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Kate Mulligan
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STAFF ADVISER Moira H. Longino
Editors-In-Chief Wil Harris Emily Krakow
Lead Designers Kate Mulligan Zoe Utley
Editors Raine Lipscher Emily Sheffield
Assistant Editors Molly Stotts
Neal Baker Varsha Gopal
Beat of the Ocean by Cassia Meditz
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hite sand, sprayed with shells and pitted with hidden pools contained by rock and replenished by the beating heart of the sea. In and out wash the silver waves, bearing with them long-lost memories of a dead land. The heart answers to none but its love, the moon, and sighs with sorrow as it eats away at the diminished earth as its vanquished foe. No sun rises, for the world had gone silent. No wind stirs, for the land has forgotten how to breath. Life does not gather or die, for all lies in a star studded haven of burning fires and broken eyes. Turning, revolving, twisting in the circles of the dying ballerina or doomed lover at the end of a play, the world that once lived in loving, silent chaos spins from its orbit and drifts, lost. It flees from the holy moon and cries its last into the atmosphere. The heart of the ocean ceases to beat.
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Sofie van Doorn
Lily Rodgers
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When I Sigh by Emma Grainger
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hen I sigh
I’m really exhaling images of you sitting on the front porch brow creased hands folded in your lap of you standing over the sink rinsing the day’s work from between your fingers of you walking with purpose along that dirt path as if you couldn’t wait to get away I’m exhaling thoughts of all the time I spent thinking about what to get you for your birthday or how good you looked with a bit of stubble I’m exhaling the feeling of my head resting in the hollow of your shoulder the feeling of just being with you I exhale everything I’ve ever known about you, about us I exhale you in hopes that wherever you are, you’ll breathe me in
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Helen He
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Zoe Utley
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,
Montreal by Neal Baker
Coal-powered march wearing Holes in your soles all day Hazy but you wouldn’t call it Lazy or crazy, just blasé So you’re walking on your hands when no one understands your way of talking Say that you’re willing to Pay but they don’t stock it Melt to eye level with Belts and welt pockets On a park bench in the green spewing meanness in French Sometime in the future when the Crime and climate fall Lie down in the sun to Eye the sky in Vieux-Port de Montréal You got what you’ve been needing and now it’s feeding all your thoughts Finally caught them listening and you’re twisting everyone into knots.
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Caroline Dai
Caroline Dai
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The Beehive by Dylan Rayel
I
was gonna do it. I was gonna put up my hair into a big, fat beehive shape. “This’ll be awesome,” I said to myself. “I’m gonna be like those women on TV, like Marge Simpson, or... or... well, she’s the only one I can think of right now.” An hour later, I strode through the halls, wearing that ginormous lump of hair on my scalp. Everyone was staring at me, but I liked the attention. No, wait, I craved the attention; that’s why I did my hair like this in the first place! “So, how was school today?” asked my mom as she drove me home from school that afternoon. “Perfect!” I exclaimed. “Everyone paid attention to me, and kept touching my hair, and asked if I was insane... can I wear my hair like this every day, mom?” As my mom pulled up to the house, she laughed and said, “Not gonna happen, girl.” I didn’t listen to her, and then I became Homecoming Queen some time later. Eat it, mom!
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BY LAUREN MEYER
LET WINTER COME The waves are crashing on a rocky shore The land has already given up the fight Try as I may I can see nothing more Than creeping shadow where there once was light. The birds have taken flight into the skies To find, as winter comes, a place to roam, Now nothing but a lonely songbird flies And fights the freezing wind that keeps it home. I’m left, alone, abandoned, sent astray No shadows, anymore, give me a fright, So bank the fire and keep me warm today And let the embers burn into the night.
OCEAN SONG Think of the sea sometime. Not its depth, not its darkness, not the things below the waves, but the gentle lapping of the tide on the shore like a sleeping friend her chest slowly rising and falling her soft breaths blowing at her messy hair like a tangle of seaweed drifting in the water as the waves push the sand away and uncover the shells.
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Myles Kovalik
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Kennedy Camero..................................22 Turi Sioson......................................23,24 Brynne Keeney....................................24 Ashlee Hampton..................................25 Anonymous..................................26 Raine Lipscher.....................................27 Jane Cooper.........................................28 Emily Sheffield....................................29 Helen He.............................................30 Bianca Petersen...................................31 Raji Thiruppathi Raj...............................31 Brynne Keeney.....................................32 Kate Mulligan......................................33 Emma Grainger....................................34 Lorece Harris..................................35,36 Issac Frost...........................................36
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it feels like your heart is racing so fast that the blood in your veins can’t keep up you can feel your throat closing and your stomach tightening your eyes well up with tears time stops the minutes feel like hours everything is in slow motion
by Kennedy Camero
EMOTION
nothing should feel like this your head feels like it’s about to explode while your hands cling to each other because it seems like that’s the only way to hold on nothing should ever feel like this your mouth gets dry and you keep drinking water willing the bubble in your throat to go away nothing should feel like this from the outside, you look nervous no one can tell the difference on the inside you’re in ruins
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PURITY'S HEAD RAN OUT OF MAGIC
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he stepped on stones and rushed over rivers, but she couldn’t see the ocean across the rocks where the sea stars called her name; and the sea lions threw gifts into a bottle that washed up in her bathtub when she was alone. She heard voices that wouldn’t stop yelling and saw creatures who wouldn’t quit throwing glass, but what she didn’t see was what was there. And they tried their hardest to convince her but instead it drove her to madness. The mud stuck to her dress and the duck feathers glued themselves to her pants. She drew sketches of gems from books she never read, and the walls turned to ash when she broke her pencil in anger, tore the posters off the wall to seek a hole where it wouldn’t be. The drums played without the marching band and the apples were under her sink without being moved. She walked around ladders and knocked on trees with bloody knuckles, but it wouldn’t stop the rushing of moonlight out from under her bed and that was why she couldn’t sleep anymore. The whispers of crabs and the hissing of dogs drove her to the glass of the mirror where the sun couldn’t touch her skin. She jumped over tracks and walked with miners in the dreams she had. They drove her to places where the wolves called out for donuts and the people called out for flesh. They took her left sock and her right shoe, shoved her locks under the bathroom mat, took her keys and threw them in the ocean, drank her sodas and replaced them with liquor. They gave her shopping carts full of guns and switched her TV with a stereo. She plucked her feathers and tore her wings as the voices screamed for blood, and when she couldn’t find her own flesh she panicked. She jumped off chairs and tore her hair out and ran for the mountains because the hills were too close to home. She tore the flesh off her face when they wouldn’t stop screaming “get her” and now she sleeps with a knife in her hand and a crown of starlight over her bed where there used to be a sign that read “here the girl sleeps who’s madder than the melting moon.”
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by
MAD LANES ON CRACKING HIGHWAYS eyeless backbone stalls where the gears take up space under where the soap spills out into the bowl full of kiwi and sticks and piled on holes dug with teeth and claws of a limbless buried bird with a head of lawless charms
Brynne Keeney
TURI SIOSON 24
Ashlee Hampton
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Numbers by Anonymous I was number 22 Dumb enough to be 22 Stupid enough to be 22 He was number 5 Attractive enough to be number 5 Smooth enough to be number 5 The tears rushing down my face Beg for me to run away Stop right there Open the car door for fresh air But I stay because I am 22 And the third that week And I feel dirty but special Because I am 22 So when it’s over we drive away And the numbers will forever remain
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Raine Lipscher
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SHE I
by Jane Cooper
used to think to myself, who knows? Maybe her eyes will focus like a camera on me rather than power off the way they do for everybody else.
But her eyes didn’t shine. Two lifeless, flat discs staring right through me—swallowing up any and all light that dared to cross her porcelain features. She sleepwalked through life like a zombie—never bothering to count the cracks on the sidewalk or raise her gaze to the sky where everything could change. I was half certain that if I pressed my palm to her chest I would find no heartbeat greeting me. The allure of mystery quickly became tiring, and I found myself returning to the rows upon rows of cookie-cutter shadows that danced behind me in the street and laced every breath slipping through my lips. She was still there, of course, lingering in the edges of my vision and grazing across the underside of my shoes. She was a handful of sand slipping through my fingers and stinging my eyes every time I reached out. And yet, she was the ashen tang on the back of my throat after the long drag of a cigarette. She was the musky smelling shirt I pulled over my head before leaving for work. She was my ghost, a constant tick that I assumed would eventually fade into white noise.
But she didn’t.
And I stared into those black pools of darkness and found myself lost in the infinity of horrors and never-ending chaos. I knew that, if I should choose to leap over the edge I would be racing to catch up for the rest of my life.
And yet, I leapt.
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Emily Sheffield
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30 Helen He
Helen He
Everything in our world is a mixture, an aggregation of basic rudimentary elements combined with one another to bring out new properties. In the same way, art exists as a mixture of the physical materials brought to life by the artist’s spirit and vision. It captures the nature of the world around us by unearthing the truth that everything is brought to life from seemingly conflicting elements. Likewise, the staff of The Final Draft itself is in many ways composed of a variety of personalities and beliefs, yet through our differences we attempt to combine our skills in order to highlight the pieces and their creators. At the beginning of each academic year, we send out an open call for submissions from Westlake’s student body. Each piece that we selected reflects a unique combination of elements, elements which help to connect us across barriers, whether they be the ardency of passion, the mutability of the world around us, the grandeur of the earth, or even our deepest despair. This year, our theme is embodied by the sections Inferno, Aqua, Terra, and Lunar, all of which contain pieces that represent each respective emotion. We sincerely hope you enjoy this year’s edition of The Final Draft.
Montreal l The Beehive Let Winter Come
Purity's Head Ran Out Of Magic Numbers She Bernie Corrupt
TFD VOLUME 33 2015-2016
Home American Dream
FEATURED ARTISTS Bitter Earth Vision Magic Trick Working Where I'm Going Who We Are Together A Child's Viewpoint Dog's Dilemma Collage Insanity's Prision Deathball Her Heart Sleep The Journey's End Dusk and Dust Walls The Businessman Paper Clip Necklace How Tightly Can You Close Your Eyes? Oxygen
AQUA INFERNO TERRA LUNAR
Mosaic Edge of the Earth Atlantis St. Petersburg Beat of the Ocean When I Sigh Otaku Times Square
Enhanced pleas of who we’re supposed to be Opened my eyes to a false reality Because you said things you didn’t mean Stitch me back together however you please Leave me to be a clone of society An element of conformity
CORRUPT by Bianca Petersen
Shame on me I should’ve known you weren’t worth trusting Your bitter apologies meant nothing You said I was extraordinary But it was just another form of hostility Based solely on your own insecurities
Embodied with empty memories And I can’t seem to find a remedy For all the sins I’ve been committing For all the lies you’ve been spitting As if they were light casualties And this is our destiny
Shame on you Corrupting my identity Making me my own enemy Just so you could be temporary
The only way it can be Encompassed with frequent falsities The truth lies somewhere in between But honesty isn’t a match to humanity
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Raji Thiruppathi Raj
Brynne Keeney
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Kate Mulligan
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HOME by Emma Grainger
I know every scar on your body
every shadow in your eyes I’ve memorized the shape of your crooked nose and the curves of your lips against mine I know the hiccup in your laugh and exactly how you tie your shoes I know that you take milk in your coffee but you refuse to drink tea I know that when it rains you sit inside and read on the big black chair that faces the window as your finger traces golden swirls on the pillow next to you I know the way you write your name and the way you write mine I know exactly what you’re thinking when the corners of your eyebrows turn in when your voice gets raspy and your eyes start to fall closed I know that you stayed up late the night before watching your favorite movie again and again I know every detail every secret I know you better than I know myself I could close my eyes and find my way home
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M
iguel drummed his pencil against the table as he scrutinized his physics assignment. He glanced back and forth from his notes to his homework, which were both scattered about the area in a jumble of symbols and numbers and fluorescent yellow marker. He furrowed his brow, creasing his forehead as he reread the question, and hastily scribbled a few equations on the paper before him. A voice made Miguel jump, interrupting his deep concentration. His head snapped up to see his manager, observing him thoughtfully. “I’m always seeing you studyin’ something way too complicated for me to know about,” his manager drawled with a smile. “Tell me, son– what’s a smart kid like you doin’ workin’ at a restaurant like this, anyhow?” In an instant, the warmth of the restaurant faded, and Miguel felt a surge of emotion begin to overtake his mental barriers. What’s a smart kid like me doing working at a restaurant like this? His mind left his body, thoughts absconding the quaint restaurant in favor of a dense reality. He was suddenly at school, in one of his five advanced placement classes, struggling to hear the teacher’s orations over the chatter of weekend plans. One girl’s birthday was the next day, and her parents were taking her to buy a car. Miguel held his breath as he thought of his own birthday present – a new copy of his fraudulent green card. He was walking home and came across a policeman, who had taken post beside the traffic light halfway to Miguel’s house. His peers might see the man and feel safe, or unable to be harmed, but Miguel only saw his potential captor, or perhaps the facilitator of his untimely death. He crossed hurriedly to the other side of the street, bag thumping like his heart against his chest with every step as he tried to suppress the terror from his face. He was at the post office, tearing open the envelope containing his first report card of the year. He scanned it quickly before reflexively tossing it in the trash. He pushed open the door to exit, bade farewell only by the soft jingle of the bells on the door. He sighed, knowing straight A’s could never buy him belonging. He was at home, listening to his mom argue with the landlord over the interest rate for late rent. What am I doing working at this restaurant? He was in his room, watching the other kids zip by in their shiny sedans through his small, screenless window. They didn’t live in this area, he knew, but just past it in homes that didn’t have rotted floors or stink of mildew. 1
35
He was in the school hallways, wholly unacknowledged, not even a bully to validate his existence. Some of it was his fault, he reasoned. He didn’t want anyone to know his secret, so he kept an uninviting expression plastered to his face, ensconcing the easy smile and kind eyes that would make him the laid back friend everyone wanted. He was at lunch, sitting alone, observing the chatting groups, curious as to what they might be discussing. He pushed the formless school spaghetti around the tray with his fork. He wondered what life was like when you didn’t have to live a lie. What am I doing working at this restaurant? His smile never wavered as he thanked his boss, standing up to serve the customer who had just walked in.
AMERICAN DREAM by Lorece Harris 2
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Isaac Frost
featured artists
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Victoria Benavides..................................40 Sofie van Doorn......................................41 Amaya Mali............................................41 Lila Denton............................................42 Annalee Fletcher....................................43 Ambar Ancira.........................................43 Amaya Mali.......................................45,46 Raji Thiruppathi Raj................................47 Jules Shelby...........................................48 Julia McCartney......................................49 Grace Zhou.............................................49 Peyton Siler...........................................50 Julia McCartney......................................51 Kristen Pletcher.....................................52 Leo Zamarripa........................................52 Molly Stotts...........................................53 Haley Celusniak......................................54 Diego Miro-Rivera..............................55,56
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Vi ct
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Be n
Bitter Earth by Sofie van Doorn The ground of the building was tortured, good intentions built on bitter earth. And you, reduced to simplicity, fought to become one and escape your own blood.
Amaya Mali
1
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Vision by Lila Denton The timid tulips begin to open, silently and slowly. The beautiful birds play chase around the meadow, chirping cheerfully as the day goes by. I rise in the morning to the earthy aroma of fresh mulch and wheat being harvested. My mother prepares breakfast in the kitchen; my father is out working the land, as usual. The pots clink and clank and the tractor purrs. These simple Sunday sounds fill my heart. My eyelids flutter open, but my canvas remains black. I sigh. I fold my sheets over and stumble out of bed. My fingers dance along the wall that I’ve become so familiar with. Mama tells me it’s pink. She says it reminds her of the sunsets we use to watch when I was young. I don’t watch them anymore. I trace the hills and the valleys all the way to the screen door. It screams as I open it. I silently apologize to the rickety wooden entrance, the poor thing. I inhale, filling my lungs with sweet spring air. I can taste the flowers on my tongue; feel their velvet petals on my skin. The creatures serenade me as I leap through the meadow, the long tails of wheat kissing me as I pass. I close my eyes and fall into Mother Nature’s arms. I let out a yelp. The bitter water nips at my pale skin, sending tingles up my spine. My body shakes with laughter. I fell into the stream! I open my eyes. I gasp. No, it couldn’t be, I think to myself. I pinch my leg. I blink. The grass is lush and soft. I run my fingers through its green mane. I look up to see a gentle blue, dotted with white puffs that remind me of cotton candy. The sun melts into the heavens like a poached egg, soaking the world in warmth and color. My eyes devour the land, pleased with every part. The world has always been beautiful to me, the sounds, and sensations flowed through me like a slow moving stream. But now the land is exposed, naked and raw. Every drip, every drop. Every tree, every rock. The sky, the clouds, the soil. All mine to view, forever. 42
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Annalee Fletcher
by Ambar Ancira
Magic Trick
Think about the last time someone showed you a magic trick. Remember that moment, as you watched them pull out the card, and thinking, “Oh, that’s my card.” It is a mere second of sheer disbelief, when a wave of impossible hits you — hits you so hard that you nearly let it take you away. Nearly. Then it passes and your mind readjusts In your mind the trick clicks Then that’s all it is A trick. For that one split second it was magic.
I want to live in that split second my whole life. I want the wave of impossible to take me away. To wash up on someone else’s shore for a change and let the world shape me. 44
Amaya Mali
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Raji Thiruppathi Raj
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Where I’m Going by Jules Shelby It’s midnight as I stand outside your house. The first rock I throw just barely passes your parents’ room. I cringe knowing how disastrous that could’ve been. It takes two more rocks before I finally make contact with your window and five more before your light turns on. In a hushed shout, as if your parents don’t already know you’re awake, you ask me why I came. I tell you it’s complicated and ask you to join me on your lawn. The window shuts and the room goes dark. I figure you’re back to hating me, so I begin collecting more rocks. After all, everyone knows if a boy annoys you it’s because he likes you. It’s fifteen minutes past midnight as you slip out your front door. The air is unreasonably warm yet you carry a jacket with you. You always wore it so everyone would know you were going with me. Now, it’s a boundary between us while we talk. In uncensored quips, you let me have it. All of it. I tell you I’m sorry and that I’ll be gone by the morning. The gravity of that is enough to shut you down. As a wedge of space is drawn between us, the jacket stays, for nothing is going with me where I’m going. 48
Julia McCartney Grace Zhou
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Julia McCartney
Who We Are Together by Peyton Siler The pungent aroma of spices and potato soup fill the room and I hear the familiar squeak of the drawer opening as I reach in. The cool metal sits in my palm and I can see my distorted reflection in the polished curve of the tableware. Green bug eyes look back at me. Elegant engravings are coiled around the handle and I almost don’t want to stick it in my bowl. Almost. But I’m hungry. I’ve always found it funny that the things we put in our germy mouths or grab with our grubby hands are so pretty. It reminds me of this game my brother and I used to play with our friends when we went camping. During the heat of the day when the sun was blazing fireballs, right after lunch, all four of us would retire to the shade of the Airstream to play spoons. We’d all cram into the tiny booth laughing, probably at some stupid joke Bennett made. Clothes that reeked of campfire smoke, old DVDs, and the occasional food wrappers were scattered about. We’d clear the table, so we had just enough room for a deck of cards and three spoons. Basically how you play is you pass cards around and when you get four of a kind, you quickly grab a spoon and then all madness breaks loose as everyone grabs for the last two spoons. I remember Jay’s loud, obnoxious laugh whenever there was a scramble for the last spoon; and someone would get an elbow in the face. He has the kind of laugh that makes you laugh, even though you don’t have a clue what’s so funny. And Maddie was the absolute spoon champion, sly and quick. She always won, but you could tell she didn’t really care about winning. Not like Ben did. Our games would usually end with Ben, who was sick of losing, declaring the game “stupid.” Maddie, Jay, and I would run out after him, beginning our next big adventure. But then the next day, we’d always go play again. Whether it was putt-putt golf, four square, or our own mini version of the Hunger Games we made up, we always had fun. I love them, each of them. But it’s who we are when we’re together playing with spoons when I love them most. The way Bennett’s eyes narrow and focus, always competitive. Jay’s crazy laugh. And the small smile that would creep across Maddie’s face as she won yet again. It’s funny all the memories a spoon can bring back.
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Julia McCartney
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A Child’s Viewpoint
Leo Zamarripa
by Kristen Pletcher
I’ve just started to understand the world. How big it is. My teacher showed us a map and taught us a song to remember the continents, but I don’t like it. I like the sky. That’s what really got me to see how big the world is. I laid on the ground the other day. It’s October, so it should be cold, but it wasn’t. The mosquitoes got to me faster than the heat did though. I have twenty bites on my right leg and two on my left. Maybe the mosquitoes knew which leg I needed for soccer and left the other one alone. The grass itched at my legs uncomfortably, but I didn’t mind. All I could see was the sky. We learned about adjectives in English class the other day. ‘Blue’ just doesn’t cover it. Vast. I learned that word from a book. Vast and huge and yes, blue, and filled with puffy white clouds that extend for a billion miles. Turns out I’m allergic to grass. My legs are red now. My mom says I had a reaction. When I told her it was a reaction to the sky, she smiled. My sister called me a baby. I told her to shut up. We both got in trouble. Maybe she’s mean because she doesn’t see how vast the sky is.
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Malyn Selindis..............................................2 Caroline Dai..................................................3 Jules Shelby.................................................4 Wil Harris....................................................................5 Paige Gillespie..............................................6 Kate Mulligan............................................7,8 Cassia Meditz................................................9 Sofie van Doorn...........................................10 Lily Rodgers.............................................................11 Emma Grainger............................................12 Helen He................................................13,14 Zoe Utley..................................................................15 Neal Baker................................................................16 Caroline Dai................................................17 Dylan Rayel..............................................................18 Lauren Meyer..............................................19 Myles Kovalik.............................................20
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Malyn Selindis
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Molly Stotts
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Haley Celusniak
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Diego Mir贸-Rivera Diego Mir贸-Rivera
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Sierra South...........................................52 Brynne Keeney.......................................59 Zoe Utley...............................................60 Brittney Hampton...................................61 Jules Shelby..........................................62 Maddie Sparks........................................63 Zoe Utley..........................................63,64 Chloe Mantrom.......................................65 Amaya Mali............................................66 Sebastian Bauer......................................66 Diego Miro-Rivera..............................67,68 Cassia Meditz....................................67,68 Annalee Nelson.................................69,70 Sofie van Doorn......................................70 Ryan Kutnick.....................................71,72 Jaden Ebanks.........................................72 Evan Kemppainen...................................72 Quinn Harkrider......................................73 Helen He...........................................73,74 Isabel Burke.......................................75,76 Ariana Eshragi........................................76 Wil Harris...............................................77 Raine Lipscher........................................78 57 1
There’s nothing wrong with crazy, dear. It’s simply something creeping near. Closer, closer, whispering and calling.
by Sierra South
Insanity's Prison
Pulling your heart to feel like it’s falling. Insanity licks away the salt of your tears... Only to taste your deepest fears. It claws at your soul and gnaws on your brain! Just to cause a more agonizing strain. They may not hear you through chaos’s song. But I know your heartbeat, and it’s still going strong. The darkness is deep, and the night may be black, The light may be blinding and the white may still crack, You’ll escape it one day, you just have to run! Faster, no, faster!... Oh, Nevermind... It’s done. It’s captured you fully... Locked behind a barred gate. There’s no hope now, love, no one’s ever fooled fate.
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Brynne Keeney
by Zoe Utley
Deathball
The game was 30-30. Tension shivered through my muscles and vibrated through wooden panels of the court. “Jackson!” my coach yelled. “We need a triple eagle double hand back. It’s the last quarter and the game is up to you.” “Alright coach,” I asserted. We hadn’t done a triple-eagle-double hand back since the last championship— the game when we lost Mark. I took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from my brow as my feet entered the court. I peered at the quarterback of the other team and smiled. “CAW CAWWW” I screamed, signaling my eagle, Thomas. Thomas flew into the stadium and grabbed the quarterback with his swordlike claws. Blood leaked like a waterfall from the young boy. The referee called the game— we had won this match of Deathball. 60
Brittney Hampton
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Her Heart by Jules Shelby
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nly two months had passed. Just two months since the scarlet blood in her veins ceased to pump, since her body fell cold, limp, lifeless. And, already, her heart has been gouged out by the sterile talons of a doctor. Now, after two quick months, her heart is someone else’s. It beats again, steady and sure. It can again breath life and blood into a new form, rosy cheeked and self assured. I know it isn’t her drumming in this chest. It’s a new life; one with blue eyes that jogs past me in the park every morning. She never jogged. She never saw the world through eyes that weren’t brown. And she was never selfish. That man, the one who galivants so freely, stole her heart. She died, yet they saved him with that which was her own. It saved him but not her. Why? She had it first. You can’t just take life from one to instill it in another. That pulse of his is hers. The skip in his step. The breath in his lungs. That reassuring pounding deep in his chest that he better not ever take for granted— that’s hers. It’s all hers. Still, he isn’t her. 62
SLEEP
by Maddie Sparks
sleep reminded her of scattered stars on an open Texas sky reminded her of broken dreams reminded her that what he is, may not be what he seems of pink clouds in a tie-dye sky of nightmares and an ancient lullaby sleep used to be a battle now it was simply a surrender 63
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Zoe Utley
Chloe Mantrom
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The Journey's End by Sebastian Bauer
L
ight rain drops on a rusty tin roof. The rat-tat-tat sound that’s no longer comforting. A soft wind that could barely lift leaves off the ground will blow this house into oblivion. A smile from a dying patient struggling to disconnect but the doctors keep saying there’s hope, a new medicine on its way from the lab“Doc,” he interrupts, “can’t you just let me go?” The flick of a lighter as a cigarette smolders in an ashtray “Didn’t you just have one ten minutes ago?” A laugh that doesn’t carry a hint of humor Eyes trained on the dusty floor, seeing nothing A monotone “yeah” is all the patient can muster As the ashes of a crumbling world fall around him.
Amaya Mali
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Dusk and Dust by Cassia Meditz
The comforting afternoon gold fades to dusk through the cloudy windows
and casts a dim, familiar gloom over the ancient room, with its wooden, rough floorboards, covered furniture strewn with leaves, and an ancient upright piano sitting forgotten in a remote corner. Thin mots of dust, visible in the streams of amber sunlight breaking their way through the weather beaten roof, float upon the still air before disappearing in the unexplored region of the floor. The whistle of a bird sitting in an oak, ancient in years and growing by the front door breaks the silent world before all falls to peace once more.
Diego Mir贸-Rivera
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The scurry of a mouse, following its usual path through a feathery field of dust, disturbs the still air, driving a minute wave of movement through the shifting sun beams like ripples from a well thrown skipping stone. The mouse disappears through some hidden crevice with a twitch of its whiskers and the air stops moving once more as the dusk turns to a sad, quiet purple and then a delicate midnight blue. Another day passes for that ramshackle little room with the clouded windows, battered floors and little old dusty piano sitting in the corner, woeful and lost.
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Annalee Nelson
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WALLS by Sofie van Doorn
If these walls could talk they’d bleed out sobs through their pores as cracks in a window during a thunderstorm. You fight to keep the water out, the blood in, but night after night the world proves to be too much for your broken bones. And the windows are cracked from the places where you needed the glass to fix yourself from being whole.
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Ryan Kutnick
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The Businessman by Jaden Ebanks
The businessman In his businessman suit On the phone talking his business news He eats his businessman breakfast Of stock market sausage Law firm pancakes CFO eggs After he kisses his businessman wife And his business kids He hops in his business Prius And hits the business road He does so much business He never comes home
Roads
by Evan Kemppainen Roads are forever, leading to nowhere, somewhere, and everywhere, all at the same time. Roads are the structures of nations, the backbones of great lands. They take us places, show us new things, and progress our lives. Roads are eternally guiding us to success, or to ruin. They stand as a testament to time, even after the lands fade away.
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Roads are eternal.
Paper Clip Necklace by Quinn Harkrider Just a stray paper clip necklace Hanging around my sister’s neck Some are rusty, some are golden I ask her where she found it She said on the street I ask her why she brought it here She said she liked the colors in it I gaze at the necklace The rusty flecks pickle her skin, like age spots The silver glistening like a women’s hair The brown prominent as a funeral dress And the gold shines like the finest jewelry I want to give it to mom, she said Oh mom, oh mom Sister, don’t you remember? Mom is dead
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Helen He
Atlantis by Wil Harris
D
usk settles upon the surface of the sapphire sea shimmering remains of green glass bottles halfway buried in the sand the acrid smell of cheap wine and crushed cigarettes haunt the ground even after all these years mixing with the sultry ocean wind which brushes against the fronds of the palms the cloudless sky iridescent in the garish ruby of lipstick in the auric tones of bleached blonde hair in the umber of the sand below as the final rays of the sun fade elements which seem at constant battle in the light join as one seamless sea wraithlike ethereal rivers over the surface birthed from the rays of the moon above the waters teeming with archaic beasts of nameless form rising from the abyss to again claim the world as their own as it once was so many forgotten eons ago the alluring melody of the ocean calls the wind the water laps against the now cracked and broken asphalt of the former Florida highway verdant patches of sea-grass and flowers puncture the surface growing forth from the brackish water, the rose and gold petals a sea of flame dragonflies dart in the foliage their azure scales refracting the last of the celestial beams the new day dawns and the ancient creatures retreat and the melodic song ceases and all that lingers after each night are the vapid memories of bygone spring breaks with the sickening scent of wine and cigarettes
5
Paige Gillespie
6
Isabel Burke
1
75
A
How Tightly Can You Close Your Eyes?
roaring storm, a howling gale But among the groaning trees The thinnest echo among the fury A whisper in the breeze
A lurid voice on the edge of awareness Slicing through the heavens cries How long can you live without half your heart? How tightly can you close your eyes?
by Ariana Eshraghi
Smiling eyes, gentle lips A deafening quiet, a cutting silence A face rips open wounds Entering a lucid dream afresh A swirling river in constant twilight A luminous voice, rich with Churning in a constant stream truth Half of my heart in bone Above the infinite naked wood and flesh Faceless, lipless, a glittering jewel Sitting on a throne of clouds I stand there, tortured, The moon laughs high and cruel stunned, aghast She takes my hands in How can you persist without the sun hers, and then To mask hideous truths with beautiful It’s time to say good bye, lies? she says How can you hold on in seething shadows? I say, but when will I see How tightly can you close your eyes? you again? A fluttering, a twist, a will-o-the-wisp Whose body grows with every breath Darker than the starless sky A mass of souls, spirits, Death It speaks, warm and delicious, inside my mind How long can you pretend to possess my prize? I am the end, where all paths collide How tightly can you close your eyes? A dreamy pit, devoid of light But within the crushing bliss The thinnest glow in the night A glimmer in the smooth 2 abyss
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I breathe faintly, grief still burning Drinking in her unearthly guise She says, I don’t know, with desperate yearning How tightly can you close your eyes?
Oxygen
by Wil Harris
S
he rested her swollen hands against the side beam of the small ranch house; her fingers curling around the edge of the wood, her eyes ringed crimson staring off into the distance. Looking into the forest of lanky firs and pines that surrounded the clearing. Smelling the rocky mountain summer flowers perfuming the warm, dry air. Watching the birds dart between the boughs of the trees. Wondering how far they were from civilization, how many miles between here and the highway, what it would take to get back to home, what she would do with the ring, if she could run from this place, if she could outrun him. she sat there, trapped in the prison of her own thoughts.
Stepping onto the porch, He came up behind her. He put one of His massive, tattooed arms around her neck slowly, his trembling hands almost affectionate. “I know what you’re thinking”, He whispered in His raspy voice, the acrid smell of tobacco and tequila on His breath. she merely sighed and kept staring off into the distance with a sickening nostalgia. The sapphire ring on His hand glinted in the late afternoon sunlight. Its twin on her finger was the sole reminder of what they had once had, before they came here. His amber eyes hardened, His arm gripping tighter around her neck. “Well?” He asked her, becoming angry, she could feel it in His bare chest. she coughed slightly, ignoring Him, and kept staring off into the trees. It had been years ... so many years. The thought would not cease appearing, no matter how much she wished she could repress it. His grip grew even tighter, the contraction of the muscle causing the veins to bulge as He pressed it against her throat. she did not react; there was nothing more He could do to hurt her. He had already taken everything. she knew that in a weeks’ time the bruises would fade, and He would apologize and she would again forgive Him. she felt the world around her turn blurry with the lack of oxygen. she leaned back into His chest, listening to the frenetic heartbeat of the man whom she had once naïvely loved. Still she remained expressionless. Refusing to allow the tears to again come to her eyes. Refusing to try to claw his hands away. Refusing to give into the beast which she had helped to create. Tears dripped down her face as she slipped into unconsciousness, the last sight before the abyssal darkness, the robins and the evergreen needles, moving, flying, swaying in the wind.
Careless. Free.
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Raine Lipscher
Raine Lipscher
2
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1
3
Caroline Dai
Edge of the Earth by Jules Shelby
T
he waves lapped loudly against the boat as my paddles slapped the water. It was only a matter of hours since
I had cast away. What little I own is stored in my little ship, weighing it down yet contributing nothing to the herculean effort it takes to row away. Or, as I like to think of it, toward. I’m not running away from something. I’m instead propelling myself onward to the edge of the Earth. People say the world is flat. That if you go far enough, you’ll fall off. But, to where? Will you just join the suds and bubbles at the bottom of the sea, or is there more? It certainly can’t be nothing. Just think, there could be a whole other universe out there.
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TFD
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hefina t t a l re