Echoes Literary Magazine 2019 Vol. 23

Echoes Vol. 23

Urban Decay by Ashlyn Mahoney Cover Graphics by Malina Kae Wagner The Independent School 8317 E. Douglas Wichita, KS 67207 www.theindependentschool.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS Echoes 2019 The Old Ranch // Hanna Scheck // 1 My America // Janai Jennings // 2 Passions of Man and Monster // John Williams // 3 Dostoevsky’s Demon // Ashlyn Mahoney // 4 Birds // Ashlyn Mahoney // 5 View from Hell // Malina Kae Wagner // 6 Bitter Heart // Maya Mikity // 7 Bird’s Eye // Brandon Cope // 7 Palms // Levi Newman // 7 Passage // Denna Eichhorn // 8 Sinful Love // Kristen Devlin // 9 Let Me Go // Janna Wagner // 9 The Living Mountains // Andrew Leiker // 9 Woman // Meghan Ariagno // 10 Nuance // Alexander Cline // 11 Angelic Vase // Hanna Scheck // 12 Pushing Up Daisy // Abby Ottaway // 13-17 All Time Adored // Kortney Rowe // 17 Beach Dreams // Reema Moussa // 18 The Transition of Seasons // Brandon Cope // 18 Zigzag // Malina Kae Wagner // 19 Young Love // Pax Koenig Webber // 19 Lucky to Breathe // Edward Sturm // 20 A Convenient Undercurrent // Edward Sturm // 20 Firestorm // Malina Kae Wagner // 20 The Oracle Told Me... // Ashlyn Mahoney // 21 Balanced // Qingham (Sam) Li // 22 Sapphire Isle // Levi Newman // 23 Green // Levi Newman // 23

Lines Composed in Quin’s Car // Dolly Farha // 23 An Artist’s Iceland // Zoe Johnson // 24 Writing // John Williams // 25 Daydreaming // Zoe Johnson // 26 Alleyways // Laura Cunningham // 27 He’s Found Peace // Ashlyn Mahoney // 28 Winter’s Ballad // Kortney Rowe // 29 Rainey Sundays // Riley Slaughter // 29 Windmill // Ryan Mahoney & Maya Mikity // 30 You // Anna Bailly & Peyton Farber // 30 Gentle Twilight // Andrew Leiker & Rose Hutton // 30 Flowers // Riley Slaughter // 30 Button Fish // Kylie Mitchell // 31 Many Colors One Chorus // Edward Sturm // 31 Argos // Ashlyn Mahoney // 33 Mind Games // Zoe Johnson // 34-38 At Dawn, At Dusk // Malina Kae Wagner // 39 Loft // Peyton Reynolds // 39 Tall Grass // Pax Koenig Webber // 40 Into the Heart of Darkness... // Ashlyn Mahoney // 41-42 Tom Holland // Malina Kae Wagner // 41 This is the First Sentence // Malina Kae Wagner // 43 Blue... // Laura Cunningham // 44 Falling Out of Love // Julia Douglas // 44 Pop Lemons // Tate Clem // 45 Maybe // Pax Koenig Webber // 46 The Sensation of Your Body // Sara Nambo // 46 Innocence and Experience // Deena Eichhorn // 47 Green Screen // Malina Kae Wagner // 48

Congratulations // Christina Yi // 49 Up and Far // Sebastian Patino // 50 The Last Time I Saw Papaw // Peyton Reynolds // 51 Magenta Sunset // Laura Cunningham // 52 Reach // Malina Kae Wagner // 52 Dog Thievin’... // Meghan Ariagno // 53-56 Cocoa // Meghan Ariagno // 54 Gold Tooth // Sense Cadman // 57 Nutrition Facts // Abby Ottaway // 58 A Collection of Letters... // Pax Koenig Webber // 59 Secret Garden // Malina Kae Wagner // 60 My First Crush // Peter Daood // 61 Film in Nature // Hanna Scheck // 62 Contemplance // Pax Koenig Webber // 63 Mindset // Meghan Ariagno // 63 It Always Comes Back To // Pax Koenig Webber // 64 Cobalt Waves // Meghan Ariagno // 65 Brown-Eyed Kisser // Abby Ottoway // 66 Lightning Over the Sea // Malina Kae Wagner // 66 Review of “Love” the TV Show // Abby Ottaway // 67 Imagine // Weichen (Nina) Li // 68 Perspectives // Sense Cadman // 69 Dreaming of Home // D. Carnley, D. Farah, J. Holloway, Z. Johnson, B. Toubassi // 70 Hawaiian Escape // Brandon Cope // 71 The Peanut Gallery // Peyton Farber // 72-77 Color of Life // Deena Eichhorn // 77 Strings // Mary Ramsey // 78 Snowy Peaks // Sense Cadman // 79

Palace // Meghan Ariagno // 79 Seaside Mountain // Levi Newman // 80 The Lonely Mountain // Graham Burmeister // 80 Woman in Mint // Meghan Ariagno // 81 1981 // Pax Koenig Webber // 82 What I Know for Sure // Reema Moussa // 82 June in Havana // Abby Ottaway // 83 Deep Blue Balcony // Malina Kae Wagner // 84 The Trilogy // Tate Clem // 85 Tessellation // Malina Kae Wagner // 86 Apply Here // Abby Ottaway // 87-89 Low Hang // Malina Kae Wagner // 90 Chadwick Boseman at the Met Gala // Malina Kae Wagner // 91 Prince // John Williams // 92 Rushford // Caleb Ballowe // 93 Country Roads // Hanna Scheck // 94

Art, Runner-Up:

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My America Janai Jennings // 2020 Equality for all races is a lie.

There are race issues all the time.

Some ignore it, some support it, some don’t even know it.

I see it all the time and can’t express it.

You are either white or you are other.

There is anger from all sides of the spectrum.

There are still so many places my people aren’t welcome.

We take abuse verbally and physically, and stay quiet for it’s just how the world works.

We may speak of these issues to only colors, for they are the ones who understand best.

I see so many colors at public school, and living in the hood, and many whites at private school, living in respectable communities.

Why are we so isolated from each other?

I go to school and see so many whites, but where there are others, I hear race issues going on in my own school!

We feel isolated from the rest of the community and only have each other.

We go to school proving we are as good as anybody else.

People believe we have the same America, but colors know it differently.

You think you understand, but really you don’t.

We all know the white world, but you don’t know ours.

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The Passions of Man and Monster John Williams, 2019

The cold steel of a machete cuts deep into the thick green roots and suspended vines that weave fibrous veins pulsing to the beat of the drums in the majestic heart of the Amazon. At my own request I was ferried here with the company of my dearest companion, the first woman within whom life was summoned from death by the labors of my creator, Dr. Victor Frankenstein. He kindly submitted to my polite requests and parted us with enough culture and education that she and I could successfully communicate with each other throughout our journey to Vila da Selva, and though our expedition had taken us far from the comforts of civilization, life was less lonely among the wild animals of South America than in the grand cities of Europe. The colossal trees towering above us and the immense ferns that caressed our feet painted a beautiful canopy of green from which all varieties of life emerged, and not one creature booed or hissed at the sight of such abhorrent beings as was customary in the civilized manners of respectable society.

Whilst we navigated with difficulty the teeming vegetation of the jungle, we happened upon the behemoth form of an ancient kapok tree – its gargantuan roots protruding from its base like the limbs of some insidious sea daemon that haunted that fabled Mariner. The booming giant pierced and cracked the very earth on which it stood, conquering the terrain of a hundred lesser creatures as its own domain and towering above mortal earth with such magnificent prowess that one could have but reverence for its unearthly, almighty stature. It was here that I determined we should rest for the hour, to regain our strength for the difficult journey ahead.

As we rested amongst the tropical undergrowth, I took to observing in earnest the demeanor of my companion. At present she was occupying herself with the consumption of native berries, occasionally staining the pages of her manuscript on Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments: a somewhat reluctant gift from a very worn and anxious Mr. Frankenstein. In this moment of tranquility, I wished to spark the fire of conversation, that I should at last feel the joy of human companionship and foster intimacy with the woman who was to become the object of my affection.

“It brings profound happiness to my heart” I began, “that after my years of aimless wandering I should finally be blessed with the companionship of such a beautiful being, who shares both my species and a similar way of mind. It is doubtless that without your compassion and good sense to guide my wearied soul, I would certainly be lost.” As she separated her attentions from her study, I observed upon her countenance a delightfully pleasant appearance of happiness. Clearly pleased at hearing such kind, welcoming words, the warmth and charm in her smile encouraged me to continue. “God only knows how many dreary nights I found myself alone and destitute, lost without the affection of another soul to call my own. But at last,” I rejoiced. “I have found you, and it now seems that the only misfortune is the time we must endure until we may enjoy the happy union of marriage!”

As I eagerly expected her joyous reception, it took me by surprise to observe her imperfect brow crease with bewilderment and her blemished eyes stare with an appearance of astonished confusion. It was clear that she and I were not agreed upon this sentiment, and I wished to inquire her as to the reasoning behind her hesitation. “Whatever is the problem, good woman? Was it not made plain to you but mere hours after Victor breathed in you the breath of life that we are to be wed? What troubles your mind that you should so doubt your desire to be my bride?” I paused to reflect. “Is it, perhaps, that you feel that our communion is proceeding too quickly? It would be understandably worrying to be pressed into such an engagement so hastily.” She scarcely had time to open her lips to speak before I continued again. “No, no, of course, that would be ridiculous! It is obvious to both you and I that we were quite literally made for each other! There is no question as to the nature of our feelings, dear lover, yet still something worries you. What is it?”

I again paused, and though she drew breath to speak, I now knew with certainty the issue that was weighing on her mind. “I sincerely hope, fair woman, that those blemishes and flaws that define your physical form do not render you judgmental of yourself and conscious of your own appearance? I assure you that I too held such an opinion of my own physique, yet that is hardly a concern that should bring delay to our engagement. Skin that has known neither cut nor scar, curves untempered by the plight of living and eyes that shine without the dimness of life’s pain belong to those who have known no suffering, and it is that very suffering that makes us human. The limpness in your lips, uneven contour of your chest and asymmetry of your hair do not make you any less desirable; indeed, they are the very essence of beauty.

What followed was an earnest expression of vividly undisguised irritation. Her eyes now provided as much warmth as one could find in a sullen glare, and she chose to resume her reading in a concerted effort to make her feelings well understood. This insolent, cold-hearted punishment of my passionate pleas and utter rejection of my noble intentions inspired within my heart an explosive surge of fiery, unbridled rage. No amount of sense or reason could stop the scorching flame of pure emotion that now pulsed its fire through my veins.

“Foolish girl!” I cried, “Is this how I am to be rewarded for my endless suffering? To endure each cold, miserable night in complete and utter solitude, desperately longing to embrace your body in my arms and seek comfort in your love – how could you be so cruel? Do you not feel this same way?

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Dostoevsky’s Demon // Ashlyn Mahoney, 2019

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Does that same wanting, that same ardent, ceaseless desire not consume your every waking moment and devour each thought until it is all but your own force of will that prevents you from tearing yourself apart? Does this not move you?” I demanded, unable to restrain the tears that steamed upon the blistering wrath that now consumed my expression. “Does all that I have done mean nothing to you? Do the years I spent pursuing my maker to ensure thy creation have no consequence in thy mind? The souls of the innocent from whom I was forced to revoke the sweet sensation of life, all to guarantee that you might be granted the same paramount gift – did they all die in vain?

What hatred must consume thy heart to garner this treatment! Why dost thou despise me so? Am I to be thy Lucifer, cast from the good graces of God and detested like the loathsome, howling spirits of the damned? Is this how you are to reward the efforts of he who has only ever wished to offer you happiness and love? Well? Answer me!”

She lifted her eyes to meet mine, and at last she spoke.

“Yes.”

From the ground where she had rested she now arose, turning to offer me a polite smile before disappearing into the endless labyrinth of the jungle. This action promptly snapped me out of my furious trance, and from that day onwards I would forever stumble after that wonderful woman who I would one day have the pleasure of calling my wife.

Birds

// Ashlyn Mahoney, 2019

The Prophet Starling When in sleep visions so inspire Such thoughts and actions light a fire Take care, and when appears the call On fortune’s path fine favors fall Like blessings on an angel’s wings The prophet starling of thee sings.

The Thieving Magpie Embers burn and moggies prowl Winds grow cold and black dogs howl Nights make magic, dreams and songs Oaths unspoken, righted wrongs.

Moonlit whispers, day by day The thieving magpie has his way.

The Chipping Sparrow Modest hopes with speckled wings Quiet lives of flitterings Here a snail-shell, there a dime Just a stretch of mortal time With aspirations bright but narrow Consult thee the chipping sparrow.

The Steller’s Jay A devil’s cry, a whispered curse Pocket-knife in lady’s purse Cries of revolution, strife, Fighting for a simple life Only watch the cross to bear The steller’s jay will hear thy prayer.

The Mourning Dove How do the eyes that dimly view As through a glass so darkly through Far over seas of fen and heath The mysteries of life and death.

Time in these moments take for love And hear the voice of mourning dove.

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View from Hell // Malina Kae Wagner, 2020

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Bitter Heart Song Lyrics // Maya Mikity, 2022 What is the price of love That your willing to pay Anything to become Become less lonely I don’t know what you are thinking Marching to your own drum But time and time again You call me Me a fool Cause I ain’t a Keeper For your love oh I see See it through a little clearer That I was gold You were silver I Hope you know That you have a bitter heart Right from the start Yeah you have a bitter heart Right from the start How does it feel to be Lost in the endless sea Why are you wasting me Trying to set free And I can’t believe what your thinking Your going way too fast Make sure that you last You call me Me a fool Cause I ain’t a Keeper For your love oh I see See it through a little clearer That I was gold You were silver I Hope you know That you have a bitter heart Right from the start Yeah you have a bitter heart Right from the start Go ahead break my heart Rivers will flow again Who would you rather want Me or your selfishness

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Sinful Love Monologue // Kristen Devlin, 2022 I am going straight to hell. No, I didn’t murder anyone, but I am in love with a girl. Yes, a girl, but here’s the thing, NOBODY knows. I wish people knew, but some people in my family are extremely homophobic. If I told them that I was madly in love with a girl, I would be living in a cardboard box on the side of Main Street. Not just that, my family believes I would live an eternity in hell for loving someone of the same gender. That’s how homophobic they are. But everything about her is just so... perfect. Her smile, her heart, everything about her. She gives me this one look, that look makes my stomach feel like there are thousands of butterflies trapped inside of me.

Then my heart feels like it’s melting. My body gets tingly. Love. This is what love feels like. I am in love with her. Even if I end up going to hell for it. There was just something about her that made this ‘sinful’ love worth every burning second in hell.

Let Me Go Monologue // Janna Wagner, 2022 All I wanted was to go outside, feel the sun on my face, not the piercing air of a hospital room. I just wanted to see a face other than my doctor. I want to hear anything else other than that things will get better, or that everything is okay, because they’re not. To a patient, that phrase is as aggravating as saying, “calm down”. In what dimension of the universe has saying calm down ever worked! Anyway, everyday there’d be a basket of stuff to do. You know, to distract my thoughts. The ones that pull you under into a pit of nothing and make you feel like a waste of air. And you feel like a waste of air because all you are doing is getting back up to get knocked down again. In the basket, were always bubbles. And bubbles are supposed to make you happy, right? Well, for me it is different. Bubbles remind me of the life I could be living, the one out in sunshine, playing around, being a teenager. But instead, it reminds me of how s***** my life is going and how I could have a life where I didn’t have to watch every moment of my existence. As my parents say, “you can’t control everything.” But you know I’d love to. So, that’s why I started wishing that the medications being shoved down my throat would give me superpowers. Instead it kept me from leaving the house, seeing friends, going outside and having a normal life. Let me get one thing straight, my life will never be normal. It will never be perfect but I can get damn close if I try. So don’t you try and mess me up or like a bubble I will burst, and it will be all over you.

The Living Mountains Monologue // Andrew Leiker, 2022 We were always told that sunlight would turn them to stone. Since what seemed like the beginning of time, there were legends of them.

Thousands of years ago, there were great beasts that were told to grow to the size of mountains. Their arms hung to the ground, thicker than tree trunks and stronger than a hundred oxen. They walked on all fours, gargantuan bulk too heavy for even them to hold up for any significant length of time. They would eat anything that moved, but they especially had a taste for human flesh. It is said that one day, man discovered the sun, the only weapon that would work against them. The stories say that most of them died, burned away by sunlight, but it is said that a few went into hiding, becoming the hills and mountains. Nobody believed the legends, but we should have. It took Seven days. In only a week, these creatures wiped out most of the population. Where once there were billions, only a few thousand remained. The stories said that the sun would kill them, but it didn’t even slow them down. Their skin was stronger than stone, and even our greatest weapons couldn’t harm them. Those of us left went into hiding, but we knew our time was running out. But I found it. I finally found it. In front of me stood one of them, tall as a house, but stiff as a board. It had come at me in the night, and I did the only thing I could; I threw a torch at it. At the barest lick of flame, it burst into a great bonfire. No, it wasn’t sunlight that killed them. It was fire. A simple mistranslation nearly brought forth the end of mankind.

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Woman // Meghan Arigano, 2020

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Nuance: Free Will vs. Determinism Alexander Cline, 2019

The ancient debate over fate versus choice has manifested itself in modern times as a debate between free will and determinism. I will admit that there is likely no clear answer to this debate since it is so broad-based, so deeply philosophical, and so profoundly influential on how we view all aspects of our existence. However, I tend to be skeptical of those who advocate determinism, or fate. At first glance, the determinist position seems fairly reasonable. The vast majority of observable, material phenomena are the result of some causal chain of events or prevailing circumstances. A ball falls and bounces due to gravity and its elasticity. A chemical compound forms from an assortment of smaller molecules and a particular combination of temperature, pressure, and other variables. A bacteriophage attacks certain bacterial cells because of biological predisposition, ensuring it can self-replicate endlessly and automatically. It is not hard to make the reductionist leap that even vastly more complex—and possibly sentient—forms of life are ultimately governed by physical processes outside of their conscious control. The determinist dictum is that everything we know and love is reducible to the absurd and random acts of chemicals. Not only do I find this thesis contextually depressing, but I also think it lacks nuance.

For one, applying determinism to more complex life forms commits the fallacy of composition. Just because some principle of causation is true for simple, atomistic systems, does not mean the same principle is true for larger systems that are composed of those atomistic systems. It would obviously be fallacious to argue that since the tires of a car are made of rubber, the entire car must be made of rubber. That same line of reasoning can be applied to the determinist philosophy.

It is entirely possible that the amalgamation of electrochemical activity which constitutes the functioning of a human brain possesses an agency that supersedes the individual processes that make up that electrochemical activity. However, more fundamentally, the determinist position is really based on a Newtonian understanding of our universe. In 2006, Princeton mathematicians John Conway and Simon Kochen demonstrated their free will theorem. It states that if humans do have free will, then we live in an indeterministic universe. And quantum theory suggests that we do, in fact, live in an indeterministic universe; most elementary and subatomic particles behave in an indeterministic manner. Quantum theory does not prove that we have free will and choice, but it does jeopardize the determinist position. In other words, the universe’s mechanical irresolution does not necessarily mean we have the maximal autonomy that some free will advocates argue we possess, but it does put me in firm opposition to the determinist outlook.

I may sound inconclusive, but this is a subject in which any sort of conclusiveness is highly problematic. Fate versus choice is really an iterative microcosm of the debate between free will and determinism. Those that do believe in fate – or those that did believe in fate in past centuries – usually do not ascribe to the ‘hard’ determinism that I have presently argued against. They are ‘soft’ determinists. They think we can, to some extent, decide how to conduct our lives on a day-to-day basis, but, ultimately, we are structurally predestined to take some overarching path or arrive at some endgame. This position is not as uncompromising as hard determinism, but it still suffers the costly flaw of assuming we live in a fundamentally Newtonian world.

Sophocles was a soft determinist, a believer in fate and destiny. One of the main themes in Oedipus Rex is the inability of one to escape his or her fate. Despite Laius’ best efforts to evade the oracle’s prophecy about Oedipus, it still comes true. The prophecy that Oedipus hears in Corinth leads to his departure from Corinth, which really only hastens the arrival of his fate. Ironically, Oedipus’ one major attempt to avoid his fate is the very thing which brings it about. The play ends with one of the characters advising the audience to remain cognizant of fate’s inexorable nature. The clear implication is that we are subject to forces outside of our control and possibly greater than we can comprehend. Sophocles was not implying that we are completely bound by fate; for the most part, our life is ours to run. We are, however, bound by the predictions of those who possess apparent foreknowledge. Thus, although Sophocles heavily emphasized a fatalist perspective in his works, he probably believed in a combination of both choice and fate.

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Angelic Vase // Hanna Scheck, 2021

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Pushing up daisy // Abby Ottaway, 2019 (Scene opens on Shawn and Shelby sitting at their father’s grave with lilacs. Shelby is picking at the ground.)

SHAWN: Shelby! Quit picking at the ground! Do you want Dad’s grave to look like a used soccer field?

SHELBY: I’m just picking out the weeds!

SHAWN: Oh, Shelby. (Shawn lovingly rubs her head.)

(Daisy strolls onto the stage with a skateboard in her arms while singing a peppy song to herself. Shelby is doing cartwheels and dancing around.)

DAISY: Whoa! Those are some rad moves kid!

SHELBY: Thank you! I learned them from Shawnie. (Shelby loves on Shawn.)

DAISY: Neat. I’d like to see Shawnie dance. (Chuckling.)

(Shawn scoffs and looks sad, but a little angry.)

SHAWN: Not in a dancing mood.

SHELBY: Oh, come on Shawnie! You haven’t danced in weeks!

SHAWN: I’m not in the mood.

DAISY: So serious...

SHAWN: Maybe because it’s a serious matter.

DAISY: Yes. (pause) It is, but you don’t have to be serious all the time.

SHELBY: She’s right! (Makes a silly face. Shawn cools off a bit and grins.)

DAISY: When did you lose him?

SHAWN: Three months ago.

DAISY: Rough stuff.

SHAWN: Yeah... Who are you visiting here?

DAISY: Ummm (trying to remember) I think her name was Myrtle. See she’s some distant cousin of my step-dad’s grandfather or something. I never met her.

SHAWN: Oh. Sorry for your loss? I didn’t see a funeral group today...

DAISY: I’m Daisy by the way, and you’re Shawnie?

SHAWN: Just to my sister. You can call me Shawn. (Daisy puts her hand out.)

DAISY: Nice to meet ya, Shawn. (They shake hands and Shawn smiles. Shelby suddenly jumps between them.)

SHELBY: And I’m Shelby. (Shelby sticks her hand out.)

DAISY: Hi ya, Shelby. Do you like to skateboard?

SHELBY: I’ve never tried.

DAISY: Well, it’s pretty easy. You just put your foot...

SHAWN: Shelby, you’re not allowed to skateboard! Especially without a helmet!

DAISY: Lighten up. She won’t get hurt.

SHAWN: I’m not taking my chances.

SHELBY: I’m not allowed to do anything since Dad died! (Pouts) SHAWN: I’m just protecting you!

SHELBY: Well, you can protect me from the other side of this graveyard! I need a walk. (Snootily exits.)

SHAWN: Shelby... (Shawn runs after her.)

DAISY: Let her go. We can watch her from here, besides she needs to blow off some steam.

SHAWN: Yeah. You’re probably right. I just can’t lose her, ya know?

DAISY: She’s a special one. I’ve got a younger sib, too. Couldn’t let him go even though he drives me nuts. He loves to scare me every chance he gets.

SHAWN: Oh, man. Shelby does the same thing! I’ll walk in the bathroom and be unzipping my fly and she’ll pop out from behind the shower curtain. (They laugh together. Shawn notices himself letting go and pulls back.) Do you need to get back to that funeral?

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DAISY: Oh, no. Myrtle wouldn’t have accepted my RSVP to her funeral anyway. (Shawn laughs.)

SHAWN: You seem to keep a sense of humor all the time.

DAISY: My Mom gets on my back about it saying, “You’re so insensitive, Daisy Jane!”

SHAWN: Daisy Jane? You don’t look like a Daisy Jane at all.

DAISY: I know right! If they had to name me a flower, couldn’t they have named me Violet or something?

SHAWN: They picked the wrong flower, but they did get it right that you are not a shrinking violet.

DAISY: Look at you! You’re joking with the best of ‘em.

SHAWN: I guess I am.

(Shelby enters as if the fight never happened.)

SHELBY: Shawnie! We definitely gave Daddy the best flowers out of the whole graveyard.

SHAWN: That’s great, Shelby. You want to find the second best?

SHELBY: Yes, yes! (Shelby exits.)

SHAWN: She likes to interrupt important conversations.

DAISY: We were talking about the future and government and world peace? I sure didn’t notice.

SHAWN: I guess what I’m trying to say is that you make all conversations seem important with a side of humor.

DAISY: You’re sweet. (They sit together.) Have you seen the new comedy at the movie theatre downtown... I think it’s called Fletch?

SHAWN: I don’t get out to the movies that much.

DAISY: Do you get out anywhere besides this graveyard much?

SHAWN: That was just mean. (Jokingly) DAISY: Well, you really should go see Fletch to keep your humor streak alive.

SHAWN: I’ll put it on my to-do list.

DAISY: There is probably a showing of it going on soon.

SHAWN: Probably.

DAISY: I’m pretty open today.

SHAWN: Oh, really.

DAISY: Yep... (Awkward silence.) Can you take a freaking hint?!

SHAWN: What?

DAISY: I want to go with you to see the movie ya airhead!

SHAWN: Ohhhh. Ummm... well I’m kind of busy right now. I need to take care of Shelby.

(The father steps onto the stage looking around in wonder. He is walking with a cane.)

DAISY: She could come, too! I’m sure she would love the show!

FATHER: You’re going to a show, eh?

DAISY: I’m trying to convince this guy to come with me!

FATHER: Well, why don’t you want to go with this pretty little lady, Mister?

SHAWN: It’s not that I don’t want to go...

FATHER: Then why not?

DAISY: Exactly! We can take Shelby and make it a nice afternoon treat on me.

SHAWN: That’s very kind, but I can’t...

FATHER: What’s holding you back, son? This sweet lady is asking you on a date.

SHAWN: I know. It’s just that...

FATHER: If you don’t like movies, you could see a band or go to a café. I always used to go to the roller-skating rink with Cindy. Her face would light up when they played “Take on Me.” DAISY: That sounds totally tubular. I bet she loved that.

FATHER: She did. She would giggle herself silly, and sing-a-long to the lyrics as loud as she could.

DAISY: Would you rather go to a roller-skating rink, Shawn?

SHAWN: Oh, sure. Maybe some other time.

DAISY: Sounds like a no.

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FATHER: I know that it’s none of my business, but son, you don’t want to just sit back and let an amazing person walk out of your life before you have given them a chance.

SHAWN: I want to go on a date with you, but I... I can’t drive.

DAISY: That was the big hold up? You can’t drive?

SHAWN: Yeah.

DAISY: That’s fine! I can drive us.

FATHER: You might as well walk. It’s a lovely day. (Shelby enters and looks at the Father.) Why, hello!

SHELBY: Hi. (Shyly.)

FATHER: Have you enjoyed this beautiful day?

SHELBY: I’ve been walking around looking at all of the beautiful flowers.

FATHER: You ought to go to a garden instead of a cemetery, sweetie.

SHELBY: Shawnie, can we go to a garden next weekend? Please, please, please!!!!!

SHAWN: I don’t know, Shelby. We might have too much homework.

FATHER: Oh, come on, this little girl deserves a trip to the gardens! You could even rent one of those golf carts and drive around.

SHAWN: Would you please stop suggesting dangerous activities to my little sister?

DAISY: Riding in a golf cart isn’t dangerous. Anybody can drive one.

SHAWN: You don’t understand.

FATHER: I do. But you have to let go sometimes. (Father walks to the side of the stage where Shelby is and plays with her.)

DAISY: That was weird.

SHAWN: You never know when he’s going to show up.

DAISY: What do you mean? Do you know that man?

SHAWN: That’s my dad. He shows up sometimes. He likes to critique my every action and spoil Shelby.

DAISY: That’s your father? But...

SHAWN: He’s dead, but his spirit comes to me when he feels the need to give me advice.

DAISY: That sort of makes sense. But wow! He seems so real.

SHAWN: He is. He just isn’t alive anymore.

(Scene switches to Father and Shelby.)

SHELBY: Can we play Ring around the Rosie just one more time?

FATHER: One more time? That’s what you said the last five times... But I’ll play a billion games for my little girl. (They start walking in a circle like the game.)

SHELBY: Daddy, why can I only see you when Shawnie gets mad?

FATHER: I have to come help him when he needs me, and when you need me.

SHELBY: But I need you all the time.

FATHER: You may want me around all the time, but you don’t need me. You’re a big girl! I mean, look at you! You’ve grown at least an inch! Since, you’re a big girl, I know you can soldier on. I don’t need to check under your bed anymore for monsters. You can do it.

SHELBY: I can?

FATHER: Of course, you can! That’s how I raised my little girl! (Shelby hugs Father.)

(Scene goes back to Daisy and Shawn.)

DAISY: So, the Cindy he was talking about is your mother?

SHAWN: Yeah. She’ll probably come pick Shelby and me up in an hour or so after work.

DAISY: It’s amazing that you look about seventeen, but you still can’t drive.

SHAWN: Well, it’s not exactly by choice.

(Father walks to Shawn.)

FATHER: Don’t hold yourself back Shawn. Especially not because of me. (Father waves to them and exits.)

SHELBY: Goodbye, Daddy! I’ll miss you!

DAISY: I wonder where he goes.

SHELBY: Maybe he flies to a mountain in the sky! (dreamily) DAISY: Maybe, kiddo... Why don’t you pick some dandelions for me?

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DAISY: Maybe, kiddo... Why don’t you pick some dandelions for me?

SHELBY: Yes, Daisy!

DAISY: So, as you were saying about driving...

SHAWN: Oh yeah. Ummm...

SHELBY: How many dandelions do you want?

DAISY: Oh, about twenty or so.

SHELBY: Aye, aye Captain.

DAISY: So... driving.

SHAWN: Well, it’s a bit of a long story.

DAISY: I offered myself up for a movie this afternoon, so you know I don’t have any plans.

SHAWN: Okay. Well, I had been a decent driver for about a year. My Dad always let me drive him around for practice. He would blast the radio and sing his adolescent songs. One night, I asked him if he would like to come to dinner with me and my girlfriend at the time.

DAISY: Oh, man. Meeting the parents is always rough.

SHAWN: As you observed, this night had quite a bit of pressure on it. Anyway, at the intersection of twenty-first street and Greenwich, I was driving East and the light turned yellow. I thought I could make it. I had done it several times. Everybody does it. But this time I didn’t time it correctly.

DAISY: Oh, Shawn.

SHAWN: A truck was driving North at the perfect time so that it collided with the passenger’s side of my father’s car. The hit was direct and strong. I haven’t driven since. I haven’t thought about girls since then either.

DAISY: Shawn, I’m so sorry.

SHAWN: I’ve felt too guilty about my father to drive or even think about dating someone again.

DAISY: I know that probably everyone in your life has told you this, but it wasn’t your fault.

SHAWN: My actions resulted in his death.

DAISY: That’s true, but you believed that you could make the light.

SHAWN: I know, but...

DAISY: Oh, no. Myrtle wouldn’t have accepted my RSVP to her funeral anyway. (Shawn laughs.)

DAISY: Maybe that’s why your dad visited you today.

SHAWN: Why? DAISY: Because he wants you to feel free from your guilt. He wants you to allow yourself to drive and date and do whatever you want to.

SHAWN: But I feel like if I let go of my guilt, I’m letting go of him.

DAISY: But you’re not. He’s always here.

SHAWN: He only shows up when I feel guilty.

DAISY: That is because he wants you to stop blaming yourself.

SHAWN: What if I never see him again like I did this afternoon?

DAISY: You can hold onto him in memories, and maybe if you actually do go on a date with me then maybe he will want to finally meet your girlfriend and finish what he started.

SHAWN: Smooth.

DAISY: I’m just saying that your dad did say we would make a great couple.

SHAWN: I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you how I was really feeling.

DAISY: It’s okay. Anyone sitting in a cemetery is going through a hard time.

SHAWN: That’s why I’m scared to continue my life.

DAISY: Maybe we can start with baby steps. How does a drive around the block sound?

SHAWN: No way!

DAISY: I will be there. And Shelby will be there, right?

SHELBY: Right!

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DAISY: You can’t. We can start slow. (Daisy takes Shawn’s hand.)

SHAWN: (With humor) You know that I just met you, and you’re asking me to get into a car with you. Stranger danger!

SHELBY: She’s no stranger! She’s my new best friend! (Shelby hugs Daisy.)

DAISY: It’s okay, Shawn. I understand your setbacks, but we can help each other. Your dad wants you to let go of your guilt, but you don’t have to let go of him.

SHAWN: Come on, Shelby. We’re going for a ride.

--------------------------------------------------------BLACKOUT-------------------------------------------------------------

All Time Adorded // Kortney Rowe, 2020

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Beach Dreams // Reema Moussa, 2019

The Transition of Seasons // Brandon Cope, 2020

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Young Love Song Lyrics // Pax Koenig Weber, 2019 It started one day by the river The sunset on the waves It wasn’t long ‘til I had fallen Into the stars

The air was soft, I couldn’t think My head was in the clouds And you were there just holding me I said, “Please don’t let go”

Heart beat faster Heart beat faster Heart beat faster Faster faster

Young love, it’s startlingly new All these butterflies They fill my eyes My summertime with you

Young love, it’s startlingly new All these butterflies They fill my eyes My summertime with you

Young love, it’s startlingly new All these butterflies They fill my eyes My summertime with you

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Lucky to Breathe Edward Sturm, 2020 I could compare my thoughts to the rising moon—just obscured by a daunting peak.

Or else to the lake, in clear expanse, that still hides itself from above.

Or maybe suppose my mind like the mountains—shrouded in their blanket of clouds.

These analogies, perhaps would make me seem smart—or educated, wise, or mysterious.

But all of these fanciful, ideal similes would leave out the most desperate part: The moon and the waves and the clouds have all learned the time to give in and let go.

They do not fight the hand they’ve been dealt for control they could never achieve.

Instead they’re content with the piece in each moment that they are so lucky to breathe.

A Convenient Undercurrent Edward Sturm, 2020 The neurochemical illusion of free will has become your obsession.

Sinking into the rapid undercurrent that begs your analytical mind for power.

This is an atomic response. This is not reality.

Suppressed emotions cannot cannot control you.

White crayon stars scribbled into the black cosmic abyss.

Submerged breath moves slowly.

You always have something to write about, don’t you?

Emote goddamnit.

Externalize and manipulate those around you or throw it away.

Why deceive yourself?

Firestorm // Malina Kae Wagner, 2020

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The Oracle Told Me My Fate (And All I Got Was This Stupid Oedipus Complex) Ashlyn Mahoney, 2019

I’ve believed in fate ever since I first thought about it, but only recently have I started to look at it through the lens of optimism. Obsessing over what my fate might be is never going to change it, it only makes my life miserable. Ignorance is bliss in these situations, especially in the case of Oedipus. There will always be those who are destined for terrible things, but we are not born to die. We are born to live life to the fullest, to ride out whatever storms we face, and to not let what was written for us define the way we go about our lives. Oedipus Rex works well as a cautionary tale on letting obsession with fate consume life, both in the case of Oedipus himself and that of his parents. The very concept of the Oracle is based on man’s self-destructive desire to know his own fate, as a means of preventing it. For everything life does, there is a reason. It is our job to be introspective, to look back at the worst of times, to ponder how trial by fire has forged strength into us – and to refrain from stabbing our own eyes out.

The concept of fate is uncomfortable to think about. It is the understanding that each and every one of us is the product of millennia of predestination, like a tape rewound, and that nothing we do can change how our story will end. It’s accepting that some people are destined to win the Nobel Prize, others are born to overdose on cocaine under a bridge, and still others will jump off that same bridge at eighteen because nothing matters; however, the real beauty of believing in fate is that nobody knows enough to tell these people apart. All three of them could be in the same preschool class, just down the hill – or none of them. Maybe every last one of those little children will grow up, go to college, get married, and live perfectly average lives with picket fences and golden retrievers and office jobs, who knows? Not us! We don’t know, and that’s good, because it lets us have the option to believe that all those kids will get to change the world in their own way.

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Balanced // Qingham (Sam) Li, 2020

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Lines Composed in Quin's Car Poetry, Runner-Up: Dolly Farha, 2020 (Inspired by William Wordsworth)

Not since last summer have I been back here, Where pigs and boys run amuck, Where breakfast transcends New Hampshire’s cultural Barriers And pale bellies swim in the clear blue waters.

There is nothing more beautiful Than a crowded sunfish zig-zagging in the wakes of beer-full fathers and mothers and daughters driving their motor boats.

There is nothing more beautiful than our sun fish, despite its peeling scratches and broken ropes.

There is nothing more beautiful than a lonely red kayak drifting along the shore while the cloud’s pale drops wash her cheeks.

There is nothing more beautiful than a night spent roaring at the moon, transfiguring into a loon, while the fire blazes, burning the monsters creeping in our house.

There is nothing more beautiful than afternoons spent next to her folded legs, blankets over wheels and chairs, watching the hummingbirds fly by.

Beauty is undefined, some say it is in the eye of the beholder, I say it is within every car-ride and boat-ride spent with friends.

His car bottoms out, shallowing down until it treads on the rocky dirt, and I jolt awake from my splendid stupor.

He turns down Suicide Boys and looks back at me, Flower behind my ear, crystal in my pocket, and the smell of the lake in my hair.

“You good?”

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AN Artist's Iceland Zoe Johnson, 2021

It finally happened. I had writer’s block and couldn’t think of a single thing to put on the page. My parents looked at me and,

being artists themselves, smiled sadly. It was my father who looked me in the eyes and said that it was time to re-discover myself, or something along those lines. At that moment he shoved me out the door and yelled, “GO EXPLORE THE WORLD” then locked the door behind me. I stood there in shock until my mother joined me. She went out the back way and sneaked into the front yard with a suitcase.

She gave the bag to me and said something about knowing it would happen eventually, and with that she handed me a brochure with the country Iceland on it. That’s how my adventure started.

There were a couple tips and rules I had to pick up on quickly. The currency for Iceland is apparently a króna. I spent over an

hour at the airport I arrived in, Reykjavik, trying to exchange my money. That’s one mistake I’ll never make again. Next time, I’ll exchange before I leave the United States. Other than that, there were only a few more hiccups, like getting used to everyone speaking Icelandic around me. The moment I stepped outside, I felt like I had been transported to another world. It wasn’t just the major jetlag I was feeling, but instead the scenery around me. I had decided to go to Iceland in March, during the spring. The air around me was cool and crisp with the wind blowing in my face.

I didn’t want to stay in the capital so the moment I collected my things, I set off down the road. I eventually made it to a small-

er village called Hvammstangi located in the north-western region of Iceland. The sun had set, and I still didn’t quite understand why my mother picked Iceland for me to go. Then I saw it, the northern lights, glistening in the sky above me. They were waves of swirling blue and green with a hint of purple. My jaw dropped. An older woman came up next to me. “First time visiting, isn’t it?” she asked me with a smile. The only response I could give was a slight nod as I didn’t want to tear my eyes away from this amazing phenomenon. “You should try visiting the nearby waterfall next” The woman said. “There’s a waterfall?!” I exclaimed. The woman told me that the Kolugljufur waterfall was only about ten miles away. I started chatting with the lady more and she said her name was Eva. She had two children who were all grown up and her husband had passed away a few years earlier. It was her husband who taught her to speak English as he had been a tourist himself once and was actually born in Britain. Since then, she always enjoyed meeting new travelers and wanted to help whenever she could. She invited me to stop by her house the next morning before heading off to Kolugljufur for a traditional Icelandic meal.

The next morning, I immediately went over to Eva’s house. She ended up making skyr for me with cream and tart berry jam

mixed in. The skyr tasted like Greek yogurt. Once I had finished, Eva pointed me towards where Kolugljufur was. Everything started out fine, but I ended up getting lost after an hour of walking. I wandered the never-ending plains for what seemed like an eternity looking for the waterfall. I stopped walking and sighed heavily before sitting on the ground and closing my eyes to collect my thoughts. I was ready to head back to the village when I heard a small, dull roar. My eyes snapped open and I headed towards the sound. The sight took my breath away. The roar of the water was so loud that I couldn’t even hear myself think, but though all that noise, a single thought was able to shout over it. I had it, a new idea. I quickly pulled out my inspirations journal and scrawled down my idea before it was drowned out. I headed home a few days later and when I opened the door to my house, all my parents saw was a fire in my eyes and a grin on my face.

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Writing

Essays, 1st Place: John Williams, 2019

Hidden between the bulky, towering copies of Novel Writer’s Market and Plot & Structure that lined the bookstore shelves, I found a plain, humble little book that mumbled its title in quiet, lower-case lettering: If You Want to Write, by Brenda Ueland.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. The trouble with writing, however, is that expressing something truly unique, something new and profound, is a frustrating struggle with yourself over how something should sound, how it should feel, constantly scrutinizing your own ideas against the works of more accomplished authors. Many books on writing I’ve read offer strategies to mimic these writers, guides on hiring agents and persuading publishers; but from the very first page of her book Mrs. Ueland sprung from the ink on the page and grabbing me by the collar demanded, “Why are you holding yourself back?”

One of the greatest sins we ever commit, she writes, is to live out our lives in reluctant servitude, never submitting to our natural creative impulses out of fear of wasted time, or worse, the criticism of others. She emphasizes throughout that the popular admiration of zealous workaholism, the casting aside of all other ambitions in favor of ambitions we’re ‘supposed to’ strive for – career, financial, or social success – renders us completely incapable of fulfillment, as such achievements are entirely external to ourselves, and only lead to further unhappiness and dissatisfaction. By restraining ourselves from doing that which is more spiritually rewarding, whether it be writing or any other art or passion that offers a more emotional or intellectual reward simply because such a reward is intangible in its very nature, is only restricting our inner beauty from being rightly expressed to the world. As she quotes from William Blake, whose artistic success she attributes to this philosophy, it is “Better to strangle an infant in its cradle than to nurse unacted desires.”

Arguably, one may simply disregard these ideas as generic arguments against materialism, but to me If You Want to Write is more than a treatise on writing or a protest of avarice. Up until I first cracked open its pages I lived every facet of my life from my writing to my daily schoolwork with the belief that I had to devote myself to an established path of success simply because everyone else did – because it was what I should do. Not any more. Over the last two years I’ve improved myself in embracing the artist within me and refusing to hold him back, and though, admittedly, one’s grades tend to suffer as a result of such a philosophy, I’ve found that my love of life and learning most definitely have not.

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Daydreaming

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// Zoe Johnson, 2019

Alleyways // Laura Cunningham, 2019

He's Found Peace: A dramatic Monologue Ashlyn Mahoney, 2019 I don’t want to talk production tonight. Anything but that. (turn on radio) What the hell, let’s talk Madonna.

Let me tell you what Like a Prayer is really about... (stand up, push desk chair out, use it as a step to slowly get on the desk, stand on “not the point”) You already know some of it, but I’ll lead you in. It’s all about a girl and her fella, and I know what you’re thinking: this is all set up to be a real trashy song about what these two get up to when nobody’s looking— or maybe when a whole lot of people are looking, crowds of ‘em, even, I’m not judging— but that’s not the point. The point is that it’s got religion in the picture, and people like to think it’s dirty *click* because it gives them a thrill or something. It’s the blasphemy *click*. That’s what makes it so sad, there’s really nothing dirty about it. She’s so in love with this guy that knowing him is a whole religious experience, like maybe she’s never believed in a higher power before, but now that he’s in her life it’s like there’s finally something out there for her. She’s found her calling, her reason to live. He feels like home.

It’s not every day that Madonna gives you something like that to think about. She’s real original.

Original is a funny way of saying someone’s always done it before.

Still, it’s Madonna. Not like we’re in English class or anything.

Original. Real *click hard on the table, as if trying to break the pen*ing original. *deep breath, sigh* Paradise Lost, now that could be a good one to redo. All the heavy-handed symbolism and Original Sin, and everyone just wants to talk about how the hell the snake moved before it was cursed to slither–– personally, I think it rolled around lengthwise *click* like a pen dropped on the ground *click*–– but a guy can dream of getting some stimulating *click* conversation.

I’ll talk for hours about this crap, just wait. There’s a reason I never put out anything that’s all me, I ran out of room for my own ideas somewhere around like Burgess *click* and all that cal. Now all that’s left to do is stop reading my head like a professor. How many more allusions fit in that box? They just gave her a makeover so she’s Galatea, he dumps her and she gets revenge so she’s Medea, now they’re back together in a plot to kill the popular couple first in line for prom royalty and the whole thing turns into a tale told by an idiot. (sit down heavily, almost a fall) That’s how I like it. (slide to floor, leaning against desk chair) I don’t care what you think. Next year I’ll burn this whole look–– everything you think you know about who I am— to the ground, all of it! You’ll try to look me up online when it’s all over and there’s going to be nothing.

I keep trying to get my act together *click*, and every time it looks like I’m finished *click*, some wise guy comes along and points out some other stupid *click* little *click* thing *click* that I just have to *click SNAP, the pen actually breaks this time and leaves a handful of ink* fix...

Sometimes it’s fun to pretend I’m some James Bond type, undercover with a fake name and fake voice and nothing to share with the world that won’t get me shot (ink hand to chest) but hell— Sometimes even Bond falls through. He’s caught, it looks like it’s all over, and just before he’s set to die he goes and pours his heart out to someone who cries actor tears, then cut–– it takes three people to peel him off the floor because he’s gotten stuck in all the fake blood. That’s his biggest problem for the day. He doesn’t actually have to deal with the consequences of his screen-life, and that’s where our little spot-the-difference game ends. Person versus persona.

This time, let’s treat the character like he’s a bit more real.

Rewind the tape. He’s spilling all the dirty secrets. He’s sorry, because the parts of him that he never told anyone about were so important and it’s like they never even really knew each other. He’s still sorry, only now even the dullest knife in the drawer knows what’s going to happen to him. It hurts to watch. He’s shaking, but not because he’s afraid to die. (hold ink hand up, look at it in the light) He’s found peace.

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Winter's Ballad // Kortney Rowe, 2020 Clear, void and ruthless he is Occupants must have an apathy for being Desolation and darkness ensue upon him Showers of winter drape upon the mountain landscape Frozen and paused, the wait begins A beautiful absence of life With air so thin and blizzards so strong Prints in the snow will take long to return Trees engulf the view, all except the mountain tops Slow and steady, day in and day out Until the return of happy Spring As the winter ballad ends

Rainy Sundays Riley Slaughter, 2019

Windmill Ryan Mahoney & Maya Mikity, 2022 Our love is like a windmill.

Pursuing each other endlessly, Urged on by the chase’s thrill, Heart pierced by Eros’ weaonry, Our love is like a windmill.

you Anna Bailly & Peyton Farber, 2022 You, The calm in the storm The eye of a hurricane Your lips are so sweet A drop of sugarcane You, A breath under water A break from the day You are my everything

Gentle Twilight Andrew Leiker & Rose Hutton, 2022

Flowers

Bathed in gentle twilight Your face strikes a chord in my heart You shine the brightest in my life And I wish we never have to part

Riley Slaughter, 2019

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Kylie Button Fish //

Mitchell, 20

Many Colors, One Chorus Edward Sturm, 2020 I. Prologue As the final chords of the overture resonate and the curtain rises, any theatre goer will soon understand the power of an ensemble on stage. Individuals join in uniformity with the common goal of telling a single story together. In the course of an evening, actors walk in another’s shoes— entertaining, exhibiting empathy, and exploring an often unknown part of humanity. They are, in short, a human chorus. In my time acting, I have many times joined a new chorus portraying a new piece of literature; none, however, stand out more in my mind than Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. The musical retelling of the story of Joseph in the Bible’s Book of Genesis was initially written by Andrew Lloyd Webber as a fifteen-minute church presentation, but has since grown to become one of Broadway’s most successful productions. The text combines a myriad of contemporary styles to tell a story aged in millenniums. However, while the libretto is ingenious, it is my personal experience—garnering a deeper understanding of literature’s role in the human experience through an untimely tragedy—that informs my writing.

II. Any Dream Will Do After the Prologue, the character Joseph emerges center stage and sings solo for the first time in the show. Any Dream Will Do exists in a storytelling place between the prologue and the chronologically presented biblical story. I first sat onstage watching this moment as part of the children’s chorus in 2014. It was one of my first professional productions, and every moment I spent onstage in front of the waves of red velvet seats and darkened faces made me fall more in love with the idea of a career in performing.

The dream so vaguely articulated in Joseph’s solo would soon be personally realized as pursuing musical theatre professionally. Not only the electricity of the theatre, but the creation inherent in music, dance, and literature called me then—and does to this day.

Three years after my introduction to the piece, I had the chance to play Joseph at a community theatre. While it was a less substantial production, leading the cast in the central role demanded unique development. The first song I rehearsed was Any Dream Will Do. For all the wisdom and ambition assumed in its title, the song is disconnected from the plot of the show and often feels like incoherent lyrics that sound poetic

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These feelings seem exacerbated, however, by the death of a young person. As the chorus demands of the brothers in the show, we wonder, “who’s the thief?” But, unlike in Joseph’s story, we do not get to point the finger at a singular person. We are only left with the illusion of control over our lives that is sure to be again built and again broken. In the absence of human understanding, religion has long offered answers. Joseph’s story appears in some form in the Old Testament, the Torah, and the Quran. In each of these belief systems, the good and faithful are taken to a better place when they die. These texts tell us that what comes after life on Earth is the reward. We time and again affirm that the deceased is “in a better place.” Yet, however real our belief in that sentiment, it does not change nor satisfy our feelings. Death is universal. It forms a common thread through all of humanity, yet in the moment we still find ourselves woefully unprepared to deal with it.

020

more so than tell a story. At the time, I struggled to place meaning in each line that carried the pretty melody. Instead, I remained steadfast in the idea that any dream—as unattainable as it sometimes seems—is worth pursuing with perseverance. The song encouraged me that, with passion and hard work, my dream would also do.

More broadly, however, the entire story of Joseph has long appealed to many. Through fundamental human emotions alone, we all can relate with both the jealousy and the community of the eleven brothers, both the loneliness and the singularity of Joseph.

III. One More Angel in Heaven I got a call last night that Isabella ————, our “brother” Judah, was in a car accident in Towanda, Kansas. It is with a heavy heart that I have to tell you that Isabella died at the scene of the accident. I have typed and retyped that sentence, but I cannot find a way to make it any less awful.

I remember sitting in my own car, shakily reading the email from our director. The shock of news—urgently impactful and impossibly personal—commandeered me. The rush of questions and disbelief came quickly. I had never experienced the death of a peer. It seemed different—like a sick fantasy beyond the realm of probability. I wanted to see her again so that I could say something. So that both of us might remember each other differently.

Driving to rehearsal the following day felt dangerous. Not only from a heightened sense of malice in every intersection and oncoming vehicle, but of what I knew lie ahead. To face terrible news as a community—a chorus—was clearly necessary and proper. Yet how much easier it would be to remain away, not facing the emotions of others and, perhaps, thereby escaping my own. When I arrived, the once boisterous rehearsal room was silent. Something was missing.

IV. Who’s the Thief?

Any death evokes both deep sadness and unanswerable questions.

V. Any Dream Will Do Reprise Isabella’s death faded from conversation quickly—not because the event was at all forgotten, but because verbalizing a reminder seemed almost hurtful. As we moved into the theatre and approached opening night, however, the topic again became unavoidable. Before one dress rehearsal, our director took the time to acknowledge all that is out of control as we go about our lives.

He ended his comments, however, with a recognition that through joining in community—whether it be through music and storytelling or simply through supporting each other—we can always improve our situation. As the rehearsal began and I continued to consider his remarks, Any Dream Will Do took on a new meaning.

When Joseph interprets the dreams of the Pharaoh, the baker, and the butler, the information is not a vague ambition or hope, but a nonnegotiable reality. Each character’s “dream” is their given circumstance, but what they do with that information can entirely change their outcome. Pharaoh’s dreams could not change Egypt’s impending famine, but awareness and communal effort led him and his people to prosperity anyway. Suddenly, Joseph’s first song meant something entirely different: any circumstance will do. No matter the starting place, unity can always empower a group to better face those circumstances out of their control.

VI. Finale Community is central to human life. Our societies compel unity in a variety of ways, yet the stories we all join to tell emphasize the individuality inherent in the expansive human chorus. Joseph’s story seeks to “draw back the curtain” and inspire the unity essential in overcoming our circumstances. We dedicated the performances to Isabella’s memory. While I tried to do justice to a compelling story and a late friend through my solos, it was the finale, when I sung in solidarity with the entire chorus that was the most powerful moment of all.

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Argos // Ashlyn Mahoney, 2019

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MIND GAMES One Act, Runner-Up, Zoe Johnson, 2019 (LEO stands in the middle of QUINN and KYLER staring at ROSE. ROSE is standing off to the side messing with her drink and looking around.)

KYLER: So when are you going to go talk to her?

LEO: Oh, you know- Never.

KYLER: Come on Leo, this is pathetic.

QUINN: Kyler is right, Leo. Now is the perfect moment to ask her. The office party has just ended and there are barely any people left! Perfect time to walk up to Rose and ask her out.

LEO: Would you both stop butting into my life, please! We all know I’m a coward so let’s just end the discussion at that.

(They stand in silence for a moment) QUINN: You know I can tell she likes you too.

LEO: I highly doubt that.

QUINN: But you’ll never know until you go up and ask her out.

LEO: Or... I could just not ask her.

(Silence) QUINN: I wonder what their couple name would be?

KYLER: OH! I bet something cute likeLEO: No. Stop now. Just no.

(Silence) KYLER: Fine if you won’t ask her I will for you.

LEO: WHAT!?

(KYLER walks over to ROSE. LEO runs after him and gets between KYLER and ROSE) LEO: (Nervously) H-Hey Rose!

ROSE: Hmm? Oh, hi Leo! (Awkward silence. KYLER sighs and nudges LEO) ROSE: Is something wrong?

LEO: No! Nothing at all! I just... uh... wanted to ask you something...

(LEO freezes up. ROSE just stares at him. Silence. KYLER gets frustrated and punches LEO in the arm) KYLER: (Whispering) Just ask her already!

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LEO: (Taking a deep breath and speaking very quickly) I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me maybe tomorrow night, I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I thought it’d be nice to spend time together.

(ROSE takes a moment to realize what LEO said. LEO nervously stares at her. A grin then spreads across ROSE’s face) ROSE: I’d really like that...how about dinner at seven tomorrow at that Italian place?

LEO: (Stunned) Y-yeah that sounds great!

ROSE: Great! I’ll come by your place tomorrow then! Um, bye!

(ROSE exits with a smile on her face. LEO stands in the same spot stunned. QUINN comes and joins KYLER and LEO) QUINN: Told you so. Pay up, Kyler.

(KYLER takes a dollar out of his pocket and hands it to QUINN. LEO glares at KYLER) KYLER: (Defensively) What?! You said it yourself that you doubted she liked you in the first place!

LEO: That doesn’t mean you could bet against me!

QUINN: (Confessing) To be fair I bet against you as well.

LEO: Not you too...

QUINN: I didn’t think you’d ever go up to her. I’d be giving this dollar to Kyler if he hadn’t interfered.

(KYLER swings his arm around LEO’s neck) KYLER: (Somewhat sarcastic and grinning) In other words we’re both terrible people.

(QUINN comes and removes KYLER’s arm from around Leo’s neck and sighs) QUINN: (Ashamed) Sorry.

(Blackout. Lights come up with LEO laying down on a couch with QUINN and KYLER on opposite sides.)

LEO: (Bolting up) Oh, it was only a dream...

KYLER: No, it wasn’t.

LEO: What?

QUINN: Rose is coming over at seven. It’s five o’clock.

LEO: It’s five already!?

(LEO gets up and starts pacing) LEO: I’ve never been on a date before! Should I take a shower first? (He ends up equally between KYLER and QUINN who have spread apart) (Simultaneously) KYLER: Nah. QUINN: Yes! (Silence. QUINN leans forward and glares at KYLER. KYLER slightly leans away from QUINN) QUINN: (Making direct eye contact with LEO) Yes, take a shower right now.

(LEO exits. Silence. Both QUINN and KYLER stare straight ahead) QUINN: Really, no shower? He smells like booze and sweat.

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KYLER: So? Who cares?

QUINN: Rose would. It’s disgusting really.

(Silence) QUINN: I won’t let you ruin his date tonight.

KYLER: (Turning towards QUINN) Me? Ruin his date?

I’m just trying to get him to have some fun for once!

Too bad he always listens to you.

QUINN: (Turning towards KYLER) Excuse me?

KYLER: I wish for once he’d follow his instincts and listen to me.

He’d have so much more fun!

QUINN: Yeah maybe for that single moment, but he’d regret it later.

KYLER: Sometimes you just have to take a chance in life.

QUINN: But not if that chance ends up being something stupid and dangerous.

There are consequences when-!

KYLER: (Interrupting) Ugh, not the “morality” lecture again!

QUINN: Maybe I wouldn’t have to keep lecturing if you would listen-!

(LEO rushes in with light clothing on.

He ends up exactly in between QUINN and KYLER) LEO: (Confused) Wait, what should I wear tonight?

The restaurant we’re going too is like nice but not too nice a place and well...

(Simultaneously) KYLER: Something casual.

QUINN: Something formal.

(Silence. LEO looks to KYLER first) KYLER: I say go casual and comfy. This restaurant is a family place, right? So, go in like a t-shirt and sweat pants.

QUINN: No way. You are not going on a date in sweat pants. I think you should go in your tuxedo that’s in the back of the closet. It will let Rose know you’re serious about the relationship.

LEO: Hmm... I think I got an idea! I’ll be right back.

(LEO exits. Silence between QUINN and KYLER) KYLER: (Suddenly) Are you kidding?! A tuxedo!? Rose will think he’s desperate! What’s next?! A bouquet of flowers?!

(QUINN looks at KYLER with a raised eyebrow)

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KYLER: (Laughing) You’ve got to be kidding! It’s way overboard!

QUINN: (Angrily) At least he won’t be dressed like he’s going to a football game!

KYLER: Oh, so it would be better if he looked like he was about to propose to her?!

QUINN: Being overdressed is better than under!

KYLER: I highly disagree! If double-o-coward screws this up, then at least he’ll be comfy! Would you rather be ditched by your date in a tuxedo or sweat pants? I vote for sweat pants!

QUINN: Maybe the reason why you got ditched in the first place was because of the sweat pants!

KYLER: Or because you showed up to your first date wearing a tux-!

LEO: (Offstage) Hey guys, what about this?

(LEO comes in between the two wearing a nice sports jacket and dress pants. He holds in his hand a single rose.)

LEO: I chose somewhere in between. I’m both casual and formal, classy to be exact. (Looking at the rose) I thought this would be a nice touch. What do you think?

(Simultaneously) KYLER: I’ll accept that.

QUINN: I’ll accept that.

LEO: Alright then! Any tips for tonight?

(Simultaneously) KYLER: Be bold!

QUINN: Be polite.

(Both KYLER and QUINN take a deep breath at the same time. LEO feels the tension between the two and takes a step back, out of their line. KYLER and QUINN start at a medium volume and are screaming at each other in the end) KYLER: Leo won’t get anywhere by being meek and polite.

QUINN: So, what, should he be bold and stupid?

KYLER: Being bold doesn’t mean being stupid! At least Rose wouldn’t find him boring!

QUINN: Being polite doesn’t mean being boring!

KYLER: In my book it does!

QUINN: (Mockingly) Well you’re a special case...

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KYLER: What’s that supposed to mean?!

QUINN: Oh, you know exactly what I mean!

KYLER: I’m sick of your “holier than thou” attitude!

QUINN: And I’m tired of your “no care in the world” view!

LEO: (Meekly) Um guys, can’t I be both?

(Simultaneously) KYLER: NO! QUINN: NO! (The two of them scream at each other and start grappling right in front of LEO) KYLER: BOLD! QUINN: POLITE! KYLER: BOLD! QUINN: POLITE! (A doorbell goes off and all freeze. LEO starts checking himself while QUINN smooths out his clothing and KYLER ruffles his hair a bit. LEO walks to the door with KYLER and QUINN going to the opposite side of the room. LEO opens the door and ROSE enters smiling) ROSE: Hi. LEO: Uh, hey.

ROSE: You ready to go?

LEO: Yep. (The two of them start walking out.)

KYLER: (Emotionally) You got this!

QUINN: (Sadly) Your shirt’s untucked! Be sure to fix that later!

(LEO glances back at QUINN and KYLER and smiles.)

ROSE: Hmm? Is someone there?

LEO: Oh, no one. It’s just a trick I use to make up my mind.

(They exit)

-----------------------------BLACKOUT---------------------------

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At Dawn At Dusk Malina Kae Wagner, 2020 waking up early

on my own i search my thoughts

my body rational thoughts

too much emotion

i lie back down not wanting to move

Loft Peyton Reynolds, 2020

my alarm rings

screaming at me i pull my phone closer

it is silent

waiting for something knowing it won't come but hoping

anyway.

I walk through the long grass to the same place I start to see the fading red But far away all you can see is the brown wood It is when you get closer that you can really see the beauty I climb up the ladder, it gets weaker every time And then I’m there I’m on the same platform that I’ve been on a million times But I still have the same amount of amazement that I had the first time I look around, the hayloft is unchanged The sun is glowing through the holes of the roof The light reflecting off the wood makes the room golden If I could I would sit there for hours But after awhile I get up I have to leave, I want to stay I know I won’t be back for a long time I haven’t returned for over a year

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Into the Heart of Darkness: Neverthoughts on the State of Mankind Ashlyn Mahoney, 2019

1. I never thought that I would get to grow up. I mean, there’s a new shooting every day; you can’t swing a stick in a newsroom without knocking over at least a few loose-leaf tragedies.

You still do it. Papers spill to the ground like a viscous liquid- you swing the stick again and knock someone’s travel mug over, it hits the floor with a metallic clang that makes the man in the next cubicle flinch- we are all of us hollow and desensitized and shattered at the core.

2. I never thought that I would complete my PhD. Before that beautiful, life changing, still-unreal acceptance letter came, I never even thought I’d go to college at all— and now I’ve got a goddamn doctorate on my wall, in Theoretical Physics of all things, can you believe it— but I’m happy that I made it this far. Oh, man. Dad, if only you could see me now.

A Harvard man, sitting in your dusty old home office, sipping black coffee out of your favorite mug. It’s bittersweet, but that’s life. We live as we dream— alone.

3. I never thought that I would start to enjoy crawling on the ceiling. It’s relief, and the shock and crash of my armored back hitting the ground when I forget myself and let go— hell, that’s almost a result. Food tastes like air, air tastes like dust, dust tastes like it’s been months since I’ve had the energy to clean my room, and Kafkaesque shouldn’t be this relatable. Son. Brother. What did those words mean, again? The offing is barred by hey Siri, how many Advil— never mind.

Art, 1st Place

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4. I never thought that I would turn on the radio and hear a story in which someone like me was painted as the hero, but it’s a good feeling. Scream it out, call the newsroom executive busybodies in the morning before they’ve even got their stupid pressed suits on, Oliver Sipple, I am with you in San Francisco! I am quietly sitting in the passenger seat as the NPR special runs, hoping nobody turns it off. No one does, but that doesn’t mean anything. We don’t talk about those things, even if it’s to complain. Extremely censored and wonderfully neat withal.

5. I never thought that I would have any real purpose in life. I never did. My day job is coming up with the little fortunes that go in fortune cookies.

By night, I sell the parts of me that won’t matter in fifty or twenty or ten or two years when I drown them in the river. Oh, that’s not a speculation. My fortunes are real, they always come true, and the day I tried writing one for myself, it told me exactly how I would die. Not when. I guess that’s just how being a woman works in this day and age. For now, my need is to exist until I stop feeling the need and start feeling water in my veins.

6. I never thought that I would achieve enlightenment before I even got my drivers’ permit. It was nothing like how I imagined it. I sat under a tree during free period, doing my calculus homework, when— just like Newton’s discovery— an apple fell right in front of me. Well, an apple core, to be precise. And it didn’t fall, it was thrown. Even so, I recognized it for what it would symbolize if I had happened to be in a Great American Novel instead of a Mediocre American Middle School. This, too, was one of the dark places of the earth.

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this is the first sentence // Malina Kae Wagner, 2020

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blue...

Laura Cunningham, 2019 one, i love you, two i cannot help this hope, the geese spill the season from the river, you don’t look up you just stay squinting and point one finger, i forget what i even apologized for, you are lovely and good, to think of the rest of the country from this city, i’m so mortal that i have little time to think it and when i’m there i’m like i swear i won’t write about the birds, i’m like what’s everyone doing and thinking, the rest of this country can’t breathe, i’m like drives trucks and abandons work and has all the time in the world and therefore is immortal within its life, space is cheap there, so wide, isn’t it almost time, a field of sunflowers go on forever, never ending, the roads are affable, laugh up and down hills toward both misery and compassion of one’s neighbor, i’m like the road in the rest of the country doubles, endless and nameless, being no one, going nowhere, for it is where worries meet with desire complex and small that materialize upon your wall, girls doing short practical haircuts and wearing embroidered shirts, the infinite sadness of London and loss and the fold out mattress, this is it.

Falling Out of Love Julia Douglas, 2021

I can think of three words that have the power to change everything “I love you” To some these words are just that, words, used carelessly They are said when they are not meant Used when they shouldn’t be used The moment that someone you love decides they didn’t mean it That right there is the reason you’re crying listening to your special song, calling your closest friend, going on an angry cleaning rampage The reason your world comes crashing down Falling out of love is one of the most difficult things you will ever have to do It takes time Love, love, love, stupid love Your heart that took nine months to form was broken in five words “I don’t care about you” You can try all you want to not mean what you said, but you did, Your friends always tell you it will be okay, it’s their job, but that doesn’t help You know they won’t stop until you agree with them Nodding your head with a silent tear rolling down your face you repeat the sentence back to them “It will be okay” “I can fall out of love” Just not yet

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Maybe Pax Koenig Weber, 2019 I never thought seventeen would be this heavy: Love and loss and love and Seatbelt shaped bruises next to reopened wounds.

To be quite honest I thought that by seventeen My lungs would be full of dirt instead of air and My heartbeat would only sound in memories.

I got used to living somehow and the pain rusted No longer sharp just constant. I learned how to live With a glass barely full— or barely empty depending on the day.

Depression never asked it only took but I learned to live for something not quite Definable-not love, not spite but For the maybes.

The Sensation of your Body on my Bed Sara Nambo, 2020 Wherever you are Is my favorite place Curled up in a room filled with silence But the tone of your fluttering sound Wherever you are Has enough lighting to get lost in your forest green eyes By your side is where I find comfort Your touch is pleasant Relieving my stress You provide a safe place like no other Wherever you are Your shade is precise Flawless is your surface With all the right curves to rest my head on You’re the definition of perfection

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Innocence and Experience (Inspired by William Blake) Deena Eichhorn, 2020 Innocence Shut off the lights and lock the door Once again, it’s just a chore Huddle and crouch upon the ground Careful now, don’t make a sound A silly face, but shhh, don’t smile Silent games played all the while A person comes, it’s make believe Throw the books to make him leave The lights come on, it’s all routine “Please pass the crayons, I need the green” The teacher writes up on the board What happened promptly is ignored Experience Shut off the lights and lock the door Your parents’ school this is no more People dying every day But all that we can do is ‘pray’ A person wielding deadly weapons Ask what to do in fleeting seconds Fear and terror have no place Behind the desk, near the bookcase Countless lives taken but nothing has changed You have run out of places to stick the blame What will it take for the country to realize This should not be normal nor what it implies

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Green Screen // Malina Kae Wagner, 2020

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Congratulations // Christina Yi, 2019

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Up and Far Essay, Runner-Up: Sebastien Patiño, I step into the discus ring as the2019 announcer says, “Next up is Sebastien Patiño from Wichita Independent” – as my coach, teammates, family, and others watch me walk to the ring. I feel the sun beating down on my skin as I think of all the possibilities. Life is hard sometimes, and it has been lately. I have been told that my ability to maintain my composure and to even excel through pain sets me apart from others. As I stand at the back of the ring, I look up to see who is in the crowd one last time. I know my father will not be there. I have only seen him a handful of times in the last eight years. He and my mother divorced when I was five. There was a harsh custody battle, and he moved far away.

I look back down at my feet, which are blistered in my shoes from so many repetitions, so many twists and turns. Attention to form. That is what will get you far in this game. I know my uncle is not in the crowd. He was one of my few male role models, and died unexpectedly two years ago. The next year was like my family was moving through sludge, each step a struggle. Form was gone. Order. He wasn’t here anymore, and everyone else was trying to hold on.

I lick my two fingers, which have a slight metallic taste, and place them back on the discus as securely as I can, to make sure that it will not budge. Form and strength. I know I am strong, but sometimes life does not allow for perfect form, and there is such a thing as letting go too soon. A year after my uncle’s death, my twenty year old cousin also died. As an only child, I clung to my cousins growing up.

We grew up together every day. We actually lived together for a while when I was in middle school. They called me brother. My brother is not here either. As I stretch my arm back as far as it can go, I hear everyone I know give words of encouragement.

Life can also be good, and has been. I am here. I can work hard and practice. “Throw far,” my mom said before I left, smiling. She is here. She always has been. Though I am poor compared to many of my friends, I am rich with determination to someday bring my mom and myself out of poverty. I have friends who are reliable, fun, smart and genuine. I have a coach who believes in me. Other members of my family are also here. They are loving, supportive, strong and kind. My uncle and brother are here, too, in their own ways. In this ring with me now, in this slight breeze that cools me.

I begin my throw by picking up my right foot and spinning on the toes of my left foot, as I have done thousands of times before. I want to be here. I have been given the opportunity to work to be here. I am grateful for the warm sun on my shoulders. To have the ability to grow. To learn. To work on my form. To make my family proud for walking through loss with grace, even with everyone watching. I want to show everyone watching what living can be.

So, I start. Around and around, gaining momentum. Even when everything around me blurs, I trust. This is controlled chaos, a hurricane contained in a ring. The timing is right, and I know I can do it. My footing is sure this time. My future, ahead of me. I focus on my form, my strength. I release the storm all at once, with all the loss, the perseverance, the work, the love. And, yes, I can already see: it’s up, and it’s far, and already climbing high into a bright and promising blue.

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The Last Time I Saw My Papaw Peyton Reynolds, 2020

I walked into the doors of my hometown hospital, William Newton Memorial Hospital; I didn't want to be there. The familiar smell of the place I had been to many times for sprained ankles and broken bones seemed different that day -- different because I now associated the smell with my dying Papaw and not the generous help of doctors.

I walked in wearing normal school clothes because I thought it was a normal day. I had my hair up, even though my Papaw preferred it down. My mother was with me. I was complaining to her about why I had to be there; she thought it would be good for me. It didn't seem good for me at the time; it just seemed painful. It was painful.

Straight, left, right, elevator ride, left, left again, and then you were in his room. I walked that route only three times in the month and a half he was in the hospital. It seemed that my selfish desire to stay away and not be hurt outweighed my love and need to see my Papaw. I chose the easy way out.

I walked to his room with my mom, and once I was inside the door, I immediately wanted to leave. It was not right. I did not understand the importance of being there at the time. I wanted to go and wait until he got better so I wouldn't have to see him hurting. I was waiting for the day he was out of the hospital and back in his garden, but that day never came.

I walked over to him and talked to him about school, my play and driving. He could not follow a conversation for very long, but he perked up when he saw me. Seeing him did not make me perk up, it just made me sad. This was not my Papaw and this was not the way I wanted to remember him. I tried to cuddle with him, but it just hurt him. Simple things we used to do were now hard. Everything seemed hard.

It was so hard I left his room and went to the sitting area: to the left out of the room, down the hall, and to the right. I sat in there for most of the visit. I avoided seeing him dying, because it was easier. As I said, I took the easy way out. I stayed in that sitting room for an hour of the hour and a half we were there. I went in to see him only when I was forced to, but mostly I sat there hoping I wouldn't have to come back. I got my wish.

It was time to say goodbye — yes, my favorite part. We walked back to his room, straight, left, straight, right, and there we were.

I walked over to him, hugged him really tight – as tight as I could without hurting his frail body – kissed his forehead, and told him I loved him so much. I told him goodbye, that I would talk to him later and see him soon. He told me to stay out of trouble, that he loved me so much and to not be too much of a pill. He called me his Pill as a nickname because I am ornery; that was even his password for his phone, 7-4-5-5, the digits lining up with P-I-L-L. Before I walked out of his hospital room to leave, I told him not to worry, that I would stay out of trouble and one last “I Love You”. Then I left with my mom in our blue Toyota; headed back to the “big city” – where my priorities were.

I had been choosing friends, or homework, or practically anything over seeing my Papaw because it was easier to distract myself with other things than it was to endure the emotional pain of visiting him in the state he was in. But I realized about two weeks later my priorities were really messed up. Because two weeks after I had visited, he died.

The last thing I told him was not to worry. The last text I sent him was to ask his favorite song, which was “White Sport Coat (and a Pink Carnation)” by Marty Robbins. He died the weekend of the play. The play I was telling him about. I finally got a car a few months after talking with him about driving, but school has gotten much more difficult since his death. I wish I could still have those simple conversations with him about these little things in my life, but the last opportunity I had, I didn't even take advantage of. I wanted out of that hospital, but now I would do anything to get back in it with him there. I would throw a thousand pennies in a well if it meant my wish would come true of seeing him just one more time.

I don’t know what happens after you die, and I don't know where he is now. I have no idea if he is in a better place now. All I know is he was happy in the garden, but he’s not there now. His shovel is there sitting next to the hole he was digging to transfer a tree, but that tree will never be transferred, and he will never be back in his garden, his happy place.

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Dog Thievin': A Guide for Mothers and Daughters Meghan Ariagno, 2020

Trip to the South: In an experiment conducted by Yale University in the early 1940s, 0.3% of every mother-daughter duo that travels to Tennessee from Kansas will end up on an alpaca farm bed and breakfast. Though the duration of the stay varies, the two will always end up at one farm or another. This has created a somewhat consistent profit for local alpaca farm owners.

The Alpaca Woman: In one particular instance, you and your mother decided to spend several nights on a farm. This is where you meet The Alpaca Woman. She’s a unique person who likes homemade granola bars, kerosene lamps, and a variation of “prescribed” pharmaceuticals. She has even dabbled in witchcraft. You will be good friends with The Alpaca Woman – at first.

Farm Life: During the stay, you and your mother will become accustomed to the quaint life. A routine will be created consisting of breakfast at the local bakery, going for a hike, a mid-afternoon nap, and a picnic among the animals before going in for the night. For a fleeting moment, life is simple.

Here Comes Pupper: However, one thing that the scientists of Yale did not account for was the dog. This dog will be frolicking among the flowers of The Alpaca Farm and will approach you, begging for a bite of your ham sandwich. She will have 1 floppy ear, 1 perky ear, 4 dainty paws, 2 big brown eyes, and 1 wagging tail (this is somewhat typical of dogs in the south, according to researchers at Stanford). The pup will be exceptionally adorable. DO NOT RUB HER BELLY.

Sneaky Sneaky: If you didn’t give her a good tummy rub, there is no need to follow the rest of this guide. However, if you did, then this is destined to be a bad situation (see also, “Police Involvement”). You are now attached. This pup has you wrapped around its little paw and it’s playing your heartstrings like a cello.

Borus: You will then ask The Alpaca Woman if the pup belongs to anyone. The answer is yes. It belongs to her neighbor, Borus. He is a truck lovin’, beer-drinkin’, buck shootin’ gosh darn country boy. This information does nothing for you, because you are already attached to the dog.

Animal Cops: Houston™: When playing with the pup, one will discover she has fleas. You will also diagnose the dog with heartworm. You are qualified to do this because of your excessive viewing of Animal Cops: Houston™.

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Mother May I?: The only course of action is to go to mother and tell her what the situation is. You will speak about your love for the dog and its dire situation. Mother will sympathize. You will then make a joke about stealing the dog. She will laugh. Then a dark mist overtakes you both. But you can’t just steal dogs, you know this.

Welp: You both decide to steal the dog.

Cocoa // Meghan Ariagno, 2020

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Questions: There are many unknown technicalities in the plan. For starters, where exactly is Borus’s house? Neither of you have seen the pup for a few days and imagine it’s there. Another thing, exactly how illegal is this? Pediatricians recommend that you seek expert help 98% of the time.

Shonna: (Approximately 1 in every 87 hairstylists of Tennessee are dog stealing experts. It is common knowledge among the locals.) The mother and daughter will find the answers they are looking for from Shonna. Shonna works at the “Hair, Horses, and Handguns Salon”. Shonna will tell you to steal the dog, scope out the destination of the crime scene, and, most importantly, to not leave witnesses (see also, “The Witnesses that Were Left”). She will also tell the duo that dog thievin’ is very common in her neck of the woods, and if anything, expected.

The Plan: After many hours of scheming and mani-pedis with Shonna, you and your mother will cement the plan.

Find where Borus’ house is. See if the dog is being kept there.

Get The Alpaca Woman to show you where it is (but don’t tell her the plan, she is a snitch) At first, offer Borus a fair price for the dog, if he denies it, START THIEVIN’!

Find a way to take the dog across state lines without getting arrested.

It may seem to be a simple plan, but its intricacies are unparalleled in complexity.

The Departure: After wishing farewell to Shonna, and in return receiving goodbye hot dogs from her, it is time to seek out Borus’s home. You and your mother will then ask the Alpaca woman where the dog lives. The Alpaca Woman is all too trusting of you.

It’s a Bird! It’s a Plane!: It’s the dog! It’s frolicking in a sunflower field, seemingly unphased. Forget bargaining with Borus! It’s time to dognap!

Trojan Technique: Using an offering to hide true intent is a technique developed by the Trojans in the early 12th century. A trap disguised as a gift, if you will. The trap, in this case: snatching said dog; the gift: a hot dog. When approaching the pup use caution and try to direct all attention to the snack. Lure the animal via “Trojan Technique,” then when within arms reach – SNATCH!

Bear Trap: Under all circumstances, do not let go of the pup. For, if you do, this will lead to unforeseen consequences (see also, “Felony, What Is A?”). Use your hands to grab the collar and never let go, resembling the action of a bear trap.

Failure: 88% of the time when performing the Bear Trap maneuver, said dog escapes your grasp. She will inhale the hotdog, and run for the hills. You will then walk to your mother’s car and admit defeat.

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Enemy Negotiations: It is time. You work your way to Borus’s home. Three out of five times, there will be an excessive amount of clutter at the house.

And, 4 out of 5 times, there will be a suspicious amount of lampshades scattered about the property. You find Borus welding a fish hook with a blow torch. He has a wispy mustache and one lazy eye. Mother hesitantly introduces herself. She then explains she would like to buy his dog for a fair price of $300 (According to Kelly Blue Book, an honest price for a dog with heartworm is $250.

An offer of $300 was more than necessary). He humbly declines, and says he would like to hold on to the pup for “a bit longer”.

Approximately 9 out of 10 of dentists are confused by his wording.

The Final Stand: Your journey has come to an end. Pupper has gotten away. Your negotiations went sour. And it’s your last day in town. But wait!

What’s that in the road?!

“It’s her! Grab the damn dog!” your mother will scream (mothers named Diana will, upon reflection, be later mortified by this comment). So, in a rush of adrenaline, you snatch the dog via the “Bear Trap”. In 61% of cases, the second attempt is more likely to succeed than the first.

For Jackson and Johnson Legal Team Call (672)-800-800: You have the dog, and your mother is bookin’ it. She is going 50 down a 20, 70 down an 35, and 90 down a 65. She is starting to hyperventilate. If your mother took Tylenol Cold and Flu™ between the years 2007-2009 and suffered a minor anxiety attack while dog thievin’, you may be entitled to financial compensation.

Prison Break: While on the highway, a police car will pull up behind you and begin to follow. Mother, who has never committed a crime in her life, will turn pale with fear. She pulls into the parking lot of a pub. “They know” she whispers ominously. (According to a study conducted by Princeton Law Review in 2003, 92% of the time, a police car will just continue down the highway, unknowing of the doggy stowaway in the passenger seat. We don’t talk about the other 8%.)

Can’t Go Home Again: Knowing you can’t go to The Alpaca Farm again, you escape to the only place you can: Shonna’s Salon. As if she knew you would need a sanctuary, she is waiting with lemonade and cookies. She’s proud of you both, she didn’t think you had the thievin’ in you. As an act of kindness, she sends her husband, Ray, to go pick up your luggage from The Alpaca Farm. When he returns, it is time to be on your way (7/10 times, farewells to Shonna and her salon will be emotional). When goodbyes are said, you and your mother will get in your car, and head home with the pup.

Police Involvement / Extra Statistics: According to Harvard researchers, 99% of the time a mother-daughter duo will return safely home with the dog. However, there will be an unaccounted for witness. A woman by the name of Gidget will see the crime happen and tell Borus. He will file a police report, and you and your mother are identified. You will not face any charges, but will have to Uber the dog back to Tennessee (receiving a bill of $400, not to mention “extra charges” that the driver demanded for dealing with an angry Borus). Tears will be shed, but at least you won’t go to prison.

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Gold Tooth // Sense Cadman, 2020

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Nutrition Facts

Poetry, 1st Place, Abby Ottoway // 2019

No artificial sweeteners. I’m all natural, Honey. Authentic avocados from the trees of the Amazon Rainforest. Real raspberries from the highlands of Scotland.

Obviously, no gluten. No MSG. No lactose.

It’s as if you just picked me from the ground in a garden.

Fresh.

Before I am packaged, the scientists add some extra chemicals to me. Ingredients include phates and phites and sugars and fibers from honors chem 1.

They spray me on rats. They lather me into rabbit fur.

I’m ingested by dogs and sent back to the lab.

They dye me red with a mixture of rose petals and blood of the test subjects. I am saturated in sugar water for at least twenty hours. There I float until I am petrified by the gelatin that surrounds me.

A bow is placed on me as I struggle to free myself.

They stamp a barcode into my lower back. I sit in a vibrating cage as I am shipped to another continent.

Although I’m small, I contain over 50 calories in each bite.

I am picked up and shaken about. The customer searches for my carb count.

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Secret Garden // Malina Kae Wagner, 2020

A Collection of Letters to a Goddess Who Never Answered: The Process of Falling Out of Love Pax Koenig Weber, 2019 July

Dear Aphrodite, I don’t know why you chose me for this golden apple prize of a skipping heartbeat, indistinguishable from fear, and this feeling in my chest like an ocean is trying to break free, but goddess, please, take it back. Return me to my uninterrupted stream of thought and easy breath. I never knew loving someone would be so hard, so consuming.

July

Dear Aphrodite, I know in my last letter I asked you to take back the feelings you gave to me. That sentiment still resides in a corner of my heart. This time, though, I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for the nights with Nyx under the stars, the days in diners, the sleepy sunrises. Thank you for the kisses, the embraces, the ghost of finger-traced patterns. Thank you for the muse, for the words barely heard over the din of music. You gave me so much, it’s only fair you take some too.

August

Dear Aphrodite, I want to curse you out for how I’m feeling right now, because it’s like a part of my heart broke off and no one was around to bandage the wound. But I know I shouldn’t blame my reactions on other people and I know that this isn’t your fault: it’s mine. I know that I’m the one who fell too hard and you’re the one who moved on. I want to yell at you for the way my heart twists every time I go somewhere we went and the bitter taste of tears, but I know it’s not your fault and that my own naivety is the reason for my hurting heart.

September

Dear Aphrodite, It’s been months since we met, but I remember nearly every conversation we had together. Do you remember the one where I warned you that my emotions swing faster than you can see, that my heart bruises easily, and that I’m not very good at letting things go? I told you all of this in as many words and you told me you would love me despite, but, eventually, you would have to go. The gods always do. And I listened to the first half of what you said and not the second because I wanted you to stay. It’s been fewer months, but still some, since you left and I felt cold with your absence. I have only just recovered.

Still I find pieces of you everywhere, in more people than I can count, and I don’t know if I’m glad you didn’t abandon me completely, or angry that you won’t just leave me alone. I did warn you after all.

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My First Crush Peter Daood, 2020 My first film crush was on an independent film called Band of Robbers. It is a modern version of what could have happened next to Mark Twain‘s Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Written, directed by, and starring Adam Nee, this film was on the independent film circuit the summer I was twelve and headed into eighth grade. I saw Band of Robbers at The Orpheum Theatre while apprenticing at The Tallgrass Film Festival in Wichita. The Nee brothers, one of their producers, and the guy who played Injun Jo (Stephen Lang) were here in Wichita and gave a Q&A session after the screening.

I was all in, as much as Tom Sawyer was into Becky Thatcher. I stayed after the film to meet them, I picked up a poster and bookmark in the lobby, followed the film on social media and got some “merch” online. The film eventually found limited release and some time on Netflix. The student apprentices at the film festival were aware of how rare it was for an independent film to come through our city and then make it so far. It was exciting to see all the things that make a film go forward or fail.

The film was successful because of the mess it was to get it where it ended up and how the Nees never quit. There were so many opportunities for the film to fall apart, but Adam Nee explained how they made it work. They turned problems, like the time the sun started to go down before they got to the site of their last shot sequence, into a powerful improvised ending shot. Instead of missing the shot entirely, they pulled out their camera where they were. When they ran out of money, they made the decision to continue looking and asking instead of giving up.

Another reason Band of Robbers is great is that the screenwriter took a story everyone loves and made it appealing to a new audience. Sometimes I get stuck looking for a story to tell. This film showed me that, if I look hard enough, there are always stories out there.

Four years later, I understand that Band of Robbers may not be the greatest film I have seen. Yet, it really did have the biggest impact on me as a filmmaker. I have seen numerous award-winning films and I understand the difference, but you never forget your first crush. It’s going to be messy. Finding the story and finishing the project is always tough, but this film showed me that it’s possible.

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Contemplance Pax Koenig Weber, 2019 i.

It is 9:00 p.m. on a Wednesday in June. The air hangs heavy with the maybe of a storm. The lightning bugs have just awoken from their year-long slumber and I sit, watching them blink messages to one another. ii.

Earlier today I burnt my back under the sun while lounging in a pool, your hand clasped in mine as we drifted: both in the water and off to sleep. Later we laid in your bed and talked about nothing. I haven’t felt this gentle in years. iii.

I think I might be in love with you, but that is a secret I haven’t told myself yet. I know that I love you, but loving someone comes easily to me. Being in love is a different story. I haven’t felt that before, and it’s terrifying. iv.

After all this thought, it is 9:02 p.m. on a Wednesday in June. The air is still heavy, the lightning bugs still blink.

Mindset // Meghan Ariagno, 2020

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It Always Comes Back to...

Pax Koenig Weber, 2019 For a while, I thought I was teaching Myself to love again, to Fall back into that infatuated state Of being, but I don’t think that I ever really stopped because you Were always there.

I don’t know why I didn’t realize Sooner that every time I saw You, I fell a little bit more in Love but they always say that It’s blind, and, well, that might Mean more that one thing.

I always write poems about Loss and Love and Loss again, but Now it seems clear to me that They were all about you to begin With, even if they had someone Else’s name on them at the start.

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Morena, la Besadora Original Poem: Pablo Neruda Cabellera rubia, suelta, corriendo como un estero, cabellera.

Uñas duras y doradas, flores curvas y sensuales, uñas duras y doradas.

Comba del vientre, escondida, y abierta como una fruta o una herida.

Dulce rodilla desnuda apretada en mis rodillas, dulce rodilla desnuda.

Enredadera del pelo entre la oferta redonda de los senos.

Huella que dura en el lecho, huella dormida en el alma, palabras locas.

Perdidas palabras locas: rematarán mis canciones, se morirán nuestras bocas.

Morena, la Besadora, rosal de todas las rosas en una hora.

Besadora dulce y rubia, me iré, te irás, Besadora.

Pero aún tengo la aurora enredada en cada sien.

Bésame, por eso, ahora, bésame, Besadora, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.

Amén.

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Brown-Eyed Kisser Translation: Abby Ottaway, 2019 Blonde hair, loose running like waves, her hair.

Nails hard and golden, flowers voluptuous and sensual, nails hard and golden.

Bend of the belly, hidden, and open like a fruit or a wound.

Sweet exposed knee, tightened between my knees, sweet exposed knee.

Climbing vine of hair between the round offering of the breasts.

Footsteps left in the bed, Sleeping footsteps left in my soul, wild words.

Lost wild words will end my songs.

Our mouths will die.

Latina Woman, the kisser, rose of all the roses in one hour.

Sweet, blonde lover, I will go, You will go, lover.

But yet I have the dawn tangled in every feeling.

Kiss me, because, now kiss me, Kisser, now in the hour of our death.

Amen.

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Review of Love the TV Show Abby Ottaway // 2019

This Netflix original sparked my attention with its bold, yet simple name: Love. Romantic films and TV shows tend to be a bit soppy for my taste, but this program has captured a different side of love through its ups and downs. Writer and creator Judd Apatow has been involved in such shows as Freaks and Geeks and Girls, which also lean more on the realistic side. Love follows these entertaining and genuine shows by playing with characters, citylife in Los Angeles, job struggles, and expectations. The title “Love” screams cheesy, romantic series that is trying too hard to be different from every other love story we have ever heard, but it does just the opposite: I was surprised at how the show had such intricate characters and allowed aspects of real life to shine through and many times change the direction of the show. This show has the most unpredictable story that I have seen, which has kept my eyes glued to the TV and my heart to the characters.

The best aspect of Love is the intricacy and complexity of all of its characters. Most romantic series only focus on the lovers and practically avoid the background characters. Every single character in this show has a purpose and adds layers to the story. For example, Dr. Greg Colter is a coworker of the female protagonist who has only been in 10 of over 30 episodes. His character is a troubled radio psychologist that serves as part of the motif of failure in the show. He starts off fairly successful, but as his ideas grow stale and outdated, he himself becomes obsolete. Without having too much screen time, his character affects the main characters’ choices. Of course, the two leads are quite complex characters, but they are so unique because their every thought is not revealed to the viewer. They are independent people that can be rash or dumb or afraid. The characters truly make the world of LA – where these people live – a real world.

Love is an entirely different kind of romance story: it is good and original, but it can sometimes be frustrating for the viewer. The characters do sometimes act out of character, but this could be taken to mean that they are like real people in their decisions. Since the characters make mistakes and make bad choices, it is sometimes hard as a viewer to watch them fail. That is what makes the show so captivating, though, it intrigues the viewer so much that they start to care about the people in the series like they care about their friends.

Love aired in 2016 on Netflix, and it’s contemporary overtones stay fixed to current culture. The dialogue is very colloquial, “Surprise! I’m not the cool girl, okay?” Most of the characters in the show are in their twenties, and the dialogue written for these characters is incredibly accurate and relatable to young people today. Also, the controversial themes the show contains, such as sex, drugs, and alcoholism, play to a younger audience. Love is the Romeo and Juliet for millennials because it is simple and certainly not sugar-coated.

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Imagine // Weichen (Nina) Li, 2019

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Perspectives Sense Cadman, 2020 Perspective 1 This country is filled with them They cross the border to exploit our national income To take our jobs that we so desperately need And sell to our children non-hydroponic weed These savages travel in a caravan When I see them I won’t need to hire a hit man I know my right of the second amendment And after I exercise it, I won’t have repentance Some try to explain that they come for sanctuary That this is their last resort, their Hail Mary I say that life can’t be that bad from where they come And if it is I don’t want them bringing that scum I work hard to feed and take care of my family And I don't spend my life dreaming of some utopian fantasy We can’t sit around all day singing kumbaya Or follow word for word the teachings of Siddhartha This is the real world, you will understand when you grow old That these aliens will ruin our lives if we don’t block the threshold Once we go back to the way things were, everything will be better Like the time of our great- great grandparents, the original settlers Perspective 2 My body aches from head to toe The only thing to do is look at the path below To pass the time and not think of my hunger I dream and dream but without a slumber I dream of my home and everything I left behind How I had to leave my belongings in order to streamline Sure there were bad things there but it is all I know And it hurts me to have to let it all go I have not seen my dad in a couple of days But he said he will catch up with me when we reach the next highway Closer and closer we approach the border I doubt we will even receive a court order I want to enter this country for new opportunity I think this venture will be the death of me I have no idea what to expect if I reach the gates But anything is better than returning to my home plate

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Dreaming of Home // By Dylan Carnley/Dolly Farha/Joshua Holloway/Zoe Johnson//Bryson Toubassi. 2019-2022

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The Peanut Gallery One Acts, 1st Place: Peyton Farber, 2022

SYNOPSIS: Finding front row tickets to the most popular production of the Nutcracker is definitely hitting the jackpot. Diane and Harold are so thrilled at the idea of a night out. But is it worth it when the ballet is ruined by noise and obnoxious audience members?

Lights come up on empty seats of a theatre. Diane and Harold Enter from stage left looking for their seats.

HAROLD: (Harold walks with his wife behind him looking down at his tickets and searching for their seats) A25... A26... Oh here we are. A27 and 28!!

Harold and Diane take their seats.

DIANE: (looks at her husband happily) My goodness Harold, we are in the first row! How did you manage to find these seats in such short notice?

HAROLD: (chuckles) Honey, you never have to question my abilities. When I went up to that ticket box, all I had to do was turn on the charm, give them the signature wink, (Harold winks) and they were practically showering me with all the tickets a man could need.

DIANE: (in disbelief) Sure... Now tell me the truth. Did you win them at an auction? Buy them on Craigslist? No, wait, don’t tell me... (pauses for a second) you stole them out of the neighbor’s mailbox?

HAROLD: (stops her) Diane, darling, if you are implying that I am cheap, you are very wrong. I paid for these tickets with my own hard earned cash, and if you do not believe me, then you are just jealous. Besides, why do you make the assumption that I am a cheapo anyway?

DIANE: Well, you did get my wedding ring at Claire’s.

HAROLD: And you love it, don’t you? (points to her ring) DIANE: I... (gives up on arguing) Yes, Harold, (sarcastically) it sure is a beaut.

HAROLD: I cannot believe we are actually here. I can’t wait to tell my coworkers that I saw the Nutcracker, in the first row. (looks around). When they hear that, they will finally stop thinking of me as the non-sophisticated, piece of trailer park trash that never gets out.

DIANE: (looks shocked) Do they really think those things about you, Harold?

HAROLD: (looks down slightly embarrassed) No.. But you mother does. I always knew she hated me. Ever since high school when I ran over your cat with the lawn mower.

DIANE: (looks upset) I still miss Mitsy. After that, you’re lucky I didn’t run YOU over with a lawn mower!! I’m surprised we kept dating to be honest.

HAROLD: (chuckles) You didn’t just keep dating me... you married me. And I can imagine that’s about the same thing. Bad judgement, Diane... bad judgement. (winking) DIANE: (gets upset) Harold!!

HAROLD: Oh, you know I’m just kidding, honey. After all, I wouldn’t get you tickets to the best production of the Nutcracker in the state of Nevada if you weren’t just the best wife in the world.

DIANE: (not at all flattered) Wow, what a title. Hey can you pass the hand sanitizer?

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HAROLD: Of course, you know I would never leave home without it. (digs in his coat pockets and pant pockets) Uh oh.. (scared) DIANE: (worried) What? What’s wrong?

HAROLD: (under his breath) Um... I might have accidentally left it on the kitchen counter.

DIANE: (furiously) You did WHAT?!? I cannot believe you, Harold. You don’t know who sat in this seat before me. You don’t know who has touched these arm rests. What if I get sick, Harold? I have a hair appointment on Wednesday, and if I miss it because I am sick, I will....

HAROLD: (puts his arm around her and comforts her) Honey, relax, relax. You will be fine. Let’s just enjoy the peaceful evening without the kids.

Laverne and Clint enter through stage left carrying a big bag, looking for their seats, talking loudly the whole time.

LAVERNE: (very obnoxious) Clint, where in the sam hill are you goin’?

CLINT: Laverne, I told you a million times, we are in THIS SECTION! LAVERNE: Then find the seats, you idjit!

CLINT: (stops and turns around to look at her) Heaven’s to Betsy, woman, I should have left you on the side of the road when I had the chance!

They begin walking again.

DIANE: (talking quietly to Harold) Could they possibly be any louder? I hope they don’t sit anywhere near us.

HAROLD: They obviously have no idea where they are going. They could be in a completely different row (they both nod feeling reassured.)

LAVERNE: For Heaven’s sake, give me those! (grabs the tickets out of his hands) Clint, it clearly says B27 and B28. Right there. (points to seats behind Harold and Diane) DIANE: (very nervous) Oh no! What are we going to do? Maybe we should find other seats.

HAROLD: Diane, it’s ok. The show is about to start, and once it does they will quiet down.

Lights dim slightly. Show begins to start. Nutcracker soundtrack can play. Diane and Harold have excited looks on their faces.

They clap as the music starts to play and the show begins.

LAVERNE: (pushes Clint’s arm off of arm rest) Would you move your fat arm, Clint?

CLINT: (pushing hers back) You have your own arm rest, woman.

LAVERNE: (continues pushing) But I want THIS one!!

Clint and Laverne continue to shove, as Diane leans over to Harold and whispers.

DIANE: I told you this would happen.

HAROLD: Next time they start yelling, we will turn around and look annoyed, then maybe they’ll get the message.

They go back to watching the ballet.

CLINT: I can’t believe they don’t allow popcorn in these places. Pass the snacks, woman.

Laverne pulls out a big bag of Gardetto’s and opens them in the loudest way possible. They begin chewing obnoxiously.

DIANE: (turns to Harold) Should we...?

HAROLD: Yeah.

Both Harold and Diane turn in unison to look at Laverne and Clint. Laverne and Clint both stop, smile and wave at them.

CLINT: Howdy! Great show, amirite?

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HAROLD: (confused) Uh, yeah, its great. Um, do you mind? (points at bad of snacks) CLINT: Oh well, pardon my bad mannerism. (offers the bag to Harold) Take as much as you’d like!!

HAROLD: Uh, that’s alright, actually.

Harold turns around and Clint and Laverne go back to snacking.

DIANE: (sarcastically) Nice idea, genius.

HAROLD: (slightly annoyed) Honey, you go back to enjoying the show and if it gets to be unbearable, I will take care of it.

DIANE: (under her breath, sarcastically) My hero...

Diane goes back to watching.

LAVERNE: (hands bag of Gardetto’s to Clint) I’m through with those. You can put’em away.

Harold nods at Diane; reassuring her that it will be okay. Laverne and Harold start humming the tune to music.

DIANE: And just when I thought this couldn’t get any worse! Either you ask them to stop or I will!!

HAROLD: Ok, Ok, calm down. I will handle this.

Harold turns to Clint.

HAROLD: Excuse me, sir?

CLINT: Well what can I do ya for?

HAROLD: I’m afraid there is something that is bothering my wife and I...

CLINT: Oh my. Is there somethin’ in my teeth? (turns to Laverne) Laverne, I told you to tell me if I ever have somethin’ in my teeth. The city folk say it’s (using finger quotations) “gross.”

LAVERNE: Well, I can’t do everything Clint. I clip your toenails, what else do you want from me?

CLINT: That is the truth, I tell ya.

HAROLD: No, there’s actually nothing in your teeth. It’s just.. The noise...

CLINT: (playfully punches harold on the arm) I KNOW RIGHT? These shows always cause such a ruckus. I would say something to someone if I were you.

Harold turns back to Diane.

HAROLD: (frustrated) I give up. Let’s just try to ignore them.

They go back to watching yet again.

DIANE: (whispering) Isn’t this amazing? The dancers are absolutely beautiful. I have no idea how they do that...

Diane is interrupted by sudden drumming on the back of her chair. Laverne and Clint are drumming to the beat of the music on the back of their chairs.

DIANE: HAROLD! What on earth are they doing? Their hands are INCHES away from touching me. And why of all days did it have to be today that you forgot the hand sanitizer?

HAROLD: (turns suddenly) Excuse me? I hope you know how incredibly annoying this is...

CLINT: (suddenly stops as if he just realized what he is doing.) Oh, my bad. It can really be a habit these days. I guess I just miss the days of being in the band. Man, I miss it.

HAROLD: Oh...

CLINT: (interrupting) What band you ask? Well just a small little group that you youngsters refer to as “The Backstreet Boys.”

HAROLD: (skeptical) Really? Huh, I find that hard to believe.

CLINT: Amazing ain’t it? Yeah, Paul Mcartney and I still go out for a few beers sometimes.

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HAROLD: Paul McCartney? Wasn’t he in the Beatles? (knows Clint is lying) CLINT: You youngsters are too funny. Who in the hickety heck names a band after a bunch of bugs?

Harold turns back to Diane.

HAROLD: I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone that dumb in my entire life.

DIANE: (under her breath) Ha! Now you know how I feel all the time.

HAROLD: I’m sorry this night was ruined for you. I know how excited you were to see the Nutcracker.

DIANE: (softer) Well, it’s not your fault.

Laverne pulls out a Ukulele and begins strumming it while Clint starts to sing country roads.

CLINT: (with strumming in the background - terrible signing) Almost Heaven, West Virginia. Laverne? What’s the next line? I forgot.

LAVERNE: Oh, so I have to keep track of that too? Ya know, Paul would never treat me this way!

CLINT: (gasps) I always knew you loved Paul more than me!

LAVERNE: Well duh!

Diane suddenly turns to Harold.

DIANE: You know what? Why are we letting these idiots have their way? You paid for these tickets with your hard earned cash, right?

HAROLD: Well I...

DIANE: (interrupting) Then tell them how it is. They’ll learn to never disrupt a production again!!

HAROLD: (nervously) Maybe we’re just over reacting. They seem like productive members of society. I mean their spreading the joy of John Denver to the world.

DIANE: Harold! Just a minute ago you were complaining about how irritating they are. Why the sudden change of mind?

HAROLD: I just think that everyone deserves a second chance. You gave me a second chance after I turned your cat into mulch.

DIANE: (annoyed) Fine! But if it happens one more time, and you don’t do something about it, I am storming out of here and going home to the only thing I care about: my hand sanitizer!!

HAROLD: (shocked) I thought you were gonna say the kids.

DIANE: (realizes) Oh yeah, them too.

HAROLD: Alright, deal.

Finally, Diane feels at peace. There is no talking and everything feels right again.

DIANE: (turns and whispers to Harold) It’s about time we get to enjoy this show.

HAROLD: (smiles) I’m glad you’re happy honey.

Laverne sits up on the edge of her seat as she feels a sneeze coming. Diane and Harold do not hear them talking and continue watching the show.

LAVERNE: (looks scared) Uh oh..

CLINT: What? What’s wrong?

LAVERNE: I feel a sneeze coming. AHH, AHHH, AHHCHUUUUUU!!!!!!!

Laverne sneezes right into the back of Diane’s neck. Diane gasps in horror and disgust and she turns around and stands up furiously.

DIANE: YOU ANIMALS!!!

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LAVERNE: Oh my goodness IDIANE: Harold? Don’t you have something to say?

Harold stands up heroically.

HAROLD: Yes, I do. Listen I have had enough of you two. I come here to see a performance of top notch ballet. But instead I got to listen to you guys eat, yell, sing and drum on the back of our chairs. And to top it all off you sneezed on my wife who, I’ll have you know, is very allergic to germs!!!!

DIANE: (crying) It’s trumy immune system is just awful.

HAROLD: You guys are rude, and obnoxious, and a disgrace to John Denver, one of the biggest country legends of all time. Oh, and by the way, PAUL MCCARTNEY WAS NOT IN THE BACKSTREET BOYS. Now, I will not be leaving this theater until you two hillbillies leave.

Security Guard rushes in through stage right.

JONES: Is there a problem here?

HAROLD: Yes, there is a very big problem. These two have been the most annoying audience members I have ever encountered. I demand that they be removed immediately.

DIANE: (points at Laverne) SHE TRIED TO KILL ME!!!

LAVERNE: (looks unbothered) Oh, for the love of Pete, I sneezed on you. Get over it!

DIANE: But I’m allergic to germs, which means now I could potentially die because of you!

LAVERNE: Well then, I guess that means I got something productive out of this lousy ballet..

JONES: (trying to calm everyone down) Everyone, please remain calm. Now sir, (speaking to Harold) I did not see any of this action take place, so I am not allowed to throw them out. However, I can move you and your, special wife, to some other available seats.

HAROLD: That would be wonderful. Thank you officer.. (looks at name tag) Jones.

JONES: No problem. Now do you mind if I have a look at your tickets?

HAROLD: Oh yeah, no problem.

Harold reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tickets; handing them to Jones.

JONES: Huh. Sir, I’m afraid these are not official tickets.

DIANE: What? Oh there was have been some sort of mistake. He bought these tickets just the other day, right honey?

JONES: That’s impossible. Now sir, where exactly did you get these tickets?

HAROLD: (laughes slightly) Officer, I’m afraid you are mistaken. I purchased these at the ticket boxes just like everyone else.

JONES: Let me ask you again, sir. (pulls out taser) Where did you get these tickets?

HAROLD: (scared for his life, confessing) The bathroom of a QuikTrip.

DIANE: (gasps) I can’t believe you, Harold. After all this time of you telling me that you weren’t cheap, you were actually the CHEAPEST. I knew you wouldn’t spend a cent to make me happy. Oh, and you can have this back. (takes off Claire’s wedding ring and gives it to him) At least now, I won’t have a permanently green finger.

JONES: (while handcuffing Harold) Sir, I’m gonna take you up to the office to wait for the authorities. We have more questions for you. And by the way, yelling in the middle of a ballet? You should be ashamed of yourself, sir. We don’t like YOUR KIND here!

CLINT: Disgusting!!

HAROLD: But, but I...

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JONES: Save it for court! Now, come with me.

Jones and Harold exit stage right. After they are for sure gone, Diane’s face changes from angry to happy. She reaches into her pockets and hands money to Clint and Laverne.

DIANE: Guys, that was fantastic. I can’t believe it actually worked! I should have gotten rid of that lousy husband a long time ago. Oh, and good call on the fake tickets.

LAVERNE: (without an accent) You have our number if you ever need us again.

Clint and Laverne both exit stage right.

DIANE: Thank you guys so much!

Diane picks up her stuff and walks out towards stage left, but before she exists, she stops, looks and the sky.

DIANE: (looking up) Mitsy. Your legacy lives on.

----------------------------------------BLACKOUT----------------------------------------

Color of Life // Deena Eichhorn, 2020

77|Echoes

Strings // Mary Ramsey, 2020

Echoes|78

Snowy Peaks (Inspried by Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein) Sense Cadman, 2020 Surrounded by snowy peaks, I am alone in this world With nothing but nature to comfort me I sit next to this cottage full of people in the corner furled Without someone, my heart is as cold as the Bedford sea How I wish I had someone to explore with To travel the world without a care Someone who won’t judge me for not being a wordsmith Who makes me feel like I am walking on air I know that will never happen because I am so grotesque Because I look different from everyone else But people do not realize that my heart is not built Romanesque It needs love like a merchant needs wealth

Palace // Meghan Ariagno, 2020

Without any way to express my love feelings, I guess I will just turn to killing

79|Echoes

Seaside Mountain // Levi Newman, 2019

The Lonely Mountain Graham Burmeister, 2021 The vastness of the mountains tower over reality.

The landscape so beautiful yet treacherous.

Scents of pine draw you to the high altitudes, Where sight reaches its limit.

Rocks gray with a cutting-edge.

Tall pines climbing to the sky.

Near the peak their presence ceases.

Your final journey above the timberline.

Across crumbling paths, Over fallen trees.

Hard places becoming more and more.

Your fate depending on a single step.

The flight of an eagle, The pip of a pika, The sweet taste of freedom.

Your body lying there, Hidden forever in the first fall of snow.

Echoes|80

Woman in Mint // Meghan Ariagno

1981

Pax Koenig Weber, 2019

Nothing has ever been easy for us.

We were told this from day one and now We’re learning it hands on.

Love has always been a war, Aphrodite loved Athena for a reason, But even now the tears that hit my pillow Feel like they’re preparing me for something bigger.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll tell you this over again and again.

We’ll get through it you say, and somehow I know you’re right.

What I Know For Sure Reema Moussa, 2019

The New Look, to question Power.

Perfect mix, weird, wonderful world.

Creative moon.

Whatever memories you make have innocence of twisted form.

Design, dream, with energy.

A work of age.

It Matters.

Echoes|82

June in Havana Abby Ottaway, 2019 June, 12 2018 11:50 p.m.

We finally arrived in Havana after a flight to Houston and then to Mexico and then to Cuba. The trip included a lot of people trying to advertise their merchandise and scary customs officers. Sean and I were mildly experienced travelers from road tripping across America, but international travel was new for us. We both spoke Spanish, so we decided on Latin America. Cuba seemed like the most interesting, cool, controversial place to go, so we went. Once we got to Old Havana, I realized why Cuba had such a unique and famous environment. Men lined the streets sitting in lawn chairs playing dominoes while smoking puros (Cuban cigars). The colorful buildings reminded me of the Candyland board game that I played when I was a child. I had never experienced a place so different from the United States.

Sean and I walked along the malecón near the water.

The Gulf of Mexico glittered and blinded my eyes. I had forgotten my teal, fashionista sunglasses. The sun was so intense that I had sweat stains from my armpits all the way down to my waist. The aquamarine water looked so inviting, and I desperately wanted to jump in so that I could cool off. Sean took my hand and smiled down at me, but I unclasped my hand from his and explained that everything, including my hand, was sweating buckets. I knew Cuba would be hot in the summer, but I had not become accustomed to it this first day.

We turned onto a narrow street in the oldest part of the city. Cars from the 50s lined the road. So shiny and clean.

These people took great care with their cars. I asked Sean to take a picture of me with a beautiful, pink Chevrolet. I posed with one foot in the air and a big open smile. Then Sean lowered the camera and looked into the distance. An old man had come up behind the car with his thumb up and a silly face. He laughed and introduced himself to us. His name is Ricardo, and I am actually sitting in his home right now. He invited us in for some tea, and we got to talking.

He recently bought an extra room in his house to be a casa particular that travelers could rent. He explained to us that many homes in this area were casas particulares, but only some allowed foreigners as guests. The houses with red anchors welcomed foreigners such as ourselves, and houses with blue anchors would only allow other Cubans to rent. We struck up a deal with Ricardo, and he let us rent their extra room for 100 CUC per night.

To get to our room, we went through the kitchen where we met Ricardo’s wife, Marta. Her black hair was tied back in a braid, and her wrinkled grin reminded me of my grandmother back home. She was a natural caretaker; she wanted to take our bags and unpack for us, but we insisted on doing it ourselves. She offered us more tea and offered to make a stew for our first night in town. We agreed, and settled into our room.

I let my body fall onto the bed with a thud. I was tired from the day’s journey and the overwhelming Cuban Spanish accent. That will definitely take some getting used to. I was pretty fluent in Spanish from spending time in Mexico during college, but I was not familiar with the Cuban accent and slang.

Sean urged me to get up, so that we could get to know the Martinez family better. Ricardo sat in the living room which connected to the kitchen so that the television could be seen from the kitchen counter. Marta chopped red peppers with her eyes stuck on the TV the entire time.

She was a skilled cook, and I admired her for it. I sat in a chair that was across from the counter and talked to Marta while Sean sat next to Ricardo on a beige couch. The TV was on a telenovela station that Ricardo claimed played Marta’s favorite telenovela but he seemed to enjoy it even more than she did.

The screen displayed a gorgeous woman wearing a red dress that flowed in the wind. Her companion grasped her hips voraciously from behind. He sung the famous Pedro Infante song “Bésame Mucho” in her ear. I looked over at Ricardo who was completely entranced in the story. Marta winked at me and asked if Sean and I could live up to Cuban romance. I looked down shyly, but Ricardo egged her on by asking us to dance for them.

Ricardo placed Sean’s hands on my hips and showed us the mambo. Marta cheered us on and shimmied over to the living room to dance with her husband. Ricardo deftly took her hand and spun her until she fell into his arms in a dip. They were incredibly dexterous for their age. I knew that I wanted to be just like that with Sean when we grew old.

The rest of the night was like a party but with only four people. I could see how much Sean and I, stiff millennials, were being pushed out of our comfort zone. We ate delicious sopa and talked about our experiences of life back home. This kind couple seemed like family by the time the night was over when we admitted with rum stained brains that we should get some sleep. Sean kissed me in our little temporary room, but I stopped him after a couple seconds and grabbed this notebook to make sure that I could remember this trip forever.

Deep Blue Balcony // Malina Kae Wagner, 2020

Echoes|84

The Trilogy Tate Clem, 2019

Part 1: “Slippery, Slimy, Spiny” That’s what it said on the label.

The label to the next stage of my life.

The stage where I will question my humanity.

Yes, that stage.

We were all there once.

At first it seemed like a calm kiddie pool, but it was really a stormy ocean.

Aplace only few can escape unharmed.

The scariest place of all.

A place where one travels alone.

MIDDLE SCHOOL

Part 2: A dark and inescapable more inescapable than middle school.

A place a few dare enter.

A place most fall.

A place with nothing but sadness, anger, and indecisiveness.

A state of nothingness and meaningless.

A place some fall into and some say they fall into, liars.

DEPRESSION

85|Echoes

Part 3: Some call it their peak.

The time where they shine.

The era they succeeded.

The moment they truly live.

But some call it their downfall.

The age they regret.

The minute of life worth forgetting.

The second they wish their heart skipped.

But for me it was a journey— my travel partner, depression— filled with success and failure.

HIGH SCHOOL

Tessalation // Malina Kae Wagner, 2020

Echoes|86

Apply Here Short Stories, Runner-Up: Abby Ottaway, 2019 I grasped his hand as we walked down the never-ending, white hallway. His hand was sweaty. It was understandable. We were both about to find out how our lives would continue.

We entered the waiting room. There were at least fifty people sitting and pacing and standing in the room. No one smiled except for the man at the receptionist desk, “Hello there. Are you here to apply for program A, B, C, D, or E?” he said robotically.

I looked to Sam and nodded. Sam answered, “Program D.” He sounded so confident. It made me so happy to know that we wanted the same thing.

“Program C’s waiting room is through the door on the left. Thank you and have a nice day,” the receptionist immediately looked back down at the computer in front of him. We walked to the next door which opened for us by a motion sensor.

In this room, there were only six other people in the room - three couples with wrinkled foreheads. This time, I took charge, “ We are here to apply for program D.” “... uh, okay,” the woman gave me the up and down with her snake eyes. She looked at me as though I was out of place. She wasn’t wrong, though. I was out of place. My connection to Sam was the only thing that could allow me to even consider this program, “Your number is 4. You will be called when the agents are ready for the consultation.”

“Thank you,” Sam smiled at her, and guided me to a seat in the front row. We sat down. There were magazines on the table to the right of me. One was titled, “Parents of the Century.” The cover showed a man and woman, each holding a baby in their arms while looking into each others’ eyes. I wanted that.

I searched through the magazines to find one that may have useful information for the consultation, and I found the one that made my stomach heave titled, “Solvent Parents.” Sam being a doctor would look good for the interviewing process, but my lowly job in the humanities as a professor would be frowned upon. Would we be able to make the cut? I kept going through all of the qualities that they looked for - genetic advantages, health, disposition, familial ties, location, and income. Income. Hopefully we could make the cut.

I was snapped out of my worrying by a bell dinging twice at the receptionist desk, “Number 4 please enter the door to the left.

At this time, make sure that you have all of the legal documents you may need.” I quickly grabbed my manila folder and walked alongside Sam to the door.

“Stop shaking, sweetie. It’s going to be okay,” Sam whispered in my ear and softly stroked my arm. I took a deep breath as we stepped through the door. A machine on the side was blinking, asking for our attention. The screen read, “Please follow the light blue line to your consultation room. We began to walk, and the line led us past several doors and stopped at door 6A. The screen on the wall blinked the word “Enter.” And we did.

Inside there was a robotic nurse with a syringe already in hand. The machine talked to us, “Please both of you take a seat on the bench and remove any clothing on your upper right arm.” We followed its instructions, and held each other’s’ hands. The prick stung, but I was used to needles after the Revolution. Blood tests were constantly being taken and tests being done.

Next, the robot asked us to list our references. These people would be asked by the Department of Life to talk about mine and Sam’s personalities to see if we would be fit parents. Did we have a history of violent activity? Did either of us have a temper? Were our parents abusive? Questions like that. This part of the application actually made sense to me. There were such troubles in life before with abusive parents.

87|Echoes

I listed my parents, the president of the university where I worked, our neighbors, and my therapist. Who else could give a better and more accurate recommendation of my character than my therapist?

Then, the robot asked us to enter our address and list all of the neighbors surrounding our house. So even if we were fit parents, our neighbors’ mistakes could affect our chances of having a child. I hated that. This prerequisite was put in place to make sure that a child would not grow up in an unsafe environment. From what we knew about our neighbors, we thought that we would qualify. After the last time we applied, we immediately moved to a better neighborhood with the nicest people we could find.

Now the part that worried me began. The robot prompted us to type our professions into the computer and insert our financial records into the slit on the side of the machine. Program D required more income than the program that we had tried to apply to in years past, but it was the program we wanted so badly.

The income requirement was put in place to make sure that we would have the proper amount of money to raise a healthy and educated child. Yes, it is important for a parent to have enough money to feed his or her child, but this requirement would have been seen as economic status discrimination in the olden days.

The robot reminded us that this section could require up to ten minutes to investigate. Sam and I waited.

We made it this far.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” Sam said encouragingly with a light in his eyes he only had when talking about our family.

“Please, Ellen and Mason. We can’t wait to see your beautiful faces,” I begged that we would make the cut and finally have the twins that we always wanted. Sam held my hand, and we sat next to each other in silence. I thought of the room we had prepared back home for them. Sam had painted the walls yellow and I knitted a blanket blue and one pink. I made sure to knit them tight so that they would be protected from the winter’s cold when we would go on walks.

I was shaken out of my trance when the door knob jiggled. A man dressed in a white coat entered the room with an eternal smile on his face, “How is your morning, you two?” he asked with enthusiasm.

How could he ask such a question when the fate of our family rested on this test? I was offended, but Sam being the kind man he is replied, “It’s a beautiful day outside.”

“Oh, it is! The sun is out and shining. Now, I have your application here with me. There is just one thing I would like to go over with you before moving forward,” the man said methodically. My heart was beating slow but with such intensity that I could feel it expand and collide with my chest.

The man flipped through the pages and chose the last one, “This number right here,” he pointed, “Is this accurate?” It was my salary from the university. I told him truthfully, “Yes, that is my salary after taxes.”

“Hmmm. I see. Well, that is going to be a problem. That number is significantly less than the minimum income required for program D,” he looked at me with his pretentious hands intertwined in front of him.

Echoes|88

“Yes, but Sam’s income. Shouldn’t that make up for it?” I pointed out. No. No. We had plenty of money for a family. He had to realize that.

“Your husband’s income is well within range, but both parents must meet the minimum,” he stated. I stood up in rage and began to pace. Sam knew I was too mad to speak, so he said, “But if the total meets the minimum requirement, why would there be an issue.”

“The Department of Life has found that a certain income indicates a person’s reliability, intelligence, and trustworthiness. These qualities are essential to be a good parent,” I couldn’t believe it. Did we have no chance? Before he said it, I could sense it approaching, “Your application indicates that you are an unfit parent,” Not even an apology? How could this happen again?

“Is there anything we can do?” Sam grasped my hand, and pleaded with him.

“You can come back in five years with a higher income,” the stupid man said as he stood up and started to exit. Was he serious?

“Oh yeah, it’s so easy to get a high paying job in this competitive, uncaring world. All we want to do is raise two children who could actually contribute to this materialistic society. I guarantee that we are better candidates than 75% of those that you bestow the beloved name of parent upon. Please... be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable. Our tests are fool proof. Please exit the building, Ma’am.” he opened the door for us to exit.

“Please exit? How can you deny me the right to have children? I’m not going to leave until my husband and I are given our eggs and sperm back. You took it all away from us at birth. When we were completely defenseless. Just like Ellen and Mason,” I was screaming at this point. This man couldn’t change the entire system, but I had to take this anger out on someone. The man pressed a red button on the wall beside the door.

“Exit the building, Ma’am. Sir, please calm your wife down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I happen to agree with my wife. We deserve to have our children, little Ellen and Mason,” He threw down the papers he was holding and stood up to join me. Then four tall men walked through the door and took us away. I screamed, “Sam, please save them!” He tried to yell back, but all that came out was a wretch. They tased him. I felt a pain in my arm, and everything went black.

89|Echoes

Low Hang Malina Kae Wagner, 2020

Echoes|90

Chadwick Boseman at the Met Gala// Malina Kae Wagner, 2020

Prince

Short Stories, 1st Place: John Williams // 2019 She burst into the room, the impassioned pounding of her feet upon the cold marble floor proclaiming her entrance as she fell to her knees before him. “Papa, I cannot love him, listen to me, please!” she cried, her sobbing eyes hidden in the palms of her hands as he rose, his concern now swiftly diverted from the campaign maps and urgent letters that formed cluttered heaps on his desk.

A moment of silence passed as he stood there, motionless, looking upon her miserable form and quietly suppressing the pangs of guilt that stabbed at his chest like the arrows of an enemy. For such a surprising entrance, he wished he had found it more surprising. It had taken years of choking on his own lies and feigning a foolish ignorance and yet still he had always known this day would come. He brought his chair and sat before her, eyes cast to the floor and hands clasped in solemn contemplation, speaking now with a tone lacking in its usual brevity and temper yet slow and steady with the weight of authority.

“Is he a bad man?”

“No, papa, the Prince isn’t cruel or unkind, but I know in my heart I don’t want him... the one I want is – is...” She stammered, hardly daring to speak the truth.

What cowardice, he thought. To demand from her king, her superior, the destruction of a decade’s planning for the ridiculous reason she still yields to confess. To pounce into his chamber bold as a lion with thoughts of betraying her father, her people, yet hardly having the stomach to utter the beloved fool’s name. Within him noble blood began to churn with a boiling rage, fists clenched as he held back a volley of shouts and curses eager to fly from his tongue. Yet just as suddenly the fury in his eyes calmed as the father in his heart prevailed, placing her shaking, tender hand within the palm of his own.

“You understand that the Prince has a garrison of ten thousand to his name?”

“Yes, my liege.”

“Do you not understand what this means?”

“I do.”

God, what terrible sin had he committed for this to happen again? The life or death of a million souls teetering on the whimsical passions of one, passions that he himself could not fail to understand despite the severity with which he despised them. Looking into her eyes he held her hand with a total firmness as though in an instant she might flee from him, yet dared not speak of the sympathy he held for his captive.

“It’s that servant boy again, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

His sigh was deep and heavy as he lifted his eyes to meet those of his wife, her elegant form now nothing more than fine strokes of a brush upon a gilded frame. If only she were here now to guide him through this, to wrap those comforting arms around him and ignite within that spark of warmth and humble happiness that he seldom found among the finest sirs and ladies of his court. Their daughter, the perfect image of her mother, lifted her head as she turned to look upon the painting. A faint smile crossed her lips as the warm, familiar face beamed down on them, yet receded again into sadness as she turned to meet his eyes.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

Every hint of paternal affection now drained from his face as instantly the wrath of royalty fired its course through his veins. “How dare you?” he burst with hot temper flaring, “Are you so arrogant as to imply you could ever love like we loved? You know damn well that what we had is nothing like these childish fantasies of yours! You kneel here and sentence your king and country to death over some fancied prize... were I a crueler man I could have you killed for this, I could – I –” He stopped. There they were again, those bold, mesmerizing eyes that even through the layers of paint and time remained quite literally stunning. The artist had taken great care to capture every detail of her beauty from the auburn locks that swept her shoulders to the kind smile that adorned her lips, yet such an observant man could scarcely ignore those details that had made her so peculiar for a queen of rank, her hands rough with work unbefitting to one of her station and skin unusually fair for a princess of the foreign bloodline from which he had claimed her a descendant.

“It is the same, papa. It is the same.”

He looked at the poor young girl knelt before his feet. She had begged of him the one happiness he could grant her, the same happiness that he too enjoyed in his wife long ago... No, he could no longer stomach the cruel reasoning that justified her years of quiet suffering. That same spark of light, that same spark of passion ignited in him by her mother had been ignited yet again, and with the same hand that had threatened to extinguish it he at last released his hold.

“Then go,” he sighed, waving her away as he offered his surrender. “I will send word by nightfall that the marriage is to be off. Have whichever love pleases you.”

She swiftly embraced him, holding him tight as she thanked him and thanked him and thanked him again until finally she turned to leave at the call of her attendants. Quickly he grabbed her arm, holding her back to embrace her for one more moment, the stubborn eyes of a nobleman finally giving way to a father’s tears as he cradled his child in his arms one last time.

“Promise me that you will fight by my side till the very end.”

“Till the very end.” She echoed, reaching up and kissing him on the forehead, that same bright sweetness in her smile now somewhat bittersweet against the fearful blue in her eyes.

His head now swirling with worrying thoughts, he brought himself to the balcony, resting his arms upon its fine marble surface as he watched the sun rise over the cherished lands of his people. He watched the morning light kiss the sweated brows of toiling farmhands, blessing the busy young merchants shouting bargains in the colorful glow of the marketplace while crafty children happily made off with sweets, and it filled him with a familiar sort of happiness.

He looked to the grand clocktower that proudly guarded over the town square and smiled, for it was his years of struggle and his years of care that made them safe, that made them happy. But as the sun loomed ever higher in the morning sky, the light cast shadows that grew and enveloped the energetic marketplace in darkness, the mighty toll of the tower bell pounding doom doom doom as it sang it’s prophecy of the hour for all to hear, and the cancerous shadow that lurked from the tower’s height finally creeped along his shuddering form and fell upon his tired eyes.

He looked out across the horizon. Rising high above his realm a hopeful light shined, but just beyond the hills, Darkness was coming.

Echoes|92

Rushford Caleb Ballowe, 2019 There is a certain peace I feel When traveling across the rolling hills, With farmland on both sides of me And miles of clear pavement on the horizon.

The winding path that leads to tranquility, Full of vegetation and rocky faces, And the gravel roads and abundant wildlife Take me back to a simpler, quieter time.

The climate of a small town Embraces me with open arms And the familiarity of those I know Makes me truly feel at home.

The smell of the farm animals And the sight of family gathered together Roasting marshmallows over an open campfire Creates harmony in my soul.

This peaceful haven has always been and will always be The place I look back on to feel carefree.

If I need some place to go, I know to go toward The great little town of Rushford.

93|Echoes

Echoes|94

ECHOES

Advisor

PRooFREADEr

Editor-IN-chief

Assistant e ditor

tor i d E y r t Poe One Acts Editor

STAFF

Essays Co-Editor

Art Editor

Essays

Co-Ed

itor

Assistant Essays Editor

tor i d E s e i or Short St

Assistant Art Editor

INDEX Ariagno, Meghan Bailly, Anna Ballowe, Caleb Burmeister, Graham Cadman, Sense Carnley, Dylan Clem, Tate Cline, Alexander Cope, Brandon Cunningham, Laura Daood, Peter Devlin, Kristen Douglas, Julia Eichhorn, Deena Farber, Peyton Farha, Dolly Holloway, Josh Hutton, Rose Jennings, Janai Johnson, Zoe Koenig Weber, Pax Leiker, Andrew Li, Quingham (Sam) Li, Weichen (Nina) Mahoney, Ashlyn Mahoney, Ryan Mikity, Maya Mitchell, Kylie Moussa, Reema Nambo, Sara Newman, Levi Ottaway, Abby Patino, Sebastien Ramsey, Mary Reynolds, Peyton Rowe, Kortney Scheck, Hanna Slaughter, Riley Sturm, Edward Toubassi, Bryson Wagner, Janna Wagner, Malina Kae Williams, John Yi, Christina

10, 53-56, 54, 63, 65, 79, 81 30 93 80 79 70 45, 85 11 7, 18, 71 27, 44, 52 61 9 44 8, 47, 77 30, 72-77 23 70 30 2 24, 26, 34-38, 70 19, 40, 46, 59, 63, 64, 82 9, 30 22 63 4, 5, 21, 28, 33 30 7, 30 31 18, 82 46 7, 23, 80 13-17, 58, 67, 83, 87-89 50 78 39, 51 17, 29 1, 12, 62, 94 29, 30 20, 31 70 9 6, 19, 20, 39, 41, 43, 48, 52, 60, 66, 84, 86, 90, 91 3, 25, 92 49

2019 Award Winners Cover: Urban Decay // Ashlyn Mahoney, 2019

One Acts: 1st: Peanut Gallery // Peyton Farber, 2022 Runner-up: Mind Games // Zoe Johnson, 2019

Essays: 1st: Writing // John Williams, 2019 Runner-up: Up and Far // Sebastien PatiĂąo, 2019

Poetry: 1st: Nutrition Facts // Abby Ottoway, 2019 Runner-up: Lines Composed in Quin's Car // Dolly Farha, 2020

Short Stories: 1st: Prince // John Williams, 2019 Runner-up: Apply Here // Abby Ottoway, 2019

Art: 1st: Tom Holland // Malina Kae Wagner, 2020 Runner-up: The Old Ranch // Hanna Scheck, 2021

Congratulations to the 2018 Echoes Staff for being nominated for the EXCELLENT AWARD by the National Council of Techers of English in student literary magazines Visit our magazine: https://issuu.com/echoesliterarymagazine/docs/echoesweb18 or Visit our website: echoesliterarymagazine.wordpress.com

A Special Thanks to our wonderful judges: Veronica Dowty // Art Jennifer Alexander // Essays Debra Cole // One Acts Michelle Bolin // Short Stories Monica PatiĂąo // Poetry

The Independent School 8317 E. Douglas Wichita, KS 67207 316.686.0152 www.theindependentschool.com