Kepler Education’s Student Magazine
Murder in the Mansion, Part 1
A short story by Sullivan Hadley
Photographs by
Edmund Foucachon & James Beauchamp
Poems
by Corin Batchelder, Spencer Hadley, Abby Whipper & Sullivan Hadley
Artwork by
Marly Evers & Margaux Foucachon
Who is the Greateast Warrior in the Iliad?
Essay by Connor Flickner
A
Dear Kepler Students and Parents,
What joy to greet you once more as another fabulous issue of the Kepler Eccentric appears in the world, an artifact of beauty and dedication that showcases the brilliant achievements of Kepler students. Regrettably, I’m not privileged to spend as much time in the student quad as I would like, so reading the next edition of the Eccentric is always a highlight in my year.
I’m not sure what the weather is like where you live—I’m always surprised by some of the differences across the country and around the world during this time of year—but here in the chimney of Idaho, the vibrant hues of the trees and the crispness in the air remind us that autumn is in full swing and winter is imminent. I love this season and believe it serves as a fitting backdrop for the deep and intentional learning that we share in a Classical Christian Education. It also reminds me of the beauty found in change and the insights we will gain in the coming seasons of quiet and reflection. Finally, this season can be a cheerful reminder to all of us that the end of the academic semester is approaching and we will have a much deserved break to spend time with family and friends. In the meantime, let us rededicate ourselves to the disciplined pursuit of wisdom and continue to pursue truth, goodness, and beauty so we can say we finished this leg of the race well.
At Kepler, we are honored to partner with you in the cultivation of your minds and hearts in the knowledge of Christ. So, whether you are studying the Great Books, engaging in lively Socratic discussions, or exploring the transcendent mystery of number in space or time or both, let me encourage you to alwasy live and apply the principles of our faith in your everyday life. For such a time as this, education is vocation, and we are shaping the future together.
Parents, thank you for your steadfast support and your commitment to raising children who will stand as robust lights in a dim and darkening world. May this fall be filled with moments of wonder, growth, and gratitude as we continue to seek the glory of God in all that we learn and do.
By God’s Grace and for His Glory,
Scott Postma CEO, Kepler Education
L etter from the s tudent L ife C oordin A tor
Greetings, Students and Kepler Families!
Welcome to the Fall edition of Kepler Education’s student magazine, The Eccentric. Our title honors Johannes Kepler’s work in astronomy. Kepler theorized that planetary orbits were not perfectly circular but were “eccentric.” “Eccentric” also reflects the quirky nature of so many of us here at Kepler. I mean, you have to be a little weird these days to think that it’s worth your time to read tons of books by old, dead guys! So, even though the rest of the culture thinks we’re a bit silly in the head, we embrace the insult. We know that we are the ones who are actually in the right orbit and tha tthe rest of the culture is being sucked into a black hole.
I’ve been a part of this quirky crew at Kepler since the very beginning when we offered $1.00 classes during COVID shutdowns. Kepler has grown steadily since then, and we are so thankful for the opportunity to be part of the discipleship and education of so many young men and women. I’ve been a teacher for over 20 years, and I can definitely say that Kepler students stand out because of their eagerness to learn, their ernest effots, and their camaraderie with each other.
This year, besides teaching all four Old Western Culture classes and a Rhetoric class, I’ve stepped into the role of Student Life Coordinator. It’s been a challenge to fill the shoes of my good friend, Joffre Swait (he is, after all, almost 7 feet tall!), but I have greatly enjoyed helping our students connect with each other and grow in their leadership skills.
Our main way for students to connect is the “Quad,” which is a Kepler Slack workspace. Students can post messages, share their artwork or photographs, engage in friendly debate, and most importantly, share memes! Our Student Council plans and organizes various events throughout the year. In addition, we have several student-led clubs this year: Firesiders, Art Club, Chess Club, and Age of Empires Club! Through these clubs, students pursue common interests and build relationships with each other.
The Kepler Eccentric publishes student work in the areas of Writing, Photography, Artwork, and more. We know there’s more to our students than what we see in the classroom, so this gives them a venue to share their creative work with the rest of the Kepler community., and with the wider world! The Eccentric is managed by students, with minimal help from staff and teachers. Special thanks to our Managing Editor, Sierra Ott, and to Carly Rapiquiso for their efforts in bringing this first edition to publication.
I hope you enjoy this first edition of the 2024–25 school year. Students, think about what you can submit to the next edition!
My virtual “door” is always open, so don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you have any questions, suggestions, or concerns about any aspect of Student Life here at Kepler Education.
Dr. Gregory Soderberg Student Life Coordinator
To my Fellow Keplerites,
I’d like to thank the Eccentric committee for putting together this wonderful fall edition of The Kepler Eccentric, as well as to all those who contributed in the form of submissions.
As Thanksgiving comes along, and fall slowly turns to winter, we can appreciate and be thankful for the work our teachers and fellow students have put into classes and projects.
I don’t know who else is excited for Thanksgiving, but I know that I certainly am, and the Eccentric will be a great read over a (hopefully) restful Thanksgiving break. If you’re not already in one of the guilds or the debate channel, I highly recommend checking them out! For those in the debate channel, what’s the best Thanksgiving food?
Wishing you a restful (and delicious) Thanksgiving break, Shannon Beauchamp Student Council President
(P.S. If you didn’t get a chance to submit to the Fall Eccentric, keep an eye out! Spring submissions open in December!)
C hristi A ns s hou L d r e A d o L d B oo K s to n Avig Ate C u Lture
by Silas Schlax
“Ido not need to read old, dusty books. There’s no point in learning that!”
This is the mindset today, predominantly in the younger generation—but are they right? Do their arguments have any substantial weight against their opposition? Or is their thinking flawed, and in fact one should read old books? Should Christians and secularists treat this topic differently, or the same? This essay aims to address these questions meaningfully. Therefore, Christians should read old books to enhance their understanding and view of cultures of the past in order to better navigate today’s culture.1
What are old books? They are books of the past, books that have survived the trials of time. The longer a book has existed, the more generations have tested and tried it, hence meaning it must have some worth in reading. Whether it be philosophy, politics, stories, poetry, or theology, it all has some worth or echo of the truth.2 While some texts will have a greater value or impact than others, they are all worth reading to give one a better understanding of what the Lord and His world are like. But why should one read them? The question is why not, not why. If one does read old books, one is not only reading it for the betterment of themselves but also for society, for one’s children, and for the next generation.
1 Dr. Scott Postma, Christianity and Culture: Recovering Christian Humanism in the twenty-first century (class lectures, Kepler Education, Moscow ID, Full Year 2023–2024).
2 Dr. Scott Postma, The Romans: Old Western Culture (class lectures, Kepler Education, Moscow ID, Full Year 2022-2023).
As Dr. Scott Postma says in his article “The Right Kind of Education,” “Education is not job training. It is the cultivation of wisdom and the preparation of the individual to be virtuous through the long task of transferring the knowledge, traditions, and mores of one generation to the next.”3 Reading old books is not only the backbone of one’s own personal understanding, but also for the generations to come. Now, while one might not understand everything they read the first time, it is still worth reading, as you will acquire something from it. This is also where education comes in, as one needs proper training in order to ask the right questions of the text at hand. Like Plato said in The Republic , “Then you will make a law that they shall have such an education as will enable them to attain the greatest skill in asking and answering questions?”4 Plato sees that there is an important skill in both asking and answering questions, which takes not only practice but also instruction as education.
Before one can begin to understand how reading old books can shape one’s view of culture, they need to understand how postmodern culture got where it is today. Regardless of what secularists say, postmodern culture has very deep roots in Christianity and Christian
3 “The Right Kind of Education,” Scott Postma, last modified July 7, 2021, https://scottpostma. net/2021/07/01/the-right-kind-of-education/.
4 Plato, “The Republic,” trans. Benjamin Jowett, in The Philosophers: Old Western Culture , vol. 4, eds. Daniel Foucachon and Wesley J. Callihan (Moscow, ID: Roman Roads Press, 2017), 488.
Humanism.5 Jens Zimmermann says it this way: “Without religion, the West would not be where it is, and without understanding the religious roots of Western culture and their continuing influence on Western thought, we lack the self-understanding necessary to address our current cultural crisis.”6 As Zimmermann emphasizes, without religion, the culture would be weak, and “lack the self-understanding” needed to address and solve cultureal crises. But can any religion fulfill this void? Man’s inhereent desire to worship is natural, but without Christ, it is fleeting. In Zimmermann’s closing words, he states that, “we should recover the early church’s spirit of passionate engagement with culture based on the mystery of the incarnation.”7 Culture without roots in Christ and the Incarnation is like paper on fire—quickly burned and rendered to ash. A culture with its roots in the Incarnation will result in not only a flourishing environment but also books and writings grounded in Christianity.
By reading books from authors who lived during these times of flourishing and suffering, one can understand what went wrong, what went right, what needs to be changed, and what needs to be restored. Reading people like Milton, Luther, Galileo, Pascal, Mohler, and more, one can begin to grasp both the culture’s past and one’s own. Nevertheless, there will always be those who reject Christ and in return create their own “religion” that fits them. This is where Walker Percy, in his work The Message in the Bottle , comes in handy. Later in his work, he outlines the difference between knowledge and news: imagine being a castaway who lost all their memories. If they were to find
5 Postma, Christianity and Culture
6 Jens Zimmermann, International Humanism (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2012), 26.
7 Zimmermann, International Humanism , 26.
a bottle with a note in it, how could they determine if it was true or false?8 This is where the knowledge versus news comes in. Knowledge is something one can come to on their own, like “water boils at 100 degress at sea level,” but news is something one can not determine if it is true or not without experiencing it, like “There is fresh water in the next cove.” 9But one then runs into a dilemma: how can you “experience” Christ, to know it is true? This is where Nietzsche and his peers, who famously proclaimed “God is dead,” faltered. However, there is a straightforward solution. One can experience Christ through the Incarnation, the Eucharist, and His mercy and grace because Christ reveals Himself to those who seek.10 By reading old books, one can get a better understanding of who Christ is, and as a bonus, also grasp the current cultureal crises.
To effectively navigate postmodern culture, one must first grasp one’s own view of both past and current culture, what makes it tick, its backbone, and more. For Christians, this is simple. The Incarnation is the backbone. It is what has shaped and formed postmodern culture. But why does one need to navigate postmodern culture? Additionally, what about spreading the Gospel, or creating disciples? Without understanding the culture one lives in and how to navigate it, how can one make a persuasive argument against it? This is where Christian Humanists focus their time. The point of Christian Humanism is to affirm human life and culture through the Christian
8 Walker Percy, “The Message in The Bottle” in Readings in Christian Humanism , eds. Joseph M. Shaw, R.W. Franklin, Harris Kaasa, and Charles W. Buzicky (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2009), 588-612.
9 Percy, “The Message in the Bottle,” 594.
10 Postma, Christianity and Culture
tradition.11 R. William Franklin and Joseph M. Shaw say it this way: “In the humanism created by the gospel of Christ, men and women and children discover a God who affirms their full humanity in the midst of weakness and suffering, not one who makes divine love conditional upon human success.”12 Once one can begin to understand the problems at hand, then and only then can one start to navigate postmodern culture and, in return, try to recover what has been lost.
Once we accept that, one needs to understand culture to navigate it. How does reading old books help? As stated above, postmodern culture has its roots in the Incarnation, but also in the past cultures. Take, for example, how the idea of punishments has changed throughout time. In Biblical times, one would be stoned to death for lashing out against their mother. In the early nineteenth century, one could be corporeally punished for beig rude to a teacher in school. Now, touching a child could land one in prison. Regardless of how time has changed cultures’ views or acceptable practices, these things are in its roots, it is part of what defines their identity. Despite what secularists say, postmodern culture has its roots in the Incarnation, in history, and in old books. These roots can be discovered by reading old books, reading works by old theologians and philosophers. The more one enhances their proverbial database of knowledge, the more equipped one will be to handle the harsh and cruel postmodern culture.
Finally, the age-old question, “Why me?”
As Jewish scholar Hillel said: “If not you, then
11 R. William Franklin and Joseph M. Shaw, “What is Christian Humanism,” in The Case for Christian Humanism (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B Eerdmans), 3–14.
12 Franklin and Shaw, The Case for Christian Humanism , 4.
who? If not now, when?”13 It is the Christian’s duty to spread the gospel, like it says in Matthew 28:19: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” To spread theh gospel to all nations, one must read old books to not only increase one’s own understanding, but then be equipped to share it with others. And to do this effectively, especially in the postmodern culture of America, one must understand the culture, how it came into existence, what has influenced it, and why it promotes what it promotes—rationalism, atheism, materialism, etc. Without these, it’s like swimming in a boundless ocean with no bottom or shore, leaving the unprepared vulnerable to being overwhelmed and consumed by the tides of culture.
Old books, the physical copies of the past, hold the secrets to society and culture, passing wisdom and knowledge from generations past. Readers should approach these almost sacred items with tremendous care and thoughtfulness, not only to enhance their own understanding, view of culture, and ability to navigate it, but also to benefit those who surround them. Old books are for all, not only the smart, or the rich, or the powerful, rather all men and women alike. In conclusion, to effectively navigate the culture today, all people should read old books for a better understanding and view of cultures’ past.
13 Hillel the Elder, source unknown.
Cardboard Inferno
Three photos by Edmund Foucachon
W ho is the g re Atest W A rrior in the iLiAd?
by Connor Flickner
Hector, the prince of Troy, stands out as one of the most compelling characters in Homer’s Iliad . His valor, sense of duty, and humanity make him arguably the greatest warrior in the epic. This essay will explore Hector’s qualities and actions that elevate him above other warriors, supported by quotes from the Iliad . His sense of duty is much stronger than Achilleus, who just gave up because his honor got lost. He never realized that if he fought and died bravely he would still be known. For Hector knows he has to fight Achilleus and that he will probably die but yet he still does it to save his wife, son, and city. In Book Six, lines 265–266, he says, “Please don’t offer me wine, dear Mother; it may rob me of my strength and weaken my will to fight.” Here he is aware that wine will hamper his ability to think and will weaken his strength. So we see here that he knows the consequences of drinking wine and how this will affect his duty.
Hector not only cares about his duty but also about his family. This is such a great attribute to a warrior for you cannot just care about war and glory but you must care for a family. Hector understands this and that is the main reason why Hector is going to fight Achilleus. In Book Six, lines 407–439, Andromache, who is Hector’s wife, says that Hector is the greatest warrior in all of the Iliad because of his value in battle and his courage. He sacrifices himself to try and save Troy. His sense of duty is much stronger than Achilleus. In Book Six, lines 407–439, Andromache says, “Hector, my dear, your own great strength will be your
death, and you have no pity on your little boy or on me, who will soon be your widow.” Here Andromache misunderstands Hector’s love for her and his son. Hector does not want to fight, he wants to protect her so that their son can have a good life and survive.
Achilleus is often celebrated as the greatest warrior in the Iliad . But we must look a little closer and realize that Hector and Achilleus are very different. One of the reasons why is because of how noble each of them are. In Book Twenty-Two, lines 337–366, Hector says, “I beg you by your life, by your knees, by your parents, do not let dogs devour me by the Achaean ships.” Hector is asking that whoever wins will let the other have a proper burial. Achilleus would not listen to him and shamed him by dragging him dead behind his chariot on a rope. This was not noble at all and the fact that Hector would have given Achilleus a proper burial if he had won, just shows how different they are.
Hector is also a great leader and his strategy has won his army several wars and also made it so that Troy was unconquerable. In Book Eighteen, lines 243–250, Polydamas is advising Hector and says, “Hector, you are a very hard man to advise. Because the gods have made you supreme in warfare, you think that you always know best in tactics as well.” This shows that Hector is very self confident and possibly even too confident
Hector’s bravery is evident throughout the Iliad. Unlike Achilleus, who withdraws from battle due to a personal slight, Hector remains steadfast in his commitment to defend Troy. His
courage is not just physical but also moral. He faces the inevitability of death with a resolve that underscores his heroism. As he prepares to face Achilleus, Hector says: “Let me at least die gloriously, with a struggle, and do some great deed that men will praise for all time.”
Hector’s humanity is perhaps his most endearing quality. He feels deeply for his family and people. But he also cares about his enemies and will give them the rights for a proper burial. Hector prays to Zeus and the other gods to grant that his son will be a great leader and great in strength and rule with a firm hand. This shows Hector’s hope and fear. He is scared he will die and his son will not grow up to be a man. But here his sense of duty comes in and he still does it even though he loves his son and wife more than anything in the world. We look at Achilleus and we wonder if Achilleus had a family, would he be as caring as Hector is? Or would he be full of his honor and not care about anything else? We see this a lot in the Iliad that Achilleus only cares about
his honor and does not about anyone else but Patroclus. “Hector fell in the dust and Achilleus shouted out in triumph: ‘While you were despoiling Patroclus, no doubt, in your folly, you thought yourself quite safe, Hector, and forgot all about me in my absence.’” Here we wonder if Hector had lost his father to Achilleus would he have been so overcome with revenge he would not have let Achilleus have a proper burial? Based on all we know about Hector we can almost for sure know that Hector would have let Achilleus have a proper burial even if Achilleus killed his father.
Hector’s valor, sense of duty, leadership, humanity, and compassion make him the greatest warrior in the Iliad . His actions and qualities elevate him above other characters, including Achilleus. Hector embodies the ideal warrior, not just in his prowess on the battlefield but in his moral and ethical conduct. His legacy as a hero who fought for his family, city, and honor endures, making him a timeless figure in literature.
by Marley A. Evers
A. Evers
A Fall Evening
by James Beauchamp
Frankenstein’s Monster
Lunch Break by Marley
L itt L e s A fety p rovided B y A d oor
A short story by Tristan Gordash
The turkey lay in the killing cone. It was Thanksgiving and autumn’s last effects were in the air when Roland was commissioned to harvest a turkey for his family’s delectable meal. Although Roland had extensive knowledge that this turkey was exceptionally intelligent, he proceeded to resourcefully capture and place the hearty turkey in the killing cone, which assisted in the untimely demise of countless birds. However, this turkey was not only naturally bright but trained by the CIA while still only an unimpressive chick to spy on suspicious activity. In a lab he was modified with razor-tipped wings for easy escape and opposable thumbs if he ever needed use of a gun to preserve his identity. His mission had been wildly successful until he was devilishly selected by Roland because he cut gaping holes in the fence when no one was attentive. The turkey mentally gathered his options of escape since not only would he perish, but the entire operation would be cancelled, leading several of his friends to also be Thanksgiving birds. The killing cone held a turkey.
The turkey chased Roland. Gleefully Roland placed the necessary utensils beside himself and prepared to mercilessly slit the turkey’s throat. However, the turkey remembered that his modified razor wings could cut through metal and sliced the cone in half. He escaped Roland’s grimy blade by falling through the damaged cone as if he fell through a trap door. Roland, who was unsure what to conclude from the carton like occurrence, stood amazed. While Roland remained frozen with indecision of whether he should procced in harvesting the mischievous poultry or release
him among his compatriots, the turkey seized the golden opportunity and suddenly sliced Roland’s leg! In excruciating pain Roland fled because the frightful turkey charged after him. Roland was pursued by the turkey.
Roland lay behind the door. For half an hour the turkey unceasingly ran after Roland. When Roland detected the chance, he squeezed inside and leaned against the laundry room door exhausted. However, the turkey had no intention of wasting time and slashed the maple wood door, creating a small corridor for him to valiantly enter. Roland foolishly squirmed from the ferocious path of the wrathful turkey, cornering himself while the turkey pulled his handguns. The turkey desired to end the young boy’s life because any witnesses would report the incident, and turkey intelligence operation would be closed. However, while the turkey had been trained to shoot a gun, he had not been educated on which direction the bullet emerged out of, leading him to naively point the guns to himself and inadvertently took his own life. Roland, who stood, shaking considerably, proceeded to clean the bird, attempting to forget the unexplainable event. Roland sat behind the safety of the door.
m urder in the m A nsion p A rt 1
by Sullivan Hadley
Iwas invited over to the Lewis’s estate for dinner. Mr. George Lewis and I had been very good friends for quite some time. We had traveled around the world doing various tasks such as providing for homeless communities, building schools for poor children, and orphanages, and such. In short, it would best be said that Mr. George Lewis was a worldwide philanthropist. Why anyone would hate him so much, I do not know.
As I was walking along the small street that led from my house to his mansion, I was surprised to see someone new in town. Greenhaven is quite the small town, everyone knows everyone, and no matter how hard you conceal your work, it is bound to get out some way or another. (There must be some sort of little band of people that hide under windows, and their only job is to get as much information without being found.) Well, this roundish man, about 5 and a half feet tall, with a nice, full grown beard, slightly balding on top, was getting out of a small beaten up punchbuggy, and walked to the only inn. He walked with a slow meandering walk, wearing a nice brown vest and matching pants. Were I not almost late to my event, I would have gone and investigated this curious man. As I walked along the gravel path to George’s house, I was met by the maid, Jordana. She seemed, oddly enough, out of breath, and greeted me as if she were surprised.
With several gasps in her short speech, Jordana managed to get out, “Oh! Hi, James. I did not know that you would be coming this evening. Let me show you in.” As I walked
down the long gravel path that led to the house, I marveled at their wonderful pine trees and maple trees which had just recently chosen to carelessly throw all their beloved pine leaves and maple leaves all across the ground, creating a wonderful crunching sound when stepping on it. Suddenly, we came to the doorstep. Or rather, not suddenly, I was just so lost in the beauty of it all around me that I was surprised by the appearance of the door slamming into my face as I walked and wondered at their trees and foliage.
Once I had regained my footing and was ready to walk again, for one must remember that hitting a solid wood door 10 feet tall hurts quite a bit, we headed inside. To properly understand just how rich the Lewis’s house was, one could take any room for example. The foyer, or grand foyer as they call it, is about 15 feet to the opposite door from where you enter with two doors leading off to the side. All along the maroon painted walls there were various paintings of different genres, there were multiple tables with flowers or the telephone or books stacked to a perfect science as to compliment the setting, and other such things. Honestly, I could never bear to live in such a place, way too neat. Going straight ahead led to the drawing room, or library, I don’t know which to call it. The walls were halfway covered with bookshelves, but there was a nice rug in the center with a coffee table and two couches facing one another. The couches were a deep blue with rosy looking pillows on them. There was a fireplace for when the winter days would bring in the cold,
and there was one door leading to Mr. George Lewis’s private study. In honor of George’s privacy, I have promised not to give an account of this room. Going through the right door of the foyer, one would find oneself in another room with one couch and a grand piano. Oh, how the piano rings in the room. The sounds echoing off the walls and the great harmonies played on it often ring in my mind! The perfectly white colored tiled floor with the white walls and gold trim around the ceiling make for a room of elegance that the piano, and the pianist, deserve. Going to the left door of the drawing room, you would enter the dining room, which connected to the covered patio, which led to the garden. The garden was Mrs. Lewis’s favorite place to be, and it was quite lovely to stroll around in when you are stewing with some trouble or if you just need to blow off some steam. The dining room had a table that seated 12 people, the Lewises often had guests over, and were a large family themselves. There was almost always a festive table runner all across that large table of theirs, and the frest carpet added a touch of sophistication to the room. There were three doors leading out of the dining room. The one that led to the patio and, consequently, the garden, the one that led to the kitchen, which led to the servants’ quarters, and the last one led to the sleeping half of the house. Understanding someone’s house can lead to a better understanding of the house owner.
After Jordana had stopped fussing over me and we had gone inside, she offered to take off my coat and hang it up for me, naturally I let her do it, as she was bound to normally do, and she offered for me to head to the drawing room/library while she went to inform George I was here. (“Mr. Lewis, not George, give him some respect!” This is what Jordana told me when she had read this scrap I have
put together.) Jordana headed off to the living quarters to get George while I headed to the drawing room. George had told me that he would be in his study working when I came for dinner, so when I entered the drawing room I walked over to the study door and knocked. No answer.
This was quite unlike George. He at least would grunt in response to whoever was knocking. This time, however, there was no noise. I knocked again.
Nothing. I stood there and waited for any sign of George making any noise.
Oh, how our hearts work against us, in the times that we need to be the most silent, they pound like hammers on asphalt creating noise like rockets! Getting nervous after waiting for George with no response, I said, “George!” (George says I positively screamed it, but I say otherwise.)
A response came from his study. What it is I cannot say, it sounded quite like a window groaning, but that may have just been the wind, my ears were now playing against me with my heart. I felt quite angry that my body was going against me in this time of high nerves. I rattled the door handly to see if George would respond to that, but nothing. I rattled it again. While I was shaking it, quite violently because the nerves were getting to me, Jordana came in. She looked quite pallid and afraid when she came in. This did not portend well.
I feared that she would speak the words that I thought she would, and I was right.
“Mr. Lewis is missing!”
I then informed her that he had told me that he would be in his study when I got here this afternoon for dinner. She seemed quite shocked and said, “But he told me that he was not feeling well, and I asked that he would stay in bed!” She said this indignantly as if he should listen to everything she should say. I
asked her this questions that she should have asked herself: “Since when does George ever stay in bed?” She knew the answer to this and didn’t respond. I explained to her what I had done to try and get George’s attention from inside his study for the last few minutes all without success.
A look of uncertainty came over her face, and I was quite confused at this, for a good servant never is disturbed or uncertain by anything, and is always ready for anything, but I dismissed it because there were more important things at hand.
I knocked for one last time to see if George was in there; then I told Jordana, “Well, um, should we break down the door? Or is there a key to the study that you know of?”
“Well, there is a key to this door, but Mr. Lewis always puts it in some special place that
I don’t know of, or on his person. So let me check with the other servants to see if one of the others has a backup key, and I’ll return shortly with an answer.” Saying this, she left the room, and I plopped down in a chair with one of the daily newspapers the Lewis’s leave out on their coffee table.I looked at the date and saw that it was a few years back, and I was a little taken aback because they do not put anything but the daily newspapers here. I thought that it might be one of the servants who put it here, or maybe George had put it here for some personal research, so I read through a few of the articles until I came upon something that shocked me. After reading through it once or twice, I put the paper down and went towards the servant quarters to look for a supsicious one among them who had been hiding something this whole time.
by Margaux Foucachon
The Fall Pumpkin
The Trees by Abby Whipper
The trees are turning, but the weather’s warm.
The trees that block the sun.
They’re trying to move, but they’re torn.
“It’s time to change, your race is run.”
But still, they dangle, stagnate. They seem afraid to be done.
They look back and forth in fearful debate. Eventually they free their leaves, And the shadows they cast slowly deflate.
Thus begins a new eve,
An eve of light in my little clearing. It’s hard to let go without any grief.
But if you do, the joy will be searing.
Use what God gave you, you know that’s right.
My friend I promise, it’s worth the fight.
Fall in Late October by
Corin Batchelder
The fires have now gone, and the leaves are turning brown. Yellow, orange, and brown leaves swirl to the ground.
They grace the grass, the sidewalks, the roads, Born away from the trees in heavy loads.
Looking to the sky, the brown and orange combat the blue. The sumac trees, close to the ground, are reddish purple in hue.
Some trees are bare, empty and grey.
Yet the large oak tree still has some green leaves on this late fall day. The leaves of yellow stand out against the dull orange and brown, But the dark green of the pine colors them down.
The wind shakes all of the leaves, and some fly in the air, trembling to the ground.
The grass covering the ground is green and brown all around, Peppered with acorn caps from the big oak tree.
The leaves floating to the ground fill the cats with glee, As they jump for them and chase them cross the yard.
And now, with the early morning frost, the sound is growing hard. And soon there won’t be any leaves at all, just the needles of the pine.
And the bare structure of the trees will cut a hard line.
t he C o L oss AL C ALA mity of the C L oset d oor
A short story by Tristan Gordash
Roland beheld the massive bag. Roland had been responsibly printing his IEW assignment. He confidently envisioned starting the assignment after he returned from youth group. However, the printer had a woeful error which caused the five-page assignment to repeatedly print. When he arrived home, he regrettably discovered that the pristine office, which his mom painstakingly kept spotless, was completely covered with paper. His heart dropped because he knew how expensive it would be to replace the paper and toner from a similar mistake. He frantically stuffed a garbage bag full of the paper while the unsuspecting garbage bag grew to colossal portions. Roland gazed at the humongous bag.
Roland stuffed the bag in the closet. Fortunately, his parents were away grocery shopping. Roland calculated his savings and was short of the price for extra garbage, which was unnecessarily extravagant. The trash would be taken away the next Thursday and it was Monday, which left Roland pondering what he would do while waiting for the trash to be emptied. After much melancholy consideration he concluded that his only option was to wait until Thursday and desperately hope his circumspect parents would not notice the wretched trash bag. He set to his last resort of frantically placing the bag in the hallway closet because his parents would soon be approaching the driveway. Although the bag stood rather snuggly in the closet and took much energy to fit in among the coats, Roland convinced himself that it would all work out while he as-
sumed the fiasco was over. Roland shoved the bag in the closet.
Roland closed the closet door. As Roland sagely expected, his parents arrived the exact moment he exhaustedly closed the door. He sighed in relief. His parents wasted no time and began cooking dinner. He monitored the door because it was making hardly audible noises. After further observation he detected the bag was exerting a considerable amount of force on the flimsy door. When Roland felt the most nervous about the state of the closet, his family sat down for supper, which Roland could not stomach. The door flew off the hinges, the bag exploded, and sharp pages flew all about like confetti as if their dining hall was the club house of a team that just clinched their division. Roland closed the door to the closet.
The Hobbit
by Spencer Hadley
There was a hobbit, Bilbo was his name, And then one pretty morn, he decided to sit away the day.
Now Gandalf met him, and had brought his smoking pipe,
To smoke and talk with Bilbo all night. He came a-talking about adventure, And Bilbo turned him down with a gesture. “But you can come to eat with me tomorrow morning at 9:15.”
So Gandalf came, but not as Bilbo liked. He brought 13 Dwarves; each one was alike. He brought Balin and Dwalin, and Ori and Nori. He brought Bifur and Bofur, and don’t forget Dori.
He brought Fili and Kili, and Oin and Gloin, And last came Bombur, with Gandalf and Thorin.
Each came to Bilbo’s house, deep in the hill that cheery morning.
After a long talk, Bilbo agreed to help them, their treasure seek.
After this they soon set off, so they could find their treasure.
So they decided to take a short way through, And doing so they almost lost all they knew. They went through a firest all creepy and scary. Then took a wrong turn and caught an elven ferry. After this, they came, alas, to a river without a pass.
And then they saw it, the mountain frightful,
With a small village below, it did not look frightening so.
They traveled to this village. And Bilbo was filled with fear
When he hear that the mountain had a dragon. When they knew what to do, They stole what the dragon thought was poo.
The dragon’s name was Smaug; and he gave an awful frown,
And went and attacked the town.
Then a guy named Bard shot an arrow black, And Smaug shall ne’er come back.
Soon, as is oft in tales, armies came, in gold pursuing
And many died. Then Bilbo, thinking, Sought to resolve the war with a single gem, And in doing so, he lost his friends.
Soon came the goblins, and the eagles too, And poor Thorin Oakenshield Was lost that fateful day, And with the treasure was buried, by my faith. So the war ended, and Bilbo went home, But not without firends, yea, not alone.
Gandalf, his wizard, came along too, And to Bilbo’s surprise, his house was for auction!
He certainly wasn’t happy, Many thought him daffy, For he was the hobbit who had a-ventured Beyond the dale, and o’er the hill, And happy his days he lives out still.
Bombadils
A parody of “Daffodils” by William Wordsworth by Sullivan
Hadley
I wandered lonely as a cloud That sings a lot ’bout vales and hills, When all at once I gave a bow, To wonderful Tom Bombadil; Beside the hills, behind the trees, His house, so charming in your dreams.
Courageous as the stars that shine That burn so bright in night skies, He loved to dance among the pines With Goldberry; they danced sublime. He was so strong, as a lance, Big folk ran away with only one glance.
With Goldberry, Tom often danced; Then Bilbo possessed jocundity. A hobbit just had, had to glance At this kind jocund company: I gazed and gazed with little thought What wealth Tom Bombadil had brought.
For oft when in my hole I lie In vacant or in sleepy mood, It flashes so bright inside my mind Which is the bliss of hobbitude, And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances again with Tom Bombadil.
