2018-2019 Middle School Admirals' Pen

Literary Arts Magazine

Compiled and Edited by Middle School Students

2019 ~ 1 ~

Greetings!

Welcome to the 7th annual Admirals’ Pen literary arts magazine. On these remarkable pages, you will view a variety of writing, photos, and art pieces from Severn’s middle school students. From editing to cupcakes to coffeehouses, we really enjoyed being a part of the literary magazine this year.

Collaborating on this publication helped us learn to take on responsibilities and work together as a team. Thank you from all of us here on the Admirals’ Pen staff! We appreciate your submissions. Enjoy reading the 2019 edition of the magazine!

Sincerely,

The Admirals’ Pen Editors

~ 2 ~

Table of Contents The Red Hills of Sedona, Timothy Wright The Power, Anna Clark Just a Day on the River, Emma Ripley The Boston Marathon, Konner Smith Black and White, Tara Qualey Breathe, Sage Christensen Cherry Blossom Moon, Ainsley Grow Notes on My Doorstep, Raeha Richman Behind the Waterfall, Whitney Grimes I Met Him in The Woods, Natalie King Mount Creighton View, Whitney Grimes Seashore, Charlotte Grow A Strange Sight, Tara Qualey The Dragon Secret, Alex Perritt An Endless Fall, Tara Qualey The Crack, Grace Knipe Birds in Flight, Robby Meek The Shot That Changed My Life, John Esposito Kinkaku-ji, Alexa Wahba The Prisoner, Fritz Reed Attack on Mars Viewed from A Soldier’s Space Helmet, Finn Fries A Day to Remember, Margaret Cravens Ice Water, Helena English The Escape, Scarlett Harris It’s A Big World Out There, Laine McDermott Charlotte, Allie Straub

~ 3 ~

5 6 11 12 16 17 22 23 24 25 36 37 38 39 41 42 48 49 53 54 58 59 63 64 67 68

Tropical Paradise, Charlotte Grow No Mercy, Eleanor Hill Wanka River, Whitney Grimes Long Walk Home, Ellie Schinnerer Snapshots, Anonymous The Puppy, Ian Dabrowka Space Mountain, Alders Kulynch One Chance, Sean Ward Sunrise on the Magothy, Timothy Wright What a Storm Brings, Zahria Grimes Sweet Turtle, Gabby Zsakany Troy, Hudson Lamb A Maryland Sunrise, Raeha Richman Perseverance Across Borders, Cole Keefer Leaf, Aliza Monaldo The Importance of Literature for Young Minds, Margaret Cravens Slow, Steady & Slothical, Caroline Brenia The Game, Jack Hayman Poemas en Diamante, Sixth Graders A Fateful Run, Ben Veiel Sport Fisherman, Ben Saunders The Power of Laughter, Zoee Stencil Spa Creek, Grady Gelston Tesserae, Sixth Graders The Car Ride, Emily Sutton Sunset from Mainship, Morgan Dettor Caviar Moon, Raeha Richman A Long Way Home, Helena English British War, Alex Zaremski Malcom’s Trek, Sam Grady Four Hundred Astronomical Units, Finn Fries

~ 4 ~

74 75 79 80 83 84 88 89 93 94 100 101 105 106 109 110 114 115 120 124 130 131 135 136 138 144 145 146 149 152 156

The Red Hills of Sedona

By Timothy Wright ‘25

~ 5 ~

The Power

By Anna Clark ‘25 “Julie!” Half asleep, I hear my mom call my name from where she is standing at the bottom of the steps. “Coming,” I shout in response. Today is the day that my older brother, Jacob, starts volunteering at the town library. My mom wants me to come with her to drop him off so that I can return all of the books that I read this summer. The library is my favorite place in town, and I cannot wait to volunteer there too when I get old enough.

About an hour later, we arrive at the library. The building is brick and three stories tall. It has sat in this town for at least two hundred years. Once we get inside the first thing that I do is look for Miss Spring. Miss Spring is the nice young librarian who started working at the library only a matter of months ago.

Whenever I am stumped on things to read, she always helps me find the perfect novel. I am about to go upstairs in search of her when I come across a door that I have never seen before. I must have walked through this hallway a thousand times and I have

~ 6 ~

never noticed that door. Intrigued, I turn the handle and to my surprise, the door is unlocked.

I peer inside only to find that the room is dark and completely empty. I am about to leave the room when all of the sudden something catches my eye, it is a large book of maybe nine hundred pages. I open the book and find that it is just a cardboard box decorated to look like a book. I see that there is a note inside the box written in neat cursive. It reads: Whoever is reading this extremely lucky. When you wake up tomorrow morning you will have a magnificent power. Please use your new gift wisely. Freaked out, I fold the letter, put it in my pocket and run out the door, slamming it behind me. “Hi Julie!” startled, I turn around to see the bright and happy face of Miss Spring. “Hello,” I mumble. “What were you doing in that old storage room?”

Debating whether or not to tell her, I eventually respond, “Just exploring.”

A few hours later, I sit at the dinner table, starring out into space.

When I got home earlier that day, I went straight to my room to read over the note again and again. Ever since I discovered the letter, I have had a terrible headache that won’t seem to go away

~ 7 ~

no matter what. But a headache was the least of my worries right now. I had so many questions — Who should I tell? What will my power be? Will it hurt me? Interrupting my thoughts, my dad announces, “I think that this will be a great year for the both of you, Julie and Jacob.” Jacob replies, “I agree.”

He then goes on rambling about some boring science project that he is going to do this year. “You okay Juls?” Dad asks. “Um, yeah I’m just tired. I better go to bed.” With that I rush up the stairs and into my bedroom.

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock. I am pleased to find that my headache is gone. I have always hated normal first days of school, let alone when you have a hidden superpower that, for all you know, could destroy the universe. So far, I see no signs of a power. The more I think about it the more ridiculous the idea of having a super power is. It was most likely just a prank that some volunteers pulled to make a little kid look stupid. I get up and put on my uniform, a blue polo shirt and a khaki skirt. I walk downstairs to see my mom standing at the kitchen counter pouring out a bowl of cheerios. I notice that she is wearing one of her favorite blue shirts. “Good morning, mom,” I

~ 8 ~

say cheerfully. “Morning honey,” she responds. I don’t know how you eat these things, they’re disgusting. “Hey, I think that cheerios are delicious!” I reply defensively. “What? I never said that they weren’t,” mom says confused. “Oh, sorry, I must be hearing things.”

A few hours later, I sit in Mrs. Simon’s math class thinking about what I thought I heard my mom say. Could that note really been telling the truth and was my power reading people’s minds? There had to be some kind of catch though, because it hadn’t worked on Jacob this morning in the car. “Your homework tonight will be on page fourteen,” I hear Mrs Simon announce. Really?

Homework on the first day? “I wouldn’t say that Bethany. I hear that she is pretty strict,” I whisper to my best friend. “What are you talking about Julie? I didn’t say anything,” Bethany responds.

“Oh, sorry,” I mumble.

A few weeks later, I sit a home reading the note that I found what seems like forever ago. That very first day of having my power I kept on hearing things that other people couldn’t. When I got home, I tested it out on all of my family members, but it only worked on my mom.

~ 9 ~

The next day, I wore a white shirt and I could only read Jacob’s mind who was also wearing a white shirt. So, I can only hear the thoughts of people who are wearing the same color shirt as me. I am still not sure if I like having this power. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cool and all, but I feel like I am invading people’s privacy by knowing what they are thinking. Maybe there was a reason that I got this power. Am I supposed to save the world or something?

Well, the only thing that I can do right now is go on with life and see where this adventure takes me.

~ 10 ~

Just a Day on the River

By Emma Ripley ‘23

~ 11 ~

The Boston Marathon

By Konner Smith ‘23 I could see the finish line ahead—large inflatable red balloons in an arch, a blur of faces as the sweat dripped into my eyes blurring my vision. I am full of exhaustion, mentally and physically, and my legs feel like they are as heavy as two-ton elephants pounding on the pavement.

I was so close to completing the race of my dreams, the race I had always worked toward and never thought I would be able to do—the Boston Marathon.

I had aspired to do this since I was 10 years old, when my neighbor Petey outran me in the Boy Scout 5K and I had to give him my allowance for a week because I bet him that I would win. I had sacrificed so much---all my free time, unhealthy foods, even friends who didn’t understand my regimen. But this would be my greatest running accomplishment yet. I say yet, because just when I was about to cross the finish line, BOOM! I was knocked to the ground by a force that came out of nowhere. What.....in the world.... was that? My eyes were wide in terror and the hair on my arms stood up as straight as cornstalks on a fall day. I started picking myself up slowly when I noticed a girl in pink running tights and tee shirt next to me, half laying on the ground shaking like a leaf. The air felt very ominous to me, like

~ 12 ~

something more was to come. I thought to myself, where there is one there may be another. Something inside me made me want to forget about myself and protect this young girl, even though I did not know her. I made my way over to her and just as I was putting a protective arm around her, I heard a second, more thunderous BOOM as I sheltered her from the second blast. I knew at that very moment that my life would change completely. It is funny how when we are in shock from a life-changing event that some of the things that first come to mind are often the most obscure. I turned my head to a sharp and painful right and saw a fellow runner with a Superman costume lying not too far away. Do you think he rented that for the race or did he have that in his closet? I thought about mile 20, when I saw a freckled-faced red head boy slurping mint chocolate chip ice cream. I hadn’t had ice cream in five years.

My thoughts turned to the young girl I covered from the second blast. I am still not sure how I knew the second blast was coming or why I felt the need to protect her. She slowly uncurled herself from beneath me. I felt a scorching pain on my back, and my eyes that were just moments ago filled with sweat from running were now filled with soot and dirt. I tried to move my legs, but they felt like sandbags were holding them down and I could not get up. The last thing I remember before I passed out was the mixed look of both fear and gratitude from the stranger in pink right next to me.

~ 13 ~

When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital with tubes and medical equipment attached to me. Where was I and what happened? It all came back to me as sharp as a knife’s edge—the blast, the pink girl, the feeling that I had to help, the second blast. As I began to lay upwards in my hospital bed my head immediately started to spin and I began to feel dizzy. I was forced to lay back down on the bed when I heard a doctor softly exclaim, “He’s awake.” I learned that I was lucky. I had broken my leg and my skin on my back was charred from the heat of the blast. My body was bruised from the combination of falling the first time and diving on the girl the second time, and I had suffered a concussion which made me black out. But overall, I was going to be okay and so was the girl who had only minor scrapes.

Suddenly, she was at my side, “I don’t know what to say or where to begin thanking you,” she started. It was odd, yet comforting to have her near me. “I don’t know what happened or how I knew there would be more, but for some reason, I just felt protective of you and I that there would be more. I guess it was just intuition or some kind of intervention,” I told her as she cocked her head slightly. “I know kind of crazy, right? Feeling protective over a total stranger. She scrunched her face and looked at me oddly. “What do you mean stranger,” questioned the girl. “My name is Sara and I am your neighbor. I moved in four years ago. I wave to you every morning when you leave for your run.” I had no idea what she was talking about. Her words were

~ 14 ~

as shocking as the blast. I had been working so hard I didn’t go out much let alone take the time to get to know people around me. How could I have not known she was my neighbor? This perplexed me as I lay in the hospital bed for the next week, healing my broken leg and other minor injuries.

She visited me every day, and every day I learned something new about both her and myself. It is amazing how little it takes to become trapped in your own problems and not think of others. Sara showed me that there is more to people than what you can see on the outside. By the end of the week I was still sore, but cleared to go back to work.

Back to my life of running. Back to my life of working. Back to my life of not knowing my neighbors. But did I really want to do that? Sara had changed my life and intuition had given me direction.

I decided to follow my instinct like I did the moment I felt there would be a second blast. Instead of walking into my office to work, I felt a desire to help others and walked into a homeless shelter ready to do whatever is necessary to think of other’s needs over the needs of myself.

~ 15 ~

Black and White

By Tara Qualey, ‘25

~ 16 ~

Breathe

By Sage Christensen ‘23

The girl walks up to look at the giant board and glances back down at her paper, scanning it to find her flight number. “207” she mumbles, looking back up at the board and rolling her eyes.

Exhausted, she walks over to the blue seats and begins to drift off, thinking about the beautiful Hawaiian beaches, lined with palm trees, big blue skies stretching over her with hardly any clouds, and a beaming sun coming down on her face. It only felt like she had been asleep for a few minutes, when she forced herself to wake up and check the time, just in case. Sadly, her flight was still going to be delayed 30 minutes, and she had only slept for 2 minutes. She scanned around the room looking at all the other people; people excited, people nervous. She thought about the flight and the odd delay, wondering why everyone seemed weird, like nothing mattered. Time passed, and all passengers were told to board the plane.

After takeoff, the ride was going fine until a light rain started, which soon turned into a harder rain. She began to breath

~ 17 ~

heavily and look around to find the people who were excited to go on the plane, not nervous, everyone was calm. She started getting worried, searching the plane for an exit, as the pilot announced they were climbing up to 30,000 feet, she realized she was stuck. The plane began to feel like it was getting smaller and smaller and she was just contained as if she was in a cage.

No one else on the plane thought that there could be a problem.

Her breathing got heavier, and she was sweating now as the flight attendant walks by; “Miss, are you alright?” The attendant says not acknowledging the booming, ferocious lightning strikes.

She then got dizzy trying to focus on everything going on around her. Lightning. Rain. Flight attendant, people. “Yes, I just need some water.” She wasn’t alright. All the passengers are in danger. Why does no one care?

The thunder seemed to be getting louder and fiercer, like something stomping loudly upstairs slowly getting closer. She began hyperventilating. Faster and faster, short, quick, flashing breaths. Everyone on the plane was just sitting, mindlessly, reading their newspapers, or on their phones, obliviously. She looked around anxiously, suddenly, the whole plane shook. She looked out the window to see a view of blazing sparks and

~ 18 ~

burning fire. “Everyone calm down everything is under control,” said the same attendant that never brought her water. “One of our engines blew up but we think we can get to land,” said the other more helpful attendant.

Terrified, the girl passed out for 20 minutes and she woke up to hear instructions on how to not die as the plane crashes. Helpful.

“Flight 207 is now boarding.” She wakes up scared and confused to see she is still in the airport. “It was just a dream,” she says as she hesitates to walk forward, but she forces herself to in just enough time to catch her flight. She sits on the plane, still a little nervous about her dream. But she convinces herself she is fine as she inhales and exhales. “Would you like anything to drink?” said the flight attendant. The girl noticed it was the same attendant. She looked around to see the mindless people sitting doing nothing. But it can’t be, I was just a dream. None of this is real she thought.

Suddenly, the lighting started slamming down from the sky. The thunder crashing onto the airplane. The rain thudding onto the roof of the airplane like bullets, like her dream. The girl jumps up to get the flight attendant that was standing at the opposite end of

~ 19 ~

the plane. “We need to get off the plane!” She said, “It’s going to crash”. The flight attendant just stared at her while all the passengers turned around to see what was happening. The girl then looked around to suddenly see no storm, but a sunny day, no crashing thunder, no thumping rain and no slamming lightning.

Just a clear light blue sky with hardly any clouds-but a normal day. The flight attendant from the dream wasn’t there either, nor the mindless people. Just normal people wondering why there was a hysterical screaming girl at the front of the plane. She got anxious with everyone staring at her. When she turned around to look back at the flight attendant, she felt their eyes drilling into the back of her head. She then realized she had an anxiety attack.

She slowly walked to return to her seat. Stepping lightly as everyone on the plane watched her. She placed herself on the leather seat, slowly bending her knees and shaking a little as she lowered her body. While taking deep, calming breaths, and staring directly into the back of the chair in front of her. she hadn’t noticed that her right hand was clutching the arm rest. She relaxed.

She hadn’t even seen the lady sitting next to her. It was an elderly woman, probably in her 70s, who looked at her and smiled. The

~ 20 ~

woman looked at her like they had known each other forever, but she had no clue who the old women was, like she had been through this same exact situation at some point, which seemed impossible. Her voice was calming. Like the waters of Hawaii, her words flew through the air like the airplane had been all along.

She automatically knew she could trust her and the old woman would comfort her. “Just breathe,� the woman said.

~ 21 ~

Cherry Blossom Moon

By Ainsley Grow ‘25

~ 22 ~

Notes on My Doorstep

By Raeha Richman ‘24 There are notes on my doorstep.

They are not reminders or thank-you’s.

They are musical notes, bursting from my flute, Propelled on their timeless journey.

“I like your playing,” says a passerby.

“Thanks. Where are you visiting from?”

Germany... Canada, France, Vietnam, China, Mexico...

“Have a nice day.” A note swirls into his coat pocket.

A few more notes then join his travels.

My transcontinental note launcher is a concert flute, Inspired over time and across cultures.

Colonial fifes roused Annapolis to freedom.

Clay flutes shaped like birds deliver notes from the Amazon.

The Irish penny whistle paints green misty hills.

A Maori flute played with the nose – is this possible?

Notes are anthropologists, students of culture.

My band celebrates in a “note-worthy” way: African Bell Carol, Go Down Moses, March of the Belgium Paratroopers and the American classic, Charlie Brown.

Music connects us invisibly, but the notes become visible When they put a smile on the face of a passerby.

~ 23 ~

Behind the Waterfall

By Whitney Grimes ‘24

~ 24 ~

I Met Him In The Woods

By Natalie King ‘25 “Ayana, go get some firewood for us. And hurry, before the meat gets cold.” Dakota said. She had just brought in a fresh turkey from the hunt. “Yes Dakota.” I replied and went to get the axe. I wonder when I will get off firewood duty. I wanna be a hunter like Dakota. Dakota is my older sister, and we are a part of the Lilian Tribe, along with my brother, Elan, and a lot of others.

Lilian is the head of the tribe, she also leads the hunters, like Dakota. “Ayana why are you just standing there? Pick up the axe and go!” Dakota rolled her eyes. “Imagine if Lilian saw you standing around. You’d be out of the tribe!” I knew she was exaggerating. Lilian wouldn’t kick anyone out of the tribe for something like not doing a chore. But Dakota is partly right, Lilian wouldn’t appreciate me doing nothing. “Fine! I’m going.” I said back to Dakota as I picked up the axe and headed into the woods. “Go get wood, Ayana. Stop standing around Ayana. The food’s getting cold Ayana!” I mocked Dakota’s voice, she can get so bossy. “Here’s a good one.” I sighed when I found a nice long branch on the ground. Probably fell last night in the storm, and

~ 25 ~

it’s dry. Perfect for firewood. “Hey, I heard something over here!” I jumped, someone else was here. And they definitely not in my tribe. “This better not be another false alarm, Koda,” a man said. He approached where I was hiding, behind a bush. He held a bow, this is not good. That’s the Jana tribe. “I swear I heard something moving around. Could have even been a deer!” The boy behind him said. “Hanako we don’t have time to look for your imaginary friend. Now come on, Jana’s waiting.” The man said to the kid. Good, there leaving. When I heard them leaving, I started to sneak away. But... CRUNCH. Oh no... stupid branch! “Did you hear that? I told you something is here!” The kid said excitingly to the man. “Dad, come on!” The boy said and turned his head, now’s my chance. I bolted from the bush away from the trees, “Hey, stop!” The boy ran after me. I heard his feet following mine quickly, until the man shouted, “Koda come back here!” The boy stopped. I turned my head and stared at him dead in the eyes, he looked back at me in surprise.

Wait! What am I doing? His tribe is gonna find out that ours is near here! I began to run again, but in a different direction from the camp. “Uh... sorry dad, it was a rabbit.” The boy’s voice trailed. I slowed down when I approached the river. “He didn’t rat me out...” I said to myself.

~ 26 ~

I looked down at the river, the water looked so warm and welcoming. “Maybe a little swim won’t hurt, it’s been a while.” I looked down and smiled, but then I heard the bird call. Oh shoot, I forgot about Dakota. I said goodbye to the river and ran back home. In our tribe we have a rule where you can’t be gone for more than 30 minutes without using the bird call, which is our signal to each other. It’s an overprotective rule, but it makes sure that the tribe knows if you’re in danger or not. I gave the bird call back, twice so Dakota knew I was on my way to the base. What am I going to do about the wood? She’d freak if I told her the truth... But when I neared the base, I passed a couple of large, seemingly dry wood, and smiled. “I’m back!” I walked to the bonfire where Dakota was waiting impatiently. “Took you long enough.” She rolled her eyes. “Well sorry, but with the storm last night most of the wood was wet. This was the best I could find.” I lied and dropped the wood next to her, but it was partly the truth.

A lot of the wood was wet before the whole Jana tribe run-in.

“You look pale, what’s wrong?” Dakota stood up. Right, I forgot.

Dakota is the best at seeing through lies, she can especially tell when your hiding something. “Nothing, just tired. I’m gonna go to

~ 27 ~

my tent,” I said, and faked a yawn. She squinted her eyes like she didn’t believe me, “Okay... I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

I walked over to my tent, and when I saw Dakota turn her head, I went out the back of it back into the forest, but then someone blocked my path. It was Lilian. “Where are you going Ayana?

There is no more need for wood, we have all of the food, and the Jana tribe is hunting in the woods.” She interrogated me. She just listed all the excuses I was going to use! “I just need to clear my head, go for a walk,” I said to her. “But like I said, the Jana tribe is hunting. They are our rivals, if they saw you out there, they would take any chance they could get to take you and use you as a hostage,” she said, her voice serious. “I can bring my bow. You know how good I am with it, I’ll be fine,” she thought for a moment. “You are the best in the tribe when it comes to using a bow other than me and Elan... fine. Take the quiver and fill it with arrows. Don’t forget, signal in 30 minutes and when you’re coming back.” She caved in. “Thank you, I will,” I thought for a moment, then added, “Can you not tell Dakota? I kinda told her a little white lie.” I asked nervously. She looked at me and smiled.

“Sure. Just don’t lie anymore, okay?” I sighed a breath of relief

~ 28 ~

and nodded. “I won’t, bye.” I said as I left around the corner to the toolshed.

I saw her walk back to her tent while I grabbed my bow and started filling the quiver with arrows. Then I put it on my back and went back into the forest. The real reason I was going back was because three days a week I go to a little clear patch in the woods, with three tall trees standing next to each other. That’s where I do my target practice, for when I will finally be allowed to hunt. I was planning on taking the bows even before I ran into Lilian, she just made it easier for me to explain why I needed them. I left the camp and headed towards my training area, I like to call it “The Practice Patch”, but that’s just me. When I arrived, I put my quiver down and took out an arrow. I aligned the arrow into the bow and stretched my elbow up to my cheek. I then closed my right eye to aim, opened it and “Who are you?” A voice from behind me asked. I was so shocked and surprised that my arm let go of the arrow and it flew about 15 feet behind the target. “Seriously,” I turned around and saw his face, it was the boy from earlier. My face went pale as I quickly picked up another arrow and prepared to shoot, “Wait! I’m friendly!” He backed up and shouted. “Shh!” I hushed him. I don’t want

~ 29 ~

anyone in my tribe to hear, we weren’t that far away from the base. “I’m Koda, I’m a part of the Jana tribe. What’s your name?” He asked. I lowered my bow, but still kept the arrow loaded. “I’m Ayana... from the Lilian tribe.” I said quietly. “Now I see why you’re scared, our tribes are rivals, right?” He said. I can’t believe he just noticed I’m from Lilian’s tribe, I could tell he was a part of Jana’s by just looking at him. But I will give him some slack, I don’t wear the tribe’s pendant. Every tribe has their own mark, so you know who you’re dealing with. Liliana tribe has a blue rock pendant, Jana’s tribe has a red bracelet around their leg, Vena’s tribe has a black mark on their cheek, and you get it.

Wait a minute...

“I’m not scared of you!” I snapped out of nowhere.

He laughed a bit, “You’re funny Ayana.” I smiled at his little comment then raised my arrow again. “Woah, woah! Calm down, don’t shoot!” He backed away more. Then I laughed at him at shot at my target. Company or not I still needed to practice. “Calm down.” I looked where my arrow was headed, it then hit the very center, or bullseye. “Nice shot. I haven’t seen a bullseye that good, the best Bowman in our tribe can only get the border of a bullseye.” He looked impressed. “Can I try?” I looked back

~ 30 ~

at him, he looked sincere, but I didn’t trust him yet and shook my head. He frowned, “I guess I understand. See you later.” He waved and turned around. “Bye Koda...” I said a little more confidently. He left and I started my practice again. “Ayana’s got a boyfriend! K-I-S-S-I...” Another voice from behind me joked, I turned around and aimed at him before he could finish. “Shut up Elan. Or I’ll tell Dakota about you and Lillian!” His face went pale. Elan was 17, and he and Lillian were secretly going out. He didn’t want Dakota to know for some reason. “Fine! Fine! I’ll stop.” He pleaded. “And he’s not my boyfriend, I just met him.” I put my bow down and scolded him. “Well you are 14, so sorry if I assumed,” He rolled his eyes and continued, “What tribe is he from?” I couldn’t possibly tell him that I just had a human conversation with a guy from Jana tribe... so I’ll have to lie.

“Vena’s tribe.” “Oh, haven’t seen her tribe in a while.” He paused, “So what are you going to tell Dakota this time? Why you weren’t in your tent, I mean.” His face was sly. But how would she know? “Did you tell her that I wasn’t in my tent?” I asked angrily. He shook his head, “No, she came to me looking furious and asked if I had seen you. She then sent me out here to find you.” Oh, I guess I should’ve seen that coming.

~ 31 ~

“Let’s just go back.” I sighed. I’m in big trouble. I then grabbed my bow and quiver and went to pick up all of my arrows.

When they were all back in the quiver we headed back.

“Ayana!” Dakota marched up to me furiously. “Why weren’t you in your tent like you were supposed to be?” I looked back at Elan, I would be so embarrassed if I admitted I practiced shooting for when I am able to hunt. “Don’t be mad, Dakota. I allowed her to go. She wanted to get drier wood for the fire, then ran into Elan before she could get it.” Lilian walked up behind Dakota as she turned around. I can’t believe she protected me. “Really?”

Dakota still seemed angry, but less now that Lilian was here.

Dakota may be a lie detector, but not when it comes to Lilian. My theory is that she’s too nervous of messing up in front of Lilian that she doesn’t even think about if she’s lying or not. “Yep. Now Dakota you need to go meet Isla, she needs help preparing dinner.” Dakota nodded and started towards the fire pit. “Thanks a lot Lilian.” I said to her. She smiled and we went back to doing our chores.

The next day, I was sitting in my tent reading a book, until I heard a loud voice, it was Elan’s. “Ayana! Where is Lilian?!” He ran up to me, his face was scared, and a little sad. I put down my book,

~ 32 ~

“She’s over by the tool shed, why? What happened?” I watched as he ran over to her and started talking. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I could tell that Lilian’s face morphed from confused, to shocked, to angry. I got up and headed towards them, Lilian and Elan were preparing their quivers. “What’s going on?” I asked. Lilian stopped and looked at me with a sad look, “Dakota is being held hostage by Jana’s tribe.” I put my hands up to my mouth.

“H-how did they find her?” I stammered. Then Elan stepped in, “Apparently they had a scout, who met saw one of our tribe members and searched the area till they found the camp, and then Dakota.” I was shocked. Could the scout have been Koda?

The boy I met? “I wanna help find her!” I said bravely and grabbed my bow. “No way, it’s too dangerous. The Jana tribe is the only one we don’t have a peace treaty with. You are not coming.” Elan ordered. But it was possibly my fault, I had to help.

I looked at Lilian, who looked away from me and started packing her quiver again. I did the same, “Did you not hear me? You’re not coming!” Elan shouted at me. “Fine then! I’ll just go on my own!” I put my quiver around my back and walked into the forest. “Wait! Ayana come back!” Lilian screamed. I didn’t listen I

~ 33 ~

kept going, looking for Koda. He must have an explanation for this.

Then I approached the river, where I found Koda standing by a tree. I ran up to him and pinned his back to the tree, then aimed my bow at him. “Woah! Ayana? What are you doing?” He said out of surprise. “Where is my sister?” I shouted at him with a deep hatred in my eyes. “Your sister? How would I know, I’ve never even met her. I didn’t even know you had a sister!” He pushed me away, I kept my aim. “You know what I’m talking about. You were the scout for your tribe, weren’t you?! You were the one who kidnapped her!” I screamed, tears started coming into my eyes. He looked surprised, “Scout? Kidnapped?” He stuttered. “Follow me, I know where she would be.” He put his hand on top of my bow and pushed it down gently.

Then I could hear the slightest whisper, “My dad is so dead.” I put my bow back up. “I don’t trust you. How do I know you won’t hold me hostage too?” I said. “Just trust me. I can get your sister back, I know who took her. Come on Ayana.” He spoke softly, sincerely. I sighed and lowered my bow, then nodded. He started

~ 34 ~

walking across the river, on a log, and I followed. I’m coming Dakota. Don’t worry.

~ 35 ~

Mount Creighton View

By Whitney Grimes ‘24

~ 36 ~

Seashore

By Charlotte Grow ‘24 A woman walks along the seashore.

The ocean is sparkly blue.

A piece of trash floats in the tides.

She ignores it, then continues her walk.

Her granddaughter walks along the same shore.

The ocean is murky brown.

Many pieces of trash float in the tides.

She ignores it, then continues her walk.

Her granddaughter walks along the sea shore.

The ocean is draped with a blanket of trash.

She ignores it, then continues her walk.

Her granddaughter walks along the sand.

But this time, there is no ocean.

Then her granddaughter sits at home.

Because there is no beauty in the walk anymore.

~ 37 ~

A Strange Sight

By Tara Qualey ‘25

~ 38 ~

The Dragon Secret

By Alex Perritt ‘25 I love summer vacation. Not because of the pool, or the ice cream, or the sunshine. It’s because it was when I found my very first dragon. I was ten at the time, and I was excited for the vacation. “Where are we going this year?” I asked my dad. We always went somewhere during the summer, and it was always enjoyable. Last year we went to a hotel with a water park nearby. I went on every single water slide about ten times.

“I don’t know. What I do know is it’s time for you to mow the backyard lawn outside,” he replied. I groaned. I hated mowing the lawn.

I went to the garage to get the mower and circled back around the house to cut the lawn grass. I had mowed every square inch of the lawn when I saw a glowing object in a bush. A white, pure glow. I went to the bush and saw a two-foot tall white egg. Why is this here? I picked it up gently, and it felt chilly. I decided to tell mom and dad when I heard a crack! I froze. The egg had a large

~ 39 ~

crack in it when another sprouted. One crack after another, a white, scaly creature came out. I knew exactly what it was. A dragon. It looked ill. I picked it up and ran inside, opening up the freezer door. What does this thing need to eat? I saw it enjoying the cold of the freezer and smiled, realizing it was an ice dragon.

I felt slapped with cold realization and froze. This was a dragon.

I had no idea of what to do other than call my mom. She was a veterinarian. So that’s what I did. “I don’t know what to do” My mom told me. “I’ve never seen one of these.” Great. Nobody would know what to do.

“I’ll keep it,” I declared. It would be a lot of responsibility, but I was willing to take it.

“Fine. But your father and I aren’t paying for anything.” And they didn’t. I worked to get money to pay for food. I named it ‘Icicle’ and we decided to go to Antarctica for our vacation, where we would release the dragon. But I knew it would come back. It was my own little secret. My dragon secret.

~ 40 ~

An Endless Fall

By Tara Qualey ‘25

~ 41 ~

The Crack

By Grace Knipe ‘23 The sound of the metal bucket rang throughout the house as Misha’s blistered arms gave out. She quickly attempted to mop up the soapy water, but it was too late. Her father blocked all light in the doorway and she then knew there was no easy way out. She apologized profusely, but that was not enough. She was led into the small, cramped room where wood lined the floors and tears dropped. No one, except for Misha and her mother, knew what went on in that room and they were forbidden to tell. Having gone to bed in tears, Misha found a wool blanket barely able to cover her feet and swaddled her aching and bruised back. She listened to the sounds of her brother’s drawers closing, as he readied himself for bed.

The house was finally dark and silence traveled throughout. Time passed until the sounds of rifle fire and people’s screams woke the town. Misha dressed in her head scarf and gown and continued with her daily task, to clean the dishes. The rest of her family awoke as if nothing had occurred and got dressed for the

~ 42 ~

day. Once the clay bowls that the grains were poured into were clean and her brother’s school books were gathered, Misha hurried to make her final decision, to obey or not. Misha overlooked the outrageous pain that may be associated with her daring decision and proceeded to follow through. Her father started the engine of his car and the smell of gasoline and burnt oil spread. Little did her father know that his son was not the only student he was driving to school that day. She exhaled; she was clear, at least for 30 minutes. The engine that gave out the scent of burnt oil rumbled and shook Misha. Misha, with her knees against her chest, inhaled the reeking smell of mold, of what she did not know. Her head laid easily on the spare tire in the back of the trunk and she could overhear her father and brother talking about school. “About 10 more minutes,” said Father. After sweating from the 119-degree heat of Pakistan, and the smell of the mold, Misha passed out. Her eyes slowly went to black and the trembling of the dirt roads, she no longer felt.

Misha was out; she no longer had a sense of where she was or what her plan was in the first place. The rolling beads of sweat filled the shallow spots in her face as they dampened her head scarf. Misha could not hear the rolling rusty gates of her brother’s

~ 43 ~

institution. The rocky roads shook her even more, but her nerves did not respond. The old car pulled through the gates as the clay and sand building approached. There were no girls at the school, from the teachers, to the nurses, to the receptionists due to the fact that the school was in Taliban territory. The first door shut, her father’s, then the second, her brother’s. The car key was taken out of the ignition and the rumbling stopped. Misha laid in the trunk while the heat had overcome her. She had gotten this close but just not far enough. Misha was not the only item in the trunk, her brother’s backpack was in there too. The steps of her brother’s boots surrounded the car as he walked back. His hand reached for the lever of the back with a slight coating of mud. The hot wave of heat hit Misha, she did not feel it. Her brother blinked once, then twice, he could not believe his eyes. Right in front of him was his disgraceful little sister. Father, in a rage, marched to the rear of the car. Sand flew as his boots hit the orange ground. He pretended that there was no relationship between him and that little rat. “She is not mine,” father exclaimed. Near the front, her brother did not know what to do but he did know the expectation. Stick with father.

~ 44 ~

He walked back manly and strong and continued to act with no relation to Misha. Misha, with no awareness of where she was, lied helpless in the back of the trunk. From her perspective, the shadow of her father covered the blasting sunlight as he came into contact with her. After viewing Misha, he walked toward the guards standing at the gate. They had very strict facial expressions and talked low and deep. The one man, a Taliban supporter with a beard as black as night, removed a burlap sack from his belt and a piece of twine was cut from the other guard’s bag. They moved quickly as not to risk waking Misha and approached the car as her father motioned with his hands the direction toward her.

The hot and stiff touch of the first guard violently brought both of her arms together, her hands then touched behind her back. Her legs were brought to the ground and her father assisted as the burlap bag was placed over her head. Everything went dark. The long hot drive in the back of a trunk, now a different one, seemed longer. The hot and rocky road sent small vibrations into her body and her head shook desperately in the back of the car’s metal mat.

~ 45 ~

She awoke. Her vision, breathing, and hearing were all impaired by the thick and rugged material over her face. She had no clue where she was. Misha was in shock and desperate. She could not move and the heat weakened her. She no longer knew where she was going and then suddenly, the car stopped. She pretended as if she still laid weak and with no consciousness. The men held her arms and legs and transported her into a small cramped hut where metal tools clanked. The floor was rocky and rigid and there she lay. The burlap sack remained on Misha’s face and the door shut abruptly. She quickly realized that she was not the only one as faint breath accompanied her own. Hours went by and still no company besides the other poor women. With time to spare, Misha came to a bone shaking realization: I am thirteen, it is too early for me to not be given a chance to do good things, but I guess that is just how it works for women in my religion.

Every couple minutes, she mustered her little bit of energy to attempt to untie the twine that surrounded and irritated her hands without success. After dozing off a bit, company came. Good or bad. Misha obsessed over this until she felt cold hands raise her upright. A tool was removed from the wooden fixture on the wall,

~ 46 ~

maybe two. A scream scared the silence in Misha’s mind. The tough leather whip left the tan flesh of the next woman tender and dry. Marks slathered her back from left to right as a stinging sensation went up her spine. Another followed, then another, then another, all the same until the proximity grew closer to her. She felt the man’s hoarse breath leave his mouth, then a crack in the man’s arm snapped as it raised, momentum was created as the leather whip fell heavily and lightning fast. A crack like the snap of a finger arose in the sound of the small hut.

~ 47 ~

Bird in Flight

By Robby Meek ‘23

~ 48 ~

The Shot that Changed My Life

By John Esposito ‘24 Seconds later the image was still burned in his mind. A flash and a bang rang out as he watched his brother’s lifeless body collide with the ground. He realized he was frozen in place and only fled when the killer spoke to him: “scram, little runt, or you’re next.”

He quickly bolted down the streets of his hometown in Mexico, past the street sign and around the block to his house. He had to get out of there. He sprinted up the steps and knocked on the door as if his life depended on it (which it probably did) until his mother opened the door and he ran inside. She could tell, as mothers can, that something was wrong.

“Jorgé, what’s the matter dear?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was frozen in place with the “deer in the headlights” look. As she studied his face, her eye brows jumped together and the corners of her mouth fell, concerned, as if she had an idea what is was. “Jorgé,”

~ 49 ~

she pressed. A moment went by before he blurted out, “Juan’s been shot!”

She stood as a wave of emotions came over her face. But it appeared that surprise was not one of them. He had felt the same way, too. For months his older brother Juan had been involved in gangs, drugs, and guns. His mother had feared for him and endlessly tried to convince him out of it, but he was set in his ways. He often brought Jorgé out with him, and he followed reluctantly. He had witnessed firsthand his brother threaten to shoot a younger kid in exchange for money. He recognized the kid from school, but he was a few grades lower than Jorgé so there was a chance the boy didn’t recognize him.

It was strange how after seeing his brother die so clearly in front of him, he was almost waiting for him to walk through the front door at any moment.

“How’s Sofiá?” he said almost instinctively.

“Fine,” his mother said, “why don’t you sit down?”

“No, I’m gonna go check on her.” And he ran upstairs.

~ 50 ~

His little sister Sofiá was the youngest, she was only five, the baby. His main fear was her safety, and after the episode with his brother, he was paranoid. He found her in her room, on the floor, playing with her dolls. Safe. He ran back downstairs. When he turned to see his mother, the look on her face told him that he would have to calm her down this time. Her face was a mess as it twitched and turned with grief. The color of her face darkened to a dark red; she was like a ticking time bomb about to explode.

But just when she seemed to reach her breaking point she stopped, inhaled deeply and fell back on the couch as if in slow motion. As Jorgé watched his mother lay there, he felt exhausted.

Until he noticed a special glint in her eye. Almost on cue, she stood up dramatically and stated, “We’re going to America!” But why? he wondered. Seeming to have read his mind, she said “I always feared for your brother, I thought I could protect him. But you and your sister are all I have left, and you are not safe here.

Go upstairs and pack your bags.” The pain and the misery this day carried seemed never ending.

Speechless, he trudged upstairs. He found Sofía in her room still playing with her dolls, oblivious to the days’ events. “Sofia, baby, pack a bag. We are going away,” he said softly. “OK,” she

~ 51 ~

cheered and skipped over to her dresser happy as can be. How can she always be like that? Always happy no matter what? But he loved her regardless and truly couldn’t imagine anything bad would ever happen to her. How could it if you are always happy? he thought. You can never be hurt but that means you can never feel because you know nothing else. With this in mind he entered his room and started packing. He sat on the floor next to his dresser as he picked out pairs of shirts, socks, shoes, and pants.

He had to be selective because he could not take everything. In fact, he soon realized that he would be leaving behind three quarters of his wardrobe. Then he thought of Sofía and her everlasting joy; she was too little to care if she had clothes or not.

And then it clicked. Maybe pain is beneficial. Without it you couldn’t appreciate anything because you have nothing to compare it to. There is nothing else. This alleviated his pain a little bit because he knew there was hope. And right now, that hope was in America. He peered down the hallway at Sofía and felt the urge to protect her from harm. But maybe, he thought, I shouldn’t try to stop her from pain because without that she can’t appreciate the world she lives in. He knew the journey to America would be rough, but it would help her in the long run because when they got there, she could be happy, and know it.

~ 52 ~

Kinkaku-ji

By Alexa Wahba ‘24

~ 53 ~

The Prisoner

By Fritz Reed ‘23 Sun-hi, a lawyer in the People's Republic of China, drives his car down the highway, passing a sign indicating the distance to his house. A police car is parked outside his home. "Yuri warned me about this," he thought. Yuri was his friend from work, and they had briefly talked in a cafe, where Sun-hi learned that many of his fellow lawyers have been arrested. He opens the door, and sees two men, both with enormous muscles, and one holding handcuffs. "Sun-hi Kwon, you are under arrest," the policeman with the handcuffs says.

Sun-hi asks what he is being charged with. The policeman tell him has committed several crimes against the state. Sun-hi asks what those crimes are. The policeman replies with only the word "treason". His face is slammed onto the hood of the police car. He winces as he is shoved into the back seat. He sees a yellow sign reading, “TO QUINCHENG PRISON.”, as they drive. He watches the cityscape go by, sees his office building, and the cafe he had just visited. It was a good cafe, the kind that was well taken care

~ 54 ~

of. He had always liked cafes more than bars or pubs. He sees the policeman step on the brake pedal. The car comes to a stop in front of the prison. The policeman tell him he is to be tried there in front of a judge. One policeman struggles with the door at the front of the prison, while the other pulls Sun-hi out of the car. They enter the grey, drab-looking building. Sun-hi gazes around the atrium. There are a few chairs and a desk for a receptionist, but otherwise not much else. He is escorted through a set of double doors, then another, until they have reached the place where he is to be tried. He is forced to sit down in a chair behind a table, with the judge directly in front of him. One of the policemen who escorted him to the prison leaves, while the other stands to attention, keeping his eye on Sun-hi. The judge begins to speak.

He tells Sun-hi that he is charged with high treason and that he has been conspiring against the government.

The judge then calls forward a witness, but Sun-hi doesn’t recognize the person. The man claims to have seen Sun-hi criticize the government, and to have been sharing military secrets with an American. Sun-hi is allowed to speak in his own defense, and states that he has never criticized the government in any way that is outside of his rights, and that he has not even met an American,

~ 55 ~

although he has seen some tourists in the streets below his office.

The judge calls forward another witness, this time a woman. She claims to have seen Sun-hi talking on the phone in English, and speaking about weapons and money. Sun-hi asks the woman if she speaks English. The woman replies that she does not speak English. If the woman cannot speak English, how can she understand it when someone is speaking on the phone? The woman does not reply. Sun-hi then asks her if she knows the address that he lives at, or if she knows the name of his office building. She says that she does not know. Sun-hi inquires how the woman would ever see him or hear him talking on the phone if she doesn’t even know where he lives or where he works. The woman again does not reply. The judge pulls the witness from the stand, and then takes 5 minutes to gather his thoughts and decide on a verdict.

Sun-hi sits at his table, a look of calm on his face. He knows what is going to happen. The judge is going to find him guilty, as the witnesses were obviously paid by the government to speak in the trial, and it doesn’t matter that he is innocent. The government does not want him to be active any longer. He asks the officer behind him if he can have a bottle of water. the officer gives it to

~ 56 ~

him. Sun-hi sips the water quietly while the judge thinks, savoring the last tastes of freedom on his tongue. The judge returns to his seat. He issues out the sentence. “Sun-hi Kwon, you have been found guilty on two counts of treason, and one count of racketeering. You will spend 12 years in this prison to think about what you have done to this wonderful country.�

Sun-hi gazes up at the ceiling, wondering why it is that his own country wants him locked away in a box. It must be his roguish good looks, thinking with a smile. The guard walks him down the hallway, to the cell where he will spend the next 12 years, with the paint chipping off the sides of the walls that will keep him trapped for a long, long time.

~ 57 ~

Attack on Mars Viewed from a Soldier’s Space Helmet

By Finn Fries ‘25

~ 58 ~

A Day to Remember

By Margaret Cravens ‘23 “Kira! Kira!”

The name echoed around the ruins that had only a second ago, been a thriving metropolis.

“Fin!” Aliya yelled as she came sprinting across the battle-scarred ground. “Fin, did it work?”

“Aliya! I can’t find Kira!”

Aliya’s face fell.

“Kira!” she shouted, as if her musical voice were a homing beacon, to which Kira would come.

Fin ran a bloodstained hand through the long black hair he was so proud of. More blood was dripping from a deep cut across his cheekbone, staining his fancy white uniform shirt. Spanning as far as the two teenagers could see, rubble and debris coated the ground where the beautiful black roses used to grow. Aliya turned in a circle, still clumsy from her injury that somehow still allowed her to run like a cheetah. Her white blond hair was

~ 59 ~

matted and filthy and the skin around one of her bright green eyes was black, and puffy.

“Kira?” she cried once more, before collapsing to her knees and giving way to sobs, all the while denying it in her head, because Kira, the little girl that had brought her hope through the treacherous journey could not be gone. Her tears cut tracks over her filthy cheeks. Fin knelt down beside her and looked up at the darkening sky. The first stars began to emerge through the black clouds. Kira had loved the stars.

One hour previously…

Fin hadn’t noticed either of the two girls until he slung his backpack down on the floor in the detention room. Normally, he was the only one there, but today, a couple girls were also sitting in the too-small desks. One girl, he was pretty sure her name started with an “A”, maybe Alice or something? Was sitting two desks in front of him. Her hair seemed to glow, even in the fluorescent-lit classroom. The other sat on the floor, legs crossed, leaning against the wall. She reminded Fin distinctly of the little field mice that scurried in the gardens and between roses. The girl with the blond hair turned to look at him.

~ 60 ~

“Hey! I’m Aliya” she had said. Her hair swirled around her, like she was under water.

“Apparently, I was too disruptive in Literature. Do you want to come down to the beach with me afterwards?” she said. She was loud, but cheerful.

“I want to come to, Ali.” the girl said. Assertive, serious, and very strange.

“This is Kira, my best friend. She’s in the year below us, but she is real smart.”

That was how Fin had met them. Standing on a beach and skipping stones over even turbulent waves. Watching the stars, and hearing Kira point out constellations. Then the noise came.

Roaring, turbulent, impossibly loud. Kira had curled up into a ball. Aliya had stared up at the sky, the remaining dregs of color draining from her face.

She had grabbed Fin’s hand and sprinted. Kira leapt up and followed her.

“They are coming.” Aliya murmured. “We need to get everyone out of the city.”

The metropolis was filled with individuals possessing strange abilities. Aliya could run as fast as the winds brought by the large storms. Kira could telepathically communicate with others. Fin...

~ 61 ~

Well, Fin hadn’t discovered his ability yet. Kira began to scream.

Fin tried to touch her, make sure she was all right, but Aliya stopped him.

“It’s how she talks to them.” she said, which Fin sort of understood. Aliya began to run back up to the school.

“We gotta get everyone out!” she called back to them. Fin noticed that one leg trailed slightly behind. Ahead of her, he could see students and teachers running, spilling out like water pouring from a balloon when crushed under foot. All of a sudden, Kira had started running too.

“Ali! No!” she had screamed. Fin had chased after her.

Miles away, on the same rocky beach where the three youths had stood only an hour before, a small girl lay amongst the rubble.

Her mousy brown hair was tightly wound in a long braid, and her clothes were badly torn, revealing ugly burns. A black monarch butterfly landed on her forehead, and her eyelids flickered.

~ 62 ~

Ice Water

By Helena English ‘24

~ 63 ~

The Escape

By Scarlett Harris ‘24 It’s one A.M., my room gets particularly hot in the middle of the night but tonight it was unbearable. I turn to my side and I am petrified. A fiery smoke bursts into my room as I let out a shriek of fear. I’m terrified, too scared to move, but I know I have to get out and then I remember little Jamie is in the next room. In a moment of courage, I run to my door leaping my hamper on the way, fire soon begins to spread though out the halls of my little house as I dash to Jamie’s room. I turn the corner to his door and see him wailing in his bed, I hastily go to him and scoop him up hurriedly, but not before he can grab his favorite stuffed ducky and even in that moment of grief a temporary little smile spreads across my face I quickly snap back to the present.

In an argument with myself I think the thought over and over again, What do I do? What do I do? I don’t want to hurt myself or Jamie, but I know that my only priority is to get out safely. I charge to the staircase in a moment of desperation and am shocked with what I see, it looks like an enormous bonfire, and I have no plan B. Fire the stairs were on fire, but when I realized what I had to do it was like my body was paralyzed, I couldn’t move it was a life or death situation and my feet were planted to the floor of my crumbling house. I squeeze Jamie tight

~ 64 ~

and jump off the balcony. I land on my couch, but it was still quite unsettling, as I stand up, I’m overcome with pain and I think I twisted my ankle. Hobbling to get to the door I glance down at Jamie he looks absolutely petrified, and has reason to be, I’m petrified but I have to save him, I have to be brave. It’s hard to be brave when you don’t know if you’re even going to survive and when scorching hot ash is falling on you. In what seems to be a flaming eternity we reach the door, we made it by this point I don’t even have much of a house. I fling the door open and limp my way to the front yard.

I set Jamie down and turn around my house is going up in flames smoke fills the air and is settling in my lungs and still no sign of my parents. My neighbors the Wiltons run outside, with a phone to her ear Mrs. Wilton shouts, “Rebecca, are you kids okay?”

They say they’ve called the fire department and they are on their way.

Two minutes had past and no sign of my parents from the fire department, Jamie is crying in Mrs. Wilton’s arms but I’m not sure he knew exactly what was going on. I don’t know why but I looked at Mr. and Mrs. Wilton teary eyed and a thousand thoughts went through my head, I start to scamper to the door without putting to much weight on my injured foot. I ran back to my burning house I could hear Mr. Wilton behind me yelling. When I get inside the house, I burst into tears. My father trapped inside by the flames looks more scared than I’ve ever

~ 65 ~

seen him before, but when he saw me that sad turned to furious and he yelled, “REBECCA GET OUT RIGHT NOW!!!” and then trembling I screamed, “NO I’M NOT LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!” Then I had a horrible realization my mom wasn’t with him I almost broke down in the middle of the flames, it felt like I’d just been stabbed in my stomach and kicked in the throat. I couldn’t even speak it might have been the smoke but I didn’t even want to move but then I didn’t have choice the balcony came crashing down I couldn’t even see ash and smoke filled the air as I stumbled to the door, I limped my way off the porch and collapsed in the drive way Mr. Wilton darted towards me as a coughed on the ground he grabbed me in his arms and said, “REBECCA ARE YOU OKAY WHAT HAPPENED.” Chocking on words, I tried to reply, “He’s he’s in, still, there help.”

When I opened my eyes, I coughed a couple times and felt better Mr. Wilton said I inhaled too much smoke and then my dad emerged from where the door used to be his shirt was torn and he was covered in smoke, he tried to run over but he was exhausted and feel in the grass.

My mom wasn’t with him and I knew what that meant, I tried to conceal my feelings as I ran to help him, I turn back to little Jamie and I tear rolls down my face. I hear the sirens in the distance and it was hard to believe that in 45 minutes my whole world came crashing down.

~ 66 ~

It’s A Big World Out There

By Laine McDermott ‘25

~ 67 ~

Charlotte

By Allie Straub ‘24

My heart is pounding louder than all the noise inside the stadium.

My whole body trembles and shivers run down my spine. My nerves are going crazy, I nearly fall to the ground as I take the first step onto the track. The same track professionals ran on. The same track my heroes won on. I look around the stadium. People are already in the stands, going to cheer on their schoolmates, family, and friends. There are about a thousand schools from the state here. I’ve heard of some of them and I have competed with others. I recognize a couple schools who are really good, they’ve been on national television before. Everyone here will be watching me. I grasp the necklace around my neck, indents of my nails are left on the palm of my hand I hold it so tight. I can feel the letters engraved in the necklace; C-H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E. You’ll be watching me race, right?

As our team walks to our section in the stadium, the first race is about to start. The 50-meter sprint. A small girl from our neighboring school takes the lead and sprints ahead of everyone,

~ 68 ~

crossing the finish line in a timely manner. She was fast, like you.

But you never ran competitively. You ran like you were free. I could never keep up with you. I would try to chase you, but you would always be two steps ahead of me. The rest of the racers finish and it’s time for the second heat. Some of my teammates leave to get ready for their race. The others get hungry and make me go to the snack stand to bring everyone food. I get up and leave with the money. I walk through the gray halls that are nearly empty. A couple of runners from the previous race are buying water, still trying to catch their breath. “Lea Maretti.” I turn my head to face two girls who I have raced against multiple times. “Why does you necklace say Charlotte if that’s not your name?” One of them takes a step forward and reaches her hand out to hold it. I quickly step back and grasp my necklace. I’ve done that so often it has become a reflex. I guess it’s because I’m trying to protect you, when I couldn’t back then. The girl pulls her hand back, her face showing confusion. I feel my eyes grow wide as I present a face of concern. I turn around and run back to the stadium where my team is, “Where’s our snacks?” one of my teammates says. I forgot all about them when I panicked and ran away. “Can someone else get them?”

~ 69 ~

Someone offers and leaves, but when they come back they tell me how they ran into two girls who wanted to know if I was okay.

I smile, “I’m fine.” I laugh as if it was funny. It wasn’t funny and I was not okay. My nerves were going haywire, I felt sick. You would be here to help me, right?

I watch as each race goes by, each one faster than before. I look at my watch and the minute hand goes around in circles, the time passes by too fast. My throat feels dry so I take a sip of my water. Then another, and another. Nearly half my water is already gone and the race hasn’t even started yet. My thoughts are interrupted by a man’s voice, booming throughout the stadium. Anyone within five miles had to have heard it. My teammates cover their ears and little kids scream. I almost missed the announcement for the 200-meter sprint starting in fifteen minutes. I unzip my jacket and exit the stands and step out on the track. Another girl from my team follows me out. We were told which lanes we will be racing in and they give us a number to pin on our shirts. With the time left I begin to stretch, along with many other kids. The two girls who asked about my necklace were in lanes five and six. I was in lane three.

~ 70 ~

Before I know it, everyone is on their starting block ready to begin the race. I touch my necklace one last time before I run. My nerves suddenly die down. You really are here to watch me, aren’t you?

“Are you ready!” a very enthusiastic man says over a megaphone. The race began. I have a slow start. I take another step then another. The sound of my foot presses against the track just for a second as I pick it up again. A steady pace, synchronized with my heartbeat. I stride forward just to pass sixth place, then fifth, and fourth, and third. I gain on second, my own teammate. I pass her then I pass first, taking the lead, ready for nationals.

I take first in lots of my races, but this time it seems different. My stomach churns and my headaches. I squeeze my eyes shut and take another stride, hoping I can overcome the pain. Suddenly everyone is gone it’s just a track and an empty void. I turn around and there’s a fire behind me. I open my eyes and shivers run down my back. I turn back around and the fire is gone. It felt so realistic to me even though I knew it was not actually happening.

I reach for my necklace and I realize the piece of silver jewelry

~ 71 ~

was no longer bouncing around my neck. I look back at the track and something shiny glimmers in the sunlight, only a couple meters back. I start to panic then slow down, pivoting my foot and running towards the necklace. It feels as if I am running faster than I ever have before. Running towards a piece of jewelry, so small and seemingly meaningless. But to me, it was the most meaningful thing I owned. It didn’t feel like I was running towards a silly necklace, it felt like, I was running to you.

I run towards the necklace and bend down to pick it up. I stand back up, my chance at first place is gone but I will not finish without you. I turn on my foot once again and pick up my pace.

Second place is gone but third place is still ahead. I gain speed in every stride I take. Sixth place is only a couple of meters away. I leap forward and pass fifth as well, barely ahead of them. I gradually take on fourth and squeeze the necklace in my hand tighter, as if it gave me strength. It always felt that way though, like you gave me strength. I take another large stride and pass fourth, first place crosses the finish line. Third place is far, but the finish line is farther. I begin to pick up my evergrowing speed and second place finishes. I take another large stride and close my eyes for a second and take another step. My

~ 72 ~

foot presses against the track and I use the momentum to push off and step forward again. My heart pounds inside my chest, yet it’s still in a steady rhythm. Another step, third place and I are competing, who will cross the finish line first? It’s only 7 meters away. My long legs are an advantage and I leap forward. Third place and I are neck and neck, I count down the meters as we both take another step forward. Four meters... three meters... two meters, then one small meter away. I hold my breath and shut my eyes, one more step, one more movement, one more second, it was anyone’s race. Who knew which one of us would win? My foot meets the track one last time. I open my eyes and fall to the ground, gasping for breath. I look up and glance at the scoreboard. I made it with point seventy-three seconds to spare. I got third place which means I made nationals, and the best part? I got to do it with you at my side.

~ 73 ~

Tropical Paradise

By Charlotte Grow ‘24

~ 74 ~

No Mercy

By Eleanor Hill ‘25 “Father! We must go to the market or there will be no fresh naan left,” Parvana, clearly frustrated, confronts her father.

“I will be ready soon, Parvana,” he said calmly. As frustrated as Parvana was, she decides that she will just go without him, she has been outside many times without an escort. Why would she get into trouble now? She gets to the dusty market, filled with busy people and crying children. She stops at the tea stand, enjoying the refreshing, fruity smell of the tea leaves and the aura of peace that would soon be interrupted. Her long, smooth hair tumbled out of her burqa she then hears a startling voice, that normally would not bother her, especially in the market. But this time, she jumped with a shiver of fear.

“Where is your male accompaniment Miss?” a low voice growled. “You must have an accompaniment, or we must take you somewhere you don’t want to be.” The voice was one that could only belong to a Taliban member. The Taliban acted much nicer on the streets. Parvana, startled and shaking with fear, said

~ 75 ~

that he was just at the next stand, but he could see through her like glass. Parvana was seized by her wrists and was pulled like a stubborn dog on a leash. As she screamed and cried for help, no one paid any attention, for it was a common sound in the market.

She was dragged to a Taliban prison, all of it was a whizz of emotion, confusion, and resentment. She couldn’t remember who she was, what she did, or anything that had ever blessed her. She could have just waited, just waited five minutes for her father, and now she may not ever see him again.

She was thrown into a small room, the only light that would come into her cell was a hole in the wall about eight inches wide. It was there as an accident, someone so desperate that they chose to rip their hands scarred and bloody, to have a fighting chance in getting out of the place. How bad will this be? She tried to forget the reek of diseased, sick people, and the yellowish tint of everyone’s skin as she passed by. She understood how they got to such a sickening condition, the air was stale, but moist, and there was green mold creeping up into the cracks of the floor and the walls. She heard a shriek, and many howls of what sounded like an old man. Seconds later, she saw a Taliban soldier walk past her cell and glare at her, he was holding a bloody whip, she

~ 76 ~

saw small beads of red trail across the floor from where she heard the sound.

“Hey!” she screamed at the soldier, “What did you do to that poor old man!?” He ignored her, not even glancing in her direction. Parvana sat down on the small, sorry excuse for a toshak, but in reality, it was a soiled blanket, and a book for a pillow. “I guess this will do,” Parvana whispers to herself.

Parvana shuffles around her cell, trying to make the musty shack homier but there is not much that she can do. She tries to distract herself from her emotions and the scary thoughts that nag at the back of her head. She was interrupted by a burly man who dumped a handful of cold, odorous rice, under the metal bars that held her inside this place of torment.

“You’ll never get to Kabul again, girl,” the man scowls and spits in her eye before walking away. Parvana tries to pick around the moldy parts of the bare, dry rice with her tough fingertips, but she realizes it is no use and she tosses the decrepit grains out of the small hole in the wall and a few seconds later, she hears light pattering as the rice falls, and then “Ouch! What is that?”

Parvana is startled, she looks down the small crevice and she sees

~ 77 ~

a young man staring up at her. “Who are you?” Parvana inquires, a bit too loud. He replies, “Shhhhh, they will hear you.”

Parvana then realizes she forgot about the Taliban. The same guard who brought her the rice appeared at the bars that taunted her every single time she had a mere glance at them. “Who are you talking to?” he yells at Parvana. His fists clench so hard that his fingernails grind into his palms and they leave a sliver of blood, small as a paper cut. “Just myself, I am very ashamed of my actions,” Parvana replies, guarding the small hole in the wall with her small back. He takes a good look at Parvana, he eyes every inch of her smooth skin before he turns his head and walks away. The boy from the window looks up at her, clearly fearful.

“So, how do we get out of here?” The boy whispers to Parvana.

His eyes gleaming with hope and a plan to make a better life for the both of them.

~ 78 ~

Wanka River

By Whitney Grimes ‘24

~ 79 ~

Long Walk Home

By Ellie Schinnerer ’24 My feet hurt badly from wearing my heels all night. So as I was walking, I took them off. All I was thinking about was their faces when I came through the door. I wish I could redo this night. Not only would Mom and Dad be mad at me, my siblings would never forgive me. I was supposed to take care of them. What did I do? Go to a party. In all honesty, I didn’t want to go to this stupid party. I felt if I didn’t no one would accept me. It’s funny, an hour ago that’s all I cared about, people accepting me, but now that’s not important at all. The only thing I cared about was my family. I felt I had let them down. I have never done something like this. My family trusted me and now they are never going to trust me again. As I walked home, my feet burning from the gravel, it felt as if everything was falling apart. I wanted to go to sleep, not have to wake up to this mess. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

I was so dehydrated I needed water immediately. I saw a gas station in the distance. Things couldn’t get more messed up so why not stop for some water. I came upon the gas station. As I

~ 80 ~

opened the door to the gas station, I saw people from the party. I stopped and ran to the back of the shop, knocking down a bag of chips. Fortunately, the water was in the back, so I grabbed one and waited until they left. I wanted to know what they bought and if they were going back to the party. I made my way back to the front being cautious to make sure they really were gone. “Keep the change,” I said, walking out of the gas station. Water never tasted so good. Still carrying my heels, I thought about how long it would take me to walk home. My friend took me to the party and it took like twenty minutes. My mind stopped and on my back I felt white lights. I turned around to see a car. I saw this car in the parking spot while I was walking out of the store. It couldn’t be. I saw this car at the party. It was my old best friend’s car.

When we were three, we spent every day together. Ever since high school she became someone else and ditched me. Talk about a fake friend. The car started to slow as it came near me. It hauled to a stop right next to me. From inside the car I could hear someone say, “look she’s a loner.” I knew exactly who this was.

It broke my heart to hear her say that. Then I heard a bunch of laughter. A flash of memories was in my mind. “The good days.”

With the roar of their engine, they sped off into the clear night.

“Ugh,” I said kicking a rock to the edge of the road. My phone

~ 81 ~

was in my pocket buzzing cause mom and dad were calling and texting “get home this minute” and “I’m so disappointed.”

I could see my neighborhood in the distance. I was so dizzy, I could barely feel my legs. I remember in geography last year, we were talking about taking things one step at time. This kid trying to get to America because his country wasn’t safe said “to the rock and that’s it or to the water, and that’s it.” I said to myself, “to that stop sign and you can rest,”. But when I got to that stop sign, I didn’t stop. I passed the sign to my neighborhood. Then I saw my house-every single light was on. My parents must have searched my room and all the other rooms. The garage was open. I was almost there. Al…most…there. But I didn’t want to be almost there. I wanted to be far away from this neighborhood, town, city, country, world. I had no choice. I need to walk in and tell them what happened. I walked up the driveway and to the front door. As I stood there, I thought about what my punishment might be, they were going to ground me for years. I wouldn’t ever get to go to college or even finish high school. Never get to live on my own. Or drive a car. I put my hand on the door knob and took a deep breath. I was ready. I was ready. 1, 2, 3. I opened the door.

~ 82 ~

Snapshots

By Anonymous ‘24

~ 83 ~

The Puppy

By Ian Dabrowka ‘24 “Roman let’s go, the day’s fading, come on.”

“You guys go ahead I’m wiped. I’ll catch up.”

“Ok, you better be with us in five minutes.”

“Ok, mom.”

With that mom and the rest of my family walked down the path and vanished into the dense trees. Today for some obscure reason my mom and dad decided to drive to the nearest state park and take a hike because they say my brother, sister, and I are inside too much, which isn’t the case at all. The hike would be great and all, but today it feels like we’re walking on the sun so instead of enjoying myself I’m sweating bullets. I’m not kidding. I’d rather be walking on hot coals instead of this hike. After draining my first water bottle, I put it in my pack, and I started to hike back on the trail to catch up with my family. As I walked, I looked down at my shoes, not paying attention at all to my surroundings. I walk for a while and then walk some more. I felt like I was walking around the earth. Then I hear something growling, mixed with a slight muttering in the distance. I don’t think much of the growling but the muttering, that got me curious. I kept proceeding on the path wondering what they were talking about. They were probably talking about Velvet’s outstanding grades, or Noah’s stellar sports

~ 84 ~

scholarships. The growling started to get so loud that I felt like a helicopter was screaming in my ear. I look up and less than fifty feet away was a monstrous grizzly bear the size of a mountain. It took me a minute to realize what was happening and the second I did I swore, not being able to stop myself and then started inching off the path slowly.

Luckily, the bear’s back was turned and, based on the putrid odor, I guessed it was devouring a deer. Then once I felt like I was far enough away, I turned and tried to find another way to the path.

While doing this, it reminded me of one of my favorite things to do when I was younger. I used just go out in the woods and admire the wilderness but recently with homework loads rising, I’ve just never had time. I felt at peace, even with the bear behind me. The best part though was the unpredictability of it all. I love what the bushes look like, the trees feel like, and most of all how interesting the wild life is. I love the cute squirrels and I even love the fearsome bears. But most of all my favorite animal, by far, is the sly fox. My love for foxes started at the young age of five when I flew down to Florida to visit my aunt, uncle, and three cousins. The youngest of the three cousins had two bearded dragons. Recently he ran out of crickets to feed them, so we headed to the pet store. This day in particular there were three Fox pups who had just arrived. I saw them but didn’t register what they were at first. We got the crickets and were about to leave when my cousin said, “Hey look, foxes!” Everyone looked in surprise and then the guy who works

~ 85 ~

at the shop said in a monotoned voice, “Do you guys want to hold them?” We were ecstatic! He opened the door of the pen, picked them up one at a time and handed them to us. That was one of the best days of my life.

At this point I’m a long ways away from the bear when I hear a muffled whimper of a small animal. I almost felt like a rope was pulling me towards the noise. I start to walk towards it cautiously. Then I peered over a large bush and lying on the hard, cold ground was a wolf pup whimpering. I walked up next to the pup to see why it was crying, then I realized it was lying in a red puddle under the back half of the pup and then I saw a gaping gash in the back left leg. The wound was pumping out blood, with no sign of stopping. Without thinking, I sprinted towards the wolf and threw down my pack and opened every zipper to find my knife. I yanked it out of my pack, along with a bottle of water, and flipped the knife open. I put the knife to my shirt and tore into it. The piece was about a foot long. Then I opened the bottle of water to disinfect the wound. As I poured the ice cold water on the cut, the pup’s cry started to get quieter. I checked its pulse and felt it getting weaker. “Shhhhhhh, crap,” catching myself before I said it this time. I knew my time was running out, but I couldn’t let Mother Nature steal this young wolf’s life so soon. I hastily wrapped the cloth around the pup’s legs, getting blood all over me, but I don’t care at all. I tie a knot as tightly as physically possible, centimeters above the wound to cut off

~ 86 ~

circulation to the leg to prevent blood loss. I take the knife to my shirt again, making an even longer bandage to put around the wound. I again wrap it as tight as possible and tie a knot at the end to prevent it from falling off, stopping the bleeding. At this point I check the pulse again, worried out of my mind. I fall back and let out a loud cry of victory. The pulse was still weak, but I could feel it becoming more stable and stronger.

I stood up only and then fully comprehended how much blood there was. I stood there for what seemed like hours, just trying to calm down and catch my breath. When I was ready. I picked up the pup and started walking back to the trail to find my parents. The pup had fainted from what I assumed was the pain or the loss of blood, but now she was waking up so I stopped and pulled out what little water I had left and started to pour it into the wolf’s mouth so she could stay hydrated.

Even though I was dying of dehydration, I let her finish off the water because I knew she needed it more in this unbearable heat. When I got back on the trail, pup in hand, I see my family and I yell up to them to get their attention. After this was all said and done, I named that wolf Helen, based on the park we found her at, and she’s been a part of my life ever since.

~ 87 ~

Space Mountain

By Alders Kulynych ‘25

~ 88 ~

One Chance

By Sean Ward ‘24 9th inning. One out. Down by one. Man on first. As Tristan sat on the bench, watching his teammate, Rick, at bat trying to get a hit off the big righty on the mound, he thought of all the times the kids at school had called him names and abused him for being bad at baseball and not being good enough. The pitcher wound up and threw. It was a perfect curveball, sinking into the inside corner of the plate at the perfect moment. Rick just looked at it. Strike one. If only coach would put me in, I could hit this guy. However, being the new kid on the team and not being as good as most the other guys, coach would never put him in an important situation like this. The second pitch came in, a high fastball that looked upwards of 70 mph. This was fast for 13u baseball, and Rick swung but was about a half a second late. Strike two. Come on, Rick. Rick was one of the guys on the team that had a lot of hits, but hit for average, not power. So even if he made contact, the score would likely not change. However, that would give us another base runner.

After Rick in the lineup was Johan, who had some decent hits, so far as Tristan had seen, but didn’t get a lot of them. If Rick struck out and Johan went up with two outs, the odds were against him, with a fast pitcher that has good control and movement on the mound, and with the pressure of two outs weighing down on him. Johan had a tendency

~ 89 ~

to crack under pressure as it was, and it would be more likely in a big game like this. The next pitch came in, and it was like one of those stereotypical-movie-moments where time slows down. Tristan looked over to his coach and saw the hope in his eyes and noticed that his own heart was beating fast as well. The pitch was a slider, not too fast, but it didn’t look like Rick recognized it. He watched it come in and swung way late, not adjusting to the movement of the pitch. He did, however, manage to make contact, fouling the ball into the higher area of the backstop. This game was too big for a strikeout. This would be the game that would determine whether Tristan’s team would make it into the state tournament or not. Tristan saw Johan, on deck, with his hands shaking like the air dryer had broken in the bathroom. The next pitch came in, another curveball, and... a swing and a miss. Strike three.

So now it was two outs, and a strikeout, or, frankly, any fieldable ball at all, would end the game and have Tristan’s team hanging their heads in defeat. It was Johan’s turn to try against the pitcher, and his face was as pale as a ghost. While the pitcher was intimidating and could throw hard, his arm must be starting to get tired, Tristan thought. The pitcher had pitched all nine innings and had mixed in curveballs and other junk with every new inning. When pitchers get tired, they start to lose control of the ball and walk people. Tristan hoped this would happen. While Johan was walking up to the plate, Tristan could see him trying to steady his nerves by taking deep breaths and closing his eyes. He

~ 90 ~

walked up to the plate, adjusted his batting gloves, and stepped into the box. The pitcher, soaked in sweat at this point, wound up and threw.

From the release, it looked like the hardest pitch he had made all night, looking to be around 75 mph. As the ball progressed towards the plate, something looked wrong. Very wrong. The pitch was headed straight for Johan. Tristan’s whole team and coach in the dugout watched in horror and listened to the harsh sound of Johan’s wince as the pitch hit him right in the knee cap. Tristan could hear an audible pop come from Johan’s knee and watched him crumble to the ground. Tristan’s team’s first base, third base, and main coaches all scrambled to go check on the now writhing and screaming Johan. As the third and first base coach continued to try and ease the pain and the pitcher turned around with a scared look on his face, Tristan’s coach jogged back to the dugout, turned to Tristan, and said two words; “You’re in.” Tristan’s face lit up with joy. He put his helmet and batting gloves on, with his bat between my legs, as he rushed to the plate.

For Tristan, this was like Christmas morning. On the way, he gave Johan, who was half unconscious due to pain, a supportive punch to the shoulder. Then, he stepped into the plate. It was a whole different atmosphere out there. Tristan felt the cool, spring, night breeze on his face and heard the crowd go silent. He looked as the pitcher wiped his sweat-drenched face with his sleeve. Tristan knew the kid couldn’t be on the mound for much longer, and also knew that he wouldn’t dare throw

~ 91 ~

another ball that fast. So, as he waited for the pitch, he again thought of being bullied at school. He thought about all the insults, all the time he had worked to get the kids to respect him. He used this energy to focus in on the situation and to drive himself to get this next pitch. This was Tristan’s moment.

The pitcher wound up and threw. Tristan recognized the pitch as a fastball as soon as it released from the pitcher’s hand. However, this pitch, unlike most of the pitcher’s fastballs, wasn’t very fast. Not even just for him, just in general. As the pitch approached the plate, Tristan, already loaded, planted his foot and swung. It hit his bat right in the sweet spot and he knew right away it was going far. He dropped his bat to the side, and as he watched the ball travel through the air, he saw it go over the center field fence, and heard the parents and his team erupt.

~ 92 ~

Sunrise on the Magothy

By Timothy Wright ‘25

~ 93 ~

What a Storm Brings

By Zahria Grimes ‘24 The wind is blowing and the snow is coming down hard. The roads are completely covered, keeping everyone from going anywhere. We live in a rural area in Virginia right outside of DC. We’re isolated from the world and there aren't many of us out here. We live one mile from my cousin’s house. The rest of our family lives in Ohio, so he is the closest to us. We were going to go over his house today because we always go over on Saturdays, but the snow had other plans. It’s about 10:30 in the morning, or at least I think it is. The electricity in my house is out, leaving us with no heat and with no idea what time it is. I have at least three thick blankets on top of me and I’m still freezing cold.

My parents and my sister Gabriela are still asleep, but I woke up early and haven’t been able to fall back asleep. I’m kind of freaking out because the snow is already five feet high and shows no sign of stopping. This is the most snow we’ve ever seen before, and they’re talking about it all over the news. People feel excited and scared about it. I’m a little bit of both because I love the snow, but it’s getting too high for me. I’m lying in bed reading the 3rd book of the series

~ 94 ~

“Amulet” when suddenly I hear a loud growl, “rarrrrggh!”. I’m startled for a second but then I realize that it’s my stomach. I drag myself out of bed and head downstairs to the kitchen. As I come downstairs I look over to the sofa and see my dog Cotton Ball “morning Cotton”, I say as I walk over and pet him. We named him Cotton Ball because he’s fluffy and white; he’s as white as the snow. I look around in the pantry and reach for the Sugar Frosties. I get the milk from the fridge; it’s a little warm because the generator only kicked in a little while ago, but that’s ok. While I’m pouring my cereal, my sister comes downstairs looking tired. “Morning, Gabby,” I say cheerfully, seeing if she’ll answer.

“Morning”, she mumbles, sounding tired and grouchy. She drags her feet along the floor while making her way to the pantry. Scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, just the sound I want to hear first thing in the morning. I walk over to the couch taking slow steps, trying not to spill my cereal everywhere. I remember the last time I spilled it, it was not pretty. Long story short, I spent the whole day scrubbing the couch trying to get milk and cereal stains out of it. As I’m shuffling towards the couch, of course, my sister is being the annoying person she is by yelling, “Don’t drop it G, don’t drop it!”, I finally reach the couch safe and sound, no cereal anywhere but in my bowl.

I turn on the tv and switch to CNN. They report on, of course, the snow. But then they report on how someone poisoned the cafeteria food at a school called Country Side High. They said it's

~ 95 ~

possible more than one student may have participated because there were several absent on that day. Also, they think it was the same people who vandalized the school doors the previous semester. Some people just never learn. That would never happen at my school, The Washingtonian School for the Elite. It’s such a long and unnecessary name, but I can’t change it. Everyone is so perfect. They’re so caught up in all their own stuff that they don’t care about others or what happens to them. They just don’t have the time to think about poisoning people.

“Dang it!” I exclaim because I realize that my cereal has gotten soggy while I was in my thoughts and watching the news. It’s ok though because Sugar Frosties are good in any form. I walk into the kitchen to put my bowl in the sink. I hear my dad walk down the stairs with loud steps. As he takes his last step and reaches the floor, I greet him: “Well someone decided to sleep in this morning”. I realize my dad is probably going to shovel the driveway despite the snow being five feet high. I’m going to help him because I want us to be able to get out of the house at least one way. “Yeah well, my bed is warm and the house is cold. So I was not in a rush to get out of bed,” he said while putting on his boots to go outside. I reached for the shovel in the corner of the

~ 96 ~

kitchen next to the pantry, and I asked my dad if I could help him.

He grabbed the other shovel and said, “Sure, but you need to get dressed first so hurry up.” I run upstairs, skipping one step with each leap I take. I put on a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, then my snow pants. Once I get back downstairs, I throw on my big coat, snow boots, and gloves.

The snow is a tall as I am so when I open the door, I’m looking straight dead at the snow. It’s actually quite mesmerizing because I’ve never seen anything like it. I notice the hand and footprints my dad left when he climbed the snow to get out. It feels like the snow is a barrier around our house, keeping us from every living thing outside. It feels safe but also dangerous and scary, either way, it's gigantic. I grab the step stool and place it in front of the snow; it’s too tall for me to reach up and climb it. I climb the step stool and take a deep breath. I’m scared that when I lean on the snow it will collapse and I’ll get a big mouthful of cold snow. I place my hand on the snow first, it doesn’t collapse thank God, then I dig little feet holes to help me lift myself up. I thrust myself upward so I can get my arms on top of it; I’m already tired half way up. I’m finally able to lift my legs on top and I land with a big fwoosh in the snow.

~ 97 ~

As I’m laying down, I look up and I see a bunch of little snowflakes swirling in the sky. I watch as they gently fall onto the snow without making a noise. It’s very peaceful but then I hear a voice, my dad’s voice: “Are you going to lay there all day or come help shovel?”.

“Coming,” I say as I walk towards him. Each step I take my foot is sinking inches down into the snow. When I get near him, I start shoveling the snow and hauling it to the side.

After five minutes of shoveling, my sister opens the door and calls out in a panicky voice, “Have either of you seen Cotton Ball?!” My dad and I look at each other and shrug, “No.” Gabby goes back inside. “Where do you think he is?” I ask my dad. “I don’t know.” I think for a little of where he could be, then I realize he must have come outside when I was climbing the snow. “Oh no,” I say in a panicky voice. “Here Cotton Ball, come on boy come back!” I yell trying to see if he’s nearby.

“What’s wrong?” “Is Cotton Ball out here?” my dad asks me. “I think he might have dug his way out when I opened the door, I was trying to the climb the snow and I didn’t realize.” “G, you have to pay attention,” my dad says in an annoyed voice, “I know I’m sorry.” My dad and I walk around on the snow, dig holes in the snow, and yell for Cotton Ball but we can't see him anywhere. We sit down for a second and take a breather. “Well he has to be close. He can't get far in this weather,” my dad says hoping for the best.

~ 98 ~

We keep looking around and I go to the back of the house. As I’m looking around, I look to my left and I see the snow moving. It’s going upwards in little movements and I go over to see what it is. I start digging gently and I hear a quiet, “Woof! Woof!” “Dad come over here! I think I found Cotton Ball!” my dad rushes over and we both start digging. Soon enough we see a little black nose popping up from the snow, my dad reaches down and lifts up Cotton Ball. He’s covered in snow. “Cotton Ball!” I scream and I hear my sister saying it from the window, too. My dad takes him inside and my sister warms him up. “I was so scared! I thought we would never find him in that pile of stupid snow!” my sister says while giving the snow a dirty look as if it has eyes to see her. “We need to get back out there,” my dad says, so we get the shovels and open the door. Cotton Ball leaps from Gabby’s arms. I jump forward and catch him at the last second. “You're not going anywhere mister, have you not learned your lesson yet? Jeez.” Like I said earlier, some people, and dogs, just never learn. I take him over to Gabby and my dad and I get ready to climb. “You ready?” my dad asks me. “For sure.” So we start climbing the snow as if it was Mount Everest. Well, this has been crazy and theres’ no telling what will happen next.

~ 99 ~

Sweet Turtle

By Gabby Zsakany ‘25

~ 100 ~

Troy

By Hudson Lamb ‘24 Troy’s heart was still racing and his mind was still focused on basketball, his little sister Zoe who is only four at his side.” Give me a piggy back ride Troy, please!” Zoe climbed on and started laughing. The two knew the road home by heart, the court had been their second home from when Troy was a 6-year- old himself, and now at 17, it is his way out of Ohio. The basketball court, a block behind him, has fulfilled its duty for the night. Troy walked slower so that he could take in the summer afternoon breeze and they passed all the run-down houses that are so familiar. They walked over the cracked blocks one after the other, Zoe got down from Troy’s back and started dribbling the basketball. It was pitch black now with only lamp posts to give light to the streets. They didn’t talk much, but nothing really had to be said. Troy didn’t mind the humidity and neither did Zoe. They were now a block away from their house and Troy looked over his shoulder and saw their path and then looked forward.

Together they both stepped off the concrete curb and opened the

~ 101 ~

front door. I have some time to rest before I meet up with Jaden and Gavin. Troy went upstairs and climbed into his bed. His sheets were blue and his pillowcases were chgray. A small window overlooking the street was closed off by a basketball poster, so the room was dark. Troy laid down and let his legs rest. To his left were his collection of shoes, Jordans and Nikes piled up and posters of NBA legends covered the gloomy walls, but Troy was accustomed to the room. Troy set a timer on his iPhone and closed his heavy eyes.

He woke thirty minutes later to the alarming sound of chimes from his phone, shot right up and went to his closet. Troy stretched his arms from one side of the doorway to the other and let out a ginormous yawn. Putting on a black Jordan shirt with White Nike Dry- Fit shorts, he ran a comb through his hair and sat down on his bed to put his socks on. I better check my phone Troy reminded himself and saw, “Hurry up!” from Jaden. He scurried out his room and ran down the stairs, finding Zoe watching TV. “There’s leftover chicken in the fridge Zoe I’ll be back later,” he informed her. Troy stepped outside and jumped down all five of the stairs directly to the sidewalk, it will only be light for half an hour more, Troy wanted to get to Jaden's house before dark. “I’ll

~ 102 ~

be there in 15 minutes,” Troy texted Jayden. They were already at the little restaurant on Marquette Street. By this time, Troy had walked four blocks and was walking on the highway.

It was busy for a Friday night so Troy was careful. Tuning out the sound of cars whizzing past, Troy let out a smile, remembering all the memories he’d made with his friends. The practices and late nights when they stayed up just laughing with each other. He laughed at himself. This helped Troy pass the time. It was hot and dark with only lamp posts and neon store signs to guide him. Troy took the road that led away from the highway and took a deep breath, relieved to have the highway in his rearview mirror. He pulled out a granola bar from his Nike drawstring backpack and took a bite. Still 15 minutes away, Troy was getting tired of walking, and everything was sore from working out all day. I need this meal he thought as he pictured a juicy burger with a tall glass of cold water. This made him walk a bit faster.

He rounded a corner to see Boom Booms Cafe. Troy smiled, about time, he thought. He waved to his two friends who were in the window. Troy ran to the stairs and walked in the doors, “Table for one?” A waiter questioned, “No thank you, ma’am.”

~ 103 ~

Troy walked in and gave each of his friends’ handshakes they had made up and sat down. Troy had a chocolate shake waiting for him while Jaden and Gavin were half finished. Troy was dripping with sweat from the long walk. “Did you forget to use a towel after your shower? joked Gavin. Jaden burst out laughing while Troy was left with a wry smile. “Wouldn’t you love that, Gav.” Troy said, smirking. Then, taking a long sip of his milkshake, sighing with satisfaction.

The waiter came over and asked, ”What do you gentlemen want to eat tonight?” “Three cheese burgers please.” A loud jingle of bells from the opening of the store door came with and then yelling. “Everybody get your God damn hands up!” The boys were terrified to see two men dressed in all black with hoods that covered their faces. They both had guns in their hands, pointed at the man working the register. The boys spoke quietly and quickly.

Three seconds later they started to charge the armed men. They reached the shooters, the two men turned around to see them charging... pop! Pop, pop!

~ 104 ~

A Maryland Sunrise

By Raeha Richman ‘24

~ 105 ~

Perseverance Across Borders A Civic Responsibility Speech

By Cole Keefer ‘23 Hi, Severn School. For those who don’t know me, I am Cole Keefer. As said by Legendary Brazilian soccer player Pelé, “Success is no accident. It is hard work, perseverance, learning, studying, sacrifice and most of all, love of what you are doing or learning to do” (Brainy Quote). Now please raise your hands if you know somebody close to you who have immigrated to the US before 2000? How many of you know why they left or what they were seeking? You can put your hands down.

In April of 1967, the man who is a large part of my life, my grandfather Manuel Reina emigrated from Cuba at age 14 with his younger brother to start a whole new life. I sat down to interview him to learn about the journey. In the 1960’s Cuba was led by Fidel Castro who later announced he was a communist. Castro was killing whoever went against him which made my great grandfather make the decision to apply for entry visas for the whole family to leave the country. Four years later in 1967, the only entry visas to Spain came in for Manuel and his younger brother Jorge. The arrival of his entry visa left him with

~ 106 ~

the choice to turn fifteen in November and be forced into the military or leave Cuba with only his twelve-year-old brother and a hope of a new life. My grandfather chose to start a new life and start the “adventure” to the states. And it would take perseverance, guts and a country that was willing to have him in order to have a huge impact on the kids and grandkids that have come after him. Manuel and Jorge flew from Cuba to a boys’ only refugee camp in Madrid, Spain.

While they were waiting for their entry visas to the US, scared and alone, my grandfather had to watch out for Jorge because he was awkward and shy which made him a target for being bullied. My grandfather always says to be kind and care for my sisters and sometimes I don’t take it seriously enough. I now realize why he stresses it. Three months later the visas arrived, and they ended up in Miami. Once they arrived, the funds that their father sent to help with their care mysteriously disappeared. This forced them to live with different family members until they ended up in a military academy.

Manuel had to start off in the academy in 9th grade not knowing the English language, but he believed that it was all going to work out if he worked hard enough. Could you imagine being a 14-year-old with your younger sibling having no money in a country that was foreign to you?

Would you complain or give up? He never did and worked relentlessly in the academy until he graduated as a Coronel and a Batallion Commander.

~ 107 ~

His gratitude towards getting an education and getting an opportunity to live in the states makes me realize that I have to stop and be more thankful that I can receive a Severn education just by showing up and to be more thankful for what I have. It was never an easy road to get to the states but despite all the hardships he never gave up. My grandfather’s positive relentlessness and perseverance to create a good life made me want to travel to Costa Rica this past summer to help kids my age and younger who don’t have the opportunities that I have been given and to give them a little more hope that their life’s will get better in the future. Severn School, if you only take one thing from this speech, let it be this; always preserve, be grateful and follow your dreams no matter what they may be because life is an adventure.

~ 108 ~

Leaf

By Aliza Monaldo ‘24

~ 109 ~

The Importance of Literature for Young Minds A Civic Responsibility Speech

By Margaret Cravens ‘23 My name is Margaret Cravens, and when I was younger, I would read a bedtime story every single night. I remember, there was this one Beatrix Potter book I read a lot in particular, enough that, by the time I was four, I had it all memorized. I brought it in for show and tell, and I read it aloud to my class. By the time I was six or seven, I was turning my bedside light back on at night to read more. Through my experience with the power of stories, I learned the importance of getting quality stories from a young age. I say stories here, because any style of story is good. Plays, music, books, comics, and audiobooks are all amazing ways to consume stories. Raise your hand if you got bedtime stories when you were younger. Now, some of you might be thinking ‘How does this relate to me? I mean, I’m in middle school now.’ Well, although you have already passed the age range I am talking about, you can still influence younger kids. Raise your hand you have cousins, babysit, or have a much younger sibling? You can read to them, and there are a multitude of reasons to do so. For

~ 110 ~

example, you can develop their minds, introduce them to a series you think they will enjoy, or simply bond with them.

From the beginning, kids should be exposed to literature of many styles and formats. Julie Long, a member of the National Centre for Australian Children’s Literature, says “Story time develops children’s imaginations and can give them opportunities to escape from the real world into colorful, safe imaginary places.” (Hardy).

Reading a book to a little kid may make his or her world that much bigger and better. Imagine, for a second, that you have never left your state. If you heard about some tragedy or conflict in a far off country, you probably would care more if you had read a realistic fiction book about a kid your age growing up there. Never, ever, underestimate the power a story can have on you or someone else’s life.

As anyone who knows me will know, I really like Harry Potter. I started reading it when I was six or seven, first with my brother and my mom as a bedtime story, and then alone at night as well.

Harry Potter, and many of the other book series I like partially kickstarted my dream of becoming an author. I stayed up well past my bedtime reading those books, and I made friends over

~ 111 ~

them. They have influenced me greatly and I can’t imagine a world without them. Think of your favorite books, or comics, or whatever. Imagine what your life would be like without them.

Now think about the chances you have to introduce a child to their equivalent of that story.

Lastly, Julie Long says reading and enjoying a favorite book with a child can “build positive relationships between the reader and the listener.” (Hardy). This is especially prevalent if you are reading with a child you will be spending a lot of time with, like a sibling or cousin, or someone whom you babysit for frequently. I know that most of the time you are babysitting, you’d rather just sit the kid down with a cartoon or something, and I get that. I just want you to be aware of how much better, in the long run, it would be to read a picture book instead.

I would like you to think over what I have told you today. In general, just be conscious of the benefits and upsides of sharing your favorite stories with little kids. Remember how important some stories have been to you, and maybe share some of those with a younger audience. Be aware of the benefits of a frequent and regular story time and try to make all sorts of story types

~ 112 ~

available for younger children. A good example of this is my little brother’s fifth grade class, who started a comic box in the classroom where everyone can put the comics they draw and read the ones classmates write. I encourage all of you to try something similar or start something like a neighborhood picture book exchange. I think you’d be surprised at the difference you could make.

~ 113 ~

Slow, Steady & Slothical

By Caroline Brenia ‘25

~ 114 ~

The Game

By Jack Hayman ‘24

I had just finished school and was walking home. I never let my dad pick me up even though 5 miles was a trek. For one, if my dad was angry, he would beat me, and I couldn’t escape from the car and two I hated the smell of the drugs my dad takes. I also never let my mom pick me up because it was too dangerous, and she would always get pulled over by the police because she’s drinking and driving at the same time. Plus, walking home was a good workout. I practically ran home because I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. It was the national championship game. My team, the California Beavers, was playing against the New Mexico Flying Fish.

When I got home, sweat was in my eyes and I was out of breath.

I prayed with all my might that my dad wasn’t home. I looked toward the driveway and breathed out, my dad’s black pickup truck wasn’t there. I hurried inside, knowing my dad would be here any minute. I went to my room and locked all six locks. I was extra careful not to wake my mom, knowing she was asleep from

~ 115 ~

drinking all day. I had just started doing my homework when I heard the front door open and then slam shut. I heard footsteps coming to my door and I knew it was dad because I could smell the drug in his hand. I heard him knock on my door. I knew not to open it because of the time. I was stupid enough to open the door when he knocked, and he just hit me right in face. Once I heard him walk away. I let out a huge breath. I was relieved that he didn’t take off my door, which he had before, so I just resumed my homework. Before I knew it, it was 9 o’clock clock and I had to go get ready for bed. I didn’t have a bed time, but I went to bed early tonight because I couldn’t wait till the big game tomorrow. So, I took a shower and I got on my baseball pajamas. I turned on the Red Socks vs Mets game and started to doze off.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm. I looked over and it said 6:00. Good, I didn’t sleep in. It was too early for my parents to be up, so I got ready for the big game. I got on my baseball jersey and brushed my teeth. Then I went in the garage to get my cleats and my baseball bag. Once I gathered everything, I went outside and started the two mile walk to the baseball field. When I got there, the bleachers were packed with fans and the college

~ 116 ~

scouts that had come to see the new prospects. I looked toward the dugout and saw half my team was already there. I walked over to everyone and looked at the batting order to see what position I was going to play today. I was batting cleanup and I was starting at pitcher. When I turned around to get my glove, I saw my best friend Matt at the other side of the dugout. I took my bag and walked over next to him. I said “hi� and asked what position he was playing. He told me he was playing first base to start and then he would be our closing pitcher. I teased him and said you’d better not lose the game and make me look bad in front of the scouts. He laughed and said the same thing. We were still laughing when Coach Phil told me and Matt to lead warmups.

We gather the team and lead them in warmups. We started out by running around the baseball field and then we did some arm stretches.

Finally, Matt told everyone to grab a partner and throw with them. I partnered up with our catcher, Ryan. I normally would go with Matt, but since I am pitching, I went with Ryan. When Coach Phil told us the game would start in five minutes the team headed back to the dugout. Since we were home, I stayed outside the dugout and stretched my arms. When the coaches were done

~ 117 ~

talking with the umpires, I told the team to go out to their positions. The walk to the pitcher’s mound felt like a walk along the red carpet. Everyone was shouting my name and I looked up to the stands trying to spot the scouts. I froze dead in my tracks. It was my parents. They had never been to any of my baseball games before, so I wondered why they were at the most important game of the year. I couldn’t let the scouts know that I was related to my parents because no scout would give a scholarship to the son of a drug addict or a drunk woman. So, I just played it cool. When the first batter came up, I was still thinking about them. When I threw the first pitch it was way outside, and I heard, “Ball one!” from the umpire. I knew I had to step up my game, but my parents being here was all I could think about. What if my parents being here wasn’t so bad? They had never seen me play before and they always wanted to come, but I never told them when my games were. I decided I would pull through and show my parents how I play baseball.

The ump was telling me that I had to keep the game moving or we would run out of time. I looked at Ryan to see what pitch he wanted me to throw. He wanted me to throw a curve, so I winded up and threw it as hard as I could. It was a perfect curveball.

~ 118 ~

“Strike one!� the umpire yelled. The game flew by because I was so caught up in the moment. At the end of the game, we won 182. I had 4 homeruns and 13 strikeouts. I also won M.V.P. and was recognized as the best high school pitcher. I wanted to know if I had gotten the scholarship, but it was supposed to be e-mailed to me. On my way home, I thought of how proud my parents were. It was nice and quiet on the walk back home, but when I got home, I heard a loud scream.

~ 119 ~

Poemas en Diamante The poems were written in Ms. Talbott’s Spanish class inspired by the poem of a girl describing herself to the world. These poems represent a small window of how the students describe themselves in the foreign language.

Victoria Scott ‘25

~ 120 ~

Grace Frankl ‘25

~ 121 ~

Holland Sixbey ‘25

~ 122 ~

Peter Urban ‘25

~ 123 ~

A Fateful Run Ben Veiel ‘24 Justin was running down the sidewalk of his downtown Chicago neighborhood. The crisp, chilly air stung his cheeks as he turned a corner, his breathing in time with his feet pounding on the cement beneath him. His ears were going numb, but his parents had been pressuring him to get in shape for the start of cross-country season, even though he had wanted to wait until the weather was decent. Yeah, like a day like that’s gonna come around anytime soon. He chuckled silently, not wanting to mess up his breathing pattern.

After a few more minutes, he turned onto the street where his friend Paul lived. Glancing at his watch, he decided he’d been running for long enough, and that he deserved a soda and a break. He slowed down as he approached the one-story, two-bedroom house that Paul and his mom shared. He walked up the three steps in the front to the small porch and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, Al, another one of Justin’s friends, opened the door. “Hey J,” he said. “What’s up?”

~ 124 ~

“Just stopping by to get a drink. Cross-country prep is getting pretty brutal,” Justin replied. He pointed over Al’s shoulder to the small kitchen at the back of the house. “Can I come in?”

Al stepped to the side. “Be Paul’s guest.” Justin walked through the doorway, nodding to Paul on the way in. He was lounging on his sofa in the living room, watching something on the TV that Justin couldn’t see, but had a lot of explosions based on the noise. He proceeded past the bathroom door and into the kitchen and got a Diet Coke out from Paul’s fridge. “Mind if I use your shower P? I feel like I just went for a swim,” he called to Paul.

“Help yourself to all the hot water and fresh clothes you need, man. I can almost smell you from here,” he added.

“Thanks.”

Justin turned the corner into the house’s one bathroom, and turned on the water, turning the temperature all the way up. As he undressed, steam filled up the room, fogging up the mirror. Justin clambered into the shower and spent about five minutes washing off his sweat-soaked body. When he was finished, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked across the hall into Paul’s room, picking out a set of clothes he knew Paul never wore.

~ 125 ~

When he emerged, he got himself a second Coke, and went to join Paul and Al in the living room. They watched the last ten minutes of a movie which, as Justin had guessed, was full of explosions. Then, they went outside and threw a football around for another ten minutes, then they went back inside and talked for a full fifteen minutes. Cross-country and Justin’s parents’ expectations for him to get a scholarship for the sport went away, and he felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. Then, all that went away in the space of a few seconds.

Just when Justin was getting ready to leave and run back to his own house, he heard a knock on the door, followed by a harsh voice saying, “Drug Enforcement Administration, open up!”

Justin, Al, and Paul all panicked. Justin didn’t know what was going on, but he did know that federal law-enforcement agencies didn’t go around knocking on people’s doors for the fun of it, so he figured something else must be up. Al and Paul, however, were moving purposefully towards the kitchen, and out from under the cabinet, they each pulled out an Uzi submachine gun. “Holy crap guys, what’s going on?” Justin shouted, his voice having risen a whole octave.

“You have five seconds to open this door, or we’re knocking it down!” hollered the drug enforcement official.

~ 126 ~

“Just get out of the way!” yelled Al, knocking over Paul’s kitchen table and crouching behind it, the barrel of his gun peeking over the top.

Paul had pulled the sofa into the living room doorway and was also aiming his weapon at the front door. Justin was trapped in between the two, with nowhere to go except out the door, and that wasn’t an option. So, just before the DEA officer shouted “1,” he ducked behind a small table in the main hall with a vase of flowers on top of it.

When the countdown ended, a DEA officer smashed open the door, and Al and Paul opened fire. The DEA official got off a quick burst before he was gunned down, which flew over Al’s head and shattered the kitchen window at the back of the house. There were more DEA officers though, and they ducked behind the doorway, occasionally peeking around and firing off a round or two, a couple of which almost didn’t miss.

Nothing seemed to be happening in terms of one side gaining an advantage. There was a period of ten minutes where no one did anything much, except for reloading after the initial exchange of gunfire. Justin sat perfectly still, his head tucked between his knees, as though his terror had taken the form of a massive hand that was holding it down and pressing and pressing.

~ 127 ~

He sat like this for what felt like hours, but in reality it was only about fifteen minutes. At that point, he heard something metal bounce down the hall. He peeked up for a second, and saw a metal canister rolling down the hall, just in time for his world to become consumed by a blinding white flash and an incredibly loud bang. Had his ears still worked, he would have heard the screaming of himself, Al, and Paul.

He also would have heard gunfire from the doorway, as the DEA officers flooded through the entrance.

One officer saw him writhing on the floor, and mistakenly believed that he was drawing a weapon. He panicked, and shot him in the leg, the bullet splitting his shinbone into tiny fragments until it popped out the other end. This was something Justin was acutely aware of, and he began howling in earnest. The officer then pulled him up against the wall and cuffed his hands behind his back. It was here that Justin passed out.

When he came to, he found himself in a hospital, with his parents sitting in a pair of chairs on the other side of the small room. “Mom...Dad,” he muttered weakly. His mom’s eyes snapped open, and she rushed over to his bedside, followed shortly after by his dad. His mom tried to say something, but she choked up, and her eyes filled with tears. His dad just stood there, his hand on Justin’s shoulder, also unable to summon words.

~ 128 ~

He later learned that Paul and Al had been dealing heroine, cocaine, and marijuana out of Paul’s house, without the knowledge of Paul’s mom. They were currently in prison awaiting trial. The police had thought that Justin had been a part of it too, but Al and Paul had both sworn that he had nothing to do with it, and the police had believed them, clearing him of all charges. Justin decided that he would go and visit them.

When he got to the prison and picked up the phone to talk to Paul, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to yell at him for getting him caught in the middle of this or thank him for getting him out of it. He decided to go with the latter. “Paul, I don’t know how I can thank you,” he said.

“You don’t have to man,” he replied. “It’s not our fault you stopped by at the wrong time, and we didn’t think that you should go to jail for what we did.”

“Well, I’m still grateful,” Justin said. They talked for a few more minutes. Paul asked him how his leg was doing, and Justin told him that he would be on crutches for the majority of cross-country season. He then had a very similar exchange with Al. As he left the prison, he contemplated how his life had been so drastically changed by that one run, and what those changes would be.

~ 129 ~

Sport Fisherman Ben Saunders ‘23

~ 130 ~

The Power of Laughter A Civic Responsibility Speech

By Zoee Stencil ‘23 What's a duck's favorite snack? Cheese and QUACKers." Why did the hipster burn his tongue? He ate his pizza before it was cool. What’s the scariest plant in the jungle? Bam-BOO. WHAT’S SO FUNNY? What I just did to you Severn School is that I decreased your anxiety and my own about this speech and I triggered that natural feel-good energy. Hi! My name is Zoee Stencil and today I am going to you about laughter and why is it important to your everyday health and wellbeing.

Throughout the course of a day, the average person will laugh approximately 18 times (Kurtz, Laura E., and Sara B. Algoe.

"When Sharing a Laugh Means Sharing More." Dec. 2016.

Speech.) This will occur in the presence of another person.

Laughter is contagious once one person laughs it can spark laughing in other people. What makes a person laugh and gain the related benefits is laughter therapy and it is free you don’t have to pay someone to laugh.

~ 131 ~

The power of laughing with a friend or friends is very important.

Laughing with a friend or friends is supposed to be better for your relationship. Laughter is a remarkable healing force, allowing you to forget yourself and bond with the person you are laughing with. Jokes between your best friends come effortlessly and are able to leave everyone feeling better.

According to Catherine M MacDonald's research at Naval Medical Center San Diego, “Laughter helps with long term effects. It relieves pain by producing its own natural painkillers.”

Catherine also described laughter as “aerobic humor” and “internal jogging for all the major organs,” which increases blood circulation and tissue oxygen. It also improves your immune system because negative thoughts can affect your body decreasing your immunity. In contrast, positive thoughts can actually help fight stress and even more serious illnesses. Find a way to laugh about your own situation and watch your stress begin to go way. As they say, laughter is the best medicine and it’s true.

~ 132 ~

But emotionally it is more than just stress, it’s different mood states like self-esteem, self-efficacy and depression. Laughter can help with managing hard times like not doing so well a test, breaking a bone and maybe even losing someone you’re close to.

Studies from The Power Of Nice show that the simple act of smiling will actually make you feel happier as it will the people around you (pg.39). So, try getting in the habit of smiling more.

For practice, try smiling at strangers. He or she might not return the favor, but that’s not the point. You want to get to where smiling is as natural for you as breathing. It spreads positivity and can be infectious. Turn the corners of your mouth up into a smile.

Once you've had your chuckle, think about how you're feeling.

You should feel muscles get a little less tense and more relaxed.

That’s the power of laughing at work. Thank you.

~ 133 ~

Spa Creek Grady Gelston ‘24

~ 134 ~

Tesserae The 6th grade mosaic project is part of our lesson on Roman art, culture, and history. The students are all given the same basic directions to create a mosaic that’s about a topic of interest. The material used to construct the mosaic involves the tesserae, or small paper scraps from the recycling bin, a single sheet of A4 paper, scissors, and glue. Students began this project after studying a Roman town founded by the Greeks named Zeugma that was flooded in Turkey in 2000. The town was thought to have been destroyed during a raid by the Sassanids before being abandoned by the Romans when they built a new trade route city in a better location. During excavations on the ruins just before the dam was to be closed, some great Roman mosaics were found. Unfortunately, much was lost when the town was flooded. This activity afforded students a chance to learn about Roman art, culture, and history and then produce a project specific to them while understanding the complexity of mosaic design and construction. Upon closer examination, it’s fascinating to see how creative and varied each piece is based on the same instructions.

– George Yost

~ 135 ~

Alders Kulynych, Brooke Watts, Jackson Burke, Emma Foster, Megan Calabreese, Josh Queen, Anna Clark, Sally Reed, Ben Hilburn, Tanner Huber, Michelle Clements, Ainsley Grow, Trevor McCord, Charlotte Reilly, Nina Ambro, Bronwyn Bolton

~ 136 ~

The Car Ride Emily Sutton ‘23 …And to the Republic, for which it stands, one Nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

“Thank you, class, now you may take your seats so we can start our test,” Mr. Viajero said to his fourth period history class, after reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. As he passed out the papers, Rosa waited nervously in her tiny desk. Oh no, I had forgotten an extra pencil, again. I wished I had a nice pencil case, with seven pencils, three highlighters, and 50 brands of pens, like all of the other girls in my grade. I really hoped my parents would get me a birthday present this year, but I didn’t know if they would. With their money problems, I didn’t think that they could pay for anything except food and rent. As the paper slapped onto her desk, Rosa snapped out of her trance and started writing on her paper, “Rosa Soñadora; Period 4; 8/15/18; First Day of School History Test.” I always wondered why we started school so early. If it began a week later, then I would have a summer birthday.

She started to look through her test, and it seemed like she was prepared for every question... except number seven. What does the fourteenth amendment say? That was the only one I forgot to make a

~ 137 ~

flashcard for! Meanwhile, all of the other children were scribbling rapidly on their papers, trying to get done with their test as fast as possible. No one wanted to take this test, especially since it was a bright day out, with no clouds in view, and the sun was brightly beaming. All of them were thinking that if everyone in the class finished their tests early, they might be lucky enough to get a few minutes of fresh air, to watch the loud airplanes zoom off into the distance. They were all still in the mood of summer, and they were getting used to being in school for most of their day.

It was then that loud footsteps interrupted their writing and two men appeared at the door of their classroom. They were tall, lean, and had the word, “ICE”, written in neon yellow on the front of their black jackets. “Rico Viajero? We need to see her out in the hallway,” one of the men said, pointing to Rosa. I felt my heart pounding so loud that it could’ve come out of my chest. Why were they here for me? I heard a constant ringing in my ears that wouldn’t stop; it was like the whole world was frozen. “I do not see why that would be necessary. My students are in the middle of a test.” Mr. Viajero responded. “We need to see her now, sir.” After no response from Mr. Viajero, the first officer grabbed his arms and put them around his back, restraining him from protecting Rosa. The other man strode forward toward Rosa’s desk, and demanded her to come out into the hallway. Just as she was about to step out of the classroom, one of the kids yelled, “Illegal alien! Glad

~ 138 ~

they finally caught you!” “Yeah! Go back to Mexico where you belong!” another kid shouted. It was awful, being hated by your own classmates just because you weren’t born in the United States, and my story was even more complicated than most. I was born on the border between Mexico and the US, but the border agents wouldn’t let me be born on U.S. soil, so I was never a naturalized citizen. I was lucky enough to have a DACA card, but I thought it didn’t expire for another year, so it didn’t make sense as to why they were here now. The two men dragged Rosa slowly out into the hallway, by the water fountain next to the door.

“Do you realize why you are here?” one of the men said.

“No, no I don’t,” Rosa replied.

“You are here in this country illegally. President Obama’s ‘Dreamer’ act has been terminated, therefore, all persons under the dreamer act, including you, must be detained. You are no longer a legal citizen of the United States.” Rosa walked down the hallway of the 7th grade classrooms, passing the girls bathroom, which had a leak in the ceiling, leaving a puddle of water all over the floor.

She came to a slow, sad stride as she passed the principal’s office, which was directly to the left side of the building when you walked through the gigantic front doors of the school. Hearing those words hit me like the Titanic hit the iceberg. I was flooding, and it was only a matter of time until I sank, and there was no one around to save me. I

~ 139 ~

didn’t have siblings or any close family in America, and I couldn’t contact my parents, who were at work. They probably didn’t even know what happened to me. None of us have cellphones, either, so there was no way I could contact them.

As they put one hand around my back, and then the other, I felt like a foreign prisoner, in my own country, charged for being born on the border. It felt like this was all my fault. My family would have to pay a large fine to get me my citizenship, and even more money to get me out of the custody of ICE, the Immigration and Customs Enforcement. As the two men from ICE pulled Rosa into the small black vehicle, the other children watched. Some of her friends, who ran down the hallway after her, yelled encouraging sayings, but they were far too scared to try and stop the men. The car started its engine and drove away from the curb of “The Gratis School”. Rosa sat silently in the back seat, blocked from the front seat by iron bars. There was a half empty “Deer Park” water bottle in the cup holder beside her, and an almost empty bag of chips on the floor. She noticed that there was a “K9” sticker on the rear window, but there was no dog present in the car.

As we drove away from the school, I felt my whole life slipping away from me. Everything I had ever worked for in America could be gone in the next three hours. I didn’t understand why they picked me to detain.

I was working toward a good future in America; I was working toward

~ 140 ~

everything my parents couldn’t have in their life. Once I got out of school, I was going to go to MIT, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and study astrophysics.

Now, that was only a dream, one that could slip away very easily. We drove past many shops, streets, cars, and train tracks, and I realized how much I had taken for granted in America. I had never noticed how green the trees were, some already forming a yellow tint, preparing for autumn. The grass was freshly cut, adjacent to the pristine, white cement on the sidewalk. Everything that surrounded me was beautiful, but I only noticed it now. I wondered if it would be like that in Mexico, where I would probably be sent. Would it be different there? Would the people happily hustle in their cars, singing to their favorite music on the way to work? Would there be lots of schools, with children running to their parents at 3:30 pm when their classes ended? And I guess most importantly, would I be happy there?

I had lived my entire life in America, and I wasn’t sure if I could manage in Mexico. Of course, everything would be different there, it’s a different country! But it was terribly hard to live in a place where no one respects or understands your point of view. Even some of the kids in my class, who have known me since preschool, still think of me as a foreign exchange student. I never thought that people would hate me so much that I would have to go back to “where I came from.” Leaving my

~ 141 ~

thought of that, I looked at the bag on the floor, with only one chip in it, and I wondered why no one had ever picked it up. Turning the bag over, Rosa looked at the fine, black print and read, “Best by: June 29, 2011”. Oh my, I can’t believe they just let that bag of chips sit there for seven years! I guess no one cared enough about it to pick it up, or maybe it just wasn’t worth their time. They may have had more important things to do, but they probably just forgot that it was sitting there. Even if that were so, I would’ve guessed that their K9 would’ve eaten that last chip by now. Maybe it was too disgusting for a dog to eat. I pondered about asking the two men in the front seat where they would be taking me, or maybe even what that bag of chips was laying on the ground for, but I knew they wouldn’t respond with more than a grunt. So; I sat quietly in the back seat, watching the birds flying high above the sky, and half of the moon still brightly shining in the glistening daylight.

~ 142 ~

Sunset from Mainship Morgan Dettor ‘23

~ 143 ~

Caviar Moon Raeha Richman ‘24 The eclipsed moon is red A zombie’s eye, a single caviar In the mist, in the midst of the Caspian Sea The caviar swims beneath me.

My fishing boat is moored.

~ 144 ~

A Long Way Home Helena English ‘24 “Amber, we need to get going, we don’t want to be late,” Mom called to me from downstairs in the kitchen. “Okay, I’m coming.” I walked slowly down the stairs, wearing my long black dress. I looked at mom whose hair was up tightly and her face looking pained, but she didn’t want me to know it. I looked at her and she looked away. I knew she was trying not to cry. “Let’s get into the car.” She turned around quickly and headed out the door. Luckily, the memorial ceremony was only five minutes away. I got lost in my thoughts during the drive. What would it be like there? Obviously, it would be hard, how could it not be? When someone dies at war, or at all, it’s hard. But it’s not just the fact that someone you loved is gone, it’s the fact that every second they are away, is a second you could have spent with them. A second you could have been enjoying their company, a second that they could have been alive and with you.

“We are here.” With a small jolt the car stopped. I wasn’t expecting it, so I fell forward slightly. “Okay.” Walking out of the car, I looked around. There must have been 500 people there. All of them lost, even though they knew exactly where they were. Their loved ones had died, so a part of every single person at the service, had died with them the

~ 145 ~

day they got the news. “Let’s find our seats,” Mom said as we maneuvered through seats to find ours. I sat down, holding back my tears and looked up at the man who was about to announce the names of the soldiers who had passed. He was looking up at the cloudy, dark sky. Just like how today would be, cloudy and dark.

I turned to look at mom, whose face was squinted. Her eyes were filling like a cup of water and her breath was speeding up. I hugged her and she sighed and began to cry. I wanted to comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but how could I? Everything wasn’t going to be okay. You know when you are little and everyone tells you, it will be okay? Well that was far from the truth. Because life is going to have obstacles, and sometimes you can overcome them, but sometimes they stick with you. Thinking about all of this made me want to cry, but I had to stay strong... right? I wasn’t going to let anyone see what pain I was going through. Or let them know how badly my chest hurt every time I took a breath in.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats,” the speaker announces. “Thank you all for coming today, we will begin by saying what an amazing sacrifice not only your loved ones made, but you, so thank you for that. I will proceed to call off the names of the soldiers who have died.” He went on and on with the names. But he never called Dad’s name.

~ 146 ~

So, Mom and I walked up to him when the ceremony was over and told him the problem. He looked over the list and replied, “he’s not on the list.”

“What does that mean?” My mom replied frantically.

“It means he isn’t dead.” The words he said hit me like lightning. I was in shock.

“N-not dead?” Mom was crying. He nodded. “So, what do we do?

Where is he?”

“I’m not sure. But I know that he is not at war because the war is over.

If you want, I can check the flights to see where he went to. It will give you an idea of where he might be.” He said this very quickly because he knew we were aching to know where Dad was. “That would be amazing!” Mom cried. She gave me a hug, and the man hurried away to the building. “So....?” I said, also crying. “Mom looked at me and said through tears, “He’s alive and we are going to find him no matter how long it takes.”

“He went to Connecticut!” the guy screamed running towards us. “It also shows that he was last seen getting into a cab. Here’s the license plate.” We looked, what did all of this mean?

~ 147 ~

Mom questioned, “So, this means that someone is holding him hostage?

Probably the cab driver if he was the last person with him. So, we just need to track the license plate to find out who owns the car. Then, we can find out where he lives and BOOM, we will find your father.”

“Well, there’s no way to know for sure if your plan will work, but that would be my best guess for what to do” I reassured her.

Mom looked at me then back at the paper, then back at me again.

“Looks like we’re going to Connecticut!”

~ 148 ~

British War

by Alex Zaremski ‘25 Chapter 1 One morning I woke up with a throbbing headache. I could barely pull myself out of bed to get dressed. I stumbled down my stairs. Something big is going to happen today! That thought arose out of nowhere.

Maybe some tea would help with my headache.

As I sipped my tea, a couple of soldiers knocked on my door. They ordered me to fight against the Americans. I started to argue with them, but they said it was the King’s orders. I still argued against it, more forcefully this time. I felt a sharp pain on my left cheek and stumbled backwards.

“You’re going!” ordered one of the soldiers. He kicked my legs out from under me and I fell to the ground.

After a minute of yelling that I would have to fight, they started to walk towards the door. As they reached it, they looked back, “Don’t think about trying to escape the fight, you won’t make it,” said one of the soldiers. They walked out of the house and slammed the door behind them.

~ 149 ~

“Ugh,” I moaned, my vision red with pain. I laid there for some time, thinking desperately of ways to escape. I won’t be able to, I told myself. But what’s worse, dying, or fighting for a cause you don’t believe in?

Eventually, I figured it was hopeless. I grabbed my chair and pulled myself up. I stumbled and fell back onto the ground. I turned onto my back. I’m going to have to fight the Americans, I thought sadly.

Chapter 2 A couple of days later, I started boarding the ship to America. I gingerly limped onto the ship.

I’d always been afraid of sailing. Why am I doing this? Maybe if I tell the guards they’ll let me get off lightly.

I stumbled over to the people who were in charge of the ship. “H-hi,” I said nervously. “What?” One of the guards said roughly.

“I-I’m scared of-of sailing. Could I please get off the ship?”

The guard laughed at me, “You wish, get back on the ship.”

I started back to the ship. At least I might have a nice room.

~ 150 ~

A minute later, I found I was far off. All I got was a tiny room with a bed. We got small rations which included, bread and some tea. This was not going to be a fun trip.

Luckily, it wasn’t a long trip. On the day of March 2, 1775, we were nearing America. We were all given our red uniforms and told to put them on. Minutes later, a bullet came out of nowhere, slicing by my face.

“Get down!” One of the guards yelled. But it was too late, I had a bullet sticking out of my chest.

~ 151 ~

Malcom’s Trek

by Samuel Grady ‘24 Malcom Brown couldn’t believe his shift at the Burger Company was finally over. He was grateful for the job and the steady pay check, but mostly he just wanted to get outdoors, not fry up one more burger for one more tourist. Of course, when he thought about it, he himself was a bit of a tourist. He had left East St. Louis a little less than six months ago with nothing more than an old beat up truck, a worn L.L.Bean bag full of clothes, a couple hundred bucks and his prized possession, the skis that used to be his dad’s, even though he had never actually seen his dad use them growing up. Malcom quickly stuffed his ketchup-stained apron in his backpack, clocked out of the restaurant, and breathed in the fresh mountain air as he skipped out of work. He couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to live in a place where he could be in the great outdoors right after work. He knew he was lucky to land in the small mountain town of Crested Butte, Colorado. It was a place his dad had always loved. When he passed away, it seemed like the obvious place to head. It wasn’t home yet, but every day it seemed more and more like it.

Malcom fired up his truck and double checked that his ski gear was still in the back seat. One glance at his watch showed he still had four hours

~ 152 ~

of daylight left. If he was quick, he would have just enough time to cross country ski to his new friend Billy Barr’s house in the Rocky Mountain summer-only town of Gothic. In five minutes, Malcom was at Snodgrass, the trailhead that led to Gothic. He excitedly got his gear out of the back seat and quickly got on his skis. His skis were old and rusting on the edges, but Malcom didn’t care; after all he, a kid from East St. Louis, had skis. Malcom started the ten-kilometer journey out to Billy Bar’s house. Cross country skiing is harder than it looks; he thought to himself, breaking a sweat even though it was well below freezing. His arms and legs didn’t move naturally through the snow, like the skiers he was used to seeing on TV. He checked his watch one more time; he really wanted to make it to Billy Barr’s cabin, but he also knew it wasn’t safe to be out on his skis after dark. Malcom had met Billy Barr, a seventy-year-old hermit who had spent the last fifty years being the caretaker in a town only accessible by roads in the summer, at the grocery store when he had first moved to town. The two instantly connected—Malcom had just lost his father and Billy didn’t have a family. Malcom was grateful that Billy had taken him under his wing and showed him the ropes of life in a small mountain town.

Time on his skis went faster than he expected, one more hill and Malcom would be at Billy’s cabin. The problem was the last hill is a monster and always seemed to get the best of Malcom. Malcom pondered taking off his skis, but pride got the best of him and he slowly

~ 153 ~

worked his way to the top of what now seemed more like a mountain than a hill, one heavy breath at a time. His backpack weighed a ton from all of the fresh supplies he was bringing to his friend Billy. Billy didn’t tend to ski back and forth to the grocery store anymore now that he had gotten older and his knees had become less forgiving of the trek. Malcom knew that Billy would be down to only canned goods and bags of pasta, and he couldn’t wait until he saw Billy’s face light up when he saw the fresh supply of fruits and vegetables.

Just as he suspected, Billy was waiting for him when he crested the hill.

Billy, of course couldn’t resist making a comment about how ridiculous Malcom looked struggling up the relentless hill. Malcom’s heart felt light, he didn’t even mind the ribbing. It felt so good to see his friend in winter, pure logistics meant they didn’t see each other as often. It was hard for Malcom not to worry about his friend being all alone for months. Malcom was right, Billy was thrilled for the fresh supplies Malcom had skied in, and couldn’t help but start eating one of the apples immediately. Malcom bit into his own peanut butter and jelly sandwich as he updated Billy about what had been happening around Crested Butte. Malcom got out his deck of UNO cards, and he and Billy settled into an easy rhythm of playing cards and talking, which was business as usual when the two were together. Malcom hadn’t felt this comfortable with anyone since his dad died. Billy had a way of knowing exactly what Malcom needed to get off his chest and what

~ 154 ~

advice to give. In addition, Billy was up to date with the latest cricket scores, and who followed cricket except Malcom’s dad? One look at the sky out Billy’s cabin window and Malcom knew it was time to hit the trail home. As they said their goodbyes, Billy reminded Malcom that next time they were together, they should play UNO for money, probably because Billy almost always won their games. Malcom felt light as he turned his skis toward town—he had no supplies and he had just seen his friend. As he approached the big hill, Malcom felt no sense of dread since everything was downhill from here. He put his skis in french-fry position and pumped his fist in the air; he couldn’t wait until next time!

~ 155 ~

Four Hundred Astronomical Units

by Finn Fries ‘25

I wake with a jolt as I hear an alarm blaring through my skull. I search for my VR glasses on my nightstand, and I finally grasp the cold copper outline of it. I attach them to my head, and they instantly give me a bewildering variety of messages. I press a button, and all the messages except for one appear. The VR glasses say that HAB B-7 depressurized.

Luckily we use that for storage, not living quarters. I walk out into the hallway, and look out the window. It is a cold, dark, lifeless world on this asteroid. Once we finish mining here, we load all the larger HABs into four massive space shuttles. These shuttles would then blast off to another asteroid. The deep holes we dug to extract metals would be converted into prisons, seed banks, schools, or other buildings.

Lars, an officer here, passes me. I greet him “Hey Lars! How are you doing, sloth?” (In the future, sloth is used instead of “dog” in greetings).

“Hello, Owen” Lars responds. I make my way to the airlock, where our space suits are kept. As I don one, the smell of burnt rubber and sweat wafts up to my nose. My helmet snapped into place with a click. At that moment, I could hear nothing except for the chatter on the comm. One person was talking about how he unearthed this ancient game called

~ 156 ~

“Fortnite.” He pointed out that they misspelled the word “fortnight,”or two weeks before. I entered the mine shaft. The sight of it never failed to amaze me. It was a massive hole, with lights equally spaced running hundreds of yards down. Three elevators went up and down all day, carrying up precious ores, or bringing down miners. We already had architects and surveyors loitering around the mine shaft, deciding on what to convert it to. Today was going to be boring and normal. I walked up a steep slope encircling the mineshaft, to my office. My office was two stories tall, and overlooked the collection of HABs and landing pads. I went into the airlock, and shut the door. The airlock started to pressurize, and then I heard a loud, pulsing ding. We were under attack. I ripped of my helmet, and ran into the hallway. The receptionist was already taking out the box of weapons. She opened it, and started to unload it. I grabbed an automatic pulse rifle, and then put on my helmet again. I ran through to the airlock, but just then, an extremely bright burst of light penetrated the thick skin of the office. It instantly depressurized. I was glad I had my space suit on. I walked outside, and I could see through my scope that our attackers were Peace Enforcers.

I crouched down in the regolith of the asteroid. The Peace Enforcers starship moved closer towards the mine. Using its thrusters, it carefully maneuvered on to a landing pad. Twenty soldiers ran out. They started shooting their lasers at the mine shaft. One of the elevators going deep

~ 157 ~

into the shaft exploded. This explosion made the steel alloy girders supporting the shaft buckle. Then, the entire mine shaft collapsed within itself. I could feel the shock waves from here. I saw the Peace Enforcers soldiers moving around and taking food. Finally, our defense artillery opened fire on the Peace Enforcers’s starship. The starship fired back, sending up massive clouds of dust as it found its mark. Just then, the artillery and its ammunition exploded into a deep, angry, fiery orange.

The Peace Enforcers moved towards the sunken and leaking office. In reaction to this, I quickly scrambled to get behind a rock. My pulse gun informed me that “Thermal Signatures are nearby.” Once the Peace Enforcers had their backs to me, I opened fire. I knocked one after the other unconscious with my continuous firing. The vibrations from the shots made it difficult to aim, and with every shot the air became more and more dusty. I was now aiming with only my thermal camera.

Because of that, there were two figures left standing. The two remaining Peace Enforcers shot me before I could react. The last thing that I remember before drifting into unconsciousness was a reminder to apply medicine to my skin infection, by my ever helpful reminders app.

I woke up in a small and tidy room. It had one window, a bed, a nightstand, and a desk. Ny nostrils were becoming inflamed because of an air freshener overload. The smell was some sort of mint-battery acid combination. A tall woman in a dark blue jacket came into the room.

She introduced herself as the commander. She informed me

~ 158 ~

“I understand that you were firing on my soldiers.” “No, no! I wasn’t.

They fired on me first!”

“Hmm. They weren’t supposed to do that.”

“They weren’t?”

“No, their real mission was to bring you here.” “Why would they want to bring me here?” “Well, we think you can save the solar system.”

“What??!!!”

“Yes.” “Why? Are there aliens or something?” “No, something far worse.”

“What could be worse than aliens?!”

“I’ll tell you if you decide to help us.”

“Why would I want to help you? Weren’t you guys the ones that nuked Ceres?!”

“That was the Communist party of the Mars Confederation.”

“Do you expect me to believe you?”

“No. But if you do believe us, then join us. We might be a bit better than you thought.”

“I don’t think so. Can I go home now?”

“Do you really want to walk back to your house, knowing that it will be destroyed in a few days, along with everything you have ever known?”

“Now that you put it that way, I’m not sure.”

~ 159 ~

“Make a decision, please.”

“How much do you need me?”

“Erm.. A lot.”

“Will you pay me?”

“Sure.”

“In V-bucks?”

“Definitely.”

“Deal.”

“Excellent. Do you want to know what you’re fighting against?”

“Totally.”

“You are fighting against aliens.”

“You just said we weren’t going to fight against aliens. Wait, what do they look like?”

“You would honestly not want to know.”

“Where are the aliens from?”

“A Goldilocks planet 400 A.U. away.”

“Great. Can I go to sleep now?”

“Yes.” A sharp beeping awoke me. I looked around. The lighting was getting sharper and less warm, to wake us up and simulate morning. I noticed that the air freshener was replaced. Now it was a new-car smell. It made me nostalgic for living on Mars as a teenager, when I bought my first pressurized rover. It was a BMW M-19. I dragged myself out of

~ 160 ~

bed. The blanket was smooth, made with artificial cloth and plastic. I looked inside the drawers. I saw several books. They were all written

by Isaac Asimov. I wondered why I was paying so much attention to this room. I decided to take a step outside, after I had put on a light jacket the Peace Enforcers had given me. It was actually pretty cold on the space ship. The carpeting smelled like brand new leather. It occurred to me that everything on this ship was new. After the workers at the Mars spaceship yards went on strike four years ago, not many new large ships have appeared. I saw other people in the hallways. A short, balding man with brown hair ran past me. He was obviously in a rush. Another person, a woman, was screaming at somebody because they left the inner airlock door open. Yet another person zipped past me on her Segway, nearly run the balding man over.

I followed clearly marked signs to the dining hall. A grand buffet spanned an entire wall in the basket-ball court sized dining hall. Fish Pizza, crispy Sjoges (a traditional Martian pastry), steaming mashed beets, plant- dogs, hard and stale gluten-free cheddar balls, chewy goat noodle soup, cheese medallions, salty oyster spheres, and more decorated the legions of food. And best of all, you only had to flash an card and then it was free. I grabbed a plant plate, which was edible and actually tasty, and loaded up on Sjoges and mashed beets. The buttery, salty smell of Sjoges filled my head and brought back pleasant memories of my childhood on Mars. Whenever I hurt myself cleaning

~ 161 ~

the solar panels, or was beat up on the low-gravity playgrounds, my parents would bring me back to our home and cook me Sjoges. The mashed beets, on the other hand, helped me survive a long ‘winter’ on an abandoned asteroid. I cut off a bit of the Sjoge, and the gooey mixture of smoked salmon, cheese, bread, and thick creamy tomato sauce made my mouth water for more. I overheard someone talking about how “Dried beets taste horrible with the salmon. But mashed beets and salmon is very different.” I interjected, “But have you ever had peas in cheese?”

“No. Wait a minute, who are you?”

“Hi, sorry I forgot to introduce myself. I am Owen Orbit. I grew up on Mars.” “I think I know you... did you live in Acidalia Planitia?”

“Yes. In Roshan” “Me too! Did you go to Zubrin High School?

“Yes I did! In 2367, right?”

“Yep. What’s your name?”

“Tom Tedder.”

“Oh yeah! I remember you Tom!” “Same here, Owen! You always used to talk about Sjoges.” “They were pretty good, you must admit.”

~ 162 ~

“I ate basically one every day!”

“Wow, let’s stick together, okay?”

“Yeah, definitely. What room are you in?”

I checked the back of my card. It was in very tiny font. “I’m in room 287, on the left I think.”

“My room number is... 314.”

“Great. See you later!”

“Right. Bye!” The next day, everybody was called into a large auditorium. There must have been at least five hundred chairs. Tom and I headed up to the top row. We could see a massive projector turn on, and a screen the size of an Imax flickered to life. The commander I had talked to before stood up on a tall podium.

“Greetings, recruits. You may be wondering about what we are fighting against.”

“We are fighting against an advanced alien race. These aliens believe that we have destroyed their sacred privacy by looking at their planet with the Galileo telescope.”

A flurry of hushed whispers and accusation ricocheted across the carbon-fiber walls.

~ 163 ~

“They are not invading us with a mothership, they are attacking us with two impenetrably defended capsules full of weapons of a magnitude never seen before. Should these capsules even reach the outer edges of this solar system, these Dark Energy bombs will detonate, making the sun unstable. Our entire solar system will implode.”

She cleared her throat.

“As you may have assumed, our mission is to obliterate those capsules.

The defenses of these capsules are enormous. Our Galileo telescope has taken high definition photographs of these weapons.”

She clicked a button, and a photograph of a large metal cylinder, with so many spheres attached to it like dewdrops on a horizontal metal pole, filled our vision.

“We know these capsules are carrying these Dark Energy bombs because they sent us a transmission. Our SETI experts, based on Ceres, sent us this translated transmission.”

The transmission threatened, “You have violated our sacred privacy.

We, (indecipherable) will send probes of (Indecipherable) Dark Energy and (Indecipherable) death to your (Indecipherable) solar system (Indecipherable).”

~ 164 ~

“You may be wondering what it sounded like before it was translated.

Well, here it is.”

The commander pressed a button on her podium, and the native language of the aliens started was broadcast through the large room.

“Huum...ghirpKLIK!..Jerjeee...phirpKLIK! SKREEEE!...Jerjeee..

ThirpKLIK! chirpKLIK! werp verKLIK! VerKLIK!” “The only reason SETI could translate it was that it was very similar to dolphin and whale calls. This leads us to believe that the aliens are an aquatic species.”

“Report to your groups, which I will assign you to. That is all.” All of our grafs (advanced cellphones) buzzed at once. I was in group H. The message said to report to the cafeteria...

~ 165 ~

A Special Thanks To: § § § § § § § § § §

Jack Giardina, Layout Director, ‘23 Cole Keefer, Student Editor, ‘23 Morgan Dettor, Student Editor, ‘23 Jack Hayman, Student Editor, ‘24 Ben Veiel, Student Editor, ‘24 Helena English, Student Editor, ‘24 Charlotte Grow, Student Editor, ‘24 Sydney Owens, Student Editor, ‘24 Dede Tindall, Student Editor, ‘24 Ms. Drossner, Faculty Advisor

Front Cover Art: Severn Panorama, Emily Sutton Back Cover Art: Niagara Falls, Tara Qualey

~ 166 ~

~ 167 ~