(1) Nocturne 2023: Dozing Off (Section 1)

NOCTURNE

SHAWNEE MISSION EAST

FREELANCER VOL. XV

NOCTURNE

FREELANCER VOLUME XV

Tick tock tick—

Hours past the candle’s wick, Tock tock tock—

The daydream dragons only mock, Tock tick chime!

A refuge from the day unwoken, A prison of the mind unbroken. My echo chamber’s gone infernal–I wander in the land nocturnal.

THE FREELANCER

SHAWNEE MISSION EAST HIGH SCHOOL

7500 MISSION RD

PRAIRIE VILLAGE, KS 66208

DOZING OFF

2 ———— Love Letter to Songwriting by Kate Whitefield

3 ———— Cyanotype Self-Portrait by Audrey Morehead

4 ————Sunrise by Bryson Langford

4 ———— Pause by Savannah Moore

5 ———— Nyhavn by Greta Griffin

5 ———— Picnic Day by Xochitl Suh

6 ———— Painting the Sun by Rachel Bingham

6 ————Untitled by Wendi Wen

7 ———— Tide Meets Shore by Segan Bettenhausen

7 ———— Painter Girl by Lillie Dirks

8 ———— In Warmth by Isabelle Carter

8 ———— Fairytale by Bryson Langford

9 ————Flood Like A River by Riley Gaikowski

9 ———— Sleepover on a Rainy Night by Elise Harding

10 ———— She Was as Bright as the Sun by Charlotte Kent

10 ————Self-Portrait in Pink by M Fischer

11 ———— Selfie by Sneha Thomas

12 ———— Rainy Day Love Story by Audrey Morehead

13 ———— Afternoon Boba by Sneha Thomas

13 ———— Rose by Tracy Fan

14 ———— Foliage Frolicking by Elise Harding

14 ———— Sleeping Monarchs by Alicia Hoch

15 ———— a god to believe in by Jessica Bounds

15 ———— St. Nikolaj Church by Greta Griffin

16 ———— Night Life by Sneha Thomas

16 ———— Happy Lunar New Year by Tracy Fan

17 ———— Lunar Kaleidoscope by Lillie Dirks

INSOMNIA

20 ———— Sad Girl by Anonymous

20 ———— Foreshadowing by Isabelle Wilkinson

21 ———— Will O’ Wisps by Elise Harding

21 ———— Wistful Woes by Lillie Dirks

22 ———— I WANNA KNOW WHAT HEARTBREAK FEELS LIKE by Johnnie Collins

22 ———— Clichés by Riley Gaikowski

23 ———— Eye by Grace Cure

23 ———— Absence by Delaney McDermed

24 ———— The Banshee by Elise Harding

24 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe

25 ———— Timeline of Loss by Jessica Bounds

26 ———— Fishbowl by Lillie Dirks

26 ———— Bleed by Lola Sidie

27 ———— Stitches by Jaxton Taylor

27 ———— almost 18/they ask me to describe myself by Jeanne Ozkan

28 ———— Pop by Sophie Shroyer

28 ———— Midnight Rider by Nate Sparks

29 ———— Here Today, Gone Tomorrow by Clover Tyler

29 ———— Looking Glass into the Fourth Dimension: Mirror on the Wall by Thomas Garmon

30 ———— Quality over Quantity by Isabelle Wilkinson

30 ———— Superb Starling by Alicia Hoch

31 ———— Ukraine Song by Riley Gaikowski

32 ———— Infatuation, Unsurity, and Closure by Olive Goldman

33 ———— Pathway by Audrey Morehead

33 ———— The Body I Once Knew and the Mind I Once Loved by Lenix Welsh

LUCID DREAMING

36 ———— Persimmon by Jade Achen

37 ———— Leaf Collar by Xochitl Suh

37 ———— Youth by Bryson Langford

38 ———— The Cartographer and the Lacemaker by Audra Gibbs

41 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe

42 ———— Delirium by Nicko Friedman

42 ———— Celestial Morehead by Audrey Morehead

43 ———— a list of words and things i see god in by Jeanne Ozkan

43 ———— Permanent Leftovers by Jade Achen

44 ———— Unrequited by Ash Hattrup

45 ———— Bardic Autumn by Roslyn Carle

45 ———— Fennec Fox by Alicia Hoch

46 ———— Wherein, I am Falling by Jeanne Ozkan

46 ———— Girl in Colored Lights by Isabelle Carter

47 ———— Clés de Verre by Tommy Marx

48 ———— King of Smoke, King of Nothing by Nicko Friedman

49 ———— Dream Sequence Frame 4 by Delaney McDermed

50 ———— Untitled by Jolie Kerwin

50 ———— Mona Cilia by Cecilia Swope

51 ———— Out of Place by Jade Achen

52 ———— Brown House Moth by Mary Vassilevsky

53 ———— Rusty’s Grocery by Elise Harding

53 ———— Tea Shop by Han Mellenbruch

54 ———— FurBe Mine by Anonymous

55 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe

56 ———— Striiit by Brennan Montalbano

57 ———— Frejya Mynyddoedd by Paul Sernine

SLEEPWALKING

60 ———— Saint Valentine by Nelle Rain

60 ———— Battle for the Mind by Brennan Montalbano

61 ———— Lady Liberty in a Thunderstorm by Wendi Wen

61 ———— The Goddess of Beauty by M Fischer

62 ———— The Road Not Taken by Alex Shrock

62 ———— Bunny Scout by Xochitl Suh

63 ———— The Cleric’s Scarf by Audra Gibbs

64 ————Extinction by Clover Tyler

64 ———— Lady Rebecca Caplinger by Roslyn Carle

65 ———— The End of the Storm by Nicko Friedman

65 ———— Fire from Far Away by M Fischer

66 ———— Blue Deer by Olive Goldman

66 ———— Metamorphize by Greyson Imm

67 ———— Underneath by Clover Tyler

68 ———— The Archive by Segan Bettenhausen

68 ———— Ist das alles was mir übrig ist? by Paul Sernine

69 ———— The Ceasg by Elise Harding

69 ———— Røsnæs Fyr by Greta Griffin

70 ———— A Newfound Place by Kennedi Forsynthe

70 ———— Something About Squares by Anna Wurst

75 ———— Fairplay by Nora Alferman

75 ———— Wire Wrap Necklace by Jeanne Ozkan

76 ———— Simon by Han Mellenbruch

76 ———— Goddess of Nature by M Fischer

77 ———— I Want A Suburban Home by Greta Griffin

78 ———— Alba Iulia: Journey to Nowhere by Alicia Hoch

78 ———— Byzantine-Inspired Earrings by Jeanne Ozkan

79 ———— Transition by Alicia Hoch

79 ———— Eco-Brutalism by Han Mellenbruch

80———— Sidewalk Memories by Jessica Bounds

80 ———— Time Machine by Audrey Morehead

81 ———— Together Again by Kate Whitefield

81 ———— Memory of Ghosts by Delaney McDermed

PARALYSIS

84 ———— Tied With a Smile by Livia Barbre

84 ———— Labor by Abigail Swanson

85 ————10:48 by Pauline Seing

85 ———— Megastructure by Han Mellenbruch

86 ———— The Saint by Lillie Dirks

89 ———— Spiritual State by Paul Sernine

90 ———— Suburban Home by Han Mellenbruch

91 ———— Spotlight Macaw by Tracy Fan

91 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe

92 ———— Consumption by Lola Sidie

92 ———— Drowning in Love by Sofia Borja

93 ———— Requiem for the Sacred by Pauline Seing

93———— The Goddess of Infection by M Fischer

94 ———— Pitless Cherries by Keely Hood

95 ———— Untitled by Charlie Keefe

96 ———— Graveyard Couture by Delaney McDermed

96 ———— Interior/Exterior by Segan Bettenhausen

97 ———— Wolf by Clover Tyler

98 ———— I LAY HERE NO HEART OF MINE by Paul Sernine

98 ———— Looking Past Death by Audrey Morehead

99 ———— The by Thomas Garmon

99 ———— Windows to the Soul by Chris Hartwell

100 ———— Color Wheel by Anonymous

100 ———— “Poison?” by Delaney McDermed

101 ———— On Medroxyprogesterone by Alicia Hoch

101 ———— Apple by Tracy Fan

102 ———— 1, 2, 3 by Riley Gaikowski

102 ———— Black and White by Sneha Thomas

103 ———— Raven by Clover Tyler

103 ———— Mars Bars by Isabelle Wilkinson

105 ———— Picasso Pelican by Abby Crossley

106 ———— Closing Quote/Index

107———— Staff Bios

108———— Letter from the Editors

DOZING OFF

Soft and slow, this place feels like home. Half awake, half afraid, but I’m floating on foam.

soft as the mid-afternoon sunlight through the gauzy curtains. In my mind I can roam through the honey ocean.

A LOVE LETTER TO SONGWRITING

PROSE BY KATE WHITEFIELD

It was deep purple, slightly larger than a picture frame. On the front was the phrase, “Chase your dreams, you might catch one.” Even at age eight, I rolled my eyes at cheesy sayings like that, and I preferred soft blue to bold violet. Suffice to say, this notebook was not one I’d picked for myself. I feigned interest in the thing by running my hands along its fresh spine and ruffling the crisp pages with my thumbs. When I flipped the cover open, I discovered the journal’s single unique quality: a brief message penned by a familiar feminine hand. I looked up at her.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s a songbook,” she replied, “so everything you write can be in one place.”

I hugged the book to my chest. Suddenly, purple was my favorite color, and the quote about dreams no longer seemed contrived. This was my songbook. Real songwriters had songbooks. Prior to receiving this newly prized possession, I’d scrawled my musical musings onto computer paper and pages ripped from spiral notebooks, like an amateur. But the purple notebook legitimized me. I was a songwriter.

I ran to my bedroom and began scribbling away. I imagined the song I wrote that day would become my first hit, played on every radio station in the country. I’d travel the world performing, and fans would come from far and wide to hear my songs.

As you might have guessed, those wobbly pencil scratches did not lead to worldwide fame and success. In fact, most songs never left my bedroom (which in hindsight is a good thing—my third-grade self was not as immune to clichés as she thought). But the songbook gave me something much more substantial than all that. It allowed me to foster a creative skill that became intrinsic to myself and my worldview.

Songwriting is the outlet through which I have come to understand myself. Over the last ten years, it has been the vessel to navigate me through treacherous waves of anger,

confusion, disappointment, and loss. It has allowed for celebration in moments of success and reflection in seasons of contentment. It has captured teenage frustration and girlish giddiness. It has been my therapy, and, as time has passed, a documentation of my life. When I play an old song of mine, I’m tossed back into the person I was at the time of its creation. I’ve discovered that in this world, the closest thing to a time machine is a guitar and a quiet bedroom.

Songwriting has also encouraged me to cherish the small things. I like being busy and thrive under pressure, but I admittedly have a tendency to overbook myself. It can be tempting to let my hectic schedule get the better of me and wake up dreading the day. But the likes of Joni Mitchell, Madison Cunningham, and coffee shop open mic regulars have conditioned my brain to notice the simple moments of peace and beauty each day has to offer. Wilco in the living room. Finger scars from cheap guitars. The clink of the microwave against ceramic plates. An early morning moon, a midwestern sky. Lavender and chapstick and skin. Petrichor and sweet coffee. Songwriting has gifted me with an ever-present sense of patience and gratitude. It has opened my eyes to simple beauty in everyday life.

Nowadays, the yellow pages curl inwards and the spine has been duct-taped several times over. I haven’t written in that purple songbook in years but will never get rid of it. It is a reminder I am capable of turning negative situations into lessons and positive situations into memories. Wherever I end up in life, I know songwriting will remain a steady source of comfort. And when even that thought proves insufficient in quailing looming anxieties, I recall that inscription on the inside cover:

Dear Kate, I believe in you!

CYANOTYPE SELF-PORTRAIT

MIXED MEDIA BY AUDREY MOREHEAD

SUNRISE

POETRY BY BRYSON LANGFORD

The air sweeps in the day, breathing youthful life into the smiling sky with the rising dawn as the sun touches the water with a sweet embrace.

The land is broken across the bright mirror, reflecting deepest hopes that rise to meet the world with a new purpose and vitality.

As the earth spins around the moon unchanged, each rise and fall of day paints fresh upon old designs and shifts the clouds to brighten the waking soul.

PAINTING BY SAVANNAH MOORE

PICNIC DAY

SCULPTURE BY XOCHITL SUH

NYHAVN

PAINTING BY GRETA GRIFFIN

UNTITLED

PAINTING BY WENDI WEN

PAINTING THE SUN

PHOTOGRAPHY BY RACHEL BINGHAM

PAINTER GIRL

POETRY BY LILLIE DIRKS

I met a little painter girl

With color splashed and true

And now I think She stained me

A new acrylic hue

My starry-eyed wonder

Wasn’t someone that I sought

But now the smell of paint

Fills the space

Between my thoughts

TIDE MEETS SHORE

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SEGAN BETTENHAUSEN

IN WARMTH

PAINTING BY ISABELLE CARTER

FAIRYTALE

POETRY BY BRYSON LANGFORD

The rhythm of his heart pounding through my brain

Beating loudly, rising and falling like water—

Light shines in his kind face sparkling through the rain

As the sun’s heat deepens, becoming hotter and hotter.

The moon glows in those bright blue eyes—

The sweet laughter emerges from his throat.

Catching the wind across silk, it glides

Delivering a tune purely imperfect in every note—

The gentle touch of his rough and shaky hand

Delicately pulls me in as if I were a flower

Of vanilla cream petals dancing to the melody of land—

Together we escape to the ivory tower.

Slowly to meet me are his crisp honey lips

Drifting me away in a vast sea of ships.

SLEEPOVER ON A RAINY NIGHT

DIGITAL ART BY ELISE HARDING

FLOOD LIKE A RIVER

COMPOSITION BY RILEY GAIKOWSKI

SHE WAS AS BRIGHT AS THE SUN

PROSE BY CHARLOTTE KENT

I watched her in the mirror from my seat on her bed. Her fingers, with nails painted the color of lilacs, held a makeup brush, and my eyes followed her hand as she dusted baby pink eyeshadow on her eyelids. And although in her presence I always felt safe and content, like I didn’t need anything else in the world but her, like she was air, and water and shelter and I had been suffocating, there was still a feeling in my stomach that I couldn’t get rid of. Even when I tried to focus all my attention on how she looked getting ready in the mirror then, I still felt sick. And she seemed perfectly fine, so naturally, I thought I was immensely stupid for worrying.

“Do you think they’ll talk?” I asked, momentarily meeting eyes with her in the mirror. She didn’t look back at me though, she just paused for a short moment and then continued on her makeup.

“Talk about what?” she asked.

“You know.” I tilted my head down like an embarrassed puppy that just destroyed a brand new couch. “Us,” I said, wondering how she could act like she didn’t know what I was talking about.

I saw her shoulders shrug, her back tensing, and then relaxing. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I mean, probably. People talk about other people all the time.”

I looked down and straightened my black dress over my bare knees before I spoke again. “What will they think?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, setting the brush down on her vanity and finally turning to face me.

Yes, I thought. I didn’t like to be talked about, good or bad. I hated not knowing when my name came out of other people’s mouths.

But we were having too good of an evening for me to say my thoughts out loud. She looked like the sun, and I swear she was as bright as it too. I couldn’t ruin that.

“I just don’t want a lot of attention.” That’s what I said

instead, but what I really meant was I don’t want people to not like me, I don’t want people to see my face and immediately be filled with dread or sigh when I open my mouth, and I think she knew me well enough to understand that’s what I wanted to say.

She looked me right in the eyes, and I somewhat loved and hated it when she did that. When she was staring right back at me, it was like she was the only person left on planet earth. The apocalypse was in full force and she was my only saving grace. Everything else goes dark except for her.

SELF-PORTRAIT IN PINK

DIGITAL ART BY M FISCHER

She’s illuminating.

But I also felt like she could read my mind just by staring at me. This was useful when I wouldn’t know what to say, so she would say it for me. This was unfortunate for me when I had secrets that I would hate her to see through the pupils of my eyes. Half of my thoughts never even had to leave my lips; speaking them was useless when she had the ability to see behind my forehead.

I speak of her like she has superpowers, like she is controlled by supernatural forces that make her eyes laser through skulls and analyze every piece of thought she finds.

Like she is powerful.

Maybe to anyone else, she is just normal. But I could never look at her the same way I look at anyone I consider normal.

“Do their opinions hold enough power to break us?” And then I knew she could read my mind, there was no doubt about it. I didn’t care about other people’s attention, I cared about their opinions, and somehow, she figured out what was going on in my mind before I even knew. How she was able to do that, I would never know.

“No,” I said, almost immediately. My face went hot. Nothing could hold that kind of power.

“Good.” She turned back to the mirror and continued her task at hand. She knew that I really meant it, so thank god I didn’t have to keep talking. My blood was already running at super speed through my veins as it was. I looked down, studying the straps of my sandals. “Do you care if they hate us?”

When she said this, I looked back up and saw that she had turned back around to see me again. “No,” I said. And this was true too. Nothing I ever said was as true as this.

“No one else’s opinions will ever matter as much as yours to me. I promise.” Her eyes were glittering from the golden sunlight that streamed in through the blinds. “Swear it.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “Why must I swear on it if it is your promise?”

“Because your opinion is the only one I’ll ever need. Nothing else. Swear it.”

“I swear it.”

“I swear it,” she said.

SELFIE DIGITAL ART

BY SNEHA THOMAS

RAINY DAY LOVE STORY

DRAWING BY AUDREY MOREHEAD

ROSE

AFTERNOON BOBA

DIGITAL ART BY SNEHA THOMAS

DIGITAL ART BY TRACY FAN

FOLIAGE FROLICKING

SLEEPING MONARCHS

PHOTOGRAPHY BY ALICIA HOCH

DIGITAL ART BY ELISE HARDING

A GOD TO BELIEVE IN

POETRY BY JESSICA BOUNDS

Every night I pray. Not to god, but to you, To your body and your heart. Every time we kiss, I whisper a prayer Into your lips. You laugh and tell me

“That’s not how you do it.” You grab my hands and shape them Into a sacrilegious fold of my fingers, Interlocking to hold in the warmth of your voice. You try to teach me how to believe in God, But all I believe in is you.

I think this must be what it’s like to be religious. To believe in something with your whole being, Even when you can’t see or hear or touch it. To believe that you will come back home at the end of the day,

Every day,

Because no god could ever be so cruel as to tear us apart.

ST. NIKOLAJ CHURCH

PAINTING BY GRETA GRIFFIN

NIGHT LIFE

DIGITAL ART BY SNEHA THOMAS

HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR

DIGITAL ART BY TRACY FAN

LUNAR KALEIDOSCOPE

SERIES BY LILLIE DIRKS

How do you live beyond the moon? Your head echoes with silent screams. The end approaches all too soon.

Flitting over glittering sand dunes, searching for honeyed streams. How do you live beyond the moon?

I’ll sing for you a lilting tune, a lullaby drifting through the seams. The end approaches all too soon.

Your feathers drift in wilting runes. A crumbled omen, aloft extremes. How do you live beyond the moon?

Starving in the late afternoon, never to be satisfied. It seems the end approaches all too soon.

What were you told within the cocoon? Heaven lies and holy schemes. How do you live beyond the moon when your end approaches all too soon?