eunoia | Fall 2016

eunoia PACT Charter | Volume 2 | Issue 1 | Fall 2016

eunoia V o l u m e 2 | I s s u e 1 | Fa l l 2 0 1 6

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Creative Staff Editors Christal Ruppert

Karina Haack

Cover Art: Anonymous, Eye. Sketch.

eunoia is the literary journal of the language arts department at PACT Charter School.

Ramsey, Minnesota

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Table of Contents Poetry You Are | Tamara Hageman ………………………………………..…..8 Trees | Madelyn Vooge-Christen ………….……………………….….11 Fall Poem | Joshua Burnett-Carlisle ……………………………………17 Words | Mariah Deters ………………………………………………...19 Leaves | Bethany Flaten ………………………………………………..20

Fiction A Burning World | Andrew Hatchner ………………………………..13

Visual Art Horses | Hannah Brue …………………………………………………..6 The Rock of Sunshine | Alayna LaFrance …………………………..…...7 At Peace | Miranda Brue ……………………………..………….……...9 Never One Without The Other | Kendra DeRosa ……………………….10 Broken | Maya Kooyer……………………………………………….....12 The Dudes | Sierra Brumm ……………………………………………..18 Windy Day | Sidney Plonske ……………………………...…………...21

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Horses Hannah Brue Drawing

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The Rock of Sunshine Alayna LaFrance Photograph

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You Are Tamara Hageman

Poem

You are not your age, Nor the size of clothes which you wear; You are not your weight, Nor the color of your hair.

You are not the name they always mispronounce, Or the blemishes that you find in yourself; You are in fact your croaky morning voice, And all of the smiles that you were just a little too late to hide.

You are the sweetness in your laugh, And every single tear that you have ever cried; You are the songs that you sing at the top of your lungs, When no one is watching.

You are your victory dance that you do in front of the mirror, When only the slightest victories seem to go your way; You are all the places in which you have been, And the one spot on the map that you call home.

You are the things that you stand for and believe, And every single person you have ever loved; You are the memories captured by the snap of a shutter, And the future in which you dream of.

You are made just the way you are with unmatchable beauty, But it seems as though you may have forgot, When you decide that you are in fact not defined, By the things that you are definitely not.

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At Peace Miranda Brue Drawing

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Never One Without The Other Kendra DeRosa Drawing

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Trees Madelyn Vooge Poem

Each individual person is like a tree Some are tall Some are short Some are skinny Some are thick Some are full of life Some are dead and decaying Some are bursting with color and originality Some are just brown and plain.

We have the young We have the old Each one is beautiful in the same Each one has its own little quirk Each one has its part in making the world A more breatheable place

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Broken Maya Kooyer Drawing

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A Burning World Andrew Hatchner Fiction

Everything is on fire. Everything I can touch, everything I can taste, smell, hear and see. In my ears roars a flame, a constant companion just out of reach, like a thought that slips from the tongue. In my nose burns the smell of smoke, of a fierce wildfire that will not be conquered by man. I can taste it in my mouth, the feel of it, the smokiness. Just in the reach of my eyes, I sense it, flickering, hungry to burn everything until nothing is left. While it is torture for me, it is my one constant left in my life.

Everything always changes, never stays the same, while the fire is there. It helps me through tough times, which is pretty much always these days. It’s like this memory just out of reach, or the face you passed by on the sidewalk that you swear you knew. It’s all encompassing, omniscient and omnipresent, at least when it comes to my life. It’s perfect, always right about people, always reminding me the right answer on a test or what I should say to a particular person. It is unlike those other fake gods, the ones that ask for worship or sacrifice. It asks for nothing. It takes all.

The first time I can remember hearing its voice was when I was 11 or 12. I had felt it before, the crackling of its flame and the burn of its smoke in my lungs, but I didn’t think much of it. I understood it to be my senses fooling me, that I was just feeling something random and ordinary, like a bonfire next door. The night I heard its voice for the first time, I had gone to bed early, in order to get enough sleep to go to school the next day. Yes, I was that type of kid. Anyways, my house had caught fire. A voice from the energy of the flame told me to get up, to wake up and get out, which was very strange to hear in its dark, gravelly voice. When I finally became fully awake, I realized that there was fire all around me. It burned around me in a fury, eating up everything in its wake.

Get up, it told me again in its low and gravelly voice.

With fire swirling around me, and the ground beneath me already eating away, I didn’t really have much choice in the matter. I have always been at least a little bright, and that day was no exception. I immediately followed the voice’s urge, which told me to jump out the window. Without any trace of hesitation, I jumped. I was on the second floor, about 25 feet up or so. All I can remember are two things: the rush of air that accompanied my fall in the darkness of the night, and the pure exalted pleasure of being with it, the Fire, as I have come to have known it. I don’t remember what happened next, but I have been told by those who were present that I walked out from the bushes of my burning house with a devilish grin and a smoking hand.

I have no idea how my hand had originally caught fire, and I never felt pain when it was aflame. It was afterwards when it hurt. I was told in the ambulance on the way to the hospital that it was

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ravaged with second-degree burns, enough to require extensive skin grafts. Unfortunately for me, my dad was a little too stingy on that matter. He decided that the money would be better spent on alcohol, and whatever random woman he was with this week. I look at my now horribly-scarred hand and clench it into a fist. Yeah, I still have a little bitterness. The Fire says that I need to let go of such petty things if I ever want to be as good as it is, if I ever want to transcend to become like it. One time, I asked it what it was, how it knows so much, and why it is with me.

It replied, Sam, you know better than to ask me that. Especially today.

“What’s today?”

He gave me the verbal version of a smirk and said, You’ll soon know. Now, hurry. You musn’t be late.

To this day, I give it all of my trust and all of my devotion. I listen to it before all, before everyone and everything. I know it sounds like a blind sheep being led to slaughter, but I know different. I know things nobody else knows. Things about the universe, about people and animals and trees and planets. I am the wisest of them all, and it’s only a matter of time before people realize the magnitude of what I know, given to me by the Fire. But that’s for another day, and I keep my secrets secret. I ask constantly when I can tell people the amazing things I know, but it always replies with Sam, don’t you trust me?, which I reluctantly agreed with. There’s just so much to learn, so many new things to understand, that I want to know everything. It tells me to be patient, that all will be revealed in time, but I don’t know anymore. Maybe it doesn’t want me to become like it. Maybe...

Sam. You know that’s false, he interrupts me almost harshly. Now, hurry. You’re going to be late.

When I talk to it, I usually speak out loud, if only to give myself something to hear. I ask with more than a hint of frustration, “Why does school even matter? I learn much more important things from you.”

School is important, Sam. You need to learn about things of your kind. When you become like me, you need to remember what being human was like, your history and culture, your ideas.

I give it a grunt in reply, and start getting ready for school. I check the clock; 7:38, which gives me just enough time to shower and eat a small breakfast before school. During these times, when the Fire’s pulled back, as I like to call it, it seems like exactly what it’s named. It’s like it’s pulled back away from me, and into the background. I can always tell it is watching me, studying me for our lessons later. I can still feel the smoke and the flame, but it is less prevalent, almost out of the range of my perception. But every time I think it is gone, it comes back. It is always with me, always there. It hears my thoughts, my feelings, the very essence of my soul.

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As I am getting into the shower, I hear a low, gruff voice yell out “SAAAAAM! TIME TO GET UP! YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE!” How little my father knows. It’s hard not to feel sorry for him. His almost sad amount of knowledge constantly showing, like a bright flash of light in a moonless night. But, at the same time, he is physically stronger than me. And, for the time being, has authority over me. I sigh a deep sigh, giving way to his ignorance and walk downstairs from my bedroom hall.

“Sam, really. What do you do all day in that room? I’m worried about you,” I hear from my father, presumably in the kitchen.

I give him a confused glare, and he ignores it, continuing with his strange and random tirade.

“Ever since..., well, you know... we’ve been pretty distant. I want to help, Sam. I know life is hard, but you don’t have to be alone in it.”

He seems very awkward in his movements and his phrasing.

“I’m not alone, dad.” I force down the horrible words with a gulp, knowing that the Fire would be proud of me for keeping the battle between us stagnant. “I have you. I just need some more time.”

It has long been between us, this canyon, this epic range that divides us. Although he is my father, and family, I can never forgive him for that fiery night, as he was a very lackluster father and had not been home for days before that night.

“Ok,” he replies to me. “Just..... just know I’m here for you.”

All of a sudden, the Fire’s presence becomes acute to my senses, and I hear a little whoosh directly behind my head, like a fire being lit, and it’s here. I’m confused; this doesn’t make sense. It almost never comes near when there are other people around, probably due to the possibility of being found out. After all, one can smell smoke and hear a flickering so many times until they cannot put it off as the neighbors burning some leaves or random noises throughout the house. One day, someone else will find it. It knows that I think that, and I think it doesn’t tell me because it thinks its discovery is more than a possibility too. It says to me, Why are you meandering around with this fool? Off to it already, you’re late as it is.

Now things are getting stranger and stranger. For one, it has never been so harsh. It has always been kind to me, always supportive. It never cares too much about me getting to school on time, especially after it had pulled back. It also spoke to me in the presence of someone else. I have never experienced that, though I’m guessing that I cannot be the only one, or it would tell me, I couldn’t be completely bereaved of any company like myself except for it. I don’t want to be alone, and it knows that. It knows I could never be alone. It knows everything about me, more than I know about myself. It cares for me, it works day and night for me. It knows better than to

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subject me to loneliness that I feel now on a daily basis. I don’t want to be alone. It is going to make everything better. I take a deep breath, shake my thoughts out of my head, and finish getting ready for school.

It then suddenly whispers into my ear, finally telling me the day’s plans, in very thorough and painstaking detail. Its voice sounds different, almost excited. I know this is different. I know this is special.

As I walk out the door, I look back to make sure my father isn’t watching, and I grin, feeling slightly maniacal. I slip the lighter from my pocket to my backpack, making sure it couldn’t be seen by any random person walking to school or jogging along the sidewalk. I give it a quick look, ensuring the American-themed lighter is still alive and well, and not part of my imagination. I lift my head up, close my eyes, and take a deep yet shaky breath.

As I study the birds tweeting around me, the wind blowing, the sun almost finished rising in the east, I realize one thing. My world, this twisted, dark, disturbing world that I live in, will be different forever, because of me. I’m going to be a hero. People will worship me for ages upon ages for my acts of sacrifice.

I understand the reasons for the horrors I am going to commit, and I agree with them wholeheartedly, but there’s still a little weakness left, a little human. I look at my scarred hand, wondering if fresh burns looked much like that, as I don’t remember. I was very young the last time I saw them. I open my eyes and start running for school. I need time before everyone else gets there. I need to make them understand. They need to see my burning world.

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Fall Poem Joshua Burnett-Carlisle Poem

The tree’s fingers Reach out toward the darkness As it’s leaves fall off Because of the winds of change Giving the impression of a balding , decrepit old man And so the old man stands Strongly into the winds of change Hunched over but still unmovable

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The Dudes Sierra Brumm Digital Media

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Words Mariah Deters Poem

I stand while mixing the words around me.

Looking at them, showing that I’m ugly.

I live having the strain of a bow string.

Sometimes I feel that my deeds mean nothing.

My thoughts left all alone.

Overlapped as my feelings run dry.

Parents turned away and say I’m on my own.

So I end up in the dark, hugging my pillow as I cry.

I look at my scars uncertain if it’s weakness.

But I stand and know for sure, I’m a mess.

Maybe not on the outside, but inside for sure.

I’ll still stand today, hopelessly looking for a cure.

Maybe I won't be standing but kneeling instead.

Praying for a happier way.

Begging to be able to rest peacefully in bed.

Or maybe for my time in life to pass away.

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Leaves Bethany Flaten Poem

leaves dance gracefully the wind, a partner the music, silence vibrant costumes, oranges and reds the sun, their spotlight soon they fade their costumes turn to brown the wind throws them to the ground then moves on

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Windy Day Sidney Plonske Drawing

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Contributor’s Notes

Sierra Brumm (born November 17, 1944) is an American actor, comedian, director, and producer. He gained prominence for his portrayal of the taxi dispatcher Louie De Palma in Taxi (1978–1983) which won him a Golden Globe and an Emmy. ...Just kidding! That's not Sierra's bio. That's the first line of Danny DeVito's Wikipedia article.

Sidney Plonske is a freshman at PACT and she loves to draw. She thinks she is funny, but she's really not. She has the cheesiest jokes, and everybody only laughs at them because they are stupid. Still, she is always trying to find a time to make people laugh.

Miranda Brue is a sophomore at PACT and has a very creative and artistic mind. She always is fiddling with music, drawing, or finishing homework. She loves being sarcastic and joking around with friends and teachers.

Hannah Brue is a senior at Pact Charter School and is looking forward to starting college next year. She enjoys drawing, ceramics, and writing.

Joshua Burnett-Carlisle is the local Sasquatch of this and can be commonly found making Sasquatch sounds as he runs around, our tundra like state. He also likes to simply stroke his facial hair, but the reason is unknown.

Tamara Hageman is a freshman at PACT who loves to write. She likes to play soccer, read, and spend time with her family and friends.

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Bethany Flaten is a junior at PACT Charter. She loves the game of soccer and listening to music.

Mariah Deters senior at PACT. She loves music, drawing, and hanging out with her friends. They have to deal with her eccentricities, loudness, and moodiness.

Kendra "Kenny" DeRosa is a sophomore at PACT and has been drawing since the sixth grade. She does many types of art mediums: digital, traditional, and soon to be water color, acrylic, and oil paints. She likes sitting in the darkness, trying to avoid the existential dread that comes with life, and talking with her friend Zie about said existential dread

Andrew Hatchner is a sophomore with a interest in pretty much anything interesting. What he likes depends greatly on his mood, and whatever book he's reading at the moment. He likes to think of himself an avid writer, but in reality, he prefers the more lazy route of simply reading.

Alayna LaFrance is a 8th grade student at PACT who likes to take pictures of scenery when traveling. She can find beauty anywhere.

Madelyn Vooge is a junior at PACT. She has trouble in school, but tries her very hardest to keep her grades up, while in the meantime writing coolio poems and short stories (and watching supernatural).

She has five siblings and they interfere with her creativeness. They must be stopped. She hopes you don't think her poems are bad.

Maya Kooyer is senior at Pact. She is hardworking and always tries her best. She has been drawing for a number of years and has just recently gotten into photography.

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Sierra Brumm Sidney Plonske Miranda Brue Madelyn Vooge-Christen Joshua Burnett-Carlisle Tamara Hageman Maya Kooyer Bethany Flaten Mariah Deters Kendra DeRosa Andrew Hatchner Alayna LaFrance Hannah Brue

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