Strike Magazine Orlando Issue 11: METAMORPHOSIS by Strike Magazines

About the issue

Our 11th issue will be a visual narrative of evolution, impermanence, and the raw beauty of the natural life cycle. Metamorphosis captures the chaos and calamity that lies between life’s unfolding.

We start with Chrysalis. Emerging into the world, represented by a butterfly chrysalis, mirroring the fragility and transformation of life’s beginning. Here we become a part of something larger, an eternal cycle of creation, destruction, and renewal.

Sprout, the early stages of discovery, innocents, and curiosity. The sprout does not know what storms will appear so it rises towards the light off of instinct. The moment we emerge and take our first steps with endless potential beneath us.

Wildfire, the fiery defiance of youth, capturing the passion and chaos of self-discovery. The point where control is lost and your freedom begins. The turning point where passion eclipses fear.

Web, the process of building a foundation and foreign connections, represented by an intricate spider web, woven with intention and precision.

Canopy, the strength, wisdom when roots run deep and branches stretch toward the sky. The storms have passed but they shaped the resilience that we built from the ground up. In this stage, we are grounded yet constantly growing.

Eclipse, represented by the inescapable end. The moment when the unknown takes a hold and the brightness we once knew is swallowed by the darkness. This stage is not about loss, it’s about surrendering and trusting what will come next.

Overgrowth, a return to nature as it reclaims what once belonged to itself. As life surrenders to time, we find that nothing is truly ever gone. Overgrowth is both an ending and a beginning, a display that with every ending, we return back to the earth and rise as something living and breathing.

We are all so excited to share this issue with you. Metamorphosis reaches to capture the feeling of constantly changing. Reminding us that growth flourishes when you accept transformation into your life. Through each stage, we hope you can find the beauty of impermanence, and the endless cycle of renewal that shapes us into who we are.

Letter from the Editor-in-Chief

I wanted to start this issue by thanking you for picking up this magazine. Whether you are staff, friend, family, or just thought the cover looked cool, you are a part of this magazine’s journey.

Speaking of this incredible staff, I do not have a space large to tell you how much they amaze me. Strike continues to be a place for those fueled to create. It has been a privilege watching production build Metamorphosis from an idea as art, editorial, and photography bring it to life. While our creative teams design this issue’s world, our external teams dream up ways to share it with you on and off the page.

This issue illustrates how we are all connected from our roots in a world that has never felt more disconnected. Metamorphosis is more than experiencing life’s stages; it’s learning how to navigate them. It's the universal experience to grow, learn, fight, connect, and remember to live before we die.

Amy and Lilly, without you, none of this would be possible. It’s an honor to be a part of your Big Three. To think, 6 months ago we were making spreadsheets in my living room; now it's in our hands. Thank you for your friendship, trust, and always answering my calls.

These past two years in Strike have been evolutionary for me. I was terrified to take over as Editor-in-Chief because I felt like there was so much I didn’t know, but it’s the best opportunity to learn. I get to help people do something they love and remind them we create our own limits. From the first launch party we planned for Issue ATE to putting together this issue’s staff list, I am finding new parts of myself and what I am capable of.

Thank you, Strike Magazine Orlando. There is nothing better than getting to make things with your friends.

Strike out,

Maddy Campbell

Letter from the Creative Director

I am so excited to present to you Issue 11: Metamorphosis. This issue is meant to lead you through a journey of growth, transformation, and the natural life cycle. Metamorphosis represents the moments of where we begin, who we become, and how every ending transforms into a new beginning.

My first issue as Creative Director has been quite the rollercoaster. I have never viewed myself as a natural leader. I’ve always been the person who looked for direction from others. This position has challenged me to trust myself and discover how much I am capable of. I could not have done it without my amazing team.

To my directors and creative team – thank you for your patience and dedication, and creativity in bringing this issue to life. Every one of you individually brought something that represented yourself into this project and that is what makes up the heartbeat of this issue. Together, we all have transformed what was once just a few photos on a Pinterest board into something tangible and beautiful. Your hard work shines on every page.

To my assistant Brandon, it’s been an absolute honor to work alongside such a talented and driven mind. You have such a natural instinct and eye for photography which has been the voice of calm in moments of uncertainty and chaos. This issue would not have blossomed without you and I am so grateful to have had you by my side throughout this journey.

To my friends and family, thank you for being my constant support system throughout this journey. Always reassuring

me what I am capable of and reminding me to breathe when things get overwhelming. Your encouragement means the world to me and I would not be here without your help.

Finally, to my External Director, Lilly and Editor in Chief, Maddy – From the second we stepped into our roles, the three of us were figuring things out as we went. Each of us with our own ideas, leadership styles, and visions. Through the moments of chaos, and doubt, we learned how to trust each other’s instincts and keep each other grounded when everything else was spinning. If you had told me a few months ago we would walk away from this issue with such a close bond, I wouldn’t have believed it. But now I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Together we have built something we can all be proud of. We may have started this journey in separate corners, but through every challenge and bump in the road, we grew stronger as collaborators, friends, and as the Big Three.

Thank you to everyone who has been a part of this journey. I hope as you flip through these pages you see the beauty of transformation.

Strike out,

Amy Phung

Letter from the External Director

Issue 11 has been nothing short of a journey. I came into this semester with a lot of nerves, but an equal amount of motivation and excitement. Since May of this year, Amy, Maddy and I had been mapping out this entire issue. What started as a short powerpoint presentation in Amy’s apartment, has become a tangible, real magazine, created by our talented and diligent staff.

With metamorphosis’s core concept being about growth and change, I can’t help but compare it to my very own experience at Strike Orlando. Five issues ago, I started as an assistant, scared to speak for myself or share my own ideas. I didn’t know if Strike was the place for me quite yet, but, being a freshman with little experience in my field, I wanted to try it anyway. Over time, I discovered what Strike had to offer. From exciting events to brainstorming in our group meetings, I was able to build my confidence over time.

One thing I learned about Strike was that there is always an opportunity for growth. If you want to get out of your comfort zone and learn something new, there is always a place for that here. But it doesn’t have to be terrifying. This is a family that will be there for you every step of the way. I have created so many new friends and connections here that have also grown with me during my time on Strike. Everyone pushes each other to be better and encourages positive transformation.

I feel the absolute most love for this family. I have become a better version of myself because of Strike, and the work experience is only a plus on top of the growth that I have experienced.

If I was able to meet the version of myself that started Strike freshman year, I would be speaking to a completely different girl. She was scared, and she was shy. But I would be able to comfort her, and tell her that this is the right place, and everything is going to be okay. Strike would become her home, and she would grow to love who she became because of it.

So yes, Issue 11 has been a journey. A beautiful, at times difficult, but miraculous journey. Every challenge I have faced has only brought me to a place where I am better because of it.

I am so extremely grateful for every experience, every person I have met, every bump I faced, and every obstacle I overcame. I’ve grown, I’ve changed, and I’ve found my place here at Strike Orlando. I’ve been so lucky to be your External Director for Issue 11!

Strike out,

Lilly Pearl Dame

Staff List

Editor in Chief

EIC Assistant

Creative Director

CD Assistant

External Director

ED Assistant

Finance Director

FD Assistant

Writing Director

WD Assistant

Web & Social Coord.

Copy Editors

Journalists

Staff Writers

Maddy Campbell

Lauren Casey

Amy Phung

Brandon Andino

Lilly Pearl Dame

Ava Washington

Alexis Nichole Calderwood

Mariana Sangiovanni

Editorial

Olivia Wagner

Delaney Gunnell

Elizabeth Lienhardt

Arsheeya Garg

Erika Ryan

Sarah Franquelo

Hadley Balser

Riley Flynn

Elena Trépanier

Elizabeth Lienhardt

Erick Matosinho

Rosita Mechérie

Beauty Director

BD Assistant

Makeup Artists

Fashion Director

FD Assistant

Casting Director

CD Assistant

Styling Assistants

Hannah Ogden

Space Hara

Alejandra Alvarado

Joby Ayala

Sarah Bathelemy

Beauty Fashion

Lauren Robinson

Oluwatimilehin Ogun

Amarah Presley

Shayla Soto

Anne McGrath

Dylan Dragone

Ednah Miller

Josephine Scott

Yan Xin Jiang

Art Director

Art Assistants

Merch. Designers

Design Production

Andrea Larez

Bella Maldonado

Evelyn Skyrm

Greyson Hertzendorf

Jacqueline Ioannidis

Kiera Mayott

Rebecca Faustini

Greyson Hertzendorf

Sophia Pollock

Events

Events Director Events Assistants

Set Design Director SD Assistants

Prod. Assistants

Videographers

Photographers

Camryn Nejaime

Chantel Brown

Daniely Rivera-Martinez

Maegan Pierce

Nayshla Rolly

Ryan Brander

Shayla Soto

Siobhan Lelczuk

Trinity Schmidt

Yanely Hernandez

Photography

Jairo Bautista

Randall Robinson

Ty’Reck Addison

Luke Springfield

Lillyanne Kierstead

Mary Panitz

Mayah Silio

Maycie Shaffer

Michael Friday

Ritchy Augustin

Ext Photographers

Dawson Nguyen

Eduardo Suárez Medrano

Nasari Vega

Faith Reid

Andrea Morales

Angelica Liotta

Kate Jeffcott

Lian Camacho

Abbigail Seneca

Gabriele Steinborn

Leah Lascano

Public Relations

Hanaa Sabir

Yzabella De Los Santos

Lance Lozano

Mariangie Sangiovanni

Inaya Hamilton

Marc Bijelic

Seth Carrillo

Yasmeen Amar

Social Media

Melissa Meade

Casey McLeod

Dan Tran

August Rene

Ella Barrial

Isamar Cruz

Taryn Young

Branding

Kai Lobban

Caprice Hord

Gabriela Ponce

Kiara Aviles

Kirei Parrish

Mar Abdelrahman

Marissa Fay

Noura Attah

Paula Torres

BTS Photographer

Katie Leonard

morphosis

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Chrysalis

Cocoon Culture

In life, everything is about your firsts.

The first time you walk, the first time you make a friend, the first time you fall in love. You get the idea.

However, no one talks about the first time you change. The first time you pull away from your friends, the first time you delete your Instagram account, the first time you initiate a breakup with your partner.

Rebranding yourself is challenging, and it’s even more difficult to do so in a culture where everything is so publicized, where it’s almost expected that your most intimate moments are shared with at least one other person. You find yourself not knowing how to keep the good things in your life private, you obsess with people knowing every detail about your life, all just to glamorize yourself.

Babe, it’s time to pull back.

Now, it’s all about skipping the party, declining the date, letting go of the roles we’ve outgrown. In a culture that equates visibility with worth, you stand up and say, “I am enough,” even when it is unseen.

But this isn’t hiding, it’s healing. There is a sound difference between the two.

You can begin your own transformation through multiple tactile rituals that resonate with you. Journaling, crafting, gardening, meditation. These things are a lot of self-care practices that sound silly, but truly have been lost in recent years due to easily accessible, unlimited screen time.

This pause is not passive. It’s deeply intentional. It’s a season of self-tending, where transformation happens in the dark.

Like the caterpillar dissolving inside its chrysalis,

we too must unravel before we can rebuild.

“ ”

Don’t isolate, incubate.

Start to create art. Go on walks and don’t take any pictures. Dine by yourself. Pour all your thoughts and energy into something deeper than an iPhone.

This is what creates value for your inner self. When you actively choose to disappear, you actively begin to choose yourself. Let the first time you change become the most revolutionary time you change.

So, what’s next? You’ve chosen yourself, and you’re practicing cocooning. How long does the process take, and when do you know you’re “you” again?

There’s a noticeable shift. A soft stirring. A readiness.

It’s your first time that you wear color again, it’s the first laugh that feels real, it’s the first post after months of silence, but this time not for validation, for a mark of survival.

Cocooning begins with a whisper. A subtle urge to step back, to soften, to slow down. It’s the moment someone logs off social media, not out of boredom, but out of necessity.

In a society obsessed with speed and spectacle, Cocoon Culture offers a counter-narrative that rebirth requires stillness. That growth is not always visible. That transformation is sacred, and sometimes, it needs to happen in the dark.

This metamorphic pause isn’t something that comes and goes; it’s cyclical. The waves of life will hit you and retreat again and again, and sometimes, it’s okay to retreat with them.

Your first time, it’s scary and overwhelming. But the more you prioritize yourself, the better versions of you can be released back out into society.

Like a beautiful butterfly flying for its first time.

Arsheeya Garg

Someone to Call Home

Sprout

The summer of 2015 was a special one. It was one defined by afternoons running around my grandmother’s garden, being constantly reminded not to stand under the coconut trees lest a stray thenga fall. It was highlighted by hiding spots underneath jasmine vines and collecting fallen machingas to play with. It was staking out my grandparents’ koi pond to catch a glimpse of the elusive turtle who seemed to never come up for air. It was broken up by monsoon storms and power outages spent huddled around hand-cranked torchlight. It tasted like coconut water, mango popsicles and humid air.

But the most special part of that time, that summer which feels like it happened in a now distant dream, was the moment I received the name Tendril.

My grandmother, who tended to the garden with the same care and love she showered me with, was a true poet at heart and named me after those small new sprigs that sprouted off the vines in her garden. The name tendril, she explained, exemplified my gentleness and my youth. More than the sweet meaning of the name, the delicacy and warmth she would have as she called it out across the house turned it into the sweetest sound of my childhood. After that summer, I wouldn’t see that garden for seven years.

Summers after that one were just as humid and just as rainy. My parents, unsurprisingly, chose to settle in a climate almost exactly like the one they grew up in. Monsoons now happened every day at 4 and cleared up by 5. The smell of summer changed from jasmine to magnolia. The only real difference was the sweet sound of tendril that now came from nearly 10,000 miles away via WhatsApp video calls. Despite the physical distance, my lovely grandmother, Lovely, (talk about an apt name), continued to be a constant in my life, as present as afternoon rainstorms and magnolias. A writer herself, she planted a seed for storytelling in me at a very young age. One day, I remember, instead of telling me a bedtime story, she challenged me to come up with my own. That sprouted into a hobby, which grew into a fully fledged passion. I credit my dreams of being a writer to her.

The summer I finally got to go back was surreal. That May, my family finally received our long-awaited green cards, which meant we could visit home freely. Freshly 15 and burdened with the attitude that comes with that age, I was excited to see my grandparents after years of waiting. But I wasn’t the bright-eyed child that had left them. I wasn’t exactly planning on running around the garden, and I really didn’t care about what was lurking in the pond. My priorities were slightly different now, and that realization made me miserable. Stepping out into the garden for the first time, I noticed it had shrunk. The distance from the gate to the coconut tree was not nearly as far as I remembered. The koi pond was half the size. Strangely enough, my grandma was a little smaller, too. All the years that passed by hit me like a brick. I mourned the summers I could’ve had before I was too old to enjoy them. But despite all the changes that crept up like vines, there was one unfaltering constant: the sweet sound of “tendril” that chimed like a bell and escaped my grandmother’s lips was just as I remembered.

Now older, and much more nostalgic and sentimental, I can’t help but look back on her presence in my life and see how much she nurtured the tendril I was. How much she cultivated my love for writing, how much she helped me see beauty in the world around me. My heart swells with pride when I am able to send her my finished pieces and hear her feedback, her little pearls of praise which are more precious than gems. I realized that time passing is not a tragedy. I am lucky to have her see the woman I have grown into, whether it be over video calls or standing in front of her in the shrunken garden. I am lucky to have her read my work, to let her see how my ambition has matured and to be able to carry on her legacy as a writer. I realized that no matter how old I grew, her love for me was unwavering and unconditional.

I might not ever be able to get those summers I spent away from the garden back, but I never once stopped feeling the love that radiated from the caretaker of that garden. Even 10,000 miles away. I never stopped, and never will stop, being her tendril.

Rosita Mechérie

as most important things do— without permission, without applause, somewhere between confusion and hope.

There was resistance, of course, a kind of heaviness that mistook itself for permanence. Still, something underneath kept whispering, Try again, but softer this time.

Nothing grand happened. No shining revelation, no symphony of petals. Just a gradual rearranging of what wanted to live.

Sometimes it wondered if it was even growing at all— if this ache was progress or just ache.

But then one morning, light slipped through the usual noise, and it realized— something inside had found a way to breathe where it couldn’t before.

It wasn’t a triumph. It was quieter than that. Like laughter you don’t mean to let

When you realize you’re still here, somehow blooming in your own odd way.

WILDFIRE

THE JOURNEY OF THE HERO

The hero’s journey, also known as the monomyth, has been a staple of storytelling since its formulation by Joseph Campbell in 1949. Stories like The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Star Wars have employed this template to demonstrate character growth for over 60 years. The hero’s journey doesn’t have to stay in fiction, though.

Over the years, I’ve begun to view my life as its very own hero’s journey: the valley-like refuge of a good night’s sleep, or a peaceful, uneventful month of fall weather, against a larger backdrop of the kind of personal suffering we all go through at some point on our travels around the Sun. It’s easy, when assigning meaning to life, for suffering to become the point of it. It’s incredibly easy for heroes to become bogged down by the worst parts of themselves, of their lives.

Life’s trials, when seen as the obstacles of any natural hero’s course, become parts of your life, rather than the sum of it. The hero’s journey is defined by just that—the journey itself. Fixation on one aspect of the process, and the beauty, the whole of it, is missed.

“It’s easy, when assigning meaning to life, for suffering to become the point of it.”

In popular fantasy stories, there is a natural resistance to viewing life this way, known as the “Refusal of the Call.” In my life, there have been many times when the path seemed too difficult, too horrifying to even comprehend moving forward.

Yet, as it always does, time ticks on and the world spins. As of now, I find myself crossing the threshold into a whole new frame of being.

The ordeals themselves are what bring the story its ups and downs and its movement. It helps me appreciate those I have gained and lost, and all they have shared with me. It also allows me to appreciate myself as a being in control of my own actions and beliefs. Terrible things always befall a hero—otherwise, who’s going to care? But a hero doesn’t have to meet it head-on, challenge it, or approach it. No, they always have a choice to back away or stand firm, whether from a tiny blow or an all-out war. I can be a spectator of tragedy, or I can be the hero of a story. I choose to be a narrator, and I choose the journey.

Hadley Balser

PHASES OF REBELLION

A “rebellious phase” can take many forms. For some, this means rebelling against family rules that don’t make sense or fighting to find your place in the world. For others, rebellion takes a more revolutionary form. Queer people have been rebelling in various ways throughout history. The act of living freely and happily as a queer person in a society designed against you is in itself an act of rebellion. Regardless of cultural norms, queer people have always been here, rebelling for their lives.

1924

Despite censorship that made such work illegal, a gay man named Henry Gerber wrote Friendship and Freedom, a newsletter designed to connect queer people. Gerber then founded the Society for Human Rights, the first American queer rights association. The SHR was designed for cisgender gay men, but was shut down after an informant turned them in.

1955 Dorothy Louise Taliaferro “Del” Martin and Phyllis Lyon wanted to create a safe place to find other queer women, so they founded the Daughters of Bilitis, the first lesbian rights organization in the US. In 2004, the two had the first same-sex marriage in San Francisco.

1959

10 years before Stonewall, the first unofficial gay uprising happened at a 24-hour donut cafe known for catering to queer patrons. At the time, it was illegal to present as other than the gender on your ID. While there are controversies on the story, the rumor is that police attempted to arrest 5 people but were stopped by onlookers throwing coffee, donuts, cups, and trash at them until they left.

1961 Illinois was the first state to decriminalize homosexuality, removing the fear of exposure that haunted many LGBT+ people’s lives.

1970 A year after Stonewall, the first Pride parade was held to celebrate the event and movement. Pride parades have been held in June to commemorate ever since.

1990 The World Health Organization declared that homosexuality was no longer considered a disease.

1978

1969

The Stonewall riots are often considered tobe the official beginning of the modern gay rights movement. At the time, it was common for the police to raid places where gay people frequented to look for gender-nonconforming people to arrest. At Stonewall, things were different. A series of events led to a crowd amassing as the police attempted to make an arrest, which escalated into a riot after the arrests turned violent.

Gilbert Baker was a veteran and openly gay man who made the first rainbow flag as a symbol of pride. Each color symbolized a facet of the movement: pink for sex, red for life, orange for healing, yellow for sunlight, green for nature, turquoise for art, indigo for serenity, and violet for spirit. Future iterations of the flag contained additional colors to promote intersectionality and include tributes to various racial and gender communities.

1998

President Bill Clinton signs an executive order prohibiting workplace discrimination based on sexuality. Whilethe protections for various LGBT+ groups have changed since, this was a historic landmark.

2011

For many years, the American military had a “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy banning service members from discussing their sexuality freely. This policy was implemented to theoretically discourage harassment of closeted military members, but ended up causing further stigma and barring openly queer military members from service. This law was repealed in 2011; however, there have been various efforts since to bar people from the military on the grounds of sexuality or gender identity.

2015

While gay marriage had previously been allowed on a state-by-state basis, the Supreme Court struck down all restrictions in 2015, legalizing gay marriage across all 50 states. 10 years later, in 2025, the Supreme Court has been asked to reconsider this decision.

2020 The Supreme Court expanded the historic 1964 Civil Rights Act to include protections for LGBT+ people in the workplace.

While the social and political climate ebbs and flows, there will always be queer resistance and rebellion to slowly but surely pave the path forward.

Delaney Gunnel

When The Web Unravels

How patient and deliberate a spider must be, rebuilding her web each morning after the night has taken it. If something is so fragile, so in danger of being destroyed, why is it always worth making anew? This quiet cycle of a spider continuously weaving her life without hesitation reflects something in all of us, whether we realize it or not.

While going through stages and phases of our own lives, we mirror that of a spider. Spending so much of our time intricately building foundations that aren’t guaranteed to last, yet we participate regardless. There is a certain romance in believing that these webs that we create will actually hold as we stretch them between uncertain anchors. We move carefully, trying to connect intention with reality, but the process is rarely linear. Navigating the complexities of life is an art on its own with little recognition. As we continue to grow, new versions of ourselves begin to take shape, but perhaps at the cost of losing old ones. Similar to learning to start over after high school, only to start again after college. Or returning to a blank page after creative burnout, trusting that the act of beginning again is its own kind of courage.

I’ve found that the weight of expectations pulls at the edges of our own “webs”; tearing through the center just when

we thought our web— our connections, our work, our sense of self— would stay intact. Just like that, there’s a shift within our world that makes what we built feel unsteady. There’s a familiar feeling that if something fell apart, it was because I hadn’t tried hard enough to keep it together. But the older I get, the more I realize that collapse isn’t a failure of design; it’s part of the process altogether. There’s almost a sense of relief in admitting that not every web we weave is meant to last, but maybe to remind us where we started.

Growing up allows us to understand that stability isn’t always in what we build. Like the spider, we learn how to respond when the web unravels. We rebuild not exactly because we have to, but because it is in our nature to do so. Sooner rather than later, we will see beauty in creation, collapse, and impermanence of ourselves. The more I think about it, the more I believe that this process of building, unraveling, and building again is what keeps us alive to change. Every time we start over, we do so with a little more understanding, a little more grace for the uncertainty ahead. The web will never be the same twice, but neither will we or our experiences.

Perhaps this is the quiet truth the spider has always known: what matters most is not how long the web lasts, but the simple, persistent act of making it again.

Olivia Wagner

rots above my desk. My life has been a mess of searching for hiring jobs, piecing together my finances, and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life. I’ve struggled to find a routine and stability without college classes or a 9-to-5 to pass my time. Neither my present nor my future was clear, and I began to take it out on myself.

People try to prepare you for the postgrad burnout, but nothing prepares you for the helplessness and self-loathing you feel. I began questioning my education, my career, and my life. I wondered if all the time and effort I had put into the last few years of my life had amounted to nothing.

I felt like I was stuck in a web, helplessly pulling myself from the sticky spindles. It’s like waiting for the spider to come and devour you whole. But then again, who put you within that web?

I’m only 21, yet I feel like I am eons behind everyone else. And why?

Because I didn’t have that stable, simple plan that others had. School, then job, then babies, then die. This was the sequence of my life I had to abide by. We, as humans, are meant to find our purpose, the thing we are meant to do on this Earth. We use that purpose to fuel ourselves and give ourselves some form of explanation for why we continue living anyway. We have our path to follow, and if we lose sight of that path, we have no purpose and no reason to live. I’d like to challenge that.

Someone very dear to me once said, “Just because one door opens, doesn’t mean all of the other doors close.” This was a very simple concept that changed my life. Just because at this very moment you have chosen to pursue one thing, doesn’t mean you’ve committed or can’t choose any other options. When life changes on you, you can shift. When life stays the same, you also have the choice to change. That’s the freedom and beauty of life. Change and redirection are scary because it’s unknown territory, but maybe that’s a little more exciting than having my entire life planned. My career and what I do with my life do not give me purpose; it’s who I am and how I react to things that do. Yes, I have goals I aim to continue pursuing no matter what. But I am choosing to embrace my life, regardless of what it looks like. I am choosing my happiness. If my happiness looks like being single with my part-time job, putting together my last few pennies to go to concerts, so be it.

Life is a web. It tangles you with troubles and catches you off guard. But you are the spider. You are the one in control and spinning your own web. It is not the circumstances life grants that define who we are and what we can be. Plans change, people change, we change, but none of those things are bad or wrong unless we say it is. Life is messy and scary and free and beautiful. I’d rather slide in the muck of life than kill myself desperately trying to clean it up.

Sarah Franquelo

Death: A Human Condition

Many of us fear death. Some of us have a terrified fascination with it, taunting and flirtatious and dangerous. Others view it as a finish line, one last hoop to jump through before all stages of life are over. It drives us, as inspiration and nightmare fuel, as a monster under the bed, as the promise of a better world.

The existence of death is what gives life its meaning. If there is a finite time on this Earth, what will we spend our time doing? Anti-aging serums and miracle drugs have nothing on the one that holds the final tally. Will we be judged for our mistakes? Is it simply neurons firing our final dreams into the universe?

I’m not sure it matters, in the end. Whether our consciousness ends in the darkened Earth or forever glows in an unimaginable world, it does nothing to change our reality. Someday, some part of us will die. I find comfort in this: the knowledge that when things seem uncertain, there is always a constant truth. My mortality does not bother me; it gives me peace, allows me to understand the fleeting nature of joy, the dull, lasting ache of pain, the sweetness of contentment, and the all-important nature of love that connects us.

Death is the final human condition, and one we can never escape. As if we are reading our own book about our lives, knowing the final chapter approaches. There is no avoidance, no distraction, no ritual that will change this truth. All we can do is continue to grow, change, and breathe the air around us, grateful for the story and for the lives we lead until the end.

Hadley Balser

Letters I Never Sent You

Silent cream pages stare up at me as the pen sits impatiently in my hands. Restlessly pondering how to start this letter, I glance at the half-written pages sitting at the bottom of my trash can. I bite my lip as if it would keep the words from falling right off my tongue and onto the page, knowing that's how I kept it in when you were still here. With a shuddered breath, my pen cuts into the soft, cream pages as thin ebony streaks reveal themselves.

Dear Sam

It's strange—writing your name again. I watch as the ink pools in the etching of your name, rivering through the thin curves of the S. How does your name still feel alive? I told myself that this would be the last letter I write, the last one I'll never send. The air hums around me with anticipation, as if my bedroom walls are watching. I continue writing.

The words start slow. Irregular. Each thought halts in my fingers before impressing itself onto the page. As I write, memories start to flicker in my brain, static slowly becoming a hazy image. I begin to remember the first time you said my name. The first time you kissed me, made love to me. The sweet words you kissed in my ears.

You made it feel safe for me to love again.

The words land on the page like pressing on a bruise. The words felt bitter in hindsight, almost like it was wrong. Still, I continue writing. The hazy static clears more as the last time we fought flickers into my brain. I remember it was on my birthday. You knew I never really liked my birthday anyway. I remember the look you gave me, the crocodile tears you conceived to match your bite.

Did you ever really love me? Or did you just use me?

I barely notice how the cream on the page slowly seems gray as ink strokes fill the page. Floodgates of memories open my mind. My fingers start to warm up from how fast they're writing. Remembering our last phone call. Remembering my phone down on the table as your screams play in my head like technicolor. Remember the sour taste of words you put in my mouth. All of the words I couldn't say flooded onto the page in front of me.

I wish I had never given myself to you, that we had never fallen in love with you. I wish we never met.

I clasp my hand over my mouth in a shuttered gasp. The page is full now. The creases of the words are deep, like black glacial cracks in the letter. Just as I'm about to cross out the words, I notice the letters becoming thicker with a jet-black gleam. Is the ink… oozing out?

Wiping the words away proves futile as the ink only stains my hands. Still, I keep trying only for more ink to flow out like blood from a fresh wound. It's spilling faster now. The words pool at my elbows while the page is practically floating in a puddle of its own inky insides. The ink turns an iridescent dark blue as it stains my skin and clothes, like bruises smearing across my body.

Ink pours as the floorboards begin to gleam black, crawling up my ankles. The room smells like iron and burnt sugar: sweet, metallic, wrong. I try to move through the ink, but it thickens even more with each movement. The ink climbs up my bedroom walls toward the ceiling as the words collect around my neck. I desperately try to keep my head above its inky depths, but the ceiling starts pressing down my head.

I taste the ink first, prying into my mouth like you did. I try to breathe one last gasp of air before I go under, but the words choke in the back of my throat. Before I go under, I wonder if this is what I deserve.

The letter I wrote flashes in my mind before the words I could never say finally swallow me whole.

Erick Matosinho

"Itrydesperately to keep my head above its inky depths."

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Strike Magazine Orlando Issue 11: METAMORPHOSIS

About the issue

Letter from the Editor-in-Chief

Letter from the Creative Director

Amy Phung

Letter from the External Director

Lilly Pearl Dame

Staff List

Editorial

Beauty Fashion

Design Production

Events

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Public Relations

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Chrysalis

Cocoon Culture

Like the caterpillar dissolving inside its chrysalis,

Someone to Call Home

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WILDFIRE

THE JOURNEY OF THE HERO

PHASES OF REBELLION

1924

2011

2015

When The Web Unravels

Death: A Human Condition

Letters I Never Sent You

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Chrysalis Credits

Metamorphosis

Wildfire

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Overgrowth