The Gazebo: 2021-22 - La Salle's Literary Magazine

GAZEBO 2021-2022

GAZEBO STAFF STUDENT OFFICERS

Patrick Ryan '23

Editorial Director

Teddy Harrison '22

Creative Director

Kevin Pritchett '22

Art Director

Ethan Tran '23

Art Editor

Andrew Luckey '25

Editor

FACULTY MODERATOR

Mr. John Mills '12

TABLE OF CONTENTS LITERATURE Page 1

Chris Rafferty

Page 1

Evan Mollick

Page 2-5

Chris Rafferty

Page 6

Harrison Glover

Page 6

Jack Mullaney

Page 7

Teddy Harrison

"Lobster"

Page 8

Michael Robles

"Tapestry"

Page 8

James Soley

"Journey's End"

Page 9-12 Patrick Ryan

"On Worldbuilding"

Page 13

Kevin Lafond

Page 13

Danny McFillin

Page 14-19 Harrison Glover Page 20

Quinn Buck

Page 20

Sam Gray

ART & PHOTOGRAPHY Front

Kevin Pritchett

"History" "Black Creek" "El Dorado" "Divided" "I Live"

"Patience" "Edges" "Scraped Knees" "Distance" "Stacks"

History Alarms ring throughout the barracks The votes have been cast The men are at the ready And stand tall behind a podium Crimson bayonets drawn upon the enemy A new leader We unite Alas, the nation loathes itself Under one flag History

Streets, Empty Covered in leaves, Adrift in an endless cycle.

A creek of flowing reds and yellows.

Misunderstood, Pulled along by mother nature’s invisible force.

Miscellaneous, Left vacant in the hands of death, Mislaid, with no search party.

Black Creek

June 11, 2XXX I, Pius Greeve, renowned cryptozoologist, have been tracking, recording, and discussing mythological beasts for my entire life. My first encounter with the great myths was when I was seven in my home of Norway. I was on a trip into the wilderness with my family when I witnessed a Rotund Gulon wedging itself between two trees. I knew the story of the Gulon, and my parents couldn’t believe that what they had been told as children was true. Of course, we all got away quickly as the Gulon is carnivorous, but my finding took the world by storm. Recently I’ve tracked down and recorded a deadly Yowie, resisted the chimes of an Eloko after I stumbled into its forest, and even managed to outmaneuver a Ahuizotl by Lake Texcoco. However, I always knew I could do better than the monsters around the world. I’ve spent the last five years collecting information on some of the most famous lost worlds: Atlantis, Shangri-La, and El Dorado. The media says my most recent inability to uncover beasts is due to “losing his lucky touch”, but it’s because I’ve been on the brink of rediscovering a whole city! I’m on the doorstep of the golden city of El Dorado and my journal is about to have my greatest records inked into its pages.

June 25, 2XXX I simply can’t believe it! I, Pius Greeve, wasn’t the first to find the land of El Dorado. What’s worse is that it’s the Syndicate company logo plastered across every truck.

If you don’t know what Syndicate is (and I assume you don’t as you’re probably reading my journal in a museum far into the future) they are a gluttonous corporation that’s been in more environmental scandals than I have teeth. I haven’t the foggiest idea of how they found this city, but I’m sure they are here for capital and nothing else. The press would drag me through the mud if a corporate CEO found a legendary city before I did, and on top of that the damage Syndicate could inflict on this ancient civilization would be irreversible. I will continue with my research and remain distant from Syndicate for now.

If I catch them in the act of defilement, I will need to come up with a plan to get them out of here.

July 2, 2XXX Syndicate is bringing in more than just manpower. They’re here for treasure and nothing else. They don’t care how much they break down this glorious city. I’ve already watched four brilliant buildings barged into and ransacked for all their commodities and luxuries.

I’m sure Syndicate will find someone to pay a pretty price for such artifacts…or they will manage to make some museum of stolen goods.

My plan to scare the Syndicate out of El Dorado involves the El Hombre Caimán; a beast I’ve studied on the Caribbean and Colombian coast. With body of an alligator and the head of a man I might be able to replicate their mannerisms and startle the thieves away for a short while. This is no doubt a risky quest, but it’s the best I can manage with such limited resources at my disposal.

July 5, 2XXX The El Hombre Caimán ruse was a success! A few claw marks on the ground, unusual patterns around the Syndicate campsite boundary, and a nightmarish replica of the beasts hunting cry allowed me to scare the Syndicate crooks into their shelters for a short while.

I had wished they would choose to relocate after the horror went on for a third night, but they seemed to muster the guts to run into the woods with rifles in hand to hunt the “beast”. Fruitless efforts of course, but I can’t risk impersonating local creatures anymore.

I was blessed on the second night with the chance to swipe some “artifacts” from an unlocked storage truck. However, and I’m not sure why this is, but what I took back from the Syndicate is definitely not from an ancient untouched city. Anyone worth their salt could tell that this pot in front of me now, while a perfect replica of what would have been used as decoration during El Dorado’s glorious days, was made no more than fifty years ago. There is some kind of foul play at hand in the city of El Dorado and I am determined to get to the bottom of it. Is there a third party who beat me to the city decades earlier? I refuse to leave El Dorado until I find out.

July 10, 2XXX Syndicate found I’m here. I’ve spent the last four days relocating myself through the city and found myself near El Dorados central temple. However, I didn’t just wander up to the temple. I’ve concluded that, because I’ve heard nothing about El Dorado before now, that whoever was making replicas of ancient household items, is still somewhere in the city.

The central temple is the only spot so far that I know of that the Syndicate hasn’t approached. Tomorrow I plan to explore the temple before Syndicate can get their hands on it or me.

July 11, 2XXX Pure beauty. This temple is unlike anything I’ve, no, anyone has studied before. The inscriptions on the walls, the real artifacts lining the halls, and the sheer amount of history etched into every stone is enough to make me more jiggery than a young boy on his birthday. And that’s not all! I think I’ve also uncovered the mystery of the fake pottery wedged in my backpack. The El Dorado I have walked around all this time, the one the Syndicate has been trampling across, is just a husk! A molted shell left behind from the original El Dorado which I believe is tucked far away below the earth. Who cares what the Syndicate takes from the outside? Everything they’ve touched is worthless, simple ploys made to fool mindless criminals like those Syndicate hounds. I’ve truly been living on the doorstep of El Dorado for the past month, and if I find evidence of the city then I can not only take credit for finding a lost world but incriminate the Syndicate and slander their name for good.

July 12, 2XXX The citizens of El Dorado were simply genius. They knew that the story of their city would pass through the generations and so they took precautions to keep their beloved kingdom safe. El Dorado is (as I believed) a city now far underground. For the safety of El I will hold my tongue and never speak of the city’s true location. The most I will do is expose Syndicate for their despicable action and hopefully discourage them from ever attempting to get at ancient treasures again. I’m still not sure how they found out, but that will be research for a later date. For now, I plan to lay low until nightfall and escape the city. I should be able to sufficiently disguise myself to blend in with the darkness. If I fail to escape and am caught, then I bid my journal farewell.

July 13, 2XXX I’ve escaped. I’m heading home with my findings.

September 1, 2XXX I may not have been the first to discover El Dorado, but I did break the record for longest time on the front page. The backlash Syndicate received for defiling an “ancient” city was so immense that they had to either board up their windows or have them being smashed open. All of the resources they spent trying to find the golden city and they didn’t get a penny out of it. Although, this whole fiasco has led me to make the P.G. Corporation. It’s a company, started up by my own wealth, whose main purpose is to protect and defend beasts and cities who fall victim to greedy and dangerous people. The P.G. Corporation will take credit for new findings as my new exploration and study team will work with me to track and record beasts quicker than I ever could alone. Why, I already have an expedition bound for India to study the behavior of the Bhainsasura (Bane-sa-sure-a). The creature itself has the head of a bull, the torso of a man, and the limbs of an elephant. My assistant has already worked out that the beast might be living near Lake Barewa. This will be my first exploration with my own full team and quite frankly I’m looking forward to it. My recordings will continue once I’ve reached Lake Barewa.

Divided Rising crafts, Marks of pain past, Triggering youthful memories.

Slowly fading.

Filled with air, Stir both bad memories And happiness, And foolish mistakes.

I begin to laugh As her eyes open As I see the sun

And dreams.

The tears rush out

Everlasting reminders.

I talk with friends Like a waterfall in the mountains My lips form a smile Following the bend of her nose And I live Down to her jaw

I Live

“Hssss!”

My Poppop dropped the first of two lobsters into the pot of boiling water. Just moments before, its brown and black spotted body had been shimmying on the counter. I asked him why we put them in alive. He chuckled and said, "It just tastes better that way."

He opened a creaky old drawer and pulled out two large plaid napkins like a magician, and handed them to me, his lovely assistant. The heavy fabric of the napkins wafted the scent of the boiled lobster my direction before it was even out of the water, and I could almost taste it in the back of my nose: an unfamiliar salty, yet sweet smell.

Then out of the water came what looked to be a completely different animal, the brown and black mottle of their shells replaced by a cherry red patina. He placed first lobster on his plate and the second on mine, and we sat at the table together, napkins tucked into shirt collars.

He patiently taught me how to properly use the complex assortment of tools needed to extract the meat; they looked to me more like torture devices than kitchen utensils.

After several minutes of snapping, cracking, and pulling at the shell, the first piece I successfully removed was from the claw. Finally, out slid the slimy pink meat! Using the tiny fork, I dipped the chunk of meat in the butter, coating it in gold, then placed it in my mouth. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted: sweet, warm, and buttery.

Tapestry Signs of hope break through the darkness, Wind weaves in between branches, Light reaches the drenched leaves.

Whistling across the vast field of trees.

Deep rumbles reach the horizon.

Glooming shadows darken the landscape.

Insects whimper no longer, Chilled droplets fall from above, And return to normal life.

We quickly run inside.

There exists a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow Its glory foretold by prophecies tenfold It exists just beyond tomorrow always slightly in view It’s glistening, shimmering shadow reflects only what in your soul is hollow But if your sight Is true and you see gold, silver, and sin Be not afraid of that clue as there is little time to renew The lies deep within For once a journey has ended: you cannot remember how to begin fixing the problems within*

Journey's End

Dave Smith sat at his desk in his office typing. He had a report to fill out, which was required by the next week. All it required was transferring information from one page to the next. Dave hated it. He hated his job. He hated his boss. He hated doing work which could have easily been automated. There had been a chance to rise the ranks of the company, but that was quickly disappearing, as the owner’s son had just been given the new management position, despite his more than lacking resume. Sick of mindlessly typing, Dave left the office as soon as his shift ended. He did not say good-bye to his coworkers.

His drive home was just as uneventful as the rest of his day. He listened to music long since considered outdated, and he thought about his wife, Holly. Married for twenty years, no matter how bad his day had been, she could always cheer him up. As he pulled into his driveway, next to his wife’s car, he thought about the night’s dinner and what he should make. As he entered his home, Holly enthusiastically called to him, “Hi honey, how was your day?”

“It was fine,” he replied. “How was yours?”

“Oh, it was great, I’ve been teaching the kids in my class addition. And by the way, the letter you were waiting for came! Maybe today will be the day!” she exclaimed.

Dave knew what she was talking about. Behind the face of a man bored by his job, was a man who loved writing. He just didn’t seem to be that skilled about it. For years he had been sending manuscripts of his work to publishers. For years he had been collecting rejections. He sat down at their kitchen table, and she placed the unopened letter in front of him. He didn’t want to open it.

“You’ll have to open it sometime today,” his wife stated.

He stared at it for another second, and then he picked it up, opened it, and read it.

Another rejection to add to the list. Holly could see his sadness. “I’m sorry, I know how hard you worked on this one. Maybe the next one will do well.”

“I think I’m done, after this,” he replied.

“Don’t say that. You can’t just give up,” she said. “I have an idea. On the way home from work I saw an advertisement for a fantasy world building conference tonight. You should go. Maybe you’ll learn something that can help you, and if not, you can at least make some friends.”

“Look, I don’t think this is a –“ he stated, before being cut off.

“Just give it one shot, for me.”

“Ok,” he said.

Following his wife’s instructions, Dave drove to the convention center the conference was being held. He parked outside and walked inside. He had no idea what to expect. This lack of expectation might be what contributed to Dave not reacting at all when what appeared to be a man with green scaly skin, more than abnormal proportions, and tentacles instead of arms walked past. To put it lightly, Dave was confused. He glanced at a sign near him, and noticed that while it mentioned worldbuilding, there was no mention of writing or novels. He looked inside the room, and only saw more eldritch like beings. He thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. Remembering his promise to his wife, Dave entered the hall.

One of the creatures looked at Dave as he walked toward them. “Hello there! You must be new here!” Dave heard from somewhere. The things words came from no mouth and seemed to imprint themselves directly into his mind. “My name is Grejhitl, Eater of Worlds, but you can call me Greg.”

“Hi. I’m Dave,” Dave responded. “I’m here for the worldbuilding conference.”

“Well, you’re in the right place!” Greg seemed to shout. “Please take a seat at the table.”

Dave glanced at the table, seeing a dozen other eldritch beasts waiting for him expectantly. Or at least, he though they were expectant. It was hard to judge the emotions of an eldritch beast older than the universe itself. He finally made his way to the table and sat down. After he and Greg had sat, the others at the table began to talk about themselves. Dave learned that they were a group of eldritch beasts who enjoyed creating new worlds together. In an effort to attract others to join them, they had posted advertisements. They were not expecting a human to join but were excited for the new friend. Dave in turn told them about why he had come, and his aspirations to be an author. One spoke out loud, “It’s great to have you then! Let’s get started.”

And so began the most amazing brainstorming session Dave had ever been apart of. They all suggested ideas for the new world. As they made suggestions, a holographic image created by one of the beasts shifted and changed in front of them, forming a representation of the new world. They created new plants, animals, and people to inhabit the world. Dave, however, was apprehensive to help.

“Why are you not participating, Dave?” asked Greg.

“I’m not sure if you want my help,” He replied. “I’ve never actually published something; all my work has been rejected. I’m not a good worldbuilder.”

Greg seemed to think for a moment, and then said, “It does not matter if you are good, only that you enjoy it. We are not the best at making worlds, but we have this gathering so that we can spend time doing something we love, as friends. Please, join us for real.”

Taking the words to heart, Dave began to help create. He took inspiration from his manuscripts, turning it into a fantasy world filled with wonder and magic. The eldritch beasts loved it and continued to encourage Dave and his ideas. Within a few hours, they were done. The new world would exist somewhere in the cosmos, and they would act as its gods. Including Dave, who they decided to recognize as one of them.

When the conference ended, Dave said goodbye to his newfound friends, and returned home. When he entered, his wife was excited to see him. “So how did it go?” She asked.

“It went surprisingly well,” Dave replied. “I got some really good ideas for my next book.

And also, I might have some friends coming over next week for dinner after a round of golf.”

“That’s great to hear. I can’t wait to meet them,” she responded. Dave then sat down at his desk, and he began to write.

Nostalgia The warm fire crackles as the seasons are changing the smell of fire enters my nose as the leaves are falling paper being torn apart and the brisk air slowly takes them down as they are being thrown

A forest fire, That should be tired.

A pure, glistening blaze Begging to be admired.

into the white covered ground through the crisp winter air waiting to go onto the trees again

Burning for a dozen days, A crackling noise plays As the trees tumble., The forest frays.

Digging through the rubble, scorched and crumpled, Is a note, saying, “I should’ve been more humble.”

Edges

Jason was excited to see his mom calling him, even if the timing was a little strange. She didn’t normally call him while he was at work, but he had been strangely busy lately, so it made sense she might not be aware of his abnormal schedule. Nonetheless, Jason was glad she called. He’d had a rough few weeks, what with that idiot in accounting going on and on about the deal with the bank, and he just couldn’t manage to sleep more than a few hours. It had all served to make him rather uneasy, and definitely made his life harder than usual. No, talking to mom was exactly what he needed right now. She always managed to make him feel better, and he desperately needed to feel better right now.

Even just hearing her voice could be comforting, what with her relaxed, kind tone.

Picking up the phone in anticipation, Jason greeted her, “Hi mo-” “Jason.” His mom interrupted. Hearing her somber tone, his stomach dropped. “Jason, your father, he’s– he’s dead, Jason.” As the news managed to fully make its way into Jason’s shocked brain, he forgot about comforting his mom, or even talking with her. No, instead, a whirlwind of sadness roared through Jason’s mind, and he promptly fainted.

Jason and his father were avid climbers when he was younger. They’d pick a weekend, pack all their gear and a lunch in their old minivan, and drive to a nearby trail. Jason remembered right before the last time they’d hiked together. He was twelve years old, and felt even more excited than usual. Sure, it was a lot of fun to spend the day in nature, and Jason loved spending time with his dad, but what he was most looking forward to was using his new hiking backpack. It had been the apple of his eye for a long time; he’d always look at it in the sports good shop whenever he could. It was dark blue with fluorescent yellow straps, perfect for hiking with all the pockets you’d ever need.

It took months, but Jason had finally worn down his dad into buying it, promising him that he’d use it on the many future hikes they would go on together. Now, he’d get his first opportunity to use it, his beloved new bag, on their hike. The hike started off as normal, with both Jason and his father enjoying the quiet peacefulness of the nature surrounding them. They slowly hiked up the mountain, enjoying the quite peacefulness of the swaying trees until Jason felt his throat tighten. He couldn’t breathe. They had quickly stopped, and his father drove him to emergency care. Jason, twenty-six, hadn’t hiked since.

Thinking back on that time, those were his best days with his father. They still had a good relationship and spent a lot of time together afterwards, but they were never as close as they were when they used to hike. His father loved hiking and was undoubtedly saddened when he had to stop doing it with his son. The solace that they found in nature could never truly be replaced. Of course, they still talked, but they didn’t have that tradition to bind them together as firmly. And now he was dead. He could never enjoy it again. Jason felt a wave of sadness crash into him once again. It was almost debilitating. But then he remembered his father. His father always told him to persevere, to finish what he’d started. His father never turned his back on Jason, and Jason wouldn't turn his back on his father now. “No!” He’d hike up that trail. He’d do it, he’d succeed, and his father would feel at peace. No matter how hard it was, as long as he kept on moving, he’d be able to finish it. He had no choice. He had to do it for his father.

And just like that, Jason was going to hike again.

Death was confused. They’d lived a long time–since the beginning, in fact–and They’d never seen a case like this. Death was pouring through their files when something stood out. Death was shocked–they’d never missed a death date. No, this mortal, Jason, should have been dead fourteen years ago. They had his death set to fourteen years ago, and They also– wait, no this can’t be– “TIME!” Death roared, “Have you been interfering with the mortals again Time? Why is this man set to die on so many different occasions, Time?”

All the color washed from Time’s face as they heard Death yelling. “Well, he’s just, he’s so pitiful, you know. I had to do something” Time whimpered placatingly.

“Something, more like many things. Why’d you go this far?” Death questioned aggressively?

“Watch and see” Time whispered back. “I’ve seen it, what will happen. I know you can’t fully understand till you see it, so just watch and see, please.” Time pleaded.

“Fine, fine,” Death replied. Death had a soft spot for Time, and often let him get away with things even if he shouldn’t. “I’ll wait, I’ll wait.” Death consoled.

“Thanks Death, you’re a lifesa– nope, that’s not right. You’re great. Yep, you’re great!”

Time gleefully thanked them. Time had seen a lot of sad cases among the mortals throughout eternity. Many of them were heartbreaking and exceedingly depressing, but in this man, Jason, Time saw some hope. A bright light in his future. Time had to interfere– just a little bit.

“Just a tiny bit.” Time whispered.

While Jason was completely unaware what had been occurring between the divine, he certainly knew what was happening with him. He’d called his mom, telling her about his planned trip as well as assuring her that yes, he’d be fine on the hike.

He waited a few days, waited for that perfect hiking weather. A warm, sunny day with a slight breeze. The three days he waited felt like years, with memories of his father drifting in and out of his mind. Finally, Jason set off, ready to climb to the peak. He’d make his father proud and finally do something worthwhile; he’d make it to the top of the mountain. Jason, managing to scrounge together a small amount of confidence and a dash of hope, felt truly ready to climb. As ready as he could be, at least.

Jason took his first step onto the trail–slightly rocky but overall flat– and then his next, and the one after that, until one step blurred into hundreds. The dark thoughts he’d been having since his mom told him about the loss of his father faded into something much more peaceful; happy memories. By the time he finally came back to himself, he was elevated a mile from where he started, up quite a bit from the base of the mountain, and just beginning to sweat. His lungs, however, were gasping for air, showing how extreme his condition truly was. Granted, the scenery was beautiful. Looking down the mountain, a swaying forest slowly laid out with a bountiful variety of trees, with their leaves all in shades of yellow, orange, and red–except for a few evergreens, of course. But it was impossible to focus on any of this with his lungs collapsing in on themselves. Jason couldn’t hike like he could when he was a child, especially when just breathing required his full focus not to keel over.

Nothing was the same as when he was a child. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t start this hike to enjoy the scenery and talk to his dad like when he was a child, he started it with the sole intent to complete it. He couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t even able to talk to his dad, his dad was dead. He couldn’t breathe. His dad couldn’t take pride in him completing it, he’d left him behind, gone forevermore to a place where he couldn’t follow. He couldn’t breathe.

“Ugh.” A gasp escaped his lips. He didn’t know when it had happened, but he’d fallen on the path, as evidenced by a stick digging into his ribs and a few stones poking into his leg.

He must have fallen pretty hard at that, what with the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his skull resonating like a battering ram against a castle gate. He’d blacked out? The sun was a lot lower than before; he’d definitely blacked out.

“See, Death? Such a pitiful man, dying of suffocation born by his own sadness. I couldn’t help but intervene, nobody deserves this.” Time whined sympathetically.

“Yes Time, I can see why you interfered this time. That, however, doesn’t explain the other times you’ve interfered. Do you have a reason for those as well?” Death lectured.

“Yes, yes, I have my reasons. Just wait, you’ll see it clearly.” Time replied.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hike this damnable mountain, he couldn’t breathe, and he certainly couldn’t go on. It was starting to look a lot larger than before, the mountain towering before him, and he knew he couldn’t do it. He’d collapse again, and if he were a bit less lucky, he might even die. He couldn’t do it, but he had to do it. He’d started and he had to finish. He’d started this hike for his dad, and if he couldn’t finish it, if he couldn’t even make it to the peak– did his dad really mean so little to him? No, he meant a lot. Jason would make it to the top, whether it killed him or not. He’d climb, and climb, and climb, and he’d reach the end.

He lifted himself off the ground, lungs heaving as he got to his feet. Three miles to the top. It was a lot, but he’d make it. He had to. Step after step Jason ascended, rising closer and closer to his goal. After a hundred steps he was gasping, after a thousand he was wheezing and coughing, and after two thousand he was on his knees. Jason crawled up the path, knees bleeding and covered in sweat he crawled. Jason crawled, he coughed, he gasped, he lay, he looked at the sky. The sky was a beautiful color, a nice light blue with threads of white clouds laced through it. Why couldn’t everything be as beautiful as the sky? Why did he have to struggle and suffer just to live? Why did his dad decide to leave him, decide to leave mom, just for some stupid choirs and pearly gates? Life sucked, but it had its moments. Surely he didn’t have to leave. Was it his fault? Did his dad leave because of him, because of disappointment or some kind of strange loneliness? If he was a better son and a better person, would his dad have chosen to stay? The sky truly did look beautiful, a blue canvas with dashes of white and a slowly closing black frame. The sky didn’t normally have those weird black frames, but they were only adding to its beauty.

Jason watched as all the blue in the sky slowly disappeared, replaced by a deep black.

“See what I mean! I just had to stop it. Such a miserable death, and he’s already had such a miserable life recently. Surely neither of those should really count.” Time exclaimed righteously.

“Yes, I can see what you mean. This hike of his is a depressing example of not knowing your limits. He might have gone farther than he’s able, but it’s definitely too sad for him to die like this” Death agreed.

“Exactly! I’m glad you understand. I’ve been following his story for quite a while so I couldn’t let it end like that. I’m sure you’re happy to know this is the last time I interfered.” Time responded happily.

“Yes, I’m satisfied. Your actions were with reason, Time. Just please, refrain from interfering so much in the future.” Death pleaded.

Light. Jason could see light through his closed eyelids and feel the warmth of the sun against his face. As his mind started to function again, he felt the tremors of pain throughout his body. His knees were killing him, as was virtually every other muscle he had in his body. But all that was overshadowed by the beautiful sight Jason saw as he opened his eyes fully. Before him stood a tall tree covered in leaves of every color, a virtual rainbow. The tree was bent and twisted, resting on the side of the cliff, but still it stood.

Its branches spread wide, with the leaves sporadically catching the sun. Jason couldn’t help but appreciate how the tree dug into the cliff, gripping so tenuously for life.

With admiration for the tree set into his brain, Jason resumed his ascent. Slowly but surely, with frequent and periodic breaks, he managed to make it to the peak. The peak wasn’t different from any other peak, not really. It was rocky and cold, and there was a slight lack of air–all common things at the top of a mountain. But it felt different to Jason. It felt– it felt smaller than usual. He’d beaten the mountain, beaten the horrible trail. While his dad didn’t feel pride in him, couldn’t feel pride in him, he knew what he’d done. He’d decisively proved it, proved that if he put his mind to it, he could succeed. As Jason, lay there, looking at the forest below and the sun peaking over the trees, he considered his life. He’d done the best he could and though it often failed him, it had finally paid off. As he basked in the sunlight at the peak, Jason was satisfied.

Distance Stuck inside and slowly closing in.

Flocking like geese.

Will it ever end? Looking out Some with a clue, others not at all Trying to occupy my mind White and fluffy, But the chirps, not of a bird.

Stacks on stacks, Whiz! Gray, Blue, Black Shooting through blue skies Mask true emotions, unrecognizable from a distance I can’t keep track Until the true outcome is revealed

You’ll feel like you’re in Heaven And protecting us from beams of light After that first bite, But when they turn gray, Drizzles of syrup and Droplets of water come from out of sight, Pancakes indeed make for a great breakfast delight.

Stacks