Rhyme and Reason 2017 by Rhyme and Reason

2017

Rhyme and Reason

Faculty Advisor Amy Robinson Editor-in-Chief Anna Mangum Designer-in-Chief Grace Sizemore Staff Members Chaucer Cook Garrett Davis Jaylee Davis Ellie Epperson Sydney Green Sarah Kallis Katie Leonard Matthew Raeside Annie Sager Nubia Udoh Bryce Weber Front and Back Cover Design Grace Sizemore Rhyme and Reason features both student and teacher work. We want to keep the love of creative writing alive. People write to share their stories. Each submission is a piece of someoneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s experience, and together, we hope to create a diverse web that embodies the HI spirit. 2

Rhyme and Reason

Volume XIV Holy Innocentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Episcopal School 2017 3

Table of Contents 08 Knowledge

Wall Ellie Parker

09 Buffalo Buffalo

20 16 Seconds

The Blitz Ansley Earle

Another Forgotten Object Alexa Adesokan

Basketball is Like Music! Ibrahim Shabazz

Grind Kennedy Suttle

Rural Morning Collette Campbell

My Father Anna Mangum

A Beautiful Dark World Mykel Tubbs

Magical Rain Zach Henry

Maybe the Mind Wanders Wakefield Ausband

Short Spring David Lambert

Sweet Relief Morgan Jabaley

Do You Know My History? Jo Washington

Purple Daisy Aaron Mitchell

Perspective Mary Claire Smith

Caught My Eye Libby Bulley

Sur Pointe Asia Harris

Zawiya Ahansal Reed Stewart

Santorini Lindsey Fentress

To My Family, From a Sinking Ship Matthew Raeside

The Explanation Anna Mangum

How to Write Poetry Abigail Pagano

Beyond Mollie Belisle

You Were So Much More Sydney Green

Untitled Ellie Sager

40 Worker Bee

What Do I Need? Libby Malcolm

30 When I Walk...

Jaylee Davis

Anna Mangum

Daydream Grace Sanders

Grace Sizemore

Ashley Whitehead

Matthew Keagle

Violets are Blue Ansley Eden

How To Be A Jackass Puppy Anna Mangum

In the Kitchen Anna Mangum

Whiplash Libby Bulley

When I Have Nothing Ashley Mathison

Walking Wesley Busbey

Life is Like a Drumset Wyatt Griffith

Untitled Andrew Valentino

Donkey Lindsey Fentress

How to Play Football Will Schoen

Soul Vacation Coleman Murphy

Pieta Clara Hunter

Brassy and Bluesy Maggie Watson

Fire Reese Pittard

Toward the Savannah Asia Harris

They Say... Sydney Green

Thumbtack Grace Sizemore

60 The Strive for

The Burn Grace Sizemore

Everything Happens for a Reason Georgia Symbas

To Nowhere Coleman Murphy

The Kit Jasper Pilkenton

50 Run Away

Basketball Games Anna Mangum

Breaking Free Sarah Catherine Conklin

Silence Justin Gahlhoff

How to Reach Your Goals Libby Malcolm

I Canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t Help But Smile Zakk Rosenberg

Assumptions Sophie Smith

Water Natalie Spingler

The Mountain Man Anna Mangum

Untitled Anonymous

Deep Blue Evan Hunter

Completely Covered Caroline Schultz

PLOP goes the DROP Emilee Hagerman

The Trick of the Light Garrett Davis

Untitled Nubia Udoh

Alfredo Granier

Excellence Porter Null

Knowledge Jaylee Davis

love is but also sweet, pure and chaste naked innocence is as also a fleeting glance, a momentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s chance and a sinnerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dance love is as blinding white-hot and searing; infernal passion; igniting that hollow place in my breast, that empty space in my chest the dormant beast that rests; patient and vigilant although naive and ignorant in the pity of your distant embrace i am but a petulant child rebirthed in the pools of your eyes another fruitless attempts to Taste the forbidden. curiosity is as but romantic tragedy; poetically fatal in the Garden, the Spring is just as evanescent (the petals of the lilies descend to the earth like fallen angels) the snow dissolves on my tongue, cold and bitter but I still Taste

Buffalo Buffalo Anna Mangum

The act of getting through the green fire meadow Rather than around the irksome weeds. Buffalos grazing in a straight line— I’ll write a straight line, incorrect. Erase, dream grades slipping like glasses Down a nose broken twice, Once on purpose— What is a purpose? To spend hours wasting behind a screen— Screen a movie to an audience of critics, A second dialogue under the text, Tomatoes flying in the stands— Stand up for what you believe in! Will you follow my lead—? Lead shavings scratch the hollows in my head Slipping down my throat into the stomach, And I do not know where I am— Am I chasing an empty field now? The buffalos have grazed and moved on— On a limb, I’ll ask you what to do, And you’ll not answer me Because you have to find your own solutions— Salute the half-mast after lunch, We don’t know why, The wind rippling the red, white, and blue In front of the manicured golf course— Course of action never turns out, But I’ll plan its destruction weeks ahead of time, I like to prepare, you see— Sea foam coming out of your ears, You own the world, child. Your grandfather clocks and mahogany chests Drifting with the seaweed. Quite a life you’ve built here— Here is the half-red tree,

It didn’t change on time, But we’ll forgive the late-to-shift, Even though the fault lies on our machines. Do you know what the stars look like?— Like a dream in a palm of a bird, Hands forgotten, Shattering like porcelain against a steel floor— Floor the gas and feel the wind, Let your hand dance on the airy ocean And allow the blast to sting your eyes— I do not remember liking control But now I can’t live without the reins— Rain, my favorite weather, Is not predicted for weeks. How can I get through the dry spell?— Spell a word you cannot pronounce. You’ll never sound stupid If you learned the word from a book— Book it out of here when time is up, Rest in your buffalo-free field, Sleep with the crashing of the breeze.

Another Forgotten Object Alexa Adesokan

Stacked on top of strangers Fabricated by thousands of words Being judged by my cover Yet being ignored is a familiar event Placed on a shelf Soon to be noticed

A portable world Your quietest friend

Stacked on top of strangers Fabricated by thousands of words Being judged by my length Yet being ignored is second nature

Placed on a shelf A clear point is made

A sad dust collector Through me is another universe

Stacked on top of strangers Fabricated by thousands of words Being judged by my name Yet being ignored starts to feel like acknowledgement Placed on a shelf Words stay the same Turned over I am Opened never A shortened version of me will be found

Rural Morning Collette Campbell

The scenery is light; a feeling of warmth and comfort. Trees cover the sun, giving it limited places to shine. The sky is a baby blue; a sky that one should awake to early in the morning. A comforting, warm sky, with a hint of yellow surrounding the sun. The snow has covered the yard, which was once covered in the greenest grass. Everything is covered in the snow. Everything but me. The shadows of the trees reflect on the snow, giving it a glint of sparkle in the distance. Everything is calm, cool, and collected. The yard has remained untouched in the night, not by human or animal. The grapevine in the distance, the one that my cousins and I had once used to shelter us from the threatening summer storms, has been covered with the lightest snow. The rails of the balcony, once jumped off of in those warm summer days, have been covered, leaving no room to step on, making the memories of the past unnoticeable. Where we stood in the summer is now forgotten. The table has been covered with a stack of clean cut, round, and fresh powder. Our meals, on those warm summer nights and days, took place at the table. The winter has come, and it leaves no remains of the summer that passed. The summer seemed almost forever ago. I lose myself once again in the beauty of the rural mornings, gazing at the snow and waiting until the sun has risen. Staring out of the window for what seemed like forever. Waiting to get my first footprint in the snow. Waiting for the happiness that surged through me as I fell into the snow on my back, laughing like a small girl again. Waiting for the smile that

would grow across my face, but I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t dare take a step into the snow. But I want to feel the energy rush through me, as though I can almost picture it. I see myself, running through the snow, waving my arms and laughing, as I run to a place of nowhere. I just run, and I wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think of anything. I would only focus on my footsteps, making light crunches in the snow. The memories that had flooded my head, drained out, and I was once again, grounded with reality. My coat laid flat on the leather couch with boots right next to it. I had put them there the evening before, right after an exhausting drive. I slipped them on and exited the house through the side door, skin tingling as the cold wind lashes against my face, making my nose and ears turn bright red. The cold lit a fire in me, and suddenly I was running around the front yard with the sky beaming with even more vibrancy, and the sun, which has barely broken the horizon, burning brighter than it has ever burned in my entire life. I smile as I run by my visible breaths with my steps evenly paced, making the crunch at the same time intervals. I fall back first into the snow with dishevelled hair, and my eyes suddenly met the bright sky. Suddenly, the silence became my friend, and right then I knew that nothing and no one expected anything from me. I was alone, with nothing but silence, and with no expectations to meet. And for once, I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t expect anything from myself. My smile grew wider and the sky was brighter than I could have ever imagined. The warmth of the cold comforted me, and I laid in the quiet and peaceful world.

MAGICAL RAIN Zach Henry

A drop of moisture falls against my cheek— Another hits my instrument, this beautiful antique. Still I pluck on, my rhythms heavy, notes sleek. I add to the music of the jungle in Mozambique. The sky strikes its mighty drumbeat, And I transcend. The sounds fill the air around me complete, With no clear end. Wet aromas of the flowers fill my nose— The sounds of the creatures fill each vein. With eyes closed, my spirits arose. Still I fell the pitter-patter like a hurricane. But it stops. I open my eyes and find a sweet primrose, And there is my house, the scene I can’t explain. My instrument still there—my song slows— I wonder, what happened to the magical rain?

HIES Poetry Contest 2017 Honorable Mention

Sweet Relief Morgan Jabaley

The Woman in the Purple Silk Scarf So much to get Hurrying out of the palace The crips air reminds me time is running out So much to get A ball gown, high heels, my polished crown How will time ever allow? The Man with the Beggar’s Hat So much to get Hurrying along the street The lights on the trees remind me of all I lack that I need. So much to get A little pink coat, tiny blue slippers, a meal for their hungry bellies How will time ever allow? The Woman in the Purple Silk Scarf So much to do Ordering the servants and fetching the cook The setting sun reminds me of all that is left undone So much to do Light the candles, trim the tree, polish the silver How will time ever allow? The Man with the Beggar’s Hat So much to do Trudging through the thick snow The bright street lamps remind me of the diminishing possibilities So much to do Find three dollars, two dollars, one dollar more How will time ever allow?

The Woman with the Purple Silk Scarf So much to see Dancing across the ballroom floor The warmth of the lights and smiles remind me of my successful hard work So much to see Crystal chandeliers, sparkling jewels, beautiful red gowns, And an old man in a beggar’s hat walking in the door How did time ever allow? The Man with the Beggar’s Hat So much to see Sneaking past the front guards The bright lights and sound ahead remind me of my successful hard work So much to see A beautiful Christmas tree, a platter of delectable desserts, ornate tall ceilings, And a beautiful woman in a purple silk scarf spinning through the night How did time ever allow?

HIES Poetry Contest 2017 Honorable Mention

Perspective Mary Claire Smith

I walk for miles. My feet ache, eroded away by the burning dirt That holds distant memories of water. I walk. I can’t believe the car my parents gave me for my birthday, it’s a dump! Overwhelmed with anger, I scream. I reach the well, a safe haven for those who can make the trek. My body shakes, my lips quiver. I drink. My science teacher says twenty-minute showers are bad. What does he know? I smirk. The cool rush reminds me of what life could be, I wonder How far do others walk for water? I dream. Mom told me to go water the plants outside. My eyes roll… Doesn’t she see I’m busy? I utter. I catch a glimpse of my reflection, cracked lips and wrinkles Envelop an unrecognized face I reminisce. 14

I started wearing makeup in sixth grade. Pimples

and red spots Will never be okay. I shudder. I hear the all-too-familiar sounds of a baby crying, deprived of food. Why does God ignore us? I mutter. Why won’t that woman’s baby shut up already? Doesn’t she know It’s rude to cry on airplanes? I groan. The animals barely survived. They’re impoverished, hungry, and never rest. Animals and people have a lot in common. I sigh. My dog, Biscuit, is a huge pig. He goes through a bag of food a week! I mean, I would too if I were him. I shrug. But through it all, I still have hope. Our outlook on life is what defines us. And I’m still here aren’t I? I smile. My life is over. I didn’t get into an Ivy… I guess my life will be wasted away. Working at some McDonald’s. I cry.

HIES Poetry Contest 2017 Third Place Winner

Zawiya Ahansal Reed Stewart

The expression you could hear a pin drop comes to mind. I lie still on the chilled and coarse rocks beneath me. Hands and feet being pulled down by gravity, Heart slowly rising and falling at a constant steady beat, Shoulders feeling the weight of the world, But eyes seeing far into the night sky. It is not like the city, no not at all. The only lights guiding my gaze were the stars above; So small on their own, but together providing more light Than any city in the world could give me. The frigid wind whirled past by ever so gently Carrying the cold wind from the mountains for a visit, Yet I did not hear a sound. Not one gust, puff, or roar dared to disturb the silence.

The sound of mountains telling their stories, The sound of stars expressing their dreams, The sound of the moon sharing its wisdom. Then, as if on cue, a voice starts to sing. So faint and calm, yet loud enough to seek. So soft and kind in her native tongue; But no matter that I could not understand. For the mountains echoed her tale of valor, For the stars brought light to her aspired future, For the moon listened, while others refused. Minutes passed, possibly hours, and the voice began to fade The melody never cried again, But neither did the silence.

The silence of sound sleepers, who were hard at work all day. The silence of nearby towns, defended by the mountains. The silence of markets reposed after a busy afternoon. The silence of kitchens still filled with scents of spices and tea. Yet the sounds I wish to hear, can never be heard.

HIES Poetry Contest 2017 Second Place Winner

The Explanation Anna Mangum

Do you remember sitting in the dimly lit car, Tucked safe like a feather in the palm of a giant With the soft sound of slide guitar lulling us to sleep? The tears of creation pounded against the windows, But we had a shield against the rain, And I wore pajamas with hearts over my gypsy toes. I wanted to carry the moment in my pocket Instead of learning to live in the water, So I forced the memory inside of cotton with clanking coins. Measuring memories against the light fades the colors— Do you remember the phone conversation, The honeycrisp apple, and the crying girl? How she came home to you, Afraid of an unnamed basement behind her eyes? If she could have hidden the tears that day, Perhaps she would live on the bottom floor, still, But she didn’t, and the monster got a label. She became riddled with knowledge, Resigned to a single word whose meaning shifts From friend to enemy to death sentence to memory. A new memory renting room in her heavy pockets Like anchors on her body, pulling her to the ground.

If feelings were gumballs in a machine, I could take one at a time, Perhaps even two,

And chew them, Their flavor on the tip of my tongue. Yet feelings don’t care about serving sizes, And I take twenty gumballs at once. They pile in my throat, Juice stings my nose—what flavors, what flavors? I don’t care about the flavor, I care about breathing. You ask why, and the answer lies in the fears, For I create lavender-scented horrors in my head And design clean chains for my control. So what if a little gasoline splashes on my feet, As long as I dance out of the fire? Did I not know my toes attract the light, you ask? I remember my blue heart pajamas And the state of being seven years old, Protected by parents, dry from rain. Nothing could ever get me, I thought.

HIES Poetry Contest 2017 First Place Winner

You Were So Much More Sydney Green

We always said you were beautiful and unique. That you shined so bright, That you were destined for greatness, That you loved and were loved so dearly. but now you left us saying you were so much moreâ&#x20AC;Ś

What Do I Need? Libby Malcolm

When I had no electricity I made conversation my electricity. When I had no comfort I made the presence of people my comfort. When I had no emotions I made music my emotions. When I had no luck I made determination my luck. When I had no sight I made my instincts my sight. When I had no hope I made faith my hope. When I had no importance I made my voice my importance. When I had no individuality I made my style my individuality. When I had no goals I made perseverance my goal. Wants are what I need but only needs are what I get. When I had no friends I made memories my friends. When I had no place to be I made my home my place to be. For me, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s enough.

Daydream Grace Sanders

16 Seconds Grace Sizemore

Basketball is Like Music! Ibrahim Shabazz

Basketball! Basketball is like music to my ears It starts off slow like reading Shakespeare Then speeds up to the rhythm of the flow Making me move to the beat calling me DJ ESCO Moving side to side Bouncing the ball loud and proud Giving me an illusion that I’m walking I’m on the cloud Without saying a word People know I’m feeling the vibe. Bobbing my head to the beat Makes me feel so elite Taking me away from everything Have me in the zone like a king A dark place where it’s just Me and the ball dancing No one can stop my moves It’s too fast, it’s too quick, and too smooth Feels like I’m doing magic tricks Putting the ball through my legs with my brand new kicks I know they don’t know what I’m going to Do next So I keep them suspect Just smiling and laughing Saying to myself saying I could shoot I could drive Or I could pass They don’t know which move I’m going to do Because it’s all in the rhythm of the beat.

My Father Anna Mangum

My father taught me the good Hemingway from the bad Hemingway— A Farewell to Arms is a favorite of ours, But I haven’t touched Islands in the Stream. My father taught me to not be afraid of love. My father taught the importance of acknowledging history To my eight-year old ears When he read Huckleberry Finn And did not censor the text. My father taught me that hard work Always gets you something, Even if not what you expected. My father taught me that all you can get in New York With a twenty-dollar bill Is a ten-dollar bill. My father taught me the Beatles. Seven years old and riding to school On a road painted by ‘Here Comes the Sun.’ Whenever I hear that song I think of his old tan Jag And kindergarten. My father taught me that you can’t take life too seriously Because if you spend all your time being serious Then you spend all your time.

My father taught me how to fish, But I’ve forgotten how.

I don’t like the idea of fishing, Of catching an unsuspecting creature with a hook, But I liked watching him at the lake by the mountains With serenity on his face And a breeze blowing through the trees And the whole world smelling of wet leaves and musk. My father taught me how to fail with pride. My father taught me the painting ‘Christina’s World’ Is about a girl with a crippling disease. The girl lying in the field looked alone And far from the barn. That was the first time a painting made me feel. We were at the MoMa in the winter. My father taught me that white wine goes with fish and chicken, And red wine goes with red meats. I’ve heard this many times, But my father taught me first. My father taught me what my mother calls stubbornness, What he calls persistence, And what I call a symptom of being a lawyer. My father taught me I don’t have to be a lawyer. My father taught me how to smoke a cigar,

And I remember the sweet smell of childhood; Of a field damp with rain, And the Earth alive with worms and ants, And pill bugs squirming on my fingertips; Of a fall day and a front lawn, A ladder and a blanket, Freshly raked leaves and wood smoke from the fire pit; And then the allure of the fragrance died With a burning in my throat And I decided I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t like cigars. My father taught me how to a drive a car. My father taught me how to a write a moment. You often hear about how to write a scene, But my father taught me in order to write a moment, You need to use all of your senses But not all of your adjectives. I taught my father heartache and joy, and for that I am sometimes sorry, but I do not apologize

Maybe The Mind Wanders Wakefield Ausband

Maybe it is me. Maybe I won’t succeed. Maybe I will fail with flying colors of a firework. Spiraling into the dark night sky. Until a burst of colors is released. the bits of flame sprinkle down and disappear into the night. Maybe I will pay more attention. To the birds, the flowers, trees. Maybe I ruined everything, No. No. It won’t be. Maybe I’ll say words more. Flicking my pink, thick tongue against the roof of my mouth. Exposing the marks my teeth Have left on the rim. I might scare them away. Lately I have noticed. Lol is all they say. We’ve come so far 95 is our streak today. 95 days I’ve known you 95 days I won’t take away.

Do You Know My History? Jo Washington

News flash – The students now aren’t educated about the suffering of slaves But I’m confused, does that seem like that’s something my heritage can erase? How do u think I feel in school when they skip over my family’s history Or sum it up into one long era like it was barely anything Like kids nowadays don’t hear Abraham Lincoln every year but to hear Malcolm X even once is rare Like the people who fought hard for my rights aren’t looked over to this day Maybe it’s because there was so many of u who didn’t like what they had to say My ancestors were taught less but still they found a way for me to vote But what good does that do if I can’t even gloat Gloat on the strength that runs through my veins For the men and women that were hosed down just for my name To have a name that technically isn’t mine For my family’s history stops at a particular point in time And my ancestors, yeah they worked harder than I will ever understand But I feel the pain for my family who were lost in this land Sure they make tons of movies about our history and where we’re from? But what good do those do if you’ve seen

none? How dare u make me learn mostly about your history like you’re the only Americans When u can go all the way back in your ancestry to England Like u don’t realize everyone chooses to pretend that slavery didn’t exist But I still acknowledge that my people came by a bit tied unwillingly on a ship Yet we still have found a way to prosper in a society that we were never supposed to dominate Although that’s not the majority because they’re either in graves and the others u choose to incarcerate Remember how Jim Crow was a form of slavery in disguise Yet you’re still angry that got shut down u still look at me and despise But I tend to wonder shouldn’t I be doing that to you? For you’re not culturally aware how Americans treat me - please see if u can even stand in my shoes One last thing before u fire back because you’re too afraid to accept the truth Your history is something millions of teachers are willing to teach you

Caught My Eye Libby Bulley

Santorini Lindsey Fentress

How to Write Poetry Abigail Pagano

poetry comes natural to some people. for me, it does not. I lift my pencil or touch my keyboard and nothing comes to mind. I hear many thoughts, however, nothing worth while. it is perplexing to me and extremely intricate. and usually has a purpose. poems contain multiple meanings. purposes requiring much thinking. however, I only foresee the basic intent. Poetry does not happen to be my preferred topic, I would rather be doing math

Untitled Ellie Sager

When I Walk... Ashley Whitehead When I walk, I Inhale When I exhale, I Ponder When I ponder, I Ponder about many things I ponder about my family, who I Could not live without. I Ponder about my friends, who I greatly admire. I Ponder about school, which worries me. When I fret, I Ponder about the outcome. When I ponder about the outcome, I Unwind and When I unwind I Sense my natural place. My natural place is being in the moment Being in the moment makes me want to walk and When I walk, I Inhale and When I exhale, I Ponder

Wall Ellie Parker

The Blitz Ansley Earle

As I fall asleep, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m awoken by the world around me alarms echoing A sudden eruption shatters any silence in the air They are coming Calmly but quickly, I make my way to my sanctuary my vacation from the outside world I catch a glimpse of the spotlights, brightening the night Loud cracks reverberated through the air Single bursts transformed into a downpour The storm surges On and on I press my hands to my ears struggling to muffle the uproar Shutting the door behind me I have a brief moment of tranquility from the world of anger around me This sanctuary is my protector Looking over me Shielding me from War between the Worlds This is my safe-haven As I fall asleep, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m awakened by the world around me But this time it is silent I cautiously make my way out of my sanctuary My vacation from the outside world is over the world around me is now in shambles but this sanctuary protected me Looked over me Shielded me from the World War This was my safe-haven I have survived the blitzkrieg 32

Grind Kennedy Suttle

Every waking hour is spent on the move, And never stopping to enjoy the groove, That’s the plight of my grind. They say the ladder to success is hard to climb, I work daily in spite of the grind. I’ve been trained at birth to work hard and to fight To go after all that is within my sight. That’s my day in the grind. Is it wrong to want more? I believe that through life’s best door Is the opportunity for happiness and joy, That’s my sight from the grind. An open day seems so far away Just want to laugh and play for just one day That’s a day away from the grind. Standards set as high as the sky Take a day off; you can kiss your dreams goodbye That’s the opposite from the grind. It’s all worth it at the end for the opportunities to transcend. A life of sacrifice and memories that will never end. That’s the completion of my grind.

A Beautiful Dark World Mykel Tubbs

A beautiful world is what I envision Skies of light blue and clouds of pure white People greeting and loving each other A beautiful world is what I envision A beautiful world is what I envision Miles and Miles of deep green fields Kids growing up color blind and the only trait visible is the heart A beautiful world is what I envision A beautiful world is what I envision A planet free of pollution for generations to come Equality and love amongst the genders A beautiful world is what I envision A beautiful world is what I envision Our animals live in habitats capable to thrive Hands joined together to fight for whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s good A beautiful world is what I envision A dark world is what I see Smoke infested air, creating a gloomy atmosphere Derogatory terms being shouted in the streets A dark world is what I see A dark world is what I see Waterways polluted and not consumable Dissension between races A dark world is what I see 34

A dark world is what is what I see Animals killed in uncontrollable numbers Power hungry leaders and Inequality among genders A dark world is what I see A beautiful world is what I envision Our environment is cared for and animals free Love is the epicenter of all relationships A beautiful world is what I envision A dark world is what I see but darkness soon to be driven out by love A beautiful world there will be.

Short Spring David Lambert

A comet, all alone in the night, Drifts on an ocean of blackest pitch, heavily bundled in a coat of ice and dust, And shimmers softly amidst countless stars While millennia pass in the blink of an eye. But even the longest night must end at last, While the bitterest winter yields to spring. And before the warmth of the welcoming Sun The comet briefly sheds its coat, Joyously casting ice and dust to the void that brilliantly glows in the wind of daylight and riotously streams like frosty hair.

Purple Daisy Aaron Mitchell

Sur Pointe Asia Harris

To My Family, From A Sinking Ship Matthew Raeside

As I sit stiffly in bolted down chair I pen a missive on my paper bare As this elegant ship begins to sink The gray hull swiftly approaches the brink The crew and captain sprint madly about As many of the stranded cry and shout I dip my quivering pen in the well And the crew begins to chime the brass bell The waterlogged floors of this drowning ship Are soon to become the ceiling and flip I write to you this alarming farewell So family and friends may always tell What transpired on this dark, stormy night This terrible, rough, unfortunate plight The murky depths of the water are cold But desperate passengers are too bold So they plunge headfirst straight into the blue And sadly they do not have any clue To sit patiently till the very last As the bright moon bids adieu to the mast ————————————————— Before water surrounds and engulfs me While my final gasping breath may still be So you are not stricken by bitterness Underneath the earth of my tall gravestone I worry not but accept the unknown I have enjoyed all of my fleeting life For there has never been any great strife I disappear with merely a flicker The saltwater I taste, awful liquor One more drink and my thirst is at rest My love for you has always been the best I wish you joy as I blow you a kiss

My body submerged, now to the abyss…

Beyond

Mollie Belisle 39

Worker Bee Matthew Keagle

Violets are Blue Ansley Eden

Violets are blue Roses are red Look out your window Get out of your bed For there is only so much time Till we are called to come home So have fun and make memories The world is yours to roam

How To Be A Jackass Puppy Anna Mangum

Start off your day at 4:30 in the morning. Make low, growling noises at first to alert your human that you are waking up. Perhaps if your human is a light sleeper, they will hear this immediately and take you outside. However, if your human somehow does not hear your growling, proceed to a moderately loud cry. If you add in a slight whimper, your human will be more sympathetic. You might have to resort to desperate measures if your human still has not taken you outside. In that case, you may increase to sharp barking and wailing. Do not stop until the human has acquiesced to your desires. When your human takes you outside, you will probably have to go to the bathroom. Don’t. If you go to the bathroom immediately, your human will bring you back inside directly after the deed has been done. First, sniff all the individual blades of grass. You never know if another animal marked their territory in the middle of the night. Someone could have dropped crumbs. Bugs might be crawling around. You just can’t know until you do some sniffing. After about thirty minutes of investigative sniffing, your human will give up and allow you back in the house. Go to the bathroom in the house. Humans tend to feed their dogs when they feed themselves. Refuse to eat your food and wait patiently underneath your human’s chair as they 42

work on their own breakfast. Beg for scraps. If you beg, you shall receive. Playtime can be an enjoyable time for both you and your human. Chew toys come in a variety of textures, colors, and shapes. Hopefully, your human has provided you with a variety of toys to choose from. But do you know what is more fun to play with than a plastic or cloth toy? Human flesh. Sink your chompers into their hands and arms. Savor the feeling because they won’t let you get away with it for long. Informed sources report that it tastes like chicken. Couches are great for burrowing. Humans tend to sit still on couches, but you are puppy goddammit. You do not remain in one place like a weak two-legger. Roll around the soft fabric with extra grit to leave a present of your fur behind. Dig into the cushions—there’s a wonderful mystery inside. Search in the cracks between the cushions for crumbs, remotes, and lost trinkets of yesteryear. The only way to greet other dogs and humans is barking. Bark loud and bark often. We promise, the humans love knowing that you are excited to see them. When you see someone holding a hot beverage such as hot chocolate or coffee, seize the

opportunity to jump on them. The type of drink doesn’t matter as long as it is hot and spills on them. The human will complete a series of hilarious dances for your enjoyment and shout wonderful new words. Again, this works best with drinks that have steam coming from the top—I’m talking nuclear hot, puppy. Godspeed. Do your teeth hurt? If so, shoes and carpets will be your best friends. Chew on these to ease your pain. Especially boots or shag carpets. Yes, those are nice. In the evening, if you show signs of growing sleepy, you will get put in your crate. Do not let them know you feel weak. To counteract signs of fatigue, act extra crazy to prove your alertness to your human. Run laps around the house while frantic yapping noises emit from your mouth. They’ll never guess you’re tired. When you run out of energy once and for all, collapse in a pile wherever you are. Your human will notice and come to pick you up. Give them a lick on the leg or hand to let them know they are a good human. They might pet you back because they know it is not easy to be a puppy.

When I Have Nothing Ashley Mathison

When I have no friends, I watch them When I have no food, I make use of everything When I have no self-esteem, I use others When I am lonely, I talk to myself When I have no clothes, I use nature When I have nothing, I cherish everything When I have no money, I make luck my money When I am tired. Coffee is my energy When I have nothing left, I am happy. Because I know. I have done everything I can.

Untitled Andrew Valentino

Darkness all around me Laying in my bed Trying to come up with poetry But nothing is popping into my head I sit and think about what i have done that day Staring at the bright computer screen I start to write about how in art class we molded some clay After we were done I painted it green The rest of the day nothing big happened So I went home did some homework Then got ready for bed and some sleep occurred And got up the next morning realizing I had to go back to work Everyday goes round and round I feel like Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m stuck in a circle I feel like there is no escape and bound Has it been an eternal When will something different occur When will I get to do what I want When will everything stop being a blur I just want to add my own font To my own story Maybe be like dory Go on an adventure And find my own pleasure

Soul Vacation Coleman Murphy

My journey started in the dark A flame that’s been stomped out Failed to meet society’s mark Confused and plagued by doubt My body is afraid of me A heat is on display Burning as I come to be It’s time to break away I see a vast world waiting So much to set ablaze A past life, visions fading In search of truer days I’m a soul, free from chains My vacation has just begun As attachment to society wanes I voyage toward the sun

Fire

Reese Pittard

Thumbtack Grace Sizemore

Everything Happens For a Reason Georgia Symbas

New lists of people to ask for help have become a part of my life. Old givers of advice Have faded away. Mistakes were made. Gossip was spread, feelings were hurt Learned from some incidents but others were repeated While remembering impulsive excitement, some regretful events unfortunately Resurfaced. Forgive people and Forget their doings. In hope of others to mirror the favor. Definitely room for Improvement in myself Goals are set, not always accomplished But growth as a human always is.

Run AWay Alfredo Granier

Run away mi hermano Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not wanted here Away to the hill That we are so near The hill is my paradise But the end is to fear The hill is there I can even hear The life on the hill I can see so clear The wind goes by With the strolling deer Run away mi hermano Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not wanted here

Silence Justin Gahlhoff

Silence is the absence of sound. It brings about things that you’ve never thought of. Where will life throw at me next? What will tomorrow bring? All worries and fears seem to come and go, When silence surrounds. Silence is the absence of actions. When there is nothing to do, new ideas sprout like flowers. Silence is what can put new ideas on the table, The one that may forever change one’s life. Silence is the opportunity to reflect. Whether it’s the good days and the bad days, the good and bad times, and even the good and bad people. Silence brings each one to thought. It brings a mind to a pensive state. Silence is what makes people observe. It makes them see things that aren’t noticed everyday. It makes them smell the fresh scent of the air, The temperature on their skin, The beautiful surroundings they take for granted. Silence is what makes the obvious become obvious.

Assumptions Sophie Smith

Fire burns in her eyes and ice flows from her breath. She is a myth. She’s the devil’s daughter. She walked straight out of the fiery pits of hell with blue flames on her back and boots that singed the earth with every step. She’s cold and made out of stone. Her glide creates a frigid fog and she’ll leave you behind with frost bitten lips. The secret is everyone wants to know her. Yet they continue to whisper when she walks, and they continue to keep distance when she’s near, because rumor has it her touch leaves a burn.

Untitled Anonymous fowl friends, people come from near from far some by foot some by car we are in love with our hens so tell us why and grab a pen fowl fowl friends

PLOP goes the DROP Emilee Hagerman

In the Kitchen Anna Mangum

In the kitchen, mom explains for the third time that a saucepan has a smooth, circular bottom curving up into straight sides. She rattles off the list of ingredients consisting of various spices and herbs that all sound similar. I swear I was listening, but could you repeat that again? I place the heavy pan on the stove and turn the knob on medium-high. Blue flames lick the bottom. Mom reads the next part of the recipe aloud before tucking the card into her red apron. In the kitchen, the high-pitched wailing of the taupe kettle makes my dog look at me in agitation. Pulling my sleeve over my hand, I reach for the handle and pour the steaming water into my mug. Cinnamon spice fills the kitchen after a minute or so. The mug is scalding to my hesitant touch. I wait thirty minutes before sipping, but the drink is already lukewarm. In the kitchen, dad announces his arrival home from work. Faint light from the blue hour seeps through the wall of windows facing the west. Dad slumps his dark coat over a wooden chair. The warm kitchen smells like sautéed onion and garlic. Notes from a French song linger pleasantly in the air. With a firm and official clap of his hands, dad thanks us for making dinner. In the kitchen, my mom hangs up the phone. It clicks when it returns to the receiver. Not good. Grandma. Alzheimer’s. Mom shows me the pictures of my aunt’s arm after Grandma attacked her for taking away her keys—her

freedom. Three shaky lines like the work of vicious claws from a wild animal. That is not the gentle grandma I remember. I don’t know what to say. I don’t say anything. In the kitchen, I grab an apple. The apples are always fire-truck red, and juice dribbles down my chin when I bite into it. Ten minutes before we need to leave for school, my brother stumbles downstairs with the dark hood of his robe pulled over his light brown hair. He never speaks in the mornings. In the kitchen, I shuck husks of corn and drop them into the garbage, one by one. Grandma studies me and asks how old I am. Sixteen. We don’t speak for a while. She’s gotten older, this past year. She raises her papery hand and thoughtfully sips from her mug, as if she were trying to memorize my answer. But she forgets. She always forgets. I finish shucking the corn. She asks for my age again.

Walking Wesley Busbey

Inhale Exhale This will keep you alive Right foot Left foot This will move you forward Eyes up Not down This allows you to see where youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re going Think less Start to feel more This will help calm your worries Feel the pressure of the ground against your feet Smell the clean fresh air Try to not have a care Allow yourself to be present

Donkey

Lindsey Fentress 57

Pieta

Clara Hunter

Toward the Savannah Asia Harris

The Strive for Excellence Porter Null

Excellence is like climbing to the top of a mountain that you can never reach. When you start your day you finish higher than you were previously. There is always room for improvement, but you are never done. To reach your goal, you ready yourself and push to the limit. It doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t matter if you have had years of training or days, it hurts just the same. In the end it all comes down, to how much pain you are willing to allow When it comes to running you are never done, but the sport is just so much fun.

To Nowhere Coleman Murphy On a train to nowhere. First stop: The roaring river Leaving a wake of devastation Flowing out of control One drop becomes a torrent And the thirst can never be satisfied

Surely no one will ever feel the same On the cusp of rhapsody, I’ll be here again Until one day, I’ll fall On a train to nowhere.

Second stop: A lightning storm Jubilation, dancing in the rain Waltzing with the Reaper The clouds pass, the rain subsides The storm will be back

I know not where this train will stop next Incessantly revisiting previous destinations Awe increases, the train goes faster I know not where my train will stop next But I know where this train ends When it flies off the rail And my journey is over Memories of previous destinations will fade And a final question will spark my mind

On a train to nowhere.

Why did I ride this train at all?

On a train to nowhere.

Stop three: A boundless grassland A gentle breeze sways the stalks to and fro Wandering toward no destination I’m lost, spinning aimlessly in an open field Peaceful in my abstraction On a train to nowhere. Fourth stop: An arid desert Sandstorms plague this miserable place Surrounded by miles of cracked, dry mire A rare oasis is my only salvation I’ll be back On a train to nowhere. Stop five: The mountain peak The thrill of life at the top of the world

Basketball Games Anna Mangum

I stare through the shiny court. The rules of time do not apply here. On the clock, the numbers stop too much, But my mind makes time pass in double speed. I hear my friends’ voices like a distant memory Amidst the sea of crimson and gold. I’m at a basketball game, But I’m standing on the edge of a pool in the winter. I know the water will be cold. Shivering prematurely, I dip my toe in the pool. I shouldn’t have done that. Players race down the court, My eyes strain to follow. Running on frozen water, They shoot pennies into the well, Shattering the cold. I don’t know where I put my shoes. My mother always said to wear a jacket Outside in the cold, But I’m wearing short sleeves. Why am I not frozen? Heat from the audience rises in the stands— I didn’t quite catch what you said. Were you talking about the game? Loud cheers from the sidelines Are lost in the talk of shrieking shoes And the dribbling basketball.

The night is silent, Except for the hooting of owls. They try to converse with me, But tonight I don’t feel like answering.

My feet sting against the cold, concrete ground. Stomping shakes the blue bleachers— It sounds like contained thunder in the plastic. I clap my hands dripping with water against each other— Against the surface of the pool. I swim forward, But the edge of the pool seems too far away, I want to give up… My knees ache from standing for an hour, And I need water, But I love the way the cheers fall from my mouth— For a moment, the words attach strings from the soles of my shoes To the tops of the hard bleachers. But like a pinprick to a balloon, The strings snap and I sink lower into the watery ground, My feet find the bottom of the pool. Is this that bottom people always talk about— The solid basement promising a flight of stairs On which you can only climb up? The timer reads one minutes and 54 seconds left. I can hold my breath underwater for two minutes, But I used to be able to do it for four. I swim less frequently now And simply float just above the water. The other side of the room erupts in cheers. We lost.

How to Reach Your Goals Libby Malcolm

Never hit the brake. Jump in. Take caution of obstacles and stay alert. You will find your way around them. Always have a spare tire and you will be set to persevere and travel far. Watch straight ahead and don’t diverge from the road. Never look in your rearview mirror. Stay caffeinated at night and don’t doze off. Others around you may cause you to slow down. But keep a steady pace set just for you. It’s only you on the road. Only you

Water

Natalie Spingler

Deep Blue Evan Hunter

Below the world we so dearly love there is a mute mysterious abyss Mother Nature has ripped our ship apart She took everyone with her except me Why In complete silence I scream your name for help But you and the world don’t hear me I try to keep strong but the voices and shadows are engulfing me Why You that keep me strong but also strike me down like a storm I think about you everyday as I drift like a piece of wood I look into the layers of the deep blue trying to find you in my mind

I gasp for air if as there was none The sky is getting brighter I am scared I acknowledge the end of my life But I rejoice for the beginning of a new one I find happiness Because I know I will see you soon What was none is now something I know now what my fate holds Farewell my love see you soon

As my mind disappears into the blue I think of your beauty I reach out to touch you but you aren’t there I talk to you everyday even though you don’t answer Why Am I insane because I lost hope or the loss courage Will I ever see you again my love Or will I find you in the clouds above Soon I wish I have nothing left I don’t have you I don’t have courage Why

Trick of the Light Garrett Davis

The light can play tricks on the mind Although it intends to give sight It can truly make one blind

Of times shared with the hound Of times of joy, you were not enemies But still you are spellbound

The light turns things once friendly Into things of death and dread The light is the thing that drove you To make illusion of manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s best friend It made you bring your faithful companion To its very brutal end

Why does it hold its devilish stare? It knows the torment it brings you You decide to vanquish its sinister glare And you know just what you must do

You think nothing of the tired hound As it slinks onto your bed Only when it looks at you Does terror fill your head The light of your lantern wanes As it casts its glare upon you And your eyes seem locked with chains As you tremble at the view Its eyes are ablaze with an ominous glow Its sockets house a hellfire That dwells down deep below You shift your sight from left to right But you never leave its gaze You long for the refuge of daylight But your mind becomes a maze It conjures a fear from deep within you Without even barring its teeth No low growl, no piercing howl Just the cold stare of a beast 66

You try to find comfort in memories

You leap upon the creature! With a shriek that splits your chest You gouge its eyes and stifle its cries But still you cannot rest

Whiplash Libby Bulley

Life is Like a Drum Set Wyatt Griffith

Life is composed of many parts All held together. The parts can be customized And they can be organized. You may use your life in different ways And in different styles. You may have your own individual sound. The pieces that compose your life can be Different shapes Different sizes Different colors And different weights They can have different tones And can create different feelings. What you do with your life is up to you Life is like a drum set.

How to Play Football Will Schoen

Be ruthless. Be rough. Be tough. And hit em’ in the mouth. Be Be Be Be

smart. brave. loud. proud.

Be confident. Be triumphant. Be accountable. And be responsible. trust the men to your left and to your right. Be a leader. Be a teammate. Give it your all from the snap of the ball Until the whistle, of the official. Seeing the goal line, Running in the sunshine. Hearing the cheering. Just keep persevering. Falling to the ground, don’t care. You’re there. Touchdown Bears.

Brassy and Bluesy Maggie Watson

Jazzy rhythms fill the streets, As the fair ladies sing They emit a vibrant atmosphere, And they capture the attention of those who wander past Brassy tones radiate all around, As the golden trumpets pain the room with sound They hold a heavy weight, And they reflect a somber mood Bluesy voices carry strongly, As they lift the spirits of their listeners They are a distraction from the struggles of the city, Yet they bring societies issues into focus Heavy thoughts are brought to light, As they are presented beautifully through sound They represent the struggles of the people, And show the influence of their beliefs Energetically the pianist plays, As he expresses seizes the audienceâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s concentration They watch as the musicians play, And convey their frustration through their artistry Bravery and resilience are praised, As many men and women stand together They highlight the damage that segregation has caused, And the deep scars that it continues to leave 70

They Say... Sydney Green

Trust in Him, they say. Pray to Him, they say. Read His word, they say. Most importantly, believe that He can do all things. But can he? They say what a person may be going through; God has a reason for it. Therefore, we should never doubt or question him. But shouldn’t we? Having “blind faith” in someone we have never seen is a lot to ask. Keep your faith, they say. Don’t lose hope, they say. They also say, don’t give up on him.

The Burn

Grace Sizemore

The Kit

Jasper Pilkenton

Breaking Free

Sarah Catherine Conklin

I Can’t Help But Smile Zakk Rosenberg

I can’t help but smile. Yes, certain things haven’t gone my way, But as I browse the aisle, I play life’s game of croquet. With each bat of the ball, Closer I get to the staple. Relating to life, it can be big or small, Yet for some reason currently, life is as sweet as maple. Good things and bad happen for unknown, And people continue to stare at their phone. So take a look, why don’t you, at the world around. Use your ears to listen to the sounds.

Rather than whining over opinions that do no harm, We should focus on enlightening the world with charm. It’s now or never. “Late and soon”, there could be no more and no less. I implore you to at least ponder on the good instead of the stress. Last make a thought on ability to change mood, So we all don’t think our future is screwed.

These sounds resonate throughout life. So listen to a tune. Possibly the tune of “Nine in the Afternoon.” Or try watching the appearance of a full moon. Use your mind to discover who is wise and who is the buffoon. You don’t have to listen to me, but you can still hear. Hear my words and consider being present, rather not to disappear. I’m sick of those who gaze into the machine, Only to spit out facts that can’t be clean Or can’t mean what they mean. Being progressive bids progress, Not overusing a triggered, “that’s not politically correct” retrogress.

The Mountain Man Anna Mangum

At the top of a stone mountain sits an outcast Called the Mountain Man. He loves the stars as his children, And for each one he could produce a specific name. While the people sleep below, Mountain Man assumes his nightly postHis hollow face damp with sweat, Matted hair clings to his wrinkled forehead. The celestial orbs above recharge his spirit, For they alone hum along with the ache of his heart. His hands, Hands that could snap a manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s neck or shoot a gun, Fondle a single blade of grass with respect and care. A gentle yet cool breeze bends the growth around him, And he lets out a sigh of heaviness. He is not angry at the peopleBut loneliness exudes from his dingy pores, And he imagines a life spent amongst the stars.

Completely Covered Caroline Schultz

Untitled Nubia Udoh

It’s surprising how little you can care about how you dress if what comes after the attempt is less than desirable. “Less than desirable” is actually an understatement, considering I was about ready to strangle myself with the thin golden strand loosely hugging my neck. It might as well have been a noose if the chain hanging haphazardly from the back was any longer, provided the clasp was stretched as far it could around the necklace without killing me. Very unfortunate it hadn’t exceeded that limit. I hear some somber murmurs downstairs, punctuated by little whines and sobs. My parents are as miserable as I am. They absolutely despise the fact that in just a few short minutes, they will have to give their only child up to the government for leverage. “It’s for a good cause,” I hear my mom whimper, most likely reassuring herself more than anybody. I give a curt shudder as the lie is burbled tentatively from her lips. Attempting to repopulate this planet with more humans was counterintuitive, in my opinion, assuming they’d been the ones to destroy it. And as if nuclear winter wasn’t bad enough, the government took it upon themselves to breed their own kind like fighting dogs, some of which hadn’t even reached puberty yet. And that’s what I was going off to be doing at the moment- after being coupled with a complete stranger. I leave the vanity in front of which I was contemplating death and approach the stairway with solemn distaste. It might be the last time I narrowly miss the last step before I catch myself with the old dresser by the faded loveseat. I would even miss grazing my fingers

with the flaky veneer of the rail as I descended. A few minutes later, there I was, standing right before the threshold of the entrance to my house, dressed to the nines in a striped black and white sweatshirt, stained around the collar, mind you, and faded blue jeans that would be relatively fancy if it wasn’t for the lipstick I’d smudged on the knee. As you can tell, I’m not the most savvy when it comes to cosmetics. The next few moments following my appearance downstairs were a homogenous blur, all reduced to insignificance by the thick smog of anxiety filling every crevice in my head. I become apathetic and calloused even to the deluge of desperate kisses from my parents, leaving their affection to fester in the brevity of the moment. Donning my oversized black winter coat, I quickly passed into the archaic monorail that waited for me outside. The scourge of the sharp frigid wind battered my cheeks raw, but the fleeting discomfort was quickly overwhelmed by a wistful sadness. My eyes tracked the single figure of my little house as we pulled away, watching it blend in streaks into the stark landscape of the tundra. There were other kids on the monorail, but it seemed as if the youth had been stolen from their eyes. All of them wore the same blank expression of despair, belied by perfectly combed hair and fancy clothes. Ironic, because even if our suitors were impressed by our looks, no one wanted to forcibly procreate with someone they didn’t even know. Especially so being cloistered inside a small house as guards blocked the entrance. We weren’t just bound to lose our innocence, but our dignity also.

Staring longingly outside the window, I noticed that the icy plane had given way to a rocky platform onto which the monorail screeched to a halt. I remembered my dad telling me once I exited the monorail to follow the rest of the kids to where The Coupling would take place. However, these kids didn’t stir one bit, save all their heads turning in unison towards the front of the bus, where the bus driver was perched in her small seat. “Children, it’s time to leave the monorail,” she said shakily. I wondered why she was so terrified- maybe she was shivering because of the cold front passing through the open doors? “It’s time to leave,” she blathered, a bit harsher this time. I only had time to glance over at one redheaded little boy before he was pulling a wet towel out of his backpack and dashing over to the front. He lunged and tackled the lady, which threw her heavily to the ground, the tinted windows wobbling in response. Promptly after the ordeal, he covered her mouth with the mysterious cloth. The little boy, who I surmised was no older than 12, walked over to the ripped leather seat where I sat in awe, gave me a hard look, and gestured towards the cliff reflecting in the glass behind me. I craned my neck around the mass of fiery red curls atop his head and spotted in the distance more than a cliff- a gigantic chasm a bit further ahead of the rocky platform, beneath a tall structure made of corrugated metal. He looked back at all the others, who proceeded

to leave the monorail, walking leisurely towards the cliff. Judging by the hopeless looks on their faces, I didn’t have to ask for clarification as to what came next. I followed suit and slipped outside the rusty metal door, suddenly expressionless, emotionless as I approached the cliff, a bleak sadness ubiquitous throughout the group. At the edge of the cliff, we all stopped. The echoes of hundreds of footsteps seemed to be swallowed down into the deep, endless abyss. All the guards were preoccupied with directing kids of all ages, though mostly under 18, into a large circular building in which they would be coupled, two by two, and sent off to an isolated house, somewhere amidst the snow and ice, in an attempt to repopulate the Earth. Sighing lightly, I knew that this calamity was irreversible, almost like the endless winter swirling and cavorting among the swollen gray clouds, a daily reminder of the hyperinflated ego of humanity. Free will is a farce; we are all slaves to selfishness. Even if the world reverted back to how it was, could be trusted with maintaining it? No, humans are indefinitely wicked, and from the moment we’re born, the illusion of superiority is fed into our brains, corrupting us, swallowing us into a static infinity of inherent, instinctual motives and the double entendre that is human existence. I knew that standing at the edge of the cliff, drinking in the sweet depths with my eyes, blissful release was all I craved. My final thoughts grazed the intangibility of hope as we gave in to oblivion.