ArtQuest English Anthology Showcase 2021 by Santa Rosan

ArtQuest Anthology of English Works 2021 Question, Disrupt, Create Change

A collection from the classes of Ms. Elsa, Mr. Gregory, and Ms. Whyte

Sophomore Poems that Highlight this year’s ArtQuest Theme: Question | Disrupt | Create | Change During Quarter 3, 10th graders in Ms. Whyte’s ArtQuest English classes studied poetry. Students explored different forms of poetry and wrote several poems that connect to this year’s ArtQuest theme. Hope you enjoy!

A World Back to Art By Tristan Angus-Henry Anger, sadness, I want to shout Digging my feet in the sand, letting my eyes wander out Letting my hands brush the trees And my hair soak in salt water Taking in the Incredible, beautiful, vibrant Earth we live in. Pollution and plastics Extinctions and caskets Greys smearing over the colors, Black shades thrown over a work of art melting icebergs and frozen hearts. A video game, a movie, a 5 second thought of oh no You embrace the apocalypse as entertainment Then you let it go The switch doesn’t work but the lights still on You could go get some tools to try to fix it Or just live in the burning bright, enjoy it until it's gone Then those who see it Death, the heat waves and polar vortexes The water rises like a panic Can we reverse? What can we do? How do you feel In a world freezing and burning at the same time But wait, why is this my issue? Why must it be up to me to fix the world? Why did the past Make me grow up so fast My life is changing, so is everyone else's This isn’t a time to think for myself, to be selfish Why do I feel so helpless when I could do more There's no way to save it all The walls are caving Trying to catch myself but already I fall Yet one thing to remember My hands do not hold the world alone I don’t need to be strong enough To hold the whole weight Laughs can still dance around the room And my head can still rest calmly on your shoulder I’ll do my best, but I only need to do part Because only together can we Bring this world back to art

The Real Issue By Jordan Barrett How, Where, and Why? How have we gotten to hating are neighbors, and falling to our enemies? To screaming so loud that the voice is indistinguishable A back forth like a game of pickleball You’re wrong, I’m right NO, I’m right and you’re wrong But what about the right to think someone is wrong No, no, no it’s one side or the other they say Your either with us or against us I mean it’s america it’s in our dna Look at Basketball, Football, Baseball It’s about my side, my pride, my hate for myself Looking at the outside like you can control it No, you don’t have the key You don’t have the button for it to stop It doesn’t exist, it never has Your anger, sadness, and loneliness comes from inside So how does the world fix those emotions? How does yelling at someone to conform, fix that rage in you? Own it, own your anxiety, anger, shortcomings, experiences And grow Show the people who might look different than you Believe in different things than you Act different then you The light you have found, instead of the dark you were in

Divided We Stand By Grace Brabo The enemy of my enemy is my friend, But it appears now we are divided to no end. We all hate the monster who stole our year, Our graduation, our jobs, people we held dear. But we bicker and storm, and we never ask, “Is this the right thing?” While taking DC with no mask. We’d rather fight each other than that looming monster, Who, at this rate, we will never conquer.

It's Just Clothing By Makena Chandler You can always sense the division in clothing stores. Always the same separation. Boys. Girls. I’ve been told that one side should appeal to me more, like a moth to a light source. But that isn’t the case. I find myself observing the whole store for its products. The glow of the sweater caught my eye from across the store. It's in the men's section. I ask my mom for it. She says no, that for guys. What makes it so “masculine” that I can’t wear it though? It has no bold indication of a gender? There’s no specific fit to where it's impossible for me to wear it So why can I have it? I get the sweater anyway because It's just a piece of clothing 4

Light in the dark By Emma Chesadel I heard it A call for help, like a sudden shake of an earthquake A little scream that seemed whisk me awake Willing me to open my eyes and gaze upon the weeps The tears that whispered Brushing the curtains My wisteria pupils met my families Shaking Shivering I swallowed, unable to speak I thought I was safe But God, how I lie No one was No matter how much I willed it A screaming symphony of sounds Carving it’s way into my inured ears Hollowing out any silence My thoughts skittered a hundred heartbeats per second A sonata A tune A sobbing soliloquy of sadness We hid away Among the willows They sheltered us, dried us, and kept us warm The willows whispered to us false hope Crouching into darkness They left one morning My parents Heading back they had said I wanted to go with them To see my friends, my family To grasp onto whatever sanity I had left In hopes of it returning They smiled Little did they know I can fake a smile to I can play pretend Like a Marionette A doll trapped by strings, hypnotizing every little slight movement A shy cry slipping into slumber till silent from sound But instead I bit my tongue Closed my mouth And went back to the willows It was a plague Continuing to spread Devouring everything in its path I felt trapped Guilty I sat back and watched the growing infection spread With nothing but a fake smile And a demure expression They came back With masks And I begged to leave and go back home I saw it The warning The hesitation

However they agreed And we left A little light in the darkness A Flashlight of languor as we stepped out into the neverending sea A pattering noise tickled my nose As I felt the door knob against my finger tips Turning slowly as if heading into a battleground My neck bristled as if something was there A beast hidden amongst the darkness But I came prepared I had a light

But I came prepared I had a light A candle lit by tears By fears By the pain of my peers And I fought I became the beast I feared But I found beauty amongst the terror Serenity I broke away from the willows that kept me trapped in my mind Away from the solitude that threatened my sanity Away from fire that burned back That scorched my world as if Brimstone had been set ablaze And I found love A light in the dark

Raindrop By Emma Chesadel What if when it rains someone else is doing the same exact thing as you? Do you run outside, do you splash in puddles Listening to the quiet pattering as if it were a personal symphony A sound that beats just for you Do you hide in fear, do you hope for sunshine Watching the wind carry millions of raindrops to their future A future where they are part of something bigger A puddle, a lake Or perhaps the ocean Do raindrops know what the future has in store for them? But while it’s raining you sit alone Wondering what the future brings What you call home Tears may fall like rain against a window As you hope for someone to see you To see who you really are But yet, we are all raindrops Millions upon millions Falling to the ground We all may seen alone and separate But in the end throughout our journey in the sky We are equal to one another Every raindrop falls, every raindrop calls But they are never alone And neither are you We people are all raindrops who will one day live amongst the ocean Together as one Why do raindrops separate, why do they fall alone? Do they long for happiness, to not be alone? Like you, like anyone But once you find your ocean, you will never be alone You have found your people and a place you call home

Change Now or No Change at All By Natalie Dang Change is something that most seek Change can be something both good or bad Do you know what happens after a change? We are stuck in space Our minds not knowing what to do to reverse its effects Or do we? Our climate is like a witches brew, nothing good comes out of that We see the weather as a monster But whose fault is it? Who was the one that made this happen? How did it happen? It's not always a Friday Sometimes is a Monday Sometimes it is a snow storm Its snow as thick as somes brians who do not try to see its effects Sometimes a strong heat wave Its heat making us sweat tears as some wonder how to fix our climate Change now or no change at all

1 in 6 By Abby Clinton Women, Goddesses with smooth curves And brilliant minds Women, Who fear for our lives When we simply jog And must turn our backs every few minutes Women, The battered by the insecure men Who believe we are theirs That we must submit And be used Women, Bodies smooth as a painting Yet treated like dirt Like property By the dogs who assert their fragile masculinity Women, Who have the strength of one thousand soldiers The ability to let things slide When really they shouldn’t have to Women, Who are we? What are we here for? Why have we adapted to letting things slide? To accepting this convertible society? Women, With hearts of steel, Iron breasts and strong hips Our brilliant minds are powerful and unheard, still Women, We will change that Officially. Permanently.

Ode to Grass By Abby Clinton Oh green grass, Tickling my toes As I collect leaves and petals Housing the insects And luxurious soil in which Friendly flowers bloom next to you. I admire your persistence, Because even after someone like me Come along to chop you And prevent you from thriving, You keep going. You keep growing. As I paint your leafy friends, during a sunny day You are stable, You keep me upright You allow me to rest on you So I may create

Where we’ll start By Leah Cederborg Cross your fingers the earthquake is roaring, stop scrolling, scrubbing, scraping, and destroying. It’s 8:22, soon it will be pouring. Mom glances at me, I glance at my sister, Wednesday’s the elephant in the hallway. The inauguration of, “we can overcome,” but neither side is willing to succumb. Plates rattle. Can we pursue what we can only preview? Can we find a way for our puzzle pieces to position back together? We’ve been broken. We’re tougher. Still, this is a never ending game of tetherball: We’ve thought and we’ve fought but we’re playing against a brick wall. Have we met our last barrier? We’re growing wearier; no finish line in sight. . That’s the truth: calloused hands, rowing a canoe: finally, an island in the distance. Maybe we can take cover and see if we can be pointed in the right direction. On Wednesday I see a “welcome sign” Parenthesis “all inclusive.” I can only guess they have something like a compass and maybe they’re clueless, but right now I see brightness, I’ll head towards this island Like a kitten, nervous, yet, open minded: here is where we start. We just hit a small rock, Maybe we needed a challenge. A reminder to say, “orange, you’re out.” We said, “don’t pout.” Walk away. After this little shake we can rearrange and spark change. We look over the rock and see we’re in clear view of the island, in the sea we can now move smoothly. For the first time it all seems real. This rumble reveals a reason to have hope.

Dedication and Commitment By Alison Castillo-Arellano How is it that a dog is similar to a human, Perhaps even better than a human? A small creature? Better than a human? One of the most intelligent creatures on earth? HA! Impossible. Can a dog do algebra? It can’t do anything! Not better in a sense of knowledge, but better in the sense of commitment Many things seem impossible to the human mind You think you can fly? Please, move on with your life. But we can never claim something to be impossible until we have tried each and every method, technique, exercise to make it happen Why is it that we are so quick to give up and move on from a project just because the math equation doesn’t strap in? Why not physically try to do something instead of boring ourselves with a mix of numbers and letters like 2x+3y? Trial and Error Someone who lives by that is filled with pride and terror The essentials to be successful do not fall in how much you will do, But how much you can do A dog doesn’t just sit and wait for their owner to give them a treat It barks, whines, stares, approaches, distracts, licks the owner until they are given what they want This process ranges from five minutes until the owner gives in, to even days until the dog receives a treat No matter how much the clock ticks by, they never seize to try This act of perseverance is what we should see in a man’s best friend It’s what we should admire What should inspire It’s what we should do to complete our desires Forget the meaning of life Forget all the scientific equations Don’t say that it’s impossible Scream, Anything is possible! And remember the dog who saw their owner as suasible Reach your treat in life Persevere till it’s done right

A Shared Nightmare A Poem for our Congress by Melody Decker The fear you felt cowering in your bunker, Running to hide from the crazy man with a gun, Being told to stay quiet and hunker, Is all too familiar to me. Without a belief in a higher power, I still make my plea, Spare my life as I cannot run. Though you are four times my age, I think you fail to gauge, That I have experienced this fear, Many more times than you, And for many other students I have shed a tear, Not forgetting the teachers too. School is supposed to be a safe place to learn, Not somewhere I fear being sent home in an urn. But because of your greed, Many children will bleed. One day she’ll receive the awful call, The worst possible thing for a wife, “Yes ma'am to save their students your spouse took the fall” What is the price of a life?

I Won’t Look The Other Way By Tina Dang I won’t look the other way when you choose to criticize me I won’t allow you to belittle me when I’m in the other room You are the large iceberg in the sea that’s threatening to crash into me But like ice I can melt you down till you’re just the water I tread over You are the elephant that stomps down on me But I am the mouse that scares you away So why must you talk to me in such a way? I serve no threat to you or to others You see me at my best to only talk about my worst You look at me to just comment on what I don’t have You say we all matter but yet why must you talk to me as if you are valued more? I won’t look the other way when you choose to hurt my people I won’t allow you to look down on us while you cannot even imagine what we’ve been through Does our difference threaten you? Do you believe our difference is something that you can walk on? I won’t be submissive because I am stronger than you Because you are just tiger with no stripes

On the subject of being human by s. dinkins Love-It’s seen as something happy, something necessary, Something all humans should experience, will experience, Why, love is what makes us human! (dogs can love, too) But when I tell you that my love for you is not a red rose, It is not as deep and endless as the night sky, You will ask me, then, what is it like? I love like a dog. Unconditionally, and my tail will wag whenever I see you, But if I kiss you, it will not mean anything. We’re friends. Just friends. Just friends (why is it always just?), that is all, because when I say that a friendship is all I want, All I desire, it is fine. But it is also wrong, because Love-It is something all humans experience, but when they say that they mean that All humans want a partner. Need a partner, they need sex and romance and LOVE In a way that I could never, in a way that I cannot, And my love is a dog, spay me and keep me as Man’s Best Friend Because that’s all I’ve ever needed in life, and Love is something that only humans experience. We are just (why, oh why is it always JUST?) friends.

The Pandemic in a Nutshell By Xavian Dominguez

The Great Divide By Caden Doll Some people are left handed Some people are not Some wear purple plump pimply socks A small difference here Another one there And most are looked past Without much care

The sickness and disease, The government lays at ease, Not protecting the citizens until it reaches ground zero. Now they’re telling everyone to be the hero. But the people Say they ‘aren’t sheeple’ They don’t follow the guidelines So we can’t get through these tough times. People are hurting, And people are cursing Playing the blame game, When the real shame, Is in the choices people made, And now the price is being paid, So please, wear a damn mask. I know you’re up to the task. The storm we will weather, But only if we do this together.

So why when it comes To the clothes that we wear Or the color of our hair Do you have to bark, and whine, and stare What is the problem with difference And why must you make an inference Just because people are not the same Why it is such a shame And I think it's quite lame Why you judge off of who someone loves We should all grow together Like best friends since birth Hearts light as a feather And end this here great divide

Precaution By Corinne Fiden Occasional Poem: Situation By Kayla Gallagher No one knows What I think or how I feel Yet everyone knows Because they all are going through the same ordeal Whether big or small Its affected us all But despite all the challenges There's much left to still enjoy For that's where the balance is Peace that no one can destroy Time to embrace life’s simplicity Hold on to friends And recognize necessity These things have no ends I take it all in Enjoying my life's flexibility Trying not to dwell on what could have been Because that's no longer a possibility Change is okay Change is good Take it day by day No need to feel misunderstood The future is inevitable But hope is still here Since life like this is still credible So here's to the new year

Today is rough, But tomorrow looks rougher. Have fun while you’re young, But keep your grades up. We do things now, For a better later, How can we know, That they’ll pay off in the long run? Every day more people die, Without the comfort of a loved one’s eye. Why would people take the chance, To have one night of fun, Just to endanger someone else? We are all blind, To things around, That don’t benefit our state of mind. But if you just opened your eyes, You would see the disaster where we all hide. We are all stubborn as a mule. Unwilling to change, Or to budge. Why do we stay steadfast, To our opinions Even when proven wrong? Stay inside, Keep to yourself, Wear a mask, When you go out. Use common sense, Make good choices, Because what you do could ripple out, And affect many more than what you intended.

One Ear By Madison Godley What do we want to hear? What do we want to listen to? What do we learn from other´s opposing views? Do we even choose to learn anything? From biased news networks, to one-sided book authors, Do we only listen to what we want to hear? Do we only hear white or black? Maybe even purple or yellow, green or red We have a choice to listen to views and ideas just like ours or do the opposite We are holding ourselves back if we don't decide to challenge our beliefs Whether you support one side or another, Do you ever just step back and listen with an open-mind to the contrasting side Why do they support differently than you? What are their reasons? Are they valid? Do you understand their views? Maybe their explanation isn't as clear as mud after all You don't necessarily have to agree with them, Just try and remain neutral for the time being Maybe you´ll discover something new Maybe being non-judgemental can broaden your knowledge Maybe being nondiscriminatory might just change the way you approach others If we all listen to each other, maybe hope is on the horizon for us

Nature’s Embrace By Adelina Heath In nature's presence always I sleep tight Full of calming waves, soft moss, and smooth stones Beneath a blanket of soft grass and light Deep underground lay many resting bones The chatter of the squirrels does never cease The sound of singing songbirds I do hear And in the fall the sounds of honking geese Green grass beneath the feet of grazing deer Blue flowers nestle under shedding pines The hum of bees and pretty dragonflies A great big tree with knots and twisting vines I hear, “come back”, the guinea fowl replies I leave the busy forest and make way The only life reminder, a bouquet

Walking The Tightrope By Josie Holmgren Why do we jeer at our street population? Turn up our noses and saunter away, uncaring? Why abandon this blue populace? Because it makes you uncomfortable? You see, these people are just that: People. To think that the homeless have fallen so far, are so separate from your life and path is foolish. No, the distance between you and them isn't massive, it’s miniscule. A teetering tightrope that anyone could lose balance on at any point. Missed paycheck or horrible tragedy: these are simple venoms. Unfortunately, the antidote is less than feasible. Let us consider the path to rehabilitation, and exercise our solicitude. Let us demystify these individuals. Let us brush hearts and lift our fellow man up, driven by a force as strong as the tide. Let us all become doves at heart. Let us mend the rift we ourselves created.

Power in the Pink Mask By Sofia Henderson A young girl sits in her bed Late at night, scrolling through social media. She sees her favorite female farmer Working in the welding shop. An idea comes to mind, And she quickly googles welding schools In her area. Her first time welding, She put down her pink welding mask. As she pulls it down, she feels the Classic femininity shattering. Looking at the weld intently and Hears the chatter of toxic men around her. The sparks shine brightly in her eyes Like the metal melting at the end of a wire. She thinks in her head Of the poster on her wall: Rosie the Riveter. In her head she thinks: “I am going to make a way for myself here, So little girls like me Don’t have to face the conversations I did”. I am the change.

My Food Insecurity By Gigi Jacobs Did you notice? Did you see, Me on your drive to Church? I see you every week drive by Not even a care seen in your eye I’m hungry I’m terrified I’ve become as thin as stick My mom does her best To get me to be fit I see her struggling to provide But even still, I’m hungry inside My stomach let out bark At first I thought there was a dog at the park Did you notice? Did you see, My food insecurity

Red is the Color of… By Lily King

Total Darkness By Ela Jackson

In Asian culture, red embodies good luck. Red is family prosperity vitality and blood which drips down my elders faces like showers of rain It’s ironic that red-believers have to then face its pain. Is its good connotation why people ignore it? Does that bold of a color really blend in? Why must we endure the prejudice from a virus, and be judged based on the color of our skin? I scroll everyday and see people online that look like my father and me They have my mother’s eyes My grandparent’s accents Except with liquid red encasing their bodies Are we still the “model minority”, with less discrimination compared to the rest? When the beatings, the stabbings, the robberies are seen Is there any redress? My favorite color may be red And all the good things it represents But I cannot bear to see the blood shed Protect the 5.6 percent

I am the sun waiting to set, so I can hide away in the darkness Craving to get away, just so I can be at peace. Is what I'm doing right? Or will it all fail at the end? Who am I? Am I really being true to myself? Will anyone care enough for me like how I do for others? I curl up in a ball, hoping this nightmare will end. I need someone, but do they need me?

The World of Dead Stars By Zern Macken Life's Ways By Danniella Lee

It’s dark here besides the dim lamp post light,

Life is very complicated at times It’s very hard Sometimes you need to stop and question “Who am I?” or “What can I do to make it successful?” Disrupt your stress and struggles Think “What can I do to resolve these solutions?” Creating change is the most important key to success Life throws a rock at you You may get hit and fall.. But if you get back up to your feet, You’ll move forward.

Our flashlight batteries are running low. We can’t escape our never ending night, A world that we couldn’t ever foreknow. We gaze long into our pitiful sky, We wonder again where the stars are now. We know not what lurks in the dark nearby. A monster or merely a confused cow. Plants grown with artificial light feed us. Though the light draws creatures to our homestead, Encounters like this are not without blood. Hundreds of bodies, of all kinds, lay dead. Our fate was sealed the moment that ours, Died and turned into the World of Dead Stars.

Color By Nyree Mahiri I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m confused. I’m angry that we as a people are seen as less than. I’m sad that I see my people getting killed Left and right for something we did not ask To come on this Earth to be. I’m confused as to why it still needs to be said Black lives matter. It is not up for discussion. I’m angry because we do not know Where it is we come from. It makes me sad that out of habit When a police car is near and my dad is driving, I stare at that car painted white and black. I stare at it hoping that it will leave my dad alone, Hoping it won’t see his color. I’m confused as to whether or not be happy When my dad tells me I may never have to worry About being discriminated against. Am I not black enough? Is that a good thing? If I am not black then what am I? If I do not have to worry about such problems Then what am I? Many people claim not to be racist. They claim to see everybody equally, They claim that they do not see color. Perhaps that is the problem. Because you do not see color, You do not see that more Black people get killed Than white. Because you do not see color, You do not see those who Spit in our faces. Because you do not see color, You do not see that in all actuality We are not equal. We never were, But perhaps because you do not see color, You did not see the different colored bathrooms either.

You can not act as if we are the same, You can not even pretend. You can not put us on a straight line Because really that line is slanted; You climbed to the top, Pushing us to the bottom. We are not equal. I begin to think we are striving for something that Will never be. What do we need to do to make the impossible possible? Maybe we need to see our differences, Before we may push them aside. I begin to think it is necessary to repeat Black lives matter. There will always be people who think otherwise. But I am not scared. I may be angry. I may be sad. And I may be confused. But I am not scared. I am not scared to embrace who I am. I am black and beautiful. No matter how dark we may be, We are bright as day. You may continue to write in your books, Say our skin is chocolate, But we are more than your petty comparisons. May it be you’re the one who’s scared. Scared because for the first time In your life, Your blindness is fading away, And your beginning to see the beautiful color That is black.

Overdue Change By Rubi Melo Our Earth should be protected at all costs. The Earth deserves our love for all it's done. We must make up for all that Earth has lost. These goals can be achieved one by one. What can she be? Nora Mensch There is nothing a girl can do Without being made fun of for it. She can’t be smart without being called “know-it-all”, She can’t be talkative without being called “annoying”, She can’t show initiative without being called “bossy” She can’t be blonde without being called “dumb”, Or brunette without being called “bland”. She can’t be funny, but she can’t be boring, She can’t be masculine, but she can’t be feminine, She can’t be smart, but she can’t be dumb, She can’t be fat, but she can’t be skinny. So, what can she be?

We have to change the way we treat our home. We litter, burn, destroy, without relent, As we abuse the planet that we roam, While causing climate change we must prevent. There’s products being made in wrongful ways, Affecting animals, threat’ning lives, Because their homes are swiftly set ablaze. We have to change in order to survive. The Earth now needs our help, we must act fast. We as a whole must change things at last.

She can’t say “no”, Even when she needs to most. So, what can she say? She can’t have anything in this world, Where’s a world where she can be anything? Where she can be as strong as a lion, As independent as a wolf, As beautiful as a snow leopard? Where she is like a butterfly, Who can spread her wings and finally fly?

The Artist Girl By Nayeli Nuno-Ledezma “You’re getting tall aren’t you?” I didn’t grow an inch after that. I wanted to grow tall, to be able to see aheadAbove my family’s heads. There’s so much that they expect of me- everyone. My parents sacrificed everything to give me a chance at life here, I can’t mess up. I can’t mess up. I can’t mess up. I can’t mess up. I want to be remembered, to leave my markLike a meteor’s crater. We don’t exist to be forgotten-we all have a purpose. I’m more than just a sister, a daughter, a girlfriend. I’m my own. “Did you draw that?” Yes. I’ll draw my own path, I’ll write my own fall. I’ll show the world what a sick, tiny, mexican girl can doI’ll grow a few inches taller.

Rescue* By Anika McMillian The bird rescue seems to be all bright glory But it is nothing like you have been told I warn you it can be quite gross and gorey And in winter all but the birds are cold Dishes are how I spend much of my time, At the sight of cold bloody mice I sigh, And I struggle to purge walls of their grime I sometimes wish for home, I won’t lie Ever constant are the babys’ loud hungers, Desperate I run when a bird breaks free, And I’ve held one or two stubborn biters At end of shift I’m tired as can be But each time as I watch birds again take wing I know my work is the most perfect thing (*Please consider donating to The Bird Rescue Center of Santa Rosa)

Extraordinarily Extra Ordinary By Darius D. Prince School(n.) An anxiety inducing, anger making, stress manifesting machine A tool used to create extraordinary individuals But what makes someone extraordinary and alternatively extra ordinary School is like the process of creating steel, you burn out every impurity Until what's left is shiny enough to be considered worthy or beneficial But what about the extra ordinary residue, is it useless Is it possible to standardize the extraordinary Or would that in turn only create the extra ordinary en masse School is the ultimate sieve, separating the desirable from the untouchables Or in reality is it a strainer disguised as the ultimate strain-er

Her Notebook By Lia Rush You are my struggle Fighting to make it past a moment of anxiety and loneliness But you are full front to back of German tongue-twisters and bliss Each words just a basic phrase Greetings I struggle to say Once the moment has passed And you pushed me to the end It’s like I’m speaking a new language I am good again And I hated you for it But you could see the future By flipping to the end That in the next chapter I am grown It was because of you

Wounded by the People By Rylie Quoyeser Somewhere in the world, There is a child that walks out of their home in awe As they watch the delicate snowflakes dance around them, Not understanding that these snowflakes Have never danced in a warm, southern town such as theirs. But why should this child care If snow is beginning to fall in new areas in the world? Why should anyone care? Mother Nature has created the perfect environment For every person in the world. A person can choose to live in the brisk and gloomy Mountains of Eastern Europe, Or the muggy marshlands of Louisiana. A mother can decide to find shelter In the central valley of California, Where she will never feel too hot or too cold. But as people continue to treat the earth Like a spoiled adolescent treats a caring mother, There will soon be no marshlands or peaceful, temperate cities For the people to call home. The earth is an hourglass Waiting until the last grain of sand falls, Declaring that there is no more time left. How much more can we harm the earth before it is too late? Flakes of ash from a roaring forest fire Cover a child’s pair of shoes that were left outside. The next day they may be drenched from heavy rainfall from a storm. Or they may be flipped over from the ravaging winds That shake the houses with surprise. Every day, Mother Nature yells a little bit louder for help, In hopes that we will listen And patch her wounds.

Why Does Love Come With A Cost? By Robin Rose I see couples walking down the street Hearing their shoes on the concrete They are holding the rainbow flag We just want the feeling of Friday nights We just need our rights And we ask, “Where is the light?” But no matter what, we are as strong as an ox Love shouldn’t be political And that is visible Kids have become night owls Because they are scared of their safety When will we feel safe to be ourselves? When will we be accepted more? When will the hate stop?

Expectations By Natalie Royer They put pressure on our shoulders, Expect us to “succeed” in life. What do they mean by that? We get surrounded in a sea of schoolwork, End up trapped like a bird in a cage. But you can’t be lazy, Just get a stable job. What do you even count as “stable?” A good income? A good education? It seems like if you don’t have those, What do you have? That’s what they think anyways. All this pressure leads to stress, And somehow We need to keep our heads from exploding Be a shining star all the time And automatically be ready to change the world.

Ash Covered Hair By Pablo Smith Smoke and ash and fire Different feelings for each passing year Feeling the heat of a campfire tune, outdoors and free This fire makes a tomb of sonoma county Like snow flouting from above Burnt houses and memories cover our lawn Not a bad thing to feel privilege These days better to have luck School days are shorter now Like an inferno and the present a flu A couple free weeks couldn’t hurt So what then, a new surprise More embers to stoke familial demise The library of Alexandria close to home Memories gone ablaze from too much horror How beautiful is the theater of the absurd

Getting Some Sleep By Pablo Smith Checked the news on my phone today, They say the streets couldn’t be cleaner The river cuts the town in two like oil in the sea When did our politicians want to keep it? Glad to be rebellious in our own way Writing down thoughts on this open notebook For all the world to see Can’t help but notice the plastics pile up And the houses from which they are made Abandoned by innocent prisoners, which jail Were they gifted? Not a problem just to take a breath And look back at the good we have done Don’t we all miss the easier past, Better to take in the covers of my bed And just start on day one.

Acceptance By Caroline Tah-Espens ln a world where the social acceptance is important I ask myself Pop or Rap, Orchestra or Mariachi, Morning or Night, Left or Right, There shouldn't be a right or wrong But there is. She should just be who she wants to be What do I choose? I choose both. I embrace both. I choose to be different. To be unique. 26

Beginning By Malaina Vaden We are only the beginning, Yet end the alphabet at “Z” 1997 to 2015, Our hopes and dreams down the drain, And into the throat of greed, Swallowing up all of our opportunities, But watch us prevail all the same Our phoenix ashes glow, We will stand as a barrier to protect the broken, battered and bruised, And we will uplift their voices, Rather than steal the words off their lips, And the thoughts off their tongues, We will make them heard, We will scream, Echoing those who are forced to a whisper, I was born with the socially ingrained privilege of pale skin, But that does not allow me to stay quiet while my brothers and sisters and siblings of another gender, Are slandered day after day because of the color of their skin, The person they love, Or the amount of their income, No instead it is my obligation to fight to create equity in a ravaged and ruined nation, Where equity is needed out of desperation, Yet is so expertly weeded out and hatred is seeded, Day after day another battle won another war started, We are angry at being forced in a box yet told to overcome it, Girls like paper dolls told to be two dimensional and sit quiet, Paper turned kindling wait patiently to be burnt, Or until the world burns up completely, Hard to know which will happen first as every day marches closer to the apocalypse, But we’re already neck deep, While we were waiting for an atomic bomb, What hit us instead was a far more deadly display of distrust and dire loathing, So don’t let your head sink, Instead keep treading till your limbs turn to lead, Don’t forget to swallow the water spilling into your lungs, Burning and churning with the efforts of staying afloat, But keep a positive attitude because all you need to succeed Is hard work and determination, Not to mention, Being rich, white, straight, and male to gain the trust of the nation, The fear we fight against is our own creation, So we protest with our fists in the air, That fracture and shake the alleged normalcy, 27

That we as a people perpetuate Yet as the elders stand agape gaping at what they’ve created, The children are making changes even when told to wait, Society is not made to function at a static state, It needs to be disrupted to keep the pace, At which we need to grow and develop, Lessons learned in honors biology relate, To the evolution and adaptation of the world we live in, They say a wolf lives on wall street, But all I see Is pathetic old men badgering away their money, As the communities take what should’ve been theirs all along, Underestimated again this generation, Just does not sleep, Four wednesdays harbouring history, An insurrection, An impeachment, An inauguration, And an economic revelation, Troubling times are ahead, Behind and to the sides, Jaded doors previously slammed shut, Are now being opened by countless bodies tired of being broken, Tired of being spoken over, So they spoke over the speaker overs, Earning the title crisis and calamity, A society previously existing blandly, Now forced to move and make room for a golden world born anew, An unseen unheard bell tower, Booms with the flowering power of resistance and social disruption. So when we dive in head first, And make changes that you deem absurd, We may bring an era to an end, But we are only the beginning.

Honey and Vinegar By Malaina Vaden “You catch more flies with honey rather than vinegar”, Two different sides of a person so simply explained, Remarkably I can’t stand either, Is that all we are, Vinegar and honey, Some born to attract, others to repel, What if I’m neither, Not in the middle, nor on the external all together, I hide behind the facade of sweetened vinegar and salted honey, Those are the only categories aren’t they, Oh to be confined, Welcome to the suburbia of my mind, If I’m not honey and vinegar, What am I, What am I besides skin, Flesh, Blood, Bone, Liver, Lung, Brain, Eyes that dart too quickly, Ears slowed with time, Hands that shake, Veins that protrude blue, teeth and tongue to speak words untrue, What am I besides the dangerously similar sounds of glass clinking or breaking, Cloud eyes turned emerald with the weight of existence, Quick glances, Pages turning quietly, The squeak of boots that don’t quite fit, The color green, Graphite and ink, Jupiter’s second moon, Lockets with rusted chains, What am I if not vinegar and honey, What am I if not accepted, What am I if merely a memory, Honey and vinegar is all they want, All I’ve been taught, Honey and vinegar is what I am not 29

Mirror of My Mind By Lily Watkins In the mirror of my mind I smell a faint hint of the past, taste some to feel that bitter punch on my tongue. A hint of nostalgia lingering behind my throat is sugar hidden in the pain. Maybe next time it’ll all be sugar.

The Mind By Alejandra Vasquez Contreras The brain a muscle Controls thoughts and movements Remembers all the scars and beauty Collects and stores information that become memories Minds are as powerful as the heart Your mind is so blinded by the happiness that is disgards the pain Your brain clouded by the thick fog of fiction An angel without a halo Many people have the ability to change one's perception They may act on this by making you pity them Making you agree with everything their moving mouth says Manipulation is the word they use for this mindful act Once the spell is broken your mind is clear Scattered and scared like pieces are missing It aches with the alarming movement New information is being pulled in and out Until the brain stores the information once more as a memory.

Words of a Teen By Rose Williams How much longer will it be? When will they leave? It is our turn now To show them what we have got We have grown so much in such a little amount of time We have grown wings like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly Was it too fast? Maybe But they need us more than ever to create the change in the world we have seen needed all our lives This is the time we need to take a stand even if we have broken legs Let us all be phoenixes we must be tornadoes, blasting through everything in our way no matter how big it is There will be a time of peace but it will take work day and nights And the change will never stop

Lockdown By Peri Zoe Yildirim-Stanley 10.22.19 October 22, 2019 The day I was stuck in a box In a black tomb In was crowded, and cold, and clammy Dismal, dark, and dank No adults to keep me safe, could keep me safe And no end to the imprisonment No escape from the cage in sight Because a boy Whom I didn’t know Took his second amendment right too seriously A school shooting A lockdown I was lucky enough to feel nonchalant To just “know” I would get out Survive Nothing bad happens to me My friends hadn’t been fine They had broken down and cried While I had stayed strong and solid Nothing could get to me Not even that

Children my age Children forced to fight for their lives Children, gone Of families and friends grieving Of people struggling to move on Fear consumed me And I started to understand More than I wanted More than anyone should “Play dead” they say Don’t open the door Don’t talk Don’t move Don’t be seen Don’t look at your phone Don’t Look up Is that a door? Am I on the third or second floor? How much force would it take for that window break? Now I look over my shoulder Memorize every face Think: what might they do What statistic might I become

And I was right, I was fine Until much later there came a time Where a project Pushed me down a rabbit hole

If a lockdown was issued right now Would I take my phone or leave it behind? Help my friends, or leave them behind? With my life on the line Who would I become?

Lead me to videos And pictures Of bodies, and faces, and blood And guns, and killers, and victims And parents, and children

Now I’m at home No bullets can rain And that lockdown that I had once feared Now keeps me safe

The Path Towards Equality Anonymous I look towards one side and they are happy I look to the other side and they are... happy? There is no difference, as if they were the same. The only difference is one seems darker. We talk the same, we argue the same As stubborn as a donkey And as dumb as a panda I’m just a bit darker. So Why do I get treated differently? It's not how I act or how I speak. It's only because of my Color. Why are we different? Is it my fault? Will it really take us 100 years to figure this out? Hopefully both sides can learn to cooperate and figure it out together So when I am done dealing with this, our next generation can be born to love everyone And to never treat anyone wrong.

A Message to Rapists and Those That Defend Them Anonymous Who do you think you are? We are not your property. You think you can control us? It’d be easier to stop the tide. You think this makes you a man? No it makes you a monster. I name you betrayer, destroyer, RAPIST! You have no right to our bodies, no right to our minds. Don’t tell us to smile, don’t tell us to look pretty. Don’t try to contain us. Don’t try to play with us, for we are not sugar and spice and everything nice. We are beautiful, violent, raging storms and smoldering flames. Next time you tell us to smile, we’ll bare our bloodstained teeth. Next time you simplify us to ‘just pretty’, we’ll burn the earth down. Our voices like thunder, demanding to be heard. Do not underestimate us, or go ahead. It’ll be fun to watch your faces as we shatter your souls and take our crowns. For hell may know no fury like a woman’s scorn, but that’s nothing to our rage.

Violets Anonymous Once upon a time Queerness was giving other women violets Beautiful and fragile, like their love In secret No one else understood But them; Living together and being intimate, Like friends; Writing words of endearment Vague enough to have no solid indication to romance But specific enough that every woman after Knows not why, but relate so dearly Now Women hold one role in life And that is in relation to their male counterpart The world is black and white, no room for color And women Are for men Created for their pleasure As simple as man’s rib in a cage That is all So when color starts blinding your eyesight It’s hard to tell whether left or right fits you best What color is correct But you can tell Black and white was never right And being a woman is wrong Not being a woman as an identity to hold But as the relation it has to men This newfound color Slowly leaves no room for men And so no room for womanhood And that is where the difficulty lies In both managing the path you must take When to take it And in what body you choose to do so

Poems Inspired by Judith Viorst’s “If I Were In Charge of the World” If I Could Change the World By Hassna Lancaster If I were in charge of the world, I’d cancel doing the dishes, Chemistry class, Covid-19, And folding laundry If I were in charge of the world, There would be more snacking, And baking, And late night drives If I were in charge of the world you wouldn’t have Stubbed toes or, Feelings of isolation, Frustration, or even Boredom If I were in charge of the world There would be an endless supply of chocolate And more time to do things just for fun There would be travel and the rest of the world would wait for me

If I Were In Charge of the World By Sydney Gamble

If I Ruled The World By Anika McMillian If I ruled the world I would erase Essays and finals, Cigarettes and vapes, Cancers and Every single wildfire If I ruled the world There could be Longer weekends Sleepier nights And truer smiles If I ruled the world We wouldn’t have anxiety Or violence Or insecurity Or hatred

If I were in charge of the world I’d cancel homework, Judging a book by it’s cover, bucking broncos, bull riding, and Horse races If I were in charge of the world There would be more love and acceptance, People would feel more united, Animals would be treated more fairly, If I were in charge of the world You wouldn’t have abuse, There would be no neglect, You wouldn’t have to watch animals being in pain for entertainment If I were in charge of the world Animals would not be exploited, People would learn they were wrong and move on, And not hide history from us.

If I ruled the world The oceans would clean The globe would cool The countries would find peace And the people would find tolerance

If I Were In Charge of the World By Autumn Ostler If I were in charge of the world I’d cancel Daylight Savings Time, The American police system, Autism Speaks, and also J. K. Rowling. If I were in charge of the world There would be 4 day work weeks, Shorter school days, Free healthcare for everyone, and Actually decent school lunches. If I were in charge of the world You wouldn’t have standardized testing, You wouldn’t have time zones, You wouldn’t have Mormon family members, Or discrimination. If I were in charge of the world Dogs and cats would be immortal, Good computers would be cheaper, And mental and physical health Would always be prioritized over grades.

Freshmen Creative Writing During Quarter 3, 9th graders in Ms. Elsa’s ArtQuest English classes studied short stories. Students explored different stories and wrote one story at the end of the unit that showcased characters, setting, and clever dialogue. Most explored the AQ theme in their writing this year in some form or another. Enjoy!

Yokai by Jupiter This is it. This is the end. I looked down at my hands, bloodied and scratched up. This is really the end for me. My clothes were a bit torn, one of my shoes missing. If this is the end, then how come I still feel alive? Am I in heaven? I coughed harshly. Little bits of blood fell out of my mouth as my throat ached. My head hurt. Everything hurt. But I wasn’t dead. “Hey, you okay? You took quite a tumble there.” My eyes darted around the area. No one? “I never imagined a scrawny little boy would awaken me from my nap.” There it was again. The voice. I quickly opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted by the piercing pain in my neck. “Calm down, you’re okay.” I slowed my breathing down and relaxed a bit. What is going on… I wondered. My question was answered almost immediately. “You were hit. It seems you intended it to be that way, but I suppose the gods had other plans for you.” I quirked an eyebrow, still not quite grasping the situation. Then I remembered. I remembered everything. My name is Yakisana Ojirou. I’m a twenty-one year old local college student. I currently live in a small flat located quite a ways away from the college. I work at a convenience store trying to save up enough money to move closer. I don’t have any help from the assholes I call parents. I’m in this all alone. I’m tired of it. I hate the same stupid schedule I’m always on. Wake up, shower, eat, go to school, go to work, eat, sleep, and repeat. I’m so sick of it. I’ve lived so alone for so long. I have nothing going for me. I can’t take it anymore. So I made a plan to kill myself. It was simple. On my way home from work, I’d merely take a small detour to the busy road. I’d just get hit. It was that simple. So how did I mess up and get myself into the situation I’m in now? Only soon after I was hit, I was rushed to the hospital. I continued to hear the voice all the way through treatment. When I arrived home, I finally snapped. “I don’t know what you are or what you want, but I’m sick of hearing your stupid voice in my head.” Suddenly, a tall man stood in front of me. They had long blonde hair down to their waist, dressed in a traditional kimono, with long hands that had razor sharp nails. “That’s quite rude. After all, I did save you.” I backed up from it. I looked it up and down holding back a scream. What… What the hell… “Let me explain. My name is Nikorasu. Niko for short, if you will. Nice to meet you, kid.” They grinned widely, its teeth almost as sharp as blades. “I’m sure you’re very confused…” “-Confused is an understatement!” I shot back. It, who has now identified themselves as Niko, seemed taken aback from my little outburst. They sat me down on my couch and backed up against the wall. “Calm down! Listen, I’ll try to explain this in the least words I can. I am a yokai. I’m sure you’re already well aware of the power that yokais hold so I’d recommend you watch yourself when talking to me.” “Wait, wait, wait. A yokai? As in one of those ghost thingies? No way. Those don’t even exist.” “If you would let me finish…” Niko muttered under its breath. “Yes, sure, one of those ‘ghost thingies’. Obviously they exist if I’m standing in front of you now. As I was…. Many years ago, way before that street you tried to kill yourself on existed, I was murdered in a gruesome, evil way.” I felt a chill go down my spine as they spoke. There is no way this can be true. “Of course I don’t remember how! I don’t have any memories from the time I was alive. All I know is that now I have a purpose.” I tilted my head, a bit confused. “And what purpose would that be?” I asked. It smiled once more. “To take over your body of course! When you were hit, you did die. But due to the fact that I, a yokai, happened to be killed in the same spot you were hit, I was given a second chance. If I can successfully take over your body, I can have a second chance at life! Isn’t that great? All you have to do is-” I cut them off again. “No. No way. No way this is happening… This has to be a sick joke.” Niko shrugged my comment off. “I assure you this is no joke. Why else would I be here right now? And how come only you can see and hear me? And how come you’re alive-?” “I don’t know, okay!” I shouted. It seemed alarmed, eyes widened. “I don’t know but… I just don’t know.” “Yeah, I get that you might be confused or concerned… But as I said, it’s all true! You can choose to believe me and give up your body now or we can do this the hard way.” Niko’s voice rang in my ears. Give up my body now...? “To give up your body, all you have to do is let me have just a sip of your blood… Which should be pretty easy right? Afterall, you still have bandages on from earlier.” It told me very clearly but I still wasn’t getting it.

Niko noticed the confusion on my face and quickly spoke up. “This shouldn’t be an issue right? You wanted to die anyways. This is your perfect chance!” No, no, no. That’s not what I want to hear.... “I know this may be hard but you were ready anyways, right?” No, shit, no. This isn’t what I want! Niko reached their hand out towards my face. “Shall we get this over with? Thank you for lending me your body, I very much appreciate it-” “No!” I finally shouted back, slapping its hand away from my face. “No.. If I was somehow also given a second chance at life…” Niko sighed deeply, crossing its arms. “But you just wanted to die! Now that someone actually wants you to, you don’t want to?” I shook my head. “I… I never wanted to die! I was just tired.. Tired of everything! I won’t give up my body so leave me alone!” Niko sighed once again. It laughed a bit. “You have no choice, you know.” Suddenly, it charged straight for me. I felt myself being lifted into the air, struggling to breathe. Stop… Stop it… My lungs were slowly collapsing, I was gulping for air. Stop… Please… I want to… “Really sorry about this, kid!” I can’t… I need to… I need to live! Everything went black. “Shit…” Nikos voice echoed all over the room. “There is no way…” I looked down at my lap, lifting my hands to check if I was in one piece. “How did you…? What the hell are you, kid?” It all clicked. I’m alive! Still! “How am I not…” “You’re stronger than I imagined. For a scrawny little thing, you were able to fend me off.. So what exactly are you?” Niko admired me, looking me up and down. My legs were still scratched up. My throat felt hot, burning from whatever was holding my throat closed. The one noticeable thing on my body was a symbol. An infinity sign. What could this mean…

“Will you ever leave me alone?” I asked. I was walking to the store that was down the block from my house. It’s now been a week since the situation with Niko, yet he still follows me around. Niko chuckled. “It’s not exactly like I can leave, now can I? I still need to take over your body… Once I figure out what the hell is keeping me from taking it.” I shrugged a bit. “I don’t really know either. I just know that whatever this symbol on my hand is…” I looked down at my palm, the sign still very much visible. “Whatever this is, it’s keeping you from hurting me.” Suddenly, Niko perked up. “Listen, Ojirou. I have an idea. You want to know what that is right?” I nodded in response. “How about this. We figure out what that is. It would help both of us out, wouldn’t it?” I shook my head. “If you find out what it is, you could possibly find out how to get rid of it. No way.” They scratched the back of its neck and smiled awkwardly. “Well, yeah. But honestly, kid, I think this thing may have something to do with my past as well. Maybe if I figure out my past, I could really get a second chance. Not as you, but as me.” I took a deep breath, thinking this over. “What do you say Ojirou? Wanna figure out what’s going on?” “Alright. Let’s figure it out.”

That’s how my adventure with one of the closest people to me started. A story of love and despair.

The Autobiography of Farren Orchaedia by Hush Bolman

To many, Arcas was a world like any other. A world filled with power-hungry Humans, barbaric Orcs, and magical Elves. But to me, it was more than a world, it was my home. And yes, there was fighting, I lost many who were close to me, be they family or friends. I made many mistakes and hurt so many people. I even found myself close to death several times. But despite all of this hatred and chaos, my story has yet to end. To start off simply I will tell you who I am as well as the so ons and so forths. My name was Aphellion Pádraig, a dark elf born into Helena and later raised almost half a world away in a forest known as Siramenor. The princedom of Elveness and home to the Mali’ame of Arcas. I arrived in this forest when I was 23, still young enough for any elf to call me a child. I told those who listened how I came of this glade and word spread till everyone in the village knew of my story. For starters, I told them how I was forced to flee the monolithic city in order to escape my father. A money-hungry man whose soul wished for nothing more than power and friends in high places. This was how I came to be a part of the royal family. My father eventually bought my mother and added her to his collection of exotic items before I was born. A pure Mali’ker with somehow a full human father and a draconic mother. Later on, when I was around eight years old my mother took me to visit her kin in the mountains. A people known as the Azdrazi. Normal folk turned lizards after selling their souls as energy to their dragon deity, Azdromoth. My mother somehow managed to keep me far from this practice which is the same reason I have kept my good looks and sharp wits. Finally, once I was a young teen with the new title of “Duchess” and having enough of my father’s abuse, I said goodbye to my mother and fled before my father could cause any more harm to me. And so I entered the real world with a fresh start and a new title. And not even a week later I pulled my first heist. You see, part of being a dark elf means that you’re more likely to make friends with the more misunderstood characters of the world. My group for example included me, two cave dwarves, a lesbian orc chieftess, and a very quick halfling. And together we formed the most unlikely of friendships, and I gave myself the new name, Farren Orchaedia. In less than a year; we had stolen a whole fort’s supply of weapons, raided a hermit’s camp, destroyed a bridge, and finally settled with setting a burning down the Mali’thill library. In short, a good ass run for a fantastic 10 months. And finally, I decided I wanted to settle down somewhere which is when I went to Siramenor. By this point I was 23 as said before and began to work in the paper trade, cutting down reeds and turning them into books for others to sell making me the richest in the village. But then I decided to go for something bigger which is when I met my husband, or rather, ex-husband. Methas, like me, was a dark elf of the Renalian family. The royal dark elven family and one of the most disturbed men I’ve ever met. Together, we moved into Sutica, moved over to Haelun’or, and got engaged. It was bliss till we had our first son, Kalon. Named after my brother, he was a beautiful dark elf with white fluffy hair, piercing blue eyes, and a tiny little birthmark making his freckles look like stars. However, little to my knowledge, Methas had other plans in mind for the two of us. I woke up in the middle of the night to Methas about to plunge a knife into my chest, I fought back, obviously, and fell to the ground. He must’ve thought I was out because he started to leave. But right before I could get up, he murdered my son and left into the night. Kalon was only three days old when he was murdered. I set him off to sea in a proper oceanic funeral and made my way to Elveness. War had come and it was time for me to fight. The war had been caused by a group of demons known as the Inferni, fire casters corrupted by their magick and rage. I was part of the navy, my fellow brethren and I boarded a massive ship with beautiful red sails and a flag with the Elveness white stag, a sign of hope for our comrades and a sign of fear for all others. And so we were off, sailing for the west side of Korvassa to meet what might just be our end. About halfway there, we were attacked on the starboard side by a barrage of giant insects and large metal cannonballs covered in hot tar and fire. Somehow, we all managed to survive and escape to our destination. And when we docked we met a much worse enemy. A giant tan ogre with a head full of horns shoved into his skull like a sadist’s crown. His weapon of choice, a club forged from the mast of a ship we had lost the earlier week. Our high prince, Fëanor, was the first to fall, getting hit directly in the chest as he charged towards the beast. Medics rushing to him in hopes of keeping their prince alive.

The war had been caused by a group of demons known as the Inferni, fire casters corrupted by their magick and rage. I was part of the navy, my fellow brethren and I boarded a massive ship with beautiful red sails and a flag with the Elveness white stag, a sign of hope for our comrades and a sign of fear for all others. And so we were off, sailing for the west side of Korvassa to meet what might just be our end. About halfway there, we were attacked on the starboard side by a barrage of giant insects and large metal cannonballs covered in hot tar and fire. Somehow, we all managed to survive and escape to our destination. And when we docked we met a much worse enemy. A giant tan ogre with a head full of horns shoved into his skull like a sadist’s crown. His weapon of choice, a club forged from the mast of a ship we had lost the earlier week. Our high prince, Fëanor, was the first to fall, getting hit directly in the chest as he charged towards the beast. Medics rushing to him in hopes of keeping their prince alive. The next was Sevrel, a Mali’ker I considered my brother who took a hit to his arm but continued to somehow fight. Then was Laetranis, one of the clan chieftains, then Elros, and finally Aesilnoth. All seemed lost until my friend whose name I’ve forgotten and I were was struck by lightning. And from this emerged where my friend was a tall empyrean figure with giant sets of wings keeping him from touching the ground and a massive staff which took the place of his sword. He had turned into an Aengul, a holy being sent from the gods themselves to end this seemingly unwinnable fight. But I too had been struck, my skin felt like it was burning. My face and ears felt as if they were going to explode. Even my limbs felt this. I looked down and instead of the dreaded scars from the lightning that many feared, I had beautiful pale blotches and some colors of blues and purples all across my body. I had been spared in a way by the gods who wished to see no more die. The Aengul told us to follow him and so we did. Passing over rotting bodies, bones, and even a few graves of people from ages past. We saw many different and disturbing things, said goodbye to many people we all loved like family, and finally went back home. But the gods were not done yet. We had been told to go to our homes and pack up, it was time to say goodbye. And so as quickly as I could I grabbed as many drinks as possible, the few actual belongings I wished to keep, my weapons, and made my way for the boats. The waters were not kind to us that day. The waves crashed onto the boat almost trying to stop us from leaving. I almost burned through my hands trying to keep the ropes from flying away and hitting everybody off. And finally, we were off. Sailing across the sea to a new world. And on the way, I met a very special person. A Mali’ame a little taller than me with beautiful dark eyes, chestnut skin, and a beard. He told his name was Anessen, he was from the Tahorran clan and together we quickly became friends. And not even a year later I suddenly found myself nursing him back to health after he lost his memory. A little past that, as he got better, we ended up starting a family with our sons Elenion, Maglure, and our daughter Asteria. I am now in my early 70’s and serve as a Sentinel for Elveness. Sevrel and I have started planning a new city for the Mali’ker, and I am in the second command as we work day and night to build our new city. My story still has yet to see a happy ending, I have recently learned that my real father is somewhere out in the world and my mother has just died of old age. Along the way, I’ve ended up meeting dragons, honoring my family by wearing my grandmother’s horns in an ancient headdress, adopting an Eagle, and even find myself enjoying the fast side of life. I am still a young Mali’ker and have another 900 years until I possibly leave this world but who knows. But until then, may all your demons slumber and your wine glasses always be full 10 of the First Seed,9:14th, 10th of the First Seed, 9:14th -Farren Orchaedia

Together Again by Maggie Bromham “I thought I would never see you again.” The woman hummed the tune she knew too well. She felt drawn to her. ... A little girl rolled down a hill through the vibrant strands of grass. She lay still with her Goldilocks blonde hair spread out over the patch of field, giggling as she looked up, her imagination roaring with creatures in the clouds. “Laurel, come here! It’s time to go.” The 7 year old sprinted back up the hill to her mother. She ran into her mother’s arms in a tight embrace. The little girl inhaled deep breaths of the delicious scent of green apples from her mother’s hair, savoring the moment. It was a hot summer afternoon in June of 1971. Laurel had just finished her day at summer camp and her mother decided to take her on a picnic at their favorite park as a treat. Laurel had loved going to the park. She loved how the sun shone down on her as she would play rambunctiously on the play structures. She loved the special days where ice cream would drip all over her hands from the blazing heat to the point where they would stick together. And most of all, Laurel loved when she and her mother would sing their song together with the wind blowing through their hair. This was Laurel’s last fond memory of her and her mother. If she would have known that this would all come to an end, she would have stayed in her mother’s embrace forever, humming their special song. Her mother died the day after their picnic of ‘71. The police said it was a hit and run, that a drunk truck driver had swerved into their compact baby blue Prius. They never caught the drunk bastard who chose to get behind the wheel and ended up taking her mother’s life. When Laurel was first given the devastating news about her mother, her mind jumped to their picnic the previous day and her mother’s big gap-toothed smile. She thought about all the times her mother had protected her from her father. Laurel would hide behind the protection of her mother’s legs during her parents' disputes. Witnessing the mental and physical abuse her father was capable of made Laurel afraid and resentful. She was not ready to face him alone. The morning after their picnic of ‘71, Laurel’s father had already started drinking to the point where he had lost his temper and struck her mother across the face. Laurel was in shock. She had never seen their fights get this bad before and she froze. She knew her father could lash out, but not like this. Her mother told Laurel to go to her room right away and to get ready for her day at camp. Saying this as if nothing had happened, trying to calm and distract her daughter from the horror she had just witnessed. Laurel was only 7, but she was very smart for her age. She knew that what had just happened wasn’t right and she had to put a stop to it. Her mother came into her room and took Laurel in her arms out to their baby blue Prius, tears streaming down both of their faces. Her mother was trying to make the situation better, as she always had done, and took Laurel to her camp. Her mother got out of the car and kissed Laurel goodbye on the cheek. Then she watched as her little darling trotted into the building with the other kids. The mother let out a sigh of relief and got back into the car. She tried to calm herself before driving off and leaving her little girl behind. This was the last time Laurel ever saw her mother. She wished upon a thousand stars that she could go back to their picnic and simple life, but she knew that nothing would be the same again. She was now alone in this vast world. And she had to face her father. Alone. ... It was now the year 1985. 14 years to the day after the death of Laurel’s mother. Laurel had just received word that her father was in the hospital. She still had not mended the broken bonds between her father and became very distant from him, leaving the second she was old enough to escape from his grasp. Laurel stood above her mother’s grave, questioning why she had been taken so soon, when her daughter needed her most. Why the only person she ever cared about was simply . . . gone. Laurel placed a single rose on her mother’s grave and left for the hospital.

Laurel’s father was in a hit and run accident, just as her mother had been 14 years ago. She felt a twinge of anger toward her father because he had just ruined the one day that was supposed to be dedicated to her mother. But deep down, she also felt that he had deserved being in that minor accident, for what he did to her mother the day she died and making it one of the last things she ever thought about. Being fearful and worried at the thought of returning home and having to sleep in the same bed as him. Once her father was discharged from the hospital, Laurel and her father headed home. Her father was weak and Laurel saw this as a perfect opportunity to get revenge for her and her mother for what that bastard had done to them. When they returned home, Laurel aided her father and pretended to care a great deal for him, hoping that he wouldn’t see through her act. She cringed at the thought of tending to her father, acting like they were a perfect little family when she knew they were far from it. Laurel decided that she would kill her father for his crimes. A bit extreme she thought, but after all she had been through, she felt that this was the most suiting form of revenge. Her choice of death would be by poison, making it seem that it was just a simple heart attack brought on by the accident. Laurel set two crystal champagne glasses down on their rustic cream coffee table, placing the one holding 3 drops of the poisoned liquid in front of her father. As Laurel was pouring the champagne, anticipation coursing through her veins, she got a call on her cell phone. She sighed in frustration and excused herself from the room to take the call. As Laurel was talking on the phone, trying to get the person on the other line to hang up, her father eyed the glasses with suspicion. He grabbed the two glasses and swapted them. Then he proceeded to finish filling up the glasses with champagne. When Laurel returned, she said annoyingly, “Sorry. It was just the hospital checking in on you. I finally got them to hang up.” “Oh it’s fine honey. Come. Let us toast to your mother.” Laurel took the glass that was in front of her on the coffee table and held it up in the air. “To mom.” “To your mother,” said her father. Laurel watched as her father took the first sip, then she raised her glass to her lips and took a sip. Laurel only sipped once more while she watched suspiciously as her father gulped the rest of his champagne, grinning. Laurel puckered her lips from the bitter aftertaste of her champagne. She then felt a sudden sharp pain in her chest. Laurel dropped to the ground clutching her chest. When she looked up, she saw her father smiling down at her while she grunted in pain. Disbelief and mistrust washed over her. Laurel let out a soft whimper, then she suddenly felt as if she was floating, light as a feather. ... “Come here darling.” “I thought I would never see you again”, said Laurel. The woman hummed the tune they used to harmonize when she was a child. The smell of apples was flowing through the air. The woman smiled her gap-toothed smile as she held out her arms, just like that summer day of ‘71. Laurel was in disbelief. Her eyes showed her mother standing in front of her in the blinding, awe inspiring white beam of light, but she knew her mother was dead. And that she was in the living room of their old house with her father. She had just toasted the death of her mother. . . then she knew. The memories came flooding back all at once. Her plan for revenge. The excruciating pain in her chest, then . . . nothing. Laurel looked up at her mother expectantly. “Why? Why would he do such a thing like that - and how did he even know that the drink was laced?” Her mother lowered her arms and ignored the question as she started to speak. “That day after I dropped you off at camp, I got back into the car and decided to take a drive before I would have to face your father again.” “The police said that there was a car accident?” said Laurel. “Yes . . . when I was about a block away from your camp, I saw a huge truck barreling toward me. I panicked, my thoughts scrambled, and when I looked up at the driver heading right toward me . . . I realized that it was your father and I knew it was too late.” Laurel stood, shocked once again, her jaw gaping open. “But - but I thought he was at home.” “He was, but after the fight he stormed off, got behind the wheel and drove off. I knew he was going to get behind the wheel - and I should have tried harder to stop him - but instead I went into your room and took you away, out of sight from that man.” Laurel was dumbstruck. She stood, stiff as a board, trying to make sense of the situation. Her mother held her hand out to Laurel and began to sing their song once again. Laurel joined her then stepped forward and took her mother’s hand. They walked hand in hand, singing their song, together as one, through the bright beam of light and disappeared into the blinding abyss.

My Sunless Life by: Brianna Luna Alvarez The sun, it’s a fiery giant ball of gas that’s in outer space, far from where I am. And yet, it still frightens me. A light so bright, a light so hot, one that burns your eyes if you try and look at it directly. I fear it but, I also respect it in a way. The sun gives life to Earth, we revolve around it, and wouldn’t survive without it. Even when I was a baby, I would start frantically crying when I was in direct sunlight. It was only at night, or when I was in a dark space that I would ever stop. But before my parents could figure that out, they didn’t know what to do with me. They tried everything they could think of, even called a doctor who couldn’t find anything physically wrong with me. My name is Helios Adam, 17 years old, I’m 6 foot 1 with black hair and bright blue eyes. My skin is a pale white. My biggest fear is the sun. Both my parents and my family are rich. I’m next in line to become the chairman of the company my family owns. It’s for this reason my Father is so hard on me about and my phobia. I was named after the sun god. My parents thought it a fitting name as I would inherit the company, they saw it as a name with power. Ironic isn’t it. I have a high IQ, I’m perfect at almost everything I do, I’m knowledgeable, well mannered, and can do anything my father wants me too. Except for one thing, I can’t get over my fear of the sun. I’ve had countless psychologists come and do their best to help me. However, every effort was pointless. Due to my condition I have yet to earn my father’s full acknowledgement of me. He tells me that my fear is a weakness, and a stupid one at that. I’ve tried, I’ve really tried to get over it, but it never does any good. My room is large, every window covered by blackout curtains, and behind those are blinds. I have a king sized bed with fabric hanging from the ceiling that can be used as a dome if I were to fully close them, covering my whole bed. My room colors are black, gray, and white. My room is clean, plain, and simple. I have a black cat who keeps me company. Her name is Shiro, which means white in Japanese. She has a full black coat of fur that’s soft and silky. She has bright green eyes that shine like emeralds. Shiro’s paws are pale pink and small. Cats are nocturnal creatures, partly why I got one, because I too sleep during the day. She’s a kind animal, I feel safe around her, like I can be vulnerable when I’m with her. Shiro’s the only one I can truly be myself around. My name is Shiro. My name was given to me by my owner Helios. He saved me when I was abbondanned on the street when I was a kitten. He’s unlike any other human I’ve seen. His hair is pitch black with blue eyes that are brighter than the sky. His skin looks like it could be white and is almost as soft as my paws. He’s taller than a lot of other humans, he has a deep but soft voice. His hands are big but gentle, and his smile is small but makes you want to smile too. Helios is the kindest human I know. Helios sleeps during the day like me. He takes these things he calls pills everyday. He tells me it’s because he doesn’t go in the sun so he needs to take them. At night he goes to this room where he goes almost everyday. I like going there with Helios, there’s always a nice lady who gives me treats. I don’t know her name but Helios has called her teacher before. After that, I follow Helios to another room called an office. I don’t like this room. I can always tell Helios is stressed or exhausted in this space. A large man who’s about the same height as Helios comes in once in a while. Helios calls him father. I hate this human; he’s always so mean or cold hearted towards Helios. I don’t understand exactly what’s going on, but I know Helios works hard for him, but it’s like it’s never enough. Helios almost never leaves this house for some reason, even I go out to get some sun. It’s nice, it feels so warm and makes every nap I take amazing. I wish Helios would come outside when the suns out so he can feel like this too. Helios always has a sad look on his face, even when he smiles at me, it feels almost lonely. “Shiro! Where are you?” “Meow (I’m here! I’m here!)” “There you are, I was looking for you. You want to go up to my office with me like usual as I do work?” “ Meow Meow (Yea let’s go!).” Yay! I get to sleep on Helios’s lap again today. Wait what was that? It sounded like a crash and a woman screaming. I start running towards the door to go outside and call Helios to follow me, but he looks confused. I run back and circle around him and walk towards the door again looking back. This time he follows me. It’s pouring rain outside, making a pitch black night sky. The heavy rain is making the air cold and crisp. I see a woman on the ground. I can barely see her with the light of the road lamp. I run to her, Helios runs after me and quickly notices her. It looks like she’s unconscious. “Hello, are you alright?” With no response, Helios grabs her and carries her inside. He lays her on the couch in the living room. He calls a maid over to get her a change of clothes and to call a doctor. I’ve never really had any interest in any other human other than Helios, but I must admit that this woman is really pretty. I jump on the couch and lay next to her, she looks cold and somehow sad even as she’s unconscious. It’s the same look of loneliness Helios gives off. So I hope feeling the warmth of my body will make her feel better as it does Helios. Helios has also decided to stay by her side. A few minutes later she starts to gain consciousness. Helios quickly stands up and gets a step closer to her. “Ugh, My head is throbbing. Excuse me, where am I right now?” “You're currently in my house. My cat Shiro who is beside you right now found you and led me to you. You were laying on the ground unconscious in front of my house, and I brought you in.” “I see. Thank you for your kindness, but I really must go, so I’ll give you my number, and just give me a call if there is any way for me to repay you.” The pretty lady quickly stands up but then staggers and falls. Thankfully Helios was there to catch her and lay her back down. “It’s best you stay here, you're in no condition to go anywhere, and I have already called you a doctor. I will not accept no for an answer.” “Meow (Don’t worry, Helios is a kind person and will take good care of you).” I come up to her once again and she gives me a gentle pet with a small smile. “Alright, thank you for allowing me to stay.” “You may rest in our guest room, I have a change of clothes waiting and the maids are getting the bath ready for you. Are you able to walk up to the second floor?” “Yes, I can manage thank you.” “I’ll walk you up to your room.” For some reason, I really took a liking to this human; she seemed different somehow. She reminds me of the sun. I can tell Helios has taken a 45 liking to her as well. I didn’t realize it at the time, but soon both Helios and I were to find out that she really was the sun.

The Backstabber by Frida Perez It was a windy autumn afternoon, Ellie and May decided to go to the theater and watch a horror movie called You're Not Alone. Ï have been wanting to see this film for the longest time!¨ says May. ¨Me too!¨ Ellie replies. As they walked to the theater they chatted about the spine-chilling news that they saw on TV. ¨Did you hear about the serial killer that supposably is in our area? He goes by the name The Backstabber. I think he went to your school at some point.¨ Öbviously, it’s everything everyone’s talking about nowadays,¨ answers Ellie. Ï doubt it's true,¨ May replied. ¨Have you ever heard of Ted Bundy?¨ Ökay but that was decades ago. Who does that in this day and age? Do you have any idea of who it could be?¨ ¨No- Can we not talk about this? It's spooky,¨ says Ellie. May scoffs. Once they arrived, they bought their tickets. ¨Cmon!¨ exclaimed May. ¨Wait up!¨ Ellie says as she walks up the slightly lit cinema stairs. There was a decent amount of people seated waiting for the movie to begin. Ellie noticed a skinny man dressed as dark as night. He was sitting in the back looking at her. She ignored his stare. ¨Let's sit here,¨ Ellie points at the seat in front of the man. Ökay. The farther back the better.¨ says May. As they walk to their seat Ellie bumps into someone. ¨Sorry!¨ Ellie exclaims. ¨No worries,¨ they reply in a stern voice. She looks up to see the frail man dressed in black that had been staring at her from the back of the theater. He looked familiar… The movie commenced, May and Ellie were ready for a scare. The movie increasingly gets scarier. May and Ellie had their hands covering their eyes, peeking through their fingers. Screams from the huge surround speakers filled the theater. What felt like decades later, the credits started appearing on the screen. Ï couldn't imagine being her,¨ says May ¨Why did she have to trip? She could’ve easily escaped!¨ Ellie said in annoyance The sun had gone down by this time and they were walking back home. Ellie and May split ways, saying their goodbyes and goodnights. On May’s walk home, she felt weird, ill, and watched. ¨Maybe it's the popcorn,¨ she thought. She continued on her way home until she heard footsteps, she looked back slowly, but there was no one to be found. She was just paranoid from the movie, she thought. Nothing to worry about. She quickened her pace, eager to hide from whatever was following her. As she turned around the same man from the theater was right in front of her eyes. She stumbled back not knowing who the man was nor what he wanted. Her heart was pounding out of her chest. The man steps forward, reaches into his pocket and-

The wind stroked the young teen’s hair with wisps of frost as her feet padded along the cement. Gray boots made their way to the large building Lola called school. Lola lifted up a hand to wave at any fellow students as frostbite nipped at the tip of her nose. Her cheeks were tinted in a light pink yet the rest of her body stayed warm from the heat of her jacket. Her outfit was messily put together as Lola’s alarm clock woke her up a little later than she had expected. Lola was an unusual person. When she was around the age of 5, she grew an odd fear. This fear is what doctors called, Athazagoraphobia, the fear of being forgotten. Lola’s whole life has been her trying to let those around her remember. She couldn’t handle a single person losing memory of her...

“Good Morning!” Lola’s best friend, Joshua, yelled to gain the attention of the cold girl. Lola turned her head to see him jogging over, his teeth slightly chattering from the air.

“It is a morning, isn’t it?” Lola giggled, watching the hot breath leave her lips. Joshua wrapped a well covered arm around her shoulder, leading the two of them indoors to warm up. As soon as Lola stepped inside, she was relieved.

“Finally, it’s warm in here and I can breathe without freezing my butt off,” Lola groaned, rubbing her hands together to create friction for the only warmth her body could produce this early. It snowed quite a bit in the outskirts of New York, yet this cold weather always got Lola’s gears frozen.

“Stop complaining, it’ll only make your heart colder,” Joshua joked, laughing wholeheartedly. His larger hand reached up to pat Lola’s head as he gave her a kind smile, running off to his first class of the day. As Lola made her way to her locker, she noticed not many people acknowledged her today. She looked around nervously, trying to wave at any passersby. “I think it’s quite fun!” Lola added, a small smile easing its way onto her pink lips, slightly chapped from the air. “That’s because you know all the answers..” Joshua pointed out, taking a few steps away from the teenager as they arrived at her car. Lola furrowed her brows and turned to look at him.

“No ride today?”

“Nah, I got a cute date,” He raised an eyebrow with a playful glance before jogging away, “Have fun doing the boring homework!” His voice echoed in the distance.

A few waved back but those that didn’t only made her feel worse. Lola rushed to the bathroom as quick as her feet could take her. The rusty door was thrown open, squeaking loudly from the age finally grasping it. Lola gripped the dirty sink, staring at herself in the mirror. For once in her life she felt… invisible.

How could this be? She did everything in her power to make people remember her. Lola closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath but it only became worse. Panic overwhelmed her and it felt bad. She felt like she was choking or being pressed down under a large panel. Lola gripped the plaster sink tighter, watching as her eyes slowly grew red veins as a sign of the tears welling up in her eyes. But then, she was snapped out of it when a voice interrupted her.

“Lola? You alright?”

Her head snapped up to see a girl she recognized from biology class. Lola nodded with a small exhale and all of her previous feelings floated away in the crisp air. The girl gave Lola a smile before heading into a stall. Lola watched before forcing her feet to take her out of the bathroom. Smiles were thrown and hands were swaying as a greeting as she entered the halls. People still recognized her.. Was it all in her head? No, it couldn’t have been. Lola smiled back brightly to a few before meeting up with some friends to prepare for the classes ahead. After all the classes had ended, Lola chatted with Joshua again as the two walked to her car.

“Class is so boring, oh my god,” Joshua groaned, rubbing a hand over his cleanly shaved face.

Lola giggled to herself, unlocking the door with a metal key and hopping inside. Immediately, she turned on the heater. Lola refused to freeze within her own car. The car started up soon after, and Lola pulled out of the school’s parking lot. Her slim fingers reached over to turn on the radio and she hummed along as her favorite songs started to play. Buildings, trees, and other cars passed her as the girl jammed out on her own. The cold air had finally decided to freeze over the front window-shield of the car. Lola sighed heavily, trying to turn on the water to clean off the frozen slate. Meanwhile, while she was trying to fix her window, just down the block you could hear the loud sound of a car. Lola could tell it was reckless driving and decided to try and be careful even though she couldn’t see out of her--

BANG!! A loud crash was heard and Lola sat there in shock as her car slowly flipped over. The large piece of transportation flung over the side of the road, crashing into a grassy ditch with mud and patches of water. Lola’s head flew forward, hitting the wheel with a large crack, causing her to and passing out almost immediately. Her body laid there, somehow still alive. Outside of her car door was a large black truck.

It was wedged into the side of her own car with dents in both parties' vehicles. The reckless driver quickly jumped out of their car, dialing up the hospital for the young girl who laid unconscious inside. Blood pooled on the man’s fingertips as he tried to delay the blood loss for as long as he could. He was heavily breathing, the result of his actions hitting him just like the truck not long before. Sirens were heard soon after to take the girl into urgent care.

A week had passed since Lola was in the accident and she was finally waking up. The accident put her body into a state of shock, rendering her in a coma for a short period of time. Her eyes peeled open as she looked around the hospital room. She could feel her body still in shock but with unknown knowledge of what it was from. Lola’s fingers were stiff and slowly bent back to life as her brain worked on sending the nerves more signs. Soon after, a nurse came in quickly to check all of her stats. The nurse could see fear striking Lola’s eyes. The act of not knowing scared her, kind of ironic. Lola’s voice wavered as she opened her mouth to speak for the first time since the medicine brought her to life again. “Miss, where am I?” Lola asked, reaching her slightly sedated hands out to look at them.

“The hospital, you were in a terrible accident.” The nurse tried to give a smile but failed, so she chose to note down blood pressure and heart rate instead.

Lola let out a breath, eyebrows turning inwards to have a confused expression plastered on her face. She looked up at the clipboard that stated her name and information, slightly tilting her head at the look of it.

Apparently, the girl who was afraid of being forgotten.. forgot herself.

The Perfect Dreamland by Lucy Savin Y Juarez The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, a light breeze was causing the trees to sway back and forth like they were dancing, and everything was peaceful in their little haven.

“I’m going to get you!” said a tall, brunette teenage girl, playfully. “No you’re not! I’m way faster than you!” replied an even younger, dirty blonde and freckled girl, taunting her older sister. The older one ran as fast as her long legs could take her and eventually caught up to her younger sister.

“Haha! Got you!” she said as she tackled her little sister to the ground causing them to roll down a daisy-covered hill. They finally got to the bottom and started laughing uncontrollably, so much that they could barely breathe. The laughing slowly stopped and they looked at each other, silently agreeing that they would always love each other and be happy no matter what.

“Do you think we’ll stay here forever Annalise? Even when we’re old and wrinkly?” asked the younger sister hopefully. “I don’t know, Quinn, I don’t know.”

Annalise and Quinn had been there as long as they could remember. They didn’t know where they came from or who their parents even were, they had always been there. Annalise took care of her younger sister as if she was her mother. They lived on a wide and long valley enclosed by a forest of beautiful, tall trees. There was a little well for fresh drinking water and a shed with all the things they could need: tools, hunting gear, plates, utensils, and more if they ever needed it. The shed had always been there just like Annalise and Quinn. Quinn was the only one that would go in, Annalise hated it. She didn’t know why but she would never go near it. She had not once stepped a single foot inside the whole time they had been living there. Annalise did love the big and wide field though. It was always sunny but not too hot, the grass was always green, there was a creek that flowed right through the middle of it that had the most colorful creatures they had ever seen, and it was just for them. They were the only ones there. They got to enjoy the whole place for themselves, forever.

The girls had learned how to care for themselves and survive on their own. They made a fire from sticks they had gathered from the woods and were going to cook a good sized fish they had caught themselves from the little creek.

“I’m going to cook the fish, can you go to the shed and get me a plate?” asked Quinn. “What why?! I’m not going in there! You know I don’t like to!” replied Annalise like she was a little girl even though she was the older one. “You’re going to have to go in there one day. What are you so scared of?” asked Quinn exasperated. “I don’t know, I just know that I don’t like it,” replied Annalise ending the conversation. Quinn had gone to get the plate and they ate in silence not really looking at each other and keeping their thoughts to themselves.

“I’m gonna go take a walk.” said Annalise in a very soft voice. “Oh, okay.” responded Quinn emotionless. Annalise was still stressed from the intense conversation she had with her sister earlier. She needed time alone to think and process how she was feeling. The sun was still setting so there was just the tiniest bit of light shining through the tall trees, just enough so she could somewhat see where she was going. Annalise was arguing with herself over her fear of the shed, and if it was irrational or not, if there was an actual good reason behind it or she’s just crazy. She was so agitated she wasn't paying attention to where she was stepping and fell into a ditch. “What the-” she said as she stood up and noticed there was a dark passageway. She hadn’t taken many steps when she hit a dead end. Annalise turned around and was about to go back when there was a loud slam from a gust of wind. A dim light turned on and she realized she was in some type of bunker room. This was the last thing that she wanted right now, a small space with four walls surrounding her. She ran to the door and tried to open it, but it would not budge. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck pop up and her palms starting to sweat. She began to feel dizzy and couldn’t see clearly. Then everything went black. Annalise slowly opened her eyes and was disappointingly still in the bunker. She was still extremely uneasy and couldn't see straight but she had to do something to get out of there. She slowly got up and walked to the door. She was going to push the door open with all her might. 1, 2, and bang the door easily opened and she fell forward onto her knees from all the force she had used. She looked up and the relief she had felt for a small moment quickly turned into horror. There was supposed to be a dark passageway but instead there was an empty, bright white room. She knew she was going crazy, how else could that have been possible. There was a door just like the one from the bunker right in front of her on the other side of the room. Annalise ran to the door and wished that it would lead to the passageway and that she could finally return to her sister. She opened the door as quickly as possible and there was another room just like the one before. Again and again she would run to the door, open it and be in the same exact place as before.

This was her worst nightmare, she felt like the walls were closing in on her and that she would be squished like a bug on the sidewalk. She wasn’t thinking straight but she knew that everytime she would open the door it would be the same room but she also knew she had to keep trying. There was nothing else to do and so she always chose to open the door. It was an endless loop and she was losing hope. She decided that she would open the door one last time and that would be it. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and her shaky hand went to turn the cold, medal knob. She opened the door and opened one single eye. Her heart jumped in her chest because she had finally reached the end. There was no door across from her but one to her right with a big neon “EXIT” sign on top. She thought she would open the door and see a dark tunnel leading her to the ditch, at least that is what she was hoping for but that was not the case. There was nothing, it was just a sea of white. No walls, no ceiling, no floor, no doors, no lights, and no tunnel. There was no way to escape this infinite loop, this maze, this hell, the fear, so she jumped. Annalise closed her eyes and her mind was empty. She wanted to float away and disappear, stop existing. She was falling and was completely peaceful until she hit the cold, hard concrete floor. This was different, this wasn’t the bunker and it wasn’t the room from the infinite loop. She felt like she had been here before but she couldn't remember when or why. She knew she hadn’t always been at the valley and that she had to have come from somewhere but where. The mental and emotional exhaustion caused her to cry. That was it, crying, she had remembered being in this exact room before and hearing her sister sob in the room right next to it. This wasn't a happy place, it had been her prison. She had been there for days, maybe even weeks. It was always dark and cold and the people who had put her there would only give her enough food so that she was not hungry but not full. This must be why she had that terrible feeling in her gut whenever she was surrounded by walls. Annalise closed her eyes and imagined her and Quinn running through the fields and being happy but it was all a lie. The people who imprisoned her must have taken her and Quinn to the valley, she didn’t remember escaping this cell. Not only was this room once her prison but what she thought was her haven was also a prison; she just didn't know at the time. But why? What was the point of imprisoning them and then banishing them to the middle of nowhere. Well, it didn't matter now. She thought about every happy moment she had had with her sister there and slowly fell asleep. “Annalise! How did you get down there?” said Quinn, finding her sister in the ditch. “What the- Quinn this place is not what you think it is,” responded Annalise sluggishly and confused because this is not where she remembered last being. “You’re not thinking straight, you probably hit your head hard when you fell. Look at all that blood! We love this place, it's our perfect dreamland.”

Good Luck by Eva Trujillo

Adrien, the prince and healer of the nation Pulla Terram, home to the greatest casters in the world, woke up one day finding that he could no longer use healing magic along with everyone else in the kingdom. This is the story of how a patchwork group of a few talented people along with a powerless prince saved a nation.

The prince rounded one of the many corners in the palace halls, walking faster to catch up to the king. His shoes echoing in the empty hall. “Father! Stop” The bulky man glanced at him and slowed allowing Adrien to get beside his father as they walked. “You can’t keep ignoring me. This is becoming a larger issue than we thought it was.” Adrien’s voice became quieter shaking a little “I can’t heal anymore” “What?” the king whispered. His usually stern voice seeming raspy and tired. when Adrien looked up his face was just that, tired. The man before him wasn’t how he remembered the powerful king he’d grown up with; the man seemed too rugged and withered to be a king. “Well when I went to the infirmary today I couldn’t heal any of the patients with magic and neither could any of the other healers.” The prince said his voice regained some of its composure “at first it seemed like some spells in different orders were just becoming less effective but now no healing magic is working.” The king let out a sigh “I knew something like this would happen.” The prince paused. “Huh? what do you mean?” “We’re on the verge of winning a war that has lasted a decade, and now something has gone wrong, giving the enemy an advantage.” Turning to walk away the king’s voice became softer, “I will send a group to look into it and see if anything can be done.” “And I will go with them,” Adrien added, his next words being immediately cut off by a stern, “No.” Adrien sensing the finality in his tone knew the conversation was over. It went how he expected so why did he feel so disappointed. Letting out a sigh he turned back down the hall. It will be his job to figure out who will go on the mission, his father would give him that much, right? Even if he doesn’t end up having control over the mission, he can always sneak into one of the wagons they take. However, there were still questions that he had. Why was this happening? Has this happened before? Why was it only affecting healing magic? So many questions with so little time. But nonetheless, Adrien made his way to the castle library to see if he could find anything. The library was separate from the castle, it was tall and beautiful with giant pillars and steps both made of limestone and marble and enchanted to always stay in perfect condition. Luckily, this magic had stayed. The inside was a sight to behold. A ceiling so tall it was hard to see, giant bookshelves reaching to the top, some floating, some sideways, and each one crammed with all sorts of books from histories to cooking guides. And in the middle of it all was a desk, and behind it sat a little old man with gray hair, a long beard, and crooked fingers from years of carrying heavy books.

“Ah, Adrien!” He called out, “How can I help you today my prince?” Adrien smiled. “Good to see you too, I’m looking for a book about magic. Do you have anything?” “But of course,” The man replied. “We have all sorts of spellbooks that could help you.” The prince held up a hand to stop him. “Ah, no no, I need history books. Like, something that talks about strange events and something that could possibly lead to me finding out why I can’t heal anyone.” The old man gave him a surprised look. “I had a really good book on the subject, but a few days ago someone came in and picked it up” Adrien tilted his head. “I wonder. This hasn’t been a large problem before today has it?” The prince paused looking to the old man “by any chance do you remember who picked it up?” The old man set down the books he was moving, to check the ledger. “I don't quite know, my memory is kind of fuzzy these days.” When he opened the large book and flipped to the page he was looking for, there was no name beside the title of the book. There was only a scribble in neat handwriting under the checked-out book, that read “Good luck”. The two looked at each other puzzled before the prince’s eyes went wide. Somebody had possibly just taken the key to getting back their healing magic, leaving only the words “good luck” to find them.

Behind the Lamp by Kaydence Wagner “You have Phasmophobia. We have been over this though Maddy. Just remember the supernatural are not real. Ghosts, demons, all of the things you hear in stories are fake.” I watch my mom's face as my therapist talks. She looks, relieved? She probably was afraid I might have schizophrenia. I don't blame her. I couldn't imagine your child telling you they see figures in their room. Maybe the things I see in the darkness are fake. Ghosts aren't real. I know that, but why do I continue to see the same dark figure in my room every night. My therapist's voice breaks my thoughts. “Tell me more about the experiences you have had with these ghosts you claim to see.” Her face is telling me she's sure to judge whatever I'm bound to say, but her voice is warm and inviting. A sweet voice, like honey almost, a voice that’s persuading me to trust her. “It started after we moved into the new house. It's always the same figure every night. He usually stands-” “He?” My therapist interrupts. “Oh yea um.” I look around suddenly feeling small. They are all looking at me like I’m a helpless child. It’s humiliating. “Yes, he is tall with broad shoulders, with rough hands.” As soon as I say the last part I can feel my mother tense beside me. I swallow the regret trying to hide my discomfort. “How do you know about his hands, Maddy? Has he touched you?” My therapist now looks concerned, scared even. But like she said, it's a figment of my imagination. Born from my intense phobia that started at a young age. I have known this. “Well I thought I felt something; it's nothing.” I know the session is almost over so I don't want to get into it. Not again, because I know the figure in my head, is in my head. Ghosts aren't real.

. . . Later that day we ate dinner in silence. I can tell my mom didn't want to be at that session with me. It was the first time she had heard me talk about the “ghost.” Or at least the first time she has really listened. “Will you be able to sleep fine tonight without the meds? I need to go to Petaluma tomorrow to get them. I was too busy today, obviously.” The annoyance in her voice is distraughts me. The atmosphere in the room is tight, cold. I feel trapped, the air is thin making it hard to breath. “No problem. I'll be fine.” I lie. I haven't had a bite of food yet. That doesn't stop me from leaving the table abruptly. Those meds help me sleep so I don't have to see that man. I mentally punish myself. Not a man, a ghost, not a ghost, ghosts aren't real. Just in my head. I feel a panic attack coming. Like an anxious beast clawing its way out through my skin. Trying to tear its way out of every pore of my body. The door slams behind me as I fall to the ground trying to catch my breath. I gasp for air, my throat feels tight, my eyes foggy from tears. Why am I like this? I know he's not real so why am I so afraid?

. . .

My mom never came to check on me that night. As usual. It's been 5 days since my sleep meds. And in those restless nights I haven't slept once. I see the man every night, standing behind my lamp in the corner of my room. I know it sounds ridiculous that i'm afraid of ghosts. They aren't real, and this whole going days without sleep isn't helping. I should have a friend over, maybe Mia. That way I can be reassured the man isn't real and finally get some sleep. “Mom! Can I have Mia over tonight?” I ask. She's bound to say yes, having someone over just means she doesn't have to watch over me. “I suppose why not, I won't be here tonight. I'm going to a work thing, Isn't Mia the one who bullied you when you were in school though?” That was Mia. Back when I actually went to school she and I were friends, then one day she became more popular and the rest is pretty self explanatory. It doesn't bother me too much though. “Yea, but we are cool now I promise, you should get going to your work thing.” I try to hide my excitement at the thought of being alone. But a hint of exhilaration escapes through my words. I can sense this through my mother’s reaction. She almost looks somber? “Just, be safe Maddy ok? Have fun.” She shuts the front door behind her leaving me in an intense silence so loud it makes me feel eerie. I shiver trying to shake the uneasy feeling. Something feels off, but I'm not so certain what. The doorbell ring breaks the silence making me awake to my surroundings. Mia’s here. “It's been forever! I missed you, we all did. Back at school. Everyone wishes you well!” That's a lie. Mia is practically shouting bringing me into a tight embrace. I can't breathe. “Too tight Mia, you're hugging me too hard !” I complain, but I like this. Physical touch is not something I've had in awhile. It feels different, a hug, from the last time. I'm not sure.

“Sorry! Let's head to your room. I'm dying to see it.” Mia grips my wrist roughy with her warm hands. She's so aggressive, yet gentle and soft. She’s always had such a happy aura. Her bright smile, blonde flowing locks, and candy apple scented perfume makes me feel nostalgic. The charms of her bracelet jingle as we skip to my room. “You happy now,” I sigh moving aside so she can see my room. “It's not much I know but-” “Maddy,” Mias standing in the doorway, facing me. My back to the room. She's looking past me at something. But her face morphed into an expression I've never witnessed before. Her lips quivering, her face is pale, white even. That happy persoana that never left her is gone now. She screams. The most spine trembling scream. I turn to see him. “Mia can you, can you see him?” This can't be happening, he isn't real. But if she is seeing what I'm seeing, the man standing behind my lamp dressed in all white smirking back at me. His gaze never leaves mine. Does that mean he is real? That can't be ghosts aren't real. “Look Mia we need to leave now do you understand he won't hurt you he aint real I promise trust me ok?” As I say this I see the man move, fast. He's standing right beside Mia, a long rusty blade held close to her pulsing neck. Too close. “Get away from her, you aren't real stop!” I fall to the ground covering my ears with the palms of my hands. I need to escape this isn't real. I cant breathe again. The air’s cold, tight, my breaths are becoming shallow. My body’s begging for air. I open my eyes and see a pair of crafting scissors on the ground beside me. Without thinking I grab the scissors and run to the man. We fall over, hard. Everything blurry my vision is tainted by pure adrenaline, as I start aimlessly stabbing. I hit nothing, until, boom. I feel blood splatter across my face. I hit something. I keep stabbing, practically throwing the scissors towards the same spot. Over and over and over again. My grip on the scissors makes my hands bone white, I can't feel my fingers, or anything for that matter. I feel warm liquid draining out of the body. A dark crimson pool of blood beside the man. He's not breathing. I stand up slowly almost slipping in the puddle. I hear the front wooden door open and close, awakening me from my thoughts. How long have I been standing next to this corpse? I then remember, Mia. Oh crap where is she? I turn around only to be faced with my mothers mortified face. “Maddy- Maddy what did you do?” She whispers to me practically begging me to answer her. She won't look me in the eye; she only stares at the dead body beside me. “Mom you're home! I told you he was real. He has always been real, you never believed me but look he's real. Not a figment of my imagination, not a ghost, a man see-'' She starts shaking me violently. “MADDY WHAT DID YOU DO!” She's screaming in my face. Her warm minty breath burns my eyes. I look at the body only to see Mia lying dead. Painted with blood like an artist's canvas. Her eyes open wide. You can no longer see the baby blue of her shirt. The blonde of her hair is stained a deep red. But where is the man? We both saw him. I killed him. Those endless, sleepless nights I thought were now long behind me. What is happening. Then I remember ghosts aren't real. That man was only a figment of my imagination. Born from my innate fear of the supernatural. I look to the corner of my room at the lamp where I've always seen him. He smiles back at me with that menacing, but oh so familiar smile. I smile back. And at that moment I dont think I'm afraid anymore. The supernatural will always be there for me when my friends and mother can't be. The man nods at me knowing what I need to do next. I look back at my mom. And hug her. “You're a monster.” She says as I slowly take out the scissors that pierced her heart. Blood trickles down her white shirt, it's warm on my fingertips. “I could only dream of being one, mother.” I smile. I'm no longer afraid.

The Wandering Westminster By Tessa Davis My life was great! I had toys, treats, and belly rubs galore! Twice a week I would be bathed and groomed. I was treated like royalty. In return, I gave the people what they wanted, and what they wanted was to win. Win what you may ask, well the Westminster dog show of course. Oh hi, I’m Berni by the way. I am what people would call a beagle, now I’m not as big as some of the other dogs but I’m still a champ. Three years running best in the show. I had it made in the shade, but then this year my owners weren’t preparing me for the show, they had something else planned for me. “Berni meet Priscilla,” my owner said. I just sat there and looked at her. She was the most gorgeous dog I had ever seen! Her long floppy ears, the black and brown spots that were so perfectly placed it seemed like they were painted on. Her black leathery little button nose was the cutest I had ever seen. She looked like an angel. I was so curious as to why she was there though. There were no partner events in the show. “Berni, you and Percila are going to have puppies together!” he said excitedly. NO! NO! NO! That is all I wanted to yell, but of course, I couldn’t because as you know, dogs can’t speak. *wink* *wink* Now Percila was gorgeous but I’m no hit it and quit it kind of guy, so that night I made a jailbreak. I had noticed earlier in the day that the living room window right across from my cage was cracked open, so I made myself a plan. That night I pawed at my cage door until it opened then ran to the window, then nuzzled it open with my nose. I hopped out the window and ran as fast as I could. I had no idea where I was going, but all I knew was that I needed to get far away from that house. There was no way I was going to be a father at my age. That night I slept under a bridge. I was cold, wet, and hungry. All I could see were people walking by but it seemed like no one saw me, and that no one cared that I was alone and lost. “Hey! what you doin?” an old scruffy dog said in a Jersey gangster accent. “Uhh Hi I’m Berni,” I exclaimed. “Are you deaf bucko! I didn’t ask for your name. I asked you what you are doing on my turf?” “I’m sorry I don’t know where I am,” I had said in a scared tone. I was telling him the truth. I had no idea where I was, or where I was even going but he did not like that answer. “Well, you aren’t staying here that’s for sure! I ain’t have another one of you “lost ones” coming into my territory and messing up my food supply. SO LEAVE!” He had barked so loud it had left a ringing in my ears. Before I could have even reacted, the old dog’s jaw was clamped around my leg. He had bitten me! Now I definitely have cooties and maybe have rabies. I limped away in pain. Then to make matters worse I was still hungry! “Gosh darn it!” I barked. As you could tell I was not having a good day. I had continued to limp along the streets when a man in a gray jumpsuit with a pole that had a metal loop at the end approached me.

“It’s ok boy, don’t be scared I’m not going to hurt you,” He had said in a calm voice. Um, don’t be scared. I was sitting there like, “Have you seen yourself man. You're the walking definition of a scary dude that you should run away from.” I had decided not to fight it though. He picked me up and put me in the back of his van. He couldn’t even buy me dinner first. Then dropped me off at the cold, gloomy place called the pound. I thought I was going to die. I was still hungry, my leg was hurt, they put me in a small cage and I was running out of comedic material. Everything had changed when Sidney walked in. She walked along the row of dogs and was trying to decide on who to bring back to her loving home. She had finally stopped on me. “Mum I want this one,” she said in a British accent. “Uh Sidney why are you speaking in a British accent,” she seemed confused. “Because I’m from London.” “Un nope we’re from Arkansas, but ok. Can we take this dog home please,” the mom said with excitement. “You sure can Miss,” said the employee. Then I was taken to my forever home. I’m with my true family now and I couldn’t be happier. And yes I was finally able to eat and Sidney never did stop talking in that accent. I still love her though.

Jump Start by Kelsey Jennings

Anxious. Stupid. Mentally Ill. All things I’d heard before. I glanced over at my mother. She had a worried expression on her face as she rocked back and forth on her wobbly chair. It made a strange crackling sound every time the legs of her chair slid on and off the linoleum tile. She tried to look brave, or whatever her idea of brave was, as the fortieth doctor this week told her I was insane. She had just about gnawed off her bottom lip at this point. There was more of her crimson lipstick on her teeth than her cracked, chapped lips. To be honest I don’t know why I was the one seeing all these shrinks, my mother couldn’t even sit still for five minutes. “I believe we need to start Toby on anti-anxiety meds this week.” The doctor scribbled on a pad. “You can pick these up at the pharmacy. “I-I-I’m not sure we have to do this, do we?” “If we cannot get his anxiety under control, he could be a danger to himself or others around him. In my professional opinion, yes, we have to do this.” My mother sighed, the poor thing. “T-Toby, lets go, hon,” my mother said shakily. She knocked over her purse when she stood up, knocking the contents across the floor with a clatter. She, of course, let out a bloodcurdling scream. The poor doctor. She must’ve jumped ten feet. She- she-. Suddenly, I couldn’t shake the image. Her knees bending slightly, her calves extending. Oh god. A jump of that height in here, she’d hit the ceiling for god’s sake! I groaned. Shut my eyes as hard as I could. The cool metal of the vent pressed into my ankle. I tried to shrink into the ground. I can only imagine how it would hurt. Her head would crash into the tiles in the ceiling. What if she broke through?! What if she landed on me?!? There would be so much damage, so much chaos. My fingers clenched tight around my sweaty neck. Her heels, fully off the ground. Oh GOD!!! Why! Why would she jump! At least do it outside! God. Hair flying up, outlined against the drab gray of the ceiling, until she crashed down, or worse, through. “Can you get an orderly?!” The doctor tried to keep her voice calm, but desperation crept through. My mother ran out into the hallway, her jagged breaths slowly fading away against the monotonous din of the hospital. The doctor touched my shoulder, but I couldn’t shake the picture of her flying through the roof. Suddenly the anxiety and terror kicked in, adrenaline surged through me and I ran. I could hardly tell where I was going, but I kept running, away from the doctor, the orderlies, the slight tremors their feet made when they landed. Just like thousands of tiny jumps. Everything began to close in on me. I tried to block out the sounds, the sights of jumps. The unnatural space between the ground and the soles of their feet. The hint of daylight peeking through a space where only ankles should exist. I came to my senses abruptly. It was cool. Dark. There was a breeze and the salty smell of the bay. I could hear cars, the gentle ambience of the city, and rapidly approaching steps. My memories came back. I looked up and saw five hospital workers leaping towards me. The full moon illuminated their mint uniforms. I slowly stepped back as they closed in on me. I was trapped. I turned around and saw the street ten floors below. I saw my only choice. I jumped.

Afraid of the Dark by Nicole Denison Remember when you were afraid of the dark as a child? I always felt that this notion was ironic. One is not afraid of the dark. They are afraid of what’s in the dark. Children go through this phase of looking for monsters under their bed, or ensuring their closet door is shut so nothing could get them when they sleep, or running as fast as they can when they turn off a light, or pulling the covers over their head and shutting their eyes so tight they begin to hurt. A child is constantly assured by their parents that they are safe, and, eventually, they grow out of this phase and live with bravery. Unfortunately, I lack that bravery. My name is Effie Bennett. I am forty-two years old, and I am afraid of the dark. “Every time the sun goes down, I become overly aware of my surroundings. My palms begin to sweat. My heart starts thumping against my chest as if it were hammering its way out. My round face becomes as pale as a ghost, and the simple task of breathing becomes foreign. I spiral into this circle of anxiety, for my fear is impossible to avoid. Darkness is inevitable. I knew it was time to get help when I hadn’t slept in four days. I live in a small, one-story cottage that is attached to my tourist gift shop. Just down the main street, the ocean waves crash against the soft sand, and dolphins launch into the air like crackling popcorn. The beach and my puppy, Frankie, are the only things that provide me with comfort. When night falls, I lay in bed, but I can’t bring myself to sleep. The dark is not silent. With my eyes squeezed shut, I hear the creaking floorboards and salty air whistling past the windows. My ears are engulfed by the sound of my drumming heart. The dark is exposure to the evil that will come without warning and wrap me around its wicked fingers. In the dark, the coat stand beside my back door becomes a loathsome intruder waiting to attack my vulnerability.” Hot tears begin rushing down my cheeks like rivers of burning lava. Dr. Henry Swanson continues to stare with his piercing eyes into mine as if he were trying to read my soul. Occasionally, he looks down at his clipboard and makes a few notes. I always felt that these therapy sessions were a waste of time because Dr. Swanson has never given me a valuable piece of advice. I knew from his long, grizzled beard, uncombed and balding head of hair, softly fat figure, and lack of professionalism that Dr. Swanson was the bottom of the line when it came to therapists, but he was all I could afford after my ex-husband, Brandon, left me with almost nothing following a brutal divorce. Dr. Swanson always insists that I come back for my weekly sessions, for he promises that I’m making progress. To be honest, I feel like it’s getting worse. Expressing how darkness causes me fear is reassuring myself why I have this phobia in the first place. “Is there something else in your life that caused you this same fear of vulnerability in the past?” Dr. Swanson asks. After a long, awkward pause consisting of me staring at the ground while trying to discover an answer to his question, I finally say, “When Brandon and I got a divorce, he threatened my life. I knew he was a dangerous person, so I got a skilled attorney and filed for a restraining order. That experience is in my past, and it never affected me the way this fear has.” Dr. Swanson’s head rises from his clipboard, and his face suggests pride as if his question was going to solve all my problems. I must admit, this question was far more substantial than his typical “how do you feel about that” statements. However, I think this was his only thought-provoking inquiry of the day because I can tell he doesn’t know what to say next, and we experience yet another prolonged, uncomfortable silence. To make matters worse, my allergies start acting up, and an obnoxious sneeze breaks the silence. “Dia leat,” Dr. Swanson responds. I compose a bewildered expression. “It means ‘God

be with you,’” he says, “I’m Irish.” In the evening, I began getting ready for bed later than usual. During the summer, I normally get a large number of customers. The shop was especially active today, and I had plenty of obligations to fulfill before I could lock everything up. By the time Frankie and I had finally got in bed, my anxiety was becoming unbearable. I am usually asleep before it gets this dark. My entire body is trembling as if I’m enduring an earthquake. I try to assure myself that I am safe, but my body refuses to rest. Subsequently, Frankie and I get out of bed to make sure I locked every window and every door. Everything is secure until I reach my back door, for it is slightly cracked open. I attempt to console my thoughts, but my nerves reject the comfort. I slowly inch towards the kitchen to obtain the sharpest knife I can find. Before I reach my weapon, Frankie begins to bark in the direction of the entryway. Suddenly, I notice there are two coat stands beside the door. There only used to be one. I stay as silent as possible until the sound of an abrupt sneeze escapes my mouth. Within seconds, the coat stand whispers, “Dia leat.”

Fearful Red by Anika Smith Black and white. Black and white. Black and white and sometimes grey, it depends. White is my favorite because it is the absence of all colors, and black is everything combined and so compacted that it feels there is nothing even there to look at. Have you ever seen a greyscale? How calming it is? How the shades simply go from light to dark, or dark to light? That’s the wonderful thing, it’s the same from whichever direction you look at it from. I don’t understand how people can look out their window and enjoy seeing the blue sky, and the green trees, and the...the...gosh what is it called? Ahhh yes, the red strawberries scattered across the floor of the garden. I hate red the most. Imagine a sharp pain in your heart, almost like a hand is wrapping its claws tightly around it, squeezing and suffocating your source of oxygen. Then the hand moves to your lungs and pulls them from your body. Your breathing becomes so heavy that every time you exhale, you breathe out everything you have left in your body. Beads of salty sweat drip down your brow and sting your eyes, assisting to the panic fluttering through your veins. That’s what it feels like when I stare out my window; the colors are too overwhelming.

The walls, the floor, the posters hanging in various places, my clothes, all of it can be found on the lovely greyscale. I wouldn’t want it any other way for here, in the safety of my own room, I can keep my sanity. I remember when I was 4 years old, that’s when I first realized how colorful the world really is. I remember the soft grasp of my mother’s hand, firmly wrapped around mine. I came face-to-face with a stand of candied apples. It was the red, so vibrant, so jarring to my eyes. I felt it then, the grasp around my respiratory system; so strong and resentful.

No one understands how it feels. How it feels to be suffocated under the rainbow of what is the world. No one tries nonetheless, they don’t try to help me, what could they do? What is this? Why am I on the floor? I can barely sit up, darkness surrounds my brain, a fuzzy feeling, the sound of a television that has lost connection; I enjoy that too. I don’t like how this feels though. A metallic taste zaps upon my tongue, dripping from my lips. No, no, no. Please no, no one is home. Reaching to my chapped lips, feeling the slightly warmed substance; slightly warmed from travelling through my body, through my veins, heated under my skin. I don’t want to look, I know it’s on my hands now, oozing through my fingers. I bet it’s now streaming down my face like a river; I wish it was water. There it is, right in front of me. My hands dappled in smears of it, so red, so punjant. There it is, the grasp on my heart, I don’t want to fight it anymore, just let it take me. Let the blood take me.

The Averell Manor House by Laura Haugen It had been four months since mother passed. Lynn didn’t know how to cope as a young sixteen-year-old. She resorted to bitterley taunting our elder brother Caspian who championed our mother’s affection. They turned a deaf ear to my constant prompting of togetherness. The three of us shared a striking resemblance of pale skin, large green eyes, and thick auburn hair. Now however, our brother’s stress brought about an unrecognizable face. Dark shadows surrounded his eyes, and his upturned mouth resembled more of a sneer than a smile. Much unlike Caspian, who flaunted his handsome suits of velvet, Lynn took no interest in the lavish fabrics the seamstresses offered, and instead had a glamorous time displaying her own contradictory style. A self-proclaimed nuisance, she adored engaging in acts of mischief. I could still feel my mother's presence, expect to enter her room and find her infatuated with the characters she’d invented on the typewriter. Whenever I smelled lavender, waves of nostalgia and despair struck me. I initially presumed it to be polio who claimed mother, but Caspian informed me quite soberley that she had concealed an unspecified long-term illness from us for years. I am still aggrieved that only he was knowledgeable. Mother’s executor, Mr. Brenlind, had been in the act of fulfilling the wishes in her will and the matter of her estate until he too departed this life from the same illness. I strolled through the halls of our Vanderbilt-inspired manor house, running my hand down the textured wainscoting, and avoiding the eyes in the massive portraits of our estate’s predecessors. I had begged mother to take the portraits down, but to no avail. Perhaps it was her warped sense of humor. Brass candelabras lit the dim hallways, as thick drapes blocked out natural light. I then came to a standstill at the sight of Caspian’s bedchamber door ajar. Not once since mother’s passing had this door been unfastened. Now my curiosity replaced my better judgement. I pushed on the wooden panels ever so slightly, revealing a room in disarray. Bed sheets thrown to the floor, clothing falling out of the wardrobe, letters and envelopes scattered. All other floorspace was occupied with splintered furniture pieces. Besides the blazing heat of the fireplace, the room felt cold and distant. The deep mahogany walls seemed to move with the shadow of the flames. Scrutinizing the floor, I caught sight of the same indistinguishable emblem appearing on each envelope that signified one thing: overdue payments. Never had Caspian voiced any financial difficulty over his new business, and now my resentment manifested into pity. My eye then caught on the face of an illuminated letter hardly an inch away from the flames. The letter was addressed to me. I read the sentences in fragmented pieces, taking in my mother’s hastily written words faster and faster. “Your brother is desperate for money… Needs a large sum to pay off the exorbitant amount of debt…

Perhaps an inheritance’s worth…” I hurriedly scanned the paper below it, my heartbeat racing. Mother’s will stared back at my astounded face. “I Diane Elizabeth Draper, hereby entrust my wealth and estate to Sandra Helen Averell and Marilynn Jane Averell…” I felt something in the pit of my stomach, a vile, sick feeling. A horrific realization. The case of my mother’s and her executor’s deaths were dismissed so easily. The overdue payments. The cryptic letter in her will, next to the fireplace. Panic invaded every inch of my body and my shaking grasp tightened around the letter. Lynn. I called out to her, running down the halls to her vacant room. My existence felt nightmarish, terror seemed to weigh me down, and the deadpan faces in the portraits became enraptured at the sight of my fear. Turning a corner, I halted, facing Lynn’s school tutor who smelled of hyacinths and mothballs. “Where is she, where is Lynn?” I cried out frantically. Her meek and frightened voice replied, “I’m sorry I-I don’t k-” I didn’t wait for her to finish her uninformative sentence. I burst out the front door and sprinted to our estate’s burial ground, where Lynn was known to roam. I was met with damp, intrusive fog and an unsettling silence that the songbirds usually filled. Catching sight of her auburn head, I nearly let out a cry of relief. Her back was turned to me, unmoving. Overwhelmed, and out of breath, I tried to verbalize my recent unearthings. As I approached her however, my words ceased. A few feet ahead of us I made out two identical and freshly dug six-feet holes in the ground. A chilling voice rang out, “Good evening, sisters.”

Revenge by Braedon Josephs At five thirty in the morning, Gerald’s alarm breaks the musty silence of the night. So does everyone else’s in the compound. Not wanting to risk missing yet another day of his work, Gerald slides out of his compartment on the floor, his footsteps masked by the dirty and scratchy carpet. Walking over to the pleasant smelling communal washing basin in the corner. It had been 372 years since the beginning of cybernetic alterations had hit the market, and Gerald still felt those implications that day as he stared blankly at his smudged reflection. Some of those enhancements of course, had been widely distributed, regardless of your present financial situation. The human race never aged, never became sick, but other less essential products had been raised to a ludicrous price. This created an insurmountable barrier between the rich and the poor, now moneyed people not only lived better than others, but every single one of them could lift at least 400 pounds with ease. On top of that, their intelligence made everyday individuals appear menial.

At his young age of 132, Gerald was still furious at his conditions of living, those in power cared less for the lives of less fortunate humans than those of ants. He questioned much more than was good for him, and was teetering on the edge of imprisonment for “disturbing the peace”. Gerald's friend Frederick jumped out of his rotting compartment and joined Gerald at the wash station, yawning.

“M-m-morning…” stutters Frederick, clearly in desperate need of caffeine.

“Look at you, up before 6 and everything” Gerald says, bemused. It had been a while since Frederick and punctuality had last shook hands. Later, as Gerald and Frederick meandered down the oil smelling alley that was their road to work, a sordid and shadow-ridden figure crept in their wake.

“Gerald...I-I have something to tell you buddy” Frederick nervously stated, with a slight stutter in his voice. Gerald glanced up. “So I, uh, we have a bit of an issue on our hands. See, yesterday at work, I was confronted by Fernando, and, you know that rich cow Fernando, with that damned fancy gadget collection of his. He decided that he wanted to, uh, gimme a bit of a beating if you know what I mean. And you know how it is, those rich morons can get away with anything, no one’s going to get in their way. So, after I got, er, woken up a bit, I was looking for revenge, and I’ll admit it now, I am not the brightest when it comes to the where and when of looking for a fight,” At this, Gerald looked thoroughly nonplussed “So, later that day, I got him back.” That got Gerald’s attention.

“Go on, tell me,” said Gerald, egging him on. He looked around, and the shadowy figure bobbed out of sight. “Who’s going to hear us here?”

Hastily, Frederick replied, “Well, you know, you've talked back to them a few times, I just-”

Out of the corner, Fernando spoke: “Stole some enhancements, and illegally used them against me” 64

Bunny Rebirth by Marcus Stephens The smell of the store was substantially strong with grandma’s perfume and it only made me more homesick. I sat on an uncomfortable metal basket crowded with other stuffed animals, all of us struggling to breathe as it was overcrowded. They had stuffed as many of us as they could into one basket and we were now waiting to be bought by unwitting customers. I was mostly heartbroken as I thought of my previous owner, Bonnie. She always said I was her favorite and how we would stay together forever. I was a beautiful bunny when Bonnie first found me with brown fur and a fluffy whitetail with so much stuffing. Now I sit here limp and dirty in a thrift store of all places! This is where stuffed animals go to die. “But mommy, I want the bunny!” a little boy screeched right into his mother’s ear. I winced internally knowing he was talking about me. I didn’t want to gain hope knowing that the mom hadn’t answered yet. I had learned to not gain hope the moment Bonnie dropped me off at the back door of this thrift store. “Ok, ok you can get the bunny, just don’t yell in mommy’s ear.”, the mother replied, holding her ear in one hand and scolding her son with the other. She seemed displeased with him but continued smiling now looking up at me. My heart started pounding and I worried that the entire store could hear. She reached her hand out grabbing me by the stomach and putting me in her basket. I couldn’t get my breathing under control and I worried that I would pass out. The entire ordeal went by in a blur and before I knew it I was in the hands of a young boy in a room that fit his personality well. He was rough and clumsy but never hurt me. His room was a mess with toys all over the floor and I was amazed that he hadn’t tripped yet. The walls were painted dark blue with glow-in-the-dark stars and posters of space adorning them. Most of the toys on the ground were dolls and art supplies, not a single stuffed animal in sight. He set me down and introduced me to a pretty doll named Barbie. She was blonde with smooth peachy skin and a full face of glam. To be completely honest, I was jealous of how young and beautiful she was. I missed the days of my youth and hopefully, I could relive them here with this boy. “Noah, dinner is ready!”, the faint voice of the boy’s mother called from the other room. “Coming!”, Noah yelled back, standing up before turning back around to Barbie and me. “Be nice Barbie. I don’t want this bunny to end up like the last one,” he whispered so only we could hear. My mind went into a frenzy. What did he mean by “the last one”. Was there a bunny before me and if so what happened to them? The door slammed before I could think too much about it. I heard it before I smelled it. A soft click and then the smell of lighter fluid. It was a lighter. I turned my head looking over at Barbie. Her pearly white smile was slightly covered by the flame. “You see here bunny we don’t like outsiders and right now you’re trespassing so unless you can prove your worthiness I would get lost,” Barbie said with a sickly sweet voice, her doll companions making a circle around me so I couldn’t escape. I decided this would be a good time to speak up. “And how would I do that?” I struggled out. It had been a long time since I had spoken. We were constantly monitored at the thrift store so I never dared to speak there. “Hmmm,” Barbie murmured, eyeing me up and down. “How about this. If you can answer my riddle then I will let you go and you can live with us. If you fail then you die”. Her smile grew wider and I knew that this was my only way out, but then it clicked just like the lighter had. These dolls were plastic and fire would melt them. I just needed to get the lighter and I would be in control. I shuffled one paw forward but before I could move any further Barbie spoke once again. “You know what, that’s too boring. How about we feed you to the dog, and if you survive then you can stay”. Her head tilted up and that’s when I felt it. A hot breath hit my back and then a drop of drool hit my floppy ear. Now, this I knew wouldn’t survive.

Personal God Squad by Norah Hegedus “AAAAAAH! Who- who are you?” Of course, it’s me that wakes up to a creepy ghost person hovering over me. Only the waist up existed. Under that there was kind of this flowy foam that seemed to evaporate. Above there was a kind teenager's face, with dimples. Compared to me and by boring brown hair, brown eyes, and brown skin, the face was quite pretty. I was very jealous of their dimples. “Wait, you can see me?” “Um yes!” “Huh. So, you can really see me? Hmm. What do I look like?” What am I supposed to respond to that?! The ghost will probably think I’m crazy. Why do I care what a ghost thinks of me. “Um your, like, this white see through color aaaand you have no legs?” Why am I still talking to this… thing? I should probably be screaming for help, but before I can the ghost starts panicking. “Oh no. Ooooh no nonononono. Crap, this is not good. What am I supposed to do? My advisor is going to kill me,” the ghost leans their head back and groans, “uuuuuugh. And I have Kelly this year too. She thinks she’s sooo amazing just because she got to be an advisor again.” “Um, please explain what is going on,” I say with a shaky voice. “Hmmm. Well, what choices do I have now. Think James!” As the ghost thinks, I sit up slowly in my bed, so the ghost doesn’t notice me. I start getting in a crouching position. I just need to get past the ghost and out of the house. Doesn’t sound that hard. Heh. I jump and rocket straight toward the ghost and straight through. I don’t feel anything. It’s like the ghost person isn’t there. I landed sprawled on my carpet. The only time I am thankful for the damn carpet instead of the hardwood floors that were “too expensive,” as mom said. “Well, look at that. After all these years I really thought you were smart enough to connect the dots. You really thought you could tackle someone floa\ting in the air. Well, it looks like I might just have to tell you what's going on for your own safety. Yes! That’s perfect. Ok Lorelei, you think you can keep a secret?” How do they know my name?! I better play along. Make the ghost, or whatever it is, happy. Maybe they’ll let me go. “Um, sure. I think,” I respond. “I think isn’t good enough,” they say in a menacing tone. “Yes, I can,” the ghost takes a breath in like they are about to start saying something, but I interrupt. “It seems like this is going to take a while, so can I please at least get comfortable?” The ghost looks a little confused for a moment then exclaims explaims, “Yes! Of course! Sorry I forget about human needs sometimes even when I have been in charge of over a million!” The ghost notices my confused expression as I head toward my comfy chair by the door. “I’ll explain it in a sec.” The ghost takes a nervous breath in and begins, “So are you aware of the belief of God?” Odd question, but I nod. “Ok, so basically I am.. God, I guess.” My jaw drops and my eyes bulge. I must be imagining things. This can’t be real. I don’t even believe in God or anything like that! Why should I believe this person? Maybe I’m just making everything up. “I know. I know. It seems crazy, but trust me you're not dreaming or anything like that. I promise.” There is a beat of awkward silence. “So do you have any questions for me?” 66

“Any questions?!” I shout. “Um let me see.” I sit in my chair in a thinking position for sarcastic effects. The gho- I mean God, apparently, looks nervously around. Finally I say, “Yes! I have questions! How come you appeared to me? If you are really God, then that means you are in charge of what, everyone! Why me then?! What did I do?” “So, basically there isn’t one or more God or Gods that have responsibility over everyone. Everyone has their own protector from the heavens, which by the way is not as cool as you think. It’s basically just big fancy government buildings surrounded by boring apartment buildings. Anyway, most people think of us as angels, but we call ourselves the Personal God Squad.”It takes me a minute to process what the god ghost person said, but finally I ask, “So you’re my personal God?” I get a simple nod. “So your job is to take care of me?” I get another more impatient nod. “But, what about the people who die?” “Well first off I want to make it clear I have no idea what happens to people who die. No one does. There are a lot of different theories about why we are kept in the dark. I personally think there is some sort of bigger universal system, but I won’t get into that right now. Basically, there are two parts of the God System. Half of us stay up in Heaven for about a human’s lifetime. We sit in those big buildings and make democratic decisions on what happens to Earth overall. The rest of us are stuck down here watching over our assigned person until they die. That’s pretty much it. Oh! Also, no one is supposed to see us, and I don't know why you can, so that is why we are going to keep this on the down low. Now that I can finally interact with someone again, you wanna go get some coffee and talk about life? You usually get an oat milk latte, right?” I might be crazy, but what if I’m not. Wouldn’t it be kind of nice to have your own personal protector person on your side? Maybe convince them to change a couple things for the better? Doesn’t sound so bad. “Yeah! I guess you would know that. Also, now that I know that you exist… Well, that means you could maybe do things for me? You know, to help me out a bit? Like maybe make that cute girl from math at least talk to me?” “Honey, no. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” “What?! Please? For me? Your faaaavorite human ever.” “Ha! I wouldn’t go that far, but I literally can’t. It isn’t in my power.” This is ridiculous. “Wait, so you’re saying I have my own personal God, but you can’t even do anything?! This is a scam! What’s the point of you even being here then?” “My job is mostly to keep an eye on you, so that I can report if anything big happens that could affect a large number of people. I mean, I can change stuff, but it takes a really long time. Just one request has to go through an entire process and be approved by so many people, it usually takes over a month. Most of the time the request gets discarded in the first few steps by advisors and officials.” “So, you are telling me I have my own personal God, that follows me around everywhere, and you can’t even do anything for me! Ugh! That means you're just going to BE there.” The God person looked kind of sad. “I’m here anyway,” they said while glancing downwards. I softened up a bit. “Well, you up for that coffee?” I was feeling kinder. I mean this person spends their entire day just looking after me. “ Yes! Absolutely! Just one problem…”

Junior Creative Works for Rethinking the American Literary Canon ArtQuest Theme: Question | Disrupt | Create | Change

During Quarter 2, 11th graders in Mr. Gregory's ArtQuest English Class designed the "Great American Novel" that they would like to read in an American Literature class. During the initial phase, they designed a book cover, created a map of the setting, penned an "I AM" poem for a main character, and wrote a teaser for the back cover. Some of these components are included here. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for taking the time to peruse our book. In a year of distance learning, it hasn’t always been easy to share the creative efforts of our students with family and friends. We hope that the efforts of the students shine here, and that our little art community feels the joy of having completed so many creative works this year.