kcebdeerts ivel -deltitnu
THE PERSPECTIVE SIOUX
FALLS
LINCOLN
LITERARY
MAGAZINE
2020
2020
THE PERSPECTIVE LITERARY
MAGAZINE
The Perspective is Lincoln High School’s literary magazine, produced by the Statesman. It is an excellent opportunity for the artists among our student body to share unabashedly. I would like to extend thanks to all who submitted pieces. I hope you will continue to work on writing, painting, photography or whatever your craft is. The world is always in need of artists. Our purpose in publishing this magazine is twofold: once again, to promote the excellent work of students, but also to serve as a capsule of our times. The world will always need artists, because artists celebrate, evaluate and explore the very moment we are all within. My hope is that these pieces reflect small fragments of the world we live in. Thank you for sharing and receiving this art. Disclaimer: We have not edited any of the following pieces for content, though we have adjusted minor grammatical errors. Thank you for understanding the importance of uncensored literature.
you
are
me
and
i
am
you
-
eva
iraheta
THE
PERSPECTIVE 2020
lost away,
yb
yb
full and proud,
ibot
hacim
My whole life,
eladsnol
ruomyes
DRIFT
I LEAVE IT UP TO YOU I‘d love to change the world But I don’t know what to do So if I left it up you
along with,
Would you help me?
my name.
Would you let me find myself? Would you still be here if I turned dark?
Like a burning wind,
Would you still love me if I became more violent?
she came to find me,
Or
and took me away,
Would you only see a villain?
stealing,
A killer?
my warmth,
A fighter?
and my heart.
An enemy? I don’t think I’m good
But I was content with it,
But I think
I gave them willingly,
You still see a hero, don’t you?
and fell in,
Inside me...
my entire life,
There’s an overwhelming storm
all of it.
That I don’t want you to see. You’d see the side I kept from you
Slowly I drifted,
But it’s slowly surfacing
and lived happily,
My pent up anger
in a land filled with joy.
My pent up hatred My pent up self doubt
She drifted alongside me,
My self worth dropping
she shared the same excitement,
In a sense
and I found this place,
I’m slowly losing everything
my home.
At night when I’m trapped inside my head I ask myself if I’m actually worthy for anyone
Few things remained,
I ask myself if you’d want to see this weaker side
much had changed,
I ask myself why I don’t say anything
my friends,
I then realize
somehow beneath me.
It’s because that side of me would hurt people Whether it be emotional, mental, physical, or verbal
I grew more and more,
I don’t show that side
in love with this land,
Because I don’t want to hurt you
and even more,
Because I know how it feels
with her.
I know how much you want to help But I’m scared of showing you
I believed I’d never return,
I kept that side of me locked up
but slowly it began to fade.
I kept her locked away
I fell back down to earth,
I kept her away
and awoke from this beautiful dream.
But she’s breaking free
I turned to find her,
And I can’t let you see her
and my heart sank,
She knows that I
because she was no longer there.
love you And she wants to shred us apart
sajor newra
HUMANITY'S SHADOW A cough escaped Oakley’s mouth, along with several small drops of crimson that coloured his lips like paint on a
yb
canvas. He gasped from the pain, only to cause more coughing and more blood. His ribs ached, as if a feral creature had thrashed against his body, trying to crack his ribs like chalk. And a slow but constantly growing stain of red soaked his clothing where the creature had torn into him. He had been lying there for hours. The only thing keeping him from bleeding out immediately was gravity pushing down on him. His head felt like it was full of lead. His limbs were numb. His eyelids were heavy, though he refused to close them. For now, at least. He knew he wouldn’t last for much longer, lying half-dead in the mud. He had lasted longer than most, if that meant anything. Oakley let out something between a cough and a sigh. It didn’t mean anything.
He forced his seemingly paralyzed neck to turn his head upwards. He was greeted by the sheet of greys and pale blues that was the sky. The colours stung his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. He choked as he inhaled slowly, breaking into another series of coughs and crimson stains. He tried to stop, causing him to cough more. When he finally stopped, his body was numb from pain, and he didn’t open his eyes. He could feel the mud he was lying in sticking to his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he moved his foot ever so slightly. The movement, albeit small, hurt. Everything hurt.
Though it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes, it felt like days had passed before Oakley forced his eyes open again. He only did so when he felt drops of rain pattering against his face. He saw the sky, and from the sky, drops of water fell to the ground. Oakley sighed shakily. The rain was going to wash it all away. It was going to rid the streets of blood and wash the bodies of the fallen. And then they would be forgotten, Oakley thought. The world wouldn’t remember them.
The light shower soon became a storm; the shades of grey in the sky darkened. Oakley exhaled sharply, regretting it when his lungs screamed in pain. He closed his eyes again, having no plan to open them. He was giving up now. The creature had won. Oakley had lost. He was going to die here, as the rest of them had.
“Hello?”
Oakley’s eyes cracked open slightly.
“Hello, is there anyone here?”
He saw a blurred figure a few metres away.
“Is anyone alive?!”
Oakley tried to speak, but coughed up a mouthful of blood instead. The figure heard, turning to face Oakley. They approached him, saying something that his ears refused to hear. His head spun; his vision went dark. He wondered if the creature would come to finish him off, or if he would survive. Truth be told, it didn’t matter in the slightest. The creature had taken so many others. Oakley had watched as it stole the light from the eyes of his friends, of people he loved, of the love of his life. He had watched as it broke so many people. It was its only purpose. No matter the reason, it always killed; there was no exception.
THE
PERSPECTIVE 2020
Oakley’s vision was completely black now, and his thoughts were beginning to fog as he felt his body being lifted from the mud by strong arms. His head fell back, gravity pulling on his muddied hair. His entire body was limp; he felt his consciousness leaving him like blood from a wound. But still he thought of the creature, despite the blurriness of his thoughts. The creature always walked with humanity, in the shadows. It corrupted countries, destroyed families, broke the earth. It had always been, and Oakley feared it would always be. Humanity’s hidden companion, killing thousands upon thousands, inhibiting people’s abilities to solve problems peacefully, and instead making them resort to violence.
As the last of Oakley’s consciousness seeped away, his final thoughts searched for the name of this creature. And as his mind went numb, he found it.
War.
dissociated
-
jada
carlson
untitled
-
riane
untitled
-
levi
menke
streedbeck
THE
PERSPECTIVE 2020
snigdoh
HOME OF MY HEART South Dakota is a blanket someone laid out flat, where you lie on the ground and you can see the edge. East River, softly it flows up and down, scattered with country lights as far as the horizon,
nide
West River someone pulled up the blanket and let it fall as it may, pockets of air trapping earth into hills, smooth rock and cracked rock, hills with sheer sides and sloping valleys, leaving creases for streams and
yb
roads.
Some say they want to leave here and go somewhere interesting, where the land is not a blanket but it’s sandpaper, or the blanket is plastic wrap and it stretches past the shape it’s meant to be, towering too high until it threatens to snap. People hate this place but this blanket warms me in cold nights and the feel of it, my hand sinking in, stops my breath with awe.
Daily this blanket is soaked with light. The sunsets here are one of a kind, on full display, the orange glow snags on the tops of bare trees and hollow mountains and licks long grass and ears of corn and it all shines gold and orange and goes pink and a little purple before slipping into the most star-filled sky you’ve ever seen. And again in the morning the land tastes the sweet orange sun, fire comes down and washes the dusty roads, rivers, fields.
Looking out the window in all of it, how could anyone say they would leave this for something else? This blanket, though simple, is astonishingly beautiful from east to west, and in its ups and downs, ebbs and flows, the sun coats it all with the same gold ray. In the sprawl of this blanket, dizzied by its expanse and beauty, I know that wherever I go, this land will be my first home, the home of my heart, clutched dearly to my chest like a child’s first blanket, and I am thankful.
keciv
ANTHEM TO THE UNDERDOG
nedalb yb
To those on the ascent
Some may have a rope set up for them
It can and will be hard.
Some people may have a path to the top
It may be already
A safety net to catch them
Most people’s path ends at adulthood
But some have to go that extra mile
The trail ends and they have to climb
To take that extra step
Some peoples trail ends sooner
To move around that obstacle
But one thing is for sure
And see through your trouble
You can’t stop
Your pain
Sometimes you just have to keep going
And persevere
To push through No matter how rough it gets
For in the end
No matter how unstable the ground
You won’t be known for the rope you climbed
Even if you think you’ll never get a footing
Or the path you took
Just keep going.
You’ll be known for the sheer cliff you scaled,
Don’t be the ones who let themselves slip down that patch Put everything you have And if you do fall that’s okay because you know now what to expect So begin climbing again If you fall and fall and fall It does not matter For the peak is always in view
For the steep slopes you navigated, For the ravines you crossed, And for the view, you have from the top So keep going that peak is always in view.
rekcut
iahseb
TELEPHONE LINE DOWN
JUST A TOY
cire yb
It's just a toy
yb
the snapped line
annah
Even tho its shaped like a weapon
The crackle from
chooses to speak
Even tho its black with a plastic orange cap
in a loud whisper.
It's just a toy
I hear you, I tell it.
Even tho i carry it under my belt
It bites my ankle
It's just a toy
in return.
Even tho it weighs almost 3 pounds
I examine the charred
It's just a toy
remains
Even tho you can't see it in the dark
of the telephone pole
And when i pull the trigger it sparks
to which the line struck life,
It's just a toy
and fire,
I was playing in a park
to end it all.
After dark
A lost connection,
And someone said freeze
in a smoky crowd.
I moved my hands as i sneezed
A conversation,
And his trigger squeezed
broken,
It was just a toy
and never
That had me dead when i was just a boy
finished.
shadow-
solomon
miner
THE
PERSPECTIVE 2020
untitled-Â benton
seeing
red-
keller
heather
eller
illah ssilyab
THE EMPRESS' NEW CLOTHES A queen of clubs in rainbow gowns and shoes,
yb
a crown surrounds her head, befits her role; she snatches weaves and slays, a dazzling ruse, in shiny hides she hides her inner hole. A flame is to a fly as she to me; a power her possession does command. In secret self projection I reveal myself, and in that light, a shadowed hand. I want to be the one who doesn't care, to tear that tight tiara off her head, but power flows from flowing robes I wear, a king will sing beneath this ring of lead. And yet, in all these layers I expose the truth, my naked mind, a queen, a rose.
living
thoughts-
isabella
helgerson
THE
PERSPECTIVE 2020
in
the
milky
middle-
white-
cecilia
heather
carranza
eller
untitled
-
ryanna
washegesic
THE
PERSPECTIVE 2020
regnisiel
CREATING A MASTERPIECE
yelyah
Flopping down on my bed, my gray mind buried in my gray pillow, I thought to myself, I can’t do this. I flipped around so I was laying on my back, sighing as I popped my earbuds in, and began to search for new music to calm my mind. Oh, The Weekend just released a new album. This should be some good fuel. As soon as the first song,
yb
Call Out My Name, started flowing through my ears, the raw emotion and passion aroused something in me. It dragged me out of my bed, pushed me towards the basement where my work-space is, and sat me at my desk. I must’ve gotten out my watercolor paper and a pencil because my hand was poised, carefully, over an expressionless sheet of paper, ready to sculpt the white into art.
“And I'll be on my way, and I'll be on my way.”
The emotion and flow from the song coursed down from my brain to the very tips of my fingers which caressed the pencil, softly, lightly. My hand seemed to know what it was doing as it traced across the page, leaving faintly metallic gray lines in its wake, with only the somber song as its guide. Growing more determined with each cycle of the song and the emergence of the picture on the once blank sheet of paper, I vowed that I would finish this masterpiece even if it killed me. My soul, entering the rough-surfaced paper, revealed itself as a work of art. Upon finishing the sketch, I decided that there was no time to take a break until I was further along with the painting. It was time to mix the paints! It was time to make the song a reality! I’ve invested so much into this already, why stop now?
Growing more determined by the minute, I launched into mixing the pigments of the watercolors. A dash of black in this one, a little white in that one, methodically tapping my brush from water to pigment; tip into the water, tap into the bowls of paint I mixed up to the tempo to the melody. Tip, tap, tip, tap. Grays were the only colors I mixed up. A colorless gradient for the way the song made the world feel so empty. As my sense of time melted away, more and more tension began to build up in my neck, shoulders, back, and hand. I knew that the more pain I felt meant more hours have passed me by, but I didn’t really care.
The tedious work of painting puts the artist under immense amounts of stress. One cannot erase the wrong stroke of the permanent brush. Precision, a sharp mind, and the ability to be flexible through obstacles is a necessity. After about five hours of pure dedication to my painting, my hunger shook my concentration beyond the point of being able to focus. Stretching out my aching limbs, I lumbered up the stairs to search for a quick meal to throw together, leaving my painting unattended and still wet. I should’ve known better because she has done this to me in the past before.
My dear, black cat, Shadow, decided to jump up on my desk and take a look at my work. Her curiosity always compelled her to inspect what I am working on. First, however, she politely washed her feet in the water I had sitting out, so when she walked across my watercolor painting to critique it, tiny paw prints were left behind, disrupting the intricate flow of the wet pigments. Disbelief, anger, grief; these emotions washed over me all at once when I saw what had happened to my masterpiece. Clapping my hand over my mouth, tears began to fill my eyes. How could I have been so irresponsible? Inhaling deeply through my nose to steady my breathing, I took my trembling hand away from my mouth. I had to take action.
The longer the paint was allowed to dry, the harder fixing it would be. Instantly, a flip switched in my brain. I steadied my hand and my mind as I picked up a brush and dunked it in the water to wet it. I twirled the brush nervously between my fingers, hesitating slightly to assess whether or not the painting could be saved.
From the song, one specific lyric, “I want you to stay,” erupted through my ears.
Clenching my jaw, I took the wet brush to the painting and began scrubbing out the paw print. Of course, it was worth saving. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this, and no obstacle will divorce me from my work.
“And when times were rough, when times were rough...”
With little force applied from my hand, the wet bristles of the brush scratched up the pigment from the paper. My racing heart threatened to make my hands tremble, but I forced them to be still as I smoothed the water out over the empty spot that was blemished only a minute ago. Sweat was beading up on my temple and in my armpits while my hands were getting slick and cramped.
“I put you on top, I put you on top…”
I knew that restoring my painting to its original beauty would not be an option, so I had to improvise and come up with something better than the original painting that doubled as a cover-up for most of the spots. Anxiously waiting for its new additions, the gray paper seemed to peer up at me questioningly, wondering if I will ever finish it. Will it become a forgotten piece of art that I always say I will continue someday? No, I will finish it here and now. Painting flowers over the bare spots added new life to the painting, making it more full and complete. About an hour or two later, I threw my paintbrush down. Finally, I was finished with my masterpiece. Tears threatened to spill over my eyes again, but I choked them down. I did it, I thought to myself. I actually did it.
As I laid down, completely exhausted, finally being able to rest without haunting thoughts tormenting me, one last part of the song ran through my head:
“We found each other, I helped you out of a broken place, You gave me comfort.”
With that in mind, I slept peacefully, Shadow purring by my side.
bird
lost
in
thought-
dana
berry
cage-
mary
wiederrich
THE
PERSPECTIVE 2020
htims
I feel the tendrils every time it hits. The nagging, the tugging,
nahtanhoj
BETWEEN MY THROAT AND MY CHEST
it’s incessant, the groping. The numbing of my judgments as it smirks and slides into my consciousness.
There’s almost a beauty in the deconstructing of my neurons,
yb
building blocks broken. I am my elementary school, innocence, safety as it’s demolished and rebuilt demolished and rebuilt demolished, it’s incessant, and rebuilt.
I hurtle into the familiar oblivion understanding my role in this demonic cycle. I, the demoniac.
A being with a purpose. A being with intent. A being with the need to feel love draped over my skin like the shawl that sat on the back of my grandmother’s couch. A being, it’s incessant, a being that craves the touch of someone without fingers. I settle for the filth of tendrils, an artificial artifice that beckons me into complacency.
I am the fisherman, abandoned in the murky blue. The lighthouse sweeps its grace over me and for a second of my life I feel warmth. A warmth I once claimed as my own, that I feared with and loved with and held in my pocket in case of turbulence. But then it sweeps away back and back again and I’m forced to pray for the salvation of a sustained light or the salvation of the seafloor. The waves, they push pull me, strip the boards from my ship, it’s incessant, my foundation.
There is no solace in a mind that helter-skelters across splintered relationships and desolate bedrooms and kisses that taste like vodka and panic.
So I submit myself to the grasp of a being that will never love me the way I love it. I know that irrationality can never reflect affection.
It’s broken. But it’s a place to rest my weary heart
THE
PERSPECTIVE 2020
nas
DEAR READING
Two peas in a pod
yb
adnama
ailegna
elbialnekceh
I LOVE YOU STUPID
TFrom the moment I saw you
lying on the rooftop on my
In your coffee-stained, watermarked pages
seventeenth birthday.
Bound in two thin pieces of paper
yb
I knew in that moment Spilling secrets we dare not say when our feet are
I fell in love with you
firmly on the ground.
A love so deep as the ocean and like the sky
Endless inside jokes
As a child
have us clutching our sides as
So mesmerized
we roar with laughter.
So enamored I saw myself
Needing nothing more
Surrounded only by you
than a single look to share our thoughts in secret.
And so I read, I searched for your words
Two of a kind who
Everywhere I went
haven’t really talked since we
I submerged myself in you
started senior year.
Like the ocean You were infinite
Thinking back to the summer at the lake when fires
I read through my worries, my stress, and troubles
blazed through Canada.
You were always my ocean You covered me in your deep, calming blue
Wishing for simpler
You shrouded me in safety
times without this long distance
But I can’t stay under forever
relationship thing. Ever sinking into your endless void Those seventeen blocks
I had to rise for air
only seem far because we
I have to leave your soft cocoon of beautiful words
don't talk much right now.
In mesmerizing sentences, you strung around me I entrusted everything to you
I miss the rooftop.
And you soft murmurs of enchanting words
And those stupid faces you
And now you must trust me
only make for me. No matter what I love you stupid.
Even if I grow up
I’m waiting for our nights on
I’ll never forget you
the rooftop again.
I’ll always become that child again when I see you In your paper-bound likeness
Love you always, Angelia San
regnid yelir
MA'AM, WE'RE SO SORRY I always feared having to do this part of the job. Nobody wants to be the bearer of bad news, especially not this
yb
kind. He was so young, so talented, and had so much potential. Some even rumored him to be the greatest navigator the United States Army Air Corps ever had. 2nd Lt Charles Johnson’s life revolved around serving his country, and being the father he always wished he had in his life. It is all my fault that he is gone! They were adamant that they had to be in the air during the bombing of Dresden, what were the chances of one stray bullet from the German plane would hit him? His family and mine have been very close since he was transferred to my unit, many times even sitting down together around the dinner table talking about our past lives during leave; but how will Carol forgive me now? I promised her that I would protect him, that I would bring him back to her, to the kids; and now it’s my fault that he is gone.
Charles and Carol met back in high school in a small town in Kansas, just outside Kansas City. She was involved in both track and field while Charles was top of their class academically. After nearly three years of dating, Charles proposed in the same spot they had their first date. Both of them wanted kids, so it wasn’t much longer until they were blessed with a set of twins. Linda and John Johnson were born on March 17, 1936 as healthy as can be. Their family was unbreakable but as soon as the draft was announced Charles was forced to enlist, their world was rocked. Carol didn’t want to raise the kids alone, she wanted Charles by her side. The day before the bombing, Charles wrote a letter to his wife to give to her when he went on leave. Our unit was to be relieved the day after Dresden and he was going to be allowed to go for a couple of months. It was Valentines Day.
My Chief Master Sergeant and I went to his home instead. His wife opened her door as happy as can be, that is until she saw me standing there instead of Charles; when she saw my smile fade and the tears come rolling in. She knew me well enough to know that if I was tearing up, something was horribly wrong. It seemed like an eternity for me, I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth. “Ma’am, we’re so sorry,” my Chief Master Sergeant said. How was she going to forgive me? How could she possibly forgive me after I broke a promise; not just a promise, but the promise. The promise to bring her husband home. “Carol, I’m so sorry. Charles’s crew was involved in a fire fight a couple of days ago. February 15, 1945, the day after valentines. He wrote this letter to give to you and it would only be right for me to bring it to you”.
Carol looked at the letter with distraught. Her Charles was gone. The letter was still binded shut, showing that she’d be the first to read it. So many emotions were running through her head. John and Linda hadn’t realized what had happened; all they saw were the tears rolling down the face of their mother and two grown men until they too began to cry. Carol hesitantly opened the letter wanting to see its contents. With a pain in her heart, she read the last letter she would ever receive from her husband.
My Dear Carol,
I love you and the kids with all my heart.
Why didn’t Charles write more? It was Valentine's day and all he wrote was one sentence. The last thing Carol got to remember her husband by, the last thing that John and Linda got to remember their father by is just one sentence. How was Carol so at peace with this? Why wasn’t she as upset as I am with the little effort he put into the letter?
Carol invited us into the house for a drink and to talk. It was a very solemn and quiet talk. I couldn’t quite get over the letter. Charles was a great man and always made it a point to put his family first. Later that week was his funeral. I found myself sobbing uncontrollably as I came to realize this would be the last time anything I could say to his family would actually matter. When my turn to talk came, I wasn’t nervous; rather, I came to understand why Carol was so at peace with the letter. She knew him better than anybody and with just that one sentence she was able to understand that he would always be with them, with her. He knew he might not survive, that’s why he kept it simple. If the letter was longer, it would make it harder on John, on Linda, and especially on Carol. I spoke about his service in the Army Air Corps and presented his family with a Bronze Star Medal and a Purple Heart Medal. Charles made an impact on me that I will never forget, I just wish I could have been the bearer of good news, not the bad.
midnight
-
rose
neuharth