Rebel Fall 2023 by Pirate Media 1

Rebel

Delete pages if needed (or add). Just has to be divisible by four. A Showcase of the Divine

Sponsored by The Big Vape Theory Rebel Fall 2023

Rebel Fall 2023

Letter From The Editor

ey Pirates!

I hope you enjoy the

magic of this publication as much as I do! I am Nia Cruz, Pirate Media 1’s new creative director! I am so excited to see this publication come to life. I have spent countless hours working to showcase the magic of the divine artwork in this publication. Each design was carefully crafted with the theme divination in mind. The word divination means the practice of seeking knowledge of the future or the unknown by supernatural means. I chose the word divination because we are always looking toward the future as Pirates, always wanting something better for ourselves! With Love,

Moonsickness Elizabeth Cook

The Birds and The Bees Lily Jarrell

Witchbook * Olivia Gravanese

Wishes Chikia McCoy

Can you Describe the Pain Terra Hedgecock

Behind the Camera Kaley Sandridge

Maneatr Caroline Koerner

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Autumn DeMartino

4 5 6 14 15 16 20 21

Imagination Ray Waddell

Goldwing Nia Cruz

Untitled & Ghost of a Touch Jaylin Roberts

Forms of Nature Kyleigh Harper

Monstrance Rachel Gormley

Passing on the Torch Rachel Gormley

* Contains nudity

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Moonsickness Elizabeth Cook | Poem | @elizabethhcookk The taste of wine on an October evening. Stolen, drunken kisses in the hushed void. Whispers of love, lust, death, and everything in between. The taste of life-everlasting dripping down your neck. Unfulfilled promises and white lies whispered by friends. Mementos of childhood forgotten and the regrettable truth to never remember. Tempting death with poisonous girlhood until all that remains is cigarette ash and an unreachable longing for more. Empathizing with the moon And her many phases. Craving only the cure to her sickness. For one day your wild soul will tire, betraying your restless mind, Having heard all the tragedies lived and truths lost, And you’ve slowly suffocated in sweltering smoke. Until nothing is as it seems. You’ve forgotten who you are. And you choose to be nothing more than an enigma.

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The Birds and The Bees Lily Jarrell | Lythography | @ Lh_jarrell

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Witchbook Olivia Gravanese Book Arts/Collage

irst written in 1486 by zealous

Inquisitors of the Catholic Church, "The Witch Hammer" came to be the witch-hunting handbook of the fifteenth century. Its main purpose was to refute doubts of the existence of witchcraft, though it proceeds to prove women more susceptible than men, as well as to outline procedures that allowed law enforcers to discover and convict witches. Because of the papal bull acknowledging the validity of this previously pagan belief, the persecution of alleged witches became widespread and brutal with the printing of Malleus Maleficarum on the recently invented printing press. Though some of the claims in this work are perhaps humorous to the modern reader, countless individuals lost their lives due to the prevalence of this book throughout late Medieval Europe, and today it can serve as a both a collection of superstitious folklore and a warning against mass hysteria and ignorance.

Series Continued p. 8-13

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Wishes Chikia McCoy | Poem Sometimes when I’m alone And in despair I wish that I was near the future I daydream Everyday that will appear When I’m kicked down under the sand Below hands that don’t want to help me stand I wish that I was an inch closer to the life I can’t seem to grasp The whispers from contaminated tongues Creep inside the drums of my ears Intoxicating my hope with fear Sometimes when i’m alone And in despair I wish I could reach out and touch the soul that left The now cold, empty shell that once smelled like home when I needed it the most The ones that got away From the shame that lingers within the air That chokes the lungs out of your chest To rot and dissipate only to have a

reason to be left Sometimes when I’m alone And in despair I wish I was not here Buht instead somewhere In a world where lies told weren’t taken as a token To further a story concocted out of curiosity of who would be as naive as a cat that has stolen fallacies from a well that only floods into the eyes of the ones condemned to hell Sometimes when I’m alone I wish my thoughts would stop rushing through me Like a train without brakes Not knowing it’s destination But determined to make it To a place that the naked can roam free without judgment and can finally find peace

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Can you Describe the Pain

Terra Hedgecock | Acrylic Painting | @terrahedgecock Rebel Fall 2023

Behind the Camera

Kaley Sandridge | Photography | @_kaley_187 Series Continued p. 18-19

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hen searching through family photos, after my mom passed away in 2014, looking for photos of her we discovered that we couldn’t find very many in comparison to the thousands of photographs we had. My dad said, “Your mom was always behind the camera, never in front of it”, that became a common phrase in my family, and as a photographer, I’ve realized that the same could be said about me. So, I decided to change that. In this series of self-portraiture, I use photos of myself, family objects, and shared memories to show a connection between myself, my family, and my art.

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Maneatr

Caroline Koerner | Digital Drawing

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“Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman” Autumn DeMartino | Short Story Content warning: contains mention of assault

f you’ve never had to

saving others. As for my story, I’ll start seriously consider what is at the beginning, as usual. But evil and what isn’t, then know this, friend, it doesn’t have perhaps you’re one of the lucky a pretty start. Stick with me if ones. At least, I hope you’re one you can, though, because it will of the lucky ones and not simply be worth it in the end… ignorant to the troubles going on My story begins on a around you. I’ve never had much summer’s night in a city. patience for ignorance. Nothing strange here, nothing But maybe you’ve never “dark and stormy.” Just a hot thought to ask questions like night after an even hotter day. “what is evil?” or “what is a I’d been working for about monster?” I’ll tell you this much, twelve hours straight that day you don’t have to worry about organizing and executing a hairy beasts with too many legs women’s rights protest in my that go bump in the night. So, city. We’d had quite a few don’t be scared to ask these recently in surrounding areas, questions! It’s not just me who but this was the first major one has little time for ignorance; your in my city. People from all over world, our world, is fast running came to support us as did those out of time for it too. who came with the sole purpose Dear reader, if you aren’t too of opposing us. Typical protest perturbed by me yet, I ask you to discord. All in all, though, stick around for a bit to hear my we considered it a success. story. It’s not only my story but No violent outbreaks, no law also the story of one who rose enforcement issues. We didn’t from the ashes of a terrible past even have any severe heat-related and would later save me, just issues, which was rare for our as I swore to dedicate myself to Rebel Fall 2023

city in the middle of summer. But the best part was that we really made our voices heard. We even made national news by the end of the day! It was with this tired satisfaction that I made my way back to my car from the restaurant where a large number of us gathered to celebrate our victory. I left on my own, as I had every right to do, of course. Plus, this was my city, and I knew its streets well, so the couple blocks walk to my car didn’t faze me. That’s when it happened. When he happened. You know how you get that prickling feeling when someone is watching you? That’s all the warning I had before he struck. Literally, he struck my head and left me dazed. That was all the time he needed to drag me into an alley. I fought it, as many do. But it wasn’t enough. I remember pain. A lot of pain. But also intense anger. No, it was beyond anger, just a pure burning, dark acidic rage. I remember feeling sick, too, underneath the rage and pain because of the disgusting irony 22

of it all. My world was just an incoherent swirling mass of pain and emotions for I don’t know how long. It was only when I heard her that things started shifting. At first, it was just a sound that I vaguely became more aware of because it was something different from the cloudy darkness and maelstrom of feelings. Like a whisper of wind through dry leaves and a sort of silvery shimmering tone, the sound gradually coalesced into a voice. A voice that repeated one word…my name. Irene! I thought maybe some of the others from the restaurant had found me. I gathered any last shred of strength I had to look up and call back, I’m here! Help me! Rather than familiar surroundings, I found myself gazing into a face unlike any I’d ever seen before. Burning gold-flecked green eyes fixed upon me from a face dotted in gleaming freckles. Her hair swirled around her head and shoulders in wild waves as if caught in a wind all their

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own. Larger freckles covered her shoulders. Then, I realized they were not freckles at all but bronze scales spangling her death-pale skin. I followed those scales down her arm to the hand stretched out in offering before me. The bones were prominent in her thin hands, but some unknown instinct suggested they could crush marble to dust in a heartbeat. This innate strength was strangely comforting to me in that moment. I blinked several times as I attempted to take in everything about this strange woman. She wore a long draping dress. Like a toga, I thought suddenly. The garment was nearly the same shade of emerald green as my t-shirt. Vaguely, I wondered if she was someone from the protest wearing some kind of cosplay or something. “Who–er what…?” I stuttered out. Confusion tangled my questions around my tongue. I tried pushing myself up so I could stand properly before this woman. A rush of dizziness dropped me back down to the ground, but before I collapsed completely, her hands wrapped

around my upper arms. “Please,” I gasped. “You have to help me. There was a man. He attacked me, and he’s probably still nearby. We have to stop him before–” The woman locked eyes with me and slowly shook her head. “Irene,” she said again. “Listen, now. That man is gone and can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe with me.” “But who are you!” I asked. Irritation bubbled in me with how she could be so calm about him getting away. “He’s still out there and could hurt someone else.” The woman’s large green and gold eyes misted over briefly. With a sigh, she said, “Yes, he’s still somewhere but not here. You are in my world now, not yours. I came for you when I heard your spirit call out. You’ve fought so well, dear Irene.” Her words did little to comfort me. Instead, I was only further confused. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you talking about?” “Do you remember what happened before you heard me call to you?” she asked.

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Imagination Ray Waddell | Photography | @ray_rokka 24

I started to shake my head then stopped. I did remember that awful man, obviously, but surely he didn’t…I wasn’t… I noted the woman’s cold, hard skin under my hands as I grabbed onto her shoulders for support. Something like a brick of ice settled in my gut. “No…I’m not…dead, am I?” I whispered in horror. The woman pulled me to her in a chilled embrace. She said, “You are caught somewhere between life and death, my dear one. You refused to leave completely. You kept fighting, and that’s when I heard you. I came to help you because I can offer someone like you a choice.” Tears prickled my eyes as I gingerly returned her embrace. “Did–did he k-kill me to cover up…what he did?” I asked. My voice shook, and I felt like a child asking her this. “Yes. That’s what they always do.” At this last statement, the woman’s voice took on a hard edge, and her shoulders stiffened. “But I don’t want to be dead. I can’t be dead! I have too much to do still.” The woman pulled back from me with a strange smile on

her face. The tips of two pointed teeth pressed into her bottom lip. “I know. That’s how I can help you.” A million more questions perched at the tip of my tongue, but the woman asked me first to follow her somewhere we could sit comfortably, so she could explain all. She grasped one of my hands and led me off into what I realized was a dense forest. As we walked, she introduced herself as Lamia. She already knew my name, and I asked how that was, to which she only laughed and said not to worry. And oddly enough, I felt no apprehension at all with her. Her name even sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Lamia assured me all would be explained soon. She sat us on a mossy log in the midst of the forest. Damp earthy smells filled my nose, and owls’ calls echoed distantly through the cool green shade. Around us, trees rose as high as skyscrapers from a forest floor carpeted with curling ferns and mushrooms as wide as dinner plates. A sense of peace settled over me in this rather beautiful world in spite of my situation.

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I looked down at my hands pressed gently between Lamia’s. It wasn’t their coldness that surprised me as much as her long jet-black nails that curved like the claws of a wolf. She’s no ordinary woman. As if that much wasn’t obvious already. “I’m not here to hurt you, I promise,” Lamia said gently. She apparently had been following my gaze. Not wanting to offend her, I assured her I didn’t think she would hurt me. “I’m just… curious about who you are. Your name sounds familiar to me,” I said. “Some do know it,” Lamia replied, nodding. “I lived in your world a very long time ago. Then, my life was turned upside down one day when I was younger than you are now.” “What happened? How did you end up here?” I asked as I gazed up and around at the greenery. “While you and I may be separated by many centuries and even…” Here, Lamia paused and squinted as she sought the right word to describe our current location. “...planes of existence, I can tell you that I understand 26

what has happened to you. And to many others.” We sat in silence for a bit as I processed this. Then, I asked, “Are you a type of goddess or angel now?” Lamia laughed lightly but not unkindly at this question. It was a light sound like wind through fall leaves. “No, neither of those. You see, in my day no woman could hope for a chance of a fair trial or justice system to defend her. Especially against…men in places of power.” “I’m sorry to say we’re still struggling with that one in my plane now,” I said as I chewed my lip. “And you all are often demonized when something happens, right?” I nodded. “The same happened to me. However, they knew not the power they actually gave me when they bestowed my punishment. Irene, what animal do I remind you of?” I was taken aback at this random question. At first, I just shook my head. Lamia urged me to think. I peered into her jewel-bright eyes and noticed her slit pupils for the

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first time. The bronze scales and wild hair. As if she could see my thoughts, Lamia presented me with another toothy grin that revealed more fully those fanged canine teeth. “A-a snake?” I asked haltingly. “Yes!” Lamia replied. She sat up a little straighter, shoulders thrown back. “Snakes are often hated, are they not? Thought of as vicious little monsters lurking in the dark to strike?” Slowly, I nodded. I was struggling to follow where she was going with this. Despite her serpentine qualities, she was no doubt a woman of great beauty. And she had been so warm and gentle with me this whole time. “That’s what they thought when they cursed me. But let’s go back before even my time to the time of creation. The Great Mother of my homeland and people is Gaia. One of her sacred creatures was the snake because of its transformative powers. The snake travels between the depths of the earth and its surface. As it grows, it sheds and leaves its old skins behind. “But those who cursed me,” Lamia continued, “thought only of the snake’s savage qualities

that inspired fear and loathing, not the other side of its nature. Despite their lack of knowledge, I received all the power of the Great Mother’s sacred animal. I like to think she took pity on me, one of her children, and intervened the best she could on my behalf.” The last statement Lamia said rather quietly. Her eyes drifted out of focus as if she had gone back to her past and things far away from our mossy seat in the forest. In fact, a sense of sadness seemed to weigh upon her in that moment before she gave a start, as if just remembering my presence. She dipped her head in a brief apology, then said, “I told you I could help you, which is what I fully intend to do. I cannot give you a new mortal form.”

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Continue reading on our website!

Goldwing Nia Cruz | Photography | @cruz.photgraphy2022

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his project depicts still life’s of the personal issues I’ve gone through also showing symbolism towards the butterflies that signify change. There have been many events in my life that have ruined my mental state such as the split of my parents or the death of my grandfather. I wanted to show how I hold on to photographs and items of these people, because if I’m being honest with myself I do not let myself feel it I will “box” it up and not talk about it until I have just exploded.

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Untitled Jaylin Roberts | Poem | @jaylinxroberts.photo I wish I could project my soul out of my body for you to see Look look this is who I am This is me Why don’t you see me? Why does my ego take over so much that you don't see that my soul produces magic I am magic My mind is magic

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Ghost of a touch

Jaylin Roberts | Photography | @jaylinxroberts.photo

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Forms of Nature 32

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Kyleigh Harper | Lithography Transfer Print Rebel Fall 2023

Monstrance Rachel Gormley | Digital Illustration

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Passing on the torch Rachel Gormley | Digital and Cut Paper

generational piece showing the women in my

family passing along to torch to each generation of women and eventually to me.

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Thank You Kiarra Crayton ~ Interim Print Editor-in-Chief Cherie Speller ~ Director Of Student Media & TEC Advisor Annah Howell ~ Multimedia & Production Advisor Tim Davis ~ Advertising & Marketing Administrator Candy Griffin ~ Administrative Support Associate Printing ~ Morgan Printing Submitters

To all of the artists and writers who submitted to this years publication of Rebel, thank you. Without your art work and literary pieces we would not have been able to put together this publication.

Readers

To our readers, thank you for taking the time to pick up this publication and appreciate the art in writing in this publication. Your feedback is what continues to help us strengthen our publication and keep our designers and editor learning. Copyright 2023 REBEL Arts and Literary Magazine and Student Media Board of East Carolina University. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form electronic, mechanic, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission of East Carolina University Pirate Media 1. REBEL is printed by Morgan Printers. Pirate Media 1 Office, Ground Floor, Mendenhall G51, Mail Stop 406, 1000 E 5th St, Greenville, NC 27858-4353 Opinions expressed herein are those of the student contributors and DO NOT reflect those of the faculty, staff, administration of ECU, Student Media Board nor the University of the North Carolina System.

Rebel Fall 2023