The Knight Writer.

About


The Knight Writer serves as an outlet to the creatives at Holyoke High. Our purpose is to showcase the talent and potential hidden within our school and community. From various forms of Art to various forms of written literature, stories are told here. We are a literary magazine dedicated to the youth within the paper city.

Poetry


Winter 2019 Edition 1

Creatures In The Dark

by Cheeez It Class of 2020

Don’t fear the creatures in the dark,
or how when you wake up they’ve left their mark,
you’ll find them in the scariest of places,
living within enemies’ faces,
but scariest of all,
the one in you has begun to crawl

Poems by Nighting Jay Class of 2020

The Last Breath

Life leads to death
And with every last breath
Exhales the sins of our past
The ones that don’t last
Life leads to death
Choose wisely
Before you use your last breath

The Widow’s Kiss

Caught in her web
Filled with despair and dread
The black widow strides
With hunger in her eyes
When her lips lock with yours
Her poison will fill every pore
The last words you’ll ever hear
Is the widow’s kiss is what you should hear

Time

The sands of time fill your mind
It windes and intertwines
With the thoughts that send chills down your spine
Like a labyrinth of eternal death
That empties your chest
Of all breath
It makes your heart skip a beat
And deprives of you sleep
Thinking of your future and how it will all end

The End
Like jumping off the deep end
Into a dark abyss
Filled with nothing but fear and mist
Where are you going
What will you do
Is this the end?
Who knew?

Fiction


Winter 2019 Edition 1

A piece of Dead Girl Diamond

by

Natalie Morris 2022

Diamond cradled her face, staring at her reflection in the mirror. To the naked eye, Diamond would have been utterly ordinary. Pale skin surrounded by the pale blonde of her hair. Along with that were green eyes that either blinked much to often or much too little, frantically trying to match the speed her brain happened to be going. Mouth, still in tact, lips still blush pink for various lip stains. Her nose was ordinary too. Round and small with the faintest crook in the bridge from the time it was broken. Yes it was true, at a glance, Diamond Leona Hawthorne seemed to just be, well, Diamond Leona Hawthorne. But maybe that was the problem. In fact is was most definitely a problem, all considering that Diamond Leona Hawthorn was supposed to be dead.
When taking that information into account, many more things began to become apparent. Diamond’s once round face had slimed, leaving her cheekbones gaunt and hollow. The bags under her eyes could have packed for a trip. She was covered in an assortment of bruises that could not be explained. Her face was shadowed by a gray lifelessness, making the once lively pinkness, a dull shade of blue. It left Diamond’s grabbing frantically at her skin, searching for any remains of who she considered herself to be, if she even knew such anymore.
It’s funny how things can change so insanely quickly. Had you placed yourself in that exact spot just a month before you could have found Diamond in this same bathroom, admiring her new haircut. You could have placed yourself just weeks before and found Diamond’s kitten, Meringue exploring, searching for something that had seemingly been lost. Just days earlier you could have found a distraught Jaxon Hawthorne, wondering where his life was spirling to without his daughter. But now, if you were to enter, you would find Diamond, wondering how she had gotten here once again.
In times of trouble, it is natural for Diamond to begin talking to herself, a habit she picked up from her father. Her mumbling was almost incoherent, but for Diamond it was almost as loud as the blood rushing in her ears.
“How did I get here?’
“What’s going on?”
“What happening to me?”
“What’s wrong with me?”
That series of questions had occupied Diamond’s mind since her father had found her in her room. He claimed she had died. Diamond had no memory of such. Just a fuzzy memory of a sharp pain in her chest, what seemed like last night. But of course her father had frantically described the events he had experienced, events in which he lost his only daughter. Now, unexplained by both Jaxon and Diamond herself, Diamond was alive once more, pondering what her next steps should be.
Diamond was pulled out of her thoughts by her father in the doorway. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks stained with tears. He seemed just as lost as Diamond was. When Jaxon spoke, it was as if he was in a trance.
“Is it really you?”
He spoke quietly, his voice threatening to break with every word. Diamond longed to reassure him. To give him some answers. She even would have settle for nothing more than a tight embrace. But instead all she could manage to do was wipe away desperate tears and croak,
“I don’t know”


Chapter 1 - Emmie Lundgren 2022
My name is Eloise Mary Beth Moore. I grew up in a small town with small-minded people. Except for Mr. Mason. Mr. Mason was my neighbor. He lived across the street from me and my aunt, Lorraine. He was a man of eighty six years old. His face told you he used to be handsome, but it had been caked with wrinkles. He was very stubborn, very set in his ways. He was the type of person that didn’t see why things should change. It's the one thing he and I ever had in common. He lived all alone. His wife had died and his children had all moved away. The only other thing you need to know about him was that despite living alone in a small, good-for-nothing town, he never had any regrets.
It was a slow morning on July 21st. I walked out that morning to take out the trash, and I saw Mr. Mason sitting out on his porch, the same spot I saw him in last night. It made me wonder if he had ever moved. I put the trash out and went back inside to make breakfast. My aunt was still in bed. I didn’t know how she could sleep after everything that’s happened. I sure as hell couldn’t.
To Be Continued . . .

Chapter 1

What if I tell you, you can control your own dreams? Or in a few words, what if you can teleport into another reality? The chance of dreaming with something that you want is very unlikely unless your subconscious is connected to your desire. The subconscious projects dreams based on the feelings that you would have in the moment, like happiness or sadness. All this without you even noticing it.
I feel like my body and mind are separate from each other, sending me into another reality where one week in an alternate reality can be just twelve hours of sleep. Your mind can generate scenarios with people that you know or faces that you met in daily life.


I read an article where a prestigious doctor named Robert Brown was developing a program that can immerse you in your own dreams like if it was a virtual world. It also has the ability to implement to A.I., characteristics of a human being.
I got interested in that article because it may answer some of my doubts about my hypothesis on dreams. Then I heard there would be a convention at Holyoke Community College and Dr. Brown would be there giving a speech about his latest works. I marked my calendar on April 21, two weeks from that day.

That afternoon I took a nap and I ended up in a heavy dream. For a moment, I thought I was in another reality. The bed was cold--the same as my skin. There was a shadow behind the door. I tried to move but my body parts didn’t respond. The shadow, kept getting closer and closer then…
A huge amount of blood started to drain out from my nose and ears. I got a horrible headache. It felt like my skull was being crushed by a truck. The sound of the clock was driving me crazy. “Tic Toc Tic Toc”. Then beside me, there was the person I was looking for; I couldn’t hear her but I tried to read her lips. “Do you have something to say?” I understood. By the time I tried to reply to her, she was gone like the last time.
I realized it was a nightmare because I woke up and everything was normal. But the sensation that I felt was so real; The emotion of fear and sorrow was present in the room. I laid down on my bed with my mind emptied out and my face showing no expression at all. At the same time, I start to listen to Clair de Lune. It was almost midnight and I couldn’t sleep. I decide to write about what I saw in the nightmare and how I felt about it.

I was just wondering how the people are going to react to a book talking about a person that doesn’t exist at all, a reality that I know it's real but nobody believes it. It’s just fiction.
The page was empty. I was trying to describe the person that I saw but my memories were fading away. Her face was blurry, the only thing I remembered well was her crimson red hair.
The first thing I wrote on the paper was “Do you have something to say?”. I opened the door that leads to the back porch. I sat there at the back porch looking at the moon in the middle of the night.
The wind was cold and dry because of the remaining snow on the streets. For an instant, I thought she was there at the stairs, but it was just an illusion. I can’t remember her name, just the hair.
“Hey, get inside. You are going to get sick,” My sister called me from inside the house.
“Eh, I am just taking fresh air,” I replied and leaned in toward the railings.
“Will, are you still thinking about that girl?” She took a cup of hot chocolate and handed it to me.
“I just can’t, I refuse to believe that everything was a dream...not after all the stuff I went through.” Teardrops fell from my eyes
“Wait, are you crying? Is that person so important to you?” She was getting mad.
“Of course! You believe me right?” I stared at her with watery eyes
She glares at me and said, “I do, but...”
“You too, Katy?” I said with disappointment.
Not even my sister believes me either. People think I am crazy because I talk about a reality that they don’t recognize. I went back to the room hoping that I could prove everybody wrong.
Next day I didn’t go to school. I stay home sleeping until 9 o’clock in the morning. The smell of the scrambled eggs woke me up; it was my mom cooking the breakfast.
“Good morning, honey.” She was setting up the table.
“Good morning, mom,” I yawned while I was cleaning my eyes.
“I set up an appointment with the psychologist at 3 o’clock” she served me my breakfast.


“For who?” I asked.
“For who else? It’s for you, duh” She took out the orange juice out of the fridge.
“Mom why? I am not sick or crazy” I got irritated and raised my voice to her.
“I dare you to raise the voice to me again! I just wanna help you” She slammed the refrigerator's door and stared at me with an angry face.
“Sorry, mom…” I put my face down.
After breakfast my mom made me go to the therapy. When we got there, the waiting room was completely full. There was no heater, nothing just an old SHARP TV hanging in the wall. Also there were only three rows of plastic chairs each one occupied. There wasn’t a spot for us.


The sound of the T.V mixing with the loud voices in the room was driving me crazy. I went to the bathroom to try to get some peace and silence. As I was starting to wash my face I stared in the mirror. My face was looking pale white and my skin was falling off. I got scared and tried to wash my face but didn’t work. I heard a voice “Do you have something to say?” I turned around and I saw her face. We gazed at each other. I tried to reach my hand to her but she walked away from me. As I look around my surroundings turned into an empty dark space. I kept walking then without even noticing, I was in front of her. Behind her, there was a person that looks like her twin just a little bit taller. “ Do you have something to say?” then they stared at me waiting for me to say something.
A quick flashback was triggered in my head. Now I remembered every moment with her. Those missing pieces of valuable memories from her name to her face. Emilia that was her name and the person that was behind her was Lilian her twin sister.
I hugged Emilia. However, I felt something was going wrong. I noticed that she got stabbed in her back with a knife. In one moment to another Emilia shattered into pieces in my arms like a porcelain doll. I was in shock, but Lilian´s face was full of joy for some reason. I looked at her for a second, but she walked away without saying a word. I closed my eyes then I heard a voice multiple times. It was my mother knocking the door.
“Will, hurry up, it’s our turn” My mom was calling me from the other side of the door.
“Wait!!!” I wiped face and opened the door
I don’t see any reason for Lilian betray her sister Emilia. Her face was full of joy while she was looking at me crying because Emilia just vanished. There are many questions that I have in my head, just hope that everything returns to normal.

Nonfiction


Winter 2019 Edition 1

Boy

by Khyarah Gaston
Class of 2019


Boys don’t cry; If you see a boy crying is because it’s a chicken. “But it hurts!” He cried in pain. Boys don’t use makeup. “I like this lipstick, I hope I don’t get yell at again for wearing it” he thought picking a red matte lipstick for himself. Boys are abusive; Boys are bully. “I won’t do you any harm, I just want a friend. I am not explosive! I am not violent! I just want a friend” he cried out loud. Boys will be boys. “What is that suppose to mean? I don’t feel like a boy.” Boys are not your friends, they are always more than a friend. “I just want her as a friend.” “She is nice with me.””She is my best friend.” Why are does boys hugging? Are they gay? They must be gay? “We are allowed to show affection to each other.” Boy love girls. “But I’m in love with him, not her” Boys don’t have feelings. “I don’t like how you are treating me, I don’t feel comfortable.” Boys don’t get rape. “She drugged me, she jump on top of me. I didn’t want to.” Boys are not mentally abused. “ You are nothing! You are not a real men! Work harder, be a man! You are good for nothing.” “You are such a little girl.”
He is loved. He loves. He will be loved. He is not made of stone. He is a human being too. Not all boys are the same. Nobody is the same. Don’t teach your boys to be abusive, they don’t want to be abusive. They are hurt when they see a girl scared of him. They are scared of themselves too. Boys can be kind. Boys can cry. Crying is not bad. Boys can use makeup, and can wear dresses and heels. Boys can love each other. Boys can want each other. Boys can be affectionate with each other. Boys are not just boys. They are more than that. Boys have a voice. Boys can be raped. Boys can be delicate. Boys will not always be boys. Boys will be themselves.

Art


Winter 2019 Edition 1

Shayla Welch 2019

Rashel Mateo 2020

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