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Looking In

Burning Wild

By Paula Presto '02

By Tiffany Howard '03

You look at me and see the girl

With every beat of the drum,

Who lives inside a golden world

With every strum of the guitar,

But don't believe

The electricity races through my veins

That's all there is to me You'll never know the real me. She smiles through a thousand tears And hides all her adolescent fears She thinks of all that can never be

The music rocks me back and forth Vibrating me to the core Controlling my desires It wills me to my knees It wills my heart to beat

She wades in her insecurity

Through every crevace of my spirit

You'll never know the real me.

Across every inch of my being The music rages

Don't think that I am disenchanted

Rages like a thriving flame

Don't think that I take all things for granted

Until I feel like I could combust

I just want more to fill my feeds

I have to combust

Because nothing can fulfill my needs

I must catch fire and burst into flames

You'll never know the real me.

The fire rages, stoked by the beat of the drum By the strums of the guitar

I'm always someone looking in

By the thumping of the bass

It seems that's how it's always been

And now I can't stop burning

You'll never bring me to my knees You'll never know the real me.


Image 1: Janis Chun - Chalk Pastel Image 2: Sonia Fernandez - Colored Pencil


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Terry Sherrill '02 The muscle in the eyes tighten as the eyelids come together. Such a charmer as he winks at passing girls. A friendly smile that can warm any cold room, bring life to any kind of situation. Open arms guiding your way into his life, a life of adventure. The humor the old British men don't have makes you laugh even if the joke wasn't funny. The determination to do anything and everything. A young man out on his journey to start his new life this June


Image 1: Justin Featheringham - Mixed Media Drawing Image 2: Janis Chun - Acrylic Painting



Image 1: Greg Roberts - Chalk Pastel Image 2: Allen Widly - Watercolor Painting Image 3: Steven Ho - Colored Pencil


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By Danielle Bright '02 Get this party started Fingas poppin Head nodin. Legs shakin to tha sound. Toe stompin hips bumpin. knee movin foot jerk in on tha ground.




Image 1: Janis Chun - Pottery Image 2: Kristen Thorne - Jewelry

The Son

By Garrett Nobles '02 On the ground my body lays, Next to the tree, and through the haze. With the smoke and battle dust, I find a thought that I can trust. Did I leave home too soon, From the love of which I swoon. Adventure is what I'm searching for, But what I lack means much more. My mother's food which I dearly miss, My lovers lips I long to kiss, My father whom I wish to be someday, My brother with his friends at play. If I were home it would be bliss, My family not fearing to check the list. Now I lay here just not knowing, If I live or will be going. I hear friends talking over me, When I open my eyes, it's me I see. My body lay on the hollowed earth, Thinking back to my time of birth. The parent's pride of a first born son, In this war he is now done. Soon my body will be sent home, While on the battle field my soul will roam.


By Bernie Lawrence '02 To be born To die To be at a low To be at a high To be hot To be cold To be young To be old It is all part of a circle I believe The most important shape since the time of eve Dyslexic The wheel, Stone Hedge, Heck even our planet itself All round and circular, someone had to plan it We all need each other And kill each other only to stick together like rubber Killers, saints, jokers, and nerds We all need that stuff as much as it gets on our nerves So if you are as low as dirt or high as a kite Live your life and realize it's never to late to take Flight A'ight?

Ode to a fool By Shelby Reissman '02


Even from here I am touched Her beauty and grace is all I see I want to be a part of that world Where beauty is all that exists But I am not a part of her world I am an ode to all fools I sit and I pray, never acting I lie in wait, never striking Can that world really be perfect And lie so close that I might see it Or is her beauty just fake and her skin like ice Her being simply illusion I'll never know what I script of Never hear the voice that I speak of I am but a fool in a world of princes I am but a man in the kingdom of gods.

Whispers Hall By Justin Micheal Rodriguez '02 Hysterical, Hysteria... precious visions never leave my side don't you dare, close your eyes just stay still let me hold you tight Hilarious, Hysteria... walk on by watch me fade away I don't care if life goes array I'll take the last breath I take today In disguise, in disclosed... I see the light the apparition shows there it is for all to know life is only a picture show whisper once, whisper twice... I guess for now this will suffice but why must we be stuck between...all the altered realities So if I watch, If I fall... I will not answer the unjust call for you know that after all nothing matters in the whisper hall.

Sweet Love of Mine By Anonymous Sweet love of minehow precious are the fines words you speak to me with every utterance that comes through your mouth I find myself lost within the very letters of your words clinging to the very last breath you use in which to speak them. How delicate you are with hands that could soothe away the pains of the day and far into the past. Your fingers speak to me with a passion in which no one else can understandEyes that could reach to the very bottom of my soul and read the fine writing that has been imprinted onto my heart. Sweet love of mine


no one has come close or ever will to the way you make me feel. In your arms, security fills that unsteadiness of my heartwarmth replaces the feeling of cold that almost set us apart. Love covers over that feeling of loneliness that once took over me. Sweet love of mine my heart and soul to you and only you do so belong With every flutter of life, love and joy within my inner soul I find myself fallin in love with you all over again To hold youKiss youLove you. Oh, sweet love of mine

Image 1: Michelle Chen - Oil Pastel

Image 1: Jason Farrell Image 2: Nicola Seivright 1






Image 1: Travis Chavez - Design/Media Image 2: Matt Shoemaker - Design/Media


Can You See…

By Lisa De La Cruz ‘02 Is it you too who notices the shifts of the winds upon your cheek? Or is it I who endures great change? The weather in the sky embraces the tale to my life. To know me and you Must learn to not try to define the star’s presence but to accept them for What they are and be grateful for the light that they have shone upon Your life. The moon is my heaven, which holds me at night. It’s rough surface Explains my tears, as for the sky it is my blanket of peace. It drapes Upon my body, shielding me from malice. The meteorites, which are, triggered my way from day to day, I rarely cease to see. Some I run from, and others I simply Cannot, yet stil others, I place in my own path. So now this is the time we catch the lay of the land and its Harvesting, only for this moment though. For tomorrow is A whole new day, bearing yet another forecast for us all. I teach myself to listen for the words of my God, To watch for the signs from my God and to utilize the gifts That he has installed into my inquisitive mind. At the end of each night I never forget to look for my special Gifts and that rare shooting star which is the trestle of my dreams.

To be Missed By Shelby Reissman '02 I walk away from them Yet their happiness surrounds me And it is now that I see I am not missed Only a moment ago My laugher was theirs Our very souls mingled But now, I am forgotten I am but a memory Loneliness my only virtue No one hears my language of sorrow I am not missed When my dreams unfold And I make my return They wil see who I am And I promise you They wil miss me someday




Image 1: Justin Reyes - Charcoal Drawing Image 2: Jason Farrell - Pencil Drawing “Steven Seagal”


White Gloves

By Jason Kong ‘02 His fingers led him across the board, moving those ten fingers up and down, across one side and around the other as the device he played on let loose the fury of his melodies. White gloves were his finger's clothes, masking the oily prints from staining the ivory and marble keys he played. His mind concentrated only around his work but not on any key in particular as his hands flew around the board and back again in instants that came too soon. And then he stopped. Even then she watched him with intense concentration when the music had silenced itself and the man had stood to take his bow. Her arms slumped over on armrests as she sat silently. Hands never met each other and her legs were covered all the way down with a shadowy, black dress. Her fingers trembled slightly as he began to walk down the stage as if to leave. As he brushed past her seat, her hand shot out from the armrest as if by instinct and clung to him. A cold, pale hand with red paint on her fingernails gripped at the black sleeve that encompassed his wrist, his watch, himself and the man stopped and looked at her. He turned to speak but found himself unable to swallow as the gaze of a woman penetrated his mind and she dug her nails into his sleeve as if frightened of something inside herself that she could not explain. He tried to swallow again and did so painfully. Before the ushers had a chance – it was but a split second – to remove her hands, the man pulled her up and she stood, understanding his intention and gladly keeping pace as the man veered off his normal route, finding himself stepping through the door leading to the back alley of the theatre. He looked around once before his other hand pressed against the smooth metal of the door and then he stepped through. "Hey, something wrong? You kind of scared me with that look back there." The tone was dull and dry despite his countenance teeming with emotion. The woman looked at his face with curiosity as conflicting images raced through her mind and her hands began to tremble slightly. "Hey, hey, you alright there? Are you okay?" The man's gloved hands closed around one of her own, brushing over her knuckles and almost for that instant genuinely concerned over the welfare of the woman in a black dress. She nodded slightly.

"Yeah, I'm alright." The woman did not look directly into the man's face, staring only at his gloves instead.­­­ "Do those gloves... are they warm?" She asked in a very soft voice, enchanting almost to his ear and yet seeming... different, somehow. "Warm? What do you mean by that? They're regular gloves. You know, clean... sterile gloves that I wear. I guess they could be warm." The woman breathed softly as he spoke, white fog escaping her lips as she softly twirled her hands around his gloves. His once-lucid mind he had worn for the evening had disappeared, replaced with one filled with apprehension. The woman replied moments later with the same stuttering and slow pronunciation as before. "Well, these gloves... they look warm. And they look like they're for protection, too. You know, so that people can't touch your skin?" She tried to smile, but found it difficult and resumed her original glance. The man gazed almost sympathetically at her although he could find nothing to sympathize her with. "Not really. It's more of just for show and for the uniform. It goes good with the tuxedo and the tie and everything, and plus I can play just as well with or without the gloves. It also keeps me warm, I guess," he said, trying to throw in a chuckle here and there, and the woman smiled a little. "Yeah, I guess gloves can keep you warm... but they also make it so that if I touch you," she began to say, rubbing his gloved hands with her own, "you don't really feel it. You just feel the glove... and that's cozy and homey, isn't it?" "What do you mean by that?" he said. "Oh, well, it's just that, I thought white gloves could help you when someone wants to touch you. Like I am right now." Her hand then tightened around his hand, squeezing it tightly and for the second time of their meeting, looking directly into his eyes. He saw the fear in them and the uneasiness that bred from being alone and talking as if no one could be trusted. She looked away again. "Maybe if I could explain it to you, you could figure it out. It's just

that your gloves... they're so warm and beautiful... I haven't seen that for such a long time. Nothing could dirty them... ruin them." The man smiled as his hand went behind his head, scratching his scalp as he chuckled. "I don't know about that. Heck, these things get dirty from sweat and grime and just practicing daily on the piano. By the end of the day, they're pretty stained with sweat," he said to her. She was still squeezing those white gloves, looking at them again and almost trying to peel them off his hands. The woman spoke again, "Can I... have those white gloves? They're tremendously beautiful. I couldn't believe that they'd... ever get so dirty... you know, I used to have white gloves... well, they're still white," she managed to breathe out, "but they... they look so dirty now. I don't know, but yours, well, they look just, so clean and... beautiful. And they're warm, too. They're beautiful and warm. I wish my gloves were warm. When I wear them and I touch them, they're chilling... I don't like them... but... your gloves... they're always warm. Please? Can I have them?"

Adam Ruzzamenti -Mixed Media

So the pianist let go of the woman's hands as he removed his gloves, careful not to turn any part of it inside out. Then he tossed them to the woman, noting how to wash them in case they get dirty. "Thank you, thank you," she muttered as she began to slip the gloves onto her hand. The fit was perfect. "They, they fit me perfectly!" Then she stood there. Her face turned from complete joy to that of a slow, dejected tone again. "But... they don't feel warm anymore. They're cold again. It's not warm anymore... I don't feel it like when you were wearing it. I'm still dirty, still can't touch myself..." she gave the man what appeared to be a sweet, melancholy smile before she took a few steps back and walked away out of the alley. The gloves were no longer on her hands and those hands were not touching each other. The pianist stood there, the two gloves resting on his hand, inside out. He did not think of her again for the rest of the day until night came, when he sat at his desk looking at his pair of gloves. Slowly he took them and tried to put them on again, almost afraid that the woman had done something to them when she touched them. And he felt the cold wind stab at him although he was indoors. And he felt ashamed of himself although he was a great pianist. And he suddenly frowned. Quickly his hands tugged the gloves off of his hand and he threw them at the wall. They splashed against it and fell down, sliding to the floor. He watched them like a plague and watching them, realized for the first time what true fear and indecision was. He walked over to his piano in the living room and sat down at the seat. His hands raised, ready to play. But he could not play any longer.


Image 1: Sonia Fernandez - Ceramic Sculpture Image 2: Anwar Boyce - Mixed Media




Jean Lai - Watercolor

Gangsta Gramma Matt Shoemaker Media Design

Jason Farrell - Media Design

The Senior Song By Devon Dawson ‘02

Whispers from the avenue, hum of places I once knew and faces that now form the crowd I could taste it in the air, the catalyst to all I care has turned and faced me here burnt away something I used to fear Thought I’d tip-toe past the memories, careful not to spark a thing light a fire that triggers all the things that have gone through me but these conversations, the dialogue, the rambling monologues are now so relevant to me they now mean so much to me I understand change it just takes more than I might be willing to give so let it shatter me but I’ve never been broken before Too much time has passed, to pretend to know what words to say no language able to capture this moment here

the delicacy of everything, the intricacy of nothing fractures me more than I would like leaving this so bittersweet tonight I wish I’d make it out the door someday, understanding all the words I say forgetting my reservations because soon we’ll pass one another unrecognized, a subtle glance, catch each other’s eye a person from another time a cathartic place, sentimental state, a scent that still lingers on the tip of my memory an instance I cannot recall an instant far too long Whispers from the avenue, hum of places I once knew and faces that now form the crowd can it be, a reminder of the distance, of the kiss that lost the innocence breaks me more than I would like leaving this so bittersweet tonight


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Image 1: Anwar Boyce - Design/Media Image 2: Eric Magallan Image 3: Jillian Delrosario

Image 1: Jae Ju - Colored Pencil



I Learned By Ashley Rodolf- Amino '03


Time has passed on and on, And the world that I thought would end without you, Is still here The life I thought couldn't go on without you, Is still going When you left, you shattered my world, A world that was as fragile as glass, At one point I thought I couldn't go on. But time is a healer as well as a teacher, And in time I learned I learned how to live without you, And how to smile without you. I learned how to live without your goodnights, And how to live without your smile. I learned that my life is fine without you, And that the strength I thought I got From you is strength I can find within myself. And now as the days go by, I've learned that I don't need you

Girlfriend By Phu Pham '02 There's something special that lies inside Your heart and soul and when you cry I empathize with the emotions you feel. I feel That the feelings I have for you are real. The time we share together are gold And for a million dollars it would not be sold Because being with you is so important So I must say this to you before time is shortened. I've had feelings for you ever since I first laid eyes on you I know my affection for you will rise And I understand you are not to be won But to be cherished before this connection is gone. I compete with the many guys you miss And if I had you I would be in eternal bliss...


Image 1: Sonia Fernandez - Ceramic Sculpture Image 2: Ryan hoffman - Graphite Penicil

Walking In The Rain


By Brianna Wagner ‘02 How did we ever get into this mess? Adam wondered. He, Mark and Steve were walking in the pouring rain in the middle of nowhere. Some spring break this turned out to be, he complained to himself. They had been walking a little over a half-hour and there was no sign of civilization in either direction. Why did John get to go with that Earl guy? He should be the one getting soaked to the bone, not me. Adam continued ranting in his head while Mark and Steve thought of all the different things that could be happening to John. "Maybe that dude in the truck took him out into the desert, tortured him, and then left him for the buzzards!" Steve said, using his love of Stephen King to guide his imagination. "Or maybe he’s got him tied up and is going to make him his sex slave," Mark suggested. Then, as an afterthought, "That perv." "Or maybe," Adam mimicked, "you both shut the hell up." "Geez, sorry," Steve replied. Adam began to reflect on the earlier events of the day. The whole fiasco had started when they stopped at the little store on the side of the road. It hadn’t been raining yet and they were still having a good time. The first drops of rain began plopping on their heads when they were heading for the door of the store. The man behind the counter had reminded Adam of an actor, but he couldn’t seem to remember the guy’s name, or the movie he was in. He just sat there, watching the boys get their supplies. Adam shivered in the cold rain, remembering the way the old man had just stared--his piercing eyes leaving the cash register only to say, "Good day," as they left. After getting snacks and a good stretch they had all piled into John’s silver Civic. As the rain persisted, so did their feelings of seclusion. Rusty old shacks, long-since abandoned, were all that could be seen. Even those had slowly vanished. Then, of course, Adam thought bitterly, John realizes we were running on fumes. After making his discovery, John pulled the car over. With the rain pounding on the roof, he began searching for his cell phone. Of course, he didn’t have that either, Adam thought, fiery anger rekindling. Adam recalled his reaction to the new information. "Great! Just great. ‘Fill up the gas tank,’ I said. ‘Make sure you have your cell,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry,’ you said. ‘I’ve got

everything taken care of,’ you said. Well, it looks like we’re stranded out in the middle of nowhere, no means of communication, and its hell and hail-stones out there!" With his fatherly-mode kicking in, Adam had lectured John, thinking it would change the circumstances. "Hey, don’t get so crazy on me. It was a little mistake. It’s not hailing, so stop exaggerating. All we have to do is wait for a car to come by . . ." John replied. "Oh, yeah. How many cars have you seen come by?" There was a pause. "Exactly." With that, Steve had crushed any feelings of hope for the stranded four. "Fine! We’ll start walking then," John commanded angrily. "Oh no. Don’t think you’re gonna get me soaking wet because of your mistake." Adam recalled his statement and it’s soggy irony as he wiped rain from his dripping face. He was, however, thankful that it was a warmer, tropical storm, the kind he remembered playing in as a child. He went back to his thoughts, noticing that Steve’s pessimism, still spinning in their minds, was halted when they saw the dull, red, rust eaten, pick-up truck coming down the muddy road. The man seemed friendly enough, but he could only take one of them. John thought he should go because it was his fault. The remaining three hadn’t seen him since. Adam wondered how John was, and why he had been gone so long. They had been on the road for hours it seemed. John rested his head against the window and thought about his friends. He wondered if they were still waiting or if someone else had picked them up. As each minute passed by, his feelings of regret heightened. Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea, he worried to himself. There hadn’t been more than fifteen words between the two travelers, but he felt he knew the other’s thoughts. Congratulations, Susan! You chose door number three. Earl, an expert trucker, lives in the Mojave Desert between the cities of Barstow and Baker in a ramshackle Quonset hut. This homely looking man likes to keep to himself, doesn’t worry himself with personal hygiene and has a few screws loose, John pictured himself in a cheesy suit and reading a profile off of card for a game show. Show her who she’s chosen, Bob. Pretending Earl was on one of those

dopey shows like "Love Connection" put a smile on John’s face. He started thinking about how the whole day had gone. He had really screwed up, he knew that much. He found himself thinking: If only I had listened to Adam. As rare as this thought was, it was true, and he despised himself for forgetting both the gas and his cell and putting all of them into this predicament. While John continued beating himself up for his mistakes, Earl made his own assumptions. Just another pretty-boy college student, Earl judged. I bet his mommy and daddy bought that new car for him. Actually, John had come from a disadvantaged, single-parent family and had been using scholarships and working at the campus library and a local restaurant to get through college. John had always appeared as The All-American Boy: Six feet tall, brown hair, hazel eyes, and athletic – a model son that every parent compares their own child to. Why can’t you be more like John? Earl heard them saying. Earl had no children, nor a wife, for that matter, to compare John to, but he developed the judgment just the same. John continued looking out the grimy window of Earl’s truck. From his position he could see the wet road that lay ahead and cacti that littered the Mojave. After five minutes in the same position he sat up, stretched and yawned. He glanced down at the watch face, a makeshift clock for Earl’s truck, taped to the dashboard and saw it had only been an hour and twenty-five minutes since he left his silver Civic behind. Hopefully the guys are still at the car. John didn’t want to discover his friends missing because they had gotten tired of waiting. "We couldn’t wait for you any longer. We hitched a ride on a poultry truck. Meet you in Baker," their note would say. But then he would arrive in Baker, wouldn’t find them, and they’d be lost forever. "Almost there." Earl’s words were foreign to the silent cab and frightened John out of his vivid fantasy. Up on the left was a form resembling a barn. As they got closer, John saw it was a barn that had been converted into a store and living quarters. The store sat ominously back from the road, and towered over the small unit of gas pumps. Definitely not a Chevron, John mused silently. The barn itself was a faded burgundy. The sign above the door had a white background with black letters. Earl’s Gas and Goods, clever, John thought. Earl pulled into the driveway and shut the engine off. "All right. The phone is in the office. C’mon, I’ll show ya." Earl exited the truck and headed for the barn. John noticed Earl’s walk was more of a shamble, and it made him anxious to return to his friends and the 22 safety of his own car. John hopped out of the cab and

jogged to catch Earl. They entered the store simultaneously and were both struck with a pungent odor. Decay. "Whew! Damn snakes. They come in here for shade and end up starving to death in some corner," Earl shook his head, pinched his nose, and shrugged at John. John took Earl’s non-verbal advice and clamped down on his nose. Their journey continued past a display of assorted Hostess snacks. The sight of Twinkies and Ding-Dongs reminded John that he hadn’t eaten since the bag of Rold Gold Pretzels and the Pepsi nearly four hours ago and he was getting hungry. Ruffles, Fritos, ranch and bean dip lined the aisle. John was tall enough to see over the shelves and spotted the cooler filled with soda in the far left corner of the store. After I make this call I’m gonna see if I can get a soda and some Doritos, John commented wordlessly. In between food fantasies, it suddenly occurred to him that he was at a gas station. Why waste the time of a tow-truck when I could ask Earl for some gas and have him take me back to the car? John’s reasoning skills were finally kicking in, but were fatefully late. "Hey Earl? Why don’t I just fill up a gas can and beg ya to take me back to my car?" John was trying to keep the mood light in hopes of free gas and a ride. "Can’t. Pumps are dry. Haven’t filled ‘em in over a year." Earl’s voice was cold and unfeeling. "Oh, all right. Never mind then," John said sadly, the hopes of seeing his friends in less than two hours crushed. They pressed on silently. As they reached the closed office door John switched his right hand with his left and continued pinching. In the brief moment that he breathed through his nose, he noticed the smell was stronger here than in the front of the store. He pushed the feeling of uneasiness away and followed Earl’s instructions. "Gotta take care of some stuff. Make your call and I’ll meet you in there," Earl was already walking away as he finished his sentence. John turned the knob and entered the dark room. He felt along the wall and flicked on the light when he felt the protrusion of the switch. Sulfurous light emanated from a single bulb, illuminating the cramped room. There was a desk pushed into the far right corner. Papers spilled off the sides of the desk as if it were the sinking Titanic. A wastebasket was situated directly left of the desk. After surveying the entire room, John entered. He closed the door behind him in hopes of cutting off the stench, and let his fingers rest. His first whiff of the air made him gag. The room was filled with the stench of rotted garbage long since forgotten. While attempting to get used to the smell, he approached the desk intending to search for the phone underneath the mass of papers. As he reached the desk,

23 his foot struck something. Suddenly worried, his eyes darted to the floor. "Sheesh! Get a hold of yourself John! It’s just a shoe," John scolded loudly. To prove his superiority to the shoe, he kicked it. It didn’t move. He knelt down to get a closer look. The shoe was attached to something. Curiosity killed the cat, a mysterious voice piped up in the back of John’s head. In spite of the intuitive warning, John knelt to get a closer look. There was still a foot in the shoe! John got up and circled the desk. When he reached the other side he was face to face with the wrinkled, green, bloated face of a middle-aged man. He screamed. Just then, the door burst open, and Earl shuffled in. "What’s all the commotion?" Earl saw that John had discovered the corpse. "Oh, I see you’ve met Bob," Earl commented offhandedly. John noticed Earl’s glazedover look and froze. Earl brought out an ax from behind his back and advanced. John, completely unaware of the nauseating smell, started searching for the phone on the desk. Earl edged closer. Just as John thought it was all over his finger struck something solid. "Ow!" John yelped as he jammed his finger on the heavy phone. In a final attempt to save his life, John lifted the phone and heaved it at Earl. He leapt up onto the desk, and then sprinted out the office door. Earl, stunned at the sudden turn of events, gave a deep, throaty growl and lurched after John. As Earl exited the office, John reached the entrance to the store. Oh please, oh please! Be open! John prayed to himself. He reached out for the door knob and jerked it. It didn’t budge. While John struggled with the door Earl crept up behind him. John, sensed eyes on his back, and spun around in time to see Earl raise his trusty ax. The maniacal look in Earl’s eyes told John he wouldn’t be seeing his friends ever again. "Thank God!" Mark spotted a car and flagged it down. The three boys explained their predicament and the driver

offered to drive them the rest of the way. Twenty minutes later they spotted the familiar truck outside of looming barn. As they entered the store, they too plugged their noses. "What the hell’s that smell?" Steve said, trying to be funny to cover up his feelings of repulsion. "Hello? Anybody here?" Adam called. "They’ve gotta be here, dummy. The truck is out front."

Jason Farrell - Design/Media Mark commented sardonically. They huddled together and walked down the same aisle, a humorous imitation of the Wizard of Oz. Fritos, Doritos, Chee-tos, oh my! Stomach rumbling, Steve grabbed a bag of Ruffles from the shelf. "Hey, what’re you doing?" Adam quizzed. "I’m hungry. I’ll pay for it, don’t worry." Steve replied nonchalantly as he proceeded to open the bag. "Oh gross! What is this?" He held up his hands to show his friends the sticky red substance clinging to them. "Probably just some jelly or something," Mark disregarded the fear in his friends’ eyes and continued on down the aisle. They neared the rear of the store and spotted Earl behind the register.

"Hey! Where’s John?" Steve said. Then a little louder, "Hey, Earl. Where’s John? We got tired of waiting for him so we started walking. What’s taking you guys so long?" "Oh, I guess he’s still making the call," Earl replied absently. "You can go into the office with him. Its right over there," Earl gestured with his pencil and went back to his non-existent paper work. Uneasily, they flocked to the office door. Mimicking John, Adam felt for the switch and flipped it. The group managed to enter the room simultaneously and saw John’s hair sticking out over the top of the chair at the same time. They saw the phone cradle and the twisted cord that led to the mouthpiece. "Hey buddy, what’s shakin’?" Mark’s question was answered with silence. Confused by his friend’s lack of words, Mark headed for the chair. He rested his hand on the chair. "Ewwwww! There’s more of that sticky stuff on this chair. It’s all over my hand now. Damn it!" Mark cursed, now angrier than worried, and spun the chair around. To his horror, John’s head toppled off of his shoulders at the force of the spin. Blood soaked his newly purchased jacket. His jeans were now decorated with randomly placed scarlet splotches of blood. The sight made Mark heave. As he bent over to keep from fainting, he noticed he was standing in a pool of blood. His gorge rose and he puked what little bit of food remained in his stomach. After emptying himself he stood up and looked at his friends, or what was left of them. While he was being sick Earl had come in and taken them both. He had been so quick Adam and Steve hadn’t had time to scream. All that was left was an expanding circle of crimson on the floor. Mark, now on autopilot, walked by Earl, started jogging, and by the time he reached the cooler he was at a full run. His throat was dry so he reached into the cooler to get a drink. Instead, he pulled out a frozen hand. He screamed, causing pain to flare up in his already parched throat. Earl followed the bloody footprints. Mark rested against the cooler. His hand touched something soft; he looked down and saw he was touching a hand. When Earl heard the hoarse scream he knew his chance had come. He neared Mark and began raising his ax. Mark spun around to find himself in the same situation John had. Out of ideas, Mark threw the hand in a desperate attempt to confuse Earl. Surprised out of his mania, Earl dropped the ax and caught Adam’s hand. The ax landed on his foot, resulting in Earl’s first scream of the evening. Mark ran at Olympic speed for the front of the store. As he burst out into the rain he took gulps of fresh air. The rain felt 24 good on his sweaty body.

Mark continued running; worried Earl might manage to follow him, one foot and all. Once by the road he felt safer. Walking against traffic, he hoped to spot an oncoming car. He was completely exhausted and his head felt fuzzy. Shock had set in and he needed to lie down. However, doing so would surely be death. He continued walking. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or if he was truly seeing headlights. A huge Ford F-450 came into view and pulled over. He ran back to talk to the driver. "’Scuse me. Could I get a lift?" Mark inquired. "Sure man. No problemo," the driver answered cheerfully. The driver grinned, showing his lack of teeth, as he reached over and opened the door for Mark. Mark hopped in excitedly and was thrilled to be inside, out of the rain and away from that horrible store. He and the driver began talking. "So, where ya from?" The driver asked. "Riverside," Mark replied solemnly "Oh. I’ve been out there a coupla’ times." "Yeah." Mark had already leaned his head against the window and was dozing off when the trucker started talking again. "So, Whatcha doin’ out here?" "Oh, me and my friends were heading to Las Vegas for spring break," Mark said sadly. "Well, looks to me like you lost yer friends, pal." "Yeah, you could say that." "I could be your friend," the driver said ominously as he winked at Mark. "Thanks," Mark said uneasily. The driver pulled his truck over and shut the engine off. They sat in silence for what seemed like hours to Mark. "By the way, what’s yer name?" The trucker’s sudden question made Mark jump. "M-m-mark," he stuttered. The trucker, realizing he had frightened Mark, tried to calm him. "Don’t worry, little buddy. I’ll take care of ya," He winked again, and Mark knew his life, what little was left, would never be the same again."



By Nicola Seivright ‘03 The exotic food displayed had not been touched. The guests were more interested in fil ing their champagne glasses. Everyone seems to have had too much to drink. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us drink a toast to the bride and bridegroom!" The funny looking man, with the thick mustache, who had proposed the toast in a slurred voice held his glass high in the air, then stumbled and fell backwards. The old lady next to him dropped to her knees "John this is not okay, you are embarrassing me!" She reached behind his shoulders and under his arms trying to slowly pull him up, but his arms were far too muscular and heavy and as she strained to lift his upper body, she failed and fell backward with John on top of her. Roars of laughter from the guests fil ed the room. There were about one hundred and thirty five people in the room; they were all strangers to me except for the groom, my father. Today he seems much further away from me. I could not bear to look at the end of the Gayle Warfield table where he sat with his new bride. How could he have forgotMixed Media ten Mom so quickly? When he first told me about his intentions to marry I could hardly believe he was telling the truth. Meeting her was the worst experience of my life. It was about a month ago in November that we had met. Dad had invited her over for dinner. I hated her from the minute I first saw her. Her nose was narrow and long and would have loocved better on a mongoose. She had stringy hair, eyes too close together and a raspy voice. Flora our maid had made dinner for us that night. She prepared my most favorite meal. We had roasted chicken with mashed potatoes, buttermilk biscuits, baby carrots in cinnamon and honey, and key lime pie for desert. I looked at the food, I had totally lost my appetite, this was a first for me. " Gwen dear, why are you not eating?" you have not even touched your food" My father seemed a little concern that I was not eating, but most of his attention was focused on Geneva. During the entire dinner I found it odd that Geneva did not look at me or tried to speak with me. I watched them in silence whispering and laughing together. Geneva seemed to always have her wine glass

fil ed. I felt left out and betrayed. It was as if I was no longer important. I 25 felt so sad, and tried very hard to hold back the tears that were trying to surface. This was not a good thing for me. My life would never be the same because of this woman Geneva. I stared at my Dad and the woman beside him that was now his wife. They were getting ready to leave for their honeymoon. When they returned from their honeymoon, we were to move into Geneva's house. Her house was larger than ours, and she seemed to be a pretty wealthy woman. I was not too happy about moving to her house, I had lived in my house since five. All of my memories are in my house, most of them with my Mom. I'm not ready to leave those memories behind; I am not ready to move to a totally different setting to continue on with my life. Why hadn't my dad asked me how I felt about leaving the only home I have ever knew, to go to a place where I could not feel warm and safe. Besides that, Geneva was very self centered and always got her way. Maybe she was this way because a lot of men in the past, had loved her and had given her whatever she wanted, because she would not stop "whining." I swear, people a mile away heard her high pitch roar when she didn't get her way. It was the way her voice went up and out through her nose. She could manipulate my dad to do whatever she wanted him to do. Geneva had also made it clear in her attitude that she did not want me around for too much longer, and she would discuss my future with my dad. I did not kiss the bride, nor did I hug my dad. Geneva held my dad's hand and led him outside, to the waiting limousine. I felt it was a bitter farce, as the bride and groom was driven away, with showers of rice being thrown at them. Cheers and shouts followed them as the limousine moved down the drive. The newly wed couple would be honeymooning in Hawaii for one week. I would be staying with Geneva's sister, that they now want me to call Aunt Betsy. I knew already that I was going to have a very horrible week and my future now seemed bleak. I had lost my Mom and now my dad. Mom, whenever I think of her my heart aches. I used to remember her cooking and singing in the kitchen. She had a soft musical voice. Sometimes I stil smell the perfume she always wore. She had made it from the flowers in her garden. Mom had a sensitive face with its winged eyebrows, small straight nose, and soft, exquisitely curved lips. In my eyes she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Mom had made conversation so interesting. She would always talk on many subjects and was very knowledgeable. Mom was so immensely superior, that no one could touch her. Everything she did was fearless; she could not care less what people thought about her. She especial y loved the taste and thril to be found in competition. How could Geneva have possibly even came close to my Mom? I do not know how she did it but she took my dad's heart away and did not want to share.

A week later my father and Geneva came back from their Hawaiian honeymoon. My father looked tan and healthy, Geneva looked like paint when it starts to peal. Everything went as planed, we moved in Geneva's house. It was a big house, more like a mansion. The classic 1700s look was crabbing toward the soul, having a contemptuous fairness to it. Besides that it was beautiful, it felt lonely and cold, I felt no protection from anything. This was Geneva's house, her territory, not mine. I have known from the start that I was not intended to stay very long, but I did not know it was going to happen so quickly. One morning I woke up and heard my name being called from down stairs. "I'l be right there." I dressed quickly and walked down stairs. When I got down stairs Geneva looked very contentedly as she looked at me. In a festive voice she said, "Gwen, we have some exciting news, do you remember that handsome boy named Jake?" "Not really, why?" Geneva took my hand and said, "You're engaged to be married!" "What!" I could not feel my heartbeat; it was going too fast to keep up with. How could this be happening to me, I haven't even met this guy, or I just can't remember? Slowly making myself calm down I looked at my father and Geneva, " Why do I have to be married so quickly, to a man I don't even remember?" Geneva stood up and said, "Gwen you are seventeen years of age and it is about high time that you should be wed. I know how your life has been, losing your Mom, moving here and now me in your life, but your dad and I know what is best for you and you need trust us, it wil all work out." My father then stood up and said, " Gwen, this is all for the best." Standing up, I said, "I wil not marry this person. This is my life, I should be the one to choose what's going to happen in it." I was shouting, but I did not care. "I want to go to college and travel. Mom had always told me to never give up my dreams." Geneva's face turned red, she looked at me with contempt and spoke to me in an ireful voice. "Who are you, to speak to your father and me like that, bringing past comments, that have nothing to do with right now, you should be happy we choose such a handsome young man for you. Women do not go to college and travel the world. You wil marry this fellow. This is not your choice to make, now apologize to your father and I." I was shocked of the conversation and even more dismayed about how my 26 father reacted. His whole personality changed and he was not the father I

knew. My father was a strong man that defended me to the last; he was always kind, usually happy man. Now all he did was cater to his new wife. I felt official y out of his life. I had no one to rely on, but myself. What was I going to do, I can't get married. With out saying another word, I walked up the stairs to my new room. Flopping myself upon the bed, I wept heart wrenchingly. I cannot remember how long I laid there, crying. I then got up and shuffled though the blankets and sheets on my bed, looking for my teddy bear, I've had since birth. My teddy bear has always been with me, next to me through everything life has put me through. "Where is he?" Then I remembered Geneva saying, "You are seventeen years old, you don't need a raggedy bear." Then with a quick angry look, she took my bear and walked out of room into the hallway with it, " Flora, I need you to discard this for me," Geneva said. "Yes, Mme," Flora said as she took it off her hands and walked away with it. I watched as Flora bent the corner in the living room, seeing my teddy for the last time. A week later my father, Geneva and I were invited to dinner at Jake's house to formally introduce each other. I am so nervous; I'm meeting the man I am going to marry. I don't know what to expect. I am stil very unsure about the situation, how do I act? I'm going to marry this man and I don't even know who he is. Do I act like this sort of thing happens everyday or do I act like I am just as shocked about it as he may be? No, I wil act what I feel is right. I trust God wil guide me in the right direction, like he always has. As the door of our carriage opened, a man approached and guided Geneva and I out. The train of my pink flowing gown followed after me. Another man opened the door for us as we walked through the door. The first face I saw was a woman, her face looking no more than forty, with a cheerful smile. Another face followed, a man with a mustache that was a little older than the women. Both of them introduced each other as Jake's parents. " Jake should be down any minute." The moment Jake's mother said those words, a man walked down the stairs and I could not help but stair. He was devastatingly handsome; I could not take my eyes off of him. The moment he walked in the room, he looked at me with amour, then in a split second, he caught his eyes and introduced himself as Jake. I could not dough for a second, that I had not been attracted to him. His dark hair soothingly waved on his head, with dark silent eyes, thin black eye brows, narrow nose, straight mouth, and tight smooth unique figure. Just the way he stood, with his hands folded in his arms, all of his weight on one leg and head up high, told his whole personality. He seemed liked he was very confident and maybe to confident of himself. Through out dinner I found out more things about him. He thought very highly of himself. His father stayed the same way, yet his mother had such a cute way about her, just the things she would say, were cute and funny and just to know such a women, I felt honored.

I was so spiritless the next morning as I woke up. Thinking about what would become of my life with Jake. I could imagine what it would be like, waking up with this man, his nose so far up in the air, you couldn't see it. I dressed for the day and walked down stairs. Geneva and my father were seated at the dining table with their tea and muffins. "Good morning," I said. Geneva turned to me; there was no mistaking the dislike in her eyes. After we finished breakfast, I could not help but blurt out exactly what I was thinking. "Father I do not wish to marry Jake, please do not make me!" "Gwen, we wil talk about it when I come home, I am already late as it is." He picked up a half of muffin and walked quickly out the door. As the door closed Geneva's voice became cross as she said, " I have already told him that it is the best possible thing, that could ever happen to you why is it so important I marry him," I said. " You wil do as you are told,! " she snapped. " Let me make this quite clear," Geneva, said her voice becoming more severe, " I do not want you here, Gwen. I do not want any other woman, beside myself in my house and if you do not marry Jake, you can starve in the gutter. " Who was this woman, how could she just say these dreadful remarks, straight to my face? Where did my father find such a witch? My Father would never let that happen to me," I said furious than ever. "He is married to me. He can have everything money can buy, but I wil not have the daughter of his former wife, living in this house with me. There is no alternative for you but marriage." Saying nothing, I turned away, taking my coat as I walked out the door. The street was empty. The clouds blocked out the sun, the cool breeze blew against my face. My throat began to constrict. Geneva is right, there is nothing I can do. She is the only girl in my father's life now, and he would do anything to make her happy. Suddenly I felt the urge to leave my future life and explore the world. If only I had the money and the nerve to leave my beloved father. The wedding invitations were out and the wedding itself was a few days away. Jake and I saw each other off and on and did not talk much at all. It was an arranged marriage, we barley knew each other, what was their to say? Finally the day of the wedding came. My dress was beautiful, posing like a dress in a fairy tail. My father walked me down the awl and gave my hand to Jake. For a quick second I thought to myself, that I would wake up every day and see Jake's face for the rest of my life. "Do you Gwen Jenene Adams take this man to be your lawful. ." the reverend said. " I do." Jake looked at me with a smile; witch was surprising because I have never seen him smile. " I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride." Jake starred into my eyes and kissed me for the first time.

Every glass keep full with champagne as the speeches rolled by. Jake 27 looked calm and content, sitting next to me. His head faced forward listening to the crazy speeches people said. When he laughed, it was deep and strong. Just watching him look so serious then all of a sudden a deep "huh, huh, huh " came out was fun to watch. Almost every moment, I learned something new about him. We were strangers in the night exchanging glances, Wondering in the night, What were the chances we'd be sharing life, before the night was through, Something in your eyes are so inviting, Something in your smile is so exciting, Something in my heart keeps chanting, Strangers in the night two lonely people, We were strangers in the night, Little did we know love was just a glance away. We went to Paris for our honeymoon. He took me dancing every night until the sun rose and in the morning, we walked through the streets. We slowly fell in love with Paris. It was beautiful there, especial y with Jake. He was not the type that talked much, but when he did it was meaningful. One night, we walked on a bridge, overlooking a river glistening in the moonlight. "Gwen?" he said, his head faced forward, "I love you." He turned his head to see what I would say and without waiting for a response he kissed me on my lips and I kissed him back. When it was time to go home, we did not want to leave, so we didn't. We decided to stay in Paris. Jake and I were happy there. Jake took me around the world visiting new places. Eventually we settled down in Rome and had two children, a girl and a boy. We never fell out of love with each other and we never wil . Someone once told me about the time my mother passed away, that God works in mysterious ways. He sometimes takes things that we care about away, but he always gives us something back in return. Geneva was cruel, but if it was not for her I would never have found my true love, Jake. Strangers in the night exchanging glances, wondering in the night What were the chances we'd be sharing life before the night was through, Something in your eye was so inviting, Something in your smile was so exciting, Something in my heart was so enchanting, Strangers in the night, two lonely people, We were strangers in the night, Up to the moment when we said our first hello, Little did we know, Love was just a glance away, Warm and bracing dance away, And Ever since that night, we've been together, Lovers at first site, In love forever, It turned out so right, For Strangers in the night.






Image 1: Grey Roberts - Chalk Pastel Image 2: Joe Agrusa - Paperclips and Sauter Image 3: Joe Reed - Cast Jewelry

Image 1: Sonia Fernandez - Ceramic Sculpture Image 2: Melissa Agular - Stained Glass Image 3: Vanessa De LaTorre - Stained Glass

1 2







Image 1: Sonia Fernandez - Ceramic Sculpture Image 2: Sonia Fernandez - Ceramic Sculpture Image 3: Sonia Fernandez - Ceramic Sculpture



By Amanda Carlin '02 Pleasant is pink When floating down the stream But when I say it again When soaring over the crowd Melancholy me is the truest of lies Simply because It is visible only to those Who close their eyes Crawling out the window Her tears reflect the light of the moon She lives on a cloud Protected by her silver spoon Light as a feather Drifting through space Reality hits Like a ton of bricks in the face Spirit alive Body unbruised She shines like a star Him knowing he only has her to lose Living in a box Is not the way to be But is it not freedom That almost let it bleed

On The Edge Of Chaos By Myles Anderson '02 It's windy at the top, not a single sturdy pedistal, for the smallest card house, at the top, you work your way up, but cannot bring a friend, all alone, at the top, only to find out, that with all the success, there's no where to go, but down. Back again, to your friends, to try to ascend once more, the towers of the immoral and deformed, American Dream, to fall back down, AGAIN!


A L ife Not Yet Lived By Charles Thornhill '02

A lifetime full of tears, Making oceans of pain. A lifetime full of fear, Creating houses of hopelessness. A lifetime full of love, Creating sea's of passion. A lifetime full of heartbreaks, I then swim in the lakes of torment. A lifetime full of failure, Yet I still stand. A lifetime full of doubts, Yet I still succeed. A lifetime full of obstacles, Yet I still climb. My Lord, I've made it this far,


So in return, I stay near you. I have many to offer to you My love, My pain, My trust, My ups, My downs, My tears, My heart, My mind, My body, My soul, My faith to you, My fear of you, My lord, in return bless one thing; My life...

Image 1: Adam Ruzzamenti - Mixed Media


Created by: ACT Designed by: Jason Farrell Edited By: Melissa Aguiar, Adam Ruzzamenti, Pamela Lockwood Print Coordinator: Jamie Espanoza Printed and Bound by: CSHS 7th Period ROP Advanced Printing & Graphic Design Class 2001-2002 Special Thanks to Ms. Schiebout, Mr. Bourbonnais, and Mr. Necochea

2001-2002 Composition Magazine  
2001-2002 Composition Magazine  

A Literary and Visual Arts Magazine produced by the high school students of the Academy of Creative Technologies at Canyon Springs High Scho...