Expressions 2023

Mr.

I want to thank all the students whose work is featured in this year’s edition of Expressions. We have some fantastic works of art that come together to form a unique and beautiful representation of our community. I also would like to thank Mr. Reisert for all his work, this truly would not have been possible without him.

This year’s edition of Expression will give you a glimpse into the minds of some wonderfully talented artists as they take you on journeys across galaxies, through serene forests, into the plains of Kansas, and far beyond. These pieces represent the collective struggle and triumph we have experienced as our final moments at St. Xavier come to a close. These artists take aspects of life we might normally overlook and pull each moment apart to reveal its inner beauty. Their poems and short stories are proof that they are not passively living their lives but actively engaging themselves in the very essence of each day.

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.”

Robin Williams, Dead Poets Society

- Sebastian Hodge ‘23 EDITOR

the accidental empath

Thesky was now a threatening charcoal, and the rain came down in sheets. Quick flashes of lightning illuminated the outlines of houses and mailboxes, the only thing allowing Lucas to pinpoint where he was going. Torrents of wind threatened to blow him off balance from his bike. The blunt force of rain pelted against Lucas’ exposed skin and created huge puddles that seemed to erupt when rolled over by the bike tires. Somewhere in the chaos, Lucas’s best friend Aaron was also yelling and struggling against the pop-up storm.

Then, a gust of wind hit Lucas like a concrete wall. Before he could process what was happening, Lucas launched off his bike into the air. It all happened too fast for Lucas to brace his fall. He hit the concrete headfirst and blacked out.

Somewhere in his head, a voice cried “Lucas!”

Lucas, half-unconscious, focused on feeling pain on his head but couldn’t find any. He could tell he was being shaken by someone, but he couldn’t remember who. It was cold. And wet.

Lucas jolted awake. Aaron had been kneeling, trying to wake him up. He looked very concerned. No, not looked. Lucas knew he was concerned. And scared. And sad. And angry? There seemed to be a swirl of color around him, like a Trix yogurt spiral made of reds, blues, and bright oranges.

Dazed and convinced he was having concussion-induced delusions, Lucas didn’t say a word to Aaron about the fact that he was seeing and feeling Aaron’s emotions.

Lucas quickly started to understand why people can’t see emotions. They attack you like the sun on a clear summer day, except—unlike a summer day—you can’t block them. This became apparent when Lucas came home a few hours after he smashed his head; the weird-emotionreading ability had not gone away, and he was greeted by a kaleidoscope of emotions accompanying his parents.

Mr. Blair, Lucas’ dad, glanced at Lucas as he walked through the front door, drawing his gaze away from a Seinfeld rerun. His dad didn’t look sad, but Lucas was flooded with a sense of lethargy and sadness. Lucas was taken off guard by the sea of gray and blue that engulfed the living room.

Another fight, he assumed.

As he walked through the living room, he passed his mom washing dishes in the kitchen. When she turned around, the dark-red anger was more than palpable. Lucas had his suspicions, but despite hearing the occasional argument or accidentally seeing a rude text on a phone, there was no clear evidence that his parents were fighting. However, their emotions seemed to confirm this—if the colors were real, that is.

Lucas felt he should say something. He stood there in between the living room and kitchen, hoping their emotions would subside and confirm that he was suffering a concussion of some sort. Searching for a bump or scratch on his head to no avail, Lucas had a sinking feeling in his stomach that it was real. Deciding that a confrontation may be too blunt—he wasn’t supposed to know how they were feeling—Lucas holed himself up in the room for most of the night, trying to prepare for what school would be like with his new-found ability. It wasn’t talking to the teachers that worried him or even interacting with his classmates. Having been nervous for the past week, he was now even more worried about asking his crush, Holly, to the Spring Dance. Reading her expression if she rejected him would be bad enough, but feeling her reaction…

The next morning, Lucas awoke to sunlight streaming through his window and a bird singing on the tree branch outside. Staggering out of bed, he tripped over loose clothes, notebooks, video game controllers, and wires as he made his way towards the bathroom to get ready. In a cloudy corner of his mind, the anxiety of asking Holly to the Spring Dance lingered. It was Monday, and the dance was on Saturday. He didn’t really have time to screw up—who else would he ask? After putting on one of his typical athleisure outfits and tidying up, Lucas walked downstairs and straight towards the door, deciding he was too preoccupied to eat breakfast.

“Lucas! Come in here, please,” called his mother from the kitchen.

Lucas walked begrudgingly towards the kitchen and was surprised to see his parents sitting at their breakfast table, waiting for him. There was a distinct sense of sadness and anger about both of them. Lucas choked back an exasperated sob. He could still read their emotions. He didn’t need the stress of feeling his parents’ emotions on top of the spring dance ordeal.

“Honey, we heard you hit your head pretty hard while biking with Aaron,” said Mrs. Blair. “And then you basically went straight to bed last night. You barely even acknowledged us. Are you alright?”

Was he supposed to say, “I can see and feel your emotions, and I’m pretty sure you and dad are fighting”?

“Yeah, just felt out of it. I don’t think I’m hurt though, look at my head,” said Lucas, pointing at the spot on his head where he fell. There wasn’t even a scratch. He looked down at his watch. He was going to be late. And, by the way his dad was looking at his mom, it seemed Lucas had interrupted something.

“I gotta go or I’ll be late. See ya,” mumbled Lucas, turning and running towards the front door.

Once he arrived at school, the severity of his problem started to set in. Every classmate Lucas made eye contact flooded his mind with a new colorful emotion. Not even fifteen minutes had past until his senses were overstimulated with a jumbled kaleidoscope of feelings and emotion. He needed tell Aaron what was going on.

Lucas sat down next to Aaron during U.S. History per usual. He grabbed a packet of notecards out of his backpack and began to write Aaron a message—chatting out loud in their U.S. History class usually meant an instant detention.

Bro, I’m going to tell you something and I need you to believe me even though it’s gonna sound insane.

Aaron read his notecard, scribbled a message, and handed a new one back.

Sure man. Also, should you even be here right now? You hit your head pretty hard yesterday.

Yeah, it’s actually about that. Ever since I hit my head, I’ve been able to see and people’s emotions. Colors and stuff.

Bro, I am not falling for that. How hard did you hit your head? LOL.

I’m not kidding! Look at me in the eyes.

As Aaron read the notecard, Lucas realized he hadn’t read Aaron’s emotions yet. Probably should have started with that. Aaron eventually looked up and made eye contact with Lucas.

Aaron had a cloud of anxiety about him. A sort of blinking gray. Probably had to do with his test later. Or maybe the spring dance. Other than that, he seemed happy.

You’re happy but slightly scared about something?

Dude, stop. He probably told you, I was talking to him before class.

Aaron pointed behind himself to someone Lucas didn’t know very well.

Just as Lucas went to scribble a response, his history teacher came up and snatched the notecards out from under his hand. Lucas didn’t have to look into his eyes to know he was angry.

After class ended, Aaron ran up to Lucas. After successfully reading a few other people’s emotions in the room, Aaron began to think that, maybe, Lucas was telling the truth. Suddenly, Lucas stopped dead in his tracks.

The dance.

He had completely forgotten that Holly passed through the hallway next to his history class around ten o’ clock. It was the only time he ever saw her throughout the day.

It was ten of five.

Cutting off his conversation with Aaron, Lucas ran out of his classroom and looked down the hall.

As Lucas looked down the hallway, there seemed to be a footballfield sized distance between Holly. But she was there. His palms began to sweat slightly as he navigated his way through the sea of students, backpacks, and papers that had fallen out of lockers. He did his best to avoid eye contact with anyone in the hallway. Especially Holly. He didn’t need this empath thing to overwhelm him and ruin his chances of scoring Holly as a date for the Spring Dance. After an eternity of watching his Vans stride across the laminated tile floor, Lucas looked up to see Holly at

her locker in the middle of a group of girls. The smell of cheap, flowery perfumed was strong and Lucas had to suppress a cough after breathing in too much.

“Hey, Holly,” said Lucas, making sure to not make direct eye contact.

“Hey… Lucas?” responded Holly, her question lingering on his name, as if she wasn’t sure whether she was right or not.

Still looking at the gray metal locker beside her, Lucas replied, “So, I know you don’t have a date to the school dance yet and, well, neither do I!”

Giggling, one of the girls next to Holly said, “Look at her face, weirdo!” and, after a couple of seconds, Lucas realized she was talking to him. Lucas glanced at Holly’s face and, despite her mostly stoic complexion, was blinded by a green barrage of embarrassment and discomfort. Lucas panicked.

“What’s wrong? Why are you uncomfortable? I can leave. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this would be embarrassing for you,” spouted Lucas, causing Holly to now be visibly uncomfortable from being read without even saying anything. He could sense a tinge of anger brewing in Holly and the green seemed to turn a more brownish-red.

“Embarrassing for me?” Holly laughed. “Look around, everyone’s been watching for the last five minutes.”

The hallway was dead silent except the ticking of a far-off clock and the whir of a hand-dryer in the bathroom.

Lucas couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted more than to never have to look someone in the face ever again. It’d spare him from ever seeing those horrible, ugly colors and feeling emotions that weren’t even his.

Lucas turned back to Holly, feeling only his own anger.

“You could have just said no,” barked Lucas. Then, he turned and ran down the hall, past the main office and out the door, laughter chasing him like a pack of hungry wolves.

He would skip the rest of his classes for the day. And maybe all the other days until he figured out how to stop this whole emotion thing.

Lucas spent the rest of the week faking illness in his room while trying to think of a plan to get rid of this weird curse-thing. He realized that, while talking to his parents, sunglasses blocked out the emotions’

brightness. So, he began to wear the darkest pair of sunglasses he could find every time he had to have a conversation with another person. If he absolutely needed to, a blindfold could suffice. Or he could just close his eyes, but that would look weirder than just wearing sunglasses. By Friday night, he had constructed a plan that would hopefully get rid of his ability to read emotions. It was a desperate shot in the dark, but Lucas convinced himself he had no other options. He needed to go to the dance!

Against his better judgment, Lucas walked into the school gymnasium on Saturday night around eight o’ clock. Multi-colored spotlights beamed across couples dancing on the shiny gym floor, streamers and confetti getting crushed under their feet. The roar of people partying and drone of Top 100 pop hits reverberated throughout the gym. Lucas stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to get a general sense of the emotion in the room. Each time someone made eye contact with him, a pink and yellow hue of happiness and love filled his vision.

As Lucas began to walk in, he saw Aaron. He was feeling the same way as everyone else except the color around him seemed to dim when Lucas waved. Aaron broke off from his date and walked over to Lucas.

“Lucas?” yelled Aaron. “What are you doing here? And what’s up with the glasses? It’s nearly pitch-black in here.”

“Aaron, I need you to help me get rid of this curse… thing… whatever it is!” shouted Lucas.

Aaron’s mood shifted towards annoyance and anger.

“Dude, I’m here trying to have fun with my date. Couldn’t you ask anyone else?” replied Aaron.

“Aaron, you’re the only one who trusts me enough to do what I need you to do,” explained Lucas.

Lucas began to explain his master plan. Aaron would knock Lucas out, hard enough that Lucas hit his head on the gym floor. Hopefully, Lucas would not sustain any injury but would lose his curse.

“Knock you out? Seriously Lucas, what’s wrong with you? I’m not going to do that.” Aaron’s emotions started to swirl, red with anger.

“What, do you not trust me?” pressed Lucas.

“No, but I’m not going to sock you while being around hundreds of our classmates and when teachers are watching,” explained Aaron.

“What good friend you are,” Lucas mumbled, trying to make Aaron angry.

The swirl around Aaron went from having a soft red tinge to a boiling red. It was working.

Aaron tried to stay cool and sarcastic, but the façade was destroyed by the scarlet glow around him. “Forget it, Lucas. Go screw up your chances with Holly again, I heard she’s here.”

Lucas’ face then grew red with anger.

“What’d you just say?” growled Lucas, forgetting all about his plan.

Lucas began stomping towards Aaron. Before he could get too close, Aaron reached out and swung at Lucas. Hard. His sunglasses flew. Lucas dropped backwards. His head slammed into the hard gym floor.

Lucas came to. A group of people. Gathered around him. Aaron was in the center. Through blurry vision, Lucas stared into Aaron’s face. Aaron was waving a hand in front of his face and saying something through about a hundreds of layers of echo and reverb. The room was still kind of spinning. Was he concerned? Angry? Sad?

Lucas smiled. He could no longer tell.

jack zestermann

ty wynn butterflies

after T.J. Mulligan

I feel a tingle inside, Maybe an upset tummy. Could be from the food I ate earlier, Makes me feel all crummy. I couldn’t ignore it anymore, I had to see what it was.

Peeling back my stomach’s flesh, A butterfly escapes. Blue and red wings flap in excitement, The feeling inside is gone.

max matacia instinct

9:54 PM. The woman glanced at the clock again, hoping to find some respite in the number displayed. She appeared anxious as she frantically cleaned, and she shuffled around the small diner quickly, causing her long blonde hair to bounce on her head. Everyone had left the restaurant. It was just him. He’d been in the restaurant since nine and hasn’t given the woman any rational reason to feel frightened or on edge around him. The man has ordered only two things, black coffee, and a single piece of buttered toast. He sat there writing in a black notebook, with a black pen, in black ink. He seemed to be completely in his own realm, not noticing anything else going on around him. The only times he looked up was to order more coffee, or to thank the woman. 9:58 PM. The woman anticipated the next minutes manically. She tried to convince herself he was harmless. He hadn’t given her any reason to fear him, she just did. There was something off about him, she just couldn’t attach it to any one thing. It was like looking at a computer-generated image of person, you can’t tell what’s wrong, you just know something is. It’s primal. 10:00 PM. She came out of the small kitchen into the seating area. He was looking up from his notebook, staring directly at her.

purple shadows

A purple shadow on the wall. Hear it move, see it crawl.

A purple shadow in the dark. Its presence alone leaving a mark.

He’s always watching, don’t turn your back. For if you do, he comes to attack.

The purple shadow, who once was a man. Everything went wrong, he had a flawed plan. For on that day, things went awry. He never could have predicted, that’s how he’d die. The purple shadow, whose pain is eternal. Found his new home, in the endless inferno.

eric kabitsch my insanity

I can’t get out of my head. I try again and again, but something is keeping me down. Is it something I have allowed? My emotions struggle for air, their notions are too much to bear, straining my very soul, refusing to unfold. I am not meant to get out of my head, yet

I keep trying, again, and again.

our way out

Apparently, the powerlines are pregnant with power, The recipe for life, they say, The recipe for life, our way.

The city on a hill sits now a valley, Hiding from nature’s embrace, But we are home, so safe.

The natives’ land no longer yells. Can hypnotists charm themselves? The fire feels warm, flames tanning and tickling, High and dying, the city’s thirst is quenched.

ben trujillo the things to know

It is important to know the people who care about you, and it is important to know the people who make you smile. The people who stick like glue, The people who make it worth the while. It is important to know the things that are great, what makes you content.

It is important to know the things that you hate, the things you resent. It is important to know the things you want, and it is important to know the things you do not. The things to be sought, the things you haven’t got. But above all of this there is one thing to know. To reach true bliss, you must let yourself glow and be who you really are.

theater of green

Dry leaves crackle

Beneath my sole

Blades of green flow

With the rhythm Of a million choregraphed dancers

Moving to the tune Of a birdsong

Over the low buzz —

A billion insects

They are all Putting on a show

Just for me

I cannot heal the scars that formed. I wake in fear of a life in ruin.

An unsalvageable soul is one in which I possess. No matter how much I run, its endurance is steadfast.

It will catch me. It will swallow me whole. It is unavoidable.

It is not an if, but a when.

I have no choice in the matter. Not that anyone cared what I had to offer. Shut out completely, I am isolated. I am alone.

There is no possibility to inhibit. I sit in evergreen stillness, awaiting my sentence. Nothing that I can ever do to change its course. It strikes me across the heart.

It is deserved, a necessary consequence.

After all, this is just a punishment to my being. My body is a temple, one that must be marred. I need to bring myself to justice.

What else is there to do?

Blade in hand, all I need is the will. A necessary impact bound, the force unstoppable. On a whim, I broke the surface, the depths now unleased.

From above, the spatter gave way. Remnants from my act of desperation flow. My fate sealed, and self-issued discipline underway. The dreadful shard slices the surface of my skin.

The pain is mine to bear. I wear it on my sleeve, the shining blemishes obvious. The strikes that I sever now gush in distress. I deserve this—I have fulfilled my punishment.

The battlefield of dread enters my sight—I am the sole casualty. The remains of my efforts endure as take in the bloody sight. The new scars shimmer, the ones I created on my own skin. What have I done to myself?

I release the blade I harnessed to carve my own sentence.

stefan wensczke wind

What chases the wind? What causes it to howl wherever it runs?

lonely pine

Crunching of leaves under my step

Snapping of brittle twigs

Grass yellows and withers randomly Unlike the wave of the colorful canopy

Wind catches the lifeless leaves

Rustling as they dance

My gaze follows them from the ground to high in the clouds

A lonely pine

Not a needle missing, and all green Surrounding are the colors of decay An oasis of life In a desert of death

cole teague winterborn

Mighty sycamore

Your bare branches reach for pieces of grey sky

May winter be kind to you

cole teague thunder over kansas

Great big dusky cloud

Reaching its amorphous shape over the flat farmland

Holding the deluge of sobs within

open eyes, close eyes

Blink.

Blink.

Awaken.

The sound of passing eyelids breaks leaves from their native branch, met with the faint reach of gray skies coming through the dense forest. Wind, altruistic in its gentle carry of the auburn, gossiped with the eye-shaped leaf as it fell.

“Open your eyes to the change,” nature calls as it descends in warmth.

“Open your eyes to the change,” the world asks of you, as it rises in heat.

“Open your eyes to the change,” you say when your hard work pleads with your growth in the mirror of self-doubt.

The autumn leaves sing of growth in their descent, twirling with their imperfections. If nature’s beauty, in her calm distress, can find worth, why then, we ask, can’t you?

why does the phoenix rise after the fall does it consider the option of ending it all breaking from flames in the eyes of peers choking on wells of water from tears

why does the phoenix come back just to sit to make its presence like that of a stick does it know that its fire is fading to dark does it know that its passion seems that but a spark

why does the phoenix revive in beauty setting fire to the eyes of those seeing it newly its wings of the sun floating in wind its talons of hell grounding in sin

why does the phoenix forget why it fell the laughs and the mocks that wished it farewell does it forget the jeers that made it go black does it neglect the tears that never come back

the phoenix will rise to claim the world as its own. the phoenix will sit to make itself known. the phoenix will revive to find passion in life. the phoenix will forget to burn in strife.

the one who is the phoenix will set the world on fire.

sonnet of fire

Men and women are nothing but a spark, Flickering through the fire of creation. Only a footnote on Father Time's arc, What is life but the road to damnation?

No matter how bright a heart's flame might glow, No matter how high one lone spark might climb, What does our humanity have to show?

What have we left when we expire our time?

What is love against the Revelation?

When the fires come to turn us to ember, Not even love's heat can be salvation. All will be burnt for none to remember But with you any flame I can weather. Darling, we were made to burn together.

horseman

Angels

are real. They follow behind you as harbingers of calamity. Wingless angels of death. Riding upon the backs of jet-black horses. Waiting for the hand of God to welcome them back. I believe there may even be one following me right now.

On the first day, I had received a letter announcing a visit from Father. I hadn’t seen him in so long. I needed to buy more food to welcome him with open arms, but every grocer I visited had nothing to buy. All of the food had rotted on the shelves. Fresh vegetables crumbled to dust in my grasp. Milk and eggs reeked as I walked down the aisles. Meat squirmed with maggots as I browsed the displays. Other shoppers panicked, the food in their carts turning to mush while they waited in line. I returned home boasting only spoils. Radio stations and TV news announced a nationwide famine that night.

The next morning, another letter appeared from Father. We decided to meet somewhere else to avoid the food shortage, so I boarded a plane and flew across the border. As I landed, many of the people in the terminal coughed and wheezed. I took a cab to a nearby hotel while people on the streets around me began to collapse. Pedestrians hemmed and hawed. Some screamed in pain as hives broke out all over their bodies. Men vomited blood. Women collapsed in spasms. My cab driver’s eyes swelled shut as we smashed into a median. Notifications announced that a new virus had broken out and swept through the country.

A new text appeared from Father. He told me to get out of the country before it too shut down. To meet him elsewhere. The airports began to close, but I managed to steal a helicopter from a private hanger. I flew low and quick, trying to escape the chaos, but tanks mobilized on the ground below me. A missile exploded against my side like thunder. The helicopter plummeted to the ground as a ball of brimstone. Landing in an already flattened wasteland. As bombers hummed across the sky, trucks carrying artillery flew past my bloody head. Men dug trenches and missiles soared through the clouds. I hid in the broken cockpit and trembled in fear. For I knew what was to come.

I awoke to the wet nose of a black horse against my face. The ground was dry and cracked now, its dust filling my lungs. I stood up to an

emptiness before me: plains of sand stretching endlessly. Riding the horse across the borders of old countries, atop the bones of their inhabitants, I wept. The sky was grey and the crumbling earth beneath my feet was stained red. Withered trees and bloated fish rising on top of pale oceans filled the air with the stench of death as I wandered in the suffocating silence of barren wastes. I looked up at the white sun that now dimmed this empty world, the hand of Father reaching down from the sky.

nick bradbury

nick bradbury

“ that it? Are we close?” an anxious voice asked.

“Indeed,” another voice, older and wiser, answered from beside him. Both had spent many kilo-span away from their families, friends, and clans to get to this point, but in the lethargic passage there was little the diplomats could do to prepare for their coming challenge. “It is beautiful though...” the older being contemplated, watching the distance speck of blue and green ahead of them. “Let us hope the view isn’t the only thing agreeable about this planet,” he murmured solemnly.

“Agreed.” Picking up his communications device beside him, the humanoid thumbed it on. “When will we be arriving, Cofel?”

“If all goes well, in about twelve standard span.”

“Okay. Thank you. Alert us when we are two span out.”

“Will do,” the pilot responded. Glancing towards his older counterpart, the younger being flexed his four fingers anxiously.

“I guess the time is near.”

“Just because this is your first envoy doesn’t mean you aren’t prepared,” the gentle being soothed. “Go get some rest, just because you are prepared, doesn’t mean this won’t be tiresome.”

“Thank you, sir,” the figure responded, proceeding to stand up from his seat in the cramped common room and head toward his quarters. Then, quietly, “Let us hope the rumors aren’t true.”

“Indeed,” the esteemed figure sighed solemnly.

Sitting at a large, ornate desk with a frozen expression locked between shock and disbelief, a high-ranking government official of Earth queued up a secure, confidential phone line, entered a specific number and authorization code, and repeated a brief message before curtly ending the call.

“Alert the military to prime the Behemoths,” the official ordered the nearest attendant. “And immediately instigate Protocol Zenith-12. This is not a drill.” Grabbing the briefcase and jacket, the leader hastily stalked towards the entrance of the lavish office. “Call my jet. I’m going to Bastion.”

All around the world, select secretaries and assistants were

presenting their leaders and representatives with a special, confidential message requesting that they head to the confidential location codenamed Bastion immediately for a “potential extraterrestrial threat.” Some thought it was a trick, others, a covert enemy attack, but they all came.

“Unidentified aircraft,” a gruff voice called over the foreign ship’s communications receiver. “Identity yourself and your intentions or be immediately destroyed.”

“Wolku! Bovik! We have contact!” Cofel called over their private communications to the two representatives in their quarters of the curved craft.

“Copy for both of us,” the elder alien responded, briskly standing up as Bovik sprinted ahead of him to the cockpit. Within a few moments, both were strapped in behind Cofel, eyeing the vast oceans and continents before them on the seemingly flourishing world.

“They didn’t sound too friendly,” Cofel remarked. “I’ll open the broadcast to you when they reach out again.”

“Did they threaten to d–”

“Unidentified aircraft! You have thirty seconds to respond and submit identification before we launch our missiles! Respond or be destroyed!” The rough voice called, agitated yet arrogant.

“Patching you in now, sirs,” Cofel called, reaching for a lever.

“This is Wolku Brax and Bovik Mayt aboard the Avatar of Light from Eiva II,” the experienced diplomat called. “Approaching your planet without hostile intentions. We come peacefully in the name of the Confederacy of Allied Worlds and wish to talk–”

“What weaponry does your craft have!” The aggressive voice ordered. “And how do we know you aren’t lying?” Caught slightly by surprise at the second inquiry, Wolku twitched, glancing towards Bovik and nodding his head.

“Our ship has no long-range weaponry, or any missiles, dear host, just two compact, concealed anti-missile electronic pulsators, whose only use is to disable projectiles headed towards us,” Bovik announced, trying not to let apprehension muffle his projected confidence. “And, to answer your second question,” Bovik added quickly, “we have no reason to lie or hide any of our intentions. We are simply here on a diplomatic mission

and have an important proposal for your planet. That’s it.”

Wolku offered Bovik a small smile, then turned to glance out the cockpit canopy ahead of them, at least for now, letting Bovik handle the conversation.

“Is there any location in particular we should land, host? Within a short amount of time we can reach seemingly any coordinate on your planet. Our destination is yours to determine,” Bovik offered respectfully. His courtesy was followed by several suspenseful moments of silence.

“Head to this location,” the voice eventually announced as a message pinged through, his tone slightly less malicious. “I trust your navigation can process longitude and latitude?”

“Indeed it does, gracious host.” Bovik responded. “We will be there as soon as we can.”

“Go as slowly as you need,” his voice menacing again, “if it means you remain above the clouds. You do know what clouds are?”

“Yes, of course, dear host,” Bovik started, attempting to ignore the haughtiness of the operator. “We will adjust our course, so we stay out of sight for as long as possible. We are gracious for your assistance and look forward to meeting you and becoming acquainted with your world.”

“Earth is also... anxious...to meet you. Now, stay on your course, don’t deviate, and you will land safely, and your message... entertained. If you stray from your course, we will assume it is an act of war and we will promptly destroy your vessel. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, host. Until we meet,” Bovik acknowledged with a shiver, letting the natives end the transmission.

“I think the stories may have been true,” Cofel whispered grimly, adjusting their course to provide even more cloud cover for their tense voyage above an otherwise perfect planet.

Several span later, the small, Durzan-Class Ambassador Shuttle set down on the remote landing pad behind the large, glaring complex, the ship’s sleek, boomerang shape reflecting the blinding sun of the new world. As Bovik and Wolku advanced down the lowered boarding ramp in their modest diplomatic robes, a group of twelve peculiarly dressed beings with strange, black, irregularly shaped weapons formed a tense semicircle around the descending aliens. As the representatives looked

around innocuously, preparing to further announce greetings and peaceful tidings amidst the prevalent hostilities, a tall, somewhat familiar looking man approached them from behind his guardians, eyeing the newcomers’ short horns around their head and four-fingered hands; besides those differences, the aliens were nearly identical, physically that is, to the other members of humanity.

“Welcome to Earth,” the man called with thinly veiled contempt. “I hope you understand our caution. We don’t want any surprises.” At this his entourage of warriors clutched their weapons tighter, clearing in some outward show of power or authority.

“Of course, kind host,” Wolku acknowledged, scanning the men without malevolence. “Though, you can expect no trouble from us. We are unarmed, and our ship will remain deactivated unless advised otherwise by you or a relevant member of your species until we depart.” Then, with a genuine smile. “We are gracious for the chance to experience this remarkable planet.”

“Come with me,” the man barked, unimpressed by the pleasantries. “I will take you to our world leaders and representatives.”

Following the man from within their bubble of armed individuals, Bovik and Wolku marched towards the largest of the buildings. It had darkened viewports, reinforced walls, and no lack of what the foreigners assumed were surveillance devices. Glancing at the different groups of armed figures, Bovik privately noted how several of the different guards tensed as others marched past on their perpetual cycle. It was also odd that there were so many types of soldiers with such different uniforms and weaponry. It lacked cohesion, he decided.

After being escorted through a sprawling steel door, the diplomats entered a grand meeting chamber, populated with hundreds of natives; despite minor, superficial differences the aliens could detect, all the natives before them belonged to the same species and had gathered in cooperation to meet their unprecedented envoy.

The guests were escorted to the center of the massive circular room, surrounded by shouting people on all sides in raised seating and landings. Despite the interplanetary emissaries clearly being focused on nothing more than talking, Bovik noted sourly, their guard escort still surrounded them tensely, watching them as if waiting for an excuse to draw

their weapons. The other armed figures scattered around the countless groups of individuals reacted similarly, a few even casting muffled shouts as they leveled their tools of death.

“Peace!” Wolku called loudly, quieting the room. “I am–”

“Why are you here?” an accusatory voice from the gathering ordered before the newcomers hardly had a chance to begin their explanation and pitch.

“Who are you?” another called, suspicious. “Who sent you?”

“Answer us, alien!” a third threatened, the room growing more aggressive by the second as more inquiries were hurled at them from all corners of the room.

Bovik glanced nervously at Wolku, a bit overwhelmed. Waiting patiently, Wolku took a deep breath, then, waiting for a quiet moment, began his speech.

“I am an Wolku Brax, representative on behalf of the Confederacy of Allied Worlds. This is my apprentice Bovik Mayt. We both come without hostile intentions; we simply wish to speak with the leadership of this world about a potential treaty.”

A persistent murmur grew in the room as the diplomats discussed this revelation quietly amongst themselves for several moments. Before the next volley of questions could be launched–

“The same spark which gave your planet life similarly enriched ours, and many others.” Bovik added, after hearing persistent talk questioning how the two even existed.

“How did you find us?”

“Where is your planet?”

“How many more planets with life are there?”

“Please, calm yourselves,” Bovik asked respectfully. “We will answer all your questions, just please allow us to finish addressing you, esteemed leaders of this world, with our mission and motives.”

The room quieted, but much uneasy chatter remained.

“The Confederacy has several active exploration and mapping campaigns in the galaxy,” Wolku started. “We discovered during a screening of this sector a planet potentially harboring life. At the time, the Confederacy was busy mediating a sector-wide peace treaty a few quadrants away, so the immense preparations and planning that are required of an exploration-and-contact journey were delayed until the

treaty was completed and implemented. And here we are.”

“How did you get here?”

“Our ship departed from a larger warship carrier directly outside your system with long-range space capabilities. It took us more than fourteen kilo-span– which I believe is around three of your Earth years–to travel from our home world to this location. Our craft’s engines aren’t–”

“They brought a warship!” an irrationally angry representative abruptly yelled without hearing the full story.

“It’s war!”

“They’ve come to destroy us!” another called, as countless representatives now joined the frenzy.

“Prepare the missiles!”

“Analyze their vector! See where their ship is waiting!”

“Send those numbers to us! My country has fourteen prototype, long-ranged, deep space missil–”

“No!” Bovik erupted suddenly in the storm of unwarranted accusations, the room falling eerily silent. “No one is attacking anyone! No one in the galaxy wants to attack your planet; few even in the vast network of the Confederacy even know about you! We have been sent as a peace delegation to inform you about the Confederacy and to offer for you to join it!”

“Good work,” Wolku praised quietly. Then, loudly addressing the assembled council, “We have brought the basis of a treaty that would have Earth join the Confederacy, guaranteeing all the promises that member planets recei–”

“What exactly are these guarantees?” a calm, controlled voice interrupted, the first somewhat respectful one all day. “What’s the benefit of joining this Confederacy? And surely their services aren’t free.”

“Members of the Confederacy are guaranteed assistance if war would for some reason reach you from other depths of the galaxy,” Bovik started with improved confidence, having covered this topic countless times with Wolku and other advisors. “With the exception of civil war, the Confederacy is guaranteed to stand with you and defend your planet. Countless other resources would be at your disposal as well, including records, technology, medicine, etc. Additionally, your planet would get a seat on our High Panel that advises the actions of the Confederacy.”

“And what would Earth need to do for this?”

“In exchange, the Confederacy simply asks for copies of the recorded history of your planet to enrich our databanks and help us best cooperate with and understand your species; your planet would also get access to this databank, so you too can learn about the rest of the known galaxy and its inhabitants. There would also, ideally, be some services or products your planet could provide to the Intergalactic Market, but it wouldn’t be anything you wouldn’t fully agree to; your providers would be compensated in an acceptable medium of exchange for these services and products, and we can even arrange for the Confederacy to collect these items with our delivery-and-retrieval services.”

“Please think it over,” Wolku started before the questions could begin again. “And, if we may, we will retire to our ship while you contemplate. Please, take all the time you require.” As the Council of Earth processed this information, the two foreign diplomats made their way to the exit, their escort following them all the way to the landing pad.

“Cofel, report,” Wolku ordered as he walked up the ramp to their ship, addressing the pilot waiting in the small lounge above the ramp.

“They poked around the outside a bit and even demanded a full tour of interior. I couldn’t have stopped them if I tried.”

“That’s all right,” Wolku said calmly. It was quite common for the natives to search the emissaries’ ship anyway.

“Did they take anything?” Bovik asked nervously, looking around the small room and peering down the hallway towards their quarters.

“Not that I could tell. But they did put some sort of mechanism on our forward landing gear to supposedly prevent us from taking off.”

“Can we still fly?”

“I think so. We can detach our landing gear to circumvent the trap if we need to. Why, were you thinking of leaving soon?” Cofell inquired suspiciously.

“No, I just want to be prepared.”

After three Earth rotations of arguing, the humans still couldn’t decide between destroying the aliens right then and there or taking them up on their offer. As Wolku and Bovik headed back into the chamber on the fourth day, none of the politicians even noticed them this time. They were too busy fighting their own personal battles, often bringing up incidents from decades past to try to discredit their opposition and support

their side of the alien argument. Hundreds of theories and accusations were met with hundreds of rebuttals and retorts in an intense whirlwind of arguing.

“They are obviously bent on destruction! We need to destroy them while we have the chance!”

“No! That would incite a war against Earth and hundreds or even thousands of planets would be against us! We would have no chance!”

“We have enough weaponry to hold our own.”

“Do we?”

“And at what cost?!”

“Let’s dissect them, see if they even are real aliens!” a new voice called passionately.

“They are living, sentient, peaceful creatures! They should be treated as such!”

“Like you treat your people?”

“How do we know they aren’t lying!” another yelled.

“They have no reason to! And everything they said about their ships and weapons checked out! Everything is exactly as they said!”

“That could be a lie to gain our trust!”

“They have to be after us!” a different representative argued.

“They said themselves they came from a larger warship which is part of the Confederacy! They could destroy us if they wanted to!”

“But they are peaceful! They didn’t even bring weapons!” Yet another indignant diplomat exclaimed.

“They are aliens!! We can’t trust them!”

“From all indications they are more like us than many of you will ever care to admit! They’re not that differe–”

“Anyone with an ounce of intelligence would know we have to kill them! It’s the only way to keep the peace!” a new voice called.

“It would start a war we can’t win!”

“That’s because you’re weak! Our government is strong! We will survive even if your frail country falls!”

“If you love Earth, you will know we have to deal with this threat!”

“If you respect life– or were semi-competent– you will realize we can’t pick a fight with this Confederacy! You yourself are always complaining about your economy! Think about how much profit your country could make selling to the aliens and their Confederacy!”

“By selling to alien filth! Our country is too honorable to deal with them!”

“We don’t know anything about them, how are you already judging them, talking about them as if you know them?”

“If you want your child to grow up in a normal, uncontaminated world–” a different politician started, screaming.

“Don’t even go there! They didn’t even mention colonies... and what I said has nothing to do with–”

Wolku and Bovik watched with horror as the Council of Earth that had peacefully come together to meet the diplomats at the Bastion outpost descended into chaos, hurling ungracious threats and arguments completely irrelevant to the task at hand.

“Hosts! Gentle-beings! Please! Listen to me!” Wolku called into the mess. A few representatives stopped momentarily to glance down at them, but most just returned to their arguments. “Allow us to reaffirm our intentio–”

“Silence!” Bovik screeched. It took until then for the chamber as a whole to even recognize that the representatives were present and had come with more information to, ideally, make their choice easier and address some of their concerns.

“Please, kind hosts, allow us clear up some of the confusion.” Wolku stated, ever respectful despite the perpetual agitation. “Our people mean you no harm and have no intention of attacking your beautiful world. We have no desire to leave colonies on your planet, and would, at most, temporarily leave a handful of representatives, such as myself, here if you even were to join the Confederacy. If you decline, we will leave peacefully and never approach your planet again, unless asked to by your people.”

“For those of you who may be wondering about staying in contact with the Confederacy,” Bovik began. “We would provide you with several powerful communications sets that connect all the way to the Confederacy homeworld of Eiva II. That is where your chairperson would live to represent your world. Unless of course they would prefer to–”

“Why do they have to leave Earth!”

“Yeah, why can’t we just use the communications stuff to represent Earth to the Confederacy!”

“Sirs, that’s what I was trying to explai–” Bovik started, with strained patience, suddenly overpowered by the raging room of diplomats and representatives.

“Who gets the communications device? How many are there?!”

“My country, would, of course, get one, since we have influence from th–” One politician asserted, blocking Bovik’s response and resuming the untamed discord of Earth.

“No! You would use it to sell out the rest of us out and turn them against us! We should have them all to protec–”

“Why should we trust you?!”

“We need one!”

“Take the communication devices! The representative that goes off to Eiva II will just be representing our interests!”

“No, we should get to pick who is sent!”

“You are a bit preoccupied at the moment, and with your dipping economy and–”

“We should vote! That’s how we should decide who should be sent!”

“The United Nations needs to be consulte–”

“If we vote the majority will pick wrong and you will send some moronic idiot who will–”

“Whomever we pick will be better than whomever you want to send!”

“We import a third of your foodstuff each year. Don’t make us alter the terms of that deal!”

“You and what army? Your military is incompetent and tiny!”

“Don’t make me–”

As the arguments became increasingly irrelevant and emotional, Bovik and Wolku saw themselves out of the chamber to the sole notice of their bellicose guard entourage. As far as the two could tell, the Council would go on like this indefinitely, or at least until they lost consciousness from exhaustion. Though, that would probably just raise new issues as they blame each other for somehow orchestrating that, Bovik reflected bitterly.

Halfway to the landing pad, their guard escort suddenly froze, then turned and sprinted back towards the meeting chamber without so

much as a word to the peaceful aliens. From where they stood, mismatched soldiers from all over the compound were rushing back to the meeting chamber. Approaching their ship, and relieved to have left the room of aggressive and illogical arguments behind, the two climbed the boarding ramp, emotionally drained and defeated.

“Cofel, how long will it take to get the Avatar in the air?”

“A span, sir, maybe less. I take it the discussions didn’t go well?” Wolku, the well-traveled and experienced ambassador of the Confederacy sighed, a grim look on his face. Cofel’s expression changed, dropping whatever shred of buoyancy he retained. “Should I be expecting... resistance beyond the landing gear trick?” For a moment, the diplomat reflected.

“No. Whoever controls the weaponry, or whoever can give the order to fire it, is a little... preoccupied... currently, and I trust they will be for the next several Earth hours.”

“I don’t think they will even notice our departure.” Bovik growled. “At least, not until we are long gone.”

“Copy that. Strap in. As soon as we can, we’re going to light it out of here, so, it may get a little bumpy.”

Sixteen span later, with Earth just a faint pinpoint of light behind them, Wolku and Bovik activated their long-range transmitter station, requesting to speak to the Quadrant Commander. After several access codes and a bit of waiting, they gave their preliminary report.

“Commander Xil, I am pleased to announce we are on our way back to SunCity Station,” Bovik explained with deflated enthusiasm.

“Very good. Was your mission a success? I have no record of a treaty or any new communication gateways established.”

“No, sir... it wasn’t,” Bovik started, visibly nervous about giving his first report as an ambassador, and after such a difficult mission. “I suggest quarantining the system for the next 100 kilo-span.”

“And, if I may add, Commander,” Wolku interjected solemnly. “I recommend that a set of stealth probes be placed around the perimeter of their system,” then, lowing his voice darkly, “with explicit instructions to destroy anything that gets in range without proper Confederacy override.”

“Though...by the time the probes are in position, and, at the

longest, the quarantine is over...,” Bovik started slowly.

“...the Human Race may have already extinguished themselves,” Wolku finished solemnly.

“Thank you for your diligent work, ambassadors. Please return to Eiva II at your earliest convenience.” Commander Xil responded, keying in the proposal on his end.

“Thank you, Commander, we will.” Bovik added, queueing off the machine, watching Wolku intently.

The elder ambassador’s gaze was directed out the rear viewport, watching the speck of the planet they left behind, seeing the violent dots of vehement fire on its surface even from this great distance.

“It was inevitable,” Bovik offered gravely.

“Indeed, I suppose it was.”

i am soccer

I am the soccer field, from the soft green grass that touches my feet, the field.

I am from the circular ball, from the ball spinning circling back and forth, side to side, the ball.

I am from the cheering crowd, when they yelled, “Goal!” as the ball touched the back of the net, the cheering.

I am from the happiness, friendship on the field, from their smiles, the happiness.

the race

after Colin Sams

Running down the course, Not a runner close behind.

Blades of grass make his shoes sink, Like a morning jog down the beach. The loose shoes trip the runner, Sliding into the soft grass. A long race that started hours ago. His lifeless legs shaking in pain. He is determined to finish.

A sprint to the finish line. The banner hitting across his chest. Only one runner in the race, But many runners run the race. Though the race is not the same for all, We all must run our own.

joel scheve those who shape you

I’m a little nervous today

I’d like to thank God for changing my life it felt like there was no getting out it’s just a surreal feeling

I been through the toughest times but I’m still standing these guys push me to my best

every single day

Perk, Nick, Thabo, Caron, Serge, Andre Perry, Johnson, Steven, Big Kiwi, Grant Russ, I could speak all night about Russ coaching staff, Scott Brooks, beautiful fans

my brother Tony, Dad, my little brother Rayvonne and all my friends and last, my mom for all that you sacrificed for me to get here

You’re the real MVP

sam dickerhoof our stadium

The autumn leaves roll off of their branches, painting the ground an orange and yellow canvas around the stadium.

The turf is dusty today, a faded green displaying its current upkeep, where students praise each other from down below.

An air conditioner hums in the background, creating a white noise filling the empty silence.

Today is really cloudy, with hints of brittle cold that sneaks within my fleece.

The clouds cast a g ray look on the stadium, a dull representation of the energy St. X brings at Friday games.

The view is wonderful still, from so far up high overlooking the stadium, a sight that makes me stay in awe.

The moment is too glorious to pass down on, the view distant but approximate all at once.

When will the oranges turn to black, signifying death and decay to leave the previous year behind?

How could nature signify an end with such a beautiful palette of colors?

The Reformed warm colors, the Deathly silent cold-front, the Ingeminated season of change.