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FUSE Arts Unleashed presents...



// WELCOME to the Spring 2010 edition of ARTS UNLEASHED, Oviedo High School’s Literary Magazine. The magazine represents the finest ART and LITERATURE on the campus.

ard o b L A I R O T I D E Editors-In-Chief

Carson Bailey

Julia Thorncroft


Kristen Adkinson Carolyn Cook Merrick Ghali Dellis Kassik Frank Lopez Ivanna Miller Zachary O’Hanlon Austin Rodriguez

Erin Brunkala Bryce Fagan Timothy Goode Heath Kerr Michael Mena Amanda Nacin Tripp Piones Kimberly Thevenin

The colors chosen for FUSE are cyan, magenta. yellow. and black. Commonly known as CMYK, these four basic colors used in printing combine or “fuse” together to form all the other colors, just as our writers and artists have joined together to bring you ARTS UNLEASHED 2010

R E ey V Cn O on Bail s r a C by:



Deborah Jepson

Editorial Policy

Arts Unleashed Literary Magazine is produced by the Multimedia Technologies class. Students of Oviedo High School submited art and literature displayed in Arts Unleashed. Submissions are carefully considered by the editors and advisor based on creativity and quality. The cost is $5.00.

Oviedo High School 601 King Street Oviedo, FL 32765 407-320-4050

SPECIAL thanks

GFWC Oviedo Women’s Club: Thank you to President Nancy Garlanger, PR Chairman Angela Iversen,Chairman Regina Bereswill, and all the club members for awarding us a $500 Philanthropic School Grant. Joe Alcorn: We owe a huge thank you to Mr. Alcorn for his $500 donation to the literary magazine. Ms. Letzo, Mr. LaWarre: Without your help, we could not have put out this magazine. Thank you.

Ms. Pope: Many thanks to Alicia Pope who insisted that we could do this and for her belief in the importance of art in our lives. Mr. Lunquist and Mr. Register: Nothing is possible without the support of the administration. We appreciate your continued support for the arts.

. . . S R O T I D e E th m a note fro Dear Readers, The process of developing ARTS UNLEASHED began over the summer when Mrs. Jepson suggested that we bring back an OHS tradition and publish a literary magazine to highlight the very best of art and literature on the campus. When the school year began, our first period class, Multimedia Technologies, brainstormed ideas for a name and theme. After several hours of discussion, the class took a final vote and the theme FUSE emerged. “To FUSE” is defined as putting something together but “a FUSE” is a wick to light something combustible. Our intent is to unite the campus through artistic expression and at the same time to cause an explosion of creativity to spill forth. So off we went, determined to gather the best OHS had to offer, traveling to different art rooms, browsing through photographs and paintings, looking at sculpture. English teachers helped us discover wonderful poems, short stories, essays, and songs. And here it is-ARTS UNLEASHED, unleashed yet fused together. Enjoy! // Carson Bailey and Julia Thorncroft

Miranda Harmon - Digital Photography

Editorial Board


Editor’s Note


A Hole in the Wall


What Hate Means to Me


Amanda Juliano

Mirysa Robillard

A Poor Marriage Deceiving


Sadie Torres



Winter Solstice


Triger Lopez

Krysal Secor

The Sideline


How do I know?


A World Lost in Time


Jake Smith


Rachel Bray

Payton Norman

Gabrielle Van Ravenswaay

The Outside is the Only 20 Definition Janie Williams

Last Dance


Taylor Schwarz

The White Wall


The Simple Life


Haiku Off


Mixed Medium


David Stevens

A Veil of Tears


Carlos Perez

Connor Bailey Sadie Yanckello

Truman Flanders, Chelsea Mastrocola, and Bibi Kahn




Digital Photography 26

Happy Joe - David Gagnon - Mixed Medium





B&W Photography


Dreadful Sorrow


Jessica Flachner

Anne’s Beneath the 34 Willow Tree Tiffany Ray

One Light




The Tree Spirit






Carlos Perez

Aaron Rodriguez

Cassandra Tolentino

Bria Boykin






E L a HO // STORY Amanda Juliano


omething had to be done about the gash in the wall. That much was obvious. It was, Quinton knew, throughly improper to keep it framed and treasured as the last remaining mold of June Olhouser’s head. He’d agree to listing that as an issue if it were actually the case. But as it stood, “treasuring”, he maintained, was “quite untrue.” Quinton had much earlier accepted the responsibility of fixing the hole that his wife’s death had made in the drywall of their daughter’s nursery, but between the funeral planning, the cutting off ties with family, with friends, the worried phone calls, the subsequent avoidance and sometimes unplugging of the phone; the degeneration of the kitchen, personal hygiene, social life, energy, etc. From the unique ticks of becoming more or less obsessed with the futility of the Pringle shape, to the rest of the more typical isolation rituals that came with grief, Quinton just hadn’t found the time in the last five years or so to fix the June Hole that haunted his daughter’s room. It became a permanent fixture of the third door to the right, and the most solid proof that Quinton and his little Doreen had that June had actually been there. As a matter of fact, the irregularly shaped hole was, for some time, the only consistent element of Doreen’s short though ongoing life sentence. While her father jumped from quirk to quirk, she spent a large portion of her time imagining her mother with a fun, lopsided head that fit the break perfectly. Still protected from the concept of mortality so long as she was under five, Doreen had a love affair with her only real parent: the hole. Her father MIA, she tried to identify with its shape as best she could, and was quite disappointed when her head didn’t exactly fit like a puzzle piece into the wall. In her youngest years, she could grasp the morbidity of her actions almost as well as she could


l l a w e h t in

little kids.” grasp June throughout her entire life. Her mother always June always went to bed far easier than he did. She rolled remained elusive and fuzzy; a vacuum, or a vague sensation to her side and snuggled her pillow frequently. “Nothing of absence. Doreen possessed the odd honor of a feeling of is coming through the walls, Quinn,” she had murmured. loss with no real familiarity; she could only hold onto more “Stop asking the neighbors if someone died here.” material things: her mother’s possessions, and a great big “The Goblins steal kids,” he continued. “They might hole in the wall. She liked to imagine, sometimes, that if her come through those walls and snatch ours.” mother could say something about the hole, it might be: When Doreen was born, the comment was more “Death? Heart attack? Goodness no. I made a hole when centered: “Doreen will get stolen by the walls, June.” I fell, Dorey. Why in the world would I make a hole without There seemed to be, to Quinton, a pressing need to any intention of going through it? I’m just on the other fix the hole after he caught his daughter trying to climb side.” through it. His despondent tendencies, while plenty, weren’t At six years old, Doreen was devastated to find that strong enough to deter him from protecting their child from not only could she not reach the hole but there was also goblins of some sort. He knew what to do from his brother, no way she, nor June, her father stated, could ever have fit who was in some sort of house renovation business or some through it. The charm of Doreen’s portal fantasy was lost on kind–something rather. He bought the drywall, he bought Quinton. He thought very little of her affection towards the the plaster, he already owned the tools. He measured, he cut, hollow, and passed her room daily to not notice her staring he spackled, sanded it down, waited a day, took a hammer at the hole in the wall where her mother should be. Instead, and then smashed the hole in again. he thought that when June left you high and dry she really This became the new pattern. It was much more left you high and dry. He also thought: “It wouldn’t be hard satisfying than the Pringle to plaster that by myself,” dilemma or other obsessions. and continued to think There was something that very thought several Quinton had been avoiding the wrong every time Quinton times before he actually walls even before June’s death. attempted to fix June’s blow. did it. He himself had torn many holes Something terribly off. He Quinton had, of sanded it down as smooth course, been avoiding the before June had torn her last. as he could but perfection walls even before June’s was unobtainable, and he death. They had unnerved continually smashed the hole in again. Doreen learned to him when they bought the house; they unnerved him now. sleep with the sound of her father working. Her affections Physically, they were always structurally poor; he himself were not wasted by his new project, but rather magnified had torn many holes before June had torn her last. But there later on when he began smashing in other parts of the house was something, he felt, eerily supernatural about the fragile for practice. A sort of Goblin whack-a-mole, Quinton took walls. his hammer and whammed the walls randomly with “take “Trolls maybe,” he had told June while laying in bed one that,” and “hah,” and “fifty points you dirty trolls,” “steal night. “Little Orphan Annie. The Goblins will get’cha if you my wife, why don’t you?” The kind letters from daughter to don’t watch out.” He lolled his head back and forth a little mother that Doreen had been writing in third period, or the and looked at her. “They’ll come through those walls. Snatch

Calisa Lawn - Mixed Medium

crafts that she had been making in pottery got gently tucked into Quinton’s warpath. Doreen vented and her mind and creativity to her mother, and when her father wasn’t home she’d steal from June’s old jewelry box and tuck her things into the walls as well. She was unsure of her father’s intentions but he would not be removing her mother from these walls, nor this house. A large, gray cloud of dust seemed to obscure every clock and timepiece from view. Every birthday and holiday passed with a throaty wheeze from the house, and casual coughing fits from the inhabitants. Quinton tore holes in the structure, and Doreen kept the hole in her room perfect and irregular. In high school, Doreen walked with a little cloud at her feet when her shoes stamped hard and sent plaster dust curling into the air. Her hair was a bit grayer, and her skin a bit paler than the other students. If you bumped into her, she’d crumble a little, and leave a white, chalky mark where you touched her. “Dad works at a cement factory,” she’d lie. “I go sometimes. It’s dusty there.” “I’ll bet,” a boy would say, glancing at her dirty skirt, and ashy skin. “Hey, where do you live?” And she wanted to describe her house as the one that looks like it’s imploding on the days when we open the windows and a breeze blows through. But the house never imploded. It never fell down or collapsed as it looked like it should. It merely hacked out clouds of dust into the sky and made alarming sounds to the neighbors as Quinton smashed another hole in the wall and screamed “Don’t eat that!” at June. It appeared to him in his descent that he should have moved Doreen and himself out of the house so much earlier, but that the goblins had already snatched them both by down. His daughter looked pretty old to him, and he looked pretty old to himself, and he was quite certain that in his death he would not leave a hole. Rather, he would leave nothing but broken plaster, drywall, and dust.


what HATE means to me // POEM Mirysa Robillard

Apprehensive is the one of the lunch counter, Arms spread wide as if the Berlin Wall was in our way. I can’t place my finger on what’s wrong about her All I wanted was to get lunch today.

This relates to the stories of the Greensboro Four, Or the boycott marches with their picket signs. Such a rebellion has not seen the light of day before. The way they look down upon us, they must feel divine

Almost cheerful are the sounds of the clamoring dishes, Grand is the sound of the food I hear. I feel as that of an Amish, for I have simple wishes, Perhaps a sandwich and, if I’m lucky, a beer.

As if they were in the clouds of heaven, And we were the curses of Pandora’s box All I wanted was lunch today. Why must this wall stand in the way?


Carly McCarthy - Digital Photography

// POEM Rachel Bray

a POOR marriage

Love is painful, Yet we bear through it. Love is blind, Yet we let what we see dictate our attraction. Love is harsh, Yet we keep on going. Love. Pain teaches us, So why don’t we strive for stupidity? Pain is blind, It attacks us all. Pain is harsh, Why do we not help everyone then? Pain. Intertwined, intermeshed, like a bad marriage unable to Be dissolvedPain and love, Are stuck with each other. Unfortunately, Fate is nothing but a b**** who is a poor matchmaker. Pain and love, Forever intertwined.

Let’s Hold Hands - Julia Thorncroft - B&W Photo

I am the Walrus - Casey Hayes - Mixed Medium


// POEM Sadie Torres


When the rest of the world Is sitting, waiting for life to go on, I am here. When no one wants to hear about your day, I’ll be polite and ask you how it went. I’ll listen to every word you say And help you with problems you may have encountered. I will be there. When the world turns up side down And you can’t bare the headaches of Being backwards,

I will be there to turn it right side up. When every one is cheering for you at the Biggest performance of you life, I’ll try to be there and help Make the crowed louder, When you need someone to help you with Multiplication and division problems Call me and I might answer. When the skies suddenly turn dark And rain starts to fall, Come knock on my door and I might be home. When you want to send me a picture of

How your vacation was then send me an e-mail Of how it went, But I probably won’t reply. When you want me to be at your funeral Preaching about how Much of a hero you’ve become to me, I will, I will preach about how I was not able to make it. When you’re floating above, your body wondering Why I didn’t go, why I failed you It’s because I was never there In the first place.

Nick Caruthers - Mixed Medium



// POEM Triger Lopez

I’m so lost I can’t find my way All I can hear is buggles play As I crawl through the fields My heart pounds with fear As the enemy grows near

I try to still stand tall For 1 and all But my courage is slowly fading way I long for the day When we can all be free To live our lives so peacefully As I fight for my life I keep this mind I’m doing it for all of mankind For some death comes quick For others the wound never heals For me I feel were all heroes “The Greatest sacrifice is the one we never hear about”

Chris Taylor on Howard Street - Shannon McGloin - B&W Photo

Through the trenches we have all tread We’ve come so far But now most are dead


WINTERsolstice // POEM Krystal Secor

You can sense dread in the trees as winter approaches. With its freezing temperatures and robbing of the sunlight. With its chilling winds and blinding storms. And yet when I look to winter all I see is the beautiful new fallen snow,


and crystals hanging off the sleeping trees. When I think of winter I see new beginnings, and life put on hold so we can enjoy what we can of this wonderful season. I long for the passion that is winter.

Abby Wakas - Photo Manipulation


e c n da

// POEM Taylor Schwarz

Step forward, step backward, then ball-change, turn, Slow the tempo, adagio, and let the room burn. The violins tremble, their speech becomes slurred, No chastising, please, I will not listen to trivial words. Breathe it in now, the resign mingles with the clinging smoke, The flames sting, tears they bring, as you sweetly choke. No resisting, no regrets here, let yourself become consumed, Resist, regret, but you will not forget and inevitably seal your doom. Relax and let go, this dance is too slow to belligerently rush, And we stop now to take a quick bow as the room take on a hush. Cherubs tug at the frayed age of the tapestry we weave, And much to spite our luminous night, it is time to leave. And both of us know it is time to let go, but do so with regret, But we will complete the metamorphosis into independent patrons yet. No turning back time, there is no rewind in the moments that waltz by, But soon they will be gone and the peace will dawn before there is time to cry. So in the meantime‌ Step forward, step backward, then ball-change, turn, Slow the tempo, adagio, and let the room burn.

Eye C U - Haley Nungesser - Mixed Medium


S R A E T f o l i e v a // POEM Carlos Perez

My king, my tender lamb, how radiant is he Like a little pearl in my hands, somehow…He’s holding me. My eyes veiled by tears, knowing what the future lies The Day when the Sun hides, life prostrates, when my King dies. He counts all the stars on my veil, the souls He will save. For love alone, He was made Oh! How my soul will die when He’s laid on the tree Instead of saving Him, I cry…”My Son…save me!”

Callisa Lawn - Mixed Medium


Carlos Perez- Mixed Medium

Ben Carroll - Sculpture

the SIDELINE // LYRICS Jake Smith

How could you do this Why would you put me through this I can’t believe it So unexpected I cared for you I was there for you No sympathy For what you did to me Chorus I tried so hard to win you It could have been just us two For a whole year I wished you were mine But you left me on the sideline

I just wanted to feel your skin Without you pushing me away again You want me to be there for you But that’s just something I can’t do Because… Chorus I tried so hard to win you It could have been just us two For a whole year I wished you were mine But you left me on the sideline You left me on the sideline You left me on the sideline


Backside 180 - Ryan McGuire - Digital Photography

? W O I N o K d how // POEM Payton Norman

How do I know? It’s the way my eyes were locked, And the way yours drifted off, By an unseen image yours were blocked, So now I know the truth.


How do I know? It’s the way your words floated high, Lonely and sad, Along with your lie, So now I know the truth.

How do I know? These burdens in your eyes are present, With secrets that nobody knows. Allow them please to descend, ‘Cause now I know the truth.

a world L0ST in time

// POEM Gabrielle Van Ravenswaay

To be a kid again With nothing but time. My world is small, But it is my own, And I know It’s like the back of my hand. The swing set is my throne, And the playground is my kingdom. I look to the skyIt does not seem so big, How could its clear blue arms Hold the troubles Said to be in the world? Impossible, I say, There is nothing else Only this swing set, Only this playground, Only this carefree world of mine, If only I still had the time, If only my world wasn’t so immense, I wish I had my throne. I wish I had my kingdom. I wish the sky didn’t seem so big, I wish I had my freedom Without the restrictions of society. I want my carefree world back.

Liz Carroll - Sculpture


the OUTSIDE is the only definition // POEM Janie Williams *Response to a photo of the Greenville Four.

A blank stare from the white woman-She draws a line between black and white Just as the photograph shows the evidence. Questions arose between her morals and justice. The face of sadness opens the white woman’s arms, But the sadness in their eyes brings hatred, Not an open embrace she would have for a weeping friend, Like the belt around the white woman’s waist. The people standing feel their rights being squeezed away. They all wear the same clothes, the same color of clothes, But they are not judged on the reversible colors, But the only color that is unchanging. All that the women and the men want is justice, And all that the woman standing alone wants Is to remain unchanged The same building, the same food, Same material put onto the counter… But the only thing that matters Is the black and white Found on the Outside Of the same people.

Tova Kranz - Digital Photography



W e th

l l a w

// POEM David Stevens *In Honor of Black History Month

Apprehensive is the one lunch counter, Arms spread wide as if the Berlin wall was in our way. I can’t place my finger on what’s wrong about her— All I wanted was to get lunch today.

Almost cheerful are the sounds of the clamoring dishes, Grand is the sound of the food I hear. I feel as that of an Amish, for I have simple wishes, Perhaps a sandwich and, if I’m lucky a beer.

As if they were in clouds of heaven, And we were the curses of Pandora’s Box— All I wanted was lunch today. Why must this wall stand this way?

Repeating Trees- Emily Brown - B&W Photo

This relates to the stories of the Greensboro Four, Or the boycott marches with their picket signs. Such a rebellion has not seen the light of day before. The way they look down upon us, they must feel divine


e f i l E L P the SIM // ESSAY EXCERPT Connor Bailey

Perchance one day we can all fill that aching hole in our souls through the beauty of simplicity. May we all find one day that we don’t really need a BlackBerry, an iTouch, or a laptop to be happy. Many people are happy with all these things, but they also know, just like Thoreau did, that keeping it basic leads to a happier life: simplicity, simplicity, simplicity‌

// ESSAY EXCERPT Sadie Yanckelllo

If I woke up tomorrow with no technology, the world as I know it would be over. No way to communicate with my friends in other neighborhoods, no way of getting to school or even no electricity to see myself in the dark. The modern day world is so accustomed to the advantages that we have, that we are dependent on them. If there was no technology, people would assume the world was over. When in reality if you look around, the world has everything you need to survive. The sun gives us a sense of time, the trees in the rainforest give us shelter, and the stars in the sky give us a sense of direction. Everything we need and even more is on this planet; we just need to open our eyes to the foundation of it.

untitled - Rod


HAIKU off // POEM Truman Flanders

I’m in love with her She is my light in the dark You’ve stolen my heart

// POEM Chelsea Mastrocola

Far away from here In the arms of the angels May you find peace, Mom

// POEM Bibi Kahn

We were meant to be Through laughter and tears We’ll conquer our fears

dy Abby Wakas - Photo Illustration Going into the Abyss - Casey Hayes - Mixed Medium


Miranda Harmon - Mixed Medium


Morgan Casavant - Painting

Brittany Laschance - Ink Resist

Cayman Wood - Painting

Miranda Ghali - Huichol

Elizabeth Baker - Mixed Medium


Madie Howeller - Digital Photograp


Emmalie Mitchell - Photo Manipulation

Bicycle - Miranda Harmon - Digital Photography


Cora Campbell - Digital Photography

Erika Manning - Photo Manipulation


Jordan Reeve- Sculpture

Edward Squire - Sculpture


Ryan Ridenbaugh - Sculpture

Colin Baker - Sculpture

Emily Blair- Sculpture

Lilliana Rivera-Penaloza - Sculpture


Joe Potchen - B&W Photo

Mac - Alex Bogan - B&W Photo


Simone James - B&W Photo

Beach in Cozumel - Ryan Maxon - B&W Photo

Aaron Greene - B&W Photo

Angiee Carey - B&W Photo


w o r r o s L U DF

A E R D // SHORT STORY Jessica Flachner


t’s been two days. Two days since I felt the warm touch of his hand, the sweet smell of his skin. It’s been too many days since I tasted the lips that kept my heart beating and looked into the eyes that captured every moment. The body I now gaze upon, so lonely, so cold, is only the shell of the man I fell in love with. I try to search for the eyes that used to fall upon me, so soft and beautiful, but all I see are two white marbles, glassy and round. I reach for his hand but cannot hold on very long, for it’s freezing to touch. The wood surrounding him makes everything seem even more distant, and I try to hold back my inevitable tears as one delicately lands on his pale cheek. As the man above me begins to speak, I realize I soon have to let go, never to taste, touch, or feel everything I have come to love so deeply, so purely. I want so badly to blame my dreadful loss on someone, to hate for my sorrow, but I know that if there’s anyone to blame, it’s no one but myself. That one icy winter afternoon, when everything was perfect and it seemed as if nothing could break what held us so tightly together, we said goodbye. He received a tragic phone call of his mother’s death, his expression dismal at the sound of his father’s voice. He asked his son to travel down the river to his home, the weeping making it unbearable to refuse his request. I begged to come along and help comfort the sweet old man, but he kindly shook his head, stating that he needed time alone with his grieving father. The quickest route down the frozen Saint Peter’s river was by


not able to steer safely. train and I accompanied him until he boarded. He My love had been on that train. I began to sob and held me in his arms and promised to be back as soon attempted once more to receive information from a as he could. I told him there was no need to hurry; police officer, but he pushed me away and told me to his mother had just passed and he needed time with stand back as he took care of the situation as best as he his mourning family. He smiled and thanked me, then kissed me goodbye, not wanting to let go of my hand as could. At that moment, I had no idea whether he was dead or alive, but I was to find out soon that the only he stepped up onto the massive train. man I have ever come to truly love was gone, never to As the train darted out of the station, I strolled return as he promised. down the corridors of the building and was heading If there’s anyone to blame for my dreadful out to my car when I suddenly felt the earth shake and sorrow, it’s no one but myself. I let him go, as if I led heard the rumbling of what turned out to be an awful him to his certain death. I could’ve kept him from gocollision. I held my breath as I rushed back to the dising; I could’ve prevented the painful breaking of my patch, but couldn’t see or hear any news of what had heart alongside him, occurred. All I could hear having the chance to were sirens blaring in my be with him outside of ears, and when I attempted If there’s anyone to blame for this world, in a place to ask a police officer for my dreadful sorrow, it’s no one where misfortune ceases information, all he did was but myself. I let him go... to exist. Yet I am here, yell over the deafening looking upon his body noise and ordered me to that was retrieved from step back, away from the tracks. The sirens didn’t die down, but my ears became the site of the disaster and saying my last good byes. The unfortunate calamity occurred so abrupt and used to the clamor and I could finally faintly hear the so sudden, that sometimes it feels as I’m in a dream din of conversation. What I overheard made me want to curl up in a ball on the hard ground beneath me and and I’ll soon wake up to see him lying next to me once again. But I know that everything was real and nothweep, to be left alone and stay there in solitude as the ing I do or say can bring him back. And nothing I do world spun around me, never to bothered again. The train had crashed and overturned while departing from or say, not one action I display or one word I speak, will revive the love that was so quickly lost that one icy the station. The tracks it had been traveling on had been rickety and unstable, and enormous machine was afternoon.

No title yet - unknown Collage Photo Caitlyn Braswell - Photo Manipulation


anne’s beneath the WILLOW tree // LYRICS Tiffany Ray

Anne’s beneath the willow tree, White lilies in her hair. William’s with his sweetheart, His palms on cheeks too fair. Anne’s beneath the willow tree. Come home, come home, he bade. Lie here in the grass with me. Her white dress a slipping shade. Sweet Anne, will you marry me? Crying, crying eyes of rain. Here is our resting place; I promise you our sun won’t wane. William’s under the willow tree. Sun sets darken Anne’s face. You cannot love me. Your love is for this place. Desiree Crowthers - B&W Photo


Crying, crying eyes of rain. William’s planted to this place. Anne lies sleeping. William knows he cannot stay. William calls, marry me, marry me, But the weeds cling to the grave. Anne’s beneath the willow tree, White lilies on her grave.

Polaroid Trypitch - Kevin Eubanks - Polaroid series

// POEM Carlos Perez

one LI

O how blood flows like rivers through the earth And walls dividing us into a web of ignorance.


Consider the human race as nothing but the lattices In the niches of a lamp, Through which one light shines. Or as an intoxicating rose garden Of which the Nightingale loves all equally. Do not mourn on The Day of Reckoning For surely love is the power of creation And love inspired the Creator to shape us Of sounded clay. Is love not forgiving?


// POEM Aaron Rodriguez


t’s when you’re driving together at 2:05 in the morning and you’re listening to your song. A song that is not only yours and no one else’s and then she reaches her head over to kiss you and nothing can go wrong, but instead of kissing your lips she kisses your cheek and you can’t help but take your eyes off the road and kiss her on the nose. It’s when she despises her feet, but you play with her toes anyways. It’s when you can remember the first time you kissed walking down her drive holding hands February 2, 2009. It’s when you always talk about making a secret way to say I love you to each other and the way you look at each other becomes that sign. And you’re comfortable enough with one another where you pee with her in the room. And you both constantly talk about your future plans when you’re bride and groom. It’s when you kiss till you’re gasping for a breath and then you breathe just enough to kiss her more. When you tickle her and she tickles you until somehow you both fit on the backseat floor. When after only a couple of days of knowing yourself how you feel about her and you tell her by asking her to marry you. And almost a year later you’re discussing baby names and just to talk about her you ask her questions about herself with answers you already knew. When you’re in a friend’s bathroom together and she splashes water on your chest so you mess up her amazing hair by pouring water on her head. When you go to her window in the middle of the night to wake her up and she left the light on so you see her sleeping so you let her sleep because you know how much she loves her bed. It’s how you do crazy spontaneous things for each other, like make a three-disc mix CD all about her, or make an endless


Caitlyn Braswell - Photo Manipulation

RICHARD list of reasons you love her. your intimacy with one another. When she can forgive you so undeservingly and look at you It’s when you don’t jump from nothing to a secret lover but as what you are becoming now what you were. fall for her because your closeness as a brother. When you realize that you would die for her, but more It’s when you don’t even contemplate a life without her as importantly you would live for her when she bites your the one with whom you’ll grow old with. bottom lip and you want to cry because it’s so darn cute When just to warm her up you pretend that you’re cold. when she says grrr. When her needs come before your own. When you have never had an argument except for all the A devotion so intense, so passionate, it’s the happiest state disputes about who loves whom more. you’ve ever known. It’s when your checking out her spine and you’re finally a It’s when you want to know every little thing about her and hundred percent sure that she really is a dinosaur when she you want her to know everything about you. adorably whispers rawr. It’s knowing she will always be there with you and for you no When you lay in a hammock cuddling for three hours matter what stupid thing you do. straight, and you call her your girlfriend and she calls you When your eyes are opened and you begin to look down on her boyfriend yet you’ve never been on a date. everyone who doesn’t feel what you feel. When you notice the slightest habits of hers like how she It’s when you talk to everyone about her and find a way to fidgets with her hands and she loves to touch your face. bring her into any conversation and tell your friends and It’s the feeling you get after you have spent the entire night family that she’s the one and youre planning to kneel when with her and after three seconds of leaving her arms you you pass each other secret notes only you each can read and choke up and turn around, and beg her for therapeutic you tell her she’s more beautiful without makeup on. embrace. It’s when your chest gets weak and your eyes get shaky because you realize how It’s when she makes you want much you’re going miss her to be a better person, a better tomorrow when she’s gone. man, and it slits you like a It’s when she makes you want It’s accepting all her rusty razor to think of her sad. to be a better person, a better faults and having an When you can tell her how incomprehensible mix of you really feel about your man, and it slits you like a razor pain and elation. mom and she can talk to you to think of her sad. What the Encyclopedia about her tenderness from the Britannica defines as too loss of her dad. complicated to define as a When she’s the only determining factor of your euphoric sensation. physical, mental, and emotional health. When she reminds you of things you’ve forgotten about When you still vividly envision the way her every inch was yourself and she’s got you figured out. shaped, the way she tasted, and oh my goodness her scent. It’s when you want all to know that she’s yours and you can’t And you know it’s wrong but your feelings for her are believe you’re so fortunate to have her, but you have not a unconditional and your romance was over flowing as far as single doubt. attachment went. It’s the butterflies you get when someone mentions her When your relationship is founded on your conversations not name.

It’ something you can only authentically feel once after that it’s never the same. It’s when you cry for no reason and you’re really happy. When you get to that point when everything you say to her may seem to everyone else is sappy. But no one can break your limitless bond and nothing can keep you apart. It should originate in but not only come from your heart. How you blow raspberries in her belly and give her wedgies just to get that side part of her eyes to wrinkle. It’s patient, it’s kind, and it’s the way even in her silhouette her eyes twinkle. It’s how her presence makes you cry, but her absence makes you wail. It’s the word that frees us all from the weight and pain of life, and it’s been known to make its users forget to exhale. It’s when you have that serenity where you just can’t stop smiling and it can affect any age It’s when you sometimes disappoint each other, but never respond with rage. When she only talks face to face, but gives you that up and lets you call her once and you end up playing that game trying not to be the first to say bye. It’s that unexplainable rush of not envy, just jealousy you get when she’s even near another guy. It’s how everything and anything gives you another chance to think about her, like how she loves the stars and you think clouds are way better, or when you’re walking through the grass and an ant bites your foot and all you can think is how she’s allergic to ants. When you see someone leaving Publix and it’s raining and they whip out an umbrella and instantly you think how she adores the rain and how much she hates umbrellas. It’s that you saved her shoe and she’s a crazy flirtatious cutie who created. And then you dread that one thought without her what would you do. It’s something special and it’s because of you.


t i r i p s t i r i E p E s R T e E th E R the T // POEM Cassandra Tolentino

Day after day, a young village boy abandoned his chores to visit the forest. Sunlight kissing only the canopy, the forest was dark grey but green as ever with the many leaves. A tree spirit watched him, spoke to him, answered the child’s questions. Over time, they had become friends. One day, late winter, the boy ventured into the forest only to find a stump. Glum, he returned home late and was scolded by his father. “My child, do not give up your chores!” He commanded. “Now, help me out with the firewood. We have a whole tree to disassemble.” The boy took an axe, but stopped. He remembered the tree, and in death, it remembered him.


Organic on organic - Kevin Eubanks - Mixed Medium

AWAKE // POEM Bria Boykin

By no means have I ever felt more alive. Jersey. Just the word so entrancing, Like a mere man casting his final hook in me. The sound of buzzing cars passing you like dragonflies, Racing to the finest nectar in town. How no matter what time of year, the weather is always just right. Liveliness is a state law; every moment. Is the new most amazing time of your life. Walking into my grandfather’s house, the smell Of home cooked meals giving me high-fives. Nothing unusual, but I know I’ll never adore food in the way I do his.

Ryan McGuire - Digital Photography

Households with basements and furniture from the 60’s, Like you see in the movies, and as if time were never ending. A sense of home placed within my heart, That appears only when I’m here. The sensation of security caressing My arms as if I were a ripe apple being stroked Right before the first bite. The parks full of jubilant ankle biters, Only grasping the here and now, The light-post lit streets in the night bustling with party-goers, The grey yet heavenly spring afternoons, The belief I receive that doubt Doesn’t exist and nothing will go wrong. ‘Cause this is it, everlastingly, the safest of havens. Jersey.




Bailey, Connor- 22 Yanckello, Sadie - 22


Boykin, Bria - 39 Bray, Rachel - 11 Flanders, Truman - 23 Kahn, Bibi - 23 Lopez, Triger - 13 Mastrocola, Chelsea - 23 Norman, Payton - 18 Perez, Carlos - 16, 35 Robillard, Mirysa - 10 Rodriguez, Aaron - 36 - 37 Schwarz, Taylor -15 Secor, Krystal - 14 Stevens, David - 21 Tolentino, Cassandra - 38 Torres, Sadie - 12 Van Ravenswaay, Gabrielle - 19 Williams, Janie - 20

SHORT STORIES Flachner, Jessica - 32 Juliano, Amanda - 8



Smith, Jake - 17 Ray, Tiffany - 34


MIXED MEDIUM Baker, Elizabeth- 25 Caruthers, Nick - 12 Eubanks, Kevin - 38 Ghali, Miranda - 25 Harmon, Miranda - 24 Hayes, Casey - 22 Lawn, Callisa - 9, 16 Nungesser, Haley - 15 Perez, Carlos - 16

PHOTOGRAPHY Bogan, Alex - 30 Braswell, Caitlyn - 36, 32 Brown, Emily - 21 Carey, Angiee - 31 Compbell, Cora - 27 Crowthers, Desiree - 34 Eubanks, Kevin - 35 Greene, Aaron - 31 Harmon, Miranda - 5, 26

Howeller, Madie - 26 James, Simone - 30 Kranz, Tova - 20 Manning, Erika - 27 Maxon, Ryan - 31 McCarthy, Carly - 10 McGuire, Ryan - 18, 39 McGloin, Shannon - 13 Mitchell, Emmalie - 26 Potchen, Joe - 30 Wakas, Abby - 14


Baker, Colin - 29 Blair, Emily - 29 Carroll, Ben - 17 Carroll, Liz - 19 Reeve, Jordan - 28 Ridenbaugh, Ryan - 28 Rivera-Penaloza, Lilliana - 29 Squire, Edward - 28


Casavant, Morgan - 24 Hayes, Casey - 11 Laschance, Brittany - 24 Wood, Cayman - 25

Arts Unleashed: FUSE Literary Magazine 2010 was produced on Apple Macintosh G5 computers. All spreads were designed using Adobe Indesign CS3. Adobe Photoshop CS3 was used to edit all art work. Titles are set in Helevetica Neue Condensed Black and Helevetica Neue UltraLight size 68 and size 55 respectively. All body text is set in Baskerville, size 11. Art credits are set in Helevetica Neue size 9 font. FUSE was printed by Lawton Printers of Orlando, Florida. The cover is 80# gloss cover and the inside pages are 80# gloss text.


Submissions for the next volume of Arts Unleashed will begin in Fall 2010. All forms of art and literature will be accepted. If you have any questions please contact us in room 5-020.

COPYRIGHT 2010 by Arts Unleashed, a publication of Oviedo High School. The views expressed in Arts Unleashed do not necessarily reflect those of the Arts Unleashed staff at Oviedo High School. After first publication, all rights revert to the author/artist.

Arts Unleashed - Literary Magazine, Volume 1  

Oviedo High School's Literary Magazine - Arts Unleashed. This is first volume of Arts Unleashed and includes the finest art/literature Ovied...