VOLUME 1 SPRING 2015

The Cannon BGA Middle School’s Literary Magazine

“We Wear the Mask” Sometimes, we feel we can’t truly be ourselves in certain

situations. Coach Fleming reflects on his own experiences as a student at BGA and what he has learned about “being

yourself.” Page 3

Contents Page 1 “The Living Hostage” by

Samantha White

Page 2 “I can be weird” by Riya Bhushan

Page 2 “Isn’t She Lovely” by Annie Arvizu

Page 3

“The Wolf’s Grin” by Iris Holt Page 6

“We Wear the Mask” by Coach Fleming

IMPORTANT NEWS BULLETIN: SPRING BREAK EXPOSÉ!

What really happened at Rosemary?? Page 8

“The Living Hostage” by Samantha White

The bruises, the sore muscles, the chain-marks on your arms. These are the signs that tell you. Never seeing sunlight for months at a time. Forgetting your family. Wanting to die but never having the guts to do it. This is my life. I am the Living Hostage. And I am not the only one.

My real name is Anna. I have forgotten my last name over the years because there was no use in remembering it. My skin is so pale you can practically see through me. My hair is a dirty mess from knots that continue to grow. The scraps of clothes I wear are the only ones I have. I was kidnapped in these. The faded pattern of a blue and black checkered skirt and a tattered light blue blouse that hasn't been washed in years are the means that protects my body from harm. The clothes were thinning, but they protected me from nature’s wrath but Master Srim beats us with no intention of caring for us. Two other children live with me, Micah and Liana. I am the oldest, being thirteen, Micah is seven, and Liana is five. I feed them, tell them how to keep Srim happy, and care for them. Back to Srim, he never comes back from the town sober. Never. We always stay away from him in those times, or consequences are severe. This life was never meant for anyone, yet we ended up here anyway.

Continued on Page 4

Page 8 Spring Break REVEALED! By Bennett Kesler

Page 2 “Songbird” by Megan Carneal

“Amnesia” by Riya Bhushan Page 7

“Can’t Break Me” by Reed Locke Page 7

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Volume 1 April 2015

“Isn’t She Lovely” by Annie Arvizu

Riya Bhushan

“Songbird” The Cannon: Megan, how did you come up with the idea for this drawing?

Megan: I was inspired by some pictures of birds and notes as if they were singing, and I decided that a pun, “songbird,” would be fun to draw.

I can be weird.

Annoying too.

Candid, thoughtful, brainy

I can be many things

But that’s for me to know

and you to find out

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Volume 1 April 2015

“We Wear the Mask” A Reflection by Coach Fleming

Poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, -- This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask!

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I  share  this  poem  with  you,  because  for  many  of  you  this  is  your  reality  daily.    We  all  want  to  achieve  acceptance.    We  all  wish  to  belong.    What  are  we  willing  to  sacrifice  of  ourselves  to  accomplish  these  goals?  

As  a  black  student,  one  of  two  in  my  graduating  class  at  BGA,  there  were  many  times  when  I  wore  this  “mask”.    I  wore  it  at  school  to  gain  acceptance  from  my  friends.    I  wanted  to  fit-­‐in.    I  wore  it  at  home  to  garner  that  same  acceptance  at  home.    I  was  a  young  boy  in  turmoil,  torn  between  two  worlds,  family  and  school.  

As  an  eighth  grader  in  my  first  year  at  BGA,  a  mostly  “white”  school,  it  was  important  for  me  to  gain  the  acceptance  of  others.      I  was  attending  BGA  at  a  time  when  assimilation  was  the  norm;  therefore,  I  wore  the  “mask.”    The  “mask”  began  to  define  who  I  was  and  would  become.      I  learned  to  remove  the  mask  at  home  and  around  my  black  family  because  I  grew  weary  of  hearing  the  comments,  “There  you  go  acting  ‘white’  again.”

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Over  time,  I  learned  to  embrace  who  I  am  and  who  I  was  becoming!    More  importantly,  my  friends  and  family  began  to  accept  me.      I  no  longer  needed  to  wear  a  “mask”  to  gain  their  acceptance.    Once  you  learn  to  accept  yourself,  it  will  become  easier  for  others  to  accept  you  and  you  will  be  able  to  remove  the  mask!

Questions to think about:

1. What in the poem speaks to you?

2. Can you think of a time when either you chose to put on a mask or felt someone put a mask on you?

3. What allows you take to take off your mask?

4. Do you have a personal story about the power of taking off your mask?

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Volume 1 April 2015

Continued from page 1

The chill air blew through the screen and into the bedroom shaking my bones as it went. My feet relaxed as they touched the luxurious carpet seeping between my toes. I trudged to the fire and curled up as if shielding myself from the world. The warm glow from the fire and the heat that beckoned me made me feel safe.

"Come down, Anna," called Sharia, our maid.

"Coming." I replied not wanting to move from the cramped position I was in.

I stumbled down the stairs, stretching every known muscle as I went. I entered the kitchen and the aroma of sizzling bacon filled my nose and made my stomach grumble in agreement. I stalked over to the stove wondering where Sharia had gone. The bacon was starting to burn and the smoke rose as if trying to escape.

"Sharia!" I screamed.

No reply. I started to panic. I was the only one home because Mom had gone out and Sharia was supposed to stay with me. The servant's quarters were outside near the barn, but Sharia wouldn't be there. I thought it might be good to check. I walked at a brisk pace toward the quarters. I wanted Sharia's safety and comfort. The wind blew past my chapped lips and across the field. My feet wobbled as they went and crunched the leaves on the bedraggled ground. My hand reached out to touch the wooden doorframe and a handkerchief pulled over my mouth and nose. My head started to spin; I grabbed the attacker and tried to hurt them in some way. I was losing consciousness and my assailant would not give up. I elbowed them hard in the rib and heard a cracking noise just before I blacked out.

Bright lights blinded me as my eyes fluttered open. I was lying on my back on what felt like rocky concrete. A dark, brutal man stood over me glaring down as I tried to sit up. I looked around trying to figure out what was happening. I was crouched in a damp spot in the corner of a humongous room. On the opposite side of the room, was a wide mahogany table like the one we had at home. Home... Sharia... Why was I here? I looked up remembering the bulky guy hunched over me. He grunted in response and turned to face toward the exit at the end of the room. I glanced to my right and formed an escape plan. My legs wobbled as I crawled across the floor to the right corner keeping my eye on the guard that refused to notice me. I was almost touching the handle when... the loud ringing of the alarm whistled throughout the room.

I shivered at the dark memory that continued to haunt me. I felt unprotected and exposed even in the cramped basement that over the years had become known as home. "Anna, Anna, Help me!" cried little Liana. I rushed over and hugged her.

"Bad dreams?"

"Yes." she started to sniffle.

"It will be alright. I will get us out of here." I pulled her closer and wrapped my arms tighter around her frail, shaky frame. She followed me back to the pile of cloth we called a bed. I laid her down softly and covered her with a torn blanket. I lay down next to her and she nestled her head into my chest while she shared the body warmth between us. I sat and stared at the brown wood posing as our ceiling until it faded into pitch black.

Do You Like to Write or Draw?

Submit your work to The Cannon!

Volume 2 comes

out May 15! Join our talented crew of authors and artists and submit your stories, poems, drawings, painting, photos, or anything else creative to one of our staff members! If it can be printed on paper, we want it!

We are The Cannon and you can, too!

Annie Arvizu Anna Quinn French Riya Bhushan Brooke Gorman Megan Carneal Iris Holt Bennett Kesler Wilson Parker

(continued)

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Volume 1 April 2015

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I woke with a start just to realize Liana was gone. I dashed up the stairs determined not to leave her alone to deal with Srim. Arriving just in time, I shoved Liana out of the way before one of his treacherous blows. Sharp, throbbing pains flew through my cheek and up my head. "It was meant for you!" he cried flailing a pointed finger at Liana. She recoiled in fear. "Now, for you." he said still shaking from the blow. "Two nights in the cell should suffice AND this," he reached out and grabbed my arm, shoved me down. Srim grabbed the whip lying loosely on the hook. He rarely used it considering he had so many ways of torture. The crack of the whip rang loud in my ears and sting of the lash burned like an eternal fire. He pulled on me like a pack mule all the way across the barn into the torture room. He snatched the keys from the hook and practically flung them across my face in frustration. Srim, growing madder by the minute, had started to cuss. I hoped Liana would be ok and not get punished too harshly. She was as fragile as a butterfly's wing. As soon as he got the door open he thrusted me in. Landing with a thud, I looked around. "So what happened?" came a frightened voice behind me.

I turned around staring through the pitch-black mob that surrounded me. My eyes pierced the thickness trying to find the source of the muffled question. "Over here." came a raspy voice in the corner. Movement stirred the silence, and I caught sight of two beady, eyes watching me. "Who are you?" I called to the movement.

"My name is Tyrone. Who are you?"

"I am Anna." I said with confidence at the information of another human.

He let out a groan and the sound of chains rattling behind me got closer. I turned to see a shadowy figure hunched in the light. "Are you hurt?" I asked softly.

"Water." He rasped.

"I don't have any." I said feeling his pain seeping into me.

"Then, why are you here?" He asked with burning curiosity.

"I was whipped and thrown in here by Srim for defying him."

“I am sorry.” he whispered in a calm and gentle voice so soft it tickled my ear. I was almost shocked at his kindness and surprised by his generosity. No one had ever been sorry that I had been tortured or that my life was full of suffering.

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Liana was five and her biggest issue was the monsters that haunt her dreams. Micah has been lost from us for days maybe a month. I was there to protect them not the other way around.

I stared at the figure and he moved into the faint light covering the filthy floor. His features were mutual, his cheekbones carved into his face leaving his skin to dip downward across his chin. His lips were cracked and broken like a china doll after an earthquake, and his nose pointed to a curve like a raven’s beak. He was nothing special the rest of the way up until… His eyes. They were gorgeous, arctic sapphires glimmering in the dim sunbeam. I must have gawked at him forever as I noticed him starting to withdraw awkwardly. I turned away feeling foolish, at least I had some manners after all these years. Memories flooded into my mind, making my head spin.

My restricted muscles enjoyed having a room to stretch and so did my lungs, finally getting into the fresh air and away from that confinery. I had just escaped and was reflecting on it. I had only gone a couple miles by foot when I came upon a cabin. I guess you could call it a shack, because it was so dilapidated. The run-down place was the only shelter for kilometers, so I decided to stay. The floors were damp and musty, and the walls curved in and threatened to crumble under pressure. It was not the safest option but it was better than sleeping in the frigid, winter air. I stepped into the small greeting room. A whiff of foul stench hit me like a brick wall and I stumbled backward in shock. It was a mix of rotten flesh and decaying wood. Finally gathering the courage, I stepped onto the prickly WELCOME mat and shuddered at the wintry breeze floating in through the open window. I conscientiously picked my way over to the window and tugged at the window rail hoping to God that the window would close because my fingers were going numb from the intense cold stabbing at my fingertips. I persuaded myself into one last heave before crashing into a heap on the soiled boards. I collected my breath and pushed myself into a sitting position and felt the hot, moist blood rush to my brain trying to keep me alive. My arms fell to my side, they were as limp as noodles. I tried to stand but it was useless. I thought to myself, "How am I in this mess? I started to think again about the way I escaped and the memory again rushed into me.

To be continued in Volume 2….

(continued)

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Volume 1 April 2015

“The Wolf’s Grin”

by Iris Holt Year after year has passed in front of my button eyes. Though my burlap face is always smiling, I am not always happy. I cannot talk, for my mouth is sewn closed. I wear farmer's clothes and occasionally, holiday garb. My hands and feet are made of straw. I cannot move, for I am nailed to a pole. I am the scarecrow, the one you see every single time you drive by my field, though by this point you probably don't notice me. I have nothing to do but observe, so that is what I will do till my clothes become tattered, and I start to fall apart. There is a small house across the road from me. An elderly woman lives there, most likely widowed long ago. The one thing I know about her is that she gives out generous amounts of Halloween candy. So many children come prancing up her gravel drive every year. Those children, big and small, are the source of most of my knowledge, my entertainment. That is why Halloween is my favorite day... and where the story that I shall tell starts. A boy wearing a grim reaper costume comes walking up the driveway with his group. These children have gotten my attention with their raucous behavior. They are like a pack of wolves, all vying for the attention of the alpha. One boy gets too close to the front, and he gives the child a rough shove to the chest. They come to the old woman's door, and the grim reaper boy bangs on it obnoxiously. The old woman opens the door, and gives each child a plethora of candy; seemingly oblivious to the way they summoned her. Behind the boy's group, a little girl arrives. She wears a Tinker-bell costume, fidgets with a torn seam, and tugs at her blonde wig. As she skirts around the group, she trips over a tree root, landing hard on the ground and spilling all her candy. I hear a muffled sob coming from the fairy lump that the girl has become. The grim reaper boy notices, and stops. He walks over to the girl, looks down at her with a sneer, and then helps her up. Afterwards, he gives her his pillowcase full of candy. He has a strangely gentle look on his face, like a wolf playing sheep. Then he walks away, his stern expression coming back. His group crowds around him, all talking loudly and vying once again. One child laughs, punching him in the arm. Another asks him why he helped her. He just shrugs, trying to conceal his involuntary smile. This makes me happy. It has been so long since I saw a bit of real human nature. Next time you drive by me, look over and smile. Maybe, just maybe, I'll smile back.

Volume 1 April 2015

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“Amnesia” By Riya Bhushan

Chapter 1 She sat on the corner of 63th and Amsterdam on the steps of an old, ivy covered

brownstone. In her lap sat a classic. The boy couldn’t tell which one. He remembered a girl once who loved Dickens or did she love Bronte? He couldn’t remember.

“Stupid amnesia,” He thought. His heart countless beat, he knew her from somewhere. That long black hair and bright brown eyes hidden by thick-rimmed glasses. It brought back memories, mere snippets of his life before the accident. Some were joyous, others were painful. He tried to hold onto them, but they escaped his grasp. Where did he know her from? That face, he remembered those eyes from his dreams. Why was she in his dreams? Who was this girl that made his palms grow sweating and his heart swell inside his chest?

To be continued...............

Can't Break Me: Part 1 By Reed Locke

The darkness and rain were my allies as I ran through the mucky alleyways to avoid

being taken away to the place with blank white walls and overly perky people trying to change who I have chosen to be. The alleys were lit only by the occasional street lamp, which cast long shadows. They helped me to see my enemy's coming but also worked on their side of the chase. I turned left into what appeared to be my last chance to lose my pursuers, a muddy, dark alley where the streetlight had gone out. I ran quickly into it and stumbled behind a garbage bin.

Pressing my back firmly against it, I prayed that it would hide me from those who were chasing me. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, preparing myself to run for my life. I opened my eyes and looked slowly around the corner of the bin. I jerked back quickly and hoped that none of them had seen me. Two psychologists from the Lincoln Mental Correction Facility, a.k.a my loony bin who had been chasing me for the last few weeks were standing at the beginning of the alleyway in which I was hiding. My psychotic brain jumped to the option of brutally murder or hijack a vehicle, or what normal people would call fight or flight.

To be continued……..

Volume 1 April 2015

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The truth of the spring break of 2015 has finally been uncovered. Scandals will be revealed. Crimes will be explained, and even an incident including involvement from the federal government will be retold in this never before seen excerpt of the "BGA Inquirer." The majority of the 8th grade class stayed at Rosemary beach this year, and all of them have a story to tell. Of course, however, we will be the ones telling the story. No real names will be used, but you will surely have heard of these events on national news. This spring break took place during the last week of March. Of course the truth may shock you, but sugar coating the stories do not do them justice. There are three primary events discussed here, and each is more shocking than the last. With little adult supervision and plenty of money in students' pockets, it was a week of jaw-dropping incidents that you will definitely want to read up on.

One 8th grade girl (we will use the name Lib to protect her identity) has put more than 20 freshman males from all over the country on juvenile federal probation, with more definitely on the way. Incidentally, the system operated like a professional confidence scam. Lib was approached by numerous boys on the beach. Once one would give her his name, she would report it to the Child Protective Services, and when asked, she gave the boy her "phone number," which was actually the number of the same organization. Obviously, the boy would call child protective services, expecting "Lib from the beach" to answer. The police would trace the call, come for the boy, and once he explained everything, he was still kept under intense police scrutiny for the next six months. Lib has been named an official grifter but could have been disguised. If this con has been run on you, wait out the six months. Do not try to find her. If you try to get revenge, she will come for you. She will find you. And she will be pretty mad.

Robbery struck Crabby Joe's tiki bar on the same beach that same week. A group of BGA 8th grade boys, led by one of the more popular ones (we will use the name Chuck to protect his identity), were walking

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along the beach when they happened upon a tiki bar. Being only 14, naturally a disaster followed. Pulling out a revolver (the bartender later recalled that it was indeed only a cap gun), Chuck held up Crabby Joe's for every penny in the cash register. $15 and 27 cents richer, he and one of his cronies hopped onto a moped and drove along the beach. After replacing their cap guns with high-powered water guns, they soaked the faces of small children and the peacefully sunbathing elderly. Witnesses reported a crazed look in the driver's eye as he screamed, his words slurred, "Beware the wrath of Squirtle you heathens!" which was followed by either maniacal laughter or hysterical crying (witnessed were unclear) He was later captured, detained, and fined $50. He paid $15.27 of it up front.

The final night of the trip, every BGA 8th grader at Rosemary got together before they had to leave. 26 arrests were one false move away. Unbeknownst to the students, the house they had gathered in was a very good deal because the phones were bugged and the TVs monitored. After eating, the group decided to watch a movie. They were disappointed to discover they didn't have any, and so the unthinkable was done. The students illegally downloaded and watched, not just one, but TWO MOVIES. Copyright law had been violated, and the phones were ringing off the hook in the Pentagon, Langley, the White House, and the San Destin Police. This situation being above the police's pay grade, the FBI was called in immediately. Doors were broken down, and windows were shattered. After firing 683 rounds of AK-47 ammunition into the television, the DVD player, and the fish tank, the agents left just as fast as they had come in. Traumatized and soaked, the students left to go back to Franklin knowing they would never pirate movies again.

[Disclaimer: This entire article was written based off of greatly exaggerated rumors. No actual reporting or research was conducted in the making of this article. You should get help if you actually believe this stuff. I wrote it in like 15 minutes, come on people.]

EXPOSÉ! SPRING BREAK: REVEALED! by Bennett Kesler