ec ho e s 2016
Au Na (Inspired by Klimt)
Rachel Zeserman 2016
Echoes 2016 The Independent School 8317 E. Douglas Wichita, KS 67207 316.686.0152 www.theindependentschool.com
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Table Of Contents Poems
2 4 5 11 14 15 16 25 29
Heaven Toni Melhado February 22nd Mollie Rundstrom Fading Chains Calen Klassen The Tiger Ethan Mitchell Blazing Wings Yilin Liu Tornado Alley Jacki Dougherty The Edge Erin Dean La tour Eiffel Maria Nowicki Black Sebastien Patiño Night: Dawn in the Hiatus Yilin Liu New America Irving Zarza Lonely Me Yilin Liu Robin Bird Blaine Wood May Abbey Daley Santorini Graham Potter The Swallow and the City Emily Brun Metropolis Jacki Dougherty Fraying Emily Brun I Am Floating Emma Gunderson Purple Emma Gunderson Popsicle Toni Melhado The Sun Scorches the Sky Blaise Webster Looking Out Over the Hills of Machiavelli’s House(Inspired by Wordsworth) Insight Hannah Hutchinson Through My Eyes Erin Dean Black Rock Emma Gunderson
30 33 35-36 37 37 39 41 45 46 49 50 55 57
63
69
68
Essays
7-8
61 Emily Gilliam
Can Definitions of a Word Change the World? Alece Stancin Patience Ashton Zinda The Glow Pt 2. by the Microphones Ayden Bolin
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An Ode to Memory
One Act Confused Attraction
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Echoes
19-24 Abby Ottaway
32
44 Max McIntire
Short Stories 28 47-48 51-54 59 66
Finding Adam Mollie Rundstrom The Lighthouse in the Sea Alece Stancin Strawberry and Mint Emily Brun I Can Hear You Justus Gaphardt Slow Down Ayden Bolin Dark Dreams (Inspired by Beowolf) Graham Potter Unfixed Alece Stancin
71-73 75-76
Six WordMattMemoirs 74 Link Noelle Cundiff Sarah Mayer Rachel Zeserman Daniel Kamen Nicole St. Clair Mary McCoy Erin Dean Cathy McCurley Alex Varenhorst
Art
1 3 6 9-10 12 13 17 23 26 27 31 34 38 40 42 43 45 48 49 54 56
Rainy Compilation Rachel Zeserman Stargazer Huy Tran Bill’s Well Mary McCoy Silent Stranger Mary McCoy Disguised by Nature Tianai Chen The King Nicole St. Clair Black Swan Tianai Chen Butterfly Nina Estes Paris Abraham Ramirez Hiding From Expectations Nicole St. Clair Lost Nicole St. Clair Serenity and Bloodshed Nicole St. Clair Crop Circles Rachel Zeserman Starfish Abbey Daley Violet Smoke Emme Goodin Petals Nicole St. Clair The Monarch Sarah Mayer Come Hell or High Water Abbey Daley Morning Stretch Huy Tran Two Faced Mary McCoy Fuzzy Jacki Dougherty Don Quixote (Inspired by Picasso & de Cervantes) Sarah Mayer Mirrors Nicole St. Clair The Doggie Door Emme Goodin The Impact of Einstein Rachel Zeserman Camouflage Huy Tran The Truthful Eye Mary McCoy Contemplation Nicole St. Clair Reflections Nicole St. Clair
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62 64 65 67 70 72
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Rainy Compilation 1
Echoes
Rachel Zeserman 2016
Heaven
Toni Melhado 2016
On the day we said that last goodbye The birds were chirping And the wind was making songs Through the swaying trees Looking up at the cloudless sky I felt the breeze on my arm As light as your fingertips The sun warmed my face Filling my vision with gold And the Earth Wrapped herself around me Telling me I’d see you again And now when I miss you I just go to that place And I hear the birds And smile at the trees And look up at the sky so blue As the air rushes over me And I let the sun hold me While I see gold And everything on Earth Is you
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Stargazer
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Echoes
Huy Tran 2016
February 22nd
Mollie Rundstrom 2016
I realized you were dying when you couldn’t swallow your food anymore. I re-
member watching in agony as you choked on things you once enjoyed, including your pride. The look of sorrow as my mother watched you perish. I remember waking that morning to discover your lifeless body; I was so disconnected. I knew that wasn’t you, I felt the frigidity of your skin. I did not cry. I loved you, but I did not cry. I silently mourned for you. I silently remembered the way your smile once electrified the room. I silently remembered the way you placed your feet with deliberation. No more would this be a reality for you; no more would this be a reality for me. How did bedtime stories become constant reminders of the missing pieces? How did lullabies turn into cries for attention? Our family does not exist anymore, only in theory. You don’t exist anymore, only in memory.
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Fading Chains Calen Klassen 2017
Submerged in the darkness. Struggling Lost amidst a sea of sorrow Hardly breathing A cold heart immersed Barely beating Slitted eyelids Vision slipping These solid chains Blockading Holding me back Restraining Will I ever break free Hoping These fading chains Weakening
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Echoes
Bill’s Well
Mary McCoy 2016
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Can Definitions of A Word Change The World? (Runner-Up)
Alece Stancin 2018
Any idea, movement, or belief is going to have many different definitions based on what it means to different people. As people develop their own understandings, the perception of a word or idea often differs drastically from its definition. Certainly this is the case with feminism. Any number of people are affected in different ways by the feminist movement, and based on their environment and influences, they view feminism in different ways. The passing of time also influences how society as a whole thinks of the feminist movement; the way I think of feminism is not at all what anyone in Our Town in 1901 thought of it. Overall, the idea has many layers and is constantly changing because of these factors. Because of the dictionary definition of feminism, its history, and how its definition differs from how many people presently view the subject, feminism is a much more intricate word than it seems. The dictionary definition of feminism is “belief in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes.” Unlike some other abstract ideas, the dictionary accurately defines feminism and its cause. However, it doesn’t include the history of the word, or the fact that the fight my grandmother fought is the same fight my mother fought, which is the fight I fight today. In short, the dictionary leaves out the reasons why the word feminism is any different than the word ceiling, the reasons why the word feminism has changed the world. Yes, feminism is the belief in the equality of the sexes, but it is more than that. It is also the one-word summary of over one hundred years of a group of people that makes up almost half of the world struggling to plant the idea they had in the minds of everyone around them. Against all odds, the feminist movement has come as far as it has from its beginnings at the First International Women’s Conference in Paris in 1892, according to The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy goes on to explain that Feminism as a movement has come to be divided into three main ‘waves’. The first is considered to be from the late 1800s through the beginning of the 20th century, when women’s rights were just beginning to become an idea. The nineteenth amendment, passed in 1920, allowed women to vote, thus ending the first ‘wave.’ The nineteenth amendment was a huge step in the right direction in that it ensured that women had one equal right with men under the law; however, it did nothing to alleviate the sexism that society refused to give up. The second ‘wave’ is around the 1960’s to 1970’s, when women pushed for equality beyond just the right to vote; the third ‘wave’ is the 21st century. For some people, especially in modern times, the word ‘feminism’ is just the phrase that means women thinking they are equal with men. However, for the countless women (and men) who have spent over one hundred years now fighting for this cause so that their daughters and granddaughters could potentially have opportunities that they themselves could never dream of having, it means so much more. The play Our Town by Thornton Wilder is set in the year 1901, before the passage of the nineteenth amendment. Feminism, although relatively unheard of as a movement at the time, is a key component of the play and of how the main female character, Emily, conducts herself and makes choices, even if she isn’t aware of it. When Emily is younger, around sixteen, she has a conversation with her mother about how she looks. One of
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Emily’s lines is “Am I pretty enough to get anybody--to get people interested in me?” Even though Emily boasts throughout the play of her accomplishments in school and student council, the most important thing to her at the end of the day is whether or not anyone will want to marry her. In 1901, feminism was only just beginning to grow, and so it meant very little to Emily compared to what it now means to me, furthering the fact that the history of feminism affects the definition of the word. Just over one hundred years ago, the most important thing to a girl my age was that she would get married; because of the suffragettes and feminist movement, girls in modern times can choose to worry about getting married only if they want to, because they have the choice to do anything they want to in life, married or not. One hundred and fifteen years later, feminism is radically different. Emily in her corner of New Hampshire may not have even heard of official ‘feminism’ as something other than feminine character at the age of sixteen, while just the word itself affects my life every day and who I am as a person. However, not everyone is so influenced by feminism, and based on their upbringings and environments, different people have very different opinions on the matter and may define it differently. For example, in the presidential race, the difference in opinions on women’s rights between the two parties is not small. The Republican candidates tend to speak less about the issue, or have the word affect their campaigns and potentially their lives less; on the Democratic side, however, the candidates have spoken more about women’s rights, and seem to define feminism more clearly as relating to their campaigns and lives. Presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, for example, defines herself as a feminist, and the word feminism probably affects who she is more than it does the other candidates simply because she is a woman. Gender, parental influence, location, and more are all factors that influence how one defines the word feminism today, and how it differs from how Emily did in 1901. Feminism is defined in many different ways by different people. Someone who is younger and not as directly influenced by feminism in their life may be more detached from it and define it more broadly than the dictionary definition, while someone who is older and has experienced sexism in their life may be inclined to define it in a more personal way than the dictionary does. History also adds to the complexity of the definition: someone like Emily in 1901 does not have a definition for feminism, but over the next one hundred years, the word evolved and changed as many different people added their own experiences to it. The dictionary says that feminism is “belief in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes.” Feminism is exactly what the dictionary says it is, but it is also different for every individual person based on how it has influenced their lives. Feminism can be defined in broad terms such as the ones from the dictionary, but the history of the word and how people view the word differently today, along with the stated additions to its dictionary definition, all add to the intricacy of the word feminism. However, no matter how different our definitions are, we can all agree that feminism has helped make the world what it is today.
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Echoes
Silent Stranger (Runner-Up)
Mary McCoy 2016
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The Tiger
Ethan Mitchell 2017
King of the forest All should fear You never know when He could be near And while all who lay below him Proceed to disappear Because they are wary Of his deadly career While he hunts his enemies It is pointless to veer But for his family he provides He is quite sincere He stalks the forest with impunity He thinks himself quite austere He greets the lesser animals With a bold sneer He has no worries He just jeers He has no mercy And won’t shed any tears But with all his prestige He is not quite clear He should be wary Of a new frontier Because what enters the forest next Is the spear
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Echoes
Disguised by Nature
Tianai Chen 2016
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The King
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Nicole St. Clair 2016
Echoes
Blazing Wings
Yilin Liu 2018
Finally, I reached Above the heaven Overlooking the world Peering into the horizon A rail to the boundless world Lightly shook off the dirt on my heels Trying to see the way I’ve passed Suddenly a blast of air Blew across my hair Bringing me into the real No one knows the edge of the world How to be alive in sorrow Waiting on the shore for my bravery In this moment, we own it We will see the end of this dream When I dropped to my knees A pair of blazing wings Grew on my back Push me toward The infinite stars Look up at that constant sky Where the clouds vary We feel sleepy in our heads The will to cross The bridge to tomorrow See the end of our dream Time goes softly Stars cross my heart Wake me up It is time to go
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Tornado Alley (First Place)
Jacki Dougherty 2016
Even the sky is green and the clouds they are thick and heavy and glare over the trees
their leaves are an electric emerald and I feel the rain stopped in the air just a bit slowed down and even though the breathing is heavy it is fresh and each gasp tastes like spring and its epic entrance and the locomotive chugs along and I do not see a black wall or a dome of gray that comes over the roof but it licks at the shutters and threatens the furniture and begins to limit their warranty and even though the dust is wasted away it is spinning in soil in the funnel and even though there is fear as I hold on
to my shoes I remember there is
no place like
Home
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Echoes
The Edge Erin Dean 2016 When you see me sitting on the edge of my bed in the morning, believe me, it’s not because I’m ready to get up. I’m thinking. Thinking about the first step towards my unworn closet full of insecurities. Insecurities that take over my own feet from moving. When you see me sitting on the edge of my bed in the morning, looking across the hall, it’s not because I’m looking at what could be. I’m staring. Staring into the blank space that continues to fill up with doubts, and lost hope. Hope that was only a tease of what was only happening in my imagination. When you see me sitting on the edge of my bed in the morning, breathing like I just won the race, it’s not because of excitement. I’m panicking. Panicking because the clock keeps ticking faster and faster. Faster into the future that I’m not ready for. When you see me sitting on the edge of my bed in the morning, gently rocking back and forth, it’s not because I’m crazy. I’m cold. Cold from the lack of circulation from sitting too long waiting for a boost. A boost so that I can stand on my own. When you see me sitting on the edge of my bed in the morning, and my feet touch the ground. Applaud me. Applaud me because it was harder than you’ll ever know, and I did it.
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The Black Swan and the Ballerina Teresa Chen 2016
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Echoes
Patience
Ashton Zinda 2016
It happens in a brief moment. An instant that alters your entire world. It’s always unexpected, the love that means something. I find it endlessly fascinating. I’ve lied so many times about finding it to make others feel better. Now, it’s no longer fiction. I think you know when you find the person that you belong with. You cannot force or fake it. It finds you and when it does, you are left wondering how you’ve been living your whole life without the presence of this person. Many times I’ve sat and wondered what the person I was going to end up with was doing. Maybe he’s brushing his teeth or procrastinating an assignment. A feeling of comfort used to wash over me, knowing that he is out there, living life, and that one day something small would bring us together. I don’t believe in coincidence. To me, everything happens for a reason. When I met him, I immediately knew he was who I had been searching for. I finally found my person. He’s very real and I don’t have to pretend with him. I don’t have to pretend that what he said didn’t hurt my feelings. Or have to worry about him eventually getting bored of me and wanting someone new. This still worries me but only because of past experiences. This isn’t a “let me rub my love in your face” rambling. This is me, telling you, that your person is out there too. So with that, do not settle for the person that hurts your feelings “unintentionally” because I’m sure that’s what you are telling yourself. If someone truly cares about you, they will not make fun of you for your favorite band or the shoes you love to wear. Do not make excuses for them. I used to do that on a daily basis. You shouldn’t have to. You are worth so much more than that. I promise you, settling is the worst thing you can do. The most important thing that you can do is love yourself first. Love will follow and find you on its own. You’ll wake up with a smile and fall asleep with one too. He loves me for me and nothing else. His favorite things about me are the ones I dislike the most about myself. You too, will find this. Maybe not tomorrow or next year, but something my mother told me continues to be true. “Something better is around the corner.” I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard that. When I was crying my eyes out over a boy and thought it was the end of the world, she told me that. I would roll my eyes and resent her for saying those words. I never believed her. And she was so right.
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Confused Attraction
Abby Ottaway 2019
(AQUA, COCO, and VERA are standing inside a perfume factory shop Center Stage. AQUA is rummaging through all of the bottles with VERA as COCO idly stands by.) COCO: This has got to be the tenth perfume store we’ve been in! I can barely smell anything anymore. AQUA: It’ll be this one, I just know it. VERA: How can you be so sure? AQUA: Because! This shop is where I saw him standing for the first time. With his broad shoulders and dark hair, a loose strand of sea shells around his neck...he smelled like...minty lilac. (sighs dreamily) COCO: You know absolutely nothing about this guy, except that he’s somewhat attractive. AQUA: I know!! (exclaims) What’s so wrong with that? COCO: Well for one thing he could be an axe murderer. VERA: Foot fetish. COCO: Someone’s husband. AQUA: Oh well! (still smiling) COCO: Oh well? Aqua, can you hear yourself?! (ALBERT enters Stage Right and finds his way to AQUA, who is still searching through the perfume bottles.) ALBERT: Bonjour, Mademoiselle. I can see that you are looking for a special something. Is it for a special someone? AQUA: Well.. yes. (hesitating) It is for me to impress a special someone. ALBERT: (cackles loudly) Even better! COCO: No! Not better! In fact, we were just leaving. (starts toward the door on Stage Left) VERA: Don’t be rude, Coco! (nudging COCO) ALBERT: (To AQUA) Could I interest you in our newest collection? AQUA: (squeals) My tall, dark, mysterious stranger would love that! 19
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COCO: How would you know? Come on, Aqua, let’s go to the beach. It’s full of other tall, dark, mysterious strangers. (COCO takes AQUA’S arm and leads her toward the door on Stage Left) AQUA: Oh! Oh! Maybe he is on the beach! COCO: Yes! Yes! He might be. (forcefully) Then let’s GO. AQUA: Okay! (COCO leads AQUA closer to the door with VERA at her side. ALBERT takes AQUA’s hand, stopping the group) ALBERT: But ma cherie! We have another collection that I think will be just the thing! (AQUA follows him toward a set of perfume bottles in a box on Upstage Right) ALBERT: This is our newest product! It will only be available for a limited time. (enticingly) AQUA: Oh, pretty! (stares at the box, unable to focus on anything else) VERA: (to Coco) What should we do? COCO: (seriously) Do you think she could find her way to the beach across the street by herself? (COCO and VERA look at each other for a moment and then burst into laughter.) VERA: No way. We can’t leave her alone. (AQUA regains composure) AQUA: Guys, I think this is the one! COCO: Great. Pay and let’s get to the beach. ALBERT: Mademoiselle, which set would you like... the purple, the pink, or the orange? AQUA: Hmmm... (AQUA ponders and inspects each set for an awkwardly long time) COCO: Let’s get this show on the road, your “stranger” could be waiting. AQUA: Now, Coco, this could be the most important decision of my life. Purple could say that I don’t need him, but pink would mean he could push me around. Orange would be too flashy! You can’t rush me with such an important decision!
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VERA: Maybe you could look for something here for yourself, Coco, just while Aqua’s deciding. COCO: Fine. (COCO walks to Upstage Left reluctantly, while VERA helps AQUA decide. Then GIORGIO enters the shop and walks to a set of perfume bottles at Center Stage and inspects them) AQUA: Okay, the pink set is the one! (ALBERT leads AQUA to the cash register on Stage Right. Meanwhile, VERA notices GIORGIO, recognizes his sea shell necklace, and gawks at him. She quickly turns to AQUA, but can’t find the words to speak) ALBERT: Half price bottle of argan oil for the hair? AQUA: That sounds like a great deal! VERA: (whispers) That bottle on sale would be 100 Euro... AQUA: Oh, what a shame. ALBERT: So shall I add the argan oil? AQUA: That’s alright, I don’t NEED it. (VERA motions to COCO to smell GIORGIO to see if he is AQUA’s “stranger”. COCO walks closer to GIORGIO, pretending to look at the perfumes. She eventually stands right beside him without him noticing. She hesitates before she sniffs him, her eyes grow bigger and she nods at VERA) VERA: Hey, Aqua, something important came up. We should probably get going... (Albert interrupts her) ALBERT: Oh Mademoiselle, but you DO! This oil will make your hair shiny and luxurious for days! AQUA: Shiny and luxurious? You hear that, Vera? VERA: Really, we have to go! ALBERT: And if you buy the argan oil you get to choose three other products for free from the center display! AQUA: Wow! What a deal! VERA: Aqua... (Increasingly frantic) AQUA: Just a minute, I’m getting a great deal. (She turns toward Center Stage) All for my dreamy(AQUA sees GIORGIO and freezes) It’s-It’s... VERA: It’s your man, alright. 21
Echoes
(AQUA takes her purse and hides her face with it, and VERA stands in between GIORGIO and AQUA. VERA motions for COCO to distract GIORGIO, and COCO rolls her eyes) AQUA: Don’t let him see me! I look like a wreck! This is not how I planned it! VERA: Shhhhhh. He won’t see you if Coco distracts him. (VERA motions for COCO to talk to him again, but this time angrily. COCO gives in and bumps into GIORGIO) COCO: Oh my gosh! I am so sorry, I did not see you there (She says robotically. GIORGIO gives her a strange look) GIORGIO: No worries. (GIORGIO goes back to inspecting the perfume and COCO cuts back in) COCO: I’m sorry, but could I use your opinion on something? (Less awkwardly) GIORGIO: I don’t know if I’ll be much help, but sure. (COCO leads him to Stage Left to ask him various questions about the perfumes. COCO motions for VERA to go to the center display now) AQUA: Do you think he saw me? VERA: No, I’m sure he didn’t. But did I see him, wow! He’s quite good looking. (smiling at GIORGIO) AQUA: Hey! He’s mine! Don’t forget that! VERA: Don’t worry, I know. (VERA gently shoves AQUA toward the display, still looking at GIORGIO dreamily. AQUA gives her a nasty look until the products capture her attention) COCO: Well I want to get something for my mom’s, ummm, dog and I don’t know which one she’d like. GIORGIO: Dogs don’t wear perfume. COCO: Well, uhhh, this one does! If you were a dog, which one would you choose? (They continue discussing the dog perfume) VERA: You’ve GOT to hurry up, Aqua. Coco won’t last much longer.
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Butterfly Wing
Nina Estes 2016
AQUA: I’m trying to decide between the face cream and the hand cream. I mean, my face gets dry sometimes, but my hands look like they have- (VERA interrupts AQUA) VERA: -Just pick one! GIORGIO: I guess the sugar one, because they always try to get into sweets. (COCO sees that AQUA still isn’t finished picking her items) COCO: Well, ummm, it just so happens her dog is, uhhh, uhhh, allergic to the smell of sugar. (smiles forcefully) What would be your second choice? 23
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(ALBERT walks to VERA and AQUA Center Stage) ALBERT: Do you need any help? AQUA: Yes, I just had a question about- (VERA interrupts AQUA) VERA: -No, no she didn’t. No thank you, sir. (ALbert walks back behind the cash register) COCO: That is a great idea! How do you know so much about dogs and perfume? (trying to keep GIORGIO occupied) AQUA: Okay, I have this one and that one, what should the last one be? (VERA grabs a random item) VERA: This one! AQUA: That is antiwrinkle cream! Are you trying to say something about my complexion?!? VERA: What I’m trying to SAY is we need to hurry before he sees you. Don’t you remember your boyfriend over there? AQUA: Oh! How could I forget! (She says dreamily and then becomes worried) (AQUA and VERA walk to the cash register on Stage Right) GIORGIO: It was nice talking to you. (GIORGIO begins walking to Stage Right. COCO stands defeated) ALBERT: That will be 200 Euro. (AQUA hands him the money and ALBERT gives AQUA her products. VERA blocks AQUA from GIORGIO’s view and walks to Upstage Left toward COCO) AQUA: That was close. (AQUA, VERA, and COCO stare at GIORGIO while he pays and ALBERT gives him his products) GIORGIO: Thank you very much, ummm, (looks at ALBERT’s name tag) Albert. Give me a call sometime. (GIORGIO hands ALBERT a paper with his phone number on it and winks. GIORGIO exits Stage Left while ALBERT looks at the paper. AQUA, VERA, and COCO’s jaws drop, and they look at each other in shock)
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La tour Eiffel
Maria Nowicki 2017
La tour Eiffel, elle est magnifique elle est jolie et trop scintillant elle brille pour moi L’Arc se dresse fierement il montre la bravoure - sourage et tout ceux qui voient muse Les grands palais et chateaux effrir de l’espoir pour les richesses a venir mais il y a du endroits calme qui inspirent l’esprite et l’ame Paris est a la maison au coeur elle enseigne et inspire The Efiffel Tower, she is magnificent she is pretty and sparkly she shines for me The Arc [de Triomphe] stands tall he shows bravery - courage and all who see it muse The big palaces and castles offer hope for riches to come but there are also calm places which inspire the mind and soul Paris is home at heart She teaches and inspires
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Paris
Abraham Ramirez 2018
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Hiding from Expectations
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Nicole St. Clair 2016
Echoes
Finding Adam
Mollie Rundstrom 2016
Did I ever tell you about the first time I did heroin? I was sixteen, glamorous, I know. So
I was in love with this guy, or at least I thought I was, and he was heavily into drugs. I romanticized the idea of course. Maybe it was the music I listened to or how I could never find a limit, but I did it. At sixteen there wasn’t much left for me to do. I had already done it all, it was pathetic. I screwed men that didn’t love me, I screwed over men that did. I drank religiously, I broke curfews. I had curfews, my parents cared. I think that was the first misconception about heroin, that it only happened to people that were unloved, but I did heroin because I was loved. That night I crept out of my bed, the bed my mother once read me stories in. I ran down the street to his house. It was a nice house, honestly. Pretty generic, two car garage,a kitchen littered with old baby photos, a basement that I would later grow to resent. We thought we were infinite, I thought I was dispensable to anyone and I was to him. He touched my body like it was gilded. I knew I was nothing on the inside too. I knew he would never love me more than he loved the drugs.The drugs; there was something almost magical about the way the needle pierced my skin. I received instant euphoria that was quick to vanish. We messed around and I hated him, I did heroin originally because I wanted to understand. I never saw him again, or at least not in the same way; and I never understood.
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Black
Sebastien Pati単o 2019
The smell of a thick cloud of smoke. Also, dark chocolate. Black, empty space, ringing in your ears, the absence of sound, Also, of too many sounds. The taste of a burnt meal. Also, the sweet and sour of blackberries.
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Night: Dawn in the Hiatus
Yilin Liu 2018
The sky is glittering with the stars the argent time is flowing in the hiatus silently, wildly diverge this world Night without resting revealing the blue stars in next dawn and its violet recalled a line of sorrow that could never been lost The shooting star in a farther sky have not fallen but already bored my spirit is flying upon the sea the sea of falling stars unravel this world The gleaming ocean beneath the sea blow by snow and moves in wind island floats, then sank down into the sand lay beneath the waves That’s where I would be day becomes night and night towards the end darker than dark and light converge on high The gradient of life points to chaos down to the land beneath the hell upon on sky over the heaven stretch your arm feels my existence by your hand cross the dimensions through that wall on your side two thousand sixteen
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Lost
Nicole St. Clair 2016
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The Glow, Pt. 2 by The Microphones (First Place)
Ayden Bolin 2016
Sometimes, a piece of art completely overtakes the consumer. More than being relatable, art has the uncanny ability to connect a person to a deeper meaning; something much more potent than themselves. Enter The Microphones, an Olympia, Washington-based musical project fronted by singer/multi-instrumentalist Phil Elvrum. In 2001, Elvrum released The Glow, Pt. 2, a heavy and dedicated lo-fi album to dominate in a year which boasted other “music nerd” classics, such as In the Airplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel and Amnesiac by Radiohead. The consistent quality and beauty still holds up fifteen years after the release of The Glow, Pt. 2. Elvrum sings of love and loss of love, existence and not wanting to exist, nature and fluorescent lights. And yes, the instrumentation is interesting enough, sparse enough, bold enough, and diverse enough to support such a far-reaching album. But this album isn’t reaching; the listeners emotions are completely captured from the very first note of “I Want Wind to Blow.” From there, the listener can fall into the finely crafted world of this album. Let’s start with the structure of the album. It is long at 20 songs and 66 minutes, and every song leads on to the next, whether starting with the ending chord of the previous song, or carrying through with the haunting, droning pulse heard throughout the entire album, culminating in the final song “My Warm Blood,” which drones and pulses for nine whole minutes. This sound gives the album a dream-like quality, transitioning from nature to nightmare in just seconds. A final acoustic chord lulls the listener to sleep just before the drone and a wall of noise radiates through the ears. The dreamy essence of the album is further showthrough Elvrum’s casual and bittersweet vocals, which are either drowned by noise or elevated to a distorted clip depending on the song. He demands attention with lines such as “My blood flows harshly, my heart beats loudly, my chest still draws death, I hold it, I’m buoyant, there’s no end.” As well as “The roaring surf, two bodies on the Earth, it was intense just getting to be there next to you, and you were trying to get me then, and I was happy to let you in.” The lo-fidelity recording on this album is the most flawed, crackling, and distorted I have ever heard, but it could not be more perfect. Elvrum makes mistakes on guitar and piano, his voice cracks and he drops drumsticks, and sometimes, an amp is plugged in with a faulty cable. Instead of cutting out the flaws, he brings them to the surface, and lets them shine. They don’t have to be ugly, and they aren’t. This is the sound Elvrum made when he felt what he was feeling in the moment, and the listener should pay respect. Nothing is more musically heart-wrenching than the overly distorted and uneven guitar drenching Elvrum’s voice as he mumbles “I want to swim until my arms give out, and I come to an end, I hope it happens soon,” in “I Want to be Cold.” Nothing is more musically uplifting than the entrancing and joyous repetition of the guitar part in “I Want Wind to Blow.” This is an album that is well-aware of what it is saying and what you should be feeling. This is an album one can listen to over and over and catch a different message from every time. It is not often that an artist creates a space in which every single second of every single note conveys such potent and beautiful emotion. This album is exhausting in the best possible way; the way that makes you want to cry and smile and hold a loved-one close.
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New America
Irving Zarza 2019
We are the new america, we fight for our rights We are chasing this american dream We build an empire with our hands and our sweat They want us out without knowing what we do and what we are who we were and what we want and why we’re here Working hard, searching for, a new shine of freaking hope turning shades to ray of lights, breathing new oxygen We are the new america, we fight for our rights We are chasing this american dream We are the new america, we fight for our rights We build an empire with our hands and our sweat We are the New America We are the New America We are the New America We are chasing this american dream Take a breath, and hold my hand Money is the anthem of success, diamonds our price If you want us out We work hard for a life, for the money and by our own We cannot forget the past, we are proud, of being here building a whole new empire with our hnads and our sweat Take a breath, and hold my hand We are the New America We are the New America We are chasing this american dream We are the new america, we fight for our rights We build an empire with our hands and our sweat We are the New America We are the New America We are the New America We are chasing this american dream Chasing opportunities, making paths, for a well deserved new future with the ones who we love Chasing this american dream, for a life, for a present, for our hearts We are the New America.
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Echoes
Serenity and Bloodshed Nicole St. Clair 2016
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The Empty World and Lonely Me
Yilin Liu 2018
Sand elapse from the hourglass reverse then repeat the cycle of life The balloon loafs in an empty world I lean myself on my arms walking alone among the white flakes I don’t know where I am coldness in my bones spring never comes The cool sunshine rains down kissing my lips under a platinum world
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I wanna know where you are tears run down my face wet the golden field The warmth I owned in the past lost in this storm The happiness we had yesterday never comes again Zillions of bitter tears we reach even the world changes do not regret the encounter between you and me
无论如何， 都请不要后悔我们之间的相遇。
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May (Runner-Up)
Abbey Daley 2016
The return of May post long winter chills, Brings with her hope of a bright sunny day. Amidst leisurely walks and flowers’ frills, We open the windows and pack the sleigh. Her floral fragrance: an aching heart’s balm Skims over the snow gently kissing me. I am enveloped in lovely bird psalm; I long to join them: to praise her with glee. My heart defrosts when I see spring’s first bloom For the shadows of sadness will soon scoot; For May weaves sunshine wherever it’s blue, Warming my soul, rendering winter mute. My heart a bounds when you come, bright and gay; Oh how I love you, my grandmother, May.
Robin Bird
Blaine Wood 2017
Robin bird, where are you today, the songs sang, and rythms played, ring long on, in whispering melody, as the silence of the future is to come, the songs of the Robin bird still are sung; once young and fair to the rest, red chested and black beaked, from the European way of conquer, the destruction brought with the song of the red chested, leaves the whispers continued by the black beak, Robin bird, where have you gone, to leave us in whispers of your coming, Robin bird, what music must we sing to protect us from the future of the red chested
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Echoes
Crop Circles
Rachel Zeserman 2016
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Santorini
Graham Potter 2017
The cliff stands from the ocean like a tower And while the mountain is dry as bone, At the top bravely stands a lone flower While waves idly rest against the shore The path winds up, steady and steep, And goes for miles and miles Mocking the ocean, blue and deep Which spans for as far as the eye can see And as we reach the top, Tired and unsure of the way down We begin laughing, and can scarcely begin to stop As we sit together, by the lone flower.
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Echoes
Ceramic Starfish
Abbey Daley 2016
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The Swallow and the City
Emily Brun 2017
The dew sticks to the petals of the peonies and they sky is not yet orange or blue but the quietest shade of purple The swallows are singing and gathering twigs for their homes and I am a swallow The air is damp but it is not raining and the sun is now making the sky less quiet purple and more tart orange Time is passing the city is sleeping and I am the city Coffee is brewing and alarm clocks are screaming and I am conflicted by who I am and who I want to be I am a swallow and I am a city I am alive but I am tired I am asked questions and the answers are due but I have not even started thinking
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Echoes
Violet Smoke
Emme Goodin 2016
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Petals
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Nicole St. Clair 2016
Echoes
An Ode to Memory
Max McIntire 2017
Outer space terrifies me. The idea of a big picture so big that my existence is barely more significant than a grain of sand, and the fact that that simple speck will exist long after I’m dead is not a comfortable concept. Life seems to be some insignificant biological trait that just means we can experience the decay of everything itself. Some people would like to be forgotten after their death, but that concept truly horrifies me. When no one is around anymore to utter my name, or when I become so diluted in the memorial of a countless array of people just as scared as I am, then I will be truly and irrevocably dead. I’m scared. I’m afraid, afraid that I am insignificant. I want to be significant, so notable that I can never be erased, can never be diluted, never forgotten, even past the end of time, into infinity. But I feel the oppressive weight of nothing at all on myself, fastening its razor sharp claws into my back, lifting me far into the heavens, where I will finally be above all else aside from me. Then I drop. I fall so far and so fast that when I hit the bottom, there isn’t anything left of me, erased in the speed of time itself passing by me. That is my nightmare. I want to scream out into outer space that I AM NOT ALL THERE IS. I hope that the sound of my screams will reverberate throughout space, never fading, so that while I may not be immortal, I may still leave a mark on this world, however insignificant. I will be gone, but my thoughts and my voice will still be out there. But who will be left to hear me? Just the grains of sand, but they won’t hear me. They will never remember me, and why should they? All I want to ask is just one thing: Why? I don’t owe the universe anything, and it doesn’t owe me. Why should I care? It’s not like there will be someone else who can do the impossible, and be remembered into oblivion. But just the thought that I might be left out of that, out of the impossible, fills me with fear and want. Then again, existence is want given conciousness. And I want to be significant.
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Metropolis
Jacki Dougherty 2016
Red Yellow Green Reflects in tobacco puddles Hole in the wall I’m a regular Lonely Or independent Soundtrack of taxis and horns They are my crickets and wind
Monarch
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Echoes
Sarah Mayer 2016
Fraying
Emily Brun 2017 Watching the twitching of your hand as you press pen to paper gives me the overwhelming feeling of never ending Never ending As never ending as the small notebook kept on my nightstand offering its comfort when nights are dark Darkness has its way of creeping into my forceful light void of a mind your hands make the light less focused Your words are like glowing beads dropping themselves into the gaping hole of my daydreams how I wish to String those beads into a piece of jewelry wrapped around my neck the beads are softer than the fraying rope Fingers tangled in dark tufts of hair, the whites of your teeth are visible through parted lips Parted lips that have been kissed all but a few times times that I struggle to let go of Hold on to my trembling breath let it weave between your fingers in hopes that my hands will replace it Do not let go of the way I wouldn’t let go of you Do not forget how I gave up on forgetting you
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The Lighthouse in the Sea
Alece Stancin 2018
Dark waves pound against the rocks, ceaselessly attempting to wear them down but getting worn down themselves instead. As one makes its retreat, another begins its own onslaught, compelled by the storm and the waves before it to keep trying. However, the enemy puts up a good fight. One wave cannot make a difference, but millions over many years can slowly see the defenses breaking down, the siege wall slowly crumbling and drifting to rest at the bottom of the turbulent sea. The lighthouse knows that it won’t be of much help today. Any ship that makes it through the violent waves has little chance of navigating the murky, rocky water near the base of the tower. The lighthouse itself can feel the pounding of waves against the rocks, praying it can get out alive. The rain alternates between a drumming and a pouring and a roar, stirring up the already violent sea and churning it into a frenzy. Like the rocks, the lighthouse knows that someday its time will come, but for now it holds steady against the onslaught, a lost beacon of hope within the battle raging on. For days and nights neither side gives up. The waves tire of their infinite attack, controlled by some strange force, some important general unknown to them. The lighthouse fears that its island, its pile of rocks in the middle of the sea, won’t be able to hold out much longer, and its despair echoes through the slabs of stone, shaking the rocks to their core and begging them to hold on just a minute longer, just a minute more, just a minute till it’s over. The rocks tremble with the effort of protecting their lost beacon of hope, their lifeguard standing tall, always standing tall, defending them to the very end. The weight of the world seems to be pressing down on the rocks, and the world is about to cave in on itself because there is no way they can hold on longer no more minute no more second make it stop make the pain go away I just want it to be over— And then, suddenly, it is. The rainclouds seem surprised that they’re out of moisture, and stick around just a little longer, just checking to see that it’s really over. The thunder ceases, the lightning abates. And the waves, the waves beg the rocks for forgiveness, knowing that it probably won’t come, but hoping anyways. They edge up to the rocks, tentative and hesitant to hit them, but unable to control their destination before receding and trying again. The rocks, exhausted from supporting their defenses for so many hours, so many days, know that it is but one battle in a million years of war. They forgive the waves, as their eternal exhaustion is not the fault of the waves, but of the world. Each side returns to its normal state: the slow beat of waves against the stone, and the even slower erosion of the stone into the water. 47
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The lighthouse exhales a breath it had been holding for quite a long time. It can relax, at least until the next storm. It looks fondly down at its rocks, holding it up for centuries, and the calm waves, exhausted from their attack, and the sky, clear and quiet for now. An equilibrium has once again been restored to the lighthouse in the sea, and it can guide travelers home once more.
Come Hell or High Water
Abbey Daley 2016
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I Am Floating
Emma Gunderson 2017
The kind of floating that Turns your stomach inside-out And makes your eyes pour I can take everything in But expelling headaches is impossible She sees me but doesn’t know I’m two inches over her head Full of fight still in me But I can’t fall from the Thread holding me to my morals That I so want to rid Myself of for the one reason Of cracking her shell into Pieces too small to suck Back together with my Hot breath streaming through My teeth She has no idea that I hear her tiny, flick of A voice laughing about things To make herself feel like she Wasn’t the one who was crying Her small face has inflated, But not her slowed, discompassionate heart I was this close to taking her with Me to look down upon what she had done I wanted to help But then I woke up And I wasn’t floating anymore. I was just getting away from what really was She is doubt, and I don’t want it
Morning Stretch 49
Echoes
Huy Tran 2016
Purple and Blue Emma Gunderson 2017 My mind runs on images of you and pictures that will never be taken I fantasize about our minds mixing and creating a purple line in-between two weaving souls I look from afar knowing that you are looking in my direction thinking the same thing Time decaying and fights starting fires in your mind cause me to help you... and dream it was me you were smoking My every thought comes back to the vain of beauty in your dark eyes and the firm brow and scruff of your face I see nothing but lost chances and hope that someday I’ll see your mystery looking into my blue pool of patience that is trickling down into a pit of giving up.
Determination
Nicole St. Clair 2016
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Strawberry and Mint
Emily Brun 2017 Jacob’s phone vibrated vigorously against the back pocket of his jeans. He looked at the clock before slipping in his hand, 12:56 A.M. He knew before even pulling his phone out that it was Maya. She always called him in the early hours of the morning. “I can’t believe you haven’t quit answering me at this point,” she said as soon as he placed the phone to his ear. “Just tell me what’s wrong,” he said in the most gentle voice he could muster. He was already beginning to expect her calls, but he hadn’t grown as irritated as she probably thought. “I keep forgetting how to put words together. Jacob, it’s just so frustrating. I could scream at the top of my lungs while I’m alone, but as soon as I try to ask for help, it all makes a running jump out of my brain and I just completely forget how to tell people that I’m not okay.” This night was immediately different from the rest. Whenever she called, no matter how late it was, Jacob always picked up the phone to her sobbing on the other end, knowing exactly how she felt and knowing what she needed to hear. This night was different: there was no sobbing, no explanations, no pleas for help. Simple silence was on Maya’s end of the call with the occasional deep exhalation. “What do you need from me?” Jacob asked, silently hoping that she
would burst into tears at any moment so he would actually know what to do. “I don’t know.Tell me a joke,” she said. Jacob could hear the faint clicking of Maya’s pen in the background. “Are you trying to write again?” “Yeah, and I actually got something down, but it’s not very good,” Maya said. “I’m going to come see it,” Jacob told her and reached for his keys on the hook next to his washer. The route to Maya’s apartment was one that Jacob could drive with his eyes closed. She didn’t live too far from him, up the first main road for a mile 51 Echoes
and a half, then down the street a couple blocks. Jacob drove with his left hand on the steering wheel and his right hand under his leg, a habit he had picked up when he was in high school. He tapped at the steering wheel, something he only did when he was nervous. Jacob used the spare key Maya had given him to unlock her apartment door. “Maya?” he called out. “In here,” he heard a small voice coming from inside the bedroom. Jacob walked into a room that held every piece of Maya he could imagine. Books were strewn all over the floor, along with pieces of notebook paper scribbled with doodles and random sentences. The vinyls by her record player were unorganized, and the Bon Iver record was already spinning. He was struck by the sweet scent of mint and strawberries, an odd combination that he had grown to love over the years. He noticed Maya sitting in the corner, between her right nightstand and the wall. “Hey there,” Jacob whispered, sitting cross-legged in front of Maya, putting his hands on her knees in which she hugged closely to her chest. “Hi,” she said back, laying her head on his hand. “Come on. Get out of the corner, it’s not helping,” he said, giving her a hand up. She immediately retreated to her bed, taking a seat on the edge. Jacob joined her. “Wanna show me what you wrote?” he said quietly. “I still don’t know how to fit words together. I’ve never been good at puzzles anyway,” she released a small chuckle, as did Jacob because it couldn’t have been more true. She always ended up swearing and giving up fifteen minutes into it. He watched her pick at the fabric on her knitted sweater. Her chipped blue-painted nails were short and uneven, evidence she had started biting her nails again. He gazed at her fluttering eyelashes and felt himself tense up when she leaned against him, letting out a sigh. “Can I see the thing you wrote?” Jacob finally asked, breaking the silence that happened far too often to be awkward anymore.
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“Yeah, but I’m warning you, it’s hasty and literal garbage and you probably won’t be able to read my handwriting anyway,” Maya replied, and reached down to pick up the small notebook that was laying in a heap on the floor. Jacob took the notebook from her, opening it up to the page in which the bookmark was placed. His eyes swam over the handwritten lines, processing every word. Maya had always been a good writer. Her teachers had noticed her talent when she was in second grade. Jacob remembered sitting in his second grade classroom with Maya. He remembered watching her confidently moving her way to the front of the classroom to read a story she had written for the class, without it even being assigned. He remembered how much the rest of their peers enjoyed her stories, filled with old heroes and ancient excavations. “I remember this,” Jacob said after a couple minutes, “You wrote about this when we were eight.” “That I did,” Maya smiled, “My mom found it in a box of old crap and emailed it to me the other day. I’ve been meaning to finally edit it,”“I’m sure Mrs. Stedson would have loved to read the ending. I’m almost positive she was just as engrossed with your writing as we all were,” he chuckled and placed the notebook back on her nightstand. “Do you want some coffee? I just bought this new blend from that cafe down the street and I’ve been wanting to try it,” Maya offered, slowly standing up from her bed. “It’s like two in the morning,” Jacob said and raised his eyebrow. “Then I’ll make decaf,” she replied and walked out of her room and down the stairs to the kitchen. Jacob remained where he was, listening to Maya rattle the pots and glass in the kitchen. He took in all that was around him: the soft music, the smell of brewing coffee and notebook paper. He looked around her room and at the 4 by 6 frame sitting on her dresser that enclosed a picture of Maya and her mother when she couldn’t have been more than three. Maya called his name from the kitchen, and he responded, coming down the
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stairs to where she was. His coffee was already poured, no milk but sugar and a bit of caramel syrup. They drank their coffee in the midst of quiet conversation, sharing small smiles and muffled chuckles. Jacob felt so safe with Maya, and nothing with her was ever uncomfortable or unnatural. When he finally decided to leave her, it was almost 3:30. He piled himself into his car and when he finally collapsed into bed, the lingering smell of mint and strawberry set his entire body on fire, eventually warming him to sleep.
Two Faced
Mary McCoy 2016
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Popsicle
Toni Melhado 2016
I am sitting by the big tree in your yard letting my skin burn when I hear the ice cream man song play through the grass I jump up dollar in fist running to get my favorite then back to the tree so I can wait for you some more I unwrap the popsicle and eat fast not wanting the syrupy sweet to melt and drip on my hands and shirt not wanting you to think I am a mess
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Echoes
Fuzzy
Jacki Dougherty 2016
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The Sun Scorches the Sky
Blaise Webster 2017
The sun scorches the sky The heavens are red Our closest star says goodbye. It leaves behind a trail of light, and signals its slumber. It has ended the flight. On brings forth an epoch of dark.. Luna rises from the darkness. To replicate the sun’s humble ark. The stars sparkle in the pitch black sky. They lead the way for all men. They gain the knowledge, as they look look up high. And finally the cycle completes. The sun returns And the moon retreats. It signals nothing lasts forever. Neither the sun or the moon. Neither triumph of endeavor.
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Don Quixote (Inspired by Picasso & de Cervantes)
Sarah Mayer 2016
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I Can Hear You Justus Gaphardt 2016
I’m sure I’m dead. I’m sure I died in the accident. I remember the bright lights, the staircase. I sensed my own glimmer in my eyes as I began to ascend the stairs, smiling softly to myself. I had thought my old life would finally be over, that I would finally be rid of all the pain. But something snagged me. Darkness slithered around my torso and neck, dragging me away from that wonderful place. I don’t know why I was stopped, why I was brought back. Now I’m shrouded in darkness, listening to faint whispers. Even in this darkness, I hear them tell me evil things.
“So after all your failed attempts, you’re finally almost there.” My father. “Good riddance.” Mother. “The boy deserved it anyways.” Aunt. “So he actually had the guts to do it.” My “best” friend.
Anger and hatred swells through me, but I cannot move. My God, I can’t move. Though I can’t see, I know my mother is standing before me, looking over my idle body with resent and disgust. Yes, I purposefully drove into another car. It was out of my own selfish, ignorant intentions. Maybe God wanted me to feel this pain forever, to lay here and wither, and hear those violent, cruel whispers. They just don’t go away, huh? Tears pinch my eyes. Out of this shell, I won’t know if I am actually crying. Yet, I feel them rolling down my cheeks, slowly slicing and burning them as if these tears were venom. “Why?” I ask aloud in the dizzying thoughts of my mind. “Why am I doomed this way? I simply wanted to die! Won’t you let me?’ “Your son,” someone comments without any true concern. The door closes. “Yes,” Mother says softly, only now pretending to sob. “He was so young; so vibrant.” “Hm, yes. But you do know he caused the accident?” “Yes, Doctor. He did.” I hear vague rubbing, soft and rough, against skin perhaps? I scoff on my island of obscurity. Like hell she’d do that when I had all senses.
“Don’t worry. Now he’s resting until he wakes or leaves.”
I stiffen at his words. Of course my whole purpose was to leave this world, but just the thought of leaving through such a horrid, bleak place makes my stomach churn. Days pass. Months. I’m miserable, sitting in darkness. I cry, but I feel the poison slitting my cheeks more and more each time. It must be a reference to my self harm. It must be. You want me to be sorry? I feel all the scars overlapping with each other—one after the other after the other. Until finally my pulse stops. But I’ve been sorry all along.
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Mirrors
Nicole St. Clair 2016
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Looking Out Over the Hills of Machiavelli’s House (Inspired by Wordsworth)
Emily Gilliam 2017
Once I looked out over the hills of Italy, there seemed to be an endless palette of green. I saw the deep, invariable rows of sublime, and I hoped to be in that place forever. The wind swayed in crisp Italian air, and there was not a single soul who was around. In this place I knew I could find peace to hold with me forever. Once I visited the great Machiavelli’s house, a brilliant man who posed a question to the rule of Medici. And in that moment I knew I had found the place in which resided knowledge and wisdom.
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Echoes
The Doggie Door
Emme Goodin 2016
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Insight
Hannah Hutchinson 2016
You’re very special to me, at least you were. Growing up I wanted to be just like you. I wanted to help people just like you do. I wanted to be happy like you. We had such a great relationship. We’d play at the park and play catch in the yard. And then all of that changed, you changed. Now that I’m getting older, I’m starting to understand you more and more You aren’t happy and you never want to talk. You don’t call very often or ask how I’m doing. We never do anything together like we used to. What happened to you? I wish that things were different because Now I feel I’m not very special to you.
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Echoes
The Impact of Einstein
Rachel Zeserman 2016
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Camouflage
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Echoes
Huy Tran 2016
Slow Down
Ayden Bolin 2016
Sometimes we drive alone, and as air rushes in through our open windows, we realize that we may be speeding. So we slow down; nobody told us to. Other times, we drive with somebody else, and as air drizzles in through the air conditioner, they realize that we may be speeding. So we slow down; they told us to. Speeding is such a lively feeling; however, the rapid disassembly that suddenly ends velocity is not. I guess that’s how most things are. People will skydive, and if they’re being completely transparent with themselves, they know they are uncertain their parachute will save them. I digress. I wish somebody had been in my car. But the thing is, I was told to slow down. The center median ended my velocity, and I think that my tires had turned slick with the cold rain that day. SUVs don’t rate well for tipping, and even less so for turning over. The human body doesn’t rate well for that sort of thing either, especially at nearly twenty over the recommended speed. It was silly, I know. An honest mistake. But then again, I was told to slow down. I know that time stops occasionally. Like at major turning points, I guess. For example, some people can vividly recall a pause the moment they realized they were falling in love for the first time. Maybe that pause occurred the moment they knew they had fallen out as well. Mine was a different falling, almost a surge of energy. I was upside down, and the car shouldn’t have been hanging in the air that way. It was almost suspended by thin wires, or dental floss. But I was told to slow down. I don’t recall a passenger, but I know there was a voice in the seat next to mine. It was a “she,” but maybe not quite human. It was too soothing, almost paralyzing. So much so, that if angels exist, then this wasn’t one. “You should slow down,” and something cold pressed itself against the side of my face. A hand, or maybe a tender pair of lips. But she was just so cold. I didn’t look over, I knew what I felt. And all the while, I was upside down. I glanced to my left and noticed the rain seemed to be falling upwards, and I was descending into the clouded sky. You should slow down. I heard it so many times, rattling and bouncing through my skull, but it could have just been once. The cold press left my cheek, and I was filled with sadness. I thought it was over, every time I had heard music, or held somebody’s hand. Every time I had told somebody I loved them, or seen a glance that only registered as some sort of micro-aggression. The times I sprinkled water on the back of my neck on hot summer days, the times I held my hands in my pockets hoping for warmth, they all spilled into my mind. You should slow down. I woke up. Seat-belts facilitate survival but not living. Learning to walk is going to be the hardest part of all this. I slowed way down. I guess the voice got what she wanted. I still feel that cold press on my cheek occasionally, and I get dizzy doing nothing. And I remember how she rattled through my head, and how she told me— —to slow down.
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The Truthful Eye
Mary McCoy 2016
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Echoes
Through My Eyes Erin Dean 2016
I notice The scars shaped to the curves of your arms the shaking twitches of your hands the bounce of your nervous foot and no, I won’t bring it up but I notice I see it The intense old pain in your eyes The way you cross your arms to hide the insecurities The pause you take to catch your breath and no, I won’t bring it up but I see it I hear it The tone in your voice change when something reminds you of the pain The way you clear your throat when it all hurts too bad The tapping of your anxious fingers on the table and no, I won’t bring it up but I hear it. I feel The sorrow that reflects off of you and on to me The uneasiness when you start to shy away The awkwardness of you being too nervous to speak and no, I won’t bring it up Not until you’re ready of course but I feel it.
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Black Rock
Emma Gunderson 2017
White waves see soot and add to the spit already in it Times have changed But have the patterns of the sea wavered? Dark and dark try to rise at the drowning But white rules the water No matter who really is in charge Our lives revolve around the input of blank And the output of color When really, the color makes the sea even more beautiful We wash out the “stains” in our society But leave bleach in, and rewear the Tattered hearts which we have the guts To call alive Our whole bath is filthy Our sea is filthy Our hearts are filthy And washing it away with more water Just magnifies the hatred inside of our Hollow bodies Black teeth, and a white dentist Why on Earth should you Of all people Be in charge Black Rock, still drowning Heat won’t make the water turn blue But nothing else will either
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Contemplation
Nicole St. Clair 2016
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Dark Dreams (inspired by Beowulf)
Graham Potter 2017
Lo! Gather round and hearken to the final and greatest tale of Onwaken, he who was the bravest of all warriors, the hero who had conquered even the most persistent of monsters. Far did his legend travel in front of him. He hailed from the land of Consurgem, the land that many great warriors claimed as a home. For many years had he wandered the land, defeating every monster thrown his way. With the aid of his ever faithful squire, Levicus, he had conquered the most persistent of tryptophan naps, late nights, and sleeping pills. Legend had it that he had not slept in 20 years. He stood a head taller than lesser men, and wore armor as white as winter’s first snow. His face was composed entirely of sharp edges and seemed to draw the area around him into greater focus. Eventually, even a great a hero as he would meet his match; Onwaken would when he was called to the land of Hypnos, where the greatest demons of the night were rumored to tread. A dark shadow had descended on Hypnos, and anyone who would tread the borders of that cursed country was doomed to eternal sleep. The king of Hypnos, Hralstead, had tried every method to cure his people. He had summoned many heroes and scholars to his palace, hoping that they had the solution to his lands dilemma. All of them had either been baffled by the plague’s conditions or fallen victim to it themselves. Hralstead had all but given up hope for his beloved kingdom, and locked himself in his chambers to pray for a miracle to save his land. What he did not know was that his land was not assaulted by magic or witchcraft, but a demon from the blackest bowels of the earth. This demon was known as Somnos, and wherever he walked, sleep immediately followed. The might of Somnos was whispered behind closed doors and feared by all men who spoke his name. He stood as tall as two men, as was as black as midnight. One could never quite tell what he looked like, as his face was always blurred. It was said that he devoured the dreams of his victims, and as such was always wreathed in a blueish light. His eyes were pure black depths that threatened to swallow a man whole, and the world around him shimmered with a shadowy distortion. Onwaken, who had heard speak of a terrible monster that stalked the land of Hypnos, spreading eternal sleep as it went, rushed with his squire to Hralstead’s palace. He appeared before the king and spoke thusly: “ O noble and wise king Hralstead, I, the undefeated Onwaken, have come to save your land from the black shadow that plagues it. I have made the earth red with the blood of the entire race of sloth demons, faced off against the Night Lord, and stood before the god of sleep himself. I will slay your petty ghoul and return to this castle victorious.” The king pondered his proposal for a long time. Finally, he rose from his throne, approached the young hero, and announced to the whole court: “If you would free my subjects from this nightmarish sleep, then the whole kingdom of Hypnos would be forever in your debt. Onwaken, I promise you that you should return to your home with a fleet of ships filled with gold if you would only slay this demon for us.” There was much feasting and rejoicing that night, as the remaining subjects of Halstead were glad that the end of Somnos was at hand. Onwaken and Levicus, however, abstained from joining the festivities, stating that it was a truly formidable opponent that could force a man to sleep on an empty stomach. After much toasting and celebration was finished, Onwaken declared that he would go after the blight that plagued the land immediately, as it was early morning and the demon would be weakest at this time. The pair travel on foot, equipped with only their swords, shields, and torches, as it would be foolish to encumber themselves any more than necessary against such a cunning foe.
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Echoes
Reflections (First Place)
Nicole St. Clair 2016
two thousand sixteen
72
They traveled deep into the forests that surrounded the castle and ventured to a place where the sunlight could not reach. It was disturbingly silent in the shadowy depths of the forest, but the heroic pair did not let it bother them. They ventured into the pit of a hollow tree stump and found themselves in a desolate cave complex. As they entered the cave, the demon suddenly rushed out of the shadows, immediately sending the weaker Levicus into a deep slumber. The stronger Onwaken, however, was prepared for the beast’s effects, and drew his sword, preparing to do battle with the evil creature. As the creature sped towards him, he braced himself for the impact of such a mighty beast. He was surprised, however, when he saw Somnos dissipate into the shadows that lay scattered around the edge of the cave. Onwaken slowly walked around the dank and waterlogged cave, his torch casting flickering lights on the damp walls. Somnos slowly stalked the hero from the shadows, and pounced on him when his back was turned. Onwaken turned and flung his sword toward the demon’s head as the demon simultaneously thrust his clawed hand toward the knight’s breastplate. Both blows landed, and both monster and man fell to the slimy floor, Somnos dead and Onwaken losing consciousness quickly. In the corner of his eye, he saw a hooded figure standing in the light cast by his fallen torch. The figure picked him up with the ease of one picking up a babe, and Onwaken fell into a sleep deeper than any he had ever known.
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Six Word Memoirs Collected From the Senior Class
Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
-Matt Link Abandoned by one, loved by another. -Noelle Cundiff Watches Disney movies as an adult. -Sarah Mayer Ready for something bigger than this. -Rachel Zeserman Always need to remember. Never alone. -Daniel Kamen Coffee, chocolate, men-richer the better. -Nicole St. Clair Painting a life worth living happily. -Mary McCoy A secret closet full of insecurities. -Erin Dean Sleeps for 14 hours, still tired. -Cathy McCurley Exist with certainty. Die without regret. -Alex Varenhorst
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Unfixed (First Place)
Alece Stancin 2018
The rain drips along beside me as I walk down the sidewalk. It snakes its way into cracks in the cement, once remembered but long since forgotten. People have better things to do than fix sidewalks... “You’re in a good mood today,” Marian said, raising her eyebrows and settling in her chair in a familiar way. I smiled and turned to face her, leaving my thoughts outside the window where they can’t get to me. “Of course,” I said. “It’s raining.” The taxis pull up along the side of the crowded road, desperate drivers grateful for the rain that increases their income for the day. Harried pedestrians are equally grateful for the refuge from the seemingly endless downpour, people always in a hurry, never looking up, never slowing down.... The rain pounds down all weekend, flooding the passed-over cracks in the sidewalk, swirling down into the gutters, tapping on the windows (all but mine, which is wide open)...the rain clears my head, brings me out of my mind... The sun shines Monday. And Tuesday. It relentlessly sears my back, drives me to insanity, forces itself into even the smallest gaps in the sidewalk, now dry with the rain a mere distant memory. The sun makes me blind, heats the air, heats the earth, leaves me curled up in a ball on the floor, waiting for night to fall so my pain will abate, my head will calm down, the memories will go away.
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“How’d the interview go?” “Not so good” I said, unable to look at her. “Do you want to talk about it?” she said, shifting her weight. “No, I really don’t.” “Okay. But that’s my job, you know.” “What, to force me to talk?” “No, to listen.”
It happened one day, many years ago. A seemingly ordinary day, a day like all others. A day that started with laughter and joy and peace, that ended with phone calls and the hospital smell and tears gently forcing their way out for the world to see, no matter how hard I tried to pretend they weren’t there. “It wasn’t your fault! Remember that! Look at me. Look. There was nothing you could’ve done.” I take a shaky breath. “I feel like we’ve been having this exact conversation for years.” “We have” she said, and we both laughed.
Echoes
It all happened so fast, I don’t even remember exactly what happened...the sunrise was blinding that morning, that much I remember...the yellow orb in the sky, watching over us, watching as two cars collided in a T at the intersection of Madison and 2nd...three people entered the wreck, one exited... I paced the confining room, unwilling to sit down. If I keep walking, maybe my thoughts will never catch up. “Why? Why can’t I just leave this behind? Why can’t I get through even a presentation at work? Why won’t any meds work? Why...” I trailed off and finally sank to the ground, silently allowing my tears to fall. I raised my head to look at Marian, feeling the tears streaming down my face. “I loved her so much, so, so much...she was everything.” “I know” Marian said, trying to comfort me. “She’s gone. I love her so damn much, and she’s never coming back.” “I know. I know.” In a city that’s known for its constant rain, it sure doesn’t live up to its name. Luckily, the weather gods chose to have mercy on me today, and the grey clouds smile down at me as I stumble cheerfully through a thin layer of fog that blankets the lowest level of the city. The rain is just a drizzle today, hanging in the air in an unsure way, lazily observing the rush of the pedestrians before allowing gravity to bring it back to earth. “Be careful, okay?” “Okay.” “You know I’m always here if you need anything.” “I know. You tell me every time.” “Okay. See you next week.” “Okay.” The bell dings on my way out.
Outside, in the darkening city, rain pours ceaselessly from stormy clouds, mourning.
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Editors
Jacki Dougherty-Toni Melhado Toni Melhado Toni is the Co-Head Editor for Echoes and she is a senior. She has been on the staff for three years. Toni’s two favorite book are The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison and A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. Jacki Dougherty Jacki is a senior at The Independent School. She has been on Echoes for two years and is our Co-Head Editor. She spends her free time playing guitar and writing, and her favorite album is Hozier’s self-titled debut album.
Echoes Staff Back Row: Mrs. Amanda Evans, Ian McHugh, Erin Dean, Justus Gaphardt, Ashton Zinda, Ayden Bolin, Mollie Rundstrom, Jeslee Gan, Yilin Liu Front Row: Phan, Clara Moon, Hadley Kaff, Emily Brun, Alece Stancin
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Ian McHugh Ian is a junior at The Independent School. He is an assistant poetry editor and this is his first year on Echoes staff. He enjoys listening to music and sleeping, and his favorite album is 2014 Forest Hills Drive by J. Cole.
Erin Dean Erin is a senior and this is her first year on staff for the Echoes magazine. She is the Art editor. She enjoys writing and playing many different sports.
Justus Gaphardt Justus is a senior and this is his first year on the Echoes staff as an Assistant Short Story Editor. His hobbies are playing basketball and listening to music. His favorite album is “Thank Me Later” by Drake. Ayden Bolin Ayden is a senior at The Independent School. He has been on Echoes for two years and is our Poetry Editor. He spends his free time listening to music and appreciating nature. His favorite album is Carrie and Lowell by Sufjan Stevens and his favorite novel is Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood.
Jeslee Gan Jeslee is a junior and this his first year on Echoes. He is a member our Art staff. He enjoys playing video games. His favorite books are the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling.
Phan
Phan is a sophomore and this is xyr first year on Echoes as an assistant Art Editor. Xe enjoys writing and reading history. Xyr favorite band is Panic! At The Disco. Hadley Kaff Hadley is a junior and this is her first year on the Echoes staff as an Assistant Essay Editor. She loves to read and her favorite album is “Rumors” by Fleetwood Mac.
Ashton Zinda Ashton is a senior at The Independent School. She is one of our Assistant Essay Editors and this is her first year on Echoes staff. She enjoys reading and writing; her favorite movie is (500) Days of Summer and her favorite album is The 1975’s self-titled debut album.
Mollie Rundstrom Mollie is a senior at The Independent School. This is her second year on the Echoes staff and she is our Short Stories Editor. She loves to read. Her favorite book is Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov and her favorite album is “I Love You, Honeybear” by Father John Misty.
Yilin Liu Yilin is a sophomore and this his is first year on Echoes as an Assistant Art Editor. He enjoys reading and playing video games. One of his favorite animes is Sunday Without God. Clara Moon Clara is a sophomore at The Independent School. This is her first year on Echoes, and she is an assistant art editor. Her hobbies include listening to music and baking, and her favorite book is The Phantom Tollbooth by Jules Feiffer. Emily Brun Emily is a junior and this is her first year on the Echoes staff. She is the Essay editor for the Echoes magazine. She loves to write and play volleyball in her spare time. Her favorite book is The Fault in Our Stars; her favorite song is “Pale Sun Rose” by Matthew and the Atlas, and her favorite movie is The Road Within.
Alece Stancin Alece is a sophomore and this her first year on Echoes as an Assistant Short Stories Editor. Her favorite movie is Dead Poets’ Society, and her favorite album is Cleopatra by The Lumineers.
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Index Bolin- 32, 66 Brun- 41, 46, 51-54 Chen- 17 Cundiff- 74 Daley- 37, 40, 48 Dean- 16, 68, 74 Dougherty- 15, 45, 56 Estes- 23 Gaphardt- 59 Gilliam- 61 Goodin- 42, 62 Gunderson- 49, 50, 69 Hutchinson- 63 Klassen- 5 Kamen-74 Link- 74 Liu- 14, 30, 35-36 Mayer- 45, 58, 74 McCoy- 6, 9-10, 54, 67, 74
McCurley- 74 McIntire- 44 Melhado- 2, 55 Mitchell- 11 Nowicki- 25 Ottaway- 19-24 Pati単o- 29 Potter- 39, 71-73 Ramirez- 26 Rundstrom- 4, 28 St. Clair- 13, 27, 31, 34, 50, 43, 60, 70, 72, 74 Stancin-7-8, 47-48, 75-76 Tran- 3, 49, 65 Varenhorst- 74 Webster- 57 Wood- 37 Zarza- 33 Zeserman- 1, 38, 64, 74 Zinda- 18
Awards and Recognition Essays:
First Place: The Glow Pt 2. by the Microphones, Ayden Bolin Runner-up: Can Definitions of a Word Change the World? Alece Stancin
Art:
First Place: Reflections, Nicole St. Clair Runner-up: Silent Stranger, Mary McCoy
Poetry:
First Place: Tornado Alley, Jacki Dougherty Runner-up: May, Abbey Daley
Short Stories: 79
First Place: Unfixed, Alece Stancin Runner-up: I Can Hear You, Justus Gaphardt
Echoes
Special thanks to our judges: Mr. Joseph Lemon- Essays Ms. Georgia Andersen- Art Ms. Monica Pati単o- Poetry Mr. Scott Huggins- Short Stories
Congratulations
to the 2015 Echoes staff for receiving a rating of
Superior
from the National Council of Teachers of English in student literary magazines.
Submissions for the 2017 edition of Echoes can be emailed to: amanda.evans@theindependentschool.com Visit our website at: echoesliterarymagazine.wordpress.com
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The Independent School 8317 E. Douglas Wichita, KS 67207 316.686.0152 www.theindependentschool.com