The Wayfarer 2022: Finding Yourself

Cover: Photograph I Grayden Mott I 9

The Wayfarer Published by the students of Edgewood High School of the Sacred Heart 2219 Monroe Street Madison, WI 53711 www.edgewoodhs.org Volume XXXVI Spring 2022

Letter From The Editor Dear Reader, Hello and thank you for picking up a copy of The Wayfarer! My staff and I are thrilled to share with you the fantastic literary and art pieces of Edgewood High School students. The theme of this year’s edition is “Finding Yourself ”. Inside, you will find a wide variety of poems, essays, plays, and short stories. Some students share a self-reflective essay written for college applications.

Other pieces tell of fantasy adventures that reveal the inner hero. One piece even depicts selfdiscovery amidst a murder…And all of it is supported by the mixed media of our talented artists.

I hope you find inspiration for your own journey within these pages. Our staff was grateful to find our way back to in-person meetings for the 2021-2022 school year. We welcomed members old and new, and have created an outstanding showcase. Thank you for your support of the arts, and enjoy!

Sarah Cook Editor-In-Chief

Colophon

About Us

The 2022 issue of The Wayfarer, volume XIII,

Literary pieces for The Wayfarer are selected

consisting of 48 pages was typeset, and layouts

through our team’s voting process. All pieces are

were produced using Adobe InDesign Creative

anonymous upon submission so as not to give

Suite 3 and Adobe Photoshop Creative Suite

staff members an unfair advantage. Most pieces

3. The Wayfarer Layout Staff chose the Adobe

featured in the magazine are also submitted to

Garamond Pro font family for copy. The

the Edgewood Writing Contest. All winners

Myriad Pro font family is used for bylines.

are guaranteed a spot in The Wayfarer.

Various fonts were used for titles and pull quotes. Thysse Printing Service was responsible for printing 100 copies of The Wayfarer.

Special Thanks

Past and present issues of The Wayfarer can be found online at: https://issuu.com/edgewoodhs

The Wayfarer Staff would like to express their gratitude to Edgewood High School’s Marketing, Accounting, English, Art, and Technology departments for their guidance and support. We would also like to express our

Mission Statement Edgewood, a Catholic high school, educates the whole student for a life of learning, service, and personal responsibility through a rigorous academic curriculum that embraces the Sinsinawa Dominican values of Truth, Compassion, Justice, Community, and Partnership.

gratitude to the exceptional student writers and artists who contributed their work.

Wayfarer Staff

Editor-In-Chief Sarah Cook

Managing Editors Maryn Davenport Isabella Ethen

Layout Staff Kayla Buelling Sarah Cook Maryn Davenport Isabella Ethen Grayden Mott OlaRose Ndubuisi Florissa Patterson Natalie Ring Rebecca Ring Lydia Shannon

Editorial Staff Sarah Cook Maryn Davenport OlaRose Ndubuisi Isabella Ethen Grayden Mott

Advisors & Consultants Ms. Julie Brand Mr. Juan Diaz Ms. Martha Doherty Ms. Natalie Koblenski Ms. Stephanie Baertlein

Literature

The Essence of You OlaRose Ndubuisi, Poem

8-9

Bones Maryn Davenport, Poem

11

Finding My Way Ellen Weinstock, Essay

12

The Night of Memories Matthew Garcia, Poem

15

A Typical Fantasy Adventure Ryan Gierhart, Play

16-21

The Sunshine State Audrey Yager, Poem

22

Sunrise Maryn Davenport, Poem

23

Untitled Lydia Shannon, Comic

25

Greek Gods vs. Bible OlaRose Ndubuisi, Poem

26-29

Four Years Growth Samuel Klestinski, Poem

30

Gratitude Jesse Johnson, Poem

31

The Fields Melanie Harings, Poem

32

Ghosts of War Logan Grabins, Poem

33

Battling the Seven Lucy Bugni, Short Story

34-37

She Cared Bella Ethen, Poem

39

A Poem About Being Trans Jesse Johnson, Poem

40

Gossamer Moon Maryn Davenport, Poem

41

42-43

An Incomprehensible Place Natalie Trampf, Short Story

44

Road Kill Deiter Beilman, Short Story

45

Finding Yourself Robert Kirschbaum, Poem

46-47

On Maturity William Buchanan, Essay

48

Faithful OlaRose Ndubuisi, Poem

Art

2D Art OlaRose Ndubuisi

8

Photography Grayden Mott

10-11

Digital Art Lydia Shannon

12-13

Drone Photography Silas Leuthner

14-15

Refraction Photography Samuel Klestinski

16-21

Photography Caden Thomas

22-23

2D Art Phil Fabian

24

2D Art Phil Fabian

26-29

Photography Grayden Mott

30-31

Photography Grayden Mott

32

33

Photography Florissa Patterson

34-37

Photography Grayden Mott

38-39

Photography Grayden Mott

41

Photography Grayden Mott

43

Photography Grayden Mott

44-45

Photography Hannah Shin

46

2D Art Benjamin Roe

48

Photography Grayden Mott

The Essence of You Poem I OlaRose Ndubuisi I 9

Poem I OlaRose Ndubuisi I 9

2D Art I OlaRose Ndubuisi I 9

Locked in the house with nothing to do, But sit and watch the suffering before you.

The news reports that the numbers are jumping higher each day.

Each hospital room echoes with deafening coughs and cries of suffering and strife, As zeroes are being added on with the end of each life.

100. 1,000. 1,000,003.

You pray that such a lonely transition from this life to the next is not your destiny.

You long to go outside and listen to the sweet chirping of the birds, And the haunting whistling of the wind.

But being inside, all you hear is the news.

You turn it off, but then the thundering silence eats at your heart, And you feel as if you are falling.

You believe that this unbearable silence would be shattered, If only you could just find your calling.

8

The COVID-19 pandemic felt like a paradox when it first arrived.

Events like this were merely read about in history books.

We did not yet understand the magnitude of the challenge we undertook, They say, “You need to progress. You must strive, but life is not a race. Walk at your own pace.”

For what should you strive? Should you try to stay alive?

Or should you work to revive the hope and love in this land?

Many people you know have gone astray due to the pandemic.

And you feel as if you are losing your way too.

Your home was once a place of relief and rejuvenation.

Now it feels like a cage of loneliness and misunderstood rage.

You try to see that in comparison to others, you are fortunate.

Your house is a safe haven, yet it feels like you are stuck on a difficult math equation, Erasing, rewriting, trying to find the answer, but making no progress.

The once straight hallway to your room now feels like a winding path of doom.

If home is where the heart is, then your house is drowning In a red sea of discouragement and fear.

You felt confident and complete when you had your friends around.

Now that they are gone, it feels like you merely co-exist with your friends, Rather than commune, cooperate, and commend.

You relied so much on peoples’ presence to make you laugh, That you do not know how to find your own joy in the present.

Sometimes you stare out the window, searching for a familiar face, Hoping to find a friend.

But you only find yourself – a faded version of you.

You force a smile, and you see that your reflection smiles back.

Perhaps it is not a confidant that you lack, but the confidence to confide within yourself.

Straining your ears to hear a sound that is not there is exhausting.

Instead you must enjoy the silence, For deep in the void blossoms the melody of your mood, the lyrics of your life.

It is not about what people find in you.

It is about what you can find in yourself.

Find the will to be kind, to be adventurous, to be brave.

Instead of running from your fears and drowning in anxieties, you face them head on.

You transform your fear into fire — A burning desire to find yourself in the midst of the external chaos and inward isolation.

You sit on the couch and turn on the TV. You watch the despair and despondency, But you also see the hope and healing.

Doctors, nurses, essential workers, first responders, Their palpable love and determination gives you an inspired feeling.

You believe that you have found your answer - the key.

You think, “That could be me!”

But that is you! The essence of you is possibility.

The entirety of you is beautiful.

The version of yourself that you have been looking for Is not some far off, distant, imaginary human being.

It is who you are now, with a bit of motivation to grow.

It is simply a matter of believing and seeing.

When you find yourself, you learn to not only be yourself but also to be with yourself.

Only then will you truly learn not just how to be a part of others’ lives, But to make a positive difference that will forever be cherished in Love’s ancient archives.

Know that the Lord’s merciful rays will guide you every step of the way.

9

Bones Poem I Maryn Davenport | 12

10

I‌r‌ emember‌‌the‌fi ‌ rst‌t‌ ime‌‌I‌‌felt‌‌my‌‌ribs‌‌‌ When‌‌I‌w ‌ as‌‌lying‌‌in‌‌the‌‌dark.‌‌ They‌‌felt‌‌hard‌‌and‌‌sharp‌‌‌ Like‌‌the‌‌white‌b ‌ ones‌o ‌ f‌‌a‌‌dead‌‌animal‌‌‌ claimed‌‌by‌‌the‌‌winter.‌‌ I‌‌feared‌‌that‌‌I‌‌was‌‌dying‌‌‌ Or‌‌maybe‌‌my‌‌skin‌‌was‌‌caving‌‌in‌‌ But‌‌wasn’t‌‌that‌‌what‌‌the‌‌birds‌‌and‌‌the‌‌bees‌‌told‌‌me?‌‌ That‌‌being‌‌lovely,‌‌ Was‌‌being‌‌white‌a‌ nd‌‌thin?‌‌ Like‌‌a‌‌skeleton.‌‌ Like‌‌the‌‌snow.‌‌ So‌‌I‌‌curled‌‌up‌‌like‌‌a‌‌corpse‌‌ Dying‌‌to‌‌love‌‌the‌‌chill.‌‌ I‌‌waited‌‌for‌‌spring‌‌ When‌‌the‌‌snow‌w ‌ ould‌‌melt‌‌off‌ ‌my‌‌body‌‌ And‌‌I‌‌thought‌‌I‌‌would‌‌be‌‌‌beautiful.‌‌

Photograph | Grayden Mott | 9

11

Finding M yW ay

Digital Art I Lydia Shannon I 9

12

I

think best in the most uncomfortable seat in the world. Pedaling crosscountry on my bike trip, I had time to think. High school had been filled with many reboots. I had not reflected on my disjointed high school years until biking numerous hours this past summer. As I crossed the country, my eyes opened to the importance of being persistent and true to oneself.

For the first time since third grade, I was with new classmates my sophomore year. My approach was to be a chameleon. Changing colors was exhausting.

I joined many clubs, including ones I had not previously participated in.

Although I jumped in head first, I continued to feel uncertain of my place.

My unsure feeling continued with the transition to online learning.

In the summer of 2021, I embarked on my cross-country bike trip. New people and the 2,667 miles ahead worried me. However, I immediately clicked into place like a freshly greased chain on gears. The pressure to find my place melted away in the Texas heat. I was unapologetically myself, no longer adapting my energy to those around me. As we crossed state lines, we found our roles in the group. I became the designated cheerleader when there were multiple flats or friends needed encouragement.

Like my muscles, my mind’s strength was tested each day. The challenge was not my aching muscles, but the mental power I needed to conquer the mountains. With each turn of the pedals, I gained confidence. I knew if I stayed committed, I would eventually reach the peak.

We stopped one morning, and I looked up at the vast stars. As we continued, I saw each star was unique, but an important piece of a constellation. Like the stars I was finding my place; I was sticking to my bubbly and outgoing self. I felt at home, even though the place I slept changed each night.

When I returned to Wisconsin for my senior year, my confidence had grown.

It took sitting in a bike saddle for me to clearly understand that by being myself and persistent, I would find my way.

Essay I Ellen Weinstock I 12

13

The Night of Memories Poem I Matthew Garcia I 11

14

Winning conference for football 31-28 against Monroe That was very special made us say woah All week Monroe talking that smack 28-14 I call that a comeback All the hours spent on the field and weight room Put Monroe’s hope of conference champs in a tomb Tears of happiness and smiles all night long Nothing like that made us feel as strong

Fans rushing the field to celebrate Hugging my friends never felt so great Felt like my pads never came off Probably because next week was playoffs Music come blasting from our tent “We want Edgewood” made them repent After the game heading to Regent Mac Ate so much it was most definitely no snack Driving home was never that fast While Monroe was leaving in a full body cast Woke up in pain but thou did not care But nothing like that night will ever compare Because no matter what was told At the end we were the ones wearing the gold.

Drone Photograph I Silas Leuthner I 12

15

A Typical Fantasy Adventure Play I Ryan Geirhart I 12

Character List:

(In order of appearance) Tarold Huberbottom - He is a human who is fighting for his honor. He wanted to be a knight but did not pass the training so now he is more of a freelance hire Bartender - A tavern owner who has an inside scoop on the town Guards 1 and 2 - Guards of the hero’s college Bro ak - An Orcish person who is very good at hitting monsters with big weapons. He wants to avenge his family who was brutally slain by the evil empire Gyle Cresthaven - A goblin with a little bit of a temper. They want to show that even though they’re small, they can be strong and confident Vamessa Elkhazel - An elvish woman with a lot of skills in the arcane arts. She thinks that maybe if she survives this trip, then the rest of her elven clan will be more willing to help the world Bruce the Pixie - A tough pixie with an Italian american accent Villager - A typical villager (who acts more like an NPC in a video game) Galamir - The evil dark lord of the world. Plans to take over all of the world and cloud it in darkness

Monstrous List:

(For more information on monsters, check the Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual) Gnolls - Large grotesque creatures that are like bipedal hyenas. They all have a constant hunger for human flesh thanks to the god that made them. Their hunts often cause them to ambush travelers and invade villages, leaving the remnants of their feast for their hyena companions (probably more like puppets in the show) to finish Gnoll Pack Lord - Leader of these hideous breed’s different packs. Often plan and command attacks for their less coordinated brood Giants - Ginormous beings with varying intelligence depending on their subspecies.

16

Green Dragon - A large dragon with acid breath who often hunts in it’s forest habitat. Like many dragons, it is motivated by greed and hunger. (Probably easiest to use some sort of puppet, but feel free to take creative liberties )

Scene I The show opens with a narration in blackout Narrator: In a world of high fantasy, that has been in relative peace for a century, comes terrible darkness that wants to consume the land. A villain, Galamir, wants to suck the life out of this once beautiful place. The eastern side of the land has already started its corruption from the monstrous beast of evil. (lights turn on on stage, In a tavern with Tarold and Bro ak sitting at the same table)Two brave adventurers have graciously volunteered to help fight the evil, the ever valiant Tarold Humberbottom and The orc of bruting strength Bro ak. Now, who could help these brave soon-to-be heroes fight this terrible being of eternal darkness?

here? I had to pay someone my last gold to get this map.

Tarold: Oh I just followed the street signs that pointed over here.

Guard 1: The heroes are asleep right now, come back later.

Bro ak: That is what I was trying to tell you! Who would wait for hire in the middle of the night?

Tarold and Bro ak continue miming bickering in silence while sneak music plays. During this confusion, Gyle snatches the pouch of money from the guard. Tarold turns around just in time to see him take it.

Tarold: Nice job little green person! I didn’t even see you until now!

Gyle: You idiot!

Tarold: So who do we know that could help us defeat this “Terrible being of eternal darkness?”

Guard 1: Hey!

Bro ak: You are one of the few people that I know Tarold, and one of fewer that I trust.

Guard 2: Get back here thief!

Tarold: Perhaps we shall be in search of specific people. I think we need someone who is good at sneaking around places, and probably a master of magic as well.

Bartender: (from behind the bar) Would either of you like another ale?

Bro ak: I’ll take your strongest mead sirTarold: No, we are both fine. (to Bro ak) We can’t drink anymore Bro ak we have to find companions for our journey.

Bartender: (overhearing them) you know if you’re looking for some hired help I’d go down to the heroes college at the edge of town. Many great adventurers are there for hire, but it might cost you some coin.

Tarold: Thank you sir, I will take your advice at once! (gives the bartender a coin) Come on Bro ak, surely some adventurers are ready to come to our aid, even if that was our last coin. (leaves tavern) Bro ak: (yelling out to Tarold who is off stage by now) It’s 12 am and you don’t even have directions!

Scene II Cut to the heroes college, where Gyle is seen sneaking around in low visibility. As he is about to pickpocket a guard to the college, Tarold walks confidently towards the two guards. Gyle hides in nearby bushes, or other objects to hide.

Tarold: (to guards) Hello! I would like to speak to your finest heroes for hire.

Bro ak: (running onto stage from the same direction as Tarold did, map in hand, out of breath) Tarold! How did you get

Gyle starts to run away, Tarold sprints after him.

The guards run off stage, Bro ak gives a sigh and follows after them.

Scene III Gyle runs back onto the stage, Right as the guards come close, Gyle drinks from a small vial of blue liquid and disappears, It’s an invisibility potion! This could be done by putting on a black cloak, or just pretending that Gyle is not visible.

Guard 1: Where did that burglar go? He was just right here.

Guard 2: Magic perhaps, but I don’t know if he’s the type to cast spells.

Tarold and Bro ak come in.

Tarold: Did you catch that thief? I want to talk to them about their prices for hire.

Guard 2: That was not one of the heroes, sir.

Tarold: Oh, well they sure have some talent.

Guard 1: We don’t have time for this. Let one of us know if you find them.

Guards take off Bro ak: Do you really want to hire a thief for this job?

Tarold: Well he definitely has the skills to sneak around.

Bro ak: Yes but can they be trusted?

Tarold - I don’t know (beat) but that’s the fun part.

Bro ak: (starts to sniff around, catching the scent of a goblin) I think they might be nearby. (smells around for a bit until he finds Gyle. He grabs Gyle’s shoulder, which startles them and removes their invisibility.)

Tarold: Brilliant! They were here all along!

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Gyle: What do want you tattle tale?

Tarold: Oh, yes sorry about that, it was just so exciting!

Now how would you like to join us on our grand adventure?

Gyle: And why would I do that?

Tarold: For the glory and honor of saving these great lands from the clutches of evil.

Gyle ponders Bro ak: There is also a possible reward in gold from the king ofGyle: I’m in!

Tarold: Splendid! Let’s go… to the travelling cart!

Tarold runs off with his usual overconfident battle run. Bro ak and Gyle reluctantly join along.

Scene IV The adventurers travel on a dirt road, possibly some sort of fake cart to mimic traveling. Tarold and Bro ak start to bicker while Gyle is asleep.

Bro ak: Are you sure this is the right way?

Tarold:Of course, Bro ak. Don’t be silly.

Vamessa: Watch out!

Gyle: (stabs the gnoll he was sneaking behind and then quickly gets out of the way of the leader) Nice try you stupid dog thing!

Tarold and Bro ak have defeated their enemies by now. They might have had a cool combo move to finish off their gnolls.

The leader pulls out a bow and shoots Tarold in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground, the leader runs away while the rest of them go to care for Tarold.

Vamessa: Do not remove the arrow yet, I can heal him. (puts her hands on Tarold’s shoulder) Pull it out now!

Bro ak removes the arrow, right as the wound closes thanks to Vamessa’s magic.

Tarold: Brilliant! You are quite the good mage there! Wait!

We need a mage for our journey!

Vamessa: What kind of journey?

Bro ak: How do you know? You never looked at a map!

Bro ak: A mission to defeat the most dangerous evil, Galamir.

Tarold: Gut feeling! It’s never proved me wrong! Except for that time I had some bad mutton, boy was that a long trip-

Tarold: For glory!

Bro ak: Gut feeling!? Have you lost your mind? We don’t have time to just guess where we are going when Galamir is growing in power!

Vamessa: Well seeing as you destroyed my cart I don’t have many other options.

Tarold: (starts to look back at Bro ak in the cart) Remember?

I got us to the last town without any trouble.

Bro ak: That’s because I knew the directions and how to get- Woah watch out!

Tarold crashes the cart into another coming in the opposite direction. Their cart is barely hurt, The other cart has lost a wheel. Vamessa comes out from the cart.

Vamessa: What is your problem?!

Tarold: I’m so sorry that was our fault.

Bro ak: Our? You were the one looking backward while steering!

Tarold: (Yelling at this point) Well I was defending my honor and knowledge that you were criticizingVamessa: -SHHHHH! These are dangerous lands, you don’t want to alert anyGyle: (wakes up from the cart to see the face of a hideous creature) GNOLLS!

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Bro ak and Tarold run to defend Gyle, weapons in arms. At the same time, Vamessa grabs a book from the wreckage of her cart. Bro ak and Tarold each start to fight one gnoll. Gyle starts to sneak up behind another one. Vamessa shoots a powerful spell bolt out of her hand at the lead gnoll. The leader starts to charge Gyle.

Gyle: And money!

Tarold: Oh yes, sorry about that.

Vamessa: I was looking for some adventure to join anyway.

Tarold: Perfect, let’s go, team! (runs off, leaving the cart and his party behind) Bro ak: You forgot the cart… and us.

Tarold: (runs back on stage) To the cart!

Scene V The party is shown traveling on the cart, Vamessa is reading, Gyle is sharpening a knife, Tarold is steering with a large grin on his face, Bro ak is looking at a map, telling Tarold directions every once in a while.

Narrator: Now our adventurers travel towards the east again, with a party twice as large as before. Through forest, plains, and towns they travel for days without disruption.

Eventually they come across a forest that is different from the usual, the tree branches are jagged and burnt. Ash covers the path, kicking dust into the faces of the party.

Eventually they come across a log in the path. It looks as though the forest is much more lively once they cross this point.

Tarold: Come on! Help me move this lumber out of the way.

Bro ak: Yeah I’m on it!

Tarold and Bro ak head over the log, attempting to lift one end each, a magical pixie flies out of the log, this would probably be some sort of puppet.

Bro ak: Ahhhhhh! What was that?

Tarold: Some magical flying bug or something.

The pixie comes back and lands on the log.

Bruce The Pixie: (In an Italian American accent) Eh, what’s the deal, huh, just gonna move my log like that? Are you crazy?!?

Gyle and Vamessa got out of the cart and are watching the argument.

Tarold: I’m so deeply sorry mister talking bug sir.

Bruce The Pixie: BUG?!? Have you never seen a pixie before?

Bro ak: Yes, actually.

Bruce The Pixie: Oh how rude of me, I’m Bruce, I’m a pixie. Now, what are you doing in my forest?

Tarold: Your forest? I’m so sorry to disrupt you my liege. (bows to Bruce) Bruce The Pixie: No not like that, I just meant that I live here.

Vamessa: I’ll handle this now boys. (to Bruce) We would like to pass through the forest if you would let us.

Bruce The Pixie: I’m afraid I can’t let that happen. Too many people have come through and burnt up the rest of the forest. If we let you into our safely guarded part of the forest, we could be doomed.

Gyle: Oh we have no intention of burning down anything, sir.

Bruce The Pixie: Now why should I believe you?

Vamessa: Oh trust me we are very gentle.

Bruce The Pixie: Last time a goblin passed through here it burned half the forest.

Vamessa: That is very different that Gyle here sirBruce The Pixie: -Oh and the Elves, So many of you have hunted down half the forest, our fauna barely survived that.

Tarold: Oh I can assure you that-

Bruce The Pixie: -Oh and the HUMANS! Oh, they did all that chaos combined!

Bro ak: We really aren’t like that sir.

Bruce the Pixie: And the Orcs they… Actually, you’ve been pretty chill.

Bro ak: I’m sorry but this is starting to sound a little… judgemental.

Bruce The Pixie: Listen I’m just saying you gotta prove to me that you are good people.

Tarold: Well we are on a valiant mission to defeat Galamir.

Bruce The Pixie: GALAMIR! Oh, you gotta be joking right? There’s no way the four of you could beat Galamir, come on.

Bro ak: How about you let us pass and I don’t strike you down with the might of Gruumsh One-eye.

Bruce The Pixie: Woah, Woah no need to get the gods into this. I’ll let you pass, because I can’t really stop you, but just please don’t burn anything down. And also the path gets too narrow so you gotta travel the rest on foot.

Tarold - Thank you, Bruce the Gracious, King of the Forest (runs off into the forest, leaving everyone else to take their stuff and his stuff off the cart onto their backs) Bruce The Pixie: I’m not the king of the… oh, whatever.

Blackout

Scene VI Tarold starts to walk through the forest on stage still holding none of the luggage Tarold: I see the end of the forest coming up, hurry everyone!

The rest of the party comes on stage, nearly falling over from the weight of the packs Gyle: Finally!

Vamessa: Yeah this took so long on foot.

Tarold: I thought it was quite easy for myself Bro ak: Ok more importantly we need to find out what comes after this forest. According to my map there should be some sort of town.

Lights change as the party enters a humble town. A friendly half-elf villager is there to greet them, every single one of them, as they pass by.

Villager: Hey, haven’t seen your face around here.

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20

Tarold: Yes, we are new visitors of your lovely little village.

Villager: (To Gyle) Hey, haven’t seen your face around here.

Gyle: Uh, yeah, we’re new here.

Villager: (To Vamessa) Hey, haven’t seen your face around here.

Vamessa: Hey, are you ok?

Villager: (To Bro ak) Hey, haven’t seen your face around here.

Bro ak: What?

Villager: Take care.

The Villager walks away slowly, making the party a little confused for a moment.

Bro ak: Alright we are coming up to the cursed lands of Galamir soon after this village. So let’s get out of here quickly.

Gyle: Uh, uh, Bro ak?

Bro ak: Yes, Gyle a question?

Gyle: More of a statement.

Bro ak: Well go on then.

Gyle: Dragon!

A Green Dragon appears, as villagers run in terror. It makes a loud roar.

Vamessa: Alright, Tarold, you go and distract the dragon, I’ll try to use magic to have it land. Gyle gets ready to stab it from behind, and Bro ak, be ready to finish it off.

The party listens, Tarold distracts, as he is so equipped to do.

Tarold : Hey you magnificent dragon over there!

Come on let’s have a chat.

The dragon roars and darts towards Tarold. Gyle sneaks behind as Vamessa shoots a blast of blue magic through the dragon’s wing. It falls down, perfect time for Gyle to strike, but a dice roll sound effect is heard, and Gyle misses the Dragon completely.

Gyle: Oh no, help!

The dragon turns it’s head to bite Gyle, But Bro ak grabs him away just in time. Then Tarold climbs the dragon’s back and stabs him through the neck. The dragon screams in pain, spraying poisonous ooze out of its mouth as it dies.

Tarold: Oh, that stings.

Bro ak: Oh it stinks, what is that?

Vamessa: It’s the Dragon’s poison breath, don’t touch it for too long or it could hurt badly.

Gyle: (scoops up some of the substance into a vile, then they trip and some of it gets into their eyes) My eyes! It burns! Ahhhh.

Vamessa: Oh! Of course.

Gyle: Help me! Use your magic to heal me or something.

Vamessa: I’m afraid I don’t have the energy to use any more magic until I’ve rested a little. Besides it will wear off.

Gyle: Ouch, ow, ow, ow!

Vamessa: Eventually…

Blackout

Scene VII

The party is seated at a campfire.

Vamessa: Well, that was a good rest I would say.

Tarold: Yes, marvelous!

Gyle: My eyes still burn.

Bro ak: The map got ruined by the damn acid spit. What are we gonna do?

Vamessa: Ok, a good rest for half of us. Now I’m sure we can just follow the path and be on our way.

As the get up to leave, The same villager from before comes over to them.

Villager: Thank you for saving our village.

Bro ak: It really is no trouble at all.

Villager: Here is some gold for your troubles.

Gyle: Ooo gold, gimme. I can’t really see it but I can smell it.

Villager: (gives money to Gyle) Hey, haven’t seen your face around here.

Gyle: Why do you keep saying that?

The villager walks away without a word. Blackout

Scene VIII The party starts to walk, with a travel montage similar to before.

Narrator: Our heroes now start the final stretch of their journey. Traveling through the plains that have been cursed

by Galamir. They journey for a day until reaching Galamir’s tower by nightfall.

Bro ak: This is it, finally.

Gyle: I’ll try and find a way to sneak in.

Galamir: Oh there is no need for that, little one. (appears, in a dark robe, looking ominously dangerous) Gyle: Little one?

Galamir: Oh my bad, big and strong you are!

Tarold: We will defeat you, Terrible and malicious Galamir Galamir: Oh, will you now?

The Gnoll pack lord appears behind Bro ak, stabbing him through the back.

Tarold - NO! Galamir uses the distraction to start using a spell, Vamessa counters it as Gyle goes to stab him. Galamir dodges and strikes Gyle with a powerful spell. Tarold slashes at the pack lord.

Tarold: Take this you fowl mutt!

Tarold slices the pack lord’s throat and kills him. He then runs to tend to Bro ak. Vamessa has a magical battle with Galamir, casting spells back and forth.

Galamir: Just give up already, I clearly over power you.

Vamessa: Never!

Gyle then gets up, holding his abdomen. He struggles, but eventually pulls out his knife, covers it in the acid from the dragon, and stabs Galamir.

Galamir: Oh you think a stab is gonna kill me huh? Well you’d be… oh, ow, crap, you put acid on that knife didn’t you, Oh come here you littleGalamir drops dead on the spot. A moment of celebration, except that Bro ak is still on the ground.

Tarold: Oh I’m so sorry Bro ak, I was always so difficult with you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have helped you more, been a better friend.

Scene IX Narrator: Now our heroes have saved the world and all was right in the end. Tarold opened his own tavern in his home village. He now tells stories of his adventures, with a little creative liberty. Bro ak now lives with Tarold in a nice large home. Since Tarold was more focused on glory than money, he let Bro ak use it to expand their home and house all the orphans in the village. Gyle, now a famous hero known for killing Galamir, has joined the hero’s college and is the most popular hero to hire. And also the most expensive.

Vamessa returned to her elven village with the news that she helped defeat Galamir. She is now the head of the new elven task force to stop any more threats to innocent villages, especially gnolls.

Use any creative liberty to show how the heroes are shown during this narration. The lights change to show all of the heroes, now sitting at a table, with a figure in a dark hood.

Narrator/Dungeon Master: And that ends our campaign, thank you everyone for coming.

Tarold/Harold: Yes, this was very fun we gotta do this again!

Bro ak/Brock: Yeah and not have my character almost die!

Vamessa/Vanessa: Oh come on, I still had spell slots, I could have resurrected you.

Gyle/Kyle: Ok, but I rolled a freaking nat 20 and killed Galamir, that was so sick Narrator/Dungeon Master: Alright I’ll get started on the next campaign story

Bro ak: (hoarse voice) Oh you better be a good friend after I just got stabbed for you.

Tarold: Bro ak! Oh thank gods!

They hug each other Gyle: Ok that’s nice you two, but I just killed Galamir!

With a knife!

Tarold: Yes, Let us feast!... once we journey all the way back of course. Don’t worry I’ll wait for everybody this time.

Blackout

Photograph I Sam Klestinski I 11

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The Sunshine State Poem I Audrey Yager I 11

We arrived at the dead of night We could hear the crashing of the waves The smell of salt, the cold sand, the magic of the night.

The moon shone, guiding our path Till our waking hour has passed Morning came quickly Sun warmed the air We waited patiently for our table and chairs For our pancakes and waffles And all of the food.

The sunny skies controlled the days Excitement for the future hours await Swimming with dolphins The ocean glittering from above The days are coming to a close.

But not quite yet More to be done Dancing and singing Shopping and eating Little we did know: Our time here was finally done.

Thank you for the memories, they are good ones.

Until my iron will is gone To stop the dark from claiming me To begin, with another, a brand new dawn.

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Sunrise Poem I Maryn Davenport I 12

You strike me like a sunrise.

Your face is pale and hollow, Then your eyes glow and turn gold And amber tears drip down your chin.

Your cheeks shine red as you shudder, And your eyelashes shiver in shades of orange.

When your voice rises above the horizon, You sob with molten words That melt my skin, Scorch my bones, Form bloody blisters on my heart.

Only when I’m on my knees, Do we see eye to orb.

And I know I failed today, But tomorrow morning I’ll be here again for you.

Photograph I Caden Thomas I 12

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2D Art I Phil Fabian I 12

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Untitled Comic Comic I Lydia Shannon I 9

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Greek Gods & Goddesses vs. God and Biblical Characters

Epic Poem I OlaRose Ndubuisi I 9

Intro: Biblical stories and ancient godly glories are not as different as one might think.

The ancient deities and their mythological representations Bring the Lord’s attributes to life, And are a manifestation of the human imagination and man-made creations.

Aphrodite/Venus: The mother of Eros emerged from humans’ limited interpretation of the heart -A radiant smile, a pretty face, clothed with beauty and grace.

She may be the goddess of passionate fire, But God’s love is much stronger than any human affection or desire.

It's a never-ending sea, an encompassing blanket of forgiveness and mercy.

Hephaestus/Vulcan: This god of strength and laudable skill is known as the celestial artificer.

His hard work mirrors but can never match that of Joseph the carpenter.

This god crafted weapons for war, while Joseph raised a tool meant to heal and restore.

This deity was born with a birth defect and thrown from his abode in the clouds.

Joseph’s story is sung towards the heavens loudly enough to shatter the walls of Rome, Despite being born of a humble home.

Demeter/Ceres: Mary bore the seed of eternal life, who would die to bear fruit and live for truth This motherly deity, as fertile as the earth, would watch her seedlings of youth take root Mary shielded her little seed of life from danger and strife, Just as this deity uses her majestic scythe to eliminate the weeds that dare to corrupt her crops But when the seed of eternal life no longer needed His mother’s protection, He sowed good in the fields of evil to prepare for His resurrection.

He planted His own seeds and quenched their thirst with living water.

Likewise, this deity tried to protect her daughter from the fiery jaws of the deep and its sickening breath.

Unlike Jesus, she was never able to break that terrible cycle of life and death.

Artemis/Diana: Gentle Mother Mary is our morning light who glows even brighter than the moon of the night.

From Mary’s purity and chastity, a child was born -- His heart was free of imperfection, and His eyes were a reflection of God’s will.

For such a gift to come to pass, a virgin’s acceptance was needed And to escape a jealous king’s wrath, words of caution had to be heeded.

Because of her obedience, Mary -- innocent and sweet -- transformed into a saint when her purpose was complete.

And because of her resilience, a certain deity became the protector of youth who is yet to see defeat.

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Apollo/Phoebus: King David, a musical vessel of light, Played the harp, echoing beautiful notes like a little lark.

David was a shepherd who tended to his sheep. But owning vulnerable cattle attracted the occasional battle.

Brave David had to wrestle with dangerous beasts.

Likewise, this god had to deal with a sneaky predator in the night, whose thievery was downright impolite.

Both Kings of the Heavens, Catholic and Greek, Punished the deceptive perpetrators, returned the property that was stolen, and ended this ultimate game of hide-n’seek.

Asclepius:

By His words, we are healed. The blind see, the deaf hear, and the dead come back to life.

Jesus, the Son of Man, came down to bear our sins of body and soul. This godly healer of mortal ills was great, but limited in his power and control.

Jesus’ good vanquished evil, but the prince of darkness’ anger overpowered this deity, whose actions were illegal.

Because of Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice, the Holy Spirit comes down on us like the dewfall.

Because this deity bridged mortals to the gods, rather than build a wall, a lightning bolt came down on him like the rainfall.

The sky god was enraged and believed that mortal resurrection disturbed the cycle and the human desire for survival.

Little did he know, only the Son of Man is the way, the truth, and the life.

Athena/Minerva: It was man’s abundance of sin and lack of strategy that caused such a tragedy, more terrible than a war.

God sent a furious flood to wipe out the unjust, for He was disappointed in humankind for breaking His trust.

The Lord desired an offering of obedience from a humble servant. There was no contest, for it was clear that Noah was a righteous man and crucial to God’s plan.

After many days of waiting, Noah sent out a dove to see if the water had receded.

A mere glimpse of hope was all that he needed. The turbulent waters were no match for Noah’s flying package of good news.

It soon returned with an olive branch of peace clamped in its beak. Though it wasn’t as wise as an owl or as strong as an eagle, the dove was patient and peaceful.

And it was God’s promise of peace that washed the waves away and made all things new.

Ares/Mars and Eris/Discordia: Discord and disharmony are the prize for disobedience and the misuse of free will.

Humankind created a void of virtues and vices, separating them from God, that no apology can fill.

Gullible Eve took the forbidden fruit, thinking it was as valuable as glittering gold.

She was manipulated by the venomous lies of the snake.

This mistake launched the rest of humanity into a fallen state.

Baptism gives our soul a clean slate, but some people tarnish their rebirth with violence and hate.

Pitting brother against brother, the wrath of humankind is responsible for the degradation of God’s creation.

This dangerous duo -- cruel companions, sinister siblings -- is a representation of the horrendous aspects of war and slaughter. They laugh at mortals’ misery and have wreaked havoc with their influence throughout history.

God created the beautiful things of life, but war and evil are man-made.

Peace will never reign until the eternal debt is paid.

Hera/Juno: Vanity will be humanity’s downfall, for attachment to worldly things detaches one from the kingdom where hope and joy rings.

This god is angry and manipulative, filled with so much human vulnerability.

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Her voice is silenced by her own insecurities, and her fiery outbursts are a grand display of immaturity.

The Creator made Mother Mary the world’s guiding light, but this deity loves to fight.

She craves validation and her feelings depend on what men think.

Though a goddess, she allows her heart to break and her confidence to shrink.

Her rage is rooted in envy and hate, obsessed with her beloved city’s fate.

She grew bitter when her beauty was slighted and her power was diminished by others’ indifference.

Yes, all humans overreact at times or want love, But this deity’s fragile feelings caused her to fall from above.

Persephone: As humans, we often stick our head over the brink of temptation.

Instead of recognizing that eternal fire lies at the very bottom, We foolishly focus on how intriguing and bright it is.

When we jump down and fall into the pits of sin, God is as sad as a mother weeping for her lost child. Though burning in fields of fire, our hearts are frozen and bleak like a cold winter’s night, needing to be thawed by the Lord’s forgiveness.

Inspired by our love for God and desire to please Him, and no longer deterred by the fires of the Underworld, we try to climb our way out.

When we return to our Father, the Lord is as joyful and warm as a spring day.

Hades/Pluto: The beguiling prince of darkness is a fallen angel from the skies, who was cast into the eternal flames many generations ago.

His hatred of heaven is the scorching heat of the sun, and his bitterness towards earth is the bleakness of the falling snow.

Unlike the deity of the departed, who is more unproblematic than dramatic, Lucifer likes to influence us to act on the human inclination to sin.

He hides behind the loudness and clutter of our lives, then leaps out when we least expect it.

When we’re vulnerable, he thrives, but when we clear out a sacred space for God in our hearts, Satan finds it difficult to survive.

Hestia/Vesta: The hearth is the godly guardian of every home, for it sparks imaginative ghost stories, brings families together, and warms children’s cold hands.

This is a mere mirror of God’s love, which ignites our souls and sets ablaze the darkened chambers of our hearts.

God’s fireplace of love unites all humankind as one. The Catholic Church is a family.

Like a campfire burning and withstanding a storm, the church’s fiery devotion still burns with love for God, despite those who try to extinguish her flames.

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Poseidon/Neptune: Even Jesus, the Son of Man, did not ride a horse into Jerusalem. He rode a humble donkey, but people still bowed down to Him and sang His praises.

Creatures of the land, of the sky, and of the sea -- big and small -- pay homage to the gods that reign over them. But even the sea came to be by the Word.

Gods clash and brawl when one crosses over into the other’s territory. Throughout epic history, they have swirled the winds and created raging storms to show their domination. But God is the whisper in the wind, and Jesus can walk across the water, unbothered by the rolling waves.

And if the Lord commands the storm to cease, it will obey.

Trying to make an earthquake, a god could pound the ground with an iron fist, but his fury would only make a minor fracture.

It is God’s footsteps that cause the mountains to quiver with reverence at His presence.

Hermes/Mercury Prophets are dutiful deliverers of God’s Word. They encourage all people to leave their old ways and focus on the Father’s loving gaze.

Profound predictors of what is yet to come, they warned the people of the present to not let the unpleasant aspects of humanity’s past dull the bright aspects of their individual futures.

The prophet Moses flew over all obstacles like a hawk, inspired by freedom. For the wings of the Lord could not be clipped by any pharaoh’s sword.

Moses’ staff was pure magic. Not only could it transform into a snake and back, but by the power of the Holy Spirit, in a sea of sorrow and despair, it could make a path.

Zeus/Jupiter Christians are meant to forgive their foes in honor of the Lord of hosts.

But in epic tales, men curse foes and cheer their downfall in honor of their godly king.

Though king of the heavens, this deity craves attention and offerings of animal sacrifices as proof of his people’s affection.

But with Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, a burnt offering is no longer needed.

The Lord is pleased with our daily offering of prayers, works, joys, and sufferings.

The king of the heavens shattered humanity’s chance to live among the gods, leaving humans doomed to burn in the fiery furnace of shame forever.

But our purpose on earth is to be fruitful, serving God till reunited with Him in heaven.

The gods delight in scripting lives, being merciless to their foes, leaving poor mortals no freedom to create their own fate.

But out of Love, the Lord gave humans free will to dominate or cooperate, to love and to hate.

By His divine plan, things occur, yet we have the power to bend or stir down a different path.

Be comforted knowing that if a mistake is made, God will bring you back on track.

Electrified by our love for God, as if struck by lightning, We march on through the Valley of Death until we reach eternal rest.

2D Art I Phil Fabien I 12

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4 Years Growth Poem I Samuel Klestinski | 11

Learning how to balance life can be tricky Finding the right friends can be a little picky Getting into sports can be very fun Finding your classes on the first day can seem like a ton After the first year, you feel much better You start to understand what to do You finally are able to be a go-getter Suddenly you don’t seem very new Being on Varsity is very fun and exciting And everyone expects you to play like lightning Friday night lights is a feeling like no other When the school comes together to see the boys win another High school can be very fun and go by quick But the everyday life can feel so slow Each day brings something new although By your Junior year it starts to click The fun times will be memories forever On the weekends we hangout with whoever High school, like life, is a bunch of fun thrown together Photograph | Grayden Mott | 9

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Gratitude Poem I Jesse Johnson | 11

Your friends remind you of everything that is right in the world of how much love exists on this earth They are the smell of chocolate chip cookies, fresh out of the oven, the smell familiar and fuzzy like a childhood memory of a worn vanilla candle that reminds you of your best and worst times They are the soft inside of one of your favorite coats the velvety petals of an orange lily across the street from your house They are the shoreline of your childhood which seemed to never end the spilled warm hues of the sunset They are your grandma’s cat’s purring as it lies in your lap your dog’s excited whimpers when you return home They are grocery store birthday cake that tastes just as good as from any bakery your comfort food that’s made up half of your meals since you were 13 They are everything you love, familiarity and comfort and love all in one and in their laughter, you remember that you are lucky enough to be made from the same stardust 31

The Fields Poem I Melanie Harings I 9

When you stand in a field feeling wild and free, you start to find who you want to be.

All alone with time to express, you begin to find your success.

Although no one said it would be painless, the wind begins to make you weightless.

Your incriminating mind, might make you fall behind, but your determination gives you motivation.

All your worries that have been growing for years, won’t go away with countless tears.

To make any progress, you need to find your process.

You are your unique self, and aren’t like anyone else

Photograph I Grayden Mott I 9

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Ghosts of War

Poem I Logan Grabins I 12

Photograph I Florissa Patterson I 12

What is left behind when death arrives? A spirit? A ghost? A memory?

After the dust settles, and the guns stop firing, what happens next?

Peace, some say. Devastation, say others.

When the dust clears, there’s no longer a veil for it to hide behind.

We see all of the death and destruction war has caused.

We see the cold bodies lying there in the rubble of what was.

We see the ghosts of the war.

The ghosts of the lives shattered by weapons of conflict.

The ghosts of those who died.

The enemies.

The friends.

The strangers.

The loved ones.

The ghosts will haunt those who survive.

They will serve as reminders of war.

Of pain.

Of suffering.

Of defiance.

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Battling the Seven Short Story I Lucy Bugni I 9

I am told every man has an innate need for battle.

Some fight for riches, some fight for power, some for love— but those were all young men. Few epic poems are written on the battles that come after the glory days of a man’s life. This story is about one of those less glorious and celebrated battles.

No one can precisely pinpoint middle age, but he, my father, was there. To say he was unprepared to guide his teenage daughter through the trials and tribulations of highschool would be an understatement. He wasn’t even prepared for the morning commute. What follows is a sampling of what one freshman had to endure.

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Day 1 The nerves and emotions were running high. His oldest child—me—was going off to high school, and as he also reminded people, so was a substantial portion of his paycheck.

I pulled up Google Maps and insisted it would be a nineteen minute drive. From his two decade experience of driving in Madison, he knew that it was only a ten minute drive from our home to Trader Joe’s. Therefore, we’d have plenty of time. The piece of information that he neglected to account for was the difference in traffic patterns from the 10 AM hour he usually went to the store to the Monday morning rush.

Google Maps, however, knew better. When this was brought to his attention, he dismissed it as “just a guess.” We were ten minutes late.

My father, unable to take responsibility, blamed it on the Seven. The Seven, a city bus, traveled up and down Monroe Street. Often, it would stop, causing all of the traffic to do so also. After school it was my friend (the mode of transportation I was forced to use getting home), but before, it was his enemy.

Day 6 There had been inklings of a battle brewing between my father and the Seven. The complaints were ubiquitous. They ranged from, “oh, come on” to “I think the bus driver has it out for me.” But as the days wore on, his claims became even bolder and more unhinged. As the other lane sped past him, he let out a string of expletives that my ears had never heard from his mouth.

My father then proclaimed “This is war.” I proceeded to say, “In war, the other side knows that they are at war, and cares. The Seven doesn’t even know you exist.” “Oh, it will.”

To which I responded, “Really? Because apathy and ignorance aren’t usually both found in war.”

He then said in a low voice, “Whatever.”

At that, I knew he had gone crazy. I dropped the issue. To his face...

Day 17 The past fifteen years of his commute had been a regiment of podcasts and audiobooks. He was unprepared for someone else to touch the radio, let alone ignore his protests consisting of, “I always listen to that podcast in the morning. It’s not lame.” But Taylor Swift could not be denied.

I refused to compromise, and his insistence on always maintaining a ten-two hand position (like he had been taught in drivers-ed), meant that I chose the music. He had lost all moral authority after making me late so many times. I took advantage of this opportunity and chose Taylor Swift, the artist that no selfrespecting middle aged man should admit to liking. By day 13, he was hooked and would repeatedly ask to hear the “scarf song” one more time, incapable of remembering the actual title. And, sometimes, only for a moment, he was lost in the music and wouldn’t even complain about being stuck behind the Seven.

Day 23 We had been on time twice. He had learned to fear the passive aggressive wrath that his daughter brought upon him. Sometimes, there was nothing passive about it. Incredulous at the long line of people turning into the parking lot, he summoned all his mental faculties and using Google Maps, once his sworn enemy,

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now his most beloved friend, he“devised” a “secret” route. If he found the Holy Grail, he wouldn’t have been any more proud. His “secret” route entailed taking a right on Woodrow Street, and going in through the college entrance, dropping off his mortified daughter, who then proceeded to walk up the staircase.

Alone. He reassured her that all the other parents that saw her were pretty jealous. And, if people did say anything at school, just to know that “haters gonna hate.”

Day 36 Construction by any other name is still an obstruction. Having come into a sweet rhythm of when to leave, he was ill prepared for construction on Monroe Street. Despite the sign’s insistence that it would in fact be going on the next week, he dismissed it as a ruse and would not leave early. Adding insult to injury, the Seven was plugging up the line. We were thirty minutes late, and the whole time, he dictated an email I was forced to type to the mayor asking why this couldn’t be done at night. The Mayor responded: “the world doesn’t revolve around him.” A lesson he soon learned all too well.

Day 45 When a freshman girl said that practice would be let out early and she wanted her father to pick her up at Colectivo, she thought it safe to assume he understood that it was the one a block and a half away and not the one a twenty minute bus ride downtown. After waiting an hour, and after the barista asked if I had someplace to go, only then did my father return the numerous texts and phone calls from the past hour. He had the nerve to ask where I was. For his part, he had been reading the unauthorized Taylor Swift biography at Colectivo on the Square wondering when I would arrive. He was on his third scone when he thought to check his phone. He insisted that no self respecting person would go to the Colectivo on Monroe Street.

The one on the Square had better coffee. It had apparently never dawned on him that all the coffee came from the same place. When he finally picked me up. I got into the car, angry. I asked him why in the world would I take a bus ride to a Colectivo twenty minutes away, when there was one not two blocks from where I was.

To this he responded, “I don’t. Maybe you wanted to spend time with your best friend, the Seven.” We spent the rest of the ride in silence, neither of us acknowledging the other.

Day 53 We were running late. He couldn’t find his car keys anywhere. He eventually found them in his coat pocket— where he had left them. He spied the Seven with his new bifocals in a long line waiting to turn left. Hoping against hope, he went behind the Seven, only for an elderly woman he named “Dolores” to get off. He described this as the longest process man has ever known. After seven minutes, his liberal ethos vanished as he wondered aloud whether you could write to the Mayor to get Dolores and her knitting group banned from the bus—at least during rush hour. The letters to the Mayor had increased with every new obstacle on Monroe Street. He believed that the Mayor was his personal friend. The truth was much farther than it seemed. In one letter, he said that he would move to Madison just to vote for her. She begged him not to.

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Day 67 “It has to be a drug front,” he proclaimed. Between singing along to Tay-Tay and complaining about the Seven, he would often opine about the businesses on Monroe Street. When he was sixteen, he began to develop a theory that all chocolate shops were drug fronts. Without having ever been in either, he boldly proclaimed that there can’t be a big enough market for two chocolate shops on the same street. Besides, he’d never seen anyone in the stores. Although he was “correct” that no one shops there at 7:30 AM, it never occurred to him that people might actually shop there during different times during the day, including when the chocolate shops were actually open.

Day 83 He finally discovered how streaming services work. Apparently, he was under the impression that it was just a personalized radio and the only songs that one could listen to were Taylor Swift and her girl squad, because those were the only artists Spotify supported. After sheepishly asking whether or not you could play different songs, he proceeded to ask me to play Led Zeppelin's Ramble On. He only then abandoned his ten-two hand position on the wheel.

Lost in playing the air drums for Led Zeppelin, he seemed to forget to comment on the drug fronts, he even waved to the Seven. This mood lasted until he blew past the secret way, and when he tried to turn in front of the Seven, it wouldn’t let him in. My father held his head up high, accepting his defeat with dignity. He said, “It’s probably for the best, I wanted to finish this song, and you can walk.” He dropped me off on the opposite side of the building. I looked up, and there was the Seven, seemingly smiling at that victory of a battle that only existed in his mind.

Day 96 We were behind the Seven—late, again. Cursing fate, he looked at me for affirmation and a little comfort.

I offered no sympathy, he was a beaten man. In a futile attempt to make conversation and save face, he told me that he figured out how to open the school emails. He was made aware of the fact that there was a writing competition at my school.

“You should enter,” he said, “you could write about anything, like that idiot that’s driving the Seven, or Dolores and her friends.”

I protested in vain. He was adamant that I should enter, “Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll give you $50 if you win.” I thought for a minute.

“I can write about anything I want?” I asked.

“Of course! You’ll do great—you have a good sense of humor. Just like you're an old man.”

He was indeed old, but his sense of humor, well, there is no need to kick a man when he is down.

In the end, he lost not one battle against the Seven, but two wars. The first was with the metropolitan bus that had no idea he existed. The second was against his teenage daughter, who knew that fact all too well.

Photograph I Grayden Mott I 9

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She Cared Poem I Isabella Ethen I 10

She Cared.

My mom was a druggie and an addict, but she cared.

She cared enough to give me up, to give me a life she couldn’t give me herself.

She wanted the best for me.

She left me at the hospital, and told the nurses to name me.

She didn’t hold me, for fear of attachment.

So, the hospital sent me home with someone else. Not my mom.

Soon I got sent to foster care.

Every day in foster care was different.

One day might be good, another might be horrible.

It was unpredictable.

Life was really hard.

Fast forward to now, and life is still hard.

Since I never received the attention I needed to be a healthy baby.

I have attachment issues.

I suffer from anxiety and depression.

Both types are inherited.

Afraid I was going to turn into my mother.

I used to be afraid.

Addicted, hopeless, and lost.

Now I have confidence in myself, and in the life I live and I am happy, Happy for what my future holds, and happy for the life I get to live now.

I’m so thankful for my mom, and the selfless choices she made to give me a better life.

Photograph I Grayden Mott | Grade 9

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A Poem About Being Trans Poem I Jesse Johnson I 11

The words those around you say cut deeper than scalpels in your chest as you are sculpted into the image of who you want to be she for the little girl you used to be her for the woman they think you’re becoming your self image handled like messy clay in their hands in the same manner with which a child pulls on a cat’s tail who can’t understand when it turns around and claws him who can’t understand why you bite back being referred to this way your tongue hurts from biting it for so long but you’d rather taste the metallic tang of iron than be a bother no matter how often you correct them they will always slip up you are tired of having to repeat yourself you know you are not defined by what others think of you but sometimes you think of how it would be easier to just fit the role you’ve been given your mirror reflects someone so familiar yet wrong an uncanny valley of identity you cannot pretend to be someone you are not being yourself is a blessing and a curse you are the other and you will be targeted for it you have finally figured out what feels right 40

Gossamer Moon Poem I Maryn Davenport I 12

Everyone knows that the moon was spun by a spider.

When there wasn’t enough room for her webs on the forest floor, She climbed up the black velvet trunk of the night And into the dark autumn sky she adored.

She started to spin her web, And her masterpiece took many days and nights.

But she crafted and weaved and loved, Until her gossamer strings created a white ring of light.

Her children would skitter along the traces Of the milky threads left from their mother’s work.

They spun stars of white yarn with long-legged grace, Creating a snowy veil For the ebony evening’s freckled face.

And while the black night shimmered and winked, The spider perched on the home she had made, Looking down onto a candescent world Where there were too many dreams Decaying in the sun.

Photograph | Grayden Mott | 9

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An Incomprehensible Place Short Story I Natalie Trampf I 9

555 miles. A distance he would never understand or care to comprehend. Yet, he did not know this to be fact or true, so he continued on his way through the path he called life, awaiting some sharp twist or uphill climb he never seemed to come across. Until he met her, a potential wave of change. But, he did not know this either. That’s where our story starts. …

It was a brisk December day and Declan sat in his quaint studio apartment, procrastinating his inevitable journey out into winter morning. His gray eyes peered around the messy living room, wondering why he ever chose to live in such a cramped place.

Declan was in his early twenties and felt a deep wanderlust for change, some kind of vigor or excitement his life did not include. Every day felt the same for him. He would wake up, roll out of bed with a groan, complain (maybe about the weather today,) make a cup of coffee, and go to work at his lifeless office. He had done this routine approximately 1,095 times and had no intent to stop. In reality, he had no idea what to do instead.

Declan shimmied his way to the kitchen, glaring out the window as he saw the sharp wind blowing a large oak tree outside his apartment in every direction. As his routine moved along, so did the time. He took interest in making another cup of coffee and read the newspaper for what was most likely the first time in his life. Declan stared blankly at the headlines warning about the wind chills for the night to come and sipped his coffee.

Carelessly looking at the clock, Declan realized that in his attempt to avoid the cold, he had managed to run fifteen minutes behind. Throwing on his coat and tying up his shoes, he bid his apartment farewell and rushed down the stairs, into the icy morning. His thoughts raced around his mind as he wished for the monotony his mornings typically brought. Sure, his life was exhaustingly bland but running late brought a kind of excitement that nobody wished for.

As Declan was caught up in his lust for the, for lack of better words, lame days he usually experienced, he ran headfirst into a girl. She was short, brunette, and not in the mood for being crashed into by a twenty-something-yearold man who clearly had nothing better to do. She gave him a look as cold as the day and kept walking.

But something about her made Declan stop for a moment. She reminded him of the sun: bright, bold, and beautiful. It seemed as if life itself gravitated towards her and Declan soon found himself doing the same. Something about her was enchanting and enticing. She was only a few yards away and he could have easily gotten her attention, but Declan decided against this. She was probably from down the street or across town. He was bound to bump into her again. That’s how those things went, at least that’s what he thought. So, he nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders and sauntered down the sidewalk at a quick pace, hoping to make it to his meeting on time. With every step he took, he inched farther and farther away from what could have been. …

If Declan had decided to run after the girl and apologize for his absentminded clumsiness, she would have gracefully smiled and nodded, saying there was no problem at all. Declan would have gathered up the courage to ask her where she was going and if she was free. He figured his meetings could wait. She would have explained that she had a train to catch, but she had time. Declan would tell her that one of the best coffee places was just a few blocks away and that he would love to buy her one. She would agree, it was an offer nobody could refuse on such a chilly day.

They would find an open table for two right by the window and sit in a few seconds of awkward silence

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before erupting into a thoughtful conversation. The two would start with the basics: where they were from and what they did for a living, the usual topics people discussed to pretend they were interested in getting to know another individual. But these subjects would evolve into deeper, more personal subjects, such as the girl’s unquenchable thirst for travel. She would have explained that she had been in town for a week and today she was off on some new adventure.

As she would ramble on about her journey, Declan would have considerately listened and watched her face light up as she spoke. Then, he would have found the words to describe the burnout he experienced, and her expression would soften. She would gaze at him gently and tell him his existence didn’t have to be that way if he did not want it to be.

Declan would look at her earnestly as she would say that his life could be worth living.

He would ponder this and feel grateful he had met her, a ray of light and beacon of hope.

The girl would look at her phone and realize she was nearly late for her train. At this statement, Declan would feel disappointment sinking in his stomach. Declan would rush with her to the train station and think about his day. If he had not made that extra cup of coffee, he would not have been late and ran into her. If he had not gone after her, he would have never concluded that he deserved better.

Once the two would have gotten to the station, he would have asked if he would ever see her again. She would say most likely not. He would ask where she was going and she would chuckle softly, saying “555 miles away from here, that’s all you need to know.”

With that, she would wink, hop on the train with a whoosh, and disappear into the morning.

Declan would think about this throughout his slightly-less-boring day and eventually understand what she meant: he would need to start embracing the unknowns in life to have new experiences. It did not matter where she was off to because that was a part of the thrill, those questions left unanswered. He would need to stop settling for less and begin striving for more. It’s what he tirelessly wanted. With good time and consideration, he would finally realize it was what he undoubtedly deserved.

But, Declan did not come to this conclusion for he never went after the girl he called the sun. So, as he rushed headfirst into a life he had already lived a million times, a girl with no name would be riding a train 555 miles away from him, on the hunt for what he so deeply desired: something brand new.

Photograph I IGrayden Mott I 9

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Roadkill Short Story I Deiter Beilman I 10

That’s something I will never miss about being a detective. Driving up to the blinding red and blue lights in the middle of the night to come check out a body that has just been found. Erwin Meiwes, a German immigrant was found lying on the side of the road with his leg torn off and his face badly mutilated. It was a very strange sight to behold, and he had very clearly died of blood loss from his leg. My thin overcoat was doing little to prevent the wind and snow from biting at my skin. Word was it was going to be a blizzard.

“Well, what do you make of it?” the young officer asked me. He was slim and looked to be no older than 24 with his stubble and dark brown hair.

“Might have been a mountain lion or a bear,” the man’s leg could have been torn off by one, but his face showed no signs of teeth or claws. It almost looked like he had been beaten by a pipe.

After several more hours scouring the area, nothing except some footprints were found. They proved to be his though, however the imprints seemed to have more than just the markings of Erwin’s own. My wife had been awake and had made some hot chocolate for me when I returned. She returned to bed and I stayed in the living room watching the news reporter talking about the body. I decided that I needed to rest and went to bed.

Awaking before dawn, I showered and went to leave to go to the office where I would comb over some other minor cases. Entering my car, I tried to start it, but the engine wouldn’t fire up. Dead battery. I got out to go to the trunk to get the cables I needed to kick start the car. Laying in the trunk of the car, was a bloody pipe.

It's not so bad in prison, warm food every day, and even some people that will keep you company if you're nice to them. And plus, you can’t sleepwalk out of your cell and murder another man.

Photograph I Hannah Shin I 9

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Finding Yourself Poem I Robert Kirschbaum I 9

Find yourself in a world Where there’s light friendship and support.

We have been sunken To this depressing Year and messed up problems For Ukraine working hard and Fighting back the demon ones As they call this battle Russia Invasion Fight for life Seek out the wounded Give medical care for the Homeless Declare no war For it has put death and sin Against us But we can take that Away in a respectful Way Find yourself in a place that is in need Find the light and run to it For GOD has answered all of Ukraine’s prayers Seek the innocence Bring support to God’s people who need Cloth, food, home, friends, and A new community!

Never ever Always feel drought Look around the friends you seek Never give up When war comes too.

Always have faith in others in need.

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On Maturity Essay I William Buchanan I 12

2D Art I Benjamin Roe I 10

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A

t seventeen years old, coming-of-age and maturity is a subject so profound to myself and many others because of its tremendous relevance. If we investigate the history of the ‘bildungsroman’ concept, we find a slew of classic folk tales and novels, all centered around this theme of maturation. In these narratives, we follow characters through their naivety and inexperience, as they change, and grow. These stories garner so much success as a result of their character development, and what it means for the reader; transformation is what makes a story applicable to our lives, regardless of plot or narrative specifics.

Our fascination with these stories ultimately lies in our desire to grow, our natural motivations to improve and mature.

confidently amongst the unknown.

As a young person confronting the tribulations of a future in which my decisions have true consequences, I cannot help but realize my naivety, and how brutally unprepared I must stand in the face of life. The philosophical idea of coming-of-age, however, presents a trajectory for success: if we experience enough, and examine enough of our life and circumstances, we will “come of age”. This ideal finds its footing in the belief that there is an event or experience we can point to as a break of a threshold into understanding. In bildungsroman literature, an epiphany is presented as this distinct point, where our character fractures the barricades of inexperience and can glean newfound insight into their life. In our existence, however, Epiphany is an idealized literary concept we all ceaselessly try to achieve. We yearn for that perspicuity, a peaceful mind amidst the chaos of life.

and ultimately the threshold-breaking belief… faith.

Discovering the unwavering adamance in the value of our existence outside of what we cannot control has been the key to my coming of age, and I would argue that humanity requires this epiphany of the unknown to progress. Faith implores us to grasp our meaning in examining life and the thoughts behind it, to accept circumstances, but not relate our value to them.

Allow me to present a new lens, a new perspective in our quest for Socrates’ “examined life”: maturity is a state of understanding ourselves, rather than trying to comprehend life’s escapades. Maturity manifests itself in responsibility, and calculation of action, resulting from deeper individual knowledge of what motivates us… but how do we reach this threshold? When we cannot understand all the rationales of those around us, and cannot find confidence in the meaning of the world around us, we are faced with the reality of living

Within the unknown, however, we find new selfdefinition, turning our eyes upon ourselves as we are. Introspection lights the match in the darkness of credulous naivety, where we find our real-world epiphany,

Faith implores us to grasp our meaning

The way we approach mature thoughtfulness is defined by what we believe, and what we trust. It does not take an elevated level of wisdom to see the failures that result from defining ourselves by our circumstances and experiences, which we have such little control over.

The trust needed to find conviction in the unknown can only be found outside of what we can fully grasp, the trust required is that of divine nature, one that can defy natural laws of survival and motivate people to live beyond rational possibility or circumstance.

My rumination on what it means to come of age, and to comprehend life beyond its material means has led me to this “epiphany” of faith; a direct path to individual tenacity in a chaotic world. Growth in an understanding of faith is my coming-of-age story, the realization of my “why”… what’s yours?

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Faithful Poem I OlaRose Ndubuisi I 9

And when the moon has fallen, and the sea has swallowed the stars, Those frigid feelings of darkness foretold, will never take what is ours.

For what is ours, belongs to Him. Lovely, indeed, is what belongs to Him! Its brilliance cannot be dulled by the bleak and grim.

Gently dissolved by the daylight, inflamed by its majesty, Is my heart at the sound of Your whisper, As sickening silence echoes and the air grows crisper.

Although the trees will bend and break, the earth will shiver and quake, My faith in You will never cease. In the midst of a storm, it will only increase.

In the stifling heat of the desert, in the frightening chills of the night, There is beauty to be seen, hope to be heard, If only one realizes that in this life, constant happiness was never ensured.

Happiness is not given, for it is a choice; And the One whom I love, the One whom I have faith in, Allows me to understand that until “it is finished”, it must come from within.

He whom I have faith in gave me the fallen moon to illuminate the path before me, And opened my eyes to the swallowed stars, which brighten the sea.

Oh, how much you have done for me! I wish I could repay Thee.

To make amends, I shall live a life that is meaningful, but often difficult to be defined.

Yes, a Good Life, not one meant for the fearful who turn violent and blind, Nor a life for the ones with hearts broke within and withering, shattered minds.

I shall live a life that’s good and true. It will begin and end with love, And the strength I receive from my faith in You will see me through.

“Trust in Faith, Hope for Love,” speaks my soul, but it misunderstands.

Faith? What can I trust in this trying and dying land?

I soon realized that what I have faith in is not of this Earth, but within and above it.

My faith gives me hope and stability in this sometimes hopeless and insecure world.

Photograph I Grayden Mott I 9

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