2022-23 Struan Magazine

WRITING

Strings Attached | John Barton ’25

A Second Home | John Barton ’25

Your Grandmother | John Barton ’25

A Different Kind of Slide | Whitford Birthright ’24

I Have Always Wished to Meet It | Tyler Brouse ’25

North Mils River | Mr. Jesse Breite

Deep Breath, Big Wish | Wyatt Campbell ’26

From Another Time | Dylan Edwards ’26

Plot Twist | David Gaines ’26

Trappers | TJ Hamilton ’24

Reckoning | Rocky Hansen ’23

Wizard of the Woods | Dr. Brent Harris

Study Habits | Mason Heth ’24

A Word to Mystify | Easton Hoffert ’26

Christ School Poem | Henry Holland ’23

Whip: n. a large fall, often while leading | Henry Holland ’23

Spilled Shake | Noah Hunt ’24

The Witness | John Jaber ’25

Dinkus Dog | Luke Jennings ’24

The Unlucky Man | Cole Lewis ’25

I am | Henry Lytle ’23

Careful What You Wish For | Palo Miles ’27

Dear Dreamer | Ethan Park ’23

Enlisted | Ethan Park ’23

Procyon Lotor | Ms. Emily Pulsifer

Old Times | Zachary Risinger ’25

From the Holler | Tucker Semans ’25

Time vs. Strategy | Brian Sheridan ’23

Barely Thirteen | Jack Shimer ’23

Thoughts on Size | Elliott Stay ’27

Nostalgia | Kevin Yang ’24

This year, students and faculty wrote flash fiction pieces of 350 words or fewer using a collection of “hooks” written by the Struan Board. You will find these pieces with familiar opening lines throughout this magazine.

photography, thomas bell ’24

Drawing | Brody Ballard ’25

Photography | Thomas Bell ’24

Photography | Thomas Bell ’24

Photography | Whitford Birthright ’24

Photography | Bradley Campbell ’24

Photography | Khalil Conley ’24

Drawing | RJ Fox ’25

Photography | Joe Gilliam ’25

Photography | Chase Gribble ’23

Photography | Chase Gribble ’23

Photography | Steven Hernandez ’23

Photography | Easton Hoffert ’26

Photography | Jackson Knoll ’23

Photography | Leo Lagutin ’24

Drawing | Levi Lastinger ’23

Photography | Sam Ludington ’23

Acrylic Painting | Nolan Miller ’25

Photography | Myles Murphy ’27

Photography | William Neumann ’24

Photography | William Neumann ’24

Digital Drawing | Ethan Park ’23

Photography | Will Peeler ’23

Photography | Will Peeler ’23

Mixed Media Collage | Jack Rheney ’23

Sculpture | Alex Rivera ’23

Photography | Aiden Schook ’23

Photography | Aiden Schook ’23

Photography | Brighton Shook ’23

Photography | Brighton Shook ’23

Acrylic Painting | Zachary Shuler ’25

Photography | Seth Shuler ’23

Photography | Spencer Thompson ’26

Mixed Media Collage | Campbell Vernon ’23

Painting | Patrick Wang ’24

Drawing | Henry Warner ’24

Photography | Mrs. Donna Wheeler

Photograhy | Keenan Wilkins ’24

Photography | Ian Williams ’23

Photography | Ethan Xiong ’23

Chinese Brush Painting | Kevin Xue ’26

drawing, levi lastinger ’23

A Second Home | John Barton ’25

Verdant forests, looming mountains, trails to roam, a place to call home.

A transformation from child to man, preparation for the world outside.

The Four Pillars to which we hold fast, and a faculty to teach us well. These are but a few things that make Christ School home.

1:54 AM.

I rub the sleepies into my eyes, calculating just how much sleep I could possibly get: Not enough.

I’ll be sad and tired when I wake. The last thing I’ll do tonight is learn.

Thoughts on Size | Elliott Stay ’27

If you were scant

The size of an ant

What would you see down there?

Would the grass be a city

Stretching into infinity?

What would you see down there?

If you were scant

The size of an ant

Could you visit a real ant’s home?

Could you see all those rooms

And the fungus in bloom?

Could you visit a real ant’s home?

If you were scant

The size of an ant

What would a human be like?

Some giant death foot

Covering you with soot

What would a human be like?

If you were scant

The size of an ant

How would you fare down there?

Could you build a grass house?

Make a steed of a mouse?

How would you fare down there?

College Essays | Alyssa Belcher, Faculty

Dear Dreamer,

When I was your age, I too looked at the stars and wondered what lay in that deep, empty expanse. Alongside my friends, we conjured worlds of dragons and robots and raced through the woods behind my house until the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. When I was your age, Dreamer, I thought those times would never end.

Then, one day, something emerged from the shadows, and with a crooked hand it pried my eyes open, showing me things I wish I’d never seen.

Dreamer, one day those adventures with dragons will end.

So don’t waste a second.

The badly parked Honda Civic took up the last spot at the beach. The unlucky man parked and realized he forgot his shoes. He reached back and grabbed his wife’s miniature sandals. As the unlucky man got out of the car, he cut his toes on broken glass, And the unlucky man forgot his favorite sunglasses.

Walking to the beach, the unlucky man fell on the rough concrete by the gate. His knees and feet were covered in cuts and bruises. He walked to the edge of the water, put on sunscreen

And leaned back in his sun-warmed chair.

He felt a water droplet smack his large hat.

The unlucky man leaned forward and looked aroundThe clouds were dark, and the flashing lights at the beach signaled a storm. The man left his chair and pool noodle by the water and ran. He found a run-down, filthy old concession stand

As the flashing lightning and clapping thunder ruined his beach day.

A loud broadcast with sirens signaled that the beach was closed. The slightly unhappy, very unlucky man left the beach in a flurry, Just to realize he left his chair and towels at the beach.

My broke ten-year-old self knew I couldn’t buy my grandpa anything for Christmas. I knew it had to be something personal. I wanted it to be different than the handwritten cards I’d made for him every year.

He had a broken old watch he was fond of, a gift from my grandmother. So, I took it to a local family’s watch shop. Though I pleaded, they didn’t let me pay any of the eleven dollars worth of change I carried over from my piggy bank.

I waited until Christmas morning, hiding the watch under my bed like a squirrel would hide its nuts.

Christmas morning came.

I don’t remember the gifts under the sparkling tree. I remember the confusion over who was happier after my grandfather saw his watch, given to him again.

mixed media collage jack rheney ’23

From the Holler | Tucker Semans ’25

I took a life in the still forest. But more is gained than lost. From death, comes life, from death, comes food. I’m sorry for the pain that lasted for a second. Thank you for the meals that will last for the winter. Forgive me for what I’ve taken.

mrs. donna wheeler

Nostalgia | Kevin Yang ’23

The forever leaking pipe in the wall, the heater that was too busy to work in the winter, and the lights that pulsated as if they were breathing – this was the childhood house that I still dream about, often waking with teary eyes. A dark but warm rental house, a childhood memory that was far but clear, and a time when we felt inferior but never cursed or sighed. Still echoing in my head are my grandma’s lullabies every night, “My little moon pie,” and my sister’s constant bawling.

mixed media digital collage campbell vernon ’23

A Different Kind of Slide | Whitford Birthright ’24

Sixty feet of partially submerged rock, rebranded as a “natural waterslide.” My 10-year-old self was not a huge fan, but my dad was trying everything to get me to go down.

“Ten dollars?” he asked.

No chance.

He went down and came back up saying, “How about fifty?” This was too good to pass up.

“Deal,” I replied.

I walked to the edge, the cold water running over my feet. Summoning all the courage I had, I pushed off.

All was good until– BANG! I hit the one bump on the otherwise ‘smooth’ rock. I limped back up, $50 richer.

Wizard of the Woods | Dr. Brent Harris

The fire hissed, whispering as if my secret would be kept only between us. They don’t know what’s about to happen. The first time I did it, it was at the epicenter of an assumed ambience of safety. The greatest human minds fall prey not because of incompetence, but because they assume it would never happen to them, never thought it could. My cloak is woven from their false sense of clairvoyance. The act was so simple it made them doubt their own mind when they realized what I’d figured out, and now it is too late for their redemption. If they aren’t really good at deluding themselves, they’re still stunned and scratching their heads. They want to say to themselves, “Pff, it’s just luck. We won’t let it happen again,” but something sucks the air out of the thought just as swift as my cunning that claimed what was right underneath their noses. The first maybe breaks in them. They couldn’t trust their own sense then; maybe they can’t now. There is fury and envy of what I’ve done at their expense. Volition of the apex predators tips toward the deep and so begins the sinking of their unsinkable ship. When the talking stops, the faces wrinkle, and the heads start scanning, the time is ripe again. I already know I’ve won. This is precisely the moment of doubt when I take advantage of the collective mind’s stupor, let loose the tension of my perch … and steal their very last marshmallow. Yes. I’m the fox of this forest. Psh. I can steal fluffy rocks from the stupid humans.

Jackson Knoll ’23 and William Neumann ’24

Deep Breath, Big Wish | Wyatt Campbell ’26

I take a deep breath, make a wish, and open my eyes. I look around to see if anything has changed. Nope. I scurry down the stairs.

Everything is the same as I left it last night. I run outside and a beam of sunshine blinds me as a big ferocious truck roars up. I run back inside and lock the doors.

A tall man wearing a black suit and holding a briefcase comes up and knocks on my door. I open all the locks except one. I crack the door and ask, “Who are you?”

“I need to come inside,” he says.

“Why?” I ask through the gap.

He glares at me and yells, “Do you want your wish or not?”

He opens his briefcase. Inside is $10,000,000.

Trappers | TJ Hamilton ’24

At 10 years old I saw my brother taken away in handcuffs. The tears clouding my eyesight, I looked into my brother’s eyes and his face stained my memory. I always imagined what my life was going to look like, just a kid from Oxford, North Carolina. 17 years of my life I’ve seen a lot of kids from the city go from trying to pursue something good in their lives to becoming what we call in this generation “Trappers.” I promised myself I wouldn’t be a part of that statistic. I don’t want to follow the wrong footsteps, like my brother did.

I’m so sorry about your grandmother she was so kind she was going blind but her mind was still sharp I miss the games of chess she would play with me even though she beat me every single time.

Your Grandmother | John Barton ’25

chinese brush painting kevin xue ’26

One second, I was telling myself not to slip, the next I was upside down. The world looks different when hanging upside down. The world looks different when you’re in Yosemite National Park. And the world looks straight up terrifying when you are upside down in Yosemite, hanging on a rope from the side of El Capitan, with only a few pieces of metal stuck in the rock face. The last five seconds passed in a blur. I was ten feet above my last piece of protection, holding on to small, glassy features in the rock, and telling myself not to slip. Then, the dreaded came to pass. I felt the cool California air rush by my face. Screaming and flailing, I fell and fell until my rope caught. I flipped and slammed into the rock. Dazed, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Why do I love this crazy sport?”

whip: n. a large fall, often while leading | Henry Holland ’23

The lizard was funny looking, and so was the sky.

I was in a daze. It felt like hours had passed since I rode into Flint Devil Canyon. I looked around and assessed my situation.

I couldn’t see much at first, the world was spinning.

I glanced to my left to see a lump of metal, what was left of my dirt bike. I tried to remember what happened, but it was all a blur.

Being conscious of my situation, I looked for shade. A large, round boulder that loomed in the distance seemed like a prospect. As I traversed the sun-baked sand, I realized I was bleeding. More than bleeding, actually - my left shoulder was completely mangled and my wrist looked broken, but I couldn’t tell. All I could think of was the rock and shade.

I made it to the rock, sat down, and immediately felt pain. My shoulder, wrist, hip, and ankle all made their abrupt appearance into my nervous system. Feeling the gravity of the situation, I slumped over in agony. I knew I couldn’t walk on my ankle, I was losing blood, it was blazing hot…I was going to die in the desert, alone, and no one would know. Except that lizard.

I stood at the base of Dinkus Dog, a 5.10a route on Looking Glass’s towering rockface. My body tingled with fear.

As I pushed myself to climb, I couldn’t find any half-decent holds.

I was working up the climb, smearing my rubber soles against the wall and slapping my chalk-covered hands against the smooth rock when I slipped.

My feet ached as I dangled.

I managed to hold onto the crimp, barely pushing through. I grasped the cliff and looked down. Suddenly, my fear was overshadowed by the beauty of the vibrant, green tree line and the rolling hills of the Appalachian Mountain Range along the horizon.

chase gribble ’23

Humanity’s day of reckoning has arrived. All communication is offline. No travel anywhere. All governing bodies silent. No electricity. No water. No people around. Just me, myself, and I. This trip to Costa Rica, which originally was supposed to be a relaxing vacation and an escape from the mess that is diplomacy, instead turned into a mad dash for survival. That private resort I stayed at on the first day? Gone. Swept off its foundation like a knife cutting butter. Now I take refuge in a small abandoned town in the remote jungle of Costa Rica. I should probably explain things. Goodness, where do I begin?

It all started a week ago, when the highest magnitude earthquake ever recorded hit Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Unprecedented death tolls, the entire city wiped, and the fall of the nation into utter chaos. People were understandably shocked that such an event occurred, just based on how deadly it was. But what was also shocking, puzzling, and confusing about this natural disaster was that Rio, let alone the entire nation of Brazil, was not in any remote danger from seismic activity. It was one of the least dangerous nations when it came to seismic risk. Yet the most powerful earthquake ever recorded hit.

Then, a day later, another earthquake of even higher magnitude hit just off the coast of the United States, near NYC. What ensued was the deadliest tsunami ever recorded. The glorious island of Manhattan, with its impressive skyscrapers, was reduced to rubble. The damage wasn’t just in New York, however. It decimated the entire coastline, from the Outer Banks to Cape Cod. The disbelief from the past day’s earthquake and then the terrible tsunami sent the global community into lunacy. In a similarly confused manner, New York and the Atlantic Coast of the United States were not at high risk for seismic activity.

But the confusion didn’t end there. Mysterious reports emerged from the few survivors who could describe their experience. They said the wave of the tsunami had a face. And an angry one. No one believed them, obviously, but in retrospect, I honestly think they weren’t insane.

The chaos did not end there. For the rest of the week, similar record-breaking natural disasters occurred across the globe. Hurricanes ravaged coastal communities, despite it not being

hurricane season. Tornadoes ripped through Asia, even though Asia historically had very little tornado activity. Record lows were recorded in deserts like the Sahara and the Mojave. Record highs baked places like Antarctica and Greenland. Relentless storms and blizzards shook the Earth. Long dormant volcanoes erupted violently. Mount Fuji, for example, wasted Tokyo.

Amidst all of this chaos, the mysterious reports like the ones described in New York continued to pop up. People reported seeing faces on the tornadoes. Fists on the volcanic debris. Eyes in the sky. And, most creepily, some reported hearing whispers in blizzards. All who reported the cold voice heard the same thing: “This is your end.” I watched all of this unfold through the media while in Costa Rica. It’s a miracle the nation wasn’t obliterated earlier by some natural disaster. But then it came. A tsunami the height of an apartment building obliterated the coast where my resort sat. Thankfully I was on an excursion in the jungle further inland when this happened, so I was unaffected. But this also meant I had nowhere to stay then, which led me to the situation I’m in now. Amidst the panic, our tour group split up. I never saw any of them again. I stumbled my way through the jungle, looking for some form of civilization, but when I finally I found it, it had been leveled by a tornado.

Here I sit in the rubble of a decimated building, recounting every horror leading up to this moment. Only one thought sits on my mind: Why?

(continued)

Why is all of this happening?

Only one possibility makes sense. Throughout my entire career in diplomacy, I have solved many problems, conflicts, and disputes. I’ve settled land disputes. I’ve devised treaties. I’ve negotiated peace. But one thing neither I, nor my colleagues, nor any diplomatic person has been able to resolve is the issue of the environment.

Humanity’s relationship with the environment began as peaceful. We coexisted with the land in a symbiotic relationship. Then, when the Industrial Revolution took hold, it became parasitic. Years of exploitation, manipulation, and destruction of the beauty around us ensued. Some nations took strong action in support of protecting the environment, like all of Scandinavia. But others carried out mindless destruction of the lands within, like Brazil and the lush Amazon rainforest. At first, exploitation seemed noble to us. It was “human progress.” But, oh dear, how wrong that was. It seems that Mother Nature has finally had enough with the exploitation, and rightfully so. We are not innocent. We never deserved this place. We caused this terror released upon the Earth. Humanity has once again proven that humanity is its own worst enemy.

I Have Always Wished to Meet It | Tyler Brouse ’25

The black wall with names. It shines back at you like a mirror, with every name carved out. All 50,000 sitting there, waiting, Waiting to be seen, Waiting to be remembered. But as I scan the wall, I see one very familiar. And to me very peculiar. And that name is my own. Maybe I did die there. Maybe I left something there That I can’t get back. But I’m here, aren’t I?

The fire hissed, whispering as if my secret would be kept only between us, but I knew it was not safe. The Incessants knew what I carried.

Pines loomed over me, crooked sentinels bowing and snapping at wind that carried news of snow and frozen toes. Despite the night’s cold, sweat soaked my fur collar, and I flinched each time a spark fizzed from the fire’s heart. I didn’t know how much longer I could huddle in this lonely corner of Nastin’s Wood before they found us, the stone and me. Smaller than a robin’s egg, it simmered hot and heavy in my pocket.

Time passed. I rested my head on my knees, careful to avoid the tender knot above my left ear. I knew it was there but could not recall if it was the gift of a boot or a sword’s hilt. Likewise, I let my tongue explore the angry tear of my upper lip and the pulpy gaps where teeth had been the day before. The bandits had worked hard on me. My head ached and every breath was a blade under my ribs. I had to think, plan, race far from this place -- but my body quaked and my mind felt as dense and slow as pitch. A snowflake lit on my nose, settled and disappeared. Another. Sleep reached out and asked me to dance.

Suddenly, a stick snapped nearby.

In a flash, I was on my feet, heart bounded, eyes fighting the darkness beyond the fire’s reach. “Who’s there?” I gasped.

Another snap, then the shush-shush of something moving through snow-damp leaves. An endless moment of silence before a racoon scuttled into the light.

I sighed and returned my knife to the sheath at my hip. A rodent, I thought. Settle yourself.

Then, like something from a nightmare, the racoon rose up on its back legs, raised a tiny, gnarled paw and whispered, “You’ve stolen something, Castro Biluvian -and it’s mine.”

The lizard was funny looking, and so was the sky. Now I’m stuck in an odd world, sitting on sand, bone-dry. How I got here, I’ve no clue, but the lizard now has a black tie. The trees around me were short and stubby, like a flowing bonsai. The mountains glowed a deep red and orange, and somehow the lizard was knee-high. The liquid beside me shined a bright turquoise, almost the neon of Shanghai. I got up and started to walk but suddenly I stopped, the lizard was now a guy. How that happened I’ll never know, maybe my mind has gone awry. He said, “Wait, before you go… would you like a patterned jar from Versailles?” Not wanting to be rude, “It would be welcome,” my reply. “It shall be fetched,” and next he vocalized something of a war cry. I saw fast approaching my new jar, carried by the most exquisite butterfly. The man removed its package and passed it to me, saying, “This will be your best friend here, as you’ll learn by and by.” And that is the story of how I got my patterned jar of Versailles from a funnylooking lizard guy sitting under the shade of a rather large bonsai.

I took a deep breath, made a wish, and opened my eyes as the doctor told me I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. At first, I was shocked but not surprised, considering how much weight I had lost in such a short time. I had been drinking vast amounts of water daily and eating like a pig, yet I was losing weight. My dad took me to the doctor’s office where I had some bloodwork done.

The doctor walked into the room with a saddened face. He told me that my blood sugar levels were around 250% higher than they should be. I felt fine though, so what was wrong with me? They had told me that my body was used to my high blood sugar, but now I was constantly risking passing out or even having a seizure.

So, we went back home to figure out a plan for getting me the right treatment I needed. We took a trip to Mission Health in downtown Asheville. The nurses and doctors were great, and they helped me get my blood sugar levels down to only 50% higher than they needed to be. Today, they are continuing to go down.

I now know how to control my food and stay healthy again, all thanks to my parents. I love my parents because even though they live with me they can still see things no one else can.

A car’s yellow lights flash through the window of Remy’s. I look away as the lights shut off. The rain is still coming down hard.

“Casey, dude, I feel like you aren’t happy for me.” Otto stares directly into my eyes, knowing it will make me feel guilty.

“I swear, O. It’s just confusing. Brooke broke up with you a week ago and you already have a new prom date,” I say. The door rings as a ginger girl walks in. Otto turns to look, but we don’t know who she is. “You know I’m still friends with her. I can’t just choose one of you to shun, and I’m not taking a side.

“What about her?” He turns, getting a second look at her. “Don’t you like gingers?”

“No, I’m not asking some random girl to my first prom.” He’s lucky I’m letting him change the subject.

“What’s your type then?”

“I don’t know. I like everything I guess.”

Of course, I know what I like. We both know I have a tendency for gingers, especially with freckles. The thing is I can’t think of a time when I have ever actually liked someone to the point where I would ask them out on a date. So, naturally I started telling my friends that I don’t think I’m a relationship person. Why would I waste my time dating someone I know I’m going to break up with before college, just to look back at my prom pictures and hate them? I would rather go with a friend.

I wouldn’t say I have ever been in love, and maybe I would have a different opinion about dating if I had. It feels overrated. I have to worry about school, college, my family, and friendships. Realistically I just don’t have time for dating.

“Come on, that’s bull,” says Otto. We laugh as I drink a bit of my strawberry milkshake. We both know I’m lying.

Ginger girl walks past our table to get a booth. She sits down and immediately pulls out her phone. I wonder if she is actually doing something or just pretending to be busy.

“No, for real, I don’t know,” I say, looking down at my shake. Otto scoots across the booth to the edge with the biggest grin on his face. His raincoat makes a loud crinkle as he does this. “What dude?”

I look behind me and the girl is walking toward our table, probably going to the bathroom. I realize what’s about to happen and my face feels like walking around a theme park in summer with the sun beating into my pores. Talking to girls makes me feel horrible because I’m not open to

anything with them. As I said, it’s pointless in high school.

“Hey,” Otto waves toward the ginger as she is next to our table. She turns her head, surprised by his callout. She takes out her earbud and faces us.

“Hi. Do I know you?” she asks with a faint smile, probably trying not to seem too friendly.

“No, I feel like I’ve seen you around before, though. I’m Otto.” He looks at me, waiting for me to say something as if I wanted to be in the conversation. I don’t speak in a petty protest to his actions. “That’s Casey.”

I give her a little wave then take a sip of my milkshake. I try to pull it towards me as I grab the straw, but I can already feel the weight of the shake falling towards me. Delicious, pink milkshake drips onto me, saturates my gray sweatpants, and spills off the gray table.

“Shoot, I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I say, trying to laugh it off. Otto is dying laughing in front of me and the ginger moves to let me out.

“Okay,” she responds. I scoot to the edge, already wet with a milkshake plus my raincoat crunching against the seat. “I’m Norah by the way.” She

looks at me as she brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

I nod and turn around, realizing who she is. Her dark cerulean eyes did it for me. I knew she seemed familiar. I try to open the bathroom door with just my finger to limit the number of germs I expose myself to.

I am the only one in there as I try to scoop handfuls of water onto my sweats to get the pink out. The shake stubbornly sits on me until I rub it off. In the mirror, I can see the darkened blob on my pants. I look away and start walking out of the door, hoping no one’s seen me. Norah, also known as Norah Madden. I had a preschool crush on her, but I don’t count anything before high school. When we were younger, Otto bullied her out of our preschool because of her hair. That was how he expressed his attraction. Otto and Norah are now sitting next to each other, talking. He already has a date to prom, and he caused the separation between us. Selfishly, I hope she remembers what happened when we were younger. I hope that doesn’t make me a bad person.

“Are you a r****d?” they shouted at a scrawny, glasses-wearing, always-smiling 9-year-old boy named Cole, who happens to be my younger brother. He also happens to have autism. Before I knew it, my instinct guided me to confrontation.

I don’t remember what I said, but the bullies responded to my newfound confidence by straddling their bikes and pedaling away.

I stood there, barely thirteen, suddenly aware of the powerful responsibility I have as Cole’s big brother.

acrylic painting zachary shuler ’25

From Another Time | Dylan Edwards ’26

The fire hissed, whispering as if my secret would be kept only between us. The specter emerged from the roaring blaze. It was a dark blue, dark purple iridescent being that glowed with the light of the Milky Way galaxy. It was almost transparent, its skin covered in what looked like stars.

I had never seen anything like this. I was just a lowly civilian of no special standing in my town; even the highest mages of Etheria had never heard of such a beast. I wondered why this creature was approaching me. Judging by its inquisitive demeanor and behavior, I had figured that it didn’t know either. After maybe three minutes of scurrying around examining its surroundings, it spoke. It had a deep scratchy voice that seemed to hold the wisdom, knowledge, and experience of several millennia.

It spoke thus: “You aren’t safe here, Knox Erikson.”

“How do you know my name?” I shouted, in sheer panic.

“You don’t know me, but I know you. I have done since you were born.”

Time vs. Strategy | Brian Sheridan Jr. ’23

Wind whistles and frightens anyone who dares to make a sound. Gunfire crackles in the distance. The city is covered in snow mixed with blood, and the clocks read 23:54.

I shout for my friend, “Dmitri, where are you?”

The faint murmurs of the wounded and the departed echo. Shrieks resonate everywhere around, but one hits me like a banshee. Slashed on the ground, he is barely whimpering.

Time runs out for him, but his death won’t be in vain. Looking at the clock in my room, it reads 23:57, three minutes until the Wi-Fi cuts off.

“Quick, let’s get this win.”

The lizard was funny looking, and so was the sky. That lizard wasn’t an ordinary lizard. This particular lizard was the size of a Volkswagen Beetle and was so brightly colored that it hurt the warrior’s eyes. The sky was pure white, but not from a cloud covering, and it seemed flat above the ground. This world was not one the warrior had visited before, and it was the one that scared him the most. Forced to move forward, the warrior charged at the lizard and attempted to take the lizard’s head. Unfortunately, the edge of the blade was not sharp enough for that method of attacking to work. As the warrior circled back, he fell to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. A voice boomed from the heavens: “Lila, time for lunch!”

As the puppeteer raced away, the warrior lay on the ground, waiting. He’d have another go at that lizard, but for now, he’d have to wait until Lila came back to play with her toys. Maybe he’d even have a chance to drive that Volkswagen.

I took a deep breath, made a wish, and opened my eyes....

The day started normally. I went down two stories and ate some breakfast. Then, I went to my friend Tim Wu’s house. We played FIFA 23 until lunch.

While we were eating, I said we should go to the forest. Tim said it was not safe, but after a little begging, I got him to comply. We went to the edge of his yard and saw a dirt road and lots of trees. We walked for about an hour before we saw an old, small shack. We were thirsty so we went into the house.

Inside we called out to see if anyone was there.

“Hello? Anyone here?” The space echoed. No one was there, so we looked around. There was no sign of people being there for a long time. But then I saw a computer and the screen said, “IF YOU HAVE FOUND ME, YOU GET THREE WISHES.”

Tim said it was a bad idea, but I wanted to be rich. So, I took a deep breath, made a wish, and opened my eyes. It was $1,000,000. I was so happy. But then it exploded, and a big red furry monster appeared. The monster looked like a rotten tomato. Tim and I were scared, so we tried to run.

Sadly, we didn’t make it far before he ate us.

When I was a boy, I used to have dreams of flying amongst the stars. My family’s home was located in Tetona, so naturally we didn’t have much to our names besides the few garments we owned and the constantly-failing braizer that kept us (or tried to keep us) warm in the winter. The locks on our doors were the only things keeping what existed beyond that wooden portal outside, not that theft was ever a problem - in Tetona, everyone knew everyone. Newcomers were our prey.

When I was old enough to enlist, I applied to the Navy. My entire family discouraged it. The thought of me being light years away from them, fighting the Krakozarian Space Force, frightened them, and I couldn’t blame them. My home world was already a dangerous enough on its own. Even in a cruiser, space was lethal. It was yelling match over yelling match every night over dinner. You are a madman. You will get yourself killed. How are we supposed to continue life without our only son? On and on we would go, but their shouts were useless. The ink had already dried. The date was set.

I remember the sol before, when we ate our last meal together as a family, the table was silent. No words would reverse what was already done, and nothing was left to say. The only voices that rang out were those of the silverware clinking together.

When I left the next morning, I would hug my family for the last time. My sister clung to me as if I would be swept away forever if she let me go. In that embrace, she muttered a single phrase.

“Mk’daha jyo-pyuntæpporo. We are tethered and cannot be broken.”

Her bright blue eyes looked up at me, red with tears. “You better come back, Pt’teo, or I won’t forgive you.”

“I promise,” I whispered.

As the star train lifted into the sky, my squad mates and I looked down as our home world shrank into a grey marble behind us. The scarred world remained long after we were gone, healing.

The fish are invisible as our blood is invisible until we find it rushing.

We own neither the fish, nor our hearts with our feet in the water.

The cold current brushes our ankles numb like lost cats might or an encasement. Light strikes the blue Earth every shade of green,

and green ignites the hardwood horizon. The water sings, breathing deep

into its belly. It is operatic after all, and fish move through what must be like museum halls: bright, ancient, ongoing, misunderstood.

The fish are invisible as our hearts. We’re hungry to find them.

A boy points to stones and says Rainbow to green-brown muck that blinks

and waits as we wave our flimsy spears in the air. Even alone, we shake flags of victory and surrender. In the water, the stones are oblong and curious.

The water murmurs through hidden teeth, igneous ribs, magnified ovals,

through stiff tongues the rush comes to ease, to peace in a pool, so delicate, so riddled together. The water thieves the sun across the surface, splash

and ripple a dissolved glass, flickering over the icy bones—that must be

your toes on fire, your body’s return.

I am I am a preservationist. The Blue Ridge Mountains teach me gratitude I respect and learn from nature around me I prioritize conserving natural resources.

I am an adventurer.

I set ambitious goals: learning to road bike and competing in races I embark on expeditions I return to document them in my podcast I carry the stories and lessons learned wherever I go.

I am a whitewater enthusiast. I kayak through class five rapids and waterfalls in a small plastic vessel I fish crystal clear water for native brook trout Because of the river’s beauty I feel compelled to protect it I imitate its relentlessness in all my pursuits.

I am a leader.

I share my ideas with those around me I guide others inspired by what the mountains teach me I strive to live a Christ-like life.

I am a learner. Every experience in the outdoors brings new lessons I value every failure, mistake, and success I am curious about my future.

I am from limited daylight but unrestricted imagination I am from a sense of a responsibility to protect my community I am Henry Lytle.

I am | Henry Lytle ’23

Christ School | Henry Holland ’23

Drive through the gate

Mr. Hyche wants my keys

Two classes, don’t be late!

Job then Chapel

To the Annex for Spanish

Lunch with an apple

Three more classes in the halls

Then freedom! But wait...

3:45 I’m climbing on walls

Hungry and tired, I’m heading home

Dreading all my homework

I can’t stuff more in my dome

’23ghosts