Page 39
Au cours de deux années, Matthias et Sarah sont devenus épris de
l’autre. Leur amour était si fort, le genre d’amour qui ne se produit
qu’une seule fois dans une vie. Matthias s’assurait de visiter Sarah
chaque fois qu’il livrait le courrier sur Hypérion II et Sarah l’attendait patiemment. Avec l’aide de Matthias, Sarah s’est libérée de sa
dépression et ils ont tous deux commencé à se confier l’un à l’autre
davantage. Parfois quand Matthias la visitait, ils parlaient pendant
des heures de leurs passés jusqu’au moment où Matthias devait partir.
À un moment donné, Matthias est venu la visiter pendant trois
jours. Cette nuit-là, les deux amants se sont assis dans la salle à
manger de l’auberge. Sarah avait un regard inconfortable et, tout à
coup, elle a révélé ce qui a causé sa dépression initiale. Elle a perdu
un membre de sa famille dans le conflit Zipheron. Son cher frère
Samuel, qu’elle aimait de tout son cœur, qui était une recrue des rebelles d’Hypérion, a été tué le dernier jour de la guerre. « Il était une
personne gentille, une personne douce » dit-elle. Pendant qu’une
larme scintillante roulait sur sa joue creuse, elle a levé ses yeux vers
Matthias. « Tu me fais penser, à lui » elle a chuchoté. Pour la réconforter, Matthias a décidé de lui raconter ses aventures comme soldat
dans la guerre et celles de plusieurs de ses amis qui ont aussi été tués
pendant le conflit. Il s’est arrêté un instant avant de sortir de son sac
de courrier la lance zipheron qu’il a gardé de la bataille finale. Il l’a
placée sur le rebord de la fenêtre près de leur table et a dit à Sarah
que la raison pour laquelle il a gardé ce souvenir était afin de s’assurer qu’il n’oublierait jamais ses camarades tombés au combat. À ce
moment, Sarah a paru choquée, mais elle est rapidement revenue à
son état normal et ils ont mangé et, après, ils sont allés se coucher.
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Le dernier matin de sa visite, Matthias s’est réveillé tôt pour aller déjeuner. Il n’a pas réveillé Sarah, car il voulait qu’elle se repose à cause
de toutes les émotions qu’elle a subies la nuit auparavant. Quand
il est entré dans la salle à manger de l’auberge, personne n’était là
parce qu’il était encore très tôt. Il s’est aperçu que la lance qu’il avait
mise sur le rebord n’était plus là. Il se sentit si stupide d’avoir laissé
sa précieuse lance dans une salle publique. Pendant qu’il réfléchissait à sa lance et qu’il tentait de la retrouver, Sarah est apparue dans
l’embrasure de la salle à manger. Sans aucune hésitation, elle s’est
lancée vers Matthias avec lance à la main et, quelques secondes plus
tard, Matthias était mort. Sarah est tombée sur le sol en pleurant
pendant qu’elle frottait la lance pour enlever le sang. Sous la saleté,
elle pouvait lire le nom de son frère, Samuel, mais pendant qu’elle
continuait de nettoyer la lance, un autre nom est apparu: Phinos.
Le propriétaire de cette lance n’était pas Samuel Talius, mais Samule
Phinos. Matthias n’a jamais tué son frère.
Samantha Dimitriadis (11)
Page 41
L’Amour Fou!
Un récit d’amour par Kelsey Wiseman
Anne vivait seule et l’assumait pleinement ; après tout, elle avait beaucoup d’expérience de la solitude. Elle ne s’est jamais mariée. Solitaire depuis
que son fils, Marc, est déménagé à New York, il y a dix ans. Son appartement,
dans le 4e arrondissement de Paris, le démontre parfaitement : il est très petit, tout blanc, sans décoration, et extrêmement simple. Il n’y a même pas une
seule photo.
Comme chaque matin, Anne va voir si elle a du courrier, une lettre…
autre chose que les factures habituelles. À sa surprise, ce jour-là, il y avait une
lettre qui l’attendait. Elle venait de Marc, comme cela était très surprenant.
Anne et Marc n’avaient aucune relation, cela avait toujours été ainsi. Marc était
très populaire et indépendant comme enfant, donc il n’avait jamais vraiment au
besoin de se confier à sa mère plus réservé.
La lettre contenait une invitation pour le mariage de Marc. Il devait se
marier avec quelqu’un qui s’appelait Frederic. Anne pensait à l’étrangeté de ce
nom. Néanmoins, elle était très enthousiaste… non seulement pour Marc, mais
aussi afin de pouvoir aller à New York pour fêter le mariage.
Il y a maintenant sept mois qu’Anne a reçu cette lettre. Pendant ce temps,
Anne ne faisait que penser à New York, mais, maintenant elle ne devait plus
simplement y penser, elle y était.
Dans le taxi pour se rendre à la maison de Marc, Anne regardait la
fenêtre. Soudainement, tous ses souvenirs lui revenaient, même ceux qu’elle
avait voulu oublier.
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 C’est l’été de 1977, et tout est parfait. Anne est à la fin d’un échange étudiant, et
elle attend à la Grand Central Station pour aller à l’aéroport afin de revenir à Paris.
C’était l’heure d’y aller, mais un homme l’interrompit en la renversant. Normalement,
la femme timide qu’elle était l’aurait simplement ignorée, mais quelque chose était
spécial ici, et les deux jeunes gens le sentaient. Après ce petit incident, tout s’est passé
en un clin d’œil ; la seule chose dont elle était certaine c’est qu’ils avaient eu un coup de
foudre magnifique. Bref, ils étaient en l’amour.
Après que les deux jeunes gens eurent manqué leur train respectif, ils allèrent au
dortoir d’Anne pour passer la nuit ensemble dans sa petite chambre blanche. Ce fut la
plus belle nuit de sa vie.
Le matin, Fred a dû partir pour
fêter le Noël avec sa famille. Il
lui a promis d’écrire.
— « Je t’aime, Anne. »
Après ça, il disparait… il
n’a cependant jamais disparu des
pensées d’Anne.
Anne sursaute, elle est
dans le taxi! Sa transe fut interrompue en arrivant à sa destination. C’était maintenant le temps
de voir Marc, la seule chose qui
restaient de sa nuit d’amour avec
À l’extérieur de la maison,
elle vit Marc et… Fred ? SON
— « Salut, Maman » Marc lui a
donné un bisou, « lui, c’est mon
conjoint, Fred. »
Elle est restée bouche bée !
Becket Osterland (11)
Page 43
Public Speaking Grade 8 Winner: Abby Shine
Margaret Mead once said: “Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just
like everyone else.” As I reflect upon this, I do wonder: are today’s teenagers unique?
How can our individuality, our strengths, our talents or one of a kind personality truly
shine in a world that is being dominated by social media?
As I stand before you today, I have a confession to make. Unlike most teenagers,
I am not a fan of social media. Call me crazy, but I actually prefer to see the smile on
someone’s face rather than receiving an emoticon. I enjoy having a real conversation
with someone rather than texting them, especially when they’re three feet away from
me! I like to think of my friends as friends, not “followers”. I also think all this technology is limiting our creativity. For example, I think that I have a talent for photography and
let me tell you, a “selfie” on a phone is never a good picture! So I encourage everyone to
be unique like myself. I believe that teenagers today should limit their use of social media and instead, spend more time with each other.
Sadly, the world we live in lacks human interaction. Technology has already eliminated the need for people in certain jobs. We can even attend university “online”, so soon
we may not need teachers! As we see these changes in our world, I think the least we
should do is make an effort to encourage human interaction, especially when it comes to
our social life! Phones, tablets and computers are not people. They are not our friends.
We should talk to one another, in person. Call me old fashioned but, when I have a conversation with a person, I enjoy their presence. If I tell a story, I love watching people’s
eyes sink into my every word. With a sad story come tissues and tears. With a scary
story, I like to witness fear! Everyone has a different way of reacting to something. Our
feelings are sincere and genuine, and therefore cannot be properly expressed by a generic emoticon.
Many of us compete to have the most friends on Facebook. People are not numbers! I never want to be known as friend #507. And who has 507 friends? Think about it
for a minute. How many of those friends would you tell your deepest darkest secret to?
I’m assuming the answer is few. Remember. A friend is a companion, a confidant and a
person whom we have affection for. A friend is NOT a contact on a social networking
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 Last, I wonder just how much technology and social networking can
affect our individuality, creativity and even worse, our brain. Teachers and
parents are already concerned that teenagers will end up talking the same way
they text. Oh wait, that’s already happened. Does everyone know here that they
can actually laugh instead of saying LOL? To be honest, it’s rather strange. If we
are not careful, pretty soon the art of writing will become extinct. They’ll be no
need to go to school. We’ll all just wear helmets that will read our minds and
transfer what we think into a typed text that, thanks to spell check, will have no
mistakes and may be available in 42 different languages. I give it a year or two
and someone will create an app entitled “ I will write your homework for you.”
We will all become illiterate fools.
In conclusion, I invite
you to join me in becoming “unique”. Let’s
make an effort to put
our phones down and
avoid social media.
I’m not saying that we
should ban all phones
because, honestly, who
doesn’t enjoy a good
flappy bird from time to
time. But let’s turn our
devices off, just for a few
hours everyday. Spend
time with your friends.
Get to know the people
around you. You might
be amazed. Only then
will we be unique. And
hopefully, just like everyone else. Thank you!
Zihan Cai (Pre-U)
Page 45
Grace Cannell (9)
Lower Canada College
4090, avenue Royal
Montréal, Québec
H4A 2M5
T 514 482 9916
F 514 482 0185
Students First -- L’élève avant tout
LCC Lit Mag 2013-2014 

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