Listen Magazine Issue II by shslisten

VOLUME II SPRING 2022

Listen Magazine is a biannual literary journal by the students at Statesboro High School in Statesboro, Georgia. Listen offers a platform for creative student voices and encourages open-mindedness through introspection and listening. It is dedicated to the frontiers of experimentation, transcending conventional forms to encourage free-thinking. All genres of original, unpublished writing, photography, and visual art are considered for publication.

The reading period for the 2022 Spring issue ran from February 1 to March 31. All submissions were given blind adjudication. Materials and general questions can be submitted to our email shslistenmag@gmail.com.

Instagram: @shsmagazine

Logo and cover art by Bailey Borck, Minju Kim. and Julia Basquin.

Design by Bailey Borck, Minju Kim, Julia Basquin, and Evy Shen.

MASTHEAD CLUB SPONSOR

Mrs. Jennifer Calhoun

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Evy Shen

ART EDITORS

Minju Kim (lead) Bailey Borck Julia Basquin

DESIGNERS

Minju Kim Bailey Borck Julia Basquin Evy Shen

PHOTOGRAPHY EDITORS

Rose Kazak Shinyoung (Kelly) Park

MANAGING EDITOR Evy Shen

PROSE EDITORS

Erin Shen Alexis Vladescu Shinyoung (Kelly) Park

POETRY EDITOR Erin Shen

SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGERS Carley Peden Ashley Rawls

Welcome back, readers!

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

I can't believe the time has already come for me to present our second issue. It seems just like yesterday we were planning our inaugural issue, taping loud flyers along the walls and figuring out the layout logistics. But here we are. You would think the excitement and novelty of assembling a literary magazine would've faded after the first issue, but I'm equally, if not more proud of everybody's hard work. As much as we try to hide it, we're not immune to the drop in motivation that characterizes the second semester. Undoubtedly, we had our fair share of dips in the road— the nonstop stream of tests and exams along with the culmination of other extracurriculars that eroded our energy and time—but with an open mind to accept adjustments, we regained our footing as a team. For this growth and perseverance, I am extremely proud. For issue II, we were pleasantly surprised to receive more than 60 submissions, making it difficult to select the works. Like the last issue, I was blown away by the quality of art and writing we had the privilege to interact with. This issue comprises of poems on the mire of aching delivered in disconcertingly simple language (Sachi Shah's "Thinking"), heartfelt historical fiction expressing the steel bond of brotherhood (Ann Parker's "Before You Go"), an essay expounding the criticality of public opinion in a democracy (Julia Basquin's "Fostering Opinions in a Democratic Society"), the conflict of preserving heritage and assimilation (Erin Shen's "Jet-lagged") and many more thought-provoking, creative works. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did. Lastly, I want to thank my right hand women, my art editors Minju, Julia, and Bailey for always having my back. This magazine wouldn’t be the way it is without you guys! Thank you so much for your readership! It has been a great time serving as your editor-in-chief! Sincerely, Evy Shen Founding Editor-in-Chief

CONTENTS

POETRY NO STRINGS ATTACHED

Trinity Roberson

THE BRICK WALL THINKING Sschi Shah

JET LAGGED

Erin Shen

REQUIEM OF THY GRACE RAGS TO RICHES

Alexis Vladescu

UNDOCUMENTED

Evy Shen

PROSE THE LIVING BUILDING

Trinity Roberson

PUPPET SHOW

BEFORE YOU GO THE SHOE

Ann Parker

THE ORDINARY LIFE OF A PENCIL

Annie Watanabe

HAPPINESS

Skiler Fowler

ASH AND A TOWEL

Annalia Small

FOSTERING OPINIONS IN A DEMOCRATIC SOCIETY

Julia Basquin

REMEMBER

Carley Peden

THE FINAL DANCE

Jackson Beaulieu

ALLEY

Annabell Connell

Dasoyin Lawoyin

ART

PHOTOGRAPHY

CROCHET MOUNTAIN ISOTONIC

TOWERING BUSTLING

GIRL TIGER DOG

ELVIS PRESLEY’S CLASSIC CADILLAC DESIGNED BY JOHN D’AGOSTINO

ONLY ANGEL

FOREST

INFLUENTIAL WOMEN IN TENNIS

DRIFTING

Minju Kim

Annabelle Jaeckel Evy Shen

Julia Basquin

HOW CAN I HELP SOMEONE WHEN I’M STRUGGLING MYSELF? ADDICTION THE STIGMA OF BIRTH CONTROL Sabina Mace

Julia Basquin

Ashley Rawls Kelly Park Evy Shen

ICE HOCKEY TRANSCENDENCE Rose Kazak

PET FEATURE OF THE ISSUE

REX’S CANDID MODELING POSE Ashley Rawls

EDITOR BIOS 9

TOWERING

Julia Basquin

THE LIVING BUILDING

Trinity Roberson

We are like a living building. We build up our desires, our hatred and stress. We build up till we collapse. We hold on to so much but never realize when to let go. The same stone that serve as our despairs, sometimes we can’t throw it away so we use that same stone and rebuild. We wish to rehabilitate, but it comes with a cost. That means transformation. Let go of the hurt, the misery, the negativity, the bad habits and our toxic traits. Release all the stress and fear that affects us from the inside and out. We have to surrender to repaint. Release ourselves from the chains. Remove ourselves from situations that kill us. Walk into a fresh life. A new portal of growth and start building up and revamping our formation. Sometimes you have to sacrifice to establish new beginnings. Be your own author. Heal from the hurt and turn into a unique and approved person. Build a healthy structure that can overpower any obstacle that’s thrown at it. Let it expand and shine till it’s time. We are a living building.

NO STRINGS ATTACHED Trinity Roberson two candles two strings tie a knot as the candles represents us friendships relationships soul ties as the strings represents the ties soul connection history release the ropes what’s keeping me here can’t run back break loose detach myself … waves of uncontrollable thoughts breakdowns stuck point but it’s home dysfunctional home was your first new feeling new world but is it worth all the aches 12

no growth no changes unhealthy mental and happiness lessens two candles two strings tie a knot are you ready as the candles represents us two standing poles face off … as the strings represents the ties memories our souls release the ropes no strings attached detach myself let go of the hurt the betrayal dishonesty and disloyalty the relationship or friendship set yourself free break the chains the cycle the pattern accept it forgive but don’t forget

lighter to burn scissors to cut no strings attached can you feel it the release of pressure the relief the detachment from them two candles burning as the light travels two strings breaks as my soul releases one candle no strings stop holding on as they constantly let you go stop running time to spread out but this time no ropes no strings attached

HOW CAN I HELP SOMEONE WHEN I’M STRUGGLING MYSELF Sabina Mace 15

PUPPET SHOW Dasoyin Lawoyin A minx, kneeling in a forest, surrounded by their brethren. They worship and sing their praises as they follow them gazing at the minx with polished eyes. The minx laughs and glances at the scenery around them. The glimmering light peeking beneath the trees shine across their face, illuminating the stage. They do not look at the person in the corner however. Crouching in the bushes surrounding him, he has come to observe. Drawn in by the lights and laughter. A yearning look across his face, strong and passionate, yet meek and still. He stands frozen, entranced, observing. The minx meets their gaze, a hasty attempt to hide his face ensues. A desperate attempt to divert their attention away from him. To stall the show. Realization befalls him, the damage has already been done. The clock has chimed and the timer begins. The strings have been drawn. How long will it take to finish this cycle? She watches and waits as her puppet show begins. The minx outstretches her hand to him, inviting him into the moonlight. A faint smile draws on their face. He pauses. Does he dance in the light that he has not been in so long? How long will it last? What if they’re like the others? On cue, they laugh and whisper sweet empty words. "I’ll never depart from your side." The intoxicating script pulls him. He takes their hand and they dance. The world itself pauses them as they dance under the stars. A smile cracks upon his face as he looks into their soft but piercing eyes. They dance until the sun rises on the horizon. As he lifts his face and turns to look at the minx, he realizes nothing is there. They had left. The lights have dimmed and the stage is empty. Yet another Circe had ensnared him. The chime rings once again, the timer has completed its course. She claps. The show is not over. Act two is here. The stage is set. The world moves once again, but he remains still. Pearly raindrops fall. A single drop of water rolls down his cheek. Whether it is a tear or the rain silently pattering down, is of no importance to him. There is no distinction between the two, nor does there need to be. He stands there as the water pours. She smacks her gong, taunting echos vibrate through the brae. "Why does this always happen?" the cries he had once begged, the tears he had shed. Pouring over him once again. "Will this ever end?" The forest mocks again with yet another old question. He no longer questions however, the answer has been set and will never change. In vain, his empty eyes beg the creator above. Old and new tears strewn across his face. She provides no answer, as she always does. As instructed by the ancient script.

He kneels on the mossy ground. An empty forest where he remains. A life of solitude until another minx whisks him away. A foul glimmer of light in his darkness. A taunting glare of the sun gleams through the trees, reminding him of what he once had. Faint laughter from a distance echoes through his mind. Yet another minx has arrived. Will their poison lips and intoxicating words trick him once again? Will their crooked smile and deep gaze ensnare him? He refuses to go. To look at another face, to hear the sweet comforting words of the past. To hear the same script once more. "I will never leave you." He doesn’t bother to cry nor yell in anger as he has times before. He simply kneels. Time becomes nothing more than a word as it passes. He doesn’t question. There are no more questions to ask after all. Vines and moss keepg him in place. Not a glimpse of emotion on his face. Not another tear to cry or word to pray. The clock chimes. The minx has arrived. His strings are revived. Her show is about to commence.

BUSTLING

Julia Basquin

THE BRICK WALL Sachi Shah

Frustrated in the way the brick wall made me feel Misunderstood the blockage in my mind Unprotected I couldn't grow Constantly thinking The mencacing color of the brick wall Makes me want to break through I hope one day I find the courage to break through The brick wall

BEFORE YOU GO Ann Parker I remember feeling alive. Why did it feel so good to be there? It shouldn’t have felt like that. The rest of the boys didn’t, except for Johnny, who was just like me, a bit too into it. My girl, my family, my old life, were all across the ocean. 5,000 miles away, back in Georgia, and there I was, off the farm, and in a trench. I thought about home a lot, from the times when I was just a boy. When the war came to America, I was one of the first to sign up, the first to want to go fight. To keep freedom for my people, secure freedom for us all. I was the finest sniper around, best shot this side of the Mississippi, raised to shoot the crows and squirrels off the crops, and shot game for dinner. Didn’t know back in my youth just how important that would be, when the deer would morph into a German, the shot the same. Johnny was my spotter, the best we had. Johnny and I, unstoppable. We had the biggest count of Jerries than any of ‘em. Ruthless, we were. Johnny had eyes like the night, could spot any moving thing. The rest of the guys, they got us. Maybe not as much as we got each other, but we were all lying there together in that trench waiting for anything to happen. Boy, something sure did happen. It was sure to, sure as the Trench Foot and the rats. I’d been down there for 25 days, about to be allowed some days of rest. Can’t say I wasn’t looking forward to a nice meal and a soft bed, but somehow, leaving the trench, even for a moment, didn’t sit well with me. I knew, as soon as I entered the Front, when I crossed the sea to France, I couldn’t happily leave until the war was good and won. “Johnny.” I said on that day so many years ago. “Look, out there, Fritz, he’s coming!” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice but I couldn't. The war was here. I thought it might end soon. I knew the Americans could bring the win to this war that had plagued us for so long. “The Fritz!” Johnny had shouted, and I watched him fall right over, down into the bottom of the trench, in his excitement. “Get ‘em!” The sight of him was comical, the helmet slid down over his eyes, as Johnny was never one to tighten the chin strap like he should. Got him so many reprimands, but then again, Johnny was also never one for listening to anything anyone had to say. I laughed a maniacal laugh, and grabbed the gun, positioning it on top of the trench, and slowly, cautiously, looked up again, careful to not stay up too long; you never know when a German sniper is aiming at your head, It was filled with Jerries. Why are there so many, out of their trench? More were coming, too. Usually, no one would dare to traverse out into No-man's land, except for a few unlucky chaps, who Johnny and I would take care of. But at that moment, the space in between the trenches, so close yet so far away, was covered in so many of them. “They’re going to storm the trench!” Johnny screeched, his head poking up over the trench. He laughs, pointing out at them. “Who would’ve thought Fritz would move first!” “Get your head down before you’re of no use to me,” I teased, pushing his head down back under the trench. I couldn’t let him die; I couldn’t. He’s my brother, and we’d told each other we were going to cross back

over the ocean together, so we had to look out for each other. Out there, on the Front, the only thing we had were each other. It all seems a blur, thinking back, how the Germans came, and kept coming, Johnny and I trying to keep them at bay. Frivolous work, we soon realized. There were so many of them, too many. We just couldn’t stop them. Tried, tried and failed. Germans started coming down to the trench, and I had to abandon my post. Grabbed my bayonet, as it was the only option left. Close hand combat: not ideal, especially for one who excelled in long-distance sniping. We thought we were prepared. We were Americans, come to save the French, save all of Europe, save our own people. Yet, we couldn’t have prepared for this sudden ambush. I looked left, and right, saw the fighting, the panic screams, heard the gunshots, the grenades, and disaster everywhere. Blood, running in streams through the bottom of the trench. I saw the pure terror in Johnny’s dirt-stained, sweat streaked face. No more was the man who could spot any German from the dead of night, telling me his hopes and dreams of winning. All I saw was a boy, a boy looking death in the eyes. Then all of a sudden, a Jerry jumped down, landing right near him. Johnny stood bravely, the fear trying to etch itself into a mask of war. I had lost track of him after that, having to deal with my own Germans. I took care of as many as I could, leaving their bodies lying there. I couldn’t think about it then. I had a job to do. I think about it now, though. Of the lives that I took away from them, of the future these people could have had, of those who were mourning the loss of these people, of the lives I took. But, you know, it’s not my fault. It’s not their fault. It’s the Kaiser’s, and those with his ideals. “Will,” The way Johnny said my name still haunts my dreams to this day. I turned around, as soon as I safely could, and saw him, lying on the ground. Blood seeped his shirt, the dark red stain growing larger and larger. A bullet to the heart. I felt my eyes grow, and the breath seemed to leave my lungs. “Johnny?” My legs seemed to move without me even telling them to. Suddenly, I was there, knelt beside his dying frame. “Will . . . Jerry . . . everywhere . . . go . . .” Johnny choked, unable to muster more than that. All I could think about, seeing him lying there, dying, was my friend, the best friend one could ask for, my brother. He’ll always be my brother. “Johnny, you're my brother. We’ll win it for you.” I smiled a smile of pain, through the sorrow the day had brought, and the thought of more sorrow to come. “You better,” He said, surprisingly strong. I looked at him one last time, then pulled the helmet away from his eyes, where it had slipped down, of course. I stood up slowly, not keeping my eyes off him, and with one last reassuring smile from Johnny, I left, storming back into the chaos. *** We won the war. Of course we did. We’re Americans. We get the job done. Yet, the pain, mixed with bittersweet memories, will always be in my head. I can’t ever leave them. Here we are, Johnny. Another war. You must make me, and your namesake proud. Win it for us, as Americans. Win it for us Johnny, protect the land that we love. 21

TIGER

Annabelle Jaeckel

CROCHET MOUNTAIN Minju Kim

JET LAGGED Erin Shen when you zone out into the belly of rhythms you find yourself all over again in a tongue native untouched anxious you abandon the childhood sounds of phonics and instead find streaming comfort in the bloodline of your ancestor’s language the four tones melt with compassion like congee unaired on the surface of your tray table you listen and repent for truth that every day as you use spoon instead of chopsticks and twirl instead of slurp you are wielded into an identity that longs to escape in this apartment, size is what unites the stamps on the wall overlap one another as less people enter than the year before the blankets that drape with dignity smell of dust and unwashed body the mattress of the bed fixes the hunchback of a flight tossing the squeaks aside only to find silence behind the metal railings the thick curtains cast shadows like movies into the palms of your hand the symbols of yearning shapes of desires you sigh at the comfort of awaiting RT Mart’s morning chantings the aroma from local street foods the grease that stays and the culture that lingers on your fingertips you check the rhythms of your watch only to find it being hours away from hearing these conscious and wide awake, you silently get up being jet lagged in Suzhou

THE SHOE Ann Parker Why am I worn, every single day? I never get a break. Each day, you walk on top of me, squish me, bring me around every single day. It’s exhausting! No one even understands what it's like. I’m not the only pair of shoes you own. Yet, why do you always wear me? Do I not deserve a break every now and then? I think I do. I’m a very good shoe to you. I have lots of added insoles, so I’m very comfortable! I’m really pretty, don’t you think so? I really am a beauty, with my gold Nike swoop against a gorgeous white background. Anyone should respect me; with my good looks and comfortable features, I make you look so much better by just being there!. Yet, it’s like you don’t even care about me. It’s like you think I’m not important, like I don’t have feelings. You just make me work, work, work, each and every day. You humans will never understand what it’s like, to go through puddles and mud, be touching this nasty bathroom floor. I deserve more care, mabe a bath once in a while. My pretty white color is leaving, fading into a disgusting yellow color. Why did this even have to happen to me? I should still be sitting there, clean and pristine, lying in my shoebox, the only place where I have ever truly been happy. I wish you humans would understand what it’s like to not be able to communicate, what it’s like to not even be able to say, just leave me alone. That’s all I really want; to never have to go through this again. Please, stop stepping on me. Yours (sadly), Shoe

GIRL

Annabelle Jaeckel 26

THE ORDINARY LIFE OF A PENCIL

Annie Watanabe

The world swivels. I’m in the same place Janna Morgan had put me last night—the side pocket of her backpack. I believe that she’s walking to her first class. She never uses me in that class. The hour passes by with me staying in my pocket. My fellow pencils are beside me, along with my owner’s chapstick and earbuds. Then we’re walking down the hall to her second period class in the library. She often writes with me there. I think about what paper she’ll use me on. She has graphing paper, blank paper, and lined paper. Boy, do I love lined paper! It’s my absolute favorite! The neat, orderly, straight lines! The blue and the white, with the perpendicular red line going down the side, the holes punched near the edge…it’s perfection! I get used a lot, more than the other pencils. She’ll use me if she can help it. I’m her favorite, but I do my best not to let it go to my head. One day, she’ll probably replace me. So I do my best. I try not to let my lead break, though it sometimes happens when she presses too hard. I can’t do anything about it when she does that, unfortunately. It’s fun to make marks on paper. I’m a new pencil, so I haven’t learned all of the languages my peers have, but I’m hopeful that one day I will. Maybe she’ll go to France. That’s one of her dreams, I heard her say. I could probably learn French there. She also wants to go to Spain, and Italy. She wants to buy a castle there, though she says it’s unlikely, but a pencil can hope. Oh joy! She’s coming toward me! She’s picking me up! I’m writing on my favorite—lined paper! I think that it’s notes for her Mythology class. It’s always fun learning in this class. It’s all so interesting, learning about the past. History and words and languages and stories! Janna loves it too. I’ll be writing for a good while. Janna has pretty handwriting. It’s always nice to write for someone who has pretty handwriting. So bubbly and rounded and neat! Life is good. After an hour, I’m put away, relishing the content feeling in my plastic. I’m mechanical, after all.

ONLY ANGEL Evy Shen

REQUIEM OF THY GRACE Alexis Vladescu Whence thy grace, undoubtedly falls upon thy frame, Thy majesty enwrapped in lace, Hath no fear of the scepter nigh your feet. His sunlight shineth amongst your peaks, With the shadows falling beneath your wake. Thy pride prods thee on, Thy bowels are thy hallows. Liberty, bequeathing upon thy chin, Langor, nestling amongst your navel. Cometh wee butterflies that form a halo, ‘Round thy perfect face. Thee see now, with eyes unseen, The perfect matrimony of thy grace.

UNDOCUMENTED

Evy Shen

“Undocumented” highlights the disproportionately adverse effects the pandemic has had on undocumented immigrants (homelessness, unemployment, minimal access to healthcare, etc. ), particularly those with family members currently detained by the legal system. This poem is written after "Undocumented in the Pandemic," a documentary from The Marshall Project, that was produced in partnership with FRONTLINE (PBS). With lines from "Undocumented in the Pandemic: 'Nowhere Else to Go'" by Emily Kassie and Ben Solomon, a Pulitzer Center reporting project see the stagnancy of unwelcoming skies, upended dandelions with no forecast of a better tomorrow. what to call the unanswered desperation of families clipped in the prison-steel grasps of invisible bureaucratic hands, waiting for miracles to do what the government can’t. in a foreign bed, every borrowed minute of sleep reeks of debt, fear of staying, and nowhere to go. everyday, pay for the sin of coming to a flower field others are born in. still, believe that one day when the sky isn’t so gray & the world isn’t so sick, you’ll be one of us, legally even though nineteen years of labor, you’re still lone shadow on cell-stone, roots untouched with soil. at night, what mother prays to God is the dead ends outside the front door to be asphalt cascading toward home, husband-warm arms to belong to. children born in roses never learn of flight. 30

TRANSCENDENCE Rose Kazak

RAGS TO RICHES Alexis Vladescu You were no less a man than Heaven's fall-a wee little babe in all morality, all fate predisposed upon your course unchart'd, Destiny had thrown you out, His pinky skewed above, waggling in reproach, "A most wretched sight," He seemed to say "An inconvenient mistake." Tsk, tsk, tsk Nameless, Uncouth, Your mother's teat left abraze'd What had the sins of your forefathers anything to do, that you must be so imminently ill-fated? Wee, unsought-for babe, seeking not the grandiose, Nay, not a morsel of remorse The concept which you yearned for a concept called Love, surrounded you, yet your presence kept it at bay-for who would want such a galoot? But alas, you found a home, wispy as it was-moreover like a cloud that dissipated at one's touch It slaked your wayward vagabond desires– if ever one prayed for such delights Sweet it was not, more like a coarse, wooden spoon

whose mirrors left a'botched your face's misshapen locks and whose spurs and twitches left the marks of fateless Fate's heart of ire burning amongst your skin, branding "Undesirable" Where, my Love, must you trespass against that it may not be in my remark? Two generations passed on by You lived your life retired, a witness to the fact that your pulsating wisdom would all but sketch that of the cardioid's selfless gaze upon the glinting waters of Prospect's future holds Who were you to be heard at all, Caught in this unsurprising age? Nameless, Uncouth, Your father's strife left astray Remember me, Son, but… let the least of me weigh itself as I run You feel your life seeping between your bones, between the cracks of your hunchback’d stance, perforated by the boils of your unsaid despairs That which you loved, never resounded in accordance Your soul abright; its cacophony lays mismatch’d O, music of mine heart, play the odes befit for eulogies

Yet hark! Be not so fast as to forget your life the woods unsound, the thistles ungarnish, the feathers unruffle in simple sight of you These concepts of Nature, secondhand of Its reproachful eyes, Yes, these very beings! they seek you; they have named you King! All this time you left them arun, straying so soon, forgetting to look at that which strayed with you Come now, prove your life’s worth wrong! As the feathers fall amongst you, languishing in all that you beheld, listen to the breeze whisper, and the doves cheep, cheep, watch the ladybugs fly in decorative affairs, laying down the petals, aromatic of your grandeur Let it seep in, O Forgotten One, Let it mellow your heart and seam your worn threads as one let you awaken now as your eyes come close to understand the riches that you upkeep In this world or the next, find your peace Now listen, they play for you, these melodies of request Love has found you, Unforgotten

ELVIS PRESLEY’S CLASSIC CADILLAC DESIGNED BY JOHN D’AGOSTINO Ashley Rawls

INFLUENTIAL WOMEN IN TENNIS Julia Basquin

ICE HOCKEY

Rose Kazak

ASH AND A TOWEL Annalia Small

Today, I am older than I was yesterday. Today is not my birthday. Today is not special. Today, I live and I feel. When I am old, with wrinkles sprawled across my face, my hair will turn the color of ash, and my worn skeleton shall blow away like a towel with a negligible gust of wind. This is because time is overrated, for people talk too much because they feel as though they must always speak. Constantly, I am told when I will be deemed old and unwanted, and I reminisce on the days that I was sought after for being young and new. My value is not determined by time, like these loquacious mouths say. This value of mine, truly, has not changed since the second day of my life, for the only period in which my life has had more value in the eyes of one who does not care for my soul has been my birth. During this time, my life was a risk for another’s. There was a possibility, as there is with every birth, that a mother will pass away. Luckily, when I was delivered, my mother and I came out of the procedure perfectly sound. It was a normal birth, I was a normal child, teen, and now, a normal adult. My life has been nothing but average, which is why I have found it to be so unique; it is so boringly unique. Everyday, I wish that something new will happen to me, but my greatest fear is that the only way that will happen, is if I have some part to do with it. The idea of being in control of one’s own life seems so trivial, yet most people take it for granted, or at least, forget about it, if those two things are not the same. A love for life is something I yearn for, but unconsciously, I choose not to act upon my urges. For so long, I have worked this job, this career, this chore of a life. It has worn away at the fibers of my soul like years of drying oneself with a towel starts to fray the edges. My mother, my sweet, sweet, mother, is no longer here, materialized, on this earth. But, she still has an effect on my life. She told me what path to go, what classes to take, what jobs to apply to, and now, from beyond the grave, she is knocking on the walls on my head, begging to be let in, just to tell me I’m doing something else wrong. She even chose my husband for me. Of course now, I am no longer married. That time in my life has passed, so much so that when I say his name, I no longer think of the happy days and sorrowful hospital visits that occurred during that time. My days in university bring me back to the stress of college exams and pressure from family members. That was the time of my life in which I met him. At that point he was nothing more than an acquaintance, for I had no classes with him, and I only was able to see him when

my parents made the effort. Of course, I was alright with that. Then, I wasn’t exactly interested in an arranged marriage; now, I do not think I would mind that much. He was the son of my father’s boss at the logging company he worked for. It was a sad day that day that it became the company he died for, but that is beside the point. The gentleman was about my age, polite, and decently handsome. It was not the idea of marrying him that gave me such pain in my chest, but the fact that once more, I would have no control over the major decisions made in my life. These choices were meant to be mine. All the days that I courted, I pressed down any hopeful thought that I could love this man, for the anger towards my parents blinded me from the possibility of a good man and a good life. He, the young man, never did anything wrong, and he had a special place in my worn out heart for that. After so many months of meeting with him in pressed linen clothes and polished leather shoes, I began to take a liking to him. It only makes sense, for he was the only change in my life. His choices were decisions my parents couldn’t control, and to know that felt like a breath of fresh air. On March the 17th, he proposed. Had he done this any sooner before that, I don’t know that I would’ve said yes, but I did. After decades of living my life as though I was only a spectator, I felt the idea of new beginnings flush through my brain like a gust of wind. We happily planned our wedding, though, as I had presumed, my mother had most of the control over every small detail. It was still a wonderful day. We spoke our vows in promises, and we watched each other’s eyes with nervous anticipation during the “I do”’s, but never once did I doubt the successful future of our marriage. We bought a small cottage on a street named Billyard Avenue, and when we unlocked the door for the very first time since purchasing the small, cream-colored, box, I felt the hard, clay shell around my body begin to crack. Each day with him, I felt a little more alive. On the day I found out that I was with child was the day the pottery around me was gone, nothing was left of it but shattered pieces on the floor. Finally, I was alive, doubly, for I felt the heartbeat inside my womb as though I laid next to the babe itself. He and I planned all the things we would do and places we would go as a family. Oh the word family, the word that had brought such fear, anger, and anxiety before him was now a word of hope and life. My life was this child. My life was him. Our baby passed on the 17th of June, a few years after our wedding. It had been two weeks, just two weeks since I had bore our child, my life. My walls of clay did not come back, for clay would’ve been too weak to mask the pain of what felt like death. Feeling trapped in a box of stone, obsidian, sealed from every side, I felt no need to communicate with him. He took

the death hard, but he handled it well. He was grief-stricken, but he maintained sanity. Two days after we learned she had stopped breathing during the night, I tried to pass myself. He was my life, then she was my life; now, I had no life. Once realizing I was not in bed with him, he ran and ran, looking for me, knowing how the passing of our child had affected me. He found me unconscious in the bathroom, having overdosed on my anxiety medication. Paramedics were on their way, for he called 911 the moment he woke, for he knew the fragile state I was in. Lying in the hospital bed hours later, I woke to him singing to me while he lay on my bosom. He asked, “How do you feel, love?” “As though my organs have been removed with a rusty scalpel, but all the pain was felt in my heart,” I replied. Holding my hands tight, he hugged me. In the warm embrace, I felt a pin punch a hole in the obsidian wall around my soul. It was soon patched as I felt him lose grip and fall to the ground. “Help!” I called with weary lungs. It was a blur, but doctors and nurses ran to his aid. Though I recovered, he did not. He had suffered a fatal stroke. Two weeks after the incident, I held an urn, within it was his ashes. Pacing across the floor of our little white cottage, tears streamed down my face, but I did not weep. Reaching for a small towel to dry my face, I sat down at my desk and began to write. Of course, I could’ve written about two doves, an animal meant to find and love a soulmate forever, that meet and fall in love. In fact, I could’ve written about anything, and I did write about those two doves. He and I were those doves, and for a little while, I was alive. He is but ashes now, ashes I hold in one hand while I grasp a damp towel in the other.

ISOTONIC

Minju Kim

THINKING Sachi Shah

All the nights I stay up lying awake about what we could've been All the nights I spend praying for your health and well being All the afternoons I drive alone listening to our songs All the times you could’ve been beside me

ADDICTION

Sabina Mace

ALLEY

Annabell Connell Running was the last thing I remember from that night, at least that was before it got dark. Many are under the impression that Seattle is a romantic place for the hopeless romantics. Nobody knows what happens in the alleys? I once believed that this place was just a happy city. At least I did until I had that day. I’ll tell you what I know to try and help the police with this murder case. Although nobody seems to be aware of me walking down the street anymore. The murder happened in the alley, the alley I ran down that night. Going back to yesterday, shall we? I had gone to Starbucks with my co-workers because we had the rest of the night off. Shawn ended up getting a call from his wife, Shelby. He turned around to face me and the others after he was done talking. “Hey, Shelby is having trouble at the house. I need to go. I thank you for the fun time," Shawn replied to the group. Nobody had known it then, this was the last conversation any of us had with Shawn. He went home to his pregnant wife and he was soon to be a father. We bid him farewell and then he was on his way. After about thirty minutes, our fun time came to an end. Charlotte had to go to her girlfriend, Charlotte’s girlfriend Olivia had gotten sick with cancer. Olivia’s cancer was putting a number on her, she only has a few months left. “Olivia texted, she said that it was getting hard for her to breathe, I’m so sorry, I need to go,” Charlotte said, waving while getting into her car. Everyone had a family to get to, everyone except me. I didn’t have anyone to go home to, I didn’t have any parents to be proud of me, and I didn’t have any children to be happy for me when I got home. Looking at the time, it was about seven-thirty at night. I finished my drink and stopped by a Walmart to tool around until I felt like it would be a good time to go home. A shrill scream came from the alley, the scream was very familiar. Running to the sound, I saw Shawn on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. The shrill scream had come from my friend, face drenched in tears. This woman was doubled over the one friend she had most of her life. Charlotte looked at me in disbelief, “Why would someone try to kill him?! He has a family to get to!” She yelled. “He is still breathing. He needs an ambulance to get him out of this alley.” I picked him up, set him on my shoulder, grabbed Charlotte’s elbow, and got them both out of the alley. It was then that I heard someone behind us, so I let go of Charlotte and set Shawn down, and ran into the darkness. Bang.

DRIFTING Evy Shen

REMEMBER Carley Peden

When I first open my eyes, everything is a blur. I hear the sound of footsteps coming and going, snippets of echoey conversation, a muffled voice over an intercom, and most recognizably, the sounds of an ordinary subway station. Then my vision begins to focus. It was an ordinary subway station. But how did I get here? Why can’t I remember my name? With a high-pitched screech from the breaks, the subway train comes to a stop in front of me. The doors slide open, and people begin to board. I must’ve fallen asleep, but where was I going? Without thinking, I leave the cold blue bench and climb through the nearest door, just before it closes. All the seats are taken, so I grab hold of the nearest subway strap. “Next stop: 7th Avenue,” says the cheery digital voice from before. I still can’t remember why I’m here. I must have some sort of amnesia. I don’t recall having anywhere to be on 7th Avenue, so not knowing what else to do, I decide to keep riding until something sounds familiar. I notice my reflection in one of the windows. The face is familiar, but not quite mine. My hair is wavy and dark in the tinted sheen of the glass, but I can’t make out the color of my eyes. Blue? Or green? Or brown? I shift my focus to the elapsing walls and study the blur of colorful graffiti as it passes. A few seconds tick by. One, two, three… then I notice something. It’s as if time slowed, only for a moment, enough for me to clearly see a name, painted in an almost eerie purple. “Penny,” someone else’s voice speaks my thoughts. I feel a hand touch my shoulder. “Me?” I spin around. It’s a boy. Tall, curly hair, blue eyes. He looks worried. “Are you Penny?” “I-I don’t know… Who are you?” “That’s not important. Show me the necklace.” I look at him, confused, “I don’t have a necklace.” “Yes, you do. Check your pockets.” I do as he says and reach into the fabric of my jeans. Sure enough, I feel the cold metal brush against my skin. When I pull it out, it swings between us like a pendulum. It’s nothing special, just a tarnished piece of costume silver with a tiny red gem in the center. The boy quickly pushes my hand away, concealing the pendant. He looks at me seriously. “Keep it safe at all costs, you can’t let them take it. And whatever you do, don’t get off the train.” “What? I don’t understand-” BAM! The subway car comes to a sudden stop and I fall backward. My head makes contact with the floor and stars burst across my vision. The last thing I see is a word written on the ceiling, the letters blurring together like some kind of illusion. Remember. Then everything goes dark. *** 46

My face is cold. In fact, everything is cold. I slowly blink my eyes open, squinting at the change in light. Then I notice my frigid breath, and what looks like falling snowflakes. I begin to sit up, holding my throbbing head. I take a moment to look around. I’m still on the train, but everyone is gone, even the strange boy from earlier. The most noticeable difference is the snow. It had piled up around me at least six inches deep, and it continues to fall from the cloud-covered ceiling. The stinging cold seeps through my thin clothes, no doubt turning my cheeks as red as the subway’s flaking paint. I’m shivering uncontrollably. My stomach twists in fear. The necklace. Where is the necklace? Though still light-headed, I quickly stand up and begin shoveling away snow. I know that what that boy said sounds crazy, but I can’t shake the feeling that he was telling the truth. My fingers turn numb as I search for the jewel, but I keep looking anyway. I have to find it before they do, whoever they are. Just as I’m about to give up, I see the silver chain protruding from the fallen snow and pull it free. Though the metal is freezing against my skin, I fasten it around my neck and tuck the pendant into my snow-soaked shirt. Then the subway lurches forward and starts to move. Static plays over the intercom, and apprehension tugs at my chest. “Next stop- La- Thank- Ti- C-” the voice is distorted and skips randomly between different messages and pitches before saying, “Penny.” I swallow hard, trying to conceal the tremor in my voice, “Who’s there? What do you want?” The speaker goes dark without a response. “Aghh! Let me out of here!” I cry, pounding on the door to the next car. Why is this happening to me? What is this place? I just want to get out. I want my memory back. And I want to go home, wherever home is. I should know where home is. Why don’t I know where home is? Tears stream down my face, freezing in this stupid subway storm. I lean my head against the cold metal door and just laugh to myself, “Why is there a storm on this stupid subway?” Then, to my surprise, it slides open, and I nearly fall through it before I catch myself against the frame. A wave of heat rushes over me. I don’t think warmth has ever felt so welcome. The car is full of people. Normal-looking people. Except they’re all talking a little too loudly. Smiling a little too widely. And none of them seem to notice me, though I’m sure I look absolutely deranged. I step through the door, melted snow forming a pool around my feet. As soon as I enter the train car, they do notice me, all at once. At least twenty pairs of eyes are fixated on me, and that’s when I realize what’s so off about the scene. Their eyes are all identical. They’re dark, empty, and unseeing. The intercom switched on once more, “Get the necklace.” Before I have time to register the words, they’re on top of me. I try to run, to scream, but there are too many of them. It’s like I’m drowning in a sea of bodies. Somehow I manage to break to the surface. There, on the roof, an escape hatch! That’s my only chance. I muster all my strength and push myself above the crowd. Then I unlatch the door and use a subway pole to hoist myself through the gap, but someone has a tight grip on my leg. I kick wildly, but it’s no use. They’re about to tug me back under when someone grabs my arm from above and pulls me up. I slam the door shut and lock it tight. 47

I look up at my rescuer. “It’s you!” I exclaim to the boy who showed me the necklace what feels like hours ago. I try to approach him but he holds up his hands, “Stop. Don’t come any closer.” His eyes flicker back and forth from their original blue to the eerie darkness of the others. He’s one of them… I freeze, at a loss for what to do. I can’t leave the train. I can’t leave the necklace. Well, what if I did leave the necklace? What’s so important about it anyway? But I can’t. It’s almost like I feel drawn to it, and I know I can’t let them take it from me. But I can’t stay, either. So I run. My shoes clank against the roof of the moving train. I know he’s following close behind. He wants the pendant, just like the rest. My heart sinks as I see the end of the cars. There’s nowhere else to run, so I turn around, my back to the edge. The boy stops in front of me and pulls the necklace from my neck. His eyes flicker one last time as he says, “Try to remember this time.” Then I’m falling. *** When I first open my eyes, everything is a blur. I hear the sound of footsteps coming and going, snippets of echoey conversation, a muffled voice over an intercom, and most recognizably, the sounds of an ordinary subway station. Then my vision begins to focus. It was an ordinary subway station. But how did I get here? Why can’t I remember my name?

FOREST

Kelly Park

THE STIGMA OF BIRTH CONTROL Sabina Mace

ACADEMIC ESSAY:

FOSTERING OPINIONS IN A DEMOCRATIC SOCIETY Julia Basquin Our words form statements which can be categorized as facts, questions, opinions and so forth. Our opinions are how we express our feelings, our beliefs on a subject. The opinions of well known figures such as actors, actresses, and political candidates who have more publicity are conveyed “louder” than others. Whereas, the opinions of an ordinary citizen are not often seen in the next issue of TIME magazine due to their low social status. To voice an opinion means that there is a topic to be argued, and in a democratic society it is important to have all voices heard when there is a topic of confliction. Along with disagreement comes the need of a decision, which, more often than not, requires change. It is especially important for those of lesser social status to voice their opinions, though they may not be as “loud” individually, because the strength of the many should prevail to create change in a democratic society. Social media provides a seemingly infinite world of communication with a multitude of platforms which allow words to be conveyed in an instant. When there is an idea or topic of political debate, prominent figures in our society use social media to their advantage to convey their opinions. Social media not only fosters the opinions of politicians and equally prominent people, but also fosters the inevitable amplification of their opinions. Even though their opinions gain more publicity, they should not automatically prevail over the opinions of the ordinary citizens. Currently, the nation is concerned with the topic of police brutality and the campaign of “black lives matter”. Members of the hierarchy of social status spread their opinions over if the police should be defunded and if the “black lives matter” campaign is worthy of protesting, knowing that they won’t be overlooked. Their opinions over such a hot topic of debate will be taken into account and largely conveyed through the vast world of social media, as their words are re-posted, re-tweeted, and, outside the world of social media, their opinions are formed into interviews in articles of magazines or seen on the news. Their status provides a very ample amount of attention to the opinions they form, but it also provides credibility of their opinion as well, despite what the opinion may be. This credibility allows for their opinions to be made strong and to compel the topic of debate in the direction in which they desire. Social status alone should not establish credibility. With this being said, the decision of a disagreement should not rest solely in the credibility of the social elite. The opinions of the many ordinary folk are important as well in a democratic society despite the status level which they receive. Democracy promotes that opinions be heard and should influence change when change is needed. If only a select few citizens who are prominent in society voice their opinions, or if their

opinions are chosen to be the only ones heard, the influence which is made will not reflect the nation as a whole. Instead, the voices of the affluent social society members will cast a shadow over the opinions of ordinary citizens. With more influence among those of higher status it is more important than ever that citizens of the lesser side of the status spectrum convey and uphold their opinions. With any topic of debate, there is strength in numbers. If the elite of the society are left to control the debate with their opinions, the voices of all citizens are not heard and instead the outcome of the debate is based solely upon the opinions of the elite. In a time of civil unrest, when social media was not present, the words of Martin Luther King Jr. captivated the nation. His voice was heard clearly amongst the many voices which had long been silenced, but were beginning to speak loud for justice. Along with their words, they performed acts of protests such as boycotts and, sometimes with the absence of words, they performed sit-ins at restaurants and other public places. The eyes and ears of America watched and listened. The voices of the many rose up together, swelled, and grew until they pierced the stormy clouds of injustice and equality rained down in the form of the Civil Rights Act. Such a thing would never have been achieved if the citizens had never voiced their concerns and their opinions on the matter of segregation and what was needed: equality. Throughout the struggle for justice, Martin Luther King Junior slowly gained social status. Before long, his voice was heard louder than the many citizens who accompanied him, but it was the strength of the voiced opinions of the majority which fought for change. In today’s society, the same is and must be true in order to uphold the values of democracy. Those of much higher social status will voice their opinion, but so must all other citizens in order to progress towards the correct decision, one which the majority agrees on. Some believe the opinions of the many will not guarantee a push to a correct, equal, and just outcome. Upon a topic of debate opinions may polarize the nation. In such a case, the opinions of the majority may push for an unjust outcome. The many opinions may add up and both sides will clamor and tug until one prevails. One may think that unless the opinions of the social elite are taken into account as the guiding light, chaos will ensue. Chaos may occur in a most extreme condition, but is the solution to take only a select few opinions into account over the conflict? Where is the aspect of democracy for all citizens? Chaos will not devour this nation unless we allow it to. The day in which we drain all aspects of democracy from this country will be the day when such an issue arises. Democracy is the voice of the people, and no matter how polarized a topic becomes, democracy can reverse it. MLK conveyed his opinions over the injustice of segregation. Segregation is an extremely injust issue, and MLK used his opinions, his voice along with the many ordinary citizens to absolve

this issue. He used democracy, not violence, to end segregation. Therefore, even if the majority pushes toward a bad outcome within a disagreement, it can be reversed through democracy just as it was formed through democracy. The opinions of the many are what will influence change. The prominent citizens alone do not reflect this vast nation in which we coexist. It is the duty of every ordinary citizen along with the princes and princesses which comprise the social hierarchy to influence change and influence our future as one nation.

HAPPINESS Skiler Fowler

I think happiness is when you feel so much joy that you can barely handle it. I also think that it’s very important to feel happy even when it's not all the time. Even though I smile literally all the time, I still feel more sad than happy. It probably has to do with the fact that I don’t really get to do the things that other kids my age do. All I do when I get home from school is sit on my couch and read until it’s time to go to sleep. My weekends are basically the same. I think when I'm old enough to control my life more and have my own place, I'll start being more happy. I feel like everyone around me controls my life more than me and it makes me want to stay in my room by myself forever. I want to have my own little house in a whole different state and just fall completely off the grid. Unfortunately I know that can’t happen because I have to have a job and work for it. I also wouldn’t be able to do it because I can’t just leave my little sister like that. I wish I was born into a filthy rich family so I don’t have to work a day in my life and could just relax in my house while reading a book from my endless bookshelf with every book I could ever dream of. Or on a yacht. Or reading a book on a yacht. That would definitely make me happy for the rest of my life.

DOG

Annabelle Jaeckel

THE FINAL DANCE Jackson Beaulieu

The evening sky was slowly fading into the distance with beautiful shades of orange and blue. The winter air crept up slowly as the city lights got brighter and brighter. Brightest of all these lights was that of the Oslo Ballroom. This was no regular building, it was the size of a stadium with white outer walls the shape of a shell, it was truly a spectacle and a pinnacle of construction. Attendees of the Ball drove their cars slowly to a halt under the large awning and gave their keys to shofers. Completely oblivious to the danger they were in, they happily made their way into the ballroom. Everyone was dressed extravagantly and could probably buy a house with one of their watches. Some of the most powerful leaders in Norway were there including Prime Minister Solberg and her husband. As Jack got out of his car he couldn’t help but tug at his bowtie considering the fact that he hadn’t worn one since his junior year prom. They were short on men because of what happened in Lebanon, so it was just Roscoe and him. It was up to two newbies on their second mission to save 1400 people. Jack had butterflies in his stomach as he entered the building. After getting checked Jack made his way to the bathroom. He doused his face with water, he couldn’t help but be nervous. He almost had no leads on the terrorist group that called themselves The New World Order. He had no idea what to look for. He knew that they were after the Prime Minister because of the message he had intercepted, but he didn’t know why. They nearly killed all of them except him and Roscoe who were both still in training. But because of the mission in Lebanon Roscoe and him were all that was left. He looked in the mirror and thought. His training had taught him that in a situation like this there isn’t too much time to think. He had a situation on his hands, a bad one, he had to take action and think later. He didn’t have any leads except the bounty on the Prime Minister, so the smartest thing to do first was to find Roscoe. He couldn’t call her because his phone had been destroyed on the last mission. That was also the last time he saw her, she almost died. Jack put his weapon together, that was one of the very few things he actually learned from training. It was a semi automatic Glock 43, the same gun he trained with. As he finished putting it together someone walked into the bathroom. Jack tried to put it in his back pocket quickly but the person walking in saw it. Whoever the person was, made a lung at Jack and threw him against the sink. His head hit the mirror and glass went everywhere cutting the back of his head. The man grabbed one of the chunks of glass and swiped at Jack, Jack tried to dodge left but got cut in the stomach. He fell to the ground and swung his legs under the man causing him to fall backwards. A piece of glass lodged itself into the man's arm as he hit the ground causing him to yell in pain. Jack got up quickly and stomped on the man's throat, completely smashing his voice box. This did two things, it stopped him from screaming, and it caused him to choke and die. Jack tried to use his hands as little as possible, if this guy was anyone important he wouldn’t want his prints everywhere. He searched the man and found an earpiece and took it. He dragged the man's body into one of the stalls and locked the door. Jack’s tuxedo was ripped and had blood all along the back so he took his assailants off and put it on himself. It was a bit small and short in the legs considering the fact that Jack was 6’2”, but it managed. Jack set him up on the toilet. He didn’t have time to clean up the mess, so someone would eventually find out what happened, so it was best if Jack wasn’t around when the discovery was made. 56

As he left the bathroom Jack put the earpiece in. There wasn’t any sound but he kept it in just in case there would be. Jack figured that the guy couldn’t have been a guard because they always wear name tags. Whoever it was they didn’t like him having a gun, Jack just hoped it wasn’t someone trying to be a hero. He didn’t want a citizen's death on his hands. But Jack didn’t think he was a citizen, citizens don't normally wear earpieces to a ball. Jack entered the Ballroom and was shaken out of his thoughts. It was a beautiful room and it was filled with people dancing, drinking, eating, all dressed in fancy clothes. Jack went up to the second floor balcony which looked over the dance floor to get a better look at things. He looked at every face on the floor below him. The Prime Minister immediately came into view, she was sitting next to her husband. There next to them was a golden retriever breathing very heavily, probably stressed by all of the new things happening around him. The Prime Minister must’ve also noticed this because she looked at the dog, smiled and began to pet it. Then suddenly a voice from the speakers spoke and said, “The Prime Minister will speak after the final dance in five minutes.” Then two things happened at once. A very deep voice started to speak in Jack's earpiece. It said, “The festivities will commence in five minutes, the bombs are in place. Once she is terminated we must leave because the bomb detonates at 8 and we better be well out of here.” And someone tapped Jack's shoulder. Jack turned around and Roscoe with tears in her eyes jumped into his arms. Jack was astonished, the last time he saw her she was unconscious on the pavement, clothes torn with a gunshot wound in her left shoulder. Jack pulled away and smiled at her and said, “You can’t believe how happy I am to see you Roscoe but we have to hurry, the Prime Minister and everyone in this building is in danger.” Roscoe looked at him with fear in her eyes and said “ What happened to your arm?” Jack was surprised by the question at first, then remembered what happened to his assailant when he fell. He grabbed Roscoe’s arm and ran her down the stairs and explained things as they went. Jack said, “We have to tell the Prime Minister and get her and everyone else out of here.” Jack and Roscoe pushed their way through the crowd of people and finally made it to the Prime Minister. A guard immediately stepped in front of Jack blocking him from her. Jack, in a frenzy, said, “The Prime Minister and everyone else here is in danger, you need to evacuate this place.” The guard didn’t say a word, they simply looked at Jack. Then Jack heard the same deep voice again say “Take her out now we have been terminated.” The Prime Minister's husband suddenly lunged at his wife with a steak knife. Jack ripped his gun out and shot the Prime Minister's husband dead between his eyes. He still managed to stab her in the arm. Then the guard went for his weapon but before he could reach it Roscoe knocked him out with the blunt of her gun. Everyone was screaming and running away. This helped Jack, it allowed him to weed out his enemies. A man on the balcony pulled out his gun and began shooting at the Prime Minister, Jack shot him and yelled at Roscoe to get her out and to safety. They joined the crowd of people running out of the ballroom and we’re out of sight. Four men walked into the far side of the Ballroom with guns in hand. They were in the entrance Jack had come in through. They were between him and getting out. The deep voice came out of the silence in the ear piece and it said “ Leave while you still can, detonation in four minutes.” The four men in the entrance exchanged worried glances, then all but one sprinted out. The one that stayed behind was huge even for Jack. He had a shaved head, was probably around 6’4 and looked like he could bench 400 pounds. Jack couldn’t see him very clearly from that far away but he believed he could make out a smile. He stopped smiling when Jack

pointed his gun at him, but it was useless, it would be difficult to hit him from that far away. The man stalked away out of sight into the hallway. Jack figured he was running like everyone else so he sprinted through all of the broken tables and chairs and made it to the hallway when a chair met him in the face. It smacked him so hard he fell backwards and was stunned until he saw a large boot coming down. He rolled to the side and brought his gun up to shoot the man but he kicked it out of his hands, and it skited away down the hall. The man swung his leg at Jack and smashed his nose in breaking it. Jack, completely disoriented, tried to get up but the man kicked him in the abdomen. Jack fell over on his back and the man slowly made his way to him until he was standing over him. He began saying something in german which Jack was a bit rusty in. That didn’t really matter though because the man knelt down and put his hands around Jack's neck and swung him up. He slammed Jack against the wall, and continued to speak as his grip tightened. Jack learned in training that in any fight playing dirty was the only way. That you must do anything to survive no matter what. Jack identified three mistakes that the man made while he was against the wall. One, never choke someone with your fingers they can be broken easily, it's better to do it with your knuckles because they can’t be pried away. Two, he left Jack's legs free. Three he was staring into Jack's eyes. So Jack instinctively, without thinking, spit into the man's eyes, which surprisingly didn’t loosen his grip. Jack then tried for the fingers which were still getting tighter, no luck. Jack's eyes were starting to water, so he tried option number three and swung his legs as hard as he could upwards and caught the man between the legs. The man's eyes got wide and his hands fell off of Jack's neck, he stammered back a small bit. Jack took this chance to shoot an uppercut at his chin, this put the man on the ground. Jack started towards the exit because he wanted to get out as fast as he could. But before he could take his first step things started to rumble and the building blew.

PET FEATURE OF THE ISSUE by Ashley Rawls

Rex’s Candid Modeling Pose (Featuring The Iconic Orange Tennis Ball)

EDITOR BIOS

EVY SHEN

Hello, I’m a senior who still loves One Direction and rain. I love Moe’s homewrecker burritos and ice cream. One of my favorite movies is Barbie Princess and the Pauper.

JULIA BASQUIN

Alrighty folks, Listen Magazine part two! I’m in 11th grade, love dad jokes, and was one of the three art editors of this magazine. A lot of hard work, creativity, and passion went in to each page. Enjoy!

ALEXIS VLADESCU

Ciao! I am Alexis B. Vladescu, an 11th grader on a quest to understand the enigmas of life! I love debating philosophies and take a rather transcendental approach to life, willing others to attune themselves to their emotions and fall in love with life again. Seize the moment! Seize life!

MINJU KIM

Hi! My name is Minju Kim and I am a senior at Statesboro High School. I’m also one of the art editors for the Listen Magazine. I have too many random hobbies and interests to count, but some of them are throwing pottery, crocheting, and making cookies.

CARLEY PEDEN

My name is Carley and I’m a freshman at Statesboro High. I am one of the social media managers for Listen’s Instagram page, @shsmagazine. Aside from participating in the literacy club I also enjoy playing guitar, reading, and listening to Taylor Swift.

SHINYOUNG (KELLY) PARK

My name is Shinyoung Park and I’m a senior at SHS. This is my ﬁrst time working for publication.

ASHLEY RAWLS

My name is Ashley Rawls and I am a 17 year-old senior. I am the social media manager for tour school’s literary magazine, LISTEN. I am also the vice president of community service for FCCLA. I love singing and drawing!

BAILEY BORCK

My name is Bailey Borck and I am a senior at Statesboro High School. I enjoy making art and eating soosh.

ROSE KAZAK

I am a senior Photography Editor on the team and am very proud of the work done over the past few months. I can't wait to see the positive reactions from the school seeing the ﬁrst edition of the Listen Magazine.

ERIN SHEN

I am a freshman at Statesboro High School and am the prose and poetry editor for the literary magazine. I have been active in drama, recently playing the roles of Sarah in Scrooge and the Unicorn in "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe." Whereas performing helps express myself, writing ﬁctional stories, poems, and anecdotes is a gateway for me to think creatively. Literary Magazine club has oﬀered me the opportunity to read submissions that ranged wide in topics and working collaboratively with peers to help make their writing even better. This has been a wonderful and enjoyable experience for me! 61

FEATURING ASHLEY RAWLS ANN PARKER ERIN SHEN MINJU KIM CARLEY PEDEN ROSE KAZAK ALEXIS VLADESCU SABINA MACE ANNALIA SMALL

ANNIE WATANABE DASOYIN LAWOYIN TRINITY ROBERSON JULIA BASQUIN EVY SHEN SACHI SHAH JACKSON BEAULIEU SKILER FOWLER ANNABELL CONNELL