artwork by McKenzie Gaskill '27
Art & Literary Zine
Mission Statement
The mission of St. Paul VI Catholic High School’s art and literary magazine is to create a kind of keepsake for our community to behold the individual essence of PVI student-artists who creatively express themselves, their interests, and their talents through the written word, the stroke of a paintbrush, or the click of a camera.
For Art’s Sake
About This Issue
This year ’ s art and literary zine is satiated with soulstirring, enlightening, and jaw-dropping extraordinary pieces shared by PVI students. From poetry about piano playing, Fortnite, and the changing seasons, nonfiction articles covering the Shroud of Turin, living in Germany, scuba diving in Japan, and traversing the California desert in 100+ degree temperatures, and sci-fi, fantasy, and other fictional stories about friendships in high school and a journal capturing the days during the Normandy landings, to head-turning artwork and pause-inducing photography ranging from the Cherry Blossom Festival in DC to a box chock full of sweets...and eyeballs, this issue of For Art’s Sake is replete with something for everyone. We hope it inspires the extraordinary in you, too.
RTWORK A HOTOGRAPHY
RTWORKA
McKenzie Gaskill '27 (cover, 58)
Emily Maguire '25 (1, 4, 33, 41, 42, 86)
Devyn Wallace '24 (8, 35)
Keira Malli '27 (10)
Ava Stetzin '25 (11-12, 34)
Mary Harvill '25 (26)
Molly Raiguel '25 (28)
Angela Thomson '25 (37)
Katie Le '26 (51)
Reagan Petti '24 (57)
Charlie Balderrama '25 (61, 89)
Lukas Broadwell '27 (71)
Riley Tran '25 (77-78)
Daniela Bruno '26 (79-80)
Ava Quintas '25 (81-82, 83-84)
Camille Syler '25 (88)
NONFICTION
“The Return of Catholic Culture: The First Selfie?” by Roy Wulf '26 (2)
“Adventures Living in Germany” by Audrey Culipher '27 (13)
“Becoming an Only Child (Sort of)” by Elsie Galitsky '28 (36)
“Beneath the Waves... A Diver’s Journey Into the Unknown” by Emma Fuller '28 (58)
“On Being An Altar Server” by Gabriel Herrera '25 (62)
“Embracing God’s Gift” by John Williams '25 (65)
“A Slice of Nowhere” by Catherine Murphy '27 (67)
hotographyP
Sian Chen '27 (24, 25, 48, 49, 52, 63, 64)
Avery Thom '27 (27)
Tyler Sperow '28 (85, 90)
oetryP
“Stressing” by Noah Alino '25 (1)
A Collection ... by Avery Thom '27 (7)
“Fortnite” by Noah Anastacio '26 (9)
“Yin and Yang” by Noah Alino '25 (11)
“Glasses Change” by Kelsa Boodlal '25 (22)
“Autumn’s Journey” by Albert Siciliano '28 (27)
“Piano” by Addison Bannerton '28 (32)
“Live For A Living” by Kelsa Boodlal '25 (34)
“Transition of Seasons” by Noah Alino '25 (87)
FICTION
“XYZENITH” by Tyler Dooley '27 (17)
“About Everything” by Sian Chen '27 (23)
“No Smoke Without Fire” by Julia Korowajczuk Nader '25 (29)
“Pure White” by Brooke Barker '25 (38)
“Two Fated Lovers...” by Gabriel Warega '25 (43)
“Love, Vanya” Chapter 2 by Charlie Balderrama '25 (52)
“Prim” by Gabriela Bergstrom '27 (72)
a
Designers: Sian C la Bergstrom '27
Moder eacher
This magazine was designed using Canva
For Art’s Sake
Even faint ripples Can become monstrous waves Takes only a push
Stressing by Noah Alino '25 artwork by Emily Maguire '25
THE RETURN OF CATHOLIC CULTURE:
THE FIRST SELFIE?
by Roy Wulf '26
The Shroud of Turin is a long, blood-stained linen cloth bearing a faint, life-size, full-length image of a scourged and crucified man front and back.
The Shroud is documented back to the 1350s, when it was under the care of the French knight Geoffroy de Charny, who put it on public display. A souvenir from its exhibition still exists.
This metal badge shows the Shroud and the Coats of Arms of Geoffrey de Charny and his wife. Geoffroy died in 1356, never revealing how he obtained the Shroud.
In 1532, the Shroud was burned in a fire, but the image was largely undamaged. In 1534, Poor Clare nuns patched damaged areas. The Shroud was sent to Turin, Italy in 1578 and remains there still.
Could this cloth somehow be the same Shroud described in all four Gospels (Mark 15, Matthew 27, Luke 23, and John 19)?
Joseph of Arimathea bought a fine linen cloth, wrapped Jesus’ body in it, and placed the body in a tomb. On Easter morning, Jesus had risen, but what happened to the Shroud?
A reconstructed image of the “pilgrim badge” souvenir sold at Geoffrey de Charny’s public exhibition of the Holy Shroud in the 1350s. Pictured is the Shroud with front and back body images and Geoffrey’s coat of arms on the bottom left and the coat of arms of his wife on the bottom right
Two big questions surround the Shroud of Turin. First, is it from the 14th Century or is it older? Second, how was the image formed? The Shroud has thus become the most investigated artifact ever, undergoing countless scientific tests. The most famous was radiocarbon dating performed in 1988. A single piece was cut from one corner and divided into four smaller pieces with a remnant to be preserved. The results dated the Shroud to the Middle Ages (AD 1260-1390) with 95% certainty, and the Shroud was declared a medieval fake. Case closed? Not quite. Even if the Shroud were medieval, it would still be puzzling. The image is much more realistic than any medieval artwork. The image is like a photograph, or more accurately, a photographic negative a concept unknown to any medieval artist.
The normal image is very faint, so we only see the image clearly when we photograph the Shroud and examine its negative image. This happened for the first time in 1899. Suppose we found a photograph (or negative) of Chaucer, author of The Canterbury Tales. This would be astounding. The earliest known photograph is a blurry image taken in 1826. Even if the Shroud were not from Biblical times, a medieval photo-like image is still incredible. But if photography was invented to make the Shroud of Turin, why are there no other photos from this time? If made without photography, why fake an image that can only be seen clearly after photography is invented?
Furthermore, the radiocarbon dating was mishandled. In 2000, researchers Joseph Marino and Sue Benford noticed a diagonal repair seam running through the area where the samples were taken. They found the dating results from the four samples were skewed corresponding to that diagonal seam: #1 (AD 1238), #2 (AD 1246), #3 (AD 1326), and #4 (AD 1430). Chemist Raymond Rogers examined the remnant sample and confirmed that cotton had been woven into the linen fibers and dyed to match the linen. The samples contained different amounts of cotton added by the nuns in their 1534 repairs. One of the scientists responsible for the radiocarbon testing, Christopher Ramsey, acknowledged that the dating was compromised because cotton from the 1534 patch and the (apparently) older linen had been dated together.
There are also hints from history that the Turin Shroud existed earlier. For example, in AD 944, a Byzantine general besieged Edessa, Turkey, and took back “the cloth with Jesus’ imprint” to Constantinople. Byzantine Emperor Constantine VII described the image as “extremely faint, more like a moist secretion without pigment or the painter’s art.” Archdeacon Gregory of the Hagia Sophia described a full body image produced by “Christ’s sweat,” implying that it was faint. He also mentions blood from the side wound on the cloth. In 1201, the overseer of Constantinople’s relic collection listed “the funerary sheets of Christ” that “wrapped the unoutlined, dead, naked” body of Jesus “after the Passion.”
A view of the blood stains on one half of the Shroud, including blood consistent with scourging on the legs and body, head wounds from a crown of thorns, crucifixion nail wounds on hands and feet, and spear wound to the side.
Close-up view of the hands on the Shroud of Turin, showing how the image on the Shroud (when made into a negative) is like a photo
On August 1, 1205, a Byzantine ruler wrote to Pope Innocent III protesting the looting of Constantinople by knights of the Fourth Crusade. He wrote, “In April last year a crusading army, having falsely set out to liberate the Holy Land, instead laid waste the city of Constantine. During the sack, troops of Venice and France looted even the holy sanctuaries. The Venetians partitioned the treasures of gold, silver, and ivory, while the French did the same with the relics of the saints and, most sacred of all, the linen in which our Lord Jesus Christ was wrapped after his death and before his resurrection. We know that the sacred objects are preserved by their predators in Venice, in France, and in other places, the sacred linen in Athens.”
The leader of the Sack of Constantinople in 1204 was Otto de la Roche. He became the Lord of Athens in 1204, but returned to France in 1225. His great-great-granddaughter was Jeanne de Vergy, who married…(drumroll please)…Geoffrey de Charny! Geoffrey may have wanted to avoid revealing that his in-laws had looted the Shroud from the Byzantines!
Pollen has been collected from the Shroud. Although some come from plants found in France and Italy, most come from plants native to Israel, Turkey, and the western Mediterranean. This makes no sense if the Shroud was created in Europe. Also, keep in mind that the blood on the Shroud indicates that the cloth once wrapped an actual bleeding person whose wounds correspond exactly to the wounds of Christ’s Passion.
How was the image formed? It has been proven that the image is not artwork (a painting, etc.), but we still do not understand how the image got there. An image exists because the top layer of linen fibers has yellowed, similar to how the pages of a book turn yellowish when left out in the sun. However, even today, after numerous attempts, no one has produced an image like this on linen.
The image was somehow made using light. The body within the Shroud perhaps glowed brilliantly (like Jesus glowed in the Transfiguration). Because the hair in the image hangs down, the body was not lying down when the image formed. It was vertical, but not standing since the feet are pointed downward. The body was hanging or levitating above the ground (like Jesus levitated during the Ascension).
Needless to say, we do not have solid answers to the two big questions, but as for me, I am certain that the Shroud of Turin is the world’s first selfie!
The ordinary (faint) image of the face on the Shroud that functions like a photographic negative, so that when a negative image is made, as shown on the right, the negative provides us with what looks like a positive image photograph. This property of the Shroud was discovered when the cloth was first photographed in 1899.
When Everything Stops
Laying down
Staring up
After everything A moment
To remember Days past
Force of Nature
Sitting there In the rain weighed down
Drenched Shivering Little bird
Across skin
Devyn Wallace '24
Fortnite
by Noah Anastacio '26
In Fortnite's realm, where cruel battles unfold
A dance of tall builds, stories to be told
With health dwindling, in the storm's cruel cold
The healing touch becomes a tale to hold
A slurp juice sipped in shadows of the night Bandages unravel, a mending sight
Medkits deployed in moments of huge fright
The chug jug's gulp restores, a healing rite
In Tilted Towers, healers stop and rest
In minis and in floppers, hope is found
A shield potions short timer, is the best
All we desire is to joke around
Inside of Fortnite all battles are won Fortnite, the OGs always get it done
artwork by Keira Malli '27
Yin & Yang
by Noah Alino '25
A heart of pure ice
And a soul of burning fire
The perfect balance
artwork by Ava Stezin '25
Adventures Living in
Germany
by Audrey Culipher '27
I moved to Germany during the summer between sixth and seventh grade, during the height of COVID. We had to move because my father had been deployed over to Ramstein, Germany, in December; my mother wanted to keep our family together so we moved over the summer. This would be my second time traveling outside of the US, but my first time to Germany. The day we left the US was a nerve racking day; in the morning we were cleaning the house, and in the afternoon we were saying our goodbyes to our cousins and our dog, Tucker. Leaving everything we knew and were accustomed to was hard, but leaving behind all our family and our dog was really hard, especially for my two younger sisters.
After arriving in Ramstein, Germany, we moved into a small bachelor apartment where our dad was staying. Our mother had to go back to the US for work so it was just us four kids and our dad in a two bedroom, one-bathroom home. We lived in that apartment for the majority of the summer until our dad found a house for rent. We soon started school at the DODEA school on base, that is where I met some of the best friends I had ever had.
We never visited the US at all during those two years, but we had our grandparents on both sides come to visit. The best part of living in Germany was that we could travel to three different countries in about an hour or two. One day, we decided to go to Paris, so we bought tickets for a two-hour train ride to Paris. The worst part was that the further out into the countryside you got, the less people spoke English. At times, it could also be hard to drive and park in Germany because of the small roads and small parking places.
Germany
continued
Education
While I lived in Germany, I didn’t attend a German school; instead, I went to a Department of Defense Education Activity (DODEA) school on the US Air Force Base in Ramstein. However, while attending school on the US AFB, we learned all about the German culture and their education system.
Kindergarten is for children between the ages of two to four, and at age five they are ready to attend Grundschule (elementary school) from grades first to fourth. After Grundschule, kids have to choose one out of the five types of secondary schools
Hauptschule, Realschule, Mittelschule, Gymnasium, or Gesamtschule. Hauptschule is for students who wish to enter trade school and offers apprenticeship opportunities. Realschule is the most popular for students to attend, it is most similar to high schools in the US for its academic standards. There students have to take one foreign language for about five years. Mittelschule is a combination of both Hauptschule and Realschule; it is also very uncommon and can be found in only some states. Gymnasium is an academic secondary school. It has higher math and science classes and requires students to learn two languages. Gesamtschule is another school similar to an American high school and is a combination of three secondary schools.
Germany
Sites
Germany has many places that are worthy of seeing. Some of the more popular places were cities like Berlin; the places I liked to explore the most were the castles and cathedrals of Germany.
When we first moved to Germany, we saw the Lichtenberg Castle in the town of Kusel. It's more of a ruin now, but it still holds so many memories of us climbing to the top of the hill where the ruins of a great castle lay, surrounded by the many fields and trees and forests. In the city of Trier, you can find one of the oldest cathedrals in Germany. And not far from the cathedral you can find the gate to the city that was put up by the Romans. The city of Trier has a lot of Roman influence in it, with the many columns and ruins of columns scattered around the city. I have many memories of going to the Trier Cathedral for Mass and getting ice cream and a little shop next to it and walking down to the Porta Nigra.
While in Germany, we ventured on the Rhine River; one summer we took a boat down a small portion of the river and a goulash and looked at the beautiful view. Another notable city that I visited and recommend to anyone traveling to Germany is the city of Cologne. In Cologne, we saw the famous Cologne Cathedral; with its Gothic design, it can be seen from miles away. Although the Cologne Cathedral suffered nearly 15 hits by aerial bombs during World War II, this amazingly designed and detailed cathedral remained standing amidst a flattened city.
Germany continued
Food and Drinks
Germany prides itself with some of the best sausages and beers in the world. When you go to Germany there is not one menu that doesn’t offer bratwurst, schnitzel, and their many variations. Bratwurst is a sausage that is made from pork (sometimes veal or beef), air fried, and put in a bun to enjoy. Schnitzel is made from a cut of meat that is pounded thin, breaded, and then fried into flaky goodness. Goulash is a traditional Baverian stew that is made of beef, tomato paste, onions, many spices, and sometimes wine. Goulash is normally served in the winter to make you nice and warm in the cold weather. When talking about German drinks, beer is the most popular. Pilsner beer is the most popular German beer and is commonly served to guests at restaurants. At fourteen years old you can order a beer with your parent’s permission, and at the age of sixteen you can order a beer for yourself. Fanta is another popular drink that originated in Germany as an alternative to the American Coca-Cola. In WWII, Americans didn’t want to trade with Natzi Germany; one of the American products was the syrup in Coca-Cola. With the lack of the necessary ingredients, Germany created Fanta using whey, apple fibers, and orange skins, and finally, sugar beet.
Living in Germany was an experience that I will never forget; it gave me some of the best days of my life. I plan on returning to Germany for university if I excel in my German class this year and pass the entrance exam.
XYZENITH
XYZENITH
byTylerDooley'27
B O O T _ U P
Following is an excerpt from a sci-fi novel about a protagonist named Izumi, an amnesiac who is forced to leave the space station from where she suddenly awoke and who must now follow the stars to rediscover her past -without the help of the scientist who once took care of her.
“She told me to wake up What if I don’t want to?”
Tak, tak, tak. Shoes of all sorts are heard hitting the warmly lit steel corridors of the place. People mill about the halls in lab coats or odd outfits from some far-off planet. That was the beauty of a space station such as this – the Altair Space Station.
The warm halls filled with decorations of a human holiday called ‘Christmas’ fade away. The deeper reaches of the station lie in wait for one specific scientist. Naoto Kugisaki, a tall woman with long lavender hair and reddish-orange eyes, stalks throughout the dark halls She was a scientist, yes A chemist, a physicist, a biologist, an ecologist In simple terms – a genius If you named a single scientific study, she had already perused it ten times over. However, despite her brilliance, despite her seemingly-effortless smarts, there was one enigma she simply couldn’t understand -the one person whom she had repaired and yet still seemed an anomaly by every possible metric known to the stars. Naoto scanned through a prohibited lab where only she had access. How nice. Of course, she kept a little surprise locked up in there someone who had caught her interest. The one person who utterly dumbfounded her: Izumi Kugisaki.
Izumi wasn’t very physically imposing, unlike the tall Naoto. In fact, Izumi was practically a full head shorter than the genius Izumi’s forearms and one of her legs was covered in bandages, some sodden with blood and some still pure white. Izumi didn’t remember much at all of what happened before she ended up on the Altair Space Station. Naoto didn’t know either. Naoto had run hundreds of thousands of tests, tried prying into Izumi’s mind, tried running DNA tests to find a possible match with any of the planets known to have life, but she found nothing. It was the one mystery she couldn’t crack no matter how hard she tried. It infuriated her. Izumi didn’t seem to care at all. The past was in the past and the future is in the distance ahead. Why waste time worrying about either?
Izumi glances over to the freshly-appearing Naoto, making a ‘hmm’ sound before looking back at the ground Her knuckles are bleeding They weren’t doing that when Naoto was last there. How worrying.
“What happened?” Naoto asks, her voice comforting and soft yet holding an air of firmness.
“Eh?” Izumi doesn’t quite process the question, raising an eyebrow and looking back.
“You’re.. bleeding again. What happened?”
“Oh, I dunno. Not really your business.”
“Are you kidding me? Everything about you is my business now. ” Naoto says sternly and matter-of-factly with her arms now crossed. It only made sense that Naoto had the right to know everything that had to do with Izumi. At least in her mind, it did.
“No, not everything Just where I’m from ” Izumi waves a finger in denial, grinning. She seemed to have an abject love for denying the prying genius’s queries though she’d absolutely never admit to that herself. She continues,“Besides.. Do you even really need to know that?”
Naoto looks down at the shorter woman, before responding curtly.“Yes,” her forearms are raised slightly to about a 105° angle, though her hands remain limp as she responds. She looks slightly irritated. The genius finishes,“There’s nothing I don’t know besides you, so I’m figuring you out I have every right to pry regarding you ”
“Aww, at least take me out to dinner first.” Izumi grips the edge of the table she was sitting on for a moment before pushing herself to her feet.
“You still haven’t answered my question.” Naoto leans over, grabbing Izumi by the wrist to get a better look at her bloody knuckles,“Why are you bleeding?”
Izumi glances off to the side offhandedly. She comments, “The door wouldn’t open ”
Naoto looks back at the now-closed door to the lab, noticing the large splotches of blood on it.
She has to stop herself from facepalming.“And how would punching open it?”
“I dunno, I was just trying.”
“You aren’t allowed to leave anyway, why bother?”
“Too many questions. I don’t wanna answer them.” Izumi rubbed her forehead overdramatically.
“I asked you two questions.” Naoto deadpanned. Izumi switches to the back of her hand, the blood from her knuckles finding its way onto her face She thought this would make her look more desperate. Naoto takes out a handkerchief and wipes Izumi’s face clean of the blood.
Such a chore. Izumi was no genius, unlike Naoto. She’d much rather figure things out the easiest way possible. In this case, the easiest way possible was with her fists. Clearly Izumi needed to be taught how to properly deal with a problem. Like she was some sort of child. Bleh. Izumi wasn’t a huge fan of Naoto babying her. Not at all. Especially since she was more than capable of taking care of herself The sooner she could get out of here, the better–
“WARNING, BREACH DETECTED”
What. A loud voice blared as alarms began ringing, Naoto glanced back at Izumi for a moment before rushing out of the lab.
She left the door open Izumi slowly creeped around the corner, making sure Naoto was fully gone before exiting the lab. The halls were...more festive than she had originally assumed. No time, though. She needed to find someplace to go before the threat was either dealt with and Naoto forced her back into the lab, or reached her and ended her life. No matter the scenario, she needed to find it. She started walking through another back corridor. She kept walking...
Though she pressed on, she suddenly felt a chill and stopped Gloved delicate hands suddenly rested firmly on her shoulders. Izumi’s eyes were wide. She started to slowly turn around, smelling a new scent she had never experienced. Before she got the figure in her view, a silky smooth voice broke the otherwise monotone air around them,
“And where are you headed?”
Izumi couldn’t get words out they seemed all choked back like a stone had been lodged at the end of her tongue. Her head stops moving. “Come on words, please.”
“O-out. Of the space station...” Izumi faces straight ahead again, confused on what was going on. She also wondered what strange force had compelled her to answer that way, but that was the least of her worries.
“Good, I was hoping you’d be free ”
Izumi exhaled shakily, turning her head back to face the gaze of the woman holding her Her scarlet eyes make contact with the edge of the woman ’ s face... before everything immediately fades out of existence. The world seems to fall out of view.
Glasses Change
by Kelsa Boodlal '25
At some point in our lives the glasses change,
We have the childlike innocence of the glass isn’t really half full or half empty,
But rather a little plastic cup all the way full
Our little minds shielded from the harsh reality of the world we live in.
And as we grow, so does the cup.
It begins to change as our minds develop,
As we learn what is important to us and who we are
The cup forms grooves and divots that are unique to each one of us
The cup grows taller but the liquid inside stays the same, even diminishing some.
Although each cup is unique, the liquid is the same
The same color, same thickness, all the same,
But each cup contains different amounts
In the beginning each cup holds the same amount,
But as the cup changes, the liquid is diminished and replenished,
Each cup faces different setbacks that change the amount of the liquid
And therefore the final result.
And when the little plastic cup changes into a tall glass, You think you’ve grown
The grooves and the divots painting the story of your life,
And in the replenished liquid floats the successes of your story
About Everything
by Sian Chen '27
June 12th
It is the sixth day of the Normandy landings.
The howling sea wind haunts my dreams, mingled with the anguished cries of wounded soldiers The field hospital is a chaos of broken bodies limbs severed, burns raw, men on the brink of death. Blood, bandages, and shrapnel are everywhere. The air reeks of rot and antiseptic, a stinging haze that clings to the weary medics laboring under dim lights, always outpaced by the endless stream of casualties
A boy named Thompson died today, a bullet in his gut. Barely twenty, he was playing his harmonica yesterday, joking about his luck surviving Omaha Beach. He lasted the night, lips pale, sweat dripping from his temples I pressed my blood-soaked hands against his torn abdomen, helpless to do more.
We have nothing no antibiotics, no anesthetics, no plasma. I shouted his name, watching him grit his teeth, trembling, his eyes fading despite his fight In his pocket, he clutched a crumpled letter to his mother.
I didn’t, couldn’t, read it.
I held his hand as it fell limp, cursing aloud for the first time Standing by the sea, the night wind bit at my bones, my hands too stiff to light a cigarette. In the black night, only searchlights drifted overhead, coldly sweeping this land already torn apart by war.
June
29th
The shelling started again.
I was lifting a wounded man onto a stretcher when the familiar roar erupted. Shells like monstrous fish plunged from the sky, jaws wide, devouring everything. We threw ourselves to the ground, faces pressed into the dirt, choking on the acrid smoke. Lying there, my eyes were forced to meet the soil black, soaked with blood and shrapnel, devoid of even a single insect
Absurdly, I thought of home: brown earth, fertile, with a faint musky scent. As a child, I ran barefoot through soft fields, my tender palms brushing wildflowers, believing that life could last forever.
Perhaps it’s time to write my will.
July 8th
I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Every night is filled with the stifled gasps of soldiers, the distant rumble of artillery. No one is clean; even the vomit reeks of spoiled canned beans This coast is a living cage we cannot escape.
They say it’s over. Paris is liberated. But my tears have long run dry. I keep asking myself: why am I still alive?
Fifty years have passed, and I’ve finally found the courage to return.
Standing on Normandy’s beach, gazing at the calm sea, it feels as if it were all a fevered nightmare. The blood, the farewells, the PTSD, the shattered families could they truly be just a dream?
Is that possible? I exhale, murmuring half-formed syllables, unable to speak. The blood of soldiers once soaked this earth; their pain was swept away by the tide of time, buried beneath the sands of history. Is that just?
The cemetery is lined with countless headstones. Thompson’s grave is nearby, his name weathered faint by wind and rain. I still remember him. Forever twenty, while I’ve grown old. For fifty years, the shadow of the battlefield has clung to me. At night, I hear the murmurs of the dying, see eyes losing their light in pools of blood They call me a hero, but I’m merely someone who outlived them. War has no victors only survivors.
The wind lifts my white hair. I take a deep breath, looking at the beach one last time.
It’s just an ordinary shore now. Waves lap gently at the sand, the sunset casting golden light, as if none of it ever happened.
photo by Sian Chen '27
artwork
by
Mary Harvill ’25
Autumn's Journey
by Albert Siciliano '28
As the days grew shorter and the air became cooler, The vibrant, vivacious, rustling maple leaf, hung from the tree, Wondering when it could finally be free;
A leaf so green, With summer ’ s end It sheds its sheen; Colors burst in red and gold, Thinking he will be free, His brothers start dancing gracefully among the trees; Enchanting everything they touch and see, Whispering secrets gentilly among the wind;
Having seen it all
From spring to summer, The maple leaf began to fall; Realizing he wasn’t being untied, But he was being sent to his demise.
photo by Avery Thom
artwork by Molly Raiguel '25
I R E
Charleswatchedastheworldhelditsbreath.Breathingmeantrelaxing,andrelaxing wouldn’tbringhimback.Relaxingiswhatgothimtaken.It’swhatcausedthismess. ForCharles,notamomentofrelaxationcamethroughoutthiswholedebacleofan investigation. Even as he wiped down the Spirit, he couldn’t help but focus on the tightnessinhischest.Heclutchedtheraginhishandandsighed.Left,right,left,right. Hishand,grippingtheclothwitheveryounceofstressthathefelt,followedthelength oftheplane’sfuselage.Itleftbehindapathofshineinthesurroundingdust.Inits reflection,hesawhimself,howproperandkepthelooked.Andhowhopelessandlost hefelt
TheSpiritofSt.Louiswasn'tjustaplanetohim;itwashispride.Andhesawthat evenwhentakingcareofhispride,hecouldn’tcatchasinglebreak.Hecouldn’t allowhimselfto Afterall,forhim,thiswasn’tjustafascinatingcaseofwho-doneit that he could follow from the newspapers. It was an excruciating seventy-two days of waiting. Waiting for the search to find success, to find Charlie. This had been the routine for the Lindberghs for the past few months Every passing day reminded Charles of how the house felt empty without the giggles that normally filledthegarden,howthelackofjoyfulcooswhenBettyenteredthenurseryonly emphasizedtheanxioussilenceofwaiting Hehadalwaysbeenstrictontheway he raised his son, leaving him alone in a chicken-wire enclosure for hours, not comforting him when he cried, and forbidding that anyone come near to soothe himwhenhescreamedoutoffrustration Didheregretit?No,hecouldn’t Itwas the way he was He was focused on developing independence and he knew that wastherightwaytogoaboutit.Butpartofhimfeltbad.Hecouldn’tgiveAnnethe life she wanted, one of a loving family, normal parenting, and settling down. He wasalwaysonthemove,leavingthebabywiththenannyformonthsatatime,the nanny who served no purpose anymore. And he always brought Anne and his crewwithhim.Awayfromthefamily.
These thoughts filled Charles’ head as he walkedaroundtheestate,keepinghisheadup high with his typical distinction regardless of the weight in his chest dragging him to the ground,beggingthathegiveuprightthenand there His shoes clicked against the wooden floorboardsashemadehiswaytothekitchen from his office–-aware of each footstep, each heartbeat pounding against his ribcage Stepping into the kitchen, his eyes fixed on Charlie’s high chair, which still stood there, tucked away in a corner to be reused. Anne waspregnant,andnomatterhowmuchthey wanted to move on from the kidnapping, no matterhowtemptingitwastopretendCharlie neverexisted,hecouldn’tstoplooking Itwas the least he could do to show Anne he was trying.Tryingtogiveherthelifeshewanted.
Everywhere he turned, pictures and mementos reminded Charles of how everything had been falling apart since their sweetCharliewaspluckedfromhiscrib And with another baby on the way, all they could do is hope that their lives could return to normal soon enough. He convinced himself that all they needed was a replacement. A replacement would bring everything back It hadto.
But every new ounce of hope only hurt him more–-he knew it wouldn’t be true, who can moveonfromsomethinglikethat?Everyfalse leadinthecase,everydreamthateverything would turn out fine only pulled him down harder The Colonel was exhausted He collapsed into his armchair, careful to surrenderonlyenoughtoallowhimtospring back up at a moment’s notice if need be. His demeanorshifted.Hesliddownanotherinch andcradledhisheadinhispalms
No one was around, he didn’t need to pretend rightnow.Nobody,notevenhiswife,hadseen himlikethis.Butinthatmoment,hesuccumbed under the pressure of expectation Not only of his own and of his family, but of the whole worldaswell.Everydayhewasexpectedtoget upandsearch–-tokeepasmileonhisfaceand be the “Lucky Lindy” that all of America knew himtobe HewastheLoneEagle;heknewthat noonecouldfillhisrole.Hehadtocontinuethe investigation even when all seemed hopeless. Butheshowednoonewhatitcosthim Hekept hisheadhighandeyesfocused.Itwasdifficult to keep that composure at every second of the day WhatfeltlikeyearsofsearchingforCharles had really only been two months. One month since any new leads came up at all He knew that his family desperately needed to return to their normal routine, or as normal as routine could be when their only child had been taken from them. But most importantly, he knew he neededtomakeithappen
agrandpiano.
Piano
by Addison Bannerton '28
Upon my view is a grand piano. Its appearance is so bold and striking. My eagerness to play began to grow, The sound of piano is so tempting. My hands floating all freely and flowing
The rush to chase my goals and ambitions
The music glides, and my hands keep going Pushing myself to join great musicians. The black and white keys, smooth and glistening. Each note struck and ending in perfection. Both eyes and ears looking and listening. Then silence, my thoughts clear from reflection.
There are still flaws that are holding me back, And was it worth the sleep that I now lack?
artwork by Emily Maguire
40 hours a we
Living each sc
Walking the same walk, seeing the same things
At the same time of seeing nothing.
Walk the streets, stand on the metro, sit at my desk, repeat
Pick up my lousy paycheck every two weeks,
Pay the bills to kept the lights on and the water running, Just to do it all over again next month.
And then one day, the mindless fog fades,
I notice the people smiling, the birds chirping, and the beauty of the world.
I notice the small details in the bigger picture,
The fine lines in the artist’s works.
I live for the smaller moments, blended into one big span of time,
One piece of the puzzle, one verse of the play.
I pray for a life lived instead of a life made of a living. I live for the day.
I l i v e f o r t h e d a y .
artwork by Devyn Wallace
Becoming an Only Child (Sort of)
by Elsie Galitsky '28
When the last of my older sisters, Ava, moved away for college last year, my whole world flipped upside down. Growing up as the youngest of six kids, I was pretty much a stranger to silence. I had spent my entire childhood surrounded by chatter and laughter until the day Ava left, when everything
In my house, that was once a bustling city, I could now only hear creaking floors and my voice echoing through the hallways. It felt weird going from being part of a big, noisy family to feeling like an only child, and I felt left behind. I was happy for a little while: My older siblings’ annoying nagging was gone, and I could finally take a hot shower whenever I felt like it. But when I wandered through their empty bedrooms, I felt lonely. Their rooms were stripped of everything that made them interesting: the colorful sheets, the childish paintings that covered the walls, and the stuffed animals scattered across their rooms. It felt like they were never really there. My mom noticed I was feeling down and lonely, and we started spending more time together. We went shopping, got our nails done, and chatted over dinner. I started to see my mom differently, and I realized she was not just a mom of six kids. She was also her a person I could talk to about life or when I was feeling down; it was like discovering a new friend in someone I had known my whole life.
he moment my last sister left for college was one of my hardest moments ever, but in return, I got something much more valuable. At first, my world was filled with darkness like a heavy rain cloud, but when the clouds parted, it led to a new light: a closer bond with my mom that I would not trade for anything.
