No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist. - Oscar Wilde -
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[ Foreword ] The Lauderdale County School System is pleased to share the 2016 edition of Sweet Inspirations, a literary magazine of original writing, artwork, and photography submitted by students in grades 7-12 in the Lauderdale County School System. The name Sweet Inspirations is taken from a title of a song written by Spooner Oldham, a Lauderdale County alumnus, and is a nod to our area, our talented residents, and our rich musical heritage. The magazine is a publication of the Secondary Curriculum Department.
[ Acknowledgements ] Cover Photograph• by Hunter Drake Superintendent • Jonathan Hatton Secondary Curriculum Director • Les Abston Publication Advisor / Layout and Design • Lara Muck Special thanks to Carol Pace, Brenda Burns, Jennifer Patrick, Derek Daily, and Phillip Holcombe for their role in making the dream for Sweet Inspirations a reality and for their role in making the magazine a success. Likewise, a special thanks to Lara Muck and her Advertising Design Class at ATCTC for taking on the project of the publication of Sweet Inspirations. The Lauderdale County School System, along with our family at Lauderdale County High School, was heartbroken by the untimely passing on April 14, 2017, of Madison Jones. The editors of Sweet Inspirations join her friends and family in mourning the loss of this uniquely talented young lady. Madison’s gifts and individuality are evident in her writing and serve as a truly sweet inspiration to us all.
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[ Table of Contents ] FICTION • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Caroline Lindsay Konig ... Lexington.. Our Little Mountain Lake ...... 6 - 10 • Second Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ashley Kennemer ........... Wilson ..... A Lesson in Pranks .............. 16 - 20 • Third Place ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Caroline Lindsay Konig ... Lexington.. Either Side of the Bridge ..... 28 - 31 • Honorable Mention -------------------------------------------------------------------------Branden Bento ............... LCHS ...... An Adverse Redemption ...... 34 - 41
NON-FICTION • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Haylee Joiner ......... Central ........... What Demonstrated Patriotism Means to Me ....... 12 - 13 • Second Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Bethany Lee ........... Central ........... Effects the Internet and Social Media Have on Teenagers .... 24 - 25
POETRY • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hannah Joiner ........ Central ........... The Hunt .................................. 14 • Second Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Kaleigh Warren .... LCHS .............. First Date ................................. 21 • Third Place ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Andrew Archer ....... Central ........... Golf .......................................... 26 • Honorable Mention -------------------------------------------------------------------------Madison Jones ....... LCHS ............. Time ....................................... 33 Brandon Stapleton .. Central ........... America, Past and Present ....... 42
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[ Table of Contents ] ARTWORK • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Rebecca Jones ........ Rogers ............ Fog and Snow ............................ 11 • Second Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Alexandria Dodd .... ATCTC/Brooks .... Daisy ....................................... 22 • Third Place ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Audrey Hill ............ ATCTC/Rogers .... Little Explorer ......................... 27 • Honorable Mention -------------------------------------------------------------------------Alexandria Dodd .... ATCTC/Brooks ... King of the Forest ...................... 9 Krysta Neelley ........ ATCTC/Brooks .... Blueberry Lemonade ................. 13 Katy Corfman ......... Lexington ......... Manibus ................................... 20 Mycala White ......... ATCTC/Lexington.. Leone ....................................... 31 Alexandria Dodd .... ATCTC/Brooks ... Birds of a Feather ................. ... 39
PHOTOGRAPHY • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • First Place -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hunter Drake .......... Central ............ Sunset on the River ....... Cover & 15 • Second Place ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Kaylee Garey ........ ATCTC/Lexington .. Sky Fire ................................... 23 • Third Place ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Alexandria Dodd .... ATCTC/Brooks ... Fireside ................................... 32 • Honorable Mention -------------------------------------------------------------------------Brooke Bain ............ Wilson ............ Sunf lower Field ......................... 7 Bethany Lee ........... Central ........... Sunset .................................... 10 Brandon Stapleton ... Central ........... Moonlit Clouds ......................... 18 Laken Pasek ............ ATCTC/Lexington.. Just ChinChillin ....................... 25 Brooke Bain ............ Wilson ............ Fall Creek Falls ....................... 36 Gracelyn Morrison .. LCHS .............. The Brightest Star .................... 41
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First Place • Fiction
Our Little Mountain Lake • • • by Caroline Lindsay Konig • Lexington High School • • •
The fog rolled from the fringed leaves of evergreens down the mountainous landscape of trees.
The mist was thick and the sun was only barely able to shine. A chilling wind whistled and breathed over the moist, fruitful dirt and snaked around the jagged backs of pines. Cones dropped to the ground and dry needles fell like snowflakes. It was almost the season for snow. The sky was gray with clouds, and the tips of the pine trees seemed to stretch as high as imaginable in order to touch the hazy, gray, illusive plane of emptiness.
The man’s clean shaven face shone like the pale moon in the dim light of dusk. His forearms bulged
through his flannel shirt, which was tucked into his thick, heavy blue jeans. Steel toed boots were laced on his feet, and a baseball cap covered his deep black hair. He pulled his canoe from the lake and hoisted it by the fraying rope, dragging it up the muddy bank, his boots gripping the creamy clay. He couldn’t help but smile as he deeply breathed in the smell of pine with a tinge of the lake. He walked through the rocky ground to his truck, a 1935 Chevrolet, its green color muted by dirt caked on the exterior. He placed his wooden oars in the bed of his truck and fastened his canoe to the roof with ropes. He glanced at his wristwatch; it would be dark soon, especially if he was caught in the mountains. A hawk soared across the sky, and he stopped to admire its beauty before he pulled open the truck door and settled into the cab.
As the altitude decreased, his eardrums crackled. He smoothly rolled down the paved mountain
road, his elbow resting on the open window. He was traveling through a canyon of massive pine trees that reached to the skies, and considered himself microscopic. There was no better feeling than the sense of being overpowered by the beauty of nature and magnificence of creation.
It was almost completely dark when he finally reached his destination. He untied his canoe from
the roof and gently stood it on end, its blunt point wedging itself loosely into the moss. The porch light shone dimly. Frost that was beginning to settle over the grass and pine leaves sparkled and twinkled like broken glass. The man tucked his oars beneath his arm and laid his canoe on the ground, gripping the frayed rope. His boots crunched on the mud that was beginning to harden in the chill of the evening, and
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Our Little Mountain Lake
• First Place Fiction •
Caroline Lindsay Konig
his canoe scraped the crystallized moss as he dragged it behind him. Propping his canoe on end against the side of the barn and placing the oars beside it, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked up the wooden stairs into the house.
There was a fire crackling in the fireplace,
warming the cabin. He took off his hat and hung it on the coat rack, just as his bloodhound raised his head from the ground and began to thump his tail on the wooden floors. As he walked by, he roughly massaged the bloodhound’s ears as the dog raised his chin for his owner to pet him.
“There’s coffee in the pot and soup on the
stove,” said his wife from her rocking chair in front of the fireplace.
“Sunf lower Field”
Adam’s stomach growled. After a long day of
working and being on the lake, he was starved.
• by Brooke Bain
Nothing would taste better than a steaming mug
- Wilson High School -
of coffee and a bowl of soup. “Yes, thank you,”
•
Honorable Mention Photography
he commented. He gathered his bowl, mug, and cutlery, and proceeded to the hearth where he sat with his back to the fire to face his wife.
“Were the fish biting today?” she asked, her face glowing from the heat of the fire. She lowered her
crocheting into her lap as she engaged her husband in quiet conversation.
“I didn’t try with the fish.”
“Just an evening on the lake.”
“Mm.” His mind was on more pressing things. “Who started the fire, Carolyn?”
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Our Little Mountain Lake
• First Place Fiction •
Caroline Lindsay Konig
“The preacher stopped by to bring us fresh eggs, wasn’t that nice of him?”
“And he started a fire for you?”
“It was a mite chilly.”
“I’m sorry, Carolyn. If I had realized it was to be so frosty, I would have left the lake earlier.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” she beamed, her eyes softening. “I know you need your time on the water.
Sometimes I wonder how you’d tell me goodbye if someone asked you to choose between me and the sea.”
“You know that isn’t true.”
Carolyn was quiet, and Adam heartily ate his soup. Silence consumed the entire cabin until Boston
thumped to the hearth and laid at Adam’s feet, releasing a prompt sigh. The man’s muscles felt satisfyingly worked and used, the feeling of being productively tired. His mind was pleased and relaxed from his float down the misty green lake, yet he couldn’t ignore the feeling gnawing at his heart that he’d neglected his wife.
After Adam finished his soup, he relaxed in his armchair and sipped his coffee while Boston rested
at his feet. He noticed his wife lowering her crochet as she began to speak.
“Do you miss the war, darling?”
“Miss the war? Mercy, no.”
“You know what I mean.”
Adam was quiet for a minute, thinking about his wife’s words. “At times,” he agreed. “I admit I do
miss the sea. But our little mountain lake does in a pinch, wouldn’t you say?”
Carolyn laughed quietly. “Our little mountain lake doesn’t take you quite so far away from me.”
A heavy mood settled unexpectedly upon the sitting room. Adam reached down and tugged off his
boots while his wife fumbled with her crochet. Boston snoozed lazily as Adam rubbed his back with his socked feet. His untouched coffee had grown cold.
“You used to play your music at night, Adam. Why haven’t you played for me?”
“Well, I suppose I could,” Adam said softly. He stood from his armchair and walked slowly to the
violin that slept in its case upon the mantle. “I’m sure I’ll be rusty.”
“It’s all the same to me, dear.”
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Our Little Mountain Lake
• First Place Fiction •
Caroline Lindsay Konig
The violin was shining in the firelight as
he lovingly brushed away the collected dust and tucked it beneath his chin. The strings, though slightly dull, still sang as he drew the bow across and his wife closed her eyes and listened. Boston didn’t raise his head.
His violin was a gift from an Army pilot
he’d met while serving aboard an aircraft carrier meant to bring the Army boys to the coast of Japan. The Army man had purchased the violin from a shop in China, and aimed to bring it home to share with his family. As Adam and this man grew closer, though, it was presented instead to Adam as thanks for his service aboard the naval carrier. Adam never had a chance to repay the favor. But now the old Chinese box sang and filled the cabin with explosive melody, a melancholic
“King of the Forest” • by Alexandria Dodd
old tune that wept for the lost and weary. And as he played, Adam glanced at his peaceful wife,
- ATCTC / Brooks High School -
whose head had propped against the back of her
Honorable Mention Artwork
•
rocker as she swayed gently, back and forth. Her crochet rested upon her lap. Her feet gently
tapped the floor. His fingers fumbled, but his melody was unshaken.
Some folks claim to hear this weeping tune emitting from the secluded mountain cabin at night, if
the conditions are right. His song is a faint, crying sound that breaks through the still air, and can be heard only by those who care to listen. The cabin itself is growing weary. The only soul that ventures up the mountain, through the rocky, dry roads, is the preacher, who brings eggs and groceries to Mrs. Carolyn
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Our Little Mountain Lake
• First Place Fiction •
Caroline Lindsay Konig
on occasion. The young woman would apologize for her husband’s absence, telling the preacher that her Adam was at the lake as he needed his time on the water. The truth was that Adam was always home; ever since the naval carrier was attacked by Japanese planes, since that horrific letter Carolyn received, and the General who appeared one day to present Carolyn with a triangularly folded flag. His picture rests upon the mantle, next to his flag and the untouched Chinese violin. And each night, after she prepares supper, the young widow sits down upon her rocker and listens for her husband’s return from their little mountain lake.
“Sunset” • by Bethany Lee
- Central High School-
•
Honorable Mention Photography
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First Place • Artwork
“Fog and Snow” •
by Rebecca Jones - Rogers High School •
First Place Artwork - 11-
First Place • Non-Fiction • • What
Demonstrated Patriotism Means to Me
••
by Haylee Joiner Central High School
Patriotism is beginning to be an ideal of the past. Our flag and our freedom are taken for granted
by many people and are not given the respect that they deserve. For the most part, members of modern society do not care about their fellow brother, and many people believe that it is not their duty to sacrifice their life, but someone else’s. Without the brave men and women who have answered the calling to serve and establish justice, in order to maintain freedom for the generations that follow, our country would have fallen long ago.
My father enlisted in the United States Army in 1985, when he was seventeen years old, and
became a member of the Alfa 9-2 Infantry in Fort Jackson, South Carolina. In 1988, he was stationed right outside of Osan, South Korea, where he was a 31 Charlie in the 115 Signal Corps and was tasked with training South Koreans in methods of combat. In April of 1992, he was due to leave the Army but his country needed him, and he stayed throughout Desert Storm. At the end of 1993, he became inactive for two additional years. I have been taught since birth that my duty is to serve if my country ever calls on me, and if I were called right now I would not hesitate for a moment. Oftentimes I think about Isaiah 6:8 which states, “Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, Whom shall I send? And who will go for us? And I said, Here am I. Send me!”
Although patriotism is shown by serving in the armed forces and honoring those that have lost
their lives while protecting our country, it is also shown through voting in national and local elections, working hard and investing money into the economy, and volunteering to improve the surrounding community. Citizens show their patriotism by becoming educated voters and voting for politicians who they know will provide our military with the tools that they need, such as weapons and technology, to keep them safe during combat. Citizens also show patriotism through providing an honest day’s work and paying taxes to maintain public services. Entrepreneurs and small business owners demonstrate patriotism through their determination and desire to earn a better living for themselves and their
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What Demonstrated Patriotism Means to Me
• First Place Non-Fiction •
Haylee Joiner
families. Also, seeking out ways to impact other people’s lives and lending a hand through difficult times shows patriotism by loving and caring for our brothers and sisters. Whether or not a person is in the armed forces, he or she can still show patriotism by making smart decisions, working hard and contributing to our economy, and honoring our flag and the people who have lost their lives while protecting it.
“Blueberry Lemonade” • by Krysta Neelley
- ATCTC / Brooks High School -
•
Honorable Mention Artwork
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First Place • Poetry •••
The Hunt
•••
by Hannah Joiner Central High School Up early just as morning sun shows sight Feel sluggish, restless, happy at this time This patient sport is where I find delight Here, now, I witness nature’s life in mine
Bare trees and crunchy leaves are all around I see God’s beauty in each living thing Squirrels high and pint-sized bugs on the ground Sublime birds and turkeys batting their wings
I feel the cold air that bites at my face The breeze that blows my hair and scent away I am alone now, my heart slows its pace I welcome the sun and its warming rays
I, at ease in my simple camo fleece Alone, removed from the world, I’m at peace
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First Place • Photography
“Sunset on the River” •
by Hunter Drake - Central High School •
First Place Photography
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Second Place • Fiction
A Lesson in Pranks • • • by Ashley Kennemer • Wilson High School • • •
“You know that book Cicero is always carrying around with him?” Romeo looked down at him
with bright eyes, and knowing the vampire as well as he did, August was afraid of what the teen was up to. Sighing, he closed his laptop and met the blonde’s stare.
“You mean his Book of Shadows? Yeah, what about it?”
Romeo grinned, digging through his messenger bag for a moment before pulling out an aged book
bound in dark leather. “I stole it,” he boasted proudly.
August moved to his feet in a heartbeat, causing the vampire to step backwards. “Why would you
do that?” He honestly could not believe the stupidity that his friend contained. He reached for the book, but Romeo sidestepped him and kept it out of his reach.
“Well,” he hummed, “I figured that I’d borrow it and see how he reacted when it went missing. It’s
like his favorite book, isn’t it?” Romeo blinked up at him with false innocence, and August grinded his teeth to prevent from punching him.
“It’s more than that.” August straightened up so that he could tower over the vampire and use
his height to his advantage. “It’s everything to him. A personal record of his craft, his thoughts, even the spells he’s created. It’s so intimate he won’t even let me see it, Romeo.”
Romeo seemed unaffected by the power display before him and was in fact more excited upon
August’s explanation. “So, it’s like his diary? Ooh, this is gonna be great blackmail then.” He cackled, only pausing when August cornered him against the wall. “Hmm?” He hummed, tilting his head curiously.
“We have to return it. Now.” It wasn’t a suggestion. August would take it by force if he had to.
Romeo considered his words. Understanding crossed his face and he turned paler than August
thought possible for a vampire. “You’re scared.” August frowned, but didn’t deny it. “It’s really that important to him?”
“More than you could understand.” His answer was dry, but it was to the point.
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A Lesson in Pranks
• Second Place Fiction •
Ashley Kennemer
“And what will Cicero do when he finds it missing?” Romeo had the feeling that he had gone a little
too far in his prank war with the witch, and that feeling only continued to worsen the more he stared into August’s eyes.
“Truthfully?” August grimaced. “Probably curse us all to eternal darkness or something dramatic.
He loves the town too much to burn it down, but he’ll definitely go on a witch hunt to find it.”
Romeo snorted at the irony before the words fully registered in his brain. “Oh.” He frowned, tooth
digging into his bottom lip. “Perhaps a glitter bomb would have been smarter after all.”
August sighed. “While funny, he’d still kill you.” He pushed away from the wall and slid his running
shoes on. “C’mon, let’s go return it.” Romeo found it in his best interests to agree.
The walk to Cicero’s house was tense and Romeo swore he could cut the awkwardness with a knife.
“August, you smell like a dog when you sweat.” He complained, and made a face that was almost a grimace. Amused, August glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “At least I don’t smell like death” he retorted, watching the other teen puff up in indignation.
“I pleasantly smell of Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel.” August raised an eyebrow, snorting at
the immodest comment. “Don’t laugh at me,” Romeo pouted, shoving the werewolf in the side. August stumbled slightly, and unthinking, he pushed back at Romeo. Being smaller and weaker than the brute, the vampire was sent sprawling to the ground. The contents of his messenger bag were scattered on the ground, including Cicero’s book.
Shadow tendrils wrapped around the book. Surprised and ready to fight to get the book back,
Romeo jumped to his feet with a hiss. Beside him, August had dropped into one of his martial arts stances. He might have taken it to begin with, but if it meant anything to Cicero then Romeo would do anything to get it back for him.
The cloaked figure that had creeped up on them while they had been roughhousing stood silently,
the book held securely in its hand. Dark tendrils climbed the length of the figure, curling around it in a protective covering.
“Give it back, you fiend,” Romeo demanded, and the figure’s body shook with laughter. It rang
out crisp and full of mirth, and it had August freezing where he stood. August paused for a second before
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A Lesson in Pranks
• Second Place Fiction •
Ashley Kennemer
standing straight. Romeo side-eyed him so hard. That traitor.
“Really? That’s the best you
can come up with?” The figure could barely get the words out between laughs, and the voice forced Romeo’s brain to stop responding.
Cicero removed the hood
from his head, and the tendrils disappeared in a puff of smoke. His hazel eyes were wet with tears, and Romeo’s pride continued to take hit after hit. He had never seen Cicero laugh like that, much less laugh so hard he cried.
“I’m sorry, truly,” he wiped
his eyes with his sleeve. “I didn’t
“Moonlit Clouds”
mean to sneak up on you two, but I
• by Brandon Stapleton
couldn’t help but notice that you have
- Central High School -
something that belongs to me. Which,
•
Honorable Mention Photography
I may add, I’ve been looking for.”
The
tension
once
again
returned to the air, and Romeo couldn’t help the fear that ran up his spine. August took the chance to quickly step over to Cicero’s side like the loyal dog he was, and Romeo had to roll his eyes at the sight. Then he remembered that his other friend was a terrifying witch and he really should not be getting distracted right now.
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A Lesson in Pranks
• Second Place Fiction •
Ashley Kennemer
“Pray tell, why was my book in your possession? Last time I checked it was in my room. Securely
locked.” Cicero kept his tone polite, but there was an unsaid danger in his deceptively warm eyes. Was that . . . amusement? That didn’t make any sense, so Romeo was probably imagining it.
“I just thought it’d be funny to hide it and make you find it via a treasure hunt.” He really hoped
his explanation was enough for the witch.
Cicero raised a finely arched eyebrow. “Assuming I didn’t just use my own magic to find it and then
turn you into a statue in return?” His lips tugged into a wicked smirk, and Romeo couldn’t help but feel betrayed at how entranced August was by the expression.
“You wouldn’t do that,” Romeo protested weakly. He had the feeling that Cicero would in fact do it.
Cicero didn’t have much shame these days. If he ever had.
Cicero chuckled. “You’re right.” He leaned on August, tapping a long finger against his own lip in
thought. “You would make a rather ugly statue. I think I’d turn you into a rabbit or a deer instead. That way you could spend the rest of your days entertaining August here.”
Romeo stared at the duo with wide eyes. “You wouldn’t.” He took a step back out of fear, but then
remembered where he was. Running wouldn’t do him any good. “Cicero, please.” He threw himself down at the witch’s feet, hands clasped together as if he were praying. “Please forgive me, I won’t ever do it again, I promise. I didn’t realize how important the book was to you. Please don’t hurt me. We’re friends, aren’t we?” Begging was beneath him, but he was beneath Cicero and he wasn’t going to risk upsetting the teen any more.
Cicero laughed, and this time August joined in. “Why would I hurt you over an old copy of Pride
and Prejudice?”
Romeo blinked at the ground in confusion. “Wait, what?” He jumped to his feet, staring at Cicero
as if he’d grown a second head. (Or a third? August was basically attached to him at the hip anyway.) “What are you talking about? Wasn’t that book your diary or something?”
Cicero snorted and fixed Romeo with a dry look. “Two words: I win.” Romeo stared at him before
it clicked. He looked between the wolf and witch with a look of abject betrayal.
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A Lesson in Pranks finally
• Second Place Fiction •
Ashley Kennemer
“You were in on it?” August broke
from
his
serious
persona entirely, grinning toothily at the blonde. “You kind of deserved it, Romeo. You’ve been pranking us both for a whole month now.”
Cicero
draped
himself
across August’s shoulder to stare down at the shortest of their trio. “You should have seen your face, Romeo. You were so terrified. ‘Please don’t, I promise to be good.’ Did you seriously think I’d leave my book of shadows in plain sight? Come on now, get with the times, Romeo dear.”
Romeo sighed and hung
his head. “I hate you both.” He grumbled, causing the others to
“Manibus”
laugh once more.
•
by Katy Corfman
“Now we’re square, right?”
The duo looked at each other for
- Lexington High School-
a moment before walking away.
Honorable Mention Artwork
•
Romeo hurried after them. “We are even, right? Right?”
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Second Place • Poetry •••
First Date
•••
by Kaliegh Warren
Lauderdale County High School Sweaty hands and shaking knees Sitting side by side, comfortably One dressed in black boots and a shirt quaint the other in a dress, and feeling faint Smiles and soft words are spoken The light in their eyes is finally awoken With nothing but heartbeats and butterflies They are able to read each other's guise A meal has been shared and so have many dreams Now they are sewing together their minds at the seams From first impressions to first dates For a second one, they will not wait
The nights never last long enough They know now that being separated will be tough So they decide to extend the newfound bliss And end the night with a loving kiss
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Second Place • Artwork
“Daisy” •
by Alexandria Dodd - ATCTC / Brooks High School •
Second Place Artwork - 22 -
Second Place • Photography
“Sky Fire” •
by Kaylee Garey - ATCTC / Lexington High School •
Second Place Photography - 23 -
Second Place • Non-Fiction
Effects the Internet and Social Media Have on Teenagers • • • by Bethany Lee • Central High School • • •
The Internet and social media have become a significant aspect of the everyday life of most
teenagers. New social applications are created extremely often, and teenagers keep up with them. In the last decade, the Internet has become a tool for people to use for everything; the world is at the fingertips of this generation. It can be very beneficial to be able to Google anything a person wants to know, but it also has a negative side. Teenagers do not get as much sleep or get as much done because of their being on their phone twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; communication skills are also low because teenagers are accustomed to typing their response instead of speaking face-to-face.
It is very common for a teenager to stay up late at night scrolling through their social media
feeds. They can look on Instagram and see all of the pictures people have posted or go on Twitter and read about the lives of celebrities. Teenagers lose a great deal of sleep this way, especially if they have to get up the next day for school. During most classes at school, teenagers are on their phone texting or Snapchatting someone. Considering the fact that a student is not supposed to have their phone out during class hours, this has become a big problem.
Adolescents also do not get as much done because they are always on social media. In the past
decades, humans did not have cell phones and did not have anything to occupy their time besides work or school. Now when a student gets a class assignment, there is a big chance that they will procrastinate and scroll through social media. There are some cases in which teenagers do not have social media, and this is not an issue; not having social media is probably the best idea. YouTube can also be detrimental to a person’s work ethic because it is like a black hole; a person watches one video, and they get sucked in.
The last and most important effect is that teenagers cannot communicate with other people
because they are accustomed to texting or being on social media. Most of the time when a person walks
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Effects the Internet and Social Media Have on Teenagers •Second Place Non-Fiction• Bethany Lee
in a public place, everyone is looking down at his or her phone. This has halted the communication of humans as a whole. People do not talk to other people in person as much anymore; they just get their number and text them. If teenagers do
not
know
someone,
there is a good chance they will not go up to the person and talk to them because they do not know how. A
“Just ChinChillin”
hundred years ago, it was
• by Laken Pasek
easier to go up to a person
- ATCTC / Lexington High School-
and
say
hello
because
that was the only form of
•
Honorable Mention Photography
communication one had. Now people have texting and social media, so speaking in person is not as common.
Teenagers have been hugely affected by the development of social media and the Internet in
recent years. Each year the Internet gets better and better, and teenagers use more and more social media websites. The Internet and social media can be a very helpful tool to learn about the world and connect with people on the other side of the country. It has become a problem with teenagers because they lose sleep and do not get as much done because of being on social media. Lastly, most teenagers have no communication skills because they do not feel it is needed when they have a cell phone in their pocket.
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Third Place • Poetry •••
Golf
•••
by Andrew Archer Central High School
I fell in love with the game long ago Many don’t understand my love won’t cease Since the beginning love for it has grown The game teaches me to have a certain peace
The solitude gives me tranquility I'm alone with myself to depend on When I’m on the golf course it is just me No one can help even when things go wrong
Nothing can compare to the sweetest sound Only I can know how good it will feel I will always love when that sound resounds Only my most perfect swing can reveal
This game I love so has given me joy I have loved this game since I was a boy
- 26 -
Third Place • Artwork
“Little Explorer” •
by Audrey Hill - ATCTC / Rogers High School •
Third Place Artwork - 27 -
Third Place • Fiction
Either Side of the Bridge • • • by Caroline Lindsay Konig • Lexington High School • • •
Buildings sprouted from the edge of the street like weeds, the bodies constructed of weathered
bricks and the fronts of rippled glass, upon which were stenciled the names of various emporiums. The lazy wind forced sheets of dust across the town that lay sleeping in the moonlit comfort of Southern California. Under the cover of darkness, a lone cowboy rode through the streets of the displaced eyesore of a city on a stallion the color of chocolate. He scanned the rooftops and examined each cracked brick as if his eyes were magnifying every imperfection, as an appraiser would inspect a precious gem or antiquity. A sign was jutting from the ground, sadly displaying the name of the settlement as a prisoner would advertise his wrongdoings. This poor sign and the crossing of a stone bridge upon arrival put to rest any doubt in the stranger’s mind that he had entered the wrong locale.
His sweat-stained leather hat perched nonchalantly on his head , and his saddle bags contained
nothing but several cans of beans and drink. These and an iron that rested upon his hip were his only provisions. He was not planning to stay for a particularly extensive time.
He was satisfied with the dormancy of the town, and so he turned his horse and returned to the
spring. There he would await sunrise and enjoy a drink and an early breakfast. When the sun began to crest on the edge of the town, it blazed a neon orange and the cowboy placed his hat upon his head to shield his penetrating eyes. He had taken shelter beneath a tree and had eaten half of a can of beans, unwarmed. After washing his dust-covered face in the stream, he mounted his horse and strode back to the town.
Only a few men roamed the streets, unlocking shop doors and preparing their businesses for the
work day. Their eyes all followed the mysterious cowboy to the hotel.
The man had timed his arrival perfectly. There was no one in the hotel except the clerk, who
asked no questions when the gentleman requested a room. The only evidence of his presence was the chocolate horse that stood patiently outside the hotel, the halter tied to the post.
- 28 -
Either Side of the Bridge
• Third Place Fiction •
Caroline Lindsay Konig
When darkness settled its cover across the town and the men locked their doors and covered the
windows, another man, indistinguishable, sauntered onto the edge of town upon a gray horse with a coat fairer than moonlight. This new stranger’s hair was grizzled and he wore inexpensive, durable clothing. From his shoulder a canteen was swinging and a guitar was strapped across his back. Even through the darkness, he recognized the horse of such fine chestnut standing asleep before the inn, and he was unscrupulously pleased. His challenge was answered.
And so, much like the first man, the new stranger turned his horse and returned to the spring on
the edge of town to await the dawn of the coming morning. He ignited a small campfire and disregarded his hunger by playing the guitar. The fire crackled, imitating the sharp concussion of the crushing of a nutshell. Water bubbled and sang as it washed across the bed of fertile land, and the wind shook the leaves that enveloped the desperado in a canopy of foliage. The smoke rose from the fire to extend beyond the canopy, and the man’s voice drifted along the smoke and was uplifted toward the heavens, accompanied by the harsh crackling, the soft strumming, and the lonesome howl of coyotes a few miles in the distance. Shadows of flames danced upon the belly of the pale, ash-colored stallion.
When the man awoke, he felt a jolt of discouragement immediately upon waking. And with his
head propped on his saddle for a pillow, he lay with his hands crossed over his vested chest and admired the variegation of the new morning sky. The dew was suspended and clouded over the grassy landscape. There to the west was that scar of the unfortunate, yet providential, piece of land in which rested a particularly disagreeable man. And the desperado sighed, and subsequently inhaled the thick, beef-like smell of leather that was moistened with dew.
When he gathered his strength to stand, he drank the last bit of water from his canteen and
saddled his horse. He strapped his guitar onto the horse’s back, and hung the canteen from the saddle horn. He buckled his holster around his waist and walked his horse to the road that led into town. With the utmost care and affection he stroked his stallion’s mane and neck, and finally he stood firmly planted on the dusty road. Deeply he inhaled, and then slapped the horse’s hindquarters and urged him to run towards the east. He felt an iron hand clench his heart with raw despair.
The cowboy stretched his arms after a night of rest upon a mattress, the first of many nights to
- 29 -
Either Side of the Bridge
• Third Place Fiction •
Caroline Lindsay Konig
be comfortable. When he walked to the washing basin, he paused to look through the window and saw a silver figure darting across the landscape, towards the ascending sun. He lingered at the window awhile. He had answered a challenge.
Folks were beginning to stir by the time the cowboy had washed his face and was walking down
the stairs to the lobby. He paid his dues and pushed open the door to present himself to the town. A small crowd had gathered around his horse, but they dispersed like flies when the cowboy approached. Eyes followed him down the street. Some people attempted to avoid acknowledging the presence of the stranger. Mostly their eyes were attracted to the big iron on his hip. Suspicions escalated when the man left his horse and walked past the buildings, ignoring his surroundings and fixating his intent somewhere on the edge of town. Their eyes followed as his spurs jingled with every determined step. They were breathless. The town buckled with tension.
Water rippled beneath the stone bridge. The desperado stood on the far side, the newborn sun
casting his silhouette upon the bridge. The glare from the cowboy’s eyes insisted he straighten his shoulders and lift his chin.
As the cowboy approached, many people from the town gathered at a safe distance from the
bridge, intrigued not only by the cowboy, but also now by the appearance of a new stranger.
The cowboy stood where the road ended and the bridge began, the desperado imitating on the
opposite side. The only obstruction between them was the slightly parabolic curve of stone. Without speaking a word, the desperado widened his stance, his feet shoulder's width apart, and his hands dangled dangerously at his sides. His vision was clear, and his gaze was locked upon the figure standing several feet before him.
The cowboy tipped his hat to shield his eyes from the sunlight, to enhance his view of the
desperado, whose figure allowed the sun to surround him in a glow of harsh light around his extremities. He widened his own stance and let his arms rest by his sides.
Onlookers caught their breath, and as the time crawled, more citizens arose from their peaceful
night to the hostile situation that was taking place on the bridge. No one uttered a single word. A forced silence spread like poison.
- 30 -
Either Side of the Bridge
• Third Place Fiction •
Caroline Lindsay Konig
And then, without warning, a mutual understanding passed between the two men, and time
passed in a crescendo of whirled occurrences and the spastic, decisive movements that determined the coming seconds. The explosive noise cracked the silence, serving the antidote of the horrible poison afflicting the curious townsfolk.
Both men scored a direct hit and now lay motionless, one on the east end of the bridge and
the other on the west. For just a moment the townspeople stood in silence, but when the shock faded, someone fetched the sheriff and a couple of curious men approached the bodies. Curiosity plagued the minds of the peaceful citizens, oblivious to either mans' profession, name, or the cause of their discord. The deputy and the doctor buried the men on either side of the bridge, where their sleeping bodies had chosen to rest. Life in the desperate little town continued as usual, and the chocolate horse was sold to the highest bidder.
“ Leone ” • by Mycala White - ATCTC / Lexington High School-
• Honorable Mention Artwork
- 31 -
Third Place • Photography
“Fireside” •
by Alexandria Dodd - ATCTC / Brooks High School •
3rd Place
Photography
- 32 -
Honorable Mention • Poetry
•••
Time
•••
by Madison Jones Lauderdale County High School
There is so little time. And I find that I’m……. Losing track of time, running out of my mind. Because daily I discover it is becoming harder to find. There is no time. My perception for space is blowing up in my face, As I realize that time is human disgrace, a mistake. A defaced version of our universe, Putting our inevitable progress in reverse. Stopping us from going anywhere in time. As time goes by I find that I’m…. Falling, questioning why I’m not flying. Wondering how I’m not dying. If time is a man made invention, Was our own downfall the true intention?
- 33 -
Honorable Mention • Fiction
An Adverse Redemption • • • by Branden Bento • Lauderdale County High School • • •
Michael’s hysterical laughter flooded the room and sent a ring to everyone’s ears. Katherine,
who was sitting by his side slightly grinned in annoyance as the others in the room stared at the two in discontent. The television was muted, and all focus was on Michael and Katherine.
“Michael?” Katherine asked rather abruptly, trying to divert the attention from at least herself.
Michael did not reply. He sat on the sofa, content to laugh until either his lungs tired, or the people in the room grew in annoyance so severe that they would take it upon themselves to kick the dope out. Eventually his lungs will just give out, Katherine thought to herself as her face grew to match the color of her hair.
Katherine jumped up quickly.
“Michael, come on!” Katherine said while grabbing him by the arm. She pulled him out of the
room and into the main lobby of the building. A little boys’ imagination to be sure, but neither of them could afford to be kicked out here. Not here. Not like last time. Last time. Katherine could remember it vividly. The way that old lady yelled at her, made her out to be more worthless than the dirt at the lady’s feet. The veins in her eyes engorged with blood as she demanded that Katherine and her brother leave immediately. An abrupt, if not unexpected end.
The dust and debris hovered and tossed easily over the cracked cement. Two sleeping bags
were laid out underneath the bridge, where the siblings’ other limited belongings lay as well. Michael slept wearily by Katherine’s side as a dimly lit flame drew light over their fragile and vulnerable selves. Thankfully this bridge wasn’t used nearly as often as some they had stayed at before, though there was always the occasional truck, car, or other assorted vehicles that would effectively influence either one’s thoughts.
“Kathy?” Michael asked quietly as a Mack passed over the bridge slowly, its engine roaring. His
sister was awake, reading a book she had garnered from a thrift shop about a mile or two away. She
- 34 -
An Adverse Redemption
• Honorable Mention Fiction •
Branden Bento
marked her place on the pages, put the book down, and turned her head slowly toward her brother.
“Yes, Michael?” She said calmly, hoping not to arouse any discomfort of any kind in his mind. She
knew it was inevitable, however, that her brother would ask about mother and father. She didn’t have the words to explain the predicament as she could hardly remember the events that took place that night herself, so she found it impossible to articulate the events prior to someone else, especially her brother, who was still only seven years of age. And then, the remark came...
“I’m hungry.” Michael said, his eyes looking mystically at his surroundings. He still had the
curiosity of a young boy, if not, to his disdain, without currently knowing it. Katherine was relieved, yet saddened by the fact that this was it. That she knew her brother was counting on her for everything, aside from the polluted oxygen he was continually filling his lungs with, of course. She handed him some of her leftover sandwich from her bag, hoping it would suffice. A Few Hours Later...
The fire had turned to ash. Morning had arisen. The concrete steamed with heat.
“Katherine, get up!” Michael said as he frantically shook his sister from her sleep. Katherine
awoke from a daze, still recovering from the alcohol and other substances she had consumed the night before. She saw her clear plastic bag fall out from her coat pocket as she awoke. Careful not to let Michael see such a disgrace, she quickly took it and shoved it into her satchel.
“I guess we overslept.” Katherine suggested. “Let’s go.”
Katherine rolled their sleeping bags and took with them whatever they could carry without
being overloaded. Michael was right there, by her side, always.
They walked a little ways into the next district. A few hours had passed since they had left the
bridge. Katherine looked ahead a little ways and saw a hotel where they both could stay for a few nights. Knowing Michael, with his infinite wisdom, would ask why they couldn’t stay there all the time, instead of moving from place to place, she asserted:
“We can only stay here for a few nights, Michael. We don’t have the money to stay for more than
that.” Surprisingly understanding, Michael nodded without disagreement, and continued to follow his
- 35 -
An Adverse Redemption
• Honorable Mention Fiction •
Branden Bento
sister.
A rather desolate little building, the siblings finally made their way to the hotel. Stained walls of
cheap plaster with peeling paint was the norm; the siblings, at least Katherine, expected nothing more. Katherine walked into the office building, which was little more than a separate shack than anything else.
“Two nights and one bed will be fine.” Katherine said hazily to the man behind the counter.
He was a short chubby man with long stringy gray hair that was ill kept. His eyes were almost a soft, glowing red, and his shirt had several holes through which skin and hair could be seen jutting. He was also profusely sweating, even with a small metallic fan blowing directly toward him, as if he had just
“Fall Creek Falls” • by Brooke Bain
- Wilson High School-
•
Honorable Mention Photography
- 36 -
An Adverse Redemption
• Honorable Mention Fiction •
Branden Bento
finished a marathon, or other extensive exercise.
“Eighty dollars.” The man said lazily. Katherine handed him the money. It was almost all she had
left, out of the one-twenty she so desperately worked for. “Room 706,” the man said smiling, his crooked, yellow teeth imprinting an image of insanity in Katherine’s mind. Michael was standing there, by his sister’s side, always.
Katherine and Michael exited the shack. The wind was blowing rather fiercely and the chimes
of birds chirping could be heard a distance away. This brightened their spirits, if only for a short while. Michael, his soft, almost silk-like hair swaying with the cool wind, prancing around like a young boy should. Looking excitedly in each direction at the scenery, even if it was just some distraught collection of ravaged buildings in some small, insignificant world.
They got to their room. The door read “706”, only, the top half of the second digit was missing.
When they pushed open the door the sweet smell of pollution and mildew entrenched their nostrils. The cheap wallpaper was tearing and peeling and there were several holes and gaps in the walls and ceiling. Oddly enough, the bed and furniture seemed to be practically new, despite the rest of the room’s looking like something out of a stereotypical trailer park. After a few minutes of “settling in,” or at least as much as anyone in their shoes would be able to, it was Katherine’s time to “go to work” as it were. Michael was sitting in a chair near a window, simply peering out unto the world with innocent and benevolent eyes.
“I will be gone for a few hours, Michael,” Katherine said, kneeling down near her brother. “Make
sure you keep the door locked.” He was still looking out of the window, as if concentrating on a particular object or point in his vision, almost entranced. “Michael.” Katherine put her arm on his shoulder suspecting he wasn’t paying attention.
“I heard you, Kathy, you’ll be gone a few hours and I should keep the door locked. I heard you.”
Michael whispered while turning his head toward his sister in acknowledgement. His eyes seemed shallow, bags clearly making their presence felt.
“Get some sleep, Michael,” Katherine said comfortingly. She lay Michael down on the bed, which
- 37 -
An Adverse Redemption
• Honorable Mention Fiction •
Branden Bento
appeared soft and cozy, and gently patted him on the head. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek just as she had any time she left him alone. Her lipstick ever so slightly besmirched his cotton like skin. She went to the bathroom to change. She undid her ponytail unveiling her thick velvet colored hair’s true beauty. She slipped into tight, purposefully ripped leggings as well as applied new lipstick, a deep black that made a stark, ever numbing contrast with her long, glistening red hair. She also took the time to put on fresh eyeshadow of a light purple shade. She carried with her a small satchel handbag in which she kept most of her miniscule belongings and money, as well as a few all too important protein packets. It was now time for Katherine to go to work. She waved to Michael one last time, before walking out of the door, slamming it unusually hard against the doorframe. When she was gone, Michael was found sitting in the chair by the window, peering out again, this time with a slight smirk on his jolly round face.
A few hours had passed. A switching of the bars and rivets inside of the door’s lock could be heard.
Katherine turned the key, and walked back inside room 706. Michael was still sitting there, in that chair by the window, peering unto the outside world. The sun had gracefully fallen from its position in the sky, and night had fallen over them. There were a few streetlights flickering in the distance, but besides the occasional car’s headlights illuminating the street temporarily, there existed virtually no light. None but the moon’s afterglow cast itself onto the cement below, making its presence felt even among those in such dire straits. It seemed to enlighten Michael’s being, to know that such beauty existed in the world, and that it was accessible and unconditional to all. Several Years Later...
Katherine and Michael had aged a bit and found themselves in San Francisco, California, their
home city and the home to about a million or so others. An array of shops and busy vehicles soared along whichever way you happened to be looking. There was always something going on, whether that be a crazed street preacher who practically demands you to believe in “Christ’s Holy Word” despite all of the evidence to the contrary, as well as a striking and utter ignorance to the words of his very doctrine, or an atypical mime or street musician performing an array of “clever” tricks and party stunts. You could take a fresh whiff of that Bay area ocean air and feel the excitement flow through to your very core, or at least
- 38 -
An Adverse Redemption
• Honorable Mention Fiction •
Branden Bento
that’s what most people think when they hear of big cities or indeed the very name “Cali”.
Katherine was now 27 years of
age, and Michael, growing up rather fast, was 17. The de facto standard of style at this time was long hair, tight jeans and perhaps a bit of a go-big-go-home attitude. Michael was all of these things and more. He’d grown out of that sweet child he used to be and enveloped the culture that was swelling in the year of 1986. Michael could finally see R-rated movies by himself, with Terminator being one of the first, and this is when, that he thought anyway, he met the love of his life. Of course, love at this
“Birds of a Feather” •
age will most probably never stay relevant past a few months, a year if you’re lucky. As was the case with poor Michael, his
by Alexandria Dodd
- ATCTC / Brooks High School-
thought-to-have-been-sweet Kristi Fontel
Honorable Mention Artwork
was merely a phantom, one which was as
•
elusive yet potent as a black widow. Despite this, however, Michael stood by his
sister’s side, always.
The Golden Gate. A symbol of hope and prosperity for some. A nightmare-injected heroin rush of
tendencies for others. Both Michael and Katherine, two siblings who had come all this way and lived all
- 39 -
An Adverse Redemption
• Honorable Mention Fiction •
Branden Bento
these years by each other’s sides had decided they’d have no possibility of ever being anything successful in this world. Katherine, a disgusting and utterly vile street prostitute who was only ever able to make a few dollars at a time was used up and lacking any thought or motivation of ever becoming anything more than a conned hag. Michael, who had experienced very little in the way of an enjoyable life, despite his sister’s constant attempts when they were younger, had become lost in drug abuse and addictions galore. He was a hopeless romantic who had failed to see any beauty in the world and had decided his life was the very definition of hazardous. Together, he and his sister would share their mutual sibling’s love for each other, remembering the laughs they had once had, however bittersweet those memories may taste.
The two siblings paced calmly up and down the Gate. The water, glistening, an almost trance
like state, they could almost hear it calling their names. An orange sunset peered overhead, as if to be a beacon of trust and assurance that everything would be alright. The siblings stopped and looked over the railing of the bridge to boats going about their business down below. The sunset’s reflection was just as beautiful to them both.
“Kathy,” Michael said calmly while leaning over the railing, “what ever happened to mother?” His
eyes were slightly red. Never before had he gotten an answer from his sister to this question. He hoped now would be the time.
“I suppose you deserve to know, Michael,” Katherine said, holding her brother in her arms.
“Mother was 28 when she had me, Michael. She was a very lovely woman, you would have liked her.” She paused, wiping away a tear that had escaped from her right eye.
“What was she like, sis?” Michael asked. He didn’t even know what she looked like.
“She was about my height, about 5’7”. She had black hair, green eyes. She was always willing
to help me with homework, anything I ever had trouble with. I came home from school one day, crying. I can’t even remember why I was crying, or what she did to help, but I just remember her talking to me, taking time out of her day to see what had gone wrong with mine.” Katherine said this quiveringly. Michael knew it was a very fond memory of hers.
“I wish I’d have known her.” Michael said with a low, almost humble tone.
“Your mother loved you very much, Michael,” Katherine said, hugging her brother close. “She
- 40 -
An Adverse Redemption
• Honorable Mention Fiction •
Branden Bento
was always playing with you when you were a baby, when you were in your crib still.” Katherine gave a slight giggle. “She would always call you her Hoogly Woogly.” Katherine was smiling, with streaks of tears rolling slowly down her face. She made no effort to wipe them away, instead she embraced them, as if it was empowering instead of deducting.
“Thank you,” Michael said with a sense of pride. The two siblings climbed over the railing of the
bridge. The metal was cold, yet inviting. It was utilitarian, yet pleasant to the eyes. For some reason, Michael had been waiting for this moment for what seemed like all his life. Michael and Katherine, taking one last look at life, at each other, and taking one last moment to appreciate all that they had ever experienced together, holding each other’s hands, swearing to never let go, and gently, but assuredly, leaning backward to the redemption that the bay had invited them to. As long as Michael was by his sister’s side, he knew that everything would be quite alright.
“The Brightest Star”
• by Gracelyn Morrison - Lauderdale County High School• Honorable Mention Photography - 41 -
Honorable Mention • Poetry
• • • America, Past and Present • • • by Brandon Stapleton Central High School Our Founding Fathers fought for this ole n’tion Defeat was not an option unto them Led by the great inspiring Washington They sent the British home, defeating them Years later, with relations disagree This nation was split due to a dispute The heroes of the day: Grant, Lincoln, Lee Agreed to bring an end to the warfare Our nation now in battle with the foe Of terror, ISIS is now waging war They are a strong threat to our peace, although We shall show them what fighters truly are
As all can see, the ole red, white, and blue
Will always stand tall through the battle’s brew
- 42 -
Every artist dips his brush in his soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures. - Henry Ward Beecher -
- 43 -