Day 25

The Ring
by S.A. Bowden

To Mr. Watson

“CHRISTINE re-enters. . . takes off her ring and gives it to the PHANTOM.”
— stage directions from The Phantom of the Opera

I thought the incident today with your ring
Was kind of like that part from the end of The Phantom of the Opera
(The musical)
With Christine and the Phantom’s ring
Only it wasn’t in the cellars of the Paris Opera house
It was in the lobby of the school auditorium
And the ring was not a plain gold wedding band
It was some gray metal
With the Ankh symbol
Not on my finger as a proposal
It was on the floor in front of me
I saw it while we were playing “Jukebox”
I picked it up.  I could have called you over
But— I’ll admit it— I wanted to act it out to the fullest similarity
I was already thinking of Christine
Holding out the ring like an offering in the movie
Only Christine (me) was not wearing the infamous wedding dress
Instead, a band t-shirt and gym shorts, sweating
With cumbersome white quints strapped on
And I did not slowly approach the Phantom (you) with infinite sadness
I walked right up to you, nervously
Only you were not half-disfigured with makeup and prosthetics
And you were dreadlocked instead of near bald
And I wasn’t silent or crying, I said,
“You dropped your ring, sir.”
I held out the ring like an offering
Like she did
Only you did not deliver the heart-wrenching last line
You just nodded in that way of yours I know well
Took it, and put it back in your pocket
And instead of strings playing a ballad
We went back to beating our drums in show cadences

Our case was not nearly as theatrical as the original
(Which is fine)
But still, if you consider it, I think there are some similarities between
the two


Late Night Thoughts
by Mya Smith

First off, what are words?
Why do they exist?
How do they exist?
26 letters and infinite words?
What is space?
A blanket of darkness?
What’s out there?
Do parallel universes exist?
How do inventions come to be?
Who has time to think of fascinating like
Colored television, computers, and smartphones?
Even things like a backpack?
What is in the ocean? Like at the bottom?
Why are we here?
What is attractiveness?
We all just have two eyes, a nose, and a mouth?
Why do girls have periods?
Carrying another living thing inside them for nine months?
Do aliens really exist?
Are we the aliens?
What is technology?
Why does the world have languages?
What are taste buds??
What is math? The number pie maybe?
Who came up with numbers?
Why are they forever?
Why am I asking these questions?


by Sam Yoseph

You grab a flower from the broken ground,
Fingers clasping it with gentle touches.
The wave of the tree are the only sound
Dancing on your ear as your hand clutches.

Give it to your mother, who stays silent.
Nudge it towards your father, who does not move.
Their eyes, blue and brown color, once vibrant
Now stills a dull grey the crowd disapproves.

A used-to-be uniqueness disappears.
The people around you now shine boring.
As they focus on their problems for years,
They forget to love the people soaring.

As you see the color drain from their eyes,
You feel yourself falling from the blue skies.


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