Wordplay 2023

Wordplay The Congressional School Literary Magazine

Wordplay

The Congressional School Literary Magazine

Spring 2023 Editors-in-Chief Caeli Boris Elisha Pickle Charlotte Reynolds Maddie Rumness Faculty Advisor Holly Keimig Associate Editors Sanjeev Belle Trichur, Ashley Bicksel, Jazz Buitrago, M.E. Call, Stella Colic, Sammy Elbazouni, Olivia Greene, Jackson Griest, Brooks Gustafson, Gabe Hanson, Chase Harris, Owen Hermans, Finn Howard, Andrew Ketcham, Owen Levine, Landon Ohle, Karmen Snead, Nolan Vance Front Cover By Caeli Boris

TABLE OF CONTENTS Letter from the Editors.................................................................................. 4 "It All Starts With a Pencil" by Ashley Bicksel............................................ 5 "The Fears We Hold" by Anonymous..........................................................6 Firelight by Maddie Rumness...................................................................7 "Message in a Bottle" by Jazz Buitrago.........................................................8 "Orange" by Karmen Snead,,,,,,,....................................................................10 "The Never Ending Heat" by Owen Levine................................................11 Spring Starts by Caeli Boris.......................................................................12 "Spring" by Andrew Ketcham.......................................................................13 "The Power of Noise" by Leah Kinder.........................................................14 Zentangle by Caeli Boris......................................................................... 14 A Rainy Day by Zaina Gilbert..................................................................15 "Okay" by Anonymous................................................................................. 15 "What Happens to a Dream Deferred?" by Zaina Gilbert...........................16 "What Happens to a Dream Achieved?" by Kyle Walkes............................17 "War" by James Bagnall.................................................................................18 Spain by Charlotte Reynolds......................................................................19 "Ode to Water" by Stella Colic.................................................................... 20 "Only I" by Leah Kinder............................................................................... 21 Untitled by M.E. Call................................................................................... 21 2

TABLE OF CONTENTS "Countdown" by Leah Dober...................................................................... 22 "Harmony" by Anna Dober.......................................................................... 27 Breeze by Ashley Bicksel............................................................................33 "Lunar Landing" by Karmen Snead.............................................................. 34 "Possibilities" by Kyle Walkes........................................................................35 "Weightless" by Brooks Gustafson................................................................35 Katy by Hayden McCausland.................................................................. 36 Fox by Gabe Hanson............................................................................... 36 Butterfly by Cora Richardson................................................................... 36 Untitled by Nisa Mooganur...................................................................... 36 "Shadows of the Light" by Greta Ploetz........................................................37 "Untitled" by Kaitlyn Hooper....................................................................... 37 "Who Cares?" by Anonymous.......................................................................38 "Ground" by Henry Howard........................................................................ 39 Footprints by Maddie Rumness................................................................39 "Ode" by Sanjeev Belle Trichur.................................................................... 40 "Bus Seat" by Maddie Rumness.....................................................................41 "Flowers and Knives" by Jazz Buitrago........................................................ 42 House by Olivia Greene.............................................................................43 "A Tree" by Caeli Boris..................................................................................44 3

LETTER FROM the editors

Thank you for reading the 2023 edition of Wordplay!

This magazine means so much to us. It means so much to the students who created the pieces and wanted to share them. It means so much to the students who edited the work and designed the pages.

We want to thank our wonderful faculty advisor, Mrs. Keimig, who guided us through this process. We also wanted to thank Mr. Sing Key and Mr. Avis for their encouragement of students' creativity.

We, the editors-in-chief, are happy to have left our mark on Congressional School. We hope that the Congressional community will enjoy this magazine for years to come.

This magazine showcases what the students at Congressional can do. Please enjoy the amazing work of these talented writers, artists, editors, and designers.

-Caeli, Elisha, Charlotte, & Maddie Spring 2023 Editors-In-Chief 4

It All Starts With a Pencil Ashley Bicksel

Endless possibilities.

Those words

What to write?

become a story.

Hope,

So many choices.

sadness,

What next?

terror?

I pick up

You start with the intro,

what will lead

then the climax,

to the beginning.

all the way to the falling action.

My hand

Finally the conclusion.

clings to the wood covered in a mustard hue.

But that is not the end,

Lead,

keep writing,

scrapes through the paper,

keep dreaming,

creating swirls,

and never stop learning.

and stories of different worlds.

This is just the beginning.

All stories must begin somewhere.

Letters

It all starts

morph into words.

with a pencil.

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The Fears We Hold Anonymous

What will happen and when?

Will this day, Be the day, When it all ends?

Does the relationship-Break today?

Does it all crumble, Fumble, Stumble, Till the very last day?

Will we just be watching, Falling, Crying, Till the very last day?

Till the day it will happen and when-Till the day it all ends-Till the day that it all will fold-It will survive, The fears we hold.

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FIRELIGHT Maddie Rumness

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I aspire To inspire I write To make right To make right the changes Come upon us Come upon Our shallow Little world.

But.

Whorls of light And life destroyed.

Destroyed in the rampage Of humanity.

But.

We have built, Thus broken.

Tugged turmoil From the treacherous depths of the Earth.

We have twisted And turned

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Message In a Bottle (At The Bottom Of the Sea) Jazz Buitrago

Pushed Shoved And in turn Killed But. The future is uncertain But one thing is certain We will push Away the past When will we notice Notice at last?

But. We peeked and prodded Wanting more We’ve never known What was in store But there’s one height We dare not go Yes There’s one place we can’t follow Peeked but never peaked.

But. I search To unearth The hope Of humanity The table-turner Path-maker Granter of an unmade wish The fixer.

You. From The Finder

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Orange Karmen Snead

Unique like

It feels like

A fresh coat of paint

tree bark or

Vibrant like

Prison bars with

A lions mane

Rust flaking on the edge

Asphalt on a

It would taste like

Sizzling summer day

A winter wind

Or an egg

And the decay of

cooking on a sidewalk

Fall leaves

It would taste

It's like

of drinking cold water

Sunbaked sand

with a sore throat or warm hot chocolate

It sounds like

With steam

A tribal song

That tickles your nose

Weaving in between The wisps of a willow tree Or the boom or an airplane Taking off Soaring ever higher into the orange sunset

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The Never Ending Heat Owen Levine What can we do in this never-ending heat?

This problem is not difficult to defeat.

We cannot sit on the backseat, and we can not cheat.

It’s making the planet hotter.

Soon we will never see snow.

If we don’t face this problem fast

We can’t let this problem go,

it will be the last.

or our water level will overflow.

So let's cast new rules to protect our earth.

It’s like we're throwing ice cream at the sun.

Let's help return it to its birth.

The ice cream will be destroyed,

How are all of these problems

and that's no fun.

in our society not giving us anxiety?

The earth will soon only have summer, and this is more than just a bummer.

Climate change is terrible,

It’s a catastrophe,

nothing this horrible

and if we avoid it,

is comparable.

it will be the end of you and me.

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Spring Starts Caeli Boris

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Spring

Andrew Ketcham The way I spell spring is different from others.

While others see a season, a word to be tossed around, I see a million stories, memories, and people who have futures, bright futures like the afternoon on a spring day.

As sure as the sun rises, spring originates and brings with it so many activities like Easter.

The best part of this world that rotates moves creating more diversity it's not just spring, it's winter, Its summer, all the seasons with each one comes something special every year.

So I leave you not with an answer, but a question, why not?

Why not a poem for every month, every holiday, why not every single day of the year.

Every one of them is different, special, and brings new original ideas, wants and feelings.

Each has its special baggage, its wonders and the joys it brings.

On a trip around this amazing world.

I could write about them all; why not them all?

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The Power of Noise Leah Kinder

A single voice can make a noise.

That spreads choice and threads of hope.

It can brighten the darkest days or wash the decay.

It can even make someone's day.

Zentangle Caeli Boris

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Okay

Anonymous Okay I’m done.

I’ve given up.

The finish line has been crossed.

I’m okay with that.

The glass has been shattered, Into pieces.

Once there was a time where I could rebuild it.

When they were still big pieces.

Now shattered pieces, Unmendable, Unfixable, Hopeless pieces of glass.

I’m okay with that.

I thought that I had a chance.

I thought that maybe things could work out.

I thought that incorrectly.

I’m okay with that.

I didn’t have a chance.

I didn’t ever think about making a move.

I didn’t tell you.

I’m okay with that.

A Rainy Day Zaina Gilbert

Now, Somebody else makes you happy.

Now, Somebody else makes you laugh.

Now, Somebody else makes you feel comforted.

Now, Somebody else is with you.

I’m okay with that.

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What Happens to a Dream Deferred?

Zaina Gilbert

Inspired by Langston Hughes's poem, "Harlem"

What happens to a dream deferred?

Would it disappear like a flower in the flames?

Would it create a scar that never withdrew?

Or would it stick in your mind like bread and honey?

Or would it create a disaster in your mind.

Would it sail to the destination?

Or would it sail into the wind.

Would it ponder into the abyss?

Would it splash into the water, Sinking into the endless, Dark sea.

Would it walk to the other side, And never come back?

Or would it stop chasing for the things they want?

Or would they look up to the dim stars that never fade.

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What happens to a

DREAM ACHIEVED? Kyle Walkes

Inspired by Langston Hughes's poem, "Harlem"

If my dreams were achieved, I would feel like a hawk, soaring the skies knowing that all the hard work could finally stop.

When my dream is fulfilled, I’d feel like the people I admire, like an undying spark burning forever even when the spark goes out.

Achieving my dreams would be like golden flowers, relaxing in a never-ending nap.

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War

James Bagnall War is a bad thing; it is not fun When down in those trenches you don’t see the sun You want to see it so beautifully bright Most of the soldiers see the light War is dark and damp Only one side comes out as the champ The other side’s mangled Damaged so deep their culture dismantled We are violent, cruel, and jerks Us killing others make me berserk Don’t get me started on Hitler He was a killer We have inventors that create to kill In my opinion they are pigswill They make machines like the tank built to withstand Anything a man can command “The Desert Fox” to “Old Blood and Guts” have all ordered death In some way or another somewhere along their warpath They try not to think about their guilt Ruining that person their parents had built Now you see that war is bad Terrible, horrible, it makes me sad Killing for reasons they say they “Can’t Resolve” As the world's bonds dissolve Now that you’ve seen the light You can make those soldiers not have to fight If the world would stop killing

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Spain

Charlotte Reynolds 19

Ode to Water Stella Colic

You are as clear as crystal, as transparent as air.

You are affected by every single touch.

You create waves with emotion that ripple forever.

When you cry, your tears fall with the strength of your emotion.

You’re no more perfect than anything else.

You cry with your heart and make others cry too.

You care about people.

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As you match your force with the feelings of the people, you whisper to everyone the burdens people carry.

The problems that people worry about.

The times people are scared.

The things that need to be fixed.

You draw attention to the careless mistakes.

You remind us that we are not perfect either.

It is always you, water, rain, ice, no matter the form you are in.

Only I Leah Kinder Only I can be the change to enlighten the flame to wash after the past waves.

Many other have tried but only I can change my life.

The build to strive pushes me down but I stand against because only I can be the fight.

Losses only bloom my life even if they can’t stand right.

The past mistakes only sag my weight but I keep standing because only I can be the change.

Untitled M.E. Call

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Countdown Leah Dober It was almost the end of December, and Audrey was beginning to feel frightened. It’s not just her. You can feel the fear rolling through the dry, bone chilling air. The streets of New York City are dead silent, but the people aren’t dead. At least not yet. As she steps out of her unit, her eyes slam shut. The blinding white burns into her head. She blinks a few times, becoming accustomed to the bright sunlight, reflected off the perfectly white unblemished streets. She takes a deep breath, and looks down the street. She sees the regular residence buildings, reaching to the sky, and she sees the sea of people moving a few feet in front of her.

She joins the crowd, and is swept away.

As Audrey passes Cunningham Square, all that is displayed is The Countdown. Beating into the back of her mind. A reminder. Tick, tick, tick. 7 days, 14 hours, 40 minutes, and 30 seconds. She takes a step 29 seconds, another, 28. The steady clicks echo through the white, snow-blanketed streets. To her, her heartbeat seems to beat even louder.

Everyone acts as if nothing is wrong, but you can feel the unease coursing through the Square. Every day when she passes through Cunningham Square the same memories flood into her mind. The colorful ads lighting up Times Square all day and all night long. The joy and freedom soaring through the air. She has to push away the longing, growing stronger everyday.

Longing for freedom and joy replacing fear. Blinding commercials replacing the grim Countdown. Now, even the dull announcements and propaganda usually displayed on the screens seem appealing. But The Countdown has filled the screens since the first of November, and it will only vanish when The Countdown strikes zero, at midnight on New Years Eve. And what replaces it will be hundreds of times worse. __________________

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“Good morning, Sam.” Audrey approaches a middle aged man, dressed in the usual white .

robes of a merchant. His hair is hazel, and his eyes are pale blue.

“Good morning!” He waves as she walks over to his stall. He hands Audrey her weekly rations, and smiles sympathetically. Audrey forces a smile.

“Thank you.” Audrey replies, but she doesn’t mean it. Food is never plentiful or glorious in the lower cities. Soft buttered bread, sweet apples, and mouth watering cakes only exist in her dreams. Instead she leaves with beans, hardened bread, peanut butter, and bruised bananas. The Administration carefully restricts food rations, as well as time spent outside of work and houses.

During the first few years after the Administration took over, they needed soldiers to monitor and control the people. Now they accomplish this with security cameras and threats.

Just a few weeks ago there was a woman named Lily who skipped a day of work and snuck into the forest with her boyfriend. Lily thought she had gotten away with it, until she woke up one morning with a security camera picture of her and her boyfriend in the forest.

Next to it was a simple message: “We are always watching.” Lily should have heeded the warning, but instead she tried sneaking out a different way. The next morning Lily was pulled awake by a silent soldier dressed in all black.

Audrey did not know this story, but she heard a piercing scream that morning, and nobody ever saw Lily again. Audrey and the rest of her community always follow the rules and stay in line, however most people silently hated the Administration. This served as a harsh reminder. __________________ After Audrey dropped off her day's rations at her unit she dragged herself to the factory just in time for work. She absolutely despises her job. In all of the lower cities the citizens are forced to work for the Administration, and even after spending hours at the factory every day Audrey still wants to cover her ears and block out the deafening clamor. The sound of hundreds of metal machines grinding and clanging echoes through the humid, smelly, dark and

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enormous, concrete building. As Audrey walks over to her loom she grits her teeth together in .

disgust. Black thread is piled high on the tables. Today at the factory all of the workers are being required to manufacture uniforms for the soldiers; the very people that threaten and disrespect all of the people in the lower cities. She knows the rules though. Audrey swallows her anger, and gets to work.

By the time she is finally able to go home, the streets are only illuminated by lights, her arms are sore and aching, and she is exhausted. However, those feelings are replaced with a racing heart, sweaty palms, and a sickening feeling in Audrey’s gut when she walks through Cunningham Square. 7 days, 2 hours, 10 minutes, and 24 seconds. Less than a week! She thinks to herself, as her stomach drops. Audrey climbs up the many flights of stairs, and heats up her beans. Her stomach is not soothed by the food. She quickly rinses herself off, climbs into bed, and falls asleep. __________________ After seven more identical days, Audrey is once again walking past Cunningham Square when she glances up. Audreys heart seems to stop as she reads the numbers on the screen: 0 days, 14 hours, 40 minutes, and 30 seconds. She is only able to process one feeling; dread. Underneath The Countdown reads a simple message: “All citizens are to report to Cunningham Square at 2300 today for a mandatory assembly. After your trip to the market, you are to immediately return to your units until this time. All citizens are excused from work.”

13 hours later Audrey leaves her unit and arrives at Cunningham Square. Her heart is jumping out of her chest, and Audrey feels as if she is going to throw up. Officials and soldiers have transformed the Square. Hundreds of chairs fill the streets, but the biggest difference is the soldiers. New Year's Eve every ten years is the only time the Administration needs soldiers to control the crowd, and the only time all of New York City is in one place.

Twenty-one years ago, even more people filled the streets for New Years Eve to celebrate as the clock hit zero and the ball dropped. Now it isn’t a celebration.

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.

The Countdown to freeze at 1 seconds. Now, once every ten years, in one city in the United States, a different type of ball drops. A ball as big as the tallest skyscrapers, a ball that haunts people's nightmares. A deadly one. __________________ Exactly twenty years ago one this very day a man named Mark Cunningham took the stage with hundreds of supporters and soldiers alongside him. He was the President of the United States. However, the results from the recent elections had come in, and in a month that would not be the case. There were mainly twenty cities that had voted for the other candidates: Washington D.C, New York City, Chicago, Nashville, Boston, Austin, Baltimore, Atlanta, Kansas City, Miami, Orlando, Los Angeles, Buffalo, Pittsburg, Columbus, Little Rock, Salt Lake City, Salem, Las Vegas, and Hartford. When these cities heard the news, they launched incredible celebrations. However, their celebrations were cut short when Mark Cunningham took the stage on that day; twenty years ago.

“Good morning.” He boomed as the crowd went silent. “As you are probably aware, the results from the recent elections indicate that Joe Smith will be the next President of the United States of America. However I have some sad news to share with you. Yesterday afternoon Mr. Smith and his Vice Presidenr were mysteriosly murdered.” Mark Cunningham tried to hide his smirk, but everyone knew that this death was no coincidence. “We are doing everything in our power to find the culprit and bring them to justice. With regards to the President, I will remain in office.” Mark Cunningham left the stage.

The very next day everyone in the 20 cities found a packet in their mailbox, and soldiers lined the streets. It included a daily schedule, directions regarding rations, job assignments, information about the new Administration, and a message: “Every ten years you will gather in Cunningham Square (formerly Times Square) to receive punishment for choosing another candidate over me. Do not disobey these instructions. Our soldiers will not hesitate.” __________________

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.

So here everyone is, at the second punishment. Although the first happened ten years ago, it is still fresh in Audreys mind. The terror in everyones eyes as Cunningham reached into the box, the relief when the people of New York City saw Washington D.C. picked, the shock when they learned what was about to happen, and the helplessness and weakness as Washington D.C. and all of its citizens were completely destroyed. This time, the people were even more terrified. Now there were only nineteen cities being picked from, not twenty. Now they knew the fate of the city Mark Cunningham drew out of the box.

Everyone has filed into their seats by the time 20 minutes are all that remains on the clock. All of a sudden The Countdown moves to the bottom left corner of the screen, and Mark Cunningham's face takes over the screen.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen!” He calls. Needless to say, there is not any applause. “Today we gather to remind the lower cities of the day they chose Smith over me. We gather to punish them for their disobedience.” He asserts.

The clock is at ten seconds when he reaches into the box. Nine seconds, he pulls a slip cleanly from the box, and holds it high in the air. Eight seconds, the entire country is holding their breath. Seven seconds, all of the soldiers in all of the lower cities march out, and seal the exits behind them. Six seconds later, the streets are pitch-black, and the streetlights are shut off.

Five seconds, the camera zooms in on the small white paper. Four seconds, Audreys mind is racing. It is impossible to comprehend how much weighs in that small slip of paper. 3 seconds, the Square is dead silent, and hundreds of people are about to die. 2 seconds, in one movement Mark Cunningham unfolds the paper. 1 second, everyones eyes turn up as Mark Cunningham opens his mouth and the camera focuses on three deadly, dreadful words. “New York City” The Countdown strikes 0, everyone in the Square's eyes widen in fear beyond comprehension.

Immediately an enormous streak of fire lights up the entire city. And, for the first time in twenty years and the last time ever, the ball drops on New York City.

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Harmony Anna Dober March 19, 2035 The small town of Harmony, New Hampshire is the most perfect one in the world. In this utopian place, every house is a mansion, every car is a limousine, and everyone’s life is carefree and perfect. Crime, poverty, inequality, and bullying are all the unfortunate problems of other places. None of Harmony’s citizens ever lie. They never disobey instructions. They never tease or play pranks. After all, a society with dishonest, disobedient, trouble-making citizens isn’t anything to be proud of.

Ester Warren couldn’t care less. She doesn’t care about jeopardizing everything Harmony stands for. She hates her hometown. To her, it’s a boring prison that she’s itching to leave behind. No one ever leaves Harmony, but Ester is more than happy to be the first. This is why she’s lied several times in the past hour, in order to break a rule. A big one.

In the middle of town is an imposing-looking building with a giant KEEP-OUT Sign outside.

Several kids have tried to enter it, but they always end up in the local clinic with broken limbs.

Every single one of those kids has backed up the story told by all the adults in harmony. That it’s an office building. Ester doesn’t buy that thought. Something tells her that in that building lies a very important machine. If something happens to that machine, mass chaos will result. A secret will be exposed.

Samantha Lacy is in her room working on her essay for Harmony Values class. She’s been asked to write two pages on how dishonesty causes problems in the outside world. The sheet has some suggested historical events to research. One on the list catches her eye: Pearl Harbor. She types it into the search bar and clicks on an article.

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.

It reads: “In 1941, a businessman named Milton Crane claimed that a harbor in Hawaii contained Pearls. Hoping to strike it rich, many people boarded ships to Hawaii to seek their fortune. No pearls were ever found, and 5 months later Crane admitted he lied. The resulting frustration lead to the murder of Crane by a riot, in which 4 protesters died.”

Suddenly, that wasn’t what the webpage said.

“Pearl Harbor was a United States Navy base in Hawaii. In 1941, it was attacked by the Japanese Air Force, leading to the death of 2,400 people. The next day, the United States declared war on Japan, and entered WWII.” Samantha blinked. Then blinked again. What? Why was there a different webpage now? And which one was right? She presses the refresh button. Nothing. Then she restarts the computer. The webpage still reads the same thing. What is happening?

Three blocks away, Ester watches through a drone camera as a black machine tips over and clatters to the floor.

March 20, 2035

The rumor is that the internet problems are a result of a prank. Everyone knows there’s only one kid in Harmony who would ever dare to play a prank.

The school day goes by in a blur. Samantha pays attention in all her classes, but none of the information means anything. The lesson in Life in the Outside World about poverty is disturbing and shocking to her classmates, but the information that some people have to think carefully before buying something because they don’t have as much money as they want goes into one of Samantha's ears and right out the other. For the first time in her life, Samantha stares at the clocks in her classrooms, counting down the hours, minutes, and even seconds until she can confront Ester at dismissal.

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Late at night, March 20, 2035 Ester had a drone. It was perfectly allowed. Nearly every kid in Harmony had one. Hers had required some modifications. There was a chip in the drone. A tracking chip that stopped it from going anywhere it wasn’t allowed. Removing it had been scary, for the chip was designed to explode if anything happened to it, which would hopefully destroy the device in question. The drone was able to crash through the window without much problem. An alarm went off, but all the systems were designed to stop humans. Everyone figured the technology in all the remote-controlled devices would never malfunction.

Instinct led her to turn right out of the room the drone crashed into. Then left and the next fork in the hallway. Then into the 3rd room on the right side of the corridor her drone was now in. There was a machine, and again, instinct told her it was important.

She had flown in there to look around, but the drone had other ideas. It ignored her commands and collided with the machine. She hadn’t wanted that to happen. The pieces of the drone would be found. They would be linked to her.

She would be lucky to have her life after the authorities were done with her. Instinct told Ester that too.

Samantha snaps awake. She takes a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. It was just a dream, she tells herself. It was just a dream.

Something tells her it wasn’t just a dream though. Instinct, like Ester had felt. Something tells her it was completely real. It had happened. It was a message.

Samantha barely knows Ester, but she has been raised to believe that no harm should ever come to anyone, for any reason. No one should ever have their life in danger. Samantha is certain of one thing. Harm might come to Ester, and her life is in danger.

Samantha steps out of bed. She puts on a black hoodie and black leggings. She ties the darkest-colored sneakers she owns onto her feet, and tip-toes out the door.

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Very early, March 21, 2035 Harmony is completely silent. Birds aren’t singing, and crickets aren’t chirping. A single snowflake hitting the ground would startle Samantha, and cause her to jump, and quickly look over her shoulder for the millionth time in her 3-block walk. And for the millionth time, all she would see would be still night air.

Upon arriving, it takes Samantha a couple of minutes to take in the sight of the building.

It is magnificent, and imposing, that is for sure, and looks as if someone spent an awful lot of money on it. It has an unblemished black paint coating, with blacked-out windows placed at constant intervals, giving the whole thing a polished look.

It doesn’t take long for Samantha to find the window Ester had crashed her drone into.

When Samantha looks closer, she sees it is unguarded. Can it really be this easy? Samantha slips into the window with a surprising amount of grace. Ester mentioned alarms, but Samantha isn’t surprised when they don’t go off. The internet problems must have affected them too.

Samantha remembers the instructions in the dream. She turns right out of the room, then left when she comes upon a fork in the hallways. Once in that corridor, Samantha slips into the third room on the right side of the corridor. Lying on the floor, is pieces. Some are plastic, some are metal, some are black, some are silver, and some are white. She gets on her hands and knees, and picks up one of the pieces on the floor. It’s not a piece though. It’s a box. She swallows nervously, and opens it.

Then there’s a sound. And a sinister voice: “Turn around with your hands in the air.”

Samantha turns her head to see a tall figure, clad in black, with a gun pointing at her.

Then the world goes black.

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.

Later When Samantha wakes up, she’s blindfolded, and can feel her hands tied behind her back.

“How nice of you to join us.”

Samantha jolts upright. It’s the same voice from that day in the imposing looking building. Samantha has no idea how long ago that day was. It could have been hours, it could have been weeks.

“Before you start asking questions, your friend Ester is in a similar room as the one you are in now. You were so kind to lead us to her.”

When Ester wakes up, she’s blindfolded, and can feel her hands tied behind her back.

“How nice of you to join us.”

The blindfold is suddenly removed. Ester can see a tall, cruel looking woman with incredibly pale skin staring at her. She has red hair, like Ester, and piercing hazel eyes. It only takes a split second for everything to come rushing back.

“Mom?” Ester was around 4 years old. Her mom had come home with a cruel look on her face.

“Ester,” she had said, “I’m sending you away.”

Four-year-old Ester didn’t understand.

“What,” she had said, “Why? Where am I going?”

“To a friend of mine.”

“Why?” Ester exclaimed, hysterical, “What did I do?”

“Honey,” her mother said, “take a deep breath. The panic will go away soon. When you wake up, you won’t remember you felt it.”

“My so-called parents, the ones I live with now, are the friends of yours!” Ester says furiously.

The woman nods. “That didn’t take you long at all.”

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“You sent me here as an experiment!” Ester continues, “You wiped my memory!”

.

The cruel smile doesn’t leave her face. “You’ve always been smart, dear. I must say, I’m sad to destroy this town and see you go, but you’ve served your purpose.”

Ester stares.

“I’ve always wanted to be in charge, you see. To have power. To have people obey my every command. I must say, you have been most helpful in helping me figure out how to do that.”

“You’re using us!” Ester screams, “you created a perfect community to find out the best way to be a criminal! The internet. You messed with to see what information to feed people to make them believe things, to make them listen to you!”

“My, my.”

“And the building.” Ester continues, “I went there with you once, and you wiped it from my memory! That’s why I knew it was something fishy, and how to get to that machine!”

All she gets for a response is that cruel smile.

Then the woman disappears. A hologram. She had been a hologram the whole time. It makes sense to Ester though. She had said she was going to destroy Harmony. She wouldn’t put herself in danger from whatever was going to accomplish that job for her. Suddenly, there’s an earth-shattering boom, and the walls cave in a shower of fire, smoke, and death.

Epilogue - 2 years later Samantha survived. No one is sure of how, but she does what Ester couldn’t do. She makes out with her life. Samantha has been traumatized ever since by what happened to her hometown, and her just-made friend. To Samantha, it is and always will be her fault. If she hadn’t acted impulsively and gone looking for Ester’s drone, she would still be here. The civil war in the United States that took over 300,000 lives never would have happened. She would not be in the deranged mental state she lived in constantly. She has realized one thing though.

Her silence isn’t helping anyone, least of all herself.

Today is the day she’s finally going to break it.

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Breeze Ashley Bicksel

33

Lunar Landing

By Karmen Snead

They look a little goofy The screens in black and white Their bouncing like flames They might feel elated unlike a birthday cake deflated

Sitting there waiting Old bones feel recreated While they’re kids are graying I felt like an outsider watching a dream Catching bits and pieces of untold memories

But it's one small leap for man one giant leap for Those left behind

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Possibilities Kyle Walkes

Gray, circular, an island full of holes.

A dark, strange empty world.

The astronauts are like slow kangaroos, jumping up and down and moving slowly.

The astronauts must feel amazed, oozy because of the gravity.

They must feel very proud, very honored, The Americans are watching as history is made.

They surely feel shocked, mystified.

I feel nothing, empty towards this. But I do not understand how important it is yet.

That's one small step for man, one giant leap for our possibilities

Weightless Brooks Gustafson The moon 200,038 miles away from home Jumping up and down I’m here After so any years of being doubted I kept believing I’m here now Feeling like a feather Almost floating “Come on we’re leaving.”

I regain my senses Back home we go To where we will be heroes of our nation

35

36

Katy

Fox

Hayden McCausland

Gabe Hanson

Butterfly

Untitled

Cora Richardson

Nisa Mooganur

Shadows of the Light

Untitled

Greta Ploetz

Kaitlyn Hooper

People scream, people laugh, people cry alone.

I honestly don't know We are all born friendless

No one ever seems to look in the shadows

But the probabilities are endless

yet the best ideas always are hiding.

Some will probably be ignored

The best personalities always get outshined by those seeking attention.

The shadows are never mentioned when we talk about the shining.

The loud always are above the quiet.

The loud are usually on a diet.

While the quiet are on a balanced diet.

The loud have what they call confidence.

While the quiet fade into commonness.

When the wave comes crashing down the loud come crawling back.

The quiet will always accept, pretend to forgive.

The loud will give their snooty opinion behind the backs, even right in front.

This is the way life goes: one grunts one confronts and interrupts.

Only some make it.

Some might work at a Burger King And not be able do anything The apocalypse might start But still they would work at a minimum wage Feeling if they fall would they say something is there even a word If they die do they die alone Nowhere to go and no place to call home Though some die in fame Surrounded by people but do they truly have friends Or were they putting up and act until the end That is the truth of society Do people ever have true happiness Or do they just fake Is there anyone who loves and truly has love That is the question

37

Who Cares?

Anonymous

A dream can become a friend, As quickly as it can become a soulless shell.

Never to be achieved, Stolen.

But was it ever yours?

While you could be happy for them, The achievers, Do you really feel that way?

Would you stand till you withered?

Would someone care?

As humans, Our dreams-And others-Do we feel happy for them?

When your dreams are stolen, Swiftly in the night, What do you feel?

What do you see?

Indifferent?

Hurt?

Is the person, The same as they were?

Are they different?

Would they, care?

Emotions engulfs us, Emotions changes the things we do, Hypnosis-For our person gain.

Do they really matter, That much--

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To us?

Would those people, care?

In a world without emotion, Would they still matter?

Would we still protect them?

Would those who we protect, care?

How does love really matter, When we only focus on ourselves?

The relationship between you and others, How much would it hurt to be broken?

If the china doll were to be broken, Nobody would know.

Nobody would care.

Strangers, They don’t know us, They don’t care.

Who cares, Who would care-Nobody.

When the dream is stolen, Who will care, You will just stand, Till you fall, You will be on your knees, Till you wither, And wither away.

Never to be achieved.

Who Cares.

GROUND Henry Howard

What would the world be if we didn’t have ground?

Well, there’s a simple answer, it wouldn’t be around.

And nobody appreciates it, contrary to its size, Yet it is home to like, I dunno, 8 billion guys?

What if it were to disappear, what would you do?

You’d realize it's much more important, wouldn’t you?

The entire world would cease, objects fly into space, So you may as well appreciate it.

Just. In. Case.

What if the powers above didn’t want us to take it for granted?

And judgment day came early, in space we were stranded?

Why don’t we all start now, adding ground to our prayers?

And maybe only then we’ll see the heavenly stairs?

Or maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know I’m not a god.

My theory has room for improvement, it’s definitely still flawed.

Do you think I’m right or do you think I’m insane?

This was all I could think of as a poem quatrain.

Anyways, back to the main plot.

I think it’s obvious I like the ground a lot.

And I deeply apologize to my underfoot soil, If anyone’s arrogance has brought you turmoil.

And I try to defend, justifying my case.

You’re the only thing binding us from outer space.

I hope that I’ve changed someone’s opinion on the ground.

FOOTPRINTS Maddie Rumness

Okay, I’m done, bye, see you around.

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Bus Seat Maddie Rumness 1943

The driver

Rain pouring down in sheets

Moves the imaginary border

Enters

Back a row

Pays her fare

Behind her

Exits and strides to the entrance at the back

The people surrounding her

The bus comes to life

Same blood, same skin, same ideas

It drives away

Forced to stand

Anger

By the driver

Resentment

So that someone of the same blood, but contrasting skin

1955

Could take a seat, where they were seconds before

Walks up the steps

She refuses

Enters

She is adamant

Pays her fare

She is persistent

Surveying the back she turns around and sits down

She is determined

Sitting in the closest row to the imaginary drawn border

She will not stand

Stopping and starting

She will not stand for it

Through the route

She will not be told what to do by someone

Looking across the border, seats are occupied

With the same blood but contrasting skin

Entering, a person with the same blood but contrasting skin

The driver

The driver

Called the authorities

Had the same memory of the rainy day in 1943

Told them to take away the woman

The memory was strong in her mind, but in his it was just a

With the same blood but contrasting skin

weak fragment

Taken away, but still fighting for freedom

To her that day was important, to him it was just another day

40

ODE Sanjeev Belle Trichur You,

You sacrifice yourself

Shirley Temple,

to the lips of mankind

are the drink I desire forever.

to give them

Your delicate heartbeat,

prosperity,

gently fizzing,

but nobody

I value.

seems to acknowledge

All fancy restaurants

your taste

serve you

and existence.

for the reason

People see you

of your existence.

as just a drink,

You blaze of Rigel.

but I see you differently,

And shiver of Pluto.

as a whole organism yourself.

I admire

You’re of vital importance

the bloom

and a gargantuan token

of your crimson hues.

of happiness.

I always feast my eyes on you.

Compared to you, Your pure delicious

other soda lacks elegance,

inferno

juice is bland,

fires sweet bombs

and half the population

in a hullabaloo

can’t even drink

on a cold day.

alcohol.

You

What everyone deserves

are the sweet allure

is an Amazon River,

of sugary harmonic conflagration.

a Caspian Sea,

The other heart cluster

an entire Pacific Ocean

of your purple bubbling

filled with you

maraschino cherries

to end sadness,

add the simple steer

build friendships,

into a sour touch

and liven even the most ancient bodies

that balances the sweet fire.

in the world.

You’re never disliked

41

Flowers & Knives Jazz Buitrago

Ray stumbled through the brambles. It’s late, he realized. Too late to be rushing through the branches, pushing the leaves aside to run straight into certain death. It had been three years. Three whole years.

“Why are you still searching for her?” A voice called out from the tree trunks, packed thick together.

Ray’s heart stopped beating for a second.

Had someone followed him? Through the barbed wire fence? Past the alligator pond?

All the way here? Why? Would they tell the town council? The forest wasn’t that dangerous, but anyone who was known to have set foot inside of it quickly disappeared because of “workplace mishaps” or “The Disease”. It was funny, in a way.

“Ray?” She stepped into the gracious moonlight circle of light resting on the foliage not disrupting anything. Ray wanted to be like the moonlight one day. Cutting through other’s darknesses without hurting them in the process.

Avita adjusted her chartreuse bandanna while waiting for a response. Avita had a way of making you feel safe, and welcome.

42

She would let you stand around in complete silence for a while, until you were ready to actually speak.

“I know,” Ray said. The words tasted fresh on his tongue, but also like an old attic. The air had been still in it for eons. “I know, but I have to keep searching. Laurel could be anywhere. She could be-” Ray’s voice broke, and a single tear wetted his face, rolled down his cheek, blotted his boot.

Avita’s bare feet crunched through the crisp leaves. She wrapped her arm around Ray, whispering softly in his ear. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Then there was a soft whistling in the trees. A light whisper in the branches. The wind whipped past Avita, and a small brown object thudded at Ray’s feet. He bent down, and looked at it more closely. It was a notebook.

Not just any notebook, though. Laurel’s notebook.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” Ray choked out.

“No,” Avita replied. “ She’s not.”

And that’s when it came.

House Olivia Greene

43

A TREE Caeli Boris A tree I sit at the bottom of a tree, amongst its great roots Staring up into its vast branches Old branches, wise, great, and strong This is an old tree that has stood the test of time And has not wavered but grown It sits alone, by itself At the top of a hill, looking down upon a lake Its mighty branches sway in the wind A few leaves fall off, drifting down to rest upon the surface of the lake Creating tiny ripples that spread through the still, calm waters One leaf lands on my outstretched palm I gaze at it as it gazes at me Its vivid green color drawing my eye As dappled sunlight falls on it It comes from ones that are the same, one among a thousand, yet one of a kind I gaze at it, laying upon my hand I continue to gaze at it as the wind lifts it from my hand and carries it away to somewhere new I turn my gaze back upon the tree And wonder

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DEDICATED TO YOUNG LEARNERS