(1) Nocturne 2023: Dozing Off (Section 1)

NOCTURNE SHAWNEE MISSION EAST FREELANCER VOL. XV

NOCTURNE FREELANCER VOLUME XV Tick tock tick— Hours past the candle’s wick, Tock tock tock— The daydream dragons only mock, Tock tick chime!

A refuge from the day unwoken, A prison of the mind unbroken.

My echo chamber’s gone infernal– I wander in the land nocturnal.

THE FREELANCER SHAWNEE MISSION EAST HIGH SCHOOL 7500 MISSION RD PRAIRIE VILLAGE, KS 66208

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TABLE OF CONTENTS DOZING OFF 2 ———— Love Letter to Songwriting by Kate Whitefield 3 ———— Cyanotype Self-Portrait by Audrey Morehead 4 ————Sunrise by Bryson Langford 4 ———— Pause by Savannah Moore 5 ———— Nyhavn by Greta Griffin 5 ———— Picnic Day by Xochitl Suh 6 ———— Painting the Sun by Rachel Bingham 6 ————Untitled by Wendi Wen 7 ———— Tide Meets Shore by Segan Bettenhausen 7 ———— Painter Girl by Lillie Dirks 8 ———— In Warmth by Isabelle Carter 8 ———— Fairytale by Bryson Langford 9 ————Flood Like A River by Riley Gaikowski 9 ———— Sleepover on a Rainy Night by Elise Harding 10 ———— She Was as Bright as the Sun by Charlotte Kent 10 ————Self-Portrait in Pink by M Fischer 11 ———— Selfie by Sneha Thomas 12 ———— Rainy Day Love Story by Audrey Morehead 13 ———— Afternoon Boba by Sneha Thomas 13 ———— Rose by Tracy Fan 14 ———— Foliage Frolicking by Elise Harding 14 ———— Sleeping Monarchs by Alicia Hoch 15 ———— a god to believe in by Jessica Bounds 15 ———— St. Nikolaj Church by Greta Griffin 16 ———— Night Life by Sneha Thomas 16 ———— Happy Lunar New Year by Tracy Fan 17 ———— Lunar Kaleidoscope by Lillie Dirks

INSOMNIA 20 ———— Sad Girl by Anonymous 20 ———— Foreshadowing by Isabelle Wilkinson 21 ———— Will O’ Wisps by Elise Harding 21 ———— Wistful Woes by Lillie Dirks 22 ———— I WANNA KNOW WHAT HEARTBREAK FEELS LIKE

by Johnnie Collins 22 ———— Clichés by Riley Gaikowski 23 ———— Eye by Grace Cure 23 ———— Absence by Delaney McDermed 24 ————​​ The Banshee by Elise Harding

24 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe 25 ———— Timeline of Loss by Jessica Bounds 26 ———— Fishbowl by Lillie Dirks 26 ———— Bleed by Lola Sidie 27 ———— Stitches by Jaxton Taylor 27 ———— almost 18/they ask me to describe myself by Jeanne Ozkan 28 ———— Pop by Sophie Shroyer 28 ———— Midnight Rider by Nate Sparks 29 ———— Here Today, Gone Tomorrow by Clover Tyler 29 ———— Looking Glass into the Fourth Dimension: Mirror on the Wall by Thomas Garmon 30 ———— Quality over Quantity by Isabelle Wilkinson 30 ———— Superb Starling by Alicia Hoch 31 ———— Ukraine Song by Riley Gaikowski 32 ———— Infatuation, Unsurity, and Closure by Olive Goldman 33 ———— Pathway by Audrey Morehead 33 ———— The Body I Once Knew and the Mind I Once Loved by Lenix Welsh

LUCID DREAMING 36 ———— Persimmon by Jade Achen 37 ———— Leaf Collar by Xochitl Suh 37 ———— Youth by Bryson Langford 38 ———— The Cartographer and the Lacemaker by Audra Gibbs 41 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe 42 ———— Delirium by Nicko Friedman 42 ———— Celestial Morehead by Audrey Morehead 43 ———— a list of words and things i see god in by Jeanne Ozkan 43 ———— Permanent Leftovers by Jade Achen 44 ———— Unrequited by Ash Hattrup 45 ———— Bardic Autumn by Roslyn Carle 45 ———— Fennec Fox by Alicia Hoch 46 ———— Wherein, I am Falling by Jeanne Ozkan 46 ———— Girl in Colored Lights by Isabelle Carter 47 ———— Clés de Verre by Tommy Marx 48 ———— King of Smoke, King of Nothing by Nicko Friedman 49 ———— Dream Sequence Frame 4 by Delaney McDermed 50 ———— Untitled by Jolie Kerwin

III 50 ———— Mona Cilia by Cecilia Swope 51 ———— Out of Place by Jade Achen 52 ———— Brown House Moth by Mary Vassilevsky 53 ———— Rusty’s Grocery by Elise Harding 53 ———— Tea Shop by Han Mellenbruch 54 ———— FurBe Mine by Anonymous 55 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe 56 ———— Striiit by Brennan Montalbano 57 ———— Frejya Mynyddoedd by Paul Sernine

SLEEPWALKING 60 ———— Saint Valentine by Nelle Rain 60 ———— Battle for the Mind by Brennan Montalbano 61 ———— Lady Liberty in a Thunderstorm by Wendi Wen 61 ———— The Goddess of Beauty by M Fischer 62 ———— The Road Not Taken by Alex Shrock 62 ———— Bunny Scout by Xochitl Suh 63 ———— The Cleric’s Scarf by Audra Gibbs 64 ————Extinction by Clover Tyler 64 ———— Lady Rebecca Caplinger by Roslyn Carle 65 ———— The End of the Storm by Nicko Friedman 65 ———— Fire from Far Away by M Fischer 66 ———— Blue Deer by Olive Goldman 66 ———— Metamorphize by Greyson Imm 67 ———— Underneath by Clover Tyler 68 ———— The Archive by Segan Bettenhausen 68 ———— Ist das alles was mir übrig ist? by Paul Sernine 69 ———— The Ceasg by Elise Harding 69 ———— Røsnæs Fyr by Greta Griffin 70 ———— A Newfound Place by Kennedi Forsynthe 70 ———— Something About Squares by Anna Wurst 75 ———— Fairplay by Nora Alferman 75 ———— Wire Wrap Necklace by Jeanne Ozkan 76 ———— Simon by Han Mellenbruch 76 ———— Goddess of Nature by M Fischer 77 ———— I Want A Suburban Home by Greta Griffin 78 ———— Alba Iulia: Journey to Nowhere by Alicia Hoch 78 ———— Byzantine-Inspired Earrings by Jeanne Ozkan 79 ———— Transition by Alicia Hoch 79 ———— Eco-Brutalism by Han Mellenbruch 80———— Sidewalk Memories by Jessica Bounds 80 ———— Time Machine by Audrey Morehead

81 ———— Together Again by Kate Whitefield 81 ———— Memory of Ghosts by Delaney McDermed

PARALYSIS 84 ———— Tied With a Smile by Livia Barbre 84 ———— Labor by Abigail Swanson 85 ————10:48 by Pauline Seing 85 ———— Megastructure by Han Mellenbruch 86 ———— The Saint by Lillie Dirks 89 ———— Spiritual State by Paul Sernine 90 ———— Suburban Home by Han Mellenbruch 91 ———— Spotlight Macaw by Tracy Fan 91 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe 92 ———— Consumption by Lola Sidie 92 ———— Drowning in Love by Sofia Borja 93 ———— Requiem for the Sacred by Pauline Seing 93———— The Goddess of Infection by M Fischer 94 ———— Pitless Cherries by Keely Hood 95 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe 96 ———— Graveyard Couture by Delaney McDermed 96 ———— Interior/Exterior by Segan Bettenhausen 97 ———— Wolf by Clover Tyler 98 ———— I LAY HERE NO HEART OF MINE by Paul Sernine 98 ———— Looking Past Death by Audrey Morehead 99 ———— The by Thomas Garmon 99 ———— Windows to the Soul by Chris Hartwell 100 ———— Color Wheel by Anonymous 100 ———— “Poison?” by Delaney McDermed 101 ———— On Medroxyprogesterone by Alicia Hoch 101 ———— Apple by Tracy Fan 102 ———— 1, 2, 3 by Riley Gaikowski 102 ———— Black and White by Sneha Thomas 103 ———— Raven by Clover Tyler 103 ———— Mars Bars by Isabelle Wilkinson 104 ———— Fledglings of War by Alicia Hoch 105 ———— Picasso Pelican by Abby Crossley 106 ———— Closing Quote/Index 107———— Staff Bios 108———— Letter from the Editors

DOZING OFF Soft and slow, this place feels like home.

Half awake, half afraid,

but I’m floating on foam.

The water is warm and it laps at my ankles,

golden and amber and

soft as the mid-afternoon sunlight

through the gauzy curtains.

In my mind I can roam through the honey ocean.

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A LOVE LETTER TO SONGWRITING PROSE BY KATE WHITEFIELD

It was deep purple, slightly larger than a picture frame.

On the front was the phrase, “Chase your dreams, you might catch one.” Even at age eight, I rolled my eyes at cheesy sayings like that, and I preferred soft blue to bold violet. Suffice to say, this notebook was not one I’d picked for myself. I feigned interest in the thing by running my hands along its fresh spine and ruffling the crisp pages with my thumbs. When I flipped the cover open, I discovered the journal’s single unique quality: a brief message penned by a familiar feminine hand. I looked up at her.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s a songbook,” she replied, “so everything you write can be in one place.”

I hugged the book to my chest. Suddenly, purple was my favorite color, and the quote about dreams no longer seemed contrived. This was my songbook. Real songwriters had songbooks. Prior to receiving this newly prized possession, I’d scrawled my musical musings onto computer paper and pages ripped from spiral notebooks, like an amateur. But the purple notebook legitimized me. I was a songwriter.

I ran to my bedroom and began scribbling away. I imagined the song I wrote that day would become my first hit, played on every radio station in the country. I’d travel the world performing, and fans would come from far and wide to hear my songs.

As you might have guessed, those wobbly pencil scratches did not lead to worldwide fame and success. In fact, most songs never left my bedroom (which in hindsight is a good thing—my third-grade self was not as immune to clichés as she thought). But the songbook gave me something much more substantial than all that. It allowed me to foster a creative skill that became intrinsic to myself and my worldview.

Songwriting is the outlet through which I have come to understand myself. Over the last ten years, it has been the vessel to navigate me through treacherous waves of anger,

confusion, disappointment, and loss. It has allowed for celebration in moments of success and reflection in seasons of contentment. It has captured teenage frustration and girlish giddiness. It has been my therapy, and, as time has passed, a documentation of my life. When I play an old song of mine, I’m tossed back into the person I was at the time of its creation. I’ve discovered that in this world, the closest thing to a time machine is a guitar and a quiet bedroom.

Songwriting has also encouraged me to cherish the small things. I like being busy and thrive under pressure, but I admittedly have a tendency to overbook myself. It can be tempting to let my hectic schedule get the better of me and wake up dreading the day. But the likes of Joni Mitchell, Madison Cunningham, and coffee shop open mic regulars have conditioned my brain to notice the simple moments of peace and beauty each day has to offer. Wilco in the living room. Finger scars from cheap guitars. The clink of the microwave against ceramic plates. An early morning moon, a midwestern sky. Lavender and chapstick and skin.

Petrichor and sweet coffee. Songwriting has gifted me with an ever-present sense of patience and gratitude. It has opened my eyes to simple beauty in everyday life.

Nowadays, the yellow pages curl inwards and the spine has been duct-taped several times over. I haven’t written in that purple songbook in years but will never get rid of it. It is a reminder I am capable of turning negative situations into lessons and positive situations into memories. Wherever I end up in life, I know songwriting will remain a steady source of comfort. And when even that thought proves insufficient in quailing looming anxieties, I recall that inscription on the inside cover: Dear Kate, I believe in you!

Mom

DOZING OFF

CYANOTYPE SELF-PORTRAIT MIXED MEDIA BY AUDREY MOREHEAD

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SUNRISE

POETRY BY BRYSON LANGFORD The air sweeps in the day, breathing youthful life into the smiling sky with the rising dawn as the sun touches the water with a sweet embrace.

The land is broken across the bright mirror, reflecting deepest hopes that rise to meet the world with a new purpose and vitality.

As the earth spins around the moon unchanged, each rise and fall of day paints fresh upon old designs and shifts the clouds to brighten the waking soul.

PAUSE

PAINTING BY SAVANNAH MOORE

DOZING OFF

NYHAVN

PAINTING BY GRETA GRIFFIN

PICNIC DAY

SCULPTURE BY XOCHITL SUH

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UNTITLED

PAINTING BY WENDI WEN

PAINTING THE SUN

PHOTOGRAPHY BY RACHEL BINGHAM

DOZING OFF

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PAINTER GIRL POETRY BY LILLIE DIRKS I met a little painter girl With color splashed and true And now I think She stained me A new acrylic hue My starry-eyed wonder Wasn’t someone that I sought But now the smell of paint Fills the space Between my thoughts

TIDE MEETS SHORE

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SEGAN BETTENHAUSEN

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IN WARMTH

PAINTING BY ISABELLE CARTER

FAIRYTALE

POETRY BY BRYSON LANGFORD The rhythm of his heart pounding through my brain Beating loudly, rising and falling like water— Light shines in his kind face sparkling through the rain As the sun’s heat deepens, becoming hotter and hotter.

The moon glows in those bright blue eyes— The sweet laughter emerges from his throat.

Catching the wind across silk, it glides Delivering a tune purely imperfect in every note— The gentle touch of his rough and shaky hand Delicately pulls me in as if I were a flower Of vanilla cream petals dancing to the melody of land— Together we escape to the ivory tower.

Slowly to meet me are his crisp honey lips Drifting me away in a vast sea of ships.

DOZING OFF

FLOOD LIKE A RIVER COMPOSITION BY RILEY GAIKOWSKI

SLEEPOVER ON A RAINY NIGHT

DIGITAL ART BY ELISE HARDING

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SHE WAS AS BRIGHT AS THE SUN PROSE BY CHARLOTTE KENT

I watched her in the mirror from my seat on her bed.

Her fingers, with nails painted the color of lilacs, held a makeup brush, and my eyes followed her hand as she dusted baby pink eyeshadow on her eyelids. And although in her presence I always felt safe and content, like I didn’t need anything else in the world but her, like she was air, and water and shelter and I had been suffocating, there was still a feeling in my stomach that I couldn’t get rid of. Even when I tried to focus all my attention on how she looked getting ready in the mirror then, I still felt sick. And she seemed perfectly fine, so naturally, I thought I was immensely stupid for worrying.

“Do you think they’ll talk?” I asked, momentarily meeting eyes with her in the mirror. She didn’t look back at me though, she just paused for a short moment and then continued on her makeup.

“Talk about what?” she asked.

“You know.” I tilted my head down like an embarrassed puppy that just destroyed a brand new couch. “Us,” I said, wondering how she could act like she didn’t know what I was talking about.

I saw her shoulders shrug, her back tensing, and then relaxing. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I mean, probably.

People talk about other people all the time.”

I looked down and straightened my black dress over my bare knees before I spoke again. “What will they think?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, setting the brush down on her vanity and finally turning to face me.

Yes, I thought. I didn’t like to be talked about, good or bad. I hated not knowing when my name came out of other people’s mouths.

But we were having too good of an evening for me to say my thoughts out loud. She looked like the sun, and I swear she was as bright as it too. I couldn’t ruin that.

“I just don’t want a lot of attention.” That’s what I said

instead, but what I really meant was I don’t want people to not like me, I don’t want people to see my face and immediately be filled with dread or sigh when I open my mouth, and I think she knew me well enough to understand that’s what I wanted to say.

She looked me right in the eyes, and I somewhat loved and hated it when she did that. When she was staring right back at me, it was like she was the only person left on planet earth. The apocalypse was in full force and she was my only saving grace. Everything else goes dark except for her.

SELF-PORTRAIT IN PINK DIGITAL ART BY M FISCHER

DOZING OFF She’s illuminating.

But I also felt like she could read my mind just by staring at me. This was useful when I wouldn’t know what to say, so she would say it for me. This was unfortunate for me when I had secrets that I would hate her to see through the pupils of my eyes. Half of my thoughts never even had to leave my lips; speaking them was useless when she had the ability to see behind my forehead.

I speak of her like she has superpowers, like she is controlled by supernatural forces that make her eyes laser through skulls and analyze every piece of thought she finds.

Like she is powerful.

Maybe to anyone else, she is just normal. But I could never look at her the same way I look at anyone I consider normal.

“Do their opinions hold enough power to break us?” And then I knew she could read my mind, there was no doubt about it. I didn’t care about other people’s attention, I cared about their opinions, and somehow, she figured out what was going on in my mind before I even knew. How she was able to do that, I would never know.

SELFIE DIGITAL ART

BY SNEHA THOMAS

“No,” I said, almost immediately. My face went hot.

Nothing could hold that kind of power.

“Good.” She turned back to the mirror and continued her task at hand. She knew that I really meant it, so thank god I didn’t have to keep talking. My blood was already running at super speed through my veins as it was. I looked down, studying the straps of my sandals. “Do you care if they hate us?”

When she said this, I looked back up and saw that she had turned back around to see me again. “No,” I said. And this was true too. Nothing I ever said was as true as this.

“No one else’s opinions will ever matter as much as yours to me. I promise.” Her eyes were glittering from the golden sunlight that streamed in through the blinds. “Swear it.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “Why must I swear on it if it is your promise?”

“Because your opinion is the only one I’ll ever need.

Nothing else. Swear it.”

“I swear it.”

“I swear it,” she said.

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12 DOZING OFF

RAINY DAY LOVE STORY DRAWING BY AUDREY MOREHEAD

DOZING OFF

ROSE

DIGITAL ART BY TRACY FAN

AFTERNOON BOBA DIGITAL ART BY SNEHA THOMAS

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FOLIAGE FROLICKING

DIGITAL ART BY ELISE HARDING

SLEEPING MONARCHS PHOTOGRAPHY

BY ALICIA HOCH

DOZING OFF

A GOD TO BELIEVE IN POETRY BY JESSICA BOUNDS

Every night I pray.

Not to god, but to you, To your body and your heart.

Every time we kiss, I whisper a prayer Into your lips.

You laugh and tell me “That’s not how you do it.”

You grab my hands and shape them Into a sacrilegious fold of my fingers, Interlocking to hold in the warmth of your voice.

You try to teach me how to believe in God, But all I believe in is you.

I think this must be what it’s like to be religious.

To believe in something with your whole being, Even when you can’t see or hear or touch it.

To believe that you will come back home at the end of the day, Every day, Because no god could ever be so cruel as to tear us apart.

ST. NIKOLAJ CHURCH PAINTING BY GRETA GRIFFIN

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NIGHT LIFE

DIGITAL ART BY SNEHA THOMAS

HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR

DIGITAL ART BY TRACY FAN

DOZING OFF

LUNAR KALEIDOSCOPE SERIES BY LILLIE DIRKS

How do you live beyond the moon?

Your head echoes with silent screams.

The end approaches all too soon.

Flitting over glittering sand dunes, searching for honeyed streams.

How do you live beyond the moon?

I’ll sing for you a lilting tune, a lullaby drifting through the seams.

The end approaches all too soon.

Your feathers drift in wilting runes.

A crumbled omen, aloft extremes.

How do you live beyond the moon?

Starving in the late afternoon, never to be satisfied. It seems the end approaches all too soon.

What were you told within the cocoon?

Heaven lies and holy schemes.

How do you live beyond the moon when your end approaches all too soon?

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