1

A complete collection of works by Hannah Green and other authors

I N S I D E T H I S

I S S U E :

Incident reports

Cause and Effect

Essays

Juicy descriptions

Life as a…..

Poet’s Closet

Book and Movie

Reivews

Spilling letters M A Y 2 0 1 4 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 1

THIS MONTH”S

MUST READ

QOUTE:

You can-

not open

a book

without

learning

-

Confucius

2

In this month’s issue:

INC IDENT REPORT………….….……P. 3 J I M H A L P H E R T T E L L S A L L

SHORT STORY T IME………….. . .……..P. 4 S P O O K Y S T O R I E S T H A T A R E S U R E T O S C A R E

CROSSWORD OF THE MON TH….. . . . . . .….P. 7

DESCR IPT I VE ES SAYS………….. .P. 12 & 13 G O R G E U S I M A G E R Y O F M I R R O R S A N D H A N D S

POETRY CORNER . .………………….. .P. 14 O U R P O E M S A R E S P R I N G T H E M E D T O G I V E Y O U L I F T

L I FE AS A…………………………. P. 15 Y O U ’ D N E V E R G U E S S W H A T W E ’ R E P E R S O N I F Y I N G T H I S M O N T H !

BOOK AND MOV IE REV IEWS………….P.17 J U I C Y R E V I E W S O N T H E H E A T A N D I F I S H O U L D D I E B E F O R E I W A K E

CARTOON CORNER……………………..P.17

S P I L L I N G L E T T E R S

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Incident Report

P A G E 3 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 1

On April 10th, 2014 around 1:00

pm Meredith Palmer, accountant

for local Paper company Dunder

Mifflin, was attacked and bitten

by a bat caused by the reckless

behavior of sale staff employee

Dwight Shrute. Palmer is poten-

tially suing the Dwight and the

company, to cover medical bills

and tests for rabies which are not

covered by Dunder Mifflin’s

health insurance plan.

Jim Halpert was called into ques-

tioning on April 12th, 2014. His

witness has confirmed the allega-

tions of Palmer. Halpert states

that a bat had been living in the

ceiling of the Pennsylvania

branch in the break room which

consisted of a kitchen, bathrooms

and cleaning supplies. A ceiling

tile had been moved allowing the

bat to fall into the open room.

According to Jim, Meredith at

the time was in the women’s

bathroom, unaware the bat was

in the break room. Dwight Shrute

entered the scene “crazed” says

Halpert. Shrute closed both doors

to break room in an effort to con-

tain the bat. Palmer walked out

into the room containing the bat

and it started to fly around her.

Dwight then took a large black

garbage bag and savagely ran into

the room, covering Meredith’s

head and neck in the garbage bag

with the bat trapped inside. He

held the bag there until Meredith

broke free and the bat remained

inside.

Meredith claims she was suffo-

cated and bitten, directly harmed

at the expense of Dwight’s actions

that could have resulted in death.

Dwight claims that he was simply

sacrificing the weaker link for the

good and protection of the office.

Shrute has been involved in many

incident reports before, all related

to his reckless, savage and inap-

propriate behaviour in the office

and toward his fellow employees.

Police who were called after the

scene have placed Dwight on

house arrest until the court

deems him remorseful toward the

situation.

Meredith’s doctors are concerned

about the potential rabies infec-

tion and claim that Palmer has

been in an “odd” state, constantly

“coming on” to her male nurses in

the past week. Whether this is a

possible symptom of the tragic

incident, doctors are unsure how-

ever Halpert claims it’s truly

Meredith’s personality. Branch

Manager Michael Scott states

that Dwight is only over excited at

times and Meredith will be fine

because “she’s Meredith”. He also

says the incident has been over

exaggerated and everyone needs

to move on, “it was no big deal”.

Evaluations are also in process

on Scott. For further information

please contact Dunder Mifflin

Scranton branch and ask for

Toby Flenderson.

TO: David Wallace,

Corporate Execu-

tive

FROM: Toby

Flenderson, Human

Resources

DATE: April 14th,

2014

RE: Accidental Bat

Attack by the

Hands of Fellow

Employee

4

``He pointed his

gun to the sky

and fired one

shot after

another until

thirty had rung

out like angry

dogs that

wouldn’t stop

barking.``

The Souls that Sang by Hannah Green

Narratives and Short Stories

Jaxon Browne, my uncle, was

thought to be compared to Ebenezer

Scrooge. He had no sense of compas-

sion, he always stayed by his lonesome

and he`d never let a day go by without

committing at least one selfish act, an-

other notch on his deer skin belt. His

most defining quality though, was his

thirst for hunting. When we were kids

growing up in the same neighbourhood

as him we weren`t allowed to play on

the cul-de-sac when Jaxon was getting

home from his weekly hunting trip.

Every Sunday afternoon, Jaxon would

rumble up the road, the pan of his

truck, weighed down with lives he had

destroyed that weekend. He`d park in

his driveway and yank the animals out

of the pan, onto the asphalt and drag

them to his beloved shed that doubled

as a meat locker. As you can probably

sense, Jaxon had no sympathy for life.

The fall season of 1993 was

ordinary, marked by icicles forming on

the window panes and the leaves turn-

ing brilliant oranges and reds. I was

only 10 years old at the time. When the

sun set at 7:30 pm that fall, the birds

would get antsy, the anxiety of their

great migration stirring among the

flocks. It was then that the kids of the

neighbourhood would be out watching

the birds in their angst, rounding up

their families we said. Some evenings

we would chase the birds, tormenting

them our parents used to say. The song

birds used to be our favourite, they

would call their loved ones and we

could sing and whistle right back and

our voices would reach throughout

the neighbourhood, weaving in be-

tween houses and reaching all the

way to the setting sun as we used to

imagine. Jaxon loathed the sounds of

our play, but if he could hate any-

thing more it would be our whistles,

mocking the song birds and the

sound echoing down the street, pierc-

ing his eardrums and making them

bleed as he would exaggerate.

One night that fall, while we

were all home eating dinner, we saw

Jaxon outside in the middle of the cul

-de-sac staring up at a flock of song-

birds overhead, with his shot gun in

hand. We peered through the win-

dows, concealing ourselves with the

curtains. He pointed his gun to the

sky and fired one shot after another

until thirty had rung out like angry

dogs that wouldn’t stop barking.

When the last bark had come they

started dropping. The song birds,

they were crashing to the earth one

after another until Jaxon was stand-

ing in the midst of a graveyard.

It was mayhem when Jaxon

went inside. Our parents starting sob-

bing and cussing and we were con-

fused. They ran outside armed in

fluorescent yellow gloves that always

fell out of the cupboard underneath

the sink. Police were called and the

local small animal rescue too.

S P I L L I N G L E T T E R S

5

Jaxon, I overheard, had shot

every bird without killing it, but

every bird died within twenty

minutes. Almost as if he wanted

them to suffer, almost as if he

had the heart to cause them the

agony of a prolonged death.

Around four days later,

Sunday afternoon, Jaxon was in

a personal torture chamber. All

day we listened to the most

dreadful sound and we had no

lead to where it might be com-

ing from. Until my mother had

mentioned it, I didn’t believe it

could be true. We were all hear-

ing the sorrowful whistle of

songbirds that were nowhere to

be spotted. Jaxon couldn’t han-

dle it. He bent himself over in

pain; he clawed at his ears till

they were bleeding. Suddenly,

the sky turned a rich black, and

the noise became unbearable to us.

The neighbourhood rushed outside

and peered up into the sky, watch-

ing the songbirds whirl around

Jaxon’s property. The way they

flew though was peculiar. With so

many of them you’d think they’d be

crashing into each other but they

seemed to fly through each other.

They swooped through the house

and the shed, searching for him. We

guessed Jaxon had locked himself

in the cellar, hoping to fool the

birds. But songbirds, they were not

stupid, and they were growing irri-

tated. They all descended on the

shed and all those birds, every one

of them had disappeared beneath

the roof.

We waited an hour, staring

at the shed. The birds were gone,

their song was over. After a quiet

search from a police officer living

on our street, Jaxon was de-

clared dead. He had swollen

bumps all over his body, from

pecking razor beaks, and his

face was purple from the oxy-

gen stolen from him. Jaxon was

suffocated by the thousands of

songbirds we saw descend into

the shed.

Growing up in my un-

cle’s neighbourhood was a

memory every child on the

block covets to themselves, for

a partial fear and allegiance to

the songbirds that is still burn-

ing like coals deep within our

souls. The police reports were

all false because “there’s no

such thing as ghosts” droned the

detective. He tried to convince

us, there were no feathers to be

seen, no tracks on the floor and

nobody outside of the

neighbourhood had heard the

noise or had seen the blackened

sky. The final report was a joke.

“Man dies due to anaphylactic

shock from wasp nest outside

shed.” We had no choice but to

move on, no one would believe

us. Although, we never forgot

the distinct absence of the song-

bird. Not a one had been seen in

the sky or in any tree in our

whole town since the massacre.

We carried with us the secret of

the souls that sang the explana-

tion for the unreal.

6

It was the first day of the rest of our lives, and we felt as constant as the stars. It was the clearest sky we’d seen

in over a month - the kind of clear that makes you forget where you are. The only things keeping us tied to the ground were the cracking of the fire and the sand in uncomfort-able places. There was also the waves, but the steadiness of the low tide could sweep you off just as eas-ily as the stars. Losing grip was a continuous threat in a place like this. I hooked my leg around my blanket, as if it would really do any-thing. Isaac had been haunting me since he went missing. Not actually haunting me, obviously. Those kind of things don’t happen. But in a place like this... I felt him here. My brother would have loved it here at

that moment.

Stephen must have felt my body go tense, because he squeezed my hand. That was another thing keeping me grounded. I took a few shallow breaths, and then a long, deep breath, imagining the air bub-bles trickling through my veins, and then emptying my lungs com-pletely. Stephen smiled at me. I tried to focus on the warm shadows on his face cast by the drowsy fire. Love calms the soul. We should have stayed here and not gone into the woods. It was safe here, lying next to him... But I’ve learned to never ask for forever. Forever is a

very long time.

Walking into the same woods where Isaac went missing six months ago was chilling. My bones felt weak, like they could have snapped just as easily as the twigs beneath our feet. My eyes flashed from one patch of moonlight to the next, inspecting the ground for any traces of life other than ourselves, but there was

none. These woods were eerily de-serted. I looked up as we stepped into the clearing. All the others went running into it, like they had never felt anything more freeing in their lives, screaming like children. We had our tents set up by midnight, and our eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light of the lanterns that would soon

run out of fuel.

I hate Truth or Dare. I don’t know who ever came up with it, and I don’t know why anyone would want to play it. For some reason, they all thought it was a great idea to make me go outside and stand in the woods alone for three minutes. I caught a breath of ultra-fresh air when I poked my head out of the tent. I stepped one foot out at a time, and my stom-ach managed to slowly flip itself up-side down as I scanned the edge of the forest. The walk across the clearing felt like a tight rope sending me strait into the middle of hell. No

turning back. No stopping.

The inside of my Hades didn’t look as bad as I thought it would: it was just the feeling of the place that sent spi-ders crawling up my back. Isaac would have laughed if he saw me like that, looking like a frightened kitten with its fluffy little hairs all standing up. I tried to hold on to the ounce of

comfort, but it was fleeting.

I watched the body material-ize on a lifeless branch of the old pine standing a few feet away. I can’t quite describe the feeling that was infecting my body as the man jumped from the tree and started walking towards me. I was either paralyzed with fear, or transfixed in awe. Seeing him was like looking at the world through a mason jar, all distorted and confusing. By the time he was inches from my face, I knew it

was Isaac. I knew from his walk, and the warped features on his face. I reached out to touch him, and his expression instantly turned from a gentle smile to a look of utter fear. I had never seen that kind of agonizing dread in somebody’s eyes be-fore. His scream was so piercing that it seemed to shake the whole for-est. Even the stars rattled like the

old pine with its single dead branch.

Everything after that came in a wave. My friends, Stephen, the stars, the blankets, the first rays of sunlight. In the morning, no one could remember a thing. No one re-membered the beach or the fire or the tents or the games or the scream. No one besides me. It must have taken a team of professional pranksters to make a group of teen-agers wake up in the middle of the forest with no recollection of how they got there. They kept waiting for the camera crew to show their

faces.

Only there was no T.V. show. When my friends decided to stay another night, they decided to stay every night for the rest of their lives. I came to expect the scream at 12:47 AM, but I could never get over the face that seemed to look a little

more traumatized every time.

It was the first day of the

rest of our lives, and we felt as con-

stant as the stars. It was the clearest

sky we’d seen in over a month - the

kind of clear that makes you forget

where you are.

The First Day

A Short Story By Emma Ryan

7

P A G E 7

“To catch the reader's attention, place an

interesting sentence or quote from the story

here.”

Caption describing

picture or graphic.

Caption

S P I L L I N G L E T T E R S

8

Introduction

Cheating on tests and quizzes in the Canadian high

school system has been a growing trend due to techno-

logical development as well as slack from faculty con-

sequently putting at risk the value of education and

students` futures. Recent studies have produced many

unsettling statistics toward the number of lying stu-

dents and many adults are turning a blind eye. Teach-

ers, school officials and district school boards have

supported the cheating trend by not strengthening the

rules on everyday cheating in the classroom. The

threat of cheating students is very clear when it comes

to fairness today and fairness in the future.

Current Statistics

The current statistics of cheating high school students

is an alarming number and it is only going to grow.

Previous findings have shown that 75% of students,

currently in post-secondary, have cheated in their high

school career (Hughes and McCabe, 2006). While

most people say that the majority of those students,

who admitted to cheating, had only cheated once but

statistics have shown quite a different perspective. Ac-

cording to a survey, only one in three students will

cheat not once, but multiple times and eventually

forming a habit (Josephson Institute’s Report Card

2010). The reality is in an average high school in a

metro area of 1000 students; over 300 students are

cheating on a semi-regular to regular basis. These re-

sults are staggering and most people don’t realize how

disturbing that number becomes when people take into

account the number of high schools across Canada.

The current statistics and trends prove a threat to edu-

cation and the future stemming from cheating in the

education systems.

Lack of Initiative

Initiative by faculty and school boards to cut down on

cheating with in-class tests and quizzes is grossly

lacking. Almost 65% of teens have caught or heard of

another student cheating on a test or qiz at one time

and almost every time, they were not caught by the

teacher (US teens use smart phones for cheating:

study, 2009). Most teachers use test periods to work

on catching up on correcting, reading emails and pre-

paring the next lesson plan while their students are

taking a test. At these times, cheater are slipping

though the cracks and getting away with it. Why are

teachers required by the school board to monitor mid-

term, final and public exams by not required to moni-

tor their in-class tests and quizzes? Exams make up

50%-60% of a student’s grade. The other 40%-50%

stem from tests and quizzes. Teachers should be mak-

ing the extra effort in the classroom, to ensure that the

grades they’re handing out are honest and worthy.

Polls voted on by students and teachers show that they

find the most effective way to prevent cheating is to

make it hard to cheat (Edutopia, 2014). Tests and quiz

periods should not be preparation periods for teachers.

Teachers have the immediate power to stop cheating

and give honest grades and therefore actions being

taken to eliminate cheating should begin with them.

The Consequences of Cheating and the Growing Trends Due to

Technological Development and Lack of Initiative from School Board

S P I L L I N G L E T T E R S

9

P A G E 9 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 1

The Affect of Technology in School

Adding technological development to lack of initiative

by school officials means that trends of cheating have

nowhere to go but up. A study explains that “cell

phones and the internet offer new opportunities for

unethical behaviour” therefore it’s on the rise (Knorr,

2011). The study further shares that 35% of teens aged

12 to 17 have used their cellphones to cheat. With the

percentage of kids with cellphones going up, and ages

of kids having them going down, the trend is that

cheating with cell phones is rising. As every student

knows, cell phones have become a common fixture in

an average classroom. Rules on technology in the

class are slight and most are only understood as sug-

gestions, such as keeping cellphones in lockers. Tech-

nology, particularly cell phones directly influence the

number of cheaters in the Canadian school system.

The Direct Costs to Education

The value of high school education in Canada is

forced to drop dramatically when more and more stu-

dents are cheating. This in turn affects student`s fu-

tures when it comes to scholarships, preparation going

into university as well as performances in their future

workplace. Some perspectives present that cheating is

a “victimless crime”, and while usually there are no

students that are harmed by cheating, it’s the educa-

tion system that is the victim (Davis, 2009, p.5). There

is already a contrast between the value of education in

North America and in Asian countries where school

rules are stricter everyday. What this implies is that

competition in future job markets will become stiffer

with the additions of more and more immigrants be-

cause their educations are that much more developed

and honourable. Scholarships are also becoming more

of a lottery than awards for academics. More and more

students are thrown into the running for prestigious

awards and a lot of them shouldn’t be there. Students

who have been earning those grades are not being re-

warded and are discouraged because they are unfairly

given to other students who have earned impressive

averages through cheating. The more students cheat,

the more unfair the future becomes for out students

graduating into the job market and post-secondary

studies.

Conclusion

The reality we face in cheating is unsettling, and many

people fear there is no way to overcome these prob-

lems. It is true that cheaters have been around for cen-

turies and in the future there will surely be more. The

problem and threat to our society is that the cheating

trend has the potential to reach 100% of students in

the future because of the rates going up exponentially.

Therefore, cheating needs to be cut down on immedi-

ately, and actions should be first taken by teachers in

their classrooms and school officials on technology in

the classroom. Only until those actions are taken and

cheating is knocked down to less than 20%, can we

believe in the value of fairness in a Canadian educa-

References

Hughes, J.M.C. & McCabe, D.L. (2006). Academic misconduct within higher education in Can-

ada . Canadian Journal of Higher Education, 36(2), 1-21.

Character Counts!: Programs: Ethics of American Youth Survey: Josephson Institute's Report Card. (2011, February 10). Character Counts. Retrieved March 19, 2014, from http://

charactercounts.org/programs/reportcard/2010/installment02_report-card_honesty-integrity.html

What is the most effective way to prevent students from cheating?. (n.d.). Edutopia. Retrieved

March 20, 2014, from http://www.edutopia.org/node/4738/results

Davis, S., Drinan, P., & Gallant, T. (2009). Cheating in our School, Colleges and Universities: A

Critical Problem for the Twenty First Century. Cheating in School: What We Know and What We

Can Do (p.5). Chichester: John Wiley and Sons.

Knorr, C. (n.d.). Cheating Goes Hi-Tech. Reviews & Age Ratings. Retrieved March 24,2014 from

http://www. commonsensemedia.org/blog/cheating-goes-hi-tech.

Miners, Z. (2009, June 23). One Third of Tenns Use Cellphones to Cheat in School. US News.

Retrieved March 24, 2014, from http://www.usnews.com/education/blogs/on-

education/2009/09/23/one-third-of-teens-use-cellpohnes-to-cheat-in-school.

US tens use smart phones for cheating: study. (2009, June 19). Phys.org. Retrieved

March224.2014, from http://phys.org/news164627196.html.

10

Drug Epidmeic by Emma Ryan

Everyone is worried about the next epidemic. Ap-

parently the next outbreak of disease and death is

right around the corner… But that’s not

right. “The next epidemic” started with the indus-

trialization of food and medicine - the thing that’s

supposed to make us healthy is the very thing

that’s making us sick. In modern medicine, there’s

a drug for everything. In modern medicine,

there’s no such thing as reversing diseases. Why

would they encourage patients to properly fuel

their bodies when sick people are fuelling the

economy? The amount of corruption that soaks

itself up in the food you eat is overwhelming, and

most people don’t even know they’re being poi-

soned.

Food History

Humans have been fascinated with food ever since

we stopped risking our lives to get it. The ancient

Egyptians made fresh bread every day and the

wealthy enjoyed a wide range of meat, vegetables,

and fruit with every meal. They designated a room

in every house just for cooking, and gathered in

large groups to enjoy their feasts (Dollinger, 2014,

p.1). Eating was a social event back then. Over in

colonial America, diets were simple, seasonal, and

obviously organic (Olver, 2000, p.1). No one died

of Hypertension or Type Two Diabetes because

they ate real food. Then the sandwich rolled

around in the late 1700’s. The concept had been

floating around for a while but the Earl of Sand-

wich really made a name for it when he recom-

mended cold meat between two slices of bread

(Avey, 2013, 3). This was revolutionary. Food to

eat with your hands, a food of convenience and

ease. Eating no longer had to take hours of prepa-

ration and therefore became less of an occa-

sion. People like convenience, and so from the

sandwich came processed food. Processed food is

food you can get from your grocery store and keep

it in your cupboard for weeks to find that it still

hasn’t gone bad. There’s no need to go hunting

for wild berries when you want a snack: you just

walk over to your pantry and grab a granola

bar. One that came from a factory, blocked with

synthetic sugars, wrapped in plastic, packed up in

cardboard, and shipped “x” number of miles to get

to the grocery store nearest you. This evolution

from gardening to grocery store only makes per-

fect sense when you look at it from a logical point

of view. Food is needed to survive, so we make it

easy to get. It seems simple, but the problem this

creates is much more complex. The main problem

of mass-producing any food is over-working the

soil. If you were a farmer, you would keep up

with the demand by adding minerals to the soil

(but you would forget all the other nutrients like

iron and sulphur). Your crops would die because

they’re deficient and cannot protect themselves

from insects, so you would add pesticides. The

pesticides keep the bugs away but what you would

be left with is nutrient deficient food covered in

chemicals (American Society of Agronomy, 2008,

p.1). Whoever eats this food also becomes nutri-

ent deficient and filled with chemicals. How evo-

lutionary is that?

Vitamin Superpowers

So what exactly are vitamins? Well… basically

everything. A deficiency in any one of them can

have terrible consequences on your health. Each

vitamin has a very specific set of tasks to perform

in the body, and without them you would get very,

very sick. For example, insufficient vitamin B12

can cause permanent damage to the nervous sys-

tem (FitDay, 2013, p.2). It is simply vital to prop-

erly feed your body, but this is getting harder and

harder - even the foods that are supposed to be

healthy are vitamin deficient. This is danger-

ous. People who are trying to feed themselves the

right nutrients could be completely unaware that

they’re not getting enough vitamins.

11

V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 1

Food that really gives your body what it needs is

called raw and organic. When you take a vitamin de-

ficient vegetable covered in pesticides and cook it,

you’re only left with food that is “a shell of its former

self” (Garden of Life, 2008, p.1). There are no en-

zymes, probiotics or phytonutrients, and all you have

is something that fills you up. Multivitamins may re-

place some missing nutrients, but in most cases

they’re made of chemicals and synthetic vitamins

which just don’t do what you need them to do

(RealRawFood, 2014, p.1). People spend their money

on these fake vitamins just because it is so hard to find

properly grown food. So… People are getting sick,

but the power ofpure vitamins is mind-blowing. High

doses of vitamins have been curing and reversing

“terminal” illnesses for over eighty years. Not only

this, but there have been no deaths from vitamins,

unlike the 2.2 million people who die from adverse

drug reactions in hospitals each year. The research

has been done and information is available, but mod-

ern medicine continues to rake in the cash by keeping

everyone sick (Null, 2012, p.2).

Modern Medicine

Sick people fuel medicine, medicine is run by the gov-

ernment, and the government wants money. Health

care is good for the economy and that’s why everyone

is still sick and getting sicker. It’s strange that the sys-

tem is used to “generate additional wealth for Canadi-

ans” when it does so by putting so many of them in

debt (Conference Board of Canada, 2013, p.2). The

deception works by scaring people into unnecessary

testing and procedures, producing a whopping $122

billion per year (Null, 2012, p.4). It is also much eas-

ier to write a prescription than to motivate someone to

change their lifestyle. There really is a pill for every-

thing, and they all come with an extremely wide range

of side effects. Cancer can be (and has been) com-

pletely reversed and cured naturally. Why would you

fight a disease by damaging the body through destruc-

tive drugs and radiation? When you work with your

body, you give it the chance to heal itself. Refined

sugar actually feeds cancer cells, so if you’re not fuel-

ling yourself, you’re fuelling the tumour… and the

economy (Laredo, 2014, p.1). Contemporary medi-

cine is very narrow-minded. Instead of trying to cure

the whole person, they try to cure a disease with tech-

nology. This may work on robotic test dummies, but

the human body is not just a jumble of parts and

wires. Though “US health care spending reached $1.6

trillion in 2003,” practically none of that money is go-

ing towards disease prevention (Null, 2012, p.4). This

is angering, but it is not the fault of our family doc-

tors. Unless they completed a degree in nutrition be-

fore medical school, doctors receive little to no train-

ing in this area. Why? Well, the majority of funding

for medical schools comes from drug companies, and

naturally, they want all future doctors to keep their

businesses booming (Kevin MD, 2010, p.1). When it

comes down to it, health care is a business - not a

nursery. A doctor might care a lot about his pa-

tients, but health is not a priority in the eyes of the

medical enterprise.

Conclusion: What to Do

However intimidating, one person does not have to

compete with the government and multi-million dollar

drug companies by himself. There are already many

resources for those who are looking to lead nutrient-

dense lives, and it all comes down to the choices you

make about your own body. Firstly, deciding to eat

local supports small business owners and puts you

back in touch with the origins of your food. Don’t

buy into the pill bottles and unnecessary operations

either. Less people feeding the industrial food and

medical systems equals more power to the peo-

ple. Finally, think big. Get involved in modern policy

changes and fight for change. Anything to help put a

stop to this parasitic drug epidemic is a step in the

right direction.

DRUG EPIDEMIC BY EMMA RYAN

“The amount of corruption that soaks itself up in the food you eat is

overwhelming, and most people don’t even know they’re being

poisoned.“

12 P A G E 1 2

“To catch the reader's attention, place an

interesting sentence or quote from the story

here.”

Caption describing

picture or graphic.

Descriptive Essays: The Window Into a Life

With my grandmother’s hands, in order to

see the beauty, it had required you to make an ef-

fort to see what was really there. To study them

was like trying to peer into a window when the

room opposite is dark and the space you are in is

so light. It is impervious to see in without pressing

your nose to the glass and cupping your

hands over your eyes to make out those

hidden wonders.

They had always been elegant,

her hands, but it seemed to me the more

my grandmother aged, the more exqui-

site her hands had become. They were

elderly of course, at the age of 80 years

old and very fragile when I had last been

in her presence. They moved with slow-

ness that would seem dull to most peo-

ple. Except dull was never a word I

would’ve chosen to think of her hands.

They were the window into the dark

room of my grandmother’s life, one that

was so treasured among her family, and

they captivated anyone who noticed.

Unless you could have held her hand, you’d

never have noticed the calluses on her fingertips

and on her palms before the start of her fingers.

They were a strange bubble in the smoothness of

her hands, harsh to the touch and prickly as well,

when she was picking at them. Her nails were long

and painted a pale modest pink. The most promi-

nent quality was her veins, heightened and they

casted a violet shadow in her skin. To the touch

the back of her hand, was to graze your fingertips

at the surface of silk that has been crumpled and

wrinkled but as delicate as ever. Her knuckles

bulged with a closed hand, forcing her skin to

stretch tight across them and sag in the space that

the bone was absent. Her skin was a milky alabas-

ter when she was in good spirits, but then it had

turned to

the hue

of a

transpar-

ent

shadow

when her

health

had es-

caped

her. Her

hands

continu-

ally

changed

over my

life with

each new

sun spot and wrinkle, but always did they maintain

the grace that captured my attention.

While the appearances of my grand-

mother’s hands were elegant, it was how they be-

came to be aged that charmed me the most. And

unless you had known my grandmother, you

wouldn’t have known that the life those hands ex-

perienced, was the most exquisite quality.

13

Descriptive Essays: Through the Mirror

P A G E 1 3 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 1

Through the mirror, her day

begins. With the same words in the

same tone, in the same old rusty

mirror. The cracks that glide across

its surface have distorted her image

for twelve years, and for twelve years

she’s seen her image crack and fold

in the same heartbreaking way. The

mirror’s oxidizing edges are

tarnished not only with air, but with

the fiery wet salt that stung in more

ways than one. Through her misty

cobalt eyes, the mirror was a trator:

mocking her every time she dared to

look. Through the mirror, however,

her beauty was timeless. Every day,

she spat back the same words with

the same contempt that she imagined

would come from the mirrior if it

could talk. With every word, the

mirror breaks a little bit more each

time. The cracks get wider, the rust

gets more corroded, and the image

more distorted.

The mirror’s imperfections

tell a story of heartache. Its slow and

painful chapters never cease to etch

their words into the faces staring

back at each other: one with disdain

and the other with a hunger to scream

the truth. But the mirror has no

voice. It creaks and

groans with sympathy

and compassion, but she

never understands. The

harder it tries, the longer

she stands there, staining

the silver rim.

Hand-crafted in

Germany, the mirror was

never meant to cause any

harm. The intricate

patterns pressed into the

once-shiny handle were meant to

make her feel exquisite. It was

lovely, twelve years ago. Leaves and

vines swirled up to frame its face,

and the polished surface once seemed

to be a mirror of its own. Though

time has tested the its superior yet

delicate quality, the mirror’s essence

is still bright. It seems to have hope

despite all of the heartwrenching

days it’s spent flaking away. Now,

the silver is more of a brownish gray,

and the patterns look more like

inconvient ruts on a wet highway.

The mirror once was elegant: a

work of art wearing a gown of silver

armour... But that was twelve years

ago.

“The mirror’s

oxidizing

edges are

tarnished not

only with air,

but with the

fiery wet salt

that stung in

more ways

than one.”

By Emma Ryan

14

P A G E 1 4

A frozen lake finally

melting after a long

winter Moments: a poem inspired by a pile of words

A Spring Haiku

I now see the day

Where this winter does away

Spring please come in May.

I worship the moment

That picture in time

We’re laughing, whispering, seeing

But languid beauty robs pride

So I shine through the stares

And leave him behind

This delirious vision

Now just a moment in time Couple on a summer’s day

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Expiration Date: 00/00/00

Register online only, no purchase required

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Penguin Book Club

15

The Art of Personification

“Rumours Laid to

Rest” By Hannah Green

and Emma Ryan

After another night of

dreadful battery resuscitation, I

awoke with the buzz of a text mes-

sage. The boyfriend, already, it’s

seven in the morning. I never get a

break from this kid.

Jenna hates me. She’s my

owner and I am her phone. She

tells me everyday her despise for

me, followed by a good chuck

across the room to silence me and

her boyfriend. My name is Harvey,

and I was created as an LG Ru-

mour 2. When I was purchased I

was the hot rod on the block. I

have a slide keyboard as smooth as

Michael Jackson’s moonwalk. My

screen was spotless and my curves

were sleek. Back in the day I was

considered voluptuous by the lady

phones on the block. But I have

recently become bedazzled and life

has never been the same.

Jenna picked me up and

stuffed me into her back pocket; I

was smushed between her butt

and her backpack. This was con-

sidered the easy part of my day.

We were on the way to school

(which I could always recognize

due to the lack of plush carpet that

regularly saved my life). She took

me out and hurriedly texted the

boyfriend. “On the way babe!” B,

A, and E were continuously beaten

down day by day and the letters

were all but rubbed off completely.

Without notice, a sickly feeling

rolled through my battery pack. I

had slipped from Jenna’s grasp

and I was going screen first into a

cloudy mud puddle. “Jeez Louise!”

she muttered. She shook me vigor-

ously to remove the globs of mud

on my screen and the water soaked

into my keys.

To class she ran, for which

reason I could never understand

because I always seemed to be the

sole focus of her attention. The

next six hours were spent between

Jenna, the boyfriend and I. “Hey

babe! Guess wat! Dropped my

phone 2day, so rotted its still alive.

Its like its out 2 get me!!!!” she

wrote. “Crap phones never die.

Deal with it.” Back and forth they

went. It wasn’t just Jenna and her

boyfriend who hated me, as I

quickly found out in detention that

day. It was everyone. “Hey look! An

LG Rumour 2!” “More like LG Ru-

mour Poo!” The boys erupted with

laughter and began to play catch. I

tried to get their attention. I did

everything I could, I wrote mes-

sages on my screen but they didn’t

notice. I was desperate, already

tasting death on my qwerty key-

board. “Wait wait! I am not a poo.

I am a sophisticated phone with

many features and amenities. As a

matter of fact, I have a 1.3 mega-

pixel camera lens and a 320 by

240 pixel screen. I do not have

flash but I do include several photo

options such as black and white,

sepia tone and

shooting in nega-

tive. To top it off, I

am blue-tooth

compatible. Im-

pressed? I knew

you would be.”

In the end,

all communica-

tions failed. I

ended up with a mighty scratch on

my lens. There went my 1.3 mega-

pixels. When Jenna found out that

evening of my damaged camera,

she was none too happy, and pro-

ceeded to show me her anger. The

brick wall wasn’t the most painful

part – the crash onto the asphalt

was. Jenna and I carried on the

evening with the boyfriend. Recov-

ery was going okay and I almost

enjoyed the relaxing evening, until

Jenna went to the bathroom.

She sat down on the toilet

and picked me up to reply to a

text. “Babe, we had spaghetti its ur

fav! Miss u so much babe!” I lis-

tened to this and other vulgar

sounds. She stood up and reached

to flush when in a split second, I

slipped from Jenna’s fingers once

more. I plunged into the water, wa-

ter splashed up from the bowl and

swirled around me. The water

rushed toward me, submerging me

into every phone’s worst night-

mare. I became lodged in the tube

of the toilet and there, where many

fish had previously laid to rest, I

did as well.

16

Welcome to The Creative Penn, where you will find

resources to help you write, publish and market

your book.

Voted one of the Top 10 Blogs for Writers 3 years running, and one of the Top 10 Blogs for Self-Publishers 2012.

http://www.thecreativepenn.com

17

http://flipanimation.blogspot.ca/2013/01/writers-block-birth-

life-and-death-of.html

The Heat starring Melissa McCarthy and Sandra Bullock

is a comedic action film following an FBI agent and a local police

officer in a serious drug bust. It takes place in present day Boston,

centering around a run down neighborhood that is home to police

officer Mullins, (McCarthy).

When Detective Sarah Ashburn (Bullock) learns a pro-

motion is available she does everything to impress her boss, but the

fact is, she’s just too disliked and intimidated by her mostly male

coworkers. She’s uptight, extremely organized, and extremely

good at her job. Desperate to prove her worthiness, she’s assigned

to a special mission, bringing down a drug lord in Boston by the

name of Larkan; if she can put him in jail she’s given consideration

for the job. Upon arrival in Boston, her first move is to interview a

local drug dealer that was brought in for questioning by Officer

Mullins. Mullins’ subjects are for her and her alone, and she is

adamant that they be only touched by her. When Ashburn comes in

the scene, things get ugly and they get off to a bad start, butting

heads almost immediately. Their personalities are very conflicting,

most prominent in their level of professionalism therefore neither

really wants to work together at all. When Mullins realises the case

Ashburn is working on, she scrambles to get her hands on it, claim-

ing to be protective of her designated neighborhood, as her brother

is found out to be in the middle of it all. Ashburn disapproves but

with probing from her superiors, she agrees to partner up. The

comedy centers around their relationship, the encounters they share

and the strengths and weaknesses they make up for in each other

and their shared struggle of being a woman in a man’s workforce.

Sandra Bullock and Mellissa McCarthy are superb in this

movie. They fit their characters so perfectly I couldn’t imagine

anyone filling them any better. They feed off of each other’s ac-

tions; their expressions and also lack of expressions are hilarious.

The plot without them would seem pointless and disgusting, but

their believable, incessant desire to one-up the other is truly what

makes this an actual comedy and appeal to people looking for more

substance than a late night slapstick comedy.

The directing in this movie by Paul Fieg is maybe what

is lacking in this film. It seems as if they were trying way too hard

to create an inappropriate atmosphere with language that should

never be heard

by anyone. The

plot had sub-

stance but the

random bits of

gore seemed

pointless and not

at all contribut-

ing to the com-

edy at all. It

feels like the

director thinks

the most hilari-

ous thing in the

world are four

letter words and

fake blood

which were

present in al-

most every

scene. Although

that would ap-

peal to the aver-

age teenage boy,

it wouldn’t alone capture a broad audience. He certainly could’ve

focused more on the interactions between the characters and the

strengths of the actors. Overall the directing was a little misguided

and redundant but survivable.

The film after watching it two times still had me laugh-

ing and I would watch it again in the future. It was great to see two

strong female actors really shine and create a laugh. The quality of

the film was okay, the plot wasn’t smart and the language was

dirty. If you were to watch this film looking for quality, I feel

you’d only see it with the acting. I would definitely recommend

this movie to anyone over the age of 15 looking for a laugh and a

feel good story although if you’re sensitive to gore, this movie will

have you hug a pillow to your face at times. Great movie, great

actors, certainly a must see.

MOVIE REVIEW: THE HEAT BY HANNAH GREEN

CARTOON CORNER

18

If I Should Die Before I Wake

A book review by Hannah Green

P A G E 1 8 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 1

“I stepped back and

looked at all the

people as they

continued to weave

in and out, around

and around, faster

and faster until they

were one blur, until

they were One. And

then I knew what

Bubbe meant. Here,

was God.”

Han Nolan’s If I Should Die Before I Wake is a deeply moving

fictional memoir of a young girl in the midst of the holo-

caust in WWII while simultaneously following the life of a

present day neo-Nazi . One of five books by Nolan, it was

published in 1994 and has been a must read for teens for a

decade now. It has served as a window into the concentra-

tion camps with its chilling accuracy and also into the pre-

sent day anti-Semitism gangs of the 21st century. Nolan has

crafted a captivating story that will make anyone want to

get a deeper look into the biggest mistake of humanity.

Han Nolan uses dual perspectives in the narration of

the memoir which truly gives it a multi-faceted perspective.

The opening point of view belongs to Hilary, who is also the

narrator, and she is a present day teenage girl wrapped up

in her boyfriend’s neo-Nazi gang. Not out of hate predomi-

The setting flips around through each chapter with the flipping per-

spectives of Chana and Hilary. Hilary’s experiences are taking place in a

Jewish hospital, after she’d been in a motor cycle accident. She’s been ex-

periencing very strange visions of a life she never knew, Chana’s life. The

memories of Chana first take place in her own home around 1940, the be-

ginning of the war. The setting quickly then moves to the Ghetto, a fenced

in starving ground the Jewish people are trapped in. Finally, the last set-

ting is that of Auschwitz. The plot is driven by Chana’s memories, the

places she goes and the people who help her along the way.

Nolan presents a very unique theme, one that has been never really

been explored in fictional books ever before, especially for young teens.

Thanks to the dual perspectives, Nolan’s last final message is that when

we can actually understand what the Jewish people went through, that’s

when we have the tools to change the world and prevent holocausts and

genocides. We can see though Hilary that discrimination stems from igno-

rance and also fuels the fire.

If I Should Die Before I Wake is beautifully thought provoking and

enlightening. This was the first book I read that gave me a true look into

life during the holocaust and an important perspective on life. While it was

hard to read at times and tears came every couple pages, just like the mes-

sage of the book, it was important to have read it, and to have understood

it. This novel is a must read and I promise, you’ll want to keep this one in

your library to crack open every year to keep your newfound perspective.

19

The Basics: Submit a 90 second spoken word piece

about your identity. No restrictions other than no nudity,

no profanity, and you must have this URL somewhere in

your spoken word submission: iamsecond.com/

propaganda. Write it on a wall behind you, have it on

your shirt, whatever you choose it just needs to be in

your video. The winner will be chosen from the top five

most viewed submissions from the Spoken Word Chal-

lenge YouTube page only (www.youtube.com/

SpokenWordChallenge). The challenge ends June 18,

2013 at midnight. So email a downloadable link to your

piece, receive the official link back from us, and SHARE,

SHARE, SHARE.

Your business tag line here.

What makes you, you?

What influences you?

Define yourself be-

yond what culture

says you are - what’s

your #identity?