Table of Contents
Paisible by Megan Milford . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 I Know Family by Chanlin McGuire. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Oldsmobile by Carley Guillorn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 That Fateful Day by Carley Guillorn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Clyde by Katelyn Whitmire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Resting under Hopeful Branches-Paul Guasco. . . . . . . . . . 12 Autumn by Marie Peck. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Sometimes by Chris Maxwell. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Magnolias by Katelyn Whitmire. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Autism Silenced by Saron Bryan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Majesty by Hayden Bartlett. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 He Wrote Love on our Arms by Jared Rhodes. . . . . . . . 24 Fire Flower by Seth Meeler. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 The Garden Thief by Rebecca James. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 Focus by Adam George. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Endor by Nathan Gilmour. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
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Royale with Leaves by Seth Meeler. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Seek by Emma Parham. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 From Here to There by Kyle Garrett. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Waterfowl by Katelyn Whitmire. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 The Yellow Zone by Saron Bryan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Bloom by Adam George. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Sunset Boulevard by Carley Guillorn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Very Old Man by Chanlin McGuire. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 Afterwise Bumbles by Seth Meeler. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 Desert Palms by Carley Guillorn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Anthem for the Off-Key by Jared Rhodes. . . . . . . . . . . . 44 American Freedom by Hayden Bartlett. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Fantasia by Rebecca James. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 The Man of Many Words by Trey Collins. . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 The Real Calvin and Hobbes by Saron Bryan. . . . . . . . . . . 49 Before the Wedding by Seth Meeler. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
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Paisible By: Megan Milford 4
I Know Family By: Chanlin McGuire
I might tell a counselor that I just don’t understand family. That I’m not very good at having or keeping one, but really I know it’s a gardenful of flowers and waste; and the waste is just to help it grow. I already know that it’s the people, collectively, who make home worth coming back to. I know. It’s who ever and what ever I choose to hold close. It’s a person’s trust-zone. But isn’t it supposed to be a certain size or shape, I ask, already knowing, but not really. And isn’t home just as odd a concept as family anyway. I can’t know home is home of there’s not a f— garden. Isn’t it still a garden if I constantly move plants around and replace them. Isn’t it just a way to keep us busy, and a reason to go to a counselor. I know. “No.”
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Oldsmobile by Carley Guillorn
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That Fateful Day By: Carley Guillorn
I met my dad when I was five years old.
_____________________________ Buckled into the backseat of my mom’s station wagon, I never ceased my excited bouncing. My mother was taking me to Discovery Zone, the coolest place of all the places in my five-year-old world. Curiosity was peeking its way into my eyes and I couldn’t contain it anymore, “Mama, mama, mama! How come we get to go to Discovery Zone again? None of my friends are having birthday parties and Austin is at his grandma’s.” My mother’s toothy grin instantly appeared, “slow down there, Carley Barley. You talk a million miles a minute. We’re meeting mama’s friend today. I told you about him, remember – Jason? I tell him about you all the time and he’s wanted to meet you because he knows how very special you are to me.” She glanced back to make sure I hadn’t become too interested in my stuffed sweet potato doll, Mrs. Sweet Patootie, and stopped listening. “When he heard Discovery Zone was your favorite play place, he asked if we could all have a play date.” “Can I have an Icee?” I asked, more concerned with getting my favorite treat than meeting someone new. My mother glanced back again, entertained by my excitement, “Only a clear one, no stains on your new dress, grandma worked very hard on it.” Tugging on the bottom of my dress, I agreed, “Ok, mama.”
“Look, there it is! Don’t miss it!” I squealed as we grew closer and closer.
“I see, baby, I see, hold your horses!” Mama replied, slowly pulling into a parking spot and turning off the car. “Start unbuckling, time to play!” By the time she had reached my door, I had unbuckled, and holding tight to Mrs. Sweet Patootie, prepared myself to jump right out of the car yelling, “Play time!”
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As we made our way into the building, I slipped my hand into my mother’s and bounced along beside her and swung my stuffed doll along in my other hand. I looked up in just enough time to catch my mother waving to a man standing just inside the door. He had a big smile on his face and kept wiping his hands on his blue jeans. He reached up to adjust his glasses and then waved down at me. As we walked up to him, my mother let go of my hand and reached up to hug the man. She let go of him and then turned around to me, grabbing my hand again and looking between this new, strange man and me. “Carley, this is my friend Jason. Remember, I told you about him,” she said as she squeezed my hand. I looked up at the man; Jason, my mom had called him. I twisted my fingers in my mom’s grip, nervous but ultimately trusting, yanked them out and waved. “Hi, Jason. I’m Carley. My mom calls me Carley Barley. She says that I can get an Icee and that you are her friend and you want to be my friend too. She never let me meet any of her boy friends before. Will you go on the big slide with me? It’s my favorite because I always land in the big ball pit!” I finished with a huff of excitement, having only spoken for a mere matter of seconds, looking up at Jason. He laughed loudly, clearly amused by my babbling. “It’s very nice to meet you, Carley. I do want to be your friend too, if you will let me. I will go on the big slide, but first – tell me about this stuffed doll of yours, what’s her name?” “Mrs. Sweet Patootie!” I exclaimed loudly, shoving my stuffed sweet potato into my new friends face. “She’s a sweet potato. My mama reads me her book all the time and my Grandma Dot made her for me.” Jason bent down smiled at my doll and me, “That is the neatest doll I’ve ever met. Why don’t we leave her with your mom while you show me this cool slide?” I looked up at Jason, pausing slightly, and then handed Mrs. Sweet Patootie to my mom. I grabbed Jason’s hand and dragged him off into my loud and colorful world. _____________________________ I walked into our town house, closing the door slowly behind me. I stiffened at it’s slight squeak as the hinges moved together, pausing to taking in my
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surroundings. Our large and out of date TV was on and blaring. There was no chance the other members of my house had heard me close the front door over the re-run of a Dora The Explorer episode. There were animal crackers crushed on the couch cushions and toys strewn across the rug in front of the couch. My little brother and sister had no doubt been the culprits. Relieved at the sight of an empty living room, I sniffled quietly and made my way towards the stairs, hoping to make it to my room undetected by my mom and step-dad. I had just returned from a rare and brief visit at my biological father’s house and it had not gone well, which was not surprising. Ascending the stairs, my thoughts quickly turned to the frustrating argument and harmful things he had said to me during the car ride home. “You may want to go to art school, you may want to spend four years of college, if you can call it that, taking pictures, but it just isn’t going to happen. If you manage to get accepted, who’s going to pay for it? Huh? It sure isn’t going to be me! Your mother can’t – she doesn’t make enough money at that waitressing job of hers, and her husband has two more kids to pay for! You can’t do it, there is no way you’ll get a scholarship for taking pictures!” I stumbled as my foot landed too hard on hallway floor. I had been too engrossed in my thoughts to notice I had climbed the last step. I walked the few more feet to my room, kicking toys back into my sibling’s room. I quickly opened my bedroom door and tossed my overnight bag on the ground. Kicking off my shoes I crawled into bed as the hurt and anger washed over me again, tears rushing down my warm cheeks. Moments later the door opened too quietly for me to hear over my small sobs and I suddenly heard Jason’s voice, “Honey, what happened at your dad’s?” I heard him ask as he started to rub my back in an effort to soothe me. I must not have been as covert as I had hoped. After a small inward debate, I tried to talk. “H-e-he-h-e-he-is…” I stuttered out. “He-he-do-o-esn’t…” I tried again, before I giving up entirely. I turned and seeing the look of deep concern in Jason’s face, flung myself into Jason’s chest, my sobs growing louder and my breathing less controlled.
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He pulled me close and held me tighter, running his hand over the back of my head. “Shh…shh…It’s okay, sweetie. I’m sorry the relationship between you and your father aren’t great, I’m sorry he isn’t there for you like he should be. You always have me, though; I will always be here for you no matter what. I love you so much and I’m so glad you came into my life with your mother.” I tried to reply, but while my sobs had quieted, I had yet to regain full control over my voice. All that I could muster was a hoarse “I love you too,” and hugged him back. He held me for a few minutes, still petting my hair in a soothing manner. “Do you remember when I met you for the very first time?” he asked me quietly? I squeezed him tight and nodded my head slightly. It was one of my favorite stories, and his too. I loved to hear the way his voice filled with love for me whenever he re-told me the tale. “Tell me again,” I replied in barely a whisper. I was already anticipating the warmth that would fill me as he talked. I was familiar with the way it would slowly move it’s way into my bones; I could picture it in my head –it looked just the way honey does when you pour it into a steaming cup of tea. He squeezed me in return. “I had only been dating your mother for a month,” he began. “I was so nervous. She talked about you and your brother so much; it was so easy to tell how much she loved you both. ” He paused and glanced down at me, waiting until he caught my eye, “It only took me moments to love you too.” I smiled, already feeling the honey in my bones, and snuggled in closer, poking him to finish the story.
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Clyde By: Katelyn Whitmire Digital Art Winner
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Resting Under Hopeful Branches By: Paul Guasco
The earth is a legless table Trying to balance all of our weight The human race scrambles like toy soldiers Without truth, without order Seemingly hopeless and helpless Nothing can save them And the table will topple over
Who is like God? And what can tower over His branches? Strongmen dig, aimlessly dig But to no avail and to no end Seeking contentment in the dirt With sweat on their brows They carefully break their backs All for the cause The cause of satisfaction Who is like God? And what can tower over His branches? Heavy hearts seek comfort They search for someone to hold them And carry them through the tempest Trying to find fulfillment in one another They lie on their laps and spill their dreams They spill everything It soaks into the dirt
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Never to be seen nor heard But my Lord’s blood was fertile to the ground And not a single tear will go to waste From deep within, life is born It grows into the tallest of all trees And like a blanket, it covers me Sheltering me from the storm Who Who Only Only
saw my torment? answered my call? Jesus Him
Who is like God? And what can tower over His branches? Who Who Only Only
saw my torment? answered my call? Jesus Him
Who is like God? And what can tower over His branches?
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Autumn By: Marie Peck 14
Sometimes By: Chris Maxwell
sometimes the noise of silence and the closeness of distance remind me of how painful love really is. wanting and wishing while doubting and waiting, we question our worth and our value. i know i do. and i doubt i’m alone in the endeavor of aloneness in the middle of a crowd and sadness inside the mask of so happy and so glad and so sure. walking with numb feet. dancing to no music. waiting for a hidden kiss. and waiting more for more and more and more. or something else. anything else. am i wanted? loved? important? of value? i’ve been told so. sometimes i think so. but other times, like now, the noisy silence
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of aloneness shouts a sound of nothing at all. far away can be as close as possible. silence can contain a volume of fear. a smile can be only a mask to cover the wounds from that love so painful. so powerful, so pleasurable, so promising, and, yes, so throbbing. but what if it’s worth it? that love, what if it’s worth the contraptions that seem so unlike love? what if the sadness of a death, a departure, a defeat is actually ok, somehow in the larger craft of life? in the tension of noble and excruciating, delightful and miserable, what if that pressure, that tension, can in some way lead to a deeper healing? staring at the mirror, i notice hurt. standing beside a friend, i observe wounds. glaring toward the many, i detect internal injuries. listening to a morning’s melody of hurry, I discern angst. those convoluted, throbbing, bleeding hurts hurt deeply, even when hidden by coverings of religious smiles and impressive performances,
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veiled by tedious chores and scholarly debates, disguised by busy days and busy lives, of life and death and nothing, really. just covered, in denial of reality sometimes. the camouflaged lives aren’t really life until that time of something, some thing, some change, some choice, some shift, some confession, some shaking into reality of releasing decades of sorrow. like a confession toward a lover who actually hears all and still loves in the end. like a prayer toward a listener who risks all to bring restoration. like silence with a companion who is okay with no words and no smile and no thrill and no high. time by the river, listening to the movement. time at the ocean, feeling the waves changing shifts so suddenly. time on the mountain, as near to the top as possible and seeming so distant from any highest peak. time alone and being okay with that; enjoying, not escaping. time with a crowd and being healthy with that; experiencing, not comparing. time of nothing at all now. no longer a fugitive, now a person. no longer a victim, now a champion.
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no longer a performer, now an artist slowing designing while being designed in this sometimes joyful, sometimes crazy adventure of life. maybe not a david defeating a goliath, but david the poet, singing to a hidden dad. maybe not walking on the water or calming a storm, but napping in the boat, uncontrolled by any tempest anymore.
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Magnolias By: Katelyn Whitmire
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Autism Silenced By: Saron Bryan
The July sun beamed down hotly through the dry leaves of the trees, and the heat waves rippled off of the cracked pavement of the parking lot. Sweat trickled down my spine as I led Cole through the open door of the church building. I put my hand on his slumped shoulder to guide him through, but at my touch he jerked his body away and walked ahead of me down the hall. I watched his yellow shirt, emblazoned with the blue “Autism Speaks” logo of a puzzle piece, dodge the hoard of children and para-pros and duck into a classroom. As I entered the room I was met with the sharp, bitter smell of Elmer’s glue mixed with the tangy scent of adolescent body odor. I spotted Cole, seated alone at a plastic-covered table. I joined him in one of the too-small wooden chairs and watched as his gaze slid over the rainbow of colored pencils and mason jars full of black and white craft eyes and glitter. He snatched up a piece of light blue construction paper and fidgeted with it. He began to bite his lower lip and his dark honey eyes shifted back and forth. “So, Cole, what other classes have you had today?” I asked him. I tried not to use the baby voice that I noticed the para-pros using. I felt like Cole would find that insulting. His eyes stopped moving and rested on an empty corner of the table, and his fingers continued to fold and unfold the paper. “I thought I saw on your schedule that you had karate this morning. How was that? Do you like Sensei Prather?” At this Cole twitched his head in my direction and met my smile with an intense gaze. We looked at one another for a second before he leaned in so close that I could smell what he’d eaten for a snack on his breath. “Yeah I like karate it’s fun we learned how to do kicks and Sensei Prather is nice but he made memadbecauseIdidn’twanttodowhathewassayingbuthemademe...” Cole spoke so airily and so softly that to me it sounded like a breeze blowing through stalks of wheat. But the more frustrated he got as he spoke, the more the breeze in his voice became like an angry gust howling in the sky during a storm. He started to shred the paper in his hands, and the art teacher got a worried wrinkle in her forehead.
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She came over to him and tried to take the paper out of his hands, saying, “Here, why don’t you try to draw pretty textures with some crayons?” But Cole snatched his ruined construction paper back from her, saying, “No, no, NO it’s mine and I don’t want to do that I’m not ready to draw yet NO IT’S MINE!” His voice roared like a surge of wind from a hurricane blowing over the raging waters of the sea. I shook my head rapidly behind Cole’s back, and the teacher gave him back the shredded piece of blue paper and left him alone. He clutched the paper in a white-knuckled grip and rocked back and forth in the too-small chair. I saw flashes of the blue puzzle piece as I watched him rock, and I waited for him to calm down. “Cole,” I said after a few minutes, “what are you making out of your paper there?” He met my gaze and looked away quickly, fixing his stare on a bookshelf in the corner of the room. He began talking and rocking at the same time. I leaned in so that his mouth was right by my ear. “It’s a rocket ship that goes to the moon you wanna see how it can fly? Huh? Do ya do ya?” Without waiting for my response, Cole chucked the the crumpled creation into my face and let out an airy giggle. I jumped back, which made him laugh a little more. I threw it back to him, and he caught it with a quick jab of his alabaster arm. He threw it back to me as hard as he could, and the paper hit me square in the chest. He let out a maniacal cackle, and breathed “Lift off!” through the gap in his wide smile. He leaned into me and said, “I’m really sorry for the way I talk I know it’s hard to understand me sometimes I just have a hard time saying what I want to say sometimes and I know I’m not very loud.” His airy breeze-voice whistled its way to me, and his dark-honey eyes, fringed with long dark lashes met mine, and all I could say was, “It’s okay, Cole, I can understand you just fine. You don’t have to apologize.” He looked at me for a moment longer and went back to destroying the paper with his finger-tips. I glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed that we were long overdue to leave.
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“Alright Cole! Time to go!” I jumped out of my seat as Cole gathered the remains of the construction paper and slid his chair under the table. We walked together into the sweltering afternoon heat, and the cicadas in the trees chirped dryly as we made our way back to the fellowship hall of the church. His scuffed white sneakers dragged in the little black pebbles of the parking lot and a bead of perspiration dripped down his freckled cheek. The moment we walked through the doors, Cole spotted his dad, and went running to him in a flurry of blue construction paper confetti. Cole’s dad didn’t miss a beat in the conversation he was having and Cole stood beside him, wringing his hands and huffing a piece of his dark brown curls out of his eyes. Cole’s dad shook hands with the man he was talking to and began walking out of the fellowship hall. Cole trudged behind him. He drug his sneakers across the carpet, and a deep crease formed between his eyebrows. I followed them out into the suffocating humidity and walked to my car. His gleaming silver Audi was parked next to my grimy 1993 Honda. I sat as Cole’s dad let him into the passenger seat of the Audi. I fiddled with the radio while I watched Cole’s dad get behind the steering wheel and start the car. Cole’s mouth moved rapidly and I observed as his dad rubbed at his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. His hand moved to the knob on the radio and he slowly turned it all the way to the right. Cole’s mouth stopped moving and the furrow returned to his brow. He turned his head toward me and looked into my eyes as he and his dad drove into the heat of the afternoon.
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Majesty By: Hayden Bartlett
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He Wrote Love On Our Arms By: Jared Rhodes
A year ago I wanted to get the word Love tattooed across my wrist To show support and well love to those who’s skin a razor blade has kissed I don’t know what struggles have befallen them or already preexist But I just wanted a taste of the pain or at least the gist I know you’re in the midst of something that you wish did not exist But my heart goes out to you, those who seek the blade Those who self degrade, taking heed to your inner tirades and feeling so betrayed Those who look for counsel and aid in depressing tunes and serenades Those who are afraid to break through the blockade because once they are through they have to drop this “I’m okay” charade So instead they wish they stayed in their built up walls and palisades so decayed and in disarray I don’t know why you choose to cut, but I don’t care And if you’re ever with me, I promise I don’t mean to stare But the broken skin cuts away at my heart, this I swear Even though I care so much, don’t expect a questionnaire Because something that devastating and full of despair sometimes needs to be brought up by you, so to ask I would not dare But I promise you thing one thing There is a God who will heal every scar and take away every sting He will wipe away every tear and give you a new song to sing He will pick you up off your knees and you will soar tucked under his wing He will throw you down a rope when you are hanging by a thread and a broken string So, back to my wrist, in a way I did get the word love Because this small fish represents the kind of affection that can only come from above This fish represents a God who sent His son to take on every cut, burn, bruise and shove And sent a Comforter so we could have peace like doves So that we can rejoice of every type of pain we are free of Jesus wrote love on his arms, back, head, wrists, and it cost him his life So that we can no longer be alone in our anger, bitterness and strife Jesus died so you can have life Just keep that in mind next time you grab a razor or reach for a knife
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Fire Flower By: Seth Meeler
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The Garden Thief By: Rebecca James
The morning star perched directly over the garden while sweat beaded on my brow. Desert Honeysuckles and Chinese Lanterns danced at the vibrating touch of the thief. 80 pulses per second, it came and went in the blink of an eye, then back again – more. Its tapered bill nuzzled safely inside the heart of the flowers. My movements grew short and slight so as not to disturb God’s miniature masterpiece. But as much as I wanted to observe it, pollen stroke up a plight. Sneezes erupted, coughing ensued, and the poor tiny creature – shocked – stopped searching for food. Once chaos ceased, I glanced around. My garden’s thief no longer could be found.
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Focus By: Adam George
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Endor
By: Nathan Gilmour He stepped carefully as he descended into the rocky pit, his long limbs little help as he descended. The two men who came with him remained at the top of the stony ridge, and as he approached the woman, he could smell the sharp smoke that foreign gods demanded. The woman gestured silently at the flames in front of her and cast powder into the fire. The first lit the rocky slopes like daylight as the flying dust burst into flying flames. The second merely hissed menace to the tall stranger. The woman turned her chin towards the heavens, her torso swelling with breath and then releasing the same as her hand, palm up, stretched forward into space. When she addressed him there were no words, just that upturned hand and a glint from the fire glowing in her eyes, the only visible sign that he was in the presence of a human being.
“Consult a spirit for me, and bring up for me the one I name!”
The woman’s grin became the second sign in the dark, sharp-edged hole. The eyes still fixed on him, and he tried to speak better, in a way that would command a response: “Consult a spirit for me! Bring up the one I name!” The woman’s head tilted to the side, her smile moving with the frame of her face. “Surely you know what the king has done!” He knew well enough. “Would you lay a snare for me, knowing that he has driven out all the ‘abeoth and the yide’onim from the land? Would you have me killed here in this sacred place?” He recoiled at the word “sacred.” He knew full well that the prophet would have called this pit a “high place” or a “false shrine” or something else. But now, with no voice from Heaven, no signs from the Urim and the Thummim, no sense that anyone on the earth or beyond could save him and the people that he protected—that the same blasted God had commanded him to protect—he was in the sorcerous pit of this ‘abeah,
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a speaker to the dead. For those consigned to death, a speaker to the dead might be the only one who will hear. The eyes still followed him, watched his soul circle in the darkness. He spoke: “As YHWH lives, no harm will come to you for this thing.” “This thing indeed! It takes no yid’eon to know that you detest me! If you’re going to beg favors of me, I won’t hear you from that height. Come to your knees and ask me from your heart!” He glared at her in the darkness, wishing that his own eyes held the flames as hers kept holding them. “Kneel, O great man!” His eyes never lowered as his knee began to bend. Staring as he had learned to stare when his allies sought to withdraw or his enemies sought to advance, he knelt as a king, his tired body still upright though his stature now did not bring him up as high as the wicked woman’s. “As YHWH lives, no harm will come to you.”
“Beg me, you proud man! I want to hear you beg!”
“I do not beg.”
“You come here, to the sacred hollow of the ‘abeah, asking forbidden favors, and you think you can talk to me like a man of greatness?” As she spoke each phrase, she stepped closer, so that he could smell the incense and the fire and the woman. Her hand now pressed down on his still-enormous shoulder. Her eyes now seemed to shine of their own accord, the fire behind her and her shadow cast over his frame. “Beg!” His lips curled as he spoke: “O ‘abeah, speaker with the dead, summoner of fathers and spirits, grant my wish: bring up for me the one I name to you!” Her hand lifted from his shoulder, and she stooped down to him. He felt her fingers begin to trace his cheek. He lifted his eyes, which had dropped against his will, and could only see her, her small nose even with his enormous face, his own look turned back inside him as he smelled the magic and the sacrilege and the woman before him. Her fingers now on both cheeks, tracing the edge of his graying beard. “Beg me.”
“Please. Summon a spirit.”
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The eyes. The smile. The look of satisfaction, even of release. She stood to full height. “Whom shall I bring up for you?”
His knee still bent. Shame. “Bring up Samuel for me.”
He lifted his eyes again, knowing that once again they had fallen. She began to dance as he had never seen a woman dance, leaping and whirling as once more she fed the fire and as the unholy light flashed and receded on the rocks. Nothing but her legs and her hips could hold his eyes now, her feet lighting on this rock, then that, her arms giving shape to a language in the darkness that he had never read, an invitation whose pull no man, living or dead, could ever resist. Then he saw the light. He saw the fire’s halo joined by a new light, a flash that changed into a light that no man, beloved by God, should ever see. Green as no plant’s leaves are green, one of the rocks nearby the fire began to pour sickening light into Saul’s eyes. From the rock first two glowing eyes, then a head to frame them, then something like a human form began to emerge, stretching its unreal limbs as a newborn calf. The monstrous flow of light had no face, save those eyes, which now glared into his mind, two heated knives plunged into the space behind his own eyes. As the apparition rose from the rock, a scream as from the dead themselves met his ear.
“You liar! You are Saul!”
His own name, in that moment, landed on his heart as a piercing agony, the shaft of an arrow piercing his chest. He looked now between the shade and the woman, shame in two persons, and his knees once more lost their strength. He fell once more. “What do you see here?”
“The shade of a dead man of God coming to bring judgment on us both!”
“Do not fear! What do you see?”
“’Elohim coming out of the earth!”
“What does he look like?”
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“An old man rises!” Saul looked and could only see the shapeless body and the terrible eyes. “He wraps himself in the robes of a prophet!” All that Saul could do was to kneel before the shape, the light of condemnation shining on him from eyes that were not eyes. His palms down in front of him, he kissed the ground before the horror. Then a voice reached into Saul’s mind, a sound that did not seem to come from the shape but from the place that always burned until young David would play the harp. “Why have you disturbed me by bringing me up?” Saul raised his face, defiance giving way to a kind of desperation that no song could heal. The woman had fallen back and lay across a large rock, staring. He could only scream: “My world shakes around me, O Samuel! The Philistines surround me! God has turned away from me! No prophet speaks His word by day, and no dream guides me by night!”
The eyes that were not eyes did not waver.
“Please! Samuel! I summoned you because God, your God, will not speak to me! Please, don’t abandon me as God has!” The voice once again rose from the recesses of Saul’s evil spirit: “You speak right, Saul. God is your enemy.” The hideous green light began to rise in brightness, overcoming the fire’s light and filling the shrine with the terror of divine fury. “So why do you come to me? YHWH has declared your fate, Saul. The kingdom has been ripped from your hand for David to hold! Because you would not bear the wrath of God against the Amalekites, that wrath now falls on you!” With each sentence the flames of the apparition’s body surged, until Saul could see neither the woman nor the rocks nor anything but the blazing anger around him and before him. As Saul’s body tipped forward, and as his own hips and back lost the strength to hold up his neck, even as he lost sight of the raging spirit of Samuel, he heard the voice from within his own evil spirit one more time: “YHWH will give Israel along with you into the hands of the Philistines. Tomorrow you shall be with me, Saul. Tomorrow.”
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Royale By: Seth Meeler
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Seek
by: Emma Parham As these lifeless shadows creep in I won’t forget who I am Who You already made me to be. Rocking. Gently swaying. Wanting to be like the sea, its constant pull into the depths Deeper, deeper How do I hold on to You? To feel you growing through my veins each day? My heart pumping heavier. lighter. While sleeping, while waking. Sometimes it seems as if reality is a dream and our dreams our reality. Can I live there with You? In those moments where I glimpse eternity? Where time and space condense and all I can see is what I couldn’t see before I knew You loved me. Movements overlapping to tell Stories… always looking to find me. Reaching out of pits. Dancing through forests. abiding and longing. barefoot and free. Hold me. The pulsating movement of moving forward I begin to face my palms up towards. It’s all beginning to trickle out of me…. maybe vaguely but its starting. And as it all flies away, it will eventually resonate… or at least that’s what I’m hoping. Letting go… You’re absorbed into me, like a full and long summers day, spent from dawn till dusk absorbing the sun and being one with the earth
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until you can feel it’s healing warmth sleeping in your soul…making you whole. And the endless night sky falls to encompass you in its velvety blanket of grace and heaven as your eyes close to dream. That’s how I want to live. Seeking. Absorbing. Growing. With my palms faced towards You. Simply letting go. My gaze fixed upon Your incomprehensible eyes. Slowly and forever are hearts becoming one, making a home. You are my home.
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From Here to There By: Kyle Garrett
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Waterfowl By: Katelyn Whitmire 36
The Yellow Zone By: Saron Bryan
Excitement rippled through my little limbs when my teacher, Ms. Graham, announced they it was play time. My wide eyes took in the room, bathed in primary colors, as I decided how to spend my precious free time. Many of the other children, with their hair falling out of delicately styled braids and their shirttails untucking themselves, flooded over to the loft that was in the corner of the room. It overflowed with plush stuffed animals, from a sunfloweryellow Tweetie bird to a blindingly pink Tasmanian devil. Oh, how I longed to be able to cuddle up with one of those snugly animals! But alas, the tiny loft was crowded with over anxious Kindergarteners, and on this day, as with every other day, I was forced to choose a different activity. My gaze drifted over to a long, sandalwood hued table smooshed into the far left corner of the room. The light didn’t quite reach over to that corner, and it was shrouded in shadows. There were two kids there, both with wild, unbrushed hair and dingy, clay-stained overalls. They were playing with thick, sticky white paste, and one of them tried to glue his fingers together. I thought I saw the other kid sneak some of the gooey paste into her math. I decided I didn’t want to play with them. I bit off one of my fingernails and looked up that the clock on the wall. I stared at it for what felt like an absurdly long time before I realized I’d spent five whole minutes of my play time trying to decide what to do! I only had fifteen minutes left, so I had to decide fast. My grubby hands flew to my cheeks as I swung my head from side to side with feverish anxiety. My knotty hair swung around my head and went up my nose. Finally, my gaze fell on a set of untouched blocks on a shelf close to the door of the classroom. I flailed my arms above my my head and ran over to the blocks shouting, “I KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO DO TODAY!” Just in case anyone has their doubts. I had big plans for these blocks. I wanted to rebuild the entire African tundra in an exact replica of the world of The Lion King, which was absolutely the best movie ever made, in my five-year-old opinion. I set out to recreate Pride Rock, complete with Rafiki lifting a newborn Simba above his monkey head. I blew my ragamuffin bangs out of my face and looked up at the clock again. I only had five minutes left! I’d only been able to build Pride Rock! I was going
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to run out of time and my masterpiece would be demolished! Through all of my flushed botheration, it occurred to me that I really had to pee. I was in the red zone. But, I had to finish Africa before time was up! I didn’t have time to ask Ms. Graham if she would take me to the bathroom. I owed it to Simba to finish his land for him. I began to construct the jungle out of dark green cylinder shaped blocks and navy blue rectangle blocks, and the urgency of my bathroom situation increased a few levels. There were only sixty seconds left on the clock, and it looked like I’d bitten off more than I could chew. I wasn’t going to be able to finish The Lion King today. Crocodile tears dripped down my flushed cheeks as Ms. Graham came over to destroy my artfully crafted construction. I slapped my hands on the brown, spotted carpet in frustration and held my breath because I was so mad at myself for taking too long to decide what to do. I concentrated so hard on not breathing that I forgot how badly I has to pee. I looked down at my pants in horror as a dark stain spread across the denim. Tears flowed freely and my lower lip trembled as I looked at Ms. Graham in defeated dismay. She stared back at me with the kind of patience only a Kindergarten teacher can have. She took my hand and said, “Okay, Saron. We’re gonna call your mommy and have her bring you some new clothes. We’ll getcha cleaned up.” She smiled down at me, and I hung my head in embarrassment. I sat in Ms. Graham’s office, which was cluttered with crayon creations from past kindergarten students and smelled like coffee and chocolate chip cookies, until my mom came. She has a Walmart bag around her wrist filled with a new change of clothes, but the look in her eyes suggested that punishment would come before the clothes. “Saron, you need to say you’re sorry for not telling Ms. Graham that you had to go potty.” I puffed my cheeks out poked out my lips. Blush creeped up my neck as I said, “I’m sorry, Ms. Graham.”
“Now say you’re sorry to mommy please.”
“I’m sorry mommy. It won’t happen again.” Mom led me to the bathroom and helped me change. Needless to say, having to pee always took precedence over The Lion King after that day.
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Bloom By: Adam George
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Sunset Boulevard By: Carley Guillorn
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Very Old Man by: Chanlin McGuire Poetry First Place Winner
Like a snarled old tree whose branches’ weight grows heavier than height, where you used to tower, in my mind at least, before you fell, a stump— you’ve dropped all this rot at my feet and I can’t stand the pop of the seeds, the gush of the meat, the smears underfoot. You call this fruit Like a stone in a bank beneath the crush of a torrent of all of our feet, big and small, you wear. You weather. You change, but we don’t notice. We just run on, a river, a ruthless crick whose current beats ruthless back into us. We’re selfish. Why run anywhere if not to oneself But even great trees wilt and drop, then melt and feed a million small unseen, maybe unreal users. And smooth rocks break down and turn to dust, and dust, well, dust feeds
no one. When you left did you dissolve more like a tree or a stone
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Afterwise Bumbles By: Seth Meeler
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Desert Palms By: Carley Guillorn
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Anthem for the Off-Key by: Jared Rhodes
This is a song for the broken, an anthem for the off-key This is a tune to listen to when the answer’s too tough to see This is a melody for those who were in chains and are finally free So if you want to be free, take the time to listen to me Scratch that, don’t listen to me Tap into what’s behind my words The truth is there shining through and it’s just waiting to be heard To those with built-up walls around them and feel so self-assured I’d like to see your faces when your walls crumble from the power of this unstoppable Word These words that you hear are not my own It’s God’s spirit living within my dust-filled bones My heart humbled and my sins atoned letting me live without any heavy burdens or loans Most think He is up in space on his celestial throne But He’s right beside me so I’ll never be alone So to the intellectuals, to the politicians, kings and scribes The ones who feed on confusion and disbelief to survive No longer from the truth will my nation be deprived We will take the sword to your symbiotic hive of lies To show that God cannot be dead but is truly alive Are you all too ignorant and proud to just open your eyes and see it? Are you too stubborn and is your heart too hard to feel it? Are there not enough facts to just submit, let go, agree to it? It’s on the back of your money and in your allegiance and you still don’t believe it. Some groups are suddenly intolerant because their opinion isn’t the same You push acceptance and push away the antithesis, saying its outdated and lame Free religion and being all you can be is why to this country we came Worship God or whoever and work hard enough to make yourself a name But today its not politically correct to pray in school but acceptable to cheat your way through this devilish game Don’t get me wrong, this country is great, but it’s not the same. Things have changed Its time for us to defame the falsehoods and patriotic chains And reveal all of the hidden guilt and shame
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Oh what a shame.
You sold a broken lie, you ran an unneeded race We can see right through your political poker face You can keep your forked tongues behind your mouths because the truth we will embrace We will stand against you and the unseen principalities face to face We will fight for our right down on our knees and blow the roof off this place Singing -- Wait 15 seconds So here we stand, off-key anthem resonating through the sky Worshipping the One True God until the day we die Never will we stumble and never will we be skittish or shy How can you lie to yourself when your True master cannot deny The presence of my Jesus, even he has to comply So when he rears his ugly head and look him in the eye And not back down because of who I have as an ally So the lonely, the broken, the downtrodden, with tears in your eyes I pray you stand tall with the full armor of God, fist in the air, singing this war cry
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American Freedom By: Hayden Bartlett
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Fantasia by: Rebecca James
I cannot wait to paint the air with the colors of my voice. Highs and lows, keys and octaves from a ballad of my choice. I open my mouth and words get stuck, so I suck in air to start over, hoping for better luck. The metronome is ticking, and the bass is kicking. The chorus is finished, but the bridge is tricky. I try multiple times to lay down the track. I’m tired of hearing my poor voice crack. Celestial tea and one last “from the top.” I sing all the lyrics until the music comes to a stop. I keep the headphones on and expect it to be fair. But a masterpiece was made from the colors in the air.
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The Man of Many Words By: Trey Collins
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The Real Calvin and Hobbes By: Saron Bryan Prose First Place Winner
The room was such a boyish bedroom, filled with boy toys and boy books, like dinosaurs and solar systems, and books I’d never heard of like Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Alex and I turned all of the lights off except for a few lamps, and it gave the room a warm, buttery glow. Our little bodies were propped up on pillows on Alex’s bed, and I snuggled up in his thick navy comforter, and put the blanket over my raggedy, snaggly hair. Alex had a book with lots of pictures open, and there were some words, but I couldn’t read them yet.
“Alex, will you read me that story?”
He ran his fingers through his thick, wavy hair, and looked over at me with eyes fringed with thick lashes. “Sure! This is one of my favorites anyway.”
“What’s it about?” I asked, my head propped up on my hand.
“Well, it’s about aliens,” he said matter-of-factly. He nodded his head once, and it gave his statement a sense of finality and truth that I didn’t question.
“’Kay! I wanna hear it.”
“The aliens came from a far distant world,” Alex began aloud, “in a large yellow ship that blinked as it twirled. It rounded the moon, and entered the sky. We knew they had come, but they didn’t know why.” I interrupted Alex and tugged on his red and white striped shirt, “Alex, why’d the aliens gotta come to earth? Are they gonna get us?” He looked down at me, cocooned in his comforter and eyes wide, and said, “Nah, they’re not gonna come. See, this is Calvin and Hobbes. It’s just a comic. It’s not real.”
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He patted my shoulder once with nail-bitten fingers and shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, well…okay. Well keep readin’!” I nestled further into my blanket burrito and fixed my eyes on his face as he read. His lips formed the words so intentionally, and his eyebrows ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of the words as he said them. I didn’t know what most of them meant really, but I got excited about them because he seemed so enthusiastic about what he said. His eyes widened with excitement as he began reading what was in the next panel. “Bright the next morning, with noisy commotion,” I reveled as he said “commotion” –it seemed like a huge word, “the ship slowly moved out over the ocean. It lowered a tube, and drained the whole sea, for transport back home, to their galaxy.” “Alex! Oh no! The aliens are taking all of our water! WHAT ABOUT THE FISHES?” Tears sprang to my eyes, and I ripped the covers off of my body and jumped off of the bed. I ran around the room, tripped over my own feet and landed on my butt. I sat on his floor, amid Hot Wheels and Bionicles, as big tears dripped down my cheeks for all of the world’s fishes. “Saron, Saron, Saron,” Alex said as he came and sat beside me on the floor, “I promise the aliens haven’t really come to get all of the water. The fishes are safe in the ocean, it’s still there. Wanna see?” I nodded my head without looking up at him. Alex pulled a big book off of one of the shelves I wouldn’t have been able to reach, and flipped to a big, full page photo of the Caribbean sea. “Ohhhhhh, wow! It’s so pretty and blue.” I wiped the salt water off of my cheeks and marveled at the vibrant colors of the ocean, dotted with exotic pinks and yellows of fishes that were obviously safe at home in their water.
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ya.”
“See?” he said, “the water is still there. The aliens haven’t taken anyway. Told
I sniffled, but I believed him. “Okay, Alex. You can finish your story now.”
Alex continued right there on the floor, “The tube then sucked up the clouds and
the air, causing no small amount of earthling despair. With nothing to breath, we started to die, ‘Help us! Please stop!’ was the public outcry.” I took in a sharp intake of air at the thought of all of the world not being able to breath anymore, but I remembered that Alex said that it wasn’t real, so I held back my tears and let him continue. “A hatch opened up, and the aliens said, ‘We’re sorry to learn that you soon will be dead. But though you may find this slightly macabre,’” another marvelous word I didn’t know the meaning of, but sounded cool and smart when Alex said it with his intellectual enunciation, “’We prefer your extinction to the loss of our job.’”
“Alex, I don’t get it.”
“Well ya see, it’s funny because the aliens were just doing their job, like your daddy and mommy go to their jobs every day. It’s just funny because the alien’s job is taking over the world.” “Ohhh, okay! That is funny.” I still didn’t get it, but it didn’t matter to me. Alex showed me the rest of the Calvin and Hobbes comic, and the last panel featured black and white cartoon tiger and little boy with hair that stuck up all over the place, like my dad’s did in the morning. He read me the last panel. “’That’s my science fiction story,’” the little boy in the picture said, “’do you think it’s too far-fetched?’” The black and white tiger answered him, “’Not far-fetched enough, really.”’ Alex laughed a lot after he read what the tiger said, and I didn’t get this joke either, but I laughed along because I just liked to laugh with people. He closed the book and I jumped up off of the floor. I scrubbed my scuffed white tennis shoes on his carpet and asked, “Well, watcha wanna do now?” ’ “Uhhhhh, I dunno,” he answered. “Wanna go see what’s in the woods.” “Yeah! Let’s go be explorers!” I practically yelled back at him. I grabbed a safari hat off of one of his shelves and tromped out the door, ready to share another adventure with my friend.
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Before the Wedding By: Seth Meeler
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Credits
Editor: Saron Bryan Editor Emeritus: Chanlin McGuire Designer: Josue Jimenez Staff: Jenna Aycock Ashley Pulliam Justin McClain Destiny Harper Jacob Taylor Faculty Sponsors: Kyle Garrett and Nathan Gilmour
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