SOUND &COLOR
THEME LETTER
Dear reader,
The theme for the 49th edition of the iliad is “Sound & Color.” This theme represents the relationship between sound and color, a phenomenon known as chromesthesia.
“Sound & Color” includes three subsections that reflect the various emotional responses evoked by soundscapes conveyed through written and visual pieces. These sections are “Surge,” “Discord,” and “Echo.”
The magazine opens with “Surge,” which embodies the passion present during the creative process and ascension within a piece and artist. We then transition into “Discord,” where grittier pieces are presented. Feelings of havoc and disorder are unleashed on readers as they engage with these more intense pieces, stemming from creators’ introspection. The final subsection is called “Echo.” Emerging from the chaos of “Discord,” this section closes the book with gentle pieces and soothing sounds, leaving readers feeling calm and serene.
These subsections are elevated as they include QR codes, which give readers an augmented reality experience as they flip through the pages. These codes add another layer to the magazine as a musical piece transitions each section to immerse readers in the magazine.
The impact of sound and music on art can be overlooked. Through this magazine, we hope to illustrate that relationship and shed light on the correlation between sound and color as the book takes readers on an interactive journey of different possibilities resulting from this bond.
Victoria Garland Managing Editor
Cover and subsection artist: Cameron Mojock
Clarke Central High School junior Cameron Mojock stands in the CCHS Courtyard on March 21. Mojock, who created the cover and subsection art for the 2025 edition of the iliad, would often listen to music and podcasts to inspire her during her creative process.
“Art is a very self-expressive thing. I think the beauty of something like this is that it is good to reach people… and let them interpret (the art) in their way,” Mojock said. “Listening to other people speak and (hearing) people’s ideas kind of helped influence me to think about other people when I was (creating the pieces).” Photo by Flannery Ragan
The cover of the 49th edition of the iliad Literary-Art Magazine, “Sound & Color” features an acrylic painting by Cameron Mojock titled “Cognitive Dissonance.” The “Surge,” “Discord,” and “Echo” subsections also feature acrylic paintings by Mojock titled “Sensory Disturbance,” “Panic Attack” and “Fatigue.”
ARTIST COVER
1 SURGE
6...7 Sensory Disturbance | Cameron Mojock | Surge subsection art
Tides EP | Women in STEM | Surge subsection audio
8 Venezuela’s Cry | Andres Nava | free-verse poem
9 Tiger | Sofia Morales | watercolor
10 Cookie Jar | Kevin Capcha | personal essay
11 Untitled | Meg Vanderbilt | collages
12 Octopus | Ava Gossett | felt sculpture
13 A Collision of Colors | Niles Flath | free-verse poem
14 Cannibal to Curiosity | Peter Atchley | short story
15 Metal Head | Scarlett Alston | painting
16 Monsoon | Owen Anderson | photograph
17 Just Listen | Edie Ash | series of haikus
Down the River | Victoria Garland | blackout poem
18 Escalante | Elisto Delfando | free-verse poem
19 Roses | Blake Bernt | colored pencil
20 Elephants | Lane Holloway | free-verse poem
21 Coined Jewlery | Copper Callahan | mixed media
22 Personification of Beauty | Olivia Abdala | free-verse poem
23 Pirouette | Olivia Hendershot | pencil & pencil
24 Empowed by Peace | Yuvraj Singh | essay
25 Flower Vase | Itzel Delgado Torres | ceramic
DISCORD
26...27 Panic Attack | Cameron Mojock | Discord subsection art
Project 01 | EJ Smith | Discord subsection audio
28 Question | Koah McClellan | digital drawing
29 The Recipe of Brotherhood | Miles Lawrence | recipe poem
30...33 “Next!” | Izzy Hammock | script
31 Eliza | Kai Menke | pen & marker
34 La Nuit Porte Conseil | Doan Duong | free-verse poem
35 Memento | Max Burnham | mixed media
ECHO
36 DeCamp | Elise Siegmund | pen & watercolor
37 Runaway | Lydia Rowell | free-verse poem
38 Falcon to the Falconer | Eudora Dawson | free-verse poem
39 Windigo Chase | Hadia Alkhafaji | painting
40..41 Indigo Rhythm | Wyatt Meyer | photograph
43 Bertold | Daniela Funez | ceramic
44 Dots | Lucca Fleenor | pen drawing
45 Through the Looking Glass | Wyatt Meyer | script
46...47 Fatigue | Cameron Mojock | Echo Subsection art
42 Wrinkles | Sam Harwell | short story Magix | Jesse Dantzler | Echo subsection audio
48 Lifelong Companion | Abigail Holloway | personal essay
49 Goodbye Georgia | Sasha Barkan | free-verse poem
50 To Me and You | Gillian Williams | series of couplets
51 Floral Beauty | Caleah Daniels | digital drawing
52 A Message in a Bottle: Story of an Email Chain | Janie Ripps | email chain
53 Ambiance | Amberly Hutchens | pen drawing
54 Siren | Estera Pirra | ceramic
55 Sculptors of the Soul | Angel Tejada | free-verse poem
56 Performance Feels | Eloise Luken | series of haikus
56...57 Dawn | Margo McDaniel | choreography
58 A House That’s Been Lived In | Lea D’Angelo | villianelle
59 Anticipating Family | Georganna Herb | pencil drawing
60 Cradle | Sam Caspary | colored pencil
61 Every Piece Belongs | Liya Taylor | sonnet
62...63 Mourning and Headlights | Kai Menke | pencil drawing
SURGE
“Tides
Scan to listen to subsection audio and read about the artists.
EP” by Women in STEM.
VENEZUELA’S CRY
Andres Nava | free-verse poem |senior
In a land once rich, Hunger and corruption now rise in the streets. The fear of the people has grown And the call to protest has increased.
The oil once flowed, a nation’s pride, Now stolen dreams, now tears to hide. Inflation rises, skies turn gray, Hope and bread are swept away.
The darkness came, the streets were empty, The hunger hung in the air. Markets deserted, voices weak, People strong, yet growing frail.
Mothers weep as their babies go to distant shores Out of suffering and grief. Their footprints in the dust, Their paths traced in the sand.
Yet through the darkness, the flame still shines, in hearts that struggle, in hands that bind. For even as she weeps, she will not fall; Venezuela will rise and soar above all.
Sofia Morales | watercolor | senior
COOKIE JAR
Kevin Capcha | personal essay | senior
To some, my cookie jar is ordinary.
But to me, each cookie in it represents the memory of a painful challenge I’ve overcome. Yet, these memories don’t discourage me—instead, they fuel my drive to continue pushing forward.
From a young age, I watched my mother’s daily battle with English while juggling two jobs—her body enduring over 14 hours a day of grueling assembly line work. Seeking access to opportunities beyond those in Peru that perpetuate generational poverty, she has spent her last 21 years in America working endlessly to provide the essentials for me and my two siblings.
“Estudia mucho para que tu y tus hijos no sufren como tu mama,” (Study a lot so you and your kids don’t suffer like your mother) she would often remind me.
language’s ambiguity didn’t exist and my concentration issues seemed to fade. My passion for math deepened with each passing year. As I progressed through more advanced concepts, I relished the feeling of productivity and making the most of education.
My progress in math fostered the confidence to tackle my academic struggles in other areas. I developed my methods to cope with ADHD, like timing how long I could focus on tasks and rewarding myself with math problems. I also re-read pages twice to retain information and found that speaking aloud helped me concentrate, so I began teaching my mom what I learned, even if she didn’t fully understand.
“Estudia mucho para que tu y tus hijos no sufren como tu mama,”
Although I desperately wished I could help make her life easier, with these words in my mind, education became my focus. Sadly, I lagged behind my peers. Language barriers and undiagnosed Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder became my worst enemies. Unfortunately, no one at my elementary school noticed because they had too many struggling students and too few resources. Although my mother did notice, she didn’t consider it might require medical assistance, since psychiatric conditions are stigmatized within Hispanic culture.
Amidst the chaos of struggling to read and write, I found solace in the realm of numbers—a place where
During these small adjustments, my imaginary cookie jar began forming—a tool I discovered after reading my first book on my own in high school in my sophomore year: Can’t Hurt Me by David Goggins. Up until Can’t Hurt Me, I had only read a handful of books independently. Then, while scrolling through social media, I found David Goggins’ book and his midlife transformation. His story inspired me; for once, I saw the power of reading and my struggles with it ceased to exist.
However, it wasn’t until after receiving my ADHD diagnosis and starting medication in 11th grade that I was finally able to balance my academic goals with my desire to support my family.
Inspired by Can’t Hurt Me, I decided to enroll in all AP classes during my junior year, despite having taken only two APs previously. Over the summer, I immersed
myself in precalculus concepts, taking both AP Precalculus and AP Calculus AB in the fall. By winter break, I had taught myself AP Calculus BC. Despite the rigorous load of eight AP classes, I achieved near-perfect grades and rose from 38th to 6th in my class.
Suddenly, I began working part-time at Publix, easing my mother’s financial burden while excelling in school. I no longer had to sacrifice my education or responsibility to my family. This accomplishment became a significant “cookie”—proof of exponential growth and a source of hope I wanted to share.
Eager to share this success with the person who inspired me most, last December I handed my mother a copy of my transcript and the money needed to pay five months’ worth of backed-up phone bills. She stared at me, her eyes watering, and then hugged me. My mother does not care about specific letter grades—whether they’re As or
Meg Vanderbilt | collages | faculty
UNTITLED
B’s—but she knows how much doing well means to me. She has never asked me for a penny—but she knows how much helping means to me. This is one of the biggest cookies I have ever added to my imaginary jar. It’s a reminder of why I push myself—to not just keep going for myself, but for others.
Looking back, I now realize that my cookie jar, filled with victories over challenges, represents more than personal achievements—it embodies a commitment to change. It reflects the strength and resourcefulness I had to develop and how these experiences shaped my approach to problemsolving. It underscores my dedication to changing the narrative for the next generation of minority students. Whether it be language barriers, ADHD, or other deeply ingrained systemic issues like discrimination, I want to use my cookie jar and passion for math to create tangible changes for society. I see the opportunity to do this at the center of a career in Science, Technology, Engineering and Math.
Ava Gossett | mixed media |senior | senior
OCTOPUS
A COLLISION OF COLORS
Niles Flath | free-verse poem |junior
“You look best in red”
Warm, warm tones that bring out the natural tan on my skin and contrast the darkness of my hair
But I prefer to wear blue
Dark as the ocean, the same color as the plates in the kitchen that we use every day
He said, “Most girls like pink”
Valentine’s Day shades
that bomb every place of business this time of year
They said,
But I like green
Forest colors that bring out my eyes and feel like the leaves on trees after a rainstorm
They said, “Yellow is the color of summer”
The scorching sun darkening my shoulders and frying the skin on my face
But I like my shade
My grandmother warned me to stay inside so that I stay
“I wish I could tan like you”
But they don’t understand
“pale and lovely”
CANNIBAL TO CURIOSITY
Peter Atchley | short story |junior
Can’t you hear that? The heavybreathing Curiosity is howling like a stray dog cornered by other hungry wolves. These wolves growl and snarl at poor Curiosity. Biting at its feet, backing the wolf farther and farther into a corner until finally, Curiosity bites back.
Maybe Curiosity wasn’t able to plunge its starving fangs into the neck of its predators; but little do the other beasts know, Curiosity can not be vanquished. It prevails and exceeds everything and everyone until it finally loses its grip.
Coming from a fresh kill, Curiosity stalks for its resting place of the night. Any other stray dog would seek a familiar home. But Curiosity seeks something new. It waits outside of the spotlighted streets in the night and sits in the shadows of the trees and everything else it has known before. Can’t you see? Curiosity is the true divine spirit that calls out to us. Some ignore it and focus on needless responsibilities, but I can’t deny how it pulls me to dive deeper.
reaching, your hair stops growing, your tongue stops tasting, and your eyes lose their gleam. For some, Curiosity never stops breathing down their neck, but others step away from the path and go farther into the woods.
“Coming from a fresh kill, Curiosity stalks for its resting place of the night.”
I got too thirsty to wait for answers, so I picked up my shortcuts to get the knowledge that my Curiosity strives for. Every day I find myself yearning to open my tarot deck and seek more answers that I didn’t have yesterday. Sometimes my Tarot keeps me up at night, asking and wondering, feeding my Curiosity, which perches on my bed. I use my cards to unravel my nervous questions. Tarot makes me embrace some things I don’t know yet because the universe has different plans. So these days, Curiosity doesn’t keep me from sleeping. It lets me rest now.
When Curiosity fails, when it stops pulling you deeper and deeper into the abyss, is when you suddenly drift off into the celestial skies. When you stop being curious is the moment your hands stop
The stray dog used to stand over me sleeping, breathing it’s breath into my eyes while I mutter. Instead, the stray dog lies down on the floor and has abandoned its anxious words. Curiosity still follows me from day to day, keeping my legs bouncing and eyes squinting. Like the wolves that hunt Curiosity, it bares its fangs at other creatures when they drink in the woods. Can’t you hear that? The heavy breathing underneath my words.
METAL HEAD Scarlett Alston | painting |freshman
MONSOON
Edie
Ash | series of haikus |freshman
My dad understands
No talking, just listening
Connections through songs
Connections through tunes
Connections through old records
Don’t talk, just listen
A safe place to go
We don’t have to talk things out
Instead, we listen
JUST LISTEN DOWN THE RIVER
Victoria Garland | blackout poem |senior
Well, I built me a raft and she's ready for floatin'
Ol' Mississippi, she's callin' my name
Catfish are jumpin', that paddle wheel thumpin'
Black water keeps rollin' on past just the same
Old black water, keep on rollin'
Mississippi moon, won't you keep on shinin' on me?
Old black water, keep on rollin'
Mississippi moon, won't you keep on shinin' on me?
Old black water, keep on rollin'
Mississippi moon, won't you keep on shinin' on me?
Yeah, keep on shinin' your light
Gonna make everything
Pretty mama, gonna make everything all right
And I ain't got no worries
'Cause I ain't in no hurry at all
ESCALANTE
Elisto Delfando | free-verse poem |junior
Crazy stories
mis pies chasing sombras, danzando sin parar, en un mundovolteado, todos al revés, yaves. Las cucharas que cantan, relojes que se duermen, Sueños se escapan como el rocío al amanecer.
Cada línea, una risa cracked, un camino torcido, splintered track, stretched y strained, just to hold, cuentos susurrados, twice retold.
En la locura, encuentro el spark.
Mirame, spiraling, twisting free, between both mundos, that ‘s where I’ll be.
Translation:
My feet chasing shadows, dancing nonstop
In an upside down world, everything is reversed, you see
Spoons that sing, clocks that fall asleep
Dreams slipping away like dew at dawn
Each line, a cracked laugh
A twisted road, splintered track
Stretched and strained, just to hold. Whispered tales, twice retold
In the madness, I found the spark. Look at me, spiraling, twisting free, Between both worlds, that’s where I’ll be.
ROSES
Blake Bernt colored pencil |junior
ELEPHANTS
Lane Holloway | free-verse poem |senior
I don’t know…
“Three.”
I don’t know what to say… “Six.”
I don’t know how to lie and tell those in tears that it will be alright…
“Sixteen.”
I don’t know how to tell myself it will be alright…
“Eleven.”
I don’t know how to breathe, blink, Move one foot after the other…
“Seventeen.”
He says the answer is Project 2025, I flinch.
They say, “Countdown from 5, Ground your senses, It’s incredibly efficient,” I have lost the pre-K skill of counting cohesively. But what is that in the name of rights?
Who am I to complain?
I’m only one ounce of the word minority: Woman.
They’re just stripping away my autonomy, Disinfecting it to present as a treasure to the brain-
washing man.
But…
No worries (a woman’s favorite phrase).
I surround myself with people facing dire threats on multiple fronts, One constitutional right for me, Five for them.
He jokingly says, “Bye,” As a greeting, But he means, “Expect deportation.” America. We might be untethered, But at least we discovered time travel, Backwards, Act of ‘98, 1798.
You can throw names at him, Bigot, Narcissist, Dangerous, Most words ending in -ist, But he is mumbling about crowd size, Because if you do that he’ll know he won whichever way, Fear and name-calling are the oldest cards in his book, Turns out that one’s not banned.
Punishing those I love, For who they love, I don’t think you understand the meaning of Love, Must have confused it with hate. Let’s sound it out, I’ll hold your hand, L - o - v - e
The weight of 47 elephants sits on your chest, But with faith and support, We’ll work to push each leg off.
PERSONIFICATION OF BEAUTY
Olivia Abdala | free-verse poem |junior
She is the personification of beauty
With her golden locks and those piercing eyes
With a smile that makes you weak to your knees
With a sharp tongue and a unique mind
She speaks like it’s poetry
Her laugh takes you back to childhood days
When the simplest things
Made you laugh till your ribs ached
She’ll make you wish for things you never wanted before
Do some things you never dreamed of doing anymore
She’ll listen to you like you’re her all-time favorite song
She’ll dance without any music on
For her body has a rhythm of its own
She’ll say the stupidest things to make you laugh
And when you don’t, there’s a possibility that she’ll cry on her own
Because all she wants is to be loved as she is
Without having to cut some pieces to fit
Without having to watch her mouth to speak
Without having to translate her soul to be seen
PIROUETTE
Olivia Hendershot | pen & pencil
|senior
EMPOWERED BY PEACE
Yuvraj Singh | essay |senior
Peace?
What is peace? The legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. reminds us that peace is not passive, but rather a robust and active force of change.
Dr. King’s philosophy on peace was revolutionary through simplicity and strength: he believed that nonviolent resistance combined with faith in justice could dismantle the most sophisticated systems of inequality. The teachings of Dr. King serve as a blueprint for how peace can transform people’s lives in
different societies by underlying peace as not the absence of conflict but the presence of justice and equality.
“Dr. King's philosophy on peace was revolutionary...”
Dr. King’s leadership during the Civil Rights Movement showed how the importance of peace calls for resilience and courage. Among the most remarkable contributions was the mindset for peaceful protests against violence and hate. For instance, the 1963 March on Washington, where Dr. King’s famous “I Have A Dream” speech took place, brought
upwards of 250,000 people together in a peaceful demonstration of Civil Rights. This historical event unified peacefulness and heightened the voices of social reform. By making peace a vital factor, Dr. King allowed the voices of the marginalized to be represented without promoting violence. The ability to unite people under one goal of peace exhibits the resolution of peaceful strength. Violence may create fear, but peace creates a sense of representation and compassion. Dr. King’s nonviolent strategies showed the American people to look beyond race or color and to see the natural human qualities within. His new script showed that equality would not come through the gate but through the sharing of peace. His teachings were that the power of peace does not come in changing social order but in transforming individual mindsets. His belief in a beloved community with love and peace would drive out hate and division. Most importantly, Dr. King’s legacy teaches us peace requires hard commitment and sacrifice. Peace is not an event, but an extensive process that shows perseverance even when immediate results are not presented. When Dr. King was put in jail, he received life-threatening messages and was later assassinated, but he never stopped his peaceful struggle at any point in time. Peace can be expensive, yet the impact
will be decisive. What peace achieves with sacrifice can not be done by violence itself through long-lasting change.
“Peace takes us on a higher path of resisting hatred with love and challenging oppression.”
In today’s society, Dr. King’s appeal to peace has not lost relevance, as societies across the globe continue to fight to dismantle inequalities, divisions, and injustices. Peace takes us on a higher path of resisting hatred and challenging oppression with love. His life’s work encourages us to take action with peace as an active force for justice and forging a more just world. We remain blessed by Dr. King’s dream of a peaceful society where people are judged on their character, not their color. His legacy reminds us that peace is a strong catalyst for permanent change.
Itzel Delgado Torres | ceramic | senior
“Project 01” by EJ Smith
Scan to listen to subsection audio and read about the artists.
DISCORD
DISCORD
Koah McClellan
digital drawing | sophomore
QUESTION
THE RECIPE OF BROTHERHOOD
Miles Lawrence | recipe poem |senior
First things first, make sure you’re preparing your dish in the loudest possible part of the house. It wouldn’t be the recipe for brotherhood without volume.
Next, put three cups of competitive spirit into a pot and bring to a boil. If the spice hits back, and your nose begins to bleed, don’t be alarmed.
That’s typical in brotherhood.
Add a package of sarcasm in and stir with caution, making sure not to overstep.
Let it cool and sprinkle some humor on top. If desired, add some love and affection on the side.
Serve and enjoy!
“NEXT!”
Izzy Hammock | script | freshman
Curtains open to reveal the set of a small café that is packedwith people. The line at the counter snakes offstage.A baristawith a perpetually neutral expression takes orders systematically.Apart from people ordering and the action in the kitchen, it is quiet. Customers pick out their coffee and step to the side towait for it; otherwise, they keep to themselves.
BARISTA: [cupping one hand over his mouth] Next!
A youngwoman steps up to the counter as she looks over the café menu. She wears a sagging hoodie and matching dark circles beneath her eyes.
WOMAN: [tiredly] One coffee, please.
BARISTA: [nodding and inputting the order into a tablet] Anything else? Cream or sugar?
WOMAN: No, thank you.
The barista nods again and swirls the tablet around for the youngwoman to pay. She pulls out a credit card.
BARISTA: [watching her card swipe] Only black coffee for you, hm?
WOMAN: Yeah, gotta study. SATs and college admissions, you know?
BARISTA: [eyes drifting down to where the woman is tipping him] Mhm… not fun.
The youngwoman finishes paying. The barista swirls the tablet back around and looks down at it.
BARISTA: [monotonous] Thank you for your ser–
WOMAN: Do you ever catch a break?
BARISTA: [looking up] I’m– I’m sorry?
WOMAN: [insistently] I said, do you ever catch a break?
BARISTA: [confused] Yeah… but–
WOMAN: I mean, you do this all day. Taking orders, letting customers carry on or treat you like crap, the works. Don’t you ever get tired of it? [she gestures to the coffee shop around her].
BARISTA: I–
WOMAN: [without stopping] Did you know that I actually failed my SAT right before this? That’s right. Got my score back, and it was an 890. An 890. [voice breaking] Do you even know how deep that cuts? I studied hours for that test, and the best I could do was an 890. [shaking her head] Pathetic.
BARISTA: [blinking confusedly] I really don’t–
WOMAN: Of course, you don’t care. Why should you? You’re just doing your job. The things that cut me won’t even graze your skin. But you know what? You and I aren’t all different from each other. [tilting her head] Wanna know why?
BARISTA: [swallowing nervously] Um… why?
WOMAN: [leaning forward to press her hands on the counter] You sit here all day, you take every blow that comes your way. A customer comes in, and they don’t like how their coffee tastes. “I’m sorry, sir,” you say, “there’s nothing we can do.” The guy leaves in a huff. You wonder briefly if he’ll leave a bad review, you take a smoke break to calm yourself down, and then you come back out here to this counter and face the next customer. Me? I do the same thing. I take my SAT, for example, and I fail it. “We’re sorry,” my school says, “but you’ll have to retake it.” So I do. I pass the second time—just barely, but enough for me to feel satisfied. Again and again, we both face challenges, and we both overcome them. [a pause] Don’t you see? Your job and my life aren’t that different—we’ve both learned to take blow after blow, cut after cut. We’ve learned to let ourselves heal and keep on moving. [leaning in] But do you know where we do differ? Hm?
BARISTA: [leaning away] No.
WOMAN: [grinning wickedly] See, you get to go back home to your nice little apartment and you forget. You forget every word that comes out of your mouth, every syllable. Because at the end of the day, it’s just your job. You get paid and you’re all set. It doesn’t matter what others think. But me? [laughing] Oh, I don’t get to forget. No, I go home and I look in my mirror and I try to forget—trust me, I do—but you know what I see every time I look at that stupid reflection? I see every mistake I’ve made. Every single one. I hear every degrading comment, every snide or remark that others have told me: “You’re not smart enough,” “I knew you wouldn’t be able to do it.” It’s like a tiny cut each time, and there are so many of them that my flesh is always red and raw and aching. And I can’t unsee it. [tearing up] I can’t unsee it, can’t shake them out of my head, can’t shake their scars off my body.
The youngwoman leans forward to grasp the barista’s shoulders. He freezes as she shakes him roughly, a deranged glint in her eyes.
WOMAN: Why can’t I unsee it? What’s wrong with me? What on earth is wrong with me?! [with increasing intensity]
There is a long, silent pause. The barista remains frozen, and he and the rest of the customers in line all stare at thewoman,whose hands are still clasped on the barista’s shoulders.After a moment, she releases a shuddering breath and steps back. Her eyes arewide as she looks around.
WOMAN: [shamefully] I–I’m so sorry… I don’t know what came over me, I… [trailing off]
She turns on her heel and scurries to the other end of the cafe to wait for her order. When it comes out of the kitchen, she grabs it and hurries offstage.As soon as she’s out of sight, the barista releases a sigh.
He glances down at his cash register. He looks up at his long line of customers.
BARISTA: [swallowing] Next!
The line of customers moves forward, and the lights fade to black.
LA NUIT PORTE CONSEIL
Doan Duong | free-verse poem | junior
Ces inquiétudes doivent être dissipées
Ce que tu es te soutient éternellement
Ton être se nourrit de sa propre réflexion éclairée
Toutva bien, les mauvaises penséesviennent parfois
Couche-toi, tout ira bien
Laisse partir ces mauvais esprits
Après une nuit de repos, il n’y aura rien les soucis sont ceux qu’on nourrit
Translation:
These worries need to be released
Who you are sustains you eternally
Your being is nourished by its own enlightened reflection
All is well, bad thoughts come occasionally
Go to bed, all will be well
Let these evil spirits go
After a night’s rest, there will be nothing
Worries are the ones we feed
Max Burnham | mixed media | junior
Elise Siegmund | pen &watercolor | senior
RUNAWAY
Lydia Rowell | free-verse poem | sophomore
I couldn’t shoulder the weight of these expectations
Your disappointment in my selfish ways
Ways I fell into while blind
Without a thought of what I’d leave behind My pile of work and responsibilities rises If not for my procrastination
I could have completed them without deprivation Deprivation of my own dormancy
Refusal to let my walls down
One foot is through the door and the other is in the hall
There is no in-between, I can’t hang in suspended time
At some point or another, the situation demands it
Full force or nothing at all
I’d rather not subject my heart to your harm
So you’ll have to settle for none of me
The way I’ll have it is like you never met me at all
I’m sorry.
A HOMAGE TO W.B. YEATS: FALCON TO THE FALCONER
Eudora Dawson | free-verse poem | sophomore
I want to help with your problems
You’ve helped with so many of mine
And I care for you
My heart unravels itself just for the chance to be the thread stitching your wounds
I want to help, to love you
But I am an ignorant child
I don’t know where this weird-looking pot goes in the cupboards
Or how to mend a hole in your socks
I don’t know how to make those fancy vegetables you like to eat
Or even how to find the right response
I am an ignorant child
I want to help you
But I don’t know how I can
So I ask and beg you to let me help you
I don’t know how to help
I am an ignorant child
Yes, I am an ignorant child
But
Since birth
When your butterfly kisses laid down the roots of my soul
There is one thing I’ve known
I love you
So, so much
Turning and turning in the widening gyre, wading thick in answers
I may break my wings loose and fly free
After all,
I am an ignorant child
But I’ve always known and always will know how to love you I can always hear you
And I’ll always be there
I am an ignorant child,
But I’ve taken to your teachings the way the world takes to anarchy
Show me how to hold out my arms
And when the cradle hurls us out
I’ll reach my limbs forward And catch you
The darkness has dropped again
But I love you I always will Does that help?
WINDIGO CHASE
Hadia Alkhafaji painting | senior
INDIGO RHYTHM
Wyatt Meyer | photograph | senior
WRINKLES
Sam Harwell | short story sophomore
“Nobody knew anything about Allen, since nobody ever cared to ask.”
Allen was getting old, and he knew it. He lived a simple life, spending most of his time on the misty pier, fishing and sipping chamomile tea. He had a calm look about him, a kind of deeprooted somberness. But the townsfolk didn’t see him as such. To them, Allen was an old recluse. The townsfolk very rarely talked to him. Why would they? He smelled like fish and old rubber. His gray hair was stringy and crunchy and his skin was cracked and dry from the ocean breeze. His hands were always shaking, and his beard was scraggly and poorly shaven. Not to mention his corduroy hat, which was stained with what people could only assume were fish guts. Nobody knew anything about Allen, since nobody ever cared to ask. No one gave him a second thought, until one day, when he disappeared. The local tea sommelier noticed his absence before anybody else. It was Friday afternoon and the old man hadn’t shown up to get his chamomile tea yet. He waited till evening, and he still didn’t show up. The old man had never missed his trip to town in the sommelier’s whole life.
He’d been making the
trip since his father ran the tea business.
The sommelier brought it up to his wife when he got home, who then shared the information with her bridge club. Those ladies shared the rumor with their spouses. Soon, the whole town was wondering where the old man was. They decided to search for him. They found his house shortly after starting the search. The whole house smelled like cooked fish. There was a small, opened box of chamomile tea sitting on the kitchen counter next to a freshly gutted cod.
holding it up, creating a serene ambiance.
“They watched as the boat got smaller and smaller on the horizon.”
Some of the townsfolk headed upstairs. They found the old man’s room, a small cozy space with a bed in the middle of the room. On his nightstand sat an old black and white photo of a young woman, around 20 years old. A note was tucked under the picture. Eleanor, my beloved, I’ll see you soon. It’s been too long. I miss you so much. Love you forever and ever, Al.
One of the townsmen picked up the note and picture and tucked them into their pockets. There was one place left to look. The very end of the pier was covered in thick layers of barnacles and sea moss. The waves calmly splashed against the pillars
BERTOLD
Daniela Funez | ceramic | senior
That’s where they found him. Leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, hands folded on his green plaid shirt with a cup of cold chamomile tea next to him. He looked peaceful. The townspeople were quiet while standing on the pier. They looked down at the old man, “Al.” They slid the note and picture under his hands. A cool ocean breeze blew from behind them. “What should we do with him?” one person asked. They decided to borrow an old fishing boat and sent him out to sea. They watched as the boat got smaller and smaller on the horizon. Once it was too dark to see and the stars had appeared, they all went home, without saying a word.
DOTS
Lucca Fleenor pen drawing | freshman
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
Wyatt Meyer | script | senior
THE MAN: Alice, my dear. Is that you?
Thewoman stops. She turns around.
ALICE: I’m sorry, sir, who might you be?
THE MAN: It’s Lewis, my dear. Surely you remember that afternoon at the riverbank… yes, you must. It’s a pleasure to land eyes on you. A small wonder, I should say.
Alice looks intently at Lewis, stepping around a hole in the sidewalk to peer into his eyes.
ALICE: I’m quite sorry, sir, I don’t recall.
Lewis appears troubled.
LEWIS: Why Alice, dear, you must remember. That afternoon on the riverbank, or perhaps I should say in your mind on the riverbank?
Suddenly, Lewis’s eyes roll back into his head. He steps towardAlice.
LEWIS, raving slightly: But you must recall, how could you not? The rabbit, the hookah, the cat, and the queen? Flamingos and hedgehogs and your tears as the sea? The hatter, the hare, and the dormouse for tea? Say you remember, you know what it means.
Alice, nowvisibly frightened, leans away, but never tears her eyes from the man.
ALICE: I haven’t a clue what you mean, I’m afraid. I really must leave, I’m late for bridge and croquet.
Lewis makes an effort to calm down. His eyes are still rolled into his head, but his voice
LEWIS: But my dear Alice, don’t you see? You’re speaking in tongues, just like me – Tweedledum and Tweedledee, please won’t you see? I was there all along, if just from above. I bought you those, your white rabbit-skin gloves. That watch in your pocket was originally mine, the metal mined from my mind, all for you in good time. Don’t you see that you were born of my rhyme?
Alice continues to back away from Lewis, who doesn’t cease speaking.
LEWIS: My dear Alice, I beg you, please remember. You must know what I mean, the journey to Oz – no mixed metaphors, please. You sprung from my brain on that hot afternoon, from the page to the world to the hearts’ cold courtroom. I know you remember, please see what I do. You need to believe me, please hear my meaning. Tell me, after all, that you weren’t really dreaming.
Alice opens her mouth, but before she can speak, she takes one step back too many. She falls into the hole in the street behind her.
“Magix” by
Jesse Dantzler.
Scan to listen to subsection audio and read about the artists.
ECHO
LIFELONG COMPANION
Abigail Holloway | personalessay | junior
InDecember 2009, following the death of my father, my family received a tortoise as a gift. I don’t remember any of this, but from what I was told, he was so small he could fit in the palm of my one-year-old hand. We named the tortoise Toby.
When you’re so young and an important figure in your life dies, you don’t remember what happened. So for the first few years of my life, Toby was nothing more than a cool pet. But as I got older, Toby became the embodiment of my dad.
plan on taking with them when they move into their own house.
Mine is Toby.
“But as I got older, Toby became the embodiment of my dad.”
Did you know that the average human lifespan is shorter than that of an African Spurred Tortoise in captivity?
For my dad, it was even shorter. This is why Toby’s life is so important. Through him, my dad lives longer than the average person. My dad will get to live the years he missed. Everyone has at least one thing they
Growing up, I had a fear of moving out of the house, because if I moved out of the place where my dad was raised or away from the people he cared about, I felt I would be losing him. Toby solved that problem. Toby gave me the courage to dream of my life when I grew up. When those dreams become a reality, Toby will be there with me, letting my dad live on through him. For me, Toby symbolizes the future. He symbolizes growth. I won’t have my dad in my future, but I will have Toby, so I plan my future around him.
Toby isn’t like a child. He will never need a college fund or help planning his future, but he will need someone to take care of him. That person is me.
GOODBYE GEORGIA
Sasha Barkan | free-verse poem | freshman
“I’ll miss you,” I say to the humid summer breeze dancing through the air, as I stare at the path ahead, my certainty continues to fray
I sit in the dog park and watch as the wind and leaves play, like children, unencumbered, without a care
“I’ll miss you,” I say
My mind drifts to the day
When this town and my family aren’t “here,” but “there” as I stare at the path ahead, my certainty continues to fray
I walk under January sky’s signature grey and watch the birds flock together to escape winter’s snare
“I’ll miss you,” I say
This path that I was on was once sturdy, but will my nostalgia bring me astray? These doubts transform this yellow brick road into an abandoned rope bridge, ruined by wear as I stare at the path ahead, my certainty continues to fray
My home, I love you, so I am tied to you by a string that refuses to give way A string made both of memories and moments, each a fine golden hair
“I’ll miss you,” I say, as I stare at the path ahead, my certainty continues to fray
TO ME AND YOU
Gillian Williams | series of couplets | junior
Change is hard to do. It’s hard for me and you.
If change is hard to do Why does it happen to me and you?
Change is something that never stays true, But yet it happens to me and you.
FLORAL BEAUTY
Caleah Daniel digital drawing | sophomore
A MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE: STORY OF AN EMAIL CHAIN
Janie Ripps | email chain | senior
Humans,
When you evolved, forcing your way onto our land, we really had no choice but to welcome you with open arms. Even though we couldn’t speak your language, there was a sense of mutualism between our communities. Our relationship was akin to neighbors who would occasionally borrow sugar, but knew their boundaries.
In the dark nights of the forest or the depths of the sea, we found peaceful routines and continued to forge a life on our own in the face of your expansion. Your embrace was distant, and that’s the way we liked it.
However, as time has passed, we have felt the energy shift, and your motives change. As you inhibit our habitats, inflict droughts on our land, and carelessly destroy the lives we built, your betrayal is palpable. We don’t speak the same language, share the same culture, or see the world through the same eyes, but why should that silence us? Our cries have been loud enough.
We’re left withering, unable to repair the damage you’ve made, only able to wonder how this strange sense of superiority has developed. Just because your bloodied hands can grip a trigger? Or because your polluting automobiles spare your legs?
You’ve pulled a knife in our hug, stabbing us in the back. We beg for change -- it’s our only request.
Sincerely, Your “inferiors”
Reply Forward
Amberly Hutchens pen drawings | senior
Beloved animals,
First of all, I would like to establish that your voice is not lost, and we can hear your cries. For the majority of us, humans, we carry these same worries. In a way, I share this sense of defeat and weakness during such dire times.
As I look ahead into the coming years, there is a sense of faith lost for our government’s commitment to our planet, when it is one plagued with desire for power. Even in the face of other pressing issues, all I can think about is how none of it -- the money, fame, titles -- will matter if we further this death sentence.
I look to the representatives -- those who are supposed to guide our nation -- and all I feel is fear and hopes as low as the depths of the sea some of you inhabit.
Time and time again, promises have been broken by those who are supposed to protect us – people and animals alike. They continue shoving our populations -- human or not -- into a deeper and deeper hole, with no way out.
Fighting along with you, Your everyday citizen
Constituents,
First of all, thank you for reaching out with your concerns. It’s always a pleasure to hear from citizens and I truly value your opinions.
Serving as your representative has been a rewarding experience, and as I continue to confer with fellow legislators I will be sure to take your concerns into consideration.
Thank you again for writing, and to stay informed please visit my website “All”ForOne.org for regular updates on my (in)action.
Please feel free to reach out in the future with any further concerns.
Best, Representative
SIREN
Estera Pirra | ceramic | junior
SCULPTORS OF THE SOUL
Angel Tejada | free-verse poem | junior
With hands unseen, they mold the clay
Each crease made with different motives
Some jagged and cutting deep
Others smooth and gently caressed Impressions left throughout all of time
Made from either love or rage
The sculptors without eyes, stories untold
Slowly drawn towards the soul
Either for good or bad
Leaving lasting marks that won’t decay
As each soul is shaped and refined
Those whose touch will never be left behind
PERFORMANCE FEELS
Eloise Luken | series of haikus | freshman
Deep breaths, in and out
Practicing, remembering
Waiting in the wings
Motions and movements
Making shapes with your body
Feeling the music
Taking your last breath
Relief washing over you
You walk off shining
Scan to view performance:
Margo McDaniel choreography | junior
DAWN
A HOUSE THAT’S BEEN LIVED IN
Lea D’Angelo | villanelle | sophomore
All anyone can see you as is a villain
Devoid of every redeeming trait
I see you as a house that’s been lived in
They say you’re viciousness and greed wrapped in a ribbon
A cold soul lying in wait
All anyone can see you as is a villain
I say you’re kindness trapped inside a prison
Fragile walls shattered by fate
I see you as a house that’s been lived in
They can’t see past judgemental vision
No justifying qualities are up for debate
All anyone can see you as is a villain
I see past all the inhibition
Wistful desires held back by an unwilling gate
I see you as a house that’s been lived in
I know you want to be forgiven
You’re burdened by all this weight
All anyone can see you as is a villain
I see you as a house that’s been lived in
ANTICIPATING FAMILY
Georganna Herb
pencil drawing | freshman
CRADLE
Sam Caspary colored pencil | junior
EVERY PIECE BELONGS
Liya Taylor | sonnet | sophomore
I hold a thousand voices strong Each one weaving into my soul’s design
The fun, the shy, the bold, the occasionally wrong Each thread needed to make this quilt of mine
Ambition brings me high on flapping wings While ration brings me back to the ground
The child longs for comfort only their mother brings Positivity comes when little hope is found
The places I’ve swam and who I was in my past, all remain a part of who I am: A fragile beauty that’s built to last
Though fractured and flawed, I am whole in my heart For every piece belongs, each a vital part
MOURNING and
Kai Menke
pencil drawings | senior
EDITOR’S LETTER
Dear reader,
Thank you for reading the 2025 edition of the iliad Literary-Art Magazine.
Since its founding in 2001, the iliad has created magazines to showcase student art as a creative outlet. In the two years I’ve been the Editor-in-Chief of this esteemed magazine I’ve taken inspiration from the Editors-in-Chief that have come before me. Whether it be the designs, chosen pieces or thoughtful themes, the creativity and shared passion for artistic expression has traveled through each publication.
This year’s magazine, “Sound & Color” reflects a powerful impact from an overlooked form of art, music.
Clarke Central High School comes from a town built on the creativity of local artists and musicians and although it’s not the uniting factor in every community member at CCHS, it subliminally flows through us all.
Creating these magazines is an immersive experience not many get to undergo, and I’ve overcome obstacles that have shaped me as a creator. Although treacherous, its reward will stay with me as I leave CCHS. I’m thankful for the support I’ve received from my Editorial Board, adviser, sister publication, friends and family.
It is an honor to be able to showcase the many forms of creative expression the students at Clarke Central have created. As the iliad’s vision statement states, “(We) seek to be an inclusive platform for creative voices that represent the diversity of the Clarke Central High School student body,” which I hope is what we continue to do in years to come.
As a former reader of past literary magazines, I’d like to thank the readers for taking the time to immerse themselves in the ongoing tradition of student visual and written art.
We hope you’ve enjoyed the 49th edition of the iliad,”Sound & Color.”
Olivia Hendershot Editor-in-Chief
POLICIES
Mission Statement:
The iliad Literary-Art Magazine is a studentproduced Clarke Central High School literary-art magazine. The iliad serves as a conduit of expression for creativity and passion for the CCHS student body and faculty, iliad staff, and rising ninth graders from feeder schools. Each issue is an open public forum for student expression under the guidance of a faculty adviser.
Policies:
Vision Statement:
The iliad Literary-Art Magazine seeks to be an inclusive platform for creative voices that represent the diversity of the Clarke Central High School student body. Programmatically, the iliad strives to provide a venue to develop student leaders and communicators.
All contributiors may submit as many pieces as they would like from the start of the academic year until February. Submissions are reviewed by members of the Editorial Board. Once the submission period is officially closed, all artists will receive an email on the status of their submission.
The iliad, as a student publication under the domain of the Clarke County School District, must be mindful when choosing submissions of the appropriateeness of its content. Inappropriate content may be edited by the creator to maintain a “TV-14” rating, but the integrity of the work and of the magazine is always preserved.
Additionally, if there are significant grammatical or structural issues with a piece of writing, then the piece may only be edited with permission from the author and in collaboration with them.
Diversity Statement:
The iliad Literary-Art Magazine seeks to be an inclusive platform for creative voices that represent the diversity of the Clarke Central High School student body. Programmatically, the iliad strives to provide a venue to develop student leaders and communicators. (scan the QR code to read more).
CLUB and STAFF
Members of the iliad are content creators. For the 2024-25 school year, once a month, students meet in Room 231 during the morning to explore various types of art mediums, including watercolor, photography, sketching, and collaging. With our club, we hope to inspire creativity, provide a safe space for content creation as well as build a community within our program.
Club meetings also serve as an opportunity to submit to our literary magazine by providing students the time and materials. At the end of each year, our final club meetings are held to reach out to club members for potential positions on our Editorial Board for the upcoming year. There are many ways in which club members can support our program, not only by applying for our EdBoard, but by expanding our outreach with community connections.
To officially become a member of our club, students must attend at least three (3) sessions each semester. We hope that these limited set of dates better encourage students to attend even with varying schedules.
Thisyear’smembersincludedThisyear’sclub membersincludedArrowCallahan,GJJaumot Ramos,IsabelChastain,JayBraswell,Katyal Bagayogo-Zeltner,LaneHolloway,MathewRegester, NoraDevine,SashaBarkan,SayakaEickholt,Scarlett Alston,SoleilThompson,TessVanWagtendonk, WaylonVaughnandZaremaDouris.
EDITORIAL BOARD
The 2024-2025 Editorial Board consists of five members all of which attend Clarke Central High School. Our members meet every Tuesday morning, after school work periods on Tuesday and Thursday and monthly Leadership Seminars. During these meetings, we discuss outreach for potential writers and visual artists, plan for upcoming events, organize our inventory, create content for our website, and do other tasks related to the production of our magazine.
Every team memeber has the oppprtunity to attend in-state and out-of-state confefrences as a way to learn more journalistic skills as a team. In order to encourage staff bonding our team commemorated our hard work with various social outings. This helped with a better working environment and reached our goal of having a tight-nit Editorial Board. During the class period, the Editor-in-Chief used that time to design the magazine alongside both the Managing Editor who organized the Editorial Boards tasks and spreadsheets while also planning upcoming posts for our social media platforms.
Special Thanks: Brusters, Burney Harris Lyons Middle School, The ODYSSEY Media Group Booster Club, Lorien Campbell, Clarke Middle School, Rachel Dunston, Shawn Hinger, Dr. Swade Huff, Maggie Magana, Yetta Mallory, Derek Maxwell, Eunice Kang, Aza Khan, Amanda Price, Noelle Shuck, Dr. Summer Smith, Nucis Space, Jennifer Tesler, Annie Turman and The Wilson Center for Humanities and Arts
Olivia Hendershot Editor-in-Chief
Niles Flath Outreach Director
Mattie Pittard Business Manager
Margo McDaniel Writing Director
Victoria Garland Managing Editor
David Ragsdale Adviser
PATRONS
Troy Coleman
Ceci Churchwell
Mary Garrison
Dr. Margaret Graham Gurtcheff
Bob Carson
Dr. Maxine Easom
Krista Jones
Dr. Doris Granum
Brian Stevens
Eric Wurzburg
Tiffany Mahan
Sandy Wienert
Sandy Simmons
Josh Hendershot
Megan Adams
Dr. Usha Rodrigues
Chad and Kim Glover
Dr. Erica Gilbertson and Matthew Hall
Joani Inglett
Teresa Neprud
Dr. Kecia Thomas
Susan D. Mull
Therese & Keith Wilson
Dr. Alice Kinman
Dustin and Sonya McDaniel
Denice Sleevi
Leslie & James Geiser
Daniel Pittard
Molly Dorkey
Courtney Gray
Dr. Amanda Price
Nina Susie Inglett
Jennifer Hendershot
Sandra Jowers
Terry Jean Ragan
Leslie Geise
David Ragsdale
Hannah Dunn-Grandpre
Kim Kauffman
Dr. Peter Smagorinsky
Ellen Walker
Elizabeth Stenger
Dr. Denise Spangler
Stacey Barnum
Dr. Sally Hudson Ross
Chuck and Allison Griffin
Dr. Tad MacMillan
Kevin Blankenship
Melanie Garland
Lenore Katz
Jana Starkweather
Susan Harris
Nancy Ferguson
Codie Martin
Jill McDaniel
Mollie Schubach
Jodi Bolgla
Louise Kidney
Notasha Partlow
Kaycee Orchik
Hendershot Coffee Bar
Kelly Martin
Joe Lawrence
Katherine Fowler
Catherine Mills
Michael Gunn
Tina Carpenter
Tyreda Starks
Leon Galis
Dr. Claire and Dr. Welch Suggs
Scott Crook
Barbara Archibald
Brad Williford
Heather Garland
Liz Farrell
Margaret and Vince Garland
Melanie Garland
Patrick Rodrigue
Courtlyn Jowers
Beau Jowers
Lisa Anger
Macy Fox
Diane Hendershot
Sarah Kesler
Theresa Gonzalez
Elizabeth Mota
Mary Adams
Jamshed Kaikobad
Lee Fields
Suzanne Mojock
Anita Aubrey
Phoebe Mitchell
William Fleenor
Shannon Baker
Robert Sleppy
Gaetano Smolik
Elizabeth Hammock
Abdala, Olivia
Personification of Beauty
Alkhafaji, Hadia
Windigo Chase
Alston, Scarlett
Metal Head
Anderson, Owen
Monsoon
Ash, Edie
Just Listen
Atchley, Peter
Cannibal to Curiosity
Barkan, Sasha
Goodbye Georgia
Bernt, Blake
Roses
Burnham, Max
Memento
Caleah, Daniels
Floral Beauty
Callahan, Copper
Coined Jewelry
Capcha, Kevin
Cookie Jar
Caspary, Sam
Cradle
D’Angelo Lea
A House That’s Been Lived In
Dantzler, Jesse
Magix
Dawson, Eudora
Falcon to the Falconer
Delfando, Elisto
Escalante
Delgado, Itzel
Flower Vase
Duong, Doan
La Nuit Porte Conseil
Flath, Niles
A Collision of Colors
Fleenor, Lucca
Dots
Funez, Daniela
Bertold
Garland, Victoria
Down the River
Gossett, Ava
Octopus
Hammock, Izzy
“Next!”
Harwell, Sam
Wrinkles
Hendershot, Olivia
Pirouette
Herb, Georganna
Anticipating Family
Holloway, Abigail
Lifelong Companion
Holloway, Lane
Elephants
Hutchens, Amberly
Ambience
Lawrence, Miles
The Recipe of Brotherhood
Luken, Eloise
Performance Feels
McClellan, Koah
Question
McDaniel, Margo
Dawn
Menke, Avery
Eliza
Mourning and Headlights
Meyer, Wyatt
Indigo Rhythm
Through the Mirror
Mojock, Cameron, Sensory Disturbance
Panic Attack
Fatigue
Morales, Sofia
Tiger
Nava, Andreas
Venezuela’s Cry
Pirra Estera
Siren
Ripps, Janie
A Message in a Bottle: Story of an Email Chain
Rowell, Lydia Runaway
Siegmund, Elise
DeCamp
Singh, Yuvraj
Empowered by Peace
Smith, EJ
Project 01
Taylor, Liya
Every Piece Belongs
Tejada, Angel
Sculptors of the Soul
Vanderbilt, Meg
Untitled
Williams, Gillian
To Me and You
Women in STEM, Tides EP
COLOPHON
iliad headlines were printed in Mostra Nuova Heavy and Light. Subheaders were printed in Mostra Nuova Heavy. Bylines were printed in Frank Ruhl Libre Bold. All body copy was printed in Frank Ruhl Libre Regular.
Spreads were designed by Olivia Hendershot. Specific spreads, including Pg. 18-19 and Pg. 42-43, were designed by Victoria Garland. Pg. 12-13 were designed by Margo McDaniel. All designs were made with Adobe Platforms such as InDesign, Illustrator, Lightroom and Photoshop.
The “Surge,” “Discord,” and “Echo” subsection audio feature student musicians such as Women in STEM, EJ Smith, and Jesse Dantzler titled “Tides EP,” “Project 01” and “Magix”.
Art photos were captured by Flannery Ragan. Headshots were also done by Flannery Ragan.
The iliad printed 300 copies of this 72-page magazine on 100 lb Gloss for the cover and 80 lb for the inside pages using Greater Georgia Printers of Crawford, Georgia.
Patrons of the iliad and featured creators receive a complimentary copy of the iliad upon publication. Additional copies are available for purchase for $10 upon request.
The iliad is a member of the Columbia Scholastic Press Association, Georgia Scholastic Press Association, National Council of Teachers of English Recognizing Excellence in Art and Literary Magazines, Southern Interscholastic Press Association, and the National Scholastic Press Association.
Last year’s edition of the iliad, “Prometheus,” received the following awards:
The 2024 iliad received the NSPA Pacemaker Finalist for Literary-Art magazine for JEA/NSPA 2024 National FAll High School Journalism Convention in Philadelphia Pen..
The 2024 iliad won fourth place Best in Show for Literary-Art Magazine for the JEA/NSPA 2024 National Fall High School Journalism Convention in Philadelphia, Pen..
The 2024 iliad received an All-American evaluation from the National Scholastic Press Association. The publication received Marks of Distinction for Content, Photography, Art, Graphics, Design and Concept.
The 2024 iliad/iliadlitmag.com was named a Gold High School Hybrid Literary Magazine, and a Crown Award Finalist by the Columbia Scholastic Press Association.
The 2024 iliad Literary-Art Magazine received a rank of First Class in the 2024 NCTE Recognizing Excellence in Art and Literary Magazines (REALM) Program.
The 2024 iliad Literary-Art Magazine received the rating of Superior Magazine in the category of General excellence for Literary Magazines.
The 2024 iliad received the 2024 Scroggins Award: Best of South, and was recognized as All-Southern by the Southern Interscholastic Press Association
We are so grateful and thankful for every member of the CCHS community who submitted their work for the 2024-25 edition of the iliad. We also want to extend our gratitude to the supporters of our program and magazine who make our work possible.
iliad ARCHIVE
Above are the iliad’s featured magazines on our website dating back to 2013. Scan to learn more about our program and look through past magazines. Thank you for reading!
Follow the iliad f
Event Coverage: The iliad Creative Celebration
The iliad Literary-Art Magazine commemorated the release of its 2024 edition, “Prometheus,” through a celebratory event at Nuçi’s Space on Aug. 26.
Creativity Through Clothes
Review: “12”
Griselda Records founder and New Yorkbased rapper Westside Gunns’ album “12” was released on Feb. 14, containing eight tracks with almost 44 minutes of rap and hip-hop music for listeners.
Event Coverage: Q&A with Ferdia Lennon iliad Managing Editor Victoria Garland talks with Clarke Central High School senior and seamstress Kendria Sturdivant about her journey as an artist and why it’s important for her as an individual.
Award-winning author Ferdia Lennon spoke to CCHS students and staff in a Q&A the CCHS Media Center on March 26.
(Scan to view more)
