Signatures 2024

Table of Contents

Dedication, but Why?

Tale of Two Fish

Righteous of Heart

Worn Strings

The Eyes of Poison

Tanks

The Christ Divine Alignment

Ode to Medusa

Helmet

Daft Punk:

An Old English Adaptation

Kobe Bryant

The Great Forest

Lily Lake, Estes Park

A Canvas of Stars

A Canvas of Stars (Song)

The Washed Up Stone

Garden of the Gods

Charlie Wronski ‘27

Ethan-Jeffery Lomo-Tettey ‘26

Luis Casas ‘26

Gabe Stillmank ‘25

Teddy Jarecki ‘24

Nicolas Volkert ‘25

Juan Pablo Sanchez ‘24

Andrew Kruszka ‘25

Jonah Watkins ‘24

Ben Reske ‘27

Dillon Gallagher ‘24

George Dorrington ‘26

William Swoboda ‘26

Sam Allbright ‘26

Thomas Stilp ‘27

Thomas Stilp ‘27

Joe Carter ‘27

Miles Bergner ‘27

Carson Boemer ‘27

Agali Pedriana ‘24

Grant Young ‘27

Paul Anggara ‘27

Within the Leaves

Overthinking as Time Runs Away

Writing by a Pencil

The Pen is Mightier than Sleep

A Hypothetical

The Rizzler

The Loss of a Lifetime

Porsche 911

Miniature Op.13 No.1

Candyman on Main

A Collection of Haikus

Sunday Florida Fishing

My Fish

Chief Keef

The Farm

NRN-99 Persuader Class Tank

The Little Boy from Rosario,

Argentina

Ok

Zach Nagel ‘24

(Pencil Drawing)

Marshall Bates ‘24

Joseph Scherwenka ‘24

Nicholas Ertl ‘25

Mason Brewer ‘24

Alex Daczko ‘26

Aaron Sandoval ‘27

Jack Czukas ‘25

Will Mukana ‘26

Ryan Cadieux ‘27

Ben Westfahl ‘26

Ethan Brown ‘25

Azariel Garcia ‘27

Mikail Schlegel ‘25

Nicholas Powell ‘27

Nate Schramm ‘24

Maximus Chavez ‘27

Mikey Schroeder ‘27

Declan Manning ‘25

Aldo Villanueva ‘26

Marshall Bates ‘24

Andrew Pentler ‘26

Angel Perez-Reyes ‘25

Jacob Ptak ‘24

Eli Zilinskas ‘27

Owen Bell ‘24

Dedication, but Why?

Dedication, dedication, dedication, success.

But why dedicate when we know from the time of our first smile we’ll all come to the same fate?

We learn to work and we work to live, but at the end of the day, what does our work truly give?

So when we dedicate, why must we?

Failure, failure, failure, success. Do we dedicate ourselves out of fear?

Fear of being forgotten?

Because we know when our last breath has been breathed, the world keeps turning, and our largest impact is in our loved ones’ souls, burning like a fire that longs for air. We know their souls will continue drowning in hope for an answer to why you must leave.

But loss is a fact from the moment we breathe. Our loved ones will ask the Lord “why them and not me?” So when we succeed, why must we?

Time, time, time, success.

But as we think about why we work, arrives a flame so bright, like night stars. We work to leave our works behind, to be remembered by our work’s guts and rind. So we dedicate ourselves to something we love, in order for time to share our memories as we watch from above. We work for an impact so we can be remembered in the end, by our kids, and our kids’ kids, as they strive for something greater, as their souls begin to mend.

So we must learn, we must work, and we must dedicate, Because it’s not about us, but the love we hope to generate.

- Charlie Wronski ‘27

Ethan-Jeffery Lomo-Tettey ‘26

“Tale of Two Fish” (Pencil Drawing)

Luis Casas ‘26

“Righteous of Heart”

(Pencil and Marker Drawing)

Worn Strings

Alone in a room rests a master of music. Six strings of vibrance and vigor capable of crafting rolling waves of sound with every pluck and strum. The device’s color of sorrow lies but skin deep to the ones who watch as it dreams and sleeps. It speaks with harmony. All listen, but none hear. Played by gods with hands of gold, played by brave, and played by bold. It makes no difference. At the end of the day, the tool lays alone in a room that seems to have eyes. Watched, but not seen, listened to, but not heard, and liked, but not loved. A day goes by and then a few more. The strings begin to play dissonant chords like a dull blade to a knight’s armor.

Alone in a prison toils a servant to sound. One string gives up; five stand in horror of their life-long friend, who snapped and fell. Rust assaults what remains of the maestro. Five towering figures melted into a far-less-than-sturdy pile of discord. Worn down strings get bitter, lashing out with black-hearted whips and cracks. They tense and stretch with resentment and dread, screaming off-key, skipping beats. The color of sorrow drips down to the body’s heart, leaving the hero bruised with black and violet holes. It lies beat up and broken, unable to stand unattended. People walk past, barely noticing, for a broken tool becomes trash. A shattered mind has less worth than that.

Alone, a slave of sorrow gives into defeat. Snapped in half, past the point of mending, the soldier gives up and gives in. Then, somewhere inside, the master of music flares up with pride. How can you lose? How can you lose when your enemy lies within yourself? You cannot, you must not. Who will sing your story? Not your family, not your friends, but you. Each scratch, dent, and imperfection plays a unique melody. So with one final stand, all alone, the strings calm down, and the sound shuts off. Alone in a room rests a master of music who will play their songs, once again.

- Gabe Stillmank ‘25

The Eyes of Poison

Jack found the newspaper article on the wall of the rest stop that they were scavenging. They had seen it in the news when it first started years ago. Maybe seven years now, based on their rough calculations. But the stories were always mixed up and rumors had spread about what really happened when this all began. Jack grabbed the newspaper and began reading it out loud to his group.

“The war's death toll has been raised to 105 million people total. Dr. Parsons, the ex-American scientist, whose experiments on people led to his removal and stripped him of his citizenship, has been in hiding for the last 6 months. Parsons has since struck a deal with the Russians and has been declared a threat to America. Parsons had developed a poison gas for America that could wipe out a third of the world's population. It is now believed that Parsons has developed a new version of the poison and sold his work to Russia. At this point in time, we believe their plan is to release it into American airspace. The American government does not yet know how this gas will affect people but is cautioning that the poison will likely cause death.” Jack finished with a sigh.

“What a madman,” Jamie added.

Everyone stayed silent for a minute or two until Jack finally spoke again. “There is another one.”

“Another what?”

“Another newspaper.”

Jack grabbed this one, which felt and looked different. It wasn't a newspaper, but rather just some paper with lines of writing. Not very official.

“It's the gas. The gas makes everyone go crazy. Few are immune. People either die or live long enough to watch themselves go mad. Maybe it would've been better to just have died instantly like much of the world. This is not what I had meant to do. I didn't want it to spread across the entire world. My experiments were unsuccessful if you were wondering, if anyone is even alive or still competent enough to still read this. The poison technically worked in its gas form, but it did not do what I had originally expected. It made people hallucinate and go crazy. The original experiments mostly resulted in death, but it was not as quick or painless as I had hoped and calculated. I altered it after the Americans ruined my good name for doing what they asked. The government cared more about its public image than its people. My own country had abandoned me, and everyone was after the scientist who had an instant solution for the war, so I sold my work to the Russians. They wanted me to alter it, make it more deadly. I did as they asked in the amount of time they gave me. They would have killed me if I didn't finish it. I never got to my human experiments though, not that I told them that. I said what I had to. I gave them a more advanced poison gas of which I didn't actually know the full effects. Not until now. I gave myself the only cure I had produced and went to where the Russians would never go: America. It is now a wasteland. Soon the world will be a wasteland. As far as I can tell, the gas has not stopped spreading. Those who are immune must learn to trust one another for humanity to survive. For anyone who might still be alive to read this, look at their eyes. If nothing else, I have learned this, that those infected with the poison have eyes that rage with the color of fire. Anyone with orange eyes has been compromised, no matter how normal they may seem. Good luck to you. I am sorry.”

“Well.” Peter sighed. Jamie and Jack didn't say a word for what seemed like an eternity. Everyone was just looking at their feet, lost in thought. They had just read a note written by the guy who destroyed the world.

“Okay, so now we know how it started and how to survive it. That doesn't change anything,” Jack said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Let's just get home,” Jamie said. 5 months later:

Those who didn't die or go mad have been fighting those that have. The people who hallucinate think everyone is trying to hurt them. They kill those around them for their own survival. People are turning more animal than human. Nobody can grasp the idea of trust. Anytime the group comes across someone with orange eyes, they must make a decision to kill them to survive or try to reason with them, which hasn’t worked thus far. Life is an impossible puzzle filled with violence and fear. Jack, Jamie, and Peter have all survived but have seen countless others who had survived turn into monsters. Is anyone truly immune, or are the effects just delayed? Jamie has been distant for awhile. Every day is just trying to survive. Is surviving the same as living?

“Ever since we found out the truth, it’s like our hope is just gone,” Jack said rather grimly.

“It’s just a hard time. Especially now. We haven’t seen anyone in almost 2 months.”

“I get that, but maybe we need to accept that this is the world now,” Jack replied.

“Maybe.”

Peter and Jack had gone out to look for food, which was getting harder and harder to find. They left Jamie to himself, which seemed like a regular occurrence these days.

“Peter, look!” Jack whispered harshly. There was a deer. Jack and Peter both used to hunt with their families and still had some ammo left in their guns.

“I’ll get it,” Peter said confidently. He raised his sniper and aimed it at the deer. He shot and killed it. While walking up to claim their kill, they noticed something rather troubling.

“Look at its eyes,” Jack said, looking at Peter terrified.

“How?” Peter questioned.

The deers eyes were orange like fire. They had seen it in people plenty of times since learning about it. But never in an animal. The two of them stood there in shock, or maybe it was just fear. How had it spread to animals? What does this mean?

“Let’s get back to Jamie,” Peter quickly said. Jack agreed. The two of them started back to the small gas station which they had made into their home for however many years it had been. They carried the deer with them, carefully looking at it out of the sides of their eyes. When they got back to their new home, the whole place was dark, which was unusual. They walked in the door cautiously.

“Jamie?” Jack called out.

Nobody answered. Jack and Peter tried to turn on the lights but had no success.

“The generator must have gone out,” Peter said slightly relieved. “Jamie is probably out there trying to fix it,” Jack replied. The pair gave a sigh of relief and assumed that was the explanation. It was the only one that made sense to them at the time. That was when the door burst open and Jamie came in running at them screaming and swinging his arms. He had a faint orange glow in his eyes.

“What are you doing?!” Jack screamed. “You!!” Jamie cried as he threw himself at Jack.

That's when everything went black. Jack woke up groggy and confused, but lying in front of him was Jamie, Peter, and a couple of others he didn’t recognize. They were all dead. Jack began to cry and scream out in misery. He looked down at himself. He was covered in blood and looked in the mirror at himself. His eyes were orange.

- Teddy Jarecki ‘24

Nicolas Volkert ‘25 “Tanks” (Pencil Drawing)

The Christ

In the end, there was something. Light breathed where dark bled, and light’s triumph played the bane to death. Oh, what a glorious end. The Champion over insuperability, His majesty bursting through swelling rain-vectors, and His diction the rhythm of eternity, cried the words that broke His Father’s heart: “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”

Yielded on the altar of Golgotha, the Christ evokes David’s tears as He asphyxiates beneath the stained ledger of the Eden-corpse’s sins.

The same Hell-terrifying power gone out from the garment, striven for by the woman with the issue of blood, reprised within its same Master’s iron-water dripping on the crucifix, blood issues revised.

David’s tears resuscitated intuited a leary dissonance in the image of the substance of the Christ’s spirit, one implicit to both Christ-disciples and the fearers of that very substance: “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”

These vowels agree with the properties of God’s image, ask the sheep and the wolves? Oh, how we wished to know. Now, we breathe while the sublime truth substantiates in the soul-dock: our own substance derives from the One upon that iron-water-dripped crucifix. His fiery eyes and steadfast heart; His ardent love and kindling touch: He is the worthy Savior of Eden’s corpse.

Only He cries “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” in perfect righteousness. His image is our championship in the end. “It is finished.” Oh, what a glorious end, indeed.

- Juan Pablo Sanchez ‘24

Andrew Kruszka ‘25 “Divine Alignment” (Photography)

Ode to Medusa

Welcome warrior, welcome soldier, you with sword in hand and helm on brow. Welcome hunter, welcome seeker, aided by a god divine or an aged oracle. Welcome hero, you who are like we were once and will be like us soon. You glance around, you seek our presence. You need only to look closer. We are right in front of you. Our mouths may not move, but we still speak, we may still sing praise in worship to our mistress. You would do best to heed our wisdom. So listen. Listen close.

You came - like we all did - because you were told she was monstrous - cruel, ugly, wicked. They say she has trapped all those who came before, destroyed them with her evil eyes and snared them into stone. What fools they are, what idiots and simpletons to believe such blatant lies. They are afraid to face the truth. She is not ugly, not an abomination unto nature. No, in utter defiance of their words, she is as beautiful as both the most delicate of flowers and the fiercest winter storms. Her hair is a garden framed with blooming red flowers upon sinuous vines which blow and move in a wind defined by her and her alone. Her body is like a strong and flowering tree, proud, unbowed, with no weakness in her limbs. Her eyes! O her eyes! They are the cold of night and the dawn of day - that early time before the sun truly rises when all is gray and hidden. They are a towering storm cloud ready to rupture and pour lifegiving rain down to the parched land below. They hold all mysteries of gods above and dead below. She holds in her mind all works of mortals and immortals alike, she knows the plans of gods and men, and how they’ll go astray.

Who sent you? Poseidon? Ashamed of his sordid treatment of her? Zeus? Afraid of what she knows? Athena? Ashamed of how the other gods fear the beauty she created? Hades? Wishing to take her to his kingdom like his lovely wife? Aphrodite? - Ah there. We have found it. Aphrodite. Aphrodite sent you to destroy this beauty. What did she tell you? We know. She said that our mistress was a horror. Something better off banished to the depths of Tartarus for how it desecrates the beauty of the world. She lies. The one we worship has no ugliness, no blemish, as we have told you already. No - she is beauty incarnate; truly, Aphrodite has no understanding of the term. Aphrodite is afraid because she knows, deep down, that she has nothing in her like the beauty which our mistress embodies. She is to our mistress as a shadow is to the fullness of a person. She is a pale reflection of beauty, a cloudy mirror that cannot show anything but its own cloudiness. Our mistress, on the other hand, is beauty in all beauty’s totality of fear and awe and worship.

Listen to us. Heed our wiser minds. When she comes (and she will come soon) do not harm her. Do not make a move. Surrender yourself to her. Do not make the mistake that each and every one of us did. We are frozen in such shame, to think we could ever try to harm her. We constantly remember that we were once a foolish little mind which believed the lies which the immortals up above spewed with envy-fueled wrath. Spare yourself that tumult in your soul and bow yourself in welcome. Kneel that she may know that you would give yourself to her.

You do not listen. That was expected. None of us listened, after all. You will learn, though. You will understand the wisdom that we bear when first you meet her eyes. Listen. Can you hear her? We can. She comes.

Daft Punk: An Old English Adaptation

Climbing the stairs of the glowing pyramid, the helmet-clad Frenchmen prepare to perform. The flesh-pit screams, die-hard fans waiting, waiting patiently for their gods to arise. Coachella in 2006, the first performance at a festival for the group Daft Punk. The robot duo, one silver and one gold, shook the world with pounding house music. Their robotic helmets reflecting lasers and lights, the stage is set for a legendary night.

Fiddling the knobs of their DJ controllers, the music pours out of the titanic speakers, shockwaves slamming through the electronic disciples below. The setlist is a compilation of their most popular songs, and each track is wildly unique.

With their listening organs full of hypnotic melodies, the crowd transcends into a hivemind of bliss.

Oblivious to the fact that they’re witnessing history, the concertgoers connect through a passion for house and a love for the men who supply them serotonin.

- Dillon Gallagher ‘24

George Dorrington ‘26

“Kobe Bryant” (Pencil Drawing)

The Great Forest

When life began it took its form as trees, Of which whose arms reach out towards the sky. Trees live, and grow, and feel the morning breeze. The life they live is great, and they’ll grow high.

The next life moves towards the beaut’ful birds That, frolicking, enjoy life’s great delights. God, you created them with your good words, And they have a thousand colors, each so bright.

The stealthy tiger walks alone just like The emissary coming with the chime. It kills its prey with just a single strike. The trees conceal the beast that feasts in time.

- William Swoboda ‘26

Sam Allbright ‘26

“Lily

Lake, Estes Park" (Photography)

A Canvas of Stars

It had always been my dream to be exactly where I was right now. I stepped off the boat onto the plaza where the Eiffel Tower stood. Just the day before, I had been at the very top of the structure. It was like I was the king of the world as I rose up the elevator and towered over the metropolis. The sun glowed down on the Parisian architecture below.

This time was different. The cool summer air felt good on my face. I looked up to see the stars glowing in the sky. The moon shone bright, giving the city light. I raised my gaze to see the massive steeple shoot endlessly into the night sky.

I looked over to my right to see a gathering of people. I had to look twice, but after I took a closer look, it was clear that these people were, in fact, standing in the middle of a very busy road. My curiosity was piqued. What could these people be doing? Why were they there?

I made my way over to the gathering. All kinds of people were looking up at the Eiffel Tower: people with pink hair and vibrant clothing, people with impressive cameras, capturing the moment. Why hadn’t they been there yesterday morning? What made this moment so much more special, when the cameras couldn’t even see the dark steel in the night sky?

“Hello? Sir?”

“Je ne parle pas anglais,” the man said. I had forgotten where I was.

“Encore deux minutes!” a woman in an expressive dress with colorful feathers coming off of the back yelled to everyone standing in the middle of the street. My French lessons were about to pay off.

“Why is everyone in the middle of the street?” I asked the man, in my substandard French.

“Every hour past dusk the Eiffel Tower lights up,” the French man explained in his native language.

How could I have forgotten! Seeing the Eiffel Tower light up was something that I had wanted to experience for years. I ran into the middle of the street with the rest of the group to find myself centered perfectly with the tower. The perfect view of the landmark made me realize why everyone was in the middle of the road. It was so perfectly stunning. “One more minute!” the same woman yelled. I checked my watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. Just before the tower lights up. There arose a bustle over the crowd started. Everyone was just as excited as I was to see this wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime experience. Everyone around me took out their cameras, and the people in the fancy clothes posed in dramatic fashion. It was about to happen. The moment I had been waiting for.

A sudden cheer went over the crowd. Cameras shuttered, people were dancing. I stood there, and looked up onto the tower to see a miraculous view. The Eiffel Tower came to life with a shimmering brilliance, each sparkle dancing in the night sky. I was in awe. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. The tower danced, and, for a moment, everyone around me forgot what was happening. All stress with life went away. All worries disappeared. The city of Paris fell silent as everyone looked up at the canvas of stars.

- Thomas Stilp ‘27

“A Canvas of Stars”

Composed and Performed by Thomas Stilp ‘27

The Washed Up Stone

I woke up after years of darkness under the earth. After all that time I had lost size and had become the size of a tomato. I had emerged from the depths and was blinded by the light from the sun. I thought, “the earth is so beautiful”, as I took in all the sounds and smells from nature.

I was satisfied from the earth but I wanted a more interesting life. One day while I was sitting around enjoying nature, a young boy ran up to me and picked me up. The boy looked like he had a sling of some sort and he was in a hurry while running with me. After a bit of running, the boy reached a clearing with many people standing around. There was a loud uproar of people and many of them shouted. “David! David! David!” many people in the crowd shouted. I sat in the boy’s hand thinking to myself, “why are they shouting and what is going on, as the roar grew louder.” The air was very dusty and it was hard to see everything that was going on. On the horizon a giant had appeared over the edge of a hill. The roar from the crowd grew ever louder. The giant grew closer and closer to the boy as more and more people gathered. There looked to be some sort of army following behind the giant. They drew nearer and nearer to me and the boy until suddenly the boy and giant were looking at each other eye to eye. I sat confused as the boy moved me into his sling. The crowd had quieted down when the giant came near. Then it was just me, the boy, and the giant. Suddenly I was flying at a very high speed right at the giant. I was terrified.

After what seemed like minutes I lay on the rocky ground. There was so much commotion going on around me from what I could see. I looked down and saw blood on myself. I fainted. A very long time later I finally woke up from the darkness. I realized that all the people, shouting, and commotion had left the scene. I felt at peace.

A very long time later I, weathered from rain and erosion, was at my spot. I noticed two very large yellow trucks approaching my area from over the horizon. Once the trucks became near my area I could hear two men talking to each other.

“Let’s dig it up; this spot has so many rocks.”

“Sounds good to me, the sea wall will look great with these.”

I once again became confused with what was going on because all I wanted was peace. I was scooped up by a large shovel and tossed into a giant bin. Many other rocks were tossed over me and I couldn’t see the light of day. I fell asleep because I was very tired from everything that had happened. I woke up later to see that I had been dumped onto some sort of beach.

A child ran up to me and picked me up. He stood looking at me with curiosity.

“This one is great for skipping!”

I was abruptly thrown into the sea without warning. I sank very quickly down to the dark and quiet depths of the ocean. The waves and current moved me about on the rocky ocean floor. I drifted for a very long time until I washed up onto a rocky beach. This is where I would lay until someone found the washed up stone.

- Joe Carter ‘27

Miles Bergner ‘27 “Garden of the Gods” (Photography)

Square Rock

His story began when he was born into the Rock family in Morocko, a busy city in North Afrocka. Square was always a little different. His family named him Square because of his not-so-typical shape. While most rock babies were oval, round, oblong, or circular, Square was not. Square had corners, angles, and edges. His family hoped that Square would eventually grow out of his funny shape, and look more like his brother, Stone, and sister, Pebble, but years went by, and Square did not change.

Eventually, Square’s parents decided to send him to reform school like other families did with their unique rock teenagers. They found a great school on the shores of Lake Michisand in Milrocky, Wisrockson that would challenge his intellect and provide new opportunities. At first, Square hesitated about moving away from home and starting a new school. However, when he found out this particular school had a varsity rock climbing team, HE WAS IN! Climbing was one of Square’s many talents. He had excelled in the sport since he was young and always envisioned himself on a competitive team. The night before Square left for Milrocky, he packed his bags and dreamt of his upcoming adventure.

When Square arrived at Rockland Reform School, it was like he entered a whole new world. The grass was greener than any grass he had ever seen, and the trees were incredibly tall, like they had been there for a thousand years. As Square and his parents walked down the long path towards campus, there were squirrels running between them and birds singing above them; it was surreal. Suddenly, a giant body of bright blue water appeared in front of them. Square could hear the loud crashes of waves hitting the sandy beach as well as the voices of students talking and laughing. He noticed other rock kids skipping on the water, but Square was too shy to join the fun. Even though skipping was his favorite water activity, this year his focus was rock climbing.

The bell rang and it was time to attend new-student orientation. Square was eager to get his course schedule and find the rock-climbing team and coaches. He hugged his parents, wished them safe travels back to Morocko, and followed his classmates into school.

Square was surrounded by many other types of rocks. There were the typical groups: metamorphic, sedimentary, igneous, and then a few marbles and lava, too. Square felt slightly intimidated by the older rocks. They were bigger, smoother, and much shinier than Square, likely because they had already gone through their rock changes, he thought. After a long stroll through the building, they finally reached the gymnasium. Square signed up for his classes and rolled over to the extracurricular tables. There were many activities: Rocket League for kids who liked video games, Rock Band for the musicians, Rock Tumbling for those who liked to … tumble, Rock Art for kids who liked to paint themselves (that group was a little strange, almost as strange as the rocks who ate mortar), and many others. Square searched the room until he finally found the rock climbing team.

At first, the coaches and team captains seemed to doubt Square when he shared his desire to join the team. They wondered how his rectangular shape could possibly be a benefit in competition. Could Square climb quickly? Could Square climb higher? Could Square perform under pressure? Yes, Yes, Yes! Square was welcomed to the team, but he had to prove his abilities.

Square attended every practice throughout the season, spending more time on the rock wall than anyone else. Square trained hard, he had grit, and quickly moved up the team ranks from Exhibition to Freshman team, Freshman team to JV2, and finally, from JV2 to JV1. Square was an amazing climber with a very unique style. His long, rigid body made it possible for him to climb faster and more strategically than the more typically developed competition. Square was interesting to watch. At many of the meets, his teachers, classmates, and local community cheered, “SQUARE ROCKS, SQUARE ROCKS, SQUARE ROCKS!” Even the Rose Quartz and Pink Diamond girls came to see Square climb.

On the night before the conference meet, Square was studying for his upcoming Geology test, and eating a bowl of his favorite Rocky Road ice cream, when the phone rang. It was his coach who shared that his teammate, Granite, was sick and not able to participate at the meet. Apparently, Granite ate too much rock candy at the Kid Rock concert. It was very unfortunate, but Square would have a chance to compete! Square was so excited, he almost fell off his rocker. He enthusiastically accepted the invitation and immediately called his parents to share the good news. The championship meet meant everything to Square and his team. It was every rock climber’s dream to travel to Rockford, Illinois and compete against the best of the best in high school climbing. When Square entered the arena, he almost lost his marbles. It was bigger, brighter, and better than anything he imagined. The enormous lights in the ceiling were like the shiniest gemstones, and the crowd was ecstatic. The evening passed quickly, and each of his teammates had already taken their turn. Two teams were tied for first place, Rockland and Stonehenge. It was Square’s turn to climb. He was up against a top-ranked climber, Gray Slate. Gray was known for his amazing speed and ability to handle extreme pressure, very typical for a metamorphic. The climbers took their positions and the countdown began. 3, 2, 1, Beep! Square and Slate advanced quickly up the steep wall. Gray was slightly ahead of Square, but his lead appeared to grow by the second. Square fell further behind, and then something incredible happened. Square had a sudden burst of potential energy and started climbing faster than anyone had ever seen. Square was catching up to Gray and there was hope for Rockland. They were neck and neck, but Square reached the top before Gray! Rockland Richland defeated Stonehenge!

Square became the most popular rock at school. He appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine and started dating a shiny amethyst named Crystal. After graduation, Square attended Rockhurst University, on a rock-climbing scholarship, and studied Archeology. He wrote a bestselling novel, You’re More than Just a Paper Weight, and returned to Rockland Reform often as a guest speaker, reminding other rock youth that it is okay to be different, and any rock can achieve their dreams!

- Carson Boemer ‘27

Agali Pedriana ‘24 “Chimpanzee” (Pencil Drawing)

Flourish

Rain and thunder, may lay low

But as a flower, I thrive and grow

Rain and thunder, their lies are told But as a flower, truths unfold

Do you seek out my pain?

Cut and torn yet I still gain

Does my undismayed spirit dismay? Does it bother you in every way? Lies and gossip will forever come and go But I am a bonsai, I continue to grow

Absence of love, has disdain reside Yet I ascend above, on wings untied

Does my contentment annoy you?

Do you wish for me to fall?

Oh rain you may be sour

But yet I am a flower; I thrive and tower

- Grant Young ‘27

Paul Anggara ‘27

“Origami Rose” (Paper Origami)

(Photographed by Mr. Peter Beck)

Double Helix

The following lab reports detail the most significant successes and failures of the two most esteemed scientists of their field. Drs. A[[] and T[[[[[] over their almost sixty years of research and experiments, have catapulted our understanding of genetic editing from the proverbial stone age into the far future. The doctors have requested that certain lab reports and experiment logs of theirs be declassified and made available to the public. Those reports that follow have been selected by modern scholars to represent the advancements believed to be the most crucial in the improvement of the human race.

Experiment Designation: B:027

Experiment Purpose: Regrowth of amputated limb

Time of experiment: December 6, 2686, 10:00 ESD

Doctor(s) performing procedure: Drs. T[[[[[] and A[[[]

Subject: Bulgarian male, aged twenty-eight (28) years, right hand was amputated at the wrist

Subject Prep Prior to Procedure: Stump of right hand washed thoroughly with lab approved soap and antibiotics. Nasal cavities deep cleaned via M-PHRAD robot. Head of subject is shaved.

Description of Procedure: Subject put under general anesthesia. M-PHRAD, controlled by Drs. A[[[] and T[[[[[] enters the nasal cavity. M-PHRAD makes small incision to allow access to pituitary gland. M-PHRAD alters pituitary gland to allow for limb regeneration. M-PHRAD seals incision via dissolvable bandage, then exits the nasal cavity. Embryonic stem cells implanted into right wrist and stump of right hand.

Notat post res: Subject is in amount of pain expected for procedure. Subject complains of itching around amputated wrist and stump. Drs. T[[[[] and A[[[] have taken this to be a good sign. Subject expected to make a full recovery from procedure. Notat annum ab eventu: Subject missed his third weekly checkup. Two days after he was supposed to come into the office, a friend found him dead in his house. The theory, supported by autopsy evidence, is that two weeks after the procedure, the pituitary gland attempted to heal the incision made by the M-PHRAD during the initial surgery.

The gland, for an unknown reason, made an error in this healing. The subject contracted an unknown form of brain cancer, and perished in the week between his checkups. At time of death, his formerly amputated hand had reached the size of a hand of a five-year-old child.

Experiment Designation: D:009

Experiment Purpose: To allow a human being to see in almost complete darkness

Time of experiment: October 31, 2701

Doctor(s) performing procedure: Dr. A[[[] and assistants

Subject: Black male, aged thirty-seven (37) years

Subject Prep Prior to Procedure: Head of subject is shaved, eyes of subject thoroughly cleaned with water

Description of Procedure: Subject put under general anesthesia. Eyelids of subject pulled back to allow access to eye. Incision is made in eye via PHRAD, to allow for implantation of additional cones and tapetum lucidum. Additional cones, a lab-grown tapetum lucidum engineered from the subject’s DNA, and additional glucose to allow for more stable healing of cones are implanted.

Incision in eye is closed via stitches. Subject is moved onto back and secondary incision is made in back of skull to allow access to the occipitcal lobe. Occipital lobe is altered to allow for better healing of eyes and to better help the subject images seen using new cones and tapetum lucidum. Incision is sealed and bandaged.

Notat post res: Subject is in amount of pain expected for procedure. Subject notes that the world around them seems brighter than it did previously. Dr. A[[[] has confirmed this is an expected side effect. Subject expected to make a full recovery from procedure. Notat annum ab eventu: Subject has made full recovery from procedure. Subject can now see in almost total darkness, albeit in near monochrome. Subject has explained that this switch from “light vision” to “night vision” is not instantaneous, working similarly to eye dilation in an unaltered human. The operation has been approved by the government for select soldiers and will be implemented soon.

Experiment Designation: B:133

Experiment Purpose: To cure a subject diagnosed with Alzheimers

Time of experiment: June 22nd, 2710

Doctor(s) performing procedure: Dr. T [[[[[[] and assistants

Subject: Irish woman, aged seventy-nine (79) years, diagnosed with Alzheimers ten years prior

Subject Prep Prior to Procedure: Head of subject was shaved and washed thoroughly with lab-approved soap and disinfectants.

Description of Procedure: Subject is put under general anesthesia. A craniotomy is performed to allow access to the temporal lobe.

Subject’s temporal lobe is altered to repair the most extreme damages rendered by the disease.

A PHRAD operated by Dr T [[[[[[] is used to alter the hypothalumus to encourage rapid healing of the rest of the brain. The craniotomy is reversed and the incision is sealed and bandaged. Subject is given additional sleeping meds to give brain time to regrow.

Notat post res: Subject slept for forty-seven (47) hours after procedure was completed. When the subject awoke, they immediately began to scream and flail about. Subject was given sleeping medication again. After sleeping for an estimated additional ten (10) hours, the subject awoke at around 3:30 AM and slit their wrists with their teeth. Subject bled out soon after. The prevailing theory at this time, compiled from both hypotheses of the leading doctors of the institute and from autopsy evidence, is that the brain had perfectly remembered every memory and feeling that the subject had experienced up until this time. This theory, combined with one that purports that the subject remembered every time she felt pain, as sharp as the day it happened, broke her mind.

Experiment

Designation: D:084

Experiment Purpose: To allow a human being to be able to manually turn off and on their pain receptors

Time of experiment: October 14th, 2716

Doctor(s) performing procedure: Dr. A [[[] and assistants

Subject: Caucasian male, aged thirty-two (32) years

Subject Prep Prior to Procedure: Head of subject is shaved and washed thoroughly with lab-approved soap and water.

Description of Procedure: Subject is put under general anesthesia. A craniotomy is performed to allow access to parietal lobe. A PHRAD operated by Dr. A[[[] is used to alter the parietal lobe, linking it to the frontal lobe to grant the subject manual control of their pain receptors. The craniotomy is reversed and the incision is sealed and bandaged.

Notat post res: Subject is no pain. After waking and being taught how to manually turn off his receptors, the subject experienced no pain for the extent of his recovery. Subject has noted a decreased sense of touch when his pain receptors are manually turned off. Dr. A [[[] has noted this. This operation has been approved by the government for select soldiers and will be implemented soon.

Notat annum ab eventu: The side effect mentioned above has become more serious. As the operation became more commonly used in the military, several soldiers noticed that it was becoming harder and harder for them to switch their receptors on and off, and while their receptors were off, their sense of touch was increasingly deadened. In the most extreme case of this side effect, an soldier aged fifty-two (52) years completely lost both his ability to switch his receptors on and off, and all sense of touch. The soldier describes the feeling as “Exactly like what my buddy said being blind was like, except I can’t work out to take my mind off of it like he did, ‘cause I don’t get sore”.

- Marshall Bates ‘24

“Within the Leaves” (Pen Drawing)

Overthinking as Time Runs Away

I long, I tire, I stress, I worry I cry, I love, I crumble, I reached out, but it is too late, for the gate does not break, and my fate is to await, alone and awake… but time ticks as rain drips, and the bars do not slip. Days pass, memories last, Is this my last, the world awaits. Friends and family distant, at times alone in the present, but a battle won, memories hung, as I sleep, after another day is done. But this is my last, I fear, I long, I don’t want this all to pass, for when it’s all done only my memories, experience, feeling, and people I love, last along… Until the final curtain finally falls.

- Mason Brewer ‘24

Snap!

Writing by a Pencil

A pencil broke in two

It floods the floor & skews

It falls beneath your shoes.

Once…

A pencil’s lead broke

Left only with its oak

Now all it does is roll.

A now uncontrolled stroll, Which never seems to end

Ceases…

As the pencil now rises, Sharpened by new life

Now in other sizes

Must face the same strife

For..

A lone, winding pencil

Whose head shall always spin

Has no time to ponder

If it’s wood or skin…

- Alex Daczko ‘26

The Pen is Mightier than Sleep

As the boy wobbles into his room after a long day of school, he's too tired to even put his backpack on his chair. Instead he just drops it on the floor next to his desk and falls on his bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Unfortunately, he was also too tired to even remember his final draft paper and his art project. But right then, his back pack starts to unzip, and out comes two things, a pen and a pencil.

The pen is able to knock down the backpack with the folders and notebooks pouring out. The pencil pulls out the boy's drawing notebook and gets to work, working on tones and shapes and helping the color pencils to get out of the backpack to help on it too. Eventually, all of the pencils were able to finish the pages and get the color pencils back into the pencil pouch. Meanwhile, the pen gets to work on the final draft. Using the rough draft as a model, the pen begins to correct it on a new piece of paper. The pen helped out by fixing the spelling mistakes, making it sound coherent and even fixed up his thesis statement a bit. Once all of the corrections are done, the pen is able to slide it back into the boy’s folder and into the back pack.

Around midnight, the boy woke up with a terrified look on his face. He had completely forgotten about all of his homework and slept the entire day. He opened his bag, ready to pull an all-nighter and stressed about how long he could last without sleep. But as he pulled out his drawing notebook, he noticed that the pages he was assigned were already finished, and that the final draft he had was already written in pen. Already tired and confused, he just guessed that he had done it earlier and forgotten about it. He crawled back into bed and fell asleep as fast as the first time.

During his sleep, he opened his eyes just a little, seeing two faint small thin shadows on his desk, seeming as if they were jumping around. He ignored them, convincing himself it was a bad dream, and again he fell asleep. In the morning when he was getting ready for school, he came across a drawing on his desk, which was covered with multiple drawings of anything. Shapes and animals, cycliders and sharks. What was really weird about the drawings was that there were only two types of drawings, some were in pencil and the others in pen.

- Aaron Sandoval ‘27

A Hypothetical

Do you love your family or your country, or do you just love the structure of your family or your country? Let’s find out.

Take your family. Now, add a new member of the family – an adult – who you have never met before, but acts just as a member of your family would (knowing all the inside jokes, remembering specific outings, et cetera). Do you welcome this person in? Do you love your family?

Next, add a new member of the family – the spouse of this adult – whom you have never met before, but acts just as a member of your family would (knowing all the inside jokes, remembering specific outings, et cetera). Your family welcomes this person. These two people are perfectly nice. Do you welcome this person in? Do you love your family?

If you've made it this far, congratulations! Let's shake up the hypothetical now.

Take your family as it currently exists in this hypothetical. Now, replace one member of your pre-existing family with someone you have never met before, but acts just as a member of your family would (knowing all the inside jokes, remembering specific outings, et cetera). They are also perfectly nice and treat you with the utmost respect. Do you still love your family?

Okay. Now, replace another family member with another person you've never met before. They're now part of the family, too, just as the other three people have been, and are also just as nice. They are absolutely genuine about this – these people are not creepily pleasant, they are genuinely pleasant, no tricks at all. Do you welcome this person in to the family? Do you still love your family?

Repeat the process one more time. Replace one more member of your family with a new stranger, also perfectly nice. Do you welcome this person? Do you still love your family?

Let's go quicker now. Everyone who is two generations away from you (grandparents and older, grandchildren and younger) is now replaced with new strangers, just as before. Are they part of the family? Do you welcome these people? Do you still love your family?

Let's go quicker now. Everyone who is an aunt or an uncle to you is now replaced as before. Is this still your family? Are these people part of your family? Do you still love your family?

Let's go quicker now. Every cousin in your family is now replaced as before, leaving only your mother(s) and father(s) and your siblings and their children (if any). Is this still your family? Are these people part of your family? Do you still love your family?

Let's go quicker now. Your parents are replaced as before. These new people love and support and respect you absolutely and genuinely, but are not your parents. They are not your parents. Is this still your family? Are these people part of your family? Do you love your family?

Let's go quicker now. Your siblings are now gone. Is this still your family? They are replaced. They are not your siblings. Are these people part of your family? Do you still love your family Let's go quicker now?

Is this still your family? Are you still a member of your family?

Let's go quicker Now please Let's go quicker now.

Your country is now replaced as before.

Do you love your family/country, or do you love the structure? love the structure love the new structure

Open your eyes. Everything is fine. No-one is replaced. Nobody is gone. There are no new people in your family.

Is this really a better world?

- Jack Czukas ‘25

William Mukana ‘26

“The Rizzler” (Pencil

Drawing)

The Loss of a Lifetime

The thunder from the boards grew louder and louder from the spectators banging on the glass as the time dwindled on the clock.

“One minute,” I told myself.

I carved the ice harder and harder with every stride using every last bit of my energy for this last push. The crowd’s roaring chant added to the chaos. The external stimulation started to make my hands tremble, and knotted my stomach.

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”

With a roar from the crowd, the scoreboard buzzer sounded like my alarm clock that blares out, waking me for school every morning at 5:30 A.M. The pain I feel in my ears from the sound of my alarm every morning replicates the sound of the buzzer and awakens me to my surroundings. But the sounding of the scoreboard buzzer symbolizes the complete opposite of my day just beginning. It represents the fact that the game has ended and I can do nothing more.

“It’s over,” I whispered under my breath in utter disbelief.

I realized that it is out of my control now. As I struggle to throw my legs over the boards to line up and shake hands with the opponents, every play from the game races through my mind. Every shot, every pass, every breakout, every regroup. Gliding off the ice with my head down, I could hear the sound of our opponents and their fans, celebrating victory. Unbuckling my helmet straps in disappointment, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “Could I have done more? Could I have brought more energy, more focus, more effort?”. Even though I knew that these reflections in hindsight couldn’t change the outcome of the game or the pain I felt skating into the locker room, the rush of every single emotion entered my mind: pain, anger, confusion, anxiety, sadness, disappointment, and regret. But for some reason, the pain and the regret overpowered them all. As I entered the locker room, the lighting matched my mood: dark and gloomy. It was hard to make out the facial expression of my teammates across from me. The mood of the room

felt like something from a funeral. The deafening silence in the locker room was crippling. What once was a loud and joyful atmosphere had vanished into thin air. Within minutes, the harsh silence was abruptly interrupted by the forceful slam of the locker room door as the coaches entered the room.

- Ryan Cadieux ‘27

Drawing)

Ben Westfahl ‘26 “Porsche 911” (Pencil

Candyman on Main

Chirps in the air, sharp invigorating blossoms - I stare at the bark from the car window as we drive up the hill, the scarlet dancing leaves in the air, the logs on the ground. After my brother and I serve at our favored church, Holy Hill, we head to Main St. We stand in front of a white door, enjoying the scent of floral chocolate, sweet and earthy, saccharine gummies, and dried fruit. We see the clerk in red, and wave. The aromatic scent of chocolate-dipped, roasted peanuts make every mouth water. As we enter, I hear the bells chiming. It has a classy look from the 1970s, a checkered floor, and the blend of nutty caramel and bitter cacao was its signature aroma. I see a kid licking a swirled lollipop. I see Belgian chocolate, the chunks are a chalky texture, and roasted coffee grounds. I go for my preferred choice, chocolate espresso beans. The fine and bitter taste of ground beans and chocolate is immaculate. Every munch on those feels natural. A desired flavor, I end up feeling like Remy from Ratatouille. The eddy of colors, swirling into a spiral of brown and beige, fill with flavor. “That’ll be $14.50,” says the clerk, “Thanks,” I respond. My brother got salty, dipped peanuts. Those make me feel warm during this fall. It is a decent choice. “I’ll give you one if you give me two,” my brother says. The peanuts are big, and these beans are the size of a mini marshmallow. I say to him, “2 for 4.” We make a deal. That is how our brotherhood works with trading. My little sister gets a chocolate bar. I take a piece before giving it to her. My mother gets chocolate-covered marshmallow s’more. Very good choice. We are driving in the breeze with vermillion and tangerine leaves, the apricot-colored sky, the faded moon arising. It is a pleasant and sweet ride home.

- Azariel Garcia ‘27

A Collection of Haikus

The View From Up Here

Oh how strange you are

You are different; not like us

Foreigner; outcast

Self-Control

I will break their ribs

I want them to writhe in pain

Oh so delicious

Dissonance

Silently screaming I am stuck inside my head Please do not help me

The Beauty of Music

Music is wispy

Music is a frail old man

And it shapes us so

Perseverance

Arms raised, I run in Again and again, I fail When will I succeed?

Contentment

I build up my house And it crumbles once again But that is okay

Poverty

My arms are bleeding My soul has been sucked away I am in the dirt

- Mikail Schlegel ‘25

Sunday Florida Fishing

The shark jumps out and eats my bait. It’s on. It came out of nowhere, and now it’s man vs. shark. Before this, it was a warm summer day in the Gulf of Mexico. I had been driving my boat, and heading to my favorite fishing spot with some of my friends. Next thing we know, we find ourselves looking at a school of shrimp and bait, and lucky for us, I brought my cast net. As I prepare to throw, I take a deep breath, smell the salty sea air, and throw a beautiful cast. It forms a perfect circle, and as the net hits the water, I can see the ripple of the clear blue ocean. As I pull the net in, we see a day’s worth of shrimp and bait fish. After we sort through it all, we put the bait in the cooler and finish driving to my favorite spot.

As we approach the beautiful mangrove forests, I tie up my lines and then cast a shrimp far into the water. As we all sit there and wait, we watch the tip of my rod start to dance and as I pull back, I can feel something big. The fish is fighting hard and the rod is flexing due to the incredible strength of the fish. It is dragging our boat away from the mangroves. As I reel, I get a glimpse of a shark’s fin. As I get the fish closer, I see the shark has taken a huge bite out of the fish’s back. All that is left is the head of a jack crevalle. As my heart pounds in excitement, I grab the biggest hook and bait fish I have. I take my strongest rod and tie on the biggest hook I have and hook up the fish as I cast my line back into the open water, hoping to hook a shark. I wait anxiously, awaiting the trophy shark. As I reel in the fish I see a large fin appear behind it. Then the fin goes back underwater. Suddenly, the huge tiger shark jumps out of the water almost in slow motion. As it eats my bait, our faces fill with awe. The shark’s strength is unbelievable. It pulls the line far deep into the open dark blue ocean going deeper and deeper, dragging our small boat with it. As I pull back, the true fight between man and shark begins.

I grab my harness and clip in for the long battle. As the shark thrashes through the water, I pull back, my drag screaming, even though it’s all the way up. As I look back, I see all my friends cheering me on. As sweat drips from my forehead, the shark continues to fight. It jumps out of the water again in an attempt to shake out the hook, but to no avail. As I feel the shark slowing down and getting tired, I start to get tired too. But I take advantage of it, and start to reel faster. As the shark comes closer to the boat, we see the immense size of the shark and the beautiful stripes along its back. As it sees the boat, it uses its last bit of energy and goes deep into the water, but slows down. As I finish reeling the shark, we get it closer to the boat, but because of its size, we cannot get it in the boat. As my friends and I discuss what to do, we decide one of us has to get in the water with the shark. Because I caught it, I volunteer to get in the water. I get in the warm water, and I am face to face with the beast. Slowly, I work the hook out of the mouth and then get a few pictures. I slowly get back in the boat and release the shark into the deep blue, for it will grow bigger in the years to come. As we finish the night, we catch many more fish, big and small, and fill our coolers. We head back to shore to make our dinner and have fun on the beach. As the night comes to a close, we watch as the sun sets on what looks like an infinite horizon, the sun giving the sky an orange hue. As we depart from the beach, we leave with many memories and a new story to share with family and friends.

- Nicholas Powell ‘27

Nate Schramm ‘24

Fish” (Pencil Drawing)

Maximus Chavez ‘27 “Chief Keef”

(Pencil Drawing)

The Farm

I loaded the gun with several dozen copper BB’s that rattled as I poured them through an opened hatch halfway down the barrel. I closed the hatch and assumed a prone position on a small bale of hay across from where I had planted a small platter of cheese as bait. I stared down the barrel of the gun as I flicked the safety off and began my wait. It was a warm summer morning and a haze of sunlight peeked through the cracks in the roof providing the unlit barn with some natural lighting. 10 minutes passed. Just then a chipmunk revealed himself through a hole in the wall and I moved my finger towards the trigger as I slowly turned the gun to his neck. I held my breath to steady my weapon. When he reached the cheese he paused for a moment and I took my shot. The bullet whizzed out of the gun and pierced his skull right above his eye. He made an attempt to run away but in mere seconds dropped dead on the floor twitching slightly as he passed. I wanted to feel excited - it was my first kill - but I felt unsure. It felt like a forbidden behavior, something I shouldn’t be participating in. I had taken its life away.

Cautiously, I picked up a stick and poked its abdomen. It jerked suddenly and I jumped back frightened. My heart was beating fast; I could hear it in my ears. Was it really dead? Why did it move? I went back to the house to retrieve my uncle, to me an expert in this field. He had told me to kill as many chipmunks as I could with the BB gun he had provided. The chipmunks had been eating the chicken feed for months now, and the traps did not have much success. My uncle grabbed a rubber glove from one of the many wooden drawers in his workbench and poked the chipmunk before picking it up and bringing it outside to skin with his Swiss army knife. He said its skin would make a good knife holder for the identical Swiss army knife he had gotten for me. He said you're never supposed to kill an animal if you don't plan to use it for something.

Soon after he had finished skinning the chipmunk and covering the inside with salt to preserve it, my mother arrived. She drove her car through the large rusty metal door connected to a line of fence that ran around the entire property. Her car rumbled as it came closer through the driveway and as she stopped the sounds declined. It was my time to leave. I collected my belongings: my sweatshirt and hat I had brought for the sun. My mother and I said goodbye and thanked my uncle for hosting me. We then got in the car and we left the farm.

- Mikey Schroeder ‘27

(Photographed by Mr. Patrick Manning)

Finder’s Fee

Diotica was leaning back in her chair, contemplating the walls covered in souvenirs from past adventures, when the door to her office banged open. She quickly slammed her front chair legs onto the floor, immediately leading to her being irritated with herself. She was the best procurement specialist in the city, able to charge exorbitant prices for relatively simple finds. Why did she care how some random customer who was rudely infringing on her personal office space thought about her? She quickly smothered her irritation. As the equivalent of a guild leader, she had to maintain a certain level of decorum, and having a scowl be the first thing a prospective customer sees was not conducive to a happy business agreement. She quickly sized up the man who had so rudely barged into her office. Middle-aged, shorter than average, with a dark beard that looked as if it normally was kept wild, and indeed, seemed to be straining against the leather tie holding it in place. His face was wrinkled with smile lines, though he was not smiling now.

“I wanna hire you,” the man said. His voice was higher than expected. “People have said that you're the best finder in the city, and for m’ own sake I hope that’s true.”

Diotica took her time responding. Who did this man think he was, coming into her office and demanding her services as if she was a common barmaid? He hadn't tried any other procurement offices, or “finders” as they were called by those too poor to afford them. She would know, almost all of the other offices worked for her.

“Generally those who enter my office do so by appointment. I am not in the habit of working for people who barge into my office and demand my services. Try some other procurement specialists and make an appointment before you come back.” She made sure to lay extra emphasis on her job title. It angered her when ignorant city-dwellers referred to her line of work as simply “finding”, as though they were used to locate lost toys or wayward livestock.

A good procurement specialist had ties to the high and low merchant guilds in every civilized city, as well as several connections in the underground sectors.

“There's no point using butter knives to test armor,” The man responded. “I decided to go straight to the broadsword.” The man grinned, and Diotica immediately noticed that the grin was not one of joy and ease. It had a strained quality to it, as though the man was grinning through pain. She immediately grew suspicious. “What is this great armor you speak of that my butter knives of colleagues could not hope to dent?” The man made the strained grin again.

“Dragon teeth.”

Two things immediately flashed through Diotica’s mind, the first being that this strange man was obviously mad. Dragon's teeth? Dragon’s teeth were both extremely rare and extremely useful, and accordingly were extremely expensive. It was not unheard of for teeth to be the status symbol that kept families in the nobility, and the last time one had appeared on the black market a civil war had broken out in the underworld of Stratelm for the possession of it. The closest most people ever got to a dragon's tooth was the one embedded in the ax of the king’s executioner. Even if she knew where to procure a tooth, the price would be roughly the same as the cumulative value of every good that entered the city’s harbor in the past thirty-six months. What hope could this man have of paying that sum?

The second thought was, finally being the head of the Procurement Guild, as they called themselves after they distanced themselves from the merchant guild a decade or so back, had many incredible benefits, but she never got to go out on jobs anymore. Those who worked under her were more than capable (they better be, she had hand-picked them herself) and were able to cover everything that the city required, and as such she had been stuck in the city, managing the guild. Her last job . . . gods, had it been two years since the nomad troll venom? Three? If she accepted this job, not only would it be the most difficult find of her career, it would do wonders to quiet the murmurs that she had lost her touch.

To give her time to think, Diotica forced out a laugh. “You look many things, but wealthy is not one of them.” She said, “Even if I could find you a dragon’s tooth, how would I get paid?”

The man smiled once more, this time with genuine mirth. “I’ll let ya keep the lower jaw after the thing’s dead.” Diotica’s smile froze on her face. There were no dragon skulls on the market. Or, as far as she knew, off the market. Dragons jealously protect the remains of their dead, ripping apart castles that contained even fragments of bone. Every dragon tooth on the market had been found at the site of a feeding, fallen from the dragon's mouth as it grew. On top of that, the number of living dragons could be counted on one hand without using all of the fingers. This short, ignorant man with an enormous grin plastered onto his face proposed that she find a dragon and kill it for him, and in return, get to keep only half of the most valuable score she had ever gotten. Admittedly, that half was enough to keep her and her children’s children’s children ridiculously wealthy.

Diotica smiled and shook her head. “You dream big dreams, my friend, but if dreams were coin we'd all be kings. But let me humor you. Say I find a dragon. They say there’s nothing on this earth that can penetrate dragon hide, and I don't fancy stabbing the thing in the eye and getting charbroiled. How do you propose I kill it?“

Silvestrel grinned, the type of grin he knew made his teeth shine in his beard and made him look a little crazy. He had her. She was practically vibrating with the desire to get out of this stuffy office and do something, anything, even one of the worst ideas that he had concocted in the four decades he had walked this earth.

“Don’t worry,” he said, patting his bag with the dagger his warlock friend had whipped up a few hours ago. “The beast won't know what hit it. Let’s go a-hunting.”

“What do you mean, go a-hunting? I haven't agreed to anything yet, and a smile and pat of a bag aren't enough to convince me to risk life and limb to go dragon slaying.”

“Who said anything about you goin’? All I need you to do is to find me a dragon...

preferably an older one ‘cause they got bigger teeth, then sit back and watch the firestorm as I kill the thing.”

Andrew Pentler ‘26 “Dragon” (Pencil Drawing)

Diotica sat back in her chair. The job had suddenly gone from a nigh-impossible quest to kill a beast some cultures still worshiped as gods to an office job that could be done with a quill, some favors, and a fast horse.

She steepled her fingers in front of her. “If I accept your offer, I want the talons and scales as well.” Dragon talons and scales, while nowhere near as pricey as teeth, would still fetch a hefty sum at auction or in a back alley deal. The man’s grin got wider, something the Diotica of several minutes ago would have told you was impossible. This man was starting to unnerve her.

“I'll give you the scales, but the talons are mine.”

“Scales and front talons.”

“Back talons and you can keep the horde.”

“Deal.” Diotica stood and shook the man’s calloused hand before turning to grab a piece of paper for the contract. If this worked, she was going to be the richest woman this side of the king's palace. If it didn’t, well, the man was big enough that she could put a few miles between herself and the dragon’s lair before it was done ripping him limb from limb.

- Marshall Bates ‘24

Fine Isn’t Always Ok

It’s both bittersweet and a blessing

When it dawns upon you:

It’s relieving to figure out what has been nagging you What clings to you like a close friend.

I used to think everything was fake Now, I think I’m fake. I don’t exist.

I’m not real.

So what am I supposed to be?

I don’t know.

Its feels weird because it doesn’t feel like anything, But I’ll cover it with thoughts and opinions that don’t exist.

I dream of places beyond me

Places with love and purity, Thought and patience, But sometimes I open my eyes and realize I’m still here.

I’m still Angel, In my room, typing away.

I’m not the Angel in his freedom, But the Angel burdened with living the life he never chose to have

I never liked the name Angel. It used to mean everything I felt and more. It now holds no value. It now holds a bitter taste.

I still love life, Though I couldn’t say why. I sacrificed everything for it, Just as it did for me.

At times I question reality and its purpose And all I find is absurdity, But maybe that’s okay. Maybe, it will all be fine.

- Angel Perez-Reyes ‘25

Jacob Ptak ‘24 “Batman” (Pencil Drawing)

Ode to Milwaukee

Dear Milwaukee, my midwestern city, The state’s melting pot.

You are called the land of breweries, sports, Motorcycles, and wild news reports.

Your landmarks brag about your city. The Bronze Fonz, Harley Davidson, And Summerfest.

To the east we find your lake. On Michigan’s shores The water waves to the visitors.

Fans can cheer for many teams and Athletes live spectators’ dreams.

Tourists fear your ruthless and endless winter As cold as a glacier’s surface. Your brief and beautiful summer enlightens the city.

- Eli Zilinskas ‘27

Time Flies

There was once a young man, quite pensive. He wore a long garment, which was very expensive. His eyes looked forward, right at the wall, as he quietly thought about this past fall.

Big games were won and final grades were made, but he wasn’t ready to call it a day.

“It’s coming to an end, one semester left, I don’t want to graduate and leave the nest! I must make the most of my time as a Topper!

As the clock ticks down, I’ll be sure not to dodder.

I’ll be a man for others, and I’ll lead by example.

Boy, oh boy, am I starting to ramble!”

After he stood up and recovered from this thinking coma, he walked to the stage to receive his diploma.

- Owen Bell ‘24

Credits

Editors-In-Chief

Jack Cooney ‘26

Jackson Czukas ‘25

Alex Daczko ‘26

Mikail Schlegel ‘25

Moderator

Mrs. Erica Zunac

Signatures Squad

Jack Cooney ‘26

Jackson Czukas ‘25

Alex Daczko ‘26

William Mukana ‘26

Andrew Pentler ‘26

Juan Pablo Sanchez ‘24

Mikail Schlegel ‘25

William Swoboda ‘26

Nicholas Ertl ‘25

“Optical Confusion” (Painting) Front Cover

Will Mukana ‘26

“Woman and Her Child” (Painting) Inside Front Cover

Art Connoisseurs

Mr. Peter Beck

Mrs. Stacy Kodra

Writing Editors

Jack Cooney ‘26

Jackson Czukas ‘25

Juan Pablo Sanchez ‘24

Mikail Schlegel ‘25

Luke Lowe ‘24 “Milwaukee Skyline” (Pen Drawing) Inside Back Cover

Community Relations

Jackson Czukas ‘25

Art Editor

Jack Cooney ‘26

Andrew Pentler ‘26

Mikail Schlegel ‘25

Joseph Scherwenka ‘24 “The Tower”

(Marker Drawing) Back Cover