Montage 2019 by Emmanuel Montage

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1 2 3 4 6 7 8 9 10 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 22 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 43

Reflect— Sara Duarte Wild— Rebecca Spangler The Burning of the Toast— Scott Ellington Put It on Record— Daniela Ramirez Refugee Poem— Natalie Hayes God’s Glory in Barcelona— Rachel Reshonsky After Anna Akhmatova— Benjamin Ellis After Anna Akhmatova— Amanda Mazukiewicz The Snowflake— Daniel Wood Pressure— Ethan Johnson Color— Sara Duarte Why I Smile— Anna Trotsenko Water— Sara Duarte Untitled— Philip Currie Not Always Equal— Hannah Chavis Not Selfish Enough— Grace Ashworth The Big Break— Deven Perez Untitled— Lindsay Fowler Growing in the Dark— Moriah Logue Untitled— Caitlin Welch Untitled— Natalie Hayes Timely Manner— Hannah Smith Voices—We Value Justice— Hannah Smith Black and White— Sara Duarte Song Cry— Bradford Jerrigan Midnight Beauty: Fontana di Trevi— Rachel Reshonsky Religion: After the Work of Pablo Neruda— Katlyn Kesler What She Doesn’t Know— Ashlee Hodge Casual— Sara Duarte Character Dialogue— Gabriel Harrison The “Weight” on my Shoulders— Daniel Wood

TABLE OF CONTENTS

47 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 61 62 63 64 68 69 70 71 72 74 75

Invisible—Emilee Williams Untitled—Natalie Hayes Shadows—Megan Brady Chill—Sara Duarte You and Me—Ashlee Hodge I Don’t—Maleah Matthews My Life—Quinn Tomasino Ramen Noodle Soup—Deven Perez Gran—Emilee Williams Untitled—Natalie Hayes From W.S. Merwin’s “To Paula in Late Spring”— Royce Peterson Eyes Wide Closed—Anonymous There are numerous stories…”— Anonymous Untitled— Natalie Hayes Canary and the Crow— Carol-Ann Worsham Tattered Wings and Broken Things— Ashlee Hodges Italy at sunset on top of Castel Sant’Angelo— Rachel Reshonsky Untitled— Maran Player Wrestling— Charline Hagemaster Final Notes (A Triptych)— Paul Petrovic

Character Monologue— Hannah Chavis

Who am I?— Katlyn Kesler

Dear Best Friend— Bryce Phillips

Control— Bryce Phillips

Dodie— Ragan Weese

home— Allison Sarna

Avenue des arbres à Chenonceau— Ann Ashworth

Awesome— Brandon Payne

MONTAGE STAFF ----

EDITORS Grace Ashworth Rachel Reshonsky Allison Sarna Hannah Smith Ragan Weese

DESIGNER Kerrigan Rhodes

FACULTY SPONSORS Kyle Garrett Nathan Gilmour

“Reflect” Sara Duarte

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Wildâ&#x20AC;? After Mary Oliver Rebecca Spangler Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous To be understood. An everyday subtlety, as effortlessly as the Sun rises, A beautiful creature just existing. Not demanding attention, Intricately curious, ever present. Radiating peculiarities, Captivating every eye with a touch of obscurity, Suspicious and chaotic, mild in manner but untamed. Unsuspectingly, we stumble upon them, Keeping the little mysteries to ourselves, For our own selfish enjoyment. But they are not ours to keep, The wild is alive in the mystery surrounding them.

‘The Burning of the Toast’ Scott Ellington A cheerful puff of smoke, a singed cockcrow unfurling like our regimental colors granting grace and gravitas, announcing day’s beginning. For though the earth would dance her circlet and sun peel himself unbidden and unaided from beneath night’s canopy, only acrid fingers beckoning from the kitchen door, proclaiming yet another culinary martyrdom, could serve as sure and certain sign that all was well and day could safe process. Such sooty signal mocked once more our daily hunt for that we never thought to catch the proffered quarry, to be on time for once. Unblemished air would mark no subtle failing, surety we’d slumbered at our post. And so it was we celebrated, trumpeted, and crass proclaimed a simple, steadfast liturgy uncorrupted in its faithful execution. And though my hair has grayed and time has misted years, with tenderness I long recall at each day’s breaking how oft we soft saluted with comfortable and customary worship that most reverent family ritual, the burning of the toast.

“Put It On Record” Daniela Ramirez Put it on record I am a Mexican I am one of many The 2nd child of 3 First generation to go to college What is there to complain about? Put it on record I am a Mexican A student athlete embracing the grind In my studies and on the wrestling mat I have a baby sister For her I take on the sleepless nights With my face buried in my books, from my dorm For her I sweat and bleed, from the mat I don’t take your jobs, I earn them I don’t sell your kids drugs or arm them with guns What’s there to be angry about? Put it on record I am a Mexican A woman in a culture of men by men In a country of opportunity, but not free to all Living in a world of stigmas and prejudices My roots In a country I fled from poverty and hunger My father from a family I don’t know My grandfather the son of a drunk viejo, a studious joven, a man of numbers My house made of bricks and wood Does my status satisfy you?

Put it on record I am a Mexican Color of hair: Dark brown Color of eyes: Dark brown My distinguishing features: Squinted eyes, oval head, and a natural tan My address: A city in the desert, small, but growing With purple skies and giant cactuses It’s streets busy with cars and bikes Day and night What’s there to be mad about? Put it on record I am a Mexican You opened your country to me, but suddenly shut it’s doors You take my cuisines and and change them with your “special touch” You put on your sombreros, throwback some tequila, on the 5th of Mayo on a day important to everyone But us You took the land of my people, forced them out of their homes, all in exchange for a little bit of your dinero So! Put it on record I don’t kill I don’t rape I don’t traffic drugs I’m documented and naturalized I paid your fees, I signed your papers I learned your language, I learned your history And I pledged my allegiance to your red, white, and blue What’s there to complain about?

“Refugee Poem” Natalie Hayes Inspiration: The New Colossus on the statue of liberty Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. “Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

“God’s Glory in Barcelona” Rachel Reshonsky

Benjamin Ellis (After Anna Akhmatova: “No foreign sky protected me. / no stranger’s wing shielded my face/...”) After Anna Akhmatova: No foreign sky protected me. No stranger’s wing shielded my face. No one person helped me up. No human has made me whole. No activity makes me feel fulfilled. No body satisfies me. No want is greater than this. But this want will not overcome me. But these bodies are not the target. But activities are not the way. But humans can help find wholeness. But one person will be with me for all my life. But a stranger can become a friend. But under a foreign sky change can come.

“After Anna Akhmatova:” Amanda Mazurkiewicz No foreign sky protected me. No stranger’s wing shielded my face. Yet I continued to march through the woods, Commanding to myself that I’d be okay. I escaped my town of worry and hate, I left those pieces behind me. I tried to open my eyes to the world, Yet all that was seen was darkness. I travelled onward into the black forest, Pondering what I’d see next. But my dark, scary past hindered me, And I knew there was nothing ahead. The world had shown me that I was alone, That I wouldn’t get through this defeat. And how did I come to realize this? Because No foreign sky protected me.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Snowflakeâ&#x20AC;? Daniel Wood As I looked out the car window I saw a white flake, And watched it fall to the ground Where others began to cake. It was beautiful And fell swiftly and innocent, I began to wonder if this perfect snowflake Was so perfect to be heaven sent. It was unusual to see, As it only visits once in a while, However it gave me great joy And on my face painted a smile. I had never seen something So beautiful and clean, It was unlike anything else That I had ever seen. As I got out of the car I began to scan, Every little detail As it had layed upon the land. It brought me great happiness This much was true, But never did I realize That it would be gone so soon.

I would have done anything To keep it here longer, However the more I thought about it The more I began to wonder. There was a reason it had come And a reason it had left, But I never thought That it would leave me here by myself. Every day after All I could think, Was of that beautiful sight That I witnessed sink. All the joy it brought Was here no more, And now I wondered What life had in store. I tried to move on And enjoy the other seasons, But there was something about that snowflake And I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know the reason. It seemed to always make room Somewhere in my mind, And I thought that one day it would come back If I just gave it time.

As a year passed I began to lose hope, That snowflake was never coming back But what else would help me cope? One day As I began my daily routine, Something felt different Not everything was what it seemed. I looked out the door And a surprise to my eye, After a long, hard year It had finally arrived. It was still as beautiful As it was when it first left, And the feelings that I once had I again felt. And as I thought of the future All I could say, Was I hope it would never leave again And this time she would stay.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Pressureâ&#x20AC;? Ethan Johnson I stand at the stake Pressure mounting Wrist flexing and feet finding balance The string comes back Gone forever Yet, in a flash The target sits rocking Was the shot my savior Or a demon from my hand Fate decided in a shot Adrenaline dumping like the rain from above It struck true I stand atop the hill A future decided Knees still shake for hours Feet nearly fail me from exhaustion Relief Adrenaline A weekend and a name Forever paired in fate A journey has begun And it leads me To this moment here now Where there are other like me Passion pursuing Perfection minded people All around I hear their sounds And see Their efforts fruition

“Color” Sara Duarte

“Why I Smile” Anna Trotsenko When people see me, I am usually smiling. To me smiling, isn’t a mask it’s who I am. I could be having the worst day of my life or immensely depressed, but I will still smile to someone. To me smiling is a weapon against depression and anxiety. It’s not just some expression on your face to indicate to people that you’re having a good day. When someone smiles at you, stranger or not, it makes you feel something. I hate it when people think I am “putting on a mask” when I smile to people even though I am dying inside. The reason I smile is for a different reason. Love. As someone who has lived without love before, smiling is a small indicator of hope that there is still love to be felt. I smile to people even when I am hurting because if I smile to someone and it makes their day, then it is worth it all. You never know who you impact so why not impact everyone you can? We are all human and we all experience hurt. We need to be a society where we lift each other up, rather than live in a “what’s in it for me” mentality.

“Water” Sara Duarte

“Untitled” Philip Currie I am just an average college student trying to get higher education. I feel like I could give much more effort and enthusiasm. I wonder if everyone around me wonders if they are “just doing enough to get by” I hear teachers giving plenty of opportunities for open discussion I see myself one day being able to say what I am thinking in the right settings I understand I have no reason to hold back in the classroom since I am paying for my education I say little but I think about so many things I dream that when I do speak up, that what I say is correct I try my best to prepare and not let my nerves get the best of me I hope that I will be more confident in my work as the semester goes on I want to be able to not get nervous when it comes to speaking up and voicing my opinions I pretend that being quiet keeps me from embarrassing myself and will make me be a reserved and laidback type of person. I get upset when I think about how there is no reason to be reserved or nervous and not speak up if I want to answer.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Not Always Equalâ&#x20AC;? Hannah Chavis What reads failure to one to another reads success. What one calls a warm up another calls their best. We all have our talents. We each have struggles, too. What some consider easy, others cannot do. What one does see as grand another sees as low. What someone calls a boost another calls a blow. What one holds quite dearly another passes by. What brings one to laughter brings someone else to cry. What one views as treasure another throws away. What one fights to death for another views as play. What one believes as truth another mocks and scorns. What one person celebrates another ignores. What gains one good image just tears another down. What makes one face to smile makes another to frown. What feels pleasant to one, another calls a sting. What one thinks as torture, to another is a dream.

“Not Selfish Enough” Grace Ashworth She stares ahead, seeing the road but unable to focus on it. A song plays over the car’s speakers, one that she would usually sing along with. But today her lips remain still. The skin is dry and cracking from the harsh, cold air coming from the air conditioning vents pointed at her face. She can’t even muster up the energy to turn the air down. When she gets home, she takes the keys out of the ignition and picks up her backpack before walking into the house, mind racing with all the assignments she has to complete by the end of the week and how much she does not want to do them. She really just wants to sleep. If she lived alone that’s exactly what she would do. Listen to the Dear Evan Hansen soundtrack as she showers and then collapses on the bed to sleep for thirteen hours. Is that considered a depression sleep? She doesn’t know. But instead she has to write a speech for her communications class tomorrow. She needs to get at least a C on this speech to pass the class. A C is what she received on her last speech, and with this one she has even less of an idea of where to start. Then there’s English, a ten page paper that needs to be edited extensively, and PE notes to memorize. It isn’t a lot of schoolwork, but even this small amount is overwhelming to her.

She goes to bathe several hours later, at least half of her work still unfinished. Her father, brother, and sisters lie asleep in their beds as she quietly showers. She looks at the razor hanging from the rack. She wonders if she’ll ever use it. But this time, she turns away and grabs the bottle of shampoo instead. That night she dreams a horrible dream, and wakes at four am wracked with guilt for an act she did not commit. That morning her mind reminds her she isn’t worthy of breakfast. She eats a muffin anyways. On the drive to school she remembers again how easy it would be to turn the steering wheel and crash. She continues straight ahead. At lunch she struggles to eat a sandwich. That afternoon she feels awful for eating a piece of chocolate. That night she stares at the razor longer than any night before. She finally falls asleep after three hours of silent crying and reminders that she isn’t good enough. She screwed up. She is a screw up. She isn’t worthy of the title of Christian, she doesn’t even know if she believes in God.

Of course she believes in God. But even demons believe in God. They believe in God and tremble. She believes in God and doesn’t know what comes after that. No one would love her if they knew. Nobody should love her, she isn’t worth it. Each day she falls a little farther. She stares at the razor more often, one time she even picked it up. She stares at the small portion of food and wonders if she should put it away. She scratches at her wrist, but that’s as far as it goes. She draws lines on her thighs with a Sharpie, but nothing more. Because she knows that if she takes the blade and even just places it against her wrist, it will dig in. And then it won’t leave. She knows that if she skips even one meal it will become a competition to see how little she can eat and how long she can go between nourishment. If she takes even one more step towards the hole, she will fall in, and she will never come out. And she isn’t selfish enough to do that.

“The Big Break” Deven Perez It was the summer of 8th grade, I decided I was going to play high school football. At the time I was under 100 pounds and stood under 5 feet tall. I had no business being involved in the sport. The upperclassmen would hit me harder than everyone else to make a statement that I didn’t belong on a football field. I was a pain to my coaches because I wasn’t athletic and had little football knowledge. At football camps, the other players made smart comments and told me that I belonged in pee wee football. The other freshman who I thought were my “friends,” were too occupied trying to fit in to have my back. I had nobody who had hope in me, no one to support me, no one to call a friend. This experience led me to Jesus Christ. Every time I was criticized I was on my knees praying to God. Even though I was the weakest link, I strived to be the hardest worker. After practice I would hit the weight room while the “talented players” rested. As soon as my dad came home, he would practice catching with me. My dad taught me not to quit, and he wouldn’t let me quit no matter how many times I told him I wanted to. Every game I was benched, but I had faith in God that he would let me shine due to all the hard work I had put into this sport. After 2 years of hard work, I improved. I made plays, I was stronger, faster, and proved people wrong. Yet, I was still on the sidelines. It was the practice before the state championships, everyone gave 100% effort. During kickoff, I had my eyes on the receiver, sweat dripped down my helmet, I sprinted as hard as I could. My breathing intensified, my adrenaline kicked in and I collided with the receiver. It was a great hit, except I was on the floor and the receiver was still standing. I felt my arm go numb, and as I looked up I immediately looked away from the sight of my broken arm. The next day, I came home to my mother, who was extremely worried about me. “I’m not going to let you play football next year,” My mom said.

I was furious at that moment. My mom did not have any idea how much effort I had put into this sport. How many times I was criticized but persevered. She was not there when I was praying to God and having faith that he would answer my prayer. She didn’t see me crying in the locker room because I was picked on and overlooked. All the struggle I went through, all the work I put in, just to let it go to waste. “Mom just let me play, I’m going to be a starter next year” I said. “You’re a starter on the wrestling team. Isn’t that good enough?” My mom replied. I was devastated. I thought that hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work. I guess it was just an inspirational quote used by those too proud to admit they sucked. I questioned God for a long time. Why did God let this happen to me? I forgave those who bullied me. I was weak, but I worked harder than everyone. No one had faith in me, but I had faith in God. Did God even care about what I went through? I thought God was a good God. I thought God answered prayers. The day I took my cast off, I decided it was time to work hard for wrestling season. If my efforts went unnoticed in football, then my efforts were going to shine in wrestling. The second I stepped on the mat, I made it my goal to become a wrestling state champion. I believed it, I could taste it, I could envision it. It was as if God gave me the desire in my heart the second I stepped on the mat. To others, this was a goal too high to reach. The Native Alaskan wrestlers have wrestled since they were in diapers. I just came out of an injury and only had 1 year of experience. I had only 2 years to win a title that someone had spent their whole lives devoted to. The first thing I did was cut 20 pounds to get to my desired weight class. It was tough, but I reminded myself that if Jesus can go 40 days without food, 2 weeks was nothing. Despite being hungry, I was stronger than ever. According to my coaches I was the strongest in my weight class. “How do you do it?” My coaches asked, “you cut the most weight on the team, but you’re always first in sprints, your strong, and you don’t complain.”

“I work hard,” I said. Hard work; it’s something I developed when I was playing football. I now realized why God had put me through the sport. Because of football, my mindset was stronger than everyone else in my weight class. I could accept criticism, I worked hard, I had faith in God, and I could bounce back from setbacks no matter how many times I failed. It was the ACS tournament, the most important tournament of the year. This was the tournament that gave the top 5 wrestlers a ranking going in to state. If you placed 1st at this tournament, you were ranked number 1 going into the state championships. This was my moment, I knew it was going to be my rival -Jarius Allain- and I in the finals. Jarius Allain was a Native Alaskan from Bethel. He was bigger than me, and more experienced. I’ve wrestled him 4 times previously before the ACS tournament but lost every time. The first time I ever wrestled him, he had me on my back for all 3 periods and beat me 12 to 0. A typical wrestler would have lost hope after taking a loss that badly, but I didn’t. My persevering spirit and my faith in God held on to the promise of becoming a state champion. Jarius Allain and I were the top 2 wrestlers in our weight class at the time due to our stats leading up to the ACS tournament, so I had high hopes of being in the finals. Unfortunately, I took 4th place and didn’t come close to the finals that tournament. I remember I went upstairs and cried in a dark hallway. There was no way I was going to beat the kids that placed higher than me. I sacrificed so many meals, kept my faith in God, never complained, worked harder than everyone else just to place 4th. Why does God do this to me? Why does God let my hard work go to waste? I cried some more, but my attention quickly went off my circumstances to a poster. The poster read: “You will give up on yourself before God gives up on you. Success comes to those who wait on the Lord, as long as you work hard while you wait.”

That poster encouraged my spirit, and I continued my season with confidence in God. Every day I strived to work harder than I did the last practice. This drive that I had within me pushed me to become a better athlete leading up to the state tournament. December 16th, 2017 marked the day of the state tournament. After a numerous amount of matches I made it to the finals! I was closer to reaching my goal than ever before and nothing was going to convince me that I was going to lose my finals match. I stepped onto the mat as Jarius watched me warm up for our finals match. I tried not to make eye contact with Jarius, but when I did, I saw him sitting on the mat relaxed. Why was he relaxed? Why wasn’t he warming up? The simple gesture of relaxation really got to my head, and it was intimidating; it was as if he knew he was going to win so he didn’t need to prepare. Suddenly, I thought about God’s promise, and my worries went away. I got on my knees and prayed: “God, I know you didn’t take me this far just to let me lose. I already know I got the victory. The only reason I’m on my knees right now, is so that everybody in this arena will know that I won because of prayer. Amen.” I got off my knees and stepped on the line. I looked my opponent in the eye. My heart anxiously waited for the whistle to blow; it felt like was waiting for a solid 10 minutes. Finally, I heard the blow of the whistle. My mind was still processing that this was happening, the most important match of my life. I was breathing heavily, he took a shot and grabbed my leg. I scrambled out of his strong grip in a panic and I was back on my feet. We circled around, trying to decide when to shoot. Having only 30 seconds left I scored the first point. The whistle blew, marking the end of the 1st period. By now, I was safe because I was leading. By the 3rd period I was up by 1 point. There was only 1-minute left, I took a shot and grabbed a hold of 1 leg, and I got him on his back into a cradle. The crowd was cheering, but I was too focused to notice. He escaped the pin and now he was down by 2. He was one shot away from tying the score. Now I was nervous. My heart was beating faster but I tried to remain calm.

30 seconds left, he took another shot. I gasped, and my heart stopped, he had a hold of me. He drove his feet into the mat and as I was falling I jumped out of bounds. I took a couple breaths after that stressful moment. I looked at the clock and I thanked God. I was 7 seconds away from becoming a state champion. After the state tournament, I felt empty. Was this it? I won a state title, now what? I felt so unfulfilled and I had no goals, no purpose, or no direction. It never came to my mind that I could wrestle in college. My mind was so focused on winning a state title, that wrestling in college never came to mind. During Christmas break, I spent hours trying to contact coaches. I had no idea where to start. I had no colleges in mind except the Division 1 colleges and the Air Force Academy. I thought to myself that I was good in High School, but not good enough for Division 1. I felt hopeless. Where do I start? Who do I contact? Who would want me -a 106 pounder- to wrestle at 125 pounds? I stopped questioning myself and put my focus on God. “God, I’ve been in this position before; hopeless with no sense of direction. Yet, when I felt hopeless, you had bigger plans for me that I couldn’t imagine. Father, please lead me to a college that will allow me to continue this sport. I know you have big plans for me, especially when I feel hopeless. God, I trust you. Amen,” I prayed.

After I ended my prayer, I got a phone call: “I’m Coach Davis of the Men’s wrestling

program at Emmanuel College. How you doin Deven?” He said.

Lindsay Fowler

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Growing in the Darkâ&#x20AC;? Moriah Logue After Pablo Neruda: I do not want to go on being a root in the dark Growing yet never seeing where I am going Lost in a sea of waves that lead to never ending darkness With a current that carries me to destinations unknown When my feet hit the shore, I am still lost, searching for something to guide me Searching for a glimmer of hope that will bring me closer to light Will I ever find the glowing warmth of light that calls my name but never appears What was a gentle whisper now has turned into a harsh scream A voice that seems to haunt me Beckoning me to move but to where The waves gave me no shelter No light had ever found me as I grew in the dirt I ask myself the questions why I am here, what am I searching for Will I ever know, or will the darkness continue to surround me

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Untitledâ&#x20AC;? Caitlin Welch The wind blows through the empty Naked from their leafy companions Walking through the forest The only feeling is isolation The trek is always continuous Feeling endless Comfort is the mystery But the only solution is breathless Another whisper is wanted But is not to be found It is the only treasure Except its not around The search may continue Although it might never return It can always be looked for While my soul continues to burn The fight will go on And it may never cease Because my heart will not stop beating Until there can be peace

“Untitled” Natalie Hayes

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Timely Mannerâ&#x20AC;? Hannah Smith

Yesterday blinks its bleary eyes While Tomorrow stands at attention We only have Today The Future is always just out of reach Now fills us with a sense of urgency While Forever whispers her sweet nothings

“VOICES – We Value Justice” Hannah Smith Voices are being given back to those Who were silenced For so long they were voiceless Finally being allowed to speak But they are being spoken over Pushed aside and erased Ignored and separated and made to wait Because people don’t want to listen Our feeds are being flooded with hashtags #MeToo and #ImWithHer and #BlackLivesMatter Hashtag Hashtag Hashtag But we don’t see them We like and retweet And we comment ‘I totally understand! <3” But we do nothing And we keep scrolling People are looking over and around and past Those who truly need to be seen They are knowingly ignorant Even when they say “We need change!!!” If Proverbs says “When justice is done, It brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers.” What does that say about us That we are scared to fight for justice? We must stand up and speak We must use our privilege To make people hear and make people see That this world MUST find a new way We, as Christians, must model Christ’s love and sacrifice To show the world how justice Can be found with peace

“Blank and White” Sara Duarte

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Song Cryâ&#x20AC;? Bradford Jernigan Moving around in this aquatic bubble Wondering how I landed in this foreign land. Moving around with ease like a fish in the sea Never remembering our first experiences off-hand. Moving my arms and my legs outstretched As the food and nutrients of my life supply pour-in. Moving my body as I position my head Fluids rushing down my face, like tears falling from my eyes Hearing the strange melodies of a song from all the out-cry. At Last, the bright lights illuminates my path. From imagination and the stories shared One can remember the screams of being scared. With the cutting, the wiping, and the delivering of clout One can only imagine is this what my new world is all about? Being passed like a basketball from all the outstretched hands One can see the danger from having to many fans. As my eyes open wider and I take my initial glance Searching for the eyes that have tears like mine Hoping to attach the perfect chorus with its perfect verse At Last reuniting a mother with her son in this new universe.

“ Midnight Beauty :Fontana di Trevi” Rachel Reshonsky

“Religion” After the work of Pablo Neruda Katlyn Kesler I do not want to go on being a root in the dark whilst others have blossomed and bloomed. What does it look like beyond this catacomb of unmet accomplishments? What does it feel like to be free of this entrapment of anguish? Or is this freedom? What is freedom? Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? It’s very cold here. It’s hard to breathe. I want the shower of pure enlightenment to fall down upon me as it has so graciously done for the other flowers in this vast orchard, almost drowning them with the freedom of bloom Engulfing my entire existence with this precious liquid. But will it ever come? Or is it just me? Am I undeserving to experience this living essence while those around me all but gorge themselves one taste after the other? Will my last dying breath be taken before I get the chance to indulge in this experience all of those around me seem to so easily take for granted? Is any of this real? Do I even exist? Do the walls of dirt surrounding me even linger on the planes of true reality? What is perception? What is existence? It’s not real. It’s not real. None of this is real. Quiet. Silence. The resonance of complete emptiness fills the vast void. A warm presence breaks the dampened cold air. A gentle voice breaks the dead silence. Come child, and I’ll take you to water the flowers

“What She Doesn’t Know” Ashlee Hodges When she closes her eyes she sees him there, tall, brown hair and welcoming eyes. The presence around him is peaceful and draws her in. Everything is right and she is surrounded by love and acceptance. But from her perspective it isn’t a place she deserves to stay. It’s a place far too pure for her tainted heart. As she stands to leave he grabs her hand and she has the urge to fall back into him but doesn’t, she shakes off his gentle grasp and walks away. Maybe one day she can come back to his embrace. But today she can’t, she has too much to do to prepare for that day. What she didn’t know is the blood pouring down his crown was for her imperfections. What she didn’t know was that the holes in his hands and feet were for all the things she feels that she must work to earn but doesn’t have to. What she doesn’t know is that because of all these things she is able to come before him and rest in his presence. What she doesn’t understand is the unconditional love that flows just for her. How someone could want a girl so imperfect and broken, yet he does.

“Casual” Sara Duarte

Gabriel Harrison - Character Monologue

Act like you are in a therapist’s office. Fidget a lot.

Why am I here? Honestly I’m not even sure. I just made a mistake and they act like I’m mentally insane. Beat Don’t paint me out to be a villain now. It was a dark night and I couldn’t see her. This literally could have happened to anyone and before you say anything I get why they say I’m in the wrong, I just don’t fully agree. Beat My name? Isn’t on that paper of yours? Beat Austin Davis is my name. I’m 18 years old, and I have been charged with third degree murder, but might be charged with second degree. Beat It means my case was originally seen as a accident, but with several eyewitnesses coming forward is now being seen as a intentional, non-premeditated, murder, which may I ad is complete bull. I just didn’t see her. Just because two or three people claim I sped up or swerved towards her or whatever they are saying, it isn’t true. It was dark and I couldn’t see her, that should be the end of story. Beat

I know it’s confidential here. I’m not lying, it’s what happened. Beat

My childhood wasn’t anything special. I lived on a cow farm until I was 14. I typically spent the days going to school and playing with my siblings. We played outside a lot more in my early years, but then one day I might have shoved my younger brother a little too hard, and he tripped and fell down a well and so we were banned from going near it again. He’s all good now, just broke a leg but uhh... other than that though, nothing really happened. Small town small life. Beat My parents? Well my dad was a piece of crap who worked all the time. He was never home with his kids, and even if he was he just locked himself in his room. My mom on the other hand, she was an angel. She would always make us breakfast before school. Kiss our knees whenever they were skimmed. Patch us up, Help us out. She was a perfect mother, but she passed away when I was seven. Beat I mean prison is alright. It is definitely colder in Alaska than it was in Mississippi. The food, however, isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. They serve my favoutie dishes every now and then, fish and noodles, but in all seriousness it’s not terrible. Beat Probably two of my favourite things to do is either play some basketball, or as I like to call it prison ball, or talk to other inmates. They always... always have... Blink a lot

Beat Huh? Oh sorry. They always have the weirdest reasons as to why they aren’t guilty. This one guy literally said “Yeah I stabbed her, but she cheated on me so it’s totally fair.” Like how ridiculous is that? Why am I put under the same lock and key as those guys? Those, those murderers. Beat So now you wanna know the good stuff? Well, spoiler, it isn’t that interesting. I was leaving a friend’s party, and no I wasn’t under the influence of anything. I got in my truck and started driving off and literally maybe 100 feet from their driveway was this girl just walking across the street, I guess I was distract or it was just too dark, but I didn’t see her and I ran her over, but I did stop immediately to check on her. What kind of murderer would do that huhn? Beat How has this effected me? It’s destroyed anything I wanted to be in the future. Smudged my record permanently. Ya know when I was a kid what my one big dream was? Beat It was to own a small little diner in some place like Conneticut or something? Now I can litterally never do that. No place is gonna hire so I won’t get money and so I can’t buy... b....

Blink a lot to show there is a transition in yourself. Stop fidgeting. Sit up straight.

Look around at room analyzing everything.

Beat My name isn’t Austin. It’s Jeffery. Jeffery Davis Beat Oh. Nice to meet you. I’m sorry you had to deal with him, he gets a little too hot headed in my opinion. Beat Last time I was in control? I’d say about 6 months ago. You see he always pushed me further and further down. Hiding me from everyone he knew. I think he actually forgot about me and so when his guard was down I just popped in to say hello. He said what I did is wrong, but I’m just trying to release some of that anger he has built up. He tries to push it all away so I just let it all out. I’m helping him. Beat No no no, let’s make this clear, he didn’t kill her that night, I did.

The “Weight” on my Shoulders Daniel Wood Why? Why did you ever let it happen? That was the question that pounded inside my head over and over. Why did I let it happen to myself? There was no logical reason, except I was just careless. But who could turn down delicious food when that’s what your tongue thrives for. Your mouth wants to devour every little thing; but when is enough…enough? I remember looking in the mirror thinking to myself, “You’ll never be like them.” While all the other kids were running and playing and doing the things that normal, healthy kids do, I was there beating my inner self black and blue thinking, “why did you ruin your childhood like this?” All these thoughts swarmed through my head like bugs around a street light in the dead of night. This was an everyday thing until one day I decided to take a stand. I had to tell my inner self I was done feeding into whatever it wanted. I was about to do what I wanted, more so what I needed, and that was to change my lifestyle. No more being the kid who everyone looks at and thinks, “I’m glad I don’t look like him,” or “How can he even be happy with himself?” This decision really came to me at the beginning of high school. My weight was always the fault for everything. Walking down the hall, I would look at every couple and think to myself, “Wow, that could be you if you didn’t look like this. Maybe someone would like you if you would drop a few pounds.” These words really feel like a sword coming straight through your heart even if they are coming from yourself. After seeing this, the same thought would appear in my mind every time: sixth grade homecoming. Rejection never feels great to anyone, especially when you’re a young kid who finally gathered up the nerve to ask a girl to just spend one night with you at the school dance. Imagine a kid going home and laying in his room all afternoon upset with everything in the world. “What’s wrong son?” asked my mom. I don’t want to talk about it. “You can tell me anything. I’m always here for you.” I really can’t talk about it right now.

Water began to form under my eyes, falling like a leakage in the pipes; one drop at a time. By this time, I was unbelievably upset. “It’s okay, son.” These words meant for comfort must have been the trigger words as they set me into motion.Mom, you don’t understand. I’m not good enough for anybody. I never will be; and don’t tell me that this is all baby fat because it’s not. I’m fat and it’s ruining my life. “I’m so sorry son. Everyone in your life loves you and nothing will change that. I never want to see you hurt because it kills me a little inside. If this is how you really feel, there is only one person who can bring a change to all of this and that special person is you.” Never did I realize that these words would change my life forever. The next week I determined to bring change in my life. I started with research and asking people what was the best way to lose weight. The paid actors on television who probably never saw an ounce of fat on their body was telling me that their diet pill was “the light of the tunnel.” The internet ads were flashing “lose ten pounds in a week,” but none of this was really going to work. Therefore, I created my own plan. A healthy diet was the hardest part of the journey I embarked on. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies surrounded the room. The thought of ice cream melting on my tongue gave me a sincere pleasure. Even though I could sense these things, I couldn’t have them. It was like a child in the store being denied of getting a toy they laid their little eyes on. Instead of having the delicious food I wanted, it was salads and water from here on out. Every morning the tasteless goop that was supposed to be flavored with strawberries would fill my mouth from the spoon. At lunch, the plate in front of me looked as if it came out of a health catalog at the local hospital. The food at dinner was just the same. On top of the tasteless food, water was the only choice of fluid that I could drink. I would not allow soda or any excess calories to enter my body through unhealthy drinks.

Those few months of this seemed like a decade. It was hard but I had to change somehow and this was the best way to start. On top of the diet, exercise was a key factor to drop weight. As I was always a larger size, I was never really active so this was hard to include in my new lifestyle. I remember getting out of the car and looking at the track. “How would I ever be able to run that?” All those people in my grade who could go out there and run a mile by the time I slothed around one lap seemed to intimidate me now more than they ever had before. That first step I took seemed different. This time I didn’t have the thought of I’ll never be able to do it, but I will do it, regardless of what it takes. I began with walking as many laps as I could. It took some time, but I reached the point to where I could walk about two miles a day. One day, something different happened. I started my afternoon walk, but something didn’t feel right. Something was telling me this wasn’t enough. As I looked down at my feet, I noticed that my walking had evolved into a run. I was so proud of myself. I never thought I would see the day where this would happen but it was here, right in front of me. As time progressed, I was starting to see drastic change in not only my activeness, but also my physique. So I asked myself what more could I do? It was at this moment I found enjoyment in weight lifting. Not only was it beneficial for my physical body, but it was also a hobby that I thoroughly enjoyed. Every afternoon I would be welcomed into the gym with the sound of metal beating together. The music was blasting through the speakers sending a shockwave of adrenaline through my veins. All these sounds were motivation to push ahead and make a change. I also made a new friend while in the gym. He was there every day with me. He would always look me face to face and remind me of the change I wanted to make. He used to hate me for the way I looked but now he had a change of heart. Now, he would not criticize but encourage me to keep going. Who was my new friend? It was my reflection in the mirror. The one who used to look down on me, but now lifted me up. My true motivation came from within.

After four long months, I had reached the finish line. I flew by it thinking, should I just stop, or keep going? I had made it this far, so why stop? I then decided that this wasn’t going to be just a short journey, but rather a new lifestyle that I was about to enter. It was as if dedication and motivation had just etched themselves in my skin. Along with them came a happier attitude. I’m happier now than I have ever been. When it comes to doing something, regardless of how skillful the task may be, I have the motivation to do it. I tell myself, “You can do it. No matter what people say it’s possible. You can do anything you put your mind to. Change is a beautiful thing; you just had to take advantage of it. Life is too short to live miserably. Never go through life thinking you’re not good enough, because you are. As long as you are happy, your life will be full of enjoyment no matter what those around you may think. The harshest creatures on the face of the Earth are people. They will judge you regardless of how you look and feel. They will try their best to make you feel like you are a piece of trash flying in the wind. But you are not. You were meant for so much more.” These words will forever be engraved in my mind and mean so much to me. I never had faith that I could do it, but something within me told me otherwise. I always wanted to do something to help others and I honestly believe that this was it. When people look at me and see the change that took place, they realize that they can also make drastic changes in their lives. I can’t remember the countless times I have been asked “How did you do it?” I never realized how important my life could be to others. There are so many people just like me who just needed some kind of motivation to push them and to my surprise, I was that motivation.

“Invisible” Emilee Williams Beep. Beep. Beep. Snooze. Beep. Beep. Beep. Click. It’s 7 a.m. on a Thursday morning. That’s right, a regular old Thursday for any normal person bur for me, today is different. Any other week day, my routine is rather ordinary. On my special day, the routine is a lot shorter. Unfortunately, morning breath still comes on Thursdays. That is when I walk into the bathroom to clean the funk out of my mouth. There in the mirror staring back at me, are floating shorts and bubbling toothpaste at the corners of my unseen mouth. If you haven’t picked this up yet...I’m invisible. Everyday? You might ask. No, only on Thursdays. Are you a superhero? Again, I would answer no, because I am just an ordinary person. My special day has not changed me. The best part about being invisible is I never have to worry about my wardrobe. At first I was really scared of appearing unclothed somewhere. Now I have learned it is just a fear I have to deal with. Don’t get me wrong, invisible undergarments would be handy but they don’t make those. Even on my invisible days, I have a schedule. I can’t just stop being me, I am a busy person. With my teeth brushed and my body not omitting any odor, I carry onto my car. I have to plan out every move I make when I’m invisible. I get up especially early because I don’t want to freak out my neighbors. They like to sit and watch the cars go by. In this case, no person would be seen opening my car and driving off. Once I’m in my car, I put on my hat and shades. Yes, they float but my windows are extremely tinted. As long as I stay in my car, I am safe. Heaven help me if my car breaks down. OnStar saved me once, but Triple A will never come back. This is where my journey begins.

My first stop is the woods. Nothing makes me enjoy nature more than petting God’s creatures. My favorite are the bear cubs. They are basically big puppies. However, let me warn you, squirrels bite and no matter how much you try, deer will not let you ride them. After I’ve annoyed enough animals, I head to the beach for some sun. Strange enough, I always end up with a nice tan. Enjoying the water is fun, but the sand is a no-no after I get wet. That stuff gets everywhere. It’s hard to be a good person on Thursdays. It’s so tempting knowing I could get away with annoying or scaring people half to death. Sometimes I circle the kids playing in the sand. I like to wait until they’ve built something nice, then I jump on top of it. Their faces are quite priceless. With one large gasp, they suck in all the available oxygen and point to their mess. Then the tears come, ohhh the tears. At this point I am having the time of my life until the parents come to save the whiny brat. Did I mention, I’m available for babysitting? On my way home, I ponder on my life. I can’t reveal all my secrets. An invisible person has to stay busy, but the next time you can’t find your keys...it may be me.

“Untitled” Natalie Hayes

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Shadowsâ&#x20AC;? Megan Brady Amongst the grave, the shadows roam To wait for a chance to return home. Their moans and groans remain the same For hundreds of years of non stop fame. People all over the city do visit all, Although none would take their fall. The shadows wait for a chance to change. Of course, their new faces would be strange. If only the dead and the living did replace Then the shadows would have a new face, But in the end shadows will remain. Amongst the grave, lies a deadly stain. For all who lost a love so dear, Do not weep for your time is near

“Chill” Sara Duarte

“You and Me” Ashlee Hodges

My role in your life was never permanent, It was a temporary fix. I wasn’t meant to be your everything, Just a portion of your bliss. I wasn’t made to be your other half, Even though we thought it was meant to be. I wasn’t meant for you and You weren’t meant for me.

“I Don’t” Maleah Mathews Oh, how my dreams contain hopes of one day walking down an aisle dragging a white, lace train. Sky watching down, sun kissing my cheeks, looking up to see my groom smiling at me. Receiving a sermon that draws tears from dozens of sets of eyes and rings in ears. Celebration fills the air; No worries in mind. Just my love and I intertwined. Oh, how I wish this vision that I see could possibly be a reality for me. Oh, how these dreams fly through my head as I lie on this cold, hard floor, beaten, almost dead. The Congolese men create nightmares, instead. A loss of life and liberty, nothing more than the buying of property, a means of payment, and a slave for thee. No dress, no sermon, only my lifeless body being drug to a decision that was predetermined. Tears drowned my eyes as the papers were signed and I was claimed by he, my new husband to be. I was given no say yet everyday I pay. Voice like thunder, his body, a tree, and I am the squirrel, no other choice of where to flee. He plasters my neck with colors from his hands when he holds me in place and speaks his demands. Oh, how my dreams, crushed against my will, still romp through my brain making me feel ill. Oh, how I wish I could have seen my wishes come true rather than my abuser, my rapist, my owner, my “husband” being thrown at me.

“My Life” Quinn Tomasino A seven-year-old boy should never have More responsibility than most adults. The pain was deep, and I felt like this disease was all my fault. My mom and I had tears rushing down our faces Not knowing what life with Type 1 Diabetes meant. And unsure if a young aspiring baseball player would ever run the bases. Practicing giving shots to oranges and having most of the needles bent. Tears falling like rain Unsureness consumed most of my pain. Hope appeared from support of my family and classmates, But all the good memories of not having overwhelming challenges drifted from memory lane. Most of my aspirations broke like falling plates And uncertainty consumed me like a fat boy eating cake. I was nervous of how my life would change, And concerned about what food I could eat or snacks I could bake. Concerned with the range Of problems I’d encounter and if the doctor’s encouragement was real or fake. Diabetes has made me more responsible and hardworking. It is a gift and a curse, but I do not let it define me Holding me back is something it will not do

“Ramen Noodle Soup” Deven Perez It was 7:00 at night, I had just finished wrestling practice and I was typing my research paper. In the middle of typing my paper, I decided to get a snack. I turned on the stove and decided to cook some soup. As I let the noodles boil, I went back to my assignment and wrote a couple more paragraphs. When I finally finished my paper, I realized that my stove was on fire! I left the hamburgers cooking for too long. I ran upstairs to tell my dad that there was a fire, but I came to the realization that my dad was in Iraq for deployment. I miss my dad, he’s been deployed for a year and the house hasn’t been the same since. The fire got worse, and I already wasted enough time shouting my dad’s name for 10 minutes. I ran downstairs and decided to fan out the fire. Now of course, I was in a panic, so I looked around for things that could settle down the fire. I went to grab a hose, but I didn’t want to get the house wet. I went to ask my mom for help, but I changed my mind because I didn’t want to wake her up; she’d be cranky. My mom’s been really stressed out since my dad’s been gone. She goes to work, cooks, helps me, and takes me to practice, so it was probably best that nobody disturbed her. The fire spread out more, and I already wasted enough time eating the pizza that I cooked. (I didn’t want to waste the pizza because kids are starving in Africa.) I looked around and saw the fire slowly coming to my computer. I had to act fast! I went to the printer and printed out my essay right before my computer was engulfed in flames. At this point I decided it was a good time to wake my dad up before he got engulfed in the flames too. My dad came downstairs and told me to call 911. When the fire department arrived, we were escorted out of the house. I was scared to tell my dad that I started the fire when I was cooking spaghetti, but because I am a person with integrity, I confessed and owned up to my mistakes. My dad handled it very well, but when my mother gets back from Afghanistan, she’s going to be furious. All was well, and I was glad to make it out safe, but then I realized that I left my research paper in the house! I ran inside the house to save my paper and I found it standing next to my puppy. At this point I had to make a choice, save the cat or save my research paper. But I had an even better idea! I commanded my dog to hold the research paper in his mouth; that way I could rescue both the dog and my paper. Unfortunately, by the time I ran outside the house with my puppy, the dog ate my research paper! In conclusion, that’s why I didn’t have my research paper to turn in today!

“Gran” Emilee Williams My great grandmother, Lily Mae, always told me that “Grace is nothing more nor less than the face that love wears when it meets imperfection, weakness, failure and sin.” She quoted this from one of her favorite books written by Joseph Cooke. “Emilee, go ‘round to the pantry and get me some flour. We are making some cinnamon rolls before your mom picks you up,” said Gran. I could feel a smile creep onto my face. Cooking with Gran was one of my favorite things to do. I walked around the refrigerator to the pantry. I flipped on the light switch to the cupboard and opened the sliding door. “Mmmmm,” I sniffed, “I love the smell of all these spices in here Gran.” As I looked around the stacks of canned foods, I tried to find the bag of flour that was barely filled. I looked around for a few more minutes and then I saw it. The bag was on the top shelf, above the washer and dryer. I knew I couldn’t reach the bag from where I was standing, so I decided to climb up the roaring machines. A few minutes had passed and I was sure that Gran was worried about me. “BAM!” Gran came running into the pantry. As soon as she had noticed what had happened she began to laugh. Gran grabbed my hand and took me to the bathroom to wash off all the flour I had just dropped on myself. “Honey, you know you could’ve called me in there to help grab the flour,” Gran said with a great amount of sympathy. I looked at her trying to hold back my tears. “I know, I just wanted to show you I could do it on my own. I’m sorry.” Before I even finished my sentence, Gran began to hug me. She told me everything was going to be okay and she forgave me for wasting all of her good flour. “It’s okay Emme, no one is perfect.” I loved spending time and cooking with Gran. Gran was the most beautiful, old woman I had ever seen. Her wrinkles were so faint, although every crease on her face told a story.

Gran, as I like to call her, was always so sweet to my brother and I. She never failed to have one or two blow-pops in her pocket. As a child I found a blow-pop could fix most of my problems. The sweet but sour edges always made me tingle. Since as long as I can remember, I have been told I am just like Gran. The funny thing is we look nothing alike. When I was twelve we were standing eye-to-eye. She stopped growing but I, however, did not. The strongest quality we share is probably our stubbornness. I guess it is this trait that has made our relationship so strained in the last few years. Granny has always been an early riser. This was especially true on Sunday mornings. Unfortunately for our relationship, I do not wake up well. It’s not that I cannot get up early, it is just that I hate everyone until eleven a.m. If we don’t talk I can usually put up with most people. If you will feed me, I keep from rolling my eyes to a minimum. Gran maybe one of my most favorite people on earth, but early on Sunday morning I can’t stand her. On one of these mornings, my feet had not touched the bottom step of the staircase before Gran laid into me. Most of the time it started with my choice of clothing. “Emilee,” she asked, “don’t you have anything decent to wear? Where is the rest of it? I declare the preacher is going to have to pray extra hard for you today!” She showed no mercy. Well I couldn’t leave that alone. So, I would usually retort in some way. “Mom,” I screamed across the house, “could you please tell Gran it’s not 1930 anymore!” Gran equaled my volume, “Mitzi,” (my mother) “come look at your child’s hair. I guess she’s leavin’ it wet to fight off the flames of hell.” Some Sundays were not as combative. “Emilee, do you have your bible?” Gran asked eagerly. Gran always had her bible, so she always made sure I had mine. “Yes Gran! How could I forget it? You remind me every Sunday morning!” If she was feeling merciful, she would simply stare judgement into my heart and remain quiet until we got into the car.

Until the age of thirteen, I did not attend church regularly. Around that same time, Gran moved into our home. I always knew she was right with the Lord, but living with her gave me a new found respect for her love of the gospel. Once we finally got out of the car, bygones were bygones. We went happily into church. I know there are many types of churches, but there is something special about mine. My dad always said it was a “traditional Southern church.” I guess that makes sense, because we are Southern Baptist. The people walk in the front, up several brick stairs. I always feel so small beneath the great white columns. God must really want us to come to church, otherwise why make them so pretty? Being a Christian isn’t always easy. Gran always reminded me of this. For a kid, church begins with discipline. I had to learn to sit up straight, be still and keep my smackin’ at a minimum. The part I had the most trouble with was remembering anything that monotone preacher ever said. Church can be confusing. The whole congregation is supposed to be forgiving and act as family. However, every Sunday we must be careful to sit in our exact pew. We do this, so we do not upset our spiritual family. I think if we tried to move spots, Gran would be seen sitting alone. Maybe that’s a small-town thing. Through our many conversations, I learned about the hardships of Gran’s life. I would often ask her, “How did she make it?” Her answer was always the same. “The good Lord is with me Emilee and I have faith in his never-ending love.” She always smiled after this, before she spoke again. “In good times and bad, the good Lord’s mercy never failed me. I tell you this Emme, no matter what the problem, open your bible and pray like I taught you. God will never turn his back on you.” My most vivid early memories are in my grandparent’s house.

They looked after us a lot as free child care. I can still smell the aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls being pulled out of the oven; not the can stuff, fresh homemade rolls. Gran would cook breakfast food at any time of the day. It was always good, but the gooey cinnamon rolls always made my mouth water. Most of the time Gran would make us quote a verse of scripture before we got one of those tasty treats. I usually quoted my favorites, but every now and then I would surprise her with a new verse. I don’t know who was happier: me with my roll or her with her scripture. Last December 2017, we lost Gran. Unfortunately, I was the first one to find her. I was upstairs in my room, texting away. Gran and I were the only one’s home. Eventually I got hungry, so I decided to raid the fridge for a snack. As soon as I came into the living room I knew something was wrong. “Gran,” I screamed. A feeling came over me, something I had never felt before. I think I knew she was dead as soon as I saw her. It was sad and beautiful at the same time. She had fallen asleep reading the good book and passed peacefully. The next few days leading up to the funeral was a blur. I remember the large amounts of food people brought and the seemingly endless tears. However, when I think of Gran, it was our private talks I cherish the most. Looking back, she was genuinely interested in my life. More importantly, she was concerned about my soul. Even now, when I hold Gran’s tired, old bible, riddled with notes, cracks in the leather from age, and more than one tear stain, I can hear her calm voice guiding me through my troubles. I hope Gran will be proud of me. Her life and death has encouraged me to commit my life to God. I’ve been a born-again Christian since I was thirteen, but it’s only recently that I have realized what that really means. So much of my life, I was concerned with staying out of trouble and trying not to sin. I like to think I have grown past that infant stage of my spiritual life. With a teacher like Gran, I should have been making better process on my road to sanctification. Now my days consist of morning devotionals, grace before every meal, special prayers for our church prayer list and I end every night on my knees in prayer.

Every Sunday since Gran passed away, I never forget to carry my Bible. Some mornings when I think of her death, I carry her old Bible. Having her Bible made me feel like she was with me all the time. “Mama, do you have your Bible?” I asked. Asking my mother this made me realize how much I have grown towards Christ. Although this was a simple question, I felt so much like Gran as I spoke those few words “Yes dear. I’m so proud of the way you have kept me accountable throughout my spirituality as well as your own. You have grown up so much since Gran has passed. Do you want me to tell you a secret?” My mother stopped in the middle of her gait. She looked at me in all seriousness. “Yes ma’am,” I answered eagerly, waiting for her to spill. “I am obviously a lot older than you. I am supposed to teach you about the Lord and the lessons that come with being a Christian, but there have been many moments that you have taught me right from wrong. I am just so honored that you have come this far Em.” I looked away from my mother, trying to hold back the tears as we walked into church. This Sunday was different from all the others. I could feel Gran’s presence as I sat in our pew. Maybe I could feel her because I was carrying her bible this Sunday. I knew this is where I belonged, in Sardis Church.

“Untitled” Natalie Hayes

From W.S. Merwin’s “To Paula in Late Spring” Royce Peterson Let me imagine that we will come again, beyond the grave in which you reside. When I am experiencing pain or suffering, it is him whom I come to. Your name upon the headstone reveals all the solutions to my heart’s problems. Every time I walk up the hill to your grave I feel a sense of calmness, even though I cry every time I see the roses on your grave. I even decide to bring you items from time to time, and place them on your grave. I hope you can still hear my prayers up in heaven, you don’t understand how much I miss you. Lennox, you will forever be in my heart

“Eyes Wide Closed” Anonymous I see them. I analyze their emotions. I see how they look at each other and I see how they look at me. “Freak,” they must think. They feel bad for me. But I do not feel bad for me. I know what they don’t. 7:34 am plus 16 seconds. A gaggle of girls walks past me, three of them, unaware of my existence . I say nothing but I observe. They’re all best friends. The girl in the middle is being comforted by the other two. She is the pretest one of the group by far. Popularity, looks, grades; the middle girl has it all. She doesn’t know that her friend on the left was the one who leaked those explicit picture of her last night. 9:27 am. I see a couple holding hands. She is very petite while he is at least ten inches taller. He is probably a senior, but she looks to be lacking a couple of years. Her mother knows not of their romance. She would say “Too young. You’re too young to have a serious boyfriend.” And she would be right. He’s leading her on. He knows what he wants and he knows that she is naïve. It will destroy her when he leaves. She will never be the same, but he won’t care. 10:40ish. A middle aged professor quietly drinks his coffee. He’s hiding things. Not only his affair, or the fact that coffee is not the only thing in his mug, but why. His students do not know why he’s so detestable. They give him no respect, thus building on his unpleasantness. The man’s infant was killed in a car accident. Now there’s no way of me knowing if these things actually happened, or if they ever will… but they could have, and they still can. Hurt. Every glimmer of hope inevitably ends in disappointment, One day when they world turns to dust any all of its continents is in oblivion, will our heartaches and betrayals matter? 11:59 am. I am calm. The hallways are clean, but when the clock strikes twelve, they will be filled to capacity. 12:00 pm. Feet shuffle and heads swivel. They see me now don’t they? Faces flush of color as I eliminate the first and the second. They’re running now, but they aren’t faster than my bullets. They are ungrateful, for they don’t understand. One day when the rest know what I know, they’ll wish they stayed put. I was only able to save seventeen people. They are better off now.

“There are numerous stories…” Anonymous There are numerous stories I could tell that has changed me and made me who I am today, but I am going to choose the one story that not only changed me but broke me . Of course it’s a little sad but it works. Try not to cry as you read this. Replaying the event in my head hits a certain spot in not only my heart but others also. So why not tell you ? Everyone knows that feeling of excitement and fear when first coming into high school. I was extremely nervous and a little frightened. The thought of high school in general . The fact that we all thought we were officially grown now , notice how I said “thought.” Over hearing that one rumour that “high school is 10x harder” , kept replaying over and over in my head. Maybe it was it was to scare me or maybe the upper class was serious that high school was in fact hard. As christmas is slowly approaching I get excited because , of course it’s christmas time and we have a huge break . My older sister on my dad’s side texts me to see if I want to go to a party with her. That tingling feeling through my body and excitement , jaws getting stiff from grinning ear to ear. My first highschool party and party in general . Only parties I ever went to were birthday parties or cookouts that my mom called a party. I was now a high schooler , it was time to hang out with friends and cut loose. Then all of a sudden it hit me , how was I going to ask my mom ? Tell the truth ? or lie ? Hardest decision ever. So , of course, I asked to spend the night with my sister at my dad’s. Having so much trust in me she said . “Yes, Sierra that’s okay with me “ “Thanks Mom , love you see you later” “ Love you too , call me if you need anything” End call. All that went through my head was the fact that I was going to a party. Not the fact that I had just told my mom a huge lie. As I put everything I had packed into my sister’s car, the thought of what I was going to wear circled through my head a million times. What shirt? Jeans or skirt? Boots or tennis shoes ? Then it clicked, the perfect outfit. Black long sleeve, my favorite hollister jeans with my red tims. By the time I finally came up with the outfit we were pulling into my dad’s driveway. I don’t know what it was with me and my dad”s bond but I could tell him anything. Literally anything , from guys and relationships to even telling him we were going to a party. He didn not care too much because of the fact I was in good hands , I was with my sister. I was in high school , I was finally growing up , but it would have been a different scenario with my mom. “Hey dad” “Hey, took y’all long enough to get here” “I know I know , I didn’t know what I was going to wear but now I know”

“What you wearing ?” “ My black shirt with some jeans and my timberlands” “ Sounds appropriate ” he said, “Have y’all eaten yet” “Not yet” “Here’s $20 go get some to eat then get ready.” With no hesitation we took the $20 and got right back into the car. “Thanks dad.” The mist of hair spray mixed with the steam from the shower aroused in the air. Of course there was a hint of perfume with a dash of soap from the bathroom. Even after the fact that I decided what I wanted to wear in my head I still explored my options. The room covered like a jungle full of clothes , shoes , bra’s and much more. The same old same old, girl things. Music blasting from ear to ear as we pull in. “OMG.. Sierra!” , “Sierra!” “Sierra” coming from left to right , in countless voices. As everybody who knew me screams my name , everyone else just stares. We’re in high school now so of course I knew there was going to be drinking and smoking. Thick, gray smoke in the air as alcohol bottles are being passed around and poured into cups. Approximately 20 minutes later I see this guy from my old school . He approaches me and automatically I smell a strong scent. Even though there were so many scents going through the air, his stood out over them. He talks to me while he is staggering so in my head I’m thinking he’s under the influence of something. “Have you been drinking?” “Not really, just one shot of alcohol” he said, “Hey , what are you doing after the party” “Nothing, not that I know of. I’m with my sister tonight” “Wait your mom let you out of the house? Whatt?” “Haha, you’re funny” All of a sudden in the middle of the conversation I suddenly see my sister with some guy that seemed very interested in her. What are the odds that the guy that I’m talking to knows the guy my sister is talking to. We’re all standing in an deformed circle trying to figure out what we were going to do after the party. Suddenly we walk out and leave the party . “Can we go to McDonald’s I’m starving” “I’m not driving my sister is, ask her” “If you don’t mind can we go to get food?”

“Yes we can” We pull into McDonald’s , not noticing the time, the guys walk in and buy our food as we sit in the car talking about cute they are. It’s a girl thing okay ? Not everyone understands. After the fact that everybody is finished eating we leave. Then we realized we were just riding around until my sister said . “Where exactly are we going?” Then the guy I had been talking to said “Pull over to this park so I can get this marijuana off me” The fact that me and my sister looked at each other in an confused face because we didn’t know he had it on him. The entire time we thought the car smells like marijuana because of the party but in reality my sister had been driving while this guy had it on him. My heart automatically drops , every bad thought came into mind. All the trouble we were going to get into. The thought that I should’ve never lied. “Are you serious” I said, “WHY in the world do you have that” “ I was holding it for someone , chill” said Raiford , “Pull to the side” We pull into the park .They ended up “getting rid of the marijuana but smoking it. Crazy right ?After they finished they sit in the car with us. After a moment the guy my sister had been talking to says “Let’s walk and talk” “Are you okay with that Sierra?” “Yeah I’ll be fine , I know him from school” “Keep your phone close to you , we won’t be long” “My phone on 1%, I’ll be fine” “Alright” As they walk away that strong whiff of cold air comes in. Such disrespectful wind. So cold that a mini cold chill runs up my back to my neck, A deep chill cold cold through my body. “What time do y’all have to be home” “Dad didn’t say we had a certain time to be back” “Good” So we end up talking for about 30 minutes then in the middle of my sentence he kisses me. Im automatically shook but was a little feeling of happiness. Then he kisses me again, suddenly his hands gets lower and lower and in my head I’m thinking he’s about grab my butt . No,nowhere close he tries to pull my pants down. Luckily my belt was too tight for him to pull them down. I definitely was not ready for the next step.

“I’m not ready” “ Okay” He obviously didn’t care , he shows me his private area. “No” He pushes my head down, then I push back harder. I tried to call my sister name but she was too far. Seconds later a car rolls in. “ Shhhh” All of a sudden my heart stops as i see the blue lights flashing . As he pulls up his pants he’s panicking, then pulls out more marijuana. “I thought you got rid of it” “Shut up” he said, “DON’T say nothing” I never said anything else . Besides when the officers were asking me questions. They called all of our parents and tears automatically started rolling down my face. Shivering in the cold as wet tear roll down my face. That shimmer of blue in my eyes from the effect the tears have on the color. It’s dark, real dark. My mom didn’t speak to me at all. I could see all the disappointment in her eyes. We ate dinner in silence. Not once did I tell her what happened nor the cops. “We went to a party and was sitting in the car chilling” “At 3 am Dazhane?” At that point I realized she was beyond mad. She called me by my middle name. High school was definitely changing me into a person i no longer knew. Lying to my mom? I kept adding lies on top of lies. Never realized it was 3am when we sat out there, time flew by. That night replayed in my head for hours and hours. I had migraine after migraine . We ate breakfast in silence. Lunch in breakfast. Dinner in silence. Just silence. That one moment affected me in countless ways. I no longer trusted another guy. I went from being energetic and kind to afraid and not knowing who was out to get me. Someone I knew would actually do something so horrific to me. I guess that didn’t matter at all. People are people . Anything can happen.

“Untitled” Natalie Hayes

“Canary and the Crow” Carol-Ann Worsham Two birds of a feather, Flying to great heights. One a bird of beauty, And one a bird of night. The canary, a bird of song, Bringing peace and light. Who knows after each storm, The sun will still burn bright. The crow, a bird of death, Who drives fear into hearts. Knowing that with every end, Begins a fresh new start. We see them as opposites, Split by nature’s law, As different as canaries voice, And the crows hallowed caw. Though the two may differ, One thing must be true. Everything will change, When they soar into the blue. In the vast open skies, Where they fly forever free, They find themselves alike, As alone they will not be. For in that moment , When their hearts beat as one, There are two birds of a feather, Underneath one sun.

“Tattered Wings and Broken Things” Ashlee Hodges You cut off her wings and put her in a box way to small. You took away her light and her need for independence. You starved her until the only thing she wanted and felt like she needed was you. You continuously stole her joy and laughter, and then wondered why she was so dependent on you for a source of happiness. On the outside the world looked at her and wondered why she stayed in the box you designed. No one saw the emotional scars that were left behind; no one saw how far you had beaten her down. No one saw how her self-worth slowly dripped away with every tear. She was so far gone that she lost her sense of identity, you tore her down to nothing. You left her until you needed to feel like you were everything. Then you came back and she fell into place. Always where you wanted her and she never moved. She gave you everything you ever needed yet it was never enough. One day she could no longer take it and decided that she craved the light more than you. She left and you did everything to keep her contained. But you couldn’t hold her down anymore. She wasn’t ready for the world, her wings were still tattered so she couldn’t sore like she once did. Everything she did the question “Am I worthy enough?” was in the back of her head. In her eyes she was never good enough. That was all thanks to you. You broke her and moved on never once blinking at the mess you created. You took a heart so free and happy and broke it until it was as black as coal and you didn’t care. You took the laughter from her eyes and the song from her heart. You took so much from her and it never hurt you once. She left a broken mess unable to reach the sun all thanks to you.

“Italy at sunset on top of Castel Sant’Angelo” Rachel Reshonsky

“Untitled” Maran Player The language here dose not make sense to me but, it makes sense to my soul. Everything sounds and looks unnatural. The peace in the room is heavy and felt by even the darkest and stressed soul. The heaviness I feel to walk forward is all powerful, like a gravitational pull that I have no control over. So much that it consumes me, pulls me, draws me and causes me to walk to the front. I don’t fight it. I am curious like a child that wonders. I am his child that wonders, and like a mother dose for her children he wants to teach me. What is this man, this ghost, this thing that so many call holy? His father like mannerisms. How does he have the power to control my feet and my speech. Just like a puppet on strings. Why can I not have this all-consuming peace and my own control at the same time. Have my cake and eat it too. Why dose this man they call Jesus not let me speak in this peaceful way while still speaking in my own tongue. Babbling on like a child. These people, these leaders… they say, “You must first let him in, before you can speak this holy language”. More sacred then a solid gold chest containing the worlds answers to all good and evil. “Why?” As powerful as a power house. Yet it can not force me. Instead I must clear my mind of this world and step through the portal into theirs.

“Control is not what he wants” says these people, these leaders. I wonder to myself, “Then what does he want?” “IF he does not want control over me, then what dose God want with an old sinner like me?” “Why must I give him control, for me to speak in his language that is unable to be translated by man alone?” A hard question as it may be that I ask this hard question, “why can some people understand this language and others be scared by it?” He answers, “Only the one true God, who reigns above heaven and on earth and even holds the keys to the place where there is nothing, but fire and flames”. Fire and flames like the mouth of a fiery furnace that burns for all of eternity. God can give people the understanding, and only by his spirit can they understand. The Elder answers, “He dose not want control over you like a master has over his dog or horse, that is not the kind of God that he is.” The Elder says, “He wants out of you exactly what he made you for”. The Elder says, “As I have said already, control must be given to him, he is not that kind of God to only take and never return”. He answers, “It is the language of the Holy, only the holy people can translate it, when the holy one gives them the translation.” He answers this final question, “Some understand this language because, they have accepted this God with open arms and embraced them. Just as a mother accepts and embraces her parodical child. They have accepted this Spirit, just as someone accepted something that makes them feel peaceful. They have accepted this holy one, accepted this Holy Spirit. Others, fear it because, they do not understand this Holy God to understand his Holy Spirit.” Just as someone must understand love to be able to give it.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Wrestlingâ&#x20AC;? Charline Hagemaster Blood. Sweat. Tears. Starving for greatness All I want is to stand on the podium All I want is to be on top Climbing to the highest peak to see the view, Climbing then turns to crawling Why do I do this? Breaking my body apart, My labrum just holding on by a thread Physically and mentally draining But I still strive for greatness Blood. Sweat. Tears. Crawling to the top for the view Crawling then turns into climbing Double legging everyone in my way Driving across, day by day Blood. Sweat. Tears All that has been is no more The score is now, zero-to-zero Blood. Sweat. Tears. Passion

“Final Notes” (A Triptych) Paul Petrovic for Scott, Anthony, and Satoshi I’m away now. Thanks. on a retreat down the threads of a guitar string plucked with nail and pick, slipping in and out of verse pedestrian and opaque. And so you walk through the lobby of the Dakota Hotel, out and away across the Forth as ripples limn the river. You didn’t make it through the year, so we’ll never have this December. Still I listen to each note, each pedal, a dopamine rush, and with the shame of chronic fright, you slip into the river bed at Port Edgar Marina, and she pulls you into her mouth. is gonna stay with me. One last message sent out into the void, a bookmark, a memorial to never be

papered over. So I see you eidetic, an assemblage of limbs limp and insentient, and though weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll speak of this as aberrant, a blip in your otherwise coruscated smile and weathered skin, the loss of your troubadour spirit is unnerving You would always speak of us as a calculus of bodies tethered together in hope and need, asking one another for a pinch of grain and a bottle of wine. And now, having lost my daughter to parts unknown, lost to dust and overturned earth, I flash to your daughter, captive to the death of blood and anchor clenched in her fist and closed eyes, held by some private pain. Now excuse me, I have to go. Animated in smash cuts across the millennium, Hokkaido comes into focus, an unwieldy sprawl of concrete and trees, cartographical wonder. Ocean waves slap the shore with a 4/4 percussive beat and the sickness eats at you, reduces you, and the iron

law of time waits, patient, with her hunger. At your studio eyes fear the completed work of mistranslated images ricocheting across linework no longer yours. Not truly. Yet if not all of the words fit you still see the joy with which couples come together and walk out hearing the electronic chirps and reflect on the chase, the search, for a steady faith. And so I sit, and I write, and I see Setsukoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes close for the last time.

Hannah Chavis, Character Monologue (Start by writing in journal-leave it open-these are your lines) “The Best Day in My Whole Life by Theresa Rose Quabsnuckle….there. (Sigh; look up) I wish I could live today over and over and over… Until today, I’d never met a real, live president before. Of course, my dad did take me to see George Washington’s gravesite on one of our ‘educational vacations’… but that president…was dead. This time, it was a living, breathing, now impeached, former president of the United States! I couldn’t believe it! Nothing like that had ever happened to me before! In all of my 12 years, you wouldn’t think this was the first exciting thing that I had ever experienced. (State matter-of-factly) After all, I’m not a kid anymore. But, nothing cool ever really happens to me. (Obvious) I mean, I am from Louisiana. There is nothing extraordinary about my life at all… But, that’s why I want to be a politician! I can make a difference! I can make some real cool changes around here. Right now, I’m just a professional stayat-home 12 year old, but one day, I might actually be president! If I were president…I would make sure that every young citizen, like myself, could get free ice cream for every meal! Better yet, we could give everyone in the WHOLE WORLD a ten year supply of ice cream and end world hunger! Of course, summer breaks would definitely be longer…and our weekends would last for four days instead of two. And, I would make sure that every town had a Chick-Fil-A! I like their cow…it reminds me of my Great Aunt Clara…sorry. I’m getting off track. If I were to become president, I would make sure that every kid gets a puppy! Or a kitten, as long as it doesn’t turn into a cat. Eugh! Wait, as president, I could probably make Gummi Bears a vegetable! I mean, Michelle Obama made pizza a half vegetable and she was just a president’s wife! Instead of salad bars, we could have ‘candy bars’ and chocolate waterfalls in every school cafeteria! We could have recess instead of classes, erect a new national monument

made of LEGOs, and replace California with Puerto Rico! Yeah… (Smile, cross arms) Now, that’s what I call a presidency. Of course, I would have to have a campaign, like with signs, and banners… And, I would be a Democrat, like my hero, Bill Clinton. Why is he my hero? Well, he’s the only president I’ve ever met…the one I just met today! He came to speak at a town 10 whole miles away and my dad took me to see his speech! He was so cool…tall and wearing a suit. I didn’t know what to do or say! When he was finished speaking, he stepped off of the platform and walked right through the crowd! He began talking to people and even signed the hat of the boy next to me. When he got to me…I didn’t know whether to shake his hand, give him a high five, or salute him. I decided to give him a high five… (Self-directed frustration)…like a little kid. I’m sure he thought I was so immature. He probably preferred the high five though because he said that he would have to get his wife’s permission before he could shake my hand…whatever that means. Now, I know there are a lot of political parties, but imagine trying to be anything but Democrat if you were me. My dad I get along okay, but I sure do miss my mom. She died four years ago when I was eight. She got hit by a bus…that had an advertisement on the side of it…for the Republican Party. She would be so proud of me! I’m pulling for the opposition! She would have loved today, too. After dad and I watched the speech, we went and got ice cream at mom’s favorite place. After that, dad and I came home and he is in the kitchen right now making lasagna, my favorite food! And when we finish eating, he and I are going to take turns reading from my favorite book, “The Chronicles of Narnia”! I guess you really could say that this has been the best day of my life… So many cool things have happened and it’s not even my birthday! If I tried to make a day this great, I’d just ruin it! Who knows? Maybe some of the best days are the ones that happen when we’re not really thinking about it…”

Who am I? Katlyn Kesler I am a progenitor of a chimerical wonder. I am sympathetic but unbiased. I feel an immense amount of trepidation yet an endearing amount of amorousness. I wonder if this vast biosphere we live in will ever part ways with the ancient and progress to the euphoric eutopia that only nomads and visionaries can depict. I hear the breath of chaos of a dysmorphic dystopia that most believe is the revolution of the world. I see beauty beyond the black and white. Between all the lines that blur into grey, there is a myriad of color, and each one holds its own vibrance. I understand that change takes time. Sometimes change doesn’t occur at the pace one individual may yearn for, but one would be deceived to lose faith that humanity can alter its route from destruction. I say to myself and children that we are not forgotten. That we must carve our own path into the crust of this earth. It will not be without labor and at times one will crave to give in to the urge to surrender. It’s okay to falter, it’s okay to give in to temporary weakness, but it’s not okay to abstain faith. Never give up to the immense unknown just to be steps away from your reverie. I dream of the day that I stride across that scaffold to receive my degree. I dream of the day that I get accepted into medical school, and I dream of the day that I have the power to help women and children of all diversities, so they don’t feel that ever so present feeling of being forgotten or insignificant.I try so hard yet falter at my inadequacies, but I must pick myself back up for they are observing my every move. I hope for less judgement. I hope for more kindness, open-mindedness, love, acceptance, happiness, joy, and less trepidation, fear, resentment, hate, disdain, and anger.

I want to make a difference in someone’s life. I want to feel loved. I want to feel accepted. I want to be worthy. I want to be enough. I want to live if not happy, content. I pretend that I’m this strong, independent, has it all together, makes all the right decisions woman. I’m really this scared, anxious-of-the-future, reliant, weak, makes-multitudes-of-mistakes woman. I cry often.

Bryce Phillips Dear Best Friend It’s 1:04 am. I’m sitting indian style in my bed, comforter pushed all the way to one side, making room for the crumpled up tape and reject polaroids. I glance at the time while I wait for the last picture to be born out of the mini bluetooth photo printer I got for Christmas. The whirring sound it makes has morphed into somewhat of a lullaby these past couple hours. I can tell each blink is lasting a little longer than the one before, but I have to stay strong. Almost done. The picture is pushed out in a final, long whir just as I finish writing a caption for it with a my favorite gold Sharpie pen underneath its soon-to-be home. I pick it up carefully, making sure not to smudge it with my ink stained digits, and slap on a piece of tape that I rolled so it stuck on both sides. I press it gently to the page, above the witty line I had written while waiting. I sigh in relief. “That took longer than any project or paper I’ve done all year,” I think to myself. I flip to the front cover of this beautiful faux-leather notebook I managed to find on Amazon Prime a week or two before. My exhausted fingers trace the front, as a mother touches their newborns face for the first time. I flip the page and immediately fill with warmth. Our first picture was staring back at me. Sophomore Bryce. My braces and glasses reflected the light of the flash, making his shiny football helmet look dull in comparison. Our scrawny figures looked familiar but weird, like looking into a funhouse mirror at the fair. The mile of empty space between the two of us screamed platonic, but the mile long smiles we sported on our baby faces told a completely different story. Looking back now, I

wondered how oblivious I must’ve been back then to think I was keeping my crush on him a secret from the world. A blind man on the moon could see the way I looked at him and connect the dots. The caption read: Dear Best Friend, this is our love story... I flip to the second page, cautiously, so I don’t crease the page. A picture we took in the mirror of a Dick’s Sporting Goods lives on this page. I feel the butterflies swarm my stomach like they were doing the night this picture was taken. I was hugging him from behind with a laugh eternally frozen on my face. My smile somehow grew even bigger from the last. It was our first date. I remember spending 4 hours getting ready just to go see a movie in a dark theatre. It was my first real date. I remember how liberating it was to finally be allowed to hold his hand, for it had been just out of reach for so long. We weren’t lying to the world or ourselves anymore. I flip the page again. The smile pattern continued. This time my smile and I were on his back, after a track meet. I could smell the sweat and tears through the paper, but we didn’t mind. We were laughing so hard, but I can’t remember why. After so many laughs, it’s hard to distinguish them. We were probably a month into our transition from friends to more-than-friends, and we couldn’t pick a fault in each other if our lives depended on it. Those day were the best days of my life. I flip through the remaining pages of my book like one of those motion picture books you see posted on facebook. Our faces maturing after each fleeting image. I get to the last page of my masterpiece, then flip to the first again. The difference was night and day. We really grew up together. “Mom, there’s this boy I met at school. I’ve never met anyone like him before. I know I said I wouldn’t date anybody in highschool because it’s stupid, but this boy is something else,” I say out of the blue on a car ride to the doctor. “Bryce, you’re only 14. There will be plenty of other boys, but keep him around if he makes you laugh. Just don’t set your expectations too high. 14 year old boys aren’t very mature,” she replied.

“I know, Mom. I just have a feeling about him…” Looking back on that conversation, I laugh. Little did she know at the time, I was talking about a boy that would basically become her adopted son. Someone who now takes my brother and sister to more of the practices and games than she does. Someone who has a reservation to every family day and vacation we have. But little did I know either. I slowly crawl my way off the bed, my legs creaking like rusty doors. I sleep-walk to the shelf, grab my favorite perfume, and spray it on each page of the book. I think it adds a nice touch. I stumble back into bed, and sleep caught me before my pillow did. BEEP BEEP BEEP I open my eyes to a dark window. It takes me a moment to remember who and where I am. My heavy eyes suddenly feel weightless and my sleepiness is stripped away like my blanket. I haven’t felt to excited since Christmas. I look at my clock, squinting at the bright screen, and see it’s 6:06. I really spent 6 minutes just opening my eyes. What a waste. My eyes wander down at the date on my phone: August 24th 2018. I zoom around my room, wishing my brush, clothes, and makeup could come to life and help a girl out. It’s 6:45 and time to go. I’m dressed cute but not too cute. I could wear a burlap sack and he wouldn’t care, but I wanted to look decent. I grab my back pack, double checking to make sure my book is inside. Then I’m out the door before the rest of my family is even awake. I pull in to our place, Huddle House, and see his silver Toyota Camry waiting for my Mini Cooper. He even saved it a parking spot next to him. I see the silhouette of his head turn to his backseat. He turns back around and his smile is so wide, it shows through the tinted windows. He runs out, flowers in hand, excitement in heart. I hand him the book. Suddenly I’m aware of how ugly my handwriting is and how stupid and cliche my little picture book is. I try to take it back, but it’s too late. I try to walk around the car, to avoid

him seeing my embarrassment, but he holds my hand. He opens the book, sees our baby faces, and tears well up a bit in his eye. I stay and read it through with him. Every simple picture was just one of the many memories we made together. The ups and downs and inbetweens were all captured within a book of 30 pictures. It could never truly do the years of laughing, crying, and living with each other by our sides justice, but it was a small window into the connection we had. Jose and I read it over again and again at the booth in Huddle House that morning, before he had to go to school. My heart smiled. A year and a half with the man who is my best friend, my partner in crime, and my first love. I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t wait to continue the book.

“Control” Bryce Phillips Who doesn’t love the rush of being pulled behind a boat, the spray of lake water splashing your face as you laugh and scream into the all-mighty wind? Who doesn’t love hitting giant, monstrous waves full force, being flung into the water, and somehow hitting your friend’s elbow, forehead, and knee cap on the way down? Who doesn’t love feeling the hot summer sun beat down on your back as your dad slings you around in donuts while you cling desperately to a flotation device? Everyone I know does. But I hate it. I’ve always been a control freak. My parents tell me stories of how I used to line up all of my closest cousins every Thanksgiving, give them roles to play in our imaginary game, and diligently make sure they became the perfect characters as I saw fit. I didn’t boss them around to be mean or cool, but because I wanted to make sure everyone was taking part in the adventures to be thought up and fun would be had. It never failed. Every time we played power rangers and Crew was the red ranger, everything just fit. Powerlessness is the hangnail of emotions. In my opinion, It’s just the worst. Without obtaining control, you’re giving it to the world. The chaotic, unpredictable, tornado of a world can decide your destiny or your day if you don’t seize it first. That’s how I’ve alway thought of it. It’s like riding a horse. If you take the reins and stirrups and hold the ropes with strong hands, you can control where that horse goes and what it does. However, releasing the grip lets the horse rear, sprint, and buck. Not saying that it always will. I well trained gelding may stay where you want to be, but more than a little likely, you’ll end up on the ground with the breath knocked out of you. Just like tubing. So everyday I take the reigns. I grab them tight until my knuckles turn white. I keep my horse named Life on the path I want, not faltering and opening a window for deviation.

My knuckles also turn white when I grip the steering wheel in my car. I can’t help it. I know deep down that driving is as dangerous for anyone on the road, but I can’t shake off the fear no matter how hard I try. The fact that any other car at any other time can swerve just a little bit, deviate just a little bit and crash into my tiny 2-door mini cooper, tears me up inside. It’s on my mind until the minute I get out of the rolling potential death trap. Then, and only then, can my grip release. So, back to tubing. I hate it. I want nothing to do with being tossed, dragged, beaten, and bruised like a ragdoll.And for what? Because it’s “fun” and a “rush”? I’d rather watch from the boat. I’m really jealous of the boys and girls that love tubing with their whole hearts. Living on the lake, there’s a good bit of them. I often try to imitate them to make myself get out of my own head. It doesn’t work, but I’d give both arms and legs to enjoy this seemingly amazing human experience of being towed behind a pontoon for 4 hours every day of the summer. But I guess I wouldn’t be too good at staying on without limbs. The look of pure joy and excitement on my friends’ faces never fail to baffle me. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear the people I love the most tell me I’m wrong for how I think of this true american pastime. I hanging out with a group of my closest friends and someone comes up with the great idea to head to one of our docks, crank up a boat, and give each other possible concussions via a giant fabric balloon. The idea goes over well with everyone. Everyone genuinely wants to drop anything they’re doing at the spur of the moment, wearing gym shorts and sports bras, to jump behind a boat. I wish I was the same. Instead, panic alarms ring in my head. I don’t have a bathing suit. I haven’t shaved my legs. I don’t have a towel or change of clothes. What are we doing after? What do I need to bring? Is there enough life jackets? These thoughts race through my head a mile a minute. It almost distracts me enough to

forget they want to tube. And I hate tubing. I almost let a complaint escape my lips, but I stop myself. Seeing my amazing friends get so excited, without a glimpse of worry or stress on their faces, makes me swallow my words before they come out of my mouth. I put on my “chill” mask and reluctantly let the last-minute plans unfold. I had a terrible time. I’m standing, dripping wet, towels, with bruises going down my whole body. I don’t want to get in the car just sit in a damp seat, being pressed like sardines next to my soggy friends. I’m cold, hungry, and my sports bra won’t dry for hours. I’m not happy, but my friends sure are. They’re proudly showing off the bumps, scrapes, and injuries along with recaps of their epic falls. “I must’ve flown 12ft in the air. It. Was. Awesome.” “This is gonna hurt tomorrow, but it’s going to be a story!” “Dude. Did you see when I ripped Kate’s life jacket trying to drag her after she fell face first into the wake?” Their wet hair and huge grins is all I see as I look at the people around me. I wish I could match. I sigh and bend over, flipping my hair. I try to squeeze as much water out as possible. “Hey, do you guys want to get Mexican?” I don’t know who said it, but my head instantly snaps up. “Yes!”, I say quickly. Finally, some comfort. I call ahead to the place the order. All I have to say is hi and the waiter recognizes my name. “Steak nachos? Small cheese dip?”, he says with a laugh.

“Yes, please” I hang up the phone, smiling on the inside. The panic goes away a little. I wish I had a fresh outfit to wear to pick it. I quickly shut that thought off. It will be okay. A little water on a shirt doesn’t hurt anyone. Okay, well maybe it’s a lot of water. But then I remind myself how good the food will be. I had eaten it twice before that week, but I’m still just as excited. My friends and I make our way through town. I pick up the order quickly, trying not to drip on the floor. We drive to my house. I quickly run inside before everyone else and change. Then, and only then, with dry clothes on my back and my favorite food in front of me does the panic really go away. I’ve regained control of my day.

“Dodie” Ragan Weese

“home” Allison Sarna

“Avenue des arbres à Chenonceau” Ann Ashworth

“AWESOME” Brandon Payne Today will be awesome Because awesome is in me No matter the circumstances For awesome is the ultimate key It can lock anything And it can unlock anything Awesome preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies (Psalm 23:5) Awesome will open you the windows of heaven And pour you out a blessing you won’t have room to receive (Malachi 3:10) Awesome is the tool that’s used to manifest the greatness that’s in me Awesome don’t let the flesh, glory inside of me Awesome is my hope and the air that I breathe