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IMPRESIONES A B I L I N G U A L A N T H O L O G Y

Stella  Maris  Crovella  S  4  C  

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INDEX / ÍNDICE

NARRATIVA / NARRATIVE

! La maldición de las letras, Morena Lavecchia

! ¿Quién? , Martina Ledesma

! Mi restaurant favorito, Mercedes Mariño

! Julieta, Lucas Reinoso

! La mujer araña, Juan Bautista Sosa

! Ella era, Juan Sosa

! Rotty, Florencia Gadea

! When midnight came, Victoria Romero

! The island of the Diamond Rose, Nicole Kohan

! And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson, Lucila Casas

! Avenida Santa Fe, Candela Kalaidjian

! Fary Tale, Bianca Anselmo

POESÍA / POETRY

! El sueño, Fernando Boudourian

! Recreando las “Coplas a la muerte de su padre”, Florencia Bortman,

Mannuel Arslanian, Brian Szmuliewiez, Rodrigo Amor

! Capitalism, Lucrecia Márquez

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! Sunrise, Candela Kalaidjian

! Dolphins like humans, Sol Galvagno Lesmi

! Snake, Lola Coto

! The Snake, Clara Alesina

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La maldición de las letras

Era una noche tormentosa, parecía que el cielo se caía a pedazos. Yo estaba aburrida, tirada en mi cama; viendo cómo iba envejeciendo a cada minuto que pasaba. Pensaba. Mi mente se retorcía para encontrar un entretenimiento, una ayuda, una salvación. Cuando de repente una intriga me invadió. Hacía tiempo que quería ir al altillo del castillo donde se encuentra la biblioteca; la antigua y oscura biblioteca. Hace casi doce años que nos mudamos, y siempre me he preguntado porque mis padres no me dejaban ir.

Sin pensarlo, salté de la cama; pero no me puse los tacones para que mis padres no me oyeran, ya que por alguna extraña razón no permitían que nadie accediera allí. Pero yo ya era más grande desde que me habían advertido no entrar; así que pensé que ya esa regla no contaba. Igual preferí no arriesgarme a ser retada; caminé con cautela y precaución. Caminé como si estuviera acariciando a un bebé, suavemente como para no despertarlo. Subí y subí hasta que llegué a un pasillo que al final daba hacia una puerta que curiosamente estaba abierta.

Entré, prendí varias velas para alumbrar el lugar y empecé a recorrer estante por estante, cada libro. Recorrí, recorrí y justo cuando estaba a punto de salir vi un libro que me llamó la atención. Era un libro de tapa dura, rojo y tenía unas extrañas letras, como de un mensaje. - ¡Qué increíble!-murmuré. Lo tomé y lo escondí bajo mi abrigo.

Para el día siguiente yo ya había terminado el libro que tanto había captado mi atención. Trataba de un mensaje secreto, y de una extraña maldición. Lo sujeté fuertemente y lo llevé al mismo lugar donde lo había encontrado. Lo deposité y me fui. La tormenta había cesado luego de escuchar toda la noche el chapoteo de las gotas al caer.

Cuando regresé a mi cuarto, escuché una voz y vi algo que llamó mi atención y también hizo que me aterrorizara. Era el libro. El libro que acababa de depositar. Ese libro estaba apoyado sobre mi cama. Al principio pensé en huir, pero luego decidí investigar. Me acerqué. Un paso, luego otro. Estaba temblando. Sentía que las lágrimas me inundaban los ojos, pero hacía gran fuerza para retenerlas. Finalmente llegué a la cama y cuando estaba por agacharme sentí que había alguien más además de mí. Otra presencia en ese oscuro y enorme cuarto. Sentía que esa presencia misteriosa estaba oculta en alguno de los oscuros rincones de mi habitación.“No, esto debe ser producto de mi imaginación,” repetía para mí misma una y otra vez mientras me secaba las lágrimas para recuperar la cordura. Por desgracia, cuando abrí los ojos esperando que todo ello hubiera terminado, pero no pasó eso, sino todo lo contrario. Desde el rincón de mi ojo pude divisar un espectro. Un espectro con contornos borrosos, al cual no se le podía ver la cara y cuya voz era extraña. Empezó a hablar sobre una maldición. Yo no entendía, hasta que recordé la maldición de la que se trataba el libro; así que sin pensarlo me lancé para tomar

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el libro, pero el espectro fue más rápido y se abalanzó hacia él y lo sujetó con todas sus fuerzas. Fue en ese momento cuando me di cuenta de que el espectro en el libro era el espectro que había aparecido en mi cuarto y que la maldición estaba cobrando vida…

Morena Lavecchia ( M2C)

Sin título/La cueva

Miré a mi alrededor. Estaba dentro de la cueva. Tardé algunos minutos en darme cuenta de que ante mí se encontraba una de las cosas más interesantes que me habían pasado. La cueva, en toda su integridad, irradiaba misterio. Me aproximé más a su interior y, usando mi linterna, pude observar su belleza. Varias estalactitas brillantes derramaban su líquido desde arriba. Se formaban completas y quedé impresionada. Yo era arqueóloga y ese tipo de cosas me fascinaba. Civilizaciones secretas, escondidas, lugares remotos, lugares fabricados por la naturaleza. Giré mi linterna hacia los costados, noté más estalactitas, pero algunas �las más viejas� ya habían completado su forma. Relojes de arena hechos de piedra húmeda me rodeaban. Miré al suelo y nuevamente al techo. Luego al suelo de vuelta. Me di cuenta muy apasionadamente de que bajo mis pies, la piedra se fosilizaba con bellas texturas. Eran pequeños ríos, los que cruzaban y rodeaban mis pies. Sus aguas eran azules, verdes y plateadas.

Chiara  Crovella  s  4  B  

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Me agaché para observar más de cerca. Era simplemente hermoso. Tomé muestras con mi cámara, me levanté, y avancé aún más dentro de la boca. Allí, se escuchaba un leve aullido del viento que me causó intimidación. Pero rápidamente, esa intimidación se transformó en gloria. A lo lejos, en lo más profundo, mis ojos captaron algo que brillaba. El brillo estaba opacado

por la oscuridad, pero eso no me impidió ir a investigar. Mirando las paredes, también noté texturas interesantes. Eran similares a las del piso, pero sus ríos parecían más océanos violetas, que se expandían con otros colores, de igual belleza. Allí, los relojes eran más grandes. Toqué uno de ellos. Me impresionaba pensar que tardaban tantos años en completarse. Sensaciones gélidas se transmitieron a través de la punta de mis dedos. El aire que me rodeaba tenía densas capas de olores de distintas rocas, según mi nariz de arqueóloga, tan densas como las paredes que en ese momento me encerraban cada vez más. Las ansias me comían entera, ya no podía esperar más. Mis pasos se volvían cada vez más fuertes y mis manos temblaban, haciendo que mi único foco de vista proyectara temblorosos rayos de luz. Estudiando más de cerca el objeto, me di cuenta de cuánto me había emocionado. A una distancia mayor, esta piedra preciosa parecía brillar gracias a la superficie de su piel. Pero la luz venía de adentro. Cuando la sujeté, en medio de la sorpresa, mis manos sólo sintieron la uperficie de la goma. La solté y rebotó. ¿Quién trae niños a una cueva en estas profundidades?

Martina Ledesma (S 4 C)

Juan  Ignacio  Tubio  S4  A  

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Bruni

Me sentía muy emocionada, por celebrar mi cumpleaños y por ir a mi restaurante favorito. Al entrar con mi familia, se podía sentir cómo el ambiente cambiaba: había aromas a comida rica y a velas aromáticas encendidas. Se podía oír una música francesa por lo bajo, creando el ambiente, pero también se escuchaban conversaciones de las diferentes mesas. La nuestra ya estaba lista. Nos sentamos. Era una mesa de seis personas, todos los asientos ocupados. La mesa recubierta por un mantel blanco; arriba, vajilla blanca, cubiertos de metal con finos detalles de la parte inferior, dos tenedores, dos cuchillos y una cuchara al frente para el postre y dos copas. Una panera decoraba el centro junto a dos velas también blancas. Pude oler cuando la comida se acercaba, el aroma de mi plato era inconfundible: una ensalada compuesta por hojas de lechuga en vivos verdes, trocitos de palta variando el color de amarillo a verde, demostrando su suave textura, rodajas de mango fibroso que daban un toque anaranjado, y el rojizo se lo daban los tomates cherry partidos a la mitad. Además se encontraban las deliciosas y tan codiciadas fetas de salmón ahumado; todo estaba revestido por la leche de coco. Los demás platos se veían deliciosos también, pero yo solo me podía concentrar en mi pasión por esa ensalada, el aroma contrastante entre lo dulce de la leche de coco con lo ahumado del salmón y el toque ácido del mango. Era una creación perfecta.

Valentina  Cincunegui  Lupi  M2  C  

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A la espera del postre, me concentré en mi alrededor. Se podía ver la cocina y los cocineros trabajando. La cocina era de metal, muy moderna. Los cocineros usaban uniformes blancos sin una mancha; menos el chef, que vestía de negro. En las paredes colgaban cuadros, que no podía distinguir, puesto que la luz era tenue y apenas se destacaban. El techo estaba cubierto en paneles de goma espuma, que absorbían los sonidos. Éstos también se podían encontrar debajo de la mesa, con el propósito de que los cubiertos no hagan tanto ruido. Al llegar el postre, me contenté nuevamente, otra vez comería uno de mis platos favoritos, y esta vez era crème brûlèe. Estaba servido en una cazuela blanca. Su crocante cima estaba caliente, y su interior templado, creando así un contraste de temperatura, en mi boca, inigualable. Era tan delicioso, casi inexplicable. Bruni siempre sabe hacerme feliz.

Mercedes Mariño (S4C)

Julieta

 

Ahí estaban ellos, Ezequiel y Julieta. Yo los miraba disimuladamente, tratando de contener las lágrimas. Ambos eran mis amigos… y ella, pues era todo para mí. Estaba radiante, con su cabello rubio suelto y sus ojos verdes, tiernos y comprensivos. Era la chica más popular, detrás de la que iban todos los chicos tratando de seducir. Era muy femenina, de lo más dulce y elegante. De algún modo inexplicable, ella y yo habíamos formado una gran amistad. Ella que era todo, y yo que no servía para nada. No sé por qué me apreciaba, pues yo era una mota de polvo en comparación. Pero de algún modo, ahí estaba nuestra relación… que era grande y muy bonita, pero solo una amistad.

En un momento, se levantaron y caminaron en dirección al edificio, agarrados de la mano. Iban jugando, luego abrazados y se escuchaban sus risas. Me dije que al parecer, Ezequiel

Sofía  Terán  Corsini  S  5  L  

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finalmente la había conquistado. Al pensarlo, ya no aguanté más y entré corriendo al edificio por la otra puerta. Ya prácticamente no había nadie y sin fuerzas me tiré en un pasillo oscuro. Ahí rompí a llorar. El ahogo se iba apoderando. Ella nunca sería mía. Jamás. Simplemente era así, y yo nunca podría atraerle a Julieta.

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Ella fue quien me encontró. Yo estaba volando en otro mundo, y no me percaté cuando sus brazos me rodearon.

“¿Qué sucede Vicky? Por favor, contame. Y no digas que nada, porque es evidente que algo te pasa. Y yo no puedo verte así”, me dijo dulcemente.

Sin aguantar más, entre palabras entrecortadas, le conté todo… cuánto la amaba en realidad, cómo quería ser su novia, los celos a Ezequiel y cómo me destrozaba pensar que jamás sería recíproco por ser yo mujer. Ella me miró intensamente. Yo explotaba de los nervios. Poco a poco su cara fue acercándose… y me besó suavemente en los labios.

“Vicky… No sé cómo has llegado a pensar eso… pero Eze, aunque lo ame, es tan solo un buen amigo. Deberías aprender a no guiarte por las apariencias y los estereotipos de lo que es “de amistad” o “de noviazgo”. Yo soy libre, y hago lo que siento. En realidad, es de vos de quien estoy enamorada… solo que no me animaba a decírtelo”, concluyó en lágrimas también.

Y me abrazó fuerte.

Lucas Reynoso (S4C)

 

Mujer Araña

Todo hombre conoce una, sin importar que el número de especímenes sea reducido. No es plaga ni mucho menos, pero el alcance de su telaraña es extenso. Con ella logra atrapar cientos de inocentes insectillos que vuelan desapercibidos a su alrededor. ¡Pobres desgraciados! Ni se dieron cuenta y en un instante perdieron su libertad para siempre.

Es que en ello recae su audacia: el disfraz de súper-heroína lo lleva puesto a todos lados, no se lo quita ni siquiera para dormir (si es que duerme alguna vez). Disfraz porque poderes sobrenaturales no necesita. Por más aterradoramente increíble que nos resulte, ¿acaso tejer, esperar y morder no es algo “natural” para una de su especie?

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Pasa sus días al acecho; vive para saciar su apetito insaciable. Jóvenes, viejos, ingenuos, astutos, inocentes, osados: todos terminan en el mismo lugar, su voluntad reducida al más patético servilismo, todos felizmente idiotizados.

Con algunos se divierte más. Deja que se acerquen hasta que tengan sus colmillos cara a cara. Y allí se quedan, inmóviles por deseo propio. Como el canto de las sirenas, su perversión es adictiva y conduce a un masoquismo agudo. Aún los más avispados llegan a creer en sus posibilidades de supervivencia, por más pequeñas que parezcan. Es inútil. Los usa y, no solo los descarta, se los devora. No hay huecos en su filosofía de viuda negra.

Todos conocen a una. Muchos conocen a la misma, y a veces pareciera que es una sola. Todos se preguntan si en verdad la llena su vida de mujer araña. Nadie quiere saber la respuesta que todos sospechan.

Juan Bautista Sosa (S6H)

Ella Era

Ella era inestable, caprichosa y despiadada. Egoísta como pocas, lograba manipular a quienquiera que se interesase en ella -efectivamente eran muchos- y le sacaba el mayor provecho posible a la desgracia ajena. No le interesaba lo material en absoluto, más bien se regodeaba en el inmenso bienestar emocional que le brindaba saber que los demás no eran tan felices como ella. Cuando miraba, lo hacía con malicia y envenenaba al corazón desprevenido. Era más que consciente de que su sonrisa enamoraba, y nunca sintió culpa al respecto. Estaba orgullosa de poder contarse dentro del reducido grupo de excepcionales a los que todo el mundo envidiaba. Conocerla era la perdición; amarla -un término casi equivalente- era una sentencia de muerte. Nunca amé tanto a nadie en mi vida.

Ella era emocionante, relajada y encantadora. A mí no me importaba que no me quisiera tanto como yo a ella, me conformaba con el privilegio de pasar el tiempo a su lado. Me complacía ponerme a su merced, dejando que me llevara de acá para allá como un tronco en el océano. No sentía vergüenza de saber que, en el fondo, ella me usaba para su satisfacción. Había ocasiones en que se mostraba insegura, y acudía a mí en busca de contención, pero lo que yo realmente le brindaba era devoción absoluta, y ella la tomaba como un niño que acepta una golosina a pesar de que no es su favorita y tampoco tiene hambre después de todo. Esos momentos eran efímeros y nunca me agradeció por ellos. Yo los guardaba en el fondo de mi ser como mis tesoros más preciados. Su sonrisa y su mirada eran esos regalos que nadie, excepto ella, podía darme. Ella era la razón de mi existir. Conocerla era mi vida; amarla sería mi fin.

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Al contemplar el altar no puedo dejar de preguntarme cómo es que llegué hasta aquí. Nunca dejé de quererla y hoy más que nunca sé lo que significa para mí. Miro alrededor, atónito por la cantidad de gente congregada. Me pregunto a cuántos de ellos conquistó. Estoy seguro de que no amó a ninguno. Sin embargo, todo termina hoy. ¿Qué digo? Las fantasías imposibles seguirán vigentes en las mentes de los desgraciados, aunque la patética esperanza de que se hagan realidad se haya desvanecido. Todos están aquí por ella, ¿por qué otra razón lo harían? No obstante, me siento protagonista.

La música suena y se abren las puertas. El marco es perfecto. Es perfecto porque la incluye, aun cuando todavía no se hace nítida y la luz del sol que se mete por la entrada ciega la vista. Avanza por el pasillo entre los bancos y finalmente se detiene. Consigo su perfil… y suspiro. Me mira y, ¿sonríe?

-Hable ahora o calle para siempre.

Sentado, en silencio, presencio cómo la mujer de mi vida se casa con un hombre al que nunca amará tanto como a sí misma, y que, seguramente, la ama tanto como yo.

Juan Sosa (S6H)

Rotty

Sticky and stinking, the octopus, named Rotty, was a rotten little monster who was ruining the young and handsome King Liam’s Empire. King Liam was furious, but for good reason, as Rotty, the horrible fish, was eating all the ocean’s good fish! It wasn’t like Liam hadn’t tried to stop this. In fact, he had! Too many times. From catching the beast-like creature with a net, to sending various men to slaughter it; but none of that had worked. The octopus always seemed to be slipping its smooth tentacles out of King Liam’s hands. After ten years of bearing this annoying monstrosity, Liam was fed up.

“This has to stop!” Liam angrily bellowed. “My people are starving, just because of this stupid monster!” Every last one of the people agreed. Liam roared with hunger for Rotty’s final death. But this time, oh this time, he would go to the sea, find the octopus and murder it! The creature deserved it, for all it had done.

Preparations for the kill started right after Liam exploded. He gave the order to all his servants, who were eager to work. All of them were craving revenge; after all those years, the Empire was making the move and it felt like they, the Empire, were united with an unbreakable bond.

Liam was settling the last parts of the plan, and after a few hours, it was time. When he got out of the palace, the people were staring, gazing at Liam’s sword and shield shining in the

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sunlight of midday. Strolling hesitantly, fear striking him as he got to the coast, Liam gave three steps and he was in the water. He swam and swam, trying to find the beast and, suddenly, as he was admiring the beauty of the sea, something grabbed his leg. It felt like a tentacle. Never had Liam yelled so much in his life. However, no one dared to go after him.

Unfortunately, King Liam was never found, but luckily the octopus never came back either, so maybe the King’s death wasn’t in vain. Hopefully.

Florencia Gadea (M1C) (1st Prize in the Short Story Competition/Cat. A

Colegio del Arce- 2014)

When Midnight Came

She sat down, unable to believe what had happened. She was holding her right arm, soaked in blood from her wound. It hurt more now than when Lilly had first shot her. But the fact hurt more than the wound. Lilly. Her best friend. Had tried to kill her. And only yesterday they were having lunch together. She felt horrible. But she did not feel angry, sad, or even betrayed. No, this was worse. She thought of all the times she and Lilly had been together. All those happy memories now hurt her deeply. She felt like Lilly had never really been her friend. Like she had just been pretending all along. Like their whole friendship had been a lie from the start. That feeling, she decided, should not exist. That feeling had no name or a real description, only a solution. She had to remember. Even though she had been trying to forget it, and even though she could barely recall anything since she had hit her head, she had to try. And the memories came.

It had been a sunny Sunday morning when she woke up. There was a stream of golden sunlight peeking through the light- blue curtains, next to light- blue walls, in a light- blue room with a light- blue door. She smiled. That was Lilly´s room. She had been at Lilly´s house for a sleepover before it had all started. Lilly, of course, was already up and had been jumping on the bed to wake her up chanting: “Nell, Nell, the sun´s already up, wake up, wake up, wake up.” Nell was her nickname, but she had always used it as her name. Even now, when she couldn´t remember her name, she felt Nell was better than any other name.

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They had gone to the Sports Club for their swimming lessons after having a breakfast of blue raspberry jam on green pancakes (Lilly´s mom was very original when it came to cooking) and pink lemonade. They did not actually need to learn how to swim, but they just loved swimming so much. After their swimming class they had showered and gone for lunch at Wendy´s. They had eaten quickly as they had a party that night and did not want to be late. It was Anna´s sweet 16 birthday party and it was going to be A- MA- ZING, or so she thought.

The party started at 9pm but they arrived there at 8:55. They got out of the car, looking beautiful. Nell

in a tight, short, black, sequin strapless dress, and Lilly in a short, red, silky dress with thin straps and a flowing skirt. They were both wearing high heels matching their outfits and shiny, tiny, beaded necklaces. Each of them was carrying a small purse with make- up inside.

The party was great. It was on the tenth floor of a glassed building. From the windows, you could see the bright starry sky and two moons, one on the river and one in the sky. The view was wonderful and for a moment everything was perfect.

Then midnight came. As they were dancing nonstop to the beat of a great song, the lights went out, and the music was turned off. All the windows were suddenly shattered. There were sharp, shooting sounds and dying screams. Then some men dressed in black came in through the windows, the doors. They were everywhere, filling every corner of the room. People were running frantically, trying to escape.

Suddenly, she saw Lilly was no longer by her side; instead, she was next to the men. A gun in her hand. Shooting people. She was one of them. She gave Nell a hard, cold look. And shot. Nell felt the pain shoot through her arm as she ran away with Zeke following right behind her (she didn´t know where he was now). They had run down the building´s maintenance stairs, stumbling all the way. When they got to the reception, there was no one there. So they just kept running. But before they could reach the exit, something hard hit Nell on the head and she passed out. After that, she could only remember feeling a pair of arms wrapped around her and the soft, swaying movement that could only mean Zeke had been carrying her.

Lucrecia  Marquez  S4  C  

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And here she was now. In a basement, somewhere. Sitting on somebody´s bed. Holding her right arm. Waiting to be found. Just waiting.

Victoria Romero (M2A)

The island of the Diamond Rose

The piece of land floated on the blue ocean. I had been navigating for days on the endless Pacific in search of an island that nobody believed existed. But I did. Ever since my mom read me its story when I was a child, I had known I had to find it. The Diamond Rose Island, a magical place full of multi coloured roses which were taken care of by fairies. The roses had many powers, they could cure you, make you happy, make you forget, or even make you fall in love. The Diamond Rose was the greatest of all, but I did not know its uses. In my mother's old storybook, a Prince embarked on a dangerous journey to find this island and a cure for the Princess, who was terribly sick. I would spend my whole life looking for the island, not only to prove its existence, but to use the flowers to cure people. And then I found it. In the magical sunset, I walked from the shore towards the jungle. The Prince had said, "In the heart of this mystical place lay the most breathtaking garden I had seen. Its roses were of every colour of the rainbow. They grew in sections, a plaque explained their properties. It was beautiful." It seemed strange that on my way I had not encountered any fairies, maybe that part of the book was made up.When I finally reached the rose garden, my eyes opened wide. Red for love, blue for sadness, green for peace, yellow for happiness, gold for luck. In the centre of it all stood a sparkling white fountain, and at the top of it, the most beautiful rose I had ever seen. It was transparent and it gleamed in the little light that was left. The Diamond Rose! Under the last rays of sunlight I read the inscription under it: "Dreams come true". But I had no time to process what it meant; the sun was down and it was time to get on my boat for the night. But before that, I climbed the fountain and grabbed the rose. Back on my boat, I put the rose inside a case and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

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The next morning, I woke up and returned to the garden. On the way, I had this eerie feeling that something was not quite right. But I shook it off and continued towards the trees that surrounded the roses. Someone was already there. A beautiful girl with wide violet eyes and long hair of the same colour stood by a bed of roses. As soon as she saw me, she let a high pitched scream into the air. In seconds, I was surrounded by more and more fairies. "Who are you?" one of them asked. Her voice was sweet, but her golden eyes were staring holes on my face. "My name is Emma," I stammered. "I assume you are the fairies?" A collective gasp came from the crowd. The girl silenced them with a movement of her hand.

"We prefer the term Gardelia," she spat and looked down at me. "Now, Emma, what are you doing on our island?" "I came to study the roses." Some Gardelias fainted, others screamed, or backed away. However, the girl in front of me just set her jaw and said calmly, "You will not touch our flowers." Her attitude toward me was very irritating. The Gardelias were very beautiful, but I knew looks could be deceiving. "And why is that?" I asked, pretending to be innocent. "Because if you do, you will become one of us, depending on the rose you took," she said firmly. "Then I am glad I didn´t take any!" "We are too, it wouldn´t be pleasant to have to make you stay." I smiled at her, then looked at each of the girls. I was wondering why I had not turned into a Gardelia yet, when I caught sight of one of them. Her hair was black, but it seemed to be turning blue, her eyes too. She looked at me, then at the fountain, then back at me. Her eyes were wide with fear, she mouthed something to me.

Martina  Ledesma  S  4  C  

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"Run!" a voice sounded inside my head. I understood her message, uttered an apology and a goodbye, turned around and started towards the beach. I could hear them whispering behind me, but I did not turn around, not once. I got into my boat and started the engine. I turned then and saw the Gardelia that had helped me running towards my boat. "You took the rose, didn't you?" She asked me. I nodded, and asked her the question that was killing me, "Why haven’t I changed?" "Maybe you are immune. But if you are not, you have to go away, now! That way it will never get to you," she reflected. "Now, give me the rose, it's for your own safety!" I shook my head. "I need it." She smiled at me sadly, "Good luck!" I waved goodbye and sailed out towards the sun. The wind caught my hair. I had not realized, but it was a fact: my hair was turning into crystal.

Nicole Kohan ( M2C) (1st Prize in the Short Story Competition/Cat. B

Colegio del Arce- 2014)

And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson The eyes widen in wicked euphoria, the mouth curls into a spiteful sneer; maybe even the left eyebrow rises sarcastically. You can tell when a woman is gossiping. This was not an unusual thing in the suburbs. Rumors run fast in the suburbs because everyone, everyone, knows each other. But secrets, they run faster, particularly in the small town of Silestone. Of course, one can never consider a secret an utter truth, but a mere version of it, maybe even a lie, for it dissolves into so many women's rotten mouths, Mrs Robinson thought. Mrs Robinson slid her key into the keyhole of her front door. Her next-door neighbor, Susan, was just arriving too. They both smiled at each other and, a fraction of a second later, turned their heads, already rolling their eyes, hastily opening the door. Once inside, Mrs Robinson hung her coat neatly and started for the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. The pink Twinings tea of apple and blueberry matched perfectly the shade of pink of the sky in the cloudless dusk. The afternoons Mrs Robinson had spent at endless tea parties with Susan and many other

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housewives of Silestone, almost clones of each other with their photocopied beliefs and their hysterically artificial laughter, were uncountable. They all just sat there making hypocritically grotesque critique of their absent so-called-friends. She could only wait there for it to end, her spine upright, her flower-print dress wrinkle-less, reaching her knees, eating in the smallest bites a raspberry macaroon, her eyes filled with contempt. Mrs Robinson detested those women, talking about what and what not, women's and men's roles, who did and who did not. Susan, for example, enjoyed picking upon the fact that Jenny's 16-year-old daughter was a little too promiscuous. "My God! How can Jenny permit her daughter to behave in such manner," Susan had said. "Will she spare no boy, for God's sake?" She continued while the rest nodded in agreement and produced an irritating pattern of sound. "God knows what she does with them!" And God knows you are a damn atheist who cheats on her husband, Mrs Robinson thought.

Mrs Robinson grabbed her cup of tea and headed for the living room, which had a very pleasant view of the melting sunset. She first made a stop to look at herself in the mirror behind the sofa. The mirror reflected the sunset in the background and Mrs Robinson's tight face with light cinnamon eyes partially blocking it. She arranged her hair with her free hand, for the seventh time in the day, for it to look utterly symmetric. She then proceeded to lay the cup on the coffee table in front of the sofa, the handle parallel to the border of the table. She sat erect on the ivory white sofa, her hands on her knees, thinking. She did not like anybody, not one person in the whole of Silestone. Not even the clergymen could she stand; with their "Jesus loves you more than you will know" and "Heaven holds a place for those who pray". Even they knew about the nervous breakdown she had suffered last summer. "God bless you,

María  Eugenia  Balassanian    S4  B  

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Mrs Robinson" one went with his hand on her shoulder, but all Mrs Robinson could see were those three hairs a little off the otherwise smooth line of his mustache. Mrs Robinson's life at Silestone reminded her of the one and only visit she had made to the local zoo, back at the city. People crowded around the cage, staring with goggly amused eyes, ravingly roaring in laughter, their fingertips like sharp claws, pointing at the disoriented animal on display. Her life reminded her of that experience, except that now she was no longer in the multitude, but caged by it. And truthfully, Mrs Robinson wondered, are the animals inside or outside the cage? Mrs Robinson, trapped as she was within the boundaries of the judging eyes and laughs of Silestone, had become conscious of her every move, controlling, rigid. As if she had sculpted a shell to protect herself and hide all her insecurities, uncertainties and flaws. And Mrs Robinson had fallen apart. Somehow, she had managed to reconstruct herself after the incident and come back to almost-graceful porcelain. Still, the crack was there, where only she could see, because she knew, but nobody but her might. Mrs Robinson could relate to those houses that are very neat, and clean, and tidy, but if you open one of their drawers, you will find where all the mess was hidden. But do not dramatize the word 'mess'. Of course, Mrs Robinson suffered some kind of disorder, but she was not insane. She was beyond cynical, maybe reaching a slight paranoia, but she was in her right mind. She had OCD, but that should not interfere with her judgement. Still, she was afraid that someone might open a drawer to find that, and more... Mrs Robinson's little tiny bitter secret crack lay hidden in her pantry with the cupcakes. There, where the unsympathetic eyes could not reach. There, where nobody would lurk in search of something inexplicable. There, where it seemed safe. Mrs Robinson got up and started walking with footsteps of equal length, in a perfectly straight line, past the coffee table and the sofa, past the mirror and past the dinner table, now past the cold wooden floor into the colder ceramic floor of the kitchen and past the fridge now, face to face with the pantry. Mrs Robinson reached for the handle, opening the pantry. There, at the far left corner of the top shelf, in the same box where the cupcakes were, it lay. Mrs Robinson extended her arm, her bare feet on the tips of the toes, her hand grasping for it. Finally her hand conquered it and maybe it felt blander than before, it even felt slippery and deformed as if it had been chewed on. Mrs Robinson brought it down to the height of her eyes to find a distorted, disintegrating version of what had once been her little secret. Secrets never stay secret in Silestone.

Lucila Casas (S5L) (1st Prize in the Short Story Competition/Cat. C

Colegio del Arce- 2014)

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Avenida Santa Fe

I found myself sitting in a completely deserted cafe at 6am on a beaming and scorching January morning. How I got to the cafe and the details of the blurry night are insignificant. I can't remember much either way.

My mind was still thinking about her, about Maria. Her touch was branded on my skin. One would think my night was passionate. But she barely brushed my hand. Still, she had the power to seize my mind completely.

I will never forget the first time I saw her. My friend, Matilde, was hosting one of her annual parties. I did not want go, her parties were too big and noisy, always filled with snobbish people. But, she begged me to go. And reluctantly I went.

Her house was beautifully decorated, flooding with people. The air was stuffy because of the monstrous amount of flowers mingling with expensive perfumes of the east. In a bad mood, I found a comfortable chair in a secluded and quiet corner and sat there to wait for the hours to pass and the liquor to flow. That's when I saw her. It was devastating. She ravished my mind in an instant. I rose from my chair and in a dreamlike state I floated towards her. Her eyes twinkled and I reached for her hand.

I did not see her again until that morning. I was walking aimlessly through Buenos Aires, still

blinded by the haze of an excess of champagne. The heat created a sort of mist, like a mirage. I was the only one there, only a red car raced furiously by.

She seemed to materialize from the heat. She appeared to be surrounded by

Iñaki  Makasaga    S5  L  

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a golden mist. She whispered my name and reached towards me. Then, she faded back into the steaming mist.

Disturbed, I found my way to a cafe. And after an hour or so, I went back home and slept the day through. When I woke, I saw that I had a missed call. It was Matilde. Sobbing, she told me that Maria had died yesterday morning, ran over by a car in Avenida Santa Fe. I dropped the phone.

Candela Kalaidjian (S5H) (2nd Prize in the Short Story Competition/Cat. C

Colegio del Arce- 2014)

Fairy Tale

When spring arose in the first sunlight of the bright morning, the delicate princess of Amalasia, called Priscilla, woke up enthusiastically.

Priscilla jumped from her bed and opened the windows with a great smile on her face and searched through all her garden hoping that some delightful flower would appear, but there wasn’t any. Her charming smile disappeared and Priscilla sat on her bed with a sigh.

For 5 years, Priscilla had waited to have at least one tiny flower bloom. She missed the green trees full of juicy fruit, but since her dad had been taken to a castle far, far away from Amalasia, spring didn’t exist.

After reading 6 chapters of her favourite book, she approached her mirror to get her hair combed by her 3 maids. Priscilla expected her 3 maids to be cleaning her room, but they weren’t there. Also, she expected to see herself in the mirror, but she saw a granny inside the mirror. Priscilla jumped backwards, astonished.

“Don’t be afraid, my sweetie,” the granny soothed Priscilla. “I am you fairy godmother and I´ve come to see you just to make your wish come true. Tell me what your dearest wish is.”

“Umm…,” Priscilla replied calmly, but doubtfully. “I would like my father to return home,” she finally made her decision.

“Are you sure?” her fairy godmother asked because Priscilla’s wish was hard to make true.

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“Sure,” Priscilla affirmed.

The fairy disappeared from the princess’s mirror and left magic powder, golden magic powder floating in the air.

The next day, Priscilla opened her window with a great smile on her face. But why?

A massive, colourful, flower bud had appeared in Priscilla’s garden.

Although the servants tried to stop Priscilla, she ran as fast as she could and went to her garden.

The instant she touched the flower bud, it opened up and, from inside the flower, came her father and a handsome man.

“Father, I´m so glad you came back! It was my marvellous Fairy Godmother,” Priscilla stated while hugging her father.

“I missed you. I have a surprise for you!” her father announced, and introduced Priscilla to a handsome prince from Tropelia. Priscilla, at first, her cheeks were red with embarrassment, but finally, two springs later, she married the prince.

Bianca Anselmo M1B

Martina  Walger  M  2  B    

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POESÍA

El sueño

Mi cuerpo está dolorido, está cansado me dispongo a seguir esta labor; pero me veo paralizado cada movimiento conlleva al dolor. El paso se torna lento el espíritu se desvanece; parezco tomar conciencia cuando el sol amanece. Los ojos fríos y la boca muda se aturden junto a los demás sentidos; poco a poco la situación se desnuda descubro que me he dormido. Ya lúcido, al despertar decido terminar lo emprendido; ignorando la desazón de todo el tiempo perdido.

Fernando Boudourian (S4S)

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Recreando las “Coplas a la muerte de su padre”

de Jorge Manrique

¿Do quedan esas riquezas que en vida las disfrutamos? Los tesoros, que en un tiempo deleitamos, ¿Do quedan tierras, ganadas a los moros? La muerte todo lo lleva, nos deja desamparados y caemos. Pues cuando nos damos cuenta, volver del eterno engaño, no podemos.

Florencia Bortman, Manuel Arslanian (S5S)

Y, ¿dónde están ahora? Si la vida pasa cómo la gran flecha, abriendo las puertas de la vasta muerte. Ya consumido su tiempo y su pasado, recordó su gran dolor. La vida pasa muy rápido y sin darse cuenta ya él no estaba.

Brian Szmuliewiez, Rodrigo Amor (S5S)

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Capitalism

But the fish just swims.

The silly fish believes

Its fishbowl is all that there is,

It never wonders

If there’s more than

What he can see;

It never thinks

If there is a way out of it.

I sometimes do,

Picture it free,

But the fish just swims.

Lucrecia Márquez (S4C)

(Finalist in the Poetry Competition/ Cat C Colegio del Arce)

Sunrise

We are often told

That the future of the world

Is in the hands of the youth.

We are promised a golden tomorrow,

The true end of every sorrow.

But we were deceived.

We were cheated by those filled with greed.

That tomorrow we long for

was stillborn.

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We were indeed burdened with the heaviest of loads:

That of a world plagued by war.

And the ones who are to blame

are those who raised us,

who once were us.

Blinded by hatred they sin,

And while the world bleeds and we can only weep

For that glorious sunrise that never will be.

They have murdered the purest of dreams,

And left us with shattered pieces to sweep.

Candela Kalaidjian (S5H) (1st Honourable Mention Poetry Competition/ Cat C

Escuela del Arce- 2014)

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Dolphins like Humans The dolphins, the dolphins, Look like giant waves in the horizon. I can hear their squeak, squeak, squeak. However, I feel they speak my same language. So majestic, clever as humans… Dolphins…

Sol Galvagno Lesmi M1B

Snake

Sour snake sitting on a rock,

With her tail rattling,

Her skin glowing,

Her tongue dancing,

Making my insides freeze with fear.

Must be fun, being such an instrument:

Her sizzle sizzling tongue,

Her rattle rattling tail

Hypnotizing rats and mice,

She makes me feel alive.

Lola Coto , M1B

 

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The Snake Just a single stretchy thing, Can cause disaster on a beach. As the snake smiles at me, The children run away from it. Suddenly, a man came, And cut its head That was the end of it. The snake was gone. The snake was gone forever.

Clara Alesina - M1B

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BELGRANO DAY SCHOOL

2014

Departamento de Lenguas y Expresión Artística:

english department y departamento de castellano