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Ariel Brand
After staying up into the wee hours of the night time and time again, Ariel realized that she must write and always write so to subdue the
constant nagging of her inner voices that tell her to put pen to paper. She is a recent high school graduate and plans to major in English at the
University of Connecticut. She was the co-editor-in-chief of her high school's literary magazine. So far, she has been published in the literary
journal,
All Things Girls, and has had two Op-eds published in the Hartford Courant.
The Summer Room


The red sky
blew its heavy breath
onto the folded linens
branded with sweat,
grass stains and tiny
holes from hungry moths.
In between the folds, you could
hear their whisperings,
a broken code of childhood
only certain ears could understand.

There
they'd lain
for summer nights long
in an empty white house
with wide-opened windows,
drifting on about Dickens
and Fitzgerald in paint-splattered
overalls, discussing the endless
elations and misgivings of men.
For hours, they watched
the seemingly barren walls
in the quiet harmonies of darkness.
But to them they were filled
with spoons of warm chocolate
and old newspaper clippings of unsolved
crimes.

His tsunami blue eyes
stared into hers, conjuring
a night of purple moons and
and lusterless stars.
Because the only thing shining
was her lips, cold and desperate
and a glint of shame.
What she saw in his eyes
was nothing words could
ever parallel, nothing the wind
could ever sing. She put her ear against
his and mumbled
"I can hear your thoughts."
And so the downpour began.

But no one knew why it had
rained so much, why the sun
in one sudden finger snap had
turned blue and the sky the
colors of fire. burning the falling
dust of forgotten dreams.