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Vol. XIV

Lincoln North Star Literary Magazine Copyright © 2018 by Istoria Staff All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. Published by Firespring 1201 Infinity Ct, Lincoln, NE 68512 Cover art by Emily Espinoza Cover page art credits to Joe Horacek of Little Mountain Print Shoppe Co-Editors-in-Chief Laura Metzger and Shraddha Patel Advised by Maggie Deschaine

EDITORS’ COMMENTS Dear Reader, In this year’s edition, we decided to challenge ourselves to create a book that embodies North Star, not through a theme but through more of a concept. With this in mind, we took a lot of time deciding how we wanted the book to be organized. For the first time in Istoria’s history, we are dividing the book into sections based on the seasons: fall, winter, spring, and summer. The seasons then represent the stages of life each person goes through in their own journey or story. We start the book with fall, which we titled “Introspect,” representing the moments in life where we look forward to something new, but also reflect back on things that have shaped us. Then we go into the season of winter, titled “Melancholy,” representing the time in our lives when we struggle to find ourselves. However, when we reach spring, we blossom into who we really are, which is why we titled this section “Revival.” Finally we reach summer, which we titled “Thrive” for when we see our true selves reach our full potential and, hopefully, a sense of happiness. Throughout the book you will see that art has become a focal point this year. Instead of putting art on just empty spaces, we made pieces full-page spreads and connected art more seemlessly with our overall layout design, which we hope will have a greater impact on the reading experience. We would like to thank our sponsor, Maggie Deschaine, for taking on Istoria in 2016 and for making sure all of North Star’s voices are heard as well as leading a group of students who are willing to do just the same. This year’s staff has worked hard putting their talents and ideas into the book, and we hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did!

Co-Editors-in-Chief,

Laura Metzger and Shraddha Patel

TABLE OF

INTROSPECT

MELANCHOLY

6 *STRANGE / Emily Espinoza 8 *SKYSCRAPERS / Anna Vu 9 PURPOSE, GROWTH, ROOTS / Kenzie Frank 10 STORMS / Alexys M. Clark 11 *SUNBATHING, CLOUD CHASING / Cailey Wills 12 THE NEW WORLD / Mikaela Lawrence 13 *THE FERRIS WHEEL / Stephanie Jepson 14 *HOLST ROAD / Isabelle Engel 14 SOUTHERN STYLE / Jackson Swanson 15 FONT SIZE TWELVE, TIMES NEW ROMAN / Mo Benes 15 *FROM THE GROUND UP / Kenzie Frank 16 FATHER AND FARTHER / Jayden Mostek 17 DOVE / Savannah Whisenhunt 18 SOMETIMES I WORDS UP MY MIX / Jackson Barger 20 SOCIETY’S EXPECTATIONS / LaTreas Deras 20 *BLACK FOREST / Megan Vodraska 21 WHAT I SEE / Sicily Hutchinson 22 TRIAL / Sammi Marcellus 23 *A PATH BETWEEN MOUNTAINS / Anna Bryan

24 *LUMIÈRE/ Laura Metzger 26 HEARTBREAK / Jessa Alspaugh 26 *SLOPES / Savannah Whisenhunt 27 TUNDRA / Jessa Alspaugh 28 LIES / Sam Elliot 28 *SUMMER NIGHTS/ Logan Woollen 29 DISEASE / Delaney Ashmore 30 EMPTY / Cailey Wills 30 WHISPERED CONVERSATIONS / Cailey Wills 30 *FRIED / Bradyn Hasenpflug 31 FATHER / James Sykes 32 DARKNESS / Bre Rittenhouse 34 A L I E N S / Sarah Waters 35 PATIENT ZERO / Miranda Roth 36 A COLD WORLD / Omar Madrigal Rodriguez 38 PARTS OF A WHOLE / Richard Bui 38 *A DEEPER LOOK / Zoie Fitzsimmons 39 HAUNTED / Cristina Villa 40 THE ENIGMA OF SNOW / Jason Vo 41 *HARDWORKING / Kamrin Feely 42 ENCLOSED / Brittney Huynh 42 *KEEP THE FIRE / Jayce L. Yung 43 ALIVE / Jordan Humphrey 43 *COLORS OF NATURE / Cailey Wills

CONTENTS

III

REVIVAL

THRIVE

44 *UP IN THE AIR / Thanh Nguyen 46 CHERRY BLOSSOMS / Tina Cao 46 *PEACHY / Ashly Portillo 47 SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL / Alyssa Deaney 48 DEAR FUTURE / Emma McCormick 48 *LIFE’S REFLECTION / Aide Sanchez 49 WHERE I’M FROM / Mujteba Al Hajaj 49 *SUNFLOWER / Mackenzie Garrison 50 SMALL AND ROUND / Samantha Grove 51 SEED / Ian Burk 52 LEMONS / George Gudgel 53 RISE / Kenzi Wulf 53 *CHICAGO / Macy Howe 54 STRENGTH / Brooke Oestmann 55 *MY UNCLE MICOLE / Davyd Kokhanets 56 I WILL / Juwlien Idigima 57 NEW BEGINNINGS / Anonymous 57 MY CHILD / Yasmin Deluna 58 SWEET MISERY / Juli Karnish 58 *VAKTTÅRN / Savannah Whisenhunt 60 THUNDER / Laura Metzger 61 THE STORM / Layla Omari 61 *DARK SKIES AHEAD / Lauren Sherman 62 LOVE MY PETALS / Lauren Sherman 63 *HANAHAKI’S DISEASE/ Jaci Tubbs

64 *PUNTA CANA / Laura Metzger 66 REDISCOVERING YOU / Desiree Figueroa 66 *FLY AWAY / Kenzie Frank 67 LEMONS / Sammi Marcellus 68 LOOK DOWN / Sarah Waters 68 *PERCUSSION / Savannah Whisenhunt 69 SLIPPING AWAY / Sarah Waters 70 A WOMAN / Jordan Humphrey 70 *GOLDEN ROD / Isabelle Engel 71 WHO I AM, YOU HELPED ME TO BE / Jaedyn Armstrong 72 *REFLECTION / Megan Vodraska 72 SANCTUARY / Shraddha Patel 74 DEFINING MEXICAN-AMERICAN / Kate Mireles 75 *LA CALLE/ Laura Metzger 76 THIS IS FOR YOU / Zach Wendling 77 SENSATION / Savannah Whisenhunt 78 MY GARDEN / Zach Wendling 80 PRICELESS / Paige Howland 81 *CAROUSEL OF DREAMS / Sarah Waters 84 *THE MARCH / Mariam Solaiman 85 TIME TO THRIVE / Dr. Vann Price 86 *ESTES PARK / Isabelle Engel *artwork

INTRO

SPECT

SPECT “I made dungeons of my faults, angels of my accomplishments.” -SOMETIMES I WORDS UP MY MIX, pg 18

INTRO

DAWN

SKYSCRAPERS ANNA VU

sophomore

PURPOSE Each person has a purpose in this world. There are so many different ways to be a part of it. It’s never too late to find your purpose. Explore and experience new things, and, one day, you’ll find that purpose.

GROWTH Everyone grows differently. How you’re planted and how your roots spread are both a part of who you’ll become.

ROOTS Your roots, they support you. They get you on your feet and help you stand out. Be confident in who you are because you are one of a kind.

KENZIE FRANK senior

STORMS ALEXYS M. CLARK junior

Watching storms was always our favorite activity. On a day like today, it was the perfect temperature to sit outside, talk, and relax. My brother was having a bad day and wanted to sit outside and do some talking. It was very unordinary for him to be this quiet, so I knew something was on his mind. He was always the kind of guy who got people excited and listening just by walking in a room. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, but no words would come out. Maybe I just wanted him to feel safe in this storm and do the talking later. We sat outside in silence for what felt like a very long time. Nothing was said--only the thunder spoke. We just listened and took everything in that evening. The thunder rolled through the sky and the dark, grey clouds drifted away, but more would return. The sky went dark, the lightning struck the ground, and we stood still. My mom wanted to come outside but got preoccupied by Channel 8 Eyewitness News, so we just watched the storm. The smell of rain was always our favorite scent, and sometimes, I think that was always the reason we met outside on rainy afternoons. It was almost like a clean musky kind of smell, not the nasty kind. Rain has a different smell, a peaceful and delightful smell. When most people think of storms, they think of destruction; we think of peace and quiet. Suddenly, the storm got intense. It was the kind of storm that took my breath and ran before it had even had the chance to strike. Ever so beautiful, the purple, bright, radiant lightning struck the ground next to us once more and rumbled the entire house. The grey, puffy balls in the sky suddenly grew darker and bigger when they started to slowly swirl. Admiring the beauty of the storm, we ignored my mom for a while until she went back to sleep. My mom almost acted like she felt left out or disconnected from both of us because we usually talk. No talking was done, almost hearing crickets in night, but instead, it was thunder. The lights were gorgeous and ever so peacefully lighting up the entire sky, kind of like my brother does to me. He always had such an impact on my life as well as my being, but I loved him, who he was, and who he was becoming. For much longer, we still remained as quiet as mice for a while. Nothing to say and nothing to do besides watch, we started telling jokes. The picnic table seated us both in the backyard, so we got a few snacks and chatted. The green strips of grass in the lawn had little clear droplets of water laying upon them. My maple tree in the back had gorgeous leaves, dancing in the wind, and I knew he deeply 10

admired that. He was a soft-spoken man, with a beard to his neck, and never wore his heart on his sleeve. He almost acted as if he was void of a heart, but I clearly knew he felt everything. I always knew the things to say and do when he acted like things were not bothering him just to get him to talk. He started fidgeting, and I knew that now was the time he had to talk. He leaned forward in his seat, and took a breath. “I realize something new each and everyday, Lex,” he mumbled. “She was just like the stars in the sky. She was ever so beautiful when there were not other stars in the sky around, and she shined, she really did.” Trying to hold back his tears, he continued, “But as soon as another star appeared that was bigger and bolder than me, she ran for it. I loved her, and I thought she loved me, but just like the stars are in the morning, she vanished, and she didn’t come back until it was dark again. Until I was bad, and she took advantage of everything that she could.” We sat together and he cried harder and harder thinking about her. “She never realized how much she broke me and beat me emotionally--such a coward that lady was.” It was in that moment that I finally realized why he loved the stars so much, and I will never look at the sky the same again. He loved them because while they disappeared for awhile, they always came back, but she didn’t. I think that’s what hurt him the most. Every night seeing the sky and being reminded of her, only made him take one step forward and three steps back. Brave is all that I can say about the man he is. He was brave for loving her and putting his heart on his sleeve for once, and she destroyed every piece of it.

SUN BATHING, CLOUD CHASING CAILEY WILLS sophomore

THE NEW WORLD MIKAELA LAWRENCE sophomore

Step by step I walked down the stairs of the airplane, entering the world I have been away from for fifteen years. My group members from the Saving the Wildlife Association (SWA) quickly followed behind me as we excitedly hoped to see our family members. I took my first step off into the new world I would never recognize again. Anxiously I looked for the cab I ordered to be at the airport. I ventured throughout the airport to find my cab driver, but there were no people. I quickly suggested to myself that the airport must be closing soon. Six yellow cabs pulled up with mechanical signs hung above the hood of the car. Words flew across the screens as I comprehended names, and searched desperately for my own. Soon, I saw the words Seth Lakin scramble across the screen. I dive into the cab expecting to talk to my annoyed cab driver, but there was no one. No one driving. No one talking to me. No one. I frantically panicked about my safety and tried to find clues on how the car was driving. All there was in the tiny yellow vehicle were four vacant seats and my brown vintage suitcase. I was extremely lonely and confused on this hour drive back to my homeland. I finally became familiar with the land I came across after an hour in the isolated car. I remembered the old street signs and park playgrounds I used to see on a consistent basis fifteen years ago. As I examined the familiar grounds, I noticed again there were no people. Confused and petrified, the cab took me to the town bus stop. When the bus arrived to greet me, I expected to see the original bus driver I saw everyday fifteen years ago. Undoubtedly, there were no passengers in the bus to accompany me. I sat excluded from everything, and desperately waited to finally see my family. The bus came to an abrupt halt and caused me to fly out the bus doors. I cautiously hiked my way around the block to meet the doors of my old home. I heard whimpers behind a metal mailbox dyed blue. I excitedly hoped to see a living form but unfortunately only saw a heartbroken woman curled up in a ball drowning in her own tears. I frantically tried to fumble up words to ask her what was wrong but nothing developed. I stood staring at the first person I had seen since I stepped off the plane and said, “Hey what’s the matter?” It took me a while until I could recognize the old woman I hadn’t 12

seen in fifteen years. Old Bethany Hill sat hysterically in front of me as she tried to explain what had caused her to be so upset. She slowly created words to say, “They aren’t the same. No one is. Everyone is devoted to their phones and nothing else. They don’t need anything but technology. They stole my job. The students can learn at home with their new computers. My kids don’t care about me. Why has this happened?” “Sometimes people don’t realize what they can lose by becoming so absorbed in something that will not last forever. Soon they will need you again. Their computers will break, and their chargers will be lost. Child by child they will crawl back to you, and this is when you will begin to teach the true meaning of life,” I explained to Beth, and her tears quickly dried, and I fully recognized the woman I once knew. I begin to attach thoughts and fit the pieces together. I have realized everyone had become completely addicted to their phones, and forgot about the world around them. Bethany followed me to my home, and we finally approached my family. They had fallen in the trap of social media and technology, along with everyone else in the world.

THE FERRIS WHEEL STEPHANIE JEPSON sophomore

HOLST ROAD ISABELLE ENGEL senior

SOUTHERN STYLE Planted in sweet southern ground my roots have grown in the heart of the land, sucking in the greatest southern values, and appreciation for the littlest of things. Politeness, Respect, Love, Friendship, Leadership, Humbled, Grateful, Porch Sitting, Sweet Tea Drinking, And Fried Chicken Sunday dinners. Little things that bring out big character, and core values to a happy life. Values that have shaped me, shaped me into the individual I am today.

JACKSON SWANSON 14

senior

FONT SIZE TWELVE, TIMES NEW ROMAN Font size twelve, Times New Roman ‘said is dead’ and so are we You look for creativity But you put deadlines on our poetry Silver spirals of college bound notebooks Bind us like shackles we never signed up for To stop a revolution, weigh our backs with textbooks Tar and feather us with boldly written Fs Over the product of hours studying Slap arbitrary rules across our freshly scrubbed faces Font size twelve, Times New Roman Make us forget what it’s like to be human

MO BENES junior

FROM THE GROUND UP KENZIE FRANK

senior

FATHER

inspired by Sherman Alexie’s “Father and Farther”

1. My dad works. He works unpredictable hours. He works long hours. No, not the typical, “I’m going to work, I’ll see you for dinner tonight.” No. I’m talking like, “I’m going to work, I’ll see you in a few days.” If you looked up the definition of work in the dictionary, you’d find a picture of him. He’s been working all his life. Working for food, shelter, the family. Despite all the work, he still makes time for us kids. He makes time to be a father. To take us to the movies. To make us dinner some nights. To show us all what love really is. 2. My dad is strict because he has high expectations for me. My dad is strict because he wants me to go to college and make a life for myself. My dad is strict and doesn’t even know that he is. My dad is strict because he doesn’t want to raise animals. My dad is strict because that’s how he was raised. My dad is strict because he doesn’t know how else to be a father. My dad is strict because he didn’t have a real father to learn from. 3. My dad doesn’t show his emotions. Emotions are a sign of weakness. At least that’s what I thought. I now know that maybe he doesn’t know what emotions are. He once told me about his own step dad; about how he used to get beat for the tiniest of flaws. About how he didn’t get any freedom to the outside world. He was a slave. He told me that one time when I was a child, his step dad hit him while I was in the room with them. And my dad stood up for himself and pushed him back and screamed. From that day, my dad has never been hit, and neither have I.

4. My dad drinks, not a lot, but he does. And who knows, maybe he deserves to, as a hard working man and all, but sometimes he overdoes it. When he drinks He has no filter. When he drinks he drinks until he passes out. When he drinks it helps him escape reality until he wakes up and realizes that life is still life. 5. My dad works so that we have a roof over our head and food on the table. My dad puts others feelings before his. My dad is a hero. My dad is my hero.

JAYDEN MOSTEK

junior

DOVE

SAVANNAH WHISENHUNT senior

SOMETIMES I WORDS UP MY MIX JACKSON BARGER senior

Sometimes, I mix up my words. Actually, that’s wrong, those sometimes were some time ago, piled in the stack of memories I try to keep compressed. When I relive those times, I get a little pain inside my chest. Part for me and part for the others who went through or are going through the things I’m now going back to. The people who get teased relentlessly, tormented by themselves, and told pretentiously... “You’re no good!” Yeah, the staff at my middle school weren’t the nicest people. The first time I tried poetry, I did what I thought you had to do. I poured everything I had onto the grids dividing a piece of graph paper. Someone had stolen my bag, and that’s the only paper the teacher would give the students he didn’t like. But still, I wrote. I was determined to do well in school regardless of teachers, students, and anything else that could, and would, stand in my way. This was the start I needed, something I could do that allowed me to try harder than I ever had before. Something that could show me what I was capable of if I had the right mindset. And so, I wrote. I made dungeons of my faults, angels of my accomplishments, and I made... a mistake. I contaminated the page with my struggles. I slashed into my Aspergers, jittered past my ADD, and stepped carefully through the minefield that was depression. Everything I was holding in blurred across the page. Hours were spent erasing, rewriting, and crumpling. I got pissed. Pissed at myself, pissed at my teachers, my peers and my life. I threw everything into my back yard, and waited, tearfully, for the safe haven of sleep. I rose early the next day, collected my belongings from what I originally intended to be their final resting place, and looked at my most promising piece. And I erased. I ripped words from the page. Flung out phrases that didn’t quite rhyme or click in my mind. I stayed home until the last possible minute, then sprinted obliviously into my impending doom. I skirted the edges of the hallways until I reached the classroom, watched my papers float into the turn in tray, and I felt good, really good. I’d gotten a lot out in the last twenty four hours, and it felt great. My teacher woke me from my daze by slamming his fist in front of me, and dropping my now destroyed thoughts and feelings to the floor. He watched with satisfaction as I picked it up and saw what he 18

had done to my work. It was illegible, every last bit of it. The pages were ripped, smeared, and spoiled. Once he was done revelling in his convoluted triumph, he decided the only logical thing to do next was yell. “Do you ever pay attention? We’re sharing these!” he shouted. As he turned away, he added, “Well, maybe not you, I don’t think anyone in the world can read that.” What? I was frantically searching my mind for ways to escape the impending social implosion that would come when I shrank too far into myself. I was frantically skimming my mental list of excuses I could use to get out of class when the worst happened. My name was “randomly” drawn from the bucket... I stared blankly at the power hungry monster that had just gleefully obliterated my life. I was about to bolt out of the room and deal with the consequences when he shouted, “Are you deaf?” I wish. I drug myself, head down, to the verbal firing range created by the crescent formation of desks that contained the monstrosities I was forced to call my peers. Then I made a decision. The one decision in my life that I was one hundred percent sure I was unsure about. That day, I decided to be different. After all, it was only the measly fee of an enjoyable life for the next two years that I’d be forfeiting to the black hole of non-existence. I pulled the extra copy of my poem from my pocket, much to my teacher’s annoyance. He’d wanted to humiliate me, but now I’d taken matters into my own hands. I am the one that gets to humiliate myself! Then I did exactly what I knew I was going to do. I words up my mixed. I stumbled over my carefully planned rhymes. I humiliation of died almost. I st-st-stuttered through my most felt heart moments, lost my voice too many times to count, and was definitely constantly consistent in my excessive accidental rapidly increasing additive accumulation of clearly translucent combinations of letters forming words that my mind, my brain, my head, and my spherical seeing orbs that were tucked, packed, and jammed into holes in my skull behind my contorted facial faults and features promised me were there, but that did not exist. My struggles came last. I started with my Aspergers, and at least I only had to clarify what word I was saying once. When I moved on to my ADD, everyone was attentive, racing to capture each syllable I created with something bordering admiration. I forgot my plans to end the poem early, and without thinking, dove heart first into the completion of the delirious trio that were passing themselves off as my mental state. And then, there was nothing. I had finished, and was gasping for air. The class was sitting in stunned silence. Finally, after standing in acoustic purgatory for what seemed like an eternity, one person spoke up, “Hah! You said ASS-bergers!” Thus began my two years of social exile and my journey towards whatever it is I am today. 19

SOCIETY’S EXPECTATIONS Be yourself, but don’t be weird. Act like a lady, but don’t hit like a girl. Stand up for yourself, but don’t be a disturbance. Be kind to others, but don’t be fake. Try your best, but don’t make others look bad. Go to college, but don’t fall behind. Have fun, but don’t lose focus. Do what you want, but don’t ruin your life. Express yourself, but don’t cause a scene. Work hard for what you want in life, but don’t be greedy. America is the land of the free, but home of the defined.

LATREAS DERAS senior

BLACK FOREST MEGAN VODRASKA sophomore 20

WHAT I SEE When people think of nature, standing in the middle of a large field, they see beautiful things. They see full-bloomed flowers, colorful leaves, or a pretty, clear blue sky. They hear the morning chirps of various birds, and they may feel the wind in their hair, or the grass between their toes. People smell the fresh dew and soil, or the scent of pure, sweet fresh air that fills their nostrils. But when I think of nature, I think of my family’s history, where I come from. I see horrific things. I see cotton instead flowers, I see dead trees, and the sinister nooses that once hung from their branches. I don’t hear birds, I hear cries and I hear screams. I feel the wind, but its iciness cuts through me like knives, and it carries the pleas and groans of my ancestors. I feel the soil under my feet, but it is drenched with blood and tears. The air smells of sweat and gunpowder, and I gag at the thought. There are no clear skies. There is only the guilt, and fear, and anger that weigh on me now, and the hands that grip my ankles from the Earth beneath me. From the trees and the flowers, to the sky and the soil, that’s what nature means to me. That is what I see.

SICILY HUTCHINSON

senior

TRIAL SAMMI MARCELLUS junior

He reaches around me. His fingers are unhuman-like. Long and skinny, and the only color he is, is black. Even the blood tracing the circles he has in place of eyes. Now, I am running, but I’m running slowly, as if I were in slow motion and the rest of my society was at a normal pace. My breathing isn’t slowed and neither is anything else. Only my legs and he knows this. It is dark out, dark like night when there’s been a new moon. Streetlights making pools of golden light that only help make the shadows worse. The stars seem to be gone too, but then again, I can’t look up. I see what’s in front of me and it’s only more street. I see what’s behind me and there he is, walking. Walking like he owns my street. Walking like he has a plan for me. Walking like he knows what evil is, because it is him. I get to the end of my forever street and I see a church. A red cross stands on top of the highest point of the church. I turn around and my evil isn’t there, I think twice about turning back around. Stuck in my circle I created for myself, I’m losing hope. Nothing is right and I’m lost in a darkness. The church… disappeared. My evil, watching from afar. He knows I can’t see him. I know he can see me, but it is dark. Dark like the night, again. This time I find a moon. This moon so bright and full of pride, I almost wish to reach for it. I lift my arm, and begin to fall. The earth breaking away at my feet. I look down, only into more darkness. The earth is black and I am falling into a nothingness. I blink for barely a second, and I’m standing somewhere new. I stand, back up to my feet feeling nothing but a deep melancholy. The ground is a flat plain with short cut grass. It looks red. Red like blood. I look to a sky and I see another red. It isn’t a beautiful red of a sunrise, but another color of blood. My heart beats faster. All I can do is walk. The only way to solve the problem is to find a way out, but there is no problem. So I walk. The grass is bloody. It stains my feet and the distance just makes my feet look more red. I see the same moon I onced tried to reach for… it’s further away now. I start to look down once more, but it’s not only the blood-

stained grass at my feet. Her body isn’t cold, but she looks frozen. She’s laying in the grass, but the only trace of blood on her is where her neck is no more. Not a slice, but a chunk. As if someone were planning on taking this out of her. I have no emotion to this. I am too stunned at how perfectly still and frozen she is. I have never seen death this close. I lift my head, to see where else I can walk. More bodies like hers lay in a line as if they were soldiers, and they were all shot down where they were standing. Only, it wasn’t a bullet killing them. The line of bodies reaches the horizon and now I am terrified. Is this where people that die in their dreams go? I can’t help but close my eyes and start to fall in place with the bodies of the innocent. As I fall once more, I think. I think this is where I’ve come to die. I think that I’m going to look like those people just below me. My eyes still closed… a sudden movement and I open my eyes. It is dark… but I’m comfortable. I move my arms to see where I am, and I’m wrapped in a creamy white blanket. I sit up and begin to rub my eyes. I don’t believe where I’ve been was a dream.

A PATH BETWEEN MOUNTAINS ANNA BRYAN sophomore

MELAN

“I’m not sure if I’m alive / or just breathing.” -DARKNESS, pg 32

C H O LY

HEARTBREAK Your fingers were the first minutes of snow To the ground of my thigh Grazing, twirling, sweeping Softly Like the circles you ran in my head While I was busy leaning into your every word I lost my balance for you When I was alone I cut the shape of you into the dark of my room Fabricated the warmth of you And threw aside my blanket My heart beat between your fingers But you made a fist

JESSA ALSPAUGH sophomore

SLOPES

SAVANNAH WHISENHUNT senior

TUNDRA i’ve never known a sunny season. the sun is dull in a wake of grey like sobs behind a bedroom door, and these tracks in the snow are no one’s but my own. yet time and time again i prove myself a duckling imprinting ignorantly on imprints believing every whisper of a snowflake when i’m as fragile as ice the cold inhibits movement so all day i’m frozen in my own bed night falls and i confuse my clock with my ceiling fan my alarm with my lullaby like i confuse a bird’s song with the howling of wolves finding happiness is like standing in the eye of the storm and worshipping the appearance of sun it’s like having faith that a glacier will thaw faster than the sun can rise but faith and ignorance are snow that share the same branch is it ignorance or faith to step blindly onto a frozen lake or to see two identical snowflakes and not give a second thought sometimes i think i will be making my bed to look down and realize the sheet in my hand is actually a shovel and i’m staring face to face with the face of a gravestone but i keep digging because i’d lie down and die if it meant it was warmer to be six feet deep than to stand decayed and afraid in this arctic tundra

JESSA ALSPAUGH sophomore

LIES You said I needed my heart to feel But what I felt the most Was when you tore it out of my chest You said I needed my eyes to see But the most eye-opening experience I’ve ever had Was when you ripped them from my sockets You said that I needed you in my life But the moment I knew that I was alive Was the moment you left

SAM ELLIOT sophomore

SUMMER NIGHTS LOGAN WOOLLEN senior

DISEASE He attached himself like a tumor His roots so deep I couldn’t pry him off Spread his poison as deadly rumors He left me with a hefty cough He was draining every ounce of energy I had left All he did was take, take, take It was a large, unnoticed theft All I did was break, break, break There was almost nothing left He wouldn’t take no for an answer He wouldn’t leave He stayed attached to my body... A deadly disease

DELANEY ASHMORE junior

FRIED

EMPTY

BRADYN HASENPFLUG sophomore

We love her She loves the alcohol But we’re not a bottle of Jack And she can’t drink us empty Empty like the bottles hidden in the trash Empty like my heart as I smell liquor on her breath Empty like the streets as I walk home alone in the dark “What do we do now, Dad?” “When is it going to be over, Dad?” Dad never seems to have an answer

CAILEY WILLS sophomore

WHISPERED CONVERSATIONS My eyes are the color of “don’t talk to me.” They say everything that I don’t want to. Silent screams crawl their way up my throat If they were the depths of hell, Forcing their way through my lips Before I swallow them back like vomit. Why must the simple, useless words be heard As loud as a roar from the proudest of lions, But to the ones that matter, Come the quietest of squeaks?

FATHER

inspired by Sherman Alexie’s “Father and Farther” As a man he was active duty, but as a father he never did his duty; he would go over and fight for them and never send a card or even bother to call, leaving me and my mother to wonder if he would come home at all. He would constantly love us with a mask on; he would never truly tell us what he felt; sometimes when he didn’t, he would snap and yell and stomp all about until he finally left the house, and when he did, my mother was quiet and weeping over her unloving spouse. The door would slam, and I would be left wondering if my father would come back to us; he always did but he would come back with anger in his eyes and soul. My father was always angry with me. My father would never play with me. My father would rather light one up than put one down. My father would rather look at websites than his own wife. My father would rather go out to drink with his buddies than spend time with his own son. My father lost his title as DAD when he finally decided to show me he was in love with another woman. My father lost my mother and me when he decided to love anyone but us. He would look at me with love one minute and annoyance or anger the next; he would always ask how my day was or how I was doing--that all stopped a few years ago. Now after years of no contact, he decides to call after I was in an accident. I still wonder why it takes some traumatic experience to get someone to realize what they are losing. He decided that getting married was really important, so important that he would rather go to Vegas than pay his child support. He decided that his child doesn’t need any help with money and that my mother and I are obsolete and unimportant. He must think that having to get a job so that we don’t end up on the street is a fun thing to do. Well I sure don’t think so, as a matter of fact, I think that it really sucks. Having a job but not getting to use your own paycheck on something you want but instead on something that he should help with is truly an amazing feat. I bet he thinks it’s funny that my mother´s struggling and he´s striving. I bet that he just loves not getting punished for owing more than $47,000 in child and spousal support. My so called father is a sorry excuse for a man and that’s all that I have to say about what he does. My mother and I struggle to meet bills on time. He has no problem blowing us off as long there is no fine. That’s at least what he thinks, it’s too late this time.

JAMES SYKES junior

DARKNESS I lost myself somewhere in the darkness. In fact, I’m not sure if I’m alive, or just breathing. The tear in my heart, the pain in my chest, the tear down my cheek, all a reminder of who I’m supposed to be. I have to be the girl in the back never speaking up. I have to be sane if things are going crazy. I have to be the smart one who always has the answer. Yes, I still get the knot in my stomach, when the girls behind me are laughing. I thought about how I wanted to disappear. I realized, all I wanted was to be found. And when I was found, I realized it would always be you. You were the one that saved me when I couldn’t be saved. You gave me life while I was surrounded by death. You gave me a voice when I couldn’t be heard. You had control over me. I couldn’t escape. I always thought it was normal for friends to be distant. I thought that if you were loud, I should be quiet. But you know what they say, silence is just a scream for help. The day you left I thought I was done. But I stayed strong.

I remembered everything you told me, “Crying doesn’t make you weak. It makes you capable. Capable of losing, winning, hoping.” I remembered sitting on the library steps with you watching normal people act normal. And how we learned that everyone talks about how depressing Monday is to distract them from how depressing everyday is. My mother always told me, “Memories last forever, but people never do.” And the light, slowly faded back into darkness. I want you, I want us. I was such a hypocrite I told my friends, “Don’t worry about labels,” when I did. “Don’t underestimate yourself” when I did. I guess I have to learn, learn that people can stay in your heart, but not in your life. I’m back to sitting in the darkness, never speaking, always listening. But it doesn’t really matter does it? Since you didn’t understand my words, I don’t expect you to understand my silence.

BRE RITTENHOUSE sophomore

ALIENS Sometimes I feel like I am floating i n space. I am an alien from a lost world. Maybe I’ll never see the home I‘ l l n e v e r k n o w . But here I am. On Earth. Trying to Trying to Sometimes we get lost in our heads and it’s more plausible to be made of sky, than to be doomed on Earth.

SARAH WATERS senior

find my way. belong.

PATIENT ZERO The bus doors squealed open and an old woman stepped onto the bus. She hobbled to the back to a seat nearest the window. I usually don’t pay attention to these types of things, but this woman caught my attention for some reason. She had grey, wire-like hair, an old khaki colored coat, and worn down black shoes. She looked like the walking dead, but the odd thing about this woman was she had rosy cheeks and she looked so alive. Diseases broke out in our small town three decades ago, and were transferred through blood, so our government thought that to get rid of the disease, we all had to replace our blood. The government removed everyone’s blood and replaced it with a blue solution that was meant to resemble blood in the matter of two days after the outbreak. Ever since then everyone has had blue-undertoned skin and we haven’t let anyone else enter the town When I realized that this lady had rosy cheeks, the first thing that came to mind was that she must have red blood. And unlike most people, I was intrigued and wanted a closer look at this odd woman. I picked up my things and moved to the back of the bus, about a foot away from her. Now that I was closer, I could really see the life in her face, the wrinkles, the smile lines, everything. Now that everyone’s blood has been replaced, there is no such thing as imperfect skin or wrinkles. I then moved to the seat right next to the woman and proceeded to ask her her name. “My name is Rosetta, but you can call me Rose.” Fitting, I thought. “Where are you from?” I asked. “Well, I grew up in Poland but I just moved here a few days ago.” “Oh.” At this point I was really concerned for the safety of this woman, and myself. The government had warned us to stay away from outsiders, they said it will bring the disease back, which never made sense, because we don’t have blood anymore anyway, so how would we get the disease again? Anyways, I wanted to find out more about this woman. I wanted to know how she got into our town, and I wanted to know what real blood is like, but I figured it’d be rude to ask, so I just sat quietly next to her the rest of the bus ride. Right before she got off the bus at her stop, she turned and looked at me with concerned and stern eyes. “Don’t believe everything they tell you.”

MIRANDA ROTH sophomore

A COLD WORLD Dear Race, I hate you but I love you And believe me when I say I put nobody else above you But lately you’ve been showing so much hate, It’s getting hard for me to trust you Somewhere along this bumpy road, I must have somehow lost you Or maybe you’re the one who lost me I saw your true colors, it’s so damn deceitful Why you acting this way? I swear we’re all equal, But you’re always looking for the differences So now I’m here to tell you that the truth is this, You’re bringing so many problems, they no longer fit onto these pages Treating people different by the color of their faces Putting fear into their hearts, leaving them with no place to feel safe in Holding the weight of the world up on their shoulders, and They’re on the verge of breaking Arms shaking, legs caving, and their hearts are aching Feeling drained with tears sitting in their eyes Racism is alive, I see it in disguise Don’t judge a person by the color of their skin, but By the content in their heart, and even then Show them love, because all the hate is what is tearing us apart And it’s crazy, I know In the world how much hatred is shown And it’s sad to know that it’s just so casual now It just drives me insane because I just don’t understand how You can treat a man so bad and make him feel like he’s in hell He goes home and sits in the corner by himself Because the pain that he’s felt He’s tasting tears, living in fear, man he’s crying for help He’s stuck in here, nobody can hear his final call of despair Why does this happen? We all live on this rock that we share So why discriminate? Why do we keep on spreading hate? We all want a world filled with peace and much love We want something beautiful, like the stars up above But why does it feel like we don’t even try Open your eyes and look around, Homie, we’re stuck in a lie Race is separating us, you can see the evil in its eyes We’re all the same, we’re all people So why can’t we treat each other as equal How hard is it to love each other regardless the color of skin

Show care and respect, treating each other as king Cause it hurts, but don’t let it show All this pain you will never know If only you could see how dark the world’s become Because you’ve taken so many of my people I swear racism’s outcome is lethal But here we are, ready to fight Looking to find a way through the day, a light for the night What do you want me to say, to make everything right Because all of the hate, just sharpens the knife Let’s get rid of the grey, let’s move towards the light It’s time to put in the work, and get to the other side I’ll be the voice of the echo, the nail of the hammer Lead the world to the clouds, and I’ll be the ladder This is the end of the storm For a brighter future’s in store So dear Race this is it, I put the final nail in this coffin Imagine the world, so full of hope with a light so bright Everybody is respected, everybody is treated right Our kids could go outside and live a happy life An actual childhood Smiles, laughter Something to remember, not something left broken and shattered No worries of drive-by shootings or anything alike Only the support that they need to reach new heights No violence in the world, no war Respecting our women, giving love; let them know they’re never alone Roses in a city they said flowers could never grow A city of angels among the stars A city of sunshine Everyone in the world will be resting on cloud nine But to reach this world, you have to start with yourself Only then will we be able to make this dream into something so real

OMAR MADRIGAL-RODRIGUEZ junior

PARTS OF A WHOLE All the suffering, all the dried up tears and blood, but we still stand strong. Death is beautiful, it brings out our emotions, it makes us human. The light of hope shines, yet, as we reach, the light dies, but our will doesn’t. In the darkest times, the reaper knocks on the door, but we won’t answer.

RICHARD BUI sophomore

A DEEPER LOOK ZOIE FITZSIMMONS sophomore

HAUNTED It was August 30th, 2017 when the executive order was signed by the President. My skin starts to rise. It stated the following: “An order to arrest and execute any person or persons that are suspected illegal aliens.” My heart starts pounding as I clench my fists and begin to run. By September 15th, almost all of immigrants were gone. The stomps of running feet, the blinding glare of flashlights, the shouts of soldiers in the background, the whizzing of bullets slicing the tall grass blades, the moonlight illuminating the still night, when a sudden flash of bright lightning strikes the earth ahead. Cities like El Paso, Los Angeles, and Houston with heavily Hispanic populated areas were in ruins from the protests. The bodies start to fall, as do the raindrops. California, New York, and southern states were danger zones, with all the refugees and diverse populations the government now targeted within those areas. I keep running until time seems to fly at the same rate I do. They were all gone just like that. I have been running for so long, I didn’t even realize I was by myself. The extermination of immigrants was over before we even knew it started. I am cold, wet, and alone as the earth washes away from underneath me. Then I realized something. This is the life I would have to live from now on. I would have to live a life full of fear. I’m legal, but it doesn’t matter, I don’t look like it. If I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time, it’s game over, I’m done. Either I’m shot dead on sight, or I’m arrested, interrogated, and tortured for answers to questions they already know the answer for. My parents have heavy accents and dark skin which caused them to be taken away. The group I have been trying to escape to Mexico with was killed when one of them was captured and interrogated for our location. Now, everyone is gone. I’ve never been to Mexico, but it is my only hope.

CRISTINA VILLA sophomore

THE ENIGMA OF SNOW JASON VO sophomore

Behind the ominous roar of the wind and the infinitely expanding cloak of snow were two people. The sparkling specks glittered as his ink-black hair swept in the wind. His tattered, red parka fluttered while the towering birch trees swayed from side to side. His feet tried to shuffle in the snow that reached up to his knees, but he couldn’t move. The shadowy snow was too heavy for his injured legs to move. From ahead, his friend, a young girl that donned a similar outfit to him, shouted an incomprehensible phrase. Then everything turned dark. As his obsidian eyes slowly opened, the situation as he knew had changed. Unlike the previous situation of being stuck in the blinding snow, he was now in a comfy hospital bed. Extruding from his body were multiple IV tubes, each containing an unknown substance to him. On his left was a half-eaten sandwich, an empty bottle of water, and a piece of paper with writing that he didn’t understand. “Where am I?” From a well-hidden speaker in the corner came the voice of a female he did not recognize. “Awake now, aren’t you? Don’t worry, you’re not in danger. A girl brought you in from the blizzard outside three days ago and you’ve been passed out since.” It was at this moment that he understood his current situation. He had passed out from the constant snowfall and was saved by his friend. At first he thought he was dead. Then, outside of his current room, an earth-shattering boom could be heard. From the speaker came static and the room he was in started flashing red lights. He jumped up from the bed and opened the door to the outside. In the midst of the blizzard was a large rock and protruding fire that burned brighter than anything he had seen before. The roaring of the snow couldn’t put out the fire, but instead made it burn brighter. At this point, the flame was at least fifteen feet tall, and it didn’t seem like it would be calming anytime soon. However, his curiosity forced him to approach it. He didn’t have an explanation other than supernatural forces that could have created this occurrence. “Dylan!” The familiar voice came from the cabin from which he had exited. As he turned around he saw the all too familiar flowing blonde hair and sapphire eyes emerge from the blanket of snow. Although her steps were muffled by the snow and her facial features 40

hidden behind the scarf that she wore, he could still tell it was her. “Alice, is that you?” I ask while shielding my face from the tremendous amount of snow. The closer she got to me, the more distant I felt. I didn’t have an explanation until she stood right in front of me. She looked different. Then everything happened in the blink of an eye. She unsheathed her knife and pricked my hand as I tried to pull it away. At this point, I realized that it wasn’t Alice, but instead someone else. “What was that for?” “I’m sorry, but orders are orders.” She took the small amount of blood from the knife and put it in a small vial. Afterward, she took her knife and cut out a chunk of the rock that was still on fire and put it into a larger container. Then she disappeared. All I could do was watch. “What just happened?” I murmured to myself. Then I heard a loud ticking noise coming from the rock. My survival instincts told me to run as far as I could, but I decided to grab a chunk of rock as well. I pulled out my survival knife from my shoe and tried to cut a piece. Surprisingly, the rock felt like mush when I cut it, but looked as solid as any ordinary rock. While holding the knife that had the rock on it, I ran in the direction of the wind as far away as he could. Behind me, I heard a loud bang and saw a bright explosion, but I continued to run straight ahead. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew something would happen eventually. Then I blacked out.

HARDWORKING KAMRIN FEELY sophomore

ENCLOSED I have never been inspired Nor had the desire To wake up in bed Until the day I thought I needed to start My adventures My opportunities My life Just simply everything Although life is limited My chances are bottomless Yet again the new season arrives Where I am sheltered From the horror of fate And the terror of being too late My actions are consequences to my outcome Like the cause to its effect I’ve lost my way Where do I go? Where do I hide? I’ve began nowhere and will end here

BRITTNEY HUYNH sophomore

KEEP THE FIRE JAYCE L. YUNG sophomore

COLORS OF NATURE CAILEY WILLS sophomore

ALIVE I’m still alive. I guess I just thought that if I closed my eyes tight enough, the light of morning wouldn’t be able to seep through my heavy eyelids sewn together by my own tears. But I was wrong. I know this now because I can hear the robins singing to the sleeping moon, and crickets playing violins to wake the morning sun. So here I am again, staring into the dark void of nothing that is my ceiling. The lid that keeps my four walled prison of thoughts and tragedy intact. Thinking to myself, maybe I don’t really want to die. Maybe I’m just lonely, or tired. For if that’s what I truly wanted, I would’ve taken a few more pills the night before. Or perhaps I would’ve cut a little deeper into my velvet skin that wraps my brittle bones, with the sharp tongued words of a broken soul. Or maybe, just maybe, I might have even taken a swim in the silent pool of my bath water, stained black with the cries of my empty screams, while I curled my dried and dying hair. But I am still here, and I am still alive.

JORDAN HUMPHREY junior

V E

“In front of the people we spent years with/ We realize this is only the beginning of our lives” -NEW BEGINNINGS, pg 57

I VA L

CHERRY BLOSSOMS Their soft pink petals Standing out so perfectly It’s a pleasing sight Reminder of life Representing its beauty Shining so brightly Time of renewal Symbolic flower of spring A fleeting essence How sad their life is It’s immensely beautiful With a short lifespan Their fragility Shows that beauty does not last For eternity When they are in bloom Many people go visit The beautiful sight

TINA CAO sophomore

PEACHY

ASHLY PORTILLO

senior

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL You look so perfect yeah I don’t deserve you but I would take you out tonight. You’ve been driving me lately like everyday lately and I really want this choice to be right. I can’t believe that all these things you make me feel are breaking my heart. But I can’t stop, no I can’t stop, loving you for who you are you guide me from the deepest dark, and I wanna believe that you and me will end up being something beautiful. You’re the only one I see with potential to be what I want and what I need. Your affection and care will always be there when I’m down and when I’m up so high. I can’t unsee the way you looked at me; it captured me and held me in your eyes. But I can’t stop, no I can’t stop, loving you for who you are you guide me from the deepest dark, and I wanna believe that you and me will end up being something beautiful. Your eyes, such distractions. Your lips, in my imagination. Your words, keep replaying on and on and on. But I can’t stop, no I can’t stop. I wanna believe that you and me will end up being something beautiful.

ALYSSA DEANEY sophomore

LIFE’S REFLECTION AIDE SANCHEZ junior

DEAR FUTURE Dear future, I’m sorry I’m sorry that we left you a world in shambles A cracked, broken, seperated world They left me with one too A world in which people around me are dying Yet the solution is to add weapons to people’s hands A world where wearing your heart on your sleeve is weak But building up a wall is insensible A shredded, broken glass, burnt up world. A world in which a female KFC icon Is the solution to gender equality Instead of just paying women the same A world in which the way death occurs Poses a bigger fear than death itself They left me with that world A world wearing a half-worn off bandaid Held together by a string A world with orange-faced, white-toned “We-all-look-the-same” men Make decisions for the whole broken world Let this world light a fire in you And ignite to make the change

EMMA MCCORMICK sophomore

WHERE I’M FROM I am from the lovely forest. From green leaves and sweet flowers. I am from the TV in my sitting room. Interesting, funny and as cool as a love song. I am from the oaktree, the famous Mississippi River, large, always flowing, and carrying water and nutrients everywhere. I’m from praying five times per day, and valuing education from Ali and Sama and Abrar. I’m from socialization and humbleness. From the blue ocean and thirsty desert. I’m from a dark scary room in a large old house. I’m from the sunny days, where I stood drinking coffee in the morning and eating cheese. From the modest mother who always supported me and the open-minded father who taught me to be successful. I come from inspiration and the courage to know that kindness matters.

MUJTEBA AL HAJAJ

junior

SUNFLOWER MACKENZIE GARRISON sophomore

SMALL AND ROUND I am small and round So tiny I never made a sound But when they buried me in tiny words I began to grow free Past everything they used to plant me Though it wasn’t fast But actually quite slow I refused to stay low I hoped that I had it within me To become a fruit tree To make peaches or apples or oranges for others Hoping that I’d drop the apple on Newton Or even be the cherry tree that’s cut down Even if it’s scary I’d give honesty its crown I reach to the sun in the day But in the night when the sun’s warmth leaves me I am filled with fright but I continue Though slower than before I never moved lower I grew to the stars above Hoping one day to break the surface And even if I don’t make it far I hope to get close to a star And maybe convince it to lend me its warmth So I can defend those around me from the cold When the sun begins to fold under the horizon And leaves us to grieve in the dark I was small and round It took me so long to finally make a sound And I know I won’t reach the star today or tomorrow And though it brings me sorrow maybe I will never But maybe the next tiny and round Will start life unafraid of making a sound and being loud

SAMANTHA GROVE sophomore

SEED A small bean falling to the ground As it lands you see it, small and round It sits and sits waiting to root Hopefully one day it’ll grow its chute Slowly it sinks into the dirt Luckily it didn’t get hurt Its tendrils begin to sprout Piercing the ground, it looks for a route Finally it finds the water it needs Lets hope it doesn’t come across any weeds It uses the liquid to help its growth It’ll make it bigger--the roots and seeds both After what seems like forever It begins its fruitful endeavor The bean sprouts up to the top When it reaches it still won’t stop It’ll grow and grow until it finally flowers Its petals will bloom, that’s all that matters The rays of sun will grow its seeds That’s all a flower ever needs

IAN BURK senior

LEMONS Your name in my mouth never gets old; it lingers actually, getting stuck between my teeth and resting in the back of my throat with the stench of garlic and onions. You don’t really leave, but that doesn’t mean it’s a sweet taste. It normally starts out sweet with the memories of you. Those thoughts then warm my cold hands in the bitter winter wind. Though as it rolls around in my mouth, the more it shows like frostbite, and turns sour in the air. Maybe it has always been sour, you’ve just tricked me with other flavors, or with those berries that make vinegar taste sweet; you made lemons taste like oranges, and somehow disguised the sour flavor with a sweeter one. That may be the reason you liked lemons so much, you used to eat them like oranges and tell me I was crazy when I said I didn’t like them like that. But I’ve been told lemons and oranges are the same in texture and structure, and sometimes the soft pads of oranges taste like a lemon if it’s not ripe enough. Looking back on you I assumed you were just unripened, but as time went on you never got sweeter. If anything you became more sour and bitter to the touch, and my friends watched as I turned yellow, withering away with dried lips that come from too much citric acid and winter wind. Even now your name stings my throat, for sour and I never mixed well to begin with. Now my mind is trained to see you, and recognize your name as bitter tea that sat out too long and became pungent. I have to watch myself hate what I saw in you as love and hear how others show me how sour you are. I have to watch myself hate what I came to love as your imperfections, because I only chose to see you as loving. I have to hear how others show me how sour they are, for imperfections are not the sweet tang of oranges; they are the sour coating on warheads and the warning labels on toxic waste barrels. Though the imperfections are matched with my mind, I can see now how they were burned into your fingerprints instead of finding their way into there like they did mine. It’s still hard to notice how the sourness bubbles like blisters on your fingers, but completely contains all of what you are. For you were not turned sour by a wind that swept you away; you are the wind, and everyday that fact is harder for me to face. I am still coming to terms with the idea that I should stay far away from you. All you are is a disease, a plague that infected my head and spread with the ferocity of wild fire from me to those I love, puncturing their life with the inevitable foul smell of sour that stings with the sent of your clothes. You are much less like the sweet tang of lemon in tea, but more like the pungent smell of dill pickle chips. In reality, you are worse than any words can portray, and though others see you as poison in the water hole, I would like to stick to the simple ideal thought of lemons. For I still like the color yellow.

GEORGE GUDGEL junior

CHICAGO MACY HOWE sophomore

RISE

KENZI WULF senior

Grow in the way the roots direct you believe in the light that shines above you. Always realize there’s more to realize listen to the words of the wise. Improve your self in small steps, then let fate do the rest. Always give more than you got and remember who you are not. Bloom in the sun like a flower would do and live your life the way you want to. 53

STRENGTH

inspired by Sherman Alexie’s “Father and Farther” 1. I never knew the strength of my mother Until the night we got the phone call, code blue. Racing through all of the red lights we made it to the hospital quickly. Beeps and the word CLEAR echoing through the halls. Holding onto my mother I saw her first tear drop And still to this day they haven’t seemed to stop. Saying goodbye to my granny was the most difficult thing she had to do. For me, it was watching her saying she could let go. 2. Oestmann Vacation 2008. The first time I saw my mom smile for a whole year. Disneyland can have that effect on some people. Four days walking around Disney with my mom, dad, and sister. It was actually the four of us together, no work, no school, no sadness. I have never been more thankful for a family vacation. 3. Watching someone give your mom CPR for nine minutes Feels like 900 years I never knew how impatient I was until ten year old me Sat and waited for hours to hear any news. Heart attack. My dad grabbed my hand and brought me into my mom’s room “Mommy can hear you, Peanut,” The only thing I could think to say, “I love you, Mommy.” One week in a coma. Luck was on our side that night. No, not luck, angels. 4. When the doctors finally woke her up she had one request. To see my grandpa. Years later she shared with us that message she had for my Papa She’d seen my granny. My grandma told my mom to come home, it wasn’t her time.

5. July 28, 2015. My mom was the most excited I had seen her in years. It was the day that she and I were going to the One Direction concert in Kansas City, MO. Of course I was excited because One Direction is my favorite band but what made me the most enthused? Seeing my mom. I have my granny to thank for that. She sent my mommy back to me. My mom finally had the gleam of light in her eyes. Nothing could ruin that night, not even the 100 degree weather. 6. My mother takes 12 pills a day Because she has had nine surgeries since her heart attack. My mother takes 12 pills a day Five in the morning, seven at night. My mother takes 12 pills a day To keep the blood running through her veins My mother takes 12 pills a day To keep her blood pressure down My mother takes 12 pills a day To keep her alive.

BROOKE OESTMANN

junior

MY UNCLE MICOLE DAVYD KOKHANETS senior

I WILL Show me your friends And I can show you your future. To most people it means Stay away from the bad ones. What it should be is be with them. The ones who are two hands and a foot in jail, The ones who are about to make that drug deal, The one who will pull the trigger. Don’t follow them, have them follow you. You are their change. You are their leader. You are the one who will make their lives better. You will teach them. You are the cure to their disease. All you have to do is say the words: I will help you. I will is not the same as I want or I can. I want and I can are planted in you. They grow every time that you say them. Their roots grow into you so that No matter how much you hack away at them, They will always grow back. But please, Hack away to show I will. That’s who they trust. The people who water their plants With their own blood, sweat, and tears. That’s who they follow. Show me your friends and I will show you your future.

JUWLIEN IDIGIMA freshman

NEW BEGINNINGS As we grow up, we envy the idea of high school We think to ourselves, “this is where I will find myself,” But what we don’t realize, Is that’s not even close to what high school really is Sure, we find activities we like We make lifelong friends But we also endure the hardest situations ever presented to us We spend a lifetime trying to find the person we are meant to be We spend countless nights thinking these are the best four years of our lives But as we finally make it to the end As we finally walk across that stage, In front of the people we spent years with, We realize this is only the beginning of our new lives

ANONYMOUS sophomore

MY CHILD I watched you crawl up the couch like the vines on the side of a building. I savor your laugh as if it were my favorite song. I watched you grow into the beautiful, intelligent child that you are today. My child, how you made me believe in living life as if there were no tomorrow. Oh child, the moment I wondered if you would ever stop crying was the moment I realized I would wait for you to need me. Watching your arms extend and your face pout are the best parts of my day, and as you’re picked up your eyes shine like the sun on a summer morning. My child, grow up to be the best of yourself, and never look back. Stand for what you believe in. My child, how I can’t wait to see you sprout into the winsome flower you were born to become.

YASMIN DELUNA sophomore

SWEET MISERY Sweet Misery Cold, like the drink I swallow. You make me me numb. Bitter, with the taste of your now dissolving form. Solid, my bones are brittle. My skin like jello you blinded me. Although, now I can see, Your contents fill me. It makes this fragmented mess, whole once again. “Love!” that’s what they shout. “Love will make you whole again.” No, I say, Stern and harsh, like your plastic shape. You’re the loaded gun I held to my brain. The never ending illusion of my four a.m. depression, the bullet bitten between my teeth, tying together my two a.m. tendencies. Shatter, like the glass holding my poison. You’re my safety net, without you I’d rather fall apart, like a rickety old farmhouse breaking at its core. This is my Ode to you, Sweet Misery.

JULI KARNISH junior

VAKTTÅRN

SAVANNAH WHISENHUNT senior

THUNDER if lightning never strikes the same place twice, then why do we stay in the same place forever? why do we choose comfort over an unpredictable storm? why do we choose to sit in silence, rather than flourish in voice? why? because we’re too scared to be heard before we’re seen, to cause chandeliers to shake, and to hit the same place twice. we’re too scared to be thunder.

LAURA METZGER

senior

DARK SKIES AHEAD LAUREN SHERMAN

senior

THE STORM One time I was on a flight On this flight there was a lot of light The light of lighting Which made it very frightening I was all alone I was afraid all the way down to my bones As the shaking erupted I was in deep thoughts that couldn’t be disrupted I wasn’t afraid of death Or taking my last breath I was afraid I hadn’t seen enough to die And all I could do was cry Then I opened my eyes And thanked God I was still alive

LAYLA OMARI sophomore

LOVE MY PETALS I used to want to be pretty. I’d see pictures of girls from my class or years ahead and I’d think they were so damn pretty. And I’d asked, how is that fair? How is it fair, that their hair falls gracefully over their shoulders, cascading curls like ribbon on a gift. But I, I have big ears that poke out between my parted locks, and my hair refuses to hold a curl. These beautiful girls have pearly white teeth from years of braces and whitening, or maybe just natural luck. I had braces too, and even though I brushed every day and every night, I ended up with two white spots on my slightly yellowed teeth. Oh and these girls laugh sweetly, flaunting their bouncing curls and shining, bright teeth. I wanted to be pretty. And it took a long time for me to realize, I am pretty too. When I laugh, I snort, loud. And you can see my yellow teeth because my mouth is open wide enough to catch flies. I tuck my straight hair behind my big ears, they do a good job of holding it in place, and I’m in love with the way my eyes look in the sun or the flash of a camera.

Deep, rich, chocolate eyes with notes of hazel. I love chocolate and I love my eyes. And in the summer, my skin turns golden and along the bridge of my nose and my supple cheekbones, an array of freckles litter my face. They give it character along with my laugh lines, my chocolate eyes, and my yellowed teeth. I am pretty dammit. I just had to realize that some girls bloom earlier, and some girls, like me, take a little longer to love their petals.

LAUREN SHERMAN senior

HANAHAKI’S DISEASE JACI TUBBS senior

“And we need to make contact with things that cannot change” -SENSATION, pg 77

THRIVE

REDISCOVERING YOU Life is about creating balance within time, and gravity allows us to keep us afloat in this sea we call time. And within those, days are precious. Birth such as the first breath of life and the last breath of death. Within time, the world will evolve. Each passing century, life begins. The breath of dawn in the waking sun, each passed day is a worth of glory. In the waking of light is a special creation worthwhile.

DESIREE FIGUEROA sophomore

FLY AWAY KENZIE FRANK

senior

LEMONS When I was little, I fell in love with the idea that lemons were sweet. I always thought they would have some sweet candy “yellow” flavor. One night when I was small My father brought home Precious yellow diamonds. I preferred to call those lemons. I was so ready for a sweet little lemon. I asked him for a slice. I even begged him for one. He warned me of the flavor, Just like I was warned A boy with brown eyes would hurt me. Just like I was warned My eyes would water. I thought sweet, But I tasted sour. Then, brown eyes said sorry, Just like the lemon flavored candies would. And as he would stitch me back together, He did not know how to finish the knot; My face puckered and twisted. The glue from his lips Pulled my face within its center. I was warned of a sour taste, But I swore lemonade was my favorite drink.

SAMMI MARCELLUS

junior

LOOK DOWN

Look down. She doesn’t know what to do with her eyes, her hands, her heart. The universe is breaking before her. Sanity blows away in the howling wind, but her heart is tied to the ocean floor, drowning among the what ifs.

SARAH WATERS senior

PERCUSSION

SAVANNAH WHISENHUNT senior

SLIPPING AWAY You are the sand, slipping through my fingers, but I am the ocean waves, washing you out of my soul. Because every move I make pushes you further away from me, we’re back to being strangers again. My heart is a collapsing star, and you have decimated me until I am mere dust.

SARAH WATERS

senior 69

A WOMAN Arrest that woman, for I can see her shoulders! Her body is a distraction to me, and to the world! I will not stand for it. We are not objects formed from the mind of a horny man. We as women should not feel as if we owe them anything. Our shoulders are nothing more than a shelf to keep our proud heads held high when hurtful words from sharp tongued fools try to pull us down. Our breasts are for us to nurture the bodies of the next generation. They hold love capable of making a child grow healthy and full of compassion. Qualities that dimly lit minds rarely have. This is not a message of hate, but rather a message of equality. We are our own beings and should be treated as such. Women do not belong to anyone, nor are we here for your own personal benefit. Our backsides are not entrances for a creature midstroll in the dead of night with a need to get lucky, for your jackpot has become our hell. Will we burn ourselves every night thinking to ourselves were we really asking for it? Were my jeans too tight? Or was it because my hijab was on too loose? We already know that this is what the judge will ask when we walk into that courtroom with our sweaty hands, rattling bones, and shame above our heads like a parade balloon. We ourselves are starting to believe it was our fault that this happened. That we deserved this, just because we are women.

JORDAN HUMPHREY junior

GOLDENROD ISABELLE ENGEL

senior

WHO I AM, YOU HELPED ME TO BE “Come on, you can do it! You’re doing it! All on your own!” She yells. I look behind me to see my mother growing further and further away from me. I keep pedalling on my small, pink princess bike. I’m really doing it, by myself. I look down at the tires. I only see two… no more squeaky training wheels. The smile on my face grows as I pedal closer to the sidewalk corner. When I reach the corner, I stop. I’m so proud of myself for accomplishing such a hard task almost entirely on my own. “Go ahead, you’re such a great person. You’ll make plenty of friends,” she smiles as I shut the car door. I turn to face the big building with the words of the high school at the top of the brick wall entryway. I turn back to the car and she smiles and waves to me before pulling away from the drop-off area. Her small smile reassured me of her words just moments before. “Pull the car out slowly, I know you can do it.” I look over to see her smiling nervously. I put my shaky hands on the steering wheel and put the vehicle in reverse. I hit the gas pedal a little too hard and we both scream as I try to get the vehicle to stop before we end up in the neighbor’s house across from us. My ears fill with her laughter as she gives me another chance to prove to her I can do this. I can drive this car. I can do anything with my mom’s support. “He never deserved you. You are beautiful, amazing, and deserve nothing but the very best,” she comforts me as i stain her shirt with my tears. She rubs my back as I continue to feel the pain inside my chest. I show my vulnerability as I tell her I thought he was the one, but he didn’t feel the same. She continues to tell me how great she thinks I am, and I start to believe she is right. She’s the only one that doesn’t make me feel like an idiot. I do deserve better. “I’m so proud of the person you’ve become,” she whispers to me with tears in her eyes. The reminder of seeing me walk on the stage in my graduation gown, playing in her head. It’s only a few months away and it breaks her heart. She hugs me tightly and tells me never to leave. Mom, You have helped me to become the person you’re proud of. There is no bigger supporter than the one you have been my whole life. I’m so grateful to have a person like you to watch me grow into the person I want to be. Thank you.

JAEDYN ARMSTRONG

senior 71

SANCTUARY While she sits outside enjoying the warm sun kissing her skin, she can see the trees budding, and colors popping from the ground. She calls this place her sanctuary. She is smiling now, more than ever. Once she was insecure and in the distance, but her smile saved her, and now she made her smile... a lifestyle.

SHRADDHA PATEL senior

REFLECTION MEGAN VODRASKA sophomore

DEFINING MEXICAN-AMERICAN KATE MIRELES senior

America is built on the culture that other people from other countries bring; what many call the “melting pot.” Although Mexican-Americans are seen as uneducated, lazy, and unreliable people, we are hard workers, achievers, and most importantly, dreamers.When it comes to what we bring, we bring a lot to the table. When an immigrant comes here to the United States they come for one reason and one reason only: Mexicans come here to make their dreams come true, whether it be supporting their families, pursuing their career, or as simple as having freedom. It is true that immigrants come here for the “American Dream.” They come here full of hope in their eyes and motivation pumping through their blood. Being Mexican-American is waking up at five in the morning to go out in the fields to support your family. It is the backache that never seems to go away and the twitch in your hands from using them all day. It is those dark circles you wear like eyeshadow everyday to inform the world you didn’t sleep enough last night or the night before. The hesitation, the fear of the unknown, overwhelms them and it’s best to just stay home and rest tight in the safety of being under a leaky roof. It, too, is having it all here in the United States except your family and missing home and its delicacies all twenty four hours of the day and longing for your mother’s hugs when times get hard. It’s dreaming at night of the happy times you spent in the loved motherland. In the morning the alarm goes off and you are confronted by reality by those beeps that disturb your slumber. It’s those puzzled looks you get while walking down El Walmart aisles with your straw hat on and your cowboy boots thudding down the concrete floors. Being Mexican-American is being raised in a home where the language you speak isn’t the same as the one spoken at school. It is comparing yourself to your friend, Holly, and seeing how different your worlds are. How your thick dark ponytail differentiates from

the blond ponytails in gym class. Being Mexican-American is the rich smell of beans in the sweater you left in the kitchen last night. Maybe I am not rich like those kids from school, but I am rich in other ways. Rich in culture, rich in a loving family, and rich in delicious food. Being Mexican-American is a struggle not many people realize. It is the constant fear that maybe not you, but your uncle, mom, or even friend from two blocks down will someday be taken from this foreign land back to Mexico. But being Mexican-American is more than just fear. Many believe Mexican-Americans bring culture and happiness when they migrate here. We bring the smell of tamales and bright smiles when walking into a room. We bring our accents and trust that raising children here is better than raising them in our homeland. Raising them here will bring so much more to them than in our homeland plagued by drugs and violence. We are rich, not through money and status, but through our culture. It is our ancestors that made us the people we are today. We vary from light skinned, fair eyed, caramel eyed, and tan skinned Mexicans. We are all so mixed and different from our neighbors, but yet, so alike.

LA CALLE LAURA METZGER senior

THIS IS FOR YOU To the girl who sits in the back, Terrified to be herself, To the boy who feels as though His passions should be hidden from His closest friends, This is for you. To the people whose own skin color Gets in the way of natural talent, To the people whose Sexual orientation and physical attraction Doom them to a life of “hell,” This is for you. To all of the people who feel as though they Don’t have a voice, To the people who are desperately Searching for a place to call home, This is for you. To the girl who questions her beauty, inside and out, who Silenced her laugh, To the boy who reads and writes poems, Only wishing to share his life with others, This is for you. No matter what other people tell you, you are beautiful inside and out. No one gets to decide what happens next, that’s up to you, so here’s my message: live and let life live. Life is too short to focus on what could have been, so focus on the ones who love you for who you are now, not for who you could be for them. At the end of the day, someone loves you and if you don’t believe me, then just stop reading and look in the mirror. No one can stop you from achieving what you were put on this Earth to do, so pick up that violin, prepare to do your cartwheels, warm up your voice, and let loose. Perform like no one is watching, and love as if it’s the last thing you get the chance to do. Find your voice and pretty soon, the world will look at you in a whole new light.

ZACH WENDLING junior

SENSATION Some days we can lose touch with ourselves. Personal focuses become blurred, and we need to make contact with things that cannot change LISTEN Put in headphones, block out outside noise, play a song Count the beat What instrument stands out the most? LOOK Look at your hands and count your fingers First hand 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Second hand 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 TOUCH Make fists How do your hands feel? Hot, cold, sweaty, dry? When we feel a disconnect between ourselves and the outside, one thing will never change, our sensation

SAVANNAH WHISENHUNT senior

MY GARDEN ZACH WENDLING junior

Growing up I found safety in nature. There was something about the natural beauty of the world that just wrapped me up in warmth and made me feel like nothing could hurt me. Maybe that was the reason I began my garden. The very reason that I began planting roses and sunflowers and chrysanthemums and primroses and violets and so many more flowers. The natural beauties that Mother Nature provided inspired me to never back down. I learned that even if you were a guy, it didn’t matter if you liked nature or not. Initially it all started with a single rose. A symbol of love, right? Cheesy, I know, but it began representing the love that I felt for myself. The very symbol of balance started what would soon become a message that I could brave the world. Storms were disastrous that year, as they always are when you wish to change yourself, but we braved the storms that rose and I. As soon as that one rose rooted and bloomed, the cycle began. Following one particular storm I decided to plant a poppy. I hoped it would perhaps please the dead as it was once symbolized in ancient Greek and Roman myths. The beautiful, sleepy-like bud would calm the world and show that no matter the extreme chaos, I could face any danger even if I was in the middle of finding my inner peace. My rose and poppy duo soon found company in more of their own kind. Roses were planted next to roses and poppies were planted next to poppies. Red dots littered the landscape but, as with every great story, you must include multiple colors to do the story justice. Soon, chrysanthemums joined the picture on either side of the roses and poppies, adding a splash of a sunset orange to the picture. It seemed obvious at that point that each flower wrapped me up in its symbolism. As soon as the chrysanths were placed in the ground I was overwhelmed with optimism and joy. Sunflowers and marigolds followed suit, and I suddenly adored the longevity of my garden even more. The marigolds inspired me to show my true self when the light was out because, after all, I could only bloom in the light. After the colors of an eternal flame filled the landscape I realized that I could not only continue to branch out but had to begin branching up. I placed willow trees at the edge of the marigolds and sunflowers and 78

created a wall of sorts. It was beginning to look like a ring of nature and it finally hit me. Though blocked from the rest of the flowers, the willows would serve as a bridge of sorts, connecting the warm, sunny sunset flowers with the cool, oceany, dark flowers. The growth and harmony of the willows would only continue and for the first time in a long time, a smile permanently landed across my face. I was now in possession of a fertile field and my garden was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. I’ve spent the past years grooming the garden to be a symbol, not only of nature, but also of myself. Icy orchids soon filled my heart with love, lilies soon scattered across the horizon and made me even more devoted to my loved ones, and violets soon proved that every flower planted was done with love. Today marks the anniversary of when I first planted my first rose. I had never plucked a single root but today felt different. Nothing had wilted, even though years had passed, and maybe it was the magic of the world around me or maybe it was just the strength of Mother Nature. Regardless of how, or why, I gripped that beautiful rose between my fingers, took a deep smell, and sat in the middle of it all. I noticed how the roses and poppies spread out into chrysanthemums, sunflowers, marigolds, willows, orchids, lillies, and finally violets. The picture was perfect. The field represented the life inside my soul, a magical place where every color was represented; the exact place where optimism, joy, peace, harmony, love, joy, balance, and so much more called home. I sat cross-legged, center of a rainbow circle that Mother Nature had made possible. I laughed for the first time and fell back in joy. My garden was finally finished but as I lay like an angel within it all, I smiled because it wasn’t actually finished. I imagined the world below where the roots crossed each other and created a world beyond my physical knowledge. There was no way to know what was going down below the surface but the roots called it home. My garden was not only growing to the side, but also down and up. My soul became that perfect harmony that I had spent nursing so long to health. I realized that though I was physically done planting new seeds within the field, the garden would continue forever. Pretty soon, I would rise up to the challenge and whoever looked in my direction would be amazed because in my garden, it was okay to be yourself. It was okay to live in the middle of all of your colors, and it was the place where beauty was on the surface but also beneath everything else. I rested my head on the ground with the poppies and looked up to the sky. Pretty soon I would grow to reach the heavens and pretty soon my roots would touch the center of the earth. I was ever-changing and I closed my eyes and smiled. My life was filled with love and as the poppies carried me off to a harmonious sleep, I wondered where my roots and branches would take me next. 79

PRICELESS The final surge of adrenaline ripples through our veins like a hurricane Right before we walk on stage and share our art with the world. The presence of an audience strips confidence and fuses us together. Nerves combine with muscle memory as we slip back Into the life of someone else. A different age, style of clothes, hair and makeup, Different family, Different friends, A different way of looking at the world. Big reactions And awkward physical habits that you don’t really think about Until you have to create them. A whole new person, who was once just a figment of my imagination, Is now a real person. Someone who thinks and feels and lives And has a favorite food that they could eat forever Or an addiction to the latest TV show with that one actor That they could just marry. “Getting into character” isn’t as easy as it seems. If you do it right you aren’t just “acting’’ as another person, You ARE that person. So when people say that theater isn’t healthy Or practical, They’re wrong Because we don’t just act out characters. We become who we are In the sense that every character possesses a sliver of ourselves And adds a little bit to our personality. We steal bits and pieces to add to our collection Of memories and experiences. They give us new understandings, Things that not even mere experiences could teach us And that, Is something that we would never trade for anything. That, Is priceless.

PAIGE HOWLAND sophomore

CAROUSEL OF DREAMS SARAH WATERS

senior 81

Why We Write (Or Don’t) a collective piece from English 10

I write to erase my mistakes. I write for the highlights of my life. I write to rewrite my future.

I write to see something so clearly it’s in 3D, and at any degree, I’d be at sea, with no debris, and they’d see me, with my own key, to greatness and unlimited possibilities, with my capabilities, and it’s unbelievably great to feel this free.

I write to break my own vulnerability. I write to tug at people’s hearts, triggering them to show their inner emotions.

I don’t write because it feels like I was kicked out of a vehicle and stranded, trying to Find my way back.

I write so I can get away from problems There’s only one chance in life So you got to solve them I got a bright mind I write cause I like to, but Not only that I can also rock the mic too I write so I can Get an A in class My mind’s straight, focused Breakin barriers like glass

Whenever it comes to writing assignments, I sit in my spot, trapped in the conFines of my desk space, staring at a blank screen for minutes, yet feeling like hours.

I don’t write because I get lost in words.

I don’t write because writing is confusing. it can cause some to think one thing and others to think another based on the same words and that can cause negative things. Like war and anger.

I write because I want to feel as if i’ve stepped into a time machine and gone back to that moment. I write because describing my past makes me look forward to the future.

I don’t write because i feel like i’m drowning in an ocean of words circling around me hoping for me to pick them Out and put them into a sentence. I write to voice my opinions.

I write because creating something that didn’t exist before is as close to magic i’ll ever get.

I don’t write anymore because I will never be able to Fix a broken track from Idea Central to Paper Station because Idea Central will no longer send ideas to Paper Station. I usually don’t write because I screw up my thoughts or go off track and tumble down the mountainside, snow falling with me as I knock chunks off of the trail until I hit rock bottom.

I write to connect, not just with others but with myself. I write until I hear my voice. I write and write and continue writing until the words have a purpose.

THE MARCH MARIAM SOLAIMAN sophomore

84 84

TIME TO THRIVE I’ve grown up with the belief that the primary and most essential goal in life should be to remain connected to the diversity of people who currently reside on this planet. Everything else, I believe, will take care of itself. As a result of this certainty, the importance of connections is what I choose to reflect upon after spending over a decade and a half at North Star High School. It is the innumerable connections that have allowed me to flourish, learn and thrive in such a stimulating environment. Dictionary.com defines the word thrive as to grow or develop vigorously. One might agree that so many things at North Star High School have developed vigorously, including the number of students who call this community home. I consider it a once in a lifetime phenomenon to have been in this right place at this right time. As the principal of what has been the largest high school in Lincoln, I’ve been privileged to have a positive team of people surrounding me every step of this journey. So true are the words of Jon Gordon (2007) in that no one ever creates success alone. Reflecting has allowed me time to understand the fullness that exists in every individual and to realize that every meaningful connection with someone, regardless of their narrative, can be a license to thrive. I welcome the opportunity to publicly applaud two women for their hand in positively affecting my course while I’ve been a North Star Navigator: Dr. Marilyn Johnson-Farr and Dr. Nancy Becker. Since I can remember, Professor and good friend, Dr. Johnson-Farr has allowed me to sit at her feet to learn first-hand what it means to be an academic scholar and pioneer for justice. Additionally, my skills and talents would have gone untapped had I not been nudged by our former principal, Dr. Nancy Becker. Dr. Becker inspired me to go forth and be courageous. In order to appreciate the diversity that shapes our human experience we need to acknowledge those difference makers along the way. I’m in total agreement with Dr. Maya Angelou in that “the best part of life is not surviving, but thriving with passion and compassion and humor and style and generosity and kindness.” In order to really do this, we must be willing to cultivate every chance we have to interact with the myriad of people who enter our lives every season. When we learn to be grateful for our connections, we can acknowledge and celebrate their impact on where we are, where we’ve been, and where we’re going. I conclude with the life changing words of Ella Hicks, “Take the time to dig deep and find out who you really are. Be the person that you are meant to be, not who the world wants you to be. Be strong, walk tall, crown on. It’s time to thrive”.

DR. VANN PRICE principal

ESTES PARK ISABELLE ENGEL senior

FINAL THOUGHTS FROM THE 2018 STAFF Thank you to all those who submitted! We could not create a completly student-created publication of student work for the student body without you, the students! Istoria is a place where words truly have value--it is a home for the written word and pictured mind that can both be expressed without scrutiny. Istoria is where we come to share our truths, be our authentic selves, be published, and live to the best of our abilities. Istoria is a legacy for which we are proud to “bear the weight,” because it is here that we find those who have, as Brene Brown says, “earned the right” to hear our stories. Thank you for continuing this legacy with us!

TOP (LEFT TO RIGHT): Maggie Deschaine (advisor), Kenzi Wulf, Jaedyn Armstrong, Laura Metzger, Zach Wendling, Savannah Whisenhunt, Sicily Hutchinson, LaTreas Deras. BOTTOM (LEFT TO RIGHT): Abby Kutscher (student teacher), Shraddha Patel, Lauren Sherman, Kenzie Frank, Richard Bui, Jackson Swanson.

Submit to the 2019 issue! Scan the QR code, use LPS Jump Code OSG3, or visit goo.gl/7t1uSN.

We can’t wait to read YOUR work! 87

INDEX AL HAJAJ, Mujteba 49 ALSPAUGH, Jessa 26, 27 ARMSTRONG, Jaedyn 71 ASHMORE, Delaney 29 BARGER, Jackson 18 BENES, Mo 15 BRYAN, Anna 23 BUI, Richard 38 BURK, Ian 51 CAO, Tina 46 CLARK, Alexys 10 DEANEY, Alyssa 47 DELUNA, Yasmin 57 DETRAS, Letreas 20 ELLIOT, Sam 28 ENGEL, Isabelle 14, 70, 86 ESPINOZA, Emily 6, 72 FEELY, Kamrin 41 FIGUEROA, Desiree 66 FITZSIMMONS, Zoie 38 FRANK, Kenzie 9, 15, 66 GARRISON, Mackenzie 49 88

GROVE, Samantha 50 GUDGEL, George 52 HASENPFLUG, Bradyn 30 HOWE, Macy 53 HOWLAND, Paige 80 HUMPHREY, Jordan 43, 70 HUTCHINSON, Sicily 21 HUYNH, Brittney 42 IDIGIMA, Juwlien 56 JEPSON, Stephanie 13 KARNISH, Juli 58 KOKHANETS, Davyd 55 LAWRENCE, Mikaela 12 MADRIGAL, Rodriguez 36 MARCELLUS, Sammi 22, 67 MCCORMICK, Emma 48 METZGER, Laura 24, 60, 64, 75 MIRELES, Kate 74 MOSTEK, Jayden 16 NGUYEN, Thanh 45 OESTMANN, Brooke 54 OMARI, Layla 61

PATEL, Shraddha 72 PORTILLO, Ashley 46 RITTENHOUSE, Bre 32 ROTH, Miranda 35 SANCHEZ, Aide 48 SHERMAN, Lauren 61, 62 SOLAIMAN, Mariam 84 SWANSON, Jackson 14 SYKES, James 31 TUBBS, Jaci 63 VILLA, Cristina 39 VO, Jason 40 VODRASKA, Megan 20, 72 VU, Anna 8 WATERS, Sarah 34, 68, 69, 81 WENDLING, Zach 76, 78 WHISENHUNT, Savannah 17, 26, 58, 68, 77 WOOLEN, Logan 28 WILLS, Cailey 11, 30, 43 WULF, Kenzi 53 YUNG, Jayce 42