Fork in the Road: HHS Birds Eye View 2016

FORK IN THE ROAD

Hickory High School Literary and Art Magazine Chesapeake, Virginia

2015-2016

Volume XVII

The Bird’s Eye View: Fork in the Road Literary and Art Magazine Hickory High School 1996 Hawk Boulevard Chesapeake, Virginia, 23322 (757) 421-4295 http://www.cpschools.com/index.php

2015-2016

Volume XVII

Administration:

Mrs. Alfredia Turner, Principal

Mr. Steven Carter Dr. David Richels Mr. Brian Porter Ms. Andrea Vail Mr. Jay “Ed” Ewing

Colophon: $5.00

The Bird’s Eye View is created with Creative Suite 5, Microsoft Word, Picmonkey, and Microsoft Office. The fonts used are Minion Pro., Expressway, and Ayuthaya. The magazine cover is “Untitled” by Tiffany Rodriguez. Published by Spectrum Printing, VA beach.

BUCKLE UP

Thank you for picking up a copy of The Bird's Eye View! This magazine has in many ways been a labor of love for all of us. It is particularly special because it feels like it contains a piece of everyone who helped to create it. In a way, that's what this magazine is all about: taking pieces of who people are and molding them together until it all starts to blend. Our club is made up of an extremely diverse group of people. All of us have different personalities and tastes, yet somehow all of our differences came together and made something truly incredible. We are so proud of what we have created.

Coming up with a theme this year was not easy, but once we had an idea everything started to fall into place. The theme is road trip- the freedom, the inspiration, the journey. The magazine is divided into sections, each named to evoke a certain feeling from the travels. They open up with what we have been referring to as "journal entries." It goes along with the idea of following someone along on this road trip. Our first section is titled "Cruise Control." All pieces in this section evoke the blissful, happy feeling you feel when first experiencing the freedom and beauty around you.

The next section is titled "Traffic." This section is all about the negative parts involved in a road trip, going along with feelings of anger and even sadness. "Passenger Seat" is the next section, centering around the emotions of love and gratefullness for company. The next section is titled "Scenic Route." This section is our art gallery, and emulates the wonder and amazement of looking out the window on a long drive. The last section is titled "Radio." This is a gathering of many miscellaneous pieces, going along with the diverse ideas and sounds of scanning through a radio.

We all hope that you enjoy this magazine as much as we do. So much hard work and dedication has gone into this and we are extremely proud of what we have created. This magazine is not only our creation, but also the creation of our school's student body. Our submissions come from both within our staff and also students who are not members of our organization. We feel that because of this, our magazine has become a true work of all nearly 2,000 students in our school. So, on behalf of all of us, we thank you for allowing us to take you along on our road trip.

MAP

Map- Tiffany Rodriguez

Table of contents ART: Cover Photo

Tiffany Rodriguez

Page Number Designs

Noel Thompson

1

Road Trip

Macy Highland

3

Sunbeam

Natalie Eaton

4

Turn to the Sun

Sam Kiss

5

Over the Garden Wall

Natalie Eaton

5

Spirit

Natalie Eaton

6

Life

Lia Warner

8

Prelude

Jacob Lindner

10

Oranges

Grace Brantes-Wherry

10

Saturday Morning

Sam Kiss

11

Adrenaline/Sky Diver

Dustin Lee

11

Mama

Natalie Eaton

14

Floating Rocks

Colleen Kelly

14

Simplicity

Natalie Eaton

16

Open Road

Lily Curling

18

Passenger Seat

Olivia Collar

19

Broken Heart

Megan Antley

20

Out of Focus

Sam Kiss

21

SMP

Taylor Johnson Cutrer

23

At Work

Audrey Seegar

24

Ballroom

Sam Kiss Taylor

25

Dreamlike

Tiffany Rodriguez

28

Traffic

Tiffany Rodriguez

Table of contents 29

Mechanical Deer

Caitlin Exum

30

Clouds

Gabby Ewell

31

Marsh

Katie Harcraft

32

Reflection

Bethany Barret

33

Above the Night

Cameron Lareva

34

Skeleton Still-Life

Shelby Binns

34

Fear

Caitlin Exum

35

Decanter

Grace Brantes-Wherry

35

Bottlebrush

Davis Hutt

37

Owl Eyes

Jackson Simmons

38

Sanctuary

Sam Kiss

38

Distractions

Caitlin Exum

39

Monotony

Caitlin Exum

42

Around the Bend

Kelsey Holland

43

Montreal

Charlotte Kiss

43

Night Light

Charlotte Kiss

44

Blur

Sam Kiss

44

Buddha

Grace Brantes-Wherry

45

Leaves

Gabby Ewell

45

Waterfall

Gabby Ewell

45

Lights

Katie Harcraft

46

One Small Step

Natalie Eaton

46

Proceed

Natalie Eaton

46

Bark

Davis Hutt

47

President Seegar

Dustin Lee

Table of contents 47

Purple Lady

Kimmie Page

47

Greed

Dustin Lee

48

Self-Portrait

Bethany Barrett

48

Winter in Red

Mikey Maulding

48

Closet Painting

Grace Brantes-Wherry

50

Radio

Delaney Higgons

52

The Fall of Orion

Shelby Binns

52

Golden

Shelby Binns

54

Bright Lights, No Pressure

Charlotte Kiss

55

Infinite

Helen Fagan

56

Colors

Sam Kiss

58

The Fish’s Life Story

Brianna Rosario

POETRY: 4

Who I Am

Imani Simons

6

Faith

Imani Simons

8

Library

Sarah Smith

9

A Million Hellos

Danielle Bauer

12 Exceptional Nobodies

Katie Harcraft

13 Know Your Worth

Imani Simons

14 Now

Amanda Dmitri

15 Luck

Olivia Egress

16 Summer Road Song

Sam Kiss

19 Broken Vows

Sammy Winglass

Table of contents 19 Broken Heart

Kaitlyn Runkle

20 Momentary Unknowns

Cameron Lareva

21 Clandestine Constellations

Jacob Hall

22 Opposites Attract

Kristin Dills

23 Afflicted

May Winters

23 The Heart

Hannah Heckler

24 Introspect

Delaney Higgons

29 Adrift

Katie Harcraft

30 The Calm Before the Storm

Katie Harcraft

32 Let the Sun in

Jemma Stephenson

32 Melancholy Rain

Taylor Foreman

33 A Beginner’s Guide to Existentialism

Sam Kiss

34 In the Deep

Kaitlyn Runkle

34 Nightly Travels

Izzy Gonzalez

35 Forest Fire

Kaitlyn Runkle

37 Vagrant Heartbeats at 200 MPH

Sam Kiss

51 Welcoming Arms

Andrew Meredith

56 Melting Away

Cameron Lareva

56 In Matters of My Mind

Jonny Weeks

PROSE: 7

A Sword and a Shield

Jemma Stephenson

21 Green Light

Delaney Higgons

25 Seas of Stars: Bioluminescence

Jemma Stephenson

Table of contents 31 Foresight

Jacob Lindner

33 Snow/Rain

Taylor Ely

36 Dear Nightmare

Natalie Eaton

39 Last One Out, Hit the Lights

Jacob Lindner

40 This is the Way We Were

Jemma Stephenson

39 The Boy of Sunsets

Cameron Lareva

57 My Vision for America

Veronica Teller

Adventure- Isabelle Tovar

CRUISE CONTROL

As soon as I pulled out of my driveway, I felt a sense of freedom blossom in my chest. The sun rose with my excitement as we cruised down the highway. The road was vast and so were my dreams. Though the journey is only beginning, I have high hopes for the days to come.

-The Staff

1

Day 1 of road trip:

Road Trip- Macy Highland

2

Sunbeam- Natalie Eaton

3

Who I Am Imani, mtoto wa siku bora, Faith, child of better days, Child of early wisdom, Child of stubborn ways, This is the moment of truth The moment that I gained A newfound sense of pride, knowing my name is more than just a name.

My name is a beauty mark like a freckle or dimple, And, after years of people mispronouncing and asking to make it simple, I get it.

I used to loathe the complexity of my name.

Now, I regret it.

Imani is a propulsion, moving pyramids in the Middle of Cairo’s deserts.

It’s the story of Nefertiti.

It’s Cleopatra’s treasure.

It’s a miracle removing the cataract from my Third eye, allowing me to see who I am: A Jamaican flower growing tall with an African stem -Imani Simons

Turn to the Sun- Sam Kiss

4

Over the Garden Wall- Natalie Eaton

Spirit- Natalie Eaton

5

Life- Lia Warner Faith Things aren’t always what they appear to be, But once you read between the lines, you’ll read facts and find that reality plays with your mind.

So things are always what you make them out to be, So read, read until your feels the words, Read until your soul dances to the rhythm of the music formed by the beauty hidden deep in the power of each word found on each line Puts you in the position of a magician, learning to read minds one step at a time.

I write to teach, to educate, to inform, to reach.

I want you to understand me, while I understand you.

I want to revive a generation that’s been yearning for truth and old youth, Born in a different time in the past, living in the presents’ body.

I’m a time keeper, splattered ink into lessons, the lead in my pencil sketched memories on paper.

So remember me as sacred, A natural disaster with rainbows gleaming after, Remember me as Faith, hope for tomorrow, With plenty of love you can borrow as you return it, Remember me as the teacher, the lover, the preacher, the fighter, the magician, the writer.

-Imani Simons 6

A Sword and a Shield

By Jemma Stephenson

The bell at the end of the day pops the school like a balloon, and hundreds of seniors, juniors, and sophomores chase each other out the door like escaping helium. It takes me a moment to pack up my bag. It takes me a few minutes to reach my car. On the way, I almost get hit a minimum of three times as students race to beat the buses out of the parking lot. The act of opening my door and putting my bag in the backseat is accompanied by the soundtrack of screeching tires and vitriolic honks.

I climb in the front seat and rest my head back. After I adjust to the hot air that had radiated the car throughout the day, I take my hands off the wheel and reach behind me. I dig around for a moment, until I fish out my copy of Franny and Zooey or Sense and Sensibility or 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. A line of cars trails behind me like lemmings; they all think that they will beat the line of buses across the school. In front of me, my peers hurtle past, viewing each person that passes them as the troll under the bridge that will keep them from the goal.

Only a few people win the Olympic race to get out of the parking lot within a half hour. I never compete. Outside my windows, the cars almost collide. Outside my windows, the staccato shouts of road rage punctuate the air. Outside my windows, the world is racing against itself.

Inside my windows, the words lull me into a reverie.

I have never needed to possess or utilize magic; I have just needed to know that it existed.

I found that magic in Yeats’s verse and Kerouac’s cries. The magic of words can fall over a land like fairy dust, covering the world in sleepy silences and illusions that only break when you allow them to shatter.

I am not a lethargic person, aiming my life on the path of a lazy river, but sometimes the most exciting path is the one that requires no movement. Through books, I am not a seventeen-year-old, leafing through pages in the parking lot; I am a princess or a spy or a hero or a philosopher. I have lived in every country in the world. I am a time traveler.

For a long time, I called books my escape. They were a tool I used to prevent the world from seeping into my line of sight. As long as my nose was buried, reality could not waft into my mind. I have learned, however, that in the war of life, books are not shields, they are swords.

Reading has equipped me with different world views and conflicting opinions, all vying to be the dominant point of view. Literature is often tragic; a warning against the faults in the world.

However, instead of turning me into a pessimist, literature has made me an optimist, as I feel better prepared for the world and the mistakes that I will make. I have endured thousands of trials and quests in my other lives, and I have always survived.

I glance up. The parking lot is empty, and the sun is going down. I could have easily left an hour ago. After turning on my car, I drive out of the parking lot. The world is waiting.

7

Library

(Inspired by Filling Station by Elizabeth Bishop)

Oh, but it’s clean!

-this little library, filled with books, filled with people too quiet, over all with somebody whispering Be careful with that book.

Mother wears a clean, yellow as a sunflower dress that cuts right at the knees, and several slow and daunting and frustrating girls assist her (it’s a family library) all put together.

Do they live in the library?

It has many books on shelves, and in them a whole another world and filled with mystery; in a different place a different time, all quite unique.

Some books provide the only world of colorof a certain color. That lie upon a big story typed on a page (part of a sheet), beside a big stack of books.

Why write a book?

Why read?

Why, oh why, be a librarian?

(Surrounded by books with colorful stories, I think, and start to pick up one) Somebody is a librarian Somebody writes a book or makes drawings for it, maybe. Somebody reads all of the books in the library that softly say: read me to the stranger walking by.

Somebody loves them all.

-Sarah Smith

Prelude- Jacob Lindner

8

A Million Hellos The breath of life exhales from one Erasing evidence of past goodbyes Faces reflect the glow of Southwest sun The light trickling into the whites of their eyes Existence explained by an exchange of heat A ball of fire that never sleeps The morning is no time for sleep Alarms go off, there’s more than one Coffee pot containing comfortable heat Drinking kisses tiredness goodbye Starting the day with bags under eyes That darken with the rise of the sun Here’s a soccer game, that’s our son The benchwarmer trying not to fall asleep Oh look! The spectators flick their eyes The opposing team has lost, we won Fellas, wave farewell and goodbye To that trophy, and take the heat!

A sprinkle of cheese while the over preheats Homemade crust as round as the sun Hungry children glance as they zoom by Eager to eat before they sleep Soon the slices cut down to one Brief enemies fight for the prize Soap-filled water begins to crystallize Steam swirls in heaps of visible heat Bath time is for everyone!

Hurry up and hop in, son!

Slipping and sliding in with a single leap Routine harmonious as the chords of a lullaby The day glides on like a flutterby With paper wings of intricate lies Ending on the tips with sleep Blankets masking absence of the heat Cycling round, following the sun With days peaceful and chaotic as this one.

Life is a million hellos and one goodbye It’s the light of the sun reflecting in our eyes Life is the heat, the wakes, and the sleeps.

9

-Danielle Bauer

Oranges- Grace Brantes-Wherry

Saturday Morning- Sam Kiss

10

Adrenaline/Sky Diver- Dustin Lee

Mama- Natalie Eaton 11

Exceptional Nobodies A man, calm and able Ascends a mountain with natural ease Bound by neither reluctance nor ache A climb that began with the soil—down low; Not a soul to accompany but his own Breathing nothing but perception and the air.

He bypasses mortal traps of roots midair Pouncing up jagged earth in a coat of sable.

Midway, his strength was already overthrown Most of his energy the mountain had seized The man knew he was forced to proceed slow and adjusted his technique for his own sake.

As the man continued his laborious uptake Ahead approached a lively elderly pair Who in corresponding unison, with mingled glow And a harmony that streamed undeniably flew down the mountain like a breeze as if being carried by their spirits alone.

The man paused, dazed and windblown Enlivened and proud of earned achievements, but in the wake of a glance forward, nothing could appease his regret for embarking on such a wearisome affair But the vitality he had witnessed whispered to enable His progress of prosperity onward, escape of deterioration below.

In time the peak arrived, bringing a revitalizing flow Ponds of glass were fragmented with stepping stones Faint skies nestled in glimmers of golden fable.

Omnipresent and constantly awake, The wind sent chilled melody through the man’s hair and the unbroken land beneath surged with exceptional nobodies.

The reluctant climb down allowed gravity to tease to bait, to torment, to counterblow: a malicious force striving to impair.

But the man repelled and wrestled the unknown, taking a cautious step and nothing forsake Progressing more and more rapidly as he grew stable.

As ease and misery intertwined, the man discovered he was able, though disposition plunged low and trouble came with aches, to breathe air and understand the world was his own.

-Katie Harcraft

12

Know Your Worth Believe me People may call you beautiful, diminishing your true value, but in reality beautiful is you You’re not as simple as they want you to be Professing your eyes with the dull title of brown While they’re really carob fusing with amber in a way I’ve never seen before I met you Believe me Your skin may appear plainly tan and ruined to others but not to me I see an Italian complexion decorated with scars playing connect the dots with your freckles until you realize how special you really are You’re not as simple as they want you to be Asserting that your voice is just vibrations traveling through the air, bouncing off objects But the syllables and tones you create with your lips have a natural manner of uniting music and magic together as one Believe me Your smile may come across to many as merely a content facial expression However I see every sentimental moment you’ve ever experienced all at once from every break up to every breakdown making it genuine You’re not as simple as they want you to be They’re always going to be threatened by your worth They’ll forever envy it as well Believe me You’re not as simple as they want you to be

-Imani Simons

13

Simplicity- Natalie Eaton Now So many spend their lives in frantic states of finding themselves.

They are rushed to decide their fate.

They rampage through Heaven and through Hell Not caring if it’s a life they hate

We are defined by who we will become Even though to us, the future is unknown.

The strongest predictions come from ones we love; Maybe undesirable, they have more impact than none

Designer, lawyer, philosopher.

You’re too focused on the life ahead.

Live in the now and remember, This is the only now you’ll get

I tried to find who I am But there’s not much I came by.

This is me, myself, and I

At least, for now.

Floating Rocks- Colleen Kelly

-Amanda Dmitri 14

Luck- Olivia Egress

15

Summer Road Song We laugh by the wild shore rising like the dandelion sun and blooming into morning i leave to harvest the garden of the blossomed night and tear petals off the moon let's live before our dawn and give light to the flowers that always stood between sleep and dreams

-Sam Kiss

Open Road- Lily Curling

16

PASSENGER SEAT It is comforting to know that I’m not traveling alone. It ensures that each sunrise will be accompanied by joyful laughter and each sunset will end with two gentle sleeping heartbeats. We pass the time during the long drive by singing along the radio and playing I Spy. I love my passenger.

-The Staff

17

Day 2 of road trip:

Passenger Seat- Olivia Collar

18

Broken Heart Happiness was locked away, While Paranoia ran a muck, And Sorrow closed the curtains, So as to render Anger blind.

Worry hid in the corner, As Fear paced at his side, And Contempt curled his lip, At Pain who blocked their sight.

Accpetance was still too weak, To end the battle before them.

While, having foreseen it all, Reason watched from afar, As Love murdered Trust.

-Kaitlyn Runkle

Broken Vows Divided down the middle, Icy looks from each side, Voices at midnight, Overflowing bags, Ripped family photos, Cover your ears, Everything has changed.

-Sammy Winglass

Broken Heart- Megan Antley

19

Momentary Unknowns Cloaked in the iridescent shine of midnight Glancing to our eyes every few moments Wrapped inevitable in the thoughts of us Remembering to breathe each moment Wisps of gold dust escape from your hair Enjoying your beauty every slipping moment Burning blue eyes keep me lost from time Ever chasing for more precious moments Mindlessly dazed in the beauty of your moon kissed face Seeking more of your gaze and our moments The glow of infinite stars swander in your gorgeous infinities Enclosed in your thoughts not wasting the moments Carelessly indulging into your presence, gripping to every word Watching the sky as the moon slowly crawls away taking moments Eclipsed by the wonder and dazzled by the possible Wishing on every passing star to be with you for more than moments Unraveled and unfolded under the white stars grasp forever with you Only your unknown knows that these are more than moments.

-Cameron Lareva

Out of Focus- Sam Kiss 20

Clandestine Constellations The Stoic Stars So Far Detached From The Anxieties of Us But Still They Earn Our Wonder Continuing to Make Us Look Up And Bask In The Beauty Of Clandestine Constellations Several Suns Sewing Themselves Into Celestial Tapestries So Divine But I Need Not Look Up Onto Them For I Only Look Up To You A Woman Full Of Wonder That Every Day Makes Me Ponder “How Will She Amaze Me Today?”

-Jacob Hall

SMP- Taylor Johnson-Cutner

Green Light

By Delaney Higgons

“Do you know anything about F. Scott Fitzgerald?” She asks me. I’ve read Gatsby a few times, but I’m wishing I’d read that book about Fitzgerald that I saw at the library one time. I want her to believe that I am artistic.

The conversation continues on without me. I feel as though I have run up to a metro car just as the doors are closing, because she is now talking about Michelangelo. Maybe I could’ve discussed Gatsby with her, but I am not as worldly as her; I know nothing about Michelangelo.

She is artistic. I am not.

21

Opposites Attract

They roam and spin continuously in the world we know as space.

No matter the distance, they always had something that was so vigorous, and it was love.

She is gorgeous, radiant and shines over the world, we know her as our provider, our sun.

He was not so much hot, but bright, and has a gravity pull that pulls you in like the moon.

Their trust grew, their passion as well, they knew they would be together one day no matter how far.

And the planet they always knew, sat below in a giant circle of green and blue.

Their need to see each other makes their core's black and blue.

They both dream of an afterlife where they can leave this empty space.

"Just one moment together, just one," their hearts cried, but it was just too far.

Their need to be united grew strong and passionate along with their love.

Wanting to be like the humans below, having weddings and honeymoons.

Having friends and family, laughs & hugs, their first born child, perhaps a son?

"Oh you keep me warm inside," he says," You are my sun."

"Oh you shine so bright at night," She sings, "You are so blue."

He is what he is and always will be, her one and only moon.

Time is all they have and so is the emptiness between them called space.

Fondness and admiration grew as well as their ever-lasting love.

Their bond grew strong and will always will since their love has come this far.

"Oh my love, you are so bright, why must you be this far?"

She is his muse, his soul, his shining sun.

They had something so pure, so different, an undefying love.

The romance being so odd, it flowed rough like the ocean blue.

Having a dying wish to be together at last, parted in this empty space.

She wanted to experience the cold, the darkness of things, just like her moon.

"Everyone fears me my love, but why must they walk all over you my moon?"

He wonders why the stays away from her, so distant and afraid, so far.

More things to dread like the black endless holes that roam this space.

She provides us warmth to the heart and endless light, she is our reliable sun.

She wonders why she must be so bright, but not more like him, calm and blue.

But that didn't matter, only their eternal and undying need for love.

Was it the need to end the continuous loop, or the need for something to love?

She knows she will float with him one day, and dreams of her bright, pocket-size moon.

He was so petite compared to her colossus physique, and still wanted to fix his heart he knew as blue.

Their life in space makes complications as shown, and they will forever stay afar.

She does her part and shines on in hopes of one day ending her position as the sun.

They will be together on a day we'll never see, in a world we know as space.

-Kristen Dills 22

Afflicted It was a temperate virus.

Growing unnoticed– until it had roots, deep within my marrow.

My head was stuffed with Spring.

My chest was pounding– my thoughts were jumbled, and I struggled to sweat-out the fever.

I was infected with passion.

These unsought feelings– mangled my heart, creating a motley pulp.

Some say this was love, I say it was the plague.

-May Winters At Work- Audrey Seegar

The Heart There are many things that have intrigued me about the heart.

One being that the heart can choose to be humble with a lot of effort.

Two being the heart can be uncontrollably selfish with little effort.

Three being the heart can hate people with a passion that is ungodly.

Four being the heart can be faithful to god if it so chooses.

Five being the heart can hate god with a passion if it happens to be so.

Six being the heart can be soft and be easily upset Seven being the heart can be hard and it would take a lot to make it cry Eight being the heart can be prideful without it knowing it's doing so.

Nine being the heart can empathetic without realizing what's around it.

Ten being yet this magical organ beats inside us all like a drum and keeps us alive.

-Hannah Heckler

23

Introspect Lately you've been talking about life And the way it begins and ends so seamlessly You keep quiet like your life depends on it And now they're convinced that you're oblivious But you've never been so aware in your whole life And now I know how you've gotten here In this state of equal parts terror and self obsession It's the same feeling that keeps you staring in the mirror But tracing every edge of where you end So you can be completely sure that you are not infinite You value these moments like a memory of a scar And you told everyone who would listen That these stars in your eyes meant you were destined for greatness But now I'm left wondering where all that went Ideas and things you once believed All now just outside of your window Like the lightning that struck that old tree next door So I ask you if this is giving up But you assure me that it's nothing more than the loss of romance And you didn't really need that anyways You're burning out like a star But you assure me someday soon You'll return to the earth in the form of a meteor Falling from the sky But only just now entering this world of ours

-Delaney Higgons

Ballroom- Sam Kiss

24

Seas of Stars: Bioluminescence

By Jemma Stephenson

He turned the crimson fruit in his cracked hands. For all the weight that Atlas carried, Sophus could not believe that the Titan's burden was heavier than Sophus's foot as he forced himself to walk towards her. He stored his future in his bag and sat down next to her. His hand skimmed the sand that cushioned her curved form. There was a single drop of salty spray caught in her eyelashes. It clung tightly, as if the water knew, like Sophus did, that with a girl like her, one would only get one chance.

She lifted her eyelids, fluttering like the butterflies that currently made their home in Sophus. He brushed away the crystalline droplet.

This was his one chance, and he had never been one with an affinity for sharing. He plucked the apple from his bag and let it drop. Everything in him was trapped in time for those two short seconds. She did not move. It landed on the curve of her stomach, and rolled off.

All that he was fell with the apple. "Why?" It was more cry than word.

Dreamlike- Tiffany Rodriguez

“You have not impressed me,” There was a finality in her tone. She could start and end a war whenever she pleased. “I do not believe that you love me enough.”

to her gown. "I will accept your proposal when you get me the stars." She bent over and picked up the apple.

“How can you believe that? I love you more-”

She twisted around with the speed of a viper, so that she faced him, her lips breaths away from his ear. “Love me more than what?” The melody of an entire song rested in those four syllables.

“-more- more than the stars in the sky.” He stammered.

“Then it’s settled,” She stood up, wet sand clinging

25

“How?” “Figure it out,” As she bit into it, her lips matched the red of the apple perfectly. He wondered if she even cared if he succeeded.

This was a very bad idea. Sophus was well aware and yet he kept running his hand along the statue. The abrasions caught in his cracked hands.

Perseus had turned the Titan Atlas into stone, and the effigy still stood, holding up the sky. The graven image was the only way to reach the sky.

Sophus adjusted his foot. He grabbed the handhold. "Just like climbing a mountain," He brought his foot up. "A really, really tall mountain that literally touches the sky," His fingers wrapped around another handhold. "A mountain that used to kill people," His foot groped for a place to rest.

"A mountain punished by Zeus.”

She was a frightening sight. Her skin had a blue tinge, and her hair was so dark that it looked like it had been caved from obsidian. And her eyes. Dark as the night sky, with no white showing.

However, the blackness was speckled in light.

He reached up and took hold of a groove that crumbled as his weight was placed on it. He swung out, sacrificing his footholds in order to escape the cascade of rock that tumbled down. "A mountain that hopefully won't wake up and notice that I wrecked his knee." Sophus hung there, trying to swing his legs into an another grip. He did not think that she truly cared.

"Are- are you one of the Pleiades?" His bloodshot eyes flicked to his hand. He was distinctly uncomfortable with being touched by a goddess, but also knew better than to tear his hand back, in fear of offending her.

The idol was climbed. Sophus drove his bloody and ragged fingernails into the stone as he dragged himself onto the Titan’s head. He rolled onto his back and sobbed. He reached his fingers out, streaks of scarlet staining the stone. The soles of his feet were raw. The rough rock having worn away his sandals.

His tears mixed with his blood, and a cardinal cascade fell from Atlas’s skull. He tried to rise up, but fell forward. His gasps were as ragged as his skin. His knees cracked as the bone collided with the stone. Sophus took a steadying breath, then rose to his feet with a screech of agony. “Hello?”

Sophus whispered. His throat was too dry for his voice to raise.

He swallowed, trying to poach the desert of his throat with saliva. “Hello?” He howled into the dome of the sky.

“Hello?” A girl appeared and walked towards him.

He took a step back in fear, and his foot went over the edge. The girl ran forward and seized his hand, pulling him back to safety. “Are you alright?” Her voice was soft and dark.

She held the night sky in her gaze.

"Merope," She said, releasing his hand and turning her head away. "I want to help you. I understand sacrificing for love. And I can see how hard you have worked for this." She looked at her own hand, now stained with the blood from his.

“How can you bring the stars to land?” “I cannot-” “But“-wait-but I might be able to bring them to the ocean. My mother is of the sea. I will need the aid of my sisters.”

She left as quickly as she came. Moments later, however, an array of stars fell from the sky in a sight like no other. He stumbled to the edge of the skull to peer over the side.

The waves were alit in a bewitching cerulean.

This was, he realized, a mighty sacrifice for a someone who did not love him back. Who even now, would not marry him. Who gave him a task to fail. He fell back from exhaustion, and put his hands out to catch himself. His arms crumpled and his head hit. The rough texture split open his eyelid. Even as he shut his eyes, he could still the sky through the cut.

His eyes did not open again.

26

TRAFFIC

After hours behind the wheel, I’ve decided that there is something alien about traffic. If i’m suspended in this other plane of existence for too long, the angry red lights become all I remember.

The honking of frustrated travelers frozen in place transform into jarring cries for help. The novelty of the road ebbs away and the highway feels desolate.

-The Staff

27

Day 3 of road trip:

Traffic- Tiffany Rodriguez

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Mechanical Deer- Colleen Kelly

Adrift But why is the balance in my life not denoting harmony?

Unanchored, I steer through muffled uncertainty. Or am I merely restlessYearning to vacate this incessant limbo?

Am I capsizing or sailing away?

No, I'm caught in a clash of irresolution.

Torn between keeping afloat or letting myself sink.

-Katie Harcraft

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The Calm Before the Storm With glacier blue sky above, the heavy clouds far away Drift ever closer, pushing the brilliant day away.

Violent gusts of wind thrash the branches in waves; Taller trees sway, weak leaves are blown away.

The air is warm and damp, the wind cold and gray; Scattered birds hasten before they are carried away.

Every now and then, the world freezes in a weary way, As if to see if the time has come for the rain to fall away.

In the midst of it all, you keep me from going astray; Hold me back, so I don't accidentally fly away.

While a raging tempest upon me heavily weighs, You stay with me, and let all my problems drift away.

Surrounded by the incomprehensible beauty a storm conveys, With you, the thunder to my lightning, I waste away.

-Katie Harcraft

Clouds- Gabby Ewell 30

Marsh- Katie Harcraft Snow/Rain

By Taylor Ely Keeping through a meadow with my childhood love, I started to the place where we could escape from the rain. For some reason the twisted history of the path weighed heavily on our minds that evening. He assessed what had happened and I said a massacre. Then, as a night turns dark everything was still and quiet. He asked why, why was your mascara running? I did not know where or how to tell him. They were invading property, I said. When it rains, the puddles always seem still. Today was a day the neighbors were quiet. The rain added to gloomy feel. We went back two are skipping side-by-side working in silence. But why were they invading property he asked?

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let the Sun in i let Winter into my bones. i laid there, begging for Warmth. yearning and reaching, praying and clawing, for anything the Universe bestowed to me, that would chase the Chill trom my heart. tor what I counted on, the Giver and Savior of life, failed me.

She was there, but She was cruel. that was the day that i learned that just because the Sun was out, it doesn’t mean survival.

It was light, And It was bright, And It was beautifulBut It wasn’t mine. though i laid there, trying to soak It up, silly me, thinking that something so great owed somethingto me

-Jemma Stephenson

Reflection- Bethany Barret Melancholy Rain Rain falls gently down On the sleepy little town streets Like soft gentle tears

-Taylor Foreman

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A Beginner’s Guide to Existentialism where is my place in the vast cosmos? where is my place in the vast where is my place in the where is my place in where is my place where is my where is where am i just a soul pleading with stars? am i just a soul pleading with am i just a soul pleading am i just a soul am i just a am i just am i am i fear that i am tumbling through infinity i fear that i am tumbling through i fear that i am tumbling i fear that i am i fear that i i fear that i fear i

Above the Night- Cameron Lareva

-Sam Kiss

Foresight Dust. I think that's everyone's problem. At one point in everyone's life they come to the realization that everything they build will one day be dust. This may not happen for one hundred years, or maybe even a thousand, but it will happen. That's what defines people: what they decide to do with that vision of dust.

Build regardless and hope for the best, or turn to dust themselves.

-Jacob Lindner

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In the Deep Crushing black broken By the wandering shadow Of the lone blue whale.

-Kaitlyn Runkle

Skeleton Still-Life- Shelby Binns

Nightly Travels The moon shines brightly guiding me through the darkness I am not alone.

-Izzy Gonzalez

Fear- Caitlin Exum

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Forest Fire Tongues of hungry red Lap greedily at the leaves.

Life devoured by flame.

-Kaitlyn Runkle

Decanter- Grace Brantes-Wherry

Bottlebrush- Davis Hutt

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Dear Nightmare, I sit, surrounded by the byproducts of your rage.

Torn curtains, iridescent shards of broken glass—nothing left in one piece.

Every picture frame vandalized like the cold walls of the subway station every pillow a pile of fallen white clouds adorning the couches and love seats.

I never expected your inner torment to drive you to such an extreme.

You had implied my books from the inside, ripping out pages like the limbs of a doll.

My treasures, their contents irreplaceable.

My art, my love, my true essence, destroyed.

I sat up with a jolt.

You slumbered by my side, your lip twitching up in a comfortable smile Undisturbed inside your euphoric coma.

While my nightmares plague me, you lie in peaceful rest.

My illusions have made me exasperated yet vigilant The venom in your love growing more apparent as time goes on.

You are toxic to me, and poison spills from your mouth in words of inferiority.

Your domination squelches my powerless voice until I cannot breathe.

You throw a weight called guilt on me, the blame stacked on top iced with traces of subtle sarcasm.

This morning my legs gave out.

I pondered the decision as your chains of excuses appeared before my eyes.

You carried on in your deep slumber whilst I stirred, so slick departure was not problematic.

Worry not about me, dear, for I am safe— Safe far from your grasp.

And that is why I write to you, my love, though I find your title no longer suiting.

My feelings for you remain though you are not my love.

I woke from my nightmares to find I was living in one— You live in your dreams, a fantasy where the world submits to your beckoning call.

I’ll wake from my night terrors to find a dream tucked under the covers of the horizon.

You’ll wake from your sleep to find the bedsheets empty and cold— and the chains broken.

Signed A dream

-Natalie Eaton

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Vagrant Heartbeats at 100 mph He wields the night over the morose pavement and slices darkness with his lightthe gloom’s long awaited assailant.

He removes bravery from its sheath.

Midnight bites at its breath.

The key hisses between its teeth: “Go faster, you may outrun death.”

He rallies against the speed limit and refuses to be destiny’s pawn.

Freeing the energy he’s been taught to inhibit, he does not care about the dawn.

This daring air is so much crisper, echoing wicked starlight that was never meant to whisper.

-Sam Kiss

Owl Eyes- Jackson Simmons 37

Sanctuary- Sam Kiss

Distractions- Caitlin Exum

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Monotony- Caitlin Exum Last One Out, Hit the Lights

Childhood is a strange time in a person’s life, where the worst thing that could happen is getting grounded for a weekend. It can end in an instant or last well into the late twenties. Mine ended when I was fifteen.

Ever since I can remember, my brother Duncan would turn the light off in my room at night. That gesture might not seem like much, but every night I would get into bed, leave my light on, and wait for Duncan to walk by. I'd ask him if he could turn off my light and he would say no.

Then he would go into the bathroom next to my room and brush his teeth while I laid in my bed staring at the light. I would hear the water turn off and he would turn the corner back into my room and hit my light, telling me to get some sleep. I would whisper back, “goodnight.” I got used to that routine, so on the day all my siblings left for college, it didn't hit me that they were gone until that night when I left my light on and I crawled into bed and waited. There was no telling me no, there was no water running, there was no brother. I laid in my bed for forty five minutes waiting for the light to shut off; it never happened. Reluctantly, I stood from my bed and walked over to the light switch.With the flick of that switch that ended the light, it also ended my childhood.

-Jacob Lindner 39

This is the Way We Were

By Jemma Stephenson

I spent my childhood wanting to be a queen. My friends wanted to be princesses like Ariel or Belle, but I wanted the power that came with being a queen. I wanted to look out over a kingdom and say, “yes, that’s mine.”

Everyone wants to be better, or rather more, than they are. No one says that they want to sit in a cubicle for the rest of their lives, or that their goal is to go through life with their lawn as their magnum opus.

But so many people do.

More than anything, I want to make an impact or mark on the world that isn’t my Carbon Footprint. As awful as it sounds, I don’t just want to be a gravestone that was worn down by rain for fifty or sixty or seventy years to the point of being illegible while no one cares to maintain it because everyone I knew is dead and I only mattered while I was alive.

My dad and I walked through a graveyard a few years ago. I didn’t really want to be there. I remember that it had just rained while we were out so my flip-flops were sinking into the mud and coming out with suction sounds while my jeans were carrying the muddy water up my legs. The gravestones were older, probably fifty or sixty years old. I didn’t recognize any of their names. I don’t want to be like those gravestones. I don’t want someone to walk through a cemetery and see “Jemma Kathryn Stephenson,” and have it not even register. I spent two hours in that graveyard.

I don’t remember a single name.

I think the worst part is that I know that I am not going to be remembered. I have dreams and I’ll strive for them, but I know from listening to people that they all had dreams too. They all wanted to live abroad and write books and change the world and matter on a large scale, but they didn’t. So I don’t know why I would be able to.

Isn’t that what everyone wants? To have their name in a history or science or whatever hall of fame, but not everyone does. For every Rosalind Franklin, there has to be middle-aged suburban pharmacist. Not everyone can be president or discover the cure to cancer; some people have to work in a fast food chain. No one wants to be trapped in the cycle of life, where every success and failure in life is predictable. Nobody wants a life where every path is predetermined by generations of other generic people just like them. But that’s what happens to most of us, we get sucked into the pattern: a tapestry of birth and school and marriage and age and life and death.

But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be beat by the wash cycle of life into submission. I want a gravestone that people recognize.

40

SCENIC ROUTE Today, we got lost in the most quaint little town.

My curiosity led us into a gorgeous forest. Cloaked with foliage, that road was the highway’s best kept secret. We roamed free on this route for the rest of the afternoon. I saw the most beautiful sights— birds, trees, flowers. It was as if I had driven into a painting.

-The Staff

41

Day 4 of road trip:

Around the Bend- Kelsey Holland 42

Montreal- Charlotte Kiss

Night Light- Charlotte Kiss

43

Blur- Sam Kiss

Buddha- Grace Brantes-Wherry

44

Leaves- Gabby Ewell

Waterfall- Gabby Ewell 45

Lights- Katie Harcraft

One Small Step- Natalie Eaton

Bark- Davis Hutt

Proceed- Natalie Eaton 46

President Seegar- Dustin Lee

Greed- Dustin Lee 47

Purple Lady- Kimmie Page

Self Portrait- Bethany Barret

Winter in Red- Mikey Maulding

Closet Painting- Grace Brantes-Wherry 48

RADIO Our days spent wandering the great unknown are coming to a close as our destination approaches.

Luckily, the miscellany of songs on the radio have kept our spirits up. The chords of the memories we made resonate within me- the joys, the trials, but above all, the journey, in all its untamed glory that defies categorization.

-The Staff

49

Day 5 of road trip:

Radio- Delaney Higgons

50

Wekcoming Arms I was born a foolish and stubborn man, who feared nothing; Not even God himself.

I grew up in the same mindset, Until I became decrepit, frail, and old, And I started to see Him. Death lurked around every corner, Watching, waiting for the opportune time To deliver His deadly swing of the scythe, And send me to my heavenly Maker.

I ran from him once, twice, thrice; I thought I would succeed.

Then came a day where I could not walk.

I was struck down in my prime, I was confided to the solitary that was my bedroom.

I lay bedside for days, weeks, months; Just waiting for Death to come.

But He never came.

I waited in agony, in pitiful awaitence, I prayed for my suffering to end.

My prayers were answered one crisp autumn day, When the light of day was shrouded by clouds black as the skies of the night.

My family, and friends surrounded my bed, Waiting for me to succumb; With tears trickling down their faces.

I looked at the ceiling with hopeful eyes, Waiting to be delivered from my anguish.

I saw a light as bright as the Sun drawing closer and closer.

I gaped at its infinite beauty, And yearned to move closer; So I moved closer.

I felt my soul leave my body, I slowly inched closer, and closer To the light that would lead me to the Pearly Gates.

Then, I saw Him.

51

I could sense that He had won.

I took His hand, and followed Him into Paradise.

I knew I couldn’t outrun Him this time.

So, I didn’t try. My friends, I didn’t try.

Dressed in a cloak as black as the midnight sky, Where His face should be, instead an endless void of despair and misery.

His scythe gleaming a dazzling shade of silver Two bony hands as white as freshly laid snow appeared to me; One hand gripping the scythe, One beckoning towards me.

Death welcomed me like an old friend.

-Andrew Meredith

The Fall of Orion- Shelby Binns

Golden- Shelby Binns

52

The Boy of Sunsets

By Cameron Lareva

The sweet hymn of green crickets’ chirp and the beat of the orange tanned sun fill the southern air night. The clouds lay still above the gold dusted sky as the light slips away. Soft grass sneaks between my toes and sends a tickle across my spine, and my messy brown hair tells the day of adventures and laughs as it treads across my sticky forehead. Breath slips in and out with every tick of time, and my eyes glow gorgeous amber, reflecting the beauty of perfection.

“We gotta get home,” a pudgy boy said lying next to me.

“I know Jack,” I said.

“We’re gonna get in trouble,” Jack startled as he rolled over to his feet.

“No we won’t,” I responded.

Jack stood on his feet in front of me blocking my eyes. He stood a little taller than four feet and had short blonde hair that always curled in the back.

“C’mon, we gotta get home,” he whined.

With Jack’s last squeal I raised my body off the warm ground and lifted myself back onto to my sore feet. We shuffled slowly down the hill, as I looked back at the imprint from my body on the grass and missed the serenity already.

“Do you think we’re going to be late,” Jack asked.

“No were only five minutes from home,” I answered annoyed.

“Cu’s if were late momma will have us in trouble,” He continued. I began to pick up the pace once

53

we got back down to the road, trying to leave Jack behind.

“Hey, wait! Momma told ya that we have to stay together,” Jack called as he swung his arms trying to catch up.

I slowed down allowing him to get close again as we walked through town. The stop light blinked from green to red, bringing a scarred, faded blue truck to a stop. The entire street was silent as everyone turned off their lights and locked their doors and headed home for family. We walked down to the corner of the crumbled street.

The crooked store with a mint green door and an ancient window stained with words “Ferguson’s Toys”, sat perfectly between a deserted mechanic shop and a weathered ice cream parlor. Jack bolted from my side rushing to the toy store. “Jack, get back here,” I called.

Jack stopped in front of the window and admired the shelves, filled with shimmering toys of colors only in dreams. I ran up to Jack and grabbed his arm to make sure he didn’t run off again. The shine of the colors gleamed through glass and illuminated our faces. I looked up and saw the sinking sun’s reflection in the store window.

“Come on we have to get home,” I said pulling on Jack’s arm.

“No I want to go inside,” the round boy whined.

“We’re going home now. I’m not getting in trouble just because you want to be a little kid and look at stupid toys you can’t have,” I commanded.

“Why do ya do that,” Jack asked with dismay.

“Do what,” I questioned.

“Why do ya pretend to not be a kid? Ya never want to look at toys, ya never want to ask mamma for ice cream, and ya never play with any other kids. You’re a kid not a grownup,” Jack sassed.

Bright Lights, No PressureCharlotte Kiss

“Because I’m not a kid,” I said.

“Yes ya are,” Jack said.

“No I’m not,” I said gritting my teeth.

“Yes ya are,” Jack said slowly annunciating each syllable.

“Because I don’t get to be a kid like you! I don’t ask for toys or ice cream because momma doesn’t have the money and I don’t play with other kids, because I have to do things you or mamma can’t.

I’m not a kid,” I exploded.

Jack turned his eyes forward as small drops formed in the corner of his eyes. I grabbed his arm and began to pull him behind, so we could get home, but then the mint green door swished opened and a heavenly jingle rang from a bell hovering above the entry way. I stopped and turned to look at who was coming outside. Suddenly, a tall man wearing a green velvet suit and a crooked black hat appeared in front of the store.

His face was elongated and lightly creased. His chin was scuffed with prickly, silver hair, and his hands were callused and rough. Then a petite

young woman with short, burnt amber curls that tucked slightly behind her ears walked out.

“Goodnight Mr. Ferguson,” she said as she was walked out into the street.

“Yes, goodnight Sarah,” the tall man called while standing in the doorway.

He began to turn back into the building when his eyes fluttered and glanced over in our direction. He had piecing blue eyes that looked as though they were made of perfect glass, stained a pure blue. Then his top hat appeared through the stained glass on the door and the bell rang again, quivering my ears with joy. He slowly stepped up to us, as his fine charcoal shoes clacked against the cracked sidewalk.

“So, who are you boys,” the man questioned.

“I’m Jack,” the spry boy shouted in excitement.

“Oh, Jack good to meet you my dear boy, and you good sir?” he asked looking straight at me. I stood there and looked at him in silence, then Jack began to answer him, but I interrupted him.

54

Boy of Sunsets cont.

“We’re Ann’s kids,” I said.

“Ann Porter?” the man asked with concern.

I nodded my head in compliance. “Oh, you’re Porter’s boy. Ah, Porter was a good man. I’m truly sorry for your loss,” he said taking off his hat and placing it against his chest, revealing the shiny top of his head.

“Thanks. Well, we have to go home,” I said turning around as I pulled Jack by his sleeve.

“Wait I don’t want to go yet,” Jack said as he tried to break loose from grip.

“Jack we have to go now,” I commanded.

With reluctance I pulled Jack along as we continued home, through the slanting town.

Infinite- Helen Fagan

55

The buildings were slipping, the roads were slipping, everything was slipping slowly away from its frame, the town. It’s no longer quaint here. Its charm has weathered off, and with it the morality of home.

“Why do you even like sunsets anyway?” Jack asked.

“Because I do,” I said in a short tone.

“There so slow and boring, and it looks the same every time,” he continued to groan. “So why do you like them?”

I turned my head up looking back to the endless ember and looked back to Jack as we got to the front porch, “They’re free infinities.”

Melting Away Shinned sickles of Silky blue crystals draped Simply across the widowed bark Luminous arrays at every given glance Soft gold glows warm encapsulated breath Crafting beads of wet from the top Trickling down the side Slowly falling away To the far below Splashing on The frozen Ground

-Cameron Lareva

In Matters of My Mind I've never understood why this road is so long, No matter how fast I travel I can't escape what I've done wrong, A fire within and my life set before me How can I burn bright when past failures adorn me?

When I do things right they still seem to go wrong, How can I keep this short when this road is so long?

I'm doing my best Taking it one day at a time, Sometimes people lie when they tell you They're doing just fine, Don't worry about me though I'll be the one to seize the day, but if I don't make it out.

What can I say?

-Jonny Weeks Colors- Sam Kiss

56

My Vision for America

by Veronica Teller

The year was 1787. Our founding fathers were centralizing the ideals that would deliver America through war and peace. Independent at last, our newborn nation knew not where it was headed, but where it wanted to go. Guided by the principles of justice, truth, and honor, the United States emerged as proof that unity is a force to be reckoned with. Since then, however, violence and division have rocked the foundations of this country. Riots in Baltimore and Ferguson, threats from Isis, and blatant prejudice are filling Americans with fear, and the values that once led the United States to greatness have been forgotten in the blind hope that someone else will take action. My vision for America is to reclaim unity by respecting our differences.

Many people believe that equality is the only way to achieve unity. They provide onesize-fits-all criteria for a successful life: a 4.0 GPA, going to college, getting married, starting a family… Supposedly, if everyone follows this plan, we will all be unified. The truth is, although we are created more or less equal, we are not born and raised equal. Today’s America is a diverse one, encompassing citizens from different cultural, religious, and economic backgrounds. Modern citizens can neither be classified nor contained, and although we are different in heritage, we are alike in spirit. Because of our military, we are free to make our own choices and live our own lives. We are equal because we have the liberty to be individuals. In order to preserve this, as citizens, we must not ignore our differences, but embrace them.

How can we accomplish this? To celebrate what sets us apart, we should educate ourselves. This applies to everyone; it includes the affluent and the impoverished, the native and the naturalized, the doers and the dreamers.

57

members of a great community talk to people who see life differently, rather than talking about them. Not only that, but we can employ diversity to our advantage. Anyone who has ever worked on a group project knows that one person cannot do all the work. It takes separate talents of each group member to create a cohesive product. In order to be successful in our schools, in our careers, and in our life, we have to open our minds to new ideas, even if we don’t immediately understand them.

I believe that America is the land of opportunity. This is a beautiful country with a rich history and culture, and we are all blessed to have the rights and freedoms that we do. It wasn’t easy to achieve these freedoms, nor to keep them, but the determination to keep fighting for them is a characteristic both remarkable and deeply American. It is impossible for everyone to agree on everything, but it is possible to expand the way we think and to accept that doing so will improve our lives.

In conclusion, unity is not always equality. Unity is not thinking, dressing, or looking the same. Unity is forming bonds of family and friendship. Unity is welcoming diversity and using it to reach a common goal. Regardless of how we think, we are all Americans. In the end, my vision for America is that we remember our roots: an indivisible group of people who believed in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

The Fish’s Life Story- Brianna Rosario

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Scrapbook:

The editors went on a road trip of their own to VHSL in Richmond.

Delaney Higgons laughed as Cam pretended to be bigfoot.

We partied like Gatsby on our 1920s themed homecoming float.

Tex and Ross celebrated Valentines Day- Lit Mag style.

Our photogenic editors looked great at a fancy VHSL lunch.

Our members were totally productive at float-building.

The best parts of any journey are the memories made along the way.

We would like to take this moment to thank our staff for making this year such a wild ride!

(Photos courtesy of Sam Kiss)

(877) 51-PIZZA (74992)

P.O. Box 15268 Chesapeake, VA 23322

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Contact us at: hhsbirdseyeview@gmail.com

Destination: To the Staff:

This year has been amazing in so many ways. The memories we have shared together are something we will never forget. Coming into this year, we weren't really sure what to expect but, because of our wonderful Lit Mag staff, this has been a truly amazing year. As much as we have worked to put together this magazine you all have been working just as hard for this. You submit your pieces, show up to the meetings, and do all you can to keep Lit Mag truly special. We are so grateful for your dedication. This magazine would not be possible without you all. From our inside jokes to the hard work it has taken to get this all done, you have all been there every step of the way. So, from us, thank you so much for making Lit Mag what it is. To the seniors, we will miss seeing your smiling faces at our meetings. Remember you are always welcome back to Lit Mag and we would always love to see you. To everyone else, we can't wait to see you next year. If the dedication you all showed this year is any indication, I really believe next year will be just as great.

We are so thankful to have such an wonderful staff like you guys. And remember, this is your magazine. You all created this. We hope you enjoy being able to see the physical representation of everything we worked for this year. It has truly been amazing and I believe that it shows throughout every page. Thank you!

VHSL; Richmond, VA; 2015-2016 - D. Cross

-Delaney Higgons, Editor-in-Chief

J. Stephenson, C. Lareva, D. Higgons, S. Kiss

The Bird’s Eye View Editor-in-Chief: Delaney Higgons Editors:

Sam Kiss, Cameron Lareva, Jemma Stephenson

Staff:

Alyssa Avery Danni Bauer Maddie Chapman Helen Fagan Krystal Gonzalez Jordan Guerra “Beta” Jacob Hall Katie Harcraft Macy Highland Sophie Hobbs Charlotte Kiss

Lily Kujawa “Alpha” Jacob Lindner Caitlyn Lindsey Ryan “Tex” Norris Finja Rahmel Jake Ross Jackson Simmons Sarah Smith Caroline Toro Hannah Walzak Jonny Weeks

Homecoming 2015-2016 - Mary Straight-Kiss

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