Wolf Print Magazine - Volume 1 - 2022-2023

Untitled by Alyssa Crane

Wolf Print Magazine is a publication supported by the Wilson Community College Foundation, Inc.

All future rights to material published in Wolf Print Magazine are retained by the individual authors and artists. (The opinions expressed in the poetry, fiction, or personal essays in Wolf Print Magazine are those of the authors and do not reflect the opinions of the Wolf Print Magazine editor(s), financial supporters, the Foundation, or Wilson Community College.)

Publication of the Wilson Community College Foundation, Inc. Copyright © Spring 2023

Mission of Wolf Print Magazine

Wolf Print Magazine is a creative endeavor produced by the Wilson Community College Foundation, Inc.

Wolf Print Magazine provides an outlet for literary and artistic expression. It is filled with innovative writing, expressive art, meaningful essays, and intriguing short stories. We seek to advance the works of new and emerging writers, and we strive to continually publish works of literary value while expanding our readership.

Masthead

Financial Sponsors: Wilson Community College Foundation, Inc.

Established: February 2023 and published annually

Publisher: Wilson Community College Foundation, Inc. through Wilson Community College

Editor: Tammy Summerlin

Designer: Kyla Strenge

Address: 902 Herring Avenue, P.O. Box 4305, Wilson, North Carolina 27893

a Letter From The Written Contest Judges, Susan Moses and britney Smith

Written Winners

1st place: “Reality” by Naya Herring

The movement of the text is what automatically captured my attention in “Reality.” It reminded me of the style of writing from famous author Joan Didion, where the writing is organized yet sporadic. It gives an opening into the mind of the character and allows the reader to see clearly the disorientation that the character is experiencing. The main character, Jane, captures the trauma experienced and compartmentalizes it by creating an alternate world. The author plays on the double meaning of both physical and mental trauma, and the outcome is both heartbreaking and real.

2nd Place: “Lotus Lake” by Sage Daughtridge

“Lotus Lake” is a short story that captures the reader from the very beginning. Within the first two paragraphs, I immediately imagined all of the mysterious stories that swirled around a late-night camp fire. As the story unfolds, the dialogue between the narrator and Susie flows evenly and envelops the reader in childhood memories, as well as reminds of warnings heeded in early years. “It’s better to go at night,” was a wonderfully spooky phrase that haunts the narrator and urges them to their own exploration of Lotus Lake. I really enjoyed reading this selection, and the ending gave me “full body chills.”

3rd Place: “Solitude, Withholding” by Marcie Webb

There’s a single humming thread of universality in this piece, a questioning we all have of life, of moments, and especially of death. However, the writer of “Solitude, Withholding” also makes this very intimate with a stream of consciousness that explores moments in the present and in the mind. The sensory language makes the reader a participant, and the interior dimension of these moments feel honest and vulnerable, and I almost felt as if I were eavesdropping on someone’s dream into something private and beautiful but also terrifying. This is a treatise on the existential, on time, and on death.

Honorable Mention: “Para Mis Hermanitas” by Andrea Rodriguez

Joy apparent appears in every stanza as the writer of “Para Mis Hermanitas” writes of her little sisters. The analogy of seeing them in nature in sight and sound reveals the depth of feeling this poet has for family. The connection and primacy of that relationship can be seen through the “sunshine peek[ing]” and in “crashing waves,” but this text goes beyond simple but affecting analogies into a comfort for the writer’s soul and a wish for time to stop. The Spanish text in the last two stanzas gives this poem its beauty and light, and even with a rudimentary grasp of Spanish, the reader can feel the depth of that emotional connection.

a Letter From The art Contest Judges, Megan

Davis and Kyla Strenge

Art Winners

1st Place: Untitled by Alyssa Crane

The artist’s use of color in this paining grabs the viewers attention immediately. The pop art style and juxtaposition of natural and extraterrestrial gives one the feeling they may be peering into a fantastical lucid dream. Additionally, the use of stickers gives the painting textural depth that keeps the viewer searching for more details. Not only is the painting itself a display of artistic talent, but the photo against a clear blue sky is well lit and gives the whole piece another level of visual interest.

2nd Place: A Flower Close-Up by Mykala Thomas

The use of depth-of-field in this photograph demonstrates the photographer’s technical skill and control of the camera. The subject is well lit and the little bug enjoying its flower is perfectly framed. If any post-production editing was done to this photograph, it was done with good taste so as to only enhance the subject’s natural beauty.

3rd Place: Cosmic Dance by Ajaunie White

The viewer is immediately drawn onto the well trod path under a starry night sky by the richness of color used in this digital painting. The texture of oil paint applied with a palette knife and peaceful landscape call to the impressionist painters of the late 1800s. The high contrast of the moonlit night makes one wonder what mysteries may lie beyond the singular lantern.

Honorable Mention: Thermal Silhouette by Kailyn Reinhold

This cut paper piece is a striking example of the beauty that can be drawn from the use of technology. The artist makes good use of the colors and patterning that one might see when looking through a thermal camera. Using a digital technology to create a physical art piece is a clever inspiration that produced a visually interesting and vibrant work.

“Reality”

Naya Herring

I look around the living room and try to take in as much information as I can. There are pictures of a family, with “me” in it. They are smiling and laughing. I walk up to the picture hanging on the fridge and examine it. There are a couple of photos. “Family trip to the Mountains.” There’s an older woman around 40 years old and a man around the same age or a little bit older. Two children, a girl and a boy, stand in front of the two adults, and then there’s me. I am dressed in mountain gear. I look down at myself and see that I am wearing pajamas and slippers.

A voice comes from behind me.

“How are you feeling, Jane?”

Jane. My name is Jane. I turn around, and there is the same woman in the picture. I turn back around. “I feel good.” I said, my voice a little bit shaky, but not too noticeable.

“That’s good,” she says, heading towards the dining room. I head back to the bedroom I came from in a hurry but try to keep a steady pace, so I won’t cause attention to myself.

I go to the bedroom and lay down.

I seem to live with a family of five. An average size house and with an average family, nothing special. As my thoughts drift off, I hear the two adults talking.

“She’s not responding to the...”

“That’s understandable…it’s been hard…”

“That picture on the… it’s not good for her…the accident…”

I woke up in a cell. I stand up quickly and look at my

surroundings. It looks the same as the day before, nothing different.

Every time I fall asleep, I wake up in this empty cell, and every time I fall asleep in this cell, I wake up in that house. I do not remember how I got in this cell. I do not remember anything. I only woke up once in that house before. I was so nervous that I didn’t even leave the bed. This time I was able to leave, but only for a couple minutes before having to go back to my room. It’s easy for me to fall asleep; it takes only a couple of seconds. I feel so exhausted all the time. I have no energy. Sometimes I can barely move. I am in so much pain.

“Hello.”

I look around, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.

“Hello! Who are you?” I yell, confused and panicked. The last time I woke up in this cell I was alone.

“I don’t know.” It sounds like a girl. Soft-spoken but croaky. The voice is coming from the other side of the wall.

“What do you mean you don’t know! How did you get here?”

I get slightly agitated and get closer to the wall.

“Do you know how you got here, where you came from, who you are?”

“No…I don’t” I responded. I don’t.

“Exactly.”

There’s silence for a while.

“Go back to sleep.” The girl croaks out.

I immediately turn my head towards the direction of where the voice is coming from. How does she know what happens to me when I fall asleep? Or is she just telling me to go to sleep?

“Why?” I said, trying not to sound suspicious.

“The same thing happens to me when I go to sleep. I wake up in some random and unfamiliar place.”

“Then why don’t you go to sleep?”

“I can’t. Just try to go to sleep.” She sounds exhausted. “Maybe that can give clues as to who we are and where we are.”

“Okay. I’ll go back to sleep.”

This time I woke up in the same house, but something was off. I walked into the kitchen, and my eyes wandered around the room. I looked at the fridge. It looked the same as it did the last time except for one thing.

The picture is gone. I feel a pain in my heart.

The picture with my “family” and I at the mountains is gone. Why? I start to get worried. Tears start to form in my eyes. Why do I feel this way about this picture?

I hear voices in a bedroom across from the kitchen. I walk up to the door, and put my ear next to it. I can barely make out the words.

“She’s walking around again…I know, I know.”

“Do you think she’s ready…it’s been a couple of days.”

I try to move to where I can hear better because their voices sound so muffled. When moving, I hit a vase near the door, creating a loud crashing sound.

“Are you okay?” said the voice coming from the other side of the door.

I ran into the bedroom I came from and hit the bed. I forced myself to fall asleep, not wanting to see what would happen if those people left that room.

I woke up in the cell. I am sweating, and breathing hard. “Are you okay?” said the voice coming from the other side of the wall.

I answered with a soft yes, not knowing what to make of what happened. Why am I in this cell? Why was I in that house? Why do I not know these people? Why can’t I remember? Who am I?

“You need to go back to sleep, don’t be scared of what might happen.” She sounds even more exhausted than before.

“I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” Her voice sounded stern, but like she was pleading. “You need to. This is the only way you can try to remember. This is the only way you will remember.”

I become stuck. I am too exhausted to question her. I noticed myself slowly fading away, not being able to pull myself back.

I wake up in the same bedroom as before in the house. I need to know what’s going on. I get up and head to the kitchen. On the fridge, the picture is still gone, but there is writing.

“Take the pills on the counter.”

I look to the right of me, and there are three pills sitting on the counter next to the fridge.

“Hello.”

I turn around and see the woman from the picture. She must be my “mother”.

“Hi.” I couldn’t barely get a word out of my mouth from how terrified I was.

“You need to take those pills.” She points to the pills on the counter. She had a dead-pan look on her face. Once she saw the nervousness on my face, her expression softened. “I am the doctor. It is important you take those pills. You are not in the right state of mind.”

Another person walks into the room. It is a man. The man

2nd Place art Winner

a Flower Close-Up

Mykala Thomas

from the picture that used to be hanging on the fridge. He stands next to the woman and inches closer to me.

“Stay back! Who are you?” I exclaimed.

The man stops, and looks at the woman. The woman gives a nod and the man continues to step closer to me.

I look around to see what I can grab. I grab a knife from the sink and wave it towards the man. He doesn’t flinch. He only gets closer and closer. My only option is to run. I turn around and start to run away when I trip on a piece of wood hanging up from the floor. I hit the ground and everything goes black.

I woke up in the cell. I sit up, rethinking what just happened, even more confused than before.

“You need to take those pills.” The voice said from the other

side of the wall. She sounded very calm.

“How do you know about the pills?” There was a long pause before she said anything.

“Take those pills. What if it helps you remember?”

“And what if it doesn’t?” I blurted out. “What if it doesn’t, and I only end up worse than I am now?”

“What is worse than where you are right now? What is it? Are you scared to remember?

I don’t say anything back. I start to feel myself fade but try to stop it.

“You can’t run away; you have to face it.” I start to fall asleep, but I hear one more thing before completely dozing off.

“This is one thing you have to face, Jane.”

I wake up in the bedroom on the bed. This time, the woman and the man are standing over me. The woman has the three pills in her hand, and the man is holding a cup of water.

“There is nowhere to go, take the pills.” The woman uttered, looking down at me with kinder eyes than before.

Those words that the girl from the other side of the wall in the cell said start to echo in my head.

“This is the one thing you have to face, Jane.” She knew my name, and she knew about the pills.

I look around nervously. There is nowhere I can go. I have no choice.

I nodded and took every pill. The man and woman left the

room and closed the door behind them. I waited a few minutes before I got up and left the room. I walked into the kitchen. No one was there.

I started to feel faint, my knees buckled, and I hit the ground. Everything went black again.

I woke up in a white room. I look around and see a man and a woman. They are not my “parents.”

I remember my parents.

The two children in those pictures are my siblings. We were going on a trip to the mountains.

I remember.

“Why am I here? Where is my family?” I say to the man and woman in the white room with me. I try to get up but unbearable pain runs through my body. I look down to see casts, bandages, blood and stitches all over my body.

“I’m sorry. They are not here.”

I’m confused, but then I remember.

I was in the car, and we were driving back from the mountains. I heard my dad scream and swerved the car. Everything went black. No.

My heart starts to pound fast, and my ears start to ring.

“You were the only one to survive. You are very lucky…”

Cosmic Dance

Ajaunie White

3rd Place art Winner

“Lotus Lake”

Sage Daughtridge

For as long as I can remember, there has been a mystery that surrounded Lotus Lake. The lake became an important part of our town long before I was born. When I was a child, it was a place for my friends and I to play; we would skip rocks along the water and search for bugs and frogs. When the weather was warm, our parents would take us there for afternoon swims and picnics. It was a beautiful place that held great memories for me. However, that all changed when I was twelve years old. A young girl went missing, and the mystery of Lotus Lake began.

The missing girl was Susie Williams, who had been in my class since kindergarten. I did not know Susie well as she always kept to herself, often covering her face with a book or staring off into space to avoid eye contact with other kids and even the teacher. She was often made fun of for being different, and I felt bad for Susie but never knew how to approach her since it seemed she always wanted to be left alone. One day, about a week before she disappeared, I was sitting in class when it was time to go to lunch. I noticed Susie had dropped her pencil, so after the other kids left the room, I picked it up and went over to give it to her. She thanked me, but there was an awkward silence between us.

Suddenly, she asked, “What do you think of Lotus Lake?” I began telling her how I thought it was a fun place to play; however, she seemed almost annoyed and said, “Oh, is that all?” While confused by her response, Susie again interrupted my thought saying, “I believe there is more to that place.” I quickly responded, “I have never seen you at the lake before.” It was true; Susie had never come to Lotus Lake to play with us or even to watch. With an odd grin, she said, “That’s

because it’s better to go at night.” Susie got up from her seat and walked to the door. She then turned around with a wink and said, “Trust me.”

That was the last time I ever saw Susie Williams. Her parents reported her missing a few days later, but she was never found. For days, the police and community searched everywhere for Susie; however, she seemed to have disappeared without a trace. That was until one of the other kids found a book in the woods by Lotus Lake. The book had only Susie’s name and a sketch of a lotus flower. The police then searched the waters of the lake, but there were no signs of Susie. Because Susie’s book was found so close to Lotus Lake, parents no longer allowed their kids to play there. What was once a beautiful and happy place filled with fun and laughter had become empty and full of fear and sadness.

It is hard to believe, but five years have now passed since Susie’s disappearance. After years of hoping Susie would be found, her parents moved away; it was just too difficult for them to stay. Most other people seemed to forget about the incident and Lotus Lake altogether, but the words Susie said to me that day, “It’s better to go at night,” continued to haunt my thoughts.

I could not take the curiosity anymore. Once my parents were asleep, I snuck out of the house and ran down to Lotus Lake. It was almost 1:00 a.m. and quite dark, so I had brought a flashlight. When I arrived, I began to question what Susie would do there at night and could not understand why she would bring a book! Nothing looked out of the ordinary to me, and just when I was about to give up and go home, suddenly a thick cloud of fog began to surround me. I was frightened

and dropped my flashlight. The fog became thicker, and as I scrambled to find the flashlight, all I could see from the corner of my eye was a faint blue glow. I had no choice; I walked towards the blue light slowly. As I got closer, I realized it was coming from the water. The dark fog surrounded the lake, but I could see a small circle of the mysterious blue light in the water. I slowly walked to the edge of the water towards the beautiful blue light.

When I looked into the circle of light, I saw what looked like a person. I slowly reached my hand into the blue circle on

the water, but then, I stood frozen. I realized I had touched something that was not water, but what felt like a hand. The hand grabbed mine! I screamed, but there was no sound! My feet were sinking further and further into the mud of Lotus Lake, and the hand pulled harder and harder until I was underwater. I was then surrounded by the blue light, and it became harder and harder to hold my breath. Then, the light slowly began to fade away, and that is the last thing I remember about my night at Lotus Lake.

The next morning, I woke up in my room. “Thank God, it was just a dream!” I thought. As I got up out of bed, I noticed that my hair and clothes were damp, and there were muddy footprints by my bed. I then began to question everything and did not know if what I had experienced was real. I thought, “If I really did go to Lotus Lake, how did I get home?” I questioned my sanity and could not explain what I had experienced. Noticing the time, I quickly got dressed, and before school, I returned to Lotus Lake. I walked up to the same spot I had seen glow the previous night. A part of me was terrified, and I began to wonder if evil lived in the waters I had known for so many years. I then asked myself, “Could the blue light have taken Susie?”

Then, I had an even stranger thought, “Could that hand have been…” but quickly I knew that even though Susie Williams was different, she would never hurt anyone. All I knew was if not a dream, whatever had grabbed me was very much alive. Anxiously, I looked down into the water but saw nothing. I was not satisfied with that. I knew I was not crazy, and I had to know for sure. I slowly reached my hand down into the water but only felt its flowing emptiness. Although thankful, I was disappointed because the mystery was now an even bigger part of me.

After realizing that there was nothing to see in the water, I left Lotus Lake and went to school. I could not tell others about what I saw that night. If I did, they would have assumed that I was crazy, sleep deprived, or even worse, but I knew what I saw was real, and more importantly I knew what I had

Thermal Silhouette Kailyn Reinhold

art Honorable Mention

felt. Although terrifying, it felt as if who or what was in the water was reaching out for help. I wondered if Susie Williams had also seen the blue glow in the water and if that was why she went to the lake at night.

Although consumed with my thoughts about Lotus Lake, I went about my normal day of classes, friend drama, and tasteless school lunch. I kept my experience to myself and as the afternoon bell rang, I headed home. As I walked past the long path to Lotus Lake, I came to the realization that my obsession with Susie had led me to have a very vivid dream. Maybe because the dream felt so real, I was sleepwalking and went outside before returning to bed. Whatever the cause, I knew how ridiculous the idea of something supernatural in the lake really was. I had spent much of my childhood at that lake, and I decided to remember it as it was before Susie’s disappearance.

Relieved to have finally let the mystery go, I grabbed a drink and headed upstairs to tackle the hours of homework I had waiting for me. As I opened the door, I noticed a sweet scent filled the room. I then saw that my window was open, and as I went to close it, there it was on my windowsill - a beautiful, fragrant, bright blue lotus flower. I may never know where the flower came from, but one thing is certain, there is something strange hiding beneath the surface of Lotus Lake.

a View by the Water Mykala Thomas

“Solitude, Withholding”

Marcie Webb

How do you tell a person they are going to die?

I pondered this question as I stared into the mirror. The features I saw were blurred and indistinguishable. Were they really gone, or just a figment of my imagination? How was I feeling at this moment? I would start with words like disconnected and isolated. Maybe even removed, reduced to its simplest form without a known translation and lacking human characteristics. All identifiable and manifestable traits had been burned away by years of wear and tear. The acid dissolved that once recognizable facade placed up on the mantle I created. All that was left was a tar-like substance, too hot and sticky to remove without burning whoever dared to try and resolve the mess it created.

Would you tell them right away? Should you give them as much time with what little moments they have left to worry about their unavoidable demise?

The tub was tinted yellow from the water. Hard water, that is how the previous owner described it. I had tried to clean it upon moving in, but the task proved pointless as I stare at it just a year later. It was as if I had never touched it at all; the tub was once more the ugly yellow that I had tried desperately to remove. The act was done in vain.

Demise of all forms is unavoidable though. Should you spare them the mental anguish and allow them to live their final moments in sweet ignorance? We all start out with a certain deadline, and that much was understood by nearly everyone. No one else knows when their time is up, after all. Is it better to live in ignorance or spend the rest of your days dying more and more every moment?

I sigh at the tub. The dripping from the faucet in it made my ears ring. It broke through the silence again and again without pause or break. The noise was a specific kind of repetitive, one that made my skin itch and my arms unconsciously cross. Could I ever get used to such a sound? I stood frozen in the middle of my bathroom, staring at the water drip. I could easily turn it off, maybe I could even leave the room. Instead, I stand in unbearable discomfort too tired to even turn a knob. Perhaps I felt as though I did not deserve the relief and that turning off the steady dripping of water was for someone more worthwhile.

Dying every moment of every day seemed cruel. It was almost as if fate had been sealed the moment the idea of dying was ever even muttered. Could one live forever if they were never introduced to the concept of death? If the deadline was never set, how would one know they would even reach it? Still, though, how would they know that this was their last chance to do everything they wanted? No one knows when they are going to die. Would they find comfort in the promise, never wasting their time worrying or wondering how much time they had left?

With some effort, I moved towards the tub. Cold fingers met an even colder surface as I turned the knob, ceasing the consistent drip without that much effort. I had overemphasized the importance of the task, making it seem more complicated than it was. That was a trait of mine. I overcomplicated many things in my life. I gave importance to things that had little meaning, yet I still find myself casting away the most crucial steps in daily life. The need to eat resurfaced; had I been this hungry for a while? I am beginning to suspect my mind is playing unfair games.

Was that the point of life? Not to know? That was the cruelest fate, in my eyes; living without knowing when it was all over. Tomorrow could be someone’s last day, and they’d wake up today and spend it like any other. What if they let something as trivial as stubbing their toe ruin the whole day?

Just as I passed the threshold into the kitchen, I heard what sounded to be some sort of wounded animal. Some kind of screech broke through the silence, reverberating through the forest long enough to reach my ears until it inevitably succumbed to whatever fate befell it. Whatever it was may have very well met its untimely end tonight unless the end the creature met was planned since its birth. I found it better to ignore the thought of some poor animal falling victim to fate itself outside my home, but that did not mean I could forget the sound. It played on repeat for a while, managing to distort itself in my mind. I attempted to not think of the words human or person, but as with most tasks of mine, the attempt was in vain.

The darkest parts of my mind shriek to open the blinds and part the thin veil between me and the moonless woods and peek upon whatever gruesome scene played out moments ago. Would that be the healthiest thing to do here? I found myself lacking the will to move towards the window; the task seemed mountainous even if I was only a few steps away. The window and I were separated by a canyon; the journey would involve great feats that I’m just not prepared for. I could hear my heartbeat

through my ribs and flesh, chills kissing my arms and neck. The silence, though unnoticed only moments ago, became thunderous. Cold and quiet, was I comfortable before?

I caught my reflection in the sink and found it even more distorted than the bathroom mirror. Call me vain for staring into my reflection so long, but it felt like I was glancing upon a separate entity. Have I always looked so… desolate? Was I a ghost moving through an empty home? I tore my eyes from the image but found nothing else worth looking at. The lights were too bright. Every surface was illuminated, overwhelmingly shiny even though I could not remember the last time I cleaned. Should I flick the lights off and sit in pitchblack discomfort, or subject my eyes to more of the blazing kitchen lights? Neither seemed to be the ideal answer. I left the room, flicking the light off as I left. Why had I gone in there at all? There had to have been a purpose in being there.

I supposed I would find reason in dreams, my body aching from standing so long. How long have I been awake? Surely, I had slept not long ago? I crawled into the somehow still warm bed I had apparently only left moments ago. It felt like an eternity since my shower. Had I showered at all? I had to have showered. Why else would the water drip? A hollow feeling in my chest began to swallow up the sleep I desired moments ago. I lay in my now uncomfortably warm bed with eyes unable to shut. Had I even left my bed to begin with?

Marcie Webb

Untitled

Untitled

Andrea Rodriguez

“Para Mis Hermanitas”

Andrea Rodriguez

You are the sunshine that peeks out at me on a cloudy day. I see you in all the colors of every flower. I hear you in the sound of crashing waves at the beach.

Your laughter is bliss. Your smile calms my soul. Your sorrow is my own.

Your big brown eyes look up at me. Your little hands hold mine. If only they could forever.

Eres el amor más grande. Eres el regalo más perfecto, Como ningún otro.

Te llevo conmigo

En lo más profundo de mi corazón Hermanita mía.

“Like the ocean”

Esmeralda Torres

Same as the ocean, we rise, we fold, and we fall, but just like the sun, it goes down and comes back up. In life, we fall and get up. When you hear the clashes, think of beauty, For our greatest falls define us truly

“Summer Days”

Endya Joyner

Charming heat, Salty air, Slices of watermelon, Sand between my toes, Wind in my hair, Frolicking free, There is no place I’d rather be.

a Deceitful Seashell

Mykala Thomas

Untitled David Cecil

a View of Foust

Mykala Thomas

“brown”

Amaya Flowers

Brown skin, so rich and warm Like the earth that’s tilled and born. A hue that’s full of history And speaks of pride and dignity.

It’s the color of the sun-kissed land, And of the grains that we harvest by hand. A shade that’s bold and powerful And tells a story so beautiful.

Brown skin, it bears the scars Of a past that’s filled with wars. But it also carries the hope Of a future where we all can cope.

It’s the color of the rhythm and beat And of the dance that moves our feet. A tone that’s vibrant and alive And makes us want to thrive.

Brown skin, it’s a badge of honor, A mark of strength that we all harbor. A hue that unites and inspires And ignites our passion and desires.

It’s the color of the roots that run deep And of the promises that we keep. A shade that’s resilient and true And stands for all that we pursue.

Brown skin, it’s a thing of beauty A symbol of our shared humanity

“In The End”

David Cecil

It’s dark. I feel nothing. I cry out longing to feel something. I’m tired and ready for this to be over. In the end, it was all for nothing.

“Hurt by Yourself”

Christopher Carter

Hurt by your own sorrow and not your soul. Get through your pain and hurt all alone. Give up on everything while feeling empty. Heartbroken, there is no sympathy. Crying all night and day, Wishing in that pain going away.

“Dandelions Make Me Happy”

Felita Hudgins

Pretty day today that is all sunny and bright. I look at the ground, and what do I see in sight? Yellow dandelions growing all over the yard, Allowing the bees to pollinate; I hope they don’t work too hard. Dandelions bring a smile to face and joy to my heart, Which is why seeing them first thing in the morning Is how every day should start. But there must come a time When the pretty yellow color fades, And you turn to a feathery parachute of soft white hairs, Waiting on the wind to pick you up and carry you away.

“The Dance as Old as Time”

Aaniyah Smith

The lightning and thunder clapped through the dark skies, shaking the earth with its power, and not even the bushes stirred as Shango did his work; however, there was one who did. Her long dark locks flowed down her back as she sat in the grassy field feeling the wind swirl around her. She watched the trees bend and sway in his power and smiled. Shango was trying to intimidate her, for had he forgotten her all these years. Yes, she had changed, but who else would be out in the open fearlessly while he did his work?

She felt a slight twinge in her heart. Her lover of thousands of years couldn’t feel the very same power in her spirit. She chuckled, shrugging off the thought. He had never paid attention, so she didn’t know why she expected him to start now. Tired of waiting for him to take initiative she began working her own magic. Surely this would remind him of just exactly who she was. She raised her arms above her head, inhaling as she bared her feet into the ground; the winds began to swirl to her desire, bringing a destructive storm. Rain began to fall and soak the thin dress she was wearing due to the humidity of the area.

She smiled as the droplets hit her face, and the wind whipped them away fully giving into her power. She left the ground letting the wind carry her high into the sky. She had been lifted high into the air just before the heavens and there he was. Shango stood before with his back turned, and she could see all the muscle flex in his back as he beat his drum to bring about the thunder, the threaded muscle twitch in his arm as he sent lighting bolts the through the sky. A playful smile tugged at her lips; she was in the mood to play a little game. Feeding off his energy, she began to make her winds stronger, a deep dark cloud formed on the horizon, and for the first time since being here, Shango looked up from his work.

Being ever so manly and wanting to demonstrate his power, Shango felt very strongly about the other Orisha working while he was this deep into his work. Her honey brown eyes swirled with mischief as she began to bring the storm closer, giggling at her antics she almost gave herself away. Shango’s head lifted ever so slightly with interest; he knew that melody like wind chimes after fresh rain. Turning slightly, he saw the silhouette of long coiled hair, the trim of a thin red Mumu, and he knew exactly who dared to interrupt his work with their own tricks.

Stepping forward on her winds and around her thick dark clouds, it was she, the only other Orisha brave enough to take some of his power for herself - his wife. Since she had finally come back to him, he began to show his affection. Spreading his feet shoulder width apart, he bared down atop his drum and began the dance causing the thunder to roll in harder. Feeling his excitement through the thunder, she began to join him in her own gliding in front of them so that they were now in front of one another. His deep mahogany eyes as dark as the clouds stared into her honey brown orbs, each having their own display of love and affection.

“My Oya, the only one brave enough to stand before me now, how I have missed you.” And with those simple words, they shared a kissed causing the thunder, lightning and wind to create a viscous tornado. Beginning their dance that was as old as time.

Watch my Heart bloom

“The Dark Parts”

Ania Barron

Overwhelmed by that dark feeling, always Heart racing, mind racing, palms sweaty. It’s in my eyes; it’s normal nowadays. Trust me. I’m trying; it’s a lot to deal. I can’t stop the thoughts; they are so constant. Exhausted all the time, I can’t stop thinking. People tell me it’s all complete nonsense, But what they don’t know is I’m slowly sinking. No medication. No doctor. Nothing helps. Nothing I do helps with the constant thoughts. When does it touch everybody else? Every time out with others I rot. Every time alone there is a teardrop. I want it to stop. Will it ever stop?

Ania Barron

“Warm Tea”

Alex Mullins

Sitting quietly

Enjoying the setting sun

Warm tea in my cup

“Lucid”

Alyssa Crane

Stiff, still, tense, sweating. My head dense on my pillow. This new world is home. “Time”

Hunter Boyette

All is well in time So little we have until Days have passed us by

“Unlikely Demolition Crew”

Ethan Vazquez

Four souls were chosen for a trial. A magical plant with a mouth so sour, A dragon with fists of fire, A turtle with a tongue of silver, And a normal man wielding a shard of timber.

Before them came a man dressed so gaudy With a parchment for a party. Three chose forward. One chose disregard. Alas, they ventured together.

On the road they embarked. To their dismay, a thick fog was brought. Soon came wicked monsters and hazing thoughts. Down the road they journeyed. They found a house, dusted were their worries

Approaching the gloomy home, Out popped two children filled with woes, “Monsters! Monsters!” they cried. Our heroes were soon to oblige and Through the home they went.

Filled with ghosts and beasties, This was no small task. Floors and floors, they climbed With nary a proper light Met with a path to a floor that may be their last.

Down it went to a depth so eerie. Soon they had found a well. Ghosts sprung out to conjure a spell. From the depths rose a monster so foul Forced to flee like autumn’s fowl

From the walls poison seeped. Floors had never felt so steep. Back from whence they came They found what the house truly was. Would this be their very end?

“No!” cried the dragon. With great heave was the turtle lifted A great plan was about to be proven Charging forward through brick and lumber Walls had never felt so thin

Crashing and crumbling, The mighty house was soon falling. Their moods burst to joy. The heroes put an end to the children’s ploy, And soon came the searching.

To their dismay, they found no culprit, But eventually they did find a basket. Within it was a lovely wine with bread. Along with a note that read, “Welcome to the Land of the Dead.”

The life you live for today is the life you will remember forever. I don’t know who told me that or where I read it, or how I came to think of it, but it’s a moto that I have always thought of and always stuck by. I’ve never had a lot of money, a lot of friends, or a lot of hobbies, but for some reason picking up a camera and taking pictures has always stuck with me. I’m not one to be in front of the camera by any means, but to be the person behind the camera holds a big responsibility.

In high school, I was the editor of my school’s yearbook. I would go through and make sure that people were doing their jobs, and if there was a picture that we really needed, I would go out and get it. Right before my teacher asked me if I wanted to be editor, I had gone to the University of North Carolina at Greensboro for a photography camp. They had different classes that you could take, such as filmmaking, photography, editing, etc. I decided to sign up for as many photography classes as I could to perfect the talent that I didn’t see at the time, but many people complemented me on. A few weeks after we had paid for the camp, but before the camp actually started, my mom received a phone call from the director of the camp stating that not enough people signed up for two of the photography classes and asked if there were any other classes that I would be interested in. If I had just dropped the two classes, I would be down to only one, and that was not worth going there just for the one class. I told them I wasn’t really interested in the other classes and that all I wanted to do was photography. After a long pause, she asked if we would wait a moment, and as an impatient high schooler, that was the longest moment of my life. That long moment then turned into the best moment of my life because what I didn’t know is during that long moment the director of the camp was talking with the instructor of those

two photography classes and asking him if he would be interested in doing a private class with me. She asked me if I was interested, and I told her that I was thrilled.

Time went on, and during those private lessons, the instructor gave me amazing tips on how to get better pictures. He told me to stand still, spin around in a slow circle and look around for a moment. That was the first time I had ever been on a college campus; I didn’t know what to expect. I spun in a circle taking in everything that I could. Bikes everywhere, cars everywhere, people walking around, kids playing, buildings all over the place, trees, squirrels, leaves, the wind, I was taking in everything. I stopped, and the instructor asked me what I saw, and I gave him the list of what I had seen. Then, he took me to a parking garage that looked over the campus. Let me tell you, this campus is absolutely beautiful. We started taking pictures of the scene and while we were there, I saw this sticker on car that was parked in there. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but I took a picture of the sticker and went back to taking pictures of the campus.

We went back to the classroom and started going through the pictures we took. He saw the picture of the sticker and asked me why I took the picture; I had the whole campus to take pictures of, so why would I take a picture of a sticker that’s ripped up and on this dirty car? I had to really think of this answer. I didn’t know, I just saw it and took a picture, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do as a photographer? Well, after thinking about it for a long time, I came up with something. I said that even though we were taking pictures of the campus, it looked like things that you would see all the time. It was the same old beautiful scenery picture with the pretty leaves and the pretty flowers and all the people and buildings and blah blah blah, but the sticker is something that people look past without giving it a second glance. It was

“Something beautiful”

Emily Hileman

halfway peeled off and on a dirty car; no one would care about it except for the person whose car it was.

When I said this, my instructor’s face lit up like a kid at Christmas time. He told me that I had an eye for photography; he told me that I would make a great photographer because I see the little things in the grand scheme of things, and that’s what a good photographer does. It’s all about the little details in a picture that makes a picture great and that makes the photographer great. We went around campus looking for more stickers after that. I got a lot of pictures during that time; it was really interesting to see the different stickers that people place in different locations. Once I got all the pictures of stickers that I could, we went to the classroom and started creating a typology. A typology is a type of photography where you take a group of pictures and make a collage using them. Typologies are created with things that have a similarity to them, for example, pictures of different stickers. He showed me the key to making a great typology and that is to make sure there’s not one area that catches the eye the most. It must be consistent throughout the whole collage, or it will throw it off. At the end of camp, we were able to show everything we had made to our friends and families.

The reason I decided to tell this story is because after that camp, I started finding joy in the little things in life. You have to stop looking at the bigger picture sometimes and just look at the smaller things to find what you might be looking for. Then, you might be able to create something beautiful.

a View of China Town Mykala Thomas

Abigail Chaparro

Flower petals die Without sunlight they will cry Likewise in our life

“Care”

“a Search for Love”

Kate

Hickey

She comes from a troubled past. He lives a troubled present. Mature meets immature. Brought together by fate, Could it be true love? She knows what he hides And cries while he lies. With time the truth comes out, But at what cost? He says he will change, Yet actions speak louder than words, And his favorite word is sorry. In time she confronts him As she finally knows her worth. He begs for one more chance. She had given him hundreds, And she walked out the door Still in search of love.

“In the Spring”

Abby

Crocker

In the spring the flowers bloom. I laugh and dance and sing a tune. I hunt for eggs of yellow and pink, So I can have candy and chocolate to eat. I want to ride bikes and swim all day, And drink lemonade while sitting in the shade. In the spring the sun shines bright, Making me warm and feeling all right.

Untitled

Kate Hickey

Miles Jones

Suddenly, his eyes opened again. He could barely breathe, gasping for air as he rapidly blinked the debris away. He could barely move, struggling to roll himself out from under the building as it crumbled apart above him. “B-Bella...?” He called out.

No one had replied to his calls, not even the infected. It truly seemed like he was alone and stranded. As he pushed himself to stand, he noticed blood dripping off his face. He limped away from the building, leaving a trail of red behind him. It was nighttime. There would be terrors soon. He knew he could not survive the night if he did not find shelter soon.

He found his radio, calling for her again. “B-Bella...!” He whimpered, but the only response he got was static.

He continued to limp, groaning in pain for a while before the nausea set in.

He saw something in the distance, a figure just standing. “It could be one of the infected...” He thought to himself.

He drew his machete, gripping it tightly with shaking hands. Did he have enough strength left to deal with the infected? They would eat him alive if he did not. He slowly approached the figure, raising his machete behind its back. It did not move an inch from its position. It was almost impossible to identify who, or what it was. His vision was blurred. “B-Bella...?” He muttered one final time.

The figure spun around, screeching at him. It was an infected. A crazed, flesh hungry infected. It charged at him. He flinched hard, but brought his blade down, striking the infected in its shoulder. He had swiftly put the infected back to sleep. Maybe the broken environment was safe now, at least from the infected. He was ready to loot the corpse for anything of value he could find. He believed he was one more step closer to his survival.

He gently crouched down, rubbing his sore eyes. The blurriness in his vision persisted somehow. Was he losing his sight? He did not know. He focused on the parts he could make out, gently feeling around the corpse for pockets. However, he realized something was wrong.

Untitled Miles Jones

The corpse he had felt was still warm, not like the infected. Had he killed a man by mistake? An innocent survivor who would be able to help him out of his nightmare? He started to panic slightly, trying to dig around the corpse’s pockets. He found a radio, a weapon. He knew what he had done. He had

Decent into Masking

killed a human on accident. He felt a heavy guilt, this person did him no harm. He did not mean to end a life. He saw an infected through his eyes.

“No, no, no, no...” He whimpered, crouching over the body. He did not mean his grave actions. He did not mean to kill a human, he meant to kill an infected. He meant to kill a zombie. He blinked once, not taking his eyes off the corpse. He leaned closer to it, almost mesmerized by what he had done. He glanced over at his machete, dropping it. The machete faded to nothing. He never had his blade in the first place. The blood was all on his hands. He felt hungry, painfully hungry. His skin darkened slightly, his morals along with it.

He stared down at the corpse, his breath getting heavier. He could not take the hunger in his stomach. He emitted a low growl, biting into the corpse. He sunk his teeth into any part he could, devouring it whole.

His body started to change, cracks in his skin, bulges in his veins. His eyes began to glow orange. He was the true monster, was he not? He indulged himself, tearing the corpse to pieces. He heard someone call his name. “M-Miles...!” She called, but it was too late. He was not himself anymore.

Danielle Thorne

“all Gone”

Zachary Smith

He started his career off very small. He wanted to have some more pocket change. This greediness would soon lead to his fall. His soul he would permanently exchange.

His morals would now leave his hardened heart. His acts would soon become more criminal. The plans he would cook up were very smart, But positives would be too minimal.

The pain he will suffer will be severe. He would soon be caught for playing this game, Now he is being forced to disappear To his family name he has brought shame.

Love for her makes his evil be withdrawn. His criminal persona is all gone.

“Ride across Town”

Omar Nigoche

Waking up in the morning and seeing the sunny weather, Grabbing my keys and heading out the door, Taking a seat and feeling out the leather, Warming up the engine, I hear the exhaust roar.

Riding with the windows down, Seeing the beautiful views at a high speed, Feeling the wind on my face across town, Cannot compare to anything else; it is something I need.

Looking across town and trying to find a scenery, Feeling the sun reflect off the bloody orange paint, Admiring the work of Nissan’s machinery, Capturing a few pictures, I have no complaint.

Appreciating the compliments of my beautiful ride, Heading back home, I am fully satisfied.

Jackson Byrum

It is seven p.m., on a Friday night. The local football team is gearing up for a fight. With the cheering crowd, here in the masses, The receivers are ready to catch all the passes. While the linemen are working hard to open the gaps, Our backs plan to keep pounding ‘till the defense taps. With the temperature feeling good, sitting right at eighty, The quarterback is ready to go play like Brady.

Some athletes only play for the money and fame. Other people realize that this is more than just a game. Some people believe victory comes because of the coach’s scheme, But it’s really because of that family, which we call the team. Last season we made the playoffs, which is worth all the pain, But that was last season, there is much more left to gain. This season will be one that everyone will want to witness. It’s plain and simple this year; it’s unfinished business.

Nigoche

Untitled Omar

“The Mojo Gridiron”

“Untitled”

Caroline Whitley

The sun is setting

There it goes

The sign of a new day

The start of tomorrows

Go ahead and let go

Of what happened before Breathe in and know

This day is no more

The sun is setting

We get to try again

When it rises in the morning

Another chance will begin

Untitled Caroline Whitley

Contained Strength

Rachel Martin

“Let Me Go”

Jayia Rouse

“Let me go. Let me go.” She keeps pleading. He’s holding her down while his laugh is like a bell.

“Let me go, Let me go.” Now, she’s screaming. He’s trapped her in her own personal hell.

“Let me go. Let me go.” She starts fighting. He holds her still, not wanting her to win.

“Let me go. Let me go.” She keeps trying. His touch makes her want to jump from her skin.

“Let me go. Let me go.” She says once more. He doesn’t listen, for he has no shame.

“Let me go. Let me go.” Her throat’s now sore. He is certain he is causing her pain.

“Let me go. Let me go.” she said no more. Alone she lays, crying on the floor.

“From What She’s Undergone”

Madalyn Walls

Her whole world was flipped upside down. Everything she counted on is gone. Now there is no solid ground, And she becomes withdrawn.

All she wants is to feel wanted, To feel as if she’s loved, Yet, her heart is always guarded, And all her feelings are gloved.

She is always seen smiling As if nothing was wrong. In reality, she is barely surviving, And she just wants to get along.

Her past will always haunt her, But it is what makes her strong. She hopes to never return Because she learned from what she’s undergone.

The Upside Down

Madalyn Walls

“The Lost One”

Caprecia Miles

There once was a boy lost on land.

There once was a boy no one could understand.

There once was a boy lost and confused.

There once was a boy that didn’t know what to do.

There once was a boy that cried every night.

There once was a boy that didn’t know how to fight.

There once was a boy with no one to guide him, no one to hold him, and no one to comfort him.

There once was a boy that cried when he’d walk and cried when he’d talk.

That boy was lost.

That boy was tossed.

No one knew his pain.

Every time it rained, he heard the hummingbird sing, “The Lost One.”

Sunset Over Lake Wilson Olivia Pedigo

Christopher Harris

Midnight is here; the skies are smoldering. Everyone in the neighborhood is asleep. I am the only person awake. As I walk around to look for anyone, I hear something calling to me in the midnight skies, though I’m not quite sure what it is. Do I live alone on this planet? I don’t hear any cars on the roads. Am I the only person on earth? There isn’t even an echo. Is the world awake while I am asleep dreaming? The night seems gentle, yet it’s scary, though I don’t feel threatened.

“Oh, no!” There is a voice coming from afar, though I see no one. Footsteps are growing closer and closer. Chills are rolling in on me. Now, I can see a blur far ahead, but the voice starts to fade away as I walk closer to the blur.

“Chris?” I hear the voice say, and I begin to run towards it. Faster, I tell myself. Now, I am standing face to face with the voice I hear in the midnight sky. The strange voice was coming from a figure that resembled me. What is the midnight sky trying to tell me? Is it to wake up and find who I am? Or is it that I am not alone in this world? Standing in front of a crowd, I wake up, realizing that it is I who is running from me.

Sky Kaitlyn Pollard

“Midnight Sky”

“Half-Light”

Amanda Thorne

Meet me in the half-light, the time between the times. Meet me in the magic of the cotton candy skies.

Meet me after midnight. Meet me in the rain. Plunge me underwater, and then, draw me back again.

Lead me to tomorrow. Leave me in the past. Find me in the moment. Find a way to make it last.

a Sunset Silhouette

Mykala Thomas

a boat on the Water Mykala Thomas

a Pier on the Neuse Mykala Thomas

“The Light House Keeper”

Nathan Harrison

Once upon a time, in a sleepy coastal town, there stood a lighthouse that had guarded the shores for centuries. It was a symbol of safety and guidance, a beacon of hope for the sailors that navigated the treacherous waters. The town was home to an old lighthouse keeper named Harold, who had devoted his life to keeping the lighthouse’s light shining bright.

Harold was a quiet man, his days spent in solitude as he lovingly tended to the lighthouse. He would meticulously clean the glass, polish the brass, and ensure the light never faltered, even in the darkest and stormiest of nights. The townspeople respected him for his unwavering dedication, but few truly knew him.

One day, a young girl named Emily moved into the town with her family. She was fascinated by the lighthouse and its mysterious keeper. Her curiosity was piqued, and she decided to venture up the winding path to the lighthouse, eager to meet the man who guarded the town’s shores.

As Emily approached the lighthouse, she found Harold sitting outside, gazing at the horizon. She introduced herself and struck up a conversation with the old keeper, who seemed genuinely surprised by her company. As the days went by, Emily continued to visit Harold, and they formed an unlikely friendship.

Harold shared his wisdom about the sea and the stars, while Emily recounted tales of her life in the city and her dreams for the future. They would often sit and watch the sunset together, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink as they lost themselves in their stories.

One day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Emily asked Harold what had led him to become the lighthouse keeper. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. He shared that long ago, he had been a sailor, navigating the world’s vast

oceans. On a stormy night, his ship had been caught in a fierce gale, and he had been the sole survivor, saved by the very lighthouse he now tended.

From that moment on, Harold had vowed to protect the sailors who braved the sea, just as the lighthouse had protected him. The years had passed, and though his body had aged, his spirit remained steadfast.

Emily was moved by Harold’s story and understood the importance of the lighthouse’s light. The two continued their friendship, and Emily often brought others from the town to share in the warmth of the old keeper’s company.

As the years went by, the bond between Emily and Harold grew stronger. Eventually, the time came for Harold to pass on the duty of lighthouse keeper. He knew that Emily, with her kind heart and curious spirit, was the perfect person to continue his legacy.

Therefore, Emily became the new keeper of the lighthouse, and she continued to tend the light as Harold had taught her. The old lighthouse stood tall and proud, a symbol of hope and guidance for those who traveled the seas, its light shining brightly through the darkness, a testament to the enduring bonds of friendship.

“a NICU MOM”

Megan Mooring

To my daughter, my miracle, my preemie. At first, I cried; I was terrified. You were so tiny, but yet so beautiful and fierce. You just came sooner than expected. Many months were spent in the NICU while attached to so many monitors to help you grow. Nurses and doctors were in and out, constantly checking on you. The hardest thing mommy ever had to do was trust so many nurses and doctors to help you, And to treat you as their own and love you the way I do. I’ve shed a few tears, but with a smile because I know you’ll pull through in a while. To wonder why you had to go through this I’ll never understand. My beautiful baby girl, you are so strong. I am blessed to be your mommy. My daughter, my miracle, my preemie.

Diamond in the Rough Amber Fredette

“Facing Myself!!”

Tameika Sauls

When I look into the mirror, I see a reflection Wondering who really is this woman?

Am I really beautiful?

Am I really just masking pain?

Does the makeup hide the tears and shame?

Am I really somebody?

Who am I really?

No longer running!!

Facing myself, accepting myself, discovering myself

I am somebody!!

I am beautiful inside and out

I let it all go

Free of the pain, guilt, and shame

I am loved and I am divine

“Stretch Marks”

Zakiya Daniels

Long nights, long days, more long nights, the stretch marks. Disheveled hair, and what is that awful smell. Is it me?

It is, I haven’t showered in three days.

Endless loads of laundry, dishes piled high, more stretch marks.

Hair loss, mood swings and trying to remember who I was before this little human Came into my world and commanded that I give him all of me.

But his eyes, the way that he cries with anyone who isn’t me.

His smell, the smell of milk on his breath.

The little fingers and toes, the huge, dreamy eyes.

His unconditional love makes every single stretch mark worth it.

Under the Sea

Marlana Phillips

I am Tameika Sauls

“S a U D a D E”

Jada White

I miss that rainbow. Those bits of colors floating up into me. His face next to mine.

All my strength is in his hands. He puts his fingers into mine. I feel power when he has let go of all he has. Just for me. I feel pretty and strong. I do not want to take my mind off the rainbow. But it sure is not like that no more. The only thing I miss sometimes is that rainbow.

“a Poem to my Kids”

Takeyla Bullock

Because of you, I live another day. Because of you, I love in a perfect way. When the ups are down, and the downs are up, I can count on you to lift me up. When skies are gray, and the world is lost, I look around, and it’s you I’ve got. When I close my eyes and hug you tight, Just know you’re my love and my perfect light. Hold my hand, and don’t stray away. Mama’s here forever, and forever I’ll stay.

Untitled Christopher Pittman

“Life Lessons”

Tina Thomas

Here I am, 34 years old, Realizing I should have not wanted to grow up so quick. Life passing me by, in a blink of an eye, Watching the time pass, I struggle to enjoy the little things in life. It is always rushing to get to the next phase in life, Losing a parent, watching my siblings grow up. Wishing I would have slowed down enough to spend just a little more time in every moment. But we all get caught up in life, don’t we?

Take the time to slow down and enjoy life. We are all headed to the same place, right?

“The Tree”

Sheridan Piggott

A tree was planted in a city of concrete

Where you do not see nature grow

But this tree was strong and sturdy With leaves that could go with the flow

The tree wanted to grow for the spring

To bloom and create its fruits for all

But as the roots tripped people up The tree was cut to be small

The tree wanted to grow for the summer

As it wanted to create shade from the sun But as the roots created cracks in the concrete

The tree was chopped to almost none

The tree hoped that in the fall

If it gave its leaves to play and sprawl

The people would forgive the trees need To expand beyond the barriers of the concrete

So, the tree gave its leaves to appease

To the needs of the people as a symbol of peace, But to its surprise and to the tree’s demise, They took the leaves and chopped the tree

To make the tree be everything they could ever want or need,

The tree began to wilt in the winter, And this is when the tree started to wonder Why it could not be seen, But what the tree could never realize Is that it could never be seen between barriers of concrete.

“Nocturnal Symphony”

Ajaunie White

As I stare out into the infinite night, I see the moon and stars shining bright. Their luminous light is a gleaming sight. A spectacle that fills me with delight.

The nocturnal landscape is a grand affair, A symphony of sights, a sensory affair. The night is hushed, so wonderfully rare As silence envelopes with a gentle care.

The moon’s effulgent light casts a beam. The aura it radiates, an ethereal dream. The stars, a constellation, a magical theme Each one a jewel, a shimmering gleam.

The sky is vast, an endless domain, A canopy of beauty, a grand refrain, A canvas of stars that will remain, A masterpiece for all to sustain.

The universe’s secrets, a treasure trove, A realm of wonder, a place to probe, The wonders it holds, we cannot solve, A mystery of the divine, a grand globe.

As I look up, I am in awe. The night’s splendor, I adore. The moon, the stars, a grand score A masterpiece that forever will endure. Untitled Quynh Pham

“all Things New”

Olivia Pedigo

Tufts of green

Are poking their heads Up from hard, Dry ground. Things are taking root And sprouting wings; The time of birth has come— Even death must die.

A song is being sung into life— The trees and the earth are singing; You are singing us into life abundant.

Kauai’s Natural beauty Sheridan Piggott

The Things I will Never Tell You

“The Hungry Trees”

Danielle Thorne

Once, long ago, in a winter storm, there was a young girl, her face forlorn.

Her clothes were in tatters, her skin dry and cracked, and yet she stood still, in an unmoving form.

She stood by a road, narrow and long with trees on both sides, whispering lies.

The road was cold, Frozen, uncaring, but the girl did not weep, just stood there staring.

One day a man passed, old, not yet grey, and asked the young girl if she had somewhere to stay.

“No, sir,” she said softly, “I have nowhere to stay, but the trees look so lovely at this time of day.” He looked in a panic, realizing too late, he appeared to be lost, as the trees sealed his fate.

By this uncaring road, the young girl still stands, ready to serve as the forest demands.

The road remains cold, for the sun has no claim, and yet the girl stands, trees fed with no shame.

Lucero Mena Vazquez

“Her Worth”

Tammy Summerlin

She stood there, listening to the harsh words that cut through her like a knife. The venomous tongue of the other spoke with such ease and confidence, making her feel small, worthless. For a moment, she felt as if she could never escape dark clouds that had gathered over.

But then she closed her eyes, and remembered who she was. She was stronger than this. She had overcome challenges before and would do it again. She refused to let the words of another define her worth.

With every breath, she released negativity and breathed in positivity. She reminded herself of her strengths and the things she was proud of. She thought of the people who supported her and knew her worth.

Slowly, she began to feel the weight of harsh words lifting from her shoulders. She realized that they held no power over her. She was the one in control.

With a newfound sense of confidence and strength, she opened her eyes and faced the other. She spoke calmly and confidently, standing tall and proud. The harsh words that once felt like an endless storm now felt like nothing more than a gentle breeze.

In that moment, she realized that overcoming the harsh words of another was not about silencing them, but rather about finding the power within herself to rise above them. She had found her strength. She knew her worth.

WILSON COMMUNITY COLLEGE FOUNDATION, INC.

The Wilson Community College Foundation supports students, faculty/staff, and program enrichment to further the mission of the College. The majority of the funds raised are earmarked for our students in the form of scholarships. Other funds are given to support cultural arts and the humanities.

How to Give

The Foundation accepts donations in the following forms:

• Cash

• Check

• Credit Card

• Stock/Securities

• Planned and Estate Giving

• In-Kind Donation

• In Honorarium/Memoriam

Donors can make a gift to the College’s General Endowment or to any of the individually-named scholarship endowments or program funds. The Foundation staff is always available to discuss appropriate options and answer any questions. All donations to the Foundation, a 501(c)(3) organization, are tax-deductible. Our Tax ID number is 58-1436911.

Jessica Griffin, Executive Director of Institutional Advancement jgriffin@wilsoncc.edu • (252) 246-1271

Hailey Gudac, Institutional Advancement Specialist hgudac@wilsoncc.edu • (252) 246-1452

Thank you for supporting the Wilson Community College Foundation.

a Special Thanks

For all Your Support With This Project

Dr. Tim Wright, President

Wilson Community College Foundation

Wilson Community College Marketing/Public Relations Student Contributors

Wilson Early College Academy Contributors

Susan Moses, Britney Smith, Megan Davis, and Kyla Strenge, Contest Judges