Chrysalis: Fall 2023 by Ferrum College

Chrysalis Literary and Arts Magazine

Staff Scout Lynch, editor-in-chief Mary Grace Faulkner Kiersten Jones Candela Perez Castellanos Zoie Wagner M. Katherine Grimes, advisor

Judges Will Hensel, Art Monica Hoel, Photography Seleste Cowie, ‘18, Poetry Jane Fenton, Prose

Ferrum College Fall 2023 Luna by Scout Lynch Cover Photo: Sunrise From My House by Abigail Jamison

Table of Contents

Sunrise From My House by Abigail Jamison Luna by Scout Lynch Colors of Fall by Stephanie Staats My Weak Heart by Sean Folquet Sandwiches at Meme’s House by Mary Grace Faulkner Agrias/Sour by Candela Perez Castellanos My Best Friend Fur-Ever by Samantha Reinhart Mine Yours and Ours by Kiersten Jones Blue Cheese Moon by Scout Lynch My Home by DJ Dungee A Lion’s Rebirth by Onyx Steele Hidden Beauty by Lily Allen Risen by Mary Grace Faulkner Just NYC by Candela Perez Castellanos because by Scout Lynch Passage to Fae Lands by Danny Adams Music of the World by Dj Dungee Welcome to Paradise by Gabriel Alvarez Balance by Mary Grace Faulkner Blazing Glory by Richard Marshall Too Late by Kiersten Jones Greenhouse Glory by Stephanie Staats Everything I Love by Kerstin Snyder Él y Ella: Un Poema de Amor by Ashley Patrick Coastal Seafoam by Stephanie Staats Worlds Apart by Richard Marshall The Air in Between by Aria Foerst Vast Horizons by Richard Marshall Two Sides of the Same Canvas by Onyx Steele Rocks of Almería by Candela Perez Castellanos Madrid in Pride Week by Candela Perez Castellanos Dark Metropolis by Gabriel Alvarez Happy Fourth! by Victoria Hood Fireworks by Anonymous Dark Nights, Bright Lights by Lily Allen Sweet Sistine by Scout Lynch Just a Lil Guy by Scout Lynch Cape Breton Highlands, Nova Scotia #2 by Sandy Pagans A Young Life by Zoie Wagner Dazed in Sea Life by Katelyn Feiffer Evening Falls upon the Library by Danny Adams My Father Taught Me, and I Drew This by Candela Perez Castellanos Stabbed in the Back by Scout Lynch Choosing Me by Zoie Wagner Rose of Sharon by Katherine Grimes Just a Walk by Elizabeth Parrish Our Friendly Neighborhood Deer by Sandy Pagans

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Everything I Love by Kerstin Snyder Double-Beagle Dog Bed by Lana Whited Livestock by Elizabeth Parrish Spring Calves by Stephanie Staats Los Fantasmas by Kayla Fedison, Daphne James, Kenaz Moon, Haley Woodward, and Ashli Wuss Looking into the Horizon by Victoria Hood Ground Yourself by Kiersten Jones How I Feel I Am, Transparent and Elusive by Candela Perez Castellanos Self//Meds by Scout Lynch Coast of Maine by Martha Haley-Bowling Cinnamon Rolls and Paul Washer by Mary Grace Faulkner Before the Harvest by Stephanie Staats Echoes by Katherine Grimes Our Boat Was Sinking by Kiersten Jones Cape Breton, Nova Scotia #3 by Sandy Pagans Stuck at Sea by Jailen Austin The Downfall of the Gleaming Gemstone by Onyx Steele Fade by Scout Lynch Tropical Sunset by Katelyn Feiffer Endless by Gabriel Alvarez Das Bevo Mill by Dave “Chopper” Campbell Coming Out of My Shell by Scout Lynch A Poem I Am Happy I Have Overcome by Candela Perez Castellanos Autumn Trails by Richard Marshall Feel Nothing by Candela Perez Castellanos Acuarela Frog by Candela Perez Castellanos Getting Older by Zoie Wagner Just Popped Up by Katherine Grimes An Angel Never Dies by Sandy Pagans Days of an Ending Summer by Oceana Thomas Lonely Road Home by Elizabeth Parrish Southwest Virginia Summer at 7 pm by Hannah Huffman Glacier National Park by Martha Haley-Bowling Apostasy by Mary Grace Faulkner Blackwater Falls State Park, Davis, WV by Sandy Pagans Study Buddy by Scout Lynch Desdemona by Scout Lynch Chasing the Sun by Victoria Hood Frost Bit by Elizabeth Parrish Colors by Gabriel Alvarez (Sin Nombre) by Fuller Howard Serenity by Victoria Hood Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue by Katelyn Feiffer Green Light by Lana Whited Broken Home by Victoria Hood Biographies Acknowledgements Chrysalis History by Candela Perez Castellanos

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Colors of Fall by Stephanie Staats First place photography

My Weak Heart By Sean Folquet First place poetry Day after day, night after night, thoughts of her pursue me, and this fragile heart of mine. And though this heart of mine aches and yearns for her touch, it fears for its life as it might collapse at the glimpse of her silhouette. What a shame–this weak heart of mine is allured by her milky skin that urges me to lap it up, yet so frightened of rupturing her seraphic form. Maybe if this heart of mine were stronger, I could find our fingers interlinked without the uncertainty that I am breaking a Divine law. Maybe if I could be found united with her saccharine lips; if only Harmonoia could bless me with this merger of two souls, this little heart could become a tiny bit tougher. Unfortunately, this pathetic heart of mine will never muster the courage to feel the silk-like texture of her hair, the milky sensations of her skin, the saccharine taste of her lips, the glamorous curves of her silhouette, and maybe this fragile heart of mine will never be able to grasp the attention of her wandering heart. Or maybe I am the one holding back this fragile heart of mine by trying to rationalize my inaction and savagely suppressing the pounding I feel when our gaze meets. Regardless of the weak constitution of my heart, soul, and body today, I boldly declare with every ounce of courage my body can muster that the infinite expanse of space is pitiful in comparison to the love I feel towards you.

Sandwiches at Meme’s House By Mary Grace Faulkner First place prose

The cool, light air, stirred by the turning fan in the corner of the basement kitchen is laced with traces of air from outside: damp, warm, humid, promising fall, dead leaves, and tasting of rain. The silky-sweet scent of Jif peanut butter is there as well, crunchy with sugar, drifting up from the PB&J sandwich lying in front of me. Meme’s cutting it diagonally, hands freckled and pale, swollen at the knuckles, blue veins standing out of the skin, but still efficiently manipulating the butter knife. “Your mama always liked her sandwiches cut diagonal. One time Robert went to school with his cut horizontal, and he wouldn’t eat it. Just skipped lunch.” Her voice, high, rustly, squeaky, and always ready to break into a child’s song or hymn, weaves along the story. As she leans over me, I can smell the distinctive scent of the detergent she uses–slightly different, that minty hint gone now that Pawpaw doesn’t chew tobacco anymore. The table vibrates slightly from my little brother kicking his chubby legs, thick, plasticky sunflower tablecloth shaking. Ella nudges Henry to stop, wrinkling her tiny little nose at him, curls shaking with her head.

Agrias/Sour by Candela Perez Castellanos First place art

My Best Friend Fur-Ever by Samantha Reinhart Second place photography

Mine, Ours, & Yours By Kiersten Jones Second place poetry These walls, now an empty hollow shell A shell of what used to be mine A shell of what used to be ours And now that shell is just yours. Things don’t sound the same in here now An echo of what used to be mine An echo of what used to be ours And now that echo is just yours. These floors don’t feel the same anymore A surface of what used to be mine A surface of what used to be ours And now that surface is just yours. Our pictures aren’t quite the same anymore A heartbreak that is now mine Moments that used to be ours An empty space that is now yours. Your eyes don’t find mine anymore A burden that is now mine A home that used to be ours Now this burning house is just yours. These memories no longer bring me joy Just pain that is now mine A love that used to be ours And now these bones are just yours.

Blue Cheese Moon by Scout Lynch Second place prose

My professor’s daughter sat in on our class the other day. The middle school she attended had canceled classes. He called on her at one point, to make an example of the silly lies he told her as a kid. She put her book down and said, “When I was little, you told me that the moon was made out of blue cheese.” Professor Hally said that this was because he wanted to strengthen her bullshit meter. He was preparing her for the real world. He said that someday, he wanted her to be able to call bullshit when some dumb man was droning the dreaded words, “but baby, I love you!” I thought about how my dad prepared me for the world. I thought of the fear that was struck into me. I thought of the time he came to pick my sibling and me up from our mother’s house, but instead of calling us to let us know he was there, he banged on the apartment door and then covered the peephole with his hand so that when we looked out of it, we would see the same pitch black darkness that he warned us that would creep across our vision when we were inevitably smothered to death by some man in the back of a van after he offered us free candy. I thought of the time he left me alone for two hours in Busch Gardens because he wanted to take his favorite child on a ride that I was simply too scared to get on. I was nine. I thought of when the airline found out that he was an FBI agent and they offered him a seat in first class since he was armed but they said he was only allowed to take one guest and he chose my older sibling and left me by myself in coach. I thought of when my babysitter showed me Sleepy Hallow and I was convinced that my head was going to get chopped off by the headless horseman. I told my dad that I was too afraid to go into the basement, so he grabbed me by the hair and shoved my head in every dark corner in our unfinished basement to prove to me that my head wouldn’t be sliced off. He was screaming LOOK, LOOK, LOOK. NOTHING IS HERE! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? His logic-based dad-brain was stumped as to how a five year old could possibly believe in anything that couldn’t be real. A werewolf, a headless horseman, a monster under the bed. They weren’t real and he refused to let me think he would protect me from them, either. He only believed in the real monsters. The ones who waited for little kids to be separated from their parents at an amusement park. The ones who looked for little kids sitting all alone on a plane. What did I believe in? I was more afraid of the werewolf on the haunted ride than I was of being snatched up by some stranger in the middle of an amusement park. I played outside past dark in Baltimore until I remembered that there could be a vampire that didn’t have the threat of the sun any longer, and I would run inside.

It didn’t matter what kind of monster I believed in because my dad didn’t protect me from either. Sometimes, when we were out, my dad would make me feel safe. He would put me up on his shoulders or squeeze my hand just a little tighter when there was a big crowd of people around. That was just once in a blue cheese moon, though.

My Home by DJ Dungee Second place art

A Lion’s Rebirth by Onyx Steele Dull steel shackles grated against the new nails that had seemed to grow sharper each year. The once luminous silver and copper have faded to a muted black that I could no longer care to remove. My platinum blond mane had started to pool below my dangling feet, the matted locks getting heavier each day. The once rosy flesh on my body has turned to a sickly pallor. My limbs grew weak from the lack of freedom. The dreary sight of myself on that reflective surface in the corner makes me sick. Only a vulnerable, uncaring mess is shown. The confident, playful spirit had been sucked out, leaving a hollow husk behind. I must hide that weakness. I cannot let it be used against me when I’m already strung up like a possession. No matter how rough I am with my surroundings, there seems to be no escape. Is this the end of my reign? Shall I always be a puppet strung up with this artificial rope? It seemed to be an eternity before I was finally able to reach the ground. I can finally see the rust eating away the once-lustrous metal. Were the chains that old? It doesn’t matter. I can now get rid of that vulnerability. I hate the texture of the unkempt hair on my back as I crawl to take control. Was the air always this heavy? Was I always this

Risen by Mary Grace Faulkner

nervous? Neither of them matters. I must use all my might to destroy the unhealthy doll on full display. I’ll use the shards of this weakness to remove my old self. Replace it with a better version they’ll be wary of. I’ll start with this platinum mane of mine, letting out a sigh of relief at the lost weight. The color is too weak. Not fit for a being of my standing. Only the brightest of gold is fit for a monarch like me. My fur needs to look darker than this ugly, pale color. Let’s make it the same orange as my ears, just so my gilded hair and perfect, ornate eyes can stand out. Every part of my being must replace this old shell to satisfy this greed of mine. The remaining part of that little girl is the bright amber hue of her eyes. Worry not, young child. I’ll use this body to get your justice, serve it to those disgusting creatures on their own dirty platter. Rest your weary and broken soul now; you have suffered enough. I’m here to take care of everything. This monarch, this king, this queen with their wings stained in your blood… will bring your spirit back home. Bring you back to the guardians that you so desperately want to see again. But you must be a little more patient. I have to avenge you first. Hidden Beauty by Lily Allen

Just NYC by Candela Perez Castellanos

because by Scout Lynch my dad used to say “I don’t care if you’re a janitor, you have to have an education.” and it would never make sense to me. my dad never elaborated on things for me. he was a “because I said so” kind of dad. so I rebelled against it. I thought it was so stupid to get an education if I had a job that didn’t require it. because he said so. he could have explained. now I understand, your education could have nothing to do with your career and still be vital. because you learn to navigate the world in a way you never could have understood before. because knowledge is a powerful weapon and powerful people weaponize it. because you should know how to decipher what that man in a thousand-dollar suit spewing five-dollar words is trying to trick you into believing. but my dad did not have that snake-oil salesman way of speaking. because he said so. deceit is the sheath that protects so many well-written secrets. it’s not as hard to pull the sword from the stone as they make it out to be but they don’t want you to know that. it’s because they said so. and my dad still doesn’t give a reason either, or maybe he just doesn’t give a damn. i could take a knife and scrawl my boundaries on my chest and he would get blood on his shoes trying to cross them. and after he’s left crimson footprints all over my floor and asks why i don’t visit him anymore, I’ll let him know. it’s because I said so. Passage to the Fae Lands by Danny Adams

Music of the world by DJ Dungee Throughout the day I hear everything Every breath, every wing flap. Every foot step. I hear the rain tap against the roofs and windows. The symphony of the world constantly playing with no end in sight. I think, I breathe, I live for music. Yet this orchestra is the only thing that makes me cry. I love music. I love nature. Out of everything I do the music of the world is the only thing I’ve found pure.

Welcome to Paradise by Gabriel Alvarez

Balance by Mary Grace Faulkner

Blazing Glory

by Richard Marshall

Too Late by Kiersten Jones I’m scared I was too late To take back what I did But before I knew it We both had blown the lid I’m scared I was too late To make sure things were right Instead of loving you All I could do was fight I’m scared I was too late To tell you what was wrong

When I was so angry And you tried to be strong I’m scared you were too late When you spoke your mind You put my feelings first And left yours way behind I’m scared you were too late To listen for instance Or respect my boundaries You created distance And then we were too late

Greenhouse Closeups by Stephanie Staats

Él y Ella: Un poema de amor by Ashley Patrick

Él la ve a lo lejos, iluminado por su belleza. Ella se da cuenta de que él la mira. Él se pone nervioso cuando ella camina hacia su camino. Ella también siente mariposas en el estómago. “¡Hola!” ella dice. Luego pregunta, “¿Estás bien?” Él sonríe y saluda. Todavía está nervioso. Poco sabe él, ella también. Finalmente habló y dijo que era bueno. Ella mira la camisa del hombre y luego vuelve a mirarlo Ella dice que le gusta su camisa. Tiene su banda favorita. Él sonríe a lo grande y le cuenta todo sobre el concierto de la banda. “¡Dios mío! Yo también estuve allí,” ella dice. Él le pregunta si le gustaría salir con él. Le preocupa cuál sería su respuesta. Poco sabe él, ella también está interesada en él.

Coastal Seafoam by Stephanie Staats

The Air in Between

Worlds Apart by Richard Marshall

by Aria Foerst

It doesn’t matter how hard I scream It’s just air that’s in between you and me You, walking with a lean thinking you’re unseen I hope I’m in a place Where I don’t care about the times I waste There will come a day when all this pain will go away Sometimes the closure is not any closer than where we were before but I’m not hurting anymore All the nights you kept me awake with your friends being fake planning trips we didn’t take All the calls I didn’t make Not knowing you were a mistake But I know now because It doesn’t matter how hard I scream It’s just air that’s in between you and me

Vast Horizons by Richard Marshall

Two Sides of the Same Canvas by Onyx Steele A fiery redhead hoisted a tattered flag over the tumultuous crowd in front of them. A shrill buzzing replaced the loud boom that shattered every building in its path. Organized shouts filled the square as cameras surrounded the rioters. Crimson paint was splattered across asphalt, brick, and shattered glass. A line of teenagers laughed together as transparent shards dug into their exposed skin. “Down with the Caerulem family! We refuse to be victims of their cowardice!” the teens roared. The red-hot anger spread through the crowd like wildfire. The redhead’s sangria irises watched cerulean lights speed towards the town square. “Looks like Caerulem sent in his attack dogs again! We won’t back down until he comes out himself!” they snickered. Steel-blue walls surrounded the president’s orderly desk. His icy eyes scanned each document in front of him. A plain tea cup rested in his fingers as the president’s lips reached for the rim. The slight sweetness of butterfly pea flower tea coated his tongue. A clean-cut man entered after a gentle knock. “Sir, the authorities are ready at your command,” he hummed. The president let out an exasperated sigh. “Just let them have their temper tantrum, Ben. Then everything will be back to normal,” he said. Ben’s face scrunched up at the president’s instruction. “How can you be so sure, sir?” he asked. “No matter how hard their leader tries, she’ll still be as predictable as her father,” the president noted. The redhead trudged into the orderly office. The president smiled at the teen in front of him. “I see you’ve come back. Are you finished, Lapis?” Lapis stayed silent before she nodded. “Yes, father. I have finished my tantrum,” she mumbled. “I didn’t hear you. You know I’ve taught you the appropriate volume you should have,” the president chastised. “Yes sir. I have finished my tantrum for the day,” Lapis repeated. “I will now go prepare myself for bed. I know I need to be awake early again,” she said. The president shook his head and took the scarlet wig from his

daughter. “You won’t be getting this back until you behave. It’s too bright.” Lapis’ oxford blue locks draped across her shoulders. She stared up at her father in disbelief before she rushed to her room. Lapis collapsed onto her knees as tears started to burn her eyes. When she went to wipe her eyes, the sangria contacts dropped into her hands. Lapis wrapped the satin baby blue blanket from her navy around herself to calm down. Once her tears stopped falling, the teen sulked to her vanity. A muted violet had replaced the striking red of her contacts. She opened one of the contact casings carefully, being sure not to spill any of the solution inside. Lapis returned her first pair of contacts to their proper place. A second contact casing sat to her left with a small note. The black lettering spelled out the word “morning.” Lapis sighed and retired to her bed, hiding her face until she fell into slumber.

Rocks of Almería by Candela Perez Castellanos

Madrid in Pride Week by Candela Perez Castellanos

Dark Metropolis by Gabriel Alvarez

Happy Fourth! by Victoria Hood

First Time Seeing Fireworks by Anonymous Soon after sunset, you can’t see the stars, Fireworks burning them out. They sear through the sky, scorching the moon, A light that we can’t do without. Strangers wander and babble, all so amazed At the tendrils now spraying the sky, this synthetic light destroying the nights. “Oh, what a wonder!” they sigh. I hide in the dark side, keep to myself, But amazing it is to be sure. Alone in the cool breeze, ground hot with the sun, The fires more brightly endure. Through the leaves of the box pears. Other lights shine Killing the stars. No! Far afield would I go, but never set foot Where those immortal lights never glow.

Dark Nights, Bright Lights by Lily Allen

sweet sistine by Scout Lynch look at the floor no look at the ceiling. the sistine chapel is a beautiful work but who am I to look God in the eye? who am I to look at the art so beautifully crafted at the hands of its creator? i am michelangelo’s flesh bag a lump of skin and eyeholes. where is the artist who crafted me? or did the builder reject me and leave a mound of clay untouched? and now there is a tornado in my heart for there are as many whirling breaths in my chest as there are people trying to sneak a photo of the forbidden ceiling.

Cape Breton Highlands, Novia Scotia 2 by Sandy Pagans

Just a Lil Guy by Scout Lynch

A Young Life by Zoie Wagner The first moments of a birth are some of the most revelational times, The parents filled with joy, the pictures for memories, the laughter filling the room, This young life is the beginning of a long life. A new life is a fresh start, the introduction to a new magnificent world. The opening of the eyes, and the first time viewing this loving family, This young life can feel the happiness radiating to them. In the blink of an eye the first birthday has approached and the family is gathered together again. Celebration, hope, presents, and joy circle around the room, This young life has a great future ahead.

Dazed in Sea Light by Katelyn Feiffer

Evening Falls Upon the Library by Danny Adams

My Father Taught Me, and I Drew This by Candela Perez Castellanos

Stabbed in the Back by Scout Lynch

Choosing Me by Zoie Wagner

I spend my days and nights wondering why we no longer speak, Tracing back and forth between the lines of my life to every choice that was made, Was it that one fight? That terrible present I gave you for your birthday? The nights I said I would come, but just couldn’t? Or perhaps it was the fact that I was moving away. My love has never ceased to exist, but the pain you brought into my life has lingered its way into my thoughts, my dreams, my days. Was it the one time I didn’t send that “I” in my “I love you”? That dreadful day of tears and anger circling within your room? The fact that my attention was more set on my next step rather than sitting in forever with you? Or possibly the way I told you I was finally done with your excuses? You couldn’t see my success, My shining future ahead and the inevitable joy that glimmered in my eyes as I would tell you about my five-year plan. You couldn’t see my success and applaud me for it, Instead, you made it my fault for this never working, The blame continuously back and forth, But for once I wanted to do something for myself. I choose me, and I will continue to choose me every day for the rest of my life, Because choosing you was simply never enough.

Rose of Sharon by Katherine Grimes

Just a Walk

by Elizabeth Parrish

Our Friendly Neighborhood Deer by Sandy Pagans

Everything I Love by Kerstin Snyder

Double-Beagle Dog Bed by Lana Whited

Livestock

by Elizabeth Parrish

Spring Calves

by Stephanie Staats

Los Fantasmas, ¿Son Reales? (¡Lo son!) by Kayla Fedison, Daphne James, Kenaz Moon, Haley Woodward, and Ashli Wuss Éranse en la clase de español cinco amigos; sus nombres eran Kiwi, Herbella, Dilly, Kermit, y Ant. Dilly vino a clase ese día con cara de miedo. Cuando sus amigas le preguntaron cuál era el problema, Dilly dijo, “¡Yo vi un fantasma anoche… un fantasma llamado Rodger. Rodger hizo un desastre en mi casa y también escuché unos ruidos aterradores!” Kiwi y Herbella se interesaron mucho en la historia del fantasma. Herbella preguntó, “¿Qué más viste?” Dilly dijo, “Yo vi a Rodger caminando en mi pasillo primero, entonces Rodger me miró y entró flotando en el aire a mi dormitorio.” Kermit preguntó, “¿Y lo seguiste?” Dilly dijo, “Sí, pero cuando entré en mi dormitorio, ya se había ido.” Después de la historia de Dilly, Kermit y Ant dijeron que eso no era cierto y que los fantasmas no eran reales. Todos los amigos comenzaron a discutir sobre los fantasmas. Ant y Kermit decían que los fantasmas no eran reales, mientras que Dilly y Herbella insistían en que los fantasmas eran reales. Después de 10 minutos de discusión Kiwi exclamó, “¡Ya no sé si creerlo o no!” Ant dijo, “Espera, escuché otra historia de fantasmas en el campus de Ferrum.” Kiwi preguntó, “¿Qué historia de fantasmas?” Ant dijo, “Escuché que en la década de los 1930 un hombre resultó herido en una batalla y se quedó dentro de Richeson Hall. Más tarde murió en ese mismo edificio. Algunos dicen que frecuenta el lugar. Pero no me lo creo ni un poco.” Sorprendidos, Herbella y Dilly dijeron, “¡Qué! ¿Tú no crees en los fantasmas?” Ant dijo, “Ni yo ni Kermit creemos que existan los fantasmas. Los fantasmas no son reales y todos ustedes deberían creer eso también.” Herbella y Dilly ofrecieron una sugerencia. Ellas dijeron, “Vamos a demostrar que los fantasmas son reales. Y para hacer esto vamos a ir a Richeson Hall esta noche a las 12:39 y demostrar que tu historia de fantasmas es real y que los fantasmas existen.” El grupo de amigos decidieron ir al edificio esa misma noche para explorar, ambos lados tratando de probar sus puntos de vista. Los estudiantes estaban caminando hacia Richeson en la oscuridad. La luna alumbraba el cielo. Kermit abrió la puerta y el grupo retrocedió indeciso. El edificio estaba muy oscuro y los crujidos fuertes hacían eco a través del edificio. La puerta se cerró sola y Ant jadeó. Dilly y Herbella

llevaron al grupo a la oficina de los maestros españoles. Dilly se detuvo frente a un viejo cuadro colgado en la pared. El hombre de la foto era médico y su nombre era Rodger. Entonces, luego un fuerte ruido vino del fondo del pasillo. “Solo fue el viento,” dijo Kermit. “¡Es el fantasma!” gritó Herbella. “¿Dónde está Kiwi?” preguntó Ant. Dieron vueltas en círculos buscando a Kiwi. Pero ella no estaba en ninguna parte. Herbella y Dilly gritaron, “¡El fantasma probablemente tiene a Kiwi!” Pero Kermit y Ant enrollaron los ojos. Los amigos decidieron buscar a Kiwi. Buscaron en todas las oficinas, pero no la encontraron. De repente Kiwi se cayó del techo sin aliento en los pulmones. Los cuatro amigos emitieron un largo grito. “El fantasma está aquí,” dijeron Herbella y Dilly. Kermit permaneció con la cara enojada… “¡Deja ya! ¡No hay fantasmas! Kiwi está muerta. “Ellos dos hicieron esto”, acusó Ant “¿solo para tratar de convencernos de que los fantasmas eran reales? Con todos aterrorizados de que Kiwi estuviera muerta, Kermit y Ant todavía no creían que los fantasmas fueran reales. Kermit dijo: “¿Cómo pudieron ustedes dos hacer algo como esto?” Herbella y Dilly estaban confundidas y no sabían de qué estaba hablando. “¿Cómo pudieron ustedes hacer algo como esto?” repitió. Herbella dijo, “¿Hacer qué? No tenemos nada que ver con esto”. Ant interrumpió a Herbella, “¿Por qué matarían a Kiwi? ¿Solo para comprobar su punto de vista?” El grupo comenzó a discutir y culparse los unos a los otros. Los incrédulos pensaban que los creyentes la mataron y los creyentes creían que los incrédulos les habían tendido una trampa. Entonces, de repente, el grupo notó que había una figura blanca brumosa que se elevaba del cuerpo de Kiwi. Todo el grupo se sobresaltó y quedó congelado de horror en su lugar. Entonces Kiwi dijo, en un tono tranquilo y fantasmal: “Ustedes deben dejar de pelear, Rodger está aquí y viene por ustedes”. De repente, el grupo escuchó un fuerte estruendo, abandonaron el edificio en pánico y corrieron lo más lejos posible. Una vez que sintieron que estaban a una distancia segura, se detuvieron para hablar sobre lo que acababan de ver. Herbella y Dilly se volvieron frenéticamente hacia Kermit y Ant gritó, “¡Te lo dijimos!” Ant y Kermit, todavía en el estado de shock, dijeron, “Lo sentimos. Deberíamos haberte creído”. Después de esa noche, Herbella, Dilly, Kermit y Ant acordaron no volver a hablar de la noche en que descubrieron que los fantasmas eran reales.

Looking into the Horizon by Victoria Hood

Ground Yourself by Kiersten Jones “Ground yourself ” they’ll say But how can I stay grounded When I’m always standing in high water? The jagged rocks make my body ache The river’s relentless pull is too strong How do I stay grounded When life is always moving on? All around me, forever changing And here I am for whatever reason Still standing in high water How I Feel I Am– Transparent and Elusive

by Candela Perez Castellanos

self//meds by Scout Lynch

Coast of Maine

by Martha Haley-Bowling

Cinnamon Rolls and Paul Washer by Mary Grace Faulkner On a cool, crisp morning in early June, a girl leans over a long wood table, pushing an old rolling pin, almost as old as her own twenty years, over a massive hunk of dough: cinnamon roll dough. The oven is not yet preheating, and the butter is not melted, so there is little scent inside the house to block the crisp, fresh, earlymorning air, light with smells of growing things, from rolling in the window. Birds chirp and squeal in their daily chorus all around the house as the rolling pin creaks, flattening out the dough. Paul Washer’s deep voice booms from the cell phone resting on the windowsill, declaring, “The world says listen to your heart. Well, tell your heart to shut up!” This marvelously timed announcement comes exactly as the girl’s father pokes his head into the kitchen. “What are you listening to?” he asks, emerging the rest of the way from the living room. He has to drop his head to get under the lifting bar attached to the crest of the door. “Ah–are you making cinnamon rolls?” “Indeed!” she replies, straightening up and pausing in her rolling to smile. The father limps on through the room as she continues, old hardwood floor creaking every other step. The house is oddly quiet; all the other children, even the baby, are asleep, leaving it peaceful for now.

Before the Harvest by Stephanie Staats

Echoes by Katherine Grimes

Our Boat Was Sinking By Kiersten Jones I have been hurt a lot in my life But I swear I don’t think I have ever hurt this much. The more I fell in love with you The less you seemed to love me. I didn’t know how to handle this situation. It was all so new Because I swear it seemed just like yesterday That you claimed you’d always be here And now I’m facing an entire future Without you. The more I’ve hurt The more you’ve pushed me away And I’m grasping at just about anything But you keep letting go. I’ve always feared you leaving And when you did I almost didn’t make it. Not because I didn’t want you to be happy But because I just wanted our life back And now we’re lost somehow. We got lost along the way. You never told me that our boat was sinking And since then I’ve felt like I’ve been left With all these leaky holes And you took the patching kit with you When you walked away. My tears don’t seem to hold a certain place In your heart anymore. And here I am Finally doing the work I needed to So I could show up And you had already given up on us But it’s okay And I forgive you Because now I can finally show up for myself.

Cape Breton, Nova Scotia 3 by Sandy Pagans

Stuck at Sea By Jailen Austin A ship lost at sea Uncertainty into the unknown The darkness fades Immoral ideals surround us So much light blinding Managing to work hard 47

The Downfall of the Gleaming Gemstone By Onyx Steele Velvet, red rope binds the two souls together. The brilliant shine of the gemstone brightens the way, replacing the fire that had died out years ago. Despite the flame only being a distant memory, the radiance of the jewel brightens beside the bringer of light. However, as the light only gets brighter, the gem only becomes dull and worn. The lackluster, midnight-colored rock tries its hardest to restore its own glow. Even as the source of such radiance offers more and more of their light, each smooth band of chalcedony is chipped away. Eventually, the gemstone loses its shine as it strays farther from the light, longing for the warmth of the luminous glow that is now out of reach. The velvet, crimson rope has now become worn and frayed, only a thread away from snapping. The jewel can only blame itself for its own demise, yet it no longer wishes to suffer. And just like that, the final nail was slammed into the faded, ink-colored gemstone’s own crystalline coffin. “We need to break up.”

Fade by Mary Grace Faulkner

Tropical Sunset by Katelyn Feiffer

Endless

by Gabriel Alvarez

Das Bevo Mill By Dave “Chopper” Campbell Bb/Eb7 There’s a place people gather at night after the sun goes down. Leave the day behind them they come to throw the boogie around. The locals and the lifers the vine and Stein and inside word Got the mill a grinding, gonna give that wheel a turn There’s a sound going down blowing off the Mississippi Throwing those cares to the air Forget about the nitty gritty There’s a sound going down And it feels so right Eb Db They gonna throw the boogie Bb/Eb7 Down at the Bevo tonight St. Louis summers they get just a little bit sticky Spinning, sinning, and grinning to the rhythm of the city Feet just moving just grooving just cruising just shuffling shuffling along Gonna throw the boogie—gonna ride it till dawn They’re working up that boogie lather in the City of Blues Soles just tapping just slapping just driving their shoes Sweating no regretting no fretting or upsetting the groove Ain’t no holding back the river when it’s tumbling through

Coming out of My Shell by Scout Lynch

A Poem I Am Happy I’ve Overcome by Candela Perez Castellanos

FEEL NOTHING by Candela Perez Castellanos Music created by nature when the wind crashes against it. Moving leaves and brightly colored petals as long as you are in front of them. Because beauty is nothing without admiration, to idolize without understanding is obtundation. It is never thought how sad the footsteps on the sidewalk are until you are sad and you only hear sorrow. Nothing is felt, only thought, and from time to time the five senses wake up the lazy soul. The sad thing is only beautiful if it is understood: Rain protects when it understands that it descends. The flowers are also pretty when dry; Just like living without finding anything inside. Feeling dry, lifeless inside; feeling that you don’t feel is the only thing you feel, staying barren trying to flourish while it rains; In need of fertile ground with sun and rain. Now happiness is moments with notoriety: moments of escape from reality. I wish I understood the truth and did not evade individual thought. Dry flowers cannot live again; souls can be filled and start from scratch.

Prickly Purple

by Katherine Grimes

Autumn Trails by Richard Marshall

Acuarela Frog

by Candela Perez Castellanos

Getting Older by Zoie Wagner I remember growing up wishing to be older. Old enough to call myself a teenager, Old enough to take myself to school, Old enough to stay home alone for the night, Old enough to go out somewhere without my parents, Old enough to drive by myself, Old enough to get my first job, Old enough to finally call myself an adult. But now that my age is settling in comfortably like the welcome mat to a new home, I am reminiscing, I am daydreaming, And most of all I am missing that little girl. Everyone would always tell us kids to enjoy ourselves because life moves fast, But how was I ever to know that my life would have moved like this. Now that I am getting older, I never take a moment for granted. With the weight of the world on my shoulders, I push through. Every memory to make is so much more dear to me. My life is moving quickly, And getting older happens with every breath I take in, But I simply hold in that breath, Shutting my eyes to feel the sensation of age overwhelm my body, And I surround myself with this defeating recognition. As I lie back into my years further ahead, I smile at the thought of getting older.

Just Popped Up

by Katherine Grimes

An Angel Never Dies by Sandy Pagans

Days of an Ending Summer by Oceana Thomas The sun still wraps my body like a blanket. But yet, I can smell the crisp scent of fall. Change. Change picking up speed. But filled with beauty. Known from the painted skies given by Creator. The days of an ending summer.

Southwest Virginia Summer at 7 p.m. by Hannah Huffman

Lonely Road Home

by Elizabeth Parrish

Glacier National Park

by Martha Haley-Bowling

Apostasy By Mary Grace Faulkner I had begun to walk away. I’m still fighting to leave now, protesting chains of grace, and I need someone more than You! Truth cries back, shouting at every turn when it forces my eyes open, singing in the absence of every song. I’m trying to calm the storms by my own power: I’m strong enough, I can handle everything, I’ll be okay on my own. That’s not true. I.2 hears the war on the inside but lock it away. My eyes wander over the fresh green leaves of the oak tree that rustle helplessly in the wind. Like I was designed to do with my Creator, each leaf clings only to the tree, drawing nourishment and color and life. Only through the tree can they live. Watching, the question comes to mind of what it means to live, to be alive. To my Creator – the one who created everything that is or will be – life is to know Him. To my rebel self – an arrogant fool – life is doing what she wants. Life goes on for eternity, a word still beyond my comprehension. True life survives torture, betrayal, even death itself. True life follows the One who surrendered His own. Now the leaves flutter madly, tearing in the wind. Acorns stab through my boots like reproaches, saplings curling around my ankles like grasping memories of what once was. Inside, I.1 screams her discordant rhythm. I stand alone, I can do what I want. Rippling river waters mimic the solemn song of the Creator, flowing deep inside with Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not on your own understanding. Poison ivy is sprouting, piercing through my eyes and ears and filling my throat. I start to crumble in the hot itchy wind, dry sand with no water to hold me together. It’s not enough! Nothing’s enough. There’s no good way left. Salty smoke stings my eyes, the river rushes harder from the high mountains, and ancient knowledge whispers in my mind. Life is a story. The wicked rise and the righteous fall, the currents of this world will tempt you and try to pull you under, but light will overcome all darkness. Follow God. Every struggle and every fall can be used to pull you closer. What is day without the sun? And what is night without the moon and stars? Regret.

Blackwater Falls State Park, Davis, WV by Sandy Pagans

Regret, regret raging like the groan of thunder and wail of wind, barreling through the sky, like a thousand rivers choked with the ashes of burning souls. Like an abyss opening and swallowing up everything, like Skoll swallowing the moon to leave a howling empty night. All is well. I.1 is gone, disappeared with no residue but her memories. I am an oak leaf, tiny and green and held by the great boughs of the Father tree. Water and life and light flow through me, gentle wind ripples over me like greeting a friend anew. Ahead lies a new world of rest and trust and courage, more knowledge waiting of this Lord yet Father. He will carry me on, growing and changing and becoming ever more part of the tree. Night has fallen away. A new day is dawning. Eternity has come.

Desdemona By Scout Lynch

Study Buddy by Scout Lynch

i call her desdemona she crawls around my yard she peeps through all my windows and she sleeps under my car. i call her desdemona she’s a queen to me i sleep at night knowing she’s outside and lurking in my dreams. i call her desdemona she doesn’t like to be held. i keep my distance, look don’t touch i wish she loved me oh so much. and when i see her my heart flutters, creeping all around my shutters, other people see her in their nightmares and their dreams. desdemona, won’t you come haunt only me?

Chasing the Sun by Victoria Hood

Frost Bit by Elizabeth Parrish

Colors by Gabriel Álvarez

Serenity by Victoria Hood

(Sin nombre) By Fuller Howard Rara vez se encuentra un tesoro tan precioso como la cultura mexicana, que irradia un resplandor de color. Una nación cuyo orgullo radica en sus tradiciones, comida y música. La diversidad de esta cultura es rica, desde los antiguos mayas y aztecas hasta los charros y mariachis modernos, nunca deja de hacernos sentir en nuestro hogar. La deliciosa comida mexicana con su sabor picante y alegre, desde los tacos hasta los tamales y los chiles rellenos es un verdadero manjar para el paladar. Asimismo, la música es una parte integral de la cultura mexicana con sonidos envolventes de guitarras y trompetas que evocan emociones profundas. El mariachi como emblema nacional llena nuestros corazones con una pasión inigualable. Nuestra cultura mexicana nos ofrece un obsequio de valor incalculable, puesto que nos proporciona una conexión profundamente enraizada con nuestras raíces y nuestras costumbres. Además, esta misma cultura nos hace recordar nuestra identidad verdaderamente única.

Roses are Red and Violets are Blue: by Katelyn Feiffer They say roses are red and violets are blue But are they really? Roses are shadowed by tranquility Blue is the mix of calamity Roses are red and violets are blue Roses and blueness justify life Life is like roses, but like disaster Living with great optimism Roses are red and violets are blue Blueness dignifies what is yet to come What can we expect next? Will we ever know? Roses are red and violets are blue We run life like the course of these objects, but Who are we to say it’s not the other way around? Roses are red and violets are blue Money is an object We need money to live It controls our sensitivity to explore What will be yet to come and what will we do? Roses are red and violets are blue

Broken Home by Victoria Hood

Green Light by Lana Whited

Biographies Judges Seleste Cowie, ’18, earned a BFA in Acting and Directing from Ferrum. She lives in Atlanta, where she has acted in several movies and tv shows. She also teaches at an elementary school and works at the Fox Theatre. Jane Fenton is the author of the Repo Girl series. She loves Roanoke, good friends, junk food, stray dogs, Jeep Wranglers, and books that combine romance, mystery, and laughter. She lives with her family in a farmhouse in Ferrum. Her website is janefenton.org/ . Will Hinton is Faculty Emeritus at Louisburg College. He retired in May 2023 after serving as Professor of Visual Art for 40 years, teaching Drawing, Ceramics, and Art Appreciation and curating two campus galleries. His web site is willhintonart.com. Monica Hoel is Alumni Director at Emory & Henry College. A Master Naturalist, she writes blogs about Virginia parks and wildlife. She is an avid photographer.

Staff Mary Grace Faulkner, a History major from Ferrum, likes to read and hang out with friends. M. Katherine Grimes is a professor of English and advisor to Chrysalis. Scout Lynch is an English major, editor-in-chief of Chrysalis, and a member of the Boone Honors Program from Baltimore who lives in Ferrum and likes to crochet, cook, bake, and write, including Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. Candela Perez Castellanos from Madrid, Spain, is majoring in Psychology and Arts of Industry. She is on the women’s basketball team and enjoys drawing, writing poetry, reading, skateboarding, traveling, and spending time with family and friends. Kiersten Jones from Roanoke is majoring in Music Performance. She enjoys reading, painting, writing, playing bass guitar, singing, and watching true crime. Zoie Wagner is a Criminal Justice major from Richmond and a member of the track team. She likes to read, write poetry and songs, hang out with friends, and paint.

Other Contributors

Danny Adams from Vinton is Ferrum’s night-time library assistant. He has published three novels as well as short stories and poems in magazines including Appalachian Heritage, Asimov’s Science Fiction, and Strange Horizons. Lily Allen from Plattsburgh, NY, is an Animal Science major who enjoys riding horses. Gabriel Alvarez from Maracaibo, Venezuela, is a Psychology major and a Music minor. He is on the tennis team, and he enjoys playing piano and guitar. Jailen Austin, a Computer Programming major, loves the campus life. David “Chopper” Campbell is an assistant professor of English and coordinator of the Journalism program. He is also a member of the band Kerosene Willy and author of the novel Beandog Mourning. Dj Dungee from Roanoke is majoring in Music with a minor in Education. Kayla Fedison is a Health and Human Performance major from Roanoke. She

is a member of the Boone Honors Program and the women’s soccer team. Katelyn Feiffer from Fredericksburg is majoring in Nursing and plans to pursue her doctorate. Her hobbies include anything outdoors, softball, and binge-watching movies. Aria Foerst, who lives in Cherokee, N.C., is a Nursing major and holds a CNA certification. She loves helping her community, hanging out with friends, writing poems, trying new things, and sleeping. She is on the volleyball team. Sean Folquet is a Criminal Justice major with an emphasis in Criminology. Martha Haley-Bowling is dean of the Graduate and Professional Studies School and associate professor of Social Work. She and her family live in Ferrum. Victoria Hood is finishing her associate of arts degree and planning to begin work on her B.S. in Psychology. She is on the volleyball team; photography is also one of her passions. Fuller Howard from Wake Forest, NC, is a Business major and member of the football team. He is also a member of the Boone Honors Program. Hannah Huffman from Riner is on the tennis team. She loves taking pictures of things to remember moments. Daphne James from Roanoke is an Environmental Science major. She is a member of the Boone Honors Program. Abigail Jamison is an assistant professor of Psychology and division chair for Business and Social Sciences. Richard Marshall is an Environmental Science major from Rockingham County. He enjoys roller skating and hiking. Kenaz Moon from Gretna is a Media and Communication major with a minor in Psychology. Sandy Pagans, ‘20 is coordinator of Student and Family Support. She has worked at Ferrum for 19 years. She lives in Glade Hill and enjoys making memories with family; helping others; reading; crocheting; loving life; and showing peace, love, and happiness. Elizabeth Parrish from Zebulon, NC, is a Middle Education major with a Language Arts emphasis. She enjoys fly fishing, hiking with her dog, and going to the beach. Samantha Reinhart from Rocky Mount is a Business major with a Marketing emphasis and a minor in Equine Science. She enjoys crafts, taking photos, and her dog Cooper. Kerstin Snyder from New Kent is majoring in Health and Human Performance with an emphasis in Exercise Science. She enjoys playing softball, fishing, and hanging out with friends. Stephanie Staats is an Animal Science Major with minors in Agribusiness, Biology, and One Health. She is a member of the Agriculture Club and president of the National Society for Leadership and Success. Onyx Steele from Mechanicsville, is a Pre-Professional Health Sciences major with a Pre-Nursing emphasis and a minor in Psychology who enjoys writing and drawing. Oceana Thomas is a Music major with a Performance emphasis. Lana Whited is professor of English and director of the Boone Honors Program. She is author of Murder, In Fact and editor of The Ivory Tower and Harry Potter; the forthcoming The Ivory Tower, Harry Potter, and Beyond; and two Critical Insights volumes. Haley Woodward from Salem is a Pre-Professional Health Sciences major. She plays on the women’s soccer team and is a member of the Boone Honors Program. Ashli Wuss from Huntington, NY, is a Social Work major. She plays on the women’s soccer team and is a member of the Boone Honors Program.

Acknowledgements The staff of Chrysalis thanks the judges for sharing their time and expertise; the Integrated Programming Board for providing contest prizes; and Jill Adams, the Undead Poets Society, and The Iron Blade for their help with ths semester’s coffeehouses.

Chrysalis History by Candela Perez Castellanos

Ferrum College Fall 2023