Verdant 21 by Shreve Media

Verdant 21

Verdant 21 a captain shreve anthology

Verdant 21 is a collection of Captain Shreve’s best student writing and art from the 2020-2021 school year as selected by the Verdant editorial staff. In this collection, you will find essays, narratives, poems, and artwork of various mediums that have received recognition from local, regional, and national awards. Entries are copyright of their respective owners and may be reproduced for personal or educational purposes only. Special thanks to Michael Scott for creating Verdant in 2016. Your commitment to teaching and promoting authentic student writing is invaluable. For more information, contact Brandon Winningham at bwinningham@caddoschools.org.

In memory of those we have lost to COVID-19.

Table of Contents INTRODUCTION

Lauralee Weinland, A Note from the Editor.......................................................... vii

PROSE

Caje Auchard, Where the Wind Takes You............................................................... 1 Paige Greer, Vocal Focal........................................................................................ 12 Sophia Mouton, I Regret to Inform You................................................................ 19 Karlie Key, My Happy Place.................................................................................. 25 Kaitlyn Hanson, How High School Changed My Life............................................ 42 Lainey Smethers, Living on a Floating Rock........................................................ 43 Paige Greer, Bona Fide......................................................................................... 51 Kiara Hunt & Zacharious Wynn, The Battle of Ramen........................................ 63 Caje Auchard, A Fractured Soul............................................................................ 67 Carribean Stovall, End of the Road....................................................................... 89

POETRY

Lauralee Weinland, Disposition.............................................................................. 6 Mark Raines, The Science of Man.......................................................................... 14 Lainey Smethers, Lines........................................................................................ 15 Grace Jensen, Rat in the Maze............................................................................. 17 Madeline Upchurch, Primeval Tales..................................................................... 28 Caje Auchard, Weeping Willow............................................................................. 30 Sophia Mouton, things that feel better in the rain.................................................. 36 Paige Greer, to: Rosemary June Farmer.................................................................. 38 Julia Carter, One Wish.......................................................................................... 40 Caje Auchard, Hearken Now................................................................................ 48 Madeline Upchurch, Mystery Man...................................................................... 49 Madeline Upchurch, Ataraxis.............................................................................. 55 Madeline Upchurch, Hushed Confessions.............................................................. 74 Madeline Upchurch, Silent Recollection................................................................ 82 Lauralee Weinland, Definition of a Christian....................................................... 85

ART

Macy Wynne, Fantasy............................................................................................ 7 Reaching Out, Maura Calahan............................................................................ 13 Kaitlyn Webster, Wings of Sadness........................................................................ 16 Avery Bryan, Hanging by a Thread........................................................................ 20 Kianna Smith, The Beauty of Nature..................................................................... 24 Melea Allison, Distant Sky................................................................................... 27 Nadia Foshee, Untitled......................................................................................... 29 Kaitlyn Webster, Window of Wonders................................................................... 37 Jillian Rhymes, Ballet a la Mode........................................................................... 41 Kierra Douglas, Untitled...................................................................................... 45 Maria Walpool, Falling........................................................................................ 50 Maria Singleton, Anatomy of a Rose..................................................................... 54 Corey Nguyen & Dylan Miller, Tardigrade......................................................... 56 Jonah Barry, Hayden Christian, & Nathen Futch, S.P.A.C.................................. 62 Fatima Ramirez, Untitled..................................................................................... 65 Faith Hensley, Clementine.................................................................................... 66 Avery Bryan, Light in the Darkness....................................................................... 73 Kaitlyn Webster, Wings of Happiness.................................................................... 75 Kianna Smith, Meee............................................................................................. 80 Kianna Smith, Beautiful Hair............................................................................... 81 Kianna Smith, Glasses Scribble.............................................................................. 83 Kianna Smith, Classic Beauties............................................................................. 94 Avery Bryan, Into the Unkown............................................................................. 87 Avery Bryan, Beyond the Path............................................................................... 88

NONFICTION

Faith Quarles, Women and Science.......................................................................... 8 Faith Quarles, Mother Knows Best........................................................................ 21 Lauren McCollum, Hellen Keller......................................................................... 32 Emily Harner, The WASPs.................................................................................... 46 Lauren McCollum, DNA Forensics for Deep-Sea Organisms................................ 57 Michaela Filipek, The Female Artists that Influence Art Today............................... 76

Verdant Staff Editors Caje Auchard ‘21 Grace Parker ‘21 Lauralee Weinland ‘21

Advisor Brandon Winningham

Cover Photography Avery Bryan ‘22

A Note From the Editor Dear Reader, The mission of Captain Shreve High School’s literary anthology Verdant is to showcase a collection of art, poetry, prose and research that encapsulate that school year. Within this year, there is no denying the unique challenges that high school students faced. Through the universal challenges of virtual learning to personal losses caused by COVID-19, each student’s life was affected at varying degrees by the pandemic. However, the obstacles revealed to us what we consider to be essential. As the world around us drastically changed, we found that there remained constants that were unshakeable. The word essential emerged with an entirely new meaning over the course of the past year as workers and services were deemed as such to exempt them from restrictions caused by the virus. Our chosen theme connotes the attitude towards the creation of art held by students. No matter what we lost during this past school year, eloquent belles-lettres, expressive poetry, stunning visual art, and passionate research remained. Creation remained. Student’s creativity refuses to be stifled, and that is why it is now more important than ever to share their work with the world. As you flip through the pages of the collection, I hope you form a new understanding of what it is that is indispensable to the students at Captain Shreve. Memoirs such as Vocal Focal capture the harsh internal dialogue of a teenager as they struggle to find their way in the world, contrasted by visual art such as Fantasy that illustrate the fantastical dreams of today’s youth. Students dedicated their time to groundbreaking research this year, such as the discoveries found in Women and Science: How Elizebeth S. Friedman Broke Codes, Built Relationships, and Changed the Tech World. Self-expression remained strong, as seen in works such as Definition of a Christian that explores bigotry in the 21st century. This year, we have chosen to dedicate our anthology to the lives lost to COVID-19, as well as the essential workers who remained steadfast and dedicated through the tumultuous year we experienced. We acknowledge and appreciate the work that they do, as well as wish that this anthology serves as a reminder of the essential nature of art and writing. We hope this demonstrates the undying spirit of Captain Shreve students, no matter what they may face. Lauralee Weinland ‘21 Editor

vii

Essential es·sen·tial | \ i-ˈsen(t)-shəl \ Definition of essential : of the utmost importance

Where the Wind Takes You CAJE AUCHARD

am relaxed against the side railing of the airship, taking in the beautiful sight around him. The wood was cool against his arms, as was the wind billowing against his face. Among the vast expanse of blue sky flew the purest clouds and small fragments of the floating islands that he and many others called home. The sweet calm of the open air had lifted a heavy weight from Sam’s shoulders that even he was not aware of. So far, his journey was all he had hoped it to be, a new experience where he could start his new life. He was not keen to return to the home he had left behind. It was a land of bitter frost and even colder people. Corruption ran rampant through the backwater island, a haven for cutthroats and vagabonds. No matter his past, he had paid a hefty sum, months of collective work’s wages to gain passage among the cargo ship. The captain was not the nicest, nor the most welcoming, but enough coin swayed even the most hardened of men. Sam knew that the captain and his crew were into some sketchy business, but he didn’t mind as long as he got where he wanted to go. Out of the five main cities spread throughout the sky, Asmos was the largest island, the capital city bearing that same name. It was a prosperous port, home to many of the guilds and figureheads that held the tightest grip among the land. Sam had no real plan for when he arrived - just enough coin for food and water - hoping to figure something out when they landed. He reached into the inside of his leather jacket, pulling out a photo of him and his older brother. Sam missed Max every day, but he didn’t let it control him. Sam had learned to let go, no matter how painful it was. The weight of the knife on his belt tugged at him, a gift from Max only days before he passed. Smiling at the weathered photo, he folded it up and returned it safely to its home. With no family waiting for him back home, he had decided to pack up and move on. Sam was startled by the loud slam of a door, boots running across the hardwood floor. He turned to see a scrawny man being chased by the captain’s chief mate hot on his heels. The scrawny man looked distressed as he ran for the railing

opposite of Sam. His clothes were like the attire worn by the rest of the crew, but what could cause such discord among these men? The chief mate yelled for the man to stop with an outstretched hand, but he had already launched himself over the railing without hesitation. Sam’s stomach dropped like a ton of bricks as he ran to the side, leaning over the railing. He was beside the chief mate as both watched the man fall, his scream fading as he broke through the low hanging clouds and out of sight. “Damn druggie. I told him to leave that blasted mushroom behind, but he must have snuck it aboard. Drove him half mad, raving about bugs eating him from his insides,” the man said with his head in his hands. He drove a heavy sigh out of his lungs and pushed himself up straight, looking Sam in the eyes. “I need to go inform the Cap’, could you go throw out any more of the shit he packed. I can’t have any more of my boys throwing themselves overboard.” Sam gave a nod as the man left, heading up the stairs to the captain’s quarters, leaving him to stand alone. Sam felt as if he couldn’t move after what he witnessed. He was no stranger to death, but he had hoped to leave most of it far behind him. Summoning what was left of his will, he moved down to the wooden stairs leading to the crew’s sleeping quarters. He slept with the men on the first floor, but he had never seen the scrawny man before, possibly a part of the night shift on the vessel. Sam had been told the night crew slept one floor lower, so he continued down the creaky steps. The airship was not large compared to what Sam had seen before, but it was still nothing to scoff at as he reached the bottom floor, which also seemed to be part of the cargo hold. The hum of the engines was louder down here, a purr that gently shook the walls. He had never been down here in the few days he had been on the ship, so he took his time to properly search for the man’s belongings. A strange thumping disrupted the constant hum of the engines, an erratic sound coming from a nearby room. It was muffled, leading him to believe it was just the inner machinations of the ship, but something rekindled his confusion. The faint sound of a voice accompanied the banging, still barely audible. Now his curiosity got the best of him, leading him to check the source of the strange sounds. Sam entered a dark room, the air damp and musty, which was not uncommon among the ship. At the end of the small room was a metal box that reached the ceiling, and only stretched half the length of the walls, about as wide as his own wingspan. As he walked closer to the box, the banging became louder and the voice a little clearer, though not close enough to understand. His steps were soft and slow, his stomach fluttering as he put a hand to the door. The thumping stopped as he reached for the handle. With a tug he tried to open the door to no

avail, a mangled lock latched it shut. He unsheathed his knife and began to try his hand at picking its lock. Growing up in the slums still had some advantages, though Sam still had no wish to use his skills for thievery any longer. With a satisfying click, the lock popped open, joy sprouting in his chest. He pulled the heavy door open, hoping to see who was trapped inside. Before he could get a good look though, the person inside lunged at him, knocking him to the floor. His knife was ripped from his hand and the cold bone was pressed firmly against his throat. Sam could feel trickles of blood from the cut, the bone of a great beast stronger than any metal blade. A woman in her early twenties with wild eyes held him to the ground, teeth bared. Despite the rage and dirt smeared across her face, her features were beautiful, one eye bright blue and the other bright green. “Wait, I’m not here to hurt you. I heard the banging and came to see what was wrong,” Sam said cautiously, knowing one wrong move and his blood would spill along the wooden tiles. Her features softened, but she kept the knife against his skin, “Bastards were going to sell me off, a thrall they called me. I’ll let you up but cross me and I’ll make you wish I slit your throat right here.” Sam agreed and she helped him to his feet. She tossed the knife in the air, catching the blunt end of the blade and handed it back to Sam. He could see she was no stranger to weapons, nor combat as his whole body ached from her tackle. “I had no clue they were slavers. They told me they were just hauling cargo and let me ride along for a fee. How stupid I was,” Sam sighed, guilt clouding his mind. She gave him a slight smile, “Don’t blame yourself. They hide in plain sight, hauling people too and from all the islands. Most don’t even know they exist.” The sound of footsteps stopped their conversation, causing Sam to look to her with slight panic in his eyes. She put a finger to her lips, signaling him to follow her back into the metal box. He wanted to question that decision, but he thought otherwise as a figure began to enter the dark room. They got into the box and shut the door, hoping the man wouldn’t notice. She grabbed the knife from his sheath and pushed him behind her body, waiting at the door for the person to reach them. A small slide on the door opened at eye level and a man peered through, something joyous dancing in his eyes. “Quiet today aren’t ya’ missy,” the voice said, the sound of keys jingling behind the door. They saw the man look down at where the lock once was, now laying on the floor. Before he could do anything else, the girl burst open the door, deftly plunging the knife deep into the slaver’s chest. A gasp escaped from his mouth as his life faded from his eyes. Blood pooled along the floor, the sickly-sweet smell of the

ichor invading his senses. She spat on the corpse as she stood, wiping the blood off on the thigh of her pants. The girl grabbed the slavers rapier and handed Sam his knife back. The key ring rang as she unhooked it from the dead man’s belt, adding it to her own. “Jane by the way,” she said with a smile and an outstretched hand covered in blood. Sam responded with his own name and shook her hand, ready for whatever was to come. They left sneakily from the dark room, doing their best to move without drawing anymore unwelcome attention their way. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, adjacent to a room of snoring men which he had completely missed, a loud bell rang from outside. “Land ahead!” The voice shouted, muffled by the distance between them. All of the day crew would already be on the higher levels, but Sam feared the sleeping men next to them. He peeked his head slowly through the doorway, fear flowing through his blood. The men still slept soundly, accustomed to the loud noises the flying life brought. Relief washed over him as none stirred to stop them and continued up to the top deck. The wind greeted them as they exited the interior of the ship, sunshine pleasantly blocked by a dense formation of clouds. They wasted no time as he followed Jane to the helm of the ship which was protected by an awning that casted much needed shade. The captain had opted for a small drape in place of a door, giving them easy access to the ship’s controls. Jane began to pull back the cloth that led to the helm but was met by the chief mate who looked deeply distraught. His eyes widened in surprise and he drew his rapier from his scabbard, recognizing the escaped captive. Before the man could attack , Jane swiftly cut across the man’s knees, buckling him over. She used his momentum to hoist him up and over the side of the ship, his screams fading just as the scrawny man’s had. Sam was in awe of her prowess but pushed it aside as they continued through to the captain. A weathered man in his late fifties stood at the ship’s controls, the years of hauling cargo and people visually weighing him down. Sam felt no remorse for what may happen to a man who would do such things though. A slew of curses flew from the captain’s mouth as he noticed Sam and Jane approach him, drawing a six-cylinder revolver from his waist. A shot rang out making Sam’s ears ring and his head hurt. Pain radiated from his arm as the bullet grazed his flesh, blood seeping into his shirt. Jane disarmed the man before he could get another shot off, throwing him against the control panels. The pain was constant, but he pulled himself from his daze quickly, the adrenaline kicking his brain into high gear. Sam checked his arm, the bullet only creating

a flesh wound, nothing that was immediately dangerous. He saw Jane and the captain struggling for control, one in which Jane was easily winning. Jane had her sword at the captain’s chest, almost finishing the job. The captain gave all he had, pushing the sword aside, jamming it deep into the controls of the ship, a flashing red light blinking in warning. As Jane used her elbow to knock the captain unconscious, Sam could hear the rumble of the right engine stop. They rushed back out to the open air, Jane tucking the revolver into her waist as they looked over the side. Sam noticed that the engine had indeed stopped, sending the ship careening to the side. The ship flew over a large chunk of land, the city of Asmos barely within sight. A large body of water, however, was close beneath them as they steadily flew away from it. “We have to jump. If we don’t, we go down with this ship. It’ll hurt, but we’re flying close enough to make it,” Jane said as she looked to Sam. He knew she was right, but he was so scared he wasn’t sure if he could. He had braved many things in his life, but nothing of this caliber. Jane took his hand and looked into his eyes. Hesitantly, Sam nodded, and they leaped over the side of the ship, their bodies plummeting to the ground. A small yell escaped Sam’s mouth as they crashed into the cold water, soaking him completely. With all his strength he swam to the surface, gasping for air as his head broke through like a newborn babe. He paddled to the shore, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest. “Woohoo!” Jane exclaimed right beside him as they stood waist deep in the water, finally able to stand. She tightly embraced Sam with a huge grin as the ship barely missed the edge of the island, falling through the air to unknown depths. They pulled apart and Sam returned the smile, excitement filling his body. Despite his horror, he had not had a good thrill like that in a long time. “Well Sam, looks like our adventure is just beginning,” Jane said with a laugh. They walked to the shore with arms around their shoulders and planned for their journey to Asmos. Drenched and exhausted, Sam expected there to be no shortage of excitement in the near future. Wasn’t that what he wished for though, a new adventure, a new life. He smiled at his new friend as he reveled in the idea of his unknown path and the wilds they would brave together.

Disposition LAURALEE WEINLAND

I’ve often wondered where I came from. I came into this world with a scream so loud the doctors still remember my name, their grey coats forever looking down upon me as Most Angry at Being Alive. I didn’t come from house parties, this I know. I found this out when my eyes rolled back in my head and I crashed onto the cold, hard floor the old stolen rum from the cabinet on the left made the world a kaleidoscope of technicolored memories, dots and flashes like the world’s saddest rave club. I wasn’t born from dancing on the coffee table til the light beams in a gentle reminder that the world still turns. I could never be the one to watch the clouds roll by without wondering how my insides would look splayed upon the nearby trees. My mother’s brain is full of maple rosy moths, butterflies and gentle bees they fertilize the life that’s flourishing there. Mine resembles more the Silence of the Lambs. My genes are built from a blood alcohol level of .45, the baby lying lifeless on the grass, the oil money that’s covered in dirt, the red wine bottle smashed on the granite counter on the day Christ was resurrected. My double helix has spots missing, wires crossed and weaved like the holiday sweater I am forced to wear for the camera, the lens can’t focus on what’s hidden underneath. I share with my mother in face, but mine never quite contorts into that beaming grin

A lighthouse smile to passing strangers seeking home again. My dad passed his intellect to me, but along with excessive WWII knowledge and Jeopardy facts came An addiction to escapism and enough substance to fill the lobe where the english language once lived. The slow suicide takes over eventually, the organs fail in hospice care and the demons that haunt my last name never quite return to their fiery corners. I didn’t get the happy-go-lucky sunshine. I got the soul-searching under the moonlight, and the deep abyss of mental illness that permeates my foundation. And there’s nothing I can do but keep my head above the water.

Fantasy, Macy Wynne

Women and Science: How Elizebeth S. Friedman Broke Codes, Built Relationships, and Changed the Tech World FAITH QUARLES

or decades, the stories of pioneering women in the field of computer science and technology have been lost to time or even disregarded throughout history. Particular trends of males gaining the spotlight for many of the accomplishments that women have made are beginning to surface. It can be seen primarily through certain notable females in the field, but in this case, specifically Elizebeth S. Friedman. It’s important to unearth the injustices that these particular women, as well as all women around the world have faced. Giving credit where credit is due is one of the major foundations of all knowledge and writing, so it seems hypocritical that the same people who are married to that rule also hide away the stories of these intelligent, revolutionary women. Presently, the numbers of female computer scientists are increasing, yet gender stereotypes are causing younger women to consider a less masculine profession in life (Istrate and Savu, 2020). The purpose of this paper is to research the hidden history of some of the most remarkable women in US history and how they forever changed the world of technology and computer sci-

ence. Women have a significant role in the field of technology, but have always had a disadvantage. It will take innovation and courage to change these bygone traditions and create a more equal space for the future for all women aspiring to make a difference in the growing technological realm. In order to truly understand the realms at which these women were working, certain terms and fields must be defined and explored. Computer science is the study of theory, design implementation and performance of computer software and systems. It was introduced and expanded in the 1950’s, right before the women’s rights movement going into the 60’s and 70’s. Between World War I and World War II, the field of cryptology exploded. It was and still is a male dominated field, with incredible women working in the background without proper recognition. This became a trend in the workplace. Stereotypes that women lack leadership and tenacity have been set in place, and act as a barrier for women in the workplace. These barriers are specifically set in STEM occupations, meaning science, technology, engineering and mathematics. A recent study has shown that in the United States, interest in STEM related subjects among males and females are about equal in the middle school ages, but diminish 15% by high school (Istrate and Savu, 2020). Furthermore, only 20% of all bachelor degrees in computer science are earned by women (Istrate and Savu, 2020). These statistics are a result of stereotypes that women are “modest, tender and concerned with the quality of life” rather than assertive and dominant like most males are perceived to be (Istrate and Savu, 2020). The remarkable woman that inspired this paper is none other than Elizebeth S. Friedman. While there are a plethora of other brilliant women out there who have greatly contributed to this body of knowledge, Friedman is the sole focus of this research and discussion. A direct analysis of her life, career and accomplishments will aim to show the critical differences Friedman made in the field of computer science and how she is still affecting it today. Elizabeth S. Friedman is widely known as “America’s first female cryptanalyst”. She was born in Indiana during the year 1892, where as a child, she had already developed unique linguistic skills and a clever mind. She graduated from Hillsdale college in 1915, being one of the two only people in her family to attend college (NSA). She was later recruited by an eccentric billionaire, George Fayban, to decode Shakespeare’s works. There she met William Friedman whom she would later marry. Elizabeth had a keen skill for recognizing patterns, which came to be very useful when she and William were recruited by the U.S. Army during World War I to decode secret messages from the enemy. With the combined forces of Elizebeth and her husband, they were able to create the first code-breaking unit in America. Her time with the U.S. government outside of WWI resulted in

650 criminal prosecutions, in addition to her being an expert witness in 33 cases against narcotic smugglers (Time). However, World War II and the government’s ignorance brought challenges to the female phenomenon. She was assigned to monitor communications between Germany and South America, but as a civilian she couldn’t be in charge of the unit. She was put under the power of a male officer who she believed wanted to make a career story out of the situation in South America. The FBI interfered with her work and she felt “had always looked at her with a disdain and in a sexist light, yet still demanded her help because of her indispensable talents” (Time). She was forced to fix the messes men made and solve the problems they couldn’t solve. Her greatest accomplishment was breaking up the axis powers and spy ring in South America. This ultimately caused the Allied Powers victory in the war. This monumental feat should’ve been recognized by all Americans, but instead one of the darkest lies in history was told. Though the FBI insisted on her help in the decoding of the Spy Ring, they gave all of the credit to the head of the FBI, J. Edgar Hoover. Jason Fagone, the author of The Woman Who Smashed Codes, commented on the event, “It was a lie, but it was a lie that worked, and it was the lie that ended up getting written into the history books” (Fagone). Friedman was forced to sign a Navy oath of silence until her death, and stayed true to it all of these decades. This event can be related to current events regarding women in the workplace. While Friedman did all this work, she received little to no credit in her accomplishments. Her husband received the credit and Elizebeth was referred to as an assistant cipher clerk. It wasn’t until decades after her death that the truth was finally unveiled and her story told. It makes you wonder if her story was kept away for so long, what other women are out there who aren’t receiving the well-deserved credit for their accomplishments. This is an era where we are learning more and more about the past and how that affects our future. Elizebeth S. Friedman was an innovative, exceptional woman who broke barriers in the computer science field and is inspiring others to do the same even today. Without her contributions, the FBI could not have grown to the extent that it has today, nor the Department of Security. It’s so important to tell the stories of these remarkable women, not only for them, but for the young girls of our future. Looking into the past, it’s clear that women were not provided the recognition they deserved for their monumental work. Due to traditional gender roles and the social expectation in the past, there were significantly less women than men in careers in the STEM field. However, as technology continues to rapidly advance, so does the perceptions of gender roles in the workforce. However, it must be noted that both sides of the spectrum are equally important and recognized. While men

are bashed for not providing women equal opportunity, it must be understood that times are changing constantly. The actions of those who implemented such discrimination in the workplace and society were considered reasonable during those times. What was seen as ordinary then, is seen as unacceptable in today’s standards. There is no excuse, but there is reasoning, and it must be applied to every situation possible in order to move forward in a world where both men and women are equal. The unknown contributions made by these incredible women are steadily growing as the truth is revealed. It’s important to break the gender stereotypes made in the workforce, so that everyone can have a chance at success and earn their rightful recognition. Elizebeth Friedman had to endure so much discrimination and her legacy was close to being forgotten. If not for Jason Fagone and his book, many people wouldn’t know of her great feats and how she changed the field of computer science forever. With more women joining the workforce in STEM related careers, stereotypes are decreasing. But the battle is not yet won, in order to continue on this path, young women must stand up for their rights and speak their voice. Computer science is an extremely important field of knowledge and the powerhouses who started it all were women. It’s time to make a change and make the future our own. Works Cited Elizebeth S. Friedman. NSA, www.nsa.gov/About-Us/Current-Leadership/Article-View/Arti cle/1623028/elizebeth-s-friedman/. Accessed 22 Mar. 2021. Fagone, Jason. The Woman Who Smashed Codes. Dey Street Books, Harper, 2018. Istrate, Ana Mihaela, and Daria Savu. “GENDER STEREOTYPES--A FRONTIER FOR WOMEN IN COMPUTER SCIENCE.” Journal of Information Systems & Operations Management, vol. 14, no. 2, 2020, p. 80+. Gale Academic OneFile, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A649682882/ AONE?u=lap09capt&sid=AONE&xid=5392ccb2. Accessed 8 Feb. 2021. “The Story of America’s Underappreciated ‘First Female Cryptanalyst.’” Time, time.com/5928583/elizebeth-friedman-codebreaker/. Accessed 22 Mar. 2021.

Vocal Focal PAIGE GREER

There is this voice that lives in the back of my mind. It’s not the same voice that tells me not to forget to brush my teeth or to check my mirrors before I change lanes.That voice is called Ava--she only tells me about pure and productive things. The voice I’m talking about is Vexatious--Vex is galling and grating against the infrangible walls of my mind. Vex is the type of voice that tells me to forget about that math quiz because we’re not going to be doing polynomial long division for a career. Vex is the type of voice that will tell me to sneak a sip of my Dad’s vodka when he’s left the room because why should four years stop us. Vex is the type of person that tells me to disobey my Mom because she must be delusional if she thinks she’s going to control us for the rest of our lives. Vex is the type of person that tells me to shred my sister’s Soft and Sexy shirt from American Eagle because we just lent her our skirt last Tuesday. I remember Vex being present ever since kindergarten. All the little kindergartners had their knit blankets spread out around the classroom since that 2nd recess required a power nap beforehand. Snowy blond hair glowed in the darkness of the classroom--the sight of it had Vex growling. That blond hair would always whip me in the face, leaving a stinging sensation on my cold cheeks. To make matters worse, the owner of this pretty blonde hair stood in front of me for the class’s number order line and she LOVED wearing her hair in a ponytail. I wasn’t vindictive towards the girl because by the way that hair moved, it was alive and savage. It couldn’t be tamed. No matter how hard I tried to grab onto it’s powerful tail before it snapped at my eyelid. Vex knew what needed to be done. Now,... I couldn’t tell my teacher that the voice in my head was to blame when she caught me trying to scalp my classmate with Play-Doh scissors while she was napping. Ridding of that platinum leviathan was tempting, but being banned from using scissors from kindergarten till the second grade was humiliating. Lesson learned: Vex is apathetic towards others’, (and sometimes my own), well-being. Ava is the angel to my Hell, while Vex is the demon to my Heaven. As back-

wards as it is, Vex comes in with devil horns and a blood-stained dagger when my life has unicorns prancing over Skittle rainbows. When I’m in an endless land that offers no escape, Ava is my savior. It’s... an estranged relationship that makes me feel like I purposely ruin good moments because Vex is up to her shenanigans. However, if I were to tell my parents to fudge off I can’t say,“oh you guys know how Vex gets”. That’s the quickest way to make a parent mad, bewildered, and concerned at the same time. As many times as I see people post about how they thought about dropping a baby is evident enough that everyone has a Vex/Ava. Voices are just there--one can’t really turn the volume down or turn off the microphone in their mind. This just seems to emphasize that a person is going to have to choose wisely which voice they listen to. Choose your Vexatious thoughts, there’s the risks of those thoughts growing ruinous to the point of no return. Choose your Ava thoughts, you’re going down an eternal straight road with no turns or roundabouts.

Reaching Out, Maura Calahan

The Science of Man MARK RAINES

Mankind has but one science. The science of: Discontent and dissolution, Disarray and a contusion, Of the bones that bear the burdens of a battered Constitution. Cheaters lie with likely Leaders, Leading Liars loose the feeders, For Fox, and friends on Facebook to sow fear in their believers. Now I ponder weak and weary, Now I lay here with the fury, Of a boy who reads the lore of Locke and laments our lacking liberty. Oh well, fuck it, I look toward tomorrow, I’ll swim in joy not drown in sorrow, I’d like to spend the seasons smiling softly for every. second’s. borrowed. Whatever the weather, We’re better together, For a house divided, Hits the floor like a feather, Despite the discontent and the dismay and the dog days and the crashing waves OF THIS LIFE. You’re my brothers and my sisters Now, And forever.

Lines LAINEY SMETHERS

When I look within this road, I find lines. ever so fine lines. Lines I had to read between, and the lines you had to cross. A line saying I deserve one thing, and my life proving another. The last line, you said, you promised. But we all know that a promise means nothing. That there will always be another line, there will always be another promise, there will always be another priority. You are surrounded by a pointless pretty perimeter where the pavement was never structured. Your pathetic practices consist not only of the lines you do, but the lines you’ve built between us. We’re on opposite sides of the road, now with a double line between us that even you can’t cross. You didn’t ask for this, and I know you don’t mean it. But these lines-they torment your reality, rip apart our relationship. And no matter how hard you try there will always be another promise, there will always be another priority, and there will always be another line.

Wings of Sadness, Kaitlyn Webester

Rat in the Maze GRACE JENSEN

Society prides itself with preaching the idea of individuality. The ability to style our hair how we want, Modify our bodies with tattoos and piercings, Express ourselves with makeup and clothing. But all to a certain extent. A rat in a maze is free to go anywhere, as long as it stays inside. You must still fit the ideals that they have created, You can’t be too different than everyone else. Because “you’ll never get a job with that on your body” Or with “metal in your face”. You know those are permanent, right? Don’t wear too much makeup, or you’ll look like a whore. But you must always look presentable. You preach body positivity, “Being comfortable in your own skin”. But any woman over one-thirty can’t wear a bikini. Skirts were originally donned by the strongest of men, And now they wouldn’t be caught dead in the women’s section. Their masculinity too fragile to be wounded. You have shaped them this way. Since they were young, When their eyes were still bright, and filled with wonder. But now they are filled with sorrow, Dread of what other people will think. You spread them too thin, Pushed them too far, Past the point of no return. A rat in a maze is free to go anywhere,

as long as it stays inside. I’m free to express myself right? But you looked at me with disgust, Every time I would color my hair. Wore my makeup in a certain way, Dressed comfortably for school, Or simply wore whatever the hell I wanted. “Where did my little girl go?” I never went anywhere, I grew into the person I wanted to be. I refuse to fit into the mold that society has created The mold that you want me to fit into. You used to be the person I looked up to, The person I held to such a high degree of respect. But now you are the reason I have problems, You are the reason I am depressed. You have tried too hard to fit me into the mold that you made, That it is now broken, Shattered to pieces. Like my respect for you. I will never look at you the same. You were once my hero, But now, I am my own person. Free from the frame that people have tried to force me into. I will never be your little girl again. Not in the way that you want me to be, You lost that months ago. I refuse to conform to other people. To conform to you, I refuse to be the rat in your maze.

I Regret to Inform You SOPHIA MOUTON

remember seeing a single tear escape from my mothers eye as she stared out the window. I was only four at the time but I remember certain things. Little details I can’t quite seem to get rid of. I remember the blue lights flashing around the corner as Jack and I were playing outside, dancing in the lights. I guess it is true that 52% of car accidents happen within five miles of your house, but for my dad, I guess five miles is really just two blocks. I can’t remember what we were playing, but Jack couldn’t stop laughing. And I remember my mother flipping that little ring over and over, as the police were explaining the accident over and over, hoping they’d drill it into her reality. It was the ring that used to be on my dad’s thumb that was now gripped tightly in her palm. It was always so tight, we all used to tease him saying it would become a part of his hand. I remember the police officer putting his hand on my mother’s shoulder, a little too tight, suggesting something I didn’t want to accept so soon after my dad’s death. Only my father could put his hand on my mothers shoulder like that. I remember them handing her a bag with his name on it, Carter Price. A few years later when my mom died, I was going through her things and stumbled upon the box in the closet where she kept the rest of my dad’s things, or what was left of them. The bag looked like it had seen better days, but it was still there, and I needed it if I was going to bury them together like I promised them so long ago. His ashes were there, in a small urn, identical to my mothers except her ashes were new, and my fathers were five years old. As I was sitting at their grave, a thought flew through my head. The thought of my death. I didn’t even think it was something I would ever think of. Unlike my mother, I’ve always thought I was strong, or at least stronger than her. No. I know I am stronger because I don’t need to get my fourteen year old daughter to call the ambulance three times for taking too many pills or accidentally cutting my wrists while making dinner. And I definitely don’t need to leave my daughter alone without any relatives or family besides a dependent little brother because I needed to see my love again. I hate to break it to you mama but suicides and car accidents aren’t the same, and only one of them gets you to heaven.

Dear mama, We were told to write a letter of regret today in class, and I regret you. I know this isn’t the same thing, the teacher said it preps us for college or something, but whatever. Granted, I don’t have much control over who my mother is but I wish I had a loving one. Not one that decided to leave me too early because she couldn’t handle the pain she was going through which is so similar to the pain I’m going through. Only mine is worse because of you. So thanks mom, thanks for screwing me over and ruining my life at such an early age. I’m truly sorry you couldn’t handle the pain, but I have to, I have a little brother to take care of, and I am not going to let him down like you let me down.

Hanging by a Thread, Avery Bryan

Mother Knows Best: A Machiavellian Critical Analysis of Mother Gothel FAITH QUARLES

other Gothel, the main antagonist in the Disney film, Tangled, is a master manipulator and powerhouse of control. At the beginning of the film, only she possessed the knowledge of the location of the mystical Golden Flower, whose power granted youth and health to any who used it. She kept it hidden and safe to maintain control over both her youth and whoever could use the Flower. Later on, the Flower is discovered and given to the Queen to save her life, in which she births her daughter and the Princess, Rapunzel. She was blessed with the same magical qualities as the Flower possessed, and its life force was part of her. Rapunzel was soon stolen by Mother Gothel and hidden away from the world in a tower, never to be seen again by the Kingdom for eighteen years. Mother Gothel uses Rapunzel just as she used the Golden Flower, and keeps extreme control over the child -through extreme manipulation and psychological damage- to ensure she never loses its power ever again. Like Machiavelli, Mother Gothel was able to deceive almost everyone around her to keep the magic

of the Flower to herself. She manipulated Rapunzel into thinking that the world was a dangerous place that was filled with brutes who wanted to steal her magical hair. Mother Gothel was able to keep this up for over 17 years, using the same techniques that Machiavelli promotes in The Prince, his guide to achieving total control. Mother Gothel knew how to maintain her power over others while gaining the most benefits in any situation. She always had leverage over her aggressors and used fear as one of her strongest weapons. Overall, Mother Gothel acted on Machiavellian ideals throughout her entire role in the film, taking control and keeping it until her death. Through an analysis of each pivotal moment in the film, it’s clear to see how Machiavellian ideals are still recognized and implemented today. In the earlier stages of the film, we see Mother Gothel raising the young Rapunzel. Rapunzel asks, “Why can’t I go outside?” and Mothel Gothel quickly shuns the notion and responds, “The world outside is a dangerous place. Filled with horrible selfish people, you must stay here where you’re safe” (Tangled). These are just the beginning stages of Mothel Gothel grooming Rapunzel’s perception of the outside world. The irony in Gothel’s response is that in order to keep herself young and beautiful, she selfishly stole Rapunzel as an infant and kept her locked in a tower for eighteen long years. In The Prince, a major theme that occurs is human nature and self-interest. Drawing back to Gothel’s earlier statement, it becomes clear that her Machiavellian traits are rooted in her ambition and selfishness. Machiavelli asserts that people commonly use their ambition to acquire power, perfectly aligning with Gothel’s character. Progressing in the film, we see Mother Gothel and Rapunzel together in the tower. Rapunzel has finally gathered the courage to ask Gothel if she can leave the tower on her birthday to go see the “floating lights”. Gothel reveals her manipulation in this scene and the mental hold she has over Rapunzel. In the song “Mother Knows Best” Gothel starts off with, “Oh, why Rapunzel. Look at you, as fragile as a flower… you know why we keep you in this tower… that’s right, to keep you safe and sound, dear” (Tangled). She then goes on to say, “Trust me pet, Mother, knows best. Mother knows best, listen to your mother. It’s a scary world out there. Mother knows best. One way or another, something will go wrong, I swear” (Tangled). Similar themes continue throughout the entire song, but just one verse shows the scope of what Gothel is willing to say to keep Rapunzel under her control. Machiavelli claims a Prince must be loved as well as feared by his subjects. In this case, Gothel must keep the balance with Rapunzel, ensuring she won’t try and leave the tower. Gothel has scared Rapunzel into thinking the world outside the tower is out to steal her hair and its magical properties. This way, Gothel is seen as Rapunzel’s sole protector and the only person she can trust.

Rapunzel eventually leaves the tower with Flynn Rider, a thief who mistakenly found her running from palace guards. Rider struck a deal with Rapunzel to bring her to see the “floating lights” in exchange for his satchel, which Rapunzel hid from him. Upon finding out that Rapunzel left the tower, Gothel is furious and sets out to find her lost flower yet again. During her search, Gothel meets the Stabbington Brothers. They are out to capture Rider and Gothel uses their hate for her own gain. She convinces them that if they capture Rapunzel they will become rich beyond imagination, but they have to get rid of Rider first. Gothel’s manipulation is very strong, as she can convince almost anyone to do her bidding without them even knowing. The cycle of Gothel’s manipulation continues throughout the film. She is able to bring Rapunzel back to the tower, only to be killed by falling to her death soon after. Machiavelli claims those who come to power by crime kill fellow citizens and betray friends. They are “treacherous, pitiless, and irreligious” (The Prince). Princes who commit criminal acts can achieve power, but never glory (The Prince). These characteristics shine through Gothel’s character and actions. Gothel stole a baby to preserve her beauty, and in the end, she died a horrible death. Her “glory” being immortality and eternal beauty was lost; while she had power over Rapunzel, it’s clear that the ways she gained that power were criminal and she fell right into the Machiavellian trap. Overall, Mother Gothel used extreme, yet clever tactics throughout the movie, representing Machiavelli even in modern times and modern entertainment. Works Cited “Tangled” Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 24 Mar. 2021 <https://www.scripts.com/script/tangled_19376>. “The Prince: Themes | SparkNotes.” SparkNotes, www.sparknotes.com/philosophy/prince/themes/. Accessed 24 Mar. 2021.

My Happy Place KARLIE KEY

panish moss tangled in branches. Green algae floating on the water’s surface. Alligators roaming the muggy bayous. These are all images that fill the minds of most people when “water” and “Louisiana” are strung into the same sentence. On the other hand, these words conjure in my mind a vision of my own personal heaven. The lake is the only place I feel like I have been broken free from all the responsibilities and stress the world has brought upon me. It is a nice reprieve from the hours hunched over a desk consulting my endless to - do list and fifteen grueling hours a week spent in a heavily chlorinated pool. I look at the lake as my slice of heaven where I can get away from all the stress the world brings and enjoy the moments that make me happiest. As soon as I lay my eyes on the clear water, a mix of dopamine and adrenaline runs through my veins. From the first jump into the water, I feel my stress dissolve into the depths of the water. For miles, the sun’s bright rays reflect off the varnish-clear lake to create an illusion of millions of diamonds floating along the water’s surface. With each hour passing at the lake, the sky turns a shade more sapphire and the sun a rosy apricot. Clouds in the sky look like white fluffy pillows, and my imagination manages to convince me that little angels dance among the clouds. The sky looks even more radiant in the lake’s reflection; it is magical. The lake never fails to turn the corners of my mouth upwards - if a picture were taken of me without knowing, I would have the biggest, most genuine smile stretched across my face. One part of the lake that brings me the most joy is wakeboarding. I love every second of it, from the moment my body rises out of the water and being pulled by the force of the boat, to wiping out face-first in the water. The first time I strapped my feet into the 150 centimeter board, I vowed to myself I would soon perfect jumping the wake. Embarrassed the first time of barely getting up on the first shot, I felt an enormous amount of added pressure because I held the title of being an all-star swim athlete. The first time I ever jumped the wake I was shocked at what had happened. First, I turned out of the wake so when I would cut back in I could gain enough momentum to jump the hilly, turbulent trail the boat left behind. As

The Beauty of Nature, Kianna Smith

I approached the white wake I bent my knees, hugged the rope, and flew into the air. Every weight was instantly lifted off my shoulders as I flew a foot into the air. As the board neared the surface, I tucked my knees and let it skim across the glassy water. Who knew a small jump would result in such a big personal achievement? Time flies out on the lake; the only way to see how long I have been on the water is to see how my red sunburn has progressed. My favorite sight after a successful day spent at the lake is having front row seats to the magnificent sunsets paradise has to offer. As the waves crash along the side of the boat, the orange ball slowly makes its way down the horizon streaking the sky with a trail of colors. The lake engulfs the orange ball of fire and the bright orange turns into a pitch black. The sight of millions of stars flooding the sky is my signal to leave my fantasy land and head back to the real world.

Distant Sky, Melea Allison

Primeval Tales MADELINE UPCHURCH

Trees Like you and me, Have a story Yet they do not tell Of the sweet tale of time Seasons pass and leaves fall No one thinks to offer a blanket Trees Like you and me, Grow Sturdy and wide Yet they do not celebrate birthdays Maybe they have special shading salons For you and I To gaze upon the day But Trees Apart from you and me, Have an incredible attribute Their roots Stretch as far as the tree itself Sit below the surface One tree we see Two we are between

Untitled, Nadia Foshee

Weeping Willow CAJE AUCHARD

Weeping Willow So hopeless and alone Your leaves as tears Naked branches and bare bark Spine bent and broken The wind unrelenting against your poor form Weeping Willow Once a beauty of green Lavish leaves flowing free Your hide as tough as your wit Spending your days in the sun Standing firm with your perfect form Weeping Willow What will you become A splinter in the hand of man The history in which they write Kindling for the weary Or death for the undead Weeping Willow What fever burns your leaves And ashes your roots The fire that fuels you so And burns bright for all to see For if you fall, will they be there to hear

Weeping Willow Do you speak Or even care To hear my query Do my words fall upon deaf ears Or eyes that cannot see Weeping Willow Wipe the salt from your eyes And open them wide Bend your ear For I have wisdom to share What better a gift to give Weeping Willow You listen now Though it may not be kind Your pain is nature And strife is living Yet do not turn Weeping Willow We all have a story to share Spread it among your leaves And let it flow to the wind Let your tears nourish its message And your roots reach others Weeping Willow You are not alone Others weep as you do Let your leaves brush their feet Open their eyes And bend their ears Weeping Willow Now they see you And hear your cries Go unto them Mingle and flourish And begin life anew 31

Helen Keller: More Than A Disability

LAUREN MCCOLLUM

elen Keller, born in the late 1800’s, contracted a disease at a young age, resulting in becoming deaf and blind. Although most people simply know Helen Keller for her rare condition, Helen was so much more than a disabled woman. After graduating college, Helen Keller continued to prove to the world what it meant to be strong. She did not allow her deaf and blindness to hinder her, instead she used her disabilities as motivation. Throughout her adult life Helen repeatedly advocated for social and political change. She joined organizations, attended strikes, wrote controversial letters and books, and publicly spoke to further the causes she believed in. Helen Keller’s fiery spirit, raw determination, and kind heart will be remembered in history until the end of time. She set the foundation not only for future disabled people, but for women as well. Helen Keller: much more than a disabled woman. At a young age, playful and high-spirited Helen Keller from Alabama contracted a serious illness, which would later become life altering. Several years after contracting either scarlet fever or meningitis, (historians are not sure which one), Helen “layed in

bed, desperately ill…” (Berne 6). Her brother James cradled her in his arms as she screamed in pain, soon to realize that “she could not blink” (Berne 6). More than her inability to blink, Helen soon faced the realization that she could not see and could not speak. Helen’s conditions resulted in many struggles, foreign to an average child of her age. Helen desperately “wanted to express herself, but she did not know how” (Berne 6). Desperate for a cure, the Keller family searched far and wide for the help they sought. Helen’s family sent her to an oculist (an eye specialist), and even tried contacting famous inventor, Alexander Graham Bell, who they believed could possibly create lenses that would enable her to see. Unfortunately, both visits were unsuccessful, resulting in an incredibly discouraged family. They wondered if there was any hope for their daughter to live a decent life. After years of searching, the Keller’s finally found their solution for Helen’s learning, Anne Sullivan. Anne worked tirelessly with Helen, teaching her hands-on the techniques of braille, and sign language. While learning under Anne, Helen, “progressed incredibly fast…” and Helen was “learning not only nouns, but also verbs, adjectives, abstract thoughts, and simple sentences” (Berne 27). Her tutor, Anne Sullivan, instilled hope and determination in a once hopeless Helen Keller. Her childhood struggles not only taught her the power of determination, but also taught her that with courage and hard work, nothing is impossible. Helen Keller graduated from Radcliffe College in 1904, receiving her bachelor’s degree in the arts. By doing so, Helen became the first blind and deaf woman to ever graduate from a university (Berne). Helen’s diploma marked the beginning of her lifelong commitment to leadership despite disability. One way in which Helen contributed her fierce ideas and passions was through joining American organizations such as the I.W.W (Industrial Workers of the World) and the NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People). The I.W.W was an active organization that frequently spoke out against social issues in America (Fryd). The NAACP was a well known civil rights organization (Berne). Helen showed her support for these organizations by writing letters in correspondence to presidents and vice presidents of the organizations. She was certainly not afraid to show the world her support for these causes. Helen Keller also advocated for change through writing books, and attending rallies and conferences to voice her opinions. Among her twelve published books, the two most well known ones are The Story of My Life, and The World I Live In. In these two books, Helen shared the timeline of her life up to that point, as well as, intimate lessons she learned during her trials and tribulations. Helen Keller most strongly advocated for issues which involved women’s suffrage, civil rights, better treatment for disabled people, war, worker unions, and Socialism. Helen Keller is one of the most fascinating female Socialist members to this

day, in fact, she uprooted her life and moved to the city of Schenectady upon hearing about a Socialist mayor being elected (MacPherson). She is quoted for saying, “I am no worshipper of cloth of any color but I love the red flag and what it symbolizes to me and to other socialists. I have a red flag hanging in my study” (Fryd). As a member of the Socialist Party of Massachusetts, Helen Keller believed in minimizing pay differences, public property, as well as equal rights (Berne). To put it in simpler terms, Helen followed the belief of a “social cure” (Pedestal). Included in this social cure was a combination of social and political liberation, and freedom. Helen desired a total change in society. Her Socialist beliefs were controversial, especially considering her Southern, Conservative roots. Even Helen’s family questioned her political and social stances, saying she was “brainwashed” (Berne). The press would frequently comment on Helen’s outspoken liberalness, and give Helen nasty nicknames and insults. It was clear to see that most critics preferred that Helen limited herself to issues “closer to home” for her (deaf and blindness), but Helen did not wish to do so. Despite the controversy, and repeatedly receiving negative feedback from the press, Helen continued in her goals, never backing down (Pedestal). One of Helen Keller’s fellow workers honored her by saying, “This blind woman sees better than we who have our eye-sight, the misery of the world. She detects the cry of need more clearly than we who can hear, and though she is dumb her deeds are readier than our words” (MacPherson). Helen Keller spoke out against varying topics, but she did also advocate for change in an area closer to home- disability. Early in her adult life, Helen joined the Massachusetts Commision for the Blind, and wrote several articles and letters in support for this cause (Berne). Helen caused great controversy for her writing in the Ladies Home Journal, regarding the most prominent cause of blindness during the early twentieth century, ophthalmia neonatorum. Ophthalmia was caused by sexually transmitted diseases being passed from mothers onto newborns (Berne 76). Helen wrote in her journal entry, “Must we leave young girls to meet the danger in the dark because we dare not turn the light upon our social wickedness? False delicacy and prudery must give place to precise information and common sense. It is high time we abolish falsehood and let the plain truth come in” (Berne 77). Her strong words struck shock and anger among many women, but Helen did mind shocking the public. She was not afraid to spread controversial ideas, even amongst women of her own age and background. Ophthalmia neonatorum was not the only suspected cause of blind and deafness in young children. Helen believed that poor working conditions and unsanitary living spaces were also the root of the disabilities. She spoke on the topic in a letter, saying, “Investigation shows that there are many clever safeguards for machinery which are not adopted because their adoption would diminish the employer’s profits… if you doubt there

is such a connection… consult those bare but illuminated reports of industrial commissions and labor bureaus” (Pedestal). Once again, Helen was not fearful of sparking controversy, in fact, she very much did with these strong accusations of hers. Rather, Helen Keller cared simply for social change. Especially with such an issue that hit close to home for her, she would not be silenced. Helen Keller, diagnosed with permanent deaf and blindness at a young age, struggled more than that of the average child. During childhood, Helen adapted to her disabilities, and rather than become discouraged by struggles, she used her struggles as motivation to persevere. Into her adult life, Helen carried her resilient attitude. She fearlessly advocated for social and political issues, never backing down without sharing her mind. Despite critics and controversy surrounding her name, Helen Keller fought tirelessly for social change. She joined organizations, attended strikes, wrote controversial letters and books, and publicly spoke to further the causes she believed in. She set the foundation not only for future disabled people, but for women as well. Helen Keller will forever be remembered as so much more than a disabled woman. Works Cited Berne, Emma Carlson. Helen Keller: Courage in Darkness. Sterling, 2009. Fryd, Linda. “Writing Women Back:.” Socialist Woman, London, March-April 1971, p. 12+. Women’s Studies Archive, link.gale.com/apps/doc/ YDBYLL481991118/WMNS?u=lap09capt&sid=WMNS&xid=45179abf. Accessed 8 Feb. 2021. “Helen Keller Speaks.” Pedestal, Jan. 1971, p. 2. Women’s Studies Archive, link.gale.com/apps/doc/XLBSRU114786556/WMNS?u=lap 09capt&sid=WMNS&xid=21b26b7c. Accessed 8 Feb. 2021. MacPherson, Mary. “International Notes.” The League Leaflet, no. 21, 1912, p. 5+. Women’s Studies Archive, link.gale.com/apps/doc/SCCPDP006054700/ WMNS?u=lap09capt&sid=WMNS&xid=5d65f47e. Accessed 9 Mar. 2021. “One of the Few Heroic Women That We Learned about in School Was Helen Keller.” Pedestal, Jan. 1971, p. 2. Women’s Studies Archive, link.gale.com/apps/ doc/ASPZYW025988817/WMNS?u=lap09capt&sid=WMNS&xid=147fd bab. Accessed 8 Feb. 2021.

things that feel better in the rain SOPHIA MOUTON

things that feel better in the rain wet socks stuck between toes perky grass growing in the spring time tree branches that smack the faces of passersby glasses as the droplets trickle down the lenses concrete that has never made people trip, until today.

Window of Wonders, Kaitlyn Webster

to: Rosemary June Farmer PAIGE GREER

To: Rosemary June Farmer From: David May 20, 1954 State Lunatic Hospital at Taunton, 60 Hodges Avenue, Taunton, MA 02780 Little Lamb, Little Lamb God has shown me The Way, the sky informed me gifting the first rainy afternoon this May the pitter patter of water syncs with my bitter laughter as the wealthy Farmers preach about my inner pattern: “I only love my David Shepard Farmer, loving the rest of them is like loving a bunch of bastards”, Ma’s vow had broken, with a scowl on her face and furrowed brows, I disintegrated Isla raised to the surface and talked about her time in Bilbao-the way her flowy skirt would have all the men staring approvingly, about the carnal dance she had with a man named Olevar on Karraspio Beach-“He didn’t miss a crevice, Senora Johanna, my being trembled With every kiss upon flesh; puedo sentirlo ahora--

Slap There was a flood in Bilbao today, coincidentally; perhaps the disquieting ripple of my right cheek sent shock waves through Adam’s Ale til the tremors reached the shore of Karraspio My head yanks with Ma’s every pull By the time Pa subdues her, Stygian curls lie in her iron grip her Greek nose turned up, repugnant She points agonizingly at my head “Hell is empty and all the devils are here” the heels of her Bloch Nicolas echo as she stomps savagely to the car Leaving Pa, a pen, and three papers --Emancipation, Restraining, Withdrawal-No exegesis, No frantic endearment Just the enrichment of my lunacy Just the beginning of the Farmers’ lunacy My Little Lamb: the truth dies with me My identity has been cleaved, crimson leaking from the dashes where my wings used to flourish But they will not tell you this they will tell the tale of the Mad Prince; the one that abdicated his throne because he knew he was not fit to rule a Lion, exploiting a bunch of Lambs Keep those amber eyes alive, feel the uncomfortable atmosphere when my name reeks in the room, the pronunciation lurking under the tongues of snakes They will lie through their teeth, hissing their feigned sorrow to keep you ignorant I won’t allow it, Little Lamb Bite the Fruit Use it for protection, because: Hell is empty and all the devils share your last name

One Wish JULIA CARTER

My only wish tonight is to slow down time. So I close my eyes tight and whisper, “Never, ever let this night end.” Away my wish floats, to forever be guarded by the stars. When I open my eyes, nothing has changed. The warm scent of burning candles still lingers in the air. The same conversations are being carried by the wind. Nobody has left, and nobody has come. My wish doesn’t come true. It’s impossible to slow down time. So I hold on to the memory of this night with a tight grip and never let myself forget it.

Ballet a la Mode, Jillian Rhymes

How High School Changed My Life KAITLYN HANSON

s a kid, I was always told to dream big. Teachers and parents were always suggesting we become doctors, lawyers, or CEOs. Those were dreams of someone long ago. I grew up and so did the world around me, gaining meaningful memories and experiences on the way. I baked bread in my algebra class in eighth grade. I got to spend the whole day mixing and waiting and delivering this freshly baked creation to teachers and administrators all around the school. That same year I spent hours trying to make the perfect Mardi Gras float out of a shoebox with my two best friends. We brought our own supplies, getting to class early, and staying late to make sure we got it just right. At the end of every day, I always looked forward to walking home with more of my best friends, people that accepted me from the day we met. Isn’t that weird? How when we’re little, we call all our friends our “best friends”. If only life had stayed that simple. All the plans I had made for high school suddenly changed: I started going to a new school, a school with people I knew nothing about. My saving grace was freshman orientation. Over the next four years, I would discover the group I was in that day contained two people I now call sisters. Friends I have had the opportunity to watch grow, change, and flourish into beautiful people. That first year always contained something new—people, places, and ideas that seeped into this new person I was becoming. I didn’t find guilt where I once thought it should be. I joined a math club to help tutor those that need it, and to secretly keep my own skills sharp. I found pride and strength in a sport I’d never heard of, powerlifting was something that just seemed to scream my name. I met more people, joined new groups, and continued to be amazed at the human potential for kindness and joy. Little eighth grade me would never have thought up something so grand. Now here I am senior year, once again looking into what my future might hold, contemplating into what my identity has become. Though it may have taken four years, I started to understand that I can’t control everything, even if I really wanted to. My life continues to change in unexpected ways, and I have learned I can either roll with it or fight against it. I’ve always heard the phrase, “enjoy this, these are the best years of your life” in reference to high school memories. I can’t argue against this now, but I can finally understand the sentimentality behind it.

Living on a Floating Rock LAINEY SMETHERS

could expatiate on how much I dislike the ideas of the ‘king’ of astrophysics, but if you’ve read The Pale Blue Dot, then you should agree. This text is unbearable to read. Basically, we don’t mean anything because we’re just sacks of flesh on a rock that’s floating out in space and we aren’t the center of the universe. With that kind of logic, nothing matters. Nothing we do matters. Money is meaningless, the most prominent people don’t have the “power” we think they do, and it doesn’t matter what happens to us in the end. We can’t go live on another large rock floating in space. Sure, Mars sustained tiny bacterial life, but it doesn’t have the atmosphere or climate to sustain human life. And that makes humans as a whole look sad. Why continue to research and build hope for a planet that could never naturally sustain us? According to Sagan, we could have done this 3 trillion years ago, and can’t now because paragravity would have to exist and coincide with the laws of physics and it currently doesn’t. Paragravity is, by definition, artificial gravity. It’s impossible to use it to obtain orbit. You would have to supply ample energy and find a circuit of pairs to join the orbit. After this, to stay up in space where you are, you would need enough orbital velocity to keep you up and not crash into the planet or something floating around the planet. So if we put ourselves, or an artificial atmosphere, up to orbit Mars, paragravitionally it wouldn’t be feasible. If this is the case, why bring it up? Why go on about something that doesn’t exist but could work in theory if we astrophysically tweaked it? If this man says that I don’t matter because I’m a human that lives on this tiny earth, then his argument pulses on inconsequential, even hypocritical. If we, as humans, are so insignificant, then why is he, a human, writing a book talking about it? After suffering an existential crisis subsequent to studying this, I produced my own theory: humans make each other matter. If we can give uncircumstantial monetary value to a piece of paper, we can give uncircumstantial existential value to our own lives. We aren’t the center of the universe, we’re the center of our universe. Now that we’re past that, I’ve comprised a list of reasons why I do in fact matter, and why I surely must be the center of the universe:

1) I make really good brownies. 2) I have an herb and vegetable garden, but some might call it an herb and fruit and vegetable garden since I grow tomatoes in the summer. 3) I have an unusually unstable mental state, so maybe eventually when it gets bad enough, scientists will use my brain to study on and I will pioneer some kind of research about hereditary bipolar disorder and BPD. Although maybe they should’ve studied my grandpa instead, before he killed himself. 4) I can play the harmonica. 5) I am classically trained in the piano, although I don’t like to talk about it much because saying you’re “classically trained” makes you sound holier than thou to the average bear. 6) I stream “Cough Syrup” at least 1,492 times a day, so I like to think I contribute to most of Young the Giant’s success in the music industry. 7) I have never missed when throwing a grape in the air to catch it in my mouth. 8) I add a sense of personality to my family that the others just don’t have. Being raised by conservative Mormon grandparents and ignored by a crack head mom and meth head dad can really add to a girl’s character development.

Untitled, Kierra Douglas

The WASPs

EMILY HARNER The WASPs stepped up during WWII to be pilots, a role previously only held by men. This also allowed women to help contribute to their country in a way never seen before. Members of this organization were trained as pilots and their jobs included test flying planes, ferrying aircraft, and training other pilots. With women taking over male jobs, such as training new pilots it freed many men for combat during the war. These brave women proved they could fly a plane just as good as a man. Women took on a major role in the Air Force during WWII that allowed all the male pilots to engage in war. These jobs included training pilots, ferrying planes, as well as test flying planes. They would ferry planes from factories to bases to be ready for war. The candidates must be between 21 and 35 years old and must also pass a physical fitness test. These women pulled targets for aerial and groundto-air gunnery practice for the men to prepare for war. In doing these dangerous jobs about 38 of these brave women died serving their country but did not get the funeral expenses or military burial, many of the men soldiers received. Previously, women were expected to simply run the household, now they would have a large impact on the war. Originally, women simply ran the household: cooking, cleaning, and raising the children. Before the war, in the 1930’s, women often took on jobs such as secretary, teacher, or maids. The push for women to work increased by 20% at this time because it was following the great depression (Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASPs) of WWII). Then World War Two began in 1939, and women took on so many jobs when men were off fighting. These women were now working in factories making everything from ammunition to fighter planes which was all previously done by men. They were doing it all- taking care of the house as well as being involved in the wartime economy (Gender on the Home Front: The National WWII Museum: New Orleans”). Throughout the war they accomplished many things such as breaking gender stereotypes. A big icon of women’s ability to do anything men was Rosie the Riveter. She represented capable and brave women that could do anything. She was used as a recruiting tool to push women to enlist during WWII. During this time women in the workforce increased 10% from 27% to 37%. She was

loosely based on a woman working in an ammunition factory(Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASPs) of WWII). A famous women pilot, Nancy Love, was the first to fly for the United States Air Force. She fell in love with flying and got her pilot’s license at the age of 16. Bravely she led the first group of women pilots to fly in WWII. Fighting for women’s rights in the military was a main focus and fight for Nancy. She desperately wanted for men and women to be paid equally and to receive burial rights in the military just as men had. The WASPs were disbanded in 1944 which devastated Nancy. Although she kept flying she went back to the normal women role, being a mother. She broke so many barriers for many women to come (Nancy Harkness Love: Female Pilot and First to Fly for the U.S. Military). The Women’s Air Force Pilots otherwise known as “WASPs” were very brave women who stepped up to fight for their country and proved they could do much more than keep up with the household. They paved the way for women in all branches of the military as well as many other jobs previously only held by men. Making up over half of the Air Force during WWII they definitely had an impact on the war. These brave women stepped up to plate during this time and proved they can do so much more than people thought. Work Cited Douglas, Deborah G G. “Nancy Harkness Love: Female Pilot and First to Fly for the U.S. Military.” HistoryNet, HistoryNet, 9 Aug. 2016, www.historynet.com/nancy-harkness-love-female-pilot-and-first-to-fly-forthe-us-military.htm. “Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASPs) of WWII.” National Women’s History Museum, 23 Apr. 2019, www.womenshistory.org/exhibits/women-airforce-service-pilots-wasps-wwii. MarshallV. “Gender on the Home Front: The National WWII Museum: New Orleans.” The National WWII Museum | New Orleans, The National World War II Museum, 11 July 2018, www.nationalww2museum.org/war/articles/gender-home-front. WASP FACTS, www.wingsacrossamerica.us/wasp/facts.htm. “Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASPs) of WWII.” National Women’s History Museum, 23 Apr. 2019, www.womenshistory.org/exhibits/women-airforce-service-pilots-wasps-wwii. Douglas, Deborah G G. “Nancy Harkness Love: Female Pilot and First to Fly for the U.S. Military.” HistoryNet, HistoryNet, 9 Aug. 2016, www.historynet.com/nancy-harkness-love-female-pilot-and-first-to-fly-forthe-us-military.htm.

Hearken Now CAJE AUCHARD

Hearken to me you spineless swine I will tell you a tale as old as time When mead flowed free for men so brave To face head on their fiery grave Gold and silver a man’s delight Stolen from their purse in the dead of night ‘Cause the night’s dead still and deader black The streets run feral with those who lack Yet ‘tis time for him at last The mighty warrior from the past A past so dark they dare not speak The blood on his hands had made them meek With an axe in hand and wicked grin Like a lifetime dancer he began to spin The heads of gods lay on the floor With an unyielding bloodlust he begged for more With a child’s arm and woman’s breast He let out a yell from within his chest The souls of the damned reached out to him He spat and laughed, his mind so grim Yet with a grasp like no other They pulled him down and began to smother His soul now sent to Hell The tragic end known all too well

So hearken to me you men of woes Take note of your folly and what it sows Make blood your god and listen well For your legend will be sung from here to Hell

Mystery Man MADELINE UPCHURCH

Mystery Man Not a person, Nor thing A voice, inside. A bilious voice, Taunting voice A mysterious voice! A malicious beast A controlling voice Be upon my shoulder, A reminder of all my wrongs, Spitting venom into my soul. A voice that kills Everything in his path So run, Far away from me.

Bona Fide PAIGE GREER

“L

ancer 456780, code name: Orphan, has arrived at the Bona Fide Factory; 20:09:55--on time, penalty avoided. Assigned Station for 10/25/20: Beholder” The soft thump of his shoes echoed off the clean, porcelain walls of the factory. It reminded Orphan of the reoccurring thought that often appears when walking these halls: how much he hates this place with his soul being. The place is purely odourless; one would think they have anosmia when they couldn’t detect a stench from the Ordure Zone. The polishness of everything--doors, floors, windows, stairs, toilets--puts him on edge. It’s a type of cleanliness that’s meant to camouflage, not content. Orphan could really say the same about the people who work here. Lancers are known for their welcoming attitudes and-“Good evening, Mr. Orphan!”, exclaims Janitor Tycho with a glorious smile. “It’s always a pleasure to see you on the Graveyard Shift; you brighten up the gloominess of it!” Smiles. A Lancer’s smile made every crystal tooth visible. It didn’t matter if a person was insolent or pleasant...a Lancer always smiles. A smile that transforms their eyes into mini-crescent moons. The longer Orphan looked into those moons, he could see the madness boiling in the craters. Such madness is the reason why he gives Tycho a quick smile and keeps walking. Orphan walks through three sets of doors before he reaches the Beholder Room. Inside, the lights are on since the day crew recently finished work. Orphan gets to work setting up the equipment. The way Orphan goes around the room touching and fixing everything is a coping mechanism that calms his anxiety. The only equipment the Beholder Room requires is a chair, a clean window, and a button to stop the system. A Beholder is in charge of overseeing that the Humans make it to the Scooping District. The Humans are hooked by synthetic skin that’s on the back of their neck, and they’re carried in front of the Beholder Room in increments of twenty per hour. The only time there is a problem in the Beholder Room is when a Human falls off its hook, which rarely happens. A Beholder will press the button, which stops the system that moves the Humans. The Human is manually attached to the hook and the system continues. Watching the Humans

Falling, Maria Walpool

isn’t the part that causes Orphan’s anxiety. It’s the fact that he watches them for ten hours and his thoughts are his only entertainment. He has given himself migraines thinking about Humans and why Bona Fide creates them. “Why does Human life matter?” “So, this is what’s been plaguing your mind for twenty years,” a throaty voice interrupts Orphan’s thoughts. He immediately recognizes the voice: Aurora Lance, the mother of Bona Fide Factory. Orphan didn’t realize how clenched his muscles were until Aurora placed her delicate hand on his right shoulder to turn him around. Her aura is still as powerful as it was when he first met her. There was something otherworldly about her movement, her elegant clothing, her voice, her misty chocolate eyes. Orphan believes Aurora is about to fire him; questioning your boss is the best way to accomplish this. But she turns and looks out the Beholder Room’s window. The first set of humans comes in ten minutes, so she’s just looking at menacing hooks. The room is silent. “Mr. Orphan...you stopped smiling on February 2,2000. Nothing depressing happens in our universe, so the only reason is because of work. I understand that the...philosophy of being a Lancer is difficult to comprehend. And I am not mad at you for questioning my life’s work. In fact”, she pauses to look Orphan in the eyes. Hers still sparkle like morning dew on freshly cut grass; Orphan wonders if her emotions have been high all day. “I want to explain to you why all of this matters.” Orphan pulls up a second chair for Aurora and sits as his insides bubble with excitement. “When I made the first Human, I wondered the same,Orphan. Why does this small being, that I’m superior to in every way, matter? I saw it as useless as stone, but didn’t have the heart to exterminate it. That’s the reason why I sent it off, abandoned it with the hopes that life would run its course without me being the villain. But the Human landed in another universe; I was still sure that the being would die eventually so I pushed the thought of the Human away.” Aurora looks down at her hands, catching her breath. The twitch of her left eyebrow was a telltale sign that the story is about to take a turn. Orphan didn’t know if he could handle what she was about to share. He was already surprised that she abandoned the first Human ever created, seeing how much she cares about them now. The movement of Aurora crossing her legs breaks his thoughts. “Twenty years later…”, she clears her throat, “the Spector contacted me.” Orphan feels his mouth drop open. The Spector was the sole authority of their universe; it made a lot of life-changing decisions and is a great advisor. The point is: something very good or very bad has happened for the Spector to contact you. “The Spector had been watching the Human, and,astonishingly, he was pleased

with it’s progress. My hypothesis surrounding the Human was incorrect. The Human proved to be remarkable as it grew. It didn’t have a quick learning pace like us, but it could learn and perform efficiently. It invented it’s own creations that proved vital for its survival. It became everything that I thought it couldn’t just with the power of time, tolerance, and tradition. The Spector ordered me to create another and set it’s coordinates to the same place. He kept ordering me to make more and more with each success that presented itself. I created so many that the tribe of Humans were able to form their own society. They even named the universe that they now inhabited: Earth.” Orphan had heard of this Earth before. The people of his universe didn’t know much about it or what environment it was surrounded by. They only knew that Humans could survive on Earth and naturally claimed that universe for themselves. But something is missing. “Ms. Lance, this is all very overwhelming and quite bewildering. But...it still doesn’t answer my question. It’s one thing for Humans to become a successful species, but why are they important to the Spector? Why are they important to you? Why should they be important to us?” A computerized buzzer sounds after Orphan finishes his question; the first round of hooked Humans starts its travel by the Beholder window. Both turn their heads, watching the soulless Human bodies dangle like dolls missing their stuffing. “Look at them, Orphan. They look alive; their rosy tint lets me know that blood is at work under their supple flesh, I’ve watched their hearts perform their first pulse in the Clear Corners, and their brains are actively plugging in the network that allows neurons to travel. At this point, all they’re missing is their--” “Soul”, Orphan answers for her. He doesn’t skip a beat as he keeps his gaze on the Humans. “The soul is the only part that’s believed to be immortal in Humans.” “The soul gives them emotional and intellectual intelligence. It’s the essence of their being that determines just about everything they do. The soul of the first Human was gold; when the second Human came it was influenced by the first. They both turned out to have souls of gold. The Humans after them followed in suit. This is why the Scooping Room is so important. Having a soul equals having a choice. That’s what makes them superior to us.” This revelation causes Orphan to snap his head towards her, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed in disbelief. Aurora holds her hand out in a “wait a minute manner”. “After watching humans operate and prosper for many years, I can predict that humans would revolt the moment they’re put in our position. This is because of their souls. Our universe, by order of the Spector, has been sentenced to creating

humans for the rest of our lives. The Spector took our choice away from us, and we didn’t do anything about it. Humans’ souls make them determine that if they don’t have a choice, they don’t have a reason to live. There was never a time in the history of our universe where we were given or created a choice for ourselves. Humans have accomplished what we never will.” It hits him in that moment. That he’s watched these bodies float across the Beholder Window and thought condescendingly of them. To realize that all it takes is one trip to the Scooping Room for Humans to become the superior species-it’s frightening. It doesn’t matter how long it takes for a Human to reach its true power. He’s not the superior anymore. Aurora stands, heels clacking as she goes to stand behind Orphan. She can tell that this information is too much and feels regret blossom in her chest. Once again placing her hand on his left shoulder, her delicate hand gives the tense muscle a reassuring squeeze. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she sees that it’s almost time for the souls to be “scooped” into the Humans. Her hand slides off Orphan’s shoulder as she makes her way to the doorway. Before she rounds the corner, she leaves Orphan with one last piece of information. “Humans are like my children. I’ve been creating them and teaching others how to create them for so long that it’s all I know. Just like any parent, I wish a better life for my children. A life where they have a choice, a reason, to live. A life where they chose and determine why their lives matter.” With that, Aurora walks down the white, porcelain hallway as a thunderstorm begins outside. Orphan is still sitting in his chair, staring at the Humans soullessly, as a heavy downpour starts to assault the factory outside.

Ataraxis MADELINE UPCHURCH The grass between A patch worn path, One hundred miles long. But transverse I did A thought to know, Hearts called by sirens song. Reside my bed Upon once did, The twilight, Skies of amber hues. I’d beg thine eyes A sight to see, A minute more, Of such majestic views But distance takes And too, does time, More than just for sake. Your heart A beat, the rarest tune, A fire in my soul, More than I could take. Moments stolen In dark of shadows, The light would bid to know. But gentle fingers, Leave lingering Forevermore, Be so.

Anatomy of a Rose, Maria Singleton

DNA Forensics for Deep-Sea Organisms

LAUREN MCCOLLUM

hile using DNA forensics to determine unknown deep-sea organisms, microbiologists and chemical engineers use several distinct techniques and technologies. Before a microbiologist can analyze marine DNA samples, engineers must develop proper technologies capable of obtaining DNA samples. This is where robots come in. Engineers can program robots capable of exploring the ocean’s depths. Andy Bowen, an engineer at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution for thirty-years, develops underwater robots professionally. Passionate and energetic about his work, Bowen says that his “imagination gets to work with that scientist’s to produce something unexpected that…’’ allows scientists to “...understand the ocean in a new way” (Bowen). One robot in particular, the Mesobot, is perfect for exploring the ocean’s depths, while simultaneously collecting environmental DNA samples, also known as eDNA. The Mesobot, developed by WHOI engineer Dana Yoerger, “slowly follows an individual animal, particle, or even gas bubble as it moves around in the water” (LaCapra). It takes high quality snapshots of organisms, while avoiding disturbing their ecosystems. The Mesobot

Tardigrade, found by Corey Nguyen & Dylan Miller

collects eDNA samples through a “device known as a SUPR (Suspended Particulate Rosette) sampler” (LaCapra). The SUPR sampler can “...filter up to 12 samples during a single...mission and preserve them immediately after collection” (LaCapra). Preserving the samples is essential because eDNA samples are notorious for contaminating quickly. Veronica LaCapra describes the vehicle as “something like a 4-foot-tall, bright-yellow bar of soap, turned on one long edge” (LaCapra). The Mesobot only weighs about three-hundred pounds, and has built in battery power capable of withstanding two days of underwater exploring (LaCapra). (What’s a Mesobot?- Mesobot, Follow That Jellyfish! New Robot Will Track Animals In The Twilight Zone, n.d.) Besides the Mesobot, other marine robots include the Deep-See, BIOMAPER-II, and The Bigelow. All of these robots were proved to be proficient, but their designs were outdated and limited, thus paving the way for the Mesobot. For example, The BIOMAPER-II could only descend three-hundred feet, and according to LaCapra, “that depth is not useful enough” (LaCapra). On the other hand, the Deep-See was a whopping three-thousand pounds, which was far too heavy for transportation. Once the robot is retrieved from the ocean, microbiologists specialized in examining marine organisms can begin their work in the lab. The eDNA samples are extracted from the robot, and the DNA analysis can begin. For DNA analysis microbiologists use metabarcoding, a process in which DNA barcodes are “...assessed from whole groups of organisms, providing a broader snapshot of the biodiversity in a spot in the ocean” (Ortega). Metabarcoding is especially useful because it can be used for a wide variety of marine organisms, from “...microbes to whales” (Ortega). Annette Govindarajan, a microbiologist at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, uses metabarcoding alongside other DNA forensic techniques every day. She compares her work as a microbiologist to that of a detective. She explains,

“Police compare their suspects’ fingerprints to those in a database of known criminals...by comparing newfound barcodes to those in a database of known species... you can identify organisms from just their genes” (LaCapra). The more organisms discovered, the easier it is to identify collected DNA samples. The metabarcoding technology is relatively new, but microbiologists are optimistic and hopeful for the future of marine biology. (DNA Detective- DNA Forensics Identify Unknown Deep-Sea Organisms, n.d.) When determining unknown deep-sea organisms, chemistry is essential. Marine biology and marine chemistry go hand and hand throughout each process. Chemistry falls under three subcategories: organic chemistry, inorganic, and biochemistry. According to Thaler on the MarineBio website, marine chemistry mostly falls under the organic chemistry group. Thaler defines organic chemistry as “...the study of compounds that occur naturally from plants and animals” (Thaler). In other words, organic chemistry is the study of compounds containing both hydrogen and carbon (all living organisms contain an abundance of both elements). Chemists incorporate organic chemistry into the design or marine robots. Depending on ocean depth, there are varying pH levels, and levels of oxygen (Thaler). It is critical that robots are engineered able to withstand the pH levels and oxygen levels which are present in the ocean. Scientists study the compounds, and chemical makeup of a particular part of the ocean, and then share those findings with engineers, who then can design robots suitable for those conditions. The processes for discovering marine organisms really come full circle, incorporating chemists, then engineers, then microbiologists. All fields of science combine for one common goal: understanding the ocean more thoroughly. Heather Fullerton, a professor at the College of Charleston, corresponded with me regarding a career in this field. Her minimum salary as a marine biology professor is 60K a year, and a maximum is 100K (Fullerton). She says that a salary “less than $60K isn’t common” (Fullerton). She also says that a Bachelor’s degree in microbiology or a PhD in microbiology is required for the field. I also corresponded with Stephen Truchon, a marine ecologist. Stephen works for an oil company out of Houston. As a marine ecologist, Stephen is familiar with DNA

forensics for marine life. He says that minimum education is a Bachelor’s degree in biology (Truchon). He says, “Marine Ecologist salaries currently range between $38,500 (25th percentile) to $69,000 (75th percentile) with top earners (90th percentile) making $80,000 annually across the United States” (Truchon). Both of these individuals specialize in different fields within marine biology, but both of them still study similar concepts. Both work towards the bigger picture-understanding the ocean’s depths. Careers in marine biology vary greatly. Depending on strengths, as well as, career goals, a marine biology career is flexible and rewarding. Scientists have combined the skills of microbiologists, engineers and chemists to provide answers for these questions. Advances in science are finally allowing scientists to unpack one of science’s greatest mysteries, the ocean. Robots, DNA barcoding, forensic analysis, and metabarcoding provide scientists the capability to investigate unknown marine organisms. In my research paper I explored the techniques used to determine unknown deep-sea organisms. As you can see, all areas of science are incorporated in this field. Engineers, marine biologists and chemists combine their ideas and talents to further explore the oceans. Technology has significantly improved in recent years, and scienets are excited to see where technology will take their studies in the future. References Bowen, A. (2019). Andy Bowen: DIRECTOR OF THE NATIONAL DEEP SUBMERGENCE FACILITY AT WHOI. Oceanus, 54(1), 24. https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A583654375/SCIC?u=lap 09capt&sid=SCIC&xid=38103152 LaCapra, V. (2019). Mesobot, Follow That Jellyfish! NEW ROBOT WILL TRACK ANIMALS IN THE TWILIGHT ZONE. Oceanus, 54(1), 38+. https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A583654378/SCIC?u=lap 09capt&sid=SCIC&xid=ea7c00e2 Ortega, R. P. (n.d.). “Monterey Bay: Following the DNA Trail in the Pacific Ocean.” Mercury News, Media News Group, 11 Aug. Retrieved February 23, 2021, LaCapra, V. (n.d.). “Oceanus.” Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, The Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, 17 Apr. Retrieved February 23, 2021,

LaCapra, V. (2019). Round Up the Unusual Suspects: DNA FORENSICS IDENTIFY UNKNOWN DEEP-SEA ORGANISMS. Oceanus, 54(1), 42+. https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A583654380/SCIC?u=lap 09capt&sid=SCIC&xid=ff974aca LaCapra, V. (n.d.). “The Deep-See Peers into the Depths.” Whoi Oceanus, The Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, 20 Feb. Retrieved February 23, 2021, Thaler, A. D. (n.d.). “What Is Chemistry and Why Is It Important to the Study of Marine Biology?” Marine Bio, The MarineBio Conservation Society, 2020, marinebio.org/oceans/ocean-chemistry/. Retrieved February 23, 2021, Received by Heather E Fullerton, Research Concern, 22 Feb. 2021. Received by Stephen Truchon, Research Concern, 22 Feb. 2021.

*This is a finished product from the reverse engineering project in the Intro to Engineering Design class for 9th grade students. The three students responsible for this project used a CAD software to recreate a laser from the movie, Predator. They created a complete reverse engineering with functional components and techincal drawings. Their work was completely based on photographs from the movie.

S.P.A.C.; Jonah Barry, Hayden Christian, Nathen Futch

The Battle of Ramen KIARA HUNT & ZACHARIOUS WYNN

Zach: I can’t wait until I get home, I’m starving. As soon as I get home I’m going to eat Ramen Noodles. Kiara: Me too! What type you eat? Zach: I eat Picante Chicken. What about you? Kiara: Picante Chicken? (with a incredulous look) Zach : Yeah, Picante Chicken! Kiara: What is a picante?.. and regular chicken? Zach: It’s the spicy noodles that come in the white package. The best in my opinion. Kiara: (snootily) Oh. Zach: “Oh”? What do you mean “oh”? Kiara: I mean “oh” as in your taste is weird. Zach: There is nothing wrong with my taste. Kiara: Says you! Zach: Girl, please! Kiara: Anyways.

Zach: Pssh. Anyways. Why? What’s your favorite? Kiara : It should be obvious. Chicken! Cus it’s the only acceptable flavor. Zach: Who died and made you “Queen of the Ramen Universe”? Kiara: Me! I did! Zach: Figures. That’s prolly why you think boring ol’ chicken is the best. Kiara: Yep! Zach: You gots to be joking! Regular chicken is not on the same level as Picante Chicken! Kiara: You right! It’s above picante chicken! The two don’t compare. Zach: What chu mean, “The two don’t compare”? They are LITERALLY BOTH CHICKEN FLAVORED RAMEN NOODLES! Just, one is flavored regular, and one is flavored with Mexican Spices! Kiara: Don’t nobody want your tired ol’ Mexican spices! Zach: The reason you probably think regular chicken is better is bc you eat Cupa-Noodles. Kiara: Don’t you put that on me, Zach Wynn! Don’t you put that on me! Zach: I ain’t the one that likes boring old, no spice, chicken! Kiara : No! Nobody wants overly spicy noodles when you could have something delicious, simple, and satisfying like Regular Chicken Flavored Ramen? Zach: Who wants to be basic? Spicy noodles just taste better! End of discussion. Kiara: Me, I want basic noodles. Zach: Nah, if you can’t handle the spice, just say that.

Kiara : Ya’know what? I’m tired of this discussion, but we can settle this. What’s the worse flavor? Zach: Obviously Beef, no question. Kiara : Oh, so you’re not completely weird I guess. End Scene.

Untitled, Fatima Ramirez

A Fractured Soul CAJE AUCHARD

owan stood ready by his king’s side, still as a statue. His eyes scanned the throne room with vigilant zeal, as was his sworn duty. He held the title of Captain and close advisor of the Crown, a job he took seriously. Rowan was no perfect man by any margin, so he made sure his most trusted guards stalked within the shadows of the castle, his eyes and ears in even the most unreachable places. Others guarded all entryways to the throne room, ready to give their lives for their kingdom. One of the King’s men rattled off the day’s issues and plans to come, as was usual. His monotonous tone conveyed how they all felt about the day’s proceedings, bored and tired as always. But they pushed on despite the ichor of boredom, a necessity within the palace to keep the kingdom in order. Though it was no adventure, Rowan still found excitement and pride in his duty, no matter how tiresome and stressful it became. The large, ornate doors at the front of the throne room swung open, stopping the man’s words in his throat. Tall and slim, a man stepped through the large doorway, arrogance pouring from his every step. A slimy smirk spread across his face as he sauntered in, hands clasped behind his back. Without a word, Rowan’s men stopped the man and searched him for any weapons he may have concealed with practiced efficiency. Rowan’s second gave him a nod in confirmation that the man was cleared as they hastily returned to their posts. The man had not taken his eyes off of the King all the while, only breaking eye contact with a slight bow. Despite the man’s unlikable exterior, he still bore a striking resemblance to the king, though his King’s face was much kinder, and stern. Before the man could speak a word, the King held his hand up in opposition, stopping him mid breath. “What is it you want, boy? I thought I had made myself clear that you were no longer welcome here.” This must have been Prince Asbar, someone Rowan had only heard about once before. As the story goes, he was shipped off after some event that none would

Clementine, Faith Hensley

ever speak about. Only a few years older than himself, he had left the kingdom shortly before Rowan clawed his way up the ranks, earning his title. “I have… information you will want to hear, father. Just hear me out,” he said, the unbearable smirk still smeared across his face. Asbar stepped forward and up the steps to the platform in which the King’s throne sat. Rowan hastily stepped in front of the King, stopping Asbar in his tracks. “Step aside Rowan. This sniffling boy poses no threat,” said the King. Rowan hesitated for only a second before stepping back into place. The Prince gave him a look that made him want to tear the pompous ass’ throat out, but he kept his face as neutral as possible. Asbar bent to his father’s ear with a whisper. Rowan’s blood rushed, unable to hear the conversation. He showed no interest, as was his duty, but he still kept a steady eye on the prince. The King did not look happy in the slightest, but a slight surprise twinkled in his eyes. “Enough. Fine, you may stay. I will summon you later, boy.” The king pointed to a guard by the door,” Escort him to his quarters and notify a servant of his arrival,” he commanded. The Prince gave a nod to his father, Rowan one last cold stare, then spun on his heel to leave. His King must have felt Rowan’s mistrust emanate from him as he put a reassuring hand on his arm. “He won’t be here long, I’ll make sure of that. Though he is my heir, so I will hear him out,” he said with a smile. Rowan returned it with a nod, still untrusting of the Prince. Whatever was going on, he was sure it was nothing pleasant. The next day, Rowan stepped into the air of the dewy morning with a yawn. With his arms extended, he stretched out his stiff limbs. The cold air was a comfort against his face. His sister, Sera, was walking back from an early morning stroll, carrying a basket of apples along with her. The Royal orchard was a short walk away from the cabin they shared. Sera enjoyed early morning strolls to the orchard each day, bringing back a basket of the fresh delectables. She smiled as she approached Rowan, embracing him with a warm hug. The twin’s bond they shared was unbreakable, a life long lived with only each other to trust. She handed him an apple from the basket and wished him a good day. He took a bite of the sweet fruit as he strolled down the stone path. To allow himself a leisurely pace, he woke up earlier than needed each morning. The beautiful sights of the castle grounds were a pleasure to behold each day. Even as the King’s right hand, serious and stern, he still enjoyed the small things that life had to offer.

Rowan rounded the corner to the entrance of the hall that held his office and his men’s quarters. Blocking the door stood the pompous Prince. The smirk was now replaced with a cold stare, no longer attempting to appear civil in the slightest. “Ah, there you are Captain. I have, might you say… a proposition for you,” Asbar said, each word slithering out of his mouth. “Whatever crooked deal you have, I want no part in. I serve your father, not you.” With an insincere laugh, Asbar flipped a black coin in his hand. His eyes darted from Rowan back to the coin in contemplation, then returned the piece of metal to his pocket. “What a shame boy. Deal or no, I will stand beside my father in ruling, and I trust you to stay out of my way, you welp. I’ll make sure you and that sister of yours will deeply regret crossing me. You are nothing,” Asbar spat out. “You leave Sera out of this,” Rowan snarled, but Asbar shouldered past him, ignoring the Captain’s fury. Rowan’s heart slammed against his chest, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. He took a deep breath, letting his anger flow out of him, escaping into the air as he had practiced so many times before. With purpose in his stride, he continued on to his duties, unwilling to let his encounter with the insufferable Prince get the best of him. Hunched over a map of the kingdom, Rowan and King Orlin surveyed the current situation. No current threat was at their borders, but they were always prepared for any outside threat. Rowan tried his best to focus on the task at hand, but thoughts of the Prince threatening his sister clouded his mind. Orlin must have noticed, even behind Rowan’s practiced facade. “Rowan, speak to me. What seems to bother you?” Orlin asked, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. “It is not my place to say sire,” he replied, no matter how much he wanted the Prince gone, he was still the King’s son. “This is friend to friend Rowan. Brother to brother. Please, I am here.” Rowan let out a sigh and looked into the King’s eyes,”The Prince threatened my sister and I. He didn’t give specifics, but nonetheless I want him gone.” The King stared deep into Rowan’s eyes, hesitating only a moment. Then with a nod he said, “ Thank you Rowan. I will make sure that rat is dealt with. He may be my blood, but he is no son of mine.” A thousand tons seemed to lift from his shoulders and he thanked his friend. This reminded him why Orlin was loved, and feared, so fiercely by his people, and why Rowan would gladly give his life for him. As the day continued, Rowan tended to his duties, now content in the fact that

Orlin had listened, rather than execute him for the mere thought of kicking out the Prince. The twin moons now sat among the cloudy night sky. Rowan’s breath lingered in the air as he walked home. He loved the scene of the lit homes along the path in the inky black of the night. Rowan pushed open the door to his home, glad to once again reunite with his sister and enjoy the evening in revelry with his twin. He stepped over the threshold into an unlit house, eerily quiet, which was far from normal. At this time Sera was usually practicing one of her assortment of instruments, weaving beautiful melodies into the breeze of the night. A turn around the corner into the dining room revealed Sera bound and gagged, sitting at the dining table. Her eyes went wide as she saw him approach. Bloodied and bruised, she shook her head, trying to tell him something. Before he could move to help her, he felt a searing pain stab through his spine. Like a ragdoll he fell to the ground, slamming his face against the hardwood, unable to now feel his body. A muffled scream came from Sera’s mouth, tears streaming down her face. “Are you deaf, or just stupid,” Rowan heard through the blood pounding in his head. It was Asbar who stood above him with blood smeared across his hands. That creeping, unbearable smirk had returned to his face, but something had changed. In the Prince’s eyes was a spark of joy and satisfaction that danced in his pupils. Asbar gave a hard kick to Rowan’s wound, but he had no energy to scream, only letting out a muffled groan. Asbar stepped over Rowan and threw Sera to the ground. She stared at Rowan with pleading eyes as blood began to flow from his mouth. He somehow reached out a shaking hand, but Asbar stomped with his full weight, snapping each bone in his hand Without a word, Asbar began to take off his belt and did unspeakable things to Sera. Rowan willed his body to move, to kill the bastard who defiled his sister, but he couldn’t. His body would not comply with his pleas, nor would it allow him to close his eyes as Sera’s screams continued. Tears streamed down Rowan’s face, the pain in his heart outweighing the physical pain that tore through his body. After what felt like an eternity, Asbar finally stopped, a wild snarl spread across his face as he ended in gruesome satisfaction. The Prince slid a dagger from his side, gripping the hilt in his pale hands. With a drawn out motion, he slit Sera’s throat, savoring every second of her agony. Blood spurted with each heartbeat, pooling around her corpse. Sera was stuck staring at Rowan, her dead eyes piercing his soul. In that moment Rowan lost who he was. Rage plowed through his veins with every choked

breath. His heart was gone, replaced with hate and vengeance. That fire of rage burned through him as he drew his last breath, his lungs filled with his own blood. Darkness consumed him and he embraced it as he went to rejoin his sister once again. His journey to death was stopped, the rage tearing through what was left of his soul. Those dead eyes stared at him, forever burned into his memory. Hate flowed through him as he felt a cold hand grip his chest. No words were spoken to him, but he felt complete understanding of what was to come. Rowan’s soul was ripped out and only his rage and hate filled that void. Yet, there was something more. He felt something sinister within him, reanimating the corpse that lay on the ground. With open arms he let it consume him and he bent to its will. There he lay on the ground of his home, the corpse of his sister strewn about in dried blood, insects inspecting their next meal. Rowan stood to his feet and without hesitation he burst through his front door into the light of day. Black veins bulged from his mangled arms as he ran to the throne room. There was no thought other than his burning fire as he broke through the ornate doors. The Prince was speaking with his father who looked displeased. Asbar turned with horror wrought across his face. With supernatural speed Rowan grabbed the Prince, holding the coward in place. With the fury of the damned, Rowan took the Prince by the mouth. One hand clamped down on his jaw, the other hooked the top of his mouth. Rowan savored Asbar’s screams as he began to rip his face in two. The jaw broke first with a satisfying snap, followed by the skin and muscle tearing apart. Rowan made him suffer before ending it with a yank. He held the top half in his left hand and let the corpse drop to the ground with the other. “Brother come back to me,” he heard his sister beckon. Her face appeared in his vision with a loving smile, calling him to let go of his rage. Rowan nodded and extended his hand towards her, but she was ripped away in an instant. The cold hand gripped him once again, taking Sera with it. His rage did not fade, but it grew with the power of a thousand suns. With feral eyes he scanned the room. A hunger for blood grew within him. Power surged through him as he siphoned the life from the King and the men around him. A twisted smile spread across his face as he drank in every drop of their life. Withered carcasses with hollow eyes now dropped where his friends once stood. With purpose he strode to the throne which sat the King’s husk, ripping the crown from his head. Rowan threw the corpse from the throne, taking its place. He studied the crown in his hands. It began to warp and malform, turning into a perverted version of what it once was. Blood seemed to flow from the crown, black

as obsidian and jagged as a broken blade. He placed it upon his head and felt that cold presence grow. Rowan lost all control as his eyes glowed a deep crimson red. “Oh how good it is to be back,” his mouth moved, but a new voice erupted from it. With raised arms it began to summon unspeakable horrors within the large throne room. The dead and twisted now knelt before him, his own subjects who bent to his every will. With the last drop of Rowan gone, a horror that made even the Devil tremble now took his place. “Go, my children, and feast. Lay waste. We have long awaited and your loyalty will now be rewarded,” it said with a cackle. The beasts and demons chanted his name again and again in a tongue long forgotten. With a roar they charged from the room, spreading upon the world like a plague. It smiled and savoured every moment of suffering that now occured at the hands of his children. The fun was only just beginning.

Light in the Darkness, Avery Bryan

Hushed Confessions MADELINE UPCHURCH

Confined! Thy thoughts, Shackled in perpetuity. A mangled mess Till bathed ethereally, The light of you Words be never enough. Enounce thy love proudly A bouquet pinned upon your breast For all those who wish to seek it. There I rest, weary mind aside. For the steady beat of the trust heart, Bid me well, Forevermore.

Wings of Happiness, Kaitlyn Webster

The Female Artists that Influence Art Today

MICHAELA FILIPEK

omen have undoubtedly always played a role in creating artwork throughout all periods and cultures, however, they are constantly overlooked by traditional art history. Although, there are a handful of women that history simply cannot overlook due to their immense impact on the visual art world. Many artists today credit their inspiration to a few of these women including Artemisia Gentileschi, Frida Kahlo, and Mary Cassatt. These select women are among the most influential female artists in history and are the inspiration to both artists and people all over the globe every day due to the mark they have left in the visual arts forever. Artemisia Gentileschi was a 17th century Baroque painter that created some of the most dramatic and dynamic artwork of her generation while presenting women in a new way, forever changing how women were portrayed in visual art. From a society that expected women to either be nuns or wives, Gentileschi became the most accomplished female painter of her time (O’Neill, 2002.) This is claimed by, not only the Smithsonian Magazine, but also by many people around the world. Gentileschi was a self-promoter that

was one of the first and only female artists to achieve success in her own lifetime; she was a “painter to dukes, princes, cardinals and kings, she was the first woman admitted to the prestigious Accademia del Disegno,” (O’Neill, 2002.) She still deserves far more recognition, however, for changing the role of women in artwork forever. Artemisia Gentileschi placed women and their stories at the center of all her images, while posing a new perspective on the cultural and social norms of the period. Rather than making women passive objects of the male gaze, she presents them in a way that allows them to possess a power, which was denied them by other artists before. Judith Slaying Holofernes is one of Gentileschi’s most brutal and dramatic masterpieces, as it depicts the popular biblical scene of the slaying of Holofernes with extreme realism and chiaroscuro (which is the use of strong contrast between light and dark to affect a whole composition.) It is a portrait of womens’ power as it portrays two strong women actively beheading a man instead of just existing as dainty objects with soft features and movements. It also acts as an assertion of Gentileschi’s own power as an artist. Another famous artwork of Gentileschi’s is one that depicts a scene from the Book of Judges. Jael and Sisera shows the moment in which Jael is about to kill Sisera where she drives a tent peg into his temple as he sleeps. Both Judith Slaying Holofernes and Jael and Sisera happened to be finished in the same year, and both depict women punishing or taking revenge on men (O’Neill, 2002.) This is a common subject in much of Gentileschi’s work, and a reason for why her work is so notable. Artemisia Gentileschi influenced artists such as Simon Vouet and Massimo Stanzione, as a result of her friendship with them and continues to be a major influence on artists today, such as Barabara Kruger and Caroline Walker (“Artemisia Gentileschi.”) She completely transformed the way an entire group of people were portrayed in visual artwork specifically. She dramatically shifted the role of women in art, and influences people today to alter and challenge the normal and acceptable perspective on certain things whether it be certain people or specific topics. Mexican surrealist, Frida Kahlo, is celebrated and remembered for her attention to specifically Mexican and indeginous cultures and has created a legacy in art history that continues to inspire people’s minds and imaginations to this day. A major common theme in Frida Kahlo’s work is life experience and the depiction of the female experience and form (“Frida Kahlo and Surrealism.”) Kahlo suffered from multiple disabilities including polio as a child and spinal damage from a car accident. She painted her physical and emotional pain directly onto canvas. “Many of her works are self-portrait that symbolically express her own pain and sexuality,” (“Frida Kahlo The Complete Works.”) Kahlo’s Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair and The Two Fridas, which can be found on websites such as The Frida Kahlo Foundation, are both paintings created with very emotional motives.

Each painting was influenced by Kahlo’s tumultuous relationship with her husband Diego Rivera, and displayed her feelings toward her husband as they dealt with extramarital affairs (“Frida Kahlo and Surrealism.”) Frida Kahlo defied social beauty standards in her art by and showed people her resilience after overcoming all of her disabilities. Frida didn’t sell many paintings in her lifetime, however, her artwork sells for millions today, making her one of the highest selling women in art history (“Frida Kahlo and Surrealism.”) She is an inspiration to those with disabilities, bisexual women, and thousands of artists in general continuously (“Frida Kahlo The Complete Works.”) Many contemporary visual artists, like Hilda Palafox and Arantxa Rodriguez, along with graphic designers credit their inspiration to Frida Kahlo and her work. As a female Impressionist, Mary Cassatt rebelled against the expectations set for her as a woman as well as an artist and is now known as one of the foremost 19th century painters and printmakers. Cassatt studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts where she was met with the patronizing attitude of the male students and teachers every day. Female students were not granted the same opportunities and resources as the men, and she later said, ‘There was no teaching,” at the Academy (“Mary Cassatt The Complete Works.”) Very few women were considered serious artists at the time. She was invited by the widely known French Artist, Edgar Degas, to join the Impressionists, where she picked up open air painting with vibrant colors in numerous strokes. As stated in a biography written about Cassatt’s life, “Degas had considerable influence on Cassatt,” (“Mary Cassatt The Complete Works.”) Cassatt created artwork that generally focused on both the social and private lives of women, while also painting with “particular emphasis on the intimate bonds between mothers and children,” (“Mary Cassatt The Complete Works.”) Of all her astounding masterpieces, The Child’s Bath (1893) and Child Drinking Milk (1868) are two of her most prominent works. Her use of soft brush strokes and lack of harsh lines convey softness and gentleness in these specific works and in all of her portraits. The rest of the impressionists focused on landscapes and street scenes, allowing Cassatt to protrude from the crowd and make a name for herself. Cassatt spent much of her life working to change the traditional beliefs about women’s roles in society. “...she took up the cause of women’s suffrage, and in 1915, she showed eighteen works in an exhibition supporting the movement,” (“Mary Cassatt The Complete Works.”) Cassatt is an inspiration to women everywhere due to her efforts in changing societal beliefs. Mary Cassatt is one of the major influences on the Feminist Art movement and its founders, Judy Chicago and Mariam Schapiro (“Mary Cassatt.”) She is one of many who inspired women across the world to challenge the social norms and boundaries that female artists and women in general are chained to.

Artemisia Gentileschi, Frida Kahlo, and Mary Cassatt changed the visual art world forever in their astounding accomplishments. Each has influenced many other artists and people through their determination and drive to change the roles that women play both in art and in reality. These three women all created artwork that presented new perspectives on women. They broke boundaries in the fabrication of their physical art, as well as in their place in the art world. They challenged what society saw as acceptable. Gentileschi, Kahlo, and Cassatt all participated in drastically different artistic movements, however, all were able to successfully communicate their purpose and content, which was to change the role of women in art. There is no possible way for history to overlook these women and the effect they have had on visual art in our world. Bibliography “Artemisia Gentileschi.” The Art Story, The Art Story Contributors, 04 September 2018, https://www.theartstory.org/artist/gentileschi-artemisia/. Accessed 10 March 2021. “Frida Kahlo and Surrealism.” Frida Kahlo, https://www.fridakahlo.org/link.jsp. Accessed 20 March 2021. “Frida Kahlo The Complete Works.” Frida Kahlo Foundation, 2017, https://www.frida-kahlo-foundation.org/. Accessed 21 March 2021. “Mary Cassatt.” The Art Story, The Art Story Contributors, 01 February 2017, https://theartstory.org/movement/feminist-art/. Accessed 23 March 2021. “Mary Cassatt The Complete Works.” Mary Cassatt, 2017, https://www.marycasatt.org. Accessed 22 March 2021. O’Neill, Mary. “Artemisia’s Moment.” Smithsonian Magazine, May 2002, https:// www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/artemisias-moment-62150147/. Accessed 10 March 2021.

Meee, Kianna Smith

Beautiful Hair, Kianna Smith

Silent Recollection MADELINE UPCHURCH

It’s the quiet that gets me The echoes of before’s Make play With the now’s of forever. A ghostly visage Thine eyes acquit. For never want of losing, My mind’s collection of you. Forevermore.

Glasses Scribble, Kianna Smith

Definition of a Christian LAURALEE WEINLAND

Chris·tian /krisCHən/ adjective 1. relating to or professing Christianity or its teachings. “the Christian Church” i always liked the way the rainbows of the stained glass windows reflected in your eyes. a ballet of shimmering hues parading through the streets of deep brown. i liked to listen to your heart beat along to the choir song, a powerful force and a hymn of its own. i felt the Holy Spirit when you looked at me, my white skin bloomed a blood red under your touch. i’d give my life for you, nails in hands and thorns in hair, share my body for your consumption, dipped in the sweetest grape juice. you were my congregation, voice singing my praise when our lips met. my pontius pilate, take my life reveal to me what I wanted so desperately to conceal in a great flood of destruction, water screaming the words of Leviticus. noun 1. a person who has received Christian baptism or is a believer in Christianity. After June of 2015, I wanted to be Lauren Daigle. I wanted cute instagram stories,

Classic Beauties, Kianna Smith

coffee dates, chacos, calligraphy, and clothes adorned in chevron and crosses. I wanted to weep on “cry nights,” to profess to the stars above that am a Believer in the Holy God Almighty, to hear the echo from the Mountains telling me I am clean. I wanted to dream of my perfect Christian husband, tell my friends about how I can’t wait to move back to the south, to have a golden retriever, a beach themed bathroom, a private school picked out for my kids, a Kendra Scott set, to live in suburbia, to find my perfect Church home. I needed to hear my mother tell me she was proud, that I am good enough for her and for You. I wanted to hear her whispers praying for my health, not my forgiveness. I wanted my dad to stop using the word fag, queer, Godless, worthless. I wanted to pass judgments on the sinners down below. I wanted to be able to sit still when we read in a service “man shall not lie with man…” I wanted to forget you ever happened. and be a true, homophobic, mean-spirited, Christ loving Christian.

Structure inspiration:

Works Cited

Eileen Hujang. “Six Definitions for American.” The Best Teen Writing of 2018, Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, Scholastic. Tone and content inspiration: Neelam Bohra. “Terrorist.” The Best Teen Writing of 2018, Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, Scholastic.

Into the Unkown, Avery Bryan

End of the Road CARRIBEAN STOVALL

Are we ready to truly let go of the vigorous grip of our parents’ soothing hands? Am I ready to take that colossal dive into young adulthood like my childhood splashes in the bacteria filled community pool? I am a puny fish in the waters of college, and I don’t understand the depths of the ocean to surround me in my future. Will I be phased by the water around me and drown in the college world I wonder? The years before becoming a senior, I felt as if I’ve lived a million lifetimes already. Now that I’m approaching my high school deadline, I feel like I just learned how to walk yesterday. The high school experience wasn’t what I expected, there was nobody breaking out into song and dance, no cliche clicks, or no couples trying to swallow each other against the lockers. But the experience has been so much more, my magnificent friends have yanked me out of my antisocial shell, and now I have blossomed into a ravishing hibiscus flower. High school has prepared me to look into the eyes of college, but deep down inside I want to curl up in my mama’s arms and never vacate. Fortunately, but sadly, we are reaching the end of the road.

Beyond the Path, Avery Bryan

Verdant 21

Articles inside

Michaela Filipek, The Female Artists that Influence Art Today

Lauralee Weinland, Definition of a Christian

Madeline Upchurch, Hushed Confessions

Caje Auchard, A Fractured Soul

Jonah Barry, Hayden Christian, & Nathen Futch, S.P.A.C

Lauren McCollum, DNA Forensics for Deep-Sea Organisms

Madeline Upchurch, Ataraxis

Maria Singleton, Anatomy of a Rose

Paige Greer, Bona Fide

Madeline Upchurch, Mystery Man

Caje Auchard, Hearken Now

Emily Harner, The WASPs

Lainey Smethers, Living on a Floating Rock

Kaitlyn Hanson, How High School Changed My Life

Julia Carter, One Wish

Paige Greer, to: Rosemary June Farmer

Lauren McCollum, Hellen Keller

Sophia Mouton, things that feel better in the rain

Madeline Upchurch, Primeval Tales

Caje Auchard, Weeping Willow

Karlie Key, My Happy Place

Avery Bryan, Hanging by a Thread

Faith Quarles, Mother Knows Best

Sophia Mouton, I Regret to Inform You

Grace Jensen, Rat in the Maze

Reaching Out, Maura Calahan

Faith Quarles, Women and Science

Paige Greer, Vocal Focal

Lainey Smethers, Lines

Macy Wynne, Fantasy

Caje Auchard, Where the Wind Takes You

Lauralee Weinland, Disposition

Mark Raines, The Science of Man