INVISIBLE

SCHOOLS

Ms. Bessias European Literature Classes - 2012

This project, Invisible Schools, is based on Italo Calvinos novel Invisible Cities. It was done as a class project at Durham Academy by Ms. Bessias sections of English 10: Literature of Western Europe. To prepare for this project, we watched Sir Ken Robinsons animated lecture, Changing Educational Paradigms and discussed the dynamic nature of school in the context of the digital revolution. We each wrote a description of a possible school following Calvinos concept of possible cities In Invisible Cities, the Venetian traveler Marco Polo describes different cities to the emperor Kublai Khan. His accounts are brief and highly imaginative. Like Calvino, we created a frame story and tried to use vivid imagery in our descriptions. The schools in this collection differ in many respects, including architecture, time period, and purpose. Each was written by a different student. The purpose of this publication is to present our visualizations of schools that dont yet exist--or do they?

About the Project

Compiled and Designed by Derek Brown Cover Art by Lily Burdick Inside Cover by Claire Burdick Project organized by Christine Bessias
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And so we were called to a summit by the Minister of Education, to scour the education systems in other Nations. Anyone who had experience in education was invited to this summit, and most answered the call. You all have been called here as scouts for the future of the worlds newest nation and its education system. Each one of you have been assigned a school to observe. Go now and explore these other worlds of education, and bring back what you have observed in six months time. Many months passed, six months to be exact, and the summit had been called once again, but this time, knowledge flowed around the room, as we all shared small stories with each other. Four people were to a table, and the rows extended for hundreds of feet in each direction. Discussions between scouts had already been happening for quite some time before the Minister stepped in. At the front of the room sat the Minister and his board. They were on an elevated platform, seated on brown leather chairs with brass arms. There was only one woman on the board, but she blended right in with their dark pin-striped suits- the only thing missing from her was a golden tie with a thick windsor knot. Our Nations emblem was mounted above them, a golden wreath with a simple rose in the middle. The room had a golden feel to it, which as all of us knew was the aura that knowledge created. After the board had settled in and opened their briefcases, the Minister addressed us. Alright everyone, please take your seats and quiet down. Our nation does not cease to grow, and so we must be swift with our stories so that our nations youth can start to learn to their full capabilities. Each of you will now have a chance to share your stories about the schools you visited.
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the StorY

tAbLe oF coNteNtS
Schools and time Autodidacte Schools and order Unmperia Jednota Academy one Dimensional Schools Nuage SATnia Dux I caravel Scholasticus Academia Sportivo Academy Schools of Physicality Kleur Algoma Mipaka Schools of Feelings Cavati School Cognatio Paradise Schools of chaos Dezod Schools of change Repeating Schools Mutatio School of Ulysses Samuel Smith Rogers Thomas H. Edwards Zared Schools of relationships Vitatus Armelio Academy Solidariet

SCHOOLS AND TIME

SCHOOLS AND TIME

Unlike the others, I am here to tell merely of a work in progress. Upon my arrival at my assigned school in Japan, I realized that the school was not finished yet. A woman came out of the huge white building and explained to me the purpose of this school that was under construction. It is clearly time to take the leap completely into the technological era, she said to me, and focus our energy on removing the need to focus our energy much at all. Right now, (the Learning Facility) is not open to the public, but rather is being used as a lab where engineers like myself are developing and improving the most advanced educational technology in the world as we speak. Soon, most daily activities as we know them will be done by electronic means, and this school will be Japans first step in that direction. We expect that within the next few decades, the Learning Facility will be up and running in the manner that I shall describe to you, and will continue to be improved as we further our technological understanding. She then proceeded to tell me about the school as it will be: The Learning Facility is one gigantic building, and, when it is first opened in the morning, it consists of just one enormous, expansive room containing nothing but endless rows of chairs. Throughout the day, hovercrafts fly into the parking lot, drift to the ground, and come to a slow stop. Students emerge and head inside for a day of work. They do not carry any materials with them. When a student sits down in one of the thousands of chairs, thick dividers rise up out of the floor, forming walls around them. Now, the students have their own personal, soundproof classroom. A greenish hologram screen appears in midair before the student, resembling the screen of the physical computers used by students decades ago. When a student has first arrived, their screen simply shows a list of the students assignments for that week, depending on the classes that they are enrolled in. Assignments that have been completed and turned in via the slot in each classrooms wall are checked off on the list. Each student may work on their weekly assignments at their own pace and in their desired order, provided that all of the weeks assignments are submitted by midnight on Saturday. A keyboard slides out of the wall in front of the student, and when the student types, the words are displayed on the holographic screen. The real revolutionary aspect of the Learning Facility is the way in which the students learn the information necessary to complete their assignments quickly and efficiently. We have developed the most advanced computer software programs in the world, centered around the simple idea of drilling only the most essential facts of each school subject into ones brain and then reinforcing that knowledge, much like the at-home language-learning software used in previous decades that allowed one to learn a language in one year rather than learning it throughout all of their years at school. Granted, those programs did not help one fully understand, but simply taught them the adequate amount for their purposes. This is exactly our aim for the Learning Facility. While our methods of learning are not difficult, the entire process is quite repetitive and still requires dedication every day. Students may come and go as they wish, but it is critical that they complete their assignments on time in order to progress through the grade levels quickly and graduate from the school. If assignments are not completed on time, the student is punished by being held in the Facility until the assignments are completed. If the student fails to complete their late assignments within twenty-four hours, they must appear in court. After all, we must hold the students to high standards in order to cultivate adequate minds and produce enough graduates each year to maintain the precariously functional economy. Clearly, in order for our methods to work, we must force the student to develop a strong work ethic. We also must force the student to give up their sense of individuality while at the Learning Facility. Our methods are entirely standardized and memorization-basedthere is no creative aspect. If the student wishes to express their creativity, they may do so on their own time.

AUTODIDACTE
Irene Wallen
For a long time, the School called Autodidacte was alive. Its circular buildings were abuzz with childrens voices calling out to each other from classrooms. Desks were in a circle, blackboards and colourful posters promoting learning lining the walls. A teacher at the podium stood eagerly answering and debating with the students, learning from them while teaching. Lunch was eaten outside; girls giggling from the playground while boys threw a ball. A school never seemed so alive. I went back to Autodidacte a few months later, wanting to show the perfect school to the emperor. But, the happy school I had known had disappeared. The playground in the courtyard was rusted, a breeze occasionally rocked the creaking swing back and forth. The childrens voices I had once heard were replaced with the mechanical hum of machinery, unwavering and omnipresent, emanating from each of the small buildings. The benches once littered with coats and backpacks were now empty and abandoned for the machines inside the classrooms. Desks were now in straight rows, a piece of shiny machinery on each of the worn wood, seeming out of place. Each was now identical, showing no sign of personality; even the penciled doodles that had been engraved in the wood had been painted over. Backpacks that leaned up against the thin metal legs were gone, replaced now by just a cell phone or jacket. Students were huddled over the machines, learning through the computer instead of through their community. The room seemed strained, each student silent, eager to fulfill their Daily Learning Amount: as soon as they finished they could leave. The schools future had destroyed it. The life had been sucked from the school, replaced by what the new learning standard, said to be the best in the country. I still try to keep the first Autodidacte in my memory though, to remember the abundance of life and learning I saw there. But its impossible. Now I see the rusted playground. The painted over doodles. Each student eager to leave. The first Autodidacte is lost, in its place the standardized school, expressionless.
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Chelsea Leversedge

SCHOOLS AND ORDER

SCHOOLS AND ORDER

UNMpErIA ACADEMY
The memory of my school, Unmperia High, is now nothing less than a sickly shadow. The cavernous hallways and constant noise of progress are nothing but a confusing blur filed in years long gone. For me, what has remained at the apogee of my experience has been the multiplicities I formed with those around me. I was six, close to seven, sitting in the back of a classroom. A teacher, as generic as the rest, unleashed a gusty wind, blowing the students toward the objective of knowledge. I walked the two blocks to my house after school, glad to see birds, trees and cars. They were the only respite to my dreary existence. That day, I returned to a frantic household. They uttered phrases about the cooperative convergence of subjects and the proletarian management of production, the meaning of which I would not fully understand until a summer day almost fifteen years later. It was a week before I emerged from the front door of my house on my trek to school. This time, a slim man in an orange sweater vest announced to the students that they would be able to determine their own path. That the principles of no child left behind had been replaced with every child to their potential. For me, this was a paradise. I was no longer towing the barge of my classmates; I sailed happily in the calm breezes. I remembered this time as a shimmering sea, as my passions returned from years of exile. But, the ships around me did not bare the same fate as I. My classmates were blown ashore by laziness, their loves of art and music: truly unfit to be members of the postmodern posse. Over the ensuing months I progressed, Unmperia high transformed into the A-School; the regal halls of which emanated a breadth of academia. What I lost, too, would take me years to understand. In my haste for the betterment of the multitude, I had forgotten my childhood, a price I daily pay.

JEDNOTA ACADEMY
Everybody has the same role there, the same responsibility, to help keep the school alive. There is no division between faculty, staff, and students, but whether this is good or bad is up to us to judge. This great, renowned institution of learning that people call Jednota Academy is unlike any other school you have heard about here, in that every teacher is a student, and every student is a teacher. You may have heard other schools mention the precious statistic of student to teacher ratio, but no institution can match Jednotas 1:1, as students and teachers are one and the same. How does this work, you may ask? The answer is not as far-fetched as it may seem. Children in this community are groomed from a very young age to be experts in a certain field of study. All day, every day, for as long as it takes, they learn about this subject and this subject only. When these children are deemed geniuses in this particular field, they begin to teach one class on it. Once they reach this phase of their development, they then become students of other subjects as well. They teach their one class, and then classes on the other subjects fill their schedule for the rest of the day. Once again, these subjects are not rushed, as the overarching goal is for them to attain a genius level of knowledge almost on par with their knowledge of the subject they teach. Of course, they will always be more gifted at their teaching subject, as teaching reinforces the knowledge that ones mind contains. Because of this, all teachers you have heard about are not just students in other classes, but students of their own class as well. You may already be thinking about how this can lead to a tangled web of relationships that ultimately leads to a more beneficial learning experience. Oftentimes a student may learn from a teacher in class, but at the same time be this teachers teacher in other class. This leads to a great exchange of information, with each person possessing knowledge that the other needs, providing a strong peer-based education. There is no rigid student to teacher relationship as there may be in other educational options because everybody is a student of others, and others are students of them. Nobody is in a position of higher authority than another. This means that every relationship as a whole cannot be described by a simple phrase like student to teacher or parent to child. Everyone is simultaneously learning from and teaching others every single day. This seems to be an ideal system, but through all the good aspects, one group is forgotten. Children going through the original phase, the phase that the system hinges upon, the phase where they are learning to eventually be teachers of a subject, are the only ones that are students but not teachers. This time period is very hard on a young child, who may not have the attention span to focus on the same subject for an extended period of time. There is so much classroom time that imagination and happiness is taken away from these children at a young age. Robbing the children of a proper, happy childhood is alarming, to say the least, to everyone involved. Much deliberation has been made on this problem, but no solution has been found. After all, it only takes one loose cannon to make the fragile system blow up and crumble.

Derek Brown

Hank Tucker

Unmperia imagines a school under the self-governing principles of The Multitude, envisioned by Hardt and Negri from my truly limited understanding of their works.

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ONE DIMENSIONAL SCHOOLS

ONE DIMENSIONAL SCHOOLS

NUAGE
The school in the sky, Nuage, is very different from any other normal school. Each building is gold and floats on a white cloud. The clouds are connected with silver bridges. The students can jump from cloud to cloud and float through the air. It never rains on this school because it is above the rainclouds. The sun always is shining on the silver and gold, making the school shimmer all of the time. The school was built and started in Belgium, but it moves with the clouds and the wind, so the students never know where they are headed or where they will end up at the end of the day. Every student looks forward to going down the gold ladder at the end of the day to see where in the world they are. There are always hundreds of birds at the school. They land there when they pass by. Dozens of different kinds of birds land on the school, depending where it is. It can difficult to find the school sometimes, especially when there has been a storm or a lot of wind. The students can always find their way back, however, even if they are a little late. The golden ladder stands out wherever it is, so it is easy to see. However, the students do not have to climb all the way up into the clouds, the ladder moves up to the school once they are on it. During the breaks in the school day, the students can jump from cloud to cloud and run across the silver swinging bridges. The students can not fall off of their school because a cloud always catches them. All of the kids really love their school and they always have a good time. They learn a lot, not just from their classes, but from traveling the world and experiencing everything that they can. Nuage is a very good school and the everyone who knows about it wishes they could go. Kids all over the world would like to go to school more if they went to a school like Nuage.

Claire Burdick

Here is your assignment, explore far away kingdoms, and find out how other places run their school, said the Minister of Education. So I set out on a journey. My life has in a way restarted, and I am going back to school, as a young student, and will relive my education. My life in education was not entirely over, but my exploration of different schools is over. I now shall recount my experience, to you, fellow scouts, and Mr. Minister. I came to the gates of a large building complex after a long walk through evergreen forests, busy towns, dry deserts, and even the occasional open prairie. It is not a simple task to gain access to Satinia. The traveler must face a series of questions, on paper, while seated in a small square building just outside Satinias walls. The words at the top of the page read, Fill in the whole bubble, or receive no credit. The traveler learns if he has gained entrance weeks later, and if he has, then this is what he will see. The gates open to the school and he sees square buildings, all uniform, all the same. The sky is blue, with the occasional cloud, but all clouds are stopped as if by some invisible force. He watches his feet as he walks and see flawlessly shaped cement squares surrounded by grass. If he aims a magnifying glass at the foliage he observes the follicles of a green creature, all standing upright, none slouching. He looks into a classroom to see students, about the age of eight. They do not look up like you would expect them to regard a strange visitor, rather they keep flipping the pages: all in time. Pencils scratching in the bubbles meticulously. He enters and still draws no attention from the thinkers. An old man wearing the same uniform as the kids is seated at the front of the room. His appearance is uncannily similar to the childrens. The teacher, just like the children, does not fidget when he enters, and does not even acknowledge his presence. All but the traveler are wearing white shirts, and plaid pants, tucked in with a black belt. He suddenly has the realization that the children are mirror images of one another. In appearance, in intelligence, in all ways. It finally registers, after seeing this army of intellectual clones, that he would like to retain his status as a traveler, and be on his way. He exits swiftly and never returns. Outside the walls of Satinia the traveler gazes toward the blue and sees that the clouds are flat on one side. The schools boundaries keep them out, and so they press against the imaginary wall, but cannot pass. The clouds are rejected access, for they do not maintain a regular shape, not standard, and the only shape allowed in there is the circle being filled in. Is that the only school that you visited then, Ibrahim? And what are you suggesting? This type of school is not something that our nation should have? said the Minister. No, as I said, the traveler, me, exits swiftly. This is the first of many schools that I visited. And yes, I do not think that this school is a good example of what a school in our nation should ever be like. If you would like I can keep going? I said. Please. So I went on, speaking of my reeducation. When I was experiencing this school I was young too, just like the students. Or at least, in mentality and at heart.

James Daubert

SATnia

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ONE DIMENSIONAL SCHOOLS

ONE DIMENSIONAL SCHOOLS

DUX
Tell me Rimorus, when you arrived in America, did they greet you with kindness, or with xenophobia and hatred? The American people are known to be a narrow minded demographic. Zacharias asked me, although he thought he already knew the answer, he is a somewhat conceited ruler. Although, to his credit, he was the one who came up with the idea of sending dignitaries to America to explore the root of success in that country, and the one to realize that the key to the success of our new and emerging country, is education. As his most trusted advisor, my assignment was to visit an elite, private school on the East Coast of the United States of America, called Dux. Actually sir I retorted. The greeting I received was one of pure and true hospitality. The children and the teachers at all the schools I visited were very open to my presence, and very helpful. For seven hours every day, these children are imprisoned in a forced education camp. Although the children hate the camp, they bond with their fellow prisoners, and form a sense of community. They form a relationship based around the camp, and spend time with each other and blow release their stress together. The atmosphere at these places is strange. It seems like they are in a constant state of chaos, yet everything about them is so organized, from the schedule of the teachers and staff, to the rules that all members of the community must follow. As previously stated, the schools do form a sense of community, whether it is among the students or among the teachers and other staff. Part of this seems to be the common enemy. For the students this is of course the work which occupies so much of their time and provides constant stress, and of course the teachers for assigning the work. For the teachers, its the students, who tend to be disrespectful, and do not complete their work. When the teachers are not around, the students make jokes about them, some more than the others, and in the teachers will punish students strictly when they are disrespectful or are late to class. The relationship between faculty and staff is a touchy one, because both are irritated by the other, but both rely on each other. The key to the relationship, especially for the students, is buckling down, and focusing on the future and the positives that will come. The teachers can punish the kids all they want, but they cannot force the children to work, that is why their primary job is to inspire the students to WANT to do the work. This is the key to the success of our country, inspiration for the children.

I CArAVEL
Leo Gafinowitz Jackson Dellinger
The Minister of Education called my name and I teetered up onto the stage, leaving the trio of friends I had made on my journey behind at our table. Although I had been pondering how to describe my assigned school since I arrived at the summit, the words I wanted to say wriggled from my grasp like a greased pig. As soon as I had them pinned, the memories would deliver a swift kick to the gut, squeal, and flee. I couldnt describe the school because of its elusive nature. Each student I talked to at I Caravel painted the school a different color, and, by the time I left, my feelings for the school were an emotional Jackson Pollock. Unsure of what would tumble from my lips, I began to recount the stories Id been told to the audience. The first student I talked to clung to I Caravel the like a newborn to her mother. She considered the school the epitome of perfection. Carefully laid red bricks carve the forest, she said, but the school doesnt eclipse the woods natural beauty. Having never seen beyond the schools gates, she also held its academic standards in high esteem. This school is Americas ivory tower. We have the freedom to live untroubled and happy here. Before I could talk to her further, however, she slipped back into the ensembles of starched shirts, pressed pants, and powdered cheeks that amble through the schools doors every morning. My next interviewee was not so complimentary. The first student I talked to had been raised in captivity, but this man had run in the scholastic prairies beyond I Caravels walls. To him, I Caravel was constraining. The students here spit on the red brick, he said and the school dominates the woods around it. Even worse, he continued, everyone here is afraid to live. Starched shirts and pressed pants promote an unpleasant uniformity. Where I want a rainbow, my school is a dismal brown. To a certain extent, I agreed with him. Walking through the woods each night I got the eerie sense the trees would punish me for standing out. Looking at the students more closely, each resembled a cog-filled automaton, they all had polished and glossy exteriors, but underneath they were only inhuman and uniform gadgetry. Although the students raised in the school since birth dont know it, theyve been brought up scared. On my last day at I Caravel, I had lunch with a graduate. Ten years had passed since he graduated from school, and although he still sauntered into the restaurant in a starched Polo and pressed Khakis, his smile wasnt just painted on his face. Sure the bricks were filthy, he said, we always brushed the dirt off sooner or later though. When I inquired about his past classmates, he responded lucidly. Looking back, we walked through a sea of bullets each day at I Caravel. Avarice, scorn, materialism, and jealousy couldve easily blown a hole in one of our legs. Miraculously, however, we came out unscathed. Addressing you all now, I side with the graduate. The schools curse is that it chains its students to conformity, but after years of living in shackles, some kids can still come out with the ability to hold their heads high. Pride rests on one shoulder of each lucky graduate, while nobility rests on the other. Although I still detest the woods, which were always looking over my shoulder, and the starched shirts and pressed pants, essentially tailored muzzles for the students, something in me will miss the schools halls. Air finally filled my lungs when my presentation was over. I returned to my table to sit with my friends. The three students I had talked to from I Caravel had elected to travel with me to the summit and see what I had to say about their school, and now sat with me. The girl remained nonchalant, oblivious to the critique I had just given to I Caravel. The boy scowled as he always did. I took no heed of him because he scowled perpetually. The graduate tacitly signaled his approval with a nearly imperceptible nod. Content, I sat down among the trio and refocused my attention on the presenter now at the lectern.

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ONE DIMENSIONAL SCHOOLS

ONE DIMENSIONAL SCHOOLS

SCHOLASTICUS ACADEMIA
Scholasticus Academia, the school of real-world education, is comprised of rich Gothic style architecture, with elaborate flying buttresses that enlarge and amplify each room, stain-glass windows that illuminate the rooms with a multitude of colors and bright rays of light, and pointed arches that resonate the enthusiasm for an extensive pursuit of knowledge. The cacophony of the architecture secludes the school from the bustling of the surrounding city. The students voices are modulated so as not to interrupt the concentration of the other students, which, in addition with the seclusion, creates a thriving intellectual setting rather than a systematic institution. The school is completely merit and ability based, with no age barriers. There are trimesters with final projects that discern if the student is apt to advance to the next difficulty level. Each student invents a project of his or her choosing to demonstrate a sound understanding of the knowledge acquired during that trimester. The students learn about the economy, government, politics, environment, history, critical thinking and reasoning, yet these are only a few of the many real-world subjects and applications that compose the foundation of the curriculum in Scholasticus Academia. Each individual is encouraged to pursue their own interests and express themselves in a plethora of ways, which sparks excitement and fosters the individual desire to achieve the highest standard of excellence. When walking through the tall, bright halls, if you glance into the classrooms, you will often see students meticulously working together and encouraging each other to think critically and analyze. The teacher sits in the back of the room, silently observing while the students attempt to complete a task with little to no guidance. Thus, the students are forced, through reason, to analyze and interpret a problem and find a solution. The individuals thrive in each small group, resulting in many innovative and independent thinkers. For example, I saw one classroom with the question, What is morality? written on the board. All of the students actively engaged in a comprehensive and reflective deliberation by challenging the existing philosophic ideals. The students who attend Scholasticus Academia are, therefore, not a product of the usual systematic education system, but rather are those that are capable of challenging the existing paradigms of individuals, society, and the world as a whole. They seek to find explanations as to why there is corruption, conflict, and oppression. These questions provoked my own thought, and I questioned, What is the nature of the world around us? I bandied with a couple ideas of how the independent and small group studies lead to such profound curiosity, and it was clear that such a lofty and ideal learning environment augmented the students passion for this pursuit of knowledge. The world needs more people who have such innate abilities, so we need to create a school in our new nation that would produce the best thinkers; we need a school like Scholasticus Academia.

SpOrTIVO ACADEMY
At Sportivo Academy, the important hours of day are not the ones spent in the classrooms, but the few that come after; the hours of hard work on the fields, in the gyms, and on the courts. No, this school is not for students, but for athletes. What attracted my eye at the first sight of the school were the various million-dollar facilities. They are visible from every classroom, reminding the students why they are actually at this school. The fields are always kept in their top state, the white spray paint marking the lines is always so fresh you can smell it. The soft turf is always kept trimmed and leafless. The large, tall lights are always ready to shine for a night battle. The giant scoreboard stands on the edge. Rumor has it that no away team has been able to put up even a 1 on the scoreboard for their team. The gym is the prized possession, with a shiny polished floor, and countless banners of championships and undefeated seasons hang on the ceilings and walls of the gym, motivating teams to hang a new banner, and reminding them of the legacies they must continue. The gym and the fields have stands and seats all around them, ready to hold a high capacity of loud, wild, raging fans. Everything at this school is centered around athletics. You can see that all of the students are wearing their team apparel and school colors. You can see that the friend groups are based on the teams, changing every season. You can see that the only thing talked about between the students are about practices and games. Even the curriculum and schedule of the classes are based around the athletic schedule. Less homework is given on game days, and no tests are scheduled the day after game days. There are teachers at the school during the school day, but after school, these teachers are nowhere to be found on the planet, and they are replaced by coaches that look awfully like the teachers themselves. Sometimes, you find it hard to tell the difference between this school and a church. The schools rivals are treated like the devil. They are rarely talked about, but if the topic comes up, only negative statements are made. The coaches are the priests, the playbooks are the bibles, and the mascot is the cross. I visited the school twice. The first time was the day after a championship win for one of the teams; it was sunny and warm, and the whole day was filled with joy and excitement. The other day I visited, it was cloudy and drizzling, and the mood was melancholy and slow. One of the teams lost the day before. The school is certainly one-dimensional, as it is just focused on one thing. But is it too focused? The school may have even surpassed one-dimensional, and the crazy thought of a half-dimensional school seems to become more real. 16

reena Sudan

Justin Chang

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ONE DIMENSIONAL SCHOOLS

SCHOOLS OF PHYSICALITY

Dylan Lukes
changes its students: they emerge from it physically stronger and mentally sharper. Before they enter the school of they are happy, fun, and social. When they leave they are still happy most of the time, but look at the world differently. They now view the world as black and white, legal vs. illegal. There are no shades of grey, and they are more serious about everything they do. Some have nick-named it The Dish-washer. Even though they do not know what happens in there, outsiders assume it is extraodinarily boring and depressing due to the results of the scholars actions after they return, thus the name of Washing Dishes was brought about. During my visit to I was hoping to unobtrusively observe the goings-on and make my visit short and sweet but that was not to be. After only two steps into the school, I was immediately put behind a desk and computer to study books about laws and previous crimes, I had no clue as to why I was reading these but some were interesting so I continued. After a few days of reading and studying solidly with no form of communication between students, we were locked into individual testing rooms no bigger than a closet until we finished a test on the material we had been studying. The test was long and horrible. When I finished I walked out and saw everyone milling about. We were waiting, but waiting for what? Soon we were accosted by a man in military fatigues and were told to follow him. I was mentally drained. I had entered the school wanting to learn more about ,to take notes, and to report back, and I had been immediately thrown into exhaustive days of studying and now was being led to what, I was not sure. I was mentally drained and looking for a way out. That was not to happen. We were running and running. People were falling all around me as the run continued on for what seemed like hours. Something told me not to fall, although I did not know what happened to those who did not finish. We finally got to stop. I wanted to collapse, but we were then led through sit-up, pull-ups, chin-ups. I had no idea what this was leading toward, but I got in a zone and continued on. I had no thoughts anymore. I had gone beyond what I thought my body and mind could endure. That night when all I wanted to do was sleep, the officer came in and told us we had to do an obstacle course to train for our physical exam in one week. The course was brutal, not only was I not asleep and resting for the next day of training, everyone had to run through a vigorous obstacle course. The next day was not as bad because it was a range day, where all the students went to the gun range and had target practice, but we were warned that this was the only fun day of the week. The few of us who were still standing at the end of the week were beat up, tired, sore, and not at all ready for the test. To me, the fact that I was still standing, should have meant I passed the test, but.... Somewhere deep inside me, I found the strength to prove to them, whoever them was, that I could not be broken, and I continued because I wanted to get out of this inferno. I graduated with 30 others and was handed a badge and gun. I was not at all ready for this, it was a training academy, and I did not even want any of this training. I turned down the badge and equipment and left the school of .

KLEUr
At the school of Kleur, with every change of night to day did color fade to grey. I remember the first morning I had arrived: the sun had barely licked the hills before mobs of children flocked towards the center of the city like animals to a watering hole. Curious as to the cause of the commotion, I followed. They congregated around a square building with concrete walls so piercing white they could be seen even in the dim light of sunrise. However, I could not understand what possessed these children to gather here, for the structure was boring and bland; it was the white crayon in the 120 color crayon box. Only later did I understand its purpose as an educational system. Slowly the kids began to file in, and by the time the sun had appeared from beyond the horizon, it was empty outside. Inside was a different story. I saw a gradient of faces from girls with rosy cheeks to boys with an electric green gaze. Each child was a different hue, and the plain room burst with more vibrancy in their voices than the colors of their clothes. Except, just as the building had, the adults dressed in white stuck out like a sore thumb. They silenced the kids and ordered them to rooms labeled with their specific color groups. I could taste the sticky sadness that filled the air as they were dragged away from their friends and forced into groups without their say. I hovered around the room where the shades of blue were sorted, peering in through the small window in the door. The adults mercilessly strapped the squealing and squirming children down in chairs. They then drifted to the corners of the room and put shades over their eyes. I didnt understand why until I forced my eyes shut to avoid being blinded by a light coming from the room. Squinting now, I saw that many of the kids had the same reaction, except they were prevented from keeping their eyes shut and told that they must not shy away from the Light of Knowledge. From every room for every color came a brilliant light followed by helpless cries. Eventually, the cries subsided as the children learned to sit passively and absorb the Light of Knowledge that shone done from above. It wasnt until sunset when it finally flickered off. The kids were released but not freed. Each was tested to check if their shade had been adequately dulled to match the correct shade; those whose hue was off remained. Just as the sun fades laundry on the line, their dazzling colors no more did shine. No longer was I met with innocent smiles; even their eyes once bright had lost their luster. Every day these children returned, growing older and wiser; every day they left desaturated. Years passed, and soon, they were nothing more than a mix of grey. No matter how hard I concentrated, I couldnt differentiate the yellows from the purples, the reds from the greens. None interacted with one another anymore; I had never seen a crowd so alone. I grabbed an older boy by his shoulder and turned him to face me. You once radiated red yet now emit nothing at all. For what cause? I asked. All I have learned is that my education has made me grey. Figure out for yourself if we should learn this way, was all he replied.

Alina Walling

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SCHOOLS OF PHYSICALITY

SCHOOLS OF PHYSICALITY

ALGOMA
Faith C. It was early in the morning when I noticed that the sun kissed this place differently than any other. I
was driven here by an illusion of perfection that was created by the rays of sun. The architecture was grand. I approached the door with two large pillars, carved from marble, on either side of me. I hadnt seen a building like this. The students presence is not like others that grace an institution. The gleam in their eyes presents to me a slight difference, and suddenly I was surrounded by a large crowd. I did not have to wait to be engulfed in their demeanor. I was not prepared to be overwhelmed, but I was. This school was not like the others anyway. They did not wake up early and go from class to class learning the set lessons. Some came and went throughout the day, a pattern of learning and leaving. Students were not grouped by age but level in skill and interest. It differed from the average school, as there were no set classes. Students chose their own based on their curiosity and attraction. Bells did not ring, feet did not drag and moans were only heard occasionally- but silenced, for the laughter overcame it. Hands were always busy, eyes always focused and partnership was inevitable. They all cherished the conversations with each other, discussing intellectual things and plans for the future. They challenged each other to think divergently. There was no voice to reprimand them or to demand from them. There was no assembly line in place, for they were not robots clinking and clanking while trampling over each other, but more like dancers and musicians. The ballerinas danced gracefully, choreographing every move with each other making the perfect piece. Every musician possessed different strengths and patterns; all approach the same piece ready to master what they have, every instrument tuned, every dancer poised. Each note played and every step, intertwined with a passion, burned so deeply the notes grew louder and the feet of the dancers hit the mark harder than before and together -- there was a crescendo. Yet there is no teacher or instructor, only the dancers, only the musicians in harmony. They are not machines, but individuals with a different dance and a different song. But this school has not created dancers, or musicians. They were virtuosos, skilled in success. They were not indecisive or lifeless vessels with no means driving them, nor were they prisoners of this institution. There was no bickering, no form of mischief, so close to perfection. I could not say much, I could only observe. They were preparing themselves for the future ahead.

MIpAKA (LIMITS)
Kiongozi, here we are, on the verge of greatness. Do you not realize this? Those words I must have asked on countless occasions before. The moving man motionless in front of me replied, with no sense of exasperation. Yes, I do. Greatness is the only goal worth seeking. Not only greatness in ones work, but in ones self and knowing how to apply it to the people around you, responded the powerfully tall, dark-skinned man, who now sat in front of me. He then followed up his statement, knowing the answer I wanted to hear, not just some philosophies. This school we are building must be this compelling goal, that everyone must contribute their energy. Now, you are not here merely to hear me ramble on, tell me more of your travels. How do we build a perfect school? Which school are you going to tell me about that you have visited? Little did Kiongozi know that while on my travels I gained a grasp of idealistic values, my own philosophies. But it is a work in progress If Mipaka is a school in the midst of construction or destruction, I cannot say. Seeing as very few things are left halfway finished, it seems more likely that this school is in ruins. Mipaka is as lifeless as a desert. Not a sound is to be heard, not even a whisper of the wind. Barren, normally I would not have been welcome to other creatures about me, but at this time I would have liked to be reassured I was not alone. A feeling of hopelessness and longing, sending chills to the bones, something no man should ever experience, overcame me. Despite being uninhabited, this school, nevertheless, has classrooms with no roofs and doors; buildings and rooms with nothing more than the walls that bring destruction upon their full potential. The only evidence that learning could ever take place are the desks and the chairs in what are supposed to be classrooms. If one can even call these places classrooms is a whole new story The classrooms are emotionless: a dull grey, no teachers desk, no accessories, no evidence that anyone has set foot in it, and a chalkboard mimicking and mocking the color of everything that surrounds it. Mipakas classrooms open up to the sky, a reminder of what is possible and just out of reach; a standard on which lays the basis of all Mipakas desires; but also the limit of what is possible and real; and yet her stairs suggest there must or could have been or will be another adventure for the school, a threshold on which everything waits patiently, biding time. Of Mipakas rooms I see that there are common walls between them, common links for a greater purpose. But there will always be those who do believe. The ignorance imbibed in people who never see the big picture. Mipakas classrooms have doors always open; a welcoming sign of sincerity. But there will always be those who want doors to keep out the noise. An excuse to maintain focus, but the fact remains nothing is entered when doors are closed. Mipaka: the blueprint for the school on the brink of greatness, an idea engraved in its very being. The day will come when it will usher in a new era of learning. Even on that day Mipaka will forever be in ruins, weathering the passage of time, however to itself time is an illusion. Since nothing ever changes it, it can never relate.

Aaron Therien

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SCHOOLS OF FEELINGS

SCHOOLS OF FEELINGS

CAVATI SCHOOL
Cavati holds no secrets, no mysteries. Its qualities are quite easy to explain, and it should be held as an example of what not to do for our new nation. This report of Cavati should be taken with caution, and should warn our new nation of the dangers of such a labor-intensive school system.
Everyone in the surrounding area of the Irish countryside is aware of this schools presence. They all know what Cavati is, and none of them want anything to do with it. The rules are strict and unrelenting: no fun, no days off, no freedom. The students work until all of the papers, essays, projects, and assignments are done. There are no such things as weekends, holidays, breaks, or vacations and the students only get to see their families once a year. Work is done in silence and on pen and paper; no technology is used, as it could be a window to the outside world, a peek at life, and a break from captivity. Creativity is suppressed and social interactions are kept to a minimum. Extracurricular activities are non-existent. All of these aspects of school life were swept up with the schools thirst for academic perfection- nothing can distract from this unattainable goal. The building lives in a depressing atmosphere and the students have a lot of pressure put on them to succeed, and to attend the top universities. The childrens never-ending work load leads to headaches, as well as mental and physical exhaustion as a result of their endless studying. The irony is that everyone, except for their parents, knows of the struggles that the students endure. The parents are the only ones with the power to pull them out of the confining academic torture of the school, and yet they are the most oblivious. They are caught up in their executive jobs, no time to pay attention to the children they birthed and raised and were supposed to love. They assume they are doing well because they are under the care of the boarding school. No mind is paid to these children, besides the generous tuition check paid to the school each year. The Cavati School is a melancholic place, isolated in the deep woods of the country outside the city of Dublin. It oozes a dark, ominous vibe which drains all of the energy that enters into it. The scene is painted entirely in shades of black and grey, all life sucked out of the school. The walls absorb the happiness of the souls who step into its sullen rooms. All of the sounds are monotonous and muffled, and the constant buzz of the A/C unit is all that is heard throughout the day, besides a few whispers here and there. Nothing exciting ever happens, and talking is rare. The students were never told not to talk, but they dont due to fear of what may happen if they were to say something. The situation of the school is not healthy and it contains an atmosphere that is prison-like; no one is allowed in, save the students, and the students are certainly not allowed out. Learning should be an opportunity for growth and improvement- here it is neither. It is a punishment, torture, a nightmare that is reality. The thick cement walls separate joy from sorrow, freedom from captivity, and the beauty of fresh air from the stale, overly air-conditioned rooms of the school. If you are a student at Cavati, youre alive, but you arent really living.

COGNATIO
When I was asked to think of a school, one that really stood out was the school of Cognatio. I thought of it as the school of wildfire, everyone seemed to be linked together with their emotions. The school is small, with only around 300 people attending. Everyone knows everyone, so the atmosphere felt extremely comfortable as I arrived at the front. It was an old looking school, made entirely out of bricks. Passing through, I could hear the hustle and bustle of what sounded like a regular schools daily activities. Students laughing and talking with one another, teachers catching up and having some coffee during break, parents giving a kiss on the forehead as their children head off for their day at school. The family of Cognatio really seemed to make the atmosphere seem warm and comfortable. Not saying that it is perfect, for if one tiny problem occurs, the entire school goes down in flames. It starts with a bad comment, a foul mood, a nasty gesture, and turns into something more. The spirit of the school turns instantly from cheerfulness and joy to gloominess and despair. Like a domino effect, the students around them begin to feel rigid as well, so things were getting extremely hectic. Gossip spread like wildfire, there was hate in peoples eyes, the peace was disturbed. It brought to my attention that this disruption was caused by just one person, and affected another, and then another, and so on until the entire school was involved. It was like everyones emotions were linked together to form one brain. When one person felt their emotions beginning to tumble, the rest did as well. The one that started it seemed the worst, as they started to use physical violence instead of their words. It was like nothing mattered in the world anymore, no teachers were teaching, no parents were there to break it apart, no children were trying to stop it. Everything happened as though it was meant to be. It was like a crime scene that everyone had to take a role in. Minutes went by, I started to feel the tension die down. The air cooled down a bit, and one by one, starting with the source, everyone began to return to their original calming state. This wildfire that spread before was starting to play in reverse. As one flame got put out, others went as well. 1 minute went by, then 5, 10. Finally, the peace was restored. Students moved on with their daily school life, teachers got everyone in order, stopping the trees from burning. What did I take away from the school of Cognatio? Maybe it taught me that a strong and healthy attitude is worth keeping, and that if there is a single flame, the whole forest could fall down.

Amanda M.

Geri Williamson

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SCHOOLS OF FEELINGS

SCHOOLS OF CHAOS

SCHOOL OF pArADISE
Flying elephants, mythical creatures, gods, Einstein, politics, gold, are all things that a person wants their paradise school to have. If you believe it the School of Paradise has these things, it is where everyone wants and needs to go, it is everyones true destination and dream in life. The school floats in the sky and can only be accessed by those worthy and who deserve to be there in the heavens. It is a place of bliss and relaxation for those who dream of good things. The School of Paradise, differs and morphs into something else for each person that enrolls. It changes consistently because of each students unique and different perspective on a paradise. Therefore, each person has a unique personality, different from everyone else, which gives the schools multiple personalities as well. Some students might see millions of numbers bobbing in the wind, equations popping out of the boards, and persistent problems that want to be solved. For these students the teachers are always encouraging them to be the best they can be and teach them to become even more intelligent. Others might imagine school to be a place to socialize with friends and to ignore the teachers, who serve the students wine and cheese during class. Those teachers are so kind and understanding that they give the students good grades just for talking amongst themselves. Some might even believe Paradise does not consist anything that is school related, but that it is purely for entertainment, such as surfing among the misty clouds in the bright sky. Other students like dreaming day and night about ones life and beyond it or exploring an abstract world in a version of school they believe Paradise to be. This school pushes the students imagination and creativity to the brink, it is a place where young minds can or cannot differentiate reality and imagination. Creativity flows strongly from this school like a river rushing after being flooding by a large storm. The students are blessed souls, living in an absolute wonderful world full of riches, peace, adventure, discoveries, life, and on and on it goes because each students picture of paradise is different. You might see the picture as Paradise, but another might see it as Hell; the interpretation of the picture is your choosing.

DEzD
At a certain school, if one watches the students wander by, a feeling of chaos overwhelms the observer; but then, a sense of organization arises as well. This school is named Dezd. Everyday the empty campus of Dezd, sits in the cold dark knight, waiting for the next day, when all of the students return. At 7:45 AM the students start shuffling onto campus, in a sleepy haze, shivering in the early hours of morning. The few students on campus at this point seem to wander aimlessly; the doors still locked from the previous day. Gradually lights start turning on as the sun rises, and more students arrive. At precisely 8:15 AM every lost student finds their way and disappears, and the entire campus is left empty, although if you listen ever so closely you can hear the faint, but unmistakable sound of lectures, lessons and students learning. The campus is a ghost town, with the faint whispers of the occasional students wandering, not having any specific place to be. Then exactly fifty minutes after the students disappeared, a flood of tired eyes and slow, shuffling teenagers pours from each and every classroom, and a feeling of chaos encompasses the campus. At first glance youd think that each and every student had no earthly idea of where they were going or what they were doing, then you will notice a particular pattern about the students, and that no one seems lost or confused, and they all know exactly what needs to happen. After a short five minutes the ghost town returns, as quiet as it was before. This continues constantly for six hours, sometimes the five minutes turns into hours, but even then, each student knows exactly what to do amongst the apparent confusion. Then the crowd starts to dwindle, and if one wasnt paying attention, theyd think that the crowd was disappearing out of thin air! But if you pay close enough attention you will see the crowd has not shrunk, it has just begun to disperse into the world, going on to other things, to come back the next day. As the sun sets the last of the crowd goes off into the orange haze of the sunset, just above the horizon, and soon after the artificial glow of the classroom lights flicker off, as the last of the suns bright light fades out, and the moons bright but soft light glows throughout the night. This process carries on day in and day out, until the summers heat is almost unbearable, and the students disappear for their yearly vacations, some not to come back the following school year, most returning. This chaos is an everyday normal for the students of the modern day school, and year after year, new students experience the same chaos, but it always works. In chaos there is structure, but then in structure there is chaos.
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Alissa M.

Alexi Kontos

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SCHOOLS OF CHANGE

SCHOOLS OF CHANGE

rEpEATING SCHOOLS
I see several structures on the horizon and instantly become intrigued, traveling towards them with great curiosity. Eventually I notice, Flaxen Academy, and realize that these are the places where the youth are supposedly being taught. I then spy a plaque in shimmering gold that reads, The future of our nation, courtesy of none other than the mastermind himself, Dr. Harrison. He thinks hes doing a service, when all he is really doing is running a broken system, so I blame him not but simply feel bad for the old southern gentleman. I trudge forward into ominous and confusing skies with a coveted light, far away masked by clouded obstacles. This fate accepted and not questioned by these students. Is it a result of them actually believing or just being forced? At first my attention is drawn to the apparent differences in these schools, from Jackson Academys rich greenery, to The Waxen Schools towering buildings. However it doesnt take long for me to realize that these visible differences mean nothing. I notice a swarm of uniformed students dispersing for their break and I am reassured of my initial beliefs. I see the similarities in their actions and schools of thought, that the notion that these schools are in any way different from one another is laughable. Perhaps in sports, or in elegance of campus, but in actual teaching and or nourishment, I question. Knowing that it doesnt matter which school, I arbitrarily make my way into Klaxon Day School. Looking into classes and hearing the occasional, how is chemistry going to help me with the rest of my life? Most likely unknowingly, these students are unmasking the flaws within the education system as a whole, but theyve been indirectly taught not to care, just to get through it. I cringe when the teacher says, so you can pass my class, thats why. I leave just as quickly as I entered, with a sense of pessimism that these inefficiencies will never be dealt with. Walking towards clearer skies I think of solutions to this problem, but understand that the voice of one will never be heard over the ingrained. And thats when I arrive to you in your mansion. Reporting back all of the flaws within the education system of your empire. My parting question is, is it fair to expect greatness from the youth, when all youre giving them to work with is mediocrity?

MUTATIO
To imagine a place that has went from being a utopia to becoming a dystopia is unfathomable, yet such a place exists. There was always sun beaming into each window of every classroom all day long at Mutatio. Birds chirped melodically throughout the day in hymns that could be recognized by the youngest of ages. Smiles could not be avoided, as there was not a displeased soul. The school was known for a reputation that went untarnished and was held to the highest praise throughout the world. Scholars tried to find the source of this achievement that was attained yet never could. They concluded that it simply was ingrained within the people themselves and their upbringing in their thriving community. It was unbelievable to realize that the weekends and breaks were disliked. The pupils begged for constant learning and developing. However, something happened and still to this day, no one knows what or when it occurred. A prison had risen from the ashes of what once was the most enjoyable place on the face of this planet. The only reason students attend this school is because they have nowhere else to go. The community has never despised itself so much. Roads are built around it so to allow travelers not to have to witness what death looks like. It has been wiped off maps and erased from memory. Tears fill the sky out of pity. Sullen clouds hover over the city and block any rays of sunshine from penetrating through allowing for a glimmer of hope. There is no difference between night and day besides the numbers on a clock. Walking through the halls and it is as if a morgue has risen from a park. A classroom once filled with eager studious students is now crowded with rebellious and felonious scum. The mere thought is disgusting yet filled with sincere condolences for the loss of what it used to be. The elderly reminisce while the adolescents suffer. A dream, which could have never been dreamt, has now become what is.

Alex Bassil

Neil Cornwell

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SCHOOLS OF CHANGE

SCHOOLS OF CHANGE

SCHOOL OF ULYSSES SAMUEL SMITH rOGErS

When youd enter this school of Ulysses Samuel Smith Rogers you may have felt like you had entered an old soviet province where the cold, sullen, and fearful faces contrast with the harsh faces of the teachers. When you entered each classroom it made you feel like you are having deja-vu. In this school each class is eerily the same.Students sat uniformly and silently.The students sat in their classes full of fear.Their matching uniforms, with a red shirts and yellow sickle and hammer in the right corner are to show school pride. Teachers wore the same simple attire as well. The students all received the same exact time for learning a new concept. But they also received the same books, pencils, binders, book bags, and the same food in the cafeteria. This seemed very unfair and unjust to the students but no one would dare complain to the administration, for they all know what happens to kids that speak their minds. After classes students participate in their administration assigned sports. Even if they do not want to play they have no choice but to. For they know what happens to students that try and speak their minds. On the court or field the students are no longer individuals but are now machine with many various parts that work simultaneously as one. When they competed, they have no emotion and are repeatedly told to bury their competition. But one day the students had enough of the oppression. One day the students decided to make a change. It just took one student to voice what they felt was right. Then everyone began to join in, the administration tried to crush the revolution but they couldnt. The walls of sameness and dictatorships crumble to the ground. The students were free again and this school is still reminded by its past, but it does not care about that.

THOMAS H. EDWArDS SCHOOL

In the Thomas H. Edwards School, organization and time are not something that concerns either the students or faculty. The days of the people there are neither determined by reason or convenience, but by what the schools mascot, a small finch, decides. A small finch is placed in the students gathering place. If the small bird flies to a tree the day will be spent as an open forum. The students will wander wherever they feel pulled and a teacher will follow groups so that they can conduct the discussions. If the finch does not stop at a tree but continues to fly until it is beyond the horizon the students will be set free for the day, free from rules and to do whatever activities they may chose. They may even wander away from the school to take the day off if they want to. When the finch stays on the ground to look for something it can eat, or if it just wishes to stay grounded, then the teachers and students will wander around until they find a classroom that they wish to be in for most of the day. There they will have a lesson on whatever the teacher or even students feel fit for the day. If the finchs flight is obscure, tests will take place on anything, possibly everything, or nothing. Tests are on things from the theories of the sciences to the flavors of ice cream to the smell of a color. The tests may be easy or they may be impossible, but each of them has a challenge. On most days, when the students have lessons at T.H.E. School, the lessons are not planned. Children of any age or any experience sit on the ground, cabinets, desks, and chairs to listen to anything anyone has to teach. One may even find teachers learning from their students, students learning from each other, or teachers teaching each other. Lessons may go on without a foreseeable end, they may last mere minutes, or students may leave in the middle to pursue a new lesson, but every second of learning has value to the inhabitants of the school. Learning is a co-operative endeavor at the school. This is why if anyone has an opinion or something to interject during lessons, test, or forums everything will stop to hear what the important individual has to contribute. Texts and work are something that is not the schools but is owned by the people who spend their days at the school. The books may be left on the ground overnight or they may be stored locked away so unpredicted accidents cannot happen to them, but they have been cared for the way the owners feel fit. Thomas H. Edwards School is not talked about frequently outside the school because the towns around the school may not approve of the disorganization and care the school has within itself. The school may never become a prestigious school but maybe because this is the way the school is its students will carry on the school with them. This is maybe to say the alumnus of the school may aspire to high prestige but the school may not. One has to ask, if a competing school is able to produce the same product again and again, good or bad, without any unpredictable change, does that school really teach you and should it be held in such high esteem? Shouldnt a school raise its students into critical thinkers who may look at something in an abstract way to find a solution, or do we want schools that train students to do one specific thing only without the ability to create new solutions? Isnt this to ask, Would you give a man a fish or a fishing rod?? Knowing the answer to either of the questions will answer the other.

Justin Warren

Kyle Higgins

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SCHOOLS OF CHANGE

SCHOOLS OF RELATIONSHIPS

zArED
Lily Burdick
After searching for days for intellectual beings you will arrive at the school of Zared. At first, it is intriguing, and you follow the crowd into the brick mass in front of you. Children flood the halls, chatting and laughing as you fight your way through. You go through your first day, interested in everything: maths, history, english, and science. Each class is preparing you for the same thing, in different ways, and each class is preparing kids of the same age.. Until you walk into the grand dining hall, swarming with groups of kids claiming their rightful spot. The hierarchy you didnt notice before becomes apparent as the freshmen take their seat in the corner and the senior jocks take their place in the center. As the days go on you start to notice how every day is the same. You walk into a swarming school, attend the same classes preparing you for the same thing with the same people of the same age, and then you hang out with the same people outside of class. So you realize that it is time to get out. So you leave Zared, hoping to find another place to learn. But when you get there, all you find is another Zared. Another school with the same classes, same age groups, same cliques and groups, everything is the same except the faces. And you know, no matter where you go, you will never escape, and are forever trapped in the school of Zared.

VITATUS
Connor L.
In my travels I came across a sage, and as I had not found a school to inspect in some time, I asked him if there were any schools in the area. He responded in the most curious manner. While there are many schools that are in remote locations many that all flock to, many that none wish to attend, there is one school that is mandatory. The school of which all are proud alumni, but none had the same experience. This place takes many forms, a mentor, a lesson, a bowl of cereal, or an experience. No one has taken the same course, and none have graduated in the same class. This university teaches all people who they shall be, all are taught with the same method but never the same book or class times. Some leave early, others stay on for as long as they can, soaking up as much personality as possible. The length of learning and the classes are never the same but the effect it has is universal. It determines the destinies of its alumni; none can be without having learned what they are to do. Very few are aware of the teaching they received, yet all have received much from this school of life. The towers of virtue, the walls of society, all things shape this school and the students it manufactures. The standards to conformity are low, no product is the same; each factory producing a different version of a common brand. The school of life shapes us with our responses, experiences, and it leads to the same place. Every product is sent to the same dump. This dump is seen differently by many, the school is seen differently by many, and the teachers are all different. The only things we have in common are our school, and our tomb. And now I return to you once more, not sure how to act on this educator. There are no lessons of change that I can bring, no way to contact its headmaster, a unique school indeed. We cannot change it, we cannot understand it, we must just hope its intentions are benign.

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SCHOOLS OF RELATIONSHIPS

Armelio AcAdemy
Of course I know what schools are like! I said to this authoritative man who was sending me on a seemingly unavailing trip to go and learn about the concept of a school. The man softly replied By visiting these schools around the world, we will gain countless perspectives of schools in action. We will be able to truly understand what goes on within these schools, and what makes them tick. Despite my protests, I was sent to a school named Amelio Academy, a high school located just outside of Sydney, Australia. As the plane landed in Sydney, I thought to myself Ive been to multiple schools before. I know what happens. My views on modern schools were solely based off my own experience. This is why I made the humiliating assumption that this school would be like every other school in the world. More specifically I believed that the interactions between the students here would be no different than the interactions I experienced during my high school education. I brought these assumptions with me as I traveled to Sydney for this trip. Welcome to Amelio Academy. I sure hope you like it, I dont was the first thing that greeted me as I walked into the school. This odd message came from a student, who I later learned was in her first year of High school at Amelio. That was not the best thing to be greeted with while making first impressions. As it turned out, this girl was to be my first guide of the school. Little did I know that she would be the one to set my old assumptions on fire, replacing them with the reality that is Amelio. She showed me to her first class, Chemistry. Before I walked into the Chemistry lab, I distinctly remembered how my own Chemistry class was dominated by the girls. The girls would always receive high grades for their studious, well-written work, while the guys would receive lower grades for their less-composed efforts. I assumed this gender-grade difference to be standard among all schools, so I was more than astonished to see Amelios Chemistry class being the reverse of my assumption. When I mention my thoughts about this grade separation, the teacher starkly tells me that in fact the boys in the class strive to succeed far more than the girls do. I am stunned to hear this, yet my student guide reassures me that she still receives very high grades. As the day goes on we come upon lunch time. My student guide ushers me to the cafeteria, where we quickly get food and move to a table. So quickly that it is almost as if we were rushing to secure a valuable territory. The table fills up with more students, who appear to be very close friends to my guide. As I look around the cafeteria I notice that the large room has been divided up into obvious groups. Students have brought tables together to accommodate their friends, and only their friends. When I question my guide about this observation, she responds sounding quite alarmed, of course there is a separation! If youre not part of one of their little social groups then you cant do anything thing with them. The other groups are either socially humiliated or publicly worshipped, depending on how popular the group is. In response I had to ask what social group she belonged to, so she explained to me that I was sitting with the intellectual group. Just then a bulky looking kid walked over and commenced insulting, taunting, and even threatening the students that sat at our table. He did not stop his harassment until he recognized that I was a tad bit older than the average student that he stopped. My guide with faked sarcasm then asked me Five bucks if you can guess which group is at the bottom of the food chain here. Thus ended lunch and my time with my student guide. My new guide was the college counselor of the school. As a young woman, she was the gatekeeper to the students future education and career, and everyone knew her importance. She sat me in her office and conversed with me between the student appointments. I asked her about the social hierarchy that I had just witnessed in the cafeteria and she sighed, then said Yes. The younger students here, usually the freshmen or sophomores, judge their peers based on their social group. They rank themselves as if whoevers on top controls the school! She then puts on a very smug face saying But just wait till they come into my office, then theyll realize theyve been doing it all wrong! They start to realize that their social ranking is futile compared to the academic ranking that they are going to face! I have to laugh at this myself, but now it all makes sense. The counselor tells me that she in fact attended Amelio twelve years ago, and experienced the exact same social situation. It hasnt changed at all, not even the group separation. I was in the intellectual group, but look at me now! Guess whos the one telling the jocks that they probably shouldve studied a little more for their final exam! I left Amelio Academy that night. As I was looking out at the horizon, taking in everything I experienced that day, I felt confident enough to say that my assumptions about a standard school were dead wrong. I was glad that I left those assumptions behind, way back in Sydney.

SOLIDArIET
There was once a teaching establishment, long since perished, in the heart of a town where culture thrived and the community spirit was booming. Everyone talked to each other all the time, communication was of the upmost importance, at any given time during the day you could hear bells ringing and people shouting at each other across the street. However in the furthest, most barren corner of the town, the school was silent. Her name was Solidarity. She was a beauty to look at, with her tall towers and carved arches. Also the stairs taking you up and down all over the campus. But inside the school, with the children there was nothing. No words, no sounds, except for the quiet whisper of teachers creaking out their lessons, and the faint squeaks of the dry-erase markers against the white board. The children however think that nothing is wrong, all they know is the silence that surrounds them daily. Solidarity stands alone, in more ways then one. But it was not always like this, once the children there, were as loud and boisterous as the town they called home. It all changed one day, the first clique. The kids started to group themselves based on common likes, and dislikes. And they did not, ever speak to anyone outside their clique. And then a couple months later, the cliques got smaller as the requirements for being in the group grew, not only were the same likes and dislikes necessary, but the same house, the same car, the same family background. Until very suddenly it seemed, there went from being one school of four hundred kids all getting along, to one school of four hundred different cliques, none talking. These groups had grown so small they became the size of one person, because, who has more in common with you, than you?

James Grubbs

Brooke Joynes

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