REBEL
Arts & Literature Magazine
Letter from the editor
It is my pleasure to welcome you back to another edition of Rebel Magazine, ECU’s Art and Literary Magazine. My name is Trisha, I am the editor-in-chief of The East Carolinian and I am so excited to showcase the hard work and talent of our featured students.
The theme we chose for this year was transformation which is a concept that can speak to growth, journeys, and changes we may take as artists, writers, students, or simply being human. This edition will hopefully allow you to see how different students express their perspectives of the complexities and beauty of transformation.
Some of these pages even hold process work, offering a behind-the-scenes look at how artists’pieces evolved from rough ideas into fully realized creations perfectly embodying our ideal.
My favorite bedtime story growing up was The Ugly Duckling. Back then, it was just a comforting story my mom would read to me at night. But as I’ve grown, I’ve come to see it differently. Everyone, including myself, goes through a period of uncertainty, vulnerability, and the pressure to conform. But when we change and start looking inward and trusting ourselves instead of trying to mirror others, we often discover there’s more beauty in the world than we originally thought.
That story has stayed with me over the years, making it a natural and nostalgic choice for this year’s theme and cover: a duckling in the midst of becoming a swan.
I am incredibly proud of everyone involved in this magazine. We’re very grateful to our staff, faculty advisors, and the talented students whose submissions brought this issue to life. I hope you love it as much as I do!
Trisha Rangaraju
Editor-in-Chief, The East Carolinian East Carolina University
Trisha Rangaraju
Editor-in-Chief
Jamie Antinore
Production Manager & Graphic Designer
Cherie Speller
Director of Student Media & TEC Advisor
Annah Howell
Multimedia Production Manager
Candy Griffin
Administrative Support Associate
Printing
Morgan Printers, Inc.
Cover illustration by Jamie Antinore
Visual Art & Literature
“Background 2” Laysha Ramirez Illustration
I grew up fishing the waters of Eastern North Carolina, on boats, from the beach, wherever I could cast a line. These paintings come from that life: early mornings on the dock, offshore runs chasing big fish, and quiet moments drifting near the lighthouse. The salt air, the rocking of the water, the familiar hum of a boat engine, those are the rhythms I try to paint.
This work is about home. It’s for the people who know the way the Morehead Waterfront smells, who’ve stood at the Big Rock landing and dreamed of bringing in a winning fish, who see a sportfisher on the horizon and wonder what she’s chasing, and those who get goosebumps when the drag starts screaming. Through loose brushstrokes and layered colors, I want to share the places and feelings that shaped me not just what the coast looks like, but what it feels like to live and fish here.
“Waiting”
Sarah Supplee Digital painting
“In the Bight”
Sarah Supplee Digital painting
“Ramblin Man”
Sarah Supplee
Digital painting
These digital watercolor pieces were painted in Procreate using custom brushes designed to mimic traditional watercolor texture. My process begins with either personal reference photos or scenes I’ve experienced firsthand, sketched loosely to preserve a natural, fluid look. I layer color gradually, focusing on capturing the light, weather, and movement that define life on the coast. Rather than chasing photorealism, I aim for familiarity and feeling—something that feels like a memory you’ve stepped back into.
“Waiting” captures the iconic gateway to tournament season in Morehead City, where the energy on the docks is electric and every local knows someone fishing in the Big Rock.
“Ramblin Man” is my favorite Sportfishing boat on the Morehead Waterfront and a nod to the charter boats that glide past on a summer morning, rods rigged and ready, chasing dolphin and marlin offshore.
“In the Bight” shows Cape Lookout Lighthouse from the water, a view that still makes me stop and stare no matter how many times I’ve seen it.
“Le Petit Rat”
Courtney Moore Drawing
“Tunnel Through Time” Margaret Lindsay Painting
This painting was completed in April as my answer to the ‘threshold’ assignment in the 2561 Painting Composition studio. It is based on a photograph taken during spring break, while me and my friends were visiting the Museum of Natural History in downtown Raleigh. The location of the photo is an exhibit on prehistoric marine life in the shape of a tunnel. The tunnel then opens up to an exhibit on life during the most recent ice age.
“Dumped”
Natalyna Torres Photography
The image captures a bitter moment, echoing the theme of friends departing and the profound impact abandonment has on individuals with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). The boots, once filled with life and movement, now stand still, symbolizing the absence of a companion. A sense of loneliness, yearning, and the struggle to find footing amidst a sea of uncertainty. For someone with BPD, such visual metaphors resonate deeply, capturing the complex interplay between attachment, loss, and the enduring quest for connection amidst life’s transient moments.
The Fantastic Family from the Forbidden Forest
Griffin Obrien Poetry
The Fantastic Family from the Forbidden Forest. No one, not even from the heaven above, could ignore us.
Isolated from society’s norms, its leader sees us uncivilized and vicious, yet we bestow only love, peace, and acts of kindness.
We dress as nature intended, bare, returning to our inner childness. Mother Nature guides us through her beautiful land, Trees stretch to the sky, and her waters flow like hair strands. Living amongst animals of all shapes and sizes
Growing with flowers, so beautiful and hard to describe. No dark days ever arise; it’s a wonderful paradise.
The Fantastic Family from the Forbidden Forest. In the Forest, we are four folk of different origins; Led by Mother Nature and Father Time.
Father is harsh in his teachings but ever so wise. With a mile-long beard and silver-pupil eyes, He tells us stories from old and how the years passed by. His words bring both happiness and tears, for I have fear. Fear of life passing by, fear of when I die.
But Mother wraps her arms around me and whispers in my ear, “ There, there, Momma is here for you, my dear.”
The Fantastic Family of Four from the Forbidden Forest. Another of the Four, the most important of all, who we can’t ignore; Mother Nature loves us all and guides us up high. Her bright, sunshine eyes light the midnight sky.
Her tender embrace heals the most incurable maladies and Her loving words lead us away from all fallacies.
Seeing the outside world destroy her garden is such a travesty, But we are told to love and harvest no animosity.
So, we do as we are told and open the world for camaraderie, For we are the Fantastic Four from the Forbidden Forest.
As for the last two, they resemble the former,
An Adam for her Eve, made up of perfect atoms.
For her, her body is of perfection, so hard to fathom.
For him, he is sculpted by the Gods and craves with endless abandon.
Their love grows like a fire, expanding throughout the forest;
Yet not one bit of its land is scorched; it births a primordial fire from their heat.
A child, so perfect in every way imaginable. With eyes blue as the sea, and
Hair as black as the shadow it casts, a body so small with no scars or marks around.
As the dawn begins to set and the family wakes from the slumber it derived from,
The family begins its magic dance again. Bestowing love and peace once again,
Only now, it’s five instead of four; the forest has grown and only awaits for more.
For we, we are a fantastic family. We are open again once more
No longer forbidden from the world, we open our arms as we did once before
Come one, come all, join us in the forest; we have opened the door.
“Background 1” Laysha Ramirez Illustration
“Wash Away This Jet Black” Sebastian Cline Illustration
Untitled Kylie Fleming Painting
Tools in the Kitchen
Orange sun beams stream through dainty curtains brightening the kitchen and sending four tiny feet to search for their first meal. Now they are tall enough to see over the counter without standing on their toes.
They saw tools scattered about the tops of cabinets one that twists and pulls, and a long spoon with a spiral. Outlandish looking next to pots, mugs, and sippy cups the sight of the mess made their cheeks gray and sag.
Orange juice was mixed with a Screwdriver, almost eight coffee smelling Rusty Nails littered the stove, set up like bowling pins that someone had knocked back. A pair of noxious Muddy Boots were on the floor, with a puddle.
Those savage tools did a number on mom’s juice cups leaving sparkling little pebbles of glass strewn about so that the little feet tiptoed across them when they entered, but they were still bandaged from last morning.
Renee McMillan Poetry
“Home Sweet X” Angel Nwabuike Illustration
Her;You
Griffin Obrien Poetry
Her eyes shine of primordial fire.
Her flames bleed into my mind as a hazel hue
As an artist, she becomes my muse
She creates what is known as a beating heart
My soul ever quenching to drown in her appearance.
Her hair flows upon a stream of brunette waves on a setting sun.
The way it flows in the wind and with each step, I am entranced.
The way she brings a smile to my desolate face, like a child having fun,
I became young once again.
To what I have never experienced in my life
She brings a new start, an everlasting beginning.
Her eyes alight flames in my heart, and her absence becomes a sharp knife
In my heart
To whoever this angelic creature is,
I have never felt this before
Yet I never want to feel anything else but her
She melts my cold, cold heart as if it’s covered with fur
A feminine goddess, I must confess
From a godless man, I worship this being
For eternity
Yet I know no name to send this to
I’ll just send it to
Her
From which thoughts are created
My heart forever longs for you
Her luminescent shine remains in my head
She makes my confidence dwindle into a fool
And I forever long for you
The way her lavender scent reminds one of the summer breeze
And her hazel eyes twinkle like stars in the sky
She makes men dream of the future,
And makes me forget the pain of the past
As I try to speak, I forget what words are
And while hope begins to fade fast
I still retain my love for you
While I must go for now
And my sorrow remains aloud
I know my heart belongs to you
Untitled Kylie Fleming Painting
“Africa to Bauhaus” Elena Hall Editorial design
“Forest & Mountain”
Garrett Moore
3D Visual compositing
Angel Nwabuike Illustration
The Raven
Libby Will Poetry
I look away for one second, look back, and my favorite purple pen with the sparkly pink pom-pom on top and dark blue ink, not black, is gone. I blink, and I then I see it, glittering in the afternoon sunlight. In a raven’s beak. Oh boy.
I’m just trying to get my homework done, man, I say to the raven, but this startles it and it flies off, shaking the branches of the wiry little tree I’m sitting under. Luckily for me, I study in the library courtyard a lot. I know where to find the ravens.
I stand up, brush some dirt off my purple-laced sneakers, sling my tote bag over my shoulders, and set off. The courtyard connects to the middle school playground, although during the day they’re separated by a fence. After school gets out, they open the fence, so anyone who wants to can use the playground. I made lots of one-night-only friends there, when I was a kid. The type of friendship you can only make when you’re a kid and all you need is someone to play with, and so you do, for a while, and then when the sun’s going down your dad calls you over and tells you that it’s time to go home, and you yell your name to your friend and ask them to play again sometime, the next time you’re at the playground, maybe. And then you never see them again.
A big oak tree stands in the furthest corner of the playground. That’s where the ravens live; I think I can see one, big and important-looking with glossy black feathers, sharp eyes and an even sharper beak. I’m still too far away to see if it has my pen.
I walk closer, quiet as I can be on the wood chip-covered ground. Man, I’m glad to not be wearing sandals right now. I let my bag slip to the ground and then crouch down to join it. The raven can probably still see me, but it makes me feel sneakier. I chance a glance upward and sure enough, a bird stares down at me, head cocked to the side. My purple pen shivers a little in its beak.
I cock my head the same way and then slowly, silently, lift one hand up. We stay that way for a while, the raven and I, gazes locked as the sun lowers and tints the sky over the playground. The shadow under the tree grows darker until it almost matches the raven. Finally, my purple pen falls, gently, and lands in my palm.
I smile, stand up, and walk out of the playground.
“Late”
“Down the Drain”
Brook Connolly Color lithography
“potterybarn, men, and booze, how many times are we going to move?”
Brook Connolly
Color lithography, color etching, & screen printing
I Love You,
Luna
Tabitha Vaughan Creative non-fiction memoir
The grass was itchy. It felt like sticky pieces of cellophane that couldn’t come off my thighs. We were sitting under Luna’s favorite tree: my mom, dad, sister, Luna, and myself. Only Luna was sitting in my grandpa’s old wagon because any time she would try to stand, her paws and body would ache. Especially her back left leg, which had become torn and damaged one far too adventurous walk six days prior.
Luna was munching on popcorn, her favorite food, though it was cold because the wind had cooled it off. Each one of us tossed her a piece, anticipating that she would catch it because she was always a good catch. She was of course better in her younger years when her eyesight was at its best and she was much more food motivated. I loved to listen to her munch and then crunch on the popcorn. The rest of the family also seemed to be listening in on her chewing noises because we knew that in less than two hours that sound would stop forever.
I was a blubbering mess at the time. Most of my memories of that day are tear stained or so clouded I only remember bits and pieces. Sometimes, my brain gets into this loop about it all. Like it remembers small details.
Details that don’t even matter, but it’s all I can think about for weeks at a time.
We took Luna the long way around the house to get to the car. Each of us took a turn wheeling her a short distance before we met our destination in front of the van. My dad had to lift her out of the wagon to place her in her spot on the floor of the car. I felt like throwing up watching her struggle to get comfortable.
“I don’t want to go.” I told my mom.
“Are you sure?” she said, hugging me. I could feel her tears dripping onto my neck.
“I’m sure,” I responded and let go of her. I petted the top of Luna’s head, rubbed her soft, silky ears, then kissed her forehead, right between her brown eyes.
I took a step back from the car and my dad closed the sliding door in front of me. It latched with a kerplunk. I could see Luna from outside through the slightly tinted windows. She was smiling. Grinning from ear to ear because she was happy she was getting to go on an adventure with the rest of “the pack.”
I hugged my parents and sister one last time before they got in the car, and I went to the house. I watched the van turn the corner before I shut the front door.
I looked at the clock, then sat on the couch. I looked at the clock, then picked at my nails. I looked at the clock, then scratched a scab on my arm. I looked at the clock, then tightened my shoelaces. I looked at the clock, then at Luna’s bed.
Moments of her life flashed before me. We walked on the dirt road behind the horse pasture. She would sniff the smells, and I would pull her away from eating something random on the road. I would call after her from the house to get her to come inside after barking for hours at a squirrel that would never leave her pecan tree. Her tail would thump, thump, thump on the floor as I rubbed her pinkishblack belly. I saw us sitting on the backsteps of the porch with her head under my arm and her body leaning against mine. I would tell her, “I’ll always be with you.”
Those words repeated in my head. I’ll always be with you. I’ll always be with you. Yet, I was not with her. Without thinking I shot up from the couch and grabbed my sister’s car keys from where they were hanging. As soon as they were in my hand, I dialed my sister’s number on my phone.
“Hello?” she answered.
“I’m coming, and I’m taking your car,” I said, then slammed the door shut and locked it.
“Okay,” she replied.
My heart raced as I hung up the phone and ran to the little white car. It was
cramped and messy, but it worked. It drove me to the place I didn’t want to go.
“I hope I drove the speed limit,” I said to my sister when I arrived at the veterinary hospital. I handed her the keys to her car.
“It’s okay,” she responded.
We were all sitting in the van. Luna was at my feet, and I was constantly petting her.
“Your brother is on the way. He should be here in five minutes,” my mom told us as she hung up her cell, “and the vet said to call them when we’re all here and they’ll come get us.”
Nothing really happened in those five minutes. I failed to hold back my tears, while my mom blew her nose. My dad fidgeted with the sun visor, and my sister messed with her hair. When my brother arrived, he sat in the van beside me. He too started to pet Luna obsessively. We both tried to take photos, but each one turned out blurry.
“Hi... yes...we’re all here...” My mom got out of the passenger seat and opened the sliding door where Luna laid.
My dad exited the car from behind the wheel and came over to stand with my mom. Moments later, people dressed in scrubs appeared behind them. Luna was lifted out of the car, and I followed directly behind her. She was carried into a beige building. One that she unfortunately knew all too well.
The room where we were placed was drab. Nothing was bright except a jar of silver wrapped Hershey’s Kisses. Luna was placed in the center. She happily panted as she watched each of us take a place on the floor. We all surrounded her in what I think was our way of protecting her from what was coming. Though we were the ones who had brought what was coming. We were the ones making this decision because it was what she needed.
She needed to not vomit her medicine. She needed not to have another shot. She needed to not ache all over. She needed us to love her so much that we could let her go. She needed to be at peace.
In my final moments with her, all I could say was, “I love you, Luna. I love you, Luna. I love you, Luna.”
“Gourd Swallow”
Avery Gall
Wicker sculpture & collage
“Variable”
Avery Gall
Digital design & AR
entered the dark building. It wasn’t very crowded for a Friday evening. Janice led the way to the counter in her wedges and form-fitting black dress, sitting down on a stool as she waited for the bartender to make his way back down their way.
Belly Ache
Aija Everett
Short Story
Down, down baby
Down by the rollercoaster
Sweet, sweet baby
I’ll never let you go
If you wanna kiss me, just say you love me
The girls spent all their free time practicing these games. Hand clapping was an art, one that could not be rivaled by the boys across the yard, attempting to shoot three pointers into the Johnson’s hoop. The backboard had already been shattered not even five weeks after they put it up.
They were in their own little bubble under the carport, cross-legged in their matching uniforms on the cold concrete. Sadiya eyed the tears in her black tights, fresh from recess earlier in the day. All the girls got together on the blacktop to go for a few rounds of double-dutch, taking turns jumping and singing songs. Her parents would scold her for ruining another pair, but they would just pick up another few packs from JCPenney at the end of the week.
Her mother called the two girls inside for supper just a few moments later, reminding them to take off their sneakers before sending them off to the half-bath down the hall to wash their hands.
Janice sat down quietly at the dinner table, looking around as Sadiya’s mother placed the dishes down on the table. Family photos lined the walls, alongside a few bible verse plaques and little Black baby angels. Pork chops, mashed potatoes and cabbage, passed around in a circle until everyone was content with their plates.
A drunk couple stumbled out of the bar together as the two women approached the front, eyebrows raised, amused. Sadiya shook her head as the strangers headed off into the night, groaning and giggling and attempting to hold one another upright.
“Lord, have mercy…”
“See, I’m tryna get loose, but not that loose.” They both laughed as they
Sadiya sat next to her, throwing her braids over her shoulder and looking down the counter to check out the other patrons. She spotted a guy, newly retwisted locs pulled back, exposing a colorful dragon etched into the skin on his neck. She eyed the gold chain dangling in front of his sternum, not shying away once he noticed her gaze on him.
“Ooooh, girl, look at him…”
She nudged her unresponsive friend, smacking her lips as she noticed the way she was locked into her phone. Thumbs tapping away faster than she could have with acrylics that long.
“Girl, what happened to no phones tonight?! Is that Derek?”
“Look, I’m just checking in with him real quick and then no phones, I promise.” She spoke, finishing up her paragraph before sliding her phone back into her bag.
Janice noticed the disapproving look on her friend’s face. “First round on me?”
…
“Do you ever just wanna run away?”
Sadiya stared up at the ceiling, watching shadows dance along the textured paint. She could hear the wind whipping around the trees just outside her bedroom window. Her best friend lay beside her, identical in position, but with her eyes closed. She didn’t know why Janice asked this question as soon as she was beginning to feel the weight of sleepiness on her chest, but she obliged.
“Sometimes, do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Where would you go?” Sadiya turned onto her side, facing her friend.
“Somewhere nice. With beaches, maybe.”
“Yeah, a beach would be cool. We could just swim all day. Maybe skate on the boardwalk.”
“I always wanted skates.”
“You don’t have any?”
“Colors of Imagination”
Tygel Wooten Painting
She could see Janice shaking her head no on the pillow. “You can borrow mine if you want, I have two pairs. We could go tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” …
Sadiya turned in her seat, feeling the warmth flowing through her veins from the too-fruity cocktail she’d just downed, in addition to the shots she and Janice put away just thirty minutes prior. She watched the strangers in the back corner laughing and shouting as they played a drunken game of pool.
A double-date, she realized. Each couple playing against each other, though with the way each guy would sneakily place his hands around his girl’s waist and whisper in her ears while she attempted to make her shot, you would think the boys were playing for themselves.
The hottie with the neck tattoo had been waiting for his own guy, she noticed shortly after she and Janice ordered their drinks. Janice herself had just excused herself outside to take a call, for Derek likely, saying that she’d be back in a few minutes. Ten have passed since.
Sadiya placed a hefty tip on the counter before hopping off the stool, fixing her dress back down around her thighs. She looked back at the couples at the pool table, feeling her stomach stir at all the PDA happening–tongues and lips and fingers grabbing whatever they could.
The cold air was a slap to the face. The temperature must have dropped at least ten degrees since they entered the bar. She looked side to side, spotting Janice just a few meters down, sitting on a bus stop bench. Phone to ear, she was obviously upset, angrily gesturing as she shouted into the device.
She walked up to the bench, coming to a stop in front of her friend. She tried to hide the disappointment on her face, more so with Janice’s toleration of the relationship than Janice herself. Janice avoided eye contact but the tears could be seen shining in the white light from the streetlamps.
“Look, I gotta go, we can finish this later…yeah, yeah, alright, bye.”
“Babe…” Sadiya didn’t know what she wanted to say, or how she would even start, without setting off any bombs.
“I know.”
Janice flew down the street, feeling the wind against her face, her two pigtail braids floating behind her. Sadiya was not too far behind, having gotten started a little late. She helped Janice get settled into the pair of skates, teaching her how to keep her balance, how to stop and safe ways to fall if she absolutely had to.
She smiled as she watched her friend move, without a fear down the empty road. The purple roller skates fit her perfectly, and so did the big, toothy grin that was plastered across her face.
The sun was beginning to set, its orange-red hues casting a glow down on everyone as if God himself were saying hello. The two young girls radiated joy, smiling and laughing down the way, waving at their older neighbors who sat out enjoying the cool breeze.
As they came back down to Sadiya’s home, they noticed two of the boys from yesterday out front again, playing a game of HORSE. They stopped dribbling and shooting the ball once the girls skated up into the driveway, slowly coming to a stop on their wheels.
“Y’all some skaters now, huh?” One of the boys teased, the other laughing with him and tossing the ball back over.
Janice was quick and ready with a response but Sadiya stopped her. “Ignore them, they wish they could skate like us.”
Sadiya leaned against the wooden fence to the side of the driveway, unstrapping and removing each skate one at a time. Janice followed suit, making her way over just a bit too quickly. Suddenly, she was falling backwards, feet up in the air as she landed flat on her behind.
The boys across the road doubled over in laughter, pointing and holding their stomachs as though they’d never witnessed anything funnier.
Sadiya ran over to her friend, pulling her back up to her feet. She could already see the tears swelling in her eyes, the faint wobbling of her chin. The boys never stopped laughing and Janice’s eyes never left the ground, but Sadiya did her best to get her inside quickly, with a promise of a bowl of ice cream and their favorite movie.
Sadiya wrapped her arm around Janice, holding her close to her side while they sat on the bench. She was cold, they both were, but there was a sense of peace here on the street that they knew would end as soon as they decided to leave. She took Janice’s phone, putting it on DND for the time being.
“He’s gonna be so mad when I get back.”
Sadiya winced at the fear in her voice.
“You don’t have to, you can come back to my place, stay the night. I have extra blankets and–”
“Why do you always do that?”
Sadiya blinked. Confused. “What–what are you talking about?”
The tears continued down Janice’s face as she shook her head, looking down into her lap as though she regretted her words. “Just, nothing. It’s whatever.”
“Jan…you’re my friend, I don’t like to see you hurting. I’d do anything for you.”
She fidgeted with her fingers, tracing the jewels embedded into her nails. A few moments of silence passed. Sadiya had her own tears threatening to fall.
“Can we just go?”
Sadiya stood, fixing her dress before holding her hand out to Janice. The look on her face made her almost think twice about offering assistance but she knew better than that. Her friend sighed, reaching up and taking her hand anyway. The two women walked back to the car, arm in arm, taking in the cold silence of the street. A street lamp faintly flickered behind them, a faint buzz of pure electricity, gone unnoticed.
Process Work
“Self” Angel Nwabuike Painting
“Pool Shark” Process Avery Gall
“Pool Shark”
Avery Gall
Wood sculpture
Research”
Research”
“Rodent
Process Jenny Antinore
“Rodent
Jenny Antinore Ceramic sculpture
“Kermina” Process
Jenny Antinore
“Kermina”
Jenny Antinore Ceramic sculpture
“Caslon” Process Elena Hall
“Caslon” Elena Hall Digital design
Music & Video
“The Dove and The Crow” Griffin OBrien Short film
Watch on Youtube:
“Wherever You Think You Belong, You Probably Don’t”
luvsosabychiefkeef
Process//Sleep
Dish wash safe mistakes
A rerun with the dial stuck
Flowers and credit
Synthetic performance
Dosed away tremors
Slice the nerve and kill all your reason
For forgiveness
One broken word
Five more crossed
Two burnt voices
Six times over
Three times a day
Four years that I will never get back
Lose your heart
Kill your mind
Nothing’s sorry
Lose your heart
Kill your mind
You said “it’s no good”
You are
What you are
Find a way out
Kill your heart
Cut the mouth
And you always said that “you follow”
“You follow”
“You follow”
“You follow”
“You follow”
I don’t lie down
To my peers
Four years I will never get back
Four years I will never get back
Four years I will never get back
Four more years I will never get back
I’m close
I’ve been
Fighting for you
I’ve been
Nothing to you
I’m a fraud
Lose your heart
Kill your mind
1. Wherever You Think You Belong, You Probably Don’t
No Quarter! Brass Band
My name is Brett Howard and I am a Senior graduating with a degree in Music Education this year. Ever since Sophomore Year, I’ve played in a band that my friends and I formed called the No Quarter! Brass Band. Purely off of a whim and the name, I presumed, only being temporary, the band and name persisted after our first performance together. We have since gigged all across North Carolina for the past 3 years playing sets at notable places like the BBQ Fest on the Neuse, Jacksonville Jamboree, Strange Fruit Music Festival in Greensboro, Juneteenth Festival in Charlotte, the Pour House in Raleigh, and capping off the final SpazzFest at State Theater here in Greenville. We also had a monthly residency at Nash Hot Chicken called Nash at Nite and we will return soon to record a live album there as well. Besides playing covers of some of our favorite hits, we also have original music which can be found on Spotify, Apple Music, YouTube, and all other streaming platforms with new music coming soon.
Thank you!
Submitters
To all of the artists and writers who submitted to this year's publication of Rebel, thank you. Without your art and literary pieces we would not have been able to make this publication.
Readers
To our readers, thank you for taking the time to pick up this publication and appreciate its art and writing. Your feedback is what continues to help us strengthen our future works and keeps our designers and editor learning.
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Brett Howard Music