Nazareth Academy Goulash: Winter 2022

Contents Artwork Front Cover Greta Nelson Hector, My Boy 1 Mia Skaliotis Floating Royal 2 Addrian West Trauma 3 Amber Constante Artwork 4 Iris Nelson Poem 5 Lorin Bucur Photograph 6 Isabel Gable Photograph 7 Grace Enderle I Ruck 8 Mr. Dustin Uher Artwork 9 Olivia Mowrer Shadow Lurker 10 Christopher Flores Breathing Soul 12 Sarah Newmann Artwork 13 Maya Reina The King 14 Valentino Ramos Artwork 16 Marcella Marshall Snow Angel 17 Grace Enderle Photograph 18 Julienne Custodio You 18 Sarah Newmann Artwork 19 Marcella Marshall Calypso’s Cave 20 Tatiana Huayamave The Anonymous Tip 21 Ana Kanatas Mayfield Water Lilies 23 Gianna Ramierez` Artwork 24 Tate Vaughn

Ennui 25 Amber Constante Photograph 26 Dasha Fagan Ts’eh in the sky 27 Lorin Bucur Artwork 28 Maya Reina My Face 29 Sarah Newmann Artwork 30 Amber Constante Opal 31 Juliet Olson Ground Fog 32 J. Paliatka The Iris 33 Tatiana Huayamave The Queen’s Love 34 Amber Constante Artwork 35 Jack Francis Photograph 36 Grace Enderle Behind the Shadows 37 Christopher Flores Photograph 38 Julienne Custodio Trapped 39 Sarah Newmann Artwork 40 Greta Nelson Summer of Silence 41 Mia Skaliotis Photograph 43 Isabel Gable HOPE 44 Christopher Flores Artwork 45 Iris Nelson Rochester 46 Lorin Bucur Artwork 47 Addrian West HP Lovecraft Effect ¸Back Cover Christopher Flores

Ahoy maties, Less than 5% of the world’s oceans have been explored. Similarly, these past two years have been nothing we have ever experienced before, full of uncertainty with many truths still left to uncover. Like our fishy friends, we have learned to navigate ever-changing waters. Led by our fearless captains, the SS Goulash has sailed through the rough and frigid seas. We hope this year’s first issue of Goulash will be the wind in your sails as you embark on your swashbuckling adventures. We invite you to turn the page and set sail with us.

Sincerely, Your Captains: Amber Constante, Greta Nelson, and Maya Reina

Goulash is produced by Writers’ Society, which includes: Haley Bedtke Ava Bucur Lorin Bucur Lisani Calderon Amber Constante Grace Enderle Christopher Flores Tatiana Huayamave Emily Lathrop Marcella Marshall

Neeve Olson Liam O’Meara Greta Nelson Iris Nelson Sarah Newmann Valentino Ramos Maya Reina Mia Skaliotis Anna Watson

Goulash Editorial Policy Goulash welcomes submissions of written and visual expression from students, faculty, and alumni of Nazareth Academy. The editorial staff is committed to accepting a wide range of submissions for every issue.

However, work cannot be published that disrespects or disparages another person’s race, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or ability.

Works that do not meet Nazareth’s appropriateness standards also cannot be published. At times, works may be edited for length or grammar with the knowledge of the writer or artist.

Hector, My Boy My dear young boy, only the gods and the winds can hear my cries On my tongue lies unsaid goodbyes In a world so harsh, fifty sons no longer here In a fate so cruel, my fifty first no longer near In these barren Trojan walls your voice I wish I could hear My dear young boy, you truly were the bravest of the brave For your own country your life you gave Your child will hear of your bravery For only a brave man would leave his child alone To go and defend his family’s home My dear young boy, you have fought bravely for me You may rest now in eternal sleep Two coins for the boatman I give to thee A bath of fire to set you free No one saw the tears in these eyes of old, but groaning where I sat I felt pain and grief a thousandfold Mia Skaliotis

1

Floating Royal

Addrian West

2

Trauma As the notes begin to play, Memories of 5 years, Since past, Flood in and drown out all joy.

Memories of separation, Isolation, Insecurity, Hurt.

Memories of unfading words, Of outspoken hatred, Of moments that now haunt my dreams.

As the words echo out, The knife digs in further, Bleeding out 5 years of torment And torture.

5 years of silence And compliance.

5 years of hiding Behind a smile.

It was just one song.

One. And yet, It took everything away with each note, Forced me to hide my emotions behind a wall, And burdened my young shoulders with the pain.

And with one note, It opened the floodgates Of my dark past.

This is trauma Amber Constante

3

Artwork

Iris Nelson

4

Poem

There is something that inherently attracts one to a dying landscape to crush a falling leaf, Red Orange Yellow Brown Beneath one’s feet, bundled up in boots To look out upon the fallow, yellow fields of harvested corn, The barns sitting, waiting, disrupting the horizon’s line in the sky to look up into defoliated branches of an apple tree, Searching for the last fruit of a year receding into a 6 month squalor in the snow Breathing in the air that is so cold it stings the back of your nose, Feeling rejuvenated As if absorbing the life leaving all things around you There is something that attracts me to this dying landscape, something that makes me want to keep living just to see it come alive, so it may die yet again Lorin Bucur

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Photograph

Isabel Gable

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Photograph

Grace Enderle

7

I Ruck I clutch. My old black Jansport, a trusty bag on my sturdy back, has carried many things in my life: cerulean blue Nikes, 3 quarters & 4 dimes, tiny Colgate toothpaste, a left contact lens, a broken chain of St. Jude’s necklace, pencil-written love letters, and shaken cans of 7up.

Oh, and: Two Greyhound bus tickets, Boston, One Peter Pan, Providence.

Brand new Elixir guitar strings, and a million other things.

But I’ve always rucked, without my black pack: a great-grandma I’ve heard but never seen, anxiety of unrequited love and expectations of masculinity, artistry, creativity, vulnerability, guilty lies and vaulted secrets, and fear of family history: obesity, no memory, alcohol, BPD. I carry it all with me. I ruck.

And I guess that makes me human.

Mr. Dustin Uher

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Artwork

Olivia Mowrer

9

Shadow Lurker It was a calm night in the city of New York. The homeless roamed the street looking for warmth. The dogs were barking and the children were sound asleep. Everything was calm and peaceful.

It was on that night that it happened.

I was walking through the quiet streets hoping to find the shadow man. They say he could answer every single question that you gave him. You could call me crazy for believing in such a thing. But not everything can be explained.

As I walked through the night and heard the quiet sound of the night my heart began to pound. I was near him. I was near the shadow man. As I continued walking it began to beat louder.

And Louder!

And Louder!

Suddenly I turned the corner and there he was.

The shadow man.

I couldn’t see his face or even his body. All I could see were his red eyes. I was about to step closer when he threw a rock at my face. Suddenly I heard a deep, terrifying voice.

“You were about to say ‘Hey! What was that for?!.. Am I correct?”

I gulp.

“Yes. Are you-” “The shadow man? Oh yes. I am.”

“I thought you were fake. One of those legends that kids would ramble on about.”

Suddenly a hand reached out to me. It was old and grim. Like a living corpse. I grabbed its hand and shook it. I could hear the shadow man giggle.

“I am very real. Very very real. Now my child…... What is your question?”

I think long and hard about this. I could ask it any question and I would get a response. I was tempted to ask the simple childish questions likeSuddenly the shadow man interrupted me while I was thinking.

“Just be careful. You may not like the answer.”

I could feel the spiritual presence heighten. It felt uncomfortable.

Unbearable.

But I knew that I had to keep going. I had to continue asking 10

him questions.

Finally I think of a question. Hesitantly I say, “Will I have children?”

The shadow man laughs. It was like he knew I was going to ask such a childish question. I thought that if“You thought that you could ask more than one question. Yes! Yes you can! But the more you ask...the more twisted the answers become.”

Twisted? I thought. How could an answer be twisted? It doesn’t make sense. But as I said before, not everything can make sense.

“Well,” the shadow man says in a low voice, “No, you won’t have the chance.”

I nod. Then I think of another question.

“Will I get married?”

The shadow man laughs even harder. “Oh such childish questions. Don’t you want to know more? You could ask any question in the world and you ask these? Such a fool. To answer your question: No...because you won’t have the chance.”

I tilt my head in confusion. I don’t get what he is saying. What chance? I decided to ask another question. I smile.

“Will I go to heaven?”

“You won’t get a chance.”

This time I had enough. I walked towards this “shadow man” with my fist in the air. As I crept toward the darkness I threw my fist into the eyes of the shadow man. Suddenly the eyes disappeared.

I shake my head in disappointment. It was late. I was tired. I decided to walk back home and get ready for tomorrow. I began to brush my teeth and let the water rinse out. Suddenly all the lights go out.

For a moment I was in complete darkness.

I could feel my heartbeat.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! The lights flicker on. I look in the mirror and see writing. It wrote in big letters WHAT’S YOUR NEXT QUESTION? I see those eyes again.

Christopher Flores 11

Breathing Soul

Sarah Newmann

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Artwork

Maya Reina

13

The King It was a busy Tuesday morning in the kingdom of the Western Commonwealth. In this gorgeous mountainside, the tall fern was always swaying and the yellow sun was always shining.

On the Northern Mountain of Samson, the king of the Commonwealth was locked inside his own throne room. It was the same routine for the past twenty-five years; he would impatiently wait for a messenger to walk in or for a servant to bring him his meals. It was an excruciatingly boring way to live, but he was willing to stay committed to his role in governing the entire kingdom.

This particular Tuesday, however, he was tempted to leave when one of his servants left the door cracked open to retrieve his meal from the outside. The king’s curiosity got the best of him and he left his throne room, the sun rays from the metal windows hurting his sensitive eyes. “What are you doing?” his servant asked. The king slowly turned to face him, but the servant collapsed on the floor without another word. He ignored the peasants’ insubordinate behavior and continued into the winding stone halls. It took over two hours to find the entrance, but when he finally did, several tiny, sharp objects flew by his long, ink black hair and stuck into the wall, preceded by a series of loud bangs.

“Get on the ground!” ten of his guards ordered. “Now!” The king slowly turned, a shadow casting on his face. “Do not order your king around!” he boomed in a muffled voice, his hair swaying over his green eyes. When the guards neared him, a surge of electric energy rushed up the king’s spine.

His eyes shot wide open and his veins on his forehead pulsed.

Before they could do anything, all ten of the guards dropped their weapons and fell to the ground, their eyes and mouths wide open under their helmets. They were unable to stop the king when he opened the front doors with his feet.

Upon looking into the dangers of the outside world, he was shocked to see a large-scale protest happening outside the palace walls. Hundreds of civilians and common folk were yelling at the royal guards who were standing in front of the front gates. When they saw the king standing on the front balcony, they became silent —a soft hush fell upon both the 14

guards armed with weapons of war and the people who were holding wooden signs painted with the images of bloody crowns made of gold and blue diamonds. “My people!” the king said aloud. “Rejoice! Your beloved, ruler has been freed from the horrible, padded bonds of these m-” “Beloved?” one of the common folk interrupted. “Why is he out here? Get him away!”

“Why are you just standing there?” two brunette women asked the royal guards.

The guards looked at each other and then turned their weapons to focus on the king himself. “You have five seconds to slowly get on the ground and kneel!” The king straightened his back; it could be heard cracking under the belts and clothes of his jacket. The guards gulped. “W-We won’t ask again!”

The king flexed every muscle in his upper body and said, “Oh, you won’t have to.” The belts on his arms and waist burst, and his straight jacket popped open. “I’ve been kind enough to provide you with several opportunities to worship me! I’ve given you all a person could ask for! Money, prosperity, protection! And how do you repay me? By locking me in my palace and restraining me in this jacket and piece of pig skin!” The king ripped the sleeves off of the jacket. The people looked at each other nervously, some even trying to escape. With his long fingers, the king tore his leather muzzle off and threw it onto the ground, stomping on it with his bare foot. “You still won’t kneel?” he asked in a demanding tone.

“Fine, I guess I’ll just have to do it for you!” An electric shock shot up his spine. His eyes widened and, with every ounce of his strength, he bellowed one word that echoed out for miles: “KNEEL!” Everything became quiet. The trees stopped swaying, and the wind suddenly ceased.

In the moment before they were forced to bow down before the king who was maniacally laughing in the eerie silence, the people realized one, sickening truth.

For the very first time in two and a half decades, the Compulsion King was free from the Western Commonwealth Asylum.

Valentino Ramos 15

Artwork

Marcella Marshall

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Snow Angel Snow circling a halo around my head Forming me a pillow and a bed I can feel the halo building slow Watching it grow .

Snow falling to the ground in sheets and waves It doesn’t make a sound But it can be heard if you Want it to be just fall down And sink Into your bed Grace Enderle

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Photograph

Julienne Custodio

You No, there’s been a mistake. You can’t be gone. This wasn’t a part of the story. I’ve read it before. I know how it ends and it ends with you still here. You can’t truly be gone. When I get home you’ll be right there. Right where you always are. Right? Right! I know you’re there. I know it! I push open the door to see... you’re not there. You’re really not there. You’re really not here. There’s been a mistake. You can’t be gone. I’ve read this story before, and you were still there at the end. But no. You’re gone. I guess I was reading the wrong book.

Sarah Newmann

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Artwork

Marcella Marshall

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Calypso’s Cave

Tatiana Huayamave 20

The Anonymous Tip As you walk down the dark path, stroking the trees as you pass by, you hear a soft howling in the distance. You approach a clearing by the lake. There is a spotlight down on the edge of the platform and it makes you feel uneasy. As you slowly walk towards the spotlight, the smell from the suitcase becomes incrementally potent. Your heart starts racing and you feel blood pumping down your arms. You think about the anonymous call you received ten minutes ago. Should you have called the police? Or will this experience make your credibility skyrocket? The fog seems to thicken the closer you get to the devilish suitcase, but you must push through. Your dress shoes are clacking against the pavement and this is the only sound you can hear. You cover your nose and mouth and gag against the putrid smell. You stop in your tracks, bend down, and gently brush the edge of the suitcase with your latex gloves.

You can’t risk your fingerprints becoming crucial in the solving of this case. You slowly unzip the zipper as adrenaline pumps through your veins faster and faster. What you see next is what nightmares are made of… the anonymous tip was true.

Ana Kanatas

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Mayfield Water Lilies

Gianna Ramierez 22

Artwork

Tate Vaughn

24

Ennui The tick The tock The restless clock The quiet The still Simply the drill A slowing A drooping As drowsiness ensues. A warmth A peace As sleep is due.

Forevermore The clock keeps ticking. Forevermore The pens keep clicking. This boredom Combined with anticipation, Only reveals My lack of patience.

Ennui.

Amber Constante

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Photograph

Dasha Fagan

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Ts’eh in the sky Cattle on the mountain Spotted, like the starry sky that led me to You Spotted, like the freckles spattered across your collarbone I’d kiss each one if you’d let me You held me at night, body-to-body, under the same glowing panoply The constellations that led me to you The same ones that return night after night, to let me see you in their light You held me then I remember the days I remember the nights I remember you And Even though you’re gone They still return Orion, Andromeda, Cassiopeia To remind me of the nights we spent together under their light I am not sad Though you shall not return I can find you in them Lorin Bucur

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Artwork

Maya Reina

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My Face The mirror holds a face But it does not belong to me Those are not my eyes My lips are not nearly that large My usually chubby cheeks look gaunt And that nose is not as pointy as my own Tears scream out of the eyes that are not mine No matter how hard I cry This face is still not mine ...

I’m ripped from my sleep My hands fly to my face like a jet Even in the darkness I can tell The fake me is gone This one is indeed my face Sarah Newmann

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Artwork

Amber Constante

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Opal

Juliet Olson

31

Ground Fog Before, when I looked into the watery blueness of your eyes, I’d see invisible calculations, houses slowly assembling themselves, like a time-lapse film, you as the director, the maestro, inviting in each section of trades on your cue.

I’d see the midnight blue of architect’s plans behind your eyes, lines springing into being in your deft imagination.

Now, I see a vacant house, a coffee cup left waiting, dry cleaning hanging expectantly.

Your memory now like the ground fog that nestles into the low places on a country highway, clearing at the top of a hill for a moment, once or twice, only to settle again, obscuring you from me.

J. Paliatka

32

The Iris

Tatiana Huayamave

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The Queen’s Love His face is solemn, almost sad.

“Then again, that’s not all that’s bothering you,” I whisper. His head shoots up and his eyes meet mine.

“You’re worried about losing your best friend,” I say, grabbing his hands. He moves away from the door and towards the small sofa in the middle of the study.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, slumping onto the sofa and releasing all tension from his shoulders. I go to sit by him, but a guard interrupts us before I reach him.

“Your Majesties,” he says, bowing. The young guard turns his attention to the king. “The kings and queens would like to speak to you about King Ivan and what action to take should the situation escalate.”

I look at my husband, who is standing up perfectly straight again with his face set like stone: the picture of regality.

“Tell them I’m on my way,” he commands. The guard simply bows his head and retreats.

“Perfect, just what I needed,” he exclaims as he throws his arms up in the air and slumps back down onto the sofa.

He’s so dramatic, I think as a smile blooms on my face.

I sit down next to him and put a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat between layers of clothing, skin, and bone. His breathing slows down and he relaxes as if a weight has been lifted off. He leans his head on mine, and we sit still for a while.

“We have to go,” I whisper.

“I know.” He sighs and gets up. He offers me his hand to help me up.

“Shall we go, my queen?” He smirks. I look up at him, my goofy king of a husband, and smile as I slide my hand into the crook of his arm.

“We shall.”

Amber Constante 34

Artwork

Jack Francis

35

Photograph

Grace Enderle 36

Behind the Shadows I gripped the lantern tightly. As if I was holding onto my life.

But the truth is..I am holding onto my mind. Someone is trying to take it away from me. That someone isn’t human.

It’s the fear in my eyes.

Can you feel it?

Your heart beating in the dark. You are blinded by fear. What is false becomes real. Your imagination starts to break your own sanity.

My mind is racing.

It can’t stop.

The nightmarish blanket won’t let me breathe.

I close my eyes to make the monsters go away. But it doesn’t work. It wouldn’t work anyways.

The monsters are not here in this room.

They are here in my mind.

“Leave me! I want to sleep in peace.”

I couldn’t think clearly. I thought that whatever was lurking in the back of my mind was also lurking in my bedroom.

The lantern goes out.

I am in total darkness.

My heart beats.

Oh how it beats.

What is going to happen?

Is eternal sleep calling my name?

Is it real?

Is it fake?

Am I dreaming?

Or am I just awake.

Christopher Flores

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Photograph

Julienne Custodio

38

Trapped Trapped in the tangled mess of my mind Strings of thought running ramped Tying themselves together in a strange bind Trapped by the shortness of my breath Hyperventilating as no air is enough In and out, in and out, feeling like death Trapped with the tears in my eyes Hot like fire cascading down my face Overwhelmed with my endless cries My mind, my breath, my eyes Calm and release me from my chains No longer Trapped by my pains Sarah Newmann

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Artwork

Greta Nelson

40

Summer of Silence The waves crashed against the shore. A red flag waved from the lifeguard’s chair. The waves were big that day. The sand felt cool. It wasn’t burning hot. I thought it should be hot. It felt like walking on sugar. There were children in the water. They were giggling. They were shouting for each other and splashing in the water. There were, of course, birds flying overhead. They called for each other. Parents watched their children, calling them back if they went in too deep. Children’s sand castles and deep holes stood along the shoreline. Sand pails and shovels were strewn on the sand. Umbrellas and towels stood back and watched their owners play. A small girl ran along the shore in search of shells.

She looked at me, hoping I would give her the one in my hand. And so I did.

The trees waved in the breeze, they shook their branches fiercely at me. Birds flew to and from their nests. Squirrels scurried about in search of food. The sun was bright that day. It felt cool out. I thought it would have been warmer. There was a small group of people not too far from me. They were fishing. The kids were excited and wanted to catch something, but the fish weren’t biting that day. Parents called to their children to be quiet, as they were scaring the fish.

Bike riders passed me. Wheels turning quickly. They called to each other. Dog walkers passed. Dogs sniffed at me, waiting, hoping I would pet them. And so I did.

Tall buildings watched me intently, wondering where I was heading. Cars raced past me. Pigeons fluttered down from building ledges, in search of food that day. They wobbled around in small groups. They called for each other.

People walked quickly past me, some with dogs, some with children. They called to each other. Some called for a cab. A group called out to each other to take a picture. A man sat alone on a step, with a hand-written sign. He looked up at me, hoping I would give him something. And so I did.

The lines of books stood straight and at attention, but you could see they all hoped to be picked. There were whispered conversations between people, but I couldn’t hear them that day. I saw their lips moving. People turned the pages of books and sat silently. Librarians quietly called to people to shushTwo men played chess in the corner. There were children walking around. They had never seen so many books. A little boy pointed to a book on a high shelf. He looked up at me to get it down for him. And so I did.

A long time after I walked back to that beach. The waves were just as big as that day, but I couldn’t hear them today. The sand felt hot today, like I thought it should be. It felt like walking on sugar. There were children playing in the water. They were smiling, but I couldn’t hear them laughing today. There were, as usual, birds flying overhead, but I couldn’t hear them calling today. Parents were watching their children, making sure they didn’t go in too deep, but I 41

couldn’t hear them calling today. Children’s sand castles and deep holes stood along the shoreline. Sand pails and shovels were strewn on the sand. Umbrellas and towels stood back and watched their owners play. A small boy came up to me with a bucket full of shells. He looked up at me and moved his lips, but I couldn’t hear him today.

A long time after I walked back those woods. The trees shook their branches at me, just like on that day, but I couldn’t hear them today. Birds flew from their nests and squirrels were on hunt for food. There was a group of people fishing not far away from me. There were children with them that were running about. They were excited to fish, but the fish aren’t biting today. Parents looked at their children to be quiet, but I could not hear them calling today. Bike riders went whizzing by. Their wheels turned quickly. They looked at each other, but I couldn’t hear them calling today. Dog walkers walked by. Dogs looked at me, their tongues hanging out, hoping I would pet them, but I could not hear them today.

A long time after I walked back to that city. Tall buildings wondered where I was heading. Cars raced past me like on that day, but I could not hear them today. Pigeons fluttered about, hungrily searching the ground. They wobbled together in groups, but I could not hear them today. People walked quickly past me, some with dogs, some with children. Some stood waiting for a cab, but I could not hear them today. A man sat on a street corner, a hand-written sign by his side. He looked up at me and opened his mouth, hoping I had something for him, but I could not hear him today.

A long time after I walked back to that library. The lines of books stood straight and at attention. People turned the pages of their books, but I could not hear them today. Children ran by and librarians looked at them to shush them, but I could not hear them today. A little girl came up to me. She looked at a book on a higher shelf and I watched her lips move, but I could not hear her today.

I walked back home. My mother and father tried to speak to me, but I could not hear them today. My brother wanted me to come and play, but I could not hear him today. My sister wanted me to ride bikes with her, but I could not hear her today. My dog wanted to go for a walk, but I could not hear him today. I went to my room and I began to cry, but I could not hear myself today.

I thought about all the nothing I heard and I missed the noisy world. I opened my window and dried my eyes. I felt a breeze hit my face. I saw a dog walk by with its master. A leaf fell onto my windowsill and I held it in my hand. The summer was calling my name, but I could not hear it today.

Mia Skaliotis 42

Photograph

Isabel Gable

43

HOPE The feeling of hopelessness cuts me like a thousand knives.

This has been one of a thousand times.

I sit and wonder what life could be.

If I could just be calm like the sea.

Here I am drowning with my sorrow.

No longer caring about tomorrow.

But then here you are giving me hope.

In a dark hole I see you throw down a rope.

You call my name and say to me.

“Please come back to the surface and be free.”

I watch as you hold on the rope steady as can be.

Now I know how wonderful life can be.

There is nothing I can’t accomplish.

There is nothing that can push me down.

I no longer want to frown.

Your comfort feels me with glee.

Thank you for being there for me.

Christopher Flores

44

Artwork

Iris Nelson

45

Rochester locked away, I dream in color and fear the day the day is cardboard hard, stale, mundane nothing like reality which holds the rainbow in its leaves, sky, sun locked away, you stole from me I steal the key and hear you say to the new girl in grey a girl, not locked away that she is intriguing I find this intriguing locked away, I steal the key So I might see color one last time Outside of bed In all shades of red Lorin Bucur

46

Artwork

Addrian West

47

HP Lovecraft Effect

Christopher Flores