Rogers Hall School - Splinters Yearbook (Lowell, MA)

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A Funny Story It all started when Nick wouldn't eat his breakfast because he didn't like what his mother had served. His mother hadn't slept Well the night before and she, thoroughly disgusted with him, ordered him to go to his room until she called him. Watching the men round up the horses from his bedroom Window, Nick grew more and more depressed. This vvasn't the first time she had yelled at him. She hates me and yells at me whenever she gets the chance, he thought. Maybe life would be easier for them if I vvasn't around. At the peak of his feeling of rejection, Nick decided he would l-eave home for a while, maybe forever. He stuffed in a small bag all the odds and ends he thought he would need. Lowering himself from his window, he almost turned back, but then went over in his mind this morning's incident at breakfast and firmly decided he would leave. He saddled his horse, constantly watching for someone who might walk in and bog him down with endless questions. When he was out of sight of the main cabin, the thought struck him that he was free. He could go aynvvhere and do anything. He felt like Huck Finn only in a different locale. Dismounting, he rested a while on a hillside. Watching his horse graze, he had another thought. VVhat was there to do? There was really nothing he could do except ride his horse with no place to go and eat the small amount of food he had brought with him. Nick started laughing. He thought what he had just done was ridiculously funny. He got up from the small nest he had made himself, mounted his horse and started home, still laughing. SUSAN BROWN '69 The Trouble With Pronouns Lord, do I love he, But his love for me I can not see, For he loves she And she loves he, That's why he and me can never be we. LEE MCKALLAGAT '68 10

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Conception of a Day The rain sifts through the winds silken mesh sweeping diagonally at a figure matted into a rock's crevice. Molten grey eyes gaze mindlessly along a rigid coast. The sea of another day washes in a story of untold heroes. Is it dawn or when? The entity has swirled into opaque silver blue haze. If a sun exists above this land it is unknown. The sea traces in faint thin lines under a sky which resembles a dead man's eye. Walls crumble, Grecian pillars tumble, land slides, all into a muddled mass. There, a dying, gasping soldier lies humped over,. like an old man, clutching his chest. Trying to maintain steady footing he extends his arm horizontally, at full length, against the blood-washed escarpment. He rests momentarily. His mind is paralyzedg his movements mechanical. Two last steps, right leg past left. His pulsing cellophane forehead lifts. His hair is sprayed back and he groans through a strange half smile into the leadened sky. The body sucks in a deep breath, hunches, slumps with a sigh and spills to the ground. The flat surface swells, thrusts high, curls and tumults down. The great wall of Weight thunders and smashes mercilessly down. Churning and crumbling, it rivets up the sandy ramp . . . A final greedy suck at the land before it is hauled back. And again it claws desperately at the edge. EL1zABErH BULLOCK '68 9

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The Daisy In all its purity in all its simplicity symbolizes love. Why must it be so strange to me that the petals always fall? Wait they say and do be gay, for love will come, you'll see. Yet the petals still fall, some forced by squalls, and wither on the ground. I must be content, not callow, to see them lie under the willow. Yet l love the daisy in all its purity in all its simplicity with only a little yellow. B-ETTY HALL