Perspectives Magazine 23-24

Perspectives 2023-2024 ECC Conference School Creative Writing Publication

Berlin Kettle Moraine Lutheran Kewaskum Plymouth Ripon Waupun Winneconne

Thank you to all the teachers/advisors who worked to help produce this publication: Andy Reise - Berlin High School Becky Meyer - Kettle Moraine Lutheran High School Emily Wynn - Kewaskum High School Brad Feick - Plymouth High School Allison Schwartz - Plymouth High School Danielle Sommer - Ripon High School Brooke Pasewald - Waupun High School Lisa Olson - Winneconne High School A special thanks to Envision Ink Printing Solutions in Neenah, WI for publishing this work.

Cover Art: Haley Honeyager Back Cover Art: Haley Honeyager

Berlin High School Title

Student’s Name

Page Numbers

Silence Bound

Taylor Van Ornum

2

Ichthyosaurus

Violet Daubner

2

The Rose

Emelia Beulen

3

Spread Upon the Northern Lights

Arianna McCormick

4-5

Ignored

Taylor Van Ornum

6

A Celestial Dance

Emelia Beulen

6

Now Free

Henry Wasmuth

7

The Banquet

Andrew Rozek

8-10

1

Silence Bound Taylor Van Ornum, Grade 9

Are my words, just blurs, of inaudible sound?

Can you hear me, clearly, or should I preach aloud?

And if I do, will you listen, to me speaking proud?

Or will you tell me, to turn my volume down, and bury my voice underground?

You say it’s my fault, its my voice, and that you’ll come around.

But I know you better than that, so I stay, silence bound.

Ichthyosaurus Violet Daubner, Grade 12 From the depths of the sea Swam it’s king Vast and free An otherworldly thing It looked much like a fish But it was so much more In reptile’s bliss Lived the Ichthyosaur From the depths of time From the era Triassic Living in ancient sublime The aquatic classic They swam the world’s oceans Like the whales of today But despite constant devotion They could never stay From the depths of the earth We exhumed their bones Upholding no mirth, Fossilized and alone We observe them now Frozen in their stoney state But yet our minds can’t allow The thought we could meet the same fate

2

The Rose Emelia Beulen, Grade 9 The rose— Red and full A perfect gift But— Oh so common now, They feel impersonal Just the go-to, Over-the-top, The immediate thought.

One easy to overlook, but still so delicate, so full In more than just angry red Dyed so carefullyBlue, white, pink, yellow.

Much more than What they assume in a simple thought Much more than just the basic idea, I am a rose, hidden in my name.

I am the go-to for them, A reliable favor, But I’m not offended I'm not upset, I got to be that leading example: That one role model If only for a minute

If only just to a few If it gives those high standards And that unintentional disregard; I was something more than a decorative flowerI was a prizewinner, one to show off.

But now I’m in a new assortment With new roses, lilies, and even dandelions!

Everyplace has its thorns, You have yours, I have mine.

But here, where I know I’m not the only one The one that had to be the prize flower, I’m part of a bouquet.

I’ve moved from my beloved garden To a big display And as I bloom With everyone else with me, I don’t feel so alone anymore.

While my garden is my special place, Like no other, My display, my bouquetIs my place to shine, Thorns and all.

3

Spread Upon the Northern Lights Arianna McCormick, Grade 11

“Ray.” A spectacle of blue and green dances in the sky, joined by an entourage of glittering stars. They swarm my vision, blue and green morphing into purple and back again, colors cluttering the sky, broken only as I breathe out small puffs of smoke that fade into nothingness.

“Ray.” My fingers burn. I can’t remember when they started burning, but they’re burning now, hot and twisting as I raise them up to the sky. The grating sound of synthetic polyester simmers into the background, replaced by the beating of my heart.

“Ray!” Pressure against my shoulder forces me to turn, meeting brilliant green eyes.

Otto’s face is red, body shivering as he hugs his coat closer to his body. He’s got his hood up, although it causes him to tic, shoulders jumping up and down. Golden brown hair frames his face as he shakes me. “Ray, what the actual hell are you doing out here?!”

“The northern lights are out,” the words fall, unfamiliar in my mouth. I can’t remember ever really hearing my voice, the way words tumble out of my mouth. It feels like someone has pressed cotton against my teeth, making everything I say come out slurred. “I’ve never seen them before.”

His eyebrows crease. The freckles dotting his face remind me of the stars, sporadic and far away. “You need to get inside. It’s cold out.”

“But the lights,” I turn away from him. They shimmer and glow, tangling together messily. “They’re pretty.” My bones feel heavy, and I take the time to ponder what would happen if I just took them out. I’d be a pile of skin, probably.

A laugh rises from my chest at the idea. Otto’s eyebrows crease further.

“You’re hypothermic, come on. We’re getting inside.”

“I want to see the lights.” He stands, and I stand too, snow crunching under our boots. He retracts his hand, and I take the opportunity to step forward. “They’re really pretty.”

He huffs, but his voice turns soft. “I know, Ray. Now come on. Let’s get inside.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

The sound of snow crunching under my feet makes me cringe, but I ignore it.

Otto’s face morphs from one of concern to one of panic.

“Ray, come on.” His words hitch. Is he crying? I don’t know.

“Ray, come here.” I continue forward, toward the lights. They reflect on the water, the still stream Otto and I used to swim in together.

4

His voice fades into the background as the water consumes me.

Bubbles flood my vision, breaking up the iridescent lights. It closes around me, and I breathe out just to watch the lights coalesce. It’s warm, everything is so warm.

It doesn’t take long for the lights to disappear, replaced by a million freckles.

The water darkens. Arms wrap around my waist and pull me up.

Snow spreads across my back as Otto throws me down, gasping and shuddering.

“RAY!” He shouts, staring down at me. “Ray, why would you even do that?! What were you thinking?!”

Stars span out around his head. The lights flickered and danced behind him.

They looked fuzzy now, and I blinked away water, watching Otto’s face morph between anger and worry. He’s always been the type to worry about everything. The world spins. Everything is too hot.

“We’re going inside,” his voice is firm and determined. I know how weak he is, yet somehow he picks me up anyway. I try to stand, but my legs feel like lead. He doesn’t seem to care.

The lights swim in my vision. A crow flits across them, darting through an array of blue and purple that illuminate his wings. Waves of warm air hit my face, the lights replaced by a pale yellow. Otto sets me against the couch, anger replaced by a warm concern.

Outside, the lights fade away. I close my eyes.

5

Ignored

A Celestial Dance

Taylor Van Ornum, Grade 9

Emelia Beulen, Grade 9

When I talk to you You put me on mute Because listening to me Is just too hard to do They say, “It goes in one ear and comes out the other” But I do not aim to bother The people who couldn't care less So I stay quiet And I stress I stress because My voice is unheard You can’t hear a thing Not even a word So I stay Ignored So I sit And I wait Not by choice Not by fate But because If I utter one sound My voice is turned down Like a remote Because I am not a person But a choice I am a sound But not a voice And I’m no Shakespeare But I think I should choose “To be or not to be” Constantly Ignored

The stars swirl; they love to twirl; they put you in a whirl.

The planets sway; deciding they’d like to play; sweeping everything with them away.

They mix in a dance; enough to put you in a trance; watching as they start to prance.

They loop around the sky; without an actual why; they just long to fly.

They leave bright ribbons in their wake that the North can’t and doesn’t want to shake, bouncing off the poles and frozen lake.

Leaving behind a Borealis, building up an expanse of palace; none think of harm or malice.

We watch them go by in the evening sky; any of our known rules, they just deny.

So next time you see them flip, give you stagnant telescope a vertical tip, and you’ll see a show before, away again, they slip.

6

Now Free Henry Wasmuth, Grade 12 Lately, I've been super anxious To escape the past as the future's waiting The highs you gave me two years ago, I'm still chasing ‘Built a hospital to repair my soul, and I've been patient Singing birds, rushing rivers, palm trees, and mountains Bright blue skies, no clouds in sight, I love our surroundings Too many sins by me, and you haven't come around since My heart was ripped from my body. When I met you, I found it Now it's looking like it's time to heal the pain I tried to forgive myself, but I still feel the same It's true when you're here you always shield the rain I'm putting all my hope in what is real to change I sealed my fate, you ran away Maybe you'll come back someday I'm in a maze When I see your face Are you here to stay?

It's clear as day You will steer away As tears rain from your face What's there to say? These choices I've made It's the price I have to pay But...

You smile…

The sun pierces through the storm...

I have been reborn.

Everything I was dreaming for Your wings...

They spread...

You take me right back home My soul has just been freed Prosperity seems guaranteed

7

The Banquet Andrew Rozek, Grade 11 “The banquet is set to begin in fifteen minutes, your majesty,” I stared up at the queen’s towering figure. “The butterfly liaison council will be arriving shortly.”

“I am aware, but thank you, Borle,” she slid white gloves over her unnatural black claws and adjusted her regal red cloak in the mirror. “Shall we make our way to the banquet hall and ensure everything is in order?”

“Yes, your majesty,” holding open the door, I let the queen walk into the hall and promptly followed. Her steps, made in tall, black boots, were made gracefully but with great purpose, and I had trouble keeping up, what with my short stature.

“I pray they have the flowers in perfect order, I truly didn’t purchase them for nothing,” the queen scowled. “Milkweed runs for an unnecessarily high price, but I wouldn’t risk presenting them with anything they would find inferior.”

“I understand that butterflies are very particular, but flowers are their main food source.

Would the event truly be less successful if we presented them with something other than milkweed?”

I pulled out the notepad kept in the pocket of my cloak, ready to write down what the queen would say next. I’m always ready to write down any new information I learn, considering officials in the castle always have questions for me about the latest information about the queen or more recently, butterflies.

“Milkweed is their favorite. It is a real delicacy among their people, but the royal family is especially fond of it. Using these flowers will give us the highest chance of success, and it is quite ironic if their fondness of this delicacy is what gets them killed, is it not?”

“I guess so, your majesty,” I wrote down what the queen had told me, keeping it safe for a later date when I would inevitably be asked about the banquet.

“You still sound so unsure. Why is that?” Despite being used to questions, a shiver was sent throughout my wings at this one.

“Ah, well…” I innocently raised my gaze up to the queen. “I understand that it is far too late to cancel the event, and that is not my request by any means, but your majesty, do you still truly believe that this is the best way to go about things?”

“Are you questioning my authority?” the queen stopped in her tracks, menacingly staring down at me, bright red eyes boring into mine.

“Not at all, your majesty!” I raised my hands defensively. “Just…it is certainly true that they’ve committed very cruel acts against our people, however, I am not fond of the idea of war.”

“If they killed our people, do they not deserve to die also? How many moths have died to the hands of those wretched butterflies? How are we to avenge our dead if they don’t experience a similar level of cruelty? How are we to avenge the moths that perished due to their disgusting experiments if we never fight back?” Her tone was cold and condescending, cutting through the silence of the long, red hallway.

“I understand where you’re coming from, Queen Anastera, I just wish-” “There’s nothing for you to wish, Borle. Your job is to assist me, not to make decisions for me. What I say is final, and you are to attend this banquet and see it through. Is that clear?”

8

“...Yes, your majesty.”

We resumed walking, faster than we had been before. We strolled past various guards clad in traditionally grey and red moth armor, assuming their positions to prepare for the banquet. I nodded at them cordially, both of us mutually aware of the event about to occur.

The queen kept her gaze straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge anything but the thought of our approaching destination.

I checked my watch. “Ten minutes, your majesty.”

“Yes, Borle.”

The silence between us was only bearable due to the chatter coming from the nearing banquet hall. The doors were already open, and the queen and I walked in, taking in the sights.

To say that the banquet hall was enticing is an understatement. The large mahogany table and red tablecloth were as it always was, a staple of moth culture, but the wallpaper had been replaced. It was now adorned with a vibrant floral pattern, complimenting the beautiful flowers on the table. The plants were indeed milkweed, in enticing shades of purple, red and white, their sweet fragrance permeating the large hall.

“Your majesty!” one of many event coordinators ran up to the queen, bowing as he reached us. “Are the preparations satisfactory?”

“Incredibly,” the queen smiled, showing off her unnatural fangs, pleased. “Even I am beginning to salivate at the smell of these flowers. I’m grateful the butterflies were willing to give us a product of such high quality.”

“Only the best for you, your majesty,” the coordinator smiled softly, careful not to show too much emotion in front of the queen. “We’ll be heading out shortly. The banquet is sure to be successful.”

“Thank you,” the queen nodded and turned back to me. “Do you need a final explanation of our plans for this banquet?”

“No, I’m aware, your majesty,” I shook my head. “I feel bad that these extravagant decorations and arrangements have to be ruined. I know it’s made to appeal to the culture and inclinations of a butterfly, but as you mentioned, even I find myself enticed.”

“I’m sure it will look better once their blood has stained everything.”

The queen stepped away from me after that, starting conversation with the guards that were set to stand around her while the banquet occurred. Left aimless, I checked my watch again.

Five minutes.

The butterfly liaison council should have entered the castle and began their escort to the banquet hall by now. They’d be here any second and the banquet would begin.

I looked over at the queen, reluctant to head back to her side. The longer I looked at her, the more uneasy I felt. Her antennae were far too perky and her wings far too relaxed, considering what was about to occur. Her tall, slender figure combined with her claw and fang modifications turned her into a terrifying creature, a creature capable of tearing apart the flesh of whoever it so pleased.

I looked down at my own hands, clad in red and black gloves, no claws to be found.

It is true that I trust the queen with everything within me. I similarly trust that however this plays out is how things were meant to be. And yet, I cannot shake the feeling that starting a war is not

9

the answer. After all of the cruelties the butterflies committed to our people, why must we be cruel back? Why must we pit everyone against each other and kill more innocent bugs?

I stared at the queen again before glancing back to my own trembling, clawless fingers.

Maybe this is just the nature of war.

“Everyone, I suggest we take our seats. The butterfly liaison council is approaching this room as we speak, and the more orderly and presentable we are, the better we will be able to take them by surprise,” the queen announced. I approached and took my seat next to her, the rest of the room following in silence.

The queen waited for everyone to take their places before speaking again, “I know many of you are quite excited for this banquet, but we all must strike together so as to ensure our success.

Signals will be given by my guards and I, and please recall the code words and terms that we have previously discussed, as I will be using them to pace us.”

A small murmur of agreement rose around the table. “Perfect. I trust that everyone here will perform spectacularly, and that our feast tonight shall be truly extravagant. Small chatter is allowed from here on out, but please fall silent as soon as the butterfly liaison council arrives and the banquet begins. Thank you.”

The rest of the moths at the table clapped quietly before delving into their own conversations.

I checked my watch a final time.

“Two minutes, your majesty.”

“Yes, Borle,” the queen smiled at me. I cringed at the sight of her fangs. “I know I’ve been harsh, and while I am requiring you to attend this banquet, I truly will not give you any penalty if you choose not to participate, especially considering you are not as equipped as the rest of us.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” I smiled back, trying to ignore the numbness in my fingers and the dryness of my tongue on my dull teeth. “I understand that it is important for our people, but this is not something I can do with my own hands.”

“I understand,” the queen set her hand over mine on the table. Nausea came over me at the feeling of her claws on my innocent hands, knowing the destruction they could commit. “Even without this banquet on your record, you are still invaluable in fighting the war we are about to initiate.”

“That I hope for, your majesty.”

“Yes, however, let us hush. I sense them approaching,” the queen’s antennae stood up, tall above her already towering height. “I am aware that your hands will be free of blood tonight, Borle, but please.

Never forget the moth.”

The butterfly liaison council came in through the door at that moment, escorted by guards, and our queen was quick to welcome them. “Salutations! Please take a seat wherever you see fit.

I promise we don’t bite.”

10

Kettle Moraine Lutheran High School Title

Student’s Name

Page Numbers

Sweet Lucid Dreams

Xaley Hajdu

12

Lucid Dreaming Again?

Xaley Hajdu

12

Nightmarish Lucid Dream

Xaley Hajdu

12

The Strange Dream

Xaley Hajdu

12

The Room in the Back

Xaley Hajdu

13

The Comfort of Sunsets and Stars

Kelsey Stelter

13-14

The Beyond

Emerson Draheim

15

Painted Fate

Emerson Draheim

15

The Ocean

Emerson Draheim

15

True Friendship

Emerson Draheim

15

The Web

Emerson Draheim

15

Professional

Regan Kramer

16-18

Let Me Be True

Haven Rhode

19

Chapter One: Aalia Grace

Cassandra Meyer

20-21

11

Sweet Lucid Dreams Xaley Hajdu, Grade 9

Nightmarish Lucid Dream Xaley Hajdu, Grade 9

Soon I will be dreaming But I will know that I am dreaming After I fall deep asleep.

I have thought of a great idea To have a lucid dream I will think of something scary.

My mind is somehow awake But I am asleep.

I can think and feel, smell and move.

I know that I should not do this Because it can make my fun dream Into a nightmare scheme.

I think of where I am But not here; I’m just in bed asleep Then I wake up.

Ok, here I go into my dream Now I think of it, and it will appear behind me Oh no, my lucid dream is a nightmarish reality.

Lucid Dreaming Again?

Xaley Hajdu, Grade 9 Ok, this time I will get it right.

I will try and fall asleep tonight It won’t be hard; I’ve done it before

The Strange Dream Xaley Hajdu, Grade 9 There is a new dream that I want That I have at least heard of: A lucid dream.

This time I try the wild kind Of getting into a lucid dream I need to lay still for thirty min Yes, I made it in but don’t be too excited then I might try to wake again But this time I won’t mess up.

12

The Room in the Back Xaley Hajdu, Grade 9 I wonder where I was. I know the levels of this place, but this one seems new. I don’t know how I got here. Let me think back…

I was watching TV on the couch in the living room. I paused the show, which happened to be Phineas and Ferb, to go to the bathroom. Before I got to the door, I fell. I did not trip. I just sank into the floor very quickly.

I passed through many levels as I fell. I never knew the feeling of going to the backrooms. I saw the OG level, level zero. The beige room with walls everywhere. But that is not where I landed. I passed at least six levels.

Personally, I do not know every level’s number and where you can get to it or no-clip.

Some levels allow you to clip to other levels by doing something certain. Like the infinite stair level, you have to climb a certain number of stairs and jump down, and you will find yourself in a different level.

I made it to the Pool rooms. This level is my favorite.

The Comfort of Sunsets and Stars Kelsey Stelter, Grade 11 A sunset with purples, pinks, and blues swung throughout the sky with a mystical feeling of lightness. To look at that sky and see those colors and know that the stars would come was the only way to escape the feeling of nothingness. It always seemed to come and go quickly the sunset. And once it was gone, there was no telling of what I would do. The thinness of my patience and the thinness of my breath made it seem like I was walking on a tightrope between sanity and death. The encapsulating and calculated feeling of coldness among those I had once called friends drenched me in sorrow.

I glanced once more at the fading colors and retreating sun before focusing on the words and pictures in front of me. Pictures of those whom I had known for years- who never seemed to bother to see the fears that I had blatantly expressed. Those who took notice but decided against their better judgment to stay quiet. I took out the razor and started to slash, words becoming voices in my head. Tears formed but never came out as I took out my guilt on my wrists.

They betrayed me, and I knew it. The stars knew it and the moon knew it and even the purple, blues, and pinks all knew it. I was alone with no one to go to. I was paper that no one knew of, discarded in a corner to collect dust. I was shattered glass in an abandoned building, waiting for someone to step on me, knowing that I would hurt them, not worrying about my own pain. I was a statue in a museum, only there for those to look at, but never to know, never to touch, never to understand. And I was alone.

13

I wept with no tears, trying to mask the sounds of my sobs. Those who hurt me would never know which one plunged the dagger into my heart. They did not hear me crying out Et tu Brutus? They turned their backs on the crime scene they committed. But I was there, and I could not forget. I was the corpse they so carefully positioned to make it look like it was my fault. They were the ones to tell the rumors that I was the one who did it, so they didn’t have to consider what they had just done. And I was alone. So alone.

I look once again to the dimmed sky- now seemingly twilight. I take a deep breath, the tears now streaming down silently. I am alone. Alone and lost.

Like the petals of a flower, I will bloom and wilt.

An endless cycle.

Yet, I always come back, No matter if I try or not, Because my gardeners will come And keep me growing.

Keep me healthy.

Keep me alive.

For even if my petals fall, My stem stays green, And my roots stay intact.

Thank you, my gardeners.

14

The Beyond Emerson Draheim, Grade 9

The Ocean Emerson Draheim, Grade 9

Up on the lonely hill You view your new reality Life left this place long ago Your life was misery.

You’ve moved on, Now words cannot describe the feeling Of the great beyond.

A peaceful flow, The gulfweed is slowly rocking.

The fish swim peacefully around me.

The sun provides a soft glow The coral is softly interlocking.

The stillness of the sea, The mystery of its beauty, Its silence has brought peace to me, As the world goes dark…

Painted Fate Emerson Draheim, Grade 9 An empty canvas, A veil of whiteness, The brush of fate is working, Stroking, Blushing.

True art is never understood.

The times change, And so will its appearance.

Your fate remains the same, Empty and Shapeless

The Web Emerson Draheim, Grade 9 A calm day, The peace in the air, Still as the grass lay, As I stay completely aware, Of the web I stitched myself.

The wind blows cold on a winter's day.

Enough to kill even the strongest souls.

I am yet unfazed, I sit, Roasting on the coals, Of my fiery lies.

True Friendship Emerson Draheim, Grade 9 There is a snowy day outside.

People lay frozen on the streets.

He keeps telling me to proceed.

How many people must I defeat?

No. This wasn’t me.

He’s the one who made them bleed.

“Proceed.”

I can’t disagree.

I can’t be free.

I’m trapped in this broken dream.

I can't resist his deceit.

I can’t escape this scheme.

I’ll just lay down in the snow And go to sleep.

15

Professional Regan Kramer, Grade 10 Isn’t it weird how Death and Santa are held to such different standards?

Death is always depicted as this solitary figure, the one and only Grim Reaper holding his scythe and concealing his face with a hood.

Santa has his elves, Mrs. Claus, and the reindeer. A jolly old man surrounded by helpers.

Granted, Santa has a slightly bigger job. Something Death rather likes to gripe about. To reach 300 million houses in one night, compared to Death’s measly 150,000 souls a day? Sure, of course Santa needs helpers for all of that.

But all of the…you know…dying? It was starting to take a toll.

So Death got his own helper.

He hired me way back in ‘14. Picking up poor Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s soul was a little too much to bear, I guess. Not to mention everyone else that died after. I’m pretty sure he was planning for me to be a short-term hire, just for four or five years while humanity figured everything out.

Spoiler alert: humanity did not, in fact, figure everything out.

And here I am. In a hospital waiting room. That’s where I spend a good amount of my time, really. Death prefers to handle the sudden stuff, the random tragedies. It feels like the victims deserve more of a professional air.

I mean, I’m not sure how much more professional I can get. I’ve had over a century of experience. I’ve got it handled by now.

Ease them out of their body. Reassure them a little. Be a strong yet comforting presence as they die.

Honestly, I’m not quite sure why he doesn’t trust me.

“Look here, you insolent little soul. It’s your time to go. You’re not the one calling the shots here, I am. So get out of your body right now, have a little moment staring wistfully at your parents and all that crap, then die!”

I glare at the faintly carmine soul that’s sitting up stubbornly as her body sleeps.

The soul folds her arms. “I don’t know who the heck you are. I don’t have a problem with Death being a woman or whatever, but I don’t think the uniform is working.” She looks me up and down with a curl to her upper lip.

I look down at my flowy, gray robe. Timeless. Classic. Calm.

Fine. It doesn’t have a hood. And it has pockets. And it’s fuzzy. And it looks a little bit like a bathrobe.

I take all the comfort I can get. Don’t judge me.

16

I point at her. “It’s. Your. Time! Death says so! So let’s get a move on. You can process your emotions once you die.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh? So you’re not Death? Or are you just doing the obnoxious I’m-talking-in-third-person-about-myself thing?”

“I’m his assistant.” I jut my chin, daring her to cross me.

The soul rolls her eyes and snorts. She actually snorts. Audibly. “Absolutely not, then.

I’ve been fighting too hard for too long to die because Death’s grumpy assistant says I have to.

I’m fourteen years old, I have my whole life ahead of me, and I’m not going.”

I take a deep breath. You’re a professional. You’re a professional.

“Are you still talking to me?” The soul is staring at me.

I’m not used to keeping my thoughts in my head.

“Look, I’ll give you a minute or two. You can compose yourself. You can, I don’t know, wake up and say a few goodbyes. But then it’s time to go.” I storm out of the room. Silently, of course. I’m not a physical being. It’s a little dissatisfying, but it’ll have to do.

Standing directly outside the room is another girl.

She looks a lot like the wildly irritating carmine soul, but slightly older. And she doesn’t have the same fierceness in her eyes. There’s a weariness instead. A pain.

She closes her eyes and presses her forehead to the wall.

Being Death’s assistant—I should ask him if I can be elevated to partner— I clearly know by now that hospital walls are germ-infested. I’m about to give her pale azure soul a little nudge away when she whispers, “Please…please don’t let her die. This is the only thing I’ll ever beg for. Please don’t let my little sister die.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve been physically impacted by anything, but her pleas seem to hit me in the gut.

I am a girl standing the exact same way.

Outside the room that my sister is in, listening to the sounds of Death coming.

Hacking coughs, whimpers, restless movement, yes, instead of heartless beeps and the occasional buzz, but they feel the same. They are the same.

I knot my hands in the skirt of my dress and wish, plead, pray—it all mixes in my mind—that she’d stay.

My only sister.

My best friend.

The two of us, against a harsh world with sorrowful doctors and hopeless looks and the murmur of a weak, inevitable, “I’m sorry.”

The carmine soul is standing now, but she’s definitely not ready to go.

17

Her translucent hands clutch into fists as I come back in. “Look here, Death’s secretary—” “Stay,” I snap. “Also, I’m Death’s partner, not his secretary!” I decide that I’m taking the title change whether he likes it or not. “And clearly you’re too much trouble to take right now.”

“I’m not going to die?” Suddenly the soul’s face doesn’t look sharp and ready to battle. It looks like the face of a girl who has been pushing against this day for years.

“I mean, eventually.” I shrug. “But not now.” I move to leave, back to the waiting room, but I pause. “I heard about a new clinical trial going on for patients in your age group. I’d ask your doctor about it. Seems like a good fit.”

“How much time do you spend here?” The soul wrinkles her nose, slowly drifting back towards her prone body.

“Too much.” I look at the soul. A fierce color. Full of passion. Full of…life. “Just ask. From one sister to another.”

Death isn’t super happy about me not taking the girl.

He’s never super happy, to be fair. It’s a hard job to be happy in.

But I don’t care that much.

I’ve been working this job for a hundred years, after all. Really, I’m a professional.

18

Let Me Be Free Haven Rhode, Grade 12 Let me be free Free to do what I feel And not to write the things you Want me to say You tie me down Like a captive in a chair Of simplicity and pain Tell me to be creative Tell me to find meaning In senseless words And empty phrases Let me let go.

I want to tell you how I feel I want to let the words flow Like water cuts through stone Forge your emotions anew And open your eyes to my world But here you sit And here you lecture Telling me what I do wrong When all I can hear Is my heart Telling me that to defy the rules To write who I am To leave the directions behind Is right

19

Chapter One: Aalia Grace Cassandra Meyer, Grade 12 1,825 days.

5 years.

That’s how long I have been in this awful place. It has been five years since I was sentenced for a crime I didn’t commit—well, the treason I had committed, but not the murder.

And now the fear that any minute a guard could walk into my cell to take me to my death haunted me. But maybe death, in this case, was a mercy, maybe it was my ticket to freedom.

As I etched my final mark with a spoon I managed to hide; all I thought about were my friends and how I would never see them again. I would never laugh with Malik, never joke around with Kalvin, and never share secrets with Phoenix. Those ten years of friendship were gone, because of what I had done, because I screwed up.

The slot at the bottom of the metal door clicked, and I knew that my first meal of the day was coming through. My stomach stopped protesting at the stale bread, cold beans, and raw, sometimes rotting vegetables. Each bite took a piece of energy from me as I forced myself to swallow the horrible texture of each food, but I had to eat it if I wanted to survive, at least that is what I told myself, tried to convince myself. But today that determination was low; today marked five years, which meant my death was coming at any time.

As I swallowed the last mushy carrot, I heard the lock on my door click. It was the first time in 1,825 days that I heard that lock click; the last time was when they had pushed me in here and shut the door forever. But now it was making noise and then the door opened and light filtered in. I resisted the urge to back up against the wall and cringe from the brightness. I would not let them win, not let them see how broken and shattered I was inside.

A man stepped into the room. He was tall with short dark hair and oozed power and confidence. He had a sword strapped to his side, and when he stepped in front of the light and revealed his face I did my best not to show any reactions.

He must have noticed my surprised look because he smirked at me. “Hello, Aalia Grace,” his voice was deeper than it was five years ago, but then again he had grown into a man, while I had grown into nothing but skin and bones. “Remember me?”

“Yes,” I whispered, suddenly feeling very small as he towered over me.

“Do you?” he asks with a menacing smile. He was toying with me and enjoying it.

“Your Prince Cadelle,” I tried to raise my voice above a whisper, trying to sound strong, but I failed. If only I had the strength to smack the smirk off his face.

“Do you know why I am here, Aalia Grace?” he asked. I hated the way my name sounded on his tongue.

20

I raised my voice and forced myself to sound stronger. “It’s been 1,825 days. Which means it’s been five years.” He glanced over at the tallies etched into the wall. “You’re here to bring me to my death.”

He chuckled. “Looks like the guards didn’t do well to keep track of what came in and out of your cell,” he comments at the tallies and then looks at the spoon.

I didn’t comment; I didn’t have the energy to come up with some sort of comeback.

He grabbed me and pushed me up against the wall, my back to him. I felt the shackles go onto my wrists and tried not to fight against them.

“Time to pay for my brother's death,” he whispered into my ear before guiding me into the hall. We made so many turns it was hard to keep track, not that it mattered; I wouldn’t be stepping back into this place. A part of me was happy about it, relieved as he led me through the giant front doors and out to the fenced in courtyard of the Davarian Prison.

I saw the stake. It was tall and metal, and was set in the middle of a stone platform so that everyone could watch me as I burned to my death. I was going to die just as my parents did, by fire.

I thought of them as Prince Cadelle walked us closer to the platform. I thought of my friends and fellow Mages.

I had failed them all. And now I was going to pay for it.

21

Kewaskum High School Title

Student’s Name

Page Numbers

Your Faceless Memory

Kellan Schutz

24-25

Out Empty Grave

Kellan Schutz

25

A Fish and Its Bowl

Kellan Shutz

26

“Set Myself on Fire”

Grace Monte

26

‘Poems’

Shiri Zechlin

27

Things I Say

Lauren Rettler

27

Still Love

Lauren Rettler

27

Funny How Things Change

Lauren Rettler

27

The Paradox of Trust

Lauren Rettler

28

Beauty

Lauren Rettler

28

Moths

Grace Monte

28

(Untitled)

Macy Reysen

28

Written In the Stars

Macy Reysen

28

A Dying Fate

Hailey Adams

29

Ill

Alexa Nowak

29-30

Silent but BOLD

Anonymous

31-32

Lifeguard

Mckenzie Uniewski

32

Artists with Halos

Mckenzie Uniewski

32

Trauma

Mckenzie Uniewski

32

22

Independence

Mckenzie Uniewski

32

Overloving Heart

Mckenzie Uniewski

32

Humanity’s Heart

Maddie Boelte

32

Mosaic

Maddie Boelte

33

Cold Caresses

Maddie Boelte

33

Night Skies

Maddie Boelte

33

I Am Here Now

Haley Honeyager

33

To My Dear Parents from Your Happy Girl

Mia Winkler

33

Loving Someone You Know is Bad For You

Mia Winkler

33

23

Your Faceless Memory Kellan Schutz, Grade 10 I miss you.

You have no face and no color.

Just a vague feeling of comfort that surrounds your memory.

You have no age, though I suppose you would be as old as I am. I need you to tell me because my memory fails me.

Recesses after lunch spent climbing up the castle that was the school’s jungle gym.

Warning shouts at us to stay out of the ditch beside the school, because the teacher couldn’t see us.

Dirty, scraped knees on the blacktop after throwing a ball around with the atrocious aim only a five or six-year-old could have.

But though you have no face, I cannot remember you.

Maybe I can remember your long black hair.

Or was it short?

Did you love sports like I did? Did you love art like I did? Where are you now?

Where is your face in the memories that bring me so much comfort from my childhood?

Where nothing mattered but if it rained, and if we could play outside after lunch or not.

Were you my friend?

Or are you just the one person my memory spared?

Do you remember picking large yellow dandelions from the side of the pavement? Only to toss them away, down onto that same concrete when we had to go inside. Where they were stepped on till flattened, akin to a beautiful flower, delicately placed in the pages of a book.

Did we sit together in class learning our ABCs and how to count?

Did I ever see you elsewhere? At a sport? Were you on my team?

Were you on the other team? Or were you in the stands?

Did you care when I moved away? Or did you move on like I did? I need you to tell me because my memory fails me. Because our young minds couldn’t remember anything at the time. Because our memories are so clouded that I can’t remember your face, your hair, or the rest of you, just as you can’t remember me, we are just a vague, comforting memory to each other, lost forever into the depths of our minds.

24

I don’t know why I care for you, it’s been almost a decade since I’ve felt your presence, I don’t know where, or who you are now. And I doubt I will ever find out. Maybe we pass by each other on the street, or at the store, perhaps you will start going to my school. But we will not know each other, you are a stranger to me now.

You are faceless and so am I. Were you real?

Or were you an imaginary friend my mind came up with to make me seem not as alone as a child?

To give me friends?

Is that why I can’t remember you?

I long for a friendship as true as yours, while I know we will never again meet the same.

Do you miss me, too?

Out Empty Grave Kellan Schutz, Grade 10 I was thirteen when I first killed her.

I will stand at her grave when no one will because no one else knows she died.

There is no wood casket to be buried, just an empty hole in the ground where the ashes of her memory lie.

There are no flowers, no lilies held in grieving palms, just my fists full of long grass, torn from the ground, that will be thrown into the grave where she is buried.

There is no tombstone, just a rock with our name messily written into it with the ashes of a fire once flurried.

She and I both do not want anything to be remembered of her.

I was thirteen when I first killed her.

We did not want to be reminded of her, but others have often mistaken me for her, comparing me to her, she is not me.

We did not want to be reminded of her, but there is a picture of her with long hair and a sweatshirt outside during a cold night.

We did not want to be reminded of her, yet every time I look in the mirror all I see is her tired face staring back at mine.

I cannot escape her death, and she cannot escape my life. No matter how much she wants to be forgotten, and no matter how much I take her place.

I am thirteen, when I first kill her

25

A Fish and Its Bowl Kellan Schutz, Grade 10 I am always out of my bowl.

I do not want to be.

Yet, they place me in a tank with cold water, and flat rocks at the bottom. Other fish rest at the bottom, or slowly tap away at the glass I dream of returning to my bowl, small pebbles lining the floor, and room temperature.

They pluck me from my bowl and place me elsewhere.

I do not want to leave my bowl.

Yet I am placed into a tank of warm water with sharp pointed rocks at the bottom, the other fish swim fast, and in odd formations.

I wish I could return to my bowl, perfection cannot be beaten.

They take me from my bowl and throw me somewhere different, but not.

The water is room temperature, and the floor has small, round pebbles. It’s like home, but it’s not. I hate it, if it’s not home I hate it.

My bowl is better, safer, and though it might not have a filter, it’s growing algae, and there’s no one else, it’s my bowl, and it’s safer

“Set Myself On Fire” Grace Monte, Grade 10: All dialogue is lyrics from ‘Set Myself On Fire’ by Taeyeon A girl who reflects on her break up and why it happened.

“It's okay even if I’m alone,” I said to myself looking in the mirror. I knew it was a lie. “You’re not even like that, you feel lonely all the time, dont lie to me”. I said to myself, unable to understand the meaning of why this had happened. I then tried to think of excuses for why I did what I did. I looked into the mirror and spoke, “You had a lot of things going on, so you needed time. That's why you did that, I understand. I know you very well.” I looked at myself and felt pure disappointment. Tears formed in my eyes as I spoke to myself. “Are you trying to run away?” For I knew I was telling myself lies in order to run away from the true me. I spoke. “Can’t you even see me?” I knew the answer for I couldnt even look at myself. I ask myself, “Was I that bad to you?” After saying this, I then realized I was pitying myself. I spoke. “I don't want to hear it. I realized I was making excuses. I thought about how he seemed much more happy now that I was gone. I spoke. “More brightly you laugh; it's sad.” I begin to reminisce in the memories of being with him. I spoke. “Being beside you, it's still far away.” I then realized I wanted him back. I spoke. “What can I do to hold you?” I would do anything. I looked into my eyes as I stared into the mirror. I spoke. “Should I set myself on fire?” I knew it was wrong of me, but I longed to be close to him once again like before. I spoke. “So that we won't get far away from each other.” I tried to make reasons for this want and desire. I spoke. “We should hold on tight to eachother” Yes! This was perfect, we could go back to the happy us we were before. I spoke. “I’ll warm up your cold heart.” I knew what I had to do. I speak one last time to myself, looking into the mirror. “I'm gonna set myself on fire” I look at my face, into my eyes, I see the fire embers glow. I knew it was my destiny, what had to be done. I step away from the mirror, fore I'm going to set myself on fire.

26

‘Poems’ Shiri Zechlin, Grade 12 Dilapidatedold barn, but oh so well loved.

Useful to the end. ~ A field of yellow flowers.

Soft grass beneath, and starry sky above.

A forest rustles nearby, a wolf’s mournful cry, and I am safe once again. ~ a wolf stands at the gate. it reminds you of things you have loved, and things you have lost. neither of you are the same. a wolf runs next to you. a spare glance, and he is gone. the absence is narrow, but you feel it all the same. there is a wolf at the gate to your heart.

It looks at you, and you look at it. a tear slips down your face, and a tear falls from the wolf’s eye. there is a wolf and when you look into its eyes, you realize that wolf is you.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

things i say Lauren Rettler, Grade 11 i say i don’t care, but i always do. smiling, i say hello, even if i don’t like you. i say i know when i’m really not sure, and i say i’m fine when i’m feeling insecure. i say it’s okay when it’s really not, and i say i can handle it, even when it’s a lot. i say i feel the same way, even though i don’t. i say i promise i will, but honestly, i probably won’t. i say all of these things, things i don’t even mean. but what i say doesn’t matter, as long as the things i think stay unseen. still love.

Lauren Rettler, Grade 11 when you loved someone, but you still love them: the moment when love is still, frozen, unmoving. when you still love someone, your love is still. funny how things change Lauren Rettler, Grade 11 funny how things change, especially from now to last fall. the person i trusted the most now i don’t talk to at all. and the one guy who had broken my heart, i can’t begin to imagine the two of us apart. funny how things change, like winter to spring. and who can tell now what the future will bring.

27

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

the paradox of trust Lauren Rettler, Grade 11 trust is a funny thing. earned in forever, gone in an instant. just when you think you might have it, turns out it was never there in the first place. beauty Lauren Rettler, Grade 11 i’ve always wanted to own items of beauty: pretty clothes, pretty jewelry. because after all, everyone always wants something they do not have.

●

(Untitled):

●

Macy Reysen, Grade 12

● ●

I wish I could live inside a flower.

●

Always smelling sweet,

●

and never ever sour.

●

Inside a flower,

●

it’d make time fly,

●

and an entire day

●

would only feel like an hour.

●

Sure I’d be alone,

●

but to me that’s home.

●

It’ll keep me safe and secure,

●

hidden away from all that’s unsure.

● ●

Written in The Stars:

●

Macy Reysen, Grade 12

● ●

Your love to me is like the Sun,

●

Warm and safe,

●

Never coming undone.

●

To me you are

Moths Grace Monte, Grade 10

●

Like the brightest shining star.

●

My love for you runs deep like outer

When I look at you I get moths in my stomach For the butterflies Are dead.

●

space, It’s something that can never be replaced. ●

You and I are like the planets spinning in orbit,

●

Forever together

●

We swore by it.

28

A Dying Fate Hailey Adams, Grade 11 (Poem inspired by ‘Because Death Could Not Stop for Me’ by Emily Dickinson and ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’ by Flannery O’Connor) There are times when death is deserved, and there are times when it is not. Either way, there is a time when everyone must die; it just depends on whether it's a punishment for wrongdoing or a peaceful break from a busy life. Often, you can determine a deserved death from a peaceful one if it is welcoming and not rushed, a beautiful thing really, full of closure from a life well-lived, or if it were rushed, painful, and rather unpleasant, then it must be well deserved. If one can not admit one's own sins and selfishness, they are the very people they claim not to be, and death will not welcome them but rather teach them a lesson, and it is then that death is not beautiful, something you should fear. It becomes as beautiful as the insides of every person it takes, and if one is ugly underneath the skin, death becomes hideous too.

Because death sees the truth, even through a good-looking person; they see more than a glance, seeing straight through them, and though others may not punish them, death will make them get what they truly deserve.

Ill Alexa Nowack, Grade 11 It was 2038 when the Protection of Healthy Persons Act passed. To protect those previously treated for the virus plaguing the streets, the Act decreed that all of the Healthy should be relocated to designated ‘Safe Zones’. Whilst infected people were sent to the areas abandoned by the Healthy and left empty by those who’d passed during the first breakout.

The population of the United States had declined by nearly a third over three years. The government decided to try and salvage what was left of the country. The Sick were left with nothing, placed into random towns across the Midwest. They weren’t allowed to leave, they weren’t allowed to contact any Healthy relatives, and they had to stay until they died.

‘An Ethical Nightmare’ was what one Journalist named the Act. Of course, most people agreed, especially with treatment readily available to those who had half a million dollars to cough up. But when it came down to protecting their families over randos on the street, nobody dared oppose it. They wanted to be rid of the sickness one way or another.

Eventually, men and women dressed in protective gear and gas masks began rounding up those who couldn’t afford treatment. They were carted away forcibly while the Healthy stared down from their penthouses, trying not to feel too bad for the sickly. They’d be dead soon.

29

I didn’t put up a fight when the round-up faction came for my spot on the corner of Bunsen Avenue and Willard Way. Our tents were torn apart and searched for anyone who might try to escape their fate.

They didn’t even bother to verify whether we were actually ill yet.

Either way, it was an excuse to rid the streets of us.

The journey was hours long. We only stopped once, yet we were not allowed off. We were herded into large trucks meant for hauling cargo.

Still, we were only allotted enough room to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. It was so dark that I could not even see the face of the man standing beside me. The darkness was filled with sounds of coughing and sniffling. At one point a young girl began to weep while her mother shushed her. No one dared utter a word beyond that.

We were now a country of Sick Zones and Safe Zones. The Healthy had started building walls around their cities when the round-ups began. I had read a newspaper article describing the plan for the sick zones earlier in the month.

The author described the ghost towns that had been designated just for us. The areas of the first breakouts that hadn’t been treatable. The emptiness stretched for miles from coast to coast, those who had survived were quickly evacuated to a place where they could receive the newly discovered treatment.

The towns had all become overgrown by three years without upkeep.

No one had dared set foot in any of them for fear that they would immediately be infected with the original strain of the virus. As if it were any different than what infected the people who roamed the streets.

When I stepped out of the truck, everything was quiet. Besides the sounds of people breathing and the soft rumble of the truck engine, there was nothing. No music, no lawnmowers, no construction, no talking, nothing. The miles of neighborhoods and businesses had once been bustling with families and people going every which way. I couldn’t help but imagine who had once loved the street I was standing on. So many people had existed in the place that was now our prison.

Death from the sickness was slow and painful. Mucus would gradually fill your lungs until you could no longer breathe. Some lasted longer than others.

All I could do was wait for death to overtake me. Until the news of an escape came.

30

Silent But BOLD Anonymous, Grade 10 It's been 2 weeks. 4 different license plates are plugged into my notes app on my phone. It's been a rough summer already. She’s gone, once again I'm not surprised. Why can't I be enough for her? Why am I getting treated like this? Do I deserve this? For a short answer, No. I am trembling on my bed, with my phone in my hand. I thought to myself This is the time to do it, she is gone. What can she do? I googled the non-emergency police number and dialed it into my phone. As it rings my heart starts to race, feeling the blood pump through my veins and ringing in my ear. The more the rushing thoughts come in, the more I realize I can't do it.

“Hello, Non-emergency line-” the sweet lady's voice on the other side of the line cut off, the red button was pushed immediately.

I didn't even let her finish her introduction. What if she could have helped or done something to help me. I just ruined it. I started to contemplate if what I did was the right choice. While I was lost in thought the door slams and I hear a groggy man's voice from downstairs. Who has she brought home this time? I am deeply scared for my brother and myself, all these substances around me. All these unsafe people. All these people that haven't said anything. Why? Even when they visually see what is wrong and they don't try to stop it in any way. Are they on her side?

The next day I am sitting on the couch downstairs. She asked if she could use my bike and I replied “no.” As she goes to walk off she says to me with a piercing look in her eye “Well why, It's not like you even go outside or help around the house, you don't even appreciate me” I felt numb as I replied shortly and dryly “Fine” she was going to use my bike anyway. Why did she even ask? She knew this question was going to end in an argument either way.

The next day she asked me if I would like to go to Target. I was thrown off, because of how our last conversation went. Normally she never forgets our fights, bringing them up for weeks and reminding me how I upset her. Rubbing it in like alcohol on a fresh torn wound.

I replied “Yeah, that would be nice.” As I walked downstairs he was sitting there on the couch, with his head bowed between his arms that rested on his knees. I can tell something is off, he looks upset, jealous, exhausted, or maybe even worried.

“Where do you think you're going?” he demands.

“Im going to take Aubrie to Target.” she responds. As I walk out of the door and towards the car, I take a deep breath. Getting in the car and out of the small town onto the freeway is scary in itself. I am grabbing the wheel every 47 seconds, she dosses off again and again. I am tempted to wake her up with a slap behind her head. Like she has done to me, maybe it will make her act better or make the right decision. Learning to drive from the passenger seat isn't the best. We are on the road for about 15 minutes, We pass Target and my gut drops. Of course. Passing the same signs over again “Good Hope '' There isn't any hope in this area, they are contradicting the town name in itself. She is on the phone with “Smiley” while passing the numbered streets.

She tells me, “Look for 87th street” I quietly respond “Okay” At the stop sign a car rolls next to us. I can't help but notice that they are getting pushed from the car behind them. I don't understand why, Other than being out of gas or a low battery.

“Aubrie!” she caught my attention with her terrifying scream. She then curses at me for a good while, just to make sure I know how she feels and what I am to her.

“Ugh! South not North” she starts to throw a tantrum. Deep down I want to jump out of the car and run. Anywhere, just run. Far far away from her, and far away from the fear I carry with me everyday on my back. I stay there quietly with no response, as we come to a sharp stop, she gets out and slams the door.

I opened my notes app again… 4Y6-P7V8. When will it stop? When will she get clean for me, and my brother. Or just for herself. My anger is filling up inside of me ready to burst. I wonder what would happen, how strong would I be? I can't see the inside of the car at all, I'm not so sure how many people are in that car. I have come to believe she is not well, she is not capable of taking care of herself, especially her own two kids.

As she stumbles her way back to the car, I prepared myself by collecting all of my thoughts. The hinges creek as she opens the driver's door. My seat belt has been on since she left, I'm ready to leave,

31

can't she tell. I want to go home now more than going to Target with her after her run. The drive home is not much more than I expected, she didn't hesitate to slow down or mention Target at all. We are 15 minutes from my room, my wrecked home, my unsafe-safe place for now. She has gained back some attention span once we are pulling in the parking lot. I can't tell if this is what she thinks or understands what a clean refreshed mindset should be. I get out of the car with no excitement to face the overloading amount of questions I know he is about to ask. Where are your bags? Did you lie to me? As soon as I step into the door I march up the stairs to my bedroom. Taking a leap into my bed, to finally feel comfort and relaxation. No worries, that is until the yelling starts again. I can’t tell how long this will go on for. I am hoping neither one of them comes up barging into my room asking for me to supply evidence or back up their alibi. I should’ve just walked down the road after I got out of the car to the police station. I should have finished that phone call, They would have already had a tip all they needed to do was locate the guy and follow him. Sometimes I wish I had a different mom, a different life. Or just to start over, maybe I can prevent her from falling into addiction. What am I even saying it's not my fault, it's not my fault for hanging up and not reporting those license plates. I didn't get asked to be put into this life, or to go through these types of situations as a young child. My mind is completely split.

lifeguard Mckenzie Uniewski, Grade 10

Independence Mckenzie Uniewski, Grade 10

I drown in my thoughts while you watch Sitting afloat

I have my fathers rage And my mothers ability to walk away I've learned This is a very lonely combination

artists with halos Mckenzie Uniewski, Grade 10

Overloving heart Mckenzie Uniewski, Grade 10

Skies bleed of violent pinks and oranges Engulfed by an explosion of clouds She awakes us To beauty

I killed a plant once because i overwatered it Lord I worry love is violence

Trauma Mckenzie Uniewski, Grade 10

Humanity’s Heart Maddie Boelte, Grade 12

I've carried the weight of the world on my shoulders Since i was a little girl I watched everything i love die or leave And got back up on my own As though it didn't Ruin me

Listen carefully, kid There are certain things that you will have to go through Situations that nobody is ever ready for Yet you have to remember it’s not by closing your heart That you get through them Yet, it’s the other way around Never lose your humanity

32

Mosaic Maddie Boelte, Grade 12 Deep down it matters more than you’ll understand You gave me shards of glowing stained glass that I store deep in the depths of my soul And when solitude takes my by the hand I look at these fragments and remind myself There’s more to fight for

Cold Caresses Maddie Boelte, Grade 12 I’ve been gone for too long Leaving you in the bitter cold and empty caresses Meeting the sad body of my soul lover I have a lot to be forgiven for

Night Skies Maddie Boelte, Grade 12 You are my starlight So tonight I’ll make you transform into Nebulous Storms Stars And Galaxies

I Am Here Now Haley Honeyager, Grade 10

To my dear parents from your happy girl Mia Winkler, Grade 12

I am here now The soothing music comforts my ears The blinding lights take control of my eyes Leading them onto the next part of life The hope that used to evade my heart like a plague Rests now in my soul comfortably My heart beating to the rhythm I choose I am my own Nobody will ever take that from me again People will continue to come and go in my life But I will be with me forever So I learn to love me Let go of all the guilt and shame that wraps my body Let go of all the times I've been shattered After a certain amount of times The glue overtakes the glass Leaving something brand new I am brand new I am here now

wipe your tears cover your heart keep your mouth shut don't let it out just so they don't hear their own daughter falling apart

Loving Someone You Know is Bad for You Mia Winkler, Grade 12 I think now it is only a mere thought.

I miss the laughter you brought.

I miss your smile, I haven't seen it in awhile.

I still crave your sweet lies.

Crave for your eyes to look into mine.

33

Plymouth High School Title

Student’s Name

Page Numbers

Empty Vessels

Julian Arbuckle

35

Drowning

Alivia Blanke

35

I’m Fine

Alivia Blanke

36

You Say

Violet Wiess

37

Trapped

Cierra Pierrenger

38

Miss Maya

Kylie TerMaat

38

Pet Poem

Kiley Schultz

39

Moving On

Kiley Schultz

39

Little Brother

Dana Smith

40

Unexpected Goodbye

Austin Gilbert

41

Masquerade Ball

Austin Gilbert

41

Pawned Off

Austin Gilbert

41

Bleeding Ink

Austin Gilbert

42

34

Empty Vessels Julian Arbuckle, Grade 11 I couldn’t bear to see people waste their life away like how I ruptured my own.

I filled those empty vessels with words that gave their existence meaning.

They wanted to experience what was left of life. because of what I did.

I hate thinking about how some people never got their guardian angel.

I hate thinking about how some people never listen to others who care.

I hate thinking about how some people never give themselves a second opportunity, till it is far too late.

Empty vessels that never got to reach their destination.

Empty vessels that gave up too soon.

Drowning Alivia Blanke, Grade 12 I think the hardest part about growing up Is realizing that everyone is drowning.

Drowning in their hardships, In their own thoughts.

I think it’s even harder to realize There’s nothing we can do to help keep everyone afloat; People are going to sink And yet the only thing we can do is fight.

Fight for the small chance of air When your lungs and body are too tired to keep going.

Draining the water is quite possibly the hardest thing of all Seeing as how we’re all downing And while some may only be in a few inches Or some even a few feet Drowning is drowning no matter how deep.

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I’m Fine Alivia Blanke, Grade 12 I'm fine.

Sometimes it feels like the only person who cares is you And I like to pretend that I'm okay with that truth But it's not an easy process.

It’s hard to find peace with the fact that the only person who believes in you...

Is yourself.

Even on the days you don’t.

And I'm so tired of hearing the meaningless “I’m here for you” and “It will get better” Those words are released from a being who has never experienced such a disease.

They may never know how we feel.

They may never know what it’s like to force yourself to peel from your bed.

Or to pick up the brush and tend to yourself.

What it's like to not eat for hours on end Or even take a sip of water.

All because you just feel like you don't need it.

And you couldn’t be bothered trying to force yourself Not with the only energy you may have.

So you sleep.

And sleep.

And sleep.

Because sleep is the only thing that helps subside the pain Until you finally realize…

Sleep doesn’t help the mentally tired.

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You Say Violet Wiess, Grade 11 You say this, you say that

Is it just me?

All I hear is the tapping on the glass

Or are you crying like a freak?

As I see your presence,

Does your heart stop when my name drops?

The glow

You say nothing

the essence

For the first time

You say put me on depressants

Nothing

You say I'm not good enough

All I do now is lay in bed and cry

You say I'm a hater

Remember that night?

that I'm a traitor

I need to be okay

Time wasn't in our favor

I now have to fight

I'm a failure

To get you out of my mind

I'll see you later

Now I have to hit rewind

I hope it's a never

You have nothing to say?

You say I've messed up this time

I'm embarrassed that I used to have you in my life

What about all we did in our life?

Out of 8 billion people

I'm filled with guilt

I wish someone could help me

What about the future we built?

All because you said those words

All for nothing?

You stopped saying them

You say I'm disgusting

I'm going through changes

I'm adjusting

Could you show me some patience?

I'm alive

How come I'm so different?

I just need to revive

Maybe it's just a phase

Myself

I'm okay...

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Trapped Cierra Pierrenger, Grade 11 Infinite darkness takes over your soul Invisible wound, no need to show Inescapable sorrow consumes you whole Inexplicable emptiness, no one will know Illusions of hope start to fade away Inside the abyss, you're forced to stay

Miss Maya Kylie TerMaat, Grade 9 I love my daughter, she's everything to me. I remember the day she was born. She weighed only 4 pounds and 11 ounces. I got to hold her for the first time as I watched her bright blue eyes look up at me, filled with joy and curiosity. I was excited and scared, but I knew from then on it would be Maya and I against the world. My mother never supported me because I was only 16 when I had her, but that’s why I give so much to Maya. So she knows what it’s like to be loved and cared for unconditionally.

Today is her 7th birthday, the sky clear and blue. Waking up, I struggled to get out of bed. It felt like 100 pound weights were tied to my arms and legs. After bringing myself to get up, I went to the store to get flowers and a cupcake for the special day. I make sure to choose the prettiest lilies and head to the park. I sit down in a spot shaded by a Weeping Willow, the sound of children playing in the distance, and think about calling my mom.

I don’t. Instead, I decide to walk some more, to clear my mind. I pass a mother and her daughter, smiling and laughing, and ask where they’re headed. The mom says that it’s her daughter's birthday and they are on their way to celebrate with ice cream. The young girl asks me about the flowers, so I tell her that I’m on my way to surprise my daughter for her birthday. The mom suggests that our girls play sometime at the park and I agree. Suddenly, I decide I’m in a hurry and find myself on my way to see Maya. The music in the car seemed blaring loud, so I quickly turn it off and realize I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles are white. I loosen my grip.

After I arrive, I step out of my blue Volkswagen, grab the flowers from the back seat, and walk to find her.

“Happy Birthday, Angel!”, I say as I sit and lay the flowers next to her grave. I set the cupcake down, grab a candle and lighter, and sing happy birthday, hoping the wind doesn’t pick up. I sit with Maya for the rest of the day.

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Pet Poem Kiley Schultz, Grade 11 Though we must now part, thank you for being here since the start.

I hope those above enjoy you well, for the ones down here We welcome hell.

You taught me how to receive love, Now I must grieve your loss.

Though I may not do it alone, This house no longer is home.

Home for me was with you, now it can’t be true.

Moving On Kiley Schultz, Grade 11

How I wish we had more time,

Never underestimate the feeling of loss.

Yet here we are at the end of our line.

It will come from seemingly nowhere,

I pray to meet once more,

Just to strike you where it hurts most.

no matter how long I have to wait ashore.

You can build up plenty of walls but,

Now that you’re safe up above,

That one strike will tear it to the ground.

I give you all my love.

Loss is heartache, fear, and conflict,

No heart will heal mine,

All rolled into a very stubborn thing.

not till we have more time.

Try to move on, they say.

Now I have to say goodbye,

As if your heart hasn’t been ripped from your aching chest.

though my tears will never be dry.

As if you don’t see them wherever you look.

All it takes is that one instance to make you feel shook.

The memories all flash at once.

You can’t breathe or think.

You can only feel the weight of it all.

You remember the last time of every event.

Then all you feel is spent.

For your eyes shed no more tears.

Your heartache dulls.

And you finally see the end.

It may take weeks or months but, one day that feeling will come.

Until then you treasure them with love.

Once that day has come you will be ready to move on.

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Little Brother Dana Smith, Grade 12 I was born on June 22nd, 2006.

My mother was only 17, A very young age to have children.

In the result of this she dropped out, Put no effort into graduating.

I’m now 17 years old and I think about this.

It scares me that this could happen to me as well, But I'll be careful.

I do not wish to become my mother.

It was not my fault I was put into this world, When she didn’t even know how to pay taxes.

Even though she was young she wanted another, And so you were created little brother.

You would’ve only been around one year younger.

I would’ve guided you in this tough world, Help you with multiplication, Read to you, Embraced you if our parents ever fought, Congratulate you on your achievements.

Help you create a life of your own.

But I'm glad you didn’t make it.

You see, This world is a lot.

It’s not your fault our mother went insane after your death.

It's not your fault our parents split.

I do not blame you for such.

It was already tough for them, And mother was already nutty.

If you had lived, You would’ve seen how harsh people can be, The terrible change that society has become.

I didn't want to see you suffer, I didn't want to see you upset.

It didn’t help that with genetics, We would’ve been screwed.

Mental illnesses linger between both our bloods, I didn’t want you to suffer with that too.

So I'm glad you didnt make it, I'll take the bullets for you.

You'll live in my heart, And not deal with terrible people.

I'll shield you in this world.

You can see all these events, From the perspective of my eyes.

Where I'll take your place, So you do not get hurt.

After all, You’re my little brother, And the older siblings must protect the younger.

I’m sure you would’ve agreed with me, Shelby.

40

Unexpected Goodbye

Masquerade Ball

Austin Gilbert, Grade 12

Austin Gilbert, Grade 12

the thought never crossed that maybe, it would’ve been the last time. the last time I held your hand, ran my hands through your hair, kissed your lips, hugged your physique. maybe if I weren’t so naive. but how could I think that this would end so promptly, so abruptly? if I would have used my head, then maybe i would’ve hugged you a little harder. or pressed my lips against yours a little longer.

I sit here and ponder, while a hundred miles away, you dream of new horizons. horizons excluding me.

I sit here and ponder if you still love me, like I love you.

a masquerade, or deception if you will. created to blur one’s vision, persistent in concealing the truth. words spoken only if you were to omit, would you discover the true nature. no, this isn’t true love, it’s the truth about love

Pawned Off Austin Gilbert, Grade 12 you once told me, this wasn’t how it was gonna be, that i wouldn’t be, where i am right now, writing melancholy poetry, about you. yet here i sit, wondering what you’re up to because at one point i knew. you’d keep me in the loop, knowing i meant something to you, or maybe that’s just it, while you meant something to me, did i ever mean anything to you? or was i just another pawn, in your game of chess? another dispensable piece, you’d be willing, to lose.

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Bleeding Ink Austin Gilbert, Grade 12 When I write, I think about you.

The mesmerizing flow Of my rapidly drying pen.

My paper marked with my tears On those somber nights The dreams from those nights Will be a new subject which I write Followed by a river of tears Resulting from you My paper becoming plastered by pen While my thoughts flow.

My memories have a startling flow When I look back to those nights And sketch them out in pen I begin to write The only thing in my head is you While I reside in a puddle of tears By the end, I have no more tears Due to the heavy flow That ensues when I remember you And how we used to spend those nights You’re the reason I write And go through pen after pen I am a convicted murderer of a pen Washing their inky blood with my tears I kill them while I write Maintaining a steady flow I have an accomplice every night It is you.

Innocent are you?

But you were the subject of the pen.

Repeated every night You are my wasted tears The reason I let my eyes flow And the reason I write

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Ripon High School Title

Student’s Name

Page Numbers

The Last Green Leaf

Madilyn Kasuboski

44

The Lady and Her Shoes

Madilyn Kasuboski

44

Mr. Moon

Madilyn Kasuboski

44

Fading Soul

Hayley Smith

45

The Passion

Zane Meyer

45

Untitled

Gwen Bartlett

45

A Man and His Rats

Donovan Norton

46-47

A Starving Artist

Finn Kelly

47

Encouragement

Ella DeVries

48

We Can Always

Rei Rubach

48

Untitled, Unmastered

J.J. Gronin

49

New Beginnings

Hayley Smith

50-51

Judging a Crow’s Caw

Finn Kelly

52

Validation

Amorah Brown

53

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Madilyn Kasuboski Grade 12

“The Lady and Her Shoes”

She woke up this morning in her place “The Last Green Leaf” Just like everyday, she put her shoes on the same, unlaced.

Numbing.

Her neighbors told her her shoes were lame, The frigid cold is freezing my veins, but she loved them plain.

The new season has hit and things are changing Once she was one with the shoes she went from I, the last green leaf, attempt to hang on. door to door.

I’m lonely and my friends are nowhere to be The lady was unsure of what she was truly found looking for.

They have fallen and lost their color In a huff she’d head back home.

I am surrounded by blankness Still in her shoes; she felt alone.

I wonder if I will ever be warm again of if this is it They carried her away till she got bored Ice and wind tries to take me away but I hold on And soon her tears filled the shoes as they poured.

I’m freezing but still here hoping my color The shoes couldn’t contain all her sorrow, remains despite it all.

So they broke, unable to carry her into tomorrow.

Each time the cold hits it burns, Making me lose time in preparation for what comes next What happens when I’m no longer green?

Will they look at me the same Its cold and I feel my veins freezing, It’s happening more and more My vivid color is fading and there's nothing I can do.

I am surrounded by blankness.

“Mr. Moon” I noticed you amongst all the stars, Your faint glow is what drew me to you.

I couldn’t help but look up at you Whenever you smiled at me, I smiled back.

Oh how your light led the way everywhere I went.

It was you who guided me through the darkness, The cold darkness that crept up on me time and time again.

The storm moves rapidly, But your dim brightness kept me aglow.

And here it is to take me away.

I wish I could say that you were the only moon I My green is gone and I am blank I have become defenseless and let the storm take it looked at.

But it was you in the end that I saw dancing all among the stars Now I’m colorless, surrounded by blankness and A trance would wash over me, waiting for you to lonely, shine brighter, and you did.

Despite it all.

Perhaps it was my doing, but I’d like to stay modest.

For you’re the only moon that's helped me escape.

And for that I thank you.

44

Hayley Smith Grade 11

Gwen Bartlett Grade 9 “Fading Soul”

The birds sing sweetly Running after a fading soul crying Feels like knives cutting through your fragile heart The flowers bloom I step outside to smell The anger is released from inside out The lovely spring perfume.

Every step makes the hope feel desperate I'm sitting under the skies of despair The trees turn green Two souls, two passings, two crushing nightmares The sky is bright blue I fear the worst for my now broken heart This is spring My breathing is colder as days pass by I know that’s true.

Feeling only despair I leave my tears my tears sit in a box floating away Old doors show and good memories shine through Turned away refusing past memories Lying down on cold hard grounds fearing him Fearing he who takes them to early on Zane Meyer Grade 12 “The Passion” The passion is fading What was once a fruitful companionship, Now is withering So much potential to be something special, Now it appears ordinary Soon the cycle will restart Like. Love. Fade.

Just like it always does

The clouds turn gray The wind fiercely blows What happened to the spring I always knew?

The rain pours The people have a fright Where is the sun That always shines bright?

The rain has stopped The wind has slowed Alas, my old pal, The sun, is shown The heat strikes my face I begin to think in my mind What happened to the spring smell I can no longer find?

Spring is gone It is no longer seen I only see summer The new season queen.

45

Flash Fiction and 100 Word Stories Donovan Norton Grade 12 A Man and His Rats He wandered aimlessly through the house seeking any form of distraction to avoid his inevitable doom. Why did it feel like he was nearing the gallows? He couldn't have known, but he truly was. The end of us all is a fickle thing, prone to change and manipulation by the factors of our lives, and the lives of those around us. He was keenly aware of this, and he went out of his way to avoid such a fate.

Boarding his windows, never leaving the house, and feeding on only the rats in the floorboards and water drippings from the ceiling were only some of the strategies he used to prolong his wretched life. However, he continued to feel the end calling for him. Like a whisper on the wind or a chill in the air he felt it.

Knew it. Sensed it. Would all his preparation be for not? He pondered this as the floorboards creaking under his feet sent shivers through the decrepit shack he called home. He wandered from room to room, searching for something, anything to stop this crippling anxiety that festered in his mind, pulling at the fibers of his being and tearing him away from any shred of sanity. His castle of glass had cracked long ago, and his attempts to live in the shattered remains were failing. He breathed in, keenly aware of putrid lungs, decayed and molded by the filth he lived in. He let out a shuddering exhale, keenly aware of the pressure this put on his chest, no more than skin and bone under his vermin-fed lifestyle. He stopped. The floorboards cracked. Soon enough, he fell through.

Down in the basement he awoke. Keenly aware of a rat nibbling on his blackened toe, he sat up quickly and searched for any sign of his impending doom. He saw none. Triumphant, he stood, keenly aware of his pulse, struggling fruitlessly to bring his molasses-like blood to his extremities. He felt it fail, and the numbness that had come to color his arms and legs remained. This in turn was a product of the endless winter nights he fought through without protection against the elements. He walked forward, keenly aware of the rat's scurries as it ran from his frostbitten toes. He watches his surroundings intently, searching, feeling, for any escape from the decayed basement. The rat ran around his feet, seemingly oblivious to the danger he posed, or perhaps ignorant of it. Whatever the case, this rats carelessness led to its demise. He had had his fill of the rat's skittering, and so he plucked the creature off of the floor with his atrophied hands and shoved it into his awaiting mouth. He was keenly aware of the rat's futile struggles to escape the warm death of his maw, however he had experience with these struggles and knew that a quick bite into the lower neck of the animal would end its struggles before it could cause damage to

46

the inside of his mouth. He ended it's life just as easily as he opened the door to the stairwell of the basement, as he continued his slow return to the first floor of the building. He was keenly aware of the light coming from the top of the broken old stairs, signaling the ending of the cold night in favor of another day of fear and pain at the hands of this godless house; left abandoned for years before he chose it to be his muse, for it was just as broken as him. He was keenly aware, as he climbed the stars, of the holes and loose boards that made his journey more perilous than necessary, however this awareness would not reach to what was at the top of the stairs. His keen vision had failed to notice that the rats he had previously made his food had decided to fight back. They fell on him as he stood on the stairs, unaware of his helplessness at his coming demise. First, they took his extremities, for escape was one thing he could not be allowed to do. Next, they took his eyes, as a mercy, for the coming feast would be more horrible than anything he had seen. Finally, after long hours of torment at the hands of the beasts, they took his brain. For his hubris would likely be a feast for the small animals, ignorant of the cycle of life and death that they were destined to uphold.

Finn Kelly Grade 12 “A Starving Artist” The only light source in the room was the string lights glowing a toasty warm color, illuminating everything in the room with its soft glow. Windows soaked in the night’s darkness. Tarps lined the floors with dripped paint. Tables and bookshelves around the room, with scattered books, papers, and what seemed to be finished paintings. They were incredibly beautiful yet abstract, mostly self portraits but clearly showing their own insecurities. Those weren’t the center of the attention though, there was a canvas, center of the room. Unsettlingly blank, because there was no longer an artist to fill that empty space.

47

Ella DeVries Grade 12 “Encouragement” Her blood clung to my body like oil. Made me feel as if my skin was sizzling, like acid had splattered out of her. Impact from the ground had made her skin tear away and bones poked out in every direction, eerily like branches.

EMT’s announced death on impact, but anyone could’ve guessed that.

The cops draped something over her shattered body to shield young eyes, but we were already witnesses of the few seconds she was breathing before she was suffocated by concrete and gravity.

“What’s happened?” my ‘friend’ asked behind me.

Smirking, I said proudly, “She finally flew.”

Rei Rubach Grade 12 “We Can Always” Slouched before me, her face was mangled and raw. She was hardly recognizable with the way her eyes had fallen out, leaving empty eye sockets that bore into your soul if you met her gaze. Her nose was missing as well, a dark sunken cavern in the middle of her face. I didn’t bother trying to search for either of them, as it was likely a hungry thief had already gotten to them first. Chunks of flesh and sweat dripped down onto her old sweater that hung tight against her wide torso. The hand-sewn once-white doves seemed sad and afraid, probably because they’d be a pain in the butt to wash once I stole the sweater from her. The exposed bone of her arms threatened to disconnect from her body, as they drooped far below her useless, deformed knees.

The sight was something my nephew had never seen before; he was only three years old as of this fall. It’s something no child should have to see, really. The heartbreaking sight of seeing someone you once loved so dearly slowly decaying away. He hugged my leg as one of her arms finally gave way, emitting a wet slush as it landed against the ground. I held my hands over his cheeks and wiped away the warm salty tears.

“It’s okay little buddy, we can always make another one next winter.”

48

J.J. Cronin Grade 12 “Untitled, Unmastered” There once was a man that died from peasantry and betrayal, a man who did nothing but be lonely and perform good deeds. He sometimes wondered what being in the world was like. To see the Light was something……that he wished he never saw. Not from dread or horror but from a sense of disappointment.

To them, it was like He was ungrateful to be in the Divine Palace upon Them.

So He was then casted out, exiled for eternity for something that wasn’t like them. So He was casted into the Abyss, a place so far from the Divine Palace that the Moon was closer to the Stars. He fell so far that even The Tyrant of the Abyss couldn’t catch him. So he descended into the Endless Void. He descended so far from the Abyss that He somehow was…even more lonely than when he was alive. He didn’t know how long He spent down there but long enough that He felt…reborn. Born from the eternal black, molded by its existential cruelty.

But one day, the King spoke to Him. It said to climb, to climb where even They couldn't reach.

Not even with their envy and hatred could withstand His apex should He choose to climb. The King had given Him its dying blessing in order to achieve its longing ambition as well as His revenge. As the King became ash, He waited. Waiting for something that would inevitably arrive. He waited and waited for what seemed like eons out of eons. Waited so long that He morphed into the manifestation of the Void itself. His features evolved into black and endless, filled with dread and death.

After so long, He became It. It decided to climb, like it told It to do so long ago. It climbed but not out; rather it went with It. It climbed what seems endless but took only two days to achieve, something seemingly impossible to do. It arrived in the Abyss to which It marched to the Throne. Along, The Path forged along the Hell dressed in night. It soon arrived at the Throne and challenged the Tyrant to a trial by combat. The Tyrant laughed until It devoured the Generals with such ease made the Tyrant submit. But that caused no delay for mercy as It executed the Tyrant and ate the shredded remains. It took the Throne and ruled for such length it made It’s exile in the eternal darkness look insignificant.

After waiting for such countless eons spent, It climbed once more. They only had a miniscule amount of time before It climbed above. They launched a brutal assault that only delayed It’s climb for an eon yet It continued. It then climbed on top of the Divine Palace and climbed further, above and beyond the Heavens. Climbing past the Galaxy then the Stars and finally the Universe. It achieved the impossible and beat the unstoppable. It achieved enlightenment so righteous the Lord would sing only the greatest of hymns.

Yet It felt nothing. After such labors to achieve the Eternal Light and the Eternal Black, It felt numb; so much so he felt pity for Them. So It went to achieve another impossible task–gain humanity. So It gracefully glided down to Earth–It’s homeland. It walked among the home It once had and observed.

Compassion and empathy yet hatred and apathy It consumed and so It achieved–after a millennium–what it was looking for. He remembered what it was like to be in the world. To be untitled to history, unmastered to reality.

49

Hayley Smith Grade 11

“New Beginnings” I groaned as my ballet shoes started to hurt my feet. “I can’t do this anymore; my feet hurt so bad.” I add.

“Honey, it's alright. You’ll be fine,” Mom replies. I look out the window and see a tall dark-haired man with fair skin standing next to what seems to be a blue Suzuki GSX-R1000. I quickly pry my shoes off and run to the bathroom to change into my t-shirt and ripped jeans.

“Mom, I'm going to go get some fresh air!” I call out throwing my tennis shoes on. I open the door and the guy looks at me, “Hey, sorry to bother you, but I noticed your motorcycle,” I say smiling nervously, “It's a Suzuki GSX-R1000 right?”

He smiles, “It's fine I’m just waiting for my little sister. She's out with a friend, she does ballet."He looks around then back at me. “And yeah it is a Suzuki GSX-R1000. How’d you know?”

I look around. “You alright?” he asks.

I look up at him with tears in my eyes, “I love motorcycles so much, although my mom forces me to do ballet because she thinks girls can’t ride.” I say as I stand there trying to stay strong, “Girls can ride, your mom doesn’t know what she's talking about;” he said as he grabbed a pen from his pocket and started writing something on a scratch paper he had in his pocket. “Here, text me if you feel alone.” He gives me a quick smile and gets on his bike.

“Hey wait, what's your name and how old are you?” I quickly ask, he looks at me, “Kolby, and I'm 18. What's your name?” he replies, “I’m Scarlett, and I'm 17.” I say smiling. He revs his bike and quickly drives off. I tuck his number in my pocket and go back in the dance studio, “I thought you were only going out for fresh air, but you were talking to him?” my mom growled, “You know motorcycles are dangerous, plus girls don’t ride.” She grabbed my wrist; I tried slipping out of her grip but it didn’t work the first few times but eventually I got out of her grip.

Weeks went by and Kolby and I talked everyday at the local park about absolutely nothing. One day I sat on my bed wondering what it would be like if we went to Grandad Bluff today, soaking up the picturesque view of the LaCrosse skyline below. I was about to message him but then my mom called to me from downstairs, “Scarlett we have to go to the dance studio.” I sigh and grab my ballet bag, throw it on my back, and walk out of my room with every step feeling like sharp knives in my right foot. As we arrived at the dance studio, I could barely stand on my right foot, but my mom kept dragging me in the doorway of the dance studio. I looked around to see a parked motorcycle.

“Kolby…” I cried under my breath. Kolby walked out from around the corner and saw my mom dragging me, “Leave her alone!” he said, grabbing me away from my mom. He helped me to the bench next to the dance studio and grabbed his phone out of his pocket dialing the police, “Scarlett are you okay?” he asked me, “My right foot feels like knives are cutting deep into it.” I said as my mom tried pushing Kolby away so she could get to me.

50

“No ma'am, she clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you.” Kolby said while picking me up, and he put me on his bike before another word was said. He got on and gave me his helmet, I put it on and wrapped my arms around him as he started the bike and drove off. Around ten or so minutes later we arrived at the hospital. Kolby parked near the front he got off and gently picked me up carrying me inside.

As a doctor came to see if we were okay, Kolby placed me on a nearby chair in the waiting room. I tried not putting much pressure on it and staying off it as it hurt so much.

“Kolby?” I looked around as he grabbed my hand, “Right here.” He looked at me and smiled so gently and I smiled back grabbing the stuffed bear that was next to me. “Do you like it?” Kolby asked, “I love it.” I say sitting up looking around the room trying to look for whatever I was trying to look for. Kolby walked around the room and he started singing something I recognized, “That's a good song.” I said, laughing as he stopped and laughed, “Yeah, it's my favorite song,” he added as he walked towards me but just as he grabbed my hand my mother burst into the room screaming bloody murderer. I looked at her, horrified, not knowing what to do or say anymore, but Kolby pressed the button that calls the nurses. Seconds later “What's going on?” a nurse said.

“That's my daughter!” she said trying to calm herself down, they let her stay as she was staying calm. I was in the hospital as the doctors were trying to figure out why my foot hurt so bad. Turns out my mom forced me to dance on a ripped tendon on my right foot. The doctors said I had to go into surgery as soon as possible to get it sewn back together. Around an hour after talking to my mother, seeing what had to be done, everyone decided surgery was the best option, so they put me under anesthesia for what seemed to be forever. When they were done, my foot was wrapped up and I had ended up with a headache during the surgery and all I wanted to do was cry. Kolby was nowhere to be found, “Where's my friend?” I asked the doctor who was finishing with whatever he was doing, “We sent him out of the room for a few hours, is there something wrong?” the doctor asked. I looked at the doctor and then at the door to the hall, “I want him in here.” I said trying not to cry but that's all I could do, I started looking around for Kolby. He was my only support right now and I needed him. I heard footsteps. It was a doctor.“Can I leave the hospital?” I asked the doctor as he walked in “Yeah, you can leave,” the doctor replied as he gave me a piece of paper that had the medical record for me when he left the room.

“My mother walked in looking so ashamed. As she was waiting in the waiting room along with Kolby “I'm so sorry for everything I put you through, I didn’t know how much pain it was causing you.”

She walked over to me and gave me a hug. I told her it was okay since she apologized, but I was still going to be staying with Kolby for however long I needed so I could process everything.

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Finn Kelly Grade 12 Judging a Crow’s Caw This I believe is an important topic. In my mind, “Judging a crow’s caw” starts with the popular idea that a crow’s calls are laughs. They may sound like a laugh but that is not what they do. They are simply living and communicating with one another, yet are often misunderstood because of this. Even looked down upon or hated, seen as nothing but large winged rats, scary or killers like portrayed in the media. But they are smarter than most think, and certainly not killers, but are beautiful and helpful. I will be referring this to mental health, whether it be disabilities, illnesses, or overall emotions and mental struggles in people.

Not everyone has the same voice, I am not referring to the sound, frequency, or tone of their voice but what they have to say. In our past we have completely disregarded each other's mental health claiming them to be insane and having put them in asylums. I am not saying that things have not changed, because they have. There are now more safer places and options for people who struggle like mental hospitals, therapy, and medications. Yet I have still noticed that even now after all these things people are still not educated. Believing the hospitals are for those who are insane, so people begin to fear going there or dealing with people who have been there. They give these people strange looks or speaking words about them out loud under their breath believing that these people are not listening.

Another thing is that I distinctly remember the most recent deep conversation about my mother who had passed away only a couple years ago to my grandparents. I could tell they were uneducated, blaming her mental illness on drugs and claiming that the doctors were wrong for diagnosing her with depression, bipolar, and schizophrenia. I sat in the car with them on our way to go eat dinner. They told me, “anxiety isn’t that bad and I should just get over it, depression is only because you haven’t called out to god for help enough.” and so on. I began to understand that not everyone believes or understands these things. Meaning even though there has been so much awareness spread, that is simply not enough, and there will be those who refuse to accept this information but there are also those who know very little to nothing about mental health and people who deal with such.

I believe in listening from genuine sources rather than assuming. Ask people around you who have struggled with their mental health. Whether it’s a friend, family member, acquaintance, classmate, or even someone else. Listen from a credible source, not someone who “heard” from someone else because we need to spread the right word. Don’t listen to the rumors.

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Amorah Brown Grade 9 “Validation” For the majority of our lives we search for other’s validation when in reality, we only need to search for our own. To be able to validate ourselves instead of evaluating others is a skill that not a lot of people possess.

As humans, it is our responsibility to take care of the earth, and our responsibility to procreate, thrive, create, break, recreate, and help as much as we can. As humans, men, women, and anyone and everyone else, it is our responsibility to (if we choose) birth children and show them the good in the world, while allowing them to know of the evil in our world. It is not, however, our job to feed our children evil in the same way that we feed them hope, love, and the good of the world.

It is human nature to thrive by growing ourselves while learning at the same time. We thrive by allowing other people to thrive and grow alongside us and learn the same things, if not more, than what we are learning.

As parents, family members, friends, coworkers, acquaintances, community members, and strangers, it is our job to create a safe living environment for our children and create for them and ourselves the ability to have an open mind and strong, caring hearts.

We are born and raised to break barriers, records, and expectations. I believe that we were born to break hatred and unjust, cruel, and unnecessary judgment. I am doing this by sharing my knowledge and opinions and I encourage others to do the same.

Humans, as kids, future parents, and grandparents, are made to recreate the love, joy, happiness, faith, and kindness that we want for ourselves and our kids, and grandkids.

It is both mine and your job as my reader to help our family, friends, strangers, and community to grow both individually and as a whole. I’m asking you to help each other to have open minds towards ourselves, each other, and each other’s ideas.

If you can read this and tell me that you possess 100% of these qualities, then you and everyone else should and will know and continue to teach each other that validation from anyone other than yourself or themselves is unnecessary. On the contrary, if you do not hold these qualities, and if you continue to spread hate, judgment, and continue to bring other people down because you “enjoy it”, I encourage you to read this again, look at your past, look at the difference of who you want to be, who you are, and what other people want you to be. I guarantee that nobody is as far in life as they want to be, but other people’s expectations are far off of what we want ourselves to be. With that said, I want you to be able to understand that your opinion on another person does not matter, my opinion on you does not matter, your parents’, grandparents’, friends’, sisters’, brothers’, cousins’ or everyone else’s opinions on you do not matter. The people in your life are there to help you be who you want to be, not who they want you to be. If you take anything away from my writing, I want it to be this.

Nobody should be talking about other people, nobody should be put down by what others say about them. We are on this planet to make it great, not to hurt those who we think are lower than us. If you see someone putting others down or being put down, do everything in your power to lift others up.

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Waupun High School Title

Student’s Name

Page Numbers

Not All

Ember Wylesky

55

I took an arrow to the heart but that sounds cheesy hu?

Ember Wylesky

55

Seasons

Lydia Aalsma

56

Almost There

Shawn Lang

56

Magic Isn’t Real

Ember Wylesky

57

Fairy to Goblin

Roselyn Martinez

57

Friends from Around

Kei Stidham

58

The Man Who Learned and Taught

Nevaeh Krenz

58

Fast Money

Gabriel Kain

59- 61

General’s Wishes

Kayley Medema

62- 64

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Not all Ember Wylesky - Grade 10

We make a choice to speak aloud, Not all join our crowd.

Someone tells how they were used, Not all others muse.

Not all, Not all That's all we say!

Not all, not all They don't see it gets in the way.

Always and never mean the same, Everyone and no one is part of this game.

Yet the words that mean no harm, Men and women are the ones that arm.

Why cut in? Why stand out?

Sharing our tales is what it's about.

When not all is all we say, All the problems get pushed out of the way.

Sure not all but there's enough, For men and women, it gets tough.

So maybe instead of running to defend, Listen so this can end.

Don’t catcall a girl or boy.

To make a better world that's our ploy.

We may be young but we should learn respect, Through hard work, we’ll gain the desired effect.

I took an arrow to the heart but that sounds cheesy hu?

Ember Wylesky - Grade 10

Green eyes that's what I saw first.

We were young still believing in the magic of a curse.

Blond hair the second saw, Followed by your stance: confident and pristine.

You shot the arrow strung against your bow.

Saw me failing, taught me what you know.

Stood behind me, corrected my aim, And helped me tend wounds to stop others' pain.

Do you realize how you’re seen?

A hero everyone wants as the king or queen.

Why choose me? Why play this part?

Why shoot an arrow through my heart?

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Seasons Lydia Aalsma - Grade 11

Summer, fall, winter, spring.

Passing memories transpire moments of growth and vulnerability; While navigating truth.

A season, A moment, An instant fabricate new feelings to direct my mind.

Feelings that drive Actions; Causing reactions Impacting my strength.

Yet hope; A promise of good to come, It revives me to live.

A purpose, To keeping faith For, as they say, winter can’t last forever.

Almost There Shawn Lang - Grade 11 The wave splashed against my bare skin.

It’s icy water stabbing my flesh.

The goal I have set is only inches away.

Almost there.

The promise of warmth and security is nearly here.

Almost there.

Now here I am, My hands will touch the gravel.

My legs will walk the land that they have never walked.

Almost there.

I will accomplish what my ancestors failed to do.

I will explore what others like me have yet to explore.

Almost there.

I will live a life like many others do.

I will meet new people.

I will get married.

I will have children.

I will have a home.

I will have a job.

I will have everything my ancestors were promised but never got.

Almost there.

Now, as I touch the gravel beneath my feet, I feel the warmth of my ancestors.

I can finally tell them what the others wanted to tell them for so long.

We are…

Finally there.

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Magic isn't real Ember Wylesky - Grade 10 Magic isn’t real.

I’ve heard it all my life.

Magic isn’t real.

Then what caused me all this strife?

Magic isn’t real.

Then why is he gone?

Magic isn’t real.

Like the love I’ve missed for so long.

Magic isn’t real.

Why don't you understand?

Magic isn’t real.

That you shouldn't mess with the force at hand.

Magic is real, And I know it's so.

Magic is real.

It just has no place to go.

So maybe it's magic.

It’s magic?

I’m gonna scream! it's magic?

What do you mean?

It’s magic?

Why do you say such things?

It’s magic?

Unaware of the pain it brings.

It’s magic, But I found a scientific way.

It’s magic!

Why must you act like this every day?

It’s not magic!

At least it shouldn't be....

It’s not magic, But it’s not science as far as I can see.

So maybe it’s both Science and magic.

Science and magic?

Two hearts we both know.

Science and magic...

Trudging like kids in the snow.

Science and magic.

We both want to win.

Science and magic!

But our story still has to begin.

Science is magic!

They’re one and the same.

Science is magic!

It’s like a crazy game.

Magic is science!

With a logic of its own.

Magic is science!

And with that, the final seeds are sown.

Fairy to Goblin Roselyn Martinez - Grade 11 Fairy Mythical Immaculate Protecting Flying Persevering Mushrooms Forest Swamp Underground Taunting Roaming Tricking Mischievous Revolting Goblin

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Friends from Around Kei Stidham - Grade 11

The Man Who Learned and Taught Nevaeh Krenz - Grade 11

I invite new people into my life

A boy will learn how to become a man when he finds out there is a little girl on the way.

with every chance I can get.

No matter who they are, they will certainly change my life.

He will grow into what he expects his little girl to date.

He will teach her to be brave and how to show she is strong.

Meeting my best friend in first grade changed my life.

Meeting the girl who lives an hour away changed my life.

He will show her not to let boys who think they are men walking all over her.

He will be there by her side as she cries over Lolly Pops and boys who wish they were men.

Meeting the people from different states and even countries. They all changed my life.

To meet these people, I had to speak up.

He will be there with her on the first day of school and on her graduation day, hoping that he set her up to succeed.

One day he went from walking with her around the carousel to walking her down the aisle.

I had to take the chance.

I got to experience what others were going through, the happy moments in someone else’s life, the happiness of having friends from everywhere.

But it will not end there because he will share how his little girl changed his life.

How he has seen her cry over lolly pops to boys.

He will look at who she is with and say that she has married a man.

By the end of the speech, she will stand and say she only married a man because she learned from a man.

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Fast Money Gabriel Kain - Grade 12 The road came to a banked turn as Drew’s metallic orange Camaro careened down the highway. A turn he’s made so often in his life. He drifted around the hillside with precision and momentum. His destination was also very familiar, the nearby auto track. He enjoyed the races, and unlike his wealthy friends, he tended not to bet on them. The speed was what mattered to him, not who won these races. If they want to force a bet out of him, he could bet how many shots it would take for Brad to pass out.

A lit cigarette hung just at the right angle out of his mouth onto his dry lips. The smoke curled out his open window, leaving the trail of a burning scent. Drew squinted into the sun as he drove through it, his eyes baking in strain. Driving had become Drew’s favorite thing, one of the only things that he genuinely liked, because it took his mind off of things. It took his mind off of his father, who’d given him most of what he had by now, including the Camaro. But he didn’t mind that. He minded what his father hadn’t given him, which was his savvy for business. Drew had at multiple times tried to start some business or another, each time with either diminishing returns or nothing to show for it. He typically backed out midway through and bolted at the moment a problem struck.

But driving invited a freedom from that doubt and fear, so he drove plenty.

He slowed as he approached the parking lot outside of the track. He rigidly parked near the back of the lot, where he always was on days like today. He smothered his cigarette in the car’s ashtray, before tossing it through the open sunroof of the Volvo next to him.

He walked straight through the gate toward where he liked to sit as he watched.

Unfortunately for Drew, he was not unseen coming inside.

“Hey! Look who’s finally back!” a boisterous voice from across the room said as Drew sat down. Brad had found him.

Brad was a loud-mouth. Brad was a con. Brad was everything that Drew was pissed off at.

For some reason, though, Brad seemed to like Drew. He seemed to think that they were friends or something of the sort, even though they exchanged more money than words these days.

Drew was saved from friendly interaction by Matt, the bookie. Matt was also loud, and kind of a snake in his own right, but Drew didn’t seem as pissed off at him. Well, at least Matt returned on bets, meanwhile, Brad was about a thousand dollars in debt to Drew alone. Matt crashed through the door with a pale wisdom to him. “Number 13 is out, he’s not racing. He said he had ‘food poisoning’ or something like that.” Matt wandered the room to the window out to the track, looking down on the speed demons from a godly height. “That makes it pretty clear to me. Brad, I’m guessing you’re taking 22?”

Brad gave him a stupid look from over the bar. “Of course,” he said.

Drew sat, cross-armed and unmoving. He stared out at the dry track. He knew what question would follow.

“What’s your bet, Drew?” Matt said, turning to where Drew sat.

“Nothing,” Drew said. “Count me out.”

Brad’s brow curled in disgust. “What? Don’t let us down now. This is easy money.” Brad thought he knew what he was talking about, but he really was more lucky than smart.

“Brad, it’s a car. If I liked it so much, I wouldn’t bet on it, I’d buy it. And buy the driver.”

“Exactly, that’s what we’re doing, we’re buying in. It’s like a mini investment in the driver.

After all, he doesn’t pocket any of it. It’s all yours.”

“I’m not a—” “‘I’m not a betting man.’ Shut up and cough up a buck you cheap bastard. I’m putting in a hundred after all.”

Matt scribbled down on a small pad. He looked expectantly at Drew.

“No,” Drew said, “I won’t. You won’t get me this time.”

Brad’s happy face folded into one of disdain at Drew’s words. He took a swig from his drink and stood up directly in front of Drew. “Come on. Commit to something for once, be a man. It’s just

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a little pocket change, and it won’t be gone for long. The fast money passes you by when you don’t try to catch it.”

Drew glared at him and felt cornered. Drew felt a burst of pride bubble inside of him, starting from his gut and rising. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He dropped two hundred dollars in Matt’s hand, not breaking eye contact with Brad.

“Good, good. Should I put you down for 22 as well?”

“87,” Drew said.

“87?”

“87. He’s never lost on a track this dry.”

It was a wager. One Drew couldn’t back out of. Not now.

Railbirds hugged the edges of the pit walls, investigating the track closely. Smog fumigated the above air, filling the sky with a cigar smell. Several racers wandered in circles around their cars, chatting with the pit crews. Matt stumbled up and down the stands with his little pad, collecting names and money. Drew paced about the clubhouse, grumbling to himself. He’d been had. Drew knew what guys like Brad were called. A charlatan.

Brad had fallen asleep on one of the couches, glass in hand. Drew glanced at him nervously, then stared back down at the track, at nobody in particular. He could tell that his brain was kicking his heart right in the aorta, and it deserved it. What did he have to prove? This bet was useless, and Brad had no clue what he was talking about, and he never did.

The drivers lined up with their steeds, forming a slick line across the bend. They all waved to the crowd, who barked approval immediately. They climbed into their vehicles, readying themselves for their daunting sprint. Two drivers, the ones in cars 22 and 87, looked calm and collected, or at least they were better actors than their opponents. They kept their eyes forward, maintaining still consciousness as if reeling in their urge to backpedal and make a hasty escape through the entranced crowd. They held this urge in well, angrily staring down the track before them, like it knew something about their mother. Perhaps they had something more at stake than the others had.

Brad woke with the cars, revving to life with a flagrant hope. Brad scooped up his martini and made a break for the window, now pensive and entirely at attention. He turned to Drew the way a snake turns for a mouse. “This is why I always get in,” Brad sipped his drink before he continued, “Putting in, it’s like I’m in the backseat of that 22. You get to take that victory lap with them, you get to have it to yourself. You see what you’ve missed now? Isn’t it better this way?”

Drew was barely listening to Brad. “No,” he answered. “This isn’t fun. You're not in the backseat, you're chained to the hood.”

Brad raised an eyebrow at this remark but didn’t offer a snide comment of his own, in spite of it being in his nature to do so.

The race would be a short one, eight laps, though it’d feel like eighty. As Matt wrapped up shaking hands and pulling dollars, the attention fully turned to the track. The starter readied himself, staring into his watch. He rigidly raised his pistol to the sky and shot at a cloud as his watch hit five on the dot.

The cars lunged across the stripes of the starting marks, first creeping, then gliding before finally taking off onto the main track. They blurred like paint swatches, burning white into the dark tarmac. The front cars hooked leftward as they began to spill into their initial turn. Number 40 held a slight lead, but as the pole sitter, this was naturally expected to start. Openly navigating towards 40 into second place was number 22, but closing in from further back was 87.

Drew felt beads of cold sweat run across his face. His eyes locked on 87 as if looking away from it would cause it to disappear. Brad was quite a bit louder than Drew was, though he was in the process of sopping up his now spilled martini. He glanced up at Drew and whispered, “We should take this downstairs, watch with the railbirds at the cheapos.” Drew kept his eyes high and muttered to himself.

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

“It’s more exciting!”

“I’m plenty excited for the afternoon.”

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As the cars swung down the back arm of the track, attention turned to the sky for a few moments. The lower clouds had been darkening, and now they showed symptoms of tearing up.

Drew noted this, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He looked out and his eyes caught hold of something. Something falling. Something small, fell down, toward him. It was a raindrop. And it hit the window of the club suite, right in front of Drew’s face.

As 87 finished maneuvering his way into the lead, those clouds wrung out. The water came down in a trickle, glazing the asphalt with water. The rain came swiftly, pelting them with droplets.

So much for the dry track.

The crowd finally took more notice of the weather. The few that were well prepared pulled open umbrellas. The poor suckers that weren’t backed away, clutching jackets and coats overhead to shield themselves. The railbirds got soaked, but they couldn’t have cared, they probably liked the rain.

Drew and Brad stayed warm and dry and soon were joined by Matt in their suite. Drew had moved behind the bar. One hundred dollars down the drain, and he breathed the regretful air. He peered out onto the track and saw the flock of cars breeze by, 87 still in front. Brad was becoming restless, pouring himself another drink. Matt wandered the suite floor like he was looking for a compass. Halfway there, halfway not.

Down at the track, cars began to pace themselves. It was a short race with no pit stops. The water continued to fall, coating the racers in a glossy sheen. The track was losing grip, one car towards the back of the back had nearly already spun into oblivion. None truly slowed, though some grew lethargic, but they too still swam.

On the turn into the penultimate lap, 87 slid. The car drifted not so gracefully, careening into the pit wall. He hit the wall with a solid slam, temporarily going airborne. He flipped side over side, coming down upside down on the edge of the track.

Drew’s eyes grew full, black as open space. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the bar. He could see a face in front of him, his father’s. It stared through him, breaking him open and forcing its way through his mind. Drew felt splintered and eroded, and inches across the outside edge of the bar. He reached the door, slipping past without Matt or Brad seeing him.

As he climbed down the stairs, the cold aroma of rainwater insulted him. He picked his pace up, hearing the remaining cars out at the track continuing in their pursuit. He dashed out the door past the exit, hardly raising an eyebrow from security. He fumbled his keys from his coat pocket and quickly found his Camaro where it sat before. He hopped inside and sprung the ignition. The car woke to the harsh rain, and Drew flipped on his windshield wipers. He leaned away from the open window and lit a fresh cigarette. He dropped the lighter in the ashtray and sped off. They likely hadn’t realized that he’d even left. Perhaps if he left now and never came back, Matt or Brad wouldn’t find him at all. They could forget all about him and their silly bet. After all, he couldn’t go into debt.

As he left the parking lot he felt shadows following him, like they clung to the door handles, hid in the trunk, and slept under his hubcaps. They stalked up to him, covering him until he almost couldn’t see. They dragged him, they dragged the whole car down, down, down into the gravel and asphalt like they did to 87. Where should he go? Where could he go? His thoughts rambled on, go, stop, left, forward, stop, back, left, go, go, right, stop, go, left, left again. He realized fast that it wasn’t his voice saying these to him, but it was a familiar voice. Not Brad’s. Not Matt’s. It was his father. Telling him his directions and calculating his return, watching him struggle.

The Camaro came down the highway. Drew’s hands clasped the wheel, turning them ghastly pale. His cigarette dropped from his lip, though he did not attempt to retrieve it. He came upon the banked turn along the highway, feeling the car beginning to slide.

At first, he tensed at this, but then he loosened. He only again stiffened as his car hit the end of the traffic barrier. The car clipped it and rose. The Camaro turned over the rail, upheaving and shuffling all of its contents. The car began to descend down the hill, rotating and barreling down in free fall. Ash spilled all over Drew’s face, but he could only sit as he rolled to a stop. Once the car had come to its rest, he sat still.

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General’s Wishes Kayley Medema - Grade 10 I panted as I slid on the sand, I got right back up and charged at him. He chuckled at me and made a ‘bring it on’ gesture. I attacked hard, the others already starting to stare as I attacked the general’s son. My practice sword hits him at every turn. He grunted in pain and finally fell to his knees. I pressed my sword against his neck. “Yield.” I breathed, looking down at him. I saw him move his practice sword attempting to knock my feet out from under me. I sliced my sword across his neck and he mimed death before flopping on the ground. There was slow clapping from behind me so I turned, seeing the general walking up to us. I offered a hand to the man on the ground. He took it and I pulled him up easily.

“Well, Finnegan, looks like she’s got you beat,” the general spoke, his gravelly voice grating on my ears. The man, Finnegan, nodded slightly.

“She has, for now,” he warned, playfully glaring at me. I just smirked at him and hit him with my sword again.

“Go wash up, Finnegan, I need to have a word with Miss Victoria,” the general said, dismissing him. Finn nodded and headed towards the showers of the enormous compound. I turned and looked at the general crossing my arms as I waited for the evaluation. “You did well today, Victoria. I wouldn’t suppose you’d like to join me on the field?” He asked, also crossing his arms over his bulky chest. He had a scar that slashed through his eye and down most of his cheek. He told amazing stories about the time he had gotten it, but none of them were the same. He always wanted to keep us guessing, especially as children. He wanted to weed out the weak, so to speak, if they couldn’t handle gruesome retellings they wouldn’t be able to stomach the real battlefield. I grinned widely and nodded eagerly.

“I would love to,” I said eagerly, uncrossing my arms. He nodded.

“Good, go get changed and meet me at the gates in 15,” he said sternly, a small smirk of approval crossing his face. I sprinted to the women’s dormitories. There weren’t many of us left in this section. Many of them had gotten sick, pregnant, or simply wanted to be a healer instead. But I knew ever since I was young that I was meant to be a warrior. I worked hard day in and day out to make it this far. Beating the general’s son was the icing on the top of an already great day. I quickly rifled through my clothes and picked out my father’s armor. I bit my bottom lip gently to keep myself from crying just at the sight of it. I started putting it on when there was a soft knock on my door.

“Who is it?” I called out, as I quickly pulled my shirt on.

“Just me,” Finn said as he opened the door. He raised his eyebrows at seeing my armor on. “Going somewhere?” Finn questioned, a playful smirk on his face. I couldn’t help but to smile at him and nod.

“Yes actually, it seems your father is going to be taking me on a patrol,” I said proudly. I knew he’d probably get jealous because it’s his father but I hoped he’d still be happy for me. He knew this was something I've always wanted. But I was wrong, his smirk faded and he crossed his arms.

“Alright. Just um… just be careful out there, alright?” He spoke softly, and his eyes had turned from his usual playful glint to anger, and now to worry. I smirked and walked over to him.

“I always am, Finny, don’t worry,” I said before backing up. “I need to finish getting changed, so you should go.” He nodded and backed out of my room before closing the door.

Finn and I had always been close, much to the other girl’s chagrin. Ever since we were kids, we fought together in the training yard, matching each other for skill. I quickly grabbed the

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rest of my gear and put it on, before running to the gates. The general was waiting for me as I sprinted up to him. He looked me up and down and nodded.

“Good.” He started walking at a brisk pace, his hands behind his back, as if we were just going for a leisurely stroll. I followed him, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword. We patrolled around the gates of the Commission Center. I kept a watchful eye out for any intruders or threats. Our lands had been at war with the Kingdom of Marachna for eons now. The Commision Center was built so that we could train warriors for years, hoping to outfight Marachna once and for all. “So, Miss Victoria, my son and you have a bond, yes?”

The general finally spoke, looking over at me with a single brow raised.

“Um yes sir we do, I’ve known him for as long as I can remember,” I spoke honestly, my brow furrowing a bit. “Why do you ask, General?” I asked curiously looking back at him.

He shrugged and kept up his slow stroll. “I can tell my boy cares for you. I’m afraid it won’t do you or him any good. You know enrollment is coming up for the both of you, and you are both of age now,” he said sternly. I sighed and nodded. Finn and I were going to be 18 and that was the age we were able to enroll.

“I understand, sir, but what do you want me to do about it? Sever our friendship?”

“I think that would be best, yes. Having such close ties will only hurt either of you more when you go into battle.” By the time he had finished speaking, we had made it back to the front gates. I sighed and hung my head. I knew what I had to do…He nodded curtly at me and walked away back into base. I stood there for a while contemplating my decision. I knew what I should do, but it hurt. I sighed and walked back into camp.

“Hey there, big shot!” My body tensed as I recognized Finn’s voice. He put an arm around my shoulder and turned me around to face him. He saw the look on my face and his smile dropped. “What happened? Is..are you alright?” He grabbed my face and gave me a good look over. I gently pushed him back and nodded.

“I’m alright, Finn. I…well we just need to talk,” I said, my heart cracking as I saw him nod. He led me over to some benches in front of the central gardens.

“What happened?” He asked gently, he could tell that something was wrong, especially since I had asked him to talk. I was never one to have serious conversations like this, so he was immediately concerned.

“Your father and I..well we’ve decided it’s best if we..well if we stop being friends,” I couldn’t look at him and just stared ahead. My heart ached as I said those words.

“Vic..what are you talking about?” He said softly. I could hear the hurt and the mixed emotions in his voice. I wanted nothing more than to comfort him and tell him I didn’t mean it, but I knew better than to go against the General’s wishes. I took a deep breath and looked at him.

“Enrollments are coming up..and well..we thought it’d be best if we weren’t so close.

It..it could hurt us more in the long run.” He shook his head, not wanting to hear my words.

“I’m sorry Finn.” He shook his head and anger flashed over his sharp features.

“No...no he doesn’t get to say what we can and can’t be,” he said fiercely. I sighed and shook my head.

“Finn..” He cut me off.

“No. Don’t start. I’m going to talk to him.” He stood from the bench, his face was full of determination. I sighed and watched him walk away. I wanted to talk to him and tell him that there was no way his father would listen, but I knew that was no use. He was like his father in that way, stubborn brutes. A while later I finally pulled myself off the bench and walked into the girls' dorms. I took a quick shower and got dressed into my sleeping clothes.

Just as I was about to crawl into my bunk, there was a soft knock on my door. I walked over

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to the door and opened it, it gave a slight creak. “Hey,” Finn said faintly. His face was full of bruises, he had a split lip, and from the way he held himself, I was sure there were more injuries.

“Oh my god, Finn. What happened?” I whispered before ushering him inside. I sat him down on my bed and started to make some salve for his wounds.

“We talked,” he said simply. I shook my head and gently took his face into my hands. I rubbed some salve onto his bruises and his cut lip. He smiled goofily at me, trying to get me to lighten up. I didn’t smile back, instead, I gently pressed on his ribs and he winced. I went to take off his shirt but he flinched back.

“Finn, let me help,” I spoke tenderly, touching his shirt again. He sighed and took it off. I looked up and down his tanned and muscular body. There were many bruises, mainly around his ribs. I pressed gingerly against them again. He winced again. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to assess.” He nodded his understanding, and I started to make a makeshift compression to hold the ribs in place. He leaned his head on my shoulder and took a shaky breath as I bandaged him. “I’m sorry,” I whispered again. We stayed like that for a while before he finally leaned back again to look up at me.

“Thank you. I trust you’ll keep this under wraps?” My brow furrowed at his words and I shook my head.

“He hurt you, Finn. I can’t just let him get away with it,” he sighed and hung his head a bit. I put a finger under his chin to make him look back up at me. “I’m sorry he did this to you. It’s not your fault, he needs to be held accountable,” he sighed and nodded again.

“I know, I know, but he’s still my father,” I nod my understanding and sigh.

“We should tell the higher ups,” I said gently, I knew he didn’t want his father to get into that much trouble, but I knew it was what he deserved.

“Alright, but not right now..I..I just need a break.” The absolute turmoil in his eyes made my heart ache again. I nodded once again.

“You can stay here if you want; otherwise, I can walk you to the guys’ dorms.” He laid back onto her bed and took a deep breath.

“I’ll stay.” I nodded at his answer.

“Um..well get comfy.” He got under the covers and laid his head back. He grimaced a few times, as the shifting hurt his ribs. I sighed softly and made myself a little pallet on the floor. He sat up as he realized what I was doing.

“What are you doing? You patched me up, the least I can do is let you have the bed,” he said as he started to get off the bed.

“No, no, you’re injured, you deserve and need a bed. Stay, Finn,” he sighed and paused his movements. He laid back again. The rustling sheets caused her to glance back up at him. He patted the side of the bed.

“Come here,” he said gruffly. I didn’t question it, the long day of practice made my body ache anyway. I crawled into bed beside him and fell into a fitful sleep.

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Winneconne High School Title

Student’s Name

Page Numbers

I Am Glass

Hailee Boesch

66

Sixteen

Lila Newton

66

It’s Only Me

Mary Gallenberg

66

Snow Day

Kaylie Shreve

67

An Ode to the Girl I Was

Kendra Vonderloh

67

Confusing

Rya Nikodem

67

Numb

Kendra Vonderloh

67

Where I Come From

Kaylie Shreve

68

Garden of Eden

Taylor Clerkin

68

The Final Stand

Aurora Braley

69

The Dandelion Diadem

Devin Stuart

70

The Truth

Serena Scott

71

As Long As You Live

Tobi Fischer

72- 73

All Death Brings New Beginnings

Damien Reinders

74- 75

Feelings Towards Food

Camryn Becker

75

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I am Glass Hailee Boesch- Grade 10

Sixteen Lila Newton- Grade 11

They call me fragile As so I don't shatter with your every move But don’t let that deceive you When you try to break your car windows as you drown, Not a crack will appear I am just like glass

I’m just a sixteen year old girl

They call me delicate To hold me with care as so I don't break But even after you fill me with every drop of your toxic words I still hold I am just like glass They call me translucent My emotions are clear as day Don’t be deceived because you only see what I hold not what I’m made of No one can see my mind I am just like glass

I have tarnished gold jewelry in a box I buy a new lip gloss every month I could listen to Taylor Swift songs for hours I take pictures of every pretty sunset And a little sunburn in the summer can’t hurt me Because I’m just a sixteen year old girl I’m not smart unless I get straight A’s I’m not respectful unless I never argue I’m not talented unless I stand out I’m not pretty unless I fit a size small And I’m not good enough unless I am perfect Because I’m just a sixteen year old girl

Even if I break Once I crack and fall apart, Do not underestimate me I will cut you when you are not looking I am just like glass It’s Only Me Mary Gallenberg- Grade 11 We talk all the time but never meet

We watch as the scale moves but only fluctuates

We live, laugh, and cry but never repeat

We live the same lives but nobody ever sees

We perform in front of others but are never really there

The one thing

We stand in front of the class and watch as people stare

The true thing

We eat less and less while trying to lose weight

Is that it’s only me and my anxiety

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Snow Day Kaylie Shreve- Grade 12 I take a sip of hot chocolate and let the warmth of it slide over my bones. The richness of the chocolate hits the back of my tongue; this hot cocoa was made right. A mischievous wind stirs up the snow that’s started to gather on the freshly-shoveled deck, swirling it into a cyclone. The snow is still light and fluffy, what my mother would call ‘perfect snowman snow’. My gaze falls on the kids outside, who are seemingly burying their sister in a layer of snow. My youngest looks up then, and I wonder if he can see me through the window. I take another sip of the hot chocolate and wave at him, and he smiles his big gummy smile and waves back before tackling his brother into a snow wall they made. The middle child, my daughter, keeps her snow angel shape, but lifts her head to watch her brothers wrestle. As she decides to get up and join her brothers, my eldest notices and runs over to help her up. A deceptive one as always though, she grabs his hand and pulls him down into the snow with her, and I watch as they laugh big stomach-hurting laughs I swear I can hear in the house. I decide to let them have their fun while I curl up and sneak in a chapter or two of my newly started book. Hot chocolate in one hand and a romance in the other, I reminisce of the snow days of my past, those blissful days of no school and having fun. I take a deep sigh before turning the page and starting a chapter anew.

An Ode To The Girl I Was

Confusing Rya Nikodem- Grade 12

Kendra Vonderloh- Grade 12

This is for the girl I wasI know she’s still out there Somewhere.

Behind this fake smile, Behind these ever-present tears, Behind all of this darkness and sorrow, Somewhere..

She is smiling at the stars, She only cries at sad movies, She is filled with sunshine and happiness, Somewhere…

I hope she finds peace

No one ever explains To kids how confusing our words sound “Don't ever grow up” “Grow up, you're being a baby” “I wish I could go back to your age” “Can't you just act more mature” How confusing it must be To listen But to never know

Numb Kendra Vonderloh- Grade 12 Seeds bloom into beautiful flowers Strawberries ripen and become delicious Leaves flourish on trees Everyone cherishes their beauty and growth

So, I am empty, Never growing Never changing, A perfectly still void

But, flowers rot Strawberries mold, Leaves fall.

And suddenly they are unwanted

Because it’s better to die feeling nothing than to die feeling everything.

67

Where I Come From Kaylie Shreve- Grade 12 I come from salty sea air and multi-colored conch shells, Living just twenty minutes from the Gulf I come from catching speedy dragonflies and flying grasshoppers, Bermuda grass up to my knees I come from old pine trees and crisp mountain air, The blue ridge on the horizon I come from chalk drawings on the driveway and pulling weeds with mom, Popsicles were always the best reward I come from hot summer days and running through rainbow sprinklers, Making mud puddles in the yard I come from red clay under my nails and running off with friends, Playing music for the whole neighborhood to hear I come from too-small skateboards and hand-me-down rollerblades, Scraped knees and broken bones I come from booming thunderstorms and warm spring showers, A creek that overflowed I come from peeling red shoulders and dark blue knees, The consequences of hours outdoors I come from never-one-place-for-too-long and don’t-put-holes-in-the-walls mentality, Four states in eighteen years I come from a life outside– in the trees, in the clay, in the sand, in the rain, It’s easy to miss it when it’s no longer yours.

Garden of Eden Taylor Clerkin- Grade 12

I reach high only to stumble My fingertips gently graze what I long for Yet I fall short each time Never tall enough to seize it.

Everyone around reaches what they seek Happy faces painted on each Still, mine remains blank Unfulfilled dreams only feet away.

Days turn to nights But I still reach up Missing just barely each time Never more than an inch away.

Then one fateful day, You come along Uninterested in your own dreams You come with a ladder.

I watch others reach up Gaining their prize each time they try Though I still fall short Unworthy of my dream.

Gently you set it up Hold it steady Reluctantly I reach again The prize I once wanted, so close.

Years pass, Days grow old, Trees hang lower, My confidence dwindles.

Yet I no longer reach for it Instead, I turn Grasping you in my arms My whole world changed in a moment.

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The Final Stand Aurora Braley- Grade 10 I have been trapped in my house for six days now, and my food supply ran out two days ago. If I want to survive into the foreseeable future, I need to get out of the house tonight and stock up on supplies. But here’s the thing: they’re hungriest at nighttime. If they see me, they’ll tear me to shreds in the blink of an eye. On the other hand, if I want to survive the next 24 hours, I need to eat.

I eventually decide that my hunger is more important than the almost probable death that awaits me if

I leave the house, and I pack my backpack with the essentials: a water bottle, a flashlight, a machete, a

sledgehammer to break through windows, an extra gun, and the last protein bar I have. On my belt, I secure the gun and army knife I take everywhere, and I’m ready to go. I look through the peephole on my front door.

Today I only see three of them, but there’s always more lurking in the streets that look like gaping holes, waiting to swallow me up.

I sneak out my back door, knife in hand. Thank god there’s no leaves on the ground yet, otherwise, I

wouldn’t be able to make it to my car. I stealthily make my way to the car. I manage to get in and close the door

without anyone noticing. Now I just have to start the car and get the heck out of here. I turn the key, and the

purring of the engine hasn’t begun to attract any of them yet. As I manage to back the car out of the yard, I

see a shadow by one of the trees. Without a second thought, my foot is mashed against the pedal, and I peel off into the black ink of night.

After stopping at multiple grocery stores, I finally have enough food to last me the next three weeks. I

decide to stop at the mall so I can stock up on more clothes. When I pull up to the front doors, I realize how bad this could get. It’s pitch black in there, and if I get lost, I’ll be stuck in there for who knows how long. Pushing those thoughts aside, I make my way into the mall.

You’ve been in here for an hour and you haven’t found anything. I steel myself as I walk down the next

hall, careful not to make any noise. That’s when I hear the noise. A slithering, hissing, guttural growl has reached my ears, and I know what it is. They’re coming.

Pushing my want for extra clothes aside, my only goal now is to get out of here alive. I run back down

the hall, take the escalator steps three at a time, and I have just made it to the last set of stores when I look up. I can see the shadows crawling down the sides of the walls, and all logic has gone out the window. I run as if lava is beneath my feet. I see my car waiting behind the doors, and I give all my energy to making it to the car.

I’m 20 feet away from the doors when my foot catches on something, and as my body hits the ground, I

realize that I won’t make it in time. The noise intensifies as they realize the same thing. I get to my feet, pull out the gun and machete, and look my family in the eyes as I get ready to take my final stand

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The Dandelion Diadem Devin Stuart- Grade 12 “Papa?” I whispered softly, testing his consciousness.

“Clair?” He rasped, “Go back to bed. The sun waits for no man.”

I stood in the doorway for a bit deciding if I should retaliate or not. With nothing coming to mind I slowly crept my way towards the bed avoiding all the wooden boards I know creak with pressure. Before he had the chance to mull over my presence I lunged up and ragdolled onto the bed. Startling him, he whipped his stubby arm bud at me stopping right before he hit my face.

“Boy! What is it that you want from me at the devil's hour?”

I couldn't stop laughing at his malformed expression. Making myself at home I grabbed the blanket and forced him to share half of it with me. Silent for a while he finally made amends with the fact that I wasn't going to leave without something in return.

“I suppose I can spare an old tale.” He chuckled, propping himself upright on the bed. His eyes scanned the room briefly before seeming to settle on a good story to tell.

“Once upon a time,” he started, “ there was a young girl and her mother. Each day the young girl would cry to her mother claiming she had no friends to play with in the town. One day, before she went to bed, the mother told the daughter, ‘Tomorrow when you go out to play, I want you to walk around town, find all the kids who also look like they have no friends to play with, and ask them if they want to play with you.’ The next day the young girl happily skipped around the town and approached every kid who appeared lonely, her arms out wide. She began doing this everyday. Her new friends would follow her like baby ducklings trotting behind the mother hen as they walked through the brick streets. Some of them even took the time to make her an adorable crown made of dandelions. This went on for quite some time, until one day, the young girl made a close friend she could call her best friend. Finally, not feeling lonely, she took the dandelion crown off and chose a friend to take her place as the mother duck. The group continued day by day and the young girl's mom could not have been more proud of her…”

“Is that the end?” I ask.

“Sooner or later the young girl's best friend had to move and once again she had no friends to play with. Days later she was fidgeting with grass out on her lawn when a girl approached her wearing a crown of interlaced dandelions. The girl looked at her and said, ‘Would you like to play with us?’”

I sat there with a big grin on my face.

“Awwww,” I squeal, “that's so sweet.”

“Would you like to know how the story ends?’’ Dad asked enticingly.

I frantically nod in agreement. Suddenly, his front changed and his voice dropped at least ten octaves.

“You're looking at it, son.”

Confused, I look around, waiting for the answer to make its way to my small head. Was he talking about himself or this bedroom? Scanning the walls I notice the portrait of mom along with a bouquet of yellow flowers beneath it. My dad then sank down into the covers and rested his head on the pillow.

“With enough time,” he scolded, face half buried in the blankets, “even the most seemingly innocent concept of power can birth a corrupt nation. All it takes is too much power in too little hands.”

He turned his back, laying on his side, revealing his severed arm and a plethora of scars.

“Dad,” I giggled, “you’re silly!”

I hopped out of the bed and began walking back to my room. How can a story like that lead to something so serious. I shrugged it off. My dad can be so weird sometimes.

That night I couldn't sleep.

70

The Truth Serena Scott- Grade 11 There is nothing so certain in life as change And sometimes silence is the loudest voice Disobedience can be a part of justice And occasionally being rude can gain you respect So with all these contradictions, I ask: What in this world is true?

The answer, I know, is nothing To every rule, there is an exception Every fact has its flaw And even the “saints” among us lie Deception is everywhere, the world is an oxymoron No one is good or bad We are all just gray Still, we exhaust ourselves, attempting to place things in bins To separate the black from the white, the right from the wrong, up from down, left from right We become so polarized, fighting over the very concepts we made up Concepts that are just humanity's labels for the things we cannot touch Yet we fight and fight and we don’t know how to stop When the stakes rise, we turn our words into bullets Arguments become wars Boys dressed up as soldiers have given their lives The dead bodies of citizens punctuate the sentences of our leaders A simple debate becomes a living hell So when I ask again what in this world is true, the answer, I know, is still nothing.

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As Long as You Live Tobi Fischer- Grade 11 Darkness was the first thing Tristan saw when he opened his eyes. He tried to step forward only to be met with a wall. Frantically, he tested the area by feeling around him, only to be met with similar walls on all sides, each only a few inches away from his body. His breathing picked up as the claustrophobia began to set in.

Where am I…? He thought to himself. He leaned into the wall directly in front of him and pounded on it.

“Let me out!” He screamed, bashing his fists into the wood in front of him until it started to creak and splinter under the pressure. He gave it a couple more tries until it shattered to reveal sunlight. Tristan pushed the remains of the wall down and stepped out into cold grass that squelched from moisture. The air around him was thick and as he looked up he saw an overcast night sky. He recognized his surroundings and determined that he was in the small cemetery just outside of town. He had only been there once to visit a long-dead relative, so the area was unfamiliar. The tombstones were unkempt, surrounded by thick foliage and a maze of trees. He looked around to see a group of figures dressed in black huddled together.

Mourners? He asked himself. Tristan approached them before clearing his throat.

“Uh, hey, sorry to interrupt but could somebody tell me where we are? I think I'm a little lost.” No one turned to acknowledge him. Getting frustrated, Tristan tried again.

“Hello?” he tried, putting a hand on one of the mourner's shoulders only to have it pass through completely. Out of fear, Tristan stumbled back immediately, staring at his hand and then back to the mourners.

“Hello? This isn't funny, answer me! W-where am I?” He continued to stumble backward before bumping into the wooden box again. Cautiously, he turned to come face to face with a coffin. His eyes widened.

“Am I…” he started.

“Dead?” an unfamiliar voice cut through the crowd from behind him. Tristan turned frantically to see a tall man standing in the crowd staring directly at him.

“Can you see me? Where am I?” Tristan asked, growing more frantic with each passing second. The man smirked at him, revealing a set of razor-sharp canines. Tristan took a step back. The man did not look human. He had the figure of one, a tall slender man in a tailored black suit. He would almost blend into the crowd if it weren't for the skull of a goat perched on top of his well-kept raven-black hair and piercing red eyes.

“Tristan, right?” He asked, still leering at the boy. Tristan gulped down his nerves before managing a slight nod.

“Good, good,” He looked at his hands as if uninterested in the conversation. “Well Tristan, I’m here to inform you that you are dead.” Tristan slammed into the back of the coffin in shock.

“Dead! No, you’re lying to me. I can't be dead. I… I have so much left to do… who even are you?”

The man smirked before walking closer and extending a hand.

“I'm what you mortals might call the Devil, or you can call me Damien, whichever suits your fancy.”

Tristan couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“W-what are you going to do with me?” Tristan asked.

“Hmm? Oh, well, I was planning on reaping your soul, but… seeing as you're so adamant about living, I could cut you a deal.” Damien smirked, his grin radiated malice, not unlike the Cheshire cat.

“A… deal?” Tristan asked dubiously.

“Yes, a deal. I’ll put it in simple terms for you. In exchange for your soul, I require the soul that's linked with your own, a soulmate if you will. The one you love most.”

Tristan gulped. He didn't know what to do. The soul of the one he loves most or his own. He looked Damien in his unnaturally red eyes which seemed to glimmer similarly to those of a snake. His goals became clearer; he couldn't let himself die, not now. It was a sacrifice he would have to make.

72

“Fine. I’ll do it, but, how do I… you know… do it? I tried to touch someone and my hand passed right through. If I can’t touch them, how am I supposed to kill them?” He managed, still unsure of the deal.

Damien smiled wide, extending a hand.

“I’ll give you temporary life until midnight, think of it as your very own Cinderella story. If you don’t do it before then, well, just like Cinderella, the ‘magic’ will wear off and you'll be dead as a doornail.

Forever.”

Tristan took the hand, surprised at its chill. The two shook and in an instant a thick fog surrounded them. Tristan coughed, feeling it in his lungs only to pause. He could feel again. He hadn't realized it before but after not being able to feel anything his senses coming back was overwhelming. Tristan waved away the rest of the fog but Damien was no longer there. Slowly, he put one foot in front of the other and made his way to the thin trail weaving through the graves and into the dense forest. It was already a dreary day, with clouds covering the sun, but with the treetops weaving together, it became even darker. The path continued and Tristan stumbled through, overly cautious at the snaps in the distance and low rustling.

“You’re fine Tristan, it's fine… it'll be over soon. You can't die, not yet.” He assured himself repeatedly as a familiar set of houses came into view.

Tristan knew where he was now. Stepping past the threshold of trees he made his way onto a narrow road lit by flickering street lamps. Fog swirled around his ankles as he continued to make his way through the path of houses. His nerves began to pick up as he got closer to where he needed to go.

Do I want to do this? I don't even know if I can do it… but… I can't be dead either. I know it's selfish of me but I have to. I have so much planned I can't just abandon it all. He’ll forgive me. He has to. Tristan resolved, finding himself at the doorstep of his partner.

Reaching into his pocket he took out the door key and slid it into the lock. Tristan pushed the door open with a creak and silently made his way through the dark home. Repetition made it easy even in the dark for Tristan to make his way to the kitchen, grab a knife from the wooden block and make his way up the creaky staircase without making a noise. The door was the first at the top and he wasted no time in pushing it open. Standing in front of the window was him. Tristan stood in the doorway to look at his boyfriend. He looked more disheveled than normal, his light blond hair matted in the back as though it hadn't seen proper care in more than a few days. He wore a black hoodie he recognized to be one of his own with a pair of gray sweatpants, something Tristan had never seen him wear before. When he turned around Tristan saw tear stains lining his cheeks.

“Tristan?” He asked through a choked sob. He took a step forward and Tristan took the opportunity to lunge at him, throwing the both of them to the ground. In a moment of blind faith, Tristain stabbed into the boy's chest. Tristan’s tears ran as free as the blood seeping from the wound. It wasn't supposed to go like this.

He regretted his decision immediately. A familiar fog began to swirl and in an instant, the well-dressed man with piercing red eyes was standing beside him.

“Well, well, you truly were entertaining. You actually managed to do it.” A ghostly apparition of Tristan's partner appeared next to Damien. He looked shocked and scared.

“Tristan?” he asked again, this time with a tone of betrayal.

“Well, Tristan, a deal’s a deal, I’ll take him in your place. You’ll stay alive.” Damien smiled. Tristan looked on in terror. He didn't want this anymore.

“W-wait…No, I take it back, I don't want this.”

Damien's smile widened unnaturally.

“Oh, Tristan, that's not how this works, you've made your choice and now you have to live with it, for as long as you live this time around. Goodbye, Tristan.”

“Wait, no, please-” In a flash, they were both gone and Tristan was left alone. Filled with immense regret he made his way to his feet and staggered out of the home and into the street. He was filled with despair, just now fully realizing that the one thing he had in life was gone. His true reason for living was taken by his own hands. The words were still fresh in his mind.

“You have to live with it for as long as you live… this time around.”

73

All Death Brings New Beginnings Damien Reinders- Grade 10 The old woman had not spoken in ages, though it did not matter, since there was no one to speak to.

Neither had the woman seen, nor had she heard, that the world around her was coming to a rest.

The Divine had felt a presence, for that was Her purpose. There was someone She forgot. She followed, and followed, as the heavy despair densened the air. She knew that the origin of this presence had suffered, but did not quite know the extent of their pain. So, when She came upon the diminished, pathetic old woman, She couldn’t help but pity her. But then the guilt had climbed up and out of Her throat, and wrenched sobs and cries from Her mouth that were unfamiliar to Her. Though the crippled woman could not hear, she felt the veil of life tremor from the cries. And for the first time in decades, she made a sound.

“Are you here to take me away?”

The Divine did not speak to the woman. The Divine instead placed Her hand upon the woman's head.

The pure life that radiated from Her hand seeped into the woman's mind, and the magic returned her lost senses.

Though the woman could now see, she kept her eyes closed, feeling that it was right. The woman spoke again.

“You are here to take me away. I thank you. I cherish you.”

“But you do not yet know who I am,” the Divine spoke, curious as to why the woman was so willing.

“You are Love, and you are Life. You are Hate, and you are Death. You represent everything we have the honor of feeling, and experiencing.”

“You do not want to die.”

“You are right; I do not want to die, but I am ready.”

“Do you feel this way because it is the only way to stop this pain you feel?” The Divine was holding back tears, hoping the dam would not break.

“No, I do not think that. If I stayed alive, and stayed with you, I could find happiness again. But, my time has come.”

“You are right. May you stand for me? And I may then ease your pain.”

The woman, though she was broken, found the strength to stand for the last person to care for her. The Divine took her hand, and led her out of the dead forest the woman rested in. The woman felt no pain while on her feet, for the Divine gave her strength, and trusted Her to guide her through unharmed.

“We are here,” the Divine claimed, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder to stop her. “You may sit for now.”

The woman did as she was asked, and the Divine removed Her hand from the woman, and turned away from her. The Divine looked towards the empty, lifeless plain before them, and reached out Her hand.

The earth below them began to tremble, and burst, creating a hole, just big enough for two.

The Divine reached out to the woman, not saying anything, and not touching her. But the woman felt the Divine’s presence, and reached out in response. Grasping her hand, the Divine helped the woman up, but instead of leading her, She lifted her off the ground, carrying her in Her arms. The woman trusted the Divine, and felt the truth radiating from Her presence.

“Thank you. Your kindness eases each wound in my mind.”

“I am sorry I did not come sooner. I am ashamed I took so long.”

74

The old woman just smiled, and buried her face in the crook of Her neck. Being carried like this reminded her of her childhood. The memory of her mother carrying her into the house after she fell out of the tree from their backyard resonated in her mind, but she did not cry.

The Divine stepped into the opening She created in the earth, and layed down on Her back, still holding the woman in Her arms.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” the woman said, smiling in relief.

The Divine placed Her hand softly on the woman’s back, and she came to rest. Her last breath left her peacefully, without struggle, and without pain. The Divine closed Her eyes too, and summoned the earth to enclose around Her. The Divine expelled Her last breath, and as it seeped through the soil, a sprout gently sprung up where the breath reached the surface of the earth. A single plant, sprouting where nothing else was, in an empty, dead world, marking the grave of life, and representing a new beginning.

Feelings Towards Food Camryn Becker- Grade 10 I stare at the slice of chocolate cake set before me. My heart beats a heavy rhythm, faster than the heavy rain outside. My hands are a dead weight in my lap, gently tingling when I move my fingers. I feel the guilt creeping up on me, a gentle shadow with nothing but malice in its heart. The darkness presses at the corners of my mind and a light sweat trickles down my back. Fear melds with the approaching guilt, the thought of eating welcomed but repulsed all in the same moment. My hand is unsteady as I lift my fork, the shaking nearly enough to rack my entire body with harsh shivers. The nausea rises, but I push it down, gently cutting a piece of cake off and lifting it to my mouth. It tastes like nothing, as if it isn’t even there. It almost feels like I’m simply eating sand rather than chocolatey cake. I chew slowly, as if trying to muster any taste, before allowing myself to swallow. I push the plate away, dropping the fork. Guilt encases me, a harsh embrace to my mind. Tears gently slide down my cheeks, but I’m not there to wipe them away anymore. I have lost myself, drowning in severe amounts of self-loathing. No one will save me, especially when I can’t even save myself from my mind. From my nightmare. From my feelings towards food.

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