“Festus the Dragon”
- Waverly Walker ‘26
Dimensions 2024-2025
First Semester:
Editors-In-Chief: Ruthie Allen
Second Semester:
Editors-In-Chief:
Sophia Spivey and Mary Tumbarello
I can hear him in the bathroom in the bedroom in the kitchen
OH, WON’T IT HUSH?
I know everywhere it goes its dragging legs its thorny claws its viral fur tail must it be so obnoxious with its presence I know everywhere it goes where did Oscar go? and then it patch scampers over to me and looks up with its big, big eyes and I look back and then I know that this godforsaken cat knows where Oscar went on my knees fingernails in the rug tears in my eyes tell me tell me TELL ME
WHERE IS OSCAR and that stupid cat scampers away
“Homura and Madoka” - Elle Floodman ‘27
Dolls and Daydreams
By: Kate Henry ‘25
Each Afternoon, I’d cross the cracked sidewalk, Knock on your door, And ask if you could play.
Whether it was swinging on my swing set, Swimming in your pool, Jumping on my trampoline, Or playing with our toys.
Especially the dolls. We built tiny worlds. Covered their plastic in cloth. Braided their fine hair.
The dolls were our voices, Lived our dream lives, And knew all our secrets. We only had one worry. When were we going To be called home for dinner?
The Last Footstep, The Last Day
By: Hannah Right ‘25
I heard a footstep– as the darkness approached –
The sky began to split–
The mountains crumbled – stone by stone –
The Earth began to shake–
The silence spread– across the land–
Where oceans used to crash–
The water went still–
And every sound– lost–
Lost in time–
The collapsing stars fell from the sky–
Shattered like broken glass–
The sun had burnt away–
And only thing– left behind was– ash
To mark the end of the day–
The Moon and Back
By: Naida Reitenbach ‘25
The creak of the boards swaying from the weight
The swing-set’s purpose so strong
The little girl gets carried away
Forward and backward
She kicks her legs
Pumping back and forth Grandma pushes from behind
And away
Leans her head out far Trying to touch the sky With a woosh she comes back Heels clipping the muddy patch
Hair waving in her face her skirt flows in the breeze Fingers wrapped tightly Around the metal chains
Giggles and screams come again and again Grandma exclaims "I love you to the moon and back"
Her eyes brighten
Points her little legs straight out in front of her "No, I love you more!" she smiles
The lock and key
Skye Lozano ‘25
The Key Swift Turning Click click Lock opens Door unlocks Opportunities Step Through Hold My Breath Wait For What Is Bound to happen Pain Say Hello Anyone home? No Response Return the key A Final Good Bye
The Lock
Come home Turn lock Click click Door opens Walk inside Stop. Look. I spot the key, lying on the table. A reminder of what I have lost Of what I ended, ripped apart. The memories all rush back All the days we spent together Nights when he held me Protecting me from the dark I had thought it would never end Now, key in hand, I know it has
Moving
Grace Shoger ‘25
Where am I? I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar place. I laid paralyzed for a moment, afraid that if I moved a muscle, the shadows dancing on the ceiling would lurch at me. I slowly started to remember how hard it had been to fall asleep the night before. I remembered the waterfall of tears I had cried as I reminisced on the old house. I remembered feeling lonelier than ever before like I had left all my memories behind, and they were gone forever. I remembered how frustrated I had gotten as I made failed attempts to envision new memories being made here. This was the first morning waking up in the new house.
Eventually, I slumped out of bed in a slug-like manner, and resumed the seemingly neverending task of unpacking. Each box held more than just belongings. The more I unpacked, the more my inner child smiled as I recalled good times. But after each heartwarming rush of nostalgia, a intense wave of sadness came crashing down. When I looked up from the lifelike eyes of a stuffed dog that my dad had passed on to me from when he was a boy, I was reminded not only was I removed from my home, but so were all the memorable items from my childhood?!?!?!. I felt like I was detaining them somewhere foreign against their will. Holding them captive. Like prison. These baby photos weren’t taken in this place. These beloved toys weren’t played with by my younger sister here. These beat-up pots and pans have never been used to make a family dinner in this kitchen. And this stuffed dog was not placed lovingly on this bed, in this house, for me to cherish.
My whole life I had only known these objects in the context of the old house. It was unsettling to see them find resting places in this newfound environment. Everything seemed out of place. Even I felt out of place.
What an odd feeling like a fish out of water in the place I now call home. This does not feel like my home. It feels more like a hotel. Somewhere I am temporarily staying until I leave for college. For how can I call a place my home that has never heard my father’s laugh? Has never seen the childhood dress up parties my sister and I had? Has never embraced me as I collapsed on the floor in defeat after a rough day? Has never witnessed a fight with my mother when I was struggling most?
I simply cannot. For I am not a liar.
The Move
Summer Avila ‘25
As I look through memories I can only think It was just for a bit-
A horn honking outside
Walking through, recalling memories
Look at the finger painting I did as a kid I will never return
My last time in this house
Never to sleep in the roomI slept in since birth
Not to hear the crickets chirp
Now all a memory.
Last time walking down the stairs
Making the creaking sound
Not to be heard again
Last time opening the door
The last time the squeak will be made-
Closing the door.
The last time I shut the door
Never to open or return,
With the last bit of memories to take with me.
Walking down the driveway
Smelling the freshly cut grass
The Roses are blooming, letting out their scent
Getting into my car
Driving away into a new world
Splish splash
Cecelia Heusohn ‘25
Mom opens the door of our cookie cutter house with a smile splashed across her face that manages to be even more cookie cutter. “Hi!” she chirps, “You must be Katie.” I stand in the den as Mom greets the new babysitter, her youthful face and bright innocent eyes betray- ing just how young she is no matter how old and mature she acts. “Come on in!” Mom practi- cally sings, her voice sickeningly sweet. As they enter the house my mom leads the young woman to me, her smile never once wavering. “This is my son, Carter.” my mother introduc- es. I smile up at her, the fakeness clear to anyone but the babysitter apparently.
“Hi, Carter,” the babysitter, Katie I think her name is, greets me. I don’t acknowledge her past a curated smile. She won’t last the day anyways. She’ll end up just like all the rest. I nod at her and turn around.
“Don’t mind him. He’s a typical ten-year-old boy. Starting to get moody and all that.” my mother says, trying to excuse my behavior. Her smile falls faker than I thought it could get. With a sigh Mom turns to the babysitter. “Any who! How about I take you upstairs and you can meet Serena, my youngest. Though I must warn you, she prefers being called Siri.” I settle down to play with my toys and wait for the chaos to slowly ensue as mom and Katie head up- stairs.
A scream slams through the house the way a wave crashes into the coast. A laugh wiggles out of my throat, Siri never does like new people. Slowly my mom continues to show the babysit- ter around, I guess she doesn’t scare easily.
“I’m so sorry for Siri and Carter’s behavior. They should improve when we leave,” my mom says as she gathers her and my father’s belongings. “Anyways, this is just a trial run after all. If it’s not a good fit for whatever reason, no harm no foul,” she says as she slowly moves to- wards the door with my father, “I’ll see you around 7 o’clock! Dinner’s in the freezer unless you get ambitious!” Just before the door closes my mom swings it back open, “Oh! And whatever you do, do not forget the rules on the fridge!” And, with that, the door closes and they step out into the night.
For the majority of the night everything goes well. Katie makes us mac and cheese and hot dogs. She makes sure to still cut Siri’s though she doesn’t realize its unnecessary as all of her food goes under the table to the dog. Slowly, time winds down and we reach the time for Siri’s bedtime.
“I’m going to give your little sister a bath, how about you curl up with a snack on the couch?” Katie asks me from her spot across the kitchen island. I smile and nod, gracefully accepting the snack and TV remote. With a forced smile I watch her head up the stairs, as she rounds the corner, my eyes flick to the list on the fridge. The last thing on the list brings a giggle out of my throat. Just then the door opens, and my parents come in as the babysitter descends the staircase.
At the same moment the lights flicker out as the house is plunged into darkness, the sound of water rushing upstairs echoes through the now silent house. With an eerie calmness, Mom turns to the trial babysitter. “You didn’t give her a bath, did you?”
Doesn’t everybody know you aren’t supposed to get electronics wet?
“
lion drawing’ Waverly Walker ‘26
pillows
Mary Tumbarello ‘25
Only thing that gives me comfort. Only place where I can find rest. They understand me, They don't judge me.
My pillows know me, Have been there for me through everything. They know when I'm happy Or when I'm sad. They know the real me.
But why can't everything be like my pillows Why can't everything be just as comforting, Just as understanding. What happens when The pillows are no longer around.
Afternoon Run
Ingrid Donahue ‘25
It’s as simple as breathing at first.
Left
Left
Right
Right
Left.
Embers glow orange and ashy in the back of my throat; not enough to scald, but enough to feel pleasant. My heart pulses like something really alive, like The birds in the sky, the trees shifting in the wind, green and glittering like Sunlight on my watch. Can’t see my time (Don’t need to see my time. I’m 30 seconds in)
I can hear my coach critiquing the team’s running technique after practice, on the lacrosse field instead of suburban sidewalk, dodging curly poodle-mix dogs and their owners.
Up a slow incline.
Duck
Under a tree branch.
If it weren’t for the giant STOP sign my leg muscles have erected in my brain, I could go farther.
I consider walking.
Some wine mom’s Subaru blows a stop sign. I do too, doubts scattered.
Left Right Left Right. Reach up to move my hair and my ribs burn.
Now I get why all my friends think I’m insane for doing this willingly. Ooh, cool bumper sticker.
Left Right Left Right.
0.75. Quarter mile more than two days ago.
Turn back around, towards the house, and more importantly, a cold shower that I won’t actually end up taking. Some things are better off as a light at the end of a tunnel.
The not so stupid sonic game
Ava Lee ‘25
Theyearis2017,Iameleven,andmyeyesweighheavy. Theroomistailoredtoperfectlyaccommodatearestfulsleep;itis warm,butnotuncomfortablyso,thedarkcurtainsaredrawndespitesomestreetlightsnakingitswayacrosstheworn carpet,andmysoot-coloredcomforterisdrawnsnuglyacrossmyfreshlyshoweredframe. ThepajamasIchosethat nightareanoldsetmymomgaveme. Theoversizedsnow-coloredshirtislitteredwithlightfuchsiapolkadots,paired withmatchingsoftshorts. Thematerialitselfisworn,orasmymomcallsit“well-loved”,whichwasapparentintheburrs andtearsthatresultedfromyearsofuse,eachimperfectionholdingastory. Mydark,damphairclingstotheoutlineof myfaceasapoutmakesitselfapparentinmyfeatures.
Theonethingpreventingthesweetembraceofsleepfromclaimingmymindwasthelightemittedfromthecallousedhandsofmydad. Well,nothishandsthemselves,butrathertheNintendoSwitchhehadpurchasedformeandmy siblingsmonthsprior. Hesatontheedgeofmybedinhisironed,collared,workshirtandjeans,illuminatedbytheNintendo’slightashishandsmovedoverthecontrols,pullingupagametrailer. Thescentofhisofficefillsmynose,ofpapersand ink,anditremindsmealltoomuchofschoolandthebadgradeIreceivedinmathclassearlier. IgivemydadanunamusedlookasheramblesonaboutanewSonicgamethathebelievesIwouldenjoy. Overwhelmedandtired,mymind cravesresttosleepoffthebaddaybutunfortunately,mydadremainsblissfullyunawareofthisandcontinuestalking. The excitedsmileonhisfaceisalmostasbrightasthewhitelightemittedfromthegameconsoleasheclicksplay.
Afteranot-so-subtleeyerollchock-fullofattitude,Ibegrudginglywatchthescreen,mybrownirisesboredlyfollowing theblueblurthatwasSonic. Thegraphicswereclassicallyold-fashioned,thevibrantlycoloredpixelscreatingagamethat replicatedtheoriginal1991version. Thiswasoflittleimportancetome,astarkcontrasttotheimmensesignificancethe gamehadtomydad,amansoftenedbythesteadfastgraspofnostalgia. ThoughIwouldneveradmititaloud,oreveninternally,thetrailerdidbothimpressandinterestme. ButIamastubborneleven-year-oldwhojusthadabaddayand wantsnothingmorethantosleepitoff. Ishrug,feigninganuninterestedlookasmyeyesmeetmydad’sandIsimplystate, “Itseemscool,Iguess.”
Theredglowfrommymom’solddigitalclockduststhechippedwhitepaintofmybedsidetableasthenumbersinformmethatitiswellpastmybedtime. Muchtomydistaste,Iwaskeptfromsleep’sembraceasecond time,duetothebittervoicesofmyparents,whowereonceagainarguing. Theirwordswerelikeliquidseeping maliciouslythroughmyroom’swallsandvents,anundesiredintruderwhocreepsunderthecrackinmywhite woodendoor. Theirdisputeswerelikeabrokenrecord,weighingheavyinthedarkestcornersofmymindthatI keptsealedawayfrommyfriendswhoallhadseeminglyperfecthomelives. Mynarrowedeyesthatwerepreviouslytrainedontheceilingnowdanceacrossmyroom,followingthebeamsoflightbornfromanoisypassing projectcar,undoubtedlypartofmyneighbor’srustyarmyofdustgatherers. Thesebeams,sunlight’simposter, landonmycomforter,morepreciselytheNintendoSwitchthatrestedatopit,apparentlyleftbymydad.
Iglareatithalf-heartedly,becausewhileIcravedsleepmorethananything,mymindsimultaneouslyneeded adistractiontogetthere,ashieldfromthepainfullyfamiliarchaoseruptingdownstairs. Abriefsigh,apause. Isit up,mydark,silentroomsuddenlydisruptedbythegentlenoiseofmycomforterencirclingmywaistasmysmall handspushabutton,breathinglifeintothemachine. Myeyestakeamomenttoadjusttothesearingwhitelightof thehomescreenbeforetheloadingpageofthatstupidSonicgameappears.
Iamastubborneleven-year-old,fueledbyannoyancefrommybaddayandangertowardsmyparent’s heatedconversationthatkeptmefromsleep. ItellmyselfthatIwouldnot,couldnot,enjoythistrivial,childish gamebecause,atthemoment,theworldwasmyenemyandnothingitofferedcouldquellthefrownIsported. ThismindsetlastedaboutfourminutesintoplayingasIfiguredoutthecontrols,maneuveringSonicquickly throughtheintroductionlevel. Thefictionalbluehedgehogwasconstantlygrinning,annoyinglypositive,andIgave himanunamusedfrowneachtimeheutteredthe“gottagofast”catchphraseasifthatwouldmaskmyobvious fondnessforthegame. Witheachgoldenringgathered,myexpressiongentledandrelaxed. Asthenightprogressed,IsafelyguidedSonicthroughthechallengesofeachlevel,takinginthepixelsofGreenHillsasifitwere morethanafictionaldestinationinagameIsworeIwouldhate. Butfictionalornot,itwasanescape,adistractionthatencasedmeinabubbleofblissfulignorance. Fast-pacedthememusic,clickingnoises,andcheesy catchphraseseffectivelydrownedoutmyparent’snightlydispute,whilesimultaneouslyquietingmymind. Iam eleven. Idonothatetheworldsomuch,andIshareinmydad’ssentimentandthinkthatSonicisagamefar fromstupid. “Itseemscool,Iguess.”
Waking up
Macy Budd ‘25
The night rolls away like a slow wave, leaving behind puddles of silver light. Trees shake off the darkness, and rooftops start to glow as light begins to touch them, still quiet, still just barely dark.
Birds come out, flying, singing, ending the peace. Their wings cut through the chilled air.
Their songs begin to grow louder. Somewhere, coffee beans are crushed and ground into dust, ready to be brewed. The rich warm smell fills the air. It floats through the streets and houses, like a promise that is waiting. It pulls people out of their beds.
Ariver of sky spills through the window, carrying voices I almost understand. Footsteps appear on the floor, soft and fading, like someone trying to be quiet. The sun stretches, pushing gold light through the cracks in the windows. The morning is here, pulling everything back into focus, waking the world. And finally, I stand, blinking, still half lost in the night.
Rain
Maddy Kloos ‘25
I felt the Rain pour-- as the World Ended The rain dripping off my skin was refreshing It was like a Wish fulfilled.
The birds danced-A gust of wind redirected the rain Chaos rang and Peace escaped.
The sky cried-The streets sparkled I watched as the Past washed away.
Limits
Sam BeSore ‘25
The first one pushed, the second pulled
The first spread me so thin, Thoughts stretched in every direction
Strained, outstretched, I felt as though my head might be ripped off
The second was warm and gentle, Healing my aches and wiping my tears,
The first was reckless, the second thoughtful
Games and risks, Forever hurt by the first,
But I paid the price,
The second reimbursed me,
Giving me credit rather than passing on their debts,
The first brought dreary grey days,
Each storm taking its toll on me,
My tears blending in, unnoticed, as I walked through the rain,
The Second brought bright days,
Each one to share the love I proclaim
First, my soul suffocated, second, my soul inflamed
The first needed coddling, the second holds me till death
“Before the Storm” Photo. Wigand, M.