Apotheosis Literary Magazine Spring 2024

SPRING 24 EDITION

ELEMENTAL

lindbergh high school

Editor’s Note

The Spring 2024 theme for Apotheosis, Elemental, is an acknowledgment to the renewal spring brings through the elements. Water is a powerful source of life; Earth allows for growth; Fire leaves a blank slate to work from; Air cleanses our lungs and our spirits. The end of the school year is like an individual rebirth. When summer comes students are given life. The year restarts and they can move forward, growing into themselves and their future.

Elemental demonstrates the student body’s renewal in the spring semester and what they have grown into throughout the school year. Apotheosis has also grown through the year, and our personal rebirth has brought us to heights we never could have imagined. Our members have proven their dedication to the publication through their effort in learning design, collecting and curating submissions, working together, and finding their voice.

I hope that you enjoy this magazine as much as we enjoyed creating it. Thank you for supporting the creative minds of Lindbergh High School and a girl with a dream of sharing art with the world.

Lydia Hines Editor-in-chief

Apotheosis Members

Carrie Rapp club sponsor

Mary Ha senior

Em Aguiñaga senior

Divya Jones senior

Karen Bose junior

Lavia Raof junior

Lindsey Pham junior

Lydia Hines editior- in-chief senior

Kairi Rader junior

Simon Mowrey junior

Paige Andre sophomore

Sylvia Hines sophomore

Cooper Brakefield sophomore

A R T H A R T H

Sitting in the Rain

Mary-Destiny Russel freshman digital

Oscar the happy raccoon

Heidi Frank freshman graphite

Antonio Castello sophomore scratchboard

Jordan Datus senior

You Stay

I can't help but sit and stare at your dirty

Blonde hair that picks up the light watch

As the tree line starts to bite away at the Sun but your light never fades it sits softly

As the night turns back into day.

I Leave

I fell in love with your pale white skin

Thick hair running up and down your Back

Golden like the sun that rises with you

Intimidating aura that follows leaving Marks

Addicting smile leaving me to come

Hate to have you feeling like you are Left

page # 4

Scarlet Mahne senior college growth

they love me, they love me not Jordan Datus senior

Your skin smells like daisies and can be picked apart like one too, seeing if they love you or not. Rough fingers bruise your delicate petals with every too-tight squeeze. They give on accident or on purpose is something you will never be gived.

Mark Tendai senior digital photography

Growth

Em Aguinaga senior ceramics

Romeo and Juliet’s Afterlife

Thomas Duong sophomore digital photography

Gunner McRoy freshman

digital photography

e Lydia Hines senior

I listen to my friends as they laugh their voices carrying up the stairs from the basement and suddenly my mom is shouting down at us that we are being too loud, but that only makes us laugh harder.

I hear doors slam shut and thudding footsteps along the wood floor beneath me the smell of spices wafting up up up from the kitchen and then my parents are talking, sharing their days and they call me down for dinner before sharing a kiss.

I see a white–no it’s pearlescent!–car pull up and then I'm running down the stairs and meeting him with a hug so tight that I fear I may kill him but that would be worth it because I’m holding him tight

I feel warm in a big house with my whole family noisy around me with glasses full of eggnog and faces stuffed with those cookies with Hershey’s kisses stuck in the center or the ones filled with Nutella or the ones with sprinkles we decorated together just two days before.

I know that they love me just as I love them and that keeps me going each day when I fear I may have nothing I think of them and instead, remember I have it all.

F I R E F I R E F I R E

Ryan Sparkman Hebert

All Kosher

grade 11

acrylic and digital

Mary Ha

senior

acrylic

page #16

U n d e r Y o u r C a r e U n d e r Y o u r C a r e

Keira Short senior metalwork

e t a l f l

Ella Besar

junior digital art and poetry

Our 4 Horses

Have days prior begun, without any sun?

Have the flames that scream, always been seen?

Has the hunger that plagues, been here for days?

When those who lie in the street, are seen as nothing but meat.

When the famine arose, to take hopes notion.

That nothing like this would go without devotion.

Alas, we think, as our numbers shrink.

And you blink to find, there is no one left alive.

Our 4 Horses (cont’d)

Ella Besar junior digital and poetry

The war blazes, as does our land.

The heat grows unbearable, grass is desert sand.

For when we seek out vengeance, for the fallen who sought,

To find honor in battle, or is it for glory you fought?

She was once awake, with her lips oh so sweet

But now there she lies, as pale as her sheet

There is not much to do, but stand by and weep

It is painful, no? To be the last one to breathe

Only for a cough to rise, out from your throat.

This pestilence flies, as do the bugs on our window

Eyes black as sin, with wings white as snow

Is this beauty or punishment?

Your mind begins to wander

And over that cliff, your body plunged

a s s e s M a s s e s

L o s t i n T h e M

Lydia Hines senior oil pastel

B r i t t l e B r i t t l e

Lydia Hines

Senior

You tell me there is no way I’m not afraid of death

Say that there must be

Something else

That the world will continue for you

That you’ll be infinite Immortal.

You tell me there is no way I’m not afraid of death

I tell you only those afraid to die want to be Immortal

And I’m not afraid Should I be?

With death’s nothingness and Uncertainty

Is it black and cold?

Who knows, I don’t care.

You tell me there is no way I’m not afraid of death

But I just want to live

Why should I fear death if I’m living?

Just enjoy the now instead of searching for Immortality.

Live; enjoy the world

Live; love people

Live; create

Live; live

Die; no regrets A r e Y o u A f r a i d t o D i e ? A r e Y o u A f r a i d t o D i e ? 24

I fought the Law (Chapter 2)

I It was a moonless night in Saint’s City. The heat was in the high eighties even in pitch dark, made worse by the pouring rain that thickened the air with swampy steam like a freshly made soup with a smoggy aroma. Not the best night for lowly street cretin to commit high thievery, at least. So, any onlooker, seeing the figure leaned against a wall under an awning in the rain, may have felt a bit of confusion, some apprehension. Some might feel bad for him. But he was no petty thief, and he needed no sympathy. It was a private investigator who stood in front of a barber’s shop that night, obscured by the rain and shrouded in shadow, so still he could melt into the scenery. He watched a hovercar pull over on the other side of the road right behind his Crown Vic. The newcomer would have to walk through the shower, just as the PI had minutes earlier. The PI had organized a secret meeting with the mayor of this rotten town, a jasper by the name of Peralta. A screwball for sure, in the PI’s opinion. He’d only been mayor for a month and by all accounts

done nothing but be a doormat for the city’s corporate elite.

The PI watched the car door slide open and a man emerged, adjusting his hat. Neman Peralta, pudgiest politician this side of the Rockies. The PI didn’t move when Peralta waddled towards the barber’s shop, no doubt going as fast as his legs could take him, until the mayor, now drenched in water, found the safety of the awning and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. It didn’t matter that the wall was wet because the gray suit Peralta wore was drenched already.

“Jack Sterling,” said the PI, with a nod in Peralta’s direction.

“Neman Peralta.” Peralta extended his hand for a moment, and after a second, Sterling took it. They shook. “Pleasure to meet you,” the mayor said in a wavering voice. “Your business been booming in this time of turmoil?”

“I talk business and nothin’ else,” Sterling said simply.

Vincent Springfield senior

The mayor doesn’t catch the message. “There’s a lot of trouble in this city to fix. I’m sure you know how it is.” He pauses to extract a small metal case from his coat. Getting no response, he continued. “Things happen. It’s why I wanted to talk to you. Being direct and to the point is the key to success around here.”

Sterling turned his head and studied the man for a moment. The mayor of Saint’s City was clutching a cigar with three brutish fingers, ogling a lady across the street who was struggling to get an umbrella open. A faint smile was set in the man’s face. He had an air of condescension and arrogance, which wasn’t unusual. The same could have been said for many of Saint’s City’s politicians. The curious part was that Mayor Neman Peralta, two months from an election where he was trailing in the polls by 34%, looked confident in his position.

Sterling

looked back at the street. “So. What’s the biz?”

“It’s Mayor Vance, may he rest in peace. The police tell me he died of a heart implant failure, but something ain’t right. I just want you to figure out the circumstances of his death.”

Sterling nodded. “Got any clue of where to start?”

“They said he died at his riverside home in Vorasprings, but I don’t even know if that’s true.” Peralta shrugged. “Your services cost, Sterling. If I knew you needed me to do the work I wouldn’t have called.” Sterling offered nothing but a raised eyebrow.

“Well,” Peralta hesitated. “I don’t know specifics myself, but I know the name of a badge who worked on a similar case a month ago. PD says her case and Vance’s aren’t related. I don’t know, though. I figure they might have a clue.” He coughed. Another nod from Sterling. “Who?” Peralta reached into his jacket and handed over a business card. It is now Peralta’s turn to study Sterling, who, after pocketing the card, resumed surveying the street with a practiced eye.

Sterling was a man who carried himself with a sense of selfimportance that Peralta was familiar with from many a federal agent and police captain - whether justified or not. Sterling’s face was a mask of neutrality - but perhaps a carefully constructed neutrality, the kind where you know there are thoughts racing behind the mask, but don’t exactly know what those thoughts are. Or perhaps it was true neutrality. There was, after all, a job to be done. A case with a side of politics, agendas, and manipulation, a game in which Sterling was no doubt familiar. Peralta wasn’t sure, but he was leaning towards the formeralthough he wondered if that guess was based on his own biases or if he could truly see into Jack Sterling’s very being.

Sterling took a moment to answer.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Not much.” Peralta put his hand on Sterling’s shoulder. “Your detective will know more.”

Sterling shrugged the hand off.

“I’ll be in touch.”

It was a moonless night in Saint’s City, one uniquely free of ne'er-dowells thanks to a choking layer of steam in the air and rain that came down with vengeance enough to conceal Sterling’s exit. As he started his car, he heard the first crack of thunder of the nightor was that the guttural roar of his car’s engine?

He decided that going home would be the wisest course of action. The Crown Vic pulled away from the curb, and Jack Sterling was gone.

Sylvia Dumonceaux

W A T E R W A T E R

Hear the Hear the

Mary Ha senior

When the sun met the horizon, a young boy would wander through the wooden thicket behind his family’s farm into the empty colorless seaside. Leaving his toes cold and imprinted like a piece of honeycomb, he would run barefooted into the fine-pebbled shore. He would also collect interestingshaped pebbles in different shades of copper and blue. His frame was so thin, it was as though sheets of light could be seen through his translucent, hide-like skin. As he opened his chest out towards the ocean, the aroma of the salty waters felt almost nourishing in his hollowed stomach. The child found peace at the beach, for he could feel time pass as the sun descended deeper into the sea and the moon made the waves sparkle if one were to look at them at the proper angle. However, he could not stay outside to play for long. His mother warned him that once night fell it was not safe to explore beyond the outskirts

of the farm. She feared she would lose her beloved son to prowling wolves, poisonous greenery, or wandering suspicious travelers.

In spite of his mother’s cautionary tales, the courageous, cocky boy continued his adventures to the sea. He wanted to learn how to swim, in order to explore what was beyond his family’s small farm because it seemed to be too small for him now.

He wanted to be like the sun and see everything that laid beyond the horizon.

His family worked diligently at the farm, so there was constantly something to be sowed, fed, or, his least favorite, cleaned. From dawn to dusk, the boy’s father was constantly tending to the weeping crops. When the boy watched his father work in the field, the child asked why he was placing crumbled pebbles into the

Sea Sea

One evening, the last rays of the sun poked through the wisping leaves of the thicket, catching the ground. His father told him they were seeds. And they should grow food for them to eat, but something was wrong with the crops. In spite of this, the optimistic child picked through his pocket for the prettiest pebble from the shore he found that day. He gently cupped his hands to scoop out a small hole to plant the glassy, reddish-orange stone with the hopes of it growing into a beautiful tree with his favorite foods.

One day, the child accompanied his mother to the market, which was indeed beyond the outskirts of the farm, but she said that it should be safe for him to come along. The sun soared its highest to watch the market-goers shop about for whatever it was they could scavenge. She firmly grasped her precious son’s fragile hand with a sense of tenderness, in fear of the inevitable for her fragile boy. However, he felt agitated, his body felt as if it was being dangled above the dirty, beaten ground from his mother's

The town square was a cacophony of hysteria, unrecognizable to their common marketplace. The boy seemed to find City Hall to be quite popular among the passionate townspeople. The mother and son attempted to squirm their way to the nearest food stand through the enraged demonstrators filled with pure discord and hostility encircling the grand hall. As the two find the stand, there was nothing left for them to buy. Every piece of produce was swept from the market. Not a single crumb was to be seen. They returned to the farm empty-handed and disheartened.

The family underwent another night with hardly anything that could have sufficed as edible at their farm. Crops remained as crumbled pebbles in the ground and the market was still a battleground for bickering and yelling.

1 grip. He jerked his hand from hers and held onto her skirt instead. The skirt extended to her ankles and felt rough and sooted, but he did not mind. This was a safe distance for him, not too close, but close enough to call for her.

eye of the young boy. The child wandered into the dense trees beyond the outskirts to the water once again. The salt smelled more refreshing than ever as he walked further from the shore into the sea. He could feel each grain of sand graze his purpled shins and the salty water lightly stinging his splitters and scrapes under his feet, but he advanced toward the sunlight.

Shortly, the tiny embers began to sizzle out into the navy and the boy was nearly consumed in it. As soon as the spell broke, he realized he needed to return home, return to his family. He frantically tip-toed through the sand back to land, yet each step was harder than the last. The sea began to reel him into the tight grasp of the never-ending tide and he could no longer maintain his balance. His limbs soon went numb.

The harsh water began to freeze each nerve and climbed further up his neck.

His breathing shortened, brisk and sharp. He could not continue back to shore. Water was the only sound his ear could take in, however, there were faint yells back at shore.

His lungs were truly filled with sea salt.

The parents returned from the beach enduring an unforgettable, agonizing memory. His mother collected the boy’s various finds from his adventures, which consisted of uniquely shaped rocks and pebbles, withered flower petals, and a few blades of grass that had been loosely bunched into a rope. She gingerly placed the miscellaneous items into a modest wooden trunk along with her sooted skirts, frayed blouses, and nightgown. His father hauled their luggage into a small carriage and both set on their voyage to a new sustainable home.

Along their journey, the sky was the only source of guidance for the wandering couple. Under the hottest beams of the sun, they still held their hands to the closest river. Even on the darkest of nights, the moon would shine on the path away from the prowling wolves and poisonous greenery. In moments of hopelessness, the stars gave them a glimmer in their eyes. Through the dirt-paved roads lined with white flowers, their journey seemed to be never-ending, but their dear son would oversee everything that laid beyond the horizon for them.

A i d a n ' s S t i n g r a y A i d a n ' s S t i n g r a y

Sadak Alex Keating senior

Thick red sand made of sharp stone, Dug under nails and into the bone.

Muscles tired, torn and stretched, In my soul, determination is etched.

Hand over hand, Across the sand.

A goal so clear, That's far from near.

Crystal clear water, Worth all of the flawter.

Capable of everything, More powerful than a king.

Thick red sand made of sharp stone, Dug under nails and into the bone. Mind racing a thousand miles, Making a way through tedious trials.

Light shines down, A glowing crown.

A top a large mountain, Lays a small fountain

Teeth gritted hard, A body scarred.

Lucy Becker junior digital

W a t e r W o r k s W a t e r W o r k s

gouache

Stella Ortworth soph

Yongqing Fang

Hayden Schoemehl sophomore gouache

Misdirection Misdirection

Divya Jones senior acrylic

Endure Endure

Louisa Farinella junior

The tide recedes and I am a little shell, swept in and spit out

I am not insignificant but I am pulled swiftly here and there

The ocean is not forgiving

And despite my size and shape I am strong, I do not break in the surf I do not crumble under stomping feet

I persevere like the dying fish and withering coral

And like the coral, my color wears down

Sometimes I wonder if it is easier to be a soft mussel or dainty like seaweed I would not tumble against sharp broken carapaces or be pulled through coarse grains of sand I would drift and sway, bend but not break

Maybe that is what I am, or maybe I am the tide, I am the force pushing and pulling Like an artists hands through clay, shaping and molding with no consequence Mindless and full, deep and shallow, sharp and swift, hard and fast

But alas, perhapes fortuitously, I am the shell

Always, forever enduring

mountain golem

Zoe Colucci sophomore digital

Makayla Nguyen sophomore digital

s t a l T i d e

c r y s t a l

c r y

i d e

Wheels with

in wheels

A I R A I R A I R

S t a r r y S u n s e t T h e S t a r r y S u n s e t

T h e

Heidi Frank freshman acrylic

Distance from me

Jordan Datus

senior

Mark Tendai senior

digital photography

Then, in their arms, she became everything she wished to be, Something distant from herself. Being intertwined with someone else, made her forget about Herself.

Even if it was only for a second or an hour. Nothing could chase that high of not feeling, like yourself.

Prancing

Anonymous freshman Digital

Christian Matrisotto sophomore ink pen

Missouri Countryside Sebastian Glick junior

digital photography

Rediscovering Aspiration

Kairi Rader

junior colored pencil

Moonlight

Alex Keating

senior pixel art

Somber Sunrise

A l l e y w a y A l l e y w a y

Tri Huynh sophomore

Spring Magic

Yuhan Wu freshman acrylic

Jordan Datus

senior

Light And

Brittle Soft

Jordan Datus senior

Distancefrom me

Then, in their arms, she became everything she wished to be, Something distant from herself. Being intertwined with someone else, made her forget about Herself.

Even if it was only for a second or an hour. Nothing could chase that high of not feeling, like yourself.

The 4 elements are important, but water is the only reason there is life on this planet at all, life can be found all around any water, from plants to birds, even to the animals that burrow into the sand. Its strong tides, with powerful currents that can carry anything throughout the world, it is one of the most powerful, and beautiful things on this planet."

Sebastian Rosas junior

digital photography and writing

Spring Night Cube

Links Cube

Pastel Spectrum

Hunter Portell

Ice dragon

Apotheosis would like to thank Mrs. Rapp for hosting Apotheosis during the 2023-2024 school year. Thank you to Ms. Litzsinger for agreeing to continue Apotheosis next year. Thank you to Lindbergh Schools for letting us exist and to the print shop for printing us. Thank you to all the Art and English teachers who helped us gather submissions. And last, but not least, thank you to all of the students who submitted work and made this magazine possible. Thank you.

This version of Apotheosis Lindbergh Arts Magazine was published in April 2024 by the students and staff of Lindbergh High School. The magazine was designed by the staff using Canva. The headline fonts are set in Vintage Modern. Subtitles and body copy are set in Rosario. Magazines were printed by the Lindbergh Print Shop. All attempts were made to accurately list names, titles, and represented written pieces. Any error is unintentional. All works of visual art and written pieces are used with permission.

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