2013 iliad literary art magazine

iliad literary-art magazine Volume XXXVII Clarke Central High School

2013 iliad literary-art magazine

iliad literary-art magazine 2013 volume XXXVII Dedicated with love to Dr. Nripendra “Dr. B” Bhattacharyya Sukla “Mrs. Sukla” Bhattacharyya Dr. Meri Blackburn

Clarke Central High School 350 South Milledge Ave. Athens, Ga. 30605 706-357-5200

2013 iliad literary-art magazine

interactions

“T

he concept of randomness and coincidence will be obsolete when people can finally define a formulation of patterned interaction between all things within the universe.�

--Toba Beta

And this is exactly what we attempted within this edition of the iliad Literary Art Magazine. By defining what we decided would be the five stages of interaction between two people, we tried to gain an understanding of relationships, whether they be romantic, familial, formal or merely friendships.

Correspondence. The stage during which two people exchange words in order to understand one another and form an intangible bond. The meet-and-greet.

Communication.

Harmony. When two people are able to share words with a single glance in a silence that is as comfortable as solitude. Symbiosis. Unity.

Dependence. When a harmonious relationship becomes unbalanced and one cannot function without the other. Equilibrium is thrown off, tensions increase.

Conflict. When the bond is bent to its breaking point and a shatters in one fated confrontation. Discord. Collision.

Resolution. The decision to forgive and forget or to part ways forever. Verdict.

Conviction. The end.

In high school especially, when we are striving so valiantly to belong within groups of others, positive interactions become crucial to our self-esteem, no matter how temporary the feeling of discontent. Conflict dominates throughout and is often splashed across public forums, open for all curious eyes. With each new class or club, we encounter a rotating lineup of unfamiliar faces and personalities, and therefore experience new interactions. We start fresh with each person we meet and these interactions are ones that can last for the briefest of periods or can span over years, prolonged friendships that leave lasting impressions.

And with this theme, exemplified through the words and art of the students and teachers of Clarke Central High School, we hope that readers will be able to take away a better understanding of their own interactions with those that they deem significant within their lives, and be more fulfilled because if it.

--Chloe Alexander, iliad staff member

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

W

hat happens when you meet someone for the first time?

You talk? You’re friends?

You have a conversation, you’re acquaintances or companions, you form some kind of lasting relationship. That is what is at the root of so many psychological disorders: the inability to deepen and strengthen that relationship. The inability to interact on a basic level.

In the summer of 2011 I had the chance to take an abnormal psychology class as part of a pre-college camp I was attending. Though it only lasted a few weeks it taught me a great deal and reminded me of how important our relationships are with those around us.

Every single day we go to school. We see our friends. Peers we dislike. Teachers we could either love or dread seeing each day. We see our families. We see hundreds of people we don’t even know, but we’re together in one community coexisiting.

We fall into the trivial cycle of “he said, she said.” We forget our privilege in spending our days with people that challenge us, people that inspire us, people that depend on us. We get dragged down by the aggravations and fail to realize that at least its an emotion. It’s something more than a numbness that is so often associated with solitude. A numbness than can feel even worse than the anger and conflict.

The interactions are important. It’s not all positive, its not all friendships, but its an interaction. It’s what keeps us alive, what keeps us motivated, what brings meaning to our existence.

We’re told in school to write about what we know, let your personal experiences be the base for your work. It seems almost inevitable that our interactions with other people, whether it be the anger felt to someone who wronged us or the glorious moments spent with those who seem to understand us so perfectly, would fuel so many of our creative pieces.

Interactions is our attempt to represent the feelings of Clarke Central High School students. The mere fact that you have the ability to put into words and works of art the feelings that so few of us are able to eloquently communicate to others is an amazing feat in itself.

You have stories to share and as a staff, we are so incredibly grateful to have been a part of that process and create a publication that allows you to share what you know, to bring us into your world and remind us how fortunate we are to have these interactions every single day.

--Hannah Dunn-Grandpré, Editor-in-Chief

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

table of contents correspondence 8 - washington’s dentures by Audrey Spiers 8 - roxanne by Jenny Alpaugh 9 - moon by Maria Velasquez 9 - three by Dory MacMillan 10 - jenna’s call by Louise Platter 11 - etching by Lela Jenkins 12 - the man on the bench by Chloe Alexander

12 - waiting by Maria Velasquez 14 - when the rain pours by Jerel Wright 15 - ponderance by Gabrielle Saupe 15 - wishing by Michelle Legette 16 - legacy of the dragon by Shari Armour 16 - andorra by Suzanne Jurado

harmony 20 - apples and sugar by Louise Platter 20 - parenthood by Leslie Alejandro 21 - captive by Porter McLeod 22 - watercolor orient by Alanna Pierce 23 - discipline by Alanna Pierce 24 - les etoiles by Audrey Hinkle 25 - you and i by Dory MacMillan 26 - peace of mind by Derneria Wiley

26 - self portrait by Kuriocki Booker 27 - metal worked by Carver Goodhue 27 - here i am by Brianna Freeman 38 - kaitlyn by Lela Jenkins 29 - the autumn breeze by Talia Williams 30 - to do list by Melody Wauke 31 - mystery girl by Ky’Anna Arthurton 31 - roxie and nahla by Gabrielle Saupe

dependence 34 - slow frost by Hannah Dunn-Grandpré 35 - the lonesome houseplant by Jacob Cona 36 - waiting by Hannah Dunn-Grandpré 36 - splash by Chad Rhym 37 - heavy by Susanna Conine-Nakano 37 - amygdala by Aaron Holmes 38 - working class by Porter McLeod

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39 - american dream by Henry Siebentritt 40 - mother’s day by Vianey Salas 41 - the two halves by Zach Tully 41 - monociclo by Lela Jenkins 42 - resistance by Barbara Kipreos 43 - together by Key Howard

2013 iliad literary-art magazine

conflict 46 - hominidae by William Kissane 46 - dazed by Maria Velasquez 47 - africa by Quenterica Carter 48 - santa rita by Ethan Crane 49 - minor defense by William Kissane 50 - punk by Gregg Guichard 51 - does it really matter? by Jacqueline Gordon 52 - purple-eyed child by Hannah Price 52 - aqua by Emily Watson 53 - solopsism by Audrey Hinkle 53 - axial by Chloe Alexander 54 - fiesta by Gabe Harper

54 - questions by Jerel Wright 54 - assumptions by Aaron Holmes 56 - broken shards by anonymous 56 - shattered by Audrey Hinkle 57 - be a man by Gregg Guichard 57 - shaving cream by Gabe Harper 58 - hero’s motivation by Kyle Fox 59 - stark by Gabrielle Saupe 60 - cloudy day by Ginger Lehmann 61 - captain by Chad Rhym

resolution 64 - not applicable by Hannah Dunn-Grandpré 65 - the inner eye by Audrey Hinkle 66 - father’s day by Loran Posey 67 - twilight by Maria Velasquez 69 - wisdom by Matthew Ward 69 - born great by Baylor Ward

70 - transition by Marina Byrne 71 - what i’ve learned by Adriana de Villa 72 - patriotism by Gabe Harper 74 - a story about forever by Shari Armour 74 - lucky by Susanna Conine-Nakano

our perspective 76 - staff 78 - friends of the iliad 79 - index 80 - colophon

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

Correspondence

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correspondence

On this particular day in early spring, the young man has just sat down. The sun is rising a few minutes earlier than it did the day before, signaling the longer days ahead. There is a distinct nip in the air, but as the temperature slowly rises, the morning dew begins to evaporate. “You know Harry, I wish I could take a picture of how beautiful the sun looks coming up through the trees some mornings,� he remarked. the man on the bench, pg 12

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

washington’s dentures

Audrey Spiers, junior

She walks into the room, unsure of herself.

She seems to shrink with each careful step.

She looks around, hoping to see a familiar face, or at least, a kind one.

Finding none, she sits down criss-cross applesauce.

She rubs beneath her eye, her nervous tic.

They’re sitting in a circle.

Twenty strange faces seem to be quietly judging her.

She wonders what their stories are.

It’s at the very moment, she’s given up hope of finding a friend that day, “Hi, I’m Roxanne, what’s your name?”

She sighs, gazing into this girl’s brown eyes she knows she’s found a kindred soul.

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Jenny Alpaugh, junior

correspondence

three and

remember when it was

three, three

in the

morning,

and you, you and I sat up late whispering dreaming do you remember? you spun tales, from your lips they flowed like silk, all that we

were,

all that we

could be.

i said, conformity and meaning

and hope

and you said, me too. together we clung to the thread of companionship, in your corner, i felt

young,

new,

rebellious

as if my words were shards of glass, cutting the rope that bound me from

should be to

might be to

could be.

Dory MacMillan, senior

moon

Maria Velasquez, junior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

jenna’s call

F

irst, some background might be in order. Jenna* began to go downhill during the second semester of our eighth grade year. Smoking weed more than anyone should, drinking like an alcoholic and occasionally trying something new and terrifying.

I remember the fateful dextromethorphan scare. This was not the first suicide watch, nor was it the last, there have been afternoons where we all but sent a search party to make sure that Jenna wasn’t dead in her room. Not to say that this one wasn’t special though. It was, so, so special. I heard her voice. I heard the tears slide down her face, I heard her voice telling me that she wanted to die. That’s special.

I cannot, for the life of me, remember anything else about that night. It was a school night, I’m pretty sure, and it was late in the evening. I got a call on my home phone, if I remember correctly. Rare, Amy* usually just calls me on my cellphone. Her message was simple and frantic.

“Come over,” she said. “Jenna’s going to kill herself; I’m on the phone with her now, come over.”

I was a wreck. I was begging and pleading with my parents.

“Please!” I begged them, “Drive me to Amy’s house, please, I cannot tell you how much this matters.”

They drove me over, confused and nearly as scared as I was. I leapt out of the car upon my arrival and tore through Amy’s house. I

“Apparently a lot was wrong. Nobody cared about her, nobody loved her, she didn’t love herself, and why should she?” found Amy in her sister Julie’s* room. She was speaking slowly and deliberately, as you would to a dog you were afraid might bite you. She beckoned me over. Everything was a daze. Amy’s mouth moved but I couldn’t hear the words. She motioned in my direc-

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tion and handed me the phone.

“Hi Jenna,” I said. Weak, I know.

“Hey,” she returned watery voiced. So she’d been crying?

“You’re not doing so well.” Captain obvious, Louise Platter.

A half strangled laugh from the other end of the line, “No.” “What’s wrong?” I queried, trying to get used to her life suddenly being thrust into my incapable hands. Amy was better at this sort of thing, what was I doing here?

Apparently a lot was wrong. Nobody cared about her, nobody loved her, she didn’t love herself, and why should she?

She didn’t matter, her parents had made that clear enough.

“I care about you,” I tried lamely.

“Amy cares about you.” She wasn’t buying it.

“Can I ask a morbid question?” I shivered as I replied in the affirmative. “If you care about me,” she began, her voice wavering, “and Amy cares about me,” I would have cried if I wasn’t made of ice, “how the hell do you expect me to live,” I waited, breath held, for Jenna’s punch line, “If only two people in the world care about me?” Checkmate.

I gulped.

“Jenna,” I tried to strengthen my quavering voice. I tried to be brave. “You know that that is not true. Yes, I love you.

Yes, Amy loves you. But Jenna, I swear to you, even though it may seem like it now, we are not the only ones. You are beautiful and talented and brilliant and we are not the only people who care about you.”

I was feeling pretty proud of that speech. Unfortunately, Jenna wasn’t letting me, or herself, get off so easily.

“Oh yeah, well then explain to me why my best friend told me that I’m worthless.” I can remember tripping over my words as I struggled not to say the sen-

correspondence

tence that ended her life.

“It sucks Jenna, and they’re awful, but you cannot end your life based on them.

They are the exception that proves the rule.”

Jenna shot back, I countered, Jenna shot back, and I countered. Finally, she had me cornered. “I don’t know what to say, Jenna,” I admitted. She laughed, a few disheartened chuckles.

“It’s okay,” she told me. “I wouldn’t know what to say either.”

We talked her down and finally felt confident enough to hang up the phone.

Finally Amy pressed End Call. For a few moments, we were silent, the ghost of Jenna’s tears still lingered in the room.

I could feel relief exuding from us in waves, bouncing around the walls. Our thoughts mingled in one single, pervasive, ‘crisis averted.’ Finally, Amy broke the silence.

“Thank God she called me.”

We talked for a while after that, dis-

cussing what Jenna had said and what we said. “Thank you for calling me,” I told Amy. I felt like I had succeeded at something and was beginning to feel somewhat pleased with myself.

“I needed you there,” Amy replied. It felt, and still feels, so important. A human life, a close, beloved, human life, was saved that night. It was saved by two scared teenaged girls who didn’t know the first thing about suffering or death or love.

As we sat there, in Amy’s sister’s room, I slowly felt the pride slip away, only to be replaced by an omnipresent fear. She almost died. She almost leapt, forgetting that she’d left her wings behind. I was only 14, not ready to save a girl’s life, not ready to lose a close friend. As Amy and I talked we tried to sound very grown up, deep and reflective, however, no amount of introspection could mask our naivety, and our fear.

etching Lela Jenkins, freshman

*names have been changed

Louise Platter, sophomore

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

the man on the bench

T

here is something peculiar about the young man who sits at the corner of West and Broad each day.

At precisely 7 a.m. each morning, he strolls to his bench, sits upon it, and remains there until the sun begins to set in the evening.

On this particular day in early spring, the young man has just sat down. The sun is rising a few minutes earlier than it did the day before, signaling the longer days ahead. There is a distinct nip in the air, but as the temperature slowly rises, the morning dew begins to evaporate.

“You know Harry, I wish I could take a picture of how beautiful the sun looks coming up through the trees some mornings,” he remarked.

“Indeed, there is something distinctly transcendental about watching the first rays of light peek through the horizon,” his companion replied, slouching over a steaming cup of coffee. “It’s an experience that many people never take the time to appreciate.”

“Why is that?”

“Everything is so fast paced nowadays. Everyone has somewhere to be, something to do. No one seems to take the time to feel and experience everything around them anymore.”

“Mom is like that. She always telling me to do something or be something and to make something of myself other than sitting on this bench all day.”

“And why aren’t you?”

“I tell her that I am doing something. I’m talking to you and learning about things, important things!”

“And how does she feel about that?”

“She just kind of shakes her head and looks all sad about it. Sometimes she cries. I don’t understand.”

“Your mother just cares about you. She wants you to have everything you can get out of life.”

“But I do! I get everything I ever need from talking to you!

You’re better than everyone I’ve ever met. No one understands me like you do, Harry.”

“I’m so flattered. But you know, there are many other people out there like me. You just have to look.”

waiting

Maria Velasquez, junior

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correspondence

“No, you’re wrong! You were “‘This is no sort of life for you. I don’t think just saying that no ones takes the you understand how much there is out there time to appreciate life anymore!

You’re the only one I’ve met who for you, so many wonderful things in the does.”

“I think I may have been slightly world to be experienced!’” exaggerating. Plenty of people can teach you what I have.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Maybe so. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Look at that man over there, reading the paper. Tell me, what’s his life story?”

“I don’t understand, I don’t know him.”

“I’m telling you to make one up. Here, let’s see. He’s reading the paper... A professor maybe? He’s a tenured professor of Greek mythology over at the university. He’s out here reading the paper instead of at home because his wife has her sister over and he can’t stand their incessant chattering. But, even so, he loves his wife more than anything. They met when he was just a freshman in college and they’ve been together ever since.”

“You see Harry, this is why I’ll never find anyone like you. That was so interesting, so... so... insightful, what you just did. I don’t think anyone else could make up a story like that on the spot.”

“That certainly is not true. All it requires is a little ingenuity.”

“Stop lying to me, Harry.”

“I’m not lying. I’m just saying that you may want to expand your circle a little bit.”

“Outside of you, you mean.”

“I don’t mean anything of the sorts.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you telling me to meet other people?”

“Because I think you need more out of life than drawn-out philosophical conversations with me. You’re young, go out and appreciate it.”

“I do appreciate life. I’m appreciating it here with you.”

“This is no sort of life for you. I don’t think you understand how much there is out there for you, so many wonderful things in the world to be experienced!”

“Then experience them with me!”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Well then I guess that means I’m just staying here. There’s no one else I would want to spend my time with.”

“Fine, but we’re going to talk about this again when you’re ready.”

“I don’t think I ever will be.”

There is something peculiar about the young man who sits at the corner of West and Broad each day. At precisely 7 a.m. each morning, he strolls to his bench, sits upon it, and remains there until the sun begins to set in the evening. As he sits in the bench, he talks to the unoccupied seat beside him, his invisible companion. No one can remember precisely when he began to do this, but each day he returns, speaking only to Harry.

The man on the bench and his imaginary companion sat there from sunup until sundown every single day, until the day he died.

Chloe Alexander, senior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

So vicious and furious my flow is like a lyricist peep the game tight, but it’s not so I needa get it right, been through so many things, the hustle, the rain, endured all the pain, and I’m only 17.

Sometimes I wonder was my mother ready to have me, but I mostly wish I didn’t grow without a daddy, most of the time I have to ask the lord why is he punishing me, is it because I was brought up without a father so I guess this was just meant for me, when the rain pours, my heart soars, looking at the close doors, screaming out “o lord.”

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, I pray to lord my soul to take, Amen.

Jerel Wright, fourth year student

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correspondence

ponderance Gabrielle Saupe,

wishing Have you ever wished for something Something so strange, so magical Something that might have been beyond your control Wished for the impossible?

I have Did that wish turn in a longing A longing that so painful That it never left your thoughts Was in your mind every moment, every hour Mine did Eventually did the wish come true?

And you felt as if the odds were in your favor That everything was going your way Did you feel as if you couldn’t be happier?

I did

Does “Why me?” sound familiar?

It does to me

Did your wish spiral out of control?

Something so good suddenly became dreadful Painful thoughts returned Does “Why me?” sound familiar?

It does to me How did your wish turn out in the end?

Did it crash and burn?

Did you regret it?

The worse happened At least it did for me But did everything get better?

Light begin to be seen again A regret became an experience Are you now stronger?

I am Michelle Legette, senior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

the legacy of the dragon Have you ever seen a city melt?

Carving out a rough life alongside dragons?

One city, one world.

Disaster.

Duty calls. We all serve!

He’ll be tough to beat.

A tough primary fight.

Huge risk, despair, No calms before the storms.

But one city, Underestimated by men, can handle anything.

One city, one word.

Backed by the strength of a proud history.

Beautiful face in the crowd, Beautiful eyes, are watching.

This is their story.

The legacy of a dragon who died too soon.

Ferocious, yet curiously vulnerable.

The greatest persecution, a most deadly day.

One city, one world.

A lifetime to live.

Shari Armour,

andorra

Suzanna Jurado. senior

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correspondence

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Harmony

18

harmony

She was like a fire majestic, colorful, and bold.

Except she couldn’t...wouldn’t put out The forest lived in her full of wonderful mysteries waiting to be unearthed and discovered. the autumn breeze, pg 29

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

That smell fills the kitchen Apples?

No, that’s not quite right.

Apples and sugar.

That’s it.

Why is it that all the best memories begin with apples?

Apples or sugar.

Usually both.

I roll out the dough, criss cross, criss cross.

This looked like magic when I was a kid Criss cross, criss cross The smell of apples and sugar trips into my nose and fills my head with flashbacks Flash; picking apples with my mom and dad.

I could have brought anyone but I was too scared.

Plus, sometimes family is enough.

Flash; my father’s mouth moves, I put out my fat little hands, he drops a pinch of white into them “It’s sugar, Louise,” he tells me. “Try some.”

Criss cross, criss cross, the smell of apples and sugar snaps me back home Criss cross, criss cross Louise Platter, sophomore

parenthood To see their children happy, they try to give and give.

To see their children smile, that’s why parents live.

To see their children grow, that’s why parents show love.

To help their children get up when falling, that’s what parents does.

They’ll come running in the dark to protect you from everything.

They’ll run for miles to see you that’s who a parent is.

Leslie Alejandro, junior

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harmony

captive

Porter McLeod, junior

21

Alanna Pierce, junior

22

harmony

discipline

T

here are some who have a disregard for rules To be disciplined means that I must make and believe that discipline is a fading moral. wise decisions as to how I spend my time.

I am not one of those people.

Besides cello, I play four other instruments, For me, discipline not only makes a person sing, and run cross country. I am also currentrespectable, but it allows them to improve the skills ly taking two AP classes. It’s a lot to handle, they possess and prioritize their activities. Discipline and often times I would rather flop down on allows order to be kept, and a disciplined person the couch than study, but in order to improve generally has the drive to accomplish their goals.

I have to make time to get all the necessary As a musician, primary instrument being cello, activities done first. discipline is key in reaching full potential.

My coach often tells us that every day we are Anyone can pick up a bow and pull it across getting better or getting worse, but we never strings,but a disciplined person practices proper stay the same. His statement means that if we technique in order to produce the richest tone quality. I am “If you want something you have to pursue a very tense person, and there are times the stress can be it with the intensity of the second movement heard in my performance. of Stravinsky’s ‘Firebird Suite.’”

To the untrained ear my music may sound fine,and it would be easy to ignore the technicalities of playare not using our skills daily they will begin to ing, but to be a disciplined cellist I must practice atrophy. every day. I practice in front of a mirror, relaxing my It is tempting to skip practice or avoid whole body before I start. The process is long and studying, but in order to improve I try to push tedious, but it pays off when the sound my cello promyself in all I do. duces is something that would make Dvorak beam.

I strive to practice discipline and hope that Respect and discipline go hand in hand. In others see an example in me. Life can be busy orchestra the rules are standard: don’t talk during juggling school, practice and chores, but havrehearsal, listen to the conductor, and be ready to ing to work hard and apply myself has helped play when it is your time. If someone breaks a rule me realize that talent is not just doing the bare our orchestra has to waste time waiting for that perminimum. son to correct themselves. They not only disrespect If you want something you have to pursue it the director, but they disrespect their fellow players. with the intensity of the second movement of In our orchestra one of the biggest problems is cell Stravinsky’s “Firebird Suite.” phones. People will take out their phones and text I believe that discipline is applying wisdom while we are supposed to be playing. I don’t do this to the choices that one makes daily in order personally, but it is easy to be distracted by it, which to become their personal best. Discipline is is just as bad. helping to shape me into an excellent cellist, a Being disciplined means you can respect your dignified scholar, and someone who will never conductor by keeping your focus on them and the give up until her goals are attained. music. If Cirque du Soleil starts performing outside Alanna the window during rehearsal my focus will hopefully Pierce, not be diverted away from the matter at hand.

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les etoiles 24

Audrey Hinkle, freshman

harmony

you and i this is not a love poem, well, it is. it absolutely is. but you are not mine and i am not yours, well, you are, and i am. i remember when your hair was streaked with blond and curled around your chin. i remember you with braces, with makeup, in the morning, at night. you are constant, and in my eyes you are still the six-year-old with whom i made a pact, always best friends, always sisters. sisters. i know how you look when you are angry, when you don’t mean it, when you smile, in my head i see you roll your eyes, i watch you laugh, i can recite your catch phrases and i know how you look when you’re hurt, when you worry. i know the passenger seat of your car and the way you drive, the music you play, and the person you are, and let me tell you: i love it. i love it. i love who you are. i love the way you listen, the way you sympathize, the way you reminisce, i love the nights when we sit still and think about where we come from, the days when we break free, eat too much, laugh too hard. because i love you. and i know you are permanent, part of every chapter, part of who I am and how I came to be. i guess i should say thank you, but its not enough. but thank you anyway, i can’t wait for the rest of our lives.

Dory MacMillan, senior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

peace of mind

“The cold is threatening and it freezes my fingertips, nose and cheeks. But it doesn’t bother me.”

I am a sun kissed girl, with deep thoughts that sometime drown me, it is until the snow comes down and the earth is black and white that I can breath again...I am Dernaria.

It’s winter time, the snow is falling hard and thick, so thick that it shouts out every sound of the night from the legs of crickets to the loud thunder of trains behind lake place. The cold is threatening and it freezes my fingertips, nose and cheeks. But it doesn’t bother me, my fireplace doing what it does best by keeping me warm making me extra comfortable...sand man knocking at my door but not yet can I go to sleep my bundle of joy reminds me as he grinds against my pajama leg whining and purring at once till I finally give in for which my stomach has become empty as well, pouring us a nice healthy glass of milk hers in a bowl ,mine in my favorite coffee mug with two teaspoons of hersheys chocolate syrup.

Derneria Wiley, junior

self portrait

Kuriocki Booker, sophomore

26

harmony

metal worked

Carver Goodhue, senior

here i am They tell you a good girl is quiet and that you should never ask why ‘cause it only makes it harder to fit in. And you should be happy, excited, even if you’re just invited ‘cause the winners need someone to clap for them. It’s so hard just waiting in a line that never moves. It’s time you started your own rules. You gotta scream until there is nothing left. With your last breath say: Here I am Here I am Make them listen ‘cause there is no way you’ll be ignored. Not anymore. Say: Here I am Here I am Here I am You only get one life to work it So who cares if it’s not perfect Say its close enough to perfect For me Why should you hide from the thunder And the lighting that you’re under ‘Cause there ain’t nobody else you want To be if how you’re living isn’t working There’s one thing that will help You got to just stop searching to find yourself You gotta scream until there’s nothing left. With your last breath say: Here I am Here I am Make them listen ‘cause there is no way you’ll be ignored. Not anymore. Say: Here I am Here I am Here I am The world better make some room. Yeah, move over, over cause you’re coming through ‘cause you’re coming through. You gotta scream until there’s nothing left. With your last breath: Here I am Here I am Make them listen cause there is no way you’ll be ignored. Not anymore.

So here I am Here I am Brianna Freeman, Here I am freshman Here I am

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harmony

kaitlyn

Lela Jenkins, freshman

She was the autumn breeze Here once and then gone... forever.

After a breath-taking storm She was the shimmering mist Still lingering in the air She was the sun glowing on the ocean Just before sunset She was like a fire majestic, colorful, and bold Except she couldn’t...wouldn’t put out The forest lived in her full of wonderful mysteries waiting to be unearthed and discovered She was the dew on the morning grass that woke you up and tickled your bare feet Never failing to make you smile She was the soft drizzle on a sizzling day that cleared your soul and mind The kitten that curled at your feet The butterfly that landed on your nose The puppy with those soft warm brown eyes That was her She was the autumn breeze Here once and then gone...

Forever

Talia Williams, freshman

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Melody Wauke, senior

to do list (in no particular order)

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harmony

Her emotions are out of control She has so many stories to be told Her soul is one like the old She’s the mystery girl She’s very special A good friend to me Her heart is always Filled the glee She’s the mystery girl Don’t mess with her She is tough If you get mean Then she gets rough Don’t mess with her She doesn’t bluff She’s the mystery girl Ky’Anna Arthurton, 8th grade BHL

roxie and nahla Gabrielle Saupe,

junior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

Dependence 32

dependence

The plant was small, but it was nurtured well For the woman’s forgotten love in her heart did swell.

She lived alone because a husband -- once so loving -Had left her for wealth or women or something.

And so the woman would cry at night To the plant, who, tried as it might To listen, care and nurture the woman well, But she did not know the plant understood her hell. the lonesome houseplant, pg 35

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

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dependence

the lonesome houseplant There once was a woman, so bold and so neat.

She lived not far, just right down the street.

Her house was humble, old and sweet And in her bedroom, a plant did she keep.

The plant was small, but it was nurtured well For the woman’s forgotten love in her heart did swell.

She lived alone because a husband -- once so loving -Had left her for wealth or women or something.

And so the woman would cry at night To the plant, who, tried as it might To listen, care and nurture the woman well, But she did not know the plant understood her hell.

So she went to her work, as a restaurant manager.

She tended to the needs of any loyal costumer, But in the kitchen and behind the scenes, A different mask she wore it seems.

For she would abuse, despise and curse her workers As her husband, to her had done over and over.

So she found no solace, no peace at work, And when she got home, she would uncork Bottles upon bottles of cheap liquor for herself.

She spilt it on the floors and on every shelf.

She spilt it on the houseplant so it could feel her pain And the plant was nearly choked by a familiar rain.

As the woman grew older, her youth gave way To illness, cancer and liver decay.

Her bottles upon bottles had done their work.

She had crippled herself and all she was worth.

The days grew greyer. The pain grew greater.

Work would not pay her much more than a waiter.

In the end, the old lady took up a bed In the nearest hospital, until she was dead.

slow frost

Hannah Dunn-GrandprĂŠ,

The houseplant waited, waited for her return.

Its leaves were wilted, and its roots did yearn For some last taste of water, cool and sweet, Or a nice repotting, a wonderful treat.

But the woman and the water never came, And the plant slowly died by the window pane.

Never ever a though of itself, The lonesome houseplant, alone on the shelf.

Jacob Cona, senior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

Ils attendant Dans un agreéable et paisible Anticipant

waiting Tout le monde, partout Ils attendant Dans un agreéable et paisible Anticipant Mais, pas de essayaient Á avancer au-delà Pour une fois Dans le moment Restent

Everyone, everywhere Meanwhile they wait In a pleasant and peaceful anticipating But not trying To move beyond For once Staying In the moment Waiting

Hannah Dunn-Grandpré senior

splash

Chad Rhym, sophomore

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heavy

dependence

Susanna Conine-Nakano, sophomore

amygdala

I’m sorry for what I did.

It was a weak time for me, and I hope you can understand that.

I didn’t have my priorities straight.

Since then, I’ve changed.

That is, I like to think I have, at least.

But things have never really been quite the same between us.

There’s still that omnipresent feeling of wariness, like an animal expecting a blow.

Since then, we have never achieved the same level of trust as we once had, and I I feel regretful for that.

It just makes every day every day another opportunity for me.

For me to be better.

For me to grow.

For me to change.

For me to do the best I know I can do.

As your friend

Aaron Holmes, sophomore

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

dreamers

Porter McLeod, junior

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dependence

the american dream We dream of an extravagant abode We dream of a loving family We dream an ideal job We dream of endless riches We dream that this is possible for everyone But then we wake up Henry Siebentritt, senior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

mother’s day (an excerpt) A family is eating beans with soda at 4 o’clock; the beans are mostly water with the taste of beans. An old couple is sitting in the two chairs, their three daughters Dulce, Margarita and Zoila are sitting in the couches and two girls Vianey and Brenda are sitting on the floor.

The family is talking of Mother’s Day because Vianey wanted to know what else to gives her mother besides the rose when suddenly the phone rings and the youngest girl named Vianey stands up and runs toward the phone beside the table and with enthusiasm.

Vianey My mom, its my mom (Vianey picks up the phone) Vianey Mommy, Mommy is you?

Alma Yes honey it’s me how are you doing?

Vianey I’m fine. Mom is almost Mother’s Day and I have the money already to buy you the roses like every year. Are you coming this time so I can give them to you?

(With great sadness Alma respond) Alma We’ll see baby, God willing Vianey But mom, that’s what you’ve been telling me the past years and you don’t come (a pause, One of her aunts quickly go up to Vianey) Dulce Vianey let me talk to your mother Vianey: Aunt, I just want to convince my mom Dulce Finish eating while I talk to her (Vianey doesn’t want to let go the phone and start to cry her grandmother Rita hugs her and takes her to the room, Dulce picks up the phone) Dulce Alma, Vianey want so bad to give you the roses she buys for you every year since she was told in school, that roses are a nice touch to show your love to your loved ones, it takes time to raise the money for her. We can only give her one peso every other day.

Alma I know Dulce but I cannot do anything for now, I can’t go yet, I need to earn money to bring them with me to the USA. I would like to go in at least in this special day for her.

Dulce I understand but it gets me sad see Vianey each time when she gives me the roses she buys for YOU. (Alma and Dulce keep talking while in the room Brenda and Grandma Rita Try to calm Vianey down) Rita Don’t cry you will see that your mom come someday and you will give her the roses and show her how much you love her. Did you know that even though you don’t give the roses to your mom she receive them and you make her happy?

(Vianey Stays quiet but her face seems to be happy.

Brenda hugs her)

40

Brenda Vianey why don’t you go play soccer, and I’ll go for you when my mom ask for you.

Vianey Okay, but promise you’ll convince my mom to come.

Brenda I’ll try, now go play (Vianey clean her face hug her Brenda and then hugs grandma that are sitting on the bed and left) Brenda I feel so sad when I see her like that, I try to make her feel better make her feel loved but she miss my mom too much.

Rita Honey I know how you feel, but you know you’re 12 years old you understand better than her she is eight years old. Your mom is thankful with God to have you because you are such a good sister you take care of Vianey as you mom would do it. (from the kitchen) Dulce Brenda, your mom wants to talk to you Brenda I’m coming (Brenda picks up the phone) Brenda Hello mom how are you ?

Alma I’m good baby and you?

Brenda Fine, i just miss you Alma I missed you two, thank you for understand me and for taking care of your sister Brenda I do it because I know you would do the same for us. But I don’t do much, my aunt Dulce takes care of he more than I do.

Alma That’s good, she loves you both a lot. Baby where is Vianey?

Brenda I know she does and she is playing in the field. She love playing, she forgets everything when she play.

Alma I know she always used to have something to kick it. Where is everybody there no noise. OK baby I have to go to work I love you so much take care of you and your sister love you both.

Brenda Wait mom, Vianey wanted to talk to.

Alma: okay tell her to hurry up i have only a few more minutes (Brenda put the phone on the table and runs to the door and yell at Vianey) Brenda Vianey my mom have to go hurry up so you can say bye to her (Vianey run all sweaty, enters in the house and gets the phone) Vianey Mom? Alma Honey I have to go don’t forget I love you so much and that we will be together soon, I love you, I don’t have more minutes baby, bye take care Vianey: I love you too mom. Mm?? ( a pause) mom??

Vianey Salas, junior

dependence

There are two halves to every whole Both those halves share a soul It is when they intertwine That they merely decide to use up time Until they decide to leave That is when they start to grieve Because the amount of time is so slender

Zach Tully, junior

monociclo Lela Jenkins,

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

resistance

Barbara Kipros, sophomore

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dependence

together As we come together, as a “unit” We get used to smiling and being filled with contentment Let’s overlook what’s keeping us down, face adversity and quandaries together-like birds face the weather, we still fly, whether we’re on good terms or not, we stay together.

It takes a lot of effort to better what you treasure.

Unconditional love, no ruler can measure, Looking forward to forever.

And I know no relationship will be perfect, But when it’s real every second is worth it.

So as we come “together,” we defy falling under pressure, Impressive.

Belief of severance is never an alternate or option; often we dread on reaching a climax I’ve asked, “What could I do to making things Better?”

Whenever we fall out, we sepa...rate But I’ll always come back to caress her, and bless her with kisses as if they were sent from Heaven.

Now we’re angels who take wing together.

Soar and Fly together.

We have each other’s backs like we’re tied together.

We struggle, but survive together.

Let’s Revive and keep this Relationship alive Together.

Key Howard, senior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

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conflict

get home then feel the world closing in on me banging on the door for you to come and save me but instead you left me from the other side of the door you told me be a man and fight but i can’t fight four to one be a man, pg 59

45

hominidae Darkness grows As you live for our eyes alone Yet, you’re no different than damp scattered leaves on a frozen stream Or the desperate water beneath the surface.

So fall in line Or walk your own.

Either way you’ll be alone.

And do you have the time to loan?

Or do you still ignore the sign?

Look down upon this savage place How could it be some divine scheme?

Mind set in stone until you are shown Anything goes

William Kissane, senior

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dazed

Maria Velasquez,

africa

junior

What do you know about us?

We are brothers.

Are you here to help us?

We need water and food.

We need shoes and clothes.

We want you to feel our pain.

We feel as if no one is there for us, We are like a herd of sheep, We stay together.

Do we look the same?

We are not the same, We all have our own individual traits.

Do you see me?

Queniterrah Carter, junior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

santa rita

S

he sat in the pew, huddled in her dress and deep in prayer. Her devotion was as superficial as her powdered face. It was all fake and she knew it.

She was the world’s biggest sinner and she knew it.

Leaving the church, she walked a block or so to get away from the fellow congregants. She bet that none of those Jesus freaks even knew her name. She certainly didn’t know any of theirs. But what was she to them? A kid from Reno that they would never get to know. She put on her holy face for them; they’d never even glimpse the true her.

an added bonus, it sanctified her. Santa Rita from Santa Rita. What a ring that had.

The gang drove and drove out into the hills for their favorite Sunday night camp out. Dave got the kindling for the fire while the other boys dragged logs to create the benches for them to sit on. Rita sat in the truck’s bed and smoked a cigarette and supervised the work. If only this paid.

Soon the fire was ready to be lit and she jumped up out of the truck’s bed to do the honors. Her matchbox might of well been her signature.

Saint Rita’s fire.

She enjoyed the night of talking with the boys and eating food cooked over the fire. It was great, but, for some reason, she was ready “She put on her holy face for them; for it to end. She was ready for a change. they’d never even glimpse the true her.” When nobody was looking, she grabbed the pistol loaded with a single bullet. She pointed it at the youngest boy, Ron. Somehow, her She pranced into the sports bar and headed actions still went unnoticed by any of her company. straight for the lady’s room. She got her makeup out After the shot, she grabbed her bag and left to of her bag and applied it in her signature style. She walk down the road towards town. She stopped by took the cross necklace her dad gave to her before her little house and got what she knew she’d want his death eight years ago off and threw it in. The lipto keep, or at least try to keep, and put it in. It had stick was vibrant against her pale skin; the contrast started to rain, so her final escapade left her wet. was purely shocking..

She entered the prison and approached the coun“Are you going to be dining with us, ma’am?” the ter, her hair dripping onto the cold tiled floor. hostess asked as she passed the welcome stand.

“Visiting hours are over, ma’am,” the attendant “No, I’m fine, thanks,” she said. Out the door she said in a bored voice. went “I know. But I’m not here for that.”

The hostess was pissed. Her quiet nature had “Then why are you here?” she was asked. lost the establishment another customer, or so she “I’m here to turn myself in.” thought.

“What have you done, ma’am?”

She now stood at the street corner. She rummaged She smiled and paused for a minute. “I’ve just through the contents of her bag. Everything was killed a man.” there; her cigarettes, her wallet, her lipstick, and, of course, the small “She was getting that change she wanted. Her pistol she always carried.

A rusty orange truck roared at the mugshot was graced with her pretty smile.” traffic light down the street. Here they came.

She only received stares from the men and women “Hey, hey, baby!” yelled one of the boys in the behind the plexiglass. She pulled out her now empty truck. She raised her hand and waved timidly. What pistol as evidence and offered to show the streak of a temptress she was. The truck pulled up to the curb blood from the boy’s head that she had wiped on her and she got in, climbing to the middle. thigh.

Dave and the boys. Her gang. She didn’t have The policeman escorted her to the processing many friends here in Santa Rita. She had no idea room. She was getting that change she wanted. Her why she even moved here, to the hot valley. Probably mugshot was graced with her pretty smile. just because she shared the name with the town. As Ethan Crane, sophomore

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conflict

minor defense William Kissane, senior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

punk

Gregg Guichard,

junior

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conflict

does it really matter?

The smashing waves The roaring thunder The dark clouds The pouring rain The streaming lightning Does it really matter?

Seems it would be But frightening it’s not I’ve seen my heart walk into a fiery death I’ve been in the Lion’s Den yet made it out alive and strong Does it really matter?

Seems it would be But frightening it’s not I’ve felt the knife in my back Saw the eyes that left it Washed the hand that poisoned my mind Had a drink with the man that made me cry Does it really matter?

Seems it would be But frightening it’s not I’ve kissed the lips that ruined my life Fed the mouth that told me lies Been in bed with those who left me Yet none of it matters

Jaqueline Gordon,

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine The time comes, for the sakura trees to blossom.

The petals fall to the earth, following the girl that walks past.

Alone and sad is what she feels, She watches the leaves fall around her.

The girl looks up to the cloud filled sky.

Someone calls her name and she turns from the trees.

The owner of the orphanage calls her, from the front door.

She walks back to the building and closes the door.

The kids crowd around her and are glad she is back.

The sun comes up the next day.

Adoption day has come.

The kids are excited, except for the girl from yesterday.

The girl waits in the line, waiting for the adults that are here to adopt a child.

The other kids are pulled away one by one.

At the end of the day only the girl is left at the orphanage once again.

The owner has watched every year. the other kids being adopted, but never the little girl with the purple eyes.

She is sad for the child and decides to adopt her as her own.

Alone and sad is what she feels, She watches the leaves fall around her.

aqua

Emily Watson, freshamn

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Hannah Price, 8th grader CMS

conflict

solopsism Once, there was a teenager.

I remember, as I breathed in your lies, and they turned acrid in my mouth. Despite all of it, I was nervous as hell. No elegantly painted butterflies fluttered inside my stomach, only wasps. Wasps that stung as swiftly as thoughts flitted through my head. And believe me, I tried to shut it all out. But it’s hard—you see—because every time I see your face, that taste comes back, and I feel all queasy again and just plain sick.

This teenager was happy.

Maybe it’s because I’m an introvert. I just don’t like people around me. At least not the people that dominate my personal universe. You all are fake, plastic stereotypes. The people who are supposed to advise me screw me over, and the person that was supposed to love me never wanted me in the first place. Yes, I know about that.

She did everything right.

My life isn’t bad in the least. My life is wonderful in comparison to millions of other lives out there. I am blessed. Yet, being the egocentric human that I am, I still feel compelled to wallow in self pity over my own minuscule problems. These kinds of things happen to everybody, right? People die, people get hurt, families break, and the people inside of them break in consequence. Sometimes they break slowly, but faster than anyone ever expected. Take notice, we are all tethered here to this earth by something, and when we no longer have this purpose, we are gone. For many it is ignorance that holds them captive on this planet.

Their bliss I am jealous of.

And nothing ever happened to her.

I know someday I will die. Someday the earth will die, leaving nothing, not even a memory. Contemplating reality, what does any of it matter? I am young and have a promising future ahead of me. The earth is beautiful, and I am lucky just to get to live a single day here, to see the wonders of life, and birth, and art, and music, and compassion. So tell me, why does it hurt so much when you are tearing me apart at the seams? Why is my vision clouded by my existential despair?

On late nights, drunk on philosophy, I wonder: Where is god?

Audrey Hinkle,

axial Chloe Alexander,

freshman

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

questions Why? What does a dude like me got to do?

Why am I in this shallow hole with no support? is it because I’m black?

Or is it because I got to make the bed I lay in?

A wise man once told me you will not leave this earth without feeling terrible pain, I’m thinking that pain has come, but how do I pull through?

Stay humble?

Say grace?

How when they say an idle mind is a devil’s workshop?

How when that daddy of mine doesn’t even stop by to say what’s up?

How when that granny of mine can barely stand up?

Huh? You tell me?

Jerel Wright, fourth year student

assumptions

I

n the 21st century, I’ve come to notice that it is common practice, among adults especially, for people to attempt to fool themselves into believing that there is no racism, sexism or economic discrimination in our society.

If only we could accept that there was no racial tension, no advantages and no stereotypes, how content we would be.

But it’s clear to me as someone who attends high school and as an American citizen that we can’t accept it, simply because it doesn’t hold true.

As a student at a jarringly diverse public school, the assumptions people hold for those of certain races, genders or religious groups are ever-apparent.

I personally have experienced such stereotypical expectations firsthand on many occasions, and can speak to the fact that they are beyond commonplace-- they are prevalent in the minds of teenage youth, especially in those ignorant of other cultures.

During the first semester of my sophomore year, I was placed in a Latin I class filled predominantly with freshmen who were not from the same socio-

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conflict

economic background as myself, who I didn’t know and who didn’t seem to care whatsoever about the material or their success in the class. I made a hobby of observing how these students perceived me.

I was quickly labeled by them as a typical “nerdy white boy.” Someone who speaks properly, raises his hand to answer questions and cares too much about his grades. Any step over these guidelines on my part was received with awe.

Is that boy really someone who curses, comes to class late and falls asleep during tests?

It was incomprehensible to many of these people whom I had never met before in my life that I could be someone who did all these things. My image was further confuse in their minds, mostly because I was

I am extremely angered when friends of mine whose skin color is darker than my own are stopped in the hall and asked for a pass, while I stroll by unbothered. still, in fact, a nerdy white boy.

Most shocking of all, this was not the first time an event like this had happened to me.

Teachers often tend to assume that I am quiet, reserved and respectful at all times due to my race and appearance, and often respond with utter surprise and “disappointment” when I misbehave.

I understand that these expectations are not bad ones to have, and that negative prejudices exist just as prominently about the color of someone’s skin, especially in a state like Georgia.

I realize that I am fortunate in my situation, and feel pity for those whose skin color or economic background is associated with more negative things in the minds of the ignorant.

I am extremely angered when friends of mine whose skin color is darker than my own are stopped in the hall and asked for a pass, while I stroll by unbothered.

It disgusts me that such blatant racism still exists in the modern day. In order to take steps towards equality for all, our first action must be to eliminate racism within our own subconscious.

Aaron Holmes, sophomore

fiesta

Gabe Harper, junior

2013 iliad literary-art magazine

P

iece by piece the shards of a broken mirror are collected, turned over and carefully examined. The reflections become more distorted as I peer at myself through the glass; I become lost.

But still the pieces are collected. One by one by one. All the pieces have been found. Now it’s time to put them together again. Yet it’s much too easy to drop the pieces - shattering them further. Is it possible to become more broken? But I must be the one to put the pieces back together. No one else can see this mirror called my past. So piece by piece I’m putting it back together. Shard by broken shard. I’m looking at myself through the glass. Though the reflection is distorted now, when it is whole again, I hope to see the beauty deep inside. of me.

Anonymous

shattered

Audrey Hinkle,

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conflict

chased down the street everyday life living in a hard neighborhood out of breath wishing it could just fade get home then feel the world closing in on me banging on the door for you to come and save me but instead you left me from the other side of the door you told me be a man and fight but i can’t fight four to one tomorrow comes and you can’t look me in the face drunk on beef and mad with hatred told me i’ll always be punk and sissy all it ever did was make me scared of you now you tell me it was all to me like you hard and strong but to me you are the weak one a man can’t grow without the scars to show drank a beer with a pack of smokes claim your territory defend everything you own treat a lady nice when you meet her manipulate her head so she’ll let you please her no, please you show a strong hand so she’ll know never to leave you buy her nice things to make her a believer she’s your only night time comes you find another to sleep with. told me to chase after girls and learn from you maybe then i’ll learn how to be a man instead of sitting next to mom having her hold my hand throw a ball to my face, told me to catch it i’ll be one of the guys if i just tried make dad proud and join a team but art was in my fingertips which made embarrassment bleed from your hanging head a man isn’t art, art doesn’t make you tough and art can’t teach you to survive a man shows no emotions a man gets what he wants a man is aggressive a man fights when threatened not a punk sitting home with a box of colored pencils be a man gregg and just grow up or continue to be a sissy and get beat up

shaving cream Gabe Harper,

junior

Gregg Guichard, junior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

hero’s motivation (an excerpt) An actor stands center in a neutral position. Another actor stands off to the side. The stage is bare.

Narrator Before we begin, I’d like to introduce our hero for tonight. Won’t you wave to the people, hero?

Hero (over-excited, waving frantically) Hello, brave adven-Narrator (cutting Hero off) I only said wave, so shh (a smile towards the audience as he continues) Tonight’s story is a story of danger and suspense. Our hero will go on a treacherous journey by himself, only to fi-Hero By myself?

Narrator Yes, by yourself. Is that a problem?

Hero Well, no...I just thought that I’d have some company for my adventure.

Narrator Company? What type of adventurer do you think you are?

Hero I...I thought I was, well, kind of like a superhero. (strikes the superhero pose) Narrator (laughing) A superhero? Please, you don’t even have any powers.

Hero Neither does Batman and he has sidekicks.

Narrator Are you a billionaire who can buy expensive equipment and adopt little orphans?

Hero No, but not al-Narrator You don’t get to be Batman.

Hero Fine. (moving on) Are there no other heroes to go on this quest with me?

Narrator (mockingly) Afraid to go alone?

Hero Afraid? No! It’s just tha-Narrator (continuing to mock Hero) Do you want your big brother hero to hold your hand and slay the big bad evil guy for you?

Hero I’m not saying that. Some journeys are taken-Narrator (circling Hero, still mocking) Is our poor hero too scared to take the journey to save the world by himself? Do we need to change our hero’s undies?

Maybe he should just pick up his bottle and take a nap.

Narrator (mockingly) Afraid Someone get our hero a blanket.

Hero Enough! to go alone?

(Narrator stops, makes his way back to the side of the Hero Afraid? No! It’s just tha-stage) Narrator Well then, I suppose you’ll want some help.

Hero That’s all I’ve been asking for.

(Narrator stops, thinking for the moment. He comes up with a brilliant idea.)

Narrator (Gesturing towards Hero’s feet) And there he is!

Hero (Looking around) Where?

Narrator Why right there! Don’t you see him?

Hero No...

Narrator Well he’s hard to miss! A large beast of a dog. Your faithful companion!

Hero My faithful companion! (He goes to one knee to pet his dog) Narrator You’ll want to stand tall to pet him. He’s a large dog.

(Hero pets higher up.)

Narrator Larger than that.

(Hero stands up, is bent over petting the dog) Narrator Even bigger.

Hero Bigger than that?

Narrator This is a dog an adventurer like you would be proud of!

Hero (Standing all the way up, petting at around waist level, or higher up if Hero is short) And I am!

Narrator So are you ready? An adventure awaits you.

Hero Of course I’m ready!

Narrator Well let’s begin.

Kyle Fox, senior

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conflict

stark

Gabrielle Saupe, junior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

This day is stoic.

Blue gray clouds cover, Vibrant greens invade the periphery A thousand shades of verdant Air still as a reverend’s prayer, Elusive birdsong lingers, distant.

Pausing by roadside woods, I stare into the density of limbs and vines, Tangle of undergrowth And overgrowth A leafy canopy of branch, Stone gray sky peeking through.

I look deep into dark crevices, Black unknowns emerge among the lush foliage.

What exists in those depths?

Potential for evil, Unrealized, lurking?

They lure me in, consume me.

I lose sight of all else, Sky, leaves, song of bird.

The dark places in me, pulled as if by magnetic force, Into this forest cave.

I could be carried along, Disappear into the chaotic maze I face, And then further into the black spaces.

Discover what lies beyond, within.

For a moment I am still as a corpse In this stoic day.

I could be carried along, Disappear into the chaotic maze I face

A note, a breeze, breaks the spell.

The forest reappears, earthy browns and shades of green.

Points of black recede.

And I proceed Among the reaching greens, Under the dingy ivory sky Of this stoic day.

Ginger Lehmann, English department teacher

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captain

Chad Rhym,

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

The world is a strange way to live. Out there a lot of people think too, and there are a lot of larger things to do, too.

It became clear, or at least seemed to, that it was to think, or I was to do. I stopped thinking for a while and I did. born great, pg 68

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resolution

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

not applicable

T

hroughout the course of my life I was raised as decision I was so clearly incapable of making, I both a Catholic and a Jew, a somewhat selfish abstained from choosing one religion over another. decision on the part of my parents. I’ve since I stayed in the tortuous limbo. I knew it was self-demoved past the conflict, but this is not an inspirastructive. My lack of understanding was painful, but tional story of self-discovery. Well, perhaps it is, but I had somehow convinced myself that choosing, that a relatively mediocre one. trying to figure things out could be somehow worse For the early part of my life there was a very literal than the current frustration. split. One weekend at church learning the Creation As I grew older, I made an attempt to understand Story. One weekend at synagogue learning the Hemy faith. I suppose I finally matured enough where brew alphabet. Every December, I got eight nights of I knew I couldn’t continue to live in an awkward and Hanukkah along with a Christmas celebration. I was ridiculous in-between that I had for so many years. the envy of all my friends.

The transition was inevitable and I craved some kind As I grew up it became increasingly obvious that of understanding. my curiosity would not subside and perhaps teachI made the effort. Listened to the prayers, read reing me two conflicting ideas and histories was not ligious texts, asked questions. Nothing resonated. It logical. The solution this time: Unitarian Universalwas uncomfortable, but I wanted it. Badly. Perhaps ism. By definition, it is accepting of all faiths and it was too late for me. I wasn’t brought up to believe ideas. On paper it was an ideal compromise, but any of this, I had put up walls that were clearly not after attending the service for a while, it didn’t feel to come down. I was a lost cause. right and I stopped going.

None of it made sense, even when I got to the Yet another attempt to blend my two identities. point where I wanted it to. I wanted to embrace a reYears of my life spent with these three different ligion, any religion, any one that made sense. I knew religions. The years usually spent teaching children. it when I’d hear it. I hadn’t heard it, though.

When they’re impressionable, they absorb the inforI used to wonder what was wrong with me. Litermation without questioning it. Those years were lost ally every other person in the world could grasp this. on me. I no longer cared to question.

Religion is something so universally understood.

For the majority of my life any time there I knew it was self-destructive. My lack of understandwas some sort of reing was painful, but I had somehow convinced myself ligious conversation, every service I atthat choosing, that trying to figure things out could be tended, every prayer I heard, I would tune somehow worse than the current frustration. it out. Even when I was in a position to Even if not everyone is the same religion, they can lead the conversation or give the prayer, I would say all band together with the fact that they believe in the words, but it had no true meaning for me. I was something bigger than themselves. simply going through the motions.

It’s a nice idea. And how pleasant would it be to This doesn’t apply to me. have that feeling? To for once be on the inside of I’d repeat it over and over. I can’t even imagine of the conversation? To know there was something to how many times. It had gone on for more than 10 depend on other than myself? years.

This is supposed to be the turning point in my I was living in a strange state of limbo by myself. story. And it is, but its not the way its supposed to Both my parents had their religion. My sister was be. content with her Unitarianism. In some desire to please both parents and avoid making a difficult

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resolution

It’s not identifying with a religion. Because I’ve finally come to realize that I didn’t believe in any of the three I had been taught or the others I had researched.

It’s not Christianity or Judaism or Unitarianism. It’s not even Atheism.

It doesn’t mean I have it all figured out, though. I still question things every day.

What about fate? No. Humans make their own choices. It’s not someone’s fate to die if someone else kills them, that person made choices all by themself. But does that mean everything else is left up to chance? No. That doesn’t sound right either.

What about after people die?

They just lie in the ground and that’s it, they’re done. No, that’s far too morbid. Heaven and hell?

Couldn’t be, if it were then that would mean there’s no such thing as a gray area. At least I know that exists.

I don’t have a god, I believe in morals and integrity and the idea that everyone is inherently good. It is not a perfect system and often puts me in awkward situations where people disagree with my thought process.

I still am present at all holidays for the sake of my family, but I know my faith does not lie with them, or the vast majority of the world for that matter.

After 18 years though, being a part of something bigger than myself is not what is important anymore, rather finding what actually makes sense in my own head.

the inner eye

Audrey Hinkle, freshman

Hannah Dunn-Grandpré, senior

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father’s day It was the last time, The last time he’d come home, The last time he’d sleep in his own bed, The last time he’d see his farm.

It was the last time, The last time I’d see his eyes, The last time I’d shake his hand, The last time I’d hear his voice.

It was Father’s Day. He was supposed to come home again next weekend, He did, Just not how I had wanted him to.

He didn’t come home, He went Home.

Loran Posey, senior

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twilight

Maria Velasquez, junior

2013 iliad literary-art magazine

I

was born a great; and was from the beginning such. The earth shakes when I slip, my voice fills canyons.

Once when I was four I saw a drowning boy. He was weak and succumbed to the waters. I was born strong; I could’ve swum to him. I had one brother who taught me everything there is to know about life. He drowned when I was four. I could’ve swum.

I was 15 before I ever spoke to the others that much because I was always preoccupied with thoughts. But I never

wisdom

Matthew Ward,

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cried; I was born too strong to feel that way about my thinking. Etching, engraved were my ideas, cold like stone, gravity did not exist. I thought that she was pretty. And like a hiccup I couldn’t help but say something. It wasn’t like me to break a thought, but I said something; she was pretty.

I left home after I should, but I could’ve before. I stayed out of respect; I was rising under shadows and did most learning on my own. I was born with that kind of stern understanding and got most

resolution come back and we could be together, after I had lived.

Now that I think about it, it was funny. We never did anything back then, I do everything with my family now we really are living.

I can love you, I thought as I married the beautiful woman who was a stranger, who was to help me live and I was going to be raising a family. Then I forgot about love and did. We did a lot of stuff, it was so much fun until we did it. I was born great and I labored for a couple of years to create my empire then lived in my palace for decades.

The stranger gave birth to strangers, I wanted them to be able to do everything.

I wanted them to live. I spent it all on their lives. They grew fast and their flame blazed bright until it flickered out. The fuel was spent; they had done everything I did and more and couldn’t do no more so they died. It wasn’t sad because I didn’t remember love, or them. She left me when my empire fell, on account of my excessive spending. I was born great.

Someone else was born great after me, so he took over my empire.

“But I never cried; I was born too strong to feel that way about my thinking.” all they taught. I left and thought that one day I would go back.

The world is a strange way to live. Out there a lot of people think too, and there are a lot of larger things to do, too. It became clear, or at least seemed to, that it was to think, or I was to do. I stopped thinking for a while and I did. I had a family; they were all doers too. I forgot how to remember and days became years.

Life offered a lot of things to do and I worked hard so my family could do them all. My family didn’t deserve anything, but I gave them everything because that’s what they were supposed to get. Everything, I wanted it for them, for them I did.

I remember love, that’s what I was going to leave; that was what people did.

My mother cared for me but I couldn’t remember her love; she died in childbirth when my little brother was born at two.

My father loved me. But his love was drowned too and that panged those days of thought. He drank so that he could forget and do and provide. He wanted to forget that day, that day when I learned of life. I loved him too, but he was a love that I didn’t remember, just thought of fondly. And those days were stern thoughts for nothing. They weren’t really thoughts but they were all I had to pass the time because I was poor and my dad had nothing.

Then I had my own thoughts that floated and went to fill my soul and then floated through the air. I thought always until I left to go live. I also did that day I met her. I talked and she talked and we thought about things in our idleness. I loved her and she was pretty too.

This made me do things for her, without thinking because all I could do is think of her. Life was funny and I liked it. But for some reason I was born great and was too strong for that and had better things that life could offer me, or so they told me. And so I left her to live, then I would

“Then I had my own thoughts that floated and went to fill my soul and then floated through the air.”

I am left with nothing else to do. So I think about my life and all I can remember is those three years with her. I heard she died in an auto accident some time ago, but now I actually thought about it; I cried. I only ever loved her in life, and love was the only thing on which I could think on and act on too. I was born a great man. I lived a great man. But I will die alone, and think of the love that I lost and can no longer do anything about. I am too weak; I succumb to the waters.

Baylor Ward, junior

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

transition

Marina Byrne, sophomore

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resolution

¿Qué he aprendido?

What have I learned?

Aprendí que la vida es contradicción Aprendí que la vida es completo misterio Aprendí que la vida es todo y nada

I learned that life is a contradiction I learned that life is a completely mystery I learned that life is everything and nothing

Aprendí que la gente a veces hace daño Aprendí que la gente a veces miente Aprendí que la gente a veces llora

I learned that people sometimes hurt I learned that people sometimes lie I learned that people sometimes cry

Luego me di cuenta, de que nada había aprendido

Then I realise that I didn’t learn anything

Adriana de Villa, senior

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patriotism

Gabe Harper,

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

a short story about forever

W

hat is forever? Is it real or is it something imagined? I know I can feel forever but I don’t know for sure that it’s there. I know sometimes forever is a good thing. Sometimes it’s horrible. Sometimes you want forever but you can’t have it, and sometimes you have it but you don’t want it. Does anything last forever?

Sometimes I walk with you. You hold my hand. At those times I close my eyes and wish hard for forever. I feel deeply that it must exist, but I know that it is beyond me. Beyond us. We will become old and gray and even if you are there it will not last forever. We will die, and then what will we be?

Sometimes things feel like forever when you don’t want them to. Perhaps a realization hits you and it seems like forever because everything you’ve known has changed. And everything you will know will be different.

Sometimes I sit and think and it is forever, because I’m remembering my past and contemplating my future, and all the while the present is passing me by. Is it forever? I am alive but I don’t feel alive except that I am breathing and my brain is functioning. But then again it isn’t, because I don’t know that what I know is real; I don’t know anything at all.

Sometimes I lay in bed and you sleep. There are times when I watch you. Do you believe in forever? I wonder. Then I remember it doesn’t matter because forever doesn’t exist. But I know that if it did I could lay next to you forever.

Sometimes I realize how short life is compared to forever. That’s when I know forever can’t be real. All of us die before we see forever, so how can we know it’s there? We don’t. But like many other things we believe in it anyway because it’s a nice thought.

Sometimes I know that forever is different for everyone. That for each person forever only lasts a lifetime. But then I get distracted and I don’t know anymore. Then I am back to wishing and hoping that you and I will be forever.

Sometimes forever is only really a few minutes, and at times it’s only really one. But what does it matter? It feels like forever. I only know that what I feel is real. And yet I don’t even know that. What do I know?

What is forever?

Shari Armour, senior

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resolution

lucky

Susanna Conine-Nakano, sophomore

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

“We forget our privilege in spending our days with people that challenge us, people that inspire us, people that depend on us. We get dragged down by the aggravations.”

--Hannah Dunn-Grandpré, letter from the editor, pg 3

Carver Goodhue Managing Editor

Hannah Dunn-Grandpré Editor-in-Chief

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David A. Ragsdale adviser

Suzanne Jurado Visuals Director

our perspective

2013 iliad literary-art magazine staff from left to right; back row: David A. Ragsdale, Ethan Crane, Lela Jenkins, Addie Downs; middle row: Emily Watson, Anna Grossman, Emma Clarke; front row: William Kissane, Chloe Alexander, Hannah Dunn-Grandpré, Suzanne Jurado, Carver Goodhue not pictured: Maria Velasquez

“In high school especially, when we are striving so valiantly to belong within groups of others, positive interactions become crucial to our self-esteem.”

--Chloe Alexander, theme letter, pg 2 77

2013 iliad literary-art magazine

friends of the iliad diamond $300 John and Sharla Campbell Carson Advisory Bertis and Katherine Downs Neal and Anne Marrano

gold $50 Dr. Jobeth Allen Dr. John Campbell West and Cynthia Corley Meg Granum Wilbur and Susan Mill Gregory Pierce and family Dr. Peter Smagorinsky

bronze $10

platinum $100 Emily Carr Dr. Merrily Dunn Greater Georgia Printers Janice and Peter Madden Julie and Burke Walker

silver $25 Ian Altman Dr. Meredith Blackburn Jodi Bogla Lenore Katz John and Amy Kissane Keith and Lindy Weaver

Kacy Tedder

special thanks to: Jeff Barnett John and Sharla Campbell Bob Carson and family West Corley Anne McLeod Dr. Robbie P. Hooker Jamie Jordan Lenore Katz Dr. Phil Lanoue Ginger Lehmann

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Tad MacMillan Pete McCommons Meghan McNeeley Lauren Pruitt Melanie Sigler Dr. Peter Smagorinsky Anisa Sullivan-Jimenez Jim Thompson Marion Montgomery and any of our friends we’ve left out.

our perspective

index

Lelsie Alejandro parenthood 20 Chloe Alexander the man on the bench 12 axial 53 Jenny Alpaugh roxanne 8 Anonymous broken pieces 56 Shari Armour lgacacy of the dragon 16 a story about forever 74 Ky’Anna Arthurton mystery girl 31 Kuriocki Booker self portrait 26 Marina Byrne transition 70 Quenterica Carter africa 47 Jacob Cona the lonesome houseplant 35 Susanna Conine-Nakano heavy 37 lucky 74 Ethan Crane santa rita 48 Adriana de Villa what i’ve learned 71 Hannah Dunn-Grandpré slow frost 34 waiting 36 not applicable 64 Brianna Freeman here i am 27 Kyle Fox here’s motivation 58 Carver Goodue metal worked 27 Jacqueline Gordon does it really matter? 51 Gregg Guichard punk 49 be a man 57 Gabe Harper fiesta 54 shaving cream 57 patriotism 72 Audrey Hinkle les etoiles 24 solopsism 53 shattered 56 the inner eye 65

Aaron Holmes amygdala 37 assumptions 54 Key Howard together 43 Suzanne Jurado andorra 16 Lela Jenkins etching 11 kaitlyn 28 monociclio 41 Barbara Kipreos resistance 42 William Kissane homindae 46 minor defence 49 Michelle Legette wishing 15 Ginger Lehmann cloudy day 60 Dory MacMillan three 9 you and i 25 Porter McLeod captive 21 working class 38 Alanna Pierce watercolor orient 22 discipline 23 Louise Platter jenna’s call10 apples and sugar 20 Hannah Price purple-eyed child 50 Loran Posey father’s day 64 Chad Rhym splash 36 captain 59 Vianey Salas mother’s day 40 Gabrielle Saupe ponderance 15 roxie and nahla 31 stark 49 Henry Siebentritt the american dream 39 Audrey Spiers washington’s dentures 8 Zach Tully the two halves 41

Maria Velasquez moon 8 waiting 12 dazed 46 twilight 67 Baylor Ward born great 68 Matthew Ward wisdom 68 Emily Watson aqua 52 Melody Wauke to do list 30 Derneria Wiley peace of mind 26 Talia Williams the autumn breeze 29 Jerel Wright when the rain pours 14 questions 54

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2013 iliad literary-art magazine

Colophon iliad headlines were printed in Sanford. All copy and bylines were printed in Georgia.

London was used on the outer and inner covers and section dividers. Piedmont Impressions, a subsidiary of Greater Georgia Printers, of Athens, Ga., printed 300 copies of this book on 80 lb. gloss text. The cover was printed on 100 lb. Athens Gloss Cover and was designed by Porter McLeod and Hannah Dunn-GrandprĂŠ.

The Correspondence section divider was taken by Maria Velasquez. The Harmony, Dependence and Conflict section dividers were taken by Porter McLeod. The Resolution section divider was taken by Lela Jenkins. The inside cover photos were taken by Porter McLeod. The Staff page portraits and staff group photo were taken by Porter McLeod.

The 2012 iliad earned a Superior rating in the General Excellence competition from the Georgia Scholastic Press Association of the University of Georgia.

The 2012 iliad earned an All-Southern rating and the Scroggins Award, top honors, from the Southern Interscholastic Press Association.

The 2012 iliad earned a Gold Medallist rating from the Columbia Scholastic Press Association. The 2012 iliad earned a First Class rating from the National Scholastic Press Association with three marks of distinction with the Public Critique Service and seventh place best in show for Literary Magazine.

The iliad accepts short stories, editorials, articles, poetry, essays, art, photography and other creative work from the students and faculty of Clarke Central high School in Athens, Ga. All submitted works are evaluated by the iliad staff. The magazine’s adviser, David A. Ragsdale, has approved all work for publication.

The iliad actively recruits rising ninth grade students while still at our two feeder middle schools, Clarke Middle and Burney-Harris-Lyons Middle, by allowing them to submit pieces.

The goals of the iliad are to 1) encourage creative writing among students and faculty; 2) support work in the fine arts among students and faculty; 3) publish creative work in each academic year; 4) involve interested students in the selection and publication of literary and artistic works.

The editors, staff and adviser are grateful to everyone who submitted work for this issue of the iliad. We would also like to thank everyone for their confidence and support in this endeavor.

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