Saint Laurent High School - Milestone Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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SENIOR POETRY FIRST PRIZE HYMN They came, In nameless boots, talked and ate and leaned against the heavy oak smoked cigarettes and cried, littering the fields with their vague words mumbled in fear against the autumn winds, and mutilated ration cans; transient, called up inevitably to the unknown front, marching, ever marching. They would speak, incessantly, daring not to stop, with faces steel-grey as the barrels of their guns, of women, of books, of three day drunks. They saw ambulances rush past in a mud-splattered sterility, nodded to the casualties in a conscious daie, by ancient campfires futilely avoiding what they heard in the flashing distance, marching, ever marching. The trees and stones knew, the houses knew, bomb-shattered in the November wind remaining silent. Upon the ground, wet and chilled, the leaves lay deserted by the barren trees reaching out as if asking for more from the mottled sky. And when they returned, but a few, urinating behind solemn bushes like dogs, softly In clusters, swearing never to forget, not daring to remember, moving home crying mothers, tearful wives, open arms, in the back of the ancient oak a bayonet carved dead Initials, then continued marching, ever marching. SENIOR POETRY SECOND PRIZE THE WEB A majestic web, this society. Woven from man ' s greed, his lust. Strengthened by his hate and Ignorance Nobody can escape the web. Spun from the horizons it stretches. The center a mass of the wealthiest thread The edges a mass of the poorest sinews But nobody can escape the web. Men will try and fail, the web still decays The structure isn ' t equal. Preachers of repair, oppressed by the warlords The poor will gain the rich will down The web will break and all will fall. Youth revolt, but still within the web. Nothing is gained but all Is lost. Strained by the love within a few The web will break, and paradise found. C. Alsbury SENIOR POETRY HONOURABLE MENTION In the distance a foghorn sounds Inside huddle two souls Quivering from the presence of each other. They turn and their eyes meet. Their hearts beat rhythmically To the waves hitting the shore Their ears hear only the love that binds them. Peace. Louise Schrier Howard Albert JUNIOR PROSE PROSE SECTION FIRST PRIZE IN MEMORIAM Joh n F. Kennedy — a name we ' ll all remember. He dedicated his life to mankind. He inspired all men to believe that the good of the nation comes first. He respected the individual ' s right, and, in turn, everyone respected and admired him. He taught us that nations must understand each other ' s government, history, and differences. 31

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back was to me but I could see her face in the mirror and it was beautiful, quiet, alluring. I began to move towards her, hesitated, then fully approached. Before I could ask her she told me with her eyes that she would love to dance. I followed the incandescent odor of her perfume as she led me to the floor. She fell smoothly into my arms and instantly became part of me. She moved rhythmically exact to my move- ments, and there was no-one else near. She held me close, but not so close as to display any cheapness or intentions, just close enough to tell me that she was a goddess, with a grace and poise I have never known. The walti ended, another started, and we went on and on. With each second I wanted to hold her closer, though I knew I wouldn ' t, I wanted to suddenly thrust back her head and tell her I loved her and kiss her because I did, but I knew I wouldn ' t. The loud vibrations returned as suddenly as they had left but they did not baffle me now. We moved apart and danced on, in a never-ending circle like — a merry-go-round. Her long auburn hair swayed slowly with her motions, her eyes were closed and her gentle lips were kissing me though she was three feet away. She was dressed casually in jeans, and a long-length vest — everyone else was dressed up more; she looked more beautiful and natural than any other woman, god-like or not. I loved her. The vibrations went on for an eternity, and so did we; then they stopped and the waltzes came back. We became one again, and I asked her her name and she told me then we kissed, one small, meaningless kiss, and stopped. She went back to her table and I knew she loved me as I loved her — but it was over. The club was dead, the vibrations wrong, and the people vague. I found Al and we left. The merry-go-round was gone and so were we, but we would be back. Every- one goes back. Glenn Kennedy SENIOR SHORT STORY SECOND PRIZE THE YEAR 2004 The year 2004. Plastic edifices groping for the sky. Occupied by the elite, the omnipotent computers. The pleasures of primitive man such as omophagia or good solid food abolished. A world of pills and needles for food and diseases. An example to be followed by all; ordained by the existing government, the religion. The philosophies of the computers. The year 2004. The human race enslaved. By gro- tesque monsters of their own creations. Electronic brains. Cold and emotionless. Pollute the minds of the human race. The year 2004. Suffering from the pollution of the world. Water pollution. Pollution of the air. A thick blanket of smog lingers. People forced to hide their faces behind an air filtration mask. The animal life of the world almost extinct. An electronic mask upon which your life depends. To remove the mask is to die. Only fourteen seconds. The year 2004. Gone are the days of cigarettes, liquor, and marijuana. Gone is the world of make- believe. The only escape left is sex. But a cold sex in a cold world. The year 2004. Policeman named Xirau walks his beat assigned by the computers. A shapely girl ap- proaches. Electronic nameplate flashing Venusisia Vlyfe over and over. Nice ring to that name thinks Xirau. The girl inspects his muscular frame composed of geometric planes and angles. Then his nameplate Xirau Xerau. Xirau is hardly aware of those thin weightless fingers, touching his outline. Shall we? inquires Venusisia. Guess so, replies Xirau. Hold on for a moment. Xirau who has spied a thief sighs, shakes his head, walks over and kills him. Blood oozes from under the mask of the thief. Xirau has shot him through the eyeslit of his mask. Messy but effective. Xirau slowly walks back. Sha inquires Xirau. Guess so, replies Venusisia. An elderly couple walk down the street. They pass and smile. A funny sort of feeling goes through Xirau, an uneasy feeling. It was not cold but excrutlatingly warm. I am smiling. So am I, is her reply. It was dif ferent. Yes it was rather nice; you are a very nice person. They hold hands. An elderly couple walk by shaking their heads. Silly children, say the decrepit ones. Remember that primitive fairy tale we were taught when young? Romeo and Juliet. The funny feeling they had. I think I ' ve got it, stated Xirau. Me too. Oh Venusisia, to touch your face. The splendid ■ . perfection of your face. How smooth and beautiful it must be. It must be a face of Innocence, of courage. : Huge eyes of chestnut visible through the eyeslits. Oh to see that wonderful face! weeps Xirau. j By now tears stream from under the mask of Venus- -■ isia. We mustn ' t, darling. Then it happens. A graceful bird circles above them. This is scarce. It is a good omen. Simultaneously they remove their accursed masks. Hands held tightly. Three seconds elapse. Two humans. Burying themselves in each others eyes. Smiling. Nine i seconds elapse. They kiss. Joy. Then death comes. In the i y 2004- Michael Weiss I 30

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SENIOR SHORT STORY HONOURABLE MENTION BEYOND THE FIRE In the dark time, the boy who had no name rose up and walked from the dancing fire. Almost to the cloud of black, he stopped. The chat+ering of his teeth awoke the Elder, who cried out. The Boy returned to the fire. He stared at the hot light for a while thsn he asked what lay in the darkness. The Elder frowned. Unhappiness, ' ' he said. Pain. Death. Be more specific, the Boy demanded. Those are only words and I cannot fear words. If you do not tell me, I shall go and find out for myself, for I am curious. Very well, the Elder said at length. But I warn you: you will have bad dreams. You will wake up shudder- ing. Sometimes you will scream with fear when you are alone. Are you quite certain that you want to know? The Boy nodded slowly. Then listen. Beyond the fire, in the forests of the night, there are monsters. Giant, unholy creatures so horrible that I cannot describe them. Describe them! Shining-tusked they are, rainbow-coloured, with four great eyes and fins along their backs . . . The Boy giggled. No, no, I tell you, it ' s the truth! They breathe fire and roar and roam the land on round black feet, and they eat people alive. I once saw five strong men trapped, swallowed by a friend of blue and black. The Boy shook his head in amazement. What are these monsters called. Father? he asked. They have many names but they are all of the same species. The black-hooded Lincoln is their King and he is all powerful. The others resemble him and imitate his ways. The sure-footed Shelby could be mistaken for a Camaro, but he is more dreaded. The armor-topped Oldsmobile could be as popular as the Ford, though he is not as agile or as fast. Still they are all very fast indeed. Heavier than the elephant, they are swifter than the hawk. However, they must have tiny brains, for they have not learned how to stop. I saw the Eldorado fling itself into a tree, heard its dying thunder and watched as it bled flames. Now the Boy had become enchanted in the story. Where, he asked, did these monsters come from? They came from a place called America. In the beginning, I am told, they were tame. Men rode in them and went far distances. But the monsters mated rapidly and soon there were more of them than there were people. Thousands! Millions! And one day, so says the legend, the monsters went wild. They revolted against their masters and took over, began killing . . . How? ' In many ways. The monsters — I may not have told you this — possess magic. They can look at you and turn your mind to pebbles. Then as you stand helpless, they eat you. Or trample you, or crush you. Or burn you. And that is what they did. And did no one fight them? It is difficult to say. A few did, perhaps. And that pitiful few had more enthusiasm than skill. They did not understand the nature of the beast. They thought that the monsters could be conquered by laughter. But when you are threatened by a real danger, you do not laugh at it. The warriors failed. What happened to them? They rode in smaller beasts, playful, happy creat- ures, and raced them in races. But they were not many. When the monsters revolted they were smashed. The Boy was about to question when he heard a great roaring and thrashing in the brush. A monster! cried the Elder. Run for your life. But the warning came too late. A black Corvette appeared out of the night, enchanted the Elder and the Boy, and ate them in one gulp. Richard Darwish 2nd prize: THE DANCE , wofi by BONNIE SCHARF 32