The Aussie - March 2024

Masthead

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Riatta Fields

FEATURES EDITOR

Jack Yioutas

NEWS EDITORS

Mattie O’Brien & Jack Bhattacharyya

SPORTS NEWSLETTER EDITOR

Amrith Chandra

FICTION & POETRY EDITOR

Kanik Wilton-Green

COLUMNISTS

Kanik Wilton-Green & Jack Yioutas

ARTS EDITOR

Katelyn Calderon

LAYOUT EDITOR

Riatta Fields

FACULTY ADVISOR

Graeme Mullen

EDITOR’S NOTE

Riatta Fields

Hey everyone, Welcome to the latest edition of The Aussie! We're thrilled to share with you an eclectic mix of stories and artwork.

From staple features that you know and love to stories from new students, we've got something for every student in these pages.

A huge shoutout to all the students, teachers, and staff who contributed their time and energy to make this issue possible. Your passion and dedication truly help with every page.

So, kick back, relax, and enjoy the ride as we take you on a journey through AESA's creativity. Happy reading!

HISTORIA LITTERATUM #8

THE BRITISH PICKLE MERCHANT WHO BECAME AN ISLAMIC KING

Jack Yioutas

As far as origin stories are concerned, selling pickles is not exactly a sign of future greatness. It’s not (unless you were born in London in 1888) and your name is Betram William Sheldrake. Betram, or “Bertie” (yes, Bertie) was born to George Sheldrake, a condiment manufacturer from southeast London. He was raised either Catholic or Anglican (depending on a source) but it is unclear how devoted he was in his youth.

Despite ruling over millions of Muslim subjects, there was only a small Muslim population in the British Empire’s capital of London. Because of this, his first contact with the Islamic faith was through the writings of Charles Bradlaugh. Bradlaugh was an Atheist, but his writings on Islam caused Betram to convert to Islam at the age of sixteen. He took his Shahada (profession of faith) at sixteen and changed his name to Khalid (Arabic for the Sword of Allah, in reference to a great early Islamic general who never lost a battle) which is definitely an upgrade from Bertie.

Khalid Sheldrake’s conversion strained his relationship with his family, particularly his father, but he still entered into the family trade, working as a pickle merchant. Although his being a pickle merchant is the most memed part of his life, it was, in reality, a brief phase before moving to his career in journalism. He was also an active Muslim networker in London, and at the age of eighteen, only two years after his conversion, he founded the Young England Islamic Society.

Khalid first rose to some level of prominence in the journalistic world by making controversial (and largely unsubstantiated) historical claims, including saying that Napoleon Bonaparte considered converting to Islam. Khalid was already enlisted in the British military before World War One but was not allowed

to serve on the front lines because English converts to Islam were deemed “morally and politically undesirable” and “English Muhammadan crank[s].”

In 1917, at age 29, Khalid married the 20-year-old Victoria Gilbert (some sources say her original name was Sybil, not Victoria), who converted to Islam and took the name Ghazia. Khalid moved his family around several times but never strayed outside the greater London area. In 1922, they had their first son, Rashid, and two Muslim clerics came to whisper the Azan (call to prayer) into the newborn’s ear, their turbans generating some interest in the 1920s London neighborhood. Their other son, Kamal, was born in 1926.

During this time, Khalid became a leader in the small English Muslim community, founding the journal Britain and India and the Muslim News Journal, as well as serving as the editor of a monthly magazine called the Minaret (in reference to the towers where the Azan is called from). Sheldrake helped found Fazl Mosque in Southfield and founded two smaller mosques in southeast London. But you don’t care about that. You want to know how a pickle merchant became an Islamic king.

Khalid began to be seen as the leader of all Muslims in Britain, being given the title Sheik of the British Muslims, even though no such title existed. Khalid’s fame reached beyond the shores of Great Britain into the far-off land of East Turkestan (modern-day Chinese Xinjiang, of ethnic cleansing fame). In 1939, envoys from the newly proclaimed Islamic Republic of East Turkestan traveled to Khalid’s house in London and asked him to become King of Islamestan.

By 1934, he and his wife had reached Beijing, where he was introduced as His Majesty King Khalid of Islamestan (they changed the name of the country). The British press back home mocked him as the “Pickle King of Tartary.” None of the actual relevant geopolitical events of the region were reported. Later that year, King Khalid and Queen Ghazia headed to Hyderabad, in the British Raj, where Khalid Sheldrake announced that he would not be the pawn of any political game and would proceed to his kingdom. Unfortunately for him and history memes (that probably exist), he never made it to his kingdom; instead, he returned to England, where he died in 1947. There were no obituaries and no press reports. The Islamic convert British-East Turkestani Pickle King died a nobody. Thus ending the Epoch of King Khalid Sheldrake.

Artwork by Dylan MacDonald

VALENTINE'S DAY

Adva Hurwitz

I love the cute, strategically-picked outfit.

I love the pinks and the reds.

I love the symbols of love all around.

The reds will melt you until you can’t feel anything–

Until everything disappears around you.

It feels as if everyone is brought together,

But the lack of love is cold;

Cold enough to fix the ice caps and the polar bears.

I see all around the chocolates and the hugs,

But just once, I want to be asked that question.

Only five words,

But it would make the coldest of days as warm as the red hearts that fill the walls.

It would make the symbols of love not feel like just a hope or wish but a reality that it truly exists.

I know I won’t hear these five words this year or the next,

So I will sit and watch in my perfect pink outfit,

As each of my friends gets asked,

Each chocolate box gets given.

Until I freeze, and everyone melts around me.

Artwork by Ella Thomas

FERRIS WHEEL

Ines Jimenez

Ifelt the emptiness beneath me, the air shaking my body violently. In the distance, I could see the Ferris wheel’s cabin, so unreachable, so distant. I felt helplessness take over my body, but it was soon replaced by a much more intense feeling. The pain. The impact against the ground, each pebble digging into my skin, tearing it apart. I felt my body panic. I was in shock. The voices were distant; I was trying to focus but couldn’t. I could not. And then everything became blurry.

I sat up in bed with a jolt. My breathing was ragged, and my hands were sweaty. The same nightmare was haunting me again, the one that kept me awake. I turned on the light. I had only been awake for a few minutes when I heard the song of a little bird. I turned to the window to see him. It had settled down next to me and was looking at me with dark, bright eyes full of mystery. He was one of those birds that fly in flocks, and although I never knew why he didn’t fly in a group, you could tell we had become friends. In fact, I had even given him a name, Tweety, because it was the closest thing to the sounds he made.

I put on my slippers and went down to the kitchen. I got him something he could eat, and left the house. Lately, when I have that nightmare, I go for a walk around the amusement park my parents own. I grew up here, so I know it like the back of my hand.

In the daytime, you can hear the bustle of children, the screams of fear coming from the roller coasters, and the aroma of popcorn permeating the grounds. I closed the door softly to avoid waking my parents and started walking. It was a warm summer night, and a light breeze enveloped the air. I could hear the little animals singing, and the branches of the trees danced softly in the wind. After a long time, I stopped at a wall where there were some new posters.

What I read left me puzzled. According to the brochure, there was a ghost inhabiting the amusement park. Fear gripped my body, and I felt the need to run. Somehow, getting away from the truth made me think it was a lie, and I felt safe. I have always been afraid of ghosts, maybe because they are related to death or because they are unknown. What I do know is that they are invisible, and that makes my skin crawl. I tried hard to push those thoughts out of my head.

After a while, I ran into the ticket agent, who, apparently, had not yet left. I asked her about the rumors of the ghost but got no answer. Confused, I watched her as she walked away, but then I realized that she had headphones on and probably wasn’t hearing me.

I set off again, this time towards the Ferris wheel. When I got there, I started hearing strange, paranormal-like noises. I saw a light in the distance, so I hid behind a bush, terrified. The light was getting closer and closer, and with it, my nerves increased. Could it be the ghost? But my doubts were resolved as soon as a security guard appeared behind the light. I took a breath of air with so much tension I had forgotten to breathe.

Relieved, I came out of my hiding place to greet him.

“Good evening,” I said, standing next to him.

But he didn’t even stop to look at me. He kept walking as if I wasn’t there. What’s wrong with people?

I headed for the Ferris wheel. I entered the control booth and started that huge wheel. I got on and waited patiently to get to the top. I could see more and more of the sky, and when I reached the top, the views left me speechless. The stars, the moon, the sky of that intense dark color– it was shocking, beautiful. Ever since I was a little girl, I have loved to look at that immense ceiling of shining stars. I heard a light flutter, and my little bird, Tweety, landed on my shoulder. I didn’t know if he could appreciate it, but he seemed to like the stars. I noticed a slight rattle, and we began to descend. When I landed, I turned off the Ferris wheel and went to the cafeteria. After a couple of hours of walking, I got hungry.

When I arrived, I opened the door and stepped inside. There were two employees who were picking up and cleaning up. Strange, there are not usually people here at this hour. I figured they must have a lot of work to do.

I greeted them and waited for their response. But, again, no one answered me. They kept talking, so I went on with my business. I went to the bar and helped myself to a sandwich. I walked to a table to eat it quietly. But halfway there,

I tripped and dropped my plate. The two men shouted and ran away. I didn’t understand anything.

In the rush, they had dropped a newspaper. I picked it up and began to read the headline. It was five years old, but it made my knees start to shake. I felt my heart skip a beat. I wanted to believe it was a lie, a terrible nightmare, but I couldn’t run away from the truth. I read it again.

“The daughter of the amusement park owners dies in a tragic accident on the Ferris wheel.” And a million doubts flooded my mind.

Artwork by Ella Thomas

Artwork by Ella Crouch

ROBERT HANSSEN

Dillon Kirchner

Folks, if there’s anything worse than a Soviet spy, it’s a Soviet-American-Russian spy. Today, we’ll be discussing the Soviet-American-Russian spy, the one and only the great Robert Hanssen. Before any of you True Crime and Law and Order fans, and whatnot, say that I’m endorsing a serial killer, let me put it out there that it’s Robert Hansen. I’m not talking about Robert Hansen, I’m talking about Robert Hanssen, a Soviet-American hero who proudly served two countries at war at the same time.

Robert Hanssen was born in 1944 in the holy land, where all of time and life originated, Chicago, Illinois. He graduated from William Howard Taft High School, and if you recall, around a year ago, I said it twice, and I’ll say it again: William Howard Taft is a killer robot who is still out there hiding, and we need to commence an operation to hunt him down, a manhunt such as the manhunt for Saddam Hussein, or such as the manhunt for Robert Hanssen- oh wait, I just spoiled the story.

Forget all of that up there. What you need to know is that Hanssen got a degree in chemistry at Knox College, except that’s not important at all because he never used that degree. Instead, in 1976, he became an FBI agent. While being an FBI agent, he attended dental school for whatever reason, so he couldn’t choose between being a chemist, an FBI agent, or a dentist.

In 1979, he had to throw dentistry and chemistry out the window because the FBI assigned him to counterintelligence, where he spied on the Soviet Union. This is where things start to get juicy, and I don’t mean apple juice juicy. I mean Capri Sun juicy. A man grows, and as Hanssen grew, his boredom grew, so he approaches the Soviet Union and offered to sell them classified FBI documents. When doing this, he used the code name Ramon Garcia.

Henceforth, to honor Hanssen’s legacy, throughout the rest of the paper, I will refer to him as Ramon Garcia.

Ramon Garcia went on to sell thousands of documents, including the U.S. military’s strategic plans, in the event of a nuclear war. He also ratted out Dmitri Polyakov, a double agent posing as a Soviet military officer who gave information to the CIA, who, after the fact, was executed by the Soviets by getting shot in the back of the head.

With the execution of Polyakov, the FBI figured out they were dealing with a spy who snitched on Polyakov. To find the clown who sold out to the Soviet Union and got Polyakov killed, they began to investigate different agents of the FBI and CIA. Garcia knew he was done for. They were gonna find out that he sold all of those documents and that he snitched on Polyakov. But by sheer luck, before they got to him, the investigators discovered that a completely different agent, Aldrich Ames, was also selling information to the Soviet Union. Without investigating further, they assumed he was the one who turned Polyakov in, and Hannsen sat by as Ames received a life sentence for snitching on Polyakov. Essentially, Ramon Garcia, by complete accident, framed Aldrich Ames for getting a guy shot in the back of the head.

After being transferred in 1981 to Washington, DC, Garcia once again reached out to the Soviet Union. He offered to give more information but for a much higher price: $100,000. To prove he was for real, he name-dropped three more of their agents who were secretly giving information to the FBI: Boris Yuzhin, Valery Martynov, and Sergei Motorin. The Soviet Union did not give a rat’s rear about the list, though, because it turned out that Aldrich Ames had already name-dropped the exact same three agents. These agents had not been arrested yet however.

Eventually, Yuzhin was imprisoned, and Martynov and Motorin were shot in the back of the head. The FBI’s reaction to this was similar to their reaction to Polyakov’s execution. There was still a mole in the agency, and they needed to find it.

So this is what makes this all interesting. Earlier on, Ramon Garcia namedropped Dmitri Polyakov. The FBI blames Aldrich Ames for snitching, who may not have done it but just so happened to be a double agent. Similarly, it was Ames who name-dropped Yuzhin, Martynov, and Motorin, but the FBI does not blame Ames because they’ve been keeping a very, very, very close

eye on him, so when they find another mole, that mole may not have namedropped those three but will just so happen to be a double-agent, and if the investigation goes well, that double-agent will likely be Garcia for sending that letter with the names of the three agents. Garcia accidentally framed Ames for snitching, but now it’s Ames who will accidentally frame Garcia. It seemed like karma was finally about to catch up to Garcia, that is, until they revealed who would be investigating the matter.

The FBI announced that the agent tasked with finding the double-agent was the one, the only, Ramon Garcia. Ramon Garcia was tasked with investigating and finding himself, and he knew just how to handle it. You see, most people tasked with searching for themselves would likely just leave that task aside, as progressing through that search will only reveal it was you. But Garcia was not like most people; Garcia was a genius, a genius who could think outside the box. Not only would Garcia forge fake documents with false evidence relating to his investigation, but he’d also sell those fake documents to the USSR, saying they were real investigation documents.

This plan with the fake documents wasn’t always going to work, though, because the FBI surely was going to get pissed that no real progress was being made, so Garcia began some actual investigating to see if he was working alongside any other double agents that he could pin the blame on. One he came across was Felix Bloch, an FBI agent whose allegiance stood with the Soviets. Garcia chose to expose Bloch but thought he should inform the Soviets he was doing so.

When the Soviets got a message from Garcia saying he was going to expose Bloch for the fraud that he was. When Garcia sent this message, he thought the Soviets would be pleased since they were given a heads-up and that they would be given time to act. The Soviets, however, were, in fact, not pleased since one of their few assets in the U.S. was likely about to be arrested. Their hand was forced, and they cut all ties with Bloch, so when the investigation began, there was little evidence that there was any connection in the first place. With the FBI’s investigation into Bloch leading to a dead end, the FBI gave Garcia the stink eye. Garcia knew that if his investigations were to continue to lead to dead ends, it would be he who would be investigated.

In December of 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed, and out from the ashes rose the Russian Federation we know today. This was bad news for Garcia

because he was now out of a job, other than his actual job at the FBI, of course. Now, this left Garcia with two options: he could lay low and be a sad, boring FBI agent with a very poor salary of $65,000 per year, or he could risk it for the biscuit and go to the new Russian government and offer them his services.

The reason this was risky was because this new government was different from its predecessor in several ways. The main thing is that Russia, for now at least, did not want hostile relations with the US, and spying on them is something that kind of ignites hostile relations. Nevertheless, Garcia chose to offer his services despite the possible consequences, but this is Ramon Garcia; this is the man who accidentally framed Aldrich Ames; this is the man who forged fake documents for the FBI and then sold them to the communists! A man of this reputation (though this reputation wasn’t public, because if it was, then he’d be in jail) couldn’t just send a letter offering them his service, nor could he just give a quick phone call; he had to do something crazy. The madman that was Ramon Garcia chose to take himself to the Russian Embassy in Washington DC and personally offer his services, but they didn’t let him into the building.

Garcia continued to go through with his backup plan. He approached a random Russian officer outside of the embassy and told him he used to be a double agent and worked for the communists and asked if he recognized him. The officer, however, had no idea what he was talking about because he was literally just a security officer, how in the Super Bowl is he supposed to know what spies worked for the Soviet Union 11 months prior? Needless to say, this guard was creeped out, and he filed a complaint to the FBI.

Garcia continued to make a variety of slip-ups. The first was when he noticed the FBI’s servers were not secure and did not use NordVPN, so he hacked into one of their computers and left a note saying their cyber security was poor. That has got to be one of the stupidest things someone can do, and that’s coming from me, who’s writing this article at 3 am on the day of my environmental science exam. Needless to say, the FBI was not happy.

Then, Garcia got bored of the FBI, so he requested to be transferred to the National Counterintelligence Center, but then he was informed that he’d have to take a lie detector test in order to get in. This scared the mighty bejesus out of him, so he changed his mind and told them that he’d rather just stick with the FBI. Needless to say, that was a little worrying for both the FBI and the

Then, he accidentally smashed his personal computer with a chair, and when IT tried to fix it, they noticed he had password-cracking software installed. When approached about this, he claimed that he used it on only one occasion because he forgot the password to the HP color printer. If you ask me, with the known background this guy has, that’s the final straw, and they should’ve arrested him right then and there. For some reason, though, they believed him, but needless to say, he was what this new generation likes to call sus.

Lastly, in 2001, Garcia made contact with the Russians for one final time. He threw a bunch of classified documents into a mailbox, placed a white piece of tape over the mailbox as a signal to the Russians that the documents were in there, and then left. The FBI watched all of this as it happened, so after 20 years of bull crap and shenanigans, Ramon Garcia, now merely Robert Hanssen, was arrested. When arrested, Hanssen asked, “What took you so long?” He then took the coward’s way out and pleaded guilty. He is now dead.

Now if we rewind a bit, we see that Hanssen graduated college with a bachelor’s degree in Chemistry and attended dental school but never used what he learned from either of those. So, my young readers, the moral of the story is that you should not waste your time in college, and you should drop out of school right now and join the FBI to sell classified documents.

Artwork by Katherine Freeman

KANIK'S KOOL KIDS KONCERT KORNER

MR. LOVERMAN IN THE FLESH Kanik Wilton-Green

The past few months, I’ve been starved. The last concert I went to was on October 30 when I saw Moon Walker (great artist, by the way, check him out), and the only thing keeping me together was the knowledge that I would get to see Ricky Montgomery. As the day approached (the day being February 15, and by approach, I mean the month before), I was nervous because I’d made plans back in October to see him with my friend, but it had been a few months, and my friend STILL hadn’t gotten tickets. One of my friends from theatre (woah, propaganda, come see Cabaret) (if this edition is out in time) had talked about wanting to go to a concert together, so I invited them, and they got tickets. Quick PSA, if you agree to go to a concert, get tickets! If you don’t actually want to go to the concert, say that! Don’t just say you’ll go and not get tickets because that will make the person who invited you super mad at you, and also panicked because they don’t like going to shows alone! Cough, cough, Danny, cough, cough. Who said that? That’s crazy.

If you think you don’t know who Ricky Montgomery is, yes, you do. He’s an artist from Missouri whose debut album, Montgomery Ricky, came out in 2016. He also founded the indie band The Honeysticks. He blew up in 2020 thanks to TikTok latching onto two of his songs, “Mr. Loverman” and “Line Without a Hook.”

If you don’t recognize the names, look up the songs. If you don’t recognize it, then you have been living under a rock, and I cannot help you. In 2018 he released an EP with The Honeysticks titled The Honeysticks, and also an EP in 2022 called It’s 2016 Somewhere that I didn’t listen to. That same year, he released the Edits album which was just various Montgomery Ricky songs that had, you guessed it, been

edited. It featured songs like “Line Without a Hook (slow),” “Line Without a Hook (sped up),” and “Talk to You (no talking).” Last September, he released the Rick album, which addressed feelings of grief surrounding his father’s suicide, his childhood, and relationships. The sound of the album is similar to Montgomery Ricky in the sense that he’s an artist with a distinct style, but you can definitely hear how his writing style has grown and developed. My personal favorites off of this album were “Boy Toy,” “Type A,” and “Truth or Dare.”

I listen to a lot of obscure bands, or at least ones that don’t have a massive Austin fanbase that wants to go out and see them. Ricky Montgomery is not one of those. When I arrived at the venue, the line for the doors wrapped all the way around the building and into the street, and this was 15 minutes after the doors had opened at 7. My friend and I waited in line for half an hour, then finally made it inside. The opener, Noah Floersch, went on a few minutes later while we were in line for the merch table. If you think you don’t know who that is, you probably do. He wrote the song “Ghost of Chicago.” Listen to the first few seconds of it, and you’ll recognize it. He played approximately four songs that were pretty good, and I made it to the merch table and got a shirt. Then, approximately half an hour later, the man himself came out onstage to the song “Line Without a Hook.” It was a certifiable banger, and for the next hour, he continued to not disappoint. He played many songs from his latest album, a couple from Montgomery Ricky, and even an unreleased song titled “Unknown Phantom” that he taught the audience to sing along to so he could make a TikTok. Sadly, the opening night for my show (more Cabaret propaganda, you should totally come see it) was the next day, which was fantastic planning on my part, so I had to leave before the show ended. My friend recorded the final 22 minutes of the concert for me (which I have yet to watch), but the hour that I saw live was very fun.

THE SIREN'S CACOPHANY

Dylan MacDonald

The siren’s unassuageable demands wafted through the air, embodying the form of music notes only perceived by my perpetually deciphering eardrums. The melodies, rhythms, and rhymes tugged gently at my brain, pulling me this way and that, forcing my arms out in front of me. My hands, stiffly suspended in the air, tightly and ferociously gripped the ship-controlling wheel. The noise was like sweet sugar, unsustainable yet irresistible. My will bent, along with my arms, calmly guiding my ship askew. My men jumped, unable to wait any longer. In the hectic water, they swam toward the island, toward certain death. The voices grew to a crescendo, grabbing me by the throat and dragging me towards them. I also dove toward the ever-expansive ocean, needing to witness the voices’ embodiment. My pants snagged on the deck, my head hit the floor, and blood gushed from my wounded nostrils. With the sharp pang of pain and confusion came the strange, contradictory perception of clarity. I remembered the legends, the stories, the warnings. I lifted my head, now weighing a hundred pounds. From my vantage point, I saw headless bodies, bodiless heads, and the unmistakable splatters of red that signified death. I didn’t realize how close we had come to the siren’s encampment in the ocean, only about fifty feet from the closest nest, nestled in the obsidian rocks of the island. Above me, a spiraling figure flew gracefully but terribly. Its body was caked in dark feathers; its face was a misshapen hybrid between one of a bird and a vile, young woman. Its protruding, fleshy mouth, resembling the pointed beak of a hawk, opened and closed, emitting the controlling lyrics of the ancient melody. The dazed sensation that I was experiencing muffled their chorusing ditty with a highpitched ringing, presenting me with an intense, brain-numbing migraine.

The figure began descending, swooping and looping down, down, down, approaching me faster and faster. A scream lodged in my throat, persistently clogging

THE FORGOTTEN LOCKET

Riatta Fields

In the quiet town of Willowbrook, nestled deep in the heart of the countryside, there was a forgotten locket that held a tale of love, loss, and a touch of magic.

The story began in the late 1800s when a young woman named Isabella lived in a charming cottage on the outskirts of the town. Isabella was known for her striking beauty, but it was her compassionate heart and kindness that truly captured the attention of everyone she met.

my windpipe, the fear cutting off my oxygen flow. My dulled mind was screeching, “RUN! RUN! RUN!” but debilitating nausea was tying me down, sticking me in place, preparing me for an excruciating consumption. In front of me, two additional horrible sirens joined the growing cacophony. One plummeted toward me, slashing out, tearing away several layers of skin and flesh. A foot or two away from me landed a skin-toned blob, most likely the remnant of my left ear. Still descending, with increasing speed and momentum, the first siren collided with the other, throwing them both off-balance. One of the two entities’ massive, out-of-control wings came out of nowhere. Its black, crisp plumage hit me from the side, catapulting me off the boat. I landed hard, face down in the red-stained water, jolting me out of my dreary haze. The suppressed pain hit me immediately and sharply, leaving me drained and dying. With a final spurt of energy, I weakly paddled forward, escaping the madness behind me. I glanced back, analyzing my situation, noticing their black, lifeless eyes, narrowed and angry. They leaped into a pirouette, mouths leaking bloody, acidic drool. Like a perfectly launched arrow, they sliced through the air, their wings wide, their jaws set. I turned, reaching down into my gut, wrenching out my last dregs of quickly expiring energy, channeling it to my arms, my legs, and my mind. But the effort was in vain. It was soon spent, leaving me broken and overcome, ready to acknowledge defeat. I turned onto my back, prepared to die as a hero, facing my enemy, my conqueror, my victor, head-on. I pursed my lips, fighting to maintain consciousness.

One warm summer evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Isabella strolled along the meandering path through the nearby forest. As she walked, she met a mysterious old woman named Elara, who was picking herbs by the edge of the woods. Elara was dressed in a cloak of vibrant colors and wore an intricate locket around her neck.

The locket was no ordinary piece of jewelry; it had been passed down through generations of her family, each generation adding their own unique charm to it. Legend had it that it possessed the power to reveal one’s true destiny.

Circling above me, the malignant creatures sneered, enjoying my pain and suffering, when the third one evaporated into its own silhouette. Its contour appeared as a window, peaking into another reality displaying strange numerological characters and runes. The next siren then transformed, revealing more nonsensical mathematical formulas such as y=mx+b, E=mc2, and m=y2-y1/x2-x1. Soon, none of them remained, overpowered by those integers and written alphabetical ideograms. The world melted into hot, waxy darkness as it hypnotically spiraled round and round, slowly morphing into a starch-white piece of paper. This white parchment was interrupted by the harsh outlines of the numerical values.

“Tim,” Came a briskly accented voice.

The tone stimulated a form of shock in me, propelling my head up to look into the steely brown eyes of my teacher, Mrs. Smith.

I groaned when she gestured toward the dark, smudged blackboard onto which she had written an insurmountable problem.

“Solve it!” She said threateningly, almost as if there was a missing “or else” at the end of the statement.

My head cascaded, slamming down onto the desk in utter despair and anguish. At this moment, I would have done anything to be back in that ship, in that blood-stained water, or even in the sirens’ digestive tract.

Thomas

Artwork by Ella

Artwork by Ella Thomas

NATIONAL SCHOLASTIC AWARDS

Mattie O'Brien

Gold Key: Ella Thomas - 10th Grade

Duke Beauregard III is the name of this fine piece. Which was submitted by Ella Thomas this year for the National Scholastic Art Competition. Winning a golden key, Ella explains the inspiration behind this photograph. Ella was hanging out at home when she got spooked by a spider. She didn’t want to smoosh him so instead Ella captured him with a cup and paper and thought, “What a dapper-looking guy!” So she got out her camera and took some photos, and grew emotionally attached during the process. She gave him a name and bid him a bittersweet adieu. We are all proud of Ella for this accomplishment, and look forward to the amazing moments she will capture in the future.

Gold Key: Zadok Bendandi - 10th Grade

This Gold Key winning piece is named Omega 39 because I used 39 omega 3 egg cartons. This amazing mix of patterns was constructed by our one and only Zadok Bendandi. You can find eggs almost everywhere, and the most efficient packaging is the ubiquitous egg carton. Zadok likes to think of the saying “You are what you eat”, and so he thought it would be fitting if you were encased in what your food was once encased in. A clever idea and a fantastic result if I do say so myself. The pride our school must be feeling for having such a creative eye among us.

Silver Key: Ana Maria Pinto - 12th Grade

Two of Ana Maria’s submissions took a Silver key in this year’s Scholastic Art competition, The first photograph is named Night Illumination. She took this picture when walking around in a small town with her friends during the night when there was no one but them. It was very dark and the only thing illuminating the street was a very interesting vintage looking gas station. So Ana Maria took a picture of it! The second is called Pathway to Paradise, Ana explains that this might be my favorite picture, the beautiful sky accompanied by the pastel colored houses make a beautiful composition, creating a paradisiac image.

Honorable Mention: Moxie Skelton - 8th Grade

Moxie didn’t know what she was thinking when she named her submission “gecs in hatos”. If you ask her why or how she came up with this fitting title,“she does not know”. But who doesn’t like a gecko in a hat? The small spotted one is Milton, and the larger orange one is Lusie, Moxie’s twin sister leopard geckos, both a year old and already well accustomed to the fashion world. The photoshoot alone is every bit deserving of the Honourable Mention it received.

Honorable Mention: Ella Thomas - 10th Grade

This is The Effect of the Texas Drought, a literal description and the matching name of this piece. This only being one of her many honorable recognized pieces this year, Ella Thomas shows her artist eye once again. She took this photo on campus while the recent drought was still ongoing. You see, we have lots of cacti on campus and Ella was surprised to come back from summer break to see that even the cacti were struggling from the summer heat. Since they cacti are designed to withstand long periods without water naturally. At first, when Ella saw the dead cacti she couldn’t even recognize what she was looking at. Ella asked her art teacher, Ms.Villela, about it and she confirmed that it was a dead cactus. Ella goes on to state,”I think it’s ironic and really sad.”

Honorable Mention: Ella Thomas - 10th Grade

This digital photograph was taken on the AESA campus after this succulent caught the eye of one Ella Thomas. Another one of her honorable mention pieces that is just as beautiful as the rest of her work, from the natural lighting to the soft yet vibrant colors.Thanks to its complementary colors and eye-pleasing appearance. This photo caught the eyes of an artist along with the interest of the Scholastic judges.

Honorable Mention:

Ana Maria Pinto -

12th Grade

Ana Maria’s photography submissions A touch of Heaven, Above from Below, and Ending the Horizon were nominated for honorable mentions in this year’s Scholatic Art competition. Along with two more amazing snapshots called Sailor in the Distance and Window to life. Amazing work as usual from our school’s Ana Maria Pinto. Congratulations!

Honorable Mention: Ella Thomas - 10th Grade

Rain Palette is the final piece submitted by Ella Thomas . She was inspired when looking at a peel-and-stick window film at the back of her house. When sunlight shines through it makes rainbows throughout her family’s house. The prime time to see rainbows is sunset because the back of her house (and the back window) is facing west. It was during sunset that Ella spilled water on my table and some of the water landed on a random Ziploc bag with rainbows on it. Ella States that in the moment she thought, “What a neat coincidence” and took the photo.

Honorable Mention: Lyla Simmons - 9th Grade

Lyla likes shooting flowers because of how beautiful they are so effortlessly, it is just so much fun to shoot them. Lylatook “Drop of Lilac” when it was sprinkling because she thought it looked really cool how the water droplets were on the ends of the stringy “Petals.” And she shot “Repetitive” because of how the flowers were copies of each other and were in the shape of a ball almost.