The CLAW 2019

Volume III 2019 Cedar Creek School Ruston, Louisiana

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The CLAW, Volume 3, 2019 Principal: Andrew Yepson Faculty advisers: Jill Myers, Alison Amidon and Leeanne Bordelon Art instructors: Anna-Marie Weis and Buffy Walker Layout and design: Kasey Stringer Printing: Lapressco Cover art: Chloe Marcus, Alli Grace Maxwell, Lawson Lillo, Garrett Madden and Reagan Nguyen

The Cougar Literary, Art, and Writing Magazine (The CLAW) is modeled after its predecessor, Cougar Reflections, which showcased the work of Cedar Creek students for three decades under the direction of faculty advisor Pat Haworth. The original cover art for Cougar Reflections (above) was designed by Donnie Barmore.

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Poetry Nicholas Adams Tobie Bimle Luke Black Anna Claire Amidon Steven Brasuell Navy Coggins Ashton Barber Olivia Cuthbert Lauren Ensminger Akithma Ferdinandez Allison Freeman Landri Thomas Reagan Williams Marisa Chance Garrett Nobles Anna Houck Sky Dycus Catherine Hunt Brody Porter Johnston Lauren Menzina Jamie Palmer Alex McConnell Leyton Riley Avery Jane Frances Lewis Stout Kate Walker Heather Wilhite Kate Walker Hayes Bridges Kimmy Gill Mia Graham Lesley Osafo Adrianna Robbins Lindsay Osafo

Short Stories

Morgan McCready Lydia George Kate Myers Katelyn Taylor

Essays & Memoirs Mattie Stinson Brody Porter Johnston Rebecca Bordelon Adrianna Robbins Ty Lolley Jack Mitcham

Table of Contents

Anna Grace Lee

Art

Anna Grace Lee Cassie Roberson Landon Amidon Ella Viator Rebecca Bordelon Heather Wilhite Brooke Jackson Cameron Lewis Anna Grace Lee Harper Nguyen Olivia Cuthbert Alana Hudson Devika Dua Mary-Arthur Weis Mia Graham Molli McCready Ryleigh Geis Lauren Enterkin Kate Barron

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POETRY

POETRY

Nicholas Adams is a junor and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. Active in football, powerlifting, FBLA, FCA, and NHS, he enjoys reading, watching movies, hunting, and fishing.

When everything seems to go wrong, You must fight to make things right.

But that is a tricky thing, Fighting for what is right.

Because what really is right, And how do we know it is right, It is easier to fight for what you believe in, That I know to be true.

What you believe is sometimes truer Than things that people say are right.

People use the word right too often, When they want what they believe in to be good.

We can look back on history, And accuse people of being wrong.

But were they really wrong, Or were they just losing.

If by the victor history is written, Then we must fight not for what people say is right, But for what we believe in our hearts to be good

Luke Black is a junior and a student of Mrs. Bordelon.

Active in French Club, National Honor Society, FBLA, and baseball, he loves movies, books, and keeping up with sports. After graduation, he plans to study finance.

As sand reaches the depths of the hourglass When the final goodbyes seem far away The clock ticking faster, end coming fast With no time the best chance becomes to pray And the days are coming to a close now With eternal sleep approaching swiftly It feels so sudden like an April show’r But it’s coming, even rather briskly Wanting a few more drops out of being, I go and think back to the first, near birth I guess I’ll have to leave without seeing Sunshine or darkness, after life on earth?

It’s hard not knowing where I’ll lastly be But I am hoping that it’s God I’ll meet

Tobie Bimle is a senior at Cedar Creek and a student of Mrs. Amidon. Active in varsity cheer, Student Council, varsity tennis, and FBLA, she enjoys spending her summer skiing on Lake D'Arbonne. After graduation, Tobie plans to study fashion merchandising.

Off in the distance, you see an obstacle Closer and closer it approaches Questioning between continuing on or coming to a halt, Your gut tells you to stop Life comes to jolting hold Others can go, but you must stay, They are teasing you with their passing, You are jealous of their momentum You inch closer and closer Your time has come-go!

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Anna Claire Amidon

Red Light, Green Light

Navy Coggins is a senior and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. After graduation, Navy plans to attend college with a major in pre-medical Kinesiology: Human Movement Science. In addition to his AP courses and vocal lessons, he is active in cross country, track and field, Key Club, FBLA, Spanish Club, Cougar Ambassadors, and Student Council.

Steven Brasuell is a sophomore and a student in Mrs. Haley’s Western Civilization class. He is a member of FBLA, football and the track team. He enjoys music, hunting, and all sports. After graduation, Steven plans to study physical therapy.

Snoozing the Alarm

Utterly exhausted in the Coalfields of Swansea Small and nimble children wrapped in jet black From head to toe, ash smoke odor and stoic faced Dark, cramped and toxic are the tunnels of their surroundings Humiliated as small bones and muscles push, pull and shovel endless heaps of black rock Desperately trying to escape in hopes of ventilation from gaseous fumes toward refreshing air As time passes what bitter children begin to sense in themselves becomes a glimpse of hope As reform birthed freedom so children birthed a promise of a future

It’s amazing how hard my hand slaps the snooze When the shrill sound shakes my ears And jerks my eyes awake in the morning.

One sounds after another I continue to put off the day but unfortunately No one can stop the sun from coming up I hide my face under the sheets From the shining window That allures me from my sleep.

Surely five more minutes will help Me piece together the consciousness Needed to face the hours ahead.

If only hitting snooze turned back the clock, Rewound the sun and prevented it from Shining its rays through the glass panes.

But what is it that I dread about getting up?

After weeks, months, years of the same monotonous routine I should realize the power of the Sun’s natural wake.

But in those five minutes I can finally lay still again, And suddenly my hands do have the power To stop the sun from coming up.

Forgotten Children of Swansea

Ashton Barber The CLAW 5

Olivia Cuthbert is a senior and a student of Mrs. Amidon. Olivia participates in Quota Club, FCA, National Honor Society, Key Club, Art Club, Cougar Krewe, and serves as a Cougar Ambassador. In addition, Olivia serves as the voluntary executive director of her nonprofit organization, A Work of heART. After graduation, Olivia plans to attend college majoring in kinesiology to pursue a career as an occupational therapist.

Biopoem I'm from Bibles and Bob the Builder, From candles and calendars.

I am from the log cabin that the GPS can never find.

I'm from "I been thwarted" and "Where's my hug?"

I am from the aloe vera plant That always healed my cuts.

And from Mimi, Margie, and Daddy Dear.

I'm from Lake Bruin and Nana's house.

I am from Easter Egg Hunts at Mimi's and carving a "Z" in every pie.

And from chocolatey goodness, plantation cornbread, and cheese grits.

I'm from "you get what you get and you don't throw a fit."

I am from my American Girl doll and plastic art studio That were my favorite companions.

I am from those moments when I laugh so hard I cry and the friends and family who shaped me.

“Any Given Sundae� by Lauren Enterkin

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Lauren Ensminger is a sophomore and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. She is an Emerald Entertainer and wants to be a nurse. She enjoys coffee, the beach, and her friends. She wrote this poem as a response to Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby in her English class.

Love or Security: Daisy’s Choice For love: His house was full of people But he was always alone Maybe that’s what drew me to him Like a cat to a mouse We fell into old habits quickly All we had was brutal love and ignorant bliss I knew it couldn’t last His house, his hands, his past, it was all too much So I walked away, while his decadent house begged me to stay But I didn’t stay For security: This was a different type of brutal love One that made me cry and scream He was absent, abusive, and absolutely addictive I loved him once Maybe I still do, but not the in love kind of love The obligatory kind The family kind His security, social status, our daughter, the money, it made me choose him The interrogations and accusations and comments and judgments would be too much to take I can’t leave what I know Maybe his house was the largest in the world But he’s just not the right kind of rich I chose security And even when my real love died I chose security

Akithma Ferdinandez is a sophomore and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. In addition to writing, she loves reading, singing, playing the piano and guitar, and semi-classical Indiandancing. She is active member of Creative Writing Club, FBLA, and Ensemble. After graduation, Akithma plans to study medicine.

11/05/47 Winter winds creep near, yet the Flowers in our garden, Grandma, continue Their upwards expedition, and I’m certain This comfort stems from your sugary looming; Our garden is well familiar with glorious, reaching arms Palms of coarse powder, smooth age, open to gift It has made aware of a woman’s tenacious spine Bent to the ground in drive and merit, unmistakably Different from drooping leaves of the slothful The educating contrast when your sweetness Surpasses early dew and firms the earth; The roots are envious of this subtle strength November day has the sky dreary, but The garden knows better; ‘Tis the month of prosperity!

I take this brazen stand in my home From birth, Grandma, you nursed me in your garden Now, I--the product of your resources, a bud to rise And you--Mother Nature, fine anomaly; The rose, still blooming, and no wilting date, Thawed so youthfully that the end could not be seen -floral wishes and celebratory kisses

Landon Amidon The CLAW 7

Landri Thomas Marisa Chance

Garrett Nobles The CLAW 8

Reagan Williams

Allison Freeman is a student of Mrs. Myers’ eleventh grade English III class. She is active on the Cedar Creek cheerleading squad and the basketball and softball teams. She enjoys sleeping, watching Grey’s Anatomy, and having fun!

Stump I have a very large thumb You might not think so But have you seen it?

It reminds me of a stump A very ugly sump But I like my stump Now my hands I have man hands Very big But cute with nail polish But cold Most people like them Especially to hold Jackson Harris is a junior and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. Active in the NHS, football, and tennis, he enjoys sports, coding, reading, and math. After graduation, Jackson plans to study mechanical engineering and computer science.

Elisabeth Hunt is one of Mrs. Bordelon’s students and is currently a sophomore. She is interested in majoring in education with a career in early childhood development. Elisabeth loves to listen to music, hang out with friends, and is involved in FBLA, Quota Club, Key Club, and Spanish Club.

Roaring 20s Light floods from the windows; sounds of laughter touch my ears.

I see people; lots of people, a house filled to the brim.

They’re all having a good time; not one sits apart from the fun: Dancing, singing, forgetting life’s problems.

This lively, lavish party of luxuries is only fit for the wealthy; To every guest that enters, a sort of nervous excitement awaits.

They make their own rules, and live life as they please.

I longed to live without worry, yet dreaded to become like these people.

So I stay, and listen, and watch, and envy yet pity, these people; For there is little in life that parties and money can fix.

They will continue to party, they will continue to drink, they will continue to try and forget; Their problems like a heavy rain forcing them inside.

Procrastination.

One of the many things all struggle with.

The thought of putting something off to a later time.

In short, laziness.

I should have developed the discipline, To stay away from this temptation.

I should have learned that nothing is gained by putting something off.

But I still struggle.

The thought of just five more minutes of a TV show Or one more chapter of a book.

They put any desire to work out of my mind, But I have to, need to get better.

Things won’t always be easy enough to do at the last second.

Ella Viator

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Sky Dycus

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Anna Houck is a senior in Mrs. Amadon’s English class. She enjoys riding horses and spending time with friends. She is active in the French and Art clubs. After graduation, Anna plans to major in law.

Seeds of a good life Plant a thought as a seed Every little wild thought just plant as a seed Imagine it as if it was your own little thought garden Good ideas planted here, bad ideas there, memories there Everyday check your garden to be sure everything stays When one idea fades away dig it up and plant a new one Everyday be sure to think more and more Eventually all those small seeds will become great big flowers One day your garden is no longer just seeds and dirt It has become a great beautiful garden filled with big breathtaking flowers So now what is there to do Your garden is full Your seeds are now flowers Well now take all your flowers and give them away Maybe to your favorite family member or person in your life Now your garden is empty again You look at it and see the bareness So what is there to do One word, Think

Catherine Hunt is a sophomore and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. Active in Key Club, Quota Club, FBLA, Spanish Club, and FCA, she enjoys reading, listening to music, and hanging out with friends. After graduation, Catherine plans to major in Communication Sciences and Disorders to become an audiologist or speech-language pathologist.

A Time in the 20s Piercing through the blaring silence of the night, is the sound of houses singing loudly with jazz music.

These parties lasted for days, and those attending thought nothing of their lavish, luxurious lives.

People came and went like the seasons.

But with these carefree attitudes, came no rules, no worries, no morals.

A time known for the alcohol and speakeasies, and gangsters and flappers, came to be a time for crime.

A time filled with such light, yet a time where no one escaped the darkness.

Cassie Roberson

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Brody Porter Johnston is a junior and a student of Mrs. Brasher’s English class. He enjoys outdoor activities such as hunting and fishing. When not at football practice, Brody spends most of his free time on Black Lake. After graduation, he plans to study industrial instrumentation or apply to a nursing program.

I sign in.

Someone pays in nickels.

Someone’s card is declined.

Someone’s child throws a tantrum.

Someone asks to speak to my manager.

Someone attempts to convert me to Christianity.

Someone’s child is wearing a diaper and nothing else.

Someone breaks glassware and kicks it under the shelves.

Someone leaves clothes inside out on the dressing room floor.

Someone asks for my name so they can report me to management.

Someone asks me to save his unpaid items for him overnight.

Someone smokes or vapes just outside the front door.

Someone fights with someone else over something.

Someone calls to ask if we have a microwave.

Someone says that our prices have gone up.

Someone forgets her money in her car.

Someone calls to ask if we are open.

Someone asks for a discount.

Someone stays after closing.

I sign out.

I go home.

I come back.

I sign in.

Somewhere Near Cambodia

Rebecca Bordelon

Rebecca Bordelon, a senior AP English student of Mrs. Bordelon, is a member of Drama Club, Spanish Club, National Honor Society, and the Cedar Creek Ambassadors. She loves theatre, yoga, and Spanish. In college, Rebecca plans to study Psychology and will eventually pursue a career in family therapy.

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Blood and hot air pumps from my chest My heart chimes like a grandfather clock I have my back pinned against a mango tree I can only see as far as I can feel I am tricked by the rain I am frightened by its constant patter on the damp leaves The air is stagnant; Thick with foreign breath I need to keep moving They will soon find me Wait. I hear something A new noise surrounds me Sheek…Sheek…Sheek…

The bushes now twitch and jar I am sure they are here for me Closer, closer, and closer they sneak I draw up my Springfield waiting— Waiting for a quick movement to shoot at I smear blood down from my ears and head It runs from my body like a river runs through the jungle I close my eyes and gasp for air I open them to look The bushes have vanished Maybe they weren’t there to begin with.

Thoughts of home fill my head Anything is better than here—but I am here More of the dark liquid is now expelled from my torso I quietly lower myself to the ground I am aching all over A tall beast of branches towers over me It puts a film on my eyes…eventually—closing them It makes me drift into my own warm liquid I begin to lay down my head…I sleep A sleep like no other I am slowly, painfully melting away in the wet ground beneath me My time is up… run while you still have a chance All of the thoughts from home fade I fade with them.

Lauren Menzina is a junior and a student of Mrs. Myers. She is active in French Club, FBLA, FCA, and Volleyball Club. She is a member of the Lady Cougar basketball and softball teams. She also enjoys cheerleading during football and basketball season. After graduation, Lauren plans to play softball and major in Pre-Med. Better Now She departed towards the deep shadow Entirely betrayed in seclusion There was no desire to do anything Forevermore And death was to be wished for Jayden Nguyen is a junior and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. In addition to writing, she enjoys music, photography, traveling, and spending time with her family and friends. She plans to major in journalism after high school. This poem is a tribute to her father.

From the Perspective of a Vietnamese Immigrant Where are those who look like me?

Where are the women who held me during my first few weeks?

Fresh off a boat and barely thirteen; What is an American dream?

Where are the words that I'm trying to speak?

Where is the pho and bánh mì?

A woman says apple and I struggle to repeat I can't understand the American dream Where is the God I so desperately need?

Where has my mom gone, can anyone tell me?

I watch her warm heart stop on the fourth of July I promise to make sure our dream doesn't die Where is the certificate I've been waiting for?

Where is the document I need to be free?

I clutch the fragile paper and feel relief for what I've just achieved Citizenship–once my wildest dream Here is the place where my daughters will thrive Here is the place where we'll spend our lives I once thought the only home I'd ever have was across the sea But here, I have founded my own American dream

Jamie Palmer is a sophomore and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. She is a member of Creative Writing Club and Cedar Creek’s Girls’ Ensemble. She enjoys creating all kinds of art, whether she is painting, drawing, doing digital art, composing poetry, or working on her novel series. Some of her other favorite activities are listening to music, reading, running, and playing the piano. She has tentative plans to study either psychology or engineering in college.

The Great Gatsby Poem Past the black streets of roaring silence There was a bright house, alive as the dawn.

It pulsed with dancing, it bled red wine, It shimmered with lights; white, gold, pink; And stain and jewels and the finest of food.

Yet, at its heart was a man Who was waiting for more.

As his party came to a close, people saw— He was standing alone at the top of the stairs Lonely, the last star of the night.

His life was over when the sun rose.

But he would live again when night came.

He was forever a young soul trapped in aging skin, Or maybe a boat tossed on the waves, Up, down, High, low.

Such was his life for a thousand years.

Short. Ephemeral. Dust in the wind.

By day he searches for a passion long gone; It evades him like a wisp of smoke in the breeze— A ghost, slipping silently through his grasp.

Yet he smiled as the sun set.

It was a small curve—a small feeling in his small mind.

He thought to himself, “I’ll catch it tomorrow. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

It was a new day, in fact, But it was old all the same. Same old, same old.

He wasn’t a victim, though; Believe it or not, he chose this life.

He spent all his years looking back, Never forward.

His life was futile, his existence was meaningless.

He spent his years stuck in a ceaseless memory, Altered by his mind Into nothing more than a dream.

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Avery Jane Frances Lewis Stout is a ninth grade student in Mrs. Amidon’s class. She participates in FBLA, French Club, Quota Club, and Drama Club.

She is a member of the Cedar Creek Emerald Entertainers danceline. She loves reading, watching Netflix, eating, hanging out with her friends, and sleeping. She has absolutely no idea what she wants to do when she grows up.

Anglo-Saxon Riddle I make people feel cozy and comfy But sometimes my climate makes people feel grumpy I am like a wandering traveler who may stay for months on end Like an impatient beast, I rip the coverings from trees My slow arrival may be a surprise But many may shelter to avoid my harsh bite

By December I have given way to my brother I am kinder than Grendel, not so harsh Masked people may run door to door I dress myself in an array of red, orange, and yellow hues Children may grumble as I come along They drag their feet through the crunchy leaves Kids fun may now leave when I am around The heat is over and now comes the cold A story retold once again, I come back year after year.

I am Autumn Leyton Riley is a junior and a student of Mrs. Myers.

Participating in football, powerlifting, FBLA, National Honor Society, and Student Ambassadors, he likes hanging out with his friends, water sports, hunting, video games, and watching sports. After graduation, Leyton plans to pursue a career in the medical field.

Hands Bumps, bruises, memories Clasping left over right Cracking knuckles Clinching fists Waving Saluting Gesturing Hyperextending, breaking, crushing Always healing The keys to life The CLAW 14

Lauren Shirley is a junior at Cedar Creek and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. Active in FBLA, basketball, softball, and Key Club, she enjoys reading, writing, and playing basketball. After graduation, Lauren plans to study history and law.

I am from bookmarks, From smudged glasses and dented frames.

I am from books with broken spines, my protection alone to preserve its story.

I am from late nights under the covers, Only a flashlight and imagination to illuminate the story in my hands.

I am from crowns of daisies, From crooked teeth and smiling eyes.

I am from “no don’t touch that!”

And “please just sit still.”

From quick finger taps on The browning chipped old desk.

I’m from hide-and-seek And the world of make-believe.

From the cold side of the pillow, And hushed giggles from a sleepless night.

I’m from separation, And from vows of a family reconnected, Whose happiness restored seemed to fuel the world.

I’m from rescue pups and weenie dogs Whose tails never stopped wagging.

I’m from the hidden creek, frigid waters And secret hideouts, From the grove of trees that served as a roof— A shield from the rain that wept.

Kept in my room was a fair-faced doll With eyes that matched my own.

She sat with me and cried with me, A preservation and symbol of The days I wished to rush through, And the times I wanted to be grown.

I am from those moments, Moments that I now see created me, And moments I wish to return.

Kate Walker is a sophomore and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. She is a member of Quota Club, Spanish Club, a Cedar Creek Ambassador, and an FBLA officer. She has a disability awareness campaign called Make it Happen and frequently works with the Friedreich’s Ataxia Research Alliance. After graduation, Kate plans to study communications and business.

Freedom Not being imprisoned or enslaved.

Walking around Without any boundaries.

Running through the yard Without fear of falling.

Skipping across the sidewalk Without feeling like I’m on a cliff.

Standing in the ocean Without holding on to anything.

But the waves keep crashing over me.

I’m not free.

I’m not the girl with the curly hair.

I’m not the girl with the glasses.

I’m not the girl in the red sweater.

I’m the girl in the wheelchair.

I stand out like a yellow butterfly in a sea of monarchs.

People say this is a blessing in disguise.

More like a curse in plain sight.

Heather Wilhite

Heather Wilhite is a senior and a student of Mrs. Amidon. She is active in cheerleading, Key Club, FBLA, volunteering, FCA leadership team, and Art Club. She enjoys hanging out with friends, coffee, and painting.

After graduation, Heather plans to study business management.

Beach Vibes The cool breeze through my hair, The wet sand in my toes, The smell of salty air, The warmth of the hot sun, The sweet laughs of families, The large sand castles, The prickly shells, The sound of the waves, The loud gulls yelling, The whisper of the beach.

Hayes Bridges is in 7th grade and a student of Mrs. Gleason. He is thirteen years old and participates in Drama Club, FBLA, Middle School Student Council, and cross country. He also enjoys Dr Pepper and cheeseburgers, separately or together.

Hurt Why do people do things, that only get them hurt?

Is pain just the payment, for what the prize is worth?

But why would you do something, if it only brought you pain?

If you have nothing, what do you stand to gain?

If you were to win, you would have everything.

But if you were to lose, you would not have anything.

So, what qualifies something, as being worth the risk?

Is it what would make you, powerful and rich?

No, it qualifies as being worth the risk for something you love.

Something that no treasures, could ever come above.

So in the end you might think, ‘Is it really worth the pain’?

And the answer is always yes, if it makes your life whole again.

Because in the end people don’t care that pain is what it is worth.

Because sometimes people need to do things, that only get them hurt.

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Kimmy Gill is an eighth grader in Mr. Angevine’s class. Her favorite things to do in her free time are read, draw, write, and listen to music. She actively participates in Drama club, Creative Writing Club, Coding Club, FBLA, and NJHS. When she finishes school, she plans to attend an Ivy League College.

Mia Graham is a 7th grader and a student of Mrs. Gleason. She enjoys Drama Club, singing, acting, and softball. After graduation she wants to be an interior designer for Disney.

The Teddy Bear

The world used to be filled with light Even if arrived the night But the world has lost its soft, sweet glow And I can feel a faint chill like snow This black hole inside me is a pit so deep There is no light visible not even a streak I am so lost as is the world I am drowning and without a word I can sift softly into endless sleep Without making a dreadful squeak Help, help my muffled cries The wind howling, I try and try As everything slips away from my fingers Pain and sadness is all that lingers I cannot breathe in this blanket of snow I’m drowning and drowning without anyone to know So as I continue to slip into this endless haze I can only image and remember my days My fears have been kept inside of me But they now become reality So thoughts turn cold and I am drowning again And I feel this horridness will never end One last breath I soon will send To the keeper of the winter wind The one that made my dreams grow cold I am spinning and drowning in this pit of snow

Brooke Jackson

Whose Teddy Bear is that? I think I know.

Its owner is quite sad though.

It really is a tale of woe, I watch her frown. I cry “hello” She gives her Teddy Bear a shake, And sobs until the tears make.

The only other sound’s the break, Of distant waves and birds awake.

The Teddy Bear is soft, precious, and deep, But she has promises to keep; Until then, she shall not sleep.

She lies in bed with ducts that weep.

She rises from her bitter bed, With thoughts of sadness in her head, She idolizes being dead.

Facing the day with never ending dread.

The CLAW 16

The Chill of Sadness

Lesley Osafo is a 7th grader and is actively involved in the middle school cheer and track programs. She enjoys cheer, playing tennis, and spending time with her family. After graduation, she wants to become a dentist.

How?

Cameron Lewis

Katelyn Taylor is a 7th grader and a student of Mrs. Ketchum. She is 12 years old. She enjoys reading and writing stories and poems. She dances at Linda Lavender School of Dance. She is in the middle school ensemble.

How could these things happen to someone who never did anything wrong?

How could something so bright fade away right in front of your eyes?

How could something so happy lose all its happiness in an instant?

How could this life break when there were pillows underneath it?

How could something so meaningful lose everything it means?

How could they hurt you so badly when you never hurt them?

How could they bring you down when you built them up?

How could they laugh when you cried your eyes out?

How could they not love you when you loved them?

How could a friendship so strong break to pieces?

How could they make up lies and false stories?

How could they destroy your life with a tap?

How could they stir up all of this drama?

How could they say those mean things?

How could they destroy you?

How could they do this?

How?

The Storm thunder and lightning so very frightening darkness and dampness so overwhelming pitter and patter of raindrops on the roof rustling of trees in the wind I hear it a storm is rising

The CLAW 17

Anna Grace Lee The CLAW 18

Adrianna Robbins is a seventh grader at Cedar Creek and a student of Mrs. Gleason. She is a member of Quota Club, Drama Club, Creative Writing Club, Cedar Creek’s track and field team, Girls Ensemble, and drum line. She enjoys reading, writing, dancing, singing, bike riding, and birdwatching. After graduating, Adrianna plans to study geology and architecture.

Lindsey Osafo is a seventh grader and a student of Mrs. Gleason. She runs cross country and track, and she is an active member of FBLA. After graduation, she plans to study biology or chemistry in college.

The Little Bird

I am bad at everything.

So don’t try to tell me that I can be good at something Because I know I can never find my strength.

Do not even think I can be fast, strong, and smart Please tell me I am slow, weak, and dumb And do not say I can do anything.

The rustle of wings, The soft of down feathers, The sharp peak of a beak, The grip of the claws, A bird on the hunt.

The chirp of the chick, The tweet of the robin, The hoot of the owl, The caw of the crow, The bird gets lost.

A peep of a baby, The call from the nest, The flap of the wings, The plot of a landing, The bird finds its way back home.

A bird call finds its way to the bird, Piercing through the cold night, It dances its way over, To the bird’s ear, A familiar sound.

The bird jumps out of the nest, Fluffs its wings, Takes off, And sees a familiar face, A family reunited.

Good or Bad?

(Read top to bottom, and then bottom to top.)

The CLAW 19

SHORT STORIES Morgan McCready is a sophomore and a student of Mrs. Bordelon. She is a part of CC’s high school girls’ ensemble; she enjoys books, writing, dancing, singing, and hanging out with friends and family. After graduation, she plans to study literature and education.

An Unexpected Confession I woke up to the sound of sirens. Blue and red lights were flashing, and I had an excruciating headache. As I took in my surroundings, I realized I was lying in a room I did not recognize. There were police officers and medics running around the place, gathering things up. My vision was foggy, and my head was spinning.

“Hello, ma’am, can you hear me?” asked a man who was checking my pulse.

“Yes,” I managed to mumble.

My throat felt like sandpaper.

“I need you to tell me your name.”

“It’s”-- I couldn’t remember my name. “I don’t know,” I say in almost a whisper.

“You don’t know your name?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Okay, ma’am, I’m going to take you to the hospital” “Okay,” I said, before I passed out.

I opened my eyes to the fluorescent lighting of a hospital room. My headache had gone away, and I was left with the dizzying confusion of what had happened. My arms felt like lead, and as I tried to sit up, my head started pounding.

“Don’t try to get up,” said a voice from the doorway. It was the doctor.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Where am I? Who am I?” “We have gotten some inforThe CLAW 20

mation from your neighbor. She was near the scene when it happened. She told us your name is Rebecca Peterson, and you are around the age of twenty-five.”

“Rebecca Peterson,” I say, forming the words slowly, trying to remember them. “Why can’t I remember who I am?”

“Your head was hit pretty hard by something, so you are suffering from amnesia.”

“When will I remember?” The question was more to See CONFESSION, next page

Harper Nguyen

Anything would be better than lying on this hospital bed. “Yes,” I said, “that sounds wonderful.” As I was getting up, the room began to spin around and around.

I tried to stay very still because I didn’t want him to tell me I had to lie down any longer.

“I’ll let you change,” he said. He turned to Nurse Kathleen. “Have her back by five.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.

Kathleen nodded and turned to me. “I’ll wait in the hall. Come get me when you are ready.” At the doorway she turned, pointed to the closet and said, “Oh, and there are clothes in there,” “Thank you,” I said. I walked toward the closet, trying to stop the dizziness that threatened to tackle me to the ground. In the closet, there were two pairs of jeans and three shirts of red, blue, and black. I took out a pair of jeans and the black shirt and put them on.

Looking around my room, I saw a purse in the corner that I assumed was mine. I grabbed it and walked out the door.

“Oh good,” said Kathleen, “you found your purse.”

We walked out of the building and into the crowded parking lot.

“The yellow beetle is mine,” said Kathleen.

I didn’t say it, but the sunlight bouncing off the already radiant color of the car was giving me a headache. “All right,” See CONFESSION, next page

Olivia Cuthbert

CONFESSION from previous page myself than anybody, but I figured it didn’t hurt to have an answer.

“We don’t know that yet. It could be only a few days, and it could be a few weeks. Sometimes surrounding yourself with familiar objects can bring back some memories.”

I’m not sure how anything could look familiar while everything seems so unfamiliar. “So,” I said, when can I go home?” I could tell he was uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. His face was twisted in what seemed like sympathy, regret, and guilt.

“I am very sorry ma’am, but I can’t decide that, only the police can.” He said this in a gentle voice, trying to get this point across in the most compassionate way possible. “You see, last night, your neighbor heard a gunshot in your house and saw you running away,” he said. “The back door was open, so the police assumed whoever did it escaped out the backyard and into the woods. You got away with a head injury that you can recover from, but your husband…” His face displayed an emotion that only could come with delivering horrible news. “Your husband, well,” he took a deep breath.

“Your husband was murdered.”

“Murdered?” I felt as if my world had just fallen from beneath me. I might not remember him, but I knew a husband should be someone you love and cherish and should be distraught to find out that something terrible had happened to him. I didn’t know what to say next, so I kept my mouth shut.

“I know this is a lot to take in, so I’ll leave you to rest.” He started to walk away, but turned around to say one more thing. “I’m very sorry, and if you ever need anything, just let me know.”

I nodded and closed my eyes as I heard the click of the door shutting. I don’t know where I am, I thought. I can’t remember who I am, who my family is. It really is a lonely feeling, not knowing where you live or who cares about you. Lost in my thoughts, I stared at the ceiling for about an hour. As I was dozing off to sleep, I heard the turn of the brass knob. I opened my eyes.

“Mrs. Peterson,” said the doctor, “this is Nurse Kathleen; she will be taking you around town, maybe jog your memory. Do you feel up to it?”

The CLAW 21

CONFESSION from previous page I said, “let’s go.”

We walked down the sidewalks of downtown Bailorville, which was filled with colorful buildings with little shops inside. It was a very warm, cozy place and seemed almost familiar. Walking in and out of stores, looking at trinkets and clothes, and window shopping for hours caused me to wonder what my past was like.

Then I realized something. I didn’t know my husband’s name. I asked Kathleen.

“I believe it was Jonathan,” she answered.

“What was he like?”

“I don’t know. I never knew him personally. If you like, I can ask Dr. Armstrong if he could find someone who knew him.”

“Could you?”

“I’ll ask him this evening.”

We had dinner in a small diner, then drove back to the hospital. I realized I had been going around all day with a girl I hardly knew. “Kathleen, if you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been working here?”

“Only about a week. I move around a lot, so I’m not sure quite how long I will be here.”

“Do you move around because of work?” I thought that would be a reasonable explanation as to why someone wouldn’t stay in one place.

“Something like that,” she said.

Back at the hospital, I stared at the ceiling and wondered why anyone would want to kill my husband. I liked to think he was a good man. I didn’t remember him, but surely I wouldn’t have stayed married to him if he wasn’t good, right? My imagination started to get the better of me, and I was coming up with crazy conclusions in my head. Kathleen said she had been here for only about a week, and she was a little vague when I asked her why she moves around a lot. Maybe she’s a serial killer!

Maybe she is coming for me next. I thought about those thoughts. Now I’m just being ridiculous. I just want to know who did this to us. Kathleen said she thought the doctor might know of someone who knew my husband. Maybe they can tell me where he worked, what he was like, and then maybe that will lead to more clues as to who killed him. Comforted by the thought, I fell asleep. I woke up in the morning to Kathleen’s gently shaking me awake.

“Good morning,” she said, “I’m taking you out to breakfast; then we are going to meet someone who knew your husband.”

I got up, dressed quickly, and followed her out into the warm, comforting air. We got into the sunshine-yellow beetle and drove for fifteen minutes before we finally reached a small, rundown house with long, green ivy winding its way around the columns and up the brick walls. “Is this the right place?” I asked.

See CONFESSION, next page

Alana Hudson The CLAW 22

Devika Dua

CONFESSION from previous page “It would appear so,” said Kathleen.

We stepped out of the car and walked up to the front door, which looked as if it were about to fall off its hinges. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I rang it again.

One, two, three minutes. We were about to turn away when the door swung open. A man in a stained T-shirt and baggy jeans answered the door.

“What do you want?” he asked. His eyes darted back and forth between us, and suddenly some sign of recognition appeared in his eyes.

“Rebecca,” he said, “come in.”

We walked into the most unkempt house I had ever seen. Empty bottles lay scattered on the floor, empty pizza boxes were on the counter, and I could have sworn there was a mouse scampering through the walls.

“Come, sit down,” he said. “I’m sorry for the mess.

What can I do for you?”

I took a deep breath. If this is the kind of man who says he knows- knew, my husband, then do I really want to know what kind of man I had married?

“You knew my husband?” I asked.

“Jonathan? Yeah, he’s a great guy. How’s he doing?”

“You don’t know?” How was I supposed to tell this man that my husband was murdered and that I can’t even remember his face, let alone be sad about his passing?

“Know what? Is something wrong, Rebecca?”

Yes, something was terribly wrong. “Yes, something is wrong.”

I told him the story: that Jonathan had been murdered, that I had hit my head, that I am suffering from amnesia, and that I came to get information about my husband.

He ran his hands through his hair. A look of shock and fear took over his face. “That’s terrible,” he said.

“Are you safe, though?”

Safe, of course I’m safe. Why wouldn’t I be safe?

“Yes, I’m safe.”

A glint of relief shined in his eyes. “Thank God.” Maybe he’s not such a bad guy. After talking for a little longer, Kathleen and I went to lunch at the same little diner from the day before. Kathleen’s phone rang. It was the doctor.

“Hello,” said Kathleen. They talked for a minute, Kathleen usually giving one-word replies. Suddenly her face brightened up, and she hung up the phone.

“The doctor said that he got a call from the police

department, and you can go back home now, if you would like. It might help your memory,” she said.

I was so eager to get back to normal as possible that I stood up, not waiting for our food to arrive and grabbed my purse. “Let’s go,” I said as we walked toward the door.

Five minutes later we pulled into the driveway of a one-story cozy, well-kept home.

“This is it,” said Kathleen.

There was a huge tree in the front yard, and several big ones in the back. As we walked up the driveway, I noticed two rocking chairs that looked brand new on the front porch. This must be a nice place to live, I thought to myself. The door was unlocked, and we just walked in. The living room was nice, simple, and practical with two couches and two recliners. I walked to the kitchen that was very large and rustic. I loved it.

I was told that the master bedroom was in the back. I walked around, looking at pictures, some of me, some of a young man that I assumed to be Jonathan, some of us together. I looked for a few more minutes until I came across a picture of Jonathan with a shotgun.

Then I remembered something. The guns are in the floor. In the bedroom. Under the bed. All these fragments of sentences came flying into my head as if someone were whispering in my ear, ordering me to do something. I ran to the bedroom, Kathleen running after me, calling my name. “They’re under the floor,” I said, already moving the bed.

“What are you talking about?”

Kathleen must have asked this question twenty times, but I was far too busy remembering to answer.

I located the loose floorboard and pulled it up. All of Kathleen’s questions stopped as a heavy silence filled the room. Suddenly, a million memories invaded my mind. Yelling, screaming, bruises, a broken glass, crying. All of these thoughts took over as I remembered that night. “You won’t do it, you’re too scared,” he had said. A slap across the face, a kick to the ribs. I had the gun in my hand. Tears were streaming down my face as I whispered the last words that I would ever speak to him. “Goodbye.” I pulled the trigger and ran out of the house as fast as I could, around the tree, and hit my head on the branch. I blacked out. I felt my face pale as I jumped back to reality.

“I know who killed him,” I said to no one and everyone. “I killed him! It was me!”

The CLAW 23

“Avocado” by Mary-Arthur Weis

The CLAW 24

Lydia George is a junior who plans to study either sports medicine, biology, or animal science in college.

She is both the Territory IV, Zone B representative and secretary for the Appaloosa Horse Club Youth Association Board of Directors, and she has six Appaloosa horses and five Blue Heeler dogs. Lydia has won multiple writing awards in the past, including a gold and silver key in the Scholastic Art and Writing Contest and first place three years in a row in the Sons of the American Revolution Essay Contest. She has also had an article published in the Appaloosa Journal, an international publication.

The Day My Family Turned on Me I asked him if he was joking. His frown tells me he isn't. "Every last penny, gone," he says. "And that's not the worst of it," he continues, leaning across the table.

Benny said that this would happen. As I look out of the window, I see women wearing cloche hats. I ask James, the one who was made the "treasurer" of the group, "What's the bad part?"

James explains, "Tony, it's bad. We needed this money. We were supposed to make it last until the next payday!" I knew what he meant. James had only been in the family for a few months, but he knows the rules.

We don't call ourselves a part of the mafia. We call each other family. Our next payday isn't for another month, and we are already running low. I tell everyone to gather around, even the wives.

Valentina, my beautiful brunette wife, pours everyone a small glass of red wine and brings it over to the poker table. I announce that we need to figure out what happened to this money, no matter who we need to take down.

As Valentina and I are getting ready for bed, I can hear Stella and Rosa running around in their room across the hall.

"What's wrong, honey," Valentina asks. I reply, "I am lost. Without that money, we won't be able to buy the girls lunch for the month. I cannot stand the idea of sending them to school hungry."

All she does is sit down beside me and try to calm me down.

After a while, it works and I begin to fall asleep. I wake up to the sound of taxi cabs honking their horns at each other downtown, trying to get through the early morning New York traffic. I decide that I needed to take the girls to school, in order to get my mind off of everything.

When I get back from my walk, James and the others are standing in the living room, Valentina serving them food. As I hang up my coat and hat, Benny begins to talk.

Getting right down to business, Benny explains, "Tony, there's a leak. I was walking past the police station this morning, and I heard them talking about a local family who robbed a bank. Guess what? They have the money. Somehow, a member turned on us and took the money to the coppers."

I cannot believe my ears when I hear this. Questioning the fact that a family member would do that to us, I ask, "How am I supposed to believe that it is not someone in here right now?" James replies, "Because all of us showed up. Believe us, it is someone who does not care about this family, and all of us here do."

I take his word for it, and we decide that we need to keep a look out for anyone acting suspicious. After dinner, we all sit down to enjoy a cigar and talk about the financial situation. I proposed to the rest of the family a plan that could either work or fall apart. I said that "there is a way to get through this financial dip.

We could move up the payday, say, to this weekend."

I am expecting a lot of complaining and being called a fool, only everyone agrees and says that this is the only possible thing that we can do. So, we begin the plan for payday a month early. I find myself and the rest of the group at the house of our supplier, Giovanni Ortega.

Immediately, we get straight to the point and begin talking prices. Ortega states, "Two hundred for eighty a piece.� I say, "Gio, come ahn. You gotta know that we need this money. I had to send my girls to school with only a sandwich and a small bottle of water. Can you go down on the price a little, for an old friend?"

"Fine, one hundred for twenty. Take it or leave it." I take the deal, not knowing why. Then, I am about to shake his hand when the cops come storming in.

"Freeze! Put your hands in the air and don't move," they yell. We both make a run for it, knowing that they did not get a good glimpse at my face. As I run around street corners, dodging people who could know me, I realize what I have to do when I get back to my home. When I get there, I find everyone sitting around the poker table again.

See FAMILY, next page

The CLAW 25

FAMILY from previous page I immediately slam the door and walk into the living room, almost knocking over the end table in order to get to my chair. I start out by yelling, "Aight. We are gonna sit right here and figure out who is doin the talkin to the cops." I look around in order to make sure everyone is listening. I hear Benny start to say, "But Tony, ain't nobody done anythin wrong here. C'mahn you know family don't turn on family! Now what's got you up in a wad?" I immediately respond, "I was makin a deal for this family, to help us make it till the next payday. I was just about to make the deal when the coppers showed up and busted through the doors. Now I want to know who's been doin the talkin and I want to know right now." Valentina rushes into the living room and brings in cheese, crackers, salami, and red wine. I yell at the top of my voice, "Ain't nobody round here gettin fed until we have this figured out." As I start to look around the room, I look ateveryone's faces, trying to determine who the culprit is. I glance at Benny, who is staring at the food and wine.

Luigi and Marco are sitting on the satin couch, rolling their eyes.

Then, I look at James. He is sitting in the chair, moving his eyes back and forth very fast. I say to him, "Jimmy!

How ya doin? Been havin a fun time goin to the coppus and talkin bout our plans, huh?" James responds, in a very shaky voice, "What?

Naw come ahn Tony. You know I'd never do that to us!" I ask myself whether I believe this man standing in front of me. I exclaim, The CLAW 26

"Aight, I need everyone to leave my house right now!"

I sit down in my bedroom, still shocked that a family member would turn on us. Valentina says, "Darlin, you okay? I can go get you a cannoli! You usually need food to fall asleep fast." I thank her, but say no to the food. I tell her, "Val, I can't eat! I am still thunderstruck that a family member would turn against us!

After all that we've been through together." Suddenly, there's a lot of slamming car doors outside. I see flashing lights, moving lights, all around. I jump out of the See FAMILY, next page

“Man in the Mirror� by Molli McCready

FAMILY from previous page bed and try to run out of the bedroom to check on the kids. However, when I try to move, I feel cold metal on my wrist and I am unable to move. I turn around, struggling to run, when I see the one person I was not expecting to be holding me back.

Valentina says, "I'm sorry Tony. I didn't want ta turn you in, but I just couldn't stand here any longer and watch you put us all in danger!" I immediately ask back, "Val! Why would you do this to me? So you were the one who was always talkin to the cops!" Val responds, "Yes. I'm sorry, I asked my parents and they said I could take the kids and move in with them. I'm sorry Tony, but I had to do it. For the family, and for you!"

As soon as she finished, the cops come in and start walking me down the stairs. I see my kids peeking out of their doors. I couldn't even look at them. Their tiny, scared faces. And out of all the people around me, the one person I thought I could trust went behind my back and turned us in.

My sentencing was thirty years in prison. I wouldn't get out for good behavior; moreover, I would get an extra year added on because of my decision to fight the cop who tried to take away my ring. I guess the one lesson I got out of this situation was that you should never get into any of the bad stuff like drugs and things like that. Or, if you're gonna do it, at least do it by yourself.

Kate Myers, a student of Mrs. Gleason, is an active student in FBLA and National Junior Honor Society.

As an eighth grader, she would like to keep an open mind about colleges and job opportunities. She hopes not to regret submitting her short story into The Claw.

How the Human Brain Works Okay, okay, okay, I need to focus. This essay is due tomorrow, and I haven’t worked on it all week.

But your Netflix show ended in a cliffhanger. Five minutes of the next show will reveal everything you need to know to be at peace of mind.

The Netflix show is the thing that got me IN this hole in the first place.

I am sure that the two hour long episodes didn’t get you in whatever hole you are talking about.

Whatever. I’m working on this no matter what you

say.

Ice cream.

What?

Go get yourself a bowl of ice cream. You deserve a reward for working so hard.

I just wrote my name at the top of the page.

Exactly.

Why do you do this to me? I am trying to work!

Leave me alone.

But think about all the things that you can be doing other than this essay. When your grandkids ask you what did you do as a child, do you really want to say that you didn’t do anything but write essays?

And I suppose that watching Netflix shows and eating ice cream is an expectable answer.

Well, no, but I am sure that you can be doing better things than doing an essay. Wait! No no no no no! Look at the time! The essay is due tomorrow! You need to go go go go go!!!

Now you listen to me.

Hurry up! Can’t be late!

Sigh. Fine..

Cara Beth Hill is in seventh grade and is thirteen years old. She is on the basketball and track teams and is a member of Quota Club and FBLA. Cara Beth is the youngest of four children and has attended Cedar Creek since pre-K. Rain, Rain, Go Away Drip, drip, drip, drip, is all I can hear as I lay on my bed in my underground bunker, all alone, wondering if I’m the only person left on earth. It all happened in the blink of an eye. To be honest I can’t remember how it all happened. Here is what I do know. My name is Scott Wilkins, and I was very lonely until I met Jessica. I’m short, freckly, red hair and grayish eyes that look like little moons. It is April 2064, and I live with my wife, Jessica, in New Hampshire.

When it all started Jessica and I were eating breakfast and watching television. Then our front door abruptly swings open and Chance, my best friend since fourth grade, says, “Get in the car now! I’ll explain on the way.” I look at Jessica and then we walk out the door, locking it behind us.

See RAIN, next page The CLAW 27

RAIN from previous page “Hurry up, we are running out of time,” Chance says panicking.

“Where are we going, Chance?” questioned Jessica.

“Scott’s underground bunker,” he exclaimed.

“Is this some kind of April Fool’s joke?” I chuckled.

“No, guys it’s not, my cousin works for Weather Co., and they said that a severe, rare and life-threatening poisonous rain is coming. If this rain touches the human or animal skin you die almost instantly. It’ll be raining for approximately seventeen years, so I went to the grocery store and bought food, drinks, batteries, and other supplies. We are going to your bunker for now,” Chance informed us. Our minds were boggled and filled with wonder. It seemed so surreal and almost fake. It was silent for a minute or two.

“Take a left up here,” I whispered. When we got to the bunker the rain hadn’t started yet, so we unloaded all the groceries and got everything from the car we might need. My bunker was old, but it’ll have to do.

“Okay, so I just talked to my cousin and he told me that the rain won’t begin until about 20 minutes,” Chance said happily. So we ate a little snack and put everything up for about ten minutes.

“Oh, I think I forgot my phone in the car,” Jessica pronounced.

“Here let me get it,” volunteered Chance.

“He walked outside, unlocked his car, and got inside to look for her phone. After a minute or two of searching he felt a rough, bedazzled, and bright phone case in the crack of the seat.

“Ah, here it is,” he said to himself.

He opened the car door to realize the rain had started. He quickly shut the door and began to panic.

He tried to call Scott off Jessica’s phone but there was no service. He screamed and screamed for help, but they didn’t come. After about 5 minutes Jessica opened the butterfly door to the bunker and saw the rain had started and Chance was trapped in the car.

“Drive up to the door!” I yelled.

“I can’t, the car won’t start!” he yelled back.

We went back inside to see if we could find anything to help him. As we were looking, we heard the most awful, terrible, bloodcurdling scream. We raced to the door to see what happened, but we knew down inside of us what probably happened. There was Chance laying dead on the ground. His face smushed The CLAW 28

into the grass and the poisonous rain pouring down on the back of his body. The car door was open and in his hands were two umbrellas and Jessica’s phone.

“This is all my fault,” Jessica said as she hugged me trying not to cry.

“What are we going to do, Chance knew what was going on and what we should do,” I said. “I just saw my best friend die and we are basically trapped in here for seventeen years,” I said on the verge of crying.

It was about 48 weeks later when we began to run out of food. We knew we had to go to the grocery store we just didn’t know how. We found a bright yellow hazmat suit crammed in a box in a closet we could use. The only problem was there was only one suit.

“I will go and get the food while you stay here,” I said.

“No, I want to go, you cannot leave me here alone,” she protested.

“There was no way I’m letting her go alone, I am supposed to protect her,” I thought to myself as I walked to go take a shower.

When I got out of the shower Jessica was gone … and so was the hazmat suit. There is no way she left, that’s not like her, I thought to myself. After about 2 days I knew she wasn’t coming back.

Drip, drip, drip, drip, is all I can hear as I lay on my bed in my underground bunker, all alone, thinking if I’m the only person on the earth. It has been three days since I ate, and I have nothing to do or nobody to talk to. Nine days later I didn’t think I could physically or mentally live any longer without food. I thought I heard someone whisper “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day.” It sounded like sweet Jessica’s voice. Before I had time to process anything my body fell to the ground, no more blaming myself for Chance and Jessica, no more blinking, no more breathing, and no more rain.

Lost On Lone Wolf Trail

By Katelyn Taylor Bette Noir was a short, nine year old girl with black hair and green eyes. She wore a blue and purple striped sweater and jeans. Bette was usually very adventurous and curious about the world. She came from a small family with just her and her aunt. Bette and her See LOST, next page

LOST from previous page

Ryleigh Geis

aunt were on a trip to Yellowstone National Park. Her aunt had won the trip off of a radio program with daily questions. Now, they were on their way to the first exhibit.

Bette and her aunt were listening to the tour guide, and Bette noticed something odd. She saw that there were no bars or cages in the exhibit. “Why don’t all the animals escape?” Bette asked the tour guide.

“Well,” the tour guide started, “The animals are much farther out into the wilderness and are too scared to come closer.” Bette looked out into the barren landscape. She wanted to see all of the animals up close and personal.

Bette started to walk off of the trail, but her aunt stopped her. Bette looked at her aunt with a confused expression. “We cannot go off the trail dear,” she said.

Bette followed the rest of the trail with her aunt. When the tour ended, Bette was tuckered out.

That night, Bette laid in her bunk. She stared at the ceiling, which had been painted to look like the stars.

She imagined all of the animals in the forest living peacefully. She yearned to watch them only a few inches away. Tomorrow, Bette decided, she would go look for the animals. She fell asleep and dreamed of the animals she had seen in picture books.

The next day, Bette woke early. She brushed her teeth, took a shower, and ate breakfast quickly. Bette and her aunt met up with their group and the tour guide. Today they would be going to the wolf exhibit in Yellowstone. Bette was ready to sneak away at any moment.

When the tour guide was explaining something about wolves, Bette snuck away from the group into the wilderness. Bette strolled through the tall trees until she couldn’t see the trail anymore. She walked past an oddly shaped tree and then heard a crunching sound behind her. She crouched down and saw a small mouse rooting through the leaves. The mouse saw her and quickly scurried away. She kept on walking through the forest until she got to an open plain on the mountain.

It was extremely cold up on the mountain, and Bette wished that she had brought a jacket with her. Suddenly, everything went quiet, and she looked out onto the mountain. A long, lean figure came over the peak of some rock formations. A few more came over it, and Bette realized that they were wolves. She heard a deep howl and saw all of the wolves join in the howling. A

large, male wolf with a pure white coat had the deepest howl. She sat and watched the wolves howl for a while before they disappeared over the mountain top.

Bette was excited but then realized that she was quite lost. She looked for landmarks but didn’t see any. Above her head, she saw a red-tailed hawk fly East. She decided to follow the hawk and hope that it led her the right way. The hawk flew for a little while, and then Bette saw the oddly shaped tree. Before she kept going, she picked up a piece of bark and bit down. Bette wasn’t the brightest kid and spit the bark out.

After a few minutes of searching, Bette saw the trail.

In front of the trail were about twenty-two worried tour guides and her aunt. When her aunt saw her, she ran over and scooped her up off of the ground. Everyone was worried about her when she had gone missing. Bette was sorry that she had caused such a fuss.

Bette had to apologize to everyone for their trouble.

That night, Bette thought of everything she had seen that day. She remembered the tiny, harmless little mouse that scurried along the leaf litter. She remembered the majestic, beautiful wolves that howled. She remembered the hawk that led her home that day.

Bette had plenty of things that she would remember for a lifetime.

The CLAW 29

ESSAYS & MEMOIRS Mattie Stinson is a senior and a student of Mrs. Amidon. She is active in Key Club, FBLA, Art Club, cross country, and track and field. After graduation, Mattie plans to major in speech pathology.

Newly Minted Southern Mom You’re a new Southern mom, what do you do now?

Southern momming is an art. Not doing it right is embarrassing. Doing it right is not noticeable. Southern momming isn’t easy, but hopefully these eight steps will teach you how to be a true Southern mom.

1. Dirty houses mean you don’t care about life in general. Make sure your house is so clean it’s like a museum. It doesn’t matter if you’re hosting guests in it or not it always has to pass the white glove test. Beds most definitely can’t look like they’ve been slept in.

And toilet bowls are cleaner than the tap water.

2. Killing a potted plant is like killing a human being.

Southern moms should have better potted plants than Southern Living Magazine. Perfect flower beds look like a snapshot off Pinterest. Always strive for that “Best Lawn of the Week” sign.

3. Not wearing makeup means you have no respect for yourself, your parents, your significant other, your children, or even the dog. Never leave the house without makeup. You never know who you’re running into at the grocery store. Or who’s stopping by for a cup of sugar.

4. Dirty houses, leaving the house without makeup, and killing a potted plant will never be as bad as skipping church. Church is number one. Not only should you go to church, you should want to go to church. If friends does not go, don’t talk about them; pray about them in front of everyone at prayer meeting.

5. Be the hostess with the mostest. Never run out of every flavor of coke. Yes, there are different flavors of coke: Coke, Diet Coke, Coke Zero, Sprite, Dr. Pepper.

Never energy drinks because they will give you cancer. Pepsi is worse than not going to church.

6. Paper recipes are tributes to your ancestors. They must be collected in a dirty old box and gifted at death. Googling a recipe is not a thing. Always have the best recipes for your church’s pot lucks. My momma always says, “Once on the lips, forever on the hips” (this does not apply to boyfriends), but she has The CLAW 30

the meanest cheesy chicken spaghetti any Baptist has ever had.

7. Football is about dressing, talking, eating, and telling the guys that it is just a game. Southern moms love everything about football except actually watching it. Always dress in the correct colors. You don’t want to walk into a Saints game wearing Cowboys colors.

That’s just no bueno.

8. Be calm, cool, and collected until a child pops one.

Then totally lose it and destroy everything in your path. A good Southern mom is calm and polite during every social situation. That is unless anybody under 18 is disrespectful. In that case, there are no rules. Do anything and everything to establish you’re the woman.

That is Southern momming in a nut shell. Following those eight steps will keep you out of embarrassing situations. It is a complicated world out there but nothing that a clean house, cokes, church, and yelling at disrespectful children can’t handle.

The Wrong Caliber

By Brody Porter Johnston The repetitive sharp buzzing fills the room, and it seems to be getting louder every morning. I hit the button to stop this obnoxious beat from making my ears bleed. The smell of ground coffee waters my mouth just like my dog when he sees a plate of meaty bones. I feed him as I drink my morning dose of soft, milky caffeine. My dog, LeBeaux, waits patiently as I load my shotgun and plethora of decoys into the olive green Jeep that we will be taking to the duck hole.

Shortly after turning a few curves down the muddy, sloppy roads, we venture out, on foot, into the dark tree line.

The pitch of night still roams the forest this morning. Trees shadows stand still, for the air is cool and soft. I can feel my breath drift upwards as it trails a mild scent of coffee towards the clouds. The sound of wood ducks fill my head as we approach the pond, and shortly, the soft mutter of the wet ground bubbles under our feet. I sneak my way through the pond without See CALIBER, next page

a light, so I do not jump the ducks from their nest. We found the perfect spot for the hunt and begin setting up for sunrise. The decoys are divided and assembled according to their own species. Now, we put together a makeshift brush blind in the mold-smelling mud that rests underneath the shallow green waters.

After settling into our blind we wait, wait for the slightest bit of sun to peak over the tall oaks which are just on the other side of the shadowless pond. The sun rises, slowly creeping up in an awesome display of bright orange and red, with the sound of the wind whispering through the leaves. Now, ducks begin to break from the nest and water to take flight high in search for food. The screams of woodies shake my chest as they rise from a good night’s rest. Whistles of wings cruise through the breeze of the morning making my heart pound as if you have been running.

As I turn towards the sun, I can see little dots of black and white flashes flying in perfect V-Formations. The ducks from other places now cut down aggressively from the tree line as they see our Mojos flapping. I pull up my gun ready for them to come within my line of fire. These three and a half’s are knocking groups of ducks into lifeless feathers, and LeBeaux swims back to his master with two ducks at a time. After shooting five of my six ducks, they begin to slack off on their flying as if they have all left the earth. I am one duck away from having my limit, so I cannot leave.

A sudden whip of the air hardens my face, making me tuck it into my Drake jacket. Dark thunder puffs tower over the duck pond, and a cold front pushes on the trees. The sun now has taken on a grey haze and it is lowering under the powerful fog that pours rain and cracks flashes of light to the ground. The heavy rain has now pushed the ducks to land or fly above the black towering cumulus clouds. Days like this are better spent in the deer stand where it is easy to stay warm and dry. I wish that I had taken the weatherman’s advice and gone deer hunting. Those camouflage coveralls and a heater would be such a luxury at this point, I thought.

LeBeaux has outsmarted me by finding a dry spot on a hill under some of the thick pines to rest and dry his shivering red fur. As I watched my dog peacefully rest after a day’s hard work of hunting, I hear some water splashing louder than that of the rain. It sounds as if a flock of ducks all took flight at once in the same water.

I turn toward the commotion but cannot see through

the overlapping sticks that we made our blind out of.

The noise of the splashing water halts and LeBeaux’s head rises as a deep, mean growl rolls from his chest.

He can see whatever it is, and it makes his hair on his back rise in terror. This makes me think that a bear or another dog has approached the backside of the blind.

With my gun close in hand I start towards the area in which LeBeaux has his eyes focused. A tall gray flash breaks off through the pond and gallops quickly in my decoy spread. The figure comes to a stop; I realize now that my eyes have locked onto a twelve point white tail deer. The buck is a statue; his fur is a soft gray coat that has been stained with the morning rain, and he is standing just to the inside of my closest duck decoys. My legs begin to buckle as I see his monstrous set of tan, smooth horns that protrude high from his See CALIBER, next page

Alex McConnell

CALIBER from previous page

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CALIBER from previous page skull. As I stand watching him stare me down, not only do I see his outside appearance, but I see through his eyes colored with deep brown and black swirls. I feel as if we are reading one another. I want to shoot the beast, and I pull up my gun close to my chest and shoulder.

As I fix my eyes on his, I begin to feel his innocence in the wind blowing hard on my gun; I lower easily down to my waist once again. I cannot make myself shoot him, he has not done anything to deserve death, I thought. The wind stops; the water is glass. It is as if time has stopped with the stagnant air. The feeling steals your breath, but I still stand firmly in comfort with the deer. As he begins to walk away, my heart drops like I have just lost a close friend. The peace that the buck has brought to me is now leaving with him across the water. I stand still now as the rain falls hard on my cheeks. It pelts down even heavier now, but I still do not realize as the adrenaline rushes fast through my veins. With my gun lowered, a smile stretches across my face as I watch the biggest deer I have ever seen walk into the dense oaks.

I relive my hunt and think of how I could act out every second of it for my mother who wonders about me while she sits at my camp. She will be proud of me for thinking first before I do something. My dad will only laugh and tell me about our declining amount of deer meat that our freezer holds. I cannot wait to tell them any longer; I packed my decoys and gun back into the Jeep and set off for the house. As I take the last slight turn down my driveway, a grin softly shows through my windshield toward my mother that stands anxiously on the porch of our home.

Self-Conscious

By Adrianna Robbins Fat. That’s what I feel like. I know that I’m not actually fat, but that’s certainly what it feels like! It really doesn’t help that my brother doesn’t seem to realize how overly sensitive girls feel about themselves. I know he doesn’t mean it, but it still hurts. My friends all try to cheer me up, make me feel good. I really appreciate them, but it doesn’t help. When they say that they feel fat, I can never understand. Next to me, The CLAW 32

they should feel like a stick. But, I guess that’s how all girls feel.

Weak. That’s what I am. I can’t throw a med ball at a wall without getting tired. I can’t run. I can’t dance.

I can’t jump, or throw. I do enjoy reading though. My friends try to make me think good things about myself.

They are great, but I don’t feel any different. They can run, throw, jump, and dance so much better than I can.

They’re so athletic and strong. I guess that’s what all girls think.

Stupid. That’s what I’m like. I can’t make sense of anything. Often I know the right answer, but it doesn’t get written out correctly. Sometimes I just don’t know.

Somethings I say I love, but the next day I say I hate it. I love writing, but I’m no good. To be honest, I’m really lucky to have such great friends. Sometimes I’m surprised they still hang out with me though. They try to complement me, but it’s no use. I still feel the same. They are so good at writing. They have such good grades. They can actually remember stuff. Well, I guess all girls feel like that.

But, you know what? I’m not fat. I’m not weak. I’m not stupid. Neither are you. All girls are beautiful and blessed. We are perfect, just the way God made us. We are like we are for a reason. If you ever feel bad about yourself, just remember. You are loved. You are blessed. You are beautiful. You are perfect, just the way you are. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.

Where Time Does Not Matter

By Rebecca Bordelon The moment I see my reflection in the back door of the theater from across the street, I start forgetting who I am. The cars down the street wait at the stoplight as I reach the yellow median lines. I ignore them and look up at the marquee. The sun twinkles around the lampposts and shudders on the sidewalk. Flowers pour out of the courtyard gates and wilt like watercolors melting in the sun. Wind breathes through the street and tangles in my hair. I see it all. Everything. Just for a second. But the light has turned green and I’m already late for my call.

As our director plays scales in an order we all know by heart, we stand apart like statues in varying stages See TIME, next page

Mia Graham TIME from previous page of completion. Some of us have already pinned our hair perfectly, some just arrived. Still, we sing together. Later, whispers of ‘’places’’ echo into shouts through the hall. I don’t know if anyone else feels the atmosphere change, but my own breathing deepens.

I can’t stop smiling. My posture improves. I call to mind the emotions I need to portray and try to focus.

The audience’s energy and excitement becomes mine, and mine its own. Soon, the curtain rises.

Rustling, shifting, staring silence means boredom in the audience, so I walk downstage and start my lines.

I engage with the other actors, but the silence is louder than it should be. People are restless, unimpressed.

The music starts. In the short breaks between verses, I hear the silence soften. They are on the edge of listening. The song builds. I no longer hear anything. I have them. They’re listening. I forget about trying to revive the audience and fall headfirst into the character. The final note soars and slowly settles into the crowd. Just before the applause I hear what I have been listening for. Wondering. Beautiful. Silence. They hear me, and I hear them, too.

Backstage, the glitter of the stage lights does not reach us. People are tired. Hot. Cramped. Still, time does not matter. We look at the clock to see how late it has gotten, but our seconds and hours are really only beats and measures in sheet music.

The finale is long. I have time to actually listen for applause and look around at the faces in the audience.

When I see them, the character starts to fall away from me like petals on the roses that some audience members are holding. She is almost gone. Everything this character is that I am not is leaving me faster than I can bow to the audience. She is not real. I see the audience and they see me. Just me. And somehow, it feels right.

After the show, I walk quietly to the dressing room.

I carefully remove the pins from my hair and hang up my costume. I give it one final glance before I leave and allow my character to stay with it until I come back for her tomorrow. As I drive home, I consider what I learned that night, and hope that maybe the audience saw some fleeting glimpse of perfection in our performance. I begin to miss the feeling of storytelling, but the streets of my town look brighter as I fly closer to home. I have just lived two lives in one day.

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Ty Lolley is a junior and a student of Mrs. Bordelon.

Active in FCA, Football, Track & Field, and National Honor Society, he enjoys playing piano, competing in sports, and participating in church events. He plans to study civil engineering or architecture in college.

100 Word Memoir “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever, Amen!”

My heart rapidly began beating faster as these words echoed through the dark halls. We stood in line silently, waiting for the sound of the bell to release us. As I slid my gloves on to conceal the sweat on my hands, the Bible verses on my wrists caught my attention. I began to recite them over and over again. Suddenly, a relaxed feeling of strength moved throughout my body. I put my helmet on and my eyes narrowed in on the Friday Night lights.

The bell rang.

Jack Mitcham is a freshman and a student of Mrs. Brasher. He is a member of FBLA, Cedar Creek baseball and basketball teams, and Chess Club. He enjoys fishing, hanging out with friends, and playing video games. After graduation, Jack plans to major in Business Management.

Tough Test I was in 3rd grade in computer class taking AR tests with my friend. He needed more points to reach his AR goal. So we switched computers, and I did some tests for him. With each crisp click of the mouse, my confidence grew. The growth of confidence led to a decrease in discretion. As I was taking the test on his computer, I felt a cold look upon me. Chills went down my entire body as the thought of being caught entered my mind. The teacher saw me and called me out in front of the entire class. “Jack what are you doing?” said the teacher.

“I was just ummm, uhhh,” I murmured.

The words were elusive then, and I had no chance of finding any. I was shocked that I was caught and didn’t know what to do. The teacher pulled me and my friend aside, interrogating us. We were sent to the office, and this was the first time I had ever been in big The CLAW 34

trouble in my life. The intimidating look that the principal gave me felt like a laser beaming into my chest.

The trudge to his office may have not been far, but it felt like it was a mile away. When I got into the principal’s office, I took a seat in one of his chairs. The chair was a matte black with no expression at all. The rooms walls were a bland, vanilla color. The principal started to speak in his generic, stern, lifeless voice.

I could not focus, however, because I was already thinking ahead. Thinking ahead about what my parents were going to do to me. Would I be spanked until I was not able to sit ever again. Would I be grounded until I was eighteen years old. The possibilities made me nervous and scared.

The principal stood up as his speech was coming to a close. He led me and my friend, who looked like he had just seen a ghost, back to our classroom. The feeling of embarrassment whenever I walked back into the classroom was unbearable. I could feel everyone staring at me, as my face become hot with the redness of humiliation. After school that day, I was trembling when I saw my parents. I knew I would be punished, but I was not quite sure how severely. I got into my mom’s car, and I was expecting to be yelled at. Instead, there was just silence. I myself was thinking, “This is worse than being yelled at.”

We arrived at our house, and that’s when the silence was broken. She began interrogating me, asking questions, like why I did it, and what was I thinking. After this, she punished me. I was grounded for a month.

No video games, no hanging out with friends, only schoolwork, and occasionally I could watch television.

The month went by as slow as a year. It was probably the worst time of my entire life. After my punishment was over, I promised that I would never cheat again.

The whole situation might have sucked, but it made me a better person.

Kate Barron The CLAW 35

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