Griffin Rites: Celebrate the Moment, Student Literary Magazine by Griffin Rites

Ce l

h t e e t M a r o b e

Griffin

Rites

Vol. 50, Issue 2. Winter 2019 Student Literary Magazine Winnetonka High School 5815 NE 48th Street Kansas City, Missouri 64119

04 02 Our Staff: Cheyenne Brown Ruth Estrada Elizabeth Payton Marshall Payton Kaylee Renno Daniel Smith Shannon Le Grand, adviser

“Wet June Leaf” Heather Sulzen

Table of contents:

“Stage Dreams” Emi Scarlet

“5 Ages”

Gabriel Calderon

It was a quiet, Saturday morning, and my old father had decided to take me fishing for my first time. Being that I had never fished, I was clueless on all the ins and outs; to be fair I was only 9. “If we catch anything, that’s dinner tonight,” he told me as we walked down the rocky hill to the Missouri River. All I could think about was catching a big fish and bringing home a good dinner. Looking out at the river rushing passed me, I was trying to find the

perfect spot to cast my line… THERE! Amongst the chaos of the river currents, there seemed to be a calm patch of the river that remained still. But it was too far in and I realized that my little nine-year-old arms wouldn’t be able to reach it. I was determined to cast my line out to that perfect spot though, and then finally, having the lightbulb light up in my head, I saw a good-sized boulder about two feet into the river. That moment is when you were able to see my inexperience with fishing;

after having him help me onto the boulder in the middle of the river, I decided to throw my all into trying to get my line out to that spot, completely disregarding that I have no stable foothold. I fell into the river, holding onto my dear life, or rather the boulder, as I look up at my old father laughing at my dumb decision. I was crying and incredibly afraid, but eventually he helped me out and we continued fishing somewhere a little safer. We eventually finished our day empty-handed.

I’m someone with a really bad memory, or more so, just an eccentric memory- I remember ideas and thoughts more than I do for just moments in my life. So, remembering the night of my older brother, and all

of my other siblings, driving to see a movie, freshman year at the age of 14, is quite shocking to me. Driving on the highway, listening to Wiz Khalifa’s “Medicated” mixed with the sound of everyone rapping along,

I looked out the window and watched the streetlamps roll by and saw AMC in the distance. I remember feeling happy and thinking to myself, that this is the first time we felt like a family in a long time.

05 Another memory of mine that is still held, despite all the other memories lost to me, would be from when I was 7… We had been at this boy’s birthday party all day. This boy was the son of my old dad’s work friend, and they all only spoke Spanish- I had no way to talk to anyone, and I didn’t know anyone either. I remember the feeling of just wanting to go home, so when I

heard the sound of the rain hitting the house, I got excited, thinking we’d be leaving soon. But when I ran outside, I was met with all the adults under the patio’s protection and my brothers and the boy, all jumping on the trampoline. “That looks like fun,” I thought. I ran up to the trampoline, had my brother help me up, and due to the power of everyone jumping at the

same time, I kept on getting shot into the air. The rain was pouring onto us, and our clothes hung from our bodies like heavy bags. We didn’t care, we just kept jumping, and I remember a feeling of being free and exhilaration throughout my entire body, which was only increased tenfold as lightning and thunder started to appear.

At 15 years old, I found myself racing my seven-year-old brother after he had made it a challenge to beat me downstairs to change my grandma’s clothes. Was I going to lose? NO I was willing to do whatever it took to beat him, so skipping a couple of stairs wouldn’t hurt, would it? WRONG Accidentally missing a step, I could feel my feet come out from underneath me and the shock as I realized I was

going to slam into the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs. My body moved for me; my right hand went to twist the doorknob open while my left went to push the door open. My left hand landed on the glass windowpane, only to break it and go through it. But I wasn’t hurt. Good. I pulled out my arm from the window, being sure not to accidentally touch the broken glass, but as I got to where my wrist was getting pulled out, I noticed something on my hand.

The color red, and more with every second. I pulled the rest of my hand out and looked to see where the red was coming from. My finger had been sliced open and blood was covering the rest of my hand. But amongst all the red, I saw some white. I could see my bone! But why wasn’t I in pain? The Shock. I realized I was in shock, and I sat there singing, “I’m in shock,” over and over again until finally, my little brother had come back with help.

I’m 18 years old, standing up after hearing my name called. I walk towards the stage. I look all around me: at the huge mass of gowns, the stadium filled with cheering families, and finally, my own family. I’d feel happy to see them as they watch me finally complete these last 12 years of

school. I’d feel relieved that I was able to make this walk to the stage. I’d feel determined, determined to start the chapter in my life where I can show my mom that you can make something of yourself regardless of what the world gives you. I’d take the steps up to the stage,

looking out at my classmates, with more determination to succeed, now that I found myself surrounded by all these people succeeding just as I have. And when I finally get to the person holding that piece of paper, I’d look at them, smile, and thank them, as I grab it for my own.

Digital Art ” g o r F “Jelly yton ll Marsha

” g n i s r Cros

“Deeous Anonym

n a m r e d i ” p S w “A Revie 4 S P

Mikayla Gandara To begin on my review, I just want to establish that “Spiderman” for PS4 is absolutely one of the best games I have ever played. Not just because of the amazing graphics, the smooth easy-to-use mechanics, the amazing rendering of a near-complete New York City that you have a free exploration of, or even the amazing design of Peter Parker in his underwear. What I love most about this game is the amazing, immersive, powerful storyline; which not only shows the rise of a news photographer, Martin Le, and our friendly, neighborhood Peter Parker, but also, the fall of Mr. Negative, Kingpin, and a beloved friend of Peter Parker whom falls mad by his own creation. The make or break of this game is the combat. Not only do the web swing mechanics serve useful during combat, making a unique experience for you playing Spiderman, but they’re also the mode of travel when free-roaming, used for sneak missions, and generally create a story progression to condense down a game which could potentially be over 200 hours, based on the story alone. Instead of traveling by foot, you travel by webs. If only I could

explain the absolute amount of pure joy I got from messing around and doing tricks off the side of the avengers building because that was most of my 160 hours of recorded gameplay. The web shot mechanics not only made me feel like Spiderman, but it created such an original experience which only further encouraged players to free roam and do side quests. This game not only made me feel like Spiderman, but also Peter Parker. The game was amazing based off the raw game play alone, but the story made it to be something unfathomable. To have played this was an honor. There were so many side story lines, but it never felt too clashing or sudden because of all of the combat in between. This being a game brought the magic of the cinema into the self-personalized experience of a game. This game, and I mean it, is the perfect Spiderman movie. Without spoilers to see the character progressions and interactions between MJ and Spiderman took it from generic video game characters to genuine chemistry believable to be between two people. Let alone with every other character you interact with. A unique experience without the restrictions of

time on how long they could tell a story, created something beautiful. To watch beloved characters turn into twist villains time after time rejuvenated twist villains for me. I usually see them as an obvious over played cliché, but while one was one already established as a villain in the universe it was known for them to be a villain but to see how they fell into it was a whole different tragedy. While the other twist villain was someone unexpected and I wasn’t ready for. This game I recommend not just to play but to experience. I’ve never felt like I had during this game. The tear I shed were unquantifiable. Even the most unredeemable of characters you could sympathize with. There’s not much I have to criticize in the game.

“Inuit not Eskimo”

Bri Milam “The Inuit culture is a culture that is often mistaken for Eskimos and I just wanted to bring into light that the Inuit people are their own people, with their own culture and their own ways.”

Book Cover Illustration

Zina Al-Hisnawi

“Cards”

Daniel Smith

Looking back, it could have gone either way. It didn’t work out, which makes it look like fate, or a stupid decision, or both. But at the time, I did have a few things in my favor. For one thing, I had only three cards left, while John had five. On top of that, I had a wild card among those three. The other two were green 5 and 7. I saw my win as simply inevitable. I was a caged tiger and he was my meat ration for the day. There was nothing he could to escape. It was clear to me that John could see the menacing grin materializing on my face. I looked to him, eager to see whether his look was one of fear of his crushing defeat or obliviousness to my next move. To my astonishment, he had neither of these expressions as he was actually maintaining a decent poker face. Was that a smug chuckle I heard under his breath? It must have been my imagination. There was no way he was going to win with my holy trinity of cards that could only lead to victory. John cleared his throat, bringing me back from my inner thoughts to reality. “Well,” he said, maintaining his foolishly confident visage. “Aren’t you going to go?” Now his expression was

paired with a deeper, more poised tone of voice. “It is your turn, you know.” I began to tug on my wild card as if to tease John with the anticipation of my next move. I could feel laughter boiling up in my throat. I opened my mouth to utter a witty comment about changing the color from yellow to green. When my mouth opened, however, the malicious laughter inside me flowed out as I put my wild card down onto the pile. My merriment continued for possibly a few seconds too long as I savored every last bit of John’s humiliating defeat. I covered my face with my hand, trying to contain my pure bliss, but it poured out through my fingers like water through a colander. “What’s the color?” I looked back at John, who was somehow not at all anxious to ask the question that could potentially end the game for him. Perhaps he thinks luck will somehow be on his side in this, I thought to myself. But the chances of that were slim to none. There was only a 25% chance that he’d have a green card in his hand right now, and if he didn’t, he’d have to lose a turn and draw a card from the draw pile. There was an even smaller chance that the card in the draw pile would match the color or number. Then it’d be my turn. I’d put down my green 7 and call “Uno”, granted I’d be able to suppress my joy for long enough. From there, it’d be his turn, and regardless of

whether he had the right card, I’d have placed my final card and won the game. “Green.” My laughter trickled down to a stop after going through the vision of victory in my head for the third time. I looked over to John with my mischievous smile spanning my entire face to see the tears that must have been welling in his eyes, only to find a face that matched mine across the table from me. “Green, you say?” John’s buoyant voice deepened once more as he slowly pulled a card from his deck. I could feel my smile, my confidence, and the blood from my face beginning to drain away as John revealed his green Skip card from his deck. This would mean that my next turn would be skipped, and he would have another turn, prolonging the wait for my finish and bringing him closer to a finish of his own. No matter, I thought to myself, shaking my head and making sure not to allow this surprise to get to me. I can still win. This doesn’t ruin my plan, it only delays it. Then came the red Skip card. This brought him down to three cards, which would be brought down to two in a moment. I felt some sort of substance gathering on my forehead. I reached up to touch it. It was sweat. The next

card to be placed could now not possibly be a green one. The next card was a red 0. John held it down on the pile with his fingers for a few extra seconds after placing it, as if it were alive and could escape. It was now becoming clear the tables had been entirely turned. John had now put me in the exact same position that I had originally wanted to put him in. I could feel my blood rushing back into my face, too embarrassed to say anything. If I were less mortified, less furious, I would have realized that he hadn’t called “Uno” yet. Instead, I could only meekly reach my hand over to the side pile and draw a card in silence. “Uno, by the way,” John casually declared. A look of agony spread across my face outside of my control as I watched him raise his arm dramatically, summoning a thundering laugh from deep within his belly. I felt my throat begin to tighten as he lowered his arm, slamming the card down into the pile. My vision became blurry as I felt small wet lines roll down my face. It was hard to see, but upon some focus, I could see John’s winning card: The Wild Draw 4.

“Hope and Despair” Grace Ritter

You force her to be betrothed To none other than you, Oh mighty king take as you please.

You force him to bring You bread and water every meal, Oh mighty king command as you please. She longs to sleep with another man, Her true lover, and run away. She wishes for the courage To defy your rules, to throw you out, But cells would open their mouths And a bed of hay would become her shower. He longs to kiss a woman, One he cannot touch. He wishes to live on a hill with a farm, Have children and seize serving you, But whips would smile and peirce And wounds would become his life’s definition. She awaits for the day Of your assassination, The day she will be free And you will be dead. He awaits for the day Of his escape without scars, Running to hills and homes. And you will have no servent. But you already know, And you don’t take chances. You take advantage. You’ll rape her of her title, Call her a whore then torture her. You’ll let your servant go,

“Sea of Blood” Grace Ritter

A sea of red Flows from my kingdom. Rain of bodies Follow and join. Arrows and swords Are pulled out from carcasses.

Each man who defies ME, Each woman who denies ME, Each child who has betrayed ME, Swat down like flies, By MY soldiers who squash THEM. Each sent to a different hell. The man who defies, A slave till death. The woman who denies, Stripped of her clothes And hung up alive, For everyone to see and touch. The child who betrays, Everything is taken from him, He is an animal, Locked up for mockery. Till new ones come, They will stay. When replaced, They join the red sea.

“The Hound And the Hare” “Hatred is a Fire” Grace Ritter

You, the hound. Them, the hares. You, alone. Them, together. You, chasing. Them, running. You, strong. Them, weak. You, one. Them, an army.

The two other hares, Frightened they must be; To watch their own Be devoured. Until one second, One tiny second before, When the hares, Together stand against you.

Once you howled, Now you choke. Once you howl, Once you ran, They listen. Now you limp. Your screeches heard, Once you caught, Their thoughts covered up. Now you’re trapped. Speak to them Once devouring, In tongues of memories, Now being devoured. Their thoughts opened up. Once a hound, But screech once again, Now a hare. Forgetfulness follows. Once you run, They run too. Your footsteps heard, Their thoughts rewired. Walk slowly, Footsteps of memories, Their thoughts corrected. But run once again, Their thoughts corrupted. Once caught up, They quiver in fear. Your snarls heard, Their hearts afraid. Quiet down, Silence of understanding, Their hearts mended. But snarl once more, Their hearts betrayed. Snatch one up, The deed is done. Controlling is you, The hound.

Eden Stone Hatred destroys.

Hatred decimates. Hatred burns. Hatred is a roaring forest fire, devouring everything in its path. Hatred starts out small and only grows, spreading to other people, infecting them like venom. Hatred suffocates with big black puffs of smoke, getting inhaled into the lungs of those who seek revenge. Hatred causes great destruction, that remains felt generations after. Hatred takes a great deal of effort to be put out, but it can be done. Love, dousing the giant flames like water, smothering the fiery rage. It can be extinguished. It doesn’t always destroy. It doesn’t have to burn.

“If Society Were A Person” Emi Scarlet

If comparison were to be a human, she would be named Mira. She would be the first person we would see in the morning and the last person we would see at night. She would be our source for taking photos that didn’t show our face and our source for covering it up. She would be the person we talk to about being “body-confident” when really, it’s just a whole bunch of lies and masks made by the so called “Influencers” we look up to when they have problems of their own. She would tell us what to wear based on the Court of Society and the judge rules over us, so we must obey her laws. She would tell us how things look without saying anything. She would teach us the ways of being a high schooler in this new, technical generation. Although you are considered as “closeto-perfect,” you haven’t reached perfection. If you did, you wouldn’t be friends with what comes along with comparison. Depression causes your Oppression to have an Obsession with wanting to make a deal with Sue. Sue, who happens to be the drug dealer for your perfect ending, wants to become friends with you, but Anxiety is in the way. Anxiety wishes for Society to just shut up for once. Society created its own Regina George:

whatever she does, the others will follow. And if we don’t, we meet our worst nightmare: Loneliness. Although sometimes we wish that is all we felt, if we are being honest with ourselves, what we are really feeling is this: I desperately want to be alone, but I hate being lonely. So just for sanity’s sake, we live by the book. And don’t tell me that I follow the guidelines, because I definitely live by them and you do too. You see, there is a difference from following the guidelines and trying to live by them: If you follow them, you tweak a few things fitting your comfort zone. If you live by them, you die with them. There is no way that one person can survive on the invisible handbook that is given to you as soon as you walk out of the door of your house. Because if someone did, they wouldn’t even know which mask is actually the one that was supposed to be bolted in with steel. We could be made of diamonds and titanium and we still would be trying to be the prettiest, most priceless ring in the gallery. Because if Society happened to be a person, she would be our million-dollar lottery ticket: We can pay the price, but we most likely won’t get the outcome we wanted.

“What Is Wrong With The World” Delainee Divine We always ask ourselves What is wrong with the world When we should be asking What is wrong with us We have a problem We need to fix it When a young woman is scared to ask a girl to a dance When a young man is scared to say he is a man because he wasn’t born that way When a boy can’t say he has a crush on his male best friend When women are afraid to walk the streets alone When people are afraid to exist When we have students being murdered daily We have a problem We need to fix it When we have people protecting racists When we have Nazis running wild burning businesses to the ground When we have a government that criminalizes women and minorities When we have people living on welfare while working for the richest company in the world When we have African Americans murdered by police just for being black When we can’t even say we’re a first world country anymore We have a problem We need to fix it We always say there is something wrong with the world so

Why don’t we fix it Why don’t we help the men and women who are tormented for their identity Why don’t we help the students being murdered while trying to learn Why don’t we help those who are afraid to walk home alone Why don’t we help those businesses that are burned down by Nazis Why don’t we help those who are living on welfare while their bosses make a full years payment in minutes Why don’t we help the black men and women who are brutalized just for the color of their skin We have a problem We need to fix it And so we fight To protect ourselves To protect our families, bound by blood or not To protect those younger than us To protect those who have it harder than us To protect those no one else will protect And so we fight For truth For honor For justice And so we fight So that we don’t have to ask What is wrong with the world

“The Tongue-less” Stefani Marcic Mala Djevojcica You are not like everyone else Cherish that Love your tongue Don’t let anyone try to change it Because they will hand you a rusted worn out knife And command you to cut it You need to refuse They’ll try to reach you, convince you So, make your tongue steel Don’t let them through But You make that first incision Your first day of kindergarten You didn’t know a single word of English Then they made you say “I pledge allegiance...”

You wouldn’t last for a day out there on your own You need it to survive So, you brought that cup to your lips and drank And it burned like fire as it scorched your throat You choked, but that didn’t stop you You finished the whole cup, every drop Not realizing everyone else only took a sip

Mala Djevojcica You will be put in that English Language Learning class Where they will force you to drink up their words in a silver cup Its black ink waters filled to the brim near overflowing You didn’t drink it, at least not at first Everyone else around you did It granted them the ability to speak and understand English But you can’t And it fills you with anxious frustration As the pressure attacks you from all sides

Little girl One day you will feel searing pain As if a thousand daggers sliced your skin Rubbed salt all over the wounds The pain of the metal That caused you to be separated from your heritage Assimilated into something you’re not And never meant to be You never realized the moment you made your first cut Mala girl Was the moment you You’ll cut off your tongue conformed Let it fall to the ground Now fluent in a language Little girl that was never your own Your family tried to cut

Mala Djevojcica one day in the second grade they will grant you the permission To speak your tongue and a thousand different words come to life Ruza Ljubav Each with its own special meaning that lies in your heart Porodica Ljepota You try your best to voice them But no sounds come out All the while inside your soul is screaming Everyone’s encircling you, looking with their questioning eyes And you know these words will save you But a part of you thinks these words might kill you You never liked taking chances

As the blood of your culture seeps out like ink Until you can bleed no more They will stitch barbed wire In place of your tongue The hooks tugging and pulling on your gums and loose skin Twisting and churning Ripping off flesh Whenever you try to speak They’ll replace your culture with their own You’ll know because the blood just doesn’t feel right Go ahead ask your parents for help They won’t understand you No one from your family will All they’ll see is an English film, no subtitles

“Dear Future Generation,” out the barbed wire They pricked themselves on it Every mis-pronunciation Every time you forgot It tugged and ripped their skin You could see the pain in their eyes the disappointed frustration And you’ll read their thoughts clearly The confusion as to how their own daughter could forget her native language Because of her mangled tongue she will never be able to speak to more than half her family Little girl How would they react to the truth? If they knew it was all you Because you never fought Because all you did was listen You I didn’t let it stop It was years before I knew I lost who I was My culture, my identity, my tongue Little girl I blame you For my biggest regret My worst mistake But maybe you can change it yet Because I don’t want to forget what my voice gave me

Kaylee Fitzpatrick

I’m sorry. Im sorry that we’ve ruined the definition of beauty, Because being yourself is not pretty enough. I’m sorry that we’ve destroyed good things because some people are so messed up. This is no longer “peace” but instead a war. You can walk down the street and hear about a five-year-old being shot, Or even a drug deal that went bad and it wasn’t even his fault. I’m sorry that suicide seems like the only way, Instead of helping the kid who feels left out, Because everyone likes to hate on what they don’t have. We define “hustle” as drugs and guns but what about the regular 9-5? I’m sorry that we’ve changed this world into not only trouble, But it’s also a struggle. The air is failing, our children are derailing and for ourselves.. we’re yelling. Yelling to find a way to save the world, Ourselves, Bring back everything that was once amazing. But Im not sorry. I’m not sorry that your scared of hearing the truth. Im not sorry that if YOU don’t change, neither will we. The fresh breeze in the mornings wont be the same, And there will be no more pool days if we don’t use our tools and dig a new way, Im not sorry that you feel sorry

about this world, Because the longer we say “sorry”, The more time there is to worry. So stop sitting there, Get up and go out, Put your pride down and look around, The failure to a successful story is the downfall and that’s where were headed, We can all go out and do more, Stop shootings, Stop rape, Stop sexual assaults, Stop drugs, Stop homelessness, Stop this, Stop that, Just stop, Please stop Stop. Now that you’ve breathed, everything seems perfectly fine in the bubble your in, But realize that bubble, is in a bigger bubble And outside of that bubble, theres conflict There is so much evil in this world But there can be so much more good If we just get up, Use our days And switch ways.

18 18 18

y r a y c S Stor

Honey Ellison

It was a dark and stormy night; dark clouds scattered the sky and thunder erupted; lightening up the night sky. The blanket felt heavy and hot on my small body, engulfing me in an intense sweat that took over my body. I was hot, too hot, but I didn’t make any movements to indicate that I was going to throw the blanket off. His eyes were staring at me, watching me as I pretended to sleep. He knew I was awake. I could feel it in my spine, feel in the shiver as it ran down my arms. I refused to let him affect me—he wasn’t real, I told myself, he can’t really hurt me. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the blanket to my chin despite the temperature of my body. I knew he wasn’t real, was only a figment of my imagination, but his stare was real, the pit deep in my stomach was real. “I know you’re awake.” I didn’t miss the rawness in his voice, the grogginess, as he stepped closer to me. He sounded like his throat had been ripped out, like he was talking through a hole. His body is long and slim, his skin ripped and cut and bruised and gross—I don’t have to see him to know this. His warm breath hit my skin and a shiver ran down my spine for the third time tonight. His pale fingers skimmed my arm, slightly digging into the skin there as his breath continued its assault on my neck. I swallowed my sobs; I knew what was going to happen next, was preparing for

it. It didn’t come. His fingers became a faint chill on my skin and his warm breath turned cold. Before I knew it, his touch, his breath, his well-known presence was just…gone. ~~~~

As I crawled into bed, I mentally prepared myself to see him again. My heart was a thundering storm in my chest as I pulled my comforter up to my chin, enveloping my body in a familiar warmth. Darkness had surrounded me, the only light I was given was from the moon. I knew that if I closed my eyes, He would be there, standing over me, watching me. And sure enough... “I can smell your fear, child.” His voice echoed in my room, the sound bouncing off the pearl-colored walls. As much as I tried to resist it—tried to ignore it—his presence was like a freckle on my skin, always there, always with me. You’re not real. “I’m as real as you make me.” Suddenly, my blanket was taken from me, exposing my body to the chill that rose in my room. My blanket drifted across the room as if gravity didn’t exist and I watched as the thick fabric floated down to the ground. He was standing before me, a smile on his face. I had never seen his face this close before. His teeth were green, fading into yellow,

and blood dripped down from his tongue, his chin. His long, snake-like tongue slithered out, moving around like a leaf in the Fall breeze. I watched it in awe, mesmerized by the movements. The length of his mouth was too much, sliced at the sides to make his mouth wider—dark crimson continued to drip down. I vaguely remember moving but I was; my body was lifted into the air, and my own blood-curdling scream pierced my ears. Black surrounded me, grabbing and pulling at my clothes as if they were trying to get to the soft skin that lay beneath. Faint voices spilled into my ear, invading and echoing in my mind. I screamed and screamed, kicked and fought against the darkness; it did nothing. I was losing the fight. My throat was closing up, my clothes disappearing. Cold fingers of the night grabbed my skin, goosebumps rising with every touch. Nails dug into my legs, my arms, my neck. I was floating—no, I was being held up by the night. The demons of the underworld wanted me. And they didn’t fail to remind me; the gropes and touches became more frantic, more violent, the stares that were invisible made my body shake, and the voices didn’t stop, they just kept softly speaking to me, like if they spoke too loudly, I would break. “Stop resisting… you’ll only make it worse…join us…become one with us…” I did.

“Polar Bears” Sarah Hoxworth