Students' Work;    By Students,  For Students

MIHS Pegasus Creative Arts Magazine

MIHS Pegasus Creative Arts Magazine

Students' Work; By Students, For Students

MIHS Pegasus Creative Arts Magazine

MIHS Pegasus Creative Arts Magazine


The joyous laughter ceased as though

the universe was muted. 

The leader of the group 

stopped dead 

in their tracks, 

the children behind almost running into them. 

Our meticulously crafted fort hidden in woods

became encased in a thicket of thorns. 

Silent as a tomb.

Cold as a tomb.

Dis-comforting as a tomb.

The apartment buildings seemed miles away, 

though we’d just come from the concrete sea

filled with four-wheeled beasts, 

only tamed by an adult. 

Our metal framed steeds were forgotten 

at the gate of wood and leaves.

The rubber tires leaned against the trees.

The dried crimson paint splattered on the roof of our castle. 

The smell of rotting blueberries wafting through the air, 

so thick we could almost smell it with our eyes,

like the steam from a freshly baked pie. 

The leader, Sasha, turned ‘round and ran right into the bush next to me.

I could hear the sound of liquid hitting the dirt, 

a putrid smell coming from Sasha’s bush,

reminiscent of the homemade ice pops 

we had just had 

not but an hour ago. 

I stepped back.

I was too afraid.

Afraid of what animals may be there,

lurking in the darkness, 

hiding in the leaves. 


Colin, being the bravest of us all, pulled back the leafy gate, 

Sam soon joined him. 

I saw them peeking inside.

I saw them turn their backs to the smell, 

Gagging on a stench so bad 

no living thing should ever inhale it.

As the resident “breath holding champion”

my friends chose me

to uncover the source of the horrid smell.

When someone encounters something; 

So intense.

So vivid.

So terribly real.

Human nature is a trigger

to the machine we call fight-or-flight. 

It is entirely involuntary.

It is overpowering.

And it failed me.

In that moment, 

when I held my breath, 

pulled back the branches we used as a door,

and peered into the darkness, 

all I could see was red frayed rope, 

 a head twisted an unnatural way. 

All I could do was crouch there…

Still holding my breath…



I was enveloped in the fog,

only receding to the sound of my name.

Pulled back to reality by the small words that make me, me.

Unable to articulate what was in the dark bowels of our 

once open and welcoming


It felt as though my whole body simply gave in to

              the incognizant pain,

  the utter shock,

           the terrornado,

 the fracturing fear, 

that single moment. 

The first time I witnessed death was in 4th grade; 

In the woods 

behind my apartment.

I could not think.

We just ran.

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