The Phoenix, 2021

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THE PHOENIX - GONZAGA FINE ARTS REVIEW

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VOL. XXXVI

The Phoenix 2021 XXXVI

The Phoenix 2021

Dear Reader, Don’t read this.

Ha, gotcha.

You’re still reading.

Reverse psychology.

Now imagine.

A world steeped in polychromatic paint, A world replete with contemporary cuneiform, A world whistling nonsensical nuance.

Close your eyes and be there.

Actually, don’t. You need to keep on reading.

Because this is The Phoenix.

Gonzaga’s finest art and literature publication.

Now get ready.

What you’re about to see is gonna hit you.

Like the Phoenix Phever.

Hopefully not.

Let us know if it does, though.

Nope, nevermind.

Not us.

Send all bills for acupuncture, Ayurveda, and Taoist astral healing to Dr. Rissetto.

He’ll reimburse.

(No he won’t).

Until normalcy, Liam Downing ‘20 Peter Mildrew ‘21 Editors-in-Chief

THE PHOENIX 2021 - Volume XXXVI EDITORS IN CHIEF Liam Downing Peter Mildrew EDITORIAL COMMITTEE Colin Gallagher Chip Symington MODERATOR Dr. Harry Rissetto

SPECIAL THANKS Mr. Joe Ross, Mr. Matt Duffy, Mrs. Shelly Farace, Mr. Ciaran Freeman, Mr. Steve Beaulieu, Mr. Andrew Bevilacqua, Mrs. Helen Free, Mrs. Teresa Jackson, Ms. Mary Kate Kimiecik, Ms. Colleen McGrath, Mr. Bill Pierce, Ms. Kylee Piper, Mr. Joe Sampugnaro, Mr. Randy Trivers, Mr. Patrick Welch, Mrs. Peggy Metcalf, Mrs. Pam Valeiras, Michael Kennedy ‘20, Henry Sullivan ‘20, Lucas Scheider Galiñanes ‘19, Ethan Tobey ‘19, Alex Gomez ‘18, Rylan Madison ‘18, Tommy Boyce ‘17, Quinn Aitchison ‘17, Luke Allen ‘16, Holden Madison, ‘16, Chris Hrdy ‘15, Kevon Turner ‘15, Matt Buckley ‘14, Joe Dahut ‘14, Christian Forte ‘14, Matt Druckenbrod ‘13, Dominic Plantamura ‘13, Andrew Richard ‘13, John Morabito ‘12, Aaron Clark ‘12, Daniel Sweet ‘12, Tom Robertson ‘11, Matt Weider ‘10, Johannes Schmidt ‘09, Will Felker ‘08, and all students who submitted art and literature for consideration.

POETRY & FICTION

Adam Uppuluri 8 James Gnecco 9 Kevin Donalson 10 Adam Uppuluri 12 Kadari Machen 13 Kevin Donalson 14 James Gnecco 16 Adam Uppuluri 17 Quinn Fish 18 Blake McLaughlin 19 Adam Uppuluri 20 Kadari Machen 21 Thomas Martino 22 Quinn Fish 24 Sean Miller 25 Jaylen Laudermilk 29 Jack Graser 30 Spencer Cowley 32 Michael Knott 35 Lucas Irwin 36 Ephram Mersha 38 Hayden Wierzba 40 Jacob Bullock 41

James Gnecco 42 Michael Bath 43 Jackson Brewer 44 Michael Knott 46 Jacob Bullock 48 Luke Garner 49 Quinn Fish 55 Justin Williams 56 Stephen Cullina 57 Adam Uppuluri 58 Blake McLaughlin 59 Aiden Delacourt 60 Alex Feehan 62 Owen Kent 68 Michael Bath 69 Jaylen Laudermilk 70 Jalen McMurray 71 Adam Uppuluri 72 Patrick Fogarty 74 James Owczarski 77 Adam Fridley 78 Gav Bryson 80

Cover Art: Evan Blakely ‘21, Will Thompson ‘21 The Last Page: Henry Sullivan ‘20, EIC The Phoenix

ART

Mateo Rampoldi 82 Mateo Rampoldi 83 Benji Garland 84 Andrew Geary 85 Charles Augustine 86 Sean Miller 87 Will Thompson 88 Henry Dempsey 89 Henry Dempsey 90 Gabby Delosreyes 91 Will Thompson 92 Will Green 93 Will Green 94 Will Green 95 Andrew Geary 96 Conor Shaheen 97 Will Thompson 98 Mateo Rampoldi 99 Luke Wood 100 Will Thompson 101 Luke Elliott 102 Will Thompson 103 Will Thompson 104 Ryan Stewart 105 Will Green 106 Lucas Barsantini 107 Will Green 108 Ivan Marroquin 109 Kleiber Castanon 110 Javier Fox 111 Lucas Barsantini 112 Stephen Cullina 113 Charlie Marsh 114 Sean Miller 115 Will Thompson 116 Roman Funkhouser 117 Stephen Cullina 118 Roman Funkhouser 119 Henry Dempsey 120

Leif Hagerup 121 Quinn Graham 122 Thomas Rowan 123 Stephen Cullina 124 Jonah Schlee 125 Ryan Stewart 126 Ryan Stewart 127 Will Green 128 Tim Wakefield 129 Will Green 130 Ryan Stewart 131 Luke Wood 132 Will Thompson 133 Jacob Gupton 134 Brady Gage 135 John Loyko 136 Sam Ewald 137 Ryan Stewart 138 Stephen Cullina 139 Jonah Schlee 140 Jonah Schlee 141 Charlie Marsh 142 Charlie Marsh 143 Lucas Barsantini 144 James Matan 145 Quinn Graham 146 Ryan Stewart 147 Bae Glasgow 148 Benji Garland 149 Quinn Graham 150 Logan Harris 151 James Hrdy 152 Jack Cadin 153 James Hrdy 154 Will Thompson 155 Ethan Doudna 156 Brady Gage 157 James Hrdy 158 Gabriel Dorsey 159

DEDICATION

The Hot Seat. A dreaded position to be in. Rising juniors heard there was one in Kohlmann Hall, but now it was time to feel the heat. Jitters hang in the air as students make their way to the Hot Seat with sweaty palms and trembling papers. But, just like steel is forged in fire, great writers are formed in the Hot Seat.

Mrs. Free leaves a legacy of great writers at Gonzaga. In her Hot Seat, hundreds of students have found meaning in their experiences and learned to work for an eloquent narrative. Thank you Mrs. Free for dedicating four decades to the writers at Gonzaga. We hope you never stop spitting purple flames.

Poetry & Prose

2020-2021 GONZAGA POETRY PRIZE

Woods on Fire By: Adam Uppuluri The match lit long before the knee touched the ground.

Gasoline laced with tears splashed on the dead trees, poured by those who have seen the life drain from their family members.

The flame marched towards the woods simply asking for its recognition.

But those who saw the vulnerable flame through their white hoodies, sat and watched the rest of the football game, criticized the knee.

No surprise, now they see the woods on fire.

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2020-2021 GONZAGA POETRY PRIZE

Cliffs of Potomac By: James Gnecco Sheer white faces above a street of blue, overseers of a boundary 200 years old, tattooed with graffiti in vibrants flares of orange and red.

Gray cousins across the isle scowl at their younger, smaller cousins for associating with teenagers. teenagers who scar the land with the butts of joints and empty beer cans.

The white faces have seen it all, from the crossing and defeat of Lee’s army of Northern Virginia, to the three boys who drowned last summer.

The stone faces have seen it all, And yet, have said nothing.

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2020-2021 GONZAGA POETRY PRIZE

A Letter to White America By: Kevin Donalson Feel my pain.

Feel the pain of a nine year old, watching someone who eats the same snacks as you and plays the same sport as you, and wears the same clothes as you, lay dead in a blood stained hoodie, because he looks just like me.

You say you love me then criticize me for kneeling, blackmail me for fighting back, and kill me for being peaceful.

Do you love me when it’s convenient?

Am I a pawn in an eternal game, I can’t win?

Used as the missing piece of the puzzle when deafening proclamations of “I’m not racist” hang in the air, while you conceal the inability to accept me like a deathbed secret?

I’m tired of being scared.

We are tired of being scared.

The whispers of my dead unarmed brothers and sisters assault my ears, relaying maddening chills down my spine, while visions of a dead son, drenched with lawless law induced blood, blanketing the cold, hard bed of pavement 10

intrude upon my mother’s thoughts, and my father dances with the heinous idea of burying his only son.

But listen now White America.

Listen with love.

My people’s four hundred years are over, and it’s time for me to leave the kitchen, and sit at the table, where you will bask in amazement at my beauty.

My people have sung, and we are truly America.

Sincerely a thug.

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2020-2021 GONZAGA POETRY PRIZE

When My Obachan Cooks By: Adam Uppuluri “Obachan: A Japanese word for grandmother” When my Obachan cooks she first cleans the foggy rice, straining the starch with her wrinkled yet soft hands The same hands that click and clack a pair of bamboo chopsticks together, flipping some seaweed out of the package The same hands that break into the belly of a bright red crab and rip out its sweet flesh, delicately placing it upon the seaweed The same hands that slide the finest blade through the sharpest cucumber and place the meaty strips on top of the crab The same hands that mold the fluffy, hot rice into a layer over the crab and cucumber, Then rolled and rolled into a spiral of simply sushi Sushi that will forever live in me

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2021 PARKMONT POETRY CONTEST WINNER

Reluctant to Love By: Kadari Machen Who are we?

Are we thugs, gangsters, outlaws?

Or are we heroes...

Always fighting for a country that doesn’t love us back?

A country that has yet to face its history, A country that is destined to repeat its mistakes...

If nothing changes.

We are commonly created, One country, one body, with many parts, When one part is in pain, the whole body suffers.

We are needed more than ever, In a nation, split by race and hatred.

Hatred for the other side, Believing that their opinions must be lies.

Hatred for the opposition, Saying it must be wrong, if it’s not my opinion.

Hatred for opposing views, Claiming I can’t agree, I must refuse.

So quick to hate, But so reluctant to love.

Reluctant to love the black on my skin.

Resistant to acknowledge the pain we’ve been through.

What if we were quicker to listen and slower to judge?

Maybe we could get a little closer to each other - and a lot better at love.

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2021 PARKMONT POETRY CONTEST WINNER

True Colors By: Kevin Donalson I. Red America’s rage and hatred dispenses a fiery red aura, while the warm blood of mine embraces the hard, cold pavement.

A gory Pollock painting, it splatters everywhere, the rusty red exploding, all because of the greeting of a bullet, and the wrath of an officer, but did I resemble some monster, or a threat?

II. White The color of bags, that give faceless cowards a name.

The tone of one’s skin, who at at first breath, is given a different type of privilege.

Yet are we so different?

III. Blue Sorrow and sadness fills each citizens face, while the news spews unrealistic and hateful ideas 14

hallucinating viewers.

Always over the little things: a knee, or having a voice, or the simplicity, yet blissful nature that is freedom.

But in America, who is really free?

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2021 PARKMONT POETRY CONTEST WINNER

An Ode to the Shoes of Summer By: James Gnecco Boots stained with mud, legs strained under the weight of heavy packs.

Sounds of nature, the screaming of birds, a barking of a dog.

The smell of sweat and look of exhaustion.

Running shoes pounding pavement, legs wear loose fitting jeans, Sounds of the city, The screaming of police sirens and a lockdown.

The smell of fear and look of excitement and adventure.

Vans stained with blood and kitchen grease Legs draped in work jeans strain under the weights of a kitchen apron, a knife, and a notepad.

Sounds of the Kitchen Screams of “vamos gringo” and “what’s wrong kid, never been burned before?”

The smell of excitement and look of reward from receiving a full paycheck.

Bare feet, caked in mud, spotted with blisters, and cut open from broken glass.

Legs water-colored in spoty brown from the river.

Sounds of the roaring river.

Screams of excitement from teenagers who dive from cliffs.

The stench of the muddy river intermixed with sweat and adrenalin.

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Haikus for the Gonzaga Community By: Adam Uppuluri I. A black and white boy howl throughout the hallway, this pack won’t disperse.

II. I watched two birds sleep together in the same tree, they were red and blue.

III. In this virus cloud, I fear my loud neighbor’s breath Why not wear a mask?

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A Thursday Morning in America By: Quinn Fish You awaken from a slumber, and lazily roll out of the comfort of your rickety bed.

Your body putters downstairs to grab a bowl of cereal.

As the cheerios clink into the bowl, you flick on the news.

The reporters are still in shock at the events of the previous night.

Thousands of so called patriots stormed the capitol, with only destruction on their mind.

You sit mesmerized by the tube, locked in a trance, soaking in all the chaotic scenes from last night.

Your alarm blares, slapping you back to reality.

It’s time for work.

You grab your jacket and go.

Just another Thursday morning.

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The Constant Game By: Blake McLaughlin The First Half, The weather from Doom and gloom To fun and sun The energy From we can’t go outside To let’s go run From white-covered streets To feet covered beaches The views are drastically different This half is certainly controlled by the omniscient The Second Half The weather from A Sunny bliss To a snowman’s kiss The energy is shown throughout Tons of holiday cheer So much that, to balance it out We even add a month a fear This half is favored by many There is much to love You can only assume the second half is favored By the man above

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Gunpowder By: Adam Uppuluri I used to open my window before I went to bed, wake up to a tingling breeze, maybe the city’s good morning sounds, maybe a siren here and there, But one day I smelled gunpowder, That bitter, stinging burn of a smell Swelled up my eyes, bloodshot, pinned me down, stabbed me, watched my innocence sink, my childhood memories drain, scar over into an ugly blemish. that blood red crowd, the same crowd that kneels on people’s necks for fun, the same crowd that brings AR-15s to our city the same crowd that cowers in our hallways so as to not disturb anyone Save me from this gunpowder 20

I Am Not a Virus By: Kadari Machen I’m not a virus, There is no need to be scared of me, Even though my color is different we are much the same, We have the same aspirations, the same goals, And even the same brain, The difference is... that I’m in pain.

My brother got shot 7 times for breaking up a fight, Every time I walk past a cop car, my body gets tight It’s not right.

I’m not a virus, I just want justice, I want to walk down the street with my hoodie on and not be seen as destructive, If you gave me your wallet, Would I be trusted?

The system is corrupted.

How do we fix it though?

Is the answer to defund the police?

I really don’t know.

I wish we could all just take an equality pill I don’t have the answers, I just can’t keep seeing my brothers getting killed.

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Sailing By: Thomas Martino Maybe it’s the way the sails fill with air, or the way the boat rocks with the waves.

Maybe it’s the way the sun glistens on the water, or the clouds that turn the water gray.

Maybe it’s the taste of salt water that brings joy to a sailor, or the sound of waves crashing overthe bow.

Maybe it’s the feeling of freedom, where I have the ability to go anywhere on my own time with total control of the boat.

Maybe it’s the exhilaration and excitement of crossing the start line, when the gun goes off.

Maybe it’s the smell of the salt air, and the soothing sounds of the wind blowing off the sea, or the feeling of wind on the face, skin, and blowing my hair.

Maybe it’s the sight of all the other boats behind me in a race, or the wake of my fast moving boat.

Maybe it’s the fun of sailing with a buddy, or the peace and solitude of sailing alone.

Maybe it’s the battle against big, choppy waves and wind, or the silence and harmony of a calm no-wind day.

Maybe it’s my enthusiasm when a gust hits the sails and the boat surges forward with speed.

Maybe it’s the feeling of height, as I sit on the high rail, hiking over the edge of a heeled boat.

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Maybe it’s the rush of adrenaline when I lose control in those brief moments where I have lost the tiller, or let the sails go.

Maybe it’s the sun shining on my bare back, or the tan I get after a summer of fun.

Maybe it’s the indomitable passion and eagerness that drives me to go out in rain or shine, through storms and calms.

Maybe it’s the amusement and adventure of capsizing the boat, going in the water or scrambling over the high side.

Maybe it’s the sensation and stimulating effect of the sea spray that washes over the side, which is a refreshing delight.

Maybe it’s the alarm associated with the knowledge that you are about to death roll your laser.

Maybe it’s the panic when you are about to crash at the last second, and you cannot do anything about it.

Maybe it’s where I lose my stress, it’s my happy place, it’s my escape, it’s where I leave it all out on the field.

Maybe it’s the thrill of all these feelings that make me love sailing, as a sport, hobby, and a pastime I will continue to pursue for the rest of my life.

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Grandma’s By: Quinn Fish The alarm sings it’s disturbing melody awakening the sleeping birds.

My body stumbles, half asleep, to the nuzzling warmth of the car.

My mind falls in and out of a trance, fighting to remain in control.

My body is wedged in between sleeping brothers, gasping for freedom, yet its calls go unanswered.

Time crawls by, taunting me with a slight chuckle.

I sit there defeated, knowing there’s nothing I can do.

I hear freedom calling my name.

My stiff body finally escapes the confining walls, and I flee to the comfort of grandma’s.

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The Harsh Reality By: Sean Miller As Terran entered the large travel tube doors behind the dark-suited men, he felt a cold rush of air hit his neck. This was the first time in his eighteen years of life that he was leaving the Grounder district. With each district in Shelter City split by economic class, it was forbidden for grounders to enter travel tubes not designated for them. So it was a surprise for Terran when the Imagicorps employees led him from homeschool to this secret travel tube in an “abandoned building.”

“Don’t trust them, please.” His mother whispered to him as he left. He nodded his head in affirmation and was quickly swept away. The employees seemed to be in a hurry now.

Terran still had very little clue why he of all people was being chosen as a scavenger, only the Leaders and their close seconds were ever chosen to go outside Shelter City to gather supplies. He didn’t question it, though, because he wanted the opportunity to get out of the Grounder district and get a taste of what other districts had to offer.

As the travel tube ascended (much faster than the rundown grounder tubes he was used to), Terran looked out the small window to his left and saw blurred images of the two other districts.

He caught glimpses of the bustling marketplace in Midland where a mixture of obnoxious vendors and hurried builders shared rude comments. A little further up, he could see in the distance, the diverse farmlands of Midland, where the farmers provided meat, dairy, fruits, and vegetables for all four districts. The world turned dark as they rose into the Elitia district, and then instantly bright again as Terran was blinded by the futuristic architecture and vibrant colors. Here, technology and innovation reigned supreme, with machines flying around cleaning sidewalks and delivering groceries. Terran waved to the doctors, engineers, and businessmen before he was yelled at by one of the Imagicorps employees who was inside the tube with him.

It was not long before when the world turned dark again, and the travel tube halted to a stop. One of the Imagicorps employees 25

turned to Terran and said, “Listen carefully. Do exactly as they tell you and nothing will go wrong.” The doors opened to a world unimaginable to Terran, and he almost grew angry. All the riches and wealth he could imagine were surrounding him as he was pushed along towards the capitol building of Shelter City, which also acted as the Imagicorps headquarters.

So this is where all the items the scavengers find must be kept, Terran thought to himself as he walked past fountains and street lamps made out of materials he’s never seen before. After being rushed into the main building, and placed into a small room, he looked around to see others his size and age being kept there as well. He didn’t think much of it, but suspicions in him rose when armored men holding assault rifles began bringing each young man out of their rooms and into a larger room next to a massive travel tube. A man and woman dressed in gold and dark blue, the Imagicorps signature colors, stepped from the shadows.

“Welcome new recruits. I am Leader Myers and this is Leader Jillings,” said the tall, fierce, woman in a motherly tone.

“You all are here today to become scavengers, and while I know this may not be the kind of ‘first day’ you were hoping for, Shelter City and Imagicorps need your service. It is up to you young, brave, men to protect your city.” Jillings loudly commanded.

Protect your city? From who? Or what? Terran was confused.

Weren’t scavengers meant to only search for supplies on the outside? He had a lot of questions, and he knew none of them would be answered at this moment.

Before he knew it, each of them was given uniforms, armor, gas masks, and the same assault rifles he saw earlier. The gas masks created a new fear in Terran. He knew very little of the outside, nothing more than that it was uninhabitable for humans. The slogan “For your protection, livelihood, and family” had been on every announcement, every school lesson, and every poster distributed by Imagicorps in the Grounder District. Terran’s excitement to be the first grounder on the outside mixed with his anxiousness as a large intercom rang overhead.

“LEADERS, BEGIN DISMISSAL OF NEW RECRUITS IN THEIR TRAVEL TUBES.” 26

So they weren’t the only group being prepared to go out into the world, Terran thought. One-by-one they stepped onto the large platform inside the travel tube, and it began its ascent. He could feel the shaking of someone next to him and realized it was a boy who couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Before Terran had time to question this, they had reached the surface.

As the doors opened, fog streamed in and the sound of a thunderstorm picked up. He couldn’t see much, only the figures of the veteran scavengers motioning them to keep quiet and move along.

They walked for what felt like a mile before everyone stopped, and nothing but the sound of rain hitting their gas masks could be heard. The fog was clearing up, so a few of the veterans began walking over the hill in front of them to scout ahead. Terran felt wrong holding a gun and continued wondering what they were for. He thought he would be collecting stones and jewels or raiding deserted buildings, not marching through water-soaked grass as if they were going to war.

BANG! BANG! BANG! Terran was the first to hear the sound of gunshots go off and immediately hit the ground. Others followed, ducking behind one another as some veterans ran to aid their friends and some yelled at them to get up. He and the fourteen-year-old boy were near the back of the group as they crested the ridge.

What Terran saw shocked him. In front of him were giant skyscrapers protruding from the fog, and directly beneath them were thousands of young men just like him, charging towards shadowy figures shooting their guns and throwing grenades.

“This is a war,” Terran said aloud. Bullets were fired everywhere, and in the chaos, Terran slipped on the wet hill and tumbled down. As he rose, he saw the fourteen-year-old’s body lying on the ground, covered in blood. He ran towards him and noticed he was still breathing. He took off his gas masks in an effort to save his life, but the boy’s body grew limp.

Terran was without his gas mask and realized that they were useless. He began his way up the hill as explosions rang around him.

On his way, Terran caught a glimpse of two shadowy figures 27

and observed that one was wearing clothes similar to his own back in the Grounder District, and another looked foreign, almost from another continent he read about in children’s books. Terran didn’t wait for the two to see him, and he sprinted back towards Shelter City. Upon entering the platform in the travel tube, he pressed the button to make the machine descend. In his rush, he didn’t notice Myers and Jillings towering behind him in the tube.

“Wha-what is happening out there?” he asked while catching his breath.

Myers turned to Jillings and said, “They never learn.” Suddenly, she drew a gun and one single gunshot went off.

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Tourist Views of the Big Apple By: Jaylen Laudermilk a rushing city constant motion everywhere eyes jittery nowhere to focus megatrons, the light of the city the screeching sounds of the train breaking an unsung hero of the city the dimming halls of the subway teens jumping over the tickets collectors bucket drummers bringing the subway to life the buildings that extend to the edge of the clouds heart of the city making everyone feel like an ant in the world of humans the working people The hustle of the city 99 cent pie warm to the touch street performers with their echoing speakers spiderman taking pictures with the kids There ain’t nothing like the city life in the big apple.

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There Was By: Jack Graser There was the heat and the sweat dripping off of my face, but I also remember my first goal and the friends I made.

There was the chill and breeze on a textbook autumn day; however, there was also the butterflies in my stomach and the energy of my first competition.

There was the utter joy in me when I found out I was going to Europe, and there was the 8 hour flight there.

There was my first game in Spain, which didn’t go as planned.

There was bewilderment when I woke up and glanced out my window to several feet of snow, and there was the glee when my friends and I found out school was canceled for a week.

There was the water gun fights and trips of the summer after that year.

There was the sand and saltwater smells of the beach with the crash of the waves that you woke up to every morning.

There was the drowsiness of Manchester with the downpour, but when I walked into Old Trafford, it felt like God had blown new life into that stadium.

There was my first day at a new school with old faces and new ones.

There was the Tech Expo where my friends and I found out that we had placed top three, which meant we didn’t have to take a final.

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There was the random drive to New Jersey and the pure joy that filled me when we returned home with a new, four-legged family member.

There was the gloom of leaving another school and coming to a new one.

There was amazement when I opened a letter, and a purple banner came falling out onto the table.

There was the announcement that school had been canceled for two weeks, two months, and then the dread of finding out I would not go back to graduate.

There was the difficulty of starting my first year of high school on a fourteen by ten inch screen.

There was the first day of walking onto the Gonzaga campus and meeting people who I had only known online for the past months.

And there was the snow-white dog that sat by my feet for countless hours of online courses.

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Marianna By: Spencer Cowley “Get up, Kon,” a voice yelled out from the left side of the cold cement box. The clock above the door read 6:00 in large red neon lights—another day in the trench. Five large bangs knocked on my door. “LAST CALL!” a voice screamed from the hallway of the box. I haphazardly scrambled to put on my gear, threw on my jumpsuit, and slipped my large steel-toed boots over my calloused feet. I walked out of my “room” to the line of my collection unit. It’s hard to grasp this is my first year as a full-fledged trencher. Growing up, I had dreams beyond the trench, as did most of my other classmates. We had dreams which didn’t comply with the gang’s rules and our subservience to the water they controlled.

My face stung, my cheek filled with hot pain. I startled awake from my daydream, a large man loomed over me, hand open to initiate another slap. Quickly, I barked out my tag, “K-O738.” I closed my eyes as the hand slowly dropped.

“That daydreaming will get you killed one day, 738,” said the large man as he moved to the next person in line. We began our mundane march towards the trench. Deep caverns surrounded the sides as we grew closer, and the smell of fresh air filled my nose.

The sunlight was now visible as we were paired together in preparation to be sent down.

The view would be breathtaking for a new trencher; the walls were filled with housing, markets, and shops trickling down the sides to the depths of the trench, where water was just barely visible. Voices could be heard as they spouted orders to trenchers and the workers in the shops. This is Mariana. It is a place with the largest water supply in the world, a place where I will live, work, and die.

“You’re an idiot,” a voice called behind me. I turned to see a small boy standing with clean boots looking up at me. His face was smooth, and there were no calluses on his hands. I studied his face as he seemed unfamiliar.

“First day?” I asked as I motioned toward the elevator sys32

tem. We moved together and stood back to back, filling the small container which would send us deeper into Mariana. The locks snapped closed, entrapping us in the small metal box. The container shook and began to move down towards the heart of the trench.

“How could you tell?” the boy asked quietly as we slowly began to move deeper. In all honesty, it was hard not to notice he was new. He had clean blond hair, new equipment, and an unothered look upon his face. I hated him for this.

“My name’s Kon,” I said as I glanced back towards the boy’s face.

“Name?” The boy looked confused and asked, “What’s a name?” I laughed. I found it comical how he knew nothing.

“What’s your ID?” I asked as we reached the trench part, which the sun did not yet light up.

“G-O 737.”

“Gon, that’s your name,” I said.

“What?”

“We don’t go by IDs; your name is Gon,” I said.

“Huh,” the boy said as he stared out the container.

We moved deeper down the trench, past the gang district. Large houses and estates surrounded our sides as we continued our descent. Fountains, water parks, pools, and water that just sat there illustrated the difference between a gang member and a trencher. It was quiet despite the chains that quietly rattled as we moved deeper and deeper.

The container shuddered and slowed to stop in front of a large opening in the hard metal wall. We stepped out and stood in line to get our equipment. Faces turned and stared at Gon as he followed quietly behind me. He grabbed the back of my uniform as I led him to get his gear, but we were broken apart. He was separated into a group with another boy and handed a red band to illustrate he was new. I waved goodbye and gave him an encouraging look before I turned back to go into my hole.

As I entered, my wrist buzzed, starting my shift for the day. I 33

liked my hole. Several people I know didn’t. I found it quiet once you move away from the O-section entrance, as you hardly ever interrupted if you meet your quota. I stood up, stretched my back, and swung my pick into the rock. I’d never seen flowing water. I hardly ever got a drop into my bucket from my mining. I’ve heard mention how it shoots out in all directions- that it doesn’t stop even if you put your hand on the hole where it is coming from. I didn’t believe it.

I daydreamed as I swung my pick into the rock. It helped pass the time in my hole. I thought about what life could have been like if I were a gang member or whether my life would be different in a time where water spread across the horizon. I dreamt about all sorts of things.

At that moment, my hole began to shake. No, I realized, everything began to shake. The cave-in jolted me from my daydreaming.

My ears rang from the crashing of all of the rock crumbling from the surface. My wrist buzzed louder, alerting me as I moved up my hole. My mouth was dry, and my hands ached from the rusty metal ladder. I was one of the first ones that scrambled up, as many of the older trenchers had deep holes to emerge from. I approached the large collection inspector, the same one who had slapped me this morning. He scowled at me and then turned back to the board which he scribbled upon. Beyond him, I could see a hole that had caved in. Sadly this was the fate of many of the “good trenchers” who had worked too deep without support.

The dust, still clouding the air, stung my throat as I moved towards the hole. I peered at the hole, as I’d never seen anyone go into this hole before. I began moving rocks to see if any remains could be shipped off to their family, a tradition amongst the trenchers. As I moved the rocks towards the bottom of the pile, I froze.

My hands trembled, and my face flushed as tears streamed from my eyes. A red band, just barely visible, lay crushed beneath the pile.

He was gone.

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Grammy’s House By: Michael Knott Since toddlers we came, to visit her, our mentor, our role model, our soft spot, we used to hide, as others seeked the world that treated us worse, no one matched her sweetness, we had been here for more than a decade, but in 1 short year it was all gone, it had traveled, but left the baggage behind, the countless moments, we wish we could relive it one more time, It had become smaller, as we became bigger, the small house wasn’t the old one, it felt like a part of us had died, then eventually she left us, it almost felt like a dream, I felt lucid, as if I could wake up, and it’ll be all gone, but it was all gone, the place I called my heart, wasn’t my heart.

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A Special Sunday Lunch By: Lucas Irwin Pulling into the old worn out driveway of my grandparents’ house with my parents and younger sister, a sense of overwhelming excitement and anticipation filled me; I had been waiting for this day for a long time. With the window down, a warm spring breeze washed upon my face as I poked my little head out of the window, much like I had seen my dog do before.

As we often did, my family had gathered together that Sunday for a spectacular meal.

Jumping out of the car, I sprinted into my grandmother’s welcoming arms, her smooth sweater embracing me like a cloud. Knowing the house like the back of my hand, I rushed through the front entrance to find my grandfather in the kitchen, which was decorated with many beautiful paintings. As I entered the kitchen, incredible smells of chicken cooking and green beans sizzling in the pan filled the air, and I rushed to my grandfather, the mastermind behind this magnificent meal. His French cuisine never ceased to impress us all, especially with his former experience as a chef.

“Lucas, are you ready for today?” he said in his French accent with a bright smile on his face.

“Papi, I have been waiting all day. This will be the best lunch ever.

I even brought my tennis racket to play afterwards!”

“Terrific! You’ll have to play with one eye closed though so that I can stand a chance.”

“Okay Papi,” I replied, “if you insist.”

Behind me, I heard my aunt and uncle walk in and greet everyone with my younger cousin, and I grew even more delighted. As the six adults sat down to eat, the moment I had been waiting for finally came; rather than taking my place with the younger kids as I usually did, I had been allowed to take my seat at the adult table for the day.

“Why does he get to do that?” exclaimed my younger sister Chloe, on the verge of tears. “I want to sit with you guys, too!

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“I am sorry sweetie,” reassured my mother. “You can have a turn

next week.”

“Hey Lucas, come and sit with me,” said my Aunt Sophie, patting the softly cushioned seat next to her. “I’ve saved a perfect seat for you right here.”

To many others, this may have just seemed like a very insignificant change in seating, but to me it was much more than that. I practically flew over to the table, but nevertheless it required a little hop for my small self to get up into the big chair. Gazing upon the nicely set table, I saw fancy cutlery and plates, as well as glasses of wine beside the dishes of the adults. It was surprising to have been entrusted with a glass cup rather than a plastic one, and no matter how hard I tried to keep it in, I still beamed with pride. Although I was only a year older than my five-year-old sister, I felt much older. While my relatives discussed many foriegn adult topics, such as politics and work, my small but curious ears were wide open. Even if I didn’t really understand what was being said, I made many efforts to jump into conversation, trying to fit in as much as I could. It didn’t matter all that much if I didn’t completely understand them though; I was officially, in my eyes, a big boy.

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There Was What I Felt By: Ephram Mersha There was the peace and calmness I felt when I was playing soccer in the rain.

There was the happiness I felt when my parents would drive their car and it would go faster than the car in the next lane. (I was like 6 or 7 at that time) There was the joy I felt whenever I was able to eat my favorite food.

There was the rage I felt whenever I was accused of something that I did not do.

There was the motivation I felt when I looked up to my role models and vowed to be better than them one day.

There was the intensity I felt whenever I was having a sports discussion with any of my friends.

There was the agony I felt when I lost a game of FIFA in the last minute of the game or on penalties.

There was the feeling of giving back I felt when I taught students who were younger than me.

There was the feeling of pride I felt whenever my favorite sports teams won any competition.

There was the feeling of honor I felt when I was chosen, out of so many candidates, to attend Gonzaga College High School.

There was the feeling of accomplishment I felt when I was selected as the valedictorian of my 8th grade class.

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There was the grief I felt when my grandmother died of an illness.

There was the satisfaction I felt when I made it past the citywide spelling bee and moved on to the televised part.

There was the pleasure I felt whenever school was canceled because of a snow day.

There was the suspense I felt when I was reading a fastpaced book and I had to put it down.

There was the relief I felt when I was finally able to solve a rubik’s cube.

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Wet Feet By: Hayden Wierzba The sun rose proudly over the horizon on that hot summer day.

The smell of hot dogs and hamburgers floated through the air like a dancer, prancing across a ballroom floor. The green grass tickled my feet as I crawled over to the baby pool where my parents were sitting. They urged me to hop in, and I was scared, never having ventured into the pool without them. As I tried to crawl in, I heard the sound of soft plastic rubbing against my hands as I gently -and nervously -- flopped into the small orange and yellow pool, water started to slosh around and spill over the side. At 15 months, I wasn’t very coordinated, so my dad picked me up and sat me in the pool. Once my feet touched the hose water, a cold rush went up my spine, and I felt that sensation I got when I rode my bike for the first time, when I took my first steps, when I attended school for the first time, and when I won a championship sports game.

I sat down and played with the water, splashing it up with my hands and feet as the water started to get warmer. My giggles and laughter filled the air as my parents added plastic balls in all the colors of the rainbow—yellow balls, blue balls, red balls, and green balls, too. I sorted all of them into different parts of the pool by color and then mixed it up all again. I did this again and again until it was time to get out.

When the hot dogs and hamburgers were ready, my mom took me out of the pool and dried me with a fuzzy, soft towel. I resisted her efforts, but I was unsuccessful. As the sun started to fall under the horizon, my tired self sat on the deck, and ate hot dogs and hamburgers with my family until the sun showed its last orange ray on that hot summer day in the suburbs of D.C. It was time to go to bed.

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Surroundings By: Jacob Bullock Walking in, I could feel the uneasiness, “Let it go,” they said, Agreeing.

I went in.

Numbness, I was losing it.

Before I could understand, my vision went dark.

Unconscious - Pain, waking up “Everything is gonna be okay” Starting a different life I was okay.

A change like no other - The new me.

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An Elegy to My Childhood By: James Gnecco On my enlistment process into the Army I signed my childhood to death by the stroke of a pen, At the age of seventeen.

In a world of adult aged children, there’ll be a child aged adult.

A friend of mine did the same.

Signed a death sentence to his childhood, with no guarantees to the future he wanted.

At least I got what I asked for, right?

My childhood didn’t die for nothing.

Four years is a long time away from the real world, With only a few weekends of leave to return.

Does an adult care about seeing the real world?

I couldn’t tell ya.

I’m just a dumb kid who signed the execution order to his childhood.

Who was too excited by the chance to jump out of airplanes, To ask for compensation for the life he’d just given away.

Surely I should be compensated for what I’ve bought, But a one way ticket to adulthood doesn’t come cheap.

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My Happier Times By: Michael Bath I remember the blisters on my hands from swinging across the monkey bars and laughing with my friends every time we slid down the slide I remember when my parents would give me $5 and I could buy all the sour patch kids I ever wanted or all the reeses to fill my stomach I remember about sticking my sneaker out for my mom to tie my shoelaces When a bandaid could Fix any problem I ever had I remember about those times.

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Memories of the Storm By: Jackson Brewer If I had been in the hallway that night, I would have been struck dead.

If I hadn’t stopped my brainless run, the night would have been filled with even more fear for my already frightened parents.

If I had looked down instead of sprinting out of the building, I would have noticed the beautiful fall leaves on the tree.

If I had looked at the damage, I would have been able to compare it to the fully repaired house.

If I had been asleep rather than awake during the crash, I would have hurt myself in my sleepless trance.

If I had decided to go brush my teeth, I would have been able to dodge the impending doom.

If I hadn’t been aware of the storm raging outside, I would have been more shocked.

If I didn’t have an amazing support group around me, I would have just broken down.

If I hadn’t been aware that the flashing lights and deafening sirens was help on the way, I would have been scared that this was more terror coming to my already shaken self.

If I hadn’t been so easily calmed in the backseat of the car, I would have a better recollection of the night’s experiences.

If I hadn’t been able to escape to my grandparents house, I would have caused many more problems for the adults.

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If I didn’t have an awesome pair of parents that stayed up all night to try to clear the mess, my brother and I would have never been able to ever sleep in our beds again.

If I hadn’t thought about this event so much afterwards, I would have had more time to develop other interests.

If I hadn’t been there with him, my bond with my brother wouldn’t be as strong as it is now.

If I hadn’t been so close to the debris as it crashed through my world, I wouldn’t be petrified of thunderstorms.

If I hadn’t been in the house that night, I wouldn’t have known of the tragedy that had struck.

If I hadn’t experienced this event, my future would have been shaped differently.

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9/11 By: Michael Knott Bystanders We stood there and watched, fear, confusion, feeling imaginary, no one had a clue what was happening, all we saw were red flames, with black smoke, and their accomplice-- trauma, we just saw a monument burned down, and a graveyard ready to be filled, unable to do anything, we just stood shocked, we thought hopefully that there was no one hurt, but deep inside we knew, all of America was.

Firefighters and those who helped Our entire crew rushed, to a scene that defied terrorism, we thought we could defeat it, but we only managed to take down a part of what was already broken, we rushed up the stairs, 100s of flights, because we wanted to save people along with our dignity, we vow to risk our lives for others, but we were only risking our lives for ourselves, because they were already gone We lost legends, those who had the job of being a role model, those who have fought so hard to save others, and those who’s innocent lives are in a better place now.

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Survivors I wish I was dead, I wish they had taken me, no children, no purpose, nothing or maybe it’s the trauma speaking, maybe I am chosen to be alive, to carry on those who I looked up to’s legacy, or maybe I am right, I should just leave, it’s not fair that her kids have no mother, that her family lost an essential part, that I’m alive and she isn’t, why did these people have to be so sinister, why did they have to take a chunk of America, why did they have to kill, the answer is-I Don’t Know.

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The Elegy By: Jacob Bullock But why?

(One continues asking) Why does it have to be like this?

(Continuous denial) This just cannot be right.

This is true.

(This is life) The way it goes.

But it was too early (Gone forever) No. The soul, The memories, The celebration, These live forever.

(One never dies)

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The Vaccine By: Luke Garner When closing your eyes just a bit, every house looked the same, every car had the same build, and every person could be mistaken for someone else.

All these thoughts flowed through Hunter Pine’s head as he walked home from school after his first day of junior year. With every step he took, the more and more he thought about the similarities surrounding him. The thoughts, however, quickly faded away as he arrived at his grandfather’s house to pack his belongings before he headed to the nursing home down the street. Hunter dreaded spending time with his grandfather as he rarely spoke nor showed interest in Hunter’s life. Because of this, Hunter, upon entering the house, quickly made his way down the stairs and into the storage room. Each box he filled felt the same as the one before, which left Hunter hoping for something mildly entertaining. As he grabbed a small box in the middle of a towering pile, dozens of old items plummeted down and engulfed Hunter’s body as he dropped to the floor. While letting out a series of not-so-friendly words, Hunter’s voice quickly came to a stop as he opened the small box.

There were a few photographs of his grandfather playing sports back in the day, but Hunter’s attention was caught by a photo of his grandfather with a few friends in a classroom. For some reason, they were all wearing masks. Intrigued by the photo, Hunter continued to search through the box, but nothing else showed any relation to the masks. Even though he knew conversations with his grandfather tended to be bland, Hunter ventured upstairs and into the living room where his grandfather was sitting in complete silence. Always a little bent over and dressed in dark colors, Hunter’s grandfather felt nowhere close to inviting when it came to speaking, but Hunter felt the urge to find out the truth behind the photo.

“Ahh, Grandpa, why were you wearing a mask in this photo?”

As his grandfather analyzed the picture with his big-lense eyeglasses, it looked like he wanted to respond, but was simply at a loss for words.

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“I remember being there, but I don’t remember why I had a mask on,” his grandfather finally muttered out as a tear rolled down his face.

“Grandpa, what’s wrong, why are you crying?”

“I am not cryi…” Hunter’s grandfather quickly stopped speaking as he looked down and saw a tear hit his leg.

The two sat there for five minutes without speaking a word to each other, yet they never took their eyes off one another. Both of them had hundreds of thoughts passing through their minds.

Hunter was mystified as the only time he had seen someone cry was because of pain and his grandpa sat there trying to remember the last time he felt a tear run down his face. As Hunter got up to leave, his grandfather grabbed his arm firmly.

Hunter looked down at the old, dry hand as his grandfather looked in his soul. “I remember the masks. Everyone had to wear them, but I don’t remember why.”

Hunter spent the next two hours turning the storage room inside out, yet he found nothing. He threw himself to the ground where he gazed at the photo once more. Feeling as if he had just wasted the last few hours of his life, Hunter began to tear the photo in half but quickly stopped as he noticed the shirt his grandfather was wearing. The shirt said Class of 2020, which sent Hunter right back to tearing boxes apart as he knew his grandfather was about 14 during this year and he knew there were boxes for each year of school in the basement.

“Finally!” Hunter screamed as he found the box that said Eighth Grade on it.

Inside the box, there were just a few more photos of his grandfather playing sports and folders of old classwork. Out of frustration, Hunter hurled the box at the wall. As he went to pick up the pieces, he noticed that the bottom of the box had a hidden layer beneath it. To his surprise, he found a mask and a card. The card looked like a driver’s license, yet his grandfather was fourteen at the time, 50

so that didn’t make any sense. The only words that stuck out were “COVID-19 Vaccination.” Hunter rushed to his feet and made his way up the stairs and into the living room.

Slightly out of breath, Hunter said the word, “COVID-19.”

His grandfather’s eyes got wide as he exclaimed, “That’s it!

That’s why I had to wear the mask, but what is COVID-19?”

Due to the open-ended response, Hunter decided to head home and turn to the internet for answers. Hunter looked up anything he could in relation to COVID-19. He looked up the history of masks and he did a deep research about the year 2020, yet it seemed like everything was a dead end. As Hunter continued to research, his computer shut off and there was a loud knock at the door.

Hunter nervously crept down the stairs and could hear every beat of his heart. He looked through the peephole to find a man who seemed to be a mechanic, which calmed his nerves. As he opened the door, the man greeted Hunter with an almost perfect smile.

“There seems to have been a power outage, so I am just checking in on everyone’s houses. Is it okay if I come in?”

As the word “sure” began to creep out of Hunter’s mouth, he looked across the street to find all the lights still on in his neighbor’s house.

“You know what, I think I should wait until my parents get home to let you in,” Hunter said in a shaky voice.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will be fast, just let me come in for a second and have a look around.”

Once again Hunter told the man he should wait for his parents, but he continued to make a case that he should just come in right now. The man’s smile quickly turned into a straight line. His eyes fell from a smiling squint into a dead, emotionless stare.

“You looked for the information you weren’t supposed to know 51

about. I must terminate,” said the man in a robotic manner.

Hunter instinctively slammed the door as the man tried to rush in. The man caught the door with his foot as Hunter turned away and rushed back upstairs into his room.

“Where are you? I must terminate you.”

Hunter, hiding in his small, dark closet, felt every drop of sweat trickling down his forehead and even felt a shiver down his spine.

As the man’s voice got louder, Hunter’s hand gripped harder and harder around the metal bat he picked up before entering his closet.

The man’s voice became clear; Hunter knew he was entering his room.

“Are you in here?” said the man in a psychotic voice.

The man swung the closet door open fast and hard. He began to make his way towards Hunter with a syringe. Hunter came barreling out of the closet and threw all his weight on the man. The man’s head hit the edge of the bed before it hit the ground. Hunter began to rise the bat into the air, but on its way down the man’s eyes widened as he screamed, “It’s not me doing this to you! Please help me! They’re controlling me!”

Out of nowhere, the man passed out on the floor and let go of the syringe. Hunter slowly picked up the syringe, which had a piece of tape on it that read: EMOTION: DROWSY / MEMORY LOSS: COVID-19 Hunter started to connect a few dots in his head. He realized COVID-19 happened, but nobody remembers anything about it.

Moreover, he hypothesized that someone has been controlling people’s emotions because the syringe looked the exact same as the one-shot everyone, by law, has to get once a year. Hunter saw everything now. His grandfather didn’t choose to act emotionless, he was simply forced to be that way. Similarly, the man who attacked him changed emotions within seconds and pleaded for help before passing out. Though Hunter didn’t know what COVID-19 was, he 52

knew it was dangerous information, so he made his way back to his grandfather’s house to make sure he was okay. As he arrived, Hunter jumped behind a bush as there were at least a dozen men in black suits surrounding the house. Even though his life was in danger, he knew he needed to get to his grandfather. Hunter snuck around the back and made his way into the basement. He quickly hid beneath an old couch in the corner of the basement as he heard footsteps. He saw two sets of shiny, black shoes walk around the basement, yet it didn’t seem like they were looking through anything; they just talked.

“I can’t believe they’re the one who started it all,” said one of the men.

“I know, it’s crazy how one person can create something so powerful by accident.”

“At least they get to remember now. I still can’t believe they asked to forget about everything.”

“I’m pretty sure it was because their spouse died or something, so they wanted to forget about all the sad times.”

“That’s true, but sometimes I also wish I never knew about what happened. It’s so sad to see people live in this fake-world, but the pay and classified information make up for it.”

“Awww, shoot, we’re leaving, let’s go.”

Hunter waited for the basement door to close before he emerged from beneath the couch. While he leaned against the wall, he kept thinking about who they were talking about. Hunter figured he wouldn’t find out unless someone told him, so he looked through a few more boxes to waste some time just to make sure everyone left the house. He eventually got to the last box, which was at the very back corner of the room. It was filled with pictures of his grandfather’s wedding. It was weird for Hunter to see his grandfather actually smile in a photograph, but not remembering who his grandmother was felt stranger as he missed her so much even though they never met due to her early passing.

“That’s it. He is the one who started it all.” Hunter whispered to 53

himself.

“So, you found out all on your own.”

Hunter whipped his head around to find his grandfather standing right behind him. He looked into his grandfather’s eyes like they did earlier that day, yet tears were streaming down Hunter’s face this time.

“How could you take away everyone’s emotions? You’re a monster.”

“Life is easier without them and no one can find out about the truth, so I have a solution for you,” his grandfather said in a dark voice as he pulled a syringe out of his pocket.

Hunter quickly shoved his grandfather to the ground and made his way up the stairs. He came to a stop, however, when there was a man blocking the door, he turned around only to run back downstairs but was stopped by his grandfather’s chest. As he looked up, his eyes met a pair of cynical eyes that he’d never seen on his grandfather before. Without hesitation, his grandfather stuck the syringe right into Hunter’s neck.

As the syringe injected the liquid, his grandfather said, “I am sorry, but things will be better this way.”

Hunter slowly closed his eyes, but read the tape before passing out. It read: EMOTION: NOTHING / MEMORY LOST: EVERYTHING Hunter never felt nor remembered anything ever again.

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Elegy to Ignorance By: Quinn Fish You were a source of freedom.

A way of life where reality was beyond my understanding.

My mind consumed by the upcoming little league game, focused on leaving that dirt field victorious, unaware of the injustice calling America home.

But, You were taken from me.

My life has changed since you left.

No longer do the juices of innocence flow through my body.

My mind and body constantly held down by the overwhelming forces of reality.

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Tears By: Justin Williams The sky looked like it could cry at any moment I guess that’s where i came down from Was I the first rain to come down from a gloomy sky, That could no longer hold it back?

Or was I the last rain that came down from that sobbing sky?

That wanted to stop All i know is i am sick of tears

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Peace, Peace By: Stephen Cullina Calm down my friend, your mind is in the clouds This it may be, but through my sleeping eyes I see A world of dreams Passing from reality Nothing but a breath of fresh air As unexpected as the sleepless breeze, Which ebbs and flows from the depths of me.

Who are you to tell me “Peace” ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!

Thou talk’st of nothing.

MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the forzen bosom of the north, And, being anger’d, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

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Why Did the Bag of Chips Fall?

By: Adam Uppuluri Maybe it was a little boy who dropped them and forgot to pick them up It could have been a mother who bumped into them running out the back Perhaps it was the young man who fell into the chips stand as bullets rushed into his chest It was possibly the Starbucks worker who hid behind the trash cans and only had her silence to keep her safe Maybe it was the barrel of the gun that brushed up against the chips aisle knocking down everyone in its path

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The Concept of Life By: Blake McLaughlin What is a normal life?

Is it one of stress and strife Or one that feels just right Is it one with a family that is whole Or a single who lives alone Every life is individually hard Things happen that leave scars Scars that are deep, dark, and hard to leave behind But what’s important is to live Live life as a gift If something goes wrong all you have to do is flip the script Live simply, life freely That’s all one can do In truth, a normal life is only based around you

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I Should Have By: Aiden Delacourt There was the brilliant golden sun streaming through the floor to ceiling windows and the faint sound of birds chirping outside.

There was the shrill ring from the phone sitting on the counter that startled the peacefulness of our first day of vacation.

There was a never ending moment of silence that gripped the quaint beach house.

There was a mutter echoing from the phone that delivered the dreadful news.

There was an announcement of a death from my mother from across the room, and a guttural howl coming from my grandmother sitting to my left.

There was conflict stirring in my head that would cease to pause while I sat quietly on the white leather sofa in our rental home.

There was a feeling of anguish that had a chokehold on the adults in the room, but I did not understand it.

There was a brief mourning that made the house seem like we were standing in a cemetery, and it made me feel awkward.

There was the pain of the others in the room, which did not resonate with me.

There was a sadness for what seemed like years that I could not link to myself.

If I knew it was my last day seeing her in my cousins’ grand home, I wished I had treasured it more.

If I knew she was dying, I would have made more of an effort to sit with her when we visited.

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If I could have been less self-absorbed, I could have gotten to know her better.

If I had been less focused playing with my cousins, I would have had better memories of her.

If I was more accustomed to creating relationships, I would have understood the pain that gripped the quaint home.

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Answers By: Alex Feehan It was a hazy and hot morning when Olivia woke up. It was very early, the sun had just begun creeping over the edge of the horizon, but Olivia was far from sleepy. She had been planning and preparing for this day for about a year now. Many sleepless nights, risky encounters, hours of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears had gone into the preparations for this plan. Olivia was going to sneak into the rocket launch centers at the North Pole. Not only is this violating the already strict laws, spending lengthy amounts of time outside and not contributing to your personal garden, but also acting against the government of the world. If she was caught, these crimes would certainly be the end of Olivia’s life as she knew it. She would be sent away to who knows where, or even killed.

She would never get to see her husband Lucas ever again. She rolled out of bed and began rehearsing the plan in her head as she got changed and prepared for the treacherous day that lay ahead of her. She moved quickly and quietly as she didn’t want to wake Lucas but she also did not want to fall behind in her plan. After eating a quick breakfast, gathering her things, and finished getting ready in the morning, she slipped out the door and was on her way.

As she took her first step outside, her heart began to race. She ran down the street and arrived at the bus station where the engineers all waited for the bus to begin to journey to the North Pole. Today was the perfect day for this heist as the scanner for the engineers ID was being repaired and upgraded. This was no coincidence. Olivia had planned this day perfectly, making sure everything was lined up so it would be as easy as possible, while it is still nevertheless a near impossible task. As the bus pulled up to the station, she kept a low profile, by tucking her face under her hat and boarded the bus. She wasn’t even at the top of the stairs before the bus driver stopped her, and asked, “I have never ever seen you board my bus darling, who are ya?”

Olivia was nervous, but knew that today was going to be full of roadblocks and speed bumps. “Um, sorry… it’s only my first day, I graduated from engineering school last month,” Olivia replied nervously barely making eye contact. The driver motioned her on 62

to the back of the bus and grumbled as it was still quite early in the morning. She sat in the last row on the right side, placed her bag on her lap and gazed out the window.

She knew that there was no turning back anymore, she had fully committed to this plan the second she stepped on the bus. She was fighting thoughts of regret and fear as she had just recently married the love of her life and was looking forward to starting a family with Lucas. She was risking all of that, a stable future, a loving husband, a happy family, and so much more. Why? She kept asking herself, Why was she risking all of this? While her fear was strong, she knew the answer to this daunting question. Olivia and Lucas had always been drawn to the outdoors their entire lives, they could both remember their separate lives when they were younger, laughing and playing outside in the forest with their families and friends, free to leave their homes whenever they desired.

Their respective parents worked exciting jobs that called them to leave for work almost everyday. But it was different now, they were confined to only their homes for the large majority of the day, they didn’t have the freedom to leave home, and they were forced to simply keep growing the plants they had in their yards. The government of the world promised a fix to these horrendous conditions and promised to figure out a way for humanity to leave Earth, but as everyday went on, there was no change in the miserable life that Olivia and Lucas lived in their quadrant. The government of the world seemed to be having too many resources and too many opportunities to not have made any progress. They have also been eerily quiet about why they haven’t been making any progress and what was setting them back. Olivia and Lucas decided a while ago that even though they loved each other, and were grateful for the unfortunate lives they had, and were excited about starting a family, they wanted to find more answers about the future of the human race.

The bus ride passed quicker than Olivia thought. Her mind was so preoccupied and overwhelmed with these clouding thoughts that she almost forgot to grab her backpack as she got off the bus.

The bus dropped her and all of the engineers off at a large train station that gathers engineers from all quadrants, and takes them to the center of the North Pole where the rocket launch zone is located. However, there was no way that Olivia was going to make it on one of those trains on the inside. She was not sure how detailed se63

curity would be at the train station and even thought that she could figure out a way to get into the train. She saw the countless pairs of large guards standing in front of each entrance onto the train. They searched everyone’s bags, and more importantly had the newer and more detailed scanners to check the engineer’s ID. She knew she had no shot of making it into the train.

If she didn’t get on a train, she would be left alone in the station with the guards who would undoubtedly question her credentials and find out that she was not an engineer, but if she tried to sneak onto the train, she would get caught. The only option was to travel with the train to the North Pole, but not inside of it. She made her way into the restroom and locked the door behind her. She nervously looked up at the ceiling hoping to find what she was looking for. To her relief she did, a large air conditioning vent. Balancing on the sink she pushed it open, unlocked the door and quickly clambered inside. She shut the vent behind her and began crawling in what she thought was the direction of the trains. The vent kept getting larger and larger to the point where she could almost stand in it. Unfortunately, just as she got to her feet, she heard the sound of the train whistle blow, meaning it was starting to leave the station. She sprinted in the direction of the horn and hoped to see an opening to drop onto the train from. She could hear the sound of the train on the tracks picking up speed as it left the station. She saw a light peeking up from the bottom of the vents ahead, she ran as fast as she could towards the light and without even looking she jumped straight through the whole. She flew through the air for a second or so and landed abruptly on the top of the last train car leaving the station. She immediately laid down as to not be seen by anyone of the security guards watching the train leave the station.

Olivia waited for about fifteen minutes until she felt it was safe to her to sit up. As soon as she did she began to feel an emotion that she hadn’t felt since her childhood. It was later in the morning now and the sun was over the horizon lighting up the hazy sky a bright vibrant orange, the train was moving quickly high in the air on the tracks above the quadrants as it raced towards the North Pole. The wind caressed her face and blew her long hair back behind her. She couldn’t help but smile, she felt just like had when she was a child driving in a car with the window down and her face sticking out the window. She could feel the years of her life moving in reverse.

Closing her eyes she almost believed she was in the back of her 64

parents car, smiling as the wind blew across her face, a part of a beautiful, breathtaking, and awe-inspiring Earth. But the planet was different now, it was dying. Years and years of pollution and climate change had finally started to take their toll on the planet.

Disastrous storms wreaked havoc across the world, volcanic eruptions and seismics quakes rocked the very ground beneath their feet and clouded the air with smoke and dust. Temperature rarely reached below seventy-five degrees fahrenheit. While the Earth was physically heating like never before, it felt like a much colder place.

She sat there and soaked up the rare beauty of nature for the rest of the morning and was surprisingly calm, considering how stressful of a day she had gone through and what she still has to come.

This euphoric feeling however, was short lived as the train began to pass over the wealthier quadrants. She looked down and was shocked at what she saw. People, many of them, leaving their homes to get their mail and waving hello to their neighbors. Children playing outside on swing sets, people going on a run in the morning, she even saw some cyclists riding around in the neighborhood as well. Olivia had never been so mad at seeing people enjoying their lives. “Where were the outside time restrictions? Where were the guards monitoring the neighborhood, keeping everyone inside and making sure they were watering their gardens? Where were their gardens?!” She furiously thought to herself. While Lucas, Olivia, and all of their neighbors lived dull and restricted lives, forced to stay inside and water their gardens, people in wealthier quadrants lived life almost as if it was normal. Defeating the purpose of the struggles of those living in lower quadrants. Olivia could not even fathom the anger that she felt, the feeling she had only a few moments earlier had vanished, she was filled with rage.

She spent the rest of the train cursing the government of the world for their bogus, oppressive, and discriminatory laws. Simply because she lived in a quadrant of less wealth, she was unable to enjoy going outside and enjoying her life. She attempted to clear her mind as she still had a very rigorous day ahead of her. As the train passed over the last and most wealthy quadrants and began to close in on the massive wall of where the rocket launch zone was, she looked over the train again. To her surprise, she didn’t see anyone enjoying time outside, how ungrateful of them, being gifted an extreme luxury and not even taking advantage of it.

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As the train pulled into the station Olivia could see into the launch, it was filled with giant extraordinary rockets, glistening in the light. The rockets stood triumphant and proud and almost seemed as if they were ready for take off. Olivia could not dwell on these amazing feats of engineering as she needed to plan her dismount off the train, and tried to figure out how she could get off of the roof of the train and out of the vents without being seen. She could not plan for long before she was interrupted by an incredible roar and a flash of light from inside the launch zone. She immediately looked up and saw something that left her mind shambles.

One of the large rockets began taking off! It was impossible, the government of the world had not mentioned anything about rockets lifting off. She could not think long before the rocket was high into the atmosphere and lost in the haze of the sky.

Olivia looked back into the launch zone and saw another sight that sent her mind into a spiral. Families, boarding the other rockets in the launch zone. Hundreds of them, excited and happy as they walked through the tunnel into the body of the rocket. She knew she had to keep planning and searching for an exit but she couldn’t move, she was frozen in bewilderment. “How could they have people boarding rockets and not tell such a large majority of the population? How long has this been going on? Were they ever planning on telling us?” Were just a few of the many questions that shot across Olivia’s mind. And then it hit her, those last quadrants were not full of people not taking advantage of being able to go outside, they were simply not full of people! Those quadrants must have already been emptied through rockets, this process of sending humans away must have been happening for months now.

This explains the loud rumbles that can be heard from Olivia and Lucas’ home, they were the rockets taking off, and the haze in the sky shrouded the rockets so that they couldn’t be seen. Olivia was crushed.

She had no desire to keep fighting and to continue searching for answers, she had already found them. The government of the world did not have a roadblock at all, they were succeeding but merely not telling the poorer citizens about their success. Olivia was lost in these thoughts for so long that she had lost track of time.

She suddenly felt the train begin to pull away from the station and head back in the direction it had come. It was too late for her to find a way to get off, she had no other choice but to stay on the train and 66

ride it back to the bus station, where she would have to wait all day until the engineers came home, so she could sneak back onto the bus and go home. Besides, what difference could she have made?

She went on this trip to look for answers, and she found them, there were merely not the answers that she wanted to hear. As the train headed back to the bus station Olivia lay on the top of the train staring into the hazing sky, she felt her heart sink into her boots. She was losing hope that her and Lucas’ lives may never change. They may never be able to leave this planet, and they may never be able to enjoy time outside like they once could as children.

Most crushing to Olivia was the idea that her future children may never know what it is like to enjoy the outdoors. They may never know what it is like to feel the wind on their face.

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Just a Game By: Owen Kent There was the delight I caught in seeing long rows of people reaching across the gym. There was the faint, cool kiss of calm while I stood at the line.

There were the echoes of nostalgia I saw in the same parents from years before. There was the tantalizing buzz in the excitement of the team.

There was the teasing and impossible desire to imitate the elite of the game. There was the yearning for identification across the court.

There was the aching glory in the clouds and trees shining bright.

There was the sudden alarm I saw in the glaring red lights of the scoreboard. There was the distress I felt when I saw 10 seconds left on the clock.

There was the incomprehensible desire embodied in me to rise above.

There was the experience of feeling the loss without losing that came from watching the opponent’s lead grow to 3.

There was the great pleasure that I felt my team put on me by having me take the shot. There was the thirst for success I had when I had the ball passed to me.

There was the strict concentration I had when a defender put his hands up.

There was the speechless astonishment of seeing the ball swish through the hoop.T here were rejoicing cheers I heard when I ran towards my team.

There was the love I had for my coach and my teammates.

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The Fishing Trip By: Michael Bath I feel waves rocking the boat Back and forth I see the orange and yellow colors From the promising sun rising in the distance Back and forth.

I drop my bait into the Commanding ocean Sweat drips down my checks From the intimidatingly beautiful sun beating me down Back and forth Patience the Captain says The sun is directly above Still no bend in the rod I still wait there While the boat rocks Back and forth

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Ode to Opportunity By: Jaylen Laudermilk 1000 doors knocking as time passes 1000 temptations which one do I kick down? the chance to take another step always present an addition to my trail of footsteps Which one do I take? opportunity A power when used correctly Immense Howard Or Fordham trial and error which door is the one My choices limited My opportunity present Dear Applicant, You have been accepted

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Gameday By: Jalen McMurray Squinting at my phone trying to see the time 6:00 am Pops walks in “Game day, game day” he says I smile Brush my teeth Wash my face Put lotion on I grab my equipment from the day before And walk out the door And get in the car My ears filled with the music I have chosen My eyes locked in to the trees and cars passing “Gameday” I mutter to myself Gameday

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The Average Boy By: Adam Uppuluri This poem is written for young men who serve at the McKenna Center.

Your eyes may dart to every corner You may tense up and feel yourself drifting to the kitchen, where it is quiet and you are alone where no one can force you to talk to the strangers, or maybe even the homeless But I tell you, embrace the discomfort, soak in the needles and twisting pains of your own perception of what discomfort is Recognize the heartbeat from across the table as it may pound the same rhythm as yours, Look into your own eyes and see a reflection of yourself Feel the sorrow, or joy, or weariness, of a man who may need you but I assure you, 72

not as much as you need him not as much as the average boy needs to hear his story not as much as you will remember his story for the rest of your life

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Population Reduction via Moose By: Patrick Fogarty Impatience was brewing amongst the representatives. Discussions ought to have started at 7:30am, but the second hand made twenty-three laps around the crooked clock since then with no such progress. It was uncharacteristic of Conor and Kathryn to be late, especially on such an important day for the North American Government. Elliot resented NAG, mostly for its rapidly expanding Population Party, but also for its failure to deliver on the rumors of enhanced rations for representatives, which initially motivated him to enter politics. While he absentmindedly scribbled dark circles into his notepad, a groan rudely emerged from Elliot’s stomach.

He wondered how Conor and Kathryn’s tardiness would impact his lunch period. The second hand made its twenty-seventh trip around the clock.

Despite that he only joined NAG for the possibility of a full stomach, Elliot naturally grew passionate about the government once he was involved. Many Age Old Party members claim they seek justice, but that was not the truth. Not for Elliot, nor his colleagues. They each debated for the sake of their own lives.

A group of Populationists, young enough to crave vengeance yet also old enough to wield political experience, held folders over their mouths and whispered. Occasionally, they glanced at the room’s seniors. When their eyes found Elliot, his shoulders tensed and his breath halted. He feared their radical ideas and resented their youth. Elliot knew they could read his emotions and reciprocated his resentment, but not his fear.

Thirty-six minutes. This was getting out of hand. Elliot opened his notebook to review the plan, which would save him from the Malthus-inspired bill. NAG’s legislature was split half way between Population Party and Age Old Party members, so after-hours bargains were almost always necessary to secure votes and advance bills. Elliot led a series of negotiations one month prior in a private, abandoned subway car. The agreed upon deal, which would be officially voted upon today, ceded one-sixth of ration sizes, onefourth of land, and the right to gather in mass for all citizens greater than sixty-eight years old. Remembering all which the Population74

ists were taking was infuriating, but the alternative was to accept the De-aging Plan.

People fought for land to live on harder than they fought for food to eat. The cool, damp subway and sewer systems had evolved from a shelter for the twenty-first century homeless to a modern oasis for those strong enough to defend their plot. The De-aging Plan would systematically and humanely decrease the population density of what was once Canada, starting with senior citizens sixty-five years old and up. The fact that such a Holocaust-esque idea was actually proposed and seriously considered still astonished him. The Population Party would have passed it too, had there not been a party-line tie last they voted on it. Today, at much expense to the Age Old Party, NAG representatives planned to vote against it again.

Elliot’s impatience transitioned to anger. Conor and Kathryn’s two votes were vital to the deal. He pivoted in his seat to look helplessly at the door, daydreaming that the duo would walk in, profusely apologize, and promptly take their seats so that the vote could start. There would be no such luck. Just over three-quarters of an hour after the original starting time, the door finally crept open. Elliot excitedly stood a few inches over his chair to get a better view of and silently scold Conor and Kathryn. But they were not standing at the door. Instead, a member of the executive counsel was there. Elliot quickly took his seat and sat straighter in his dingy stool. It was ridiculous that the Populationists sat in four legged chairs with backs to them. After all, they weren’t the ones who had to deal with arthritis and— The executive councilman cleared his throat to call for the attention which he already had. Elliot sighed in relief that this was one of the executive council’s Age Old Party members. In a dry, monotone voice he droned the formalities which executive declarations require. He only caught Elliot’s ear when he mentioned Kathryn and Conor.

“Late last night or very early this morning, the bridge which Conor and Kathryn sleep beneath, burdened by the weight of several adult moose, collapsed. They were discovered and pronounced dead at 8:03am.” With those words echoing in his skull, Elliot could see the small, wooden bridge Conor and Kathryn lived beneath.

Had only the wood collapsed, the pair surely would have survived.

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Regardless, the gradually deteriorating structure should have had several years left before it would fall. Behind closed eyes, Elliot saw the long, thin beams snapping as the last moose took a step towards the middle of the bridge. Had those filthy, flea-ridden animals not crossed, there was no way it would have collapsed to begin with.

Before the representatives digested the news, the councilman added that the day’s voting would still take place.

For a moment, Elliot did not feel panic nor fear nor grief. Simply confusion. Moose? Goddamn moose? Those big, ugly, furry animals that can’t do a thing but run when NAG hunters try to ambush them? Moose were going to be the downfall of the Age Old Party, the catalysts for the De-aging Plan?

Murmurs swept the councilman’s audience and he left with slumped shoulders. Elliot turned to his primary confidant and best friend since before the American Exodus. Luther had tears in his eyes. Everybody in the room knew without saying it. The Populationist Party members who were whispering earlier decided that they no longer needed to hide their snickering. They made penetrating eye contact with Elliot and openly gestured toward him in conversation.

Elliot was no longer upright in his chair. Without realizing it, he was on the floor with the stool sideways besides him. Nobody paid him any attention, preoccupied with their own emotions. His closed eyelids functioned as a dam for the emotions behind them.

Weeks of planning for nothing. Compromises and arguments and negotiations all to be abandoned by the Populationists in mere minutes. The councilman’s speech was greater confirmation than any vote needed to be: the De-aging Plan was approved. Elliot’s futile attempt to maintain composure failed and the dam burst open. He hated Conor. He hated Kathryn. He hated Populationists. Most of all, he hated moose.

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Dewey the Dog By: James Owczarski I remember your fur Soft as feathers White as snow With shades of beige Like a reverse cinnamon bun I remember your paws Coarse but not harsh Nails like acrylics Jagged but harmless I remember your bark A gentle yelp Or a shrieking squeal Both music to my ears I remember your happiness The animated look on your face Your joyful wobble And your ecstatic smile I remember the day you left us The feeling of true pain And sadness in my chest The sense of disbelief But I still hear your bark A gentle yelp And I still feel your fur Soft as feathers

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Her Danger By: Adam Fridley 1 Its voice screeches, that witch burns.

Spit pierces and burns your exposed skin.

Below freezing, to you a spring wind.

Her name Blizzard 2 As though the sun turned off.

Morning dew shivers your body as you breathe it in.

Blanketed sky, dark and depressed.

Tears uncontrollably drip to the ground, big and heavy.

Her name Rainshower 3 Daylight never breaks, the grey clouds floating up there.

Its drum reverberated beats throughout the sky.

Electric anger slows closer, your stillness admires its beauty.

Grey turns white, stand tall.

Your height attracts her.

Her name Thunder 78

4 Still mirror off the shore. calm strokes her brush to the sand.

Paint draws away, gathers in the distance.

Mirror begins to roll, The sky you see, blues from the ocean.

She tumbles over, drowning you with herself.

Her name Tsunami 5 Many names, shine in beauty.

Mother of nature, her loves shrouds you, you still and tall, tree by the shore

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Love Is By: Gav Bryson *Boom Boom … Boom Boom* What is this compulsive feeling that I can’t deny?

Breaking me down inside until I want to cry Bringing me peace glory and pleasure make it last Making me indecisive because of my past This feeling can make you This feeling can break you Makes me want to hide my feelings like a hand in a glove What is this feeling? This feeling is love Love is peace Love is stress Love is family Love is an enemy Love is exciting Love is boring Love is happiness Love is tragic Love is trial Love is tribulation Love is mine Love is yours Love is on time, Love can come late Love is predictable but ultimately Love is fate….

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Photography & Studio Art

Mateo Rampoldi

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Mateo Rampoldi

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Benji Garland

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Andrew Geary

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Charles Augustine

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Sean Miller

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Will Thompson

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Henry Dempsey

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Henry Dempsey

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Gabby Delosreyes

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Will Thompson

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Will Green

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Will Green

95 Will Green

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Andrew Geary

97 Conor Shaheen

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Will Thompson

99 Mateo Rampoldi

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Luke Wood

101 Will Thompson

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Luke Elliott

103 Will Thompson

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Will Thompson

105 Ryan Stewart

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Will Green

107 Lucas Barsantini

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Will Green

109 Ivan Marroquin

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Kleiber Castanon

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Javier Fox

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Lucas Barsantini

113 Stephen Cullina

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Charlie Marsh

115 Sean Miller

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Will Thompson

117 Roman Funkhouser

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Stephen Cullina

119 Roman Funkhouser

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Henry Dempsey

121 Leif Hagerup

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Quinn Graham

123 Thomas Rowan

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Stephen Cullina

125 Jonah Schlee

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Ryan Stewart

127 Ryan Stewart

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Will Green

129 Tim Wakefield

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Will Green

131 Ryan Stewart

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Luke Wood

133 Will Thompson

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Jacob Gupton

135 Brady Gage

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John Loyko

137 Sam Ewald

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Ryan Stewart

139 Stephen Cullina

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Jonah Schlee

141 Jonah Schlee

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Charlie Marsh

143 Charlie Marsh

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Lucas Barsantini

145 James Matan

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Quinn Graham

147 Ryan Stewart

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Bae Glasgow

149 Benji Garland

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Quinn Graham

151 Logan Harris

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James Hrdy

153 Jack Cadin

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James Hrdy

155 Will Thompson

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Ethan Doudna

157 Brady Gage

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James Hrdy

159 Gabriel Dorsey

Henry Sullivan ‘20 EIC, The Phoenix XXXV

The Phoenix 2021 XXXVI

2021

THE PHOENIX - GONZAGA FINE ARTS REVIEW

VOL. XXXVI