REVOLUTION

CHAPIN HIGH SCHOOL LITERARY MAGAZINE 2010-11

The Revoluiton is a student featured and student produced literary magazine. All original work is submitted during the school year by current Chapin High School students. It is the policy of this magazine to accept and evaluate the submissions for inclusion based on the appropriateness of the material and its general quality.

All rights reserved. No part of this magazine may be produced or transmitted in any form by any means now known or to be invented, whether electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by use of any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the adviser.

Contact: Mr. Scott Compton Dept of English Chapin HS 300 Columbia Ave. Chapin, SC 29036 scompton@lex5.k12.sc.us

We aRe Chapin

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Literary Magazine Staff Haley Blackwell Kelly Blaiss Kimberly Byers Brooke Chambers Samantha Connolly Falicya Crace Na’Lexus Cromer Francis Dart Ellen Edwards Mary Efird Olivia Fitts Austin Hinen Katherine Kane Caitlin Kitchens Savanna Neeley Nicholas Raines Eric Schelble Ashley Sears Christie Sturgeon Anna VanDenDriessche Katie Waters Callie Wingo Zachary Woodham

Editor: Ashley Sears Assistant Editor: Nicholas Raines Advisor: Scott Compton Cover art by Anna Ringer Special thanks to the Fine Arts Dept. and the AP Art students 2

Photo by Brooke Bauer 3

My Sunset I close eyes and I can vision my sunset laid across the water with clouds gently placed on top.

The yellow is so bright that it consumes my thoughts.

I fall deeper into the colors of the sun so that I could touch the orange glow- what a soft feeling, my sunset.

My sunset takes me to another place and time where there will be no problem too tall to overcome.

This vision is imbedded in my mind.

It is like a river running free, a clear thought on a sunny day, and it ends with my sunset and me.

My sunset frees my thoughts from confusion.

It leads me to believe that I am on top of the world, setting me free to score over the waters of my mind.

My sunset places me in a part of heaven where the day comes to an end with the beauty of my sunset.

By Nichole Smith

Photo By Brooke Bauer

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My Summers

The beach is my favorite place in the summer. Every year

my family packs up the truck and drives three hours down to Litchfield Beach. When we get to Georgetown, you can smell the salty air. By the time we get to Litchfield, everyone wants to get to the beach house and relax. But first, Mom insists we go to the grocery store. Then, finally, we get to the beach. Palm trees are everywhere and you can hear the sound of waves rolling onto the shore.

I take my chair and sit it down in the sand. My

sunglasses shade my eyes from the late afternoon sun. I bury my feet in the hot white sand and lean back into the chair. The sun feels warm on my legs and the water looks appealing.

The sun starts to sink down on the horizon. I pick up

my chair and walk back up to the house. I can’t wait for tomorrow.

By A.L.K.

Artwork by Nikki Farrell

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Untitled

By Dylan Elkins Photo by Shelby Lacy

I’m only a guy raised in the South, Where the best memories are made with humid air There’s not much to say for me but look at you, You seem quite fair You’re like the delicious beverage tea, Sweet like the peaches fallen from a tree.

Clear you mind And center your heart, An old proverb once said, So that you may shine forth and woo your would be love, So that he may know Girl just let me be yours

And feel that you shall last throughout time

And you be mine Then I promise we’ll last till the end of time 6

Above All Others, We’ll Fly Above all the others, we’ll fly.

Our hearts will jump and fly us so high They say my love is like a red, red rose.

Pure tenderness with accretive passion is what makes our love grow, I suppose.

To the others, our love’s choreography can’t compete.

Their envious stares and tactics will eventually knock them off their feet.

The sun will them shimmer.

Then, we’ll know that our souls will deliver.

An honest love, an inseparable love will be remembered as true.

We’ll be satisfied only because each other we’ll view.

Then and only then, will we always peacefully be.

This I fathom because the roses told me.

They say “L is for the way you look at me” I articulate that L is for the way you love me.

Above all the others, we’ll fly.

We’ll fly so high over the sparkling Atlantic Ocean; we’ll soar through the sky.

We’ll lie on the fluffed, nebulous clouds of compelling desire.

Above all the others we’ll experience no more fire.

We’ll then be untouchable walls.

There will be no more gloomy waterfalls.

No more screaming because of devious phone calls.

Our love will then be an impervious gate of sweet honeydew and roses.

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Artwork By Christa Martin

We’ll then be surrounded by red velvet cake slices and green tea leaves. All the hatred decomposes As our adversity decreases, our souls will still be bliss.

Then, we’ll have our greatest moment with one sweet, engaging, golden kiss.

Our hearts will no longer have to yearn.

We’ll know that we took the right path, the rig ht turn.

The clouds will then form angels, beautiful creations of God. Nothing about our unique relationship will be odd.

Until then, I’ll be an apartment and you’ll be a mansion.

The hatred will remain going through expansion.

I’ll be Hades of the underworld and you’ll be Aphrodite, a woman of love above me.

You’ll remain the love of my life from a separate world and will never grow old to me.

There is a diamond in the sky. I hope you acknowledge it, please see.

I will continue to skip stones until the day we reunite with glee.

There’s a diamond in the sky for every step, path, breath and swim you take.

This promise to you I shall not break.

By Shamara Summers

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Wish by DJ Flannery I catch myself thinking of you

Do you think of me too?

To tell you how I feel

Thinking how you make me feel

Sometimes I see you

To tell you that I care

How you put a smile on my face

Pass outside my door

To tell you that I’m for real

How this feeling is real

I look at you and wonder

The thought of you not knowing

I wonder if you notice me

If it’s me your looking for?

Makes me want to cry

If you know that I’m there

I wish I were the one you turn to

It cuts too deep down

If you ever think about me

When you’re having a bad day

Makes me feel like I’ll die

If you know that I care

Knowing that I’m the person

I wish you could look into my eyes

I wish I could have the strength

Who’ll make it all go away

And see the love I have for you

To walk up to you and say

I wish I could be the person

See me for who I am

That you’re the reason I smile

You long for to touch

And tell me you love me too

The reason I breathe air

A person who makes you smile

I hope that someday

Sometimes I wish I could forget

And for whom you care so much

I’ll have the strength to do

That this feeling I could erase

I can’t tell you how I feel

What I always wanted to

But I know it’s impossible

Even though I want to

And that is to say “I love you”

Because when I close my eyes all I see is your face

I just keep on thinking

But till that day comes

I know I’m not supposed to care

You wouldn’t feel the way I do

I’ll watch you from far away

Or feel the way I do

I guess you’ll never know

Admire and love you

But I can’t deny my feelings

About the way I feel

Like I did till this day

When I know they are true

Because deep down I know

So if you don’t know by now

I don’t get to see you around much

It probably wasn’t meant to be

Maybe I’ll tell you someday

And it makes me sad

You bring joy to my life

But until then I want you to know

Makes me wish I could have with you

And brighten my day

All the wonderful things I never had

You make me feel better

Every night I lay in bed

In every possible way

And think of you And ask myself a thousand times

I wish I had the strength

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Art by Abigail Jordan

Tree I look up There it is It’s the most amazing thing ever!

I believe It’s here I can almost touch it It smells amazing I reach a little further Yes I have it It’s my favorite time It’s Christmas time My presents await me under the tree

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Art Work By Elli McNall

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By Callie Wingo

I love how I can trust you And how everything just works.

Your silly stupid smiles And your evil little smirks.

I love how you are always there Just when I need you most.

Our talks under the moonlight And our strolls out on the coast.

I love how you believe in me And my impossibly big dreams.

My weird outrageous stories And my sneaky little schemes.

I love how it’s so natural Every little thing we do, But still the thing I love the most Will always just be you.

Photo and Poem by Ashley Sears

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Reality

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CHAPIN B.Tibbs

Here at Chapin High School, every student should succeed.

Jus’ listen to ya teachers, kick back, and maybe read.

Chapin full of money, got kids full of greed, frustrations in my veins so I’m probably ‘bout 2 bleed.

It’s not all about grades and whoever’s in the lead, you got four years, so think big then proceed.

I’m Brandon Tibbs and I keep it on the real.

Been here long enough so I know the ordeal.

Servin’ poor meals not cool without wheels, been through it all so lemme tell you how it feels.

Senior now, man I’m sittin on a throne, Chapin leaves otha schools standin like a gnome.

I rep Chapin Soccer we should play in a dome, got so much passion ‘cause this place is my home.

Don’t do good, with kids that whine and moan.

If you do wrong, Fred’s gonna use the phone.

Be polite to ya teachers and tryda watch your tone.

Just follow me when your tryna leave tha zone.

Photo by Brooke Bauer 14

Theme for English 3A Hallie Chapman So I’m supposed to mimic some poem, right?

I’m supposed to tell you my likes.

I’m supposed to tell you my dislikes.

I’m supposed to tell you any extra information about me.

Right?

Alright, here it goes.

I’m just some 16 year old in some sheltered small town.

I’m a nobody.

I haven’t contributed anything to the greater cause of the world.

But I still have time.

I’m only 16, after all.

You, you’re lucky.

You’re a teacher.

You contribute to the world.

So kudos to you.

But I’m no lost cause; my life isn’t over yet.

I still got time.

I’m only 16, after all.

For now, I guess I’ll be content with going with the flow.

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Doing what the school tells me to.

Doing what my parents tell me to.

Doing what my friends tell me to.

Cause that’s what I’m good at.

I like to read, I like to travel, I like to listen to music.

I like the way black print looks against starch white paper.

I don’t like to go with the flow.

I don’t like to blend in with the crowd.

But that’s what I do best.

So, ill continue on.

Leaving my typical American house early in the Moring,, Absorbing all the typical American lesson plans throughout the day, Arriving home mid afternoon to begin preparations for the next typical American day.

It’s a never ending cycle that I willingly participate in.

I’m not complaining, I know it will get me places in life.

It’s just boring, that all.

So that’s me and my typical American teenage life.

And this is me and my typical theme for English 3 AP.

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Art by Ashley Sears

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By Christie Sturgeon

For once in my life, I am not ashamed.

I was sick and tired of having myself to blame.

For once in my life, I stood up for who I was as a person.

It was amazing when nothing started to worsen.

For once in my life, everything changed for the better.

It felt like I was free of the Scarlet Letter.

For once in my life, I felt capable.

Each morning gradually became more wakeable.

For once in my life, I realized I meant something.

I stopped listening to my peers who said I was worth nothing.

For once in my life, I looked at my past with disbelief.

To think, I used to honestly believe the cruel things they said makes me feel anything but relief.

For once in my life, I know what to be grateful for.

My best friends and family are all I truly care about anymore.

For once in my life, I appreciate the priceless education that I am fortunate to hold.

It is perplexing how much knowledge I’ve gained from all those years of doing what I was told.

For once in my life, I realized that what you think is what you are.

It’s hard to believe, but to find myself I didn’t have to look very far.

For once in my life, I look back to freshman year and don’t recognize who I see.

I had no idea who I was destined to be.

For once in my life, I’m begging you to not allow unworthy people the privilege to define you.

The only thing that should matter is your point of view.

For once in my life, I won’t allow time to pass me by.

I feel like everything has passed in the blink of an eye.

For once in my life, I’m persistent in searching for the meaning of all of this.

Stretch your mind and into the limitless world you will conquer bliss Artwork By Courtney Ares

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Life Changing Moment by Caitlyn Kitchens Throughout your life, there are things that will happen that you will remember no matter how much time goes by. Some of them good, but some of them will be bad. These moments shape the kind of person you are, and the person you will become. One of the most life-changing moments of my life was the day my dad went to Iraq.

As a little kid, I was always “daddy’s little girl.” My dad and I were always close. He coached my soccer team, he took me to girl scouts, and read stories to me every night. As I grew up, I learned that I could always go to my dad when I wanted something. There were times when I got in trouble, and there were times I took him for granted, but until he left I never realized how important he was to me. Even on the night my dad told us he was leaving, the impact of his words never reached me until the day he was gone.

It was one of those days when the sun was slow to rise, and the morning air was still a little cold. My mom, my sister, and my two brothers, and I packed up the car and set off for Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

The whole ride there, I sat and read a book.

When we got there we all looked out the window trying to be the first to see Daddy.

We finally found him in Barrack 13. There were twenty other men living there and everyone was writing letters, watching football, or out at lunch.

Dad came outside and we threw the football for a while. It reminded us all how we used to play in the front yard and that soon we wouldn’t be able to see Dad again for awhile. We went out to dinner with other military friends that we’d known our whole lives. It was quiet and sad because we knew we would all have to separate soon.

After dinner, we went back to the fort and started our goodbyes. Dad hugged Aidan first. Aidan was only a baby- about a year old. He didn’t know what was going on. He just sat in Dad’s arms and hugged and kissed him until Mom took him back. Next was Colin. Colin was only five years old. He knew Dad was going away for awhile, but he didn’t know where he was going or what he was doing. He hugged him and promised he’d be good for Mom. Afton’s turn. She hugged him, said she loved him and promised to behave. Then me. He turned to me and hugged me. I started to cry because I knew that I was going to miss him and I was afraid he wouldn’t come home. What if I never saw him again? He made me promise him that I would be a help to my mom and do everything I could to make things easier. After that, I took my siblings to the car. We sat there waiting for Mom to come back to the car.

A few minutes later, Mom got in and started the car. “Wave bye to Daddy,” she said. We all crowded up to the window and waved goodbye. Mom turned the corner and he was gone.

Art by Brandon McCaslin

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A Walk in My Shoes

G

Taylor Rister

ucci, Prada, Vera Wang. 3-inch heels. If there was a fire, every single girl in that classroom would’ve twisted their ankles, fell on their faces, and perished in the flames. Except for me. In my ratty Nike basketball shoes, stained from years of wear, splattered with everything from mud to blood. They desperately needed to be thrown away but I couldn’t bring myself to toss them out. Me and these shoes had been through absolutely everything together and I wasn’t going to replace them, though I seriously considered it as my short math teacher, Mrs. Bobbit, who appeared to be a mix between a bulldog and a bullfrog (whatever she was I can assure there was a bull somewhere in the mix), looked me up and down and audibly scoffed when she focused on my shoes. “Well, I suppose you can take a seat behind Cynthia over there,” she said, reluctantly motioning to a girl who was wearing about four inches of makeup, a short skirt, and cheetah print heels. “And try not to get any dirt on my carpet.”

I felt myself blush as I shuffled over to my assigned desk and set my stuff down, before slipping into the desk behind the “blonde” whose roots really needed a touchup. As I tried to listen to the lesson and avoid gagging on Cynthia’s fog of perfume, I couldn’t help but realize that I’d gotten myself into this situation.

If I’d just listened to my drunk of a father when he told me I was an idiot all my life.

If two years ago I hadn’t called the police the night he shot my mother.

If I’d just gotten shot myself, then I wouldn’t have been put in foster care and adopted by “Dr. Ben E. Factor” and his wife who, while perfectly nice people, seemed too textbook to be real.

If I’d just stayed home and gotten beat every day like a good girl then no one would’ve noticed my abnormally high IQ, and I wouldn’t have been sent to a private school on scholarship.

That was the problem. Unlike the majority of the kids in my class, I wasn’t rich. My parents weren’t funding my stay here- my grades were, which was part of the reason that, despite not paying any attention, I knew the answer when I heard a terse, “Miss Twist,” from Mrs. Bobbit.

“How would you calculate this problem?”

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I rattled off the answer and waited as Mrs. Bobbit checked her book and replied, disappointed, that I was right. Like she was trying to trip me up.

I didn’t know what her problem was. You’d think, being a teacher, she’d be all for students bettering their position in the world. But I guess, instead, she was angry that a girl from the opposite side of the railroad tracks was about to show up all her little trust fund babies.

After about fifteen more minutes of instruction, Mrs. Bobbit announced that it was time for class work and that we were to partner up.

I hesitantly tapped on Cynthia’s shoulder. She turned around in her seat and looked at me before making a face like she’d sooner have someone take all her Mary Kay away. “Um…no1” she sneered, “Like that would happen.” Then her expression softened and she leaned around me to look at the boy sitting in the desk behind me. “Justin, partners?”

Justin just stared at her.

“No. I was actually thinking of working with Miss Twist.”

Cynthia’s jaw dropped.

“What? Justin, look at what she’s wearing!”

He considered me for a half moment, looking over my baby blue t-shirt, jeans, and of course focusing on my signature shoes. He looked back up and Cynthia and said with a smirk, “What? Nike’s brand name too.”

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Art by Adam Sloan

This Town Chase Bussell

There is a city I know, where the free spirited love to go. When the sun sinks down into the bay, the moon rises and it’s time to play.

Filled with history like the first shot and for girls it’s just another place to shop.

The bay is bordered with the Battery and has a college that backs up to King Street. The horses walk the streets just like people and the skyline is filled with church steeples.

The town is filled with sweet southern belles and some sins that could damn you to Hell.

The houses are old and so are the ghost stories that are told.

This town is full of fun.

This town is Charleston.

Photo by Carmen Gonzales

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Dinner with Dad

by Mary Efird

The lighting in the restaurant was dim, and the blond moustache I often forgot my father had was lined by the shadow of his nose. I sipped my drink, a strange blend of Sprite and blue food coloring the waiter recommended. I bet he wouldn’t have if I had been older. It was my face, my baby face, that made him want to be nice.

In the center of the table, set between melting candles and a vase of flowers, was a basket of rolls. My fingers picked at them, breakArt by Quoyia Jones ing the bread into small streaming chunks, their heat comforting me as I listen to Daddy’s laughing voice. I looked into his clear eyes that, because of their rarity, eventually tore us apart.

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Life Changing Moment Falicya Crace

My life changing moment happened to me during my junior year. All throughout high school, I have been involved in sports. I was a member of the track team and lacrosse team. I also participated in marching band.

During my junior year, I decided to play lacrosse. I made the varsity team as goalie and was very excited about the position. A few weeks later we had this big opening game against defending state champions Blythewood and I was the starting goalie. The first half was starting to look pretty dim for us because they were already up by fifteen. During the second half, I discovered a technique that seemed to be blocking most of their shots, which was kicking the ball out of the goal.

Their leading scorer got very mad and decided to get back at me.

The next play she charged all my defenders and headed straight for me.

She stopped and with all the force in the world threw the ball and smacked me right in the right shoulder. That moment looking back now would become a very big life changing moment for me.

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That night after the game I went straight to my room because I was in the worst pain imaginable and didn’t want to reveal my arm to my mom.

I was in my room starting to take off my jersey when I felt this jabbing pain in my right shoulder. I continued to take off my jersey and looked into the mirror. I discovered there was a purple and blue welt the size of a golf ball on my right shoulder. The next day at practice I wore a baggy sweatshirt to cover the welt that was continuing to spread on my shoulder.

As I put my goalie equipment on, I was afraid of telling my coach I was in pain and wasn’t able to be the goalie that practice. During practice, I ended up getting hit in the right shoulder four more times.

As I was taking my equipment off at the end of practice, one of my teammates who was helping me saw my arm and told me to tell my coach. I convinced her not to tell anybody about my arm. As I was walking to my car, it felt like my shoulder was a target for thousands of needles to attack.

That night as I was looking in the mirror the golf ball had grown into the United States on my right shoulder. The pain continued to get worse, so I finally broke down and showed my mom. After what seemed like three hours of yelling at me she called my doctor. The first visit the doctor yelled at me as well and told me that I would have to get a MRI. When those words came out, I was devastated because that meant more time out of practice for me.

The next week I was awaiting the result of the MRI which felt like the doctor was purposely taking his time getting to my room. When my doctor walked in and told me the results it felt like my world was caving in. He told me that my cartilage was torn and my tendons were stretched to the point near tearing and that surgery was my only option. The surgery went well and I am three months into recovery.

Even though the surgery caused me not to play lacrosse again, this experience has taught me a huge life lesson.

This experience has made me realize that sometimes even though you may not want to you have to tell people when something is wrong and it is completely out of your hands to fix it. It has also taught me that that you cant be afraid to ask people for help.

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Artwork By Maggie Stroud

Family Traditions

by Calvin Fitts

To some families, a tradition means different things and different actions.

My parents share a common answer when I asked them about tradition.

They both replied that to them a tradition is something that is unique to your family and you do this at least once a year usually on a set date. One of the traditions that I share with my Dad is that on Christmas one of us kids get a treasure chest, filled with mysterious goods with a lock. We are given clues through new ornaments to riddles on ancient scrolls to find the key. I think that it helped shape who I have become because I love riddles and it feeds everyone’s imagination and gives a sense of excitement.

Another tradition that is held by my mother is the annual trip to Folly Beach, South Carolina.

We have been attending the same hotel on Folly Beach for about nine years now and most of the staff knows us because of our annual trips, especially the year that we had the whole life guard team and hotel staff looking for my “missing” sister, who fell asleep by the pool. One of the best things about this trip is being with my family and knowing most of the people there are very caring.

What I love about all of our traditions is that I am always with my family and friends while having a great time or celebration together. One would believe that having simple traditions will strengthen relationships between one another because you will see each other on these set dates.

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Artwork by Kimberly Gibson

Do you know?

Do you care?

The way I wear my hairI do it all for you but you don’t really see.

You don’t notice and you don’t care, even about me.

-JB Artwork by Caroline Simmel 26

Transparent Hope

By Lannon McCoy Everything I long for I see in what it is not.

The road stretched out in front of me Just the thought of what I long for, Is farther than I thought.

Makes me feel absurd.

My hope seems unattainable; The colors change, My dreams are hard to grasp.

The sky grows dark, My priorities are changing; My thoughts become more clear.

I hide behind a mask.

I pray that what I long for, I walk forward as if to say, I can soon hold dear.

“I’ll move on from yesterday.” I will be shaken, But yesterday could meanBut I will not break.

My faith-filled dreams.

Vulnerability is for a child.

I cry inside I am older, But not aloud, I am wiser, I won’t let myself be heard.

I won’t let myself be wild.

I see their pigment; It looks like hope, Dancing on their leaves.

But in the fall The hope will wither, Leaving empty trees.

Art by Kimberly Gibson

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Who Owns My Heart

By B.E. My hair is all in curls They hang in the sunlight My makeup is smeared

From the tears rolling down my face The black I wear is only for a day I really hope I can fight back these tears Be cheerful and strong For my dad on this hard day 28

Artwork by Kimberly Gibson

To Paris, With Love

by Samantha Connolly

What is the first image that pops into your mind when you think of Paris? The cliché answers would probably have something to do with the Eiffel tower, romantic street music, or the emotionless Parisians hailing taxis with striped white and black outfits topped with a red beret. This was the biased image that had planted in my mind as a young girl. If you, as the reader, plan on getting anything out of this story, please get this: I was wrong. That cliché image you have in your mind of a romantic evening on the streets of Paris is a LIE. If you even get the chance to take a carefree walk along the Seine, then good for you because you probably belong to the aristocratic class that only stays during the summer.

When you arrive in France, you will notice that it doesn’t look shockingly different. The interstates aren’t that different from American interstates, and the grass looks a lot like American grass, except European grass appears greener and wilder. When you arrive in the city and realize that you are stuck in Parisian traffic, then take a few minutes to compose yourself because you will most likely not leave this situation unscathed. The traffic in Paris probably raises the chance of death 20%.

Even as a pedestrian, Parisian driving can be dangerous so stay alert.

There are a lot of mopeds, bicycles, and motorcycles in Europe that tend to end up on the sidewalk, so again, pay attention because obviously Paris has a very casual DMV. While in Paris, I took part in some of the more well-known clichés: visiting the Eiffel tower, eating at a French café, sampling some shopping (unfortunately not in the Champs Elysees), and seeing the Louvre.

Once again, it was quite a reality shock, very different from my Parisian fantasy. For one, when I visited the Eiffel Tower I never really knew that it wasn’t just a tower. It actually had stuff in it. Stuff like a post office and a random room of wax figures. I mean really, wax figures? So there I was, finally on top of the Eiffel tower after a claustrophobic’s nightmare elevator ride expecting to be blown away by the breathtaking view of Paris, which of course I was. However, most people do not expect to see a room of wax figures in the middle of the viewing platform (I am told 29

that it was supposed to be Gustave Eiffel). Creepy? Yes. My shopping took place on the riverside of the Seine where tourist shops full of I Y Paris T-shirts lined the windows. Pathetically, I actually bought one of these; my inner American took over my rational decisionmaking. But my favorite purchase was from an artist on one of the Seine bridges. The painting was a black and white oil painting of Paris in the 1920’s. After I bought it, I hid it well in my tacky “EF TOURS” blue and orange backpack so pickpockets couldn’t easily get to it, not that they would find value in a cheap painting.

The Louvre was probably my worst experience of the day, not that I didn’t enjoy it but I was so jet-lagged that I couldn’t enjoy it. My friend and I decided to go to the Egyptian section and then go see the Mona Lisa, but what we didn’t realize was that the Louvre’s exhibits are in big circles so the only way to get through is to walk through the entire exhibit which consists of about twelve miles of junk. The definition of junk being priceless artifacts found from Egyptian tombs and pyramids. Eventually, I found myself in a room about the half the size of the new gym.

On one side of the wall a painting about the length and width of a small house majestically seemed to overshadow the small painting behind a protective, bullet-proof painting of a relatively plain looking woman.

This was all I could think of as I drudged along the Louvre attempting to find an exit. Fortunately, I found a way and met up with the rest of my group who were sleeping by one of the fountains.

Dinner was mostly a blur of green salad leaves and potato slices. I assumed dessert was either jell-o or pudding, but honestly I couldn’t tell, or remember. We all returned back to our hotel, which I’m certain was once a mental asylum based on the barred prison-like rooms/cells in the basement. But I don’t think I’d ever slept better on a box-spring mattress before. Strangely, as unhappy as I was with Paris, I found an attraction to this bustling city, it was a way of life. To the normal American, Paris is a romantic destination for the elite upper-class. But to the averge person Paris is a dream, something gained through the advancement of life so that when it’s finally achieved, it must live up to expectations. I didn’t find anything romantic in Paris, but I found the way of life to be and a surprisingly fresh breath of air from my stereotypical American dream life.

30

Random

31

The Evening

By Will Duggan

The room was blank, a desolate box filled with a sterile emptiness.

The walls, ceiling, and floor were all a stark white with light emitting from a dozen small holes in the chipping plaster above.

The incandescent glow caused my eyes to well up and my mind to split open in every direction with each throb of a newly formed migraine.

A slight chemical smell lingered at the edge of my nostrils, antagonizing my already enraged brain.

The door had never seemed further away than it did in that instant.

My legs waded through the endless sea of white until I could firmly grasp the cold metal doorknob and slam my body through the heavy door.

Collage by Emily Bradbury

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Runners

By Sara Lunsford Oh my Great Star Hunter, all I can really do is sit still and wait for the verdict of the council. When I had done it, I knew it was wrong, but my instincts had propelled me forward and kept my litter mate alive. Now it was time for me to face the punishment of my actions Our alpha wolf (my dad) had died recently and it was time that our packs choose a new leader. My brother Sharpteeth had chosen to fight for the position of the alpha. Nobody really wanted the position except for the rogue wolf we picked up when my dad was still alpha. He was the reason that I am sitting with a guard by my side waiting for the words of death from the council. As princess of the pack, I wouldn’t get the death sentence. I would be banned from the pack’s territory when I would be killed by my brother. My mother had died awhile back and it had broken my dad’s heart. The fight just left him. Sharpteeth had taken over when my dad didn’t get up to go hunt anymore.

Maybe that’s why nobody else had wanted to step forward and fight for the position of alpha.

The scent of the council filled my nose. Something wasn’t right; they were trying to hide something. I looked over at the guard sitting by my side I could tell that he too could tell that the council was up to something. As the council came into view, I stood and lowered my head until my nose and the top of my head touched the floor. I wanted to show that I would do what ever they had in mind. So, I went with submission; it was my only option.

“Rise princess Tipped Ears,” barked Redfur.

Rising from my position, I stood with my tail between my legs.

“The council had decided to let you stay in the pack. We had

33

already decided that your brother, Sharpteeth, was to be the new alpha. Then that loner decided to fight for it. Tipped Ears you are cleared of your act. It never happened in a bad way. It was for the good of the pack. If that loner had gotten the position of Alpha, our pack would have been torn to shreds. The council has decided to reward your actions with the honor of an additional title.

From now on your title is Princess Tipped Ears, pack protector. It is an honored that only few other than Alphas get and we felt that you deserved the title,” yelped Singer Standing there, I uncurled my tail, dipped my head in thanks, wagged my tail, and whimpered. I couldn’t have barked anything. Singer had spoken right- only a few who do extraordinary things to protect their packs got the title of pack protector. The title enabled those with it to choose any mate within the pack or outside and to fight in the fights when the pack needed protecting.

Eventually I managed to yelp, “Thank you, it is an honor that I hope to bear well.”

The council howled satisfaction, turned, and left the Cave of the Council.

Sitting down I digested their words. I was free and Sharpteeth was to be the alpha. WOW! Today was some day. Walking out of the cave the bright sunlight hurt my eyes. I could smell my pack-mates near and was relieved that I wouldn’t have to be chased away from them.

Scenting out Sharpteeth, I found him laying next to our older sister Swiftpaws. On seeing me they jumped to their paws and came to greet me.

“What did the council say? They didn’t decide to chase you out?

If they did then I’m sorry,” barked Sharpteeth.

“Brother they obviously did what the law demands that the pack chase her out because of her actions, unless they decide

34

www

that she should live as the lowest member of our pack and never be able to breed,” huffed Swiftpaws.

I couldn’t believe my sister and brother. Were they really preparing for the worst thing that could have happened? Oh well, it’s better to prepare for the worst things, but to hope for the best.

“How about neither. The council decided to add something to my pack title.”

Sitting down I almost laughed at their reactions as they heard my news.

Swiftpaws recovered first.

“What did they add to your title? Tell us already,” she said as she jumped around us.

Laughing at my sister’s puppyish behavior. Still laughing I barked out the title.

“Stop laughing so hard and tell us already,” snapped Sharpteeth.

Breathing deeply I calmed down a little.

“They added ‘pack protector’ to my title.”

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Art by Nikki Farrell 36

Love is like...

Love is like ice cream... opening a new tub like a whole new journey.

The first scoop seems the bestthe last is just as sweet.

Every spoonful seems to get better, but if you bite too hard it’ll bite you back.

No matter how hard the brain freeze it’s always good until the last drop.

-by Devin Lawrence art by Maggie Stroud 37

Atheism Is... It doesn’t demand that I have Atheism offers nothing to me.

It never has nor ever will.

It doesn’t make me feel good or comfort me.

It’s not there for me when I’m sick or ill.

It can’t intervene in my time of need.

It won’t protect me from hate and lies.

It doesn’t care if I fail or succeed And it won’t wipe the tears from my eyes.

It does nothing when I’ve got nowhere to run.

It won’t give me wise words or advice.

It has no teachings for me to learn.

It can’t show me what’s bad or nice.

It has never inspired or insighted anyone.

It won’t help me fulfill my goals.

It won’t tell me to stop when I’m having fun.

It has never saved one single soul.

to believe It won’t torture me for eternity.

It won’t teach me to hate or despise others It can’t tell me what’s right or wrong It doesn’t tell anyone they can’t be lovers It’s told no one they don’t belong It won’t make you think life is worth living.

It has nothing to offer me, that’s true.

But the reason Atheism offers me nothing Is because I’ve never asked it to.

Atheism offers nothing because it doesn’t need to.

Religion promises everything because you want it to.

You don’t need a religion to have faith.

You just want it because you need to feel safe.

I want to feel reality and nothing more.

So atheism offers me everything that religion has stolen before

It doesn’t take credit for

By Jacob Bowers everything I achieve.

It won’t make me get down on Artwork By Brett Cherubini bended knee.

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Sometimes there are no words to say to make something better and alright. Maybe there is some type of answer, but its hidden and locked up tight. We may have the lock, yet not know the combination. I guess with time we can be healed, but until then we just have to face it.

-Hayley McCoy

Art by Austin Hinen 39

I’m an Idiot

by Matt Anderson I’m an idiot, this is my fault. Numb, confused, I can’t think straight. How did I get here? Bam, all my memory shoots back through my body, with the memory comes pain. The funny thing is, it started with disobeying my mom; don’t you hate how parents seem to always be right. She told me not to ride my bike out of course the 4 year old rebel inside of me dared me. I was flying down those hills on my bike in a second. Yeah I was a big bad 4 year old biker. I felt tough gliding down those hills in my blue dragon tee-shirt because in kindergarten nothing says cool like a fast bike and a dragon on your shirt.

“The Hill” was challenging me, begging me to take it on. Being a tough preschooler I accepted and it was on. Inn the first couple of rounds my opponent stood no chance, I was in control, riding so fast it felt like flying. My bike was now a jet.

Too bad I never went to flight school.

In my mind, the hill stood no chance.

Wrong. The hill had a secret weapon that would end up being a knockout punch.

I saw her, and then forgot everything; all my reasonable thoughts flew out the window. She became the only thing I was thinking about. Of course I rushed to do something cool, show off even though I didn’t have much to show. Without thinking my hands fly up in the air and as soon as I put them up I regret it.

No hands, speeding down a hill, eyes on her not on the road. My stupid move Artwork By Shane Clarke

cost me. My bike flipped out from under me and now I’m really flying.

Flying through the air feeling every heart beat, my senses are heightened by the fear of death; my nerves are going crazy with the anticipation of unbelievable pain. Every millisecond in the air feels like hours.

Then gravity kicked in and delivered the knockout punch there is no getting up from. I found myself eating asphalt. I was skidding down the road body surfing on hot summer asphalt, an extreme sport I hope to never play again.

Finally, I stop.

My body is burning all over. Even though I think I may die, I still think about her. Did she see? But I don’t think about her for long because the pain became unbearable and I passed out. My nap didn’t last long and I woke up to Mrs. Thacker sitting on her countertop asking for my phone number. People are frantically moving around me. I feel wet so I look down and a red river is flowing all over my body, chunks of skin are hanging on by a thread flapping around with movement. But then the world goes pitch black again.

Next thing I know, my eye lids are as heavy as cinder blocks and my brain is as slow as a school computer. I feel like I’m asleep but that’s not true this can’t be a dream. Slowly my eyes open and I see the inside of a hospital. I hear the noise of nurses and doctors rushing around, I breathe the clean hospital air, and I feel the safety of the hospital. I remember what I did and all I can think is…

“I’m an idiot.”

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Why I didn’t get into Hogwarts Savannah Widener I knew I had special talents from the moment I came crying into this world. I knew I was destined to be a bright young witch when I set my mothers pants on fire when she wouldn’t let me have any cookies. I had heard about a school for gifted people like myself called Hogwarts. It was a cold evening on my 11th birthday as I eagerly awaited my owl, Francesca, to return with my acceptance letter. When she finally returned the envelope, it began speaking as the crushing news hit me.

I was not accepted because I was American. I was so angry that I set my house on fire and rebuilt it from the ground up using my amazing magical skills. Then, I had an epiphany. It wasn’t because I was American that I wasn’t accepted but simply because my powers were too AMAZING. I later learned there was a boy named Harry Potter, and he was the chosen one. I know for a fact that I was much better than him. The ministry didn’t want someone better than Potter. Now, I sit in a boring high school and learn about things that don’t even matter. But believe me, I always find a way to learn

magic.

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Untitled by BB

Her grandfather was a creative one. His works were often of animals and graceful creatures of myth, which were not simply sketched onto paper but leaping from a smooth imprisonment of solid wood. He always said that once he saw it, he merely had to let out the net and draw it in before it could escape. This made very little sense to his young granddaughter, but she always nodded as though it did.

Each and every one of them was like a great accomplishment to him, and he treated every carving gently, almost as though they were made of something much more valuable than wood.

Sometimes his granddaughter even thought she saw a hint of sadness when he handed over a purchased figurine, as if he were saying good-bye to an old friend.

The little girl would often visit her grandfather’s figurine shop, and it was not uncommon for her to walk back and forth along the shelving rows just to look at the little faces and poses. They were all very beautiful. Some, like the three inch tall lion in the front, were even a little scary.

Others such as the little group of mice a few shelves over from the lion were so adorable that the little girl thought about asking her grandfather for one. But she still didn’t think she saw what her grandfather did.

She stepped further from the shelves to where she was in the middle of the room, arms on her hips as she glanced over them again, a little faster. They were still just wood to her. The little girl sat on the floor with a small huff of disappointment and was soon lying on her back with her eyes closed. Her grandfather acted as if every one of these were alive…but they were just wood!

A noise came from one of the shelves. The little girl made to sit up, but paused, eyes still closed. Her mind went to the lion, and she pictured the miniature creature’s neck creaking as it turned this way and that, to see if the room was clear enough for him to begin his prowl. The lion would not find the girl a threat and proceed down the shelves, letting out a roar here and there to announce for the others to wake up. The others would grumble and mumble their disapproval of such an awakening, and some would fire comments. The lion would turn to face the rude figurines, perhaps one of those weird scaly lizards.

As the king of the jungle-no the store-he would begin a lengthy lecture about respect to them.

The lizard would roll his wooden, lidless eyes before going back to sleep. Angered, the lion would leap with his claws outstretched while the other little figurines could only gasp in shock. The lizard dashed, smooth wooden tail swishing over the shelf as it managed to dodge the lion’s furious pounce. The little girl wanted to cry out as she saw the lion land on the adorable mice group instead. Surprise came out in squeals as the mice parted from the lion’s enormous being. Why did he do that? He’s gone crazy!

The mice’s high pitched voices were confused as they scrambled.

The lion gave a throaty growl as it stared down the other figurines.

He gave no reason for his actions as he charged again, this time towards a magnificent winged horse. The horse’s wings fluttered with a strange sound that reminded the girl of a flute as he jumped from his place on the shelf and into the air. Tie him down!

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His command was authoritative.

He’s gone mad! The lion fought as the other figurines charged at him, little splintery rope in their jaws. The mice jumped upon his back as the lizard came to help, followed by a small army of wolves.

Quickly a fair amount of figurines had come to help, the still hovering winged horse calling out orders. A lizard’s tail was nearly torn off by the lion’s jaws, and one of the wolves had already called himself to a rest to the side. A mouse let out one of its high, stinging cries as the lion succeeded in kicking it off its back and right over the shelf. The entirety of the figurines called out in dismay as the little mouse fell with a clatter to the floor.

The little girl opened her eyes, now sitting up with her legs crossed. She stared over at the shelves. They were all as she had seen when walking in, still captured forever in their little frozen positions. She couldn’t see one that was out of place… even the great lion was back in its ferocious pose with its paws clawing at the air. Her eyes landed on the mice, and quickly to the floor below them. There was no little mouse there; no shattered pieces of wood lying from a tragic fall. All the same, however, the little girl decided to ask her grandfather for one of the figurines after all. One of the brave little mice, to be more exact.

Art by Caroline Simmel

Remorse

43

My Beautiful Love

by DJ Flannery

I loved you so much it felt like a dream.

Every time I touch you

it’s a fantasy it seems.

I loved how you

whispered in my ear

and when I needed

you most

you were

always near.

You were so me.

important to

I could you go

never let

until that happened

day

when you

didn’t show.

You were

my everything.

I loved you so I can’t live with-

much. out you... my

I-pod touch.

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Art by Jesse Lindler

I dance I hum

Why I Write by Whitley Smetana I don’t know what’s wrong with me…

I feel sick I feel scared I feel stupid I feel hated I feel loved I feel…

I am weak I am strong I am happy I am depressed I am missing I am loving I am needing…

My hands are shaking My head is spinning My stomach is aching My muscles are tired My mind is lost…

I need a hug I need caring words I need some attention I need medicine I need to write I need to get this all out But I dn’t know what I need to get out Maybe it’s the pain Maybe it’s the love Maybe it’s just the memories

I write…

I write to get the pain out To get my feelings shown To get the love I wish for shown To get the pain I wish to never curse anyone with shown To get my stress to realease To get my happiness here To get my pain gone I can’t think I can’t breathe I can’t walk I can’t run I can’t do anything Except let my fingers do the work I wish to complete The pain is gone The love is here The hate is… never gone The reason I write is for my own knowledge The reason I continue to write is for my readers The reads which I got my passion from The memories which I got my motivation from Keep me going And I never plan to show down For no one For no thing

The memories are sweet The memories are painful The memories keep me up at night The memories make me go on with my day I laugh I cry I love I bash I scream I shout I sing

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Not the memories Not the pain Not the love Not the love I lost Not the hate Not the guilt Not anything!

Nothing can stop me from becoming what I’ve always wanted to be And from what I will be Nothing at all

Don’t Shake Me Awake

By Kevin Snow

Tiny shivers make me remember freezing for you every night In the darkness I feel worried, but in the darkness I’m not hurried In the darkness I feel the most awake and the most alive Here in the night I’m on time; Don’t shake, shake, shake me awake this time I’ve got a feeling this moment could save your life Is this clock in my heart ready to alarm?

Call out – call out. If my cells could talk – this is their shout, “Please come, keep me alive!”

Look how we’ve changed with the seasons.

No thanks to winter we’ve stopped breathing.

I still shiver every night with your name on my spine.

After I turned you right around – I turned and made you right…

I turned and made you mine.

Don’t shake, shake, shake me awake this time I’ve got a feeling this moment could save your life Sun burst! Sun burst into flames and then hide me away.

I’m afraid that I’m not afraid to lose.

I’m in doubt that I doubt I will praise you.

If I’m in checkmate on the surface – Then on the inside I am worth it.

Art by Emily Bradbury

If I wish you well would you be well in wishing?

46

Masked

By Alexus McKay

Pain in every corner Keeping it on the low Smiling even when down So you disguise your feelings Seeing bluring you walk straight Keeping your head high and reclusive Knowing it will end When they find out Artwork by Clinton Welsh

47

w

You Shoulda Chose Me

by Kaneesha Penny It k

ills

me to S he c know ills o y m She e to s uld ne ou wa v cou ee yo er d nt so ld m o u It k never being what I eone e ills lse me treat y happy do o t w o u How You s know like ithou da t I use t me cou uch a ruth to ld y f ou n ool ot k now ? u r yo o o f e o n ur b ue he o o t y t ’ i’m ain in tr She saying ren’t be ays we ?

Alw ng you uld you yway o o l er c ay All a How ou in ev had to s life y y ved ord you ou in m e i l e I b ngle w eded y rife e i ife st ery s ught I n all the n your l v E Photo by Ashley Sears ri gh tho ays en thou e foreve w l a I Ev t I’d b h rt ll fli wn houg a t ’ l y l i St see deep do wn You o t t and Jus e hurt to a fro I m e don I’m kes y simil around ore a ’ m t M e ad w exis No anym com ing m t Turn hen you ot yours Gue w that e aren anym n she ’t tw ore ss I W ’ I’m s me so ’ e m You ll hav s wit y o ll kills ou It ki know r no e to I ai t I acc n’t tm to She the on y boo ept Now ’s ne e for you you xt in aren line ’t m ine 48 It k

Dreadful Winter

By Jacob Priddy

As fall turned to winter My skin began to splinter I hate putting on extra clothes I put fuzzy socks on my toes The cold makes my nose run I’ve never wished more for the sun.

I crave the heat I would recieve The intensisty of the cold I can’t believe.

In immense nostalgia, I miss the summer.

Having to come back to school was such a bummer.

I miss the heat and the happiness that it brought June please come fast I just don’t think I’m going to last..

49

Death by Nikki Farrell

W

hat comes after death Behind death’s barred doors?

Is there really a heaven With a cloud and star struck floor?

Is it an abyss Where nothing is to happen?

Or are we born a new Into the same imperfect setting?

Is it the Greek superstition Where Hades rules the unliving?

Is it a silent sleep Forever dreaming the same?

Or is it something more The truth Where religion is proven different?

Art by Clinton Welsh 50

Fear

by Katie Waters Fear of being rejected Fear of failing Fear of thunderstorms Fear of being late Fear of people talking about me Fear of forgetting Fear of getting sick Fear of being judged Fear of not getting a chance Fear of frizzy hair Fear of psychopaths Fear of getting beat up Fear of not being good enough Fear of losing a friend Fear of life

Artwork by

Nikki Farrell 51

Heart Attack

by Caroline Amick

Veins pump Hearts beat Purple blood Through purple heat Blue days With gold sun Seem everlasting Non-ending fun But clouds darken The sun is blocked Nothing can live Their world is rot

52

I Used To

By Katherine Kane I used to think that everybody was honest. As I grow older, I realize that nobody is honest and everybody lies. What makes a person lie? Children only see the best in people, but as you grow older you only begin to see the worse.

I used to think that eveybody was good. Now I find out that people do drugs and get arrested and cheat on their spouses. Nobody is perfect, and I find that out each and every day.

I used to think I knew everything there is to know.

I realize that I know nothing and there isn’t a soul out there that knows everything.

I used to believe in Santa Claus. I don’t know why I thought that one fat, old man could fly around the entire earth and give everybody presents in one night was possible, but I believed it.

53

I used to be a little kid that thought many different things. From a kid to the age I am now, I have grown with more knowlege, but in a way lost so much understanding of the world.

I used to think that anything was possible. That all you had to do was dream and it would become reality. As I’ve grown older I realized that is not the total truth. To dream and to do are two different things. If you go out there and do what you dream, then in all actuality anything is possbile.

Artwork by Kimberly Gibson

54

Scream

By Ashley Sears Sometimes in this world Scream to lose the pain.

That’s just so full of doubt

Let go of it all.

You start to lose you mind.

Inhale your final breath,

You need to let it out.

And scream out while you fall.

Scream to lose the pain

It’s time to cut your bonds.

Let go of it all

Their hold will soon release .

Inhale your final breath,

Now, fall into the deep,

And scream out while you fall.

Your pain will finally cease.

Don’t listen to their words.

Scream to lose the pain.

You’ll laugh while they frown.

Let go of it all.

The water will soon catch you, And the current pull you down.

Inhale your final breath, And scream out while you fall.

55

Lustful Swain Spearman A broken heart A broken promise A sad family A never ending rain A hope never replenished A wrong never righted A husband with dreams A wife with fears A child without understanding A father walks out A cry calls loud A family is broken to pieces

Artwork By Nikki Farrell 56

Porcelain Lover

By April R. Worley One finger, two, then three all together the nails scrape the back of the throat gag, heave and then a medley of colorsgreen, red, black all swirled together The cycle is repeated again

the pain, insecurities and doubts

and again

deep into an abyss

until all remnants

Puffy eyes, hair amiss

purged

acid invading the mouth

With the other hand

a quick glance in the mirror

the cold silver handle flushes

hand on the knob Enter into a fake world where the lies are ever present anxious to return again To the Porcelain Lover.

57

The Dream I Seek Mrs. Taylor If you ever wonder what is wrong with me, look in my eyes and you will see.

The hurt, the guilt, the regret, the loneliness, the lies are not glee.

My sweet boys put a little twinkle back In place of the true love I lack.

I do not have individuality in what I do But a fear of all I have to lose.

If you ever wonder what I dream of being, doing, feeling, It isn’t hard to know just look at how you are living.

God will protect me though and not give me more than I can take.

His strength will fill me and help me navigate this huge lake Of life that is.

For as I am strong, I am weak, And maybe I need to forget about the dream I seek.

Too much to explain about one simple night I tried to be strong but the tears won the fight.

58

Soon Enough

by Olivia Fitts

Rooms of gold Rooms of Satisfaction Rooms of angels Rooms of killing

My glazed eyes roll over them.

What peculiar little patterns I think.

Remembrance of what came before?

Yes, a memory of goodbye still inside.

Trappong rooms I have built these walls around me. They are boundaries safe.

And I am bird who used my last pair of wings to fly in The has always been open but could I let my toes trespass over the edges?

They are unable to even gaze into the vivid, iridescent lights white flame emanating with contagious potential.

It is the outside that taunts me beyond this room.

And me?

Still inside I am dreaming although even that aggravates the walls.

But what if the faded dapples are the claw marks on the ceiling?

Marks I made long ago in forgotten desperation. still inside.

59

But what if those scratches like the tattoos on chafed skin are speaking of opportunity?

And I yearn towards the shadows of contentment of ash that fall off my rotting skin so easy to fall asleep in except the smell an odor of innocence in decay.

The child who is very sick too stick still inside.

The most grotesque mask becomes a comforting emblem of home if it is all you have.

So I bear it for now because even that, the smell I mean, will turn to roses Soon enough

Art by Maggie Stroud 60

Paper Chains

By Leeann Sanders I learned a long time ago that scars don’t peel off like 79 cent smelly stickers, and feelings don’t fade like shaky hellos written on foggy windows.

There’s too many things that you wish you did that you didn’t.

All of these things you want to say but you can’t.

People you would like to save but you can’’t remember why.

Like the lady in the peach colored suit only coming out of her house to pick up packages left by the mailman.

But by the disappointment etched in her skin, you can Tell she’ll never recieve what she’s waiting for.

61

I think of all the people I’ve hurt and I cut out strips of paper for each one.

I keep thinking if I arrange them just the right way, then maybe there’s still time to fix everyone.

I remember every time I pushed someone away, and I staple the paper strip closed.

Suddenly I’m surrounded by millions of paper chains flimsy as the promises I make.

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Art by Brandon McCaslin 63