Echoes Literary Magazine 2020 Vol. 24

COVER ART

conTaCT

Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

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EDiTorS NOTE This year of Echoes has certainly been exciting! The creation of our magazine hasn’t ceased in the midst of the pandemic. We have seen many people ‘say’ (post) that the arts and entertainment keep people going for those stuck at home currently, so the Echoes staff has made it our mission to complete the 2020 Edition this year, no matter what. Echoes has worked hard to embody the vibrancy of our student body and the amazing things they create, and share the special, amazing, colorful brand of TIS vision with everyone.

I sincerely hope you enjoy this edition of Echoes.

Thank you.

Malina Kae Wagner, Head Editor

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TabLe OF CONTENTS

! - A Bright Moon 2 - Strawberries On A Summer Evening 3 - Tragedy As A Source Of Strength 4 - Sunrise 5 - Old Man In The Garden 6 - Walkaway 7 - Canvas 8 - Whistler Train Wreck 9 - Odinary Path 10 - Mountain View 11 - New Tide 12 - The City Of Lights 13 - Bilikins 14 - Big Boy Bilikin 15 - Third Touches 16 - Take Another Look 17 - 19 - A Beautiful World 20 - Lily 21 - Time - Bridges 22 - The Edge of Summer - Set To Sky 23 - Record 24 - People Who Don’t...

25 - Frankenstein 26 - Eye of World 27 - Shine 28 - Socks 29 - While I Am Alive 30 - Sunlit 31 - Bloom 32 - Where I’m From 33 - David 34 - David 35 - A Torn Photograph - Shadow Tree 36 - Interlocked Hands 37 - Friends 38 - The Little Boy And His Forest 39 - Sanctum 40 - Sleeping Through The Years 41 - Horned Profile 42 - Things With Teeth 43 - Forest 44 - Ten Years 45 - Perspective 46 - Grid 47 - Self - The Abyss 48 - Red - To My Lover 49 - Girls By Daylight 50 - Double The Dosage 51 - Comms Unit 52- Demonic Fury 53 - 56 - Fearful Flyer

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TabLe OF CONTENTS

57 - Halloween Story 58 - Congratulations...

59 - Stars 60 - Realization 61 - 63 - Edge 64 - Holy Infant - Unmoored 65 - Nightmare 66 - Frankenstein 67 - Decadent - Where I’m From 68 - Portrait 69 - The Range 70 - The Jump 71 - Life of Nihility - Frozen Lake 72 - Bark 73 - My Life In Color 74 - Internalize 75 - Only The Soft Are Truly Strong 76 - Misery Of My Heart 77 - The Calm Of The Beast 78 - Night Street 79 - Chemist 80 - Where I’m From 81 - Kaepernick 82 - Perspectives 83 - Harbour 84 - Steps in History 85 - Snowy Mountain - Timber Ridge 86 - Lost 87 - Thousands 88 - Ode To Broken Doors 89 - Stupid Dumb Poppies 90 - Young Love and Heartbreak 91 - Hunter 92 - Rejected From The World 93 - Sneer 94 - I’ll Never Forget 95 - 96 - Echoes Q&A 97 - Spiderey 98 - Flashlight 99 - 106 - Divided By Blue 107 - Mr. Green 108 - Sketchbook 109 - Low Rose 110 - Filed 111 - Marilyn 112 - The Best Thing...

113 - The Park In The Dark 114 - I’m Baby 115 - ADHD 116 - Directionless Multitasking ______________

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A Bright Moon

Peter DAOOD, Natalie JOHNSON, Sense CADMAN, and Deena EICHHORN, 2020

A Bright moon shone over the strawberry fields The cool breeze of summer blew through her hair Pausing, briefly, her blue dress stood out among the fields of red Her one deep breath in revealed the color of berries Her hair, the color the berries, fluttered in the wind Her eyes glistened like polished black stones And still, she stood, like a statue, waiting to be awakened The fresh wind encircled and controlled the stationary below Suddenly, she saw her standing in the distance She had her yellow dress on, the one that complimented her hair Then, almost as if in a trance, her feet began to move One foot tripped over the other as the momentum drove her forward They met again just as they had before Too nervous to talk, they stood in silence One bent down to pick a berry, and slowly they started to laugh The seeds of the luscious fruit crushed under the white enamel of their smiles They knew this was their final meeting, under a bright moon

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Jillian CAPPS, 2022

STRAWBERRIES ON A SUMMER EVENING

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TraGeDY As a sOUrcE oF StrENGTH Nitai DASA, 2020

Non-Fiction: Runner-Up

When I tell people about the circumstances and events of my life so far, they often describe it as difficult and tell me that I am strong and brave for continuing down the steady path that I am on. Most of the time this just leads to an uncomfortable chuckle from me and a shake of my head, because it’s a hard conversation to have with somebody.

I don’t want to make anybody pity me when I tell them about the deaths in my family or my family’s problems with money or having to deal with being raised in a complicated, broken home. But this essay is about obstacles

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and challenges. Mine was my childhood.

When I was a child, all I knew was my parents being divorced, as they separated when I was three. I’m not upset about this, it is something that half of the children in America experience. I got lucky by having it happen so early in my life. We were living in Lawrence, Kansas at the time, but my mother moved us to Wichita, Kansas shortly after without my father’s permission. He moved down there for me shortly after. This was the first major shift in my life, though I don’t remember much of it as I was too young.

SunRiSE, Kae WAGNER, 2020

I spent the weeks with my mom in Wichita, and the weekends with my dad. I love my mother, but she wasn’t a great mother. I was yelled at a lot as a kid, and got sick of screaming matches between my mom and my sister every day. I even believed that my mother didn’t love me at some points. I would stay with my dad as much as possible, and look up to him as the greatest role model in my life. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. My life was as good as it could be with a verbally abusive parent because of the man who has shaped me into the man I am today. Eventually, he got full custody over me.

When I was around twelve, I had already been staying the nights at my dad’s apartment more than my mom’s house. My mom’s mental illness had been getting worse and worse as I was just starting to mature, and I had no desire to be in that house more than I had to. After a particularly bad situation when my mother snapped, I went to stay with my grandma for a few months and it felt like breathing after being underwater all my life. I had freedom, and peace, and a loving environment thanks to my grandma who wanted the world for me. I still remember the day she asked me, “Do you want to live with your dad?” and I immediately said yes, so my father took full custody of me soon after.

Things have been rocky since, but this was one of the best changes of my life.

My mother always popped in and out of my life, but she was still suffering from mental illness and was not steady enough to be safe for me long term, but she wanted to be better so bad, and she was getting there. She was getting help, and getting better, and reaching out to our family again. I was starting to love her again, but life wasn’t exactly fair. On July 31st, 2017, my mother, Carrie-nell Kentling Dasa passed away. This was the biggest thing to happen in my life so far, and basically ruined my first semester grades of my junior year, but I managed to pull it around second semester to get my grades back up and do well on my ACT. This was the biggest obstacle to overcome, and I’m proud of myself for getting back to where I am now.

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The oLd mAn iN tHE GARDen, Sense CADMAN, 2020

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WalkAwaY, Kae WAGNER, 2020

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Canvas

Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

He stumbles into the small clearing, brambles and branches gripping at his clothes like cloying hands. He brushes them off, irritation undercut by an awe at the everlasting persistence of nature. He looks up— and sees it. The plastic Dillons bag in his grip rattles the cans of paint inside as he moves over the rocky ground to the metal husk of the abandoned train.

Once such a huge mechanical monument, now so tranquil and still, moss growing through the machinery and rust corrupting it’s steel shine. The outside is decorated in continually flowing lines, juxtaposed against and flowing through other designs, some moss here— pigment there— a huge multi-generational collaboration between visitors and the forest. His plastic bag hits the earth, banging against a rock with such an abrupt, jarring noise, so

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WHistler Train Wreck , Peter Daood 2020

WHistler Train Wreck , Peter Daood 2020

out of place in between the trunks of the trees and the leaves high above, that he jolts, wincing at the call of metal against the greenery. He reaches out briefly, as if his hand could calm the formless, ringing noise, as if he could catch the sound before it reached what lay beyond the forest and alerted the world to his presence. His hand falls limp, unfit for the task. The spray paint can rattles in anticipation as he shakes it.

He’s chosen a good spot on the wide metal expanse of the train— slightly overtaken by moss and other small tags but otherwise relatively untouched. He breaks open a canister of— the label loudly proclaims Titanium White in bold, blocky font— and begins. His process is smudged and dripping and frantic, as if he doesn’t move fast enough or put something down he’ll lose, somehow. Colored caps start to litter the ground at his feet as he pries open color after color, form taking shape among the moss.

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OrDiNaRY PatH Translation by: Jason LIU, 2021

平凡之路 -朴树 徘徊着的 在路上的 你要走吗 易碎的 骄傲着 那也曾是我的模样 沸腾着的 不安着的 你要去哪 谜一样的 沉默着的 故事你真的在听吗 我曾经跨过山和大海 也穿过人山人海 我曾经拥有着一切 转眼都飘散如烟 我曾经失落失望失掉所有方向 直到看见平凡才是唯一的答案

Ordinary Path -Shu Pu Just lingering about on the road Do you want to go?

So fragile but proud I used to be like that Over the rivers and the mountains Been through thousands of people Everything I used to own Now is gone like the smoke I was lost and so hopeless the story ended Til I got the right answer from this ordinary path

MounTAin VIEW, Ari VILLALPANDO, 2020

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NEON TIDE, Sam LI, 2020

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THE CITY OF LIGHTS Joselyn LU, 2021

The cold air grasps me under the moonlit sky As I walk on the dark pavement surrounded by lights Cars and footsteps rush to flood the noisy streets Upon the presence of the busy crowd, I too am one of them Where the city is never at rest, as well as I Just as the pace of the city, my heartbeat is fast Music echoes throughout the narrow alleyways Played by the city’s finest masters of art Who continue to play until morning brings the bright rays The warm aroma of freshly roasted coffee can be smelled A more quiet wind now roams the air To find more people may just be elsewhere Six o clock is now here To fear no more the people will not be missed For they have now begun to rise Again and once more It will continue to repeat, the life of day into night, In one of the busiest scenes Billboards and Broadway Gambling and concerts You shall never not have a thing to do Friendly faces are all that is here Full of talent that inspires those around The attraction to the most unique Oh here in Las Vegas You may find yourself losing a shoe or two You may never lose the remarkable sight that was seen

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BiLIkInS, Sense CADMAN, 2020

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Big boy BiLIkIn, Sense CADMAN, 2020 Art: Runner-Up

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Third TouCHes, Meghan ARIAGNO, 2020

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TaKE ANoThEr LooK A Song by: Maya MIKITY, 2022

My tears are crying me to sleep My wounds, they dug a scar in deep I better leave you behind Before matters get crazy But let’s just get it right That you were the only fool blame me Everything has changed Since you’ve been calling me out What can I say?

Now that we’re not to be found Stop your tongue when you speak Realize what you’ve done to me, oh Take another look It hurts to live with all the pain And I guess the truth buried us in shame If you tear me into pieces Before I heal up well Then you can learn to fix me Or it will take us back to Hell Everything has changed Since you been calling me out What can I say?

Now that we’re not to be found Just stop your tongue when you speak Realize what you’ve done to me Take another look at us Take another look

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A BEAUTIFUL WORLD Olivia SUTTON, 2021

Stories are a gateway leading into a world filled with the impossible and limitless. Literature has encaptured readers since the beginning of history. In the modern world, many stories are projected through movies and television shows - many of which originate from a book series or novel. Naturally, people prefer different ways of hearing stories, whether it be through television, novels, poems, or video games. My personal favorite is reading. Books play as a movie streaming through my mind. Collecting intricate details and appreciating the movement of words incite my urge to write. Varying genres of stories offer interest to all different readers.

I prefer fantasy-fiction. Of this genre, my favorite book series is Game of Thrones and Throne of Glass. The setting of these takes place in fictional lands. Wonderful creatures such as dragons, wyverns, and shapeshifters exist freely. Fiction allows for the inclusion of endless original thought. There are no rules. The boundaries are nonexistent, writing is like forming a bouquet filled with different combinations of flowers. Reading is where I initially grew my passion to write and produce stories from my own mind and vision. After developing deep bonds with characters I read about, I seek to invent my own. Furthermore, words hold great beauty. To write passionately is to possess the knowledge of the beauty that only words can convey.

To write is to have a passion for the world of art and design. It is forming the ability to mold a world and devise a plot composed of individual thought. Writing is a way to create characters and creatures that no one has heard of. It is empowering to hold the ability to form a world with the tip of a pencil at my fingers: to create characters with various personalities that form impressions on readers. Having read books with strong female leads, such as the character Aelin, in Throne Of Glass, speaks to me that writing, as a young girl, I can create a society where women are also known to be strong and heroic. Aelin is a powerful character “and she bowed for no one and nothing, save the crown that was hers by blood and survival and triumph” (Maas). Another female character that inspires me to write is Arya Stark in Game Of Thrones. She begins the story as a young girl who is expected to become a lady; however author, George RR. Martin, fashions her to become an elite warrior. She continuously cuts down stereotypes pinned against her and shows that young girls can be dangerous and cunning. She became a favored character to both men and women.

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In the book Graceling, the author Kristin Cashore’s original thought further motivates me to compose my own ideas for a story. In the fantasy novel, she describes a world where there are common humans and those with two different colored eyes. The difference in eye color classifies them as “graced,” or possessing a natural, expertise skill towards a certain aspect. The main character, Katsa, is abnormally graced with killing: “It was fine to eat the meals of the king’s chef, who was Graced with cooking, or send their horses to the king’s Graced horse doctor. But a girl graced with killing? This one was not safe” (Cashore 12). This plot displays that protagonists are not always the heroes of the story, and presents the internal battle of morality that Katsa must face. This example implores me to dive into the bottomless pool of ideas. Through writing, I fly free. I build worlds in which there are dragons and elves, or humans and monsters. Opportunity is infinite. The enchanting feeling to hold this power of producing art into the world is unmatched.

Another reason I write is the perception that words are laced with beauty. When reading a piece of literature, the stream of words flow differently from each author. There is no precise label for style, just as one cannot give a solid label to personality types. Words project beauty to people in all different languages.

Writers can be poetic while others are brief and logical. Some give lengthy, flowery writing, while others make it short and sweet. The diversity of literature results in uniques. The way an author sews words along to weave together their story creates beauty and emotion. Mastering the use of individual words to create a personalized flow, comes from time and reading. Growing up, learning new vocabulary was always a thrill. To learn new words to store for the perfect moment.

I recall reading Charlotte’s Web, as Charlotte wove new adjectives in her web to help Wilbur. As a young child, a word that lingered in my mind was “radiant.” The way this word rang through my head brought me feelings of light and warmth.

I wanted to seek out all the wonderful words hidden in the vast English language.

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Words provoke different feelings. In the magical story, Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire, J.K Rowling includes the phrase, “We must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy” (J.K Rowling). This quote is not only impactful to Harry’s character arc but the ability for a string of simple words to create such a strong phrase is beauty. Words are thought-provoking and show that a plot goes deeper than the surface. The knowledge that words promote interpretation and cause the emergence of feelings is a beautiful phenomenon.

Writing is a creation from the mind and language from the soul. Stories have always been an important part of life growing up. To write is to cast your magic into the world. I write to become part of the magical kingdom of power and beauty that is literature. Creating characters is to form bonds and relationships. Writing is the ability to design paths and find chaotic, beautiful ways to execute storylines. I allow my imagination to spill onto paper like pouring rainfall over a parched garden.

Having a passion for words is a natural tendency for me. The endless ability for words to arouse thought and emotion is an incomprehensible power. Words also express feelings in complex figures of speech like metaphors and analogies. They create powerful phrases and meanings that deepen a story and reflect life lessons such as, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us,” advised by Gandalf in The Fellowship of The Ring (Tolkein). These words are put together to excite contemplation. Writing is a universal power that unites us all and carries the beauty of imagination in which the best of stories are created.

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LILY, Carter WEILERT, 2022

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TIME

Peyton FARBER, 2022 Time flashes like lightning Leaving ripples of memories Small glimpses of our lives Past mistakes and future crimes Sunlight travels like a soaring bird, Leaving days behind full of glory and mystery Providing hope broken by storm Existing in whatever form it chooses Time is an untouchable opponent Flying beyond earthy means Leaving only traces of doubt and uncertainty Time hovers overhead waiting to

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run out of batteries Leaving stranded those who once believed Knowing everything time granted them is unavailable When the hour comes and time departs It is uncertain whether a second, an hour, or a century has been lived Time gives as generously as it takes away Leaving behind hurt, and wounds, yet providing salvation.

BrIDGES, Jillian CAPPS, 2022

The Edge of Summer SENIORS, 2020

When did I first realize that summer is almost gone?

I didn’t even know that this was already the edge of summer.

The pool is still open Flies are still making me mad The ground is still lovely and warm.

Girls are still wearing cute skirts Even strawberries rolled down the cliff!

They left those sour blueberries behind On the edge of summer.

SEt TO Sky, Peter DAOOD, 2020

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RecoRD, Hanna SHECK, 2021

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PEOPLE WHO DONT DREAM DONT FEEL SADNESS Translation by: Jason LIU, 2021

没有理想的人不伤心 -新裤子

People don’t dream don’t feel sadness -Xing Kuzi

我最爱去的唱片店， 昨天是她的最后一天， 曾经让我陶醉的碎片， 全都散落在街边。 我最爱去的书店， 她也没撑过这个夏天， 回忆文字流淌着怀念， 可是已没什么好怀念。

My favorite record shop, Yesterday was her last day, The pieces that once intoxicated me, All scattered on the street.

My favorite bookstore, It has not survived this summer, Memories flow with nostalgia, But there is nothing to miss.

可是你曾经的那些梦， 都已变得模糊看不见。 那些为了理想的战斗， 也不过为了钱。 可是我最恨的那个人， 他始终没死在我面前， 还没年轻就变得苍老。 这一生无解， 没有我的空间， 没有我的空间， 没有我的空间。

But those dreams you used to have, Have become obscured.

Those fighting for the ideal, In the end just for the money But the person I hate the most, He never died before me, The teenager grew old before he was young.

There is no solution in this life, Without my space Without my space No space for me.

你曾热爱的那个人， 这一生也不会再见面。 你等在这文化的废墟 上， 已没人觉得你狂野。 那些让人敬仰的神殿， 只在无知的人心中灵 验。

The person you used to love, Never encounter again in your life.

You wait on the ruins of this world, Now no one thinks you are wild.

Those admirable temples, Only in the minds of ignorant people.

That night I was sleepless.

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Frankenstein, Julia DOUGLAS 2021

fall you too wretchedness

my dearer than tormentor

my

revenge

you your misery

will repent

the injuries you poison me

with before

in a few moments with

me

swiftness

lost

all

rage the murderer of my peace

I conjured up

torment

and

strife the

main

victim of his words was my destiny

sorrow,

to fall before my enemy and the calmness

The night sinks into

the horrid scene

a wish

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fear,

of my

the barrier between me and

EYE OF WORLD

Peyton FARBER 2022

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SHiNe, Carter WEILERT, 2022

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soCKS Peyton FARBER, 2022

To Brian, I hope you’ve found your forever home.

Socks,

You came running, screaming, like a barefoot grenade that nobody wanted to touch. The shout of a victim was enough for us to want to heal you, to take you in, to mend your wounds and sew the ripped sleeve. The waiting was unbearable, but somehow it was also not long enough. In that moment, waiting seemed like an hour long interview and longing for resolution.

When it was done we could only gift you warmth for a thing that did not matter to you more than surviving. If only they could mark the beginning of your much deserved end of suffering.

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While I Am Alive ROSE HUTTON, 2022 I die, while I am alive Tears in my eyes Fast may they dry I do not know why Sweet holy thing Blessed whom they bring Won’t someone help me Here as I die, while I’m alive Soft lullaby, oh, whisper in tune Here in this room Gentle melody is all that they see But funny, there’s none to hear me Beautiful face She was saved by grace Stole all my roles She now runs the show I die, while I am alive Such a silver knife Launched through me twice Losing my grip He left me in a zip Packed up his stuff Therefore, I wasn’t enough Broken pieces now I’m hanging down I die, while I am alive

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sUnLit, Carter WEILERT, 2022

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BlooM, ANONYMOUS, 20XX

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WHERE IM FROM Joselyn LU, 2021 I am from laughter, From big smiles, and witty jokes.

I am from framed pictures that hang upon the walls (Bright, colorful, captured with warmth from my mother’s camera.)

I am from the old oak tree, and green grass that I Fell upon after swinging on the large branch above me.

I am from homemade biscuits, and videotapes.

Form Daryl and Faye.

I am from open-arms and you’re groundeds, From hold your horses and fix your posture.

I am from You are my sunshine, My only sunshine And my mom beside me before she turned out the lights.

I am from Wichita, and Overland Park, swings, and coffee.

From the finger my mother used to shush me To the arms my grandfather hugged me with.

Around the corner in the bedroom with the blue bed, A safe place where I would giggle and talk endlessly.

I am from those moments--snapped before I budded-leaf-fall from the family tree.

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DAVID, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

DAVID, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

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A TORN PHOTOGRAPH

Natalie JOHNSON, Deena EICHHORN, Peter DAOOD, Sense CADMAN, 2020 Poems: Runner-Up

A torn photograph saturated with hidden memories Held secrets behind the yellowish film It had been meant to last for centuries But the flood washed all the faces away Each body had once lived and breathed Now only encapsulated in the animated of this picture The fire now raged with the shoutout of silence Crisping the white edges of the photo And banishing each mysterious body further into oblivion This memory, this moment, melted flake by flake from my hand But the thought of them lived on No photo, nor painting could have captured their beauty The way the wind blew through their hair The intention in which they lived outside of that discorded moment Beyond any concept of time, their laughs would still echo Not bound to the physicality of that torn photograph, but filled with memories

SHADOW TREE, Sam LI, 2020 35 • ECHOES

INTERLOCKED HANDS, Janai JENNINGS, 2020

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FriendS, Carter WEILERT, 2022

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The Little Boy and His Forest Olivia SUTTON, 2021

Feet trod bare along the forest floor A soft rain begins to pour The wind flicks his wild hair The scent of withering oak amongst the air A bird he eyes, which soars so high Over a bed of leaves where the little fox lies Full of enchanting and wonderful stories To bound, and skip, and kick up torn leaves The snapping and crunching of scattered twigs Echoes around the fallen sprigs A river rushing along the path The fish are fleeing from the lone bear’s wrath He cups a flower from the great brush As the wind and trees slowly begin to hush The sun floats down below the horizon And like a raven, the darkness flies in The sounds of creatures quiets down Till the forest sleeps without a sound They settle into the comfort of home Till the sun wakes and again he will roam

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SANctUM, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

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SleEpInG THrOuGH tHE yEARs Hanna SCHECK, 2021 INNOCENCE Turn on the light I don’t want to go to sleep I could stay up all night And you wouldn’t hear a peep It’s only nine I’m told to go to bed I have all this time And thoughts running through my head I get tucked in But that’s not the end of my day I get up and spin Till my eyes start to clay It is about one in the morning By this time I hear my mom knock as a warning And now it’s finally bedtime

EXPERIENCE I get home I want to go to bed My thoughts start to roam Before I realized all the work ahead I stay up late And work all night Even when the sun is never in sight The clock strikes five And I’m still up I don’t know how I’m still alive That’s how you know I’m all grown up I lie down To try and get some sleep But right as my eyes close My alarm clock beeps

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HoRned ProfIle, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

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TITLE, Artist NAME, 20XX

ThinGS WIth TeeTH, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020 ECHOES • 42

FOREST, Peter DAOOD, 2020

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TEN YeArs Jason LIU, 2021

Years flow away like a stream And I am like a paper boat on the water’s surface, Following its direction, under its control.

Walking back to the street where I spent my childhood, Thoughts and emotions stop my stride.

People have been changing, but everything else stays untouched.

Time has toughened my heart, I am no longer “myself.”

The old oak stays in the same place as 10 years ago.

I can see children still playing on that seesaw.

So familiar and so estranging This scene is familiar, but the people are not.

Those formal faces are gone without the trace.

Those friends I hung out with in my early childhood.

Where did they go? Why did everything fade away?

I pause, memories fill up my brain.

10 years ago, under the same sunshine, I played in the same playground with friends.

I was not thinking of this question. I was thinking the time goes too slow.

10 years later, I am here, stirred up by every moment of memories, Thinking I’m a paper boat in a stream.

Things stay and change.

The tree will shrivel one day.

The stream bonds paper boats, and it scatters them as well.

You are not here, and I still am.

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PERSPECTIVE, Jillian CAPPS, 2022

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GRID, Jillian CAPPS, 2022

The ABYsS

Katlyn HARMON, 2021 In the dark abyss of my life, I have no one I see no one and no one sees me I keep it that way If anyone ever saw me they would be filled with shrilling terror I watch from a distance and wish to be like them But I never will My creator has made me unbearable and disgusting Dooming me to the fate of loneliness forever I understand why they run and scream But they’ll never understand me

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To My LOvEr

TITLE

Emily JIANG, 2021

My lover My lover The heaven in my brain Is where I want to take you with me The grateful pine forest At a small townText outside Boston Sample (BODY) The flourish of pine trees and grass, Let the sunlight sink down and melt into the air If you smell careful, You can sense the last fragrance of fall The sweetness of rotten berries The dryness comes from the feeble cry of withered leaves At this moment, I wish I could become a sponge Inhale all the smells into my body like seawater And you will be the lovely crab that laying next to me We can talk about our day We can talk about foods We can talk about we met We can also talk about why the trees are so tall Why the road seems endless At this moment, I realized how small I am compared to the earth But my lover My lover With you, in this magical forest I don’t care about the outside world anymore I can hear the ground is talking to me Asking me to lay down and feel Feel the ups and downs of her chest

Feel the movement of her arms My lover My lover I’ve packed my bags I’m ready to go back to the forest when you are ready.

The golden hour It’s early in the morning The moon is still hanging in the sky Steam is floating beyond the golden land Trying to retain the last sparkle of green on the land Like a thread of silk.

The golden magic sprinkling in the air With the last warmth of the year The blue moon doesn’t like the sun She fades away into the smoky blue sky The sun is becoming more and more unrestrained Till the world has covered with his golden power

RED, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020 ECHOES • 48

GIRLS By DayLiGHt, Carter WEILERT, 2022

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DOuBLE THe DosAGE Sense CADMAN, 2020

She stood in the mirror staring at her cheeks still swollen from sleep.

She scrubbed her teeth and pretended to wash her face, then dried it off from a towel off of the ground. She unzipped her make-up case that her mother had given her. But rather than pulling out glitter paint, she pulled out something much better at masking who she was. A pill bottle. Actually multiple. Once for her face, one for her womb, and one for her head. She popped them one by one. But today, she popped two for her head because why not. She slipped on her clothes. Shoved stuff into her bag. Then left her room in a flash.

When passing by her grandmother, she grabbed a piece of toast but as soon as she stepped out of the house, she threw it to the birds. She hopped in her car and sped towards the coffee shop next to her house. At the stoplight, her head spun for a split second. It’s happening. At the coffee shop, she ordered a coffee the size of her head and finished it before she got to school. She dragged her enormous backpack from her car to the school and threw it down in the lounge. Using her backpack as a pillow she lie down, staring at the ceiling, feeling as high as a kite. But not on purpose.

Her friend walked in.

“I feel awful.”

ECHOES • 50

ComMs UniT, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

51 • ECHOES

DEMONIC FUrY Uday KABIRPANTHI, 2021

This feeling… I have never felt it, This lust, this greed Every moment their feeble necks are in my grasp, It is a bottomless ecstasy!

I am a vessel for hatred, All compassion has been torn from the very fiber of my damned soul!

I lust for the blood of those you love, nothing will quench my fury!

This demonic fury hath consumed my soul This hatred, it is all I live for!

Pathetic, pathetic, PATHETIC! They are delicate beings, Their innocence only augments my fury, Frankenstein, my creator, my recipient of intense scorn and wrath…

My revenge has only yet begun

ECHOES • 52

FEaRFul FlyER Ava JACOBSEN, 2022

Setting: on a plane, starts on tarmac, then takes off Plot: Three people are randomly put by each other on a plan. When things begin to go wrong, they turn to each other for guidance.

Characters: Georgia- female, Nervous flyer, talkative, convinced this flight will end badly Kyle- male, appears to have it all together, sporty, jock Deidrick- male, introvert, uptight, wants to be left alone Flight attendant- male or female, calming (Scene opens on an empty plane. Characters enter one by one with certain amount of luggage corresponding to each character.)

Deidrick- (has one small, neatly packed suitcase. Very put together. Has a brief case that he keeps with him. Headphones and neck pillow are also present.) 19 A, 20 A, 21A. This is me. (sits down and begins to get adjusted) Alright. Where’s my itinerary? (Digs through brief case until he finds it) That’s not it, no, no, oh there it is. Looks like a three hour flight but I’ll ask the flight attendant. I present at 3 which gives me 2 hours to get from the airport to the conference center, given that we do in fact land at 12. So, I have three hours to work on this presentation. That should be enough time. ( He settles in and pulls out his computer and a couple papers) Georgia- (She comes stumbling in with her arms full, a disastrous suitcase, neck pillow, etc. She is talking to herself, kind of crazily) TSA is the absolute worse. You make one joke about having something dangerous and suddenly everyone is on high alert. “Ma’am do you have anything dangerous” “I sure hope not!” Like okay Ted calm down I’m not a security threat, it’s just knock off Mountain Dew. Ope. This is me! (Sits down, while all of her stuff spills onto Deidrick. She keeps elbowing him and knocking some stuff over.

After settling, she turns to Deidrick.) Hello! My name is Georgia. Whats yours? (she doesn’t let him respond, although he is not excited to respond) I love flying. Except for being thousands of feet in the air in a metal tube. And the turbulence. And the cinnamon cookies. And the lots of people. I guess I hate it. I hate it. I don’t love it. I don’t know why I said i love it. Its terrifying. I might have to hold your hand! Ha! (Deidrick is annoyed and goes back to his work) (Kyle enters. He has nothing but one tiny suitcase. He clearly doesn’t understand flying.)

Kyle: Is this 19A?

53 • ECHOES

Georgia: *gasp* Another flying buddy! Yay! I’m Georgia. This is- wait I still don’t know your name.

(Deidrick rolls his eyes and ignores her) Kyle: Okay…. (puts his headphones in and zones out) (Deidrick puts in his headphones and starts to work on his presentation) Georgia: I’m flying to see my nephews. Landon and Ronny. They are so cute. Landon is always just the sweetest and Ronny knows so much about dinosaurs and bugs. They are both so smart. Oh and my sister just had a baby! It’s a girl! Finally, a niece! We were all expecting another boy. This is my first time seeing her. She’s two months now! What about you? Where are you going?

Kyle: To see my parents. They’re in California. I go to school in Seattle. This is just a connecting flight.

Deidrick: (looks up at Kyle) You know this flight is going to New York, right?

Kyle: Yeah. (unphased) (Deidrick looks confused) Georgia: So where are you going Deidrick?

Deidrick: (ignores her) Georgia: (aggressively taps him) Deidrick! Where are you going?

Deidrick: (annoyed) I’m going to a conference. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to work.

Georgia: Oh go ahead! I’m so nervous for take off.

(Captain over the intercom; We are preparing for take off. Please follow all safety instructions presented in your handbook. Please remain seated with buckle on until we reach our cruising altitude) Georgia: Speak of the devil. Here we go. (Georgia grabs on to both Kyle and Deidrick.

Deidrick shakes her off. Kyle doesn’t notice) (Deidrick is working on his presentation) Georgia: (Looks over his shoulder) Your not you’re.

Deidrick: What?

ECHOES • 54

Georgia: Y o u r not y o u ‘ r e. When you say “you’re going to be blown away” you use y o u r.

Deidrick: I’m certain it’s y o u ‘ r e. Thank you.

Georgia: It’s y o u r but okay.

(Deidrick rolls his eyes and puts his headphones back on) Georgia: (taps Deidrick) Do you know when the snacks are gonna be brought around?

Deidrick: They don’t usually do snacks on flights this short.

Georgia: Oh, okay. Thanks (A little time passes. Georgia taps Deidrick again) Georgia: It’s just that once I was on a 2 hour flight and they served snacks.

Deidrick: (very annoyed) I don’t know Georgia. Maybe they do. Now, I need to work.

Georgia: Oh of course darling! Stop talking to me so much! (laughs. Pulls out a book and starts reading. After a bit, puts book down) I have to pee. Kyle, I need to get by. ( she squeezes past and goes to bathroom) (Georgia is in the bathroom. Mild turbulence hit. Kyle and Deidrick are undisturbed. There is a loud scream) Kyle and Deidrick: (look at each other) uh oh.

Georgia: (in bathroom) Help me! I can’t die in here! Oh please! Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh!

(Crying is heard. Screaming continues until a stewardess goes back and gets her. She walks her slowly to her seat.)

Georgia: (stumbles over Kyle to get back into her seat. very shaken up) what were those?

Kyle: Those were turbulence. Very very mild turbulence. You’re fine. We are fine. (goes back to phone) ( Georgiana does not close her eyes again and she is very attentive. She is holding her book but hardly reading it. Deidrick has gone back to his work. Kyle is back on his phone.

Turbulence hit again. This time MUCH worse. They startle Georgiana and there is a tiny scream. Her book goes flying behind her. ) Georgiana: I can’t die like this I can’t die in a fiery plane crash. What if I don’t die? What if I get stuck on an island and starve to death?

55 • ECHOES

Kyle: (Kyle is now kind of freaked out. Deidrick is still undisturbed) Those WERE a little rough..

(Kyle and Georgiana are both freaked out and worried. A really bad turbulent hits and the seat belt buckle signs dings. This time Deidrick looks up and takes off headphones) Deidrick: Is it just me or were those unusually bad?

Georgiana: (crying) I’m done for we are done for. (Buries Head) Kyle: ( looks at Deidrick) Uh yeah dude they were.

(Suddenly the lights go out from turbulence. Kyle and Deidrick and scared but not too bad. There is silence in the blackout) Georgiana: We’re gonna water land! We have too!

(Lights turn back on) Deidrick: (puts his paper away. Nervously says) That wasn’t scary I don’t know why you’re freaking out.

Kyle: Haha yeah... ( the lights go out again. When they come back on, Kyle and Deidrick are hanging on to each other screaming. Their eyes are squeezed shut. Georgiana is gone) ( the boys open their eyes slowly. Once they are both open, they look at each other, than quickly separate) Deidrick: What happened to crazy?

Kyle: Good question (Georgiana pops up from behind them) Georgiana: I’m right here.

Kyle: You’re not crying?

Georgiana: No I figure that’s about as bad as it can get.

(Lights out)

ECHOES • 56

HaLlowEen StoRy Gage SOLOMON, 2021

You wake up on Saturday morning to find you’re alone in your bed. You get up and head downstairs where your wife and kids are already having breakfast. When they see you, they all start screaming and your wife calls the police.

None of your family knows who you are. Almost instantly you remember what happened last night. You recall going to a Halloween party, and how weird everything was at the party. People were dressed up in all sorts of different costumes, ranging from a simple vampire costumes to more creepy costumes like a plague doctor from the older European times. Suddenly it hits you--not only did you not know any of these people at the party, but you also drank a lot of wine.

Now that you think about it, you might have drank more than wine. You recall how shady everyone was acting. It suddenly hits you. You might have been intentionally drugged by someone who put something in your red solo cup.

You recall your vision being more blurry than usual. Another flashback occurs.

When you left the party someone jumped you outside. They grabbed your arm and pushed your whole body into a black SUV. Black. All you start to see is black. The lights inside the car turn on. There are two people in the car with you. The first person is in the back seat of the car. She is a blonde girl with duck tape stuck to her mouth. She looks terrified. Obviously this girl was kidnapped.

She is crying and her eyes are screaming to you to get out before it’s too late.

The other person is a middle-aged man. He is behind the driver’s wheel. He turns to you and hands you a very odd looking pill. He tells you this: “Pop this pill and you can go back to the party or go home, whatever you wish to. I must warn you, if you don’t take this drug, you must die. I like to call this pill the “changer.” Once you consume this, none of your family will recognize you nor will any of your life’s memories with people be remembered by others. Your life is essentially over now. So it is either take this pill or you die, your choice.”

Immediately you squirm around the back of the car, screaming and trying to get out. The blonde girl turns to you and takes the duck tape off ever so easily. Her eyes are clear and she is fine, almost like she was not kidnapped. She smiles ever so slightly. She says to you, “This is the deal. Me and my partner here are required to either kill you, or erase you from existence. It was a prophecy from your wife to carry this deed out.” You take the pill accordingly and eventually get home. You climb into your bed, feeling way too different...like your body isn’t actually yours.

The police arrive to your house while your wife is screaming in danger, hiding your children from you. Confused and scared, you run back upstairs to your bed and fall asleep. You never wake up again.

57 • ECHOES

COngrATulATionS On your GraDuaTiOn, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

ECHOES • 58

Star, Leah DEAN 2020 59 • ECHOES

Realization

Malgorzata BYCZKOWSKA 2021 The sounds of waves in my head Kiss from my mom when go to bed Walking along the beach Listening to the Catholic priest preach Being curious about the future and the world Not knowing what it is to come The smell of salty water in the air Being careless and free When my fears and worries are so rare Traveling barefoot, climbing on the tree Would life be that easy again?

Not so much anxiety and issues in my mind What are the important things to find?

Now there is no time to be reckless Highly stressed to become speechless Realize the value of your home To appreciate everyone until they are gone To show them love and respect To go through your action and reflect Just try to do your best each day They say and do not really care You do not even notice and you pray “I am thankful, God,” I declare

ECHOES • 60

EdGe

Deena EICHHORN, 2020

You’re on a voyage in the thirteenth century, sailing across the tempestuous seas. What if, suddenly, you fell off the edge of the Earth?

-Inspired by Chandani Latey, AB’93

(For history’s sake assume the following piece refers to the first or second century in order to refrain from propagating myths about the theories held regarding the shape of the Earth by those in the thirteenth century. In researching the ancient belief in a flat Earth, I learned that it was a myth perpetuated by Protestants in anti-Catholic campaigns that were attempting to eradicate the plausibility of Catholic teachings and emphasize tensions between the groups.)

The thunder crashes in the distance and lightning strikes overhead. The boat lurches forward and you topple to the floor. A pile of maps falls from its precarious perch in the side of the hull and spills out covering the deck. Disoriented, you pick up a map and try to find your directions. You look out over the hull of the ship,

61 • ECHOES

trying to make sense of the vast sea spreading out in every direction. Suddenly a point in the distance matches one on your map. Motioning to your crew with sudden urgency, tensions begin to mount. Turning the map around and around you hope it isn’t true. It can’t be possible. But no, everything matches up. You look out over the horizon, knowing that this time it isn’t just a horizon. The harder you squint, the clearer it becomes. The sun hitting the distant waves turns to water cascading over a rocky cliff, and you are increasingly certain your suspicions were not misplaced or excessive.

You look out at hopeful faces of your crew glimmering in the summer sun, blissfully unaware of the calamity they are about to endure. Looking once more out to sea you close your eyes and slowly suck in the cool salty air, preparing for the hardest conversation you will ever have. Haltingly, you turn back towards your men and gather up courage, ready to impart one last bit of wisdom. You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a stuttered and quiet, “It’s the end.” The faces of the men quickly change from admiration to confusion.

uNmoored, ANONYMOUS, 20XX

ECHOES • 62

HolY InFaNT, ANONYM

“The end of what?” they ask.

“The end of the world.”

Time slows down as they each reach the same conclusion you have. Clambering to the bow of the ship, they all want a look at what will be their certain and untimely death. Soon the hysteria morphs into silent acceptance. Collectively you sink down and sit together on the deck, a group of old men on the sea, unlucky and all alone. The edge of the Earth appears to grow closer each time you look, and it’s hard to keep from picturing each ghastly way a trip over that great waterfall of uncertainty could end. A man shouts, “It’s here! Brace yourselves!” Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut, synchronized with the rest of the crew. A wave splashes over the side of the boat. You taste salt on your tongue and shiver with the cold shock of the sea and you know—this is it. This is where it all ends. You succumb to the fear and everything goes black.

Slowly coming to, you cautiously stand up and look around. Everything looks just as you left it. The salty wind blows across your face, the sun glimmers on the damp deck, and the boat rocks on the turbulent—but slowly calming—sea.

As you take in your surroundings you are more sure then you have ever been.

63 • ECHOES

MOUS, 20XX You have reached it. You are finally there. This is Heaven.

(Jumping forward about twenty centuries, you might view what really happened on that ship in a plethora of ways, but what each interpretation really amounts to is the somewhat grey line between faith and truth; belief and reality. Even if it’s physically impossible, can a belief in an edge of the Earth create a concrete cliff that can be sailed off of, or more relevant to today, to what extent can a refusal to believe in climate change or evolution blind you to the scientific truths refuting your misconceptions? How do we define truth, and is anyone able to become completely detached from the human need to explain the unknown? Is it possible to be utterly and indisputably correct?)

ECHOES • 64

NIGHTMARE, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

65 • ECHOES

Frankenstein Hayden TYSON, 2021

Creation is man’s greatest mistake I regret mine with every breath I take A happy child, a loving friend Even my very wife met her end At the hands of a creature which I devised Now I mourn, full of lies Nobody knows the truth I hide Their deaths my fault, I struggle to realize Mistakes were made, and still I weep But soon I drift into a never-ending sleep

k

ECHOES • 66

DEcADenT, Carter WEILERT, 2022

WHEre I' m FrOm Charlie DAOOD, 2023

Poetry: First Place

I am from beaches, From long lake shores and small waves.

I am from brown fur tinged gray with time (Soft, messy with intermittent brush strokes.)

I am from a peach tree, the forest behind my house whose seemingly ever expanding trees stretch until the distance is too great to see.

I’m from peanut butter fudge and war stories, From Susanne and Curt.

I’m from get-it-dones and move-ons

67 • ECHOES

PorTraiT, Carter WEILERT, 2022

From speed up and take your time.

I am from never, never, never give in with power and resilience.

I’m from New Fairfield and Cape May, Deep snow and calm evenings.

From the lip my brother bit when he fell off his bike To the mouth I covered when I saw him at the door.

In my night table is a tri-fold wallet reminding myself that I need to grow up soon, A debit card inside the first fold to prepare myself for expenses that life will bring.

I am from those moments-- snapped before I budded-- leaf-fall from the family tree.

ECHOES • 68

THE RANGE, ANONYMOUS, 20XX

69 • ECHOES

THE JUMp Dylan CARNLEY, 2021 I’m still in the water, Looking at the towering cliff above The apprehensive feeling of regret tackles me, I start my treacherous journey up the rocky cliff I reach the peak, looking over the horizon and contemplating, The shouts from down below intensify my fear I close my eyes and count to three Each second that goes by seems longer and longer The chilling thought of free fall rushes in and out, Finally, I take a leap off the cliff On my way down the perception of trauma and injury exacerbates I hit the water with such force, my feet electrified with stinging pain, I came up to the brim of the lake And took a gasping breath of air

ECHOES • 70

FROZEN LAKE, Ava JACOBSEN, 2022

Life Of NiHIlitY Jason LIU, 2021

Being expelled again by the villagers, I curled up in a corner of my hovel A life suffers from limitless rejections I should stop brainwashing myself There is not a spot for me on this world During my time in this hovel, I can not cease reading Stealing books from villagers I once believed books could give me the solution to life But the stories are false! An ugly duckling never matures into a beautiful swan!

“Ugly creature,” that’s what they call me The Ugly Ducklings are born to be ugly No matter how hard they fight, the reality is impregnable I gave everything to the world, received nothing but the air and cold eyes from people I finally decide to surrender, at the moment you read through this line I hang up my smile, quench the flame of hope inside I want my revenge to be an unforgettable one As you read this, I officially declare my war on humans!

71 • ECHOES

BARK, Ava JACOBSEN, 2022

ECHOES • 72

My Life in

Colors

Sense Cadman, 2020

Everything in my life has a color. From phone numbers, to names, to memories and letters of the alphabet. Everything is stored in a color-coded file cabinet in my brain. In this file cabinet, there is paper filled with patterns and loops that would look like gibberish to everyone else, but makes perfect sense to me.

Sometimes I think this file cabinet is the only form of organization I have. It keeps me sane and helps aid my memory, like when a nearly forgotten person of my past approaches me, and all I can think is, “Green, green, green, she is green.” I can somehow remember, “Ah! her name is Morgan.”

73 • ECHOES

The file cabinet is not the only thing that inhabits my brain. There is also what I can only describe as a nuclear power plant that emits colorful steam. This power station allows me to not only listen to music but also to see it like clouds and explosions around me. Describing this aspect of my life to other people can be quite challenging. This is partly because it is hard for me to articulate how I see sounds, and how algebra concepts do dips and spins in my brain, without sounding completely mad but also because I thought everyone else saw the world as I did.

Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020 INTERNALIZE

The first time I ever spoke about the colors was one day in blue first grade. I turned to the red boy on my right and asked him, “Wouldn’t you agree that ‘7+3=10’ is a greenish-blue problem?” He did not understand. He just stared at me looking very perplexed. At the time, I thought it was weird that he did not have a color for the equation because it was pretty obvious to me. After that, the thought of other people’s colors did not cross my mind for a very long time. Nevertheless, I continued living my orange elementary days, watching the vibrant colors dance in front of my eyes as music played, thinking that everyone else could see the explosions of colors that flashed all around, and visualize the curving line of years as they passed just as I could.

It was not until my yellow sophomore year that I could finally articulate or even address my condition, mostly because I did not think I had a condition. My violet psychology teacher threw up a slide on the projector with the word “Synesthesia” as the title. He began to explain how a small number of the population has sensory overlaps that cause them to visualize sound and associate concepts in different shapes. Astonished I uttered, “You mean not everyone does this?”

All at once, my head filled with yellow and red questions from my classmates. Asking me what color they were, and if everything has a color. I was overwhelmed considering I just learned, less than a minute ago, that I think differently from everyone in the room.

After that day, I began to focus more on my thoughts. When I listened to music, I would allow the colors and patterns to consume me. In math class, I would write what looked like cryptic code to help me understand what we were learning. I borrowed my younger brother’s markers to write out the alphabet with each letter’s appropriate color. However, doing all of this made me realize that my condition does not set me apart from anyone else. I now have a word to describe how my brain works: “synesthesia,” it made me realize how brilliant all minds are and how people’s minds are complex and unique in their own ways.

ECHOES • 74

CAlM OF THE beAST Olivia SUTTON, 2021 Fiction: First Place

The forest was awakening; the sun had just begun to rise in the East. The sky shifted slowly into pastel shades of purple and pink, and faint rays of light projected through the great oak trees onto the forest floor. A little bird perched on a large, twisted branch. It peered down towards a small deer grazing in a patch of dew-covered grass. A squirrel darted toward a thin tree lightly crunching the dried leaves along the way and sprung into a small opening in its center. In high branches birds sang sweet songs to each other. The sun’s light brought a comforting warmth that drove out the chill of night, but a cool breeze lingered in the air.

A peculiar creature wandered into the woods that day. She strolled along aimlessly, kicking leaves up with her little feet, and humming to the song of the birds. Her hair was short, but tangled and knotted. The forest called to her like a voice, it compelled her towards it and she took in all of it. As she continued on, the smell of pine nuts and oak made her feel at home. The beauty of creatures enchanted her and the serene, steadiness of the woods brought peace to her heart. She felt one with the forest, as if she belonged to it. After walking for some time, she broke her gaze from the fallen leaves and looked ahead. She was deep in the forest. She gazed out and she saw trees as far as her eyes could reach. She realized she hadn’t the slightest idea of the direction from which she had come. Suddenly, she heard a heavy noise of crunching leaves and the rustle of a bush. She twirled around only to see the uninterrupted expanse of trees behind her. Thinking the noise could have been a rabbit or perhaps a fox, she turned back around. She gasped.

She gazed into the dark brown face of a large beast. His black eyes stared intensely into the green of hers, his breath blew hotly against her face. She felt the beast’s drool fall onto her bare feet. She did not scream or cry out. Instead, she shut her eyes tightly and awaited being torn apart, eaten, or swallowed whole. But everything remained still, painfully still. She drew in a shallow breath, trying to remain as frozen as her body would allow, and ever so slowly peeked open her right eye to see if the beast had moved. He had. The beast now sat a couple feet in front of her, watching her closely. It surprised her that she had not heard him move away.

Seeing him clearly now, the girl knew this was a bear. He was the most immense creature she had ever laid eyes upon, and his matted fur was rich brown. She lowered her eyes without head movement and found that each of his paws was the size of her head. His claws were the size of small daggers. He looked at her quietly, maybe even with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. She stepped back cautiously, keeping one eye on the beast. It wasn’t until she was lengths away that she turned around and bolted off. She ran as swiftly as she could over the forest floor. She felt her heart pounding in her chest as she gasped for air but she raced on. She did not falter until her legs started to ache unbearably, and her body grew weary. Once she regained her breath and brought her mind back to reality,

77 • ECHOES

Night STreEt, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

she noticed the bottoms of her feet were bloody and covered in dry dirt.

“Amara? Mara, are you out here again?” A loud and rather vexed voice called. She promptly recognized the deep familiar tone of her brother’s voice, and started in its direction. She passed many trees until she caught sight of Misha stumbling over a large log while shouting her name. “There you are, you little rat. I’ve been looking all over for you. Are you alright? I hate when you wander without warning. You know, if she were here, mother would kill me if she’d known I lost you.” Misha frowned at her as he glanced up, and Amara just stared at him with inexpressive eyes. He sighed.

The way Misha’s unkempt, dark hair fell over his forehead looked silly to her. He turned and began to struggle back over the log. She trailed behind him until they reached the little cave of refuge. Amara could tell her brother did not like it here, but she personally, did not mind. Before Misha entered to start a fire, he made sure to tell his little sister, sternly, not to wander again. Amara skipped to the nearby pond where Misha usually caught fish for supper, making sure that she was still visible from the cave. Her feet stung viciously as she sank them in the cool water, and when she swished them around her mind took her right back to the curious face of the bear.

ECHOES • 78

CHEMIST, ANONYMOUS, 20XX 79 • ECHOES

WHerE i'M FrOm Bret SHORT, 2023

I am from the black gold From the dirt and hole underneath, I am from the lake by the lakehouse (Restless, like the snakes underneath.)

I am from the night, the eagle who flies above the lake and below the sky.

I’m from risk and wisdom, From Will and Ben. I’m from can’t-be-too-careful’s and no-such-thing-as-risk, From stand up straight and don’t do that.

I’m from never back down and never flinch And pride in the voice.

I’m from Winfield and Canada, Spotlights and long walks.

From the head that banged the table To scoff from my mother’s mouth at my foolishness.

In a box the uniform of my father, A pride to hold within my soul.

I am those moments- yelled at before I’m told-not understanding Because I was never taught.

ECHOES • 80

KaepErNIcK Liam CONLEE, 2021

Kaepernick Perspective 1: Inspired A man once risked it all Endangering his career in football Standing up for what he believes in Kneeling for the anthem until the fin

His actions are a true inspiration Using his platform to fight oppression He’s lost much After performing in the clutch My full respect to this man Colin, A true symbol of an American Kaepernick Perspective 2: Offended A man once disrespected his nation Not rising for the playing of our anthem A man displaying such unpatriotic actions Has no place playing in our American league Immense disrespect to his homeland Disregarding those who protect him Ungrateful for his freedoms Seen as a disgrace to the sport

81 • ECHOES

PErSpECTIves Campbell FLEMMING, 2021

Perspective 1: As the national anthem sounded throughout the stadium He took a simple knee A kneel that would later cost him his job A kneel that would inspire massive controversy I was inspired by his courage His courage to protest the brutality The brutality and oppression against African-Americans Broadcasted to the whole world, his red and gold jersey flapping in the air The look of solemnity entrenched on his face A move that went beyond sports A move that impacted the nation I supported the athlete that led his team to a Superbowl I supported that he stood for his ideals and beliefs I supported that he would rather kneel for what he believed than stand for what he didn’t I supported that his message would profoundly affect the NFL Perspective 2: Aggravated and insulted I was When I saw on television A football player kneeling during a song A song that means everything to me A song that reminds me of how great my country is A song that reminds me of my freedom The disrespect which this player displayed Not only to our nation but to our veterans Who everyday fight for our freedom This disrespect shouldn’t have been tolerated This football player did not deserve to kneel This football player made millions of dollars to play the game This football player needed to shut up and play There are other ways to protest But never, should anyone, kneel during the national anthem I am glad he lost his job in the league For his utter disregard of America

ECHOES • 82

Harbour, Qinghan LI, 2020

83 • ECHOES

stEPS In HISTORY Qinghan LI, 2020

I walked away, my memories faded, The wind run over the clouds, and the shadow faded.

The sunset lies on the mountains, and the sky was dark; A flower grows weary and spring is resentful, The birds flew out of sight, and were messed up in the morning.

The long tresses are loose, youthful, faded, Tired dancing feet, eyes darkened; The two were tired and resentful, The end of the road was gone and the steps were chaotic.

It is scattered, faded, tired, dark again, It ’s okay if the grass is green, the season changes; Who is bored, resentful, who is gone, who is messed up?

Whose promises don’t count, whose love has changed?

The sea dry rock is rotten, the earth is not turning, The protagonists have changed, and love words are used to it.

I walked away, my memories faded, I was tired looking at it, and the starlight was dark; Listening to it, I got bored and started to complain.

I looked back and you’re gone, and suddenly I was lost.

ECHOES • 84

SNowY MOUNTAIN, Adelyn STULTZ, 2021

Timber RidGe, Adelyn STULTZ, 2021

85 • ECHOES

LosT

Emily JIANG, 2021 Finally, There is some similarity between you and me, When my finger passes your skin Cold as the North Pole This beautiful blue and purple on your face, your arm, your leg...

Like the thing that people talk about all the time, What is it?

Oh, aurora.

But this feeling, Burning coldly inside my chest.

It’s hurting so bad You are the one who created me, Is that what you deserved though?

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Thousands, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

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AN ODe to bRoken Doors Edward STURM, 2020

And what if hope crashes through the door?

Leaving upturned expectations in its wake.

Splintering the once stoic portal I kept so closely locked, with key.

And what if I, too, fly through that door?

Leaving dusty shelves uncleaned and room a mess.

To glimpse for just one lifetime longer At light I cannot claim to know What is the point of poetry?

If I go on living sheltered by and by, Without intruder crashing inward, Without the shock of foreign air.

What can I offer of gratitude?

In ode of shattered doors and burgeoning hope.

When all I have is all I have known, And what’s to come now lies beyond.

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STUPID DUMB POPPIES, Sense CADMAN, 2020

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YOUNG LOVE AND HEART BREAKKatlyn HARMON, 2020

Young and innocent Sweet and oh so happy A year full of joy and memories In their eyes everything seems so possible Hopeful for a lifetime of the same love Optimistic for the future Every moment with them better than the previous Butterflies for every first, such love and such innocence Simple affections, like holding hands, is all that’s needed Nothing could possibly go wrong

Over. It is all over In a split second all the feelings I had vanished After all the screams and fights.

It’s over After all of the ignored texts and long, angry paragraphs, it’s over What was once my world, is now Pluto, billions of miles away What was once my future is now my history My pillow, tear soaked and stained by my mascara The love that was once so great is gone, and all that’s left is a broken heart

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HUNTER, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

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REJECTED FROM THE WORLD Nicole SZADKOWSKA, 2021 I am hearing the same thing, over, and over.

How do you think I am supposed to endure it, this continuous rejection from people that were supposed to be the closest ones to me?

This feeling I get all the time, when I see happy humans, and I’m here all alone, no one to talk to.

It does not matter for them if I try, it does not matter if I have feelings.

Nothing is important for them other than themselves. And now, please tell me, how am I supposed to not kill those who hurt me the most, or those close ones to my creator?

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SheER, Ava JACOBSEN, 2022

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I’ lL NevEr FoRGeT Crick, crack

ROSE HUTTON, 2022

Have you ever felt your heart break, when you look at someone you’ve loved for so long.

It hurts it’s like feeling yourself die and in the midst of all your pain You’re still trying to smile and be happy for those around you even

I smiled because that was all I could do my mind went Into a million thoughts all at once I felt my stomach twist and turn into tight knots like when you’re going up and down on a roller coaster.

Those were my emotions I couldn’t control them I just wanted to hug you and never let you go

though you are literally broken inside

because I didn’t know how close you were from being in her arms.

I finally realized how much I... well I loved.. I it’s got hard to think and sometimes even hard to loved you? breathe it sucks and you can’t do anything about it but Walaaa.. live and press on.

I felt it every little feeling I felt the frustration Yes, I love you, I love you so much and I didn’t and anger want to let you go I felt the pain and the feeling of abandonment but I only knew after you faded away into the distance of time.

I felt the lost of trust slip through my fingers like I only knew when I realized you were no longer slippery soap. mine and it hurt so I felt it all when I lost you.

bad that all I could do was cry.

I never told you how I felt and I played a long when you asked for

I wanted to hate you for leaving me and making her your number

advice

one.

when you said those three simple words that cut The only thing was, it was never your fault the me from the inside time came for us to out

be done.

“I like her”

My day will come where I will pour my heart out to you every thought and every regret because losing you was a time I

Phew.. my heart rolled out of my chest and broke into tiny little piece like the glass of a broken vase or the shattering of a broken window.

could never forget.

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Echoes Q&A WITH BECKY MAnDElBAUM Author of BAD KANSAS

Sense CADMAN, 2020 How long did it take you to write the stories in Bad Kansas?

I started the earliest stories in the collection when I was 23 and still living in Lawrence. I submitted the whole thing to the Flannery O’Conner Award competition when I was 25 and had just finished my master’s in California; the book was, for the most part, my master’s thesis. So, roughly three years overall.

What challenges do you have as a writer?

That’s a great question—I’ll start with a story. When I was an undergraduate at KU, I had the honor of interviewing the poet Nikky Finney, who had just won the National Book Award. One of the first questions I asked her was, “How do you know if you should make writing your career?” (I was, of course, wanting her to give me permission to pursue writing—I was constantly doing this as a young writer and, in some ways, am still doing it today, even after two book publications, if that tells you something already.) She looked at me very seriously and said, “If you can do anything else and be happy, do that. If you can be a nurse, be a nurse. If you can be a lawyer, be a lawyer.”

She stared me down, to check that I was listening. “This is not an easy life.” I remember thinking at the time: Well, she’s a poet! That’s why it’s hard! I figured I was going to write novels, and somehow this would make everything easier. Of course, Finney was more than right; this is not an easy life. Not that anybody’s life is easy, but writing will take a straight, obvious path and twist it into a labyrinth. You will have to find a way to earn a living that leaves both the time and creative energy for writing; this is not an easy task. You will have to be flexible, you will have to make sacrifices, you will have to wake up early or stay up late at night. You will have to say no to things you want to do, you will have to say yes to things you don’t want to do. You will have to put the writing first, or it will sink to the bottom of your schedule, or your life, like a stone. You will have to truly love the writing. You will have to be obsessed. If you can do anything else and be happy…

This truly has to be the case—you have to love the work, love the simple act of sitting down and putting words on a page—or else it’s simply not worth the chaos.

Are there any moments when you feel the effects of your work on other people’s lives?

A few moments stand out. One was in Davis, California, where I went to grad school. I’d won an award from an organization called Stories on Stage, which brings in actors to read short stories at a local art gallery. At the reception, I had the pleasure of seeing the town’s poet laureate read my story “Queen of England.” The poet did a tremendous job—he had a special voice for the narrator and nailed all the jokes. When the reading was over, I was mingling with my friends when a little woman with white hair approached me, a huge smile on her face. She was probably in her 80s.

“Did you write that story?” she asked. When I told her yes, she was so excited, explaining that the relationship between the brothers in the story reminded her of the relationship she had with her sister. “The whole time, I just kept thinking about my sister. It was wonderful,” she said. I can’t be sure, but I’m assuming her sister had passed. She was just so visibly delighted—it was easily the best moment of my writing career, even though I didn’t know it at the time. Just seeing that kind of joy on someone’s face, because of something I wrote. That was something else. Recently, I received an email from a stranger saying that one of my humor articles made him laugh harder than he has in a long time. He went on to say that he suffers from PTSD and depression, and that my article made his day a little more cheerful. Truly, whatever pleasure comes from winning prizes or publishing is nothing compared to these moments. It’s easy to forget the written word is still alive despite all our digital distractions. I can read a book and think “I’m a better person having read this book,” but it’s nearly impossible to imagine a reader having that same reaction to my work. Never underestimate the kindness or generosity of readers, which brings me to another point: if you read something you love, write the author and tell them! Even if you don’t hear back, it’s never a mistake.

Did The Independent School help you become the writer that you are now?

I owe so much to Independent and the teachers I had there, specifically my English teachers.

Attending a school like Independent is such a massive privilege, one I appreciate more and more as I get older and recognize the gift of my education. I took my first creative writing class

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at Independent, and that experience really persuaded me to pursue workshops in college. I also learned a ton about how to structure my writing through debate and AP history classes—it’s not an obvious correlation, but learning to structure my thoughts in debate, and to create an essay that has a solid thesis and topic sentences and support for each argument, are skills that still influence my fiction today. Even a short story needs a thesis, even if that thesis is more in your head than on the page—character X has mistaken his homesickness for missing his ex-girlfriend; this will cause him much confusion and pain. The rest of the story can be viewed as an experiment in supporting, challenging, and possibly proving that thesis.

If you were a young high school student considering a career in writing, what advice would you give yourself now?

Read, read, read and then write, write, write. In that order. Reading is the most important thing you can do as a writer. Read writers who you admire so you can think “I hope one day to write a book as lovely as this.” Reader writers whose work you don’t admire so you can think, “One day I’m going to write a book much better than this.” Read everything, then write, and don’t be afraid of failure or wasted words, sentences, stories, or even books. I had to write literally thousands of pages of fiction before I finally wrote a story that was decent. The desert you have to cross is long, but you have to cross it if you want to reach water. Don’t be afraid to keep going.

What was your experience like at KU? Was it a good place for a young writer to study? What is the one class a young writer should definitely take?

KU was an excellent place to be a young writer. In addition to an amazing English faculty, Lawrence has such a vibrant arts culture, not only for writers but for musicians and visual artists as well. I started college as a psychology major, but one of my first classes at KU was an introductory fiction writing workshop. After that class, I was hooked, and pretty quickly switched my major to English. Aspiring writers should take all the workshops they can manage—not just in their preferred genre but in other genres as well. Not only do workshops mean you are guaranteed to read and produce a certain number of stories/poems/essays per semester, but they also introduce you to the world of criticism—how to withstand it, how to let it improve your work rather than defeat you. Writers must grow a thick skin, and workshops are a great place to accumulate your first protective layers. They’re also just great fun and an easy way to make writing friends.

Nothing, to my mind, is more wonderful than a workshop.

Who should young writers be reading?

Young writers should read whatever writing they’re organically attracted to. If you like fantasy, read fantasy. If you like mystery, read mystery. If you like queer Gothic memoirs, read queer Gothic memoirs (Carmen Maria Machado’s latest book, In the Dream House, is a great place to start). Find whatever writer gives you permission to write like you want to write, like you’d naturally write if you were born in a cave. For me, that writer was George Saunders. Reading him for the first time in college really opened up a lot of possibility for me. I was like: Wait, literary writing can be weird and funny and gross? That realization was big—but my realization is not going to be every writer’s realization. The important thing is to keep reading—new stuff, old stuff, stuff in genres you’ve never read—so that you can find the writers who speak to you.

What topics would you like to see more young people writing about?

I don’t think young people should concern themselves with topics and themes so much as what fascinates or obsesses them. There’s the saying “write what you know,” which I think really means write about the people, places, and events that you feel emotionally closest too. Write what you love or hate, write what you have feelings about. The truth of what you think and feel— even if it seems irrelevant to the larger social/political/cultural/etc. happenings of the larger world—will likely resonate with readers more than if you artificially manufacture a story around a predetermined theme. So, to answer the question in another way: I think young writers should write about their own experience, whatever that may be.

What are you working on now?

I’ve started a novel that takes place in Wichita, where I grew up, and which follows the friendship of two young girls as they fall in and out of love—with their families, with Judaism, with men, with Kansas, and with each other.

Find more of Becky’s work at: beckymandelbaum.com !

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SPIDEREY, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

FLAshLiGHT, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

ECHOES • 98

DivIDED BY BLUE Edward STURM, 2020 FIction: Runner-Up Cast Anaya: Student. Sweet and caring, friend to Sam, 15-18 Sam: Student. Blind, but sees more than those around him, good natured, friend to Anaya, 15-18.

Jackson: Student. Capable and reflective, but burdened by his father’s second marriage, 17-20.

Richard: Church employee. Organized and easily irritated, not particularly concerned with others, late thirties.

Setting Modern day. Open church sanctuary, two hours before a wedding.

Scene 1 Lights come up on an open church sanctuary that is being prepared for a wedding. ANAYA and SAM stand left looking out. SAM has with him a cane and ANAYA looks occasionally at her phone.

ANAYA So there’s a big tree. And, in the distance, uh, some mountains and a city——looks like a palace. Maybe an ancient fort. In between, the ocean is bright blue.

SAM Don’t use colors.

ANAYA Right. Sorry.

SAM No, it’s fine. You’re doing well.

ANAYA Um. It’s Monet.

SAM What’s the description?

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ANAYA She struggles to find it on her phone. Reading.

Monet chose to paint this view looking across the water to Antibes to express sweetness itself——white, pink, blue...

SAM Walking away with a laugh.

Screw it.

ANAYA Sorry. When I told you that there was a gallery in town, I didn’t think you’d want to come see it...or...you know what I mean.

SAM I’m glad you asked me. Nobody has ever done that.

ANAYA Has anyone ever tried to explain colors to you?

SAM Don’t do it. They’ve tried. Water is blue; cold or ice is blue; the sky is blue. How can the sky and ice be the same thing? That’s weird to me.

SAM reaches out to touch the canvas before him. ANAYA runs to stop him.

ANAYA Don’t touch it.

SAM Why not? That’s how I see.

ANAYA They don’t like that here. It’s against the rules.

SAM Who is they? Where is everyone?

ANAYA Struggling to maintain the illusion.

I don’t know. I thought it would be busier.

RICHARD enters the sanctuary, having heard noise. As he speaks, ANAYA rushes over to him.

RICHARD What are you doing in here?

ANAYA motions to RICHARD, trying to get him to understand.

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ANAYA We’re just looking at the gallery.

RICHARD What are you talking about? We’re preparing for a wedding right now.

SAM Who is getting married at an art museum?

RICHARD I’m sorry. There’s some sort of misunderstanding.

Before SAM can question further or a nervous ANAYA can interject, JACKSON enters looking for RICHARD. JACKSON Excuse me? Mr. Frank?

RICHARD That would be me.

JACKSON I take it you run the show here?

RICHARD Guilty as charged.

JACKSON Great. I’m Jackson, Jeff Arnold’s, uh, son. He sent me over early to check on the wedding preparations.

RICHARD Right. I’m afraid we haven’t seen the caterers yet. I was told they were supposed to be here at ten.

JACKSON Shit. Uh. Let me see.

Jackson begins to text.

SAM Jackson. What do you see?

ANAYA (A sharp whisper) Sam.

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SAM No, I want to know. How would you describe this painting to someone who’s never seen before?

JACKSON Who’s never seen what before?

SAM Anything.

JACKSON Oh. Uh...what painting?

ANAYA Trying to make it clear to him.

My friend and I just came to look at the art. Do you come to the museum often?

ANAYA continues to gesture.

JACKSON Well, I always have enjoyed painting, but I don’t know what museum you mean.

Realizes, makes a decision to join the illusion.

Oh. Alright. I come here every month or so.

RICHARD Listen guys, I don’t know what you’re playing, but you need to get out of here.

JACKSON It’s okay. Let them stay for another minute.

RICHARD (Displeased) Alright. I’ll be downstairs He exits. ANAYA hands JACKSON her phone.

ANAYA We were just looking at this piece.

JACKSON Untitled Blue Divided by Blue, 1966, Mark Rothko.

SAM What is it?

JACKSON Well it’s blue.

ECHOES • 102

SAM Don’t use colors.

JACKSON Oh. Right. Sorry.

SAM Keep going.

JACKSON There are three blocks. A big one on top, and then a narrow one in the middle, and another big one on the bottom.

SAM Is that all?

JACKSON No. No no, that’s not it. There’s something about it that-that pulls you. Imagine you’re standing on a cliff. You know what a cliff is, right?

SAM (Amused) Yeah I know what a cliff is.

As JACKSON speaks, ANAYA watches carefully the way that SAM hears the explanation.

JACKSON Of course. So you’re standing on a cliff and you’re staring down into an ocean. And there’s something that makes you so sure that you want to jump. But not in, like, a scary way.

There’s something exciting about it, and optimistic, and bright.

SAM It’s like this moment. Isn’t it?

JACKSON Yeah. It is. Here I am, my dad’s about to get married to a woman who is not my mom. He’s sent me here to deal with the church event planner. The caterers are not here. But we are looking at a Rothko.

ANAYA Quietly, to JACKSON Thank you RICHARD enters again.

RICHARD Jackson, the florist called and they will be running behind schedule. Please meet me downstairs.

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JACKSON Okay.

RICHARD exits.

SAM Thank you, uh, for that. My name’s Sam. This is Anaya.

JACKSON You two know each other?

ANAYA From school.

SAM I’m sorry about your mom, Jackson.

JACKSON She’s not dead or anything. My dad just left her.

SAM Right.

JACKSON They’re all getting ready with the family. I suppose he would rather have me here.

ANAYA Should we talk about another painting?

SAM Sure. What’s next?

JACKSON The modern wing?

ANAYA Modern...section.

SAM How big is this museum?

JACKSON Looking to Anaya without a clue.

Pretty big.

RICHARD enters again.

ECHOES • 104

RICHARD Jackson, no one is here yet. Have you heard back from the restaurant?

JACKSON (Absently) Not yet.

RICHARD (Seeing SAM and ANAYA) What are you still doing here?

JACKSON We were just looking at the paintings.

ANAYA goes to JACKSON with the phone and shows him the painting, trying to get him to join.

RICHARD Are you delusional, is that what it is? You’re in the sanctuary of a church. This isn’t a goddamn art museum. Call the restaurant.

He exits.

ANAYA Sam, I’m sorry.

JACKSON I didn’t mean to...

SAM (Smiling) I know where we are.

JACKSON and ANAYA are taken aback, but begin to laugh after realizing the irony of the moment.

ANAYA You do?

SAM Anaya, we walked into an empty building that smells like cedar and velvet. There isn’t an art museum in town, anyway.

JACKSON You weren’t gonna tell us?

SAM Why would I? ANAYA I’m sorry for lying about the museum.

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SAM No. Thank you for lying about the museum.

JACKSON When did you lose your sight? Sorry, that was really forward.

SAM You’re fine. It happened when I was a baby, so I don’t remember anything about seeing.

Don’t know what I’m missing. It’s not that different——I don’t think——living with sight and without it, just, divided by blue.

JACKSON I thought you said not to use colors.

SAM We can use that one. I know what it means now. So what do you really see here?

JACKSON I see rows of pews. I see a pipe organ. I see stairs that I’ll have to walk up carrying a ring pretending that I’m not thinking about my mom. But then I see you two. A boy with blue in his eyes and a girl with a boy in her heart.

I’ll see you.

He exits. There is a beat.

ANAYA Thank you for coming with me today.

SAM Any time.

ANAYA We should find a real art gallery someday.

SAM For me, there’s a gallery wherever you are.

ANAYA hesitates and then quickly kisses SAM on the cheek.

Blackout.

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Mr GreEn, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

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SKETCHBoOK, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020 ECHOES • 108

LOWROSE, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

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FilED, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

ECHOES • 110

Carter WEILERT, 2022

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Carter WEILERT, 2022

ECHOES • 112

The ParK In ThE DaRK Ava JACOBSEN, 2022

How I’d love to go For a stroll in the park To see the flowers Glowing in the absence of dark How I’d love to smell The fresh blooming air To walk around Freely, with no care Life would be easy I wouldn’t have to worry I wouldn’t be in charge I’d never be in a hurry But this paradise I’ve concocted Is but a mere image of hope I remember it daily To help myself cope I dream of this place As I go to my bed The flowers and air Are fresh in my head As the night settles in I’ve got two chores left To put down my kid And take out the trash My mind in a blur Still holding my child I carry the trash It swings like its wild I toss it aside the last of my daily’s I realize inside I’ve thrown out my baby

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I’ M BAbY, Sense CADMAN, 2020

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ADHD

Peyton FARBER, 2022 Non-Fiction: First Place

When you first arrived in this alternate universe called life, you opened your eyes to the possibilities of the world. You reached for branches to swing on before you could walk, and this became your life’s goal. To skip the warm up and jump right into the good stuff. You were the brightest light in the room, and at a young age it was praised, you were called “outgoing” and “joyful.” But as you grew up, the world grew bitter. It began to shut the blinds on your light, trying to kill everything you once were.

It is so funny how your disability is only looked at from the perspective of others. They use what you can’t control as their inconvenience. You will apologize for acting up at the family events, you will bite your tongue in situations where you want nothing more than to speak. You will fall asleep in church to avoid the embarrassment of your twitching leg, your constant head moving, the endless page turning of your life story playing in your head. You will wonder why it couldn’t have been your sister. Why you had to always be referred to as the other kid, the one that people assume exists, but don’t know for sure.

Your parents will leave you at home, as you are too much of an embarrassment to take out.

You sit at home alone with your video games and food, every young boy’s dream, right?

You will finally remember how good food tastes when it is not being forced down your throat. You will begin to remember what it feels like to be hungry again. As time passes it’s the only feeling that is real to you. The world will label you with the most harsh words they can utter, you will become their inconvenience. After all, it is easier to hate and push away than it is to try to understand.

After your attempt of avoiding situations, you will be told to do more than just sit.

Like a dog is put in a kennel and asked why it never leaves. You will tell them they made you this way. That they cared more about their lives being easy then your life being lived.

You turn to your friends but their backs were more recognizable than their faces ever were. You always got caught in drama because you just wanted to please everyone. When they talked about you, you listened. You handed them your words as invitations and nobody showed up to the party. I wish I could go back to being nine years old, before you thought I hated you, and tell you that I would never hate you. I would tell you that this world sucks, and it is trying to kill your brightness. But aren’t you so lucky to be able to love the world so much that you want to do everything at once. Isn’t it beautiful that you want to know everyone’s name? How even those who have hurt you, who have tried so hard to put out the fire in your eyes, you still would do anything for them to accept you?

I wish I could go back to that time but I can’t. And now it’s up to you. It’s up to you to show the world that it needs to change before you ever do. That you are not an inconvenience, you are a human being. Because you live in a world where speaking is disrespectful, wanting to understand is frowned upon, and “take 5” is a milligram of medication, not a candy bar. I am jealous of your incredible ability to love, to embrace challenges and to always persist. Let this world teach you how truly amazing you are, and that you are a treasure everyone deserves to know. You have traded your happiness for their satisfaction for too long. It is time to reach for the branch, jump with courage, and meet those who are tall enough to see eye to eye.

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DIRECTIONLESS MULTITASKING, Malina Kae WAGNER, 2020

Art: First Place

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AWARDS ! • ECHOES

Cover: “Contact” by Kae Wagner

Art 1st Place: “Directionless Multitasking” by Malina Kae Wagner Runner-Up: “Big Boy Billiken” by Sense Cadman

Fiction 1st Place: “Calm of the Beast” by Olivia Sutton Runner-Up: “Divided by Blue” by Edward Sturm Also nominated: “Canvas” by Malina Kae Wagner

Non-fiction 1st Place: “ADHD” by Peyton Farber Runner-Up: “Tragedy as a Source of Strength”

by Nitai Dasa Also nominated: “My Life in Colors” by Sense Cadman “A Beautiful World” by Olivia Sutton

Poetry, Lyrics & Translations 1st Place: “Where I’m From” by Charlie Daaod Runner-Up: “Torn Photograph” by Seniors ECHOES • !

ECHoeS Malina Kae WAGNER Editor-In-Chief Art and Photography Editor

Sense CADMAN Poetry and Translations Editor Short Stories & One Acts Assistant Editor

Sam LI Essays & Reviews Assistant Editor Art, Photography & Design Assistant Editor

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STAFF Ava JACOBSEN Short Stories & One Acts Editor Poetry Assistant Editor

Jason LIU Essays, Lists & Reviews Editor

Amanda EVANS Sponsor and Coordinator

ECHOES • !

INDEX

Meghan Ariagno - 15 Malgorzata Byczkowska - 60, 76 Sense Cadman - 1, 5, 13, 14, 35, 50, 73, 74, 89, 95, 96, 114 Jillian Capps - 2, 21, 45, 46 Dylan Carnley - 70 Liam Conlee - 81 Nitai Dasa - 3 Charlie Daood - 67 Peter Daood - 1, 8, 22, 35, 43 Leah Dean - 59 Julia Douglas - 25 Deena Eichhorn - 1, 35, 61, 62, 63, 64, Peyton Farber - 21, 26, 28, 115 Campbell Flemming - 82 Kaitlyn Harmon - 47 Rose Hutton - 29, 94 Ava Jacobsen - 53, 54, 55, 56, 71, 72, 93 Emily Jiang - 86 Janai Jennings - 36 Natalie Johnson - 1, 35 Uday Kabirpanthi - 52 Sam Li - 11, 35, 83, 84 Jason Liu- 9, 24, 44, 71 Joselyn Lu - 12, 32 Maya Mikity - 16 Hanna Sheck - 23, 40 Bret Short - 80 Gage Solomon - 57 Adelyn Stultz - 85 Edward Sturm - 88, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106 Olivia Sutton - 17, 18, 19, 38, 77 Nicole Szadkowska - 92 Hayden Tyson - 66 Ari Villipando - 10 Malina Kae Wagner - 4, 6, 33, 34, 39, 41, 42, 47, 48, 51, 58, 65, 74, 78, 87, 91, 97, 98,

107, 108, 109, 110, 116 Carter Wielert - 20, 27, 30, 37, 49, 67, 68, 75, 111, 112 Unfortunatley, due to COVID-19, the Echoes Staff could not solidly confirm authors and artists this year. These unclaimed works are listed as ANONYMOUS. ANONYMOUS: 22, 31, 48, 48, 62, 64, 69, 79, 90

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SPECIAL THANKS

Thank you to all our judges!

ART: Mrs. Veronica Dowty FICTION: Mrs. Jennifer Alexander NON-FICTION: Mrs. Michelle Bolin POETRY: Ms. Monica Patiño

CONGRATULATIONS to Volume 23 of Echoes for a

REALM First-Class Award!

ECHOES • !

THE INDEPENDENT SCHOOL 8317 E Douglas Ave. Wichita, KS 67207