Highpoint's literary magazine for all creative writing!
Snow During An Ice Age
By Laura Diao
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In The First Light After The 4.542 Billionth Orbit Around The Sun:
It snows. A quiet tantrum of flurries, white heaped upon white, fragile flakes on tough ice. Blanketing the planet’s frigid harshness with a thin layer of frigid softness; it snows. Life is in a heavy slumber, crouching into its last warmth underneath hunchbacked caves, sleepy ocean trenches, and gentle pulses deep within the earth. It is cold, drowsed, resting.
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While The Sun God Rises On The First Day Of Year 7 Ācatl:
It snows. A blizzard of blind, flurried confusion. Panic. Did they anger the gods? Which? Create a new one just to pray it away. It doesn’t go. Pale as lamb wool, cool as midnight. It suffocates carefully cultivated life, erasing meticulous grids and plots into an uneven white sheet. Within a palm it turns into life; a knowledge only the plants have, cupping out their leaves eagerly, waiting for it to melt and run down their wrinkles. Life.
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‘Curved Obsidian’, they call him. Itztlacoliuhqui. God of frost, ice, punishment, human misery. Harbinger of death.
During The Sunrise On 1 January 1830:
It snows. A hindrance. Briefly pretty, flurrying in the sky. Grey slush under feet. Trodden over, kicked by. A nuisance, to the ten year old begging for somebody to buy his matches, hands pale enough already without snow decoloring them more. Frostbitten fingers wielding instruments of warmth, pleading for them to be taken away. A nuisance, to the thirty year old with newly shined shoes, rushing, rushing, slipping, rushing, his way to work. There was no time; he had to work and work and work to survive. Meanwhile, life fell, the only white against black skies, black skies that were darkened by the burning of life. Fossil Fuels, they called it. As if death could fuel life.
7:14AM 1/1/25
It rains.
They said it would, with record highs, and climate change, and whatnot.
It rains.
In The First Light After The 4.543 Billionth Orbit Around The Sun:
It snows. A quiet tantrum of flurries, white heaped upon white, fragile flakes on tough ice. Blanketing the planet’s frigid harshness with a thin layer of frigid softness; it snows. Life is in a heavy slumber, crouching into its last warmth underneath hunchbacked caves, sleepy ocean trenches, and gentle pulses deep within the earth. It is cold, drowsed, resting.
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-Winner of the 2025 Creative Writing Contest!
Fading Flag
Dante Rosa de Jong
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the principal, with a voice
flat as sidewalk pavement
recites the pledge of allegiance
to a flag that hangs from the back wall
maroon, light grey, and whatever hue
the sky is, at the end of a dreary day
most don’t stand up anymore,
not since we learned we didn’t have to—
a right the constitution affords
this class of silent cynics
a few students still stand
the sound of scraping chairs
is the only noise in our homeroom
as they turn to face that faded flag
hands to their hearts, eyes trained
how do they believe in one nation
under god, indivisible? do they see
a different flag? are those colors
brighter? does it matter that red
reminds of bloodshed, white
of the privilege taken for granted,
and blue, of a nation in sorrow?
the intercom crackles as the pledge ends
leaving us split between silence and allegiance,
with the flag, just hanging in there.
Untitled
Sofia Doyle
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I have memories as a kid of shopping at thrift stores, watching my mother flip through racks of discounted clothing to put in our new American closets. I’m forever grateful to be much more privileged now, never having to step into a Goodwill store again. But after thrifting got popular, I hopped on the trend searching for vintage items and unique finds. I quickly found my likings and found every chance I could to thrift. Eventually, my taste changed and I now skip past 10 pairs of 2000s bootcut jeans I used to wear every day in the morning and reach for brand new leggings or sweats. Although I discourage myself from stepping out of my new comfort zone and put on my late favorite finds, I have fond memories of thrift stores always. Something about searching for something more among the racks, trying to strike gold amongst duds. Trying to survive the fitting room after a large iced coffee. Refraining a sneeze from dust particles floating through the air. Looking through items that somebody once cherished, almost feeling as good as finding something you’ll cherish too. The cycle moves, someday I’ll donate my clothes I’ve outgrown too, hoping the person who comes across my old possessions loves it as much as I did. Nothing beats giving and getting back.
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-Runner up of the 2024 Winter Writing Contest!
A New Beginning
Anonymous
There was a tinge of honeysuckle in the late-summer air, and although the sun still warmed her rosy cheeks, Camila could almost taste the chilly fall weather approaching. As a September breeze cooled her down, Camila wiped a strand of golden-blonde hair from her face. It was finally the day she was dreading the most all year, her first day of Middle School. She came from a small, homey town in Connecticut and moved to Boston, Massachusetts for her mom’s work. Living in the city was new to her. The honking cars, the bustle of people down the street trying to get to work on time, the tall encroaching buildings. She looked down as she walked on the sidewalk, dragging her new Nike sneakers behind, her bulky backpack weighing her down. She always used to get excited for her first days of school, looking forward to catching up with her friends, but this time she didn't know anybody. Thoughts jumbled in her head as the anxiety increased with each step she took, and when she finally looked up, she found her new school hovering over her. She took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to walk through the tall wooden doors, and there she was, strolling mindlessly to the class with the big sign that read “Class 6A” in bright blue letters. She took her seat at the farthest desk near the corner and fetched her notebooks along with freshly sharpened pencils from her backpack, watching as the other students settled themselves down. A knot tied in her stomach as she anticipated for the class to start. She seemed to be unnoticed, as other than a few occasional glances, nobody recognized her presence. After her new teacher introduced herself, writing her name in cursive on the chalkboard, she passed down an introductory work-sheet to her students to evaluate the class’s level in certain materials. As Camila’s eyes darted around the room, she found a boy flummoxed by the long division equation on question three, and right diagonal to him was another student who seemed to be completing the assignment with ease. However, Camila continuously gazed at a timid-looking girl across the room from her, adorning a lackadaisical stare as she dozed off by the window, the sun leaving a soft luminating glow on her face. Her assignment was left untouched. Camila noticed her when she first entered the room, she was wearing coral-pink converse and a floral top, her hair neatly combed into a braid. Like Camila, she immediately sat at an empty desk, she did not excitedly rush to talk to friends about her outings over summer break. Camila wished she could bring herself to gather up the strength to go talk to her, but she just couldn’t do it. When the girl finally spotted Camila watching her, she flashed her a nice, shy smile.
Finally, the long-awaited bell eventually rang, signaling it was time for her next class. Camila gathered up her stuff to head out of the classroom, but before she could walk through the door, the girl she was observing tapped her on the shoulder. Her name was Sofia, she too was a new student. She grinned when she asked Camila if she would like to eat lunch with her later that day. Suddenly, this new school didn't seem to be as bad as Camila thought it would be.
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-Winner of the 2024 Winter Writing Contest
