THE FINAL DRAFT
No. 32 ICONS
Westlake High School 14-15
Art knows no bounds. It connects us across borders, oceans, cultures, and centuries. Art is the soul made tangible. When we held our open call for submissions, we received an incredible spectrum of work that left us at a loss for what to make the theme. We decided to go back to why we joined this literary magazine: our love of art. Through the medium of The Final Draft, artists share pages with others they’ve never met but whose art shares the same message. Our cover features Marley Shelby, a talented writer whose acute wit pierces through the magazine. We decided that not only is the art important, but so are the creators. With that in mind we came up with the theme “Icons” to highlight the artists that make our magazine what it is. We wanted to show the face behind the art which was something we have never done before. These people have created works that connect the hearts of everyone who reads The Final Draft. Being high school students, our art often reflects one of the most impressionable and transforming times in our lives. These dynamic “Icons” represent who we are as high school students—what we feel, what we see, and how we interpret it. You can see this through the diverse themes of this year’s edition: Tranquil, Gaia, Abyss, Au Courant, and Valhalla. We hope you enjoy this year’s edition of The Final Draft.
Staff Editors-in-Chief: Emily Krakow Grayson Rosato Staff: Daniela De Souza Noah Hanna Wil Harris Elliot Hauser Katie Mitchell Kate Mulligan Sabeen Noorani Zach Schroeder Zoe Utley Ian Yonge
Faculty Adviser: Moira H. Longino Special Thanks to: WHS English Dept. Mary Nolan Dr. Kristie Harris Ed Harris Mary Lou Harris John Harris Ed Hajek Marge Hajek Susan Hajek The Schroeder Family The Bazaar MacTronics Suzanne Violet Donna Jackson Dr. John Carter
table of contents Tranquil..................................................................... 4 Gaia.....................................................................16 Abyss....................................................................31 Au Courant............................................................. 39 Valhalla.........................................................55
My First Kiss...............................Lila Denton Photography...........................Kendall Chase Digital Art................................Brynne Keeney Photography........................Grayson Rosato Digital Art..................................Jackson Ruff Photography........................Julia McCartney Vaugely Hopeful.......................Emily Krakow Summer Was Eternal.......Jana Fakhreddine Digital Art............................Lacy Lichtenhan
4
MY FIRST KISS Lila Denton
He stares at me with big, puppy dog eyes, asking for something. He wants to kiss me, I know it. He approaches me, his big nose tilting. I place my hands on his soft coat, pulling him closer. I can feel his hot breath on my face. “Kiss me,” I tell him. His tongue is on me immediately, I’m drowning in drool. “Ew!” I push him away. He wags his tail. My dog is a terrible kisser.
KENDALL CHASE
BRYNNE KEENEY
JACKSON RUFF
VAGUELY HOPEFUL Emily Krakow
Last night I was afraid of repeating last year’s tragedy Feeling as if I was aboard a tiny boat in a roiling, stormy sea Horrified at this unwanted adventure Confused and panicked, at a loss for what to do I have not yet reached the peaceful shore But the waves have calmed And I have accepted The swaying of the ship
JULIA MCCARTNEY
GRAYSON ROSATO
SUMMER WAS ETERNAL Jana Fakhreddine
I could literally see the heat waves bouncing off the flat, vast, dirt road in front of me. It was blistering hot. I took off my shirt and wiped the sweat off my forehead. The ground was cracked and dry, for it had never rained. I heard the constant chirp of insects in the dead grass around me. I looked towards my best friend, who stood beside me. He had his shirt wrapped around his head, covering his blond hair, acting as a shade from the angry sun above us. I looked back to the dry road ahead, ready to beat him in another race yet again. There wasn’t a tree in sight. I readied myself and placed my hands on the hot ground. It was very hot, like a boiling kettle, but I was used to it, for it was all I ever knew. Summer was eternal.
LACY LICHTENHAN
ICONS: embodiment of something as a whole What do you think your work represents?
Lacy Lichtenhan / Senior Work On Page: 13 “It is impossible for me to say that all of my work represents one thing.”
Marley Shelby / Senior Work On Pages: 21, 59, 64 “My work is inspired by observations that I’ve made in my short 18 years.”
Charles Bradbury / Senior Work On Page: 52 “My work represents what it feels like to get older & fearing the passage of time and growing up.”
Haley Youman / Senior Work On Pages: 17, 31 “My art represents the beauty of un-posed human life.”
Molly Stotts / Junior Work On Page: 48, 49 “To me my art represents my mood at the time that I create a piece.”
Standing Still........................................Sabeen Noorani Recess..............................................................Ian Yonge Photography...........................................Chloe Mantrom Elephant In The Room.............................Marley Shelby Photography.............................................Katie Mitchell Photography..........................................Grayson Rosato Photography..........................................Grayson Rosato Mixed Media.............................................Haley Youman Photography.............................................Katie Mitchell Photography.............................................Katie Mitchell Like A Sigh...................................................Emily Weller Photography.....................................................Zoe Utley First Love......................................Mackenzie Lundberg Painting.................................................Sydney Criswell Photography..........................................Lauren Sanders
16
HALEY YOUMAN
STANDING STILL
In the 5th grade I tried to boycott recess. I didn’t see the point of it, I hated getting hot or sweaty, and the tire swing was never free unless you sprinted to the playground. I hated recess with as much passion as a 10-year-old child could hate something, so like a lot. But a few months after that, I hated recess for a completely different reason, because I wasn’t allowed to go to recess anymore, I would sit in my classroom alone with some random teacher and look outside, hating those other kids for taking for granted the things I didn’t have anymore; the ability to run and fall and scream and smile. Because after I came out of those hospital doors I knew I would never get to be like them again. I was suddenly the girl who disappeared from school for months. I was the student the teachers weren’t suppose to talk to the other kids about, my name was taboo. And during that time where I was incapable of doing anything on my own, I wanted to be able to do anything they could do; I wanted to be 10. I wanted to have friends. What I didn’t want was to have to scream for someone when I wanted to get out of bed, or have to worry about what time to take my meds. I wanted to learn math, not go to physical therapy. I wanted to eat lunch with my friends, not be fed cereal by my mother. And I wanted to go to recess, not sit inside while the rest of the world turned and I had to stand still. Sabeen Noorani
Recess
Recess is over and I really have to pee. I know that if I raise my hand the teacher will say “You had all of recess to go to the bathroom.” She’s right. So I bite the bullet and let it go right there in my chair. A girl looks over at me in utter disgust as pee starts to puddle on the floor around my desk. The cut-open tennis balls on the chair feet do little to soak up the urine. I struggle for an explanation. I didn’t think this far in advance. She was justified in her disgust. I now accept that I am a monster. I will never live this down. They will call me cutting and calculated names like Peepants, Little Miss Peepee, etc... They will slowly but surely break me down until I am nothing but a shell filled with the shame of being a public pee-peeer. The shame is potent and smelly. Speaking of shame, the prettiest gal in my class now turns and stares. The struggle to explain myself begins. Then I remember the grueling soccer game that took place during recess. I was running all over, perspiring like a sinner at Sunday mass. Sweat equals liquid... which in turn... equals puddle on the floor. Similar to peepee! Yes! I’ve convinced myself, and now all I have to do is convince her. The great Muhammad Ali once said that he had to convince himself that he was the greatest before he could convince the world. So I look at Sidney, the girl who first recognized my beastliness, and with a stroke of genius, retort, “It’s sweat.”
Ian Yonge
CHLOE MANTROM
Elephant In The Room
Marley Shelby
“You know. That guy in our class.” “What guy?” “You know, that guy.” “Which guy, what does he look like?” “You know, that tall guy.” “That describes a lot of people.” “You know the tall one on the basketball...football team...or maybe track?” “I still don’t know who you’re talking about.” “He’s tall...” “You already said that, and I still don’t know what he looks like.” “He was wearing jeans today.” “Again, that describes a lot of people.” “He has very dark...curly hair? He sits in front of that girl.” “What girl?” “The tall girl.” “Dude.” “Dark...curly hair...do you catch my drift?” “...Ohh, the black guy!”
KATIE MITCHELL
GRAYSON ROSATO
KATE MULLIGAN
JUST LIKE A SIGH Emily Weller
I held the note like an exhale and it tasted like relief I’m not one to say such sappy things but in your eyes I see mercy there’s no reason to endear myself to you but it might not hurt to try perhaps your name is just as sweet as the song just like a sigh
SYDNEY CRISWELL
LAUREN SANDERS
FIRST LOVE
Makenzie Lundburg They say your first love hurts the most. That the scars never actually heal. That the words, never go away. Memories. Tears. Lies. I say nah. You were lame and you kiss like a fish.
ZOE UTLEY
Drawing......................................Haley Youman Drawing.........................................Erin Reichle Photography...............................Kate Mulligan With You Here... .....................Sam Killebrew Painting................................Lacy Lichtenhan Silence.......................................Cassia Meditz Ceaseless Night & Day....................Wil Harris Digital Art..................................Brynne Keeney Drawing....................................Paulina Trevi単o
31
HALEY YOUMAN
32
ERIN REICHLE
WITHOUT YOU HERE Sam Killebrew
His statement echoed through my
The choked scripture read
consciousness. There was no grace
desperately coming out
to the words that tumbled out of
of my mother’s mouth did
my father’s mouth, just an awkward
nothing for me; how I wish
statement that cut through my clouded
it did. I would never see
mind like butter. Why was it all so
the two lights shining in
clear to me now? The lazy flow of time
his eyes again, I would
stopped as suddenly as if I was waking
never hear his hearty laugh
up for the first time in memory. The
again. I couldn’t even see
monitor in front of me was bright, but
him after his light had fled.
there was no light in this moment.
I wouldn’t see him again,
Pitiful sobs from my mother, vibrated
not in his final bed. Not in
throughout my mind, as I numbly
his final descent.
walked past my father, his face stony and unfeeling.
LACY LICHTENHAN
SILENCE Cassia Meditz
A silent world, with silent people, walking, never stopping. A beautiful world, if you look close enough, if you are brave enough to seek adventure. When sound fades, and sight remains, life becomes far more precious. Silence reigns from a throne of death, the silence before the storm. Gray clouds float like ladies on ice, deadly like a disease, yet as gentle as a butterflies kiss. The sky turns this silent world, gray. Gray and still. The clock has stopped, time had burned, deep in the barn fires of negligence. The well of life, a gentle lake, lies stiller than a hunted mouse. The heartbeat of earth, thrums through the air, strumming those burned chords of time, like a majestic harp. But lo, no sound is heard, for the world is silent, closed in, but beautiful.
CEASELESS NIGHT & DAY Wil Harris
On what somber wings does the raven fly Feathers the shade of ebony midnight Its rounded eyes whetted, murky, and sly Their void of darkness consuming all light The black raven’s murderous call held shrill Twilight’s victims moan out in throe anguish For they knew the bird would swoop in to kill But end hath come; the raven was vanquished The dove flies upon auric wings of gold Sunrise flows like a river across the land The call of the dove graceful, tact, and old From jungles to the fervent desert sand The world had now been graced by peace, and love All hearts touched by the kind soul of the dove.
BRYNNE KEENEY
I Am A Monster.........................................Emily Weller Endless White Sky.....................................Lila Denton Photography...........................................Kate Mulligan Photography.........................................Chloe Mantrom Sleeping Ashes..............................Bethany Larra単aga Photography...........................................Kate Mulligan Drawing.....................................................Molly Stotts The Prey And The Predator...................... Saifali Prasla Mixed Media.........................................Paulina Trevi単o Photography.............................................Rachel David Walls.................................................Charles Bradbury The Next Song Is Mine................Mackenzie Lundburg Photography.........................................Emily Sheffield Photography..................................................Zoe Utley A Mark Like Red Clay.............................Sarah Holland
39
I AM A MONSTER Emily Weller
I am a monster sing me to sleep in that voice of compensation
I am a monster I’ll sing you to sleep if your voice can’t form the notes
Child, I promise that I won’t bite despite my reputation
It’s okay to be weak in the end we all are with wide eyes and scratchy throats
Please don’t cry I just want to dream of somewhere warm and bright
Please don’t lie I can see you shake shivering beneath your skin
If I could get out from under this bed you know I would kiss you goodnight
If I could get out from under this bed you know I would tuck you in
I’m scared of the dark please turn on the lamp these shadows look far too familiar
I am terrifying claws and sharp teeth but even I have my own fears
What was that sound I want to go home but I forgot how to get there
Don’t worry by the time you wake up I will have disappeared
Lila Denton
ENDLESS ENDLESS ENDLESS ENDLESS WHITE SKY ENDLESS ENDLESS ENDLESS
An endless white sky Forever suffering Until I die The promise of freedom Passed long ago So I wait here Covered in snow I close my eyes My ears ring Of tortured cries Animals Animals they have made of us They throw us in cattle cars instead of a bus Here’s one! Take him! Two sets of five fingers Pull me apart Into eleven million pieces I try to tell them, “I’m only sleeping!” But they wouldn’t hear me Over the weeping I let them swing me Back and forth The wind is cold Back and forth I’m rocked like a child An innocent child I’m thrown into the air I speak a silent prayer I kiss the ground Hello goodbye And finally join That endless white sky
KATE MULLIGAN
KATE MULLIGAN
CHLOE MANTROM
SLEEPING ASHES Bethany LarraĂąaga
Bits of me seeped through the cracks in my veins, drip by drip they went, crawling into the crevices of the walls around me. It wasn’t long until that house contained more of me than my own skin did, but it shocked me at how few seconds were needed until there was nothing left of seventeen years in that house but ashes.
TO DANII Ally Ameel
summer was the sleepless nights of crazy dreams and burnt out stars the flowers on the windowsill we tried to keep alive just like our hearts the days it rained like our eyes once did before the bliss arrived the rough skin on our feet from barefoot adventures in the hot sun finally cooled during midnights swims when secrets emerged from the darkness no longer afraid of their own shadows the rambling conversations drunk from too much sun apparent from our red skin only to be described as worth it for the strange journeys of getting lost only to find ourselves summer was you and me and our unbearable love wrenching our hearts filled with clean sheets and a reason to live
MOLLY STOTTS
THE PREY & THE PREDATOR Saifali Prasla
The lights begins to burst in flashes, the crowd roars like an angered lion, My palms sweat as I wait behind the doors and the fear of failure floods my mind, The idea of disappointment kills my vibe as my heart races down near death’s alley, I close my eyes and remember my grandmother’s words, “My boy, you have no idea how strong you are,” That quote ignites the fire once again and that thought of failure simply turns in motivation, My fear shrivels up and becomes my prey and I its predator.
PAULINA TREVIﾃ前
RACHEL DAVID
Cars pile on the street And people of quick minds With fleeter feet If he stares long enough at the wall He’ll pretend to see it fall For we must succumb to nature’s call And dissolve into nothing. If I could find a point I’d tell you. If I knew where I was going I’d tell you. But the specters of fleetest feet, All the souls I’ll never meet, We charge into the light; sally forth to meet And dissolve into nothing. If I write upon the wall, Will someone remember me? If poetry my hand scrawl With pompous synecdoche? If I asked the point Would you tell me? If you knew the way Could you tell me? Is there any point to the wall? When it’s turned to whitest powder? Or is it lost, a soldier’s call, As the sand slips louder and louder?
WALLS
Charles Bradbury
EMILY SHEFFIELD
ZOE UTLEY
A MARK LIKE RED CLAY Sarah Holland She has been marked. A reddish-brown expanse stretching from her left temple to the corner of her lip so that it wrinkles and contorts when she speaks. Allow your vision to blur mid-conversation, and the mark comes to life (expanding, contracting, breathing) until it’s all that you can see against the translucent background of her flesh. It’s like a teabag stain, you observe, or maybe a red clay lake from a birds-eye view, lapping against the shoreline of her nose and perusing the valley between her lips. How does it taste, you wonder, remembering how the red clay would coat your teeth as a child,
adding an unwanted grittiness to your sandwich and ringing the white collar of your t-shirt. If you were to caress her face, would you pull away with red-stained fingers? It’s absurd, but you can’t help imagining the red clay following the map of your veins and painting your arm with intricate tributaries. By the time your eyes refocus, she has turned and started walking away, taking clipped, scissor-like steps across the room. And although you can no longer see her face, you know that the valley is pursed and the red clay lake is eerily still. The calm before the storm.
Photography............................................................................Alay Shah Photography.....................................................................Kate Mulligan Ding Dong.........................................................................Marley Shelby Photography.....................................................................Kate Mulligan Photography.....................................................................Lucy Wimmer Photography.....................................................................Lucy Wimmer To Be Awake...........................................................................Ally Ameel Photography.....................................................................Emily Krakow Drawing..........................................................................Yasmeen Tizani Discovering Differences.................................................Marley Shelby Tucked Into My Bed...........................................................Laura Tucker Photography.....................................................................Katie Mitchell
55
ALAY SHAH
KATE MULLIGAN
DING-DONG Marley Shelby
(The doorbell rings) “Hi...how can I help you?” “Good day ma’am! I’d like to ask you a question, if that’s okay?” “Umm, okay.” “Have you witnessed Jehovah?” “Umm, we have a ‘No Soliciting’ sign...” “Yes ma’am, but hear me out, have you witnessed Jehovah?” “Well, I can’t say that I have.” “Have you-” “Have you witnessed Jehovah?” “Umm, well sure I have...” “What did Jehovah look like?” “Well-” “Tell me, what kind of car did he drive?” “Now ma’am, that’s a silly question, you see, when He...walked, there were no automobiles.” “I see...like before cars. So He was in a horse- drawn carriage. What type of horse drew Him?” “These questions are irrelevant, you’re obviously very uninformed. Here, mam, have a pamphlet.”
LUCY WIMMER
TUCKED INTO MY BED Tucked into my bed, rain outside pounding against the roof. The thunder shook with each powerful sound. Lightning illuminated the room in an eerie glow. As my eyes were about to close, I heard soft patters making their way across my floor getting up to investigate, I found her in the bathtub pleading at me with whimpers and scared brown eyes. Another wave of thunder crashed into our ears,
and she nuzzled her head against me crying.
Please keep me safe.
She begged Pulling her head into my lap I sighed It was going to be a long night EMILY KRAKOW
Laura Tucker
YASMEEN TIZANI
DISCOVERING DIFFERENCES Marley Shelby
In second grade when we learned about Martin Luther King Jr. the entire class gave me a group hug because, “If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be here!” Even my eight-year-old self found that awkward.
KATE MULLIGAN
KATIE MITCHELL
KATIE MITCHELL
WINTER WAS ETERNAL Jana Fakhreddine I closed my eyes and listened to the sweet pitter patter of the rain falling on my window. It sounded like beads falling down a long, rough tunnel. Millions of beads. Nothing sounded like that but the constant rain. A bright light illuminated the darkness behind my eyelids and a loud crack sounded only a heartbeat after. Thunder and lightning. I opened my eyes and let out a breath, that showed like a little cloud, fogging up the window in front of me. I could see the crystal white transparent beads on the window, sliding down to the window sill. A sharp prick of cold bit my neck, but I was used to it, for it was all I ever knew. Winter was eternal.
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