ST BENEDICT AT AUBURNDALE
2013-2014 ISSUE 3 C s p b
LIFE IS BUT A DREAM Mayson Morrissett (Class of 2014)
There are a million things I want to do in life I hope to fulfill all my dreams The first thing to do is to start exploring By the end you will have found your pursuit Feeling accomplished has the most gratitude All your imaginary life is a complete wonder The path I am on is full of wonder A happy place is a happy life Bad feelings will be filled with utmost gratitude I wish you could pick and choose dreams Happiness is a lifelong pursuit There are a million places to be explored I envy people whose job is to explore Their life must be filled with unique wonders You will not grow if you refuse the pursuit The world is a bundle of life Images you see during the day are brought to you in dreams Everybody should show gratitude Stories are not complete without genuine gratitude Life should not be complete without exploring Big ideas make up big dreams In the world are many great wonders You are the only person who can choose your life Life is one big pursuit Since life is one big pursuit I promise you will be full of gratitude You will have a completed life Where you will have reached the top of exploration You will have no more ideas from wondering Therefore you will have completed your dreams
ABBEY MUFFALETTO class of 2014 Prismacolor Pencils
What never runs out are dreams There are so many different idea pursuits Your mind will always want to wonder Another abundant thing is gratitude As long as you let it, your mind will explore So whatever you do, Live the happiest life
BREANNA PARKER class of 2015 Mixed Media
PURPLE STAIN Matthew Sena (Class of 2014)
I was standing in a small town with people I did now know, a place I did not know. It was the middle of the day, and a commotion started about. Everybody started rushing to the town square. There were large strips of cloth rolled on a clothesline. Nobody could quite figure out what they were there for, or who put them there. The laws of the town forbade an investigation. No special armed teams were allowed to gather information. That’s just the way the place worked. As a warning, though, everyone was warned not to touch the strips of cloth and leave them as they were. The next day I walked to the same spot with more commotion than the last day. The large strips of cloth were unrolled and blowing in the wind. They all had light purple stains on them, which was very strange. A man was standing on a podium announcing what this all meant. After research was performed, they found out what the purple dye meant: it was an infection. This was no ordinary disease and would kill many people. The man told everyone to find out if they were infected so they could report their status. The process was simple, but odd. I needed, apparently, to go in a hallway or closed space and rub my hands and feet on each wall. This would expose the pigment if I were infected. So I rubbed my hands and feet on the parallel walls and looked at my palms. There was purple everywhere. Frantically, I ran to the center square and saw the man announcing again. He had more information. This was an act of bioterrorism and was a threat to all. Those responsible for the deed could be anywhere. Again, the strict laws of the land forbade an investigation. I yelled, “Why can’t we just find them and stop them?” Nobody heard me. Nobody cared. I was isolated. Then, a man came and placed a scroll with details on the disease. Not much was known, but it had symptoms of fever and severe stomach pain. The survival rate was fifty percent. Nobody noticed me. I was like a shadow. Once again, I stared at my purple-stained palms. I was going to die.
TYLER MAXWELL class of 2016 Mixed Media
QUESTIONS Natalie Stewart (Class of 2014)
I have a question. I hope you’re prepared because it’s a very good question. The only thing is that it’s difficult to ask. So I will not ask you the question. I would love to ask you But for some reason I actually get shy. Why, will be your question. Questions can be scary. But also the anticipation of the question. The wrong answer, To the right question. When you’re young, You’re so curious. But your elders quickly halt your questions. Because apparently it’s impolite. Although, that’s not what Einstein said about questions. Einstein said, “The important thing is not to stop questioning.” So it’s no wonder we’re scared to ask questions. We’re afraid of being impolite. But being impolite isn’t as important, As asking questions. Sometimes they’re necessary. So stop overthinking and ask your question.
ERIKA GAVROCK class of 2014 Prismacolor Pencil
THE PLANET OF PORTALS Bailey Coppedge (Class of 2015) Yama stalked her prey with easy grace. Her front paws padded the ground softly to make sure no sticks or twigs would crack and give her away. Finally, she was close enough to pounce. She shrunk back onto her hindquarters, and felt her back legs tense. Her tail swayed low to avoid being detected by the target. Yama exhaled slowly, then inhaled, drawing in the scent of her prey. Without hesitation, Yama pounced on the piece of purple fur attached to the string in her master’s hand. With a yowl of triumph, Yama clamped her teeth around the strip of cloth, and turned to face her awakened master. She had successfully completed the drill, the deceptively easy task of taking the cloth from her master. It had been difficult, as her master was very cautious and kept a close eye on her, but Yama had out smarted him. “Very good, Yama!” He said with a smile. “I guess that means training is done for the day!” Yama smiled. Master opened his arms, and Yama gracefully jumped into them. Then, with a twist of his earring, they entered the portal. Blue and white lights streaked by, but neither Yama nor her master could move. During this part of the portal, you were always frozen. Then they approached the red gate. Not able to close her eyes, Yama watched her master collide with the gate, and the gate formed around him like gel. The same thing was happening to her. The gel began to suck away her disguise, her cat form, and replaced it with her true form. A young girl, twelve years of age with long black hair and dark brown eyes. Her master transformed from the old, white-haired grandpa of his disguise to the dark-haired, tan, middle-aged man she called dad. After the red goo had done its work, Yama and her father fell downwards through the green portal into the transportation room of her home. “How was training?” called a voice from the house. “Great, Mom!” said Yama. “You didn’t go to Earth, did you? You know I hate it when you go there!” said her mom. “No, of course not!” Yama said with a grin to her dad. Smiling, he said, “Our secret.” Despite her love of Earth and other worlds, Yama was glad to be back on her home world Interpantra, the planet of portals.
SAM INCARDONA class of 2017 Paper Mosaic
THE PUPPET MASTER Amanda Melvin (Class of 2014)
Throughout the lands, goes the hands The hands with almighty will and power To control anyone they please, at any time. No one knows how the hands were created Or how they attached invisible strings to people. The hands belong to the puppet master. Everyone must fulfill the wishes of this master For if they disobey, the strings from the hands Will be severed from the righteous people And dead they will fall, for power Is strong enough to destroy what it created. And that is how it has been, from the beginning of time. One day, a man decided he would change time And be the first to escape his hellish master. The man did something no one had conceived. He created A puppet for himself. Now the power was in his hands. It was finally time to test his new power. His servant danced around among the people. The man’s strings were cut and the people Watched in awe as he withstood the test of time. He was able to move around freely. His own power Had returned to him. Enraged, the master Destroyed the man’s doll. The huge hands Clapped in glee. Gone was the item the man created. The hands didn’t know what they had created. The man ran amongst the tied down people Relieving them from the controlling grip of the hands. The man said to the master: “Your time Is up!” The hands laughed. “I am the master! No mere mortal can escape my power!”
COURTNEY MELVIN class of 2016 Prismacolor Pencil
The man smirked. “It is time your power came to an end.” The man then created A small blade and stabbed the hands of the master. The strings released the captive people. And then on for all time No one would be guided by the puppet master’s hands.
SNOWFALL Andrew Wadovick (Class of 2014)
The young couple hastily ran out into the ongoing snow flurry. Not even fully clothed for the cold, they were shoving their arms into coats of light and dark blue, eager to enjoy the white gift from the skies. Once again, it was snowing in Ohio. Eyes aglow with childlike glee, the young woman brushed strands of blonde hair from her eyes, and instinctively hugged herself, attempting to contain her body heat within the confines of her fluffy, sky-blue winter coat. She looked at her companion, smiling shyly in her chill. The young man with her, however, would have none of this hesitation, and decided to make her adapt quickly... by pushing her straight into a nearby snow pile. Her bright sapphire eyes bulged in surprise, her glee quickly morphing into shock, as she tumbled downwards, and her figure was all but lost in the pile, which immediately muffled her laughter as she fell. The young man mockingly called her name, trying to figure out where she had gone, simply playing up the moment. Suddenly, a bright blue arm shot out of the snow, grabbing his dark blue pant leg. Startled, the man could only shout in shock as she pulled him into the pile as well, sending a spray of white fluff into the air.
EMMA LAIRD class of 2016 Watercolor
The couple popped their heads out of the pile, laughing heartily. Helping each other get to their feet, they paused briefly, considering what to do next. A small, mischievous grin crossed the young woman’s face, and she bent down to grab some snow. She eyed him evilly, crushing the snow with her hands. By the time he realized what she was
doing, however, it was too late. As he started to run, she hurled the baseball-sized snowball at his direction, and it crashed right into the back of his head, splattering his dark brown hair with streaks of white. He instantly froze and shivered violently from the chill that ran down his spine. Turning to face her, he grabbed a larger chunk of snow, and started to slowly creep towards her. She laughed like a little kid, screaming at him to just try and hit her with that horrible aim of his. He had a better idea, though, and started to run at her. The woman instantly tried to run away from her pursuer, but she couldn’t keep the distance for long, and the man quickly grabbed her arm with one of his own, and stuffed the snow into the hood of her coat. She only had time to screech before he pulled the hood over her head, squishing the snowball into her head. She shrieked from the immediate cold, and pulled her hood back violently, trying to shake the snow off of her blonde head. The man started laughing uncontrollably, overtaken by the moment. Sadly, he had just provided her with the means of his own demise. She reached into her hood, and morphed the snow in her hood into another snowball, and quickly whirled around and pelted him square in the temple with it. It was a scene from a classic cartoon. His head snapped backwards, the force of the shot knocking him from his feet. He crashed into the snow, stunned by such a close-range throw. The first body parts to exit the snow were his hands, waving around in surrender. Smiling in quiet victory, she slowly walked over to where his hands were flailing about, and pulled him to the surface of the world. Shivering from the now all-encompassing chill, he suggested we do something else, something less painful. The blonde woman suggested building “realistic” snowmen, one representing each of them. She could build him, and he could build her. He quickly agreed to the proposition, eager to avoid being pelted by more snow. The man immediately struck a pose, and his companion started to roll the snow together to form the feet, and then started sculpting the body of the man she was sculpting. Eventually, she had the main body done, and the two of them swapped jobs, with the man starting to sculpt the figure of her own shape. He mockingly made her feet fat, for which he received yet another snowball to the face. Proceeding from this, they managed to sculpt the people to be holding hands next to each other, reflecting the love that their makers shared. Next, they went into the nearby woods, and brought back piles of little sticks and pebbles. They neatly assorted them on the bodies of the snow people, crafting happy, loving, and horribly inaccurate representations of their faces. And, at long last, they stood back a few feet, arms interlocked, as they gazed at their masterpiece. They glanced at each other, their hearts echoing their love loud and clear. But suddenly, she broke away from his embrace, and bent over to gather more snow. Very much confused, the young man asked her what she was doing now. She didn’t respond, except by beckoning for his assistance. Still bewildered, he joined in, rolling snow together to eventually create another snow person, only this one was much shorter than the other two, barely reaching the height of the snowwoman’s lower segment. They used up all the remaining decorations on the third snow person, and they then stepped back and observed the new creation of their snow child. Still confused, the man asked the woman why they were creating another snowperson. There was only the two of them, right? Her only reply was to smile brilliantly, and shake her head. His confusion morphed into shock, then ecstatic joy. He yelled in happiness, and hugged his wife. They broke their embrace only to kiss silently, as the purifying and beautiful flurries continued to fall, enveloping the world with the signs of a new beginning.
EXISTENCE Rachel Paduck (class of 2014) The sun goes away Birds no longer chirp The wind ceases blowing Silence is all that is heard The darkness is overwhelming I shut my eyes. The sun nearly blinds me A bird wakes me too early A breeze blows my hair Noises float all around me Everything is bright I open my eyes. Thoughts swirl in my head My breathing is steady I take deep breaths with ease My blood is flowing throughout me My heart beats rhythmically. I am.
THOMAS GILMAN class of 2014 Pen and Ink
MARY BUCHHOLZ class of 2014 Prismacolor Pencil
ERIKA GAVROCK class of 2014 Prismacolor Pencil
MIDNIGHT Anna Hughes (Class of 2014)
Midnight can be a relief; finally a bad day is over, it’s time to begin a new one that we hope will be better. Most people are asleep, so it’s like you’ve got the world to yourself. There’s no one judging you for the things you do, and you are free to be yourself, completely. Midnight is all about newness. But, what if you don’t want the day to end? What if midnight is unwelcome? The night can be suffocating, the dark air poisonous. Sometimes when the clock strikes midnight, all you see is another day that you’ve wasted. You begin to feel useless around this time, and being the only one awake can be lonely. Everything feels heavy at this time, like all your bad decisions are pressing down on your chest, making you unable to sleep. It feels like the days are passing before your eyes, like a light being switched on and off, and on and off, over and over again— so quickly you think the bulb is going to break and you’ll be left in the darkness.
UNDERGROUND Katherine Phan (Class of 2014) Within a city with its distractions and allure There lies a gathering animosity That lurks deep beneath the ground Underneath the countless skyscrapers of cold steel Below the feet of sauntering passersby It is there, living deep within the bowels Peering up into the world with depthless black eyes Damp hair clinging to a skeletal head with a gaping wound Hollowed cheeks and prominent nose Offset by razor sharp teeth stained with gore Jagged scars lining torso and arms While bruises mar what’s left of rotting skin The creature glides through dark waters Moving with predatory grace Leaving behind the remains of past prey Impassive with bloodlust and hunger As it quickly whips by at lightning fast speeds Toward the sound of oblivious new prey
SUSAN SKINNER class of 2017 Paper Mosaic
WHAT IS MY NAME? Michaih Ley Bayani (Class of 2014)
I am called many things. I’ve been given pet names and nicknames. I am called ate’ by my younger sister and those younger than me. It means “big sister” in Filipino. I have had an evolution of nicknames. Meme, Kaikai, Kyangkyang, Micmic, Em, but only one stuck— Kaya. It is a part of my real name, however only a few know my real name. I just went along with Kaya for as long as I can remember. It became me. It was the name on my Facebook, my Twitter, my email, my student ID, and so on. It was easier to say. People were actually able to pronounce it. I hated my real name for being so complicated, so foreign. Everyone butchers my name, but I got so used to it that I just didn’t care. Then, Kaya became stained. It was marked with sin and mistake. Kaya took over my real name. It overpowered who I really was. So, now the people who call me Kaya know the old me. However, I prefer who I have become. Michaih Ley Mahinay Bayani. Yes, I know, a foreign name indeed. But, it has grown on me. It is unique, different. It is the name of royalty back home. My first name, Michaih Ley, means “one who is like God; law.” My middle name, Mahinay, means “rich” and my last, Bayani, means “hero.” I now regret being known as Kaya all these years. It is like a secret identity or a complete stranger. Thing is, I want those who call me Michaih Ley to actually mean something to me. Only the rare and most important people, because then I know who knows the real me. It is the name my grandmother has given to me. I want it to mean something to people. To create a new definition of my name. Michaih Ley Mahinay Bayani, I want it to mean hope for others, savior, lover, selfless, friend.
JESSI HAWES class of 2014 Oil Paint
THE RETURN OF DARKNESS Mac Schaaf (Class of 2014)
The televisions turn on around the world for the morning news, or late night cartoons. The kids watching SpongeBob and the parents watching NCIS. In Japan, the news is talking of a Yakuza-related murder. Two separate worlds about to be united. They storm the World Broadcasting building, they did not take hostages. They reached the control room and began the hack. They were now connected to every station and every television in the world. They flip the switch and around the world the image changes. A man about six foot, six inches tall with graying hair comes into focus. “Ladies and gentleman of the world.” He begins to speak. “Good morning, good afternoon, and good evening. Before I begin, let me tell you that you cannot hide from me. Changing the channel will prove useless. I am here to tell you and the rest of the world that your worlds will change. Mr. President, Premier, and other leaders and powerful figures, let me begin by saying that all of your satellites are offline and are now crashing down to Earth. Soon, they will burst through the atmosphere and destroy anything within a five-mile radius of the impact zone. You may be saying to your advisors that this could not be true, but let me assure you it is.”
ANNA ARNOLD class of 2014 Watercolor
As he says this, images pop up on every screen in the world from the ISS and Hubble Telescope showing that all satellites are falling. He continued to speak. “As you and the rest of the world can see, I am not lying. Please, do not attempt to stop them with nuclear weapons or missiles, they have all been taken offline as well as all military electronic devices. All aircrafts, sea vessels, and automobiles will stop functioning again—as you can probably tell by now, by the screaming of the jets. All cell phone towers, landlines, and even the Internet will be shut down as well.” As he begins to finish, the lights begin to flicker. “Ladies and gentlemen… allow me to officially welcome all of you to the New Dark Age.” As he finished, the lights went out.
COURTNEY MELVIN class of 2016 Charcoal KENDYL JENNINGS class of 2014 Mixed Media ABBEY MUFFOLETTO class of 2014 Charcoal
JESSI HAWES class of 2014 Prismacolor Pencil
REMOVE Chris Champion (Class of 2014) I look at the sticker on the box. It says REMOVE in large bold letters. Suddenly, I feel something stirring. Like... sadness. Do I feel sorry for this poor sticker? This sticker was placed upon this spot, only to be removed so shortly afterwards. How can one rip a life away so easily? My heart aches at its pain, as it sits there, believing itself to be good for nothing but being forgotten. My mind is made up. I grab the stapler and paperclip, and attach them so the sticker may never leave. This sticker was given life for a reason and that life is something to be protected.
MARY BUCHHOLZ class of 2014 Watercolor, Woodburning
JESSI HAWES class of 2014 Oil Paint
A FEUD (OR SOMETHING) Mitchell Esterman (Class of 2014)
“It’s all fun and games until someone starts talking about Tim Allen!” Ms. Zeanah said with much fiery hatred in her heart. Suddenly, a power tool was heard in the distance. A spooky laugh that had only been heard in the “Home Improvement Halloween Special” was heard down the hallway. Suddenly, Tim Allen kicked the door in, wielding a cordless, sixteen-inch circular saw, with a specialized blade for cutting through maple, oak, and, to a lesser extent, bone. Tim Allen rushed into the room, waving his custom saw in the air. He rushed to the front of the classroom and sawed the special “Z” podium in half. “No!” Ms. Zeanah screamed in anguish. The podium provided her with much of her life force. “Arr arr arr!!” Tim Allen noised with his vocal cords. (I have no idea how to describe that sound properly.) Ms. Zeanah, although reeling in pain, threw two liters of boiling coffee directly onto Tim Allen. He dodged some, but his left arm and shoulder were hit with the boiling caffeine. The body parts began to erode rapidly, deteriorating to almost nothing. While Tim Allen was in shock at the loss of his arm, Ms. Zeanah hurried and found a wooden stake from somewhere in her desk. Using all of her remaining energy, she plunged the stake through Tim Allen’s sternum, killing him instantly. Tim Allen began to dissolve into an acid-based substance and melted into the floor. The acid caused a natural gas pipe to burst. Everyone died. The end.
EMMA LAIRD class of 2016 Charcoal
LEXEE SCHELL class of 2014 Prismacolor Pencil
SARAH MCCLAIN class of 2015 Photography
BRITANY AHLERS class of 2014 Photography