Tiger PAWS Fall 2014 by SPC English

Tiger PAWS

St. Philipâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s College Volume 3, Issue 2, Fall 2014

Fall 2014

Tiger PAWS Volume 3, Issue 2 Fall 2014 St. Philipâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s College, San Antonio, Texas

Cover Art: What Her Secret by Anna Torres Mixed Media

Tiger PAWS is a student publication composed of works submitted by students, reviewed and organized by a student editorial staff. The selected works may not reflect the attitudes or opinions of St. Philipâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s College or the Department of Communications and Learning.

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Acknowledgments The Tiger P.A.W.S. staff wishes to thank the following people: Aunya Byrd—Dean of Arts and Sciences Erick Akins—Title III Director, Title III Grant Management Sean Nighbert—Chair, Communications & Learning San Juan San Miguel—Director, Rose R. Thomas Writing Center Nereida Reyes— Senior Tutor, Rose R. Thomas Writing Center Mitchell Miranda—Art Judge Dr. Audrey L. Mosley—Communications & Learning Faculty Tom Manzo—Communications & Learning Faculty Velia De La Rosa—Administrative Services Specialist , Communications & Learning St. Philip's College Public Relations Department Department of Communications & Learning for funding the publication UPS Store

Editorial Staff Student Staff:

Faculty Staff:

Danielle Alonzo

Lee Ann Epstein

Rosalinda Barbosa

Stephanie Gresham

Anastacia Casarez

Pris Lopez

Yvonne De La Fuente

Jamie Miranda

Melody Halsrud Desiree Holmes Pocahontas Luckey Hannah Mahaffey LaTansha Mayberry Priscilla Palomo Tambra Staley Raeneisha Toliver

Submissions for the next edition of Tiger Paws in Spring 2015 will be accepted now through March 6, 2015. Enrolled SPC students are encouraged to submit essays, short stories, poetry, artwork, or photography.

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Table of Contents What Her Secret by Anna Torres….……………...…………………..……….

Cover

“Pen or Sword” by Anastacia Casarez ………………………………….

“The Tale Of The Dream World Refugee” by Hannah Lee Mahaffey………..……………………….……..

New World by Anna Torres……………………...….……………………..…….

“Demons” by Destiny Morales …………………...….……………………..

Alternate Point of View by By EunJi Byun ……...….…………………….

Caleb by Mayela Armendariz …………………………………….……….…..

“A Mother’s Love” by Jessica Rodriguez ……………..………..…….

“The Boy and the Flower” by Mialovena Duque ..……….……..

Bee & the Flower by Sultan Alsmaeel ……….…………………...…….....

Waterfall by Sultan Alsmaeel ……………………………………...…….......

“Your Poetry” by Jachin Haynes ……………….……………………….....

Love Drunk (Where Is My Mind) by Danielle Alonzo…………..…..

“Edwin’s Energies” by Chazz Lee ………..…………..….……………….

Seaside Skyline by Sultan Alsmaeel ………………………………………….

Guardians of a Watery Grave by Melody Halsrud…………..……….

“Edwin’s Trials” by Chazz Lee……………….…………...…….…………..

The Nurturer by Laura Rhodes Jimenez…………….……………………

“Lovely My Lady” by Jesse Martinez…...…….…………………...……

“What Is Philosophy?” by Sultan A. Al Maghlooth..….………

Surge on the Beach by Serina Holder……………….…….……………..……

“Life’s Lessons Created My Education”

by Deborah Hughes…………………………………….…………….

“The Funeral” by Madison Thibeaux…………………………………….

Evening Glow by Serina Holder………………………………...……………….

“On the Dawn of War” by Chazz Lee……………………….……….….

Table of Contents Desert Terrain with Water by Sultan Alsmaeel……..……………....….

Nature # 1 by Bandar Alharthi ………….………..……………..……………..

Untitled by Laura Rhodes Jimenez ….………………….……….……….

“The Humble and Reticent Child”

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by Maverick Crawford III .………..…………………………….

Curved Shoreline by Sultan Alsmaeel .………………...……...…….……..

“I Wrote You Differently” by Danielle Lopez …………….……..…

Seagull Silhouette by Sultan Alsmaeel ....……………………………….…..

Sky Is the Limit by Araceli Escamilla ………………………….……...….….

“The Ticket” by Lilia P. Mason .………..………..…………………………..

“Teen Idle” by Kaylynn Yarelle Barreiro ...……………..…………...…

“Vanity” by Danielle Lopez ..………...………………………………….....….

Unnatural Blue by Danielle Alonzo ..…………………………………..…….

Prevailing Beauty by Tambra Staley .…………………………………..…….

“Shame on You” by LaTansha Mayberry ..…………………………….

“A Different Lens” by Yvonne De La Fuente ……………….……….

“The Real You” by Anastacia Casarez ...……………………..….…….

Caribbean Sunset by Pocahontas Luckey .……………..………….…….

God’s Gift by Serina Holder ………………………….…………………..……….

“Wind Walker” by Jake Esquivel ……….…...………………….…..…….

“Thoughts of Summer” by Laura Rhodes Jimenez ..…………….

Two Cockatiels by Melody Halsrud ………………………….……………….

“Los manos que nos cubren” by Julian Hernandez ……...…….

“Hands Covering Us” by Julian Hernandez ..……………………….

Our Judges ….……………………………………………………………………………….

Pen or Sword By Anastacia Casarez With these pens as our swords We will fight all who swore We wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be much longer Promised to soon be conquered Our skin is tough Our hands are rough We have no fears We lost our tears Taming the beasts Soon weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll have peace Our cups are filled No more are killed Our fight has ended All wounds are mended

The Tale Of The Dream World Refugee By Hannah Lee Mahaffey

I’ve had the same dream since I was a little girl. I always wake up confused and disoriented because I am not where I fell asleep. One time I woke up in my neighbor’s tree house. My dreams always seem so real, but this one in particular bothers me the most. It starts off that I’m in a strange land. I walk through an empty town, and there are signs everywhere with the same symbol printed on them. It looks somewhat like an eye within an eye. It’s very creepy. As I walk through the town, I actually feel the night air. It’s damp and chilly outside, and I go to a clock tower. The big hand points to twelve and the little one to three. I assume that it is three in the morning because it’s dark out. The clock bell clangs three times. On the third time, I am surrounded by many people. They are all cloaked in midnight blue robes. Their faces are hidden with the hoods on their heads. They all reach out to me, trying to touch me. It’s very scary. Then, a man from the crowd steps up in front. I only assume he’s a man, though, because he’s so tall. I can’t see his face, but I think he’s the one in charge. It’s weird, but I can almost feel his presence. It’s very strong, and it scares me. “We’re waiting for you,” he whispers. I always wake up at the same time. Yup, it’s three fifteen in the freaking morning. I never get to finish the dream. I go and clean up the mess of glass and roses. It’s Valentine’s Day, and I have no boyfriend to speak of. That’s probably because I’m gay, but I don’t have a girlfriend either. My ex and I broke up two weeks ago, so I bought the roses for myself. Happy Valentine’s Day to me, whatever. I don’t really care. I had been with her a year. She said she couldn’t take my sleep habits. According to her, I sleep walk and sleep talk almost every night. I think she just wanted to screw the neighbor without a guilty conscience. I never woke up with her next to me, the whore. But sadly, that’s how all my relationships end. I guess I really do have a problem. I need to pick girls who are heavy sleepers and loyal. Yup, that’s what I need to do alright. But seriously, I have had this problem since, well as long as I can remember actually. I grew up in foster homes. My birth parents left me on the doorstep of a church, or so I’m told. I never made an effort to find my real parents because I figure if they didn’t want me then, they sure as hell don’t want me now. Ugh, another boring day at work. I’m a telephone operator for the ‘Voice Your Complains Department’. All day long I get to hear everyone’s complaints. Does anyone care about mine? Nope. Scotty, the acne faced loser in the booth next to me, comes over and snickers. “What’s wrong?

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The lady on line two giving you trouble?” Oh, my God, he is so annoying. “No, I’m finished with her. Thanks for passing that bitch on to me by the way. Real lively, that one. I’m about to go on break.” “You can’t go on break yet. There’s one more call for you. And you have to take it because they asked for you specifically,” Scotty says as he transfers me the call, turns his flat ass to me, and walks away. “Great,” I mumble to myself. “Hello, Complaints Department. How may I help you?” I say in my fake telephone operator voice. “You don’t belong here,” the voice at the other end says. “Excuse me?” I answer, slightly taken aback. “Come home, Rosalyn. We are waiting for you.” And then there was silence. Whoa, I am speechless. That guy sounded like the guy from my dream. I take my headset off and find my way out of the building. Forget about taking a break. I need a day off. Seriously. I’m waiting at the bus stop and notice a girl carrying a lot of bags. She manages for a while but then drops them all over the sidewalk. I feel sorry for her and offer my assistance. I take a moment to look at her and notice that she is very pretty. She has chin length black hair and bright blue eyes. “Thanks for helping me, my name is Jade,” she says as she stands up and steadies herself. “Hi, no problem. My name is Ross.” She starts to walk off and then stops and turns around. “This may sound a little forward, but can I buy you a drink?” she asks me with those big blue eyes. “I’m sorry, but I gave up drinking,” I say apologetically. “Oh, then here. Take this,” she says handing me a pineapple. “What is this?” I almost laugh. “It’s a thank you present for helping me. I was at the Farmers’ Market and bought a bunch of fruit. I wanted to repay your kindness in some way,” she says. I am honestly touched. “I don’t drink, but I do eat. Can I buy you dinner sometime?” I don’t know why my heart is beating so fast. I think I really like this girl. She pauses before she answers, then smiles coyly. “Sure, I’m free tonight. Pick me up at eight.” She gives me her address, and we go our separate ways. Wow, that was an interesting encounter.

It’s seven-fifty-five, and I’m at her place. She lives on the sixth floor of a high rise apartment complex. I don’t know why, but I’m really nervous. I knock at her door, and a large fat man answers. “Can I help you,” he bellows. I’m kind of freaked out am about to leave when I get a tap on the shoulder. I turn around and see her standing there smiling. “You got the wrong place. Sorry, the doors aren’t numbered,” she says. I let out a sigh of relief. “Where do you want to go?’’ I ask. “I know this great little Italian restaurant just down the street,“ she answers. As we walk to the restaurant, we get to talking. I tell her my sad story. And she tells me about how she’s half German, half Japanese. I tell her about my dreams, and she seemed to really understand. We get to the place and have a really great time. I’ve never opened up this much to someone I just met. There’s just something about her. As I walk her home, we make plans to go to the movies the next night. When I get to the door, she stops. She looks at me and bluntly asks, “Do you want to kiss me?” I am utterly shocked by her bluntness. She takes my silence as a yes and tilts her head up to my face. She gives me a soft, but loving kiss on the lips. “I thought so. Goodnight, see you tomorrow,” she says as she walks into her apartment, leaving me in the hallway, completely breathless. I’m back at that empty town. The same symbol is everywhere. I get to the clock tower, but unlike before, there is only one person there. He steps over to me. His presence is overwhelming. “When will you return, Rosalyn? We’re waiting for you.” He reaches over and puts his hands on my face. I wake up with a start. It’s three fifteen and my body is shaking. Why do I keep on having these dreams? What’s wrong with me? How do these people know me? I go back to sleep, but sleep restlessly. The next few months seem to fly by. I’m still at that boring job. Scotty got promoted. Jade and I have been going steady, and I am really happy. I’m thinking of asking her to marry me, but I haven’t gotten up the courage yet. There’s a knock at my door. I think it’s Jade, but it’s not. It’s actually two hooded figures that grab me and pull me inside. They pull out a syringe and stick it in my arm. They cover my mouth so I can’t scream. As I drift off into the unconscious, I hear them say, “Now she’s back where she belongs.” I’m in their world now. I’m not dreaming. I think I might be dead. I run through the deserted town yelling for help. I reach the clock tower and see the midnight blue robes. I try to run in the opposite direction but my body won’t stop moving toward them. I see the leader. He beckons for me to come to him. “You’re finally home,” he says in his deep raspy voice.

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“What are you talking about? Who are you people?” I scream. “We are your family, Rosalyn. Your one of us,” the hooded figure replies. “No, it can’t be. This can’t be real.” I’m in tears now. “We are real. Your parents sent you away when you were born. They were trying to give you a better life. They were punished accordingly,” the man says. I look and see statues of a man and woman frozen in time. Their faces were contorted with pain and fear. I am really scared now. I need to wake up. Please let me wake up from this nightmare. “This is no nightmare, Rosalyn. We are the dream weavers. We are where the nightmares come from,” the man whispers sinisterly. I just want to wake up. “Where am I? What is this place?” I cry. “This is dream world. It’s a parallel universe like the one you grew up in. You were never meant to leave.” The man slowly removes his cloak. He has that symbol on his forehead. He touches my right arm, and I feel a searing pain. I look to see that symbol branded on my skin. I am one of them. This is where I belong. I’m giving in but then hear a voice in the distance. “Ross, wake up. Please wake up,” the voice in the distance says. Is that Jade? “Jade, I’m here; help me please!” I cry. “You can never be rid of us! We will always be with you,” the man yells. No! I have to wake up. I have to get back to Jade. I gather all my strength and scream at the top of my lungs. I open my arms and am in Jade’s arms. “I thought I lost you,” she cries with tears running down her face. “Where am I?” I ask out loud. “You’re in your apartment. I came to see you and the door was open. You were on the floor. I thought you were dead,” Jade replied, hugging me to her. I feel better, and I just lay there with her holding me. Then, I notice something funny about her. She has a strange symbol on her chest. It’s an eye within an eye. “Oh, shit,” I say as I look up at her. “We are always with you,” she says smiling. Then, everything goes black.

New World By Anna Torres

Colored Pencil, Pencil, and Pen

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Demons By Destiny Morales I thought I was the selfish one? but there you are holding what lies in that precious mind back. What I would give to have the insight, to take a trip inside. I promise I won’t run when I hear your inner demons take over. Isn’t that what you are afraid of? That I’ll run? Without looking back. I’ll embrace them with my arms wide open. When I said I accepted you, I accepted all of you. You aren’t the only one with demons. Oh, mine are hideous. Ask them what I’ve done, what they made me do. Maybe we’re two of a kind? A love so wicked but true. A neither of us deserve it kind of love, but here we are. Who are we to deny it? Our demons are so hideously beautiful beings.

Alternate Point of View By EunJi Byun

Photograph

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Caleb By Mayela Armendariz

Pastels

A Mother’s Love By Jessica Rodriguez Being able to thank an individual that has made an impact on your life is one of the most rewarding feelings in the world. Just saying those simple words to a person not only shows that you appreciate what they did for you but is one of the most rewarding feelings that will stay with that person forever. The one individual I can’t thank enough is my mother. My mom has been a very hard working woman since I can remember. Being a single mother to three girls wasn’t an easy responsibility. My mother always worked more than one job when I was growing up. Whether it be working at the school as a registrar or working in the evenings at a local restaurant, my mother found a way to provide for our family. No matter how my mom’s schedule was during the day between her work schedules, she always made sure she had dinner on the table for us, clothes washed, and our lunches packed for school. When we had school events such as science fairs, award ceremonies, and parent meetings, my mom always found a way to make sure she attended. My mom did not just want to be a parent but a role model as well. She started to attend college part-time during the evenings after work. She always told us, “Life can get hard, but if you want to achieve a certain goal you want, you have to work for it. You only can fail if you let yourself.” My mom helped my sisters and I apply for scholarships and also other financial support for college. My mom helped my oldest sister get into Texas State University, my little sister in Texas A&M in Kingsville, and me into St. Philip’s College. What my mother has done for my sisters and I has tremendously impacted how I view certain situations, how I

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really think about the actions I make, and how I just view life in general. If it weren’t for the struggles my mother has gone through to provide for us, I wouldn’t have ever learned what hard work truly is. My work ethic each day consists of nothing but pushing myself to be the best I can be in any area I’m working in. My mother has helped me understand being a parent means so much more than taking care of a child but also to guide children through anything they need help with in life. If my mom wouldn’t have shown the love and affection she did, despite my father not being around, I wouldn’t be the great parent I am to my son today. I learned how to listen better, keep an open mind to some of his views, and also had to accept that he is going to make mistakes. I understand that if I have to sacrifice “wants” so I can get “needs” done, then I do so to accomplish what needs to be done. It’s unexplainable how thankful I am for what my mother has done for me. Seeing her go through struggles and overcoming those obstacles put my mindset on a different level. My motivation to reach my goals in life has no limit. No matter what negativity comes into my life, I can overcome it with positivity. I am proud to say my mom set that extra “drive” to be successful in life. I couldn’t be more thankful for having an individual like my mother to have helped me shape myself into the woman I am today.

The Boy and the Flower By Mialovena Duque Once there was a boy walking along a garden of beautifully raised flowers until suddenly he saw what in his mind was the most beautiful flower of them all was. Even his mother agreed when she took a look at it. In no time, he placed the delicacy in a vase near the window in the kitchen. When his father finally arrived home from work, he declared the blossom to be the loveliest of its kind and was surprised his son could find such a beautiful commodity. Every day the boy would tend to his beauty by giving it the proper amount of shine from the sun and water, but these were only the necessities. The boy would also sing and talk sweetly to the flower, for he loved his blossom as much as a boy his age could. Even when the boy brought his friends over to play, he would flaunt his stunning discovery, and the unbiased opinion of the flower being pulchritudinous stood. It was very seldom to think the flower to be average or grotesque by the others. There were even moments the boy had arduous times thinking about how he, of all people, could possess such as dazzling thing as this. However, as the days passed on by, the talks and conversations that the boy once had with the flower stopped. His songs he would sing to the flower went from whistles to barely a hum. Never did he stop thinking that the flower was beautiful, but his admiration came to a halt. One day the boy arrived home to find his flower was no longer in the place it always was. Worried at first, he didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t

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think much of it and figured his mother placed the floret somewhere else, but when he asked, she had not a clue where it was and suggested he ask his father. When his father arrived home from work, the disappointing news was revealed. NO ONE knew what came of the beautiful bloom. In due time, the boy did come to realize what had happened to his precious flower, for he recalled on the day the flower disappeared he had left the window open. It was concluded that it had been blown away with the wind. Never did the boy ever see such a beautiful thing such as the flower again. All he had to look back on were the memories the blossom had engraved in his heart.

Bee & the Flower By Sultan Alsmaeel

Photograph

Waterfall By Sultan Alsmaeel

Photograph

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Your Poetry By Jachin Haynes I remember when I fell in love with your poetry . . . Every word you spoke excited the dormant soul within me My ears eagerly awaited to hear every inflection The love from your spirit touched mine as I hid reflections of fantasies and affection Silently my eyes invited you to indulge me as I looked at you in deference I envisioned my lips drinking from the spring of your eloquence Mentally we were connected You left no confusion about your perspective Until you left . . . Ha . . . that was unexpected I searched the venue for you Hoping to catch a glance of you Yet you were nowhere to be found Only promiscuity in my view I continued, treading through the sands of people in that place Searching for the buried treasure I craved to embrace My senses were alert Traveling through that desert Finding mirages while others found shallow pleasure With no map to guide me

And no numbers exchanged that could allow you to find me I slowed down and thought that love couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t possibly be more blinding So I stopped my search, feeling defeated and speechless Thinking that I fell in love with a dream that was now meaningless That instant felt like a lifetime until A tap on my shoulder revealed a sight that was surreal yet so real . . . It was you! And you said you were looking for me . . . And that you were in love with my poetry Traveling through that desert Finding mirages while others found shallow pleasure With no map to guide me And no numbers exchanged that could allow you to find me I slowed down and thought that love couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t possibly be more blinding So I stopped my search, feeling defeated and speechless Thinking that I fell in love with a dream that was now meaningless That instant felt like a lifetime until A tap on my shoulder revealed a sight that was surreal yet so real . . . It was you! And you said you were looking for me . . . And that you were in love with my poetry

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Love Drunk (Where Is My Mind) By Danielle Alonzo

Digital Art

Edwin’s Energies By Chazz Lee Sharp pains course through my body when I gain consciousness. My eyes adjust to the light of what feels like mid-day. Peering at the foreign sights, I realize this place is new to me. “Fear not, for you are safe here. Welcome to Shrine of Elements.” Unsure where this voice is come from, slowly panning in a circle seeing nothing, I say, “Who are you? Where are you?” From rippling whips, four beings emerge: one of water, the next of lava and fire, another of rock and earth, the last of air. Somehow it came to me that they were speaking with one voice. “We are the Gods of the realm. We are the keepers of the peace. We are the last line of defense of evil and the direct path to the creators.” “I understand that this is a shrine, as you say, but where am I? I was just in New Mechanos; this place is strange and new to me.” The one of air waves it arm, and images appear before me. The sight of my home is shown and images of me at the time of the explosion. Then, it moves to images beyond my knowing, a map of some new place. “This is where you are now,” the one of water states, gesturing to an island on the southernmost point. “This place is holy and must not be disturbed. To do so, you will be made to suffer. Venture to this island here. There you will meet a small keep of people who have lived here since our beginning.” With that, they all wave an arm, and a swirl of light and wind envelops me. Now on a beach and in the distance, a large spec of land is visible. The only other thing is a small boat with a pack to the right of me. In disbelief, I head to the boat, pushing it out to what I hope is the sea, heading to this new future that had been bestowed upon me. Nightfall beckons when I find myself about halfway to the island. My arms tire from the events of the day, and my belly aches for food. Searching the bag that was in the boat, I find a loaf of bread and a small leather bladder of water. Feasting on the bread and looking at what else might be in the bag, the contents are a knife, a small rod of metal, some crumbs, and a blanket. I wrap myself in up with the blanket, holding the rod, and turn it over and over in my hand, looking into it. There are strange markings inscribed on its body. Lying there gazing up

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to the heavens, a sky so new and unfamiliar to me as the is the rest of the place that surrounds me, my eyes grow heavy and fall into slumber. The heat of the morning sun wakens me to show that the boat has been beached. I check my surroundings and see small plumes of smoke coming from what I hope is a nearby friendly village or camp. Making headway, I toss all of the contents I now own into the bag, save the knife, which is placed on the back side of my belt, the handle facing my right side. As the approach of what I now know is a village gets closer, several people swarm from their homes, chattering in hushed voices. Three people, one dressed in a robe of some type, the others in what looks like leather armor, make their way down to me. As they draw near, the two escorts draw swords, as the one in a robe just pushes their hands down, resheathing their swords. As he gets closer, he speaks to me. “A hun a ko. Meatome to the village of the elders. By your look, you are attempting to fathom how you can understand me.” A simple nod is all that can be mustered. “I am Edwin. I have come to find myself on an island that sits just about a day’s row in that direction,” I say, pointing in the direction of the island of the shrine. To my surprise, the three drop down and bow. “Sir Edwin, you have been blessed. For the island you speak of has only ever shown itself to those deemed worth by fate. Many a man has gone searching for it only to come back empty handed, if returning at all. As for the ability to understand us, look at your chest.” As I do, I now see a tear in my shirt, more than likely from the explosion, with a crest of four markings. “I really do not understand what is going on. Please, could you help me fill in the pieces?” “I am Eta. I am the lord of this island and leader to its people. Please follow us back, and I shall do my best.” We make for the village, seeing the people draped in clothes of robes, trousers, and tunics. As we walk through the village, some turn the gaze away; others bow. Some pretend that something far more important is going on in the houses they have. The village is that of stone and earth; the temperature is warm, the wind blowing. Towards the center of the village is grand stone building. As we enter, the guards stand tall as we pass, moving out of our way and opening doors. We make our way to a room located some distance inside. We sit at a large table side by side. The next moments pass by quickly, but as I soon learn, it was almost the whole day. We exchange tales back and forth of each of our worlds, telling one another of our journey through life. It ends on a hopeful note for me. There is hope of

a return to New Mechanos for me. “Your adventure ahead will be filled with danger and excitement,” Lord Eta states. “To the east lies an island that once housed a great and powerful mage. This mage had traveled to other realms and learned many things. As he passed into the void, his knowledge, wealth, and power lie in what was his fortress. The best chance you have of return would lie there. However, be warned that all who have ventured have never returned.” I thank him and ask to stay the night and make way at first light. He acknowledges and gestures for a maid to show me the way. Bending over to grab my bag, the rod falls out and smashes to the ground, cracking the floor. “I am deeply sorry, sir, for this; is there any…” He attempts to pick it up but fails to lift it. Seeing such a sight stops me dead in my tracks. I bend down and pick it up with ease; now, in turn, he just stares, mouth gaping. A small whisper is uttered: “Item of legacy.”

Seaside Skyline By Sultan Alsmaeel

Photograph

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Guardians of a Watery Grave By Melody Halsrud

Pen

Edwin’s Trials By Chazz Lee The sun sets; slowly I turn away from the balcony. An “Item of Legacy” is what Lord Eta said. My room dimming with the fading rays of the sun showed me the gifts that the people of this small island have given me. I look, making a list as I go of what will be used on my venture to the mage’s fortress. New clothes, boots, a sword, legging wraps, a book, a walking stick. My attention has shifted to the book that lies next to my bed, a small book made of blue felt with markings like those which reside on my chest. As I pick up the book, a blinding light strikes my eyes. A beautiful lady of radiant light and garbed in silks calls out to me. “Edwin, you are about to venture on a journey that will not lead you to the home you so seek. This adventure will push you in ways you do not yet understand. There in the fortress of the Karn the Mad you will find more than just his old spells.” She gestured with her right arm, and an image like that on the island of the elements appeared before me. “When you venture there deep in his fortress, there is a chest that holds items just like that which you now hold.” The rod, the Item of Legacy, floated towards her. “This is Sjachner, the shadow spear. This item might be with you; however, its true master is not yet born. It is given to you by the Gods so that you might reunite the Items of Legacy and aid in the restoration of balance. A great and powerful evil is being set upon the land as we speak now. Valan, once a boy saved by the Gods, has been tainted with the evil of a Daemon Dragon, Tervan. Tervan is set on the destruction of the creatures and beings that are of the main land of Naru. Please aid us in this time of need, and you will be rewarded with powers to help you make a home of the world like that of yours, New Mechanos. Almost as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone without a trace and the book as well. I laid there in my bed now, turning the rod over and over in my hand. “Sjachner,” I said. “The shadow spear.” I slowly started to drift off into slumber. Such dreams came into my head. A wisp of a shadow stood before me. In a deep and harsh voice it uttered, “I am the spirit of Sjachner. Though you are not the one that is destined to wield my power, I do hereby swear that you shall have my aid in your times of need until my master finds me. If you need me, you need only to call my name.”

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A blinding light of dark flames roared around my in a circle. Sjachner was gone, and before me now, I could see three people, one of the black flame which lay around me. The next bore an emblem of a broken chain, chains dangling around his body. The last was made of emerald and stood in the front of the other two. With an eerie echo, they said, “Please do not fail in your mission. We have not yet been born but we shall be soon. If you fail in your efforts, this realm will be only the first to fall. New Mechanos will be the next.” A dark being appeared between us, slaying the one of flames. Now turning to me with a deep and sinister voice, it said “I AM VALAN!” **** The warmth of the sun licked my face as knocking on my door made me jump up. “Sir Edwin, it is time for your feast before you leave; please get dressed and meet in the great hall. “Okay, I will be down in a moment,” I said, rubbing my eyes and still attempting to grasp the dream I just had. Dressed in what I gathered as adventures clothes, I don all the gear and make for the great hall to feast. The servants and people of the keep moved around me or would stop to bow if they had nothing to do at the moment. They saw me as some sort of god-like being or one that is blessed by them. When I first came into this realm from the explosion that knocked me here, I saw what I was told later were the true Gods of the world, the Four Elements. They sent me here as part of some grand plan they have, I am sure. I sit next to Lord Eta, who is wearing a different colored robe than yesterday; this time it is black. We eat and chat about how I will get to the island to the east. A vessel will sail me to that point, but from there, it will return home a longer way to keep safe. Once ashore, it is about a half day’s trip by foot. I feel better knowing that I am no longer really alone. Sjachner will be there to aid me if needed. With our talk ending at the harbor, Lord Eta hugs me and tells me thank you for such blessings on his people. The next week passes slowly and safely. With the island in our sights on the eighth day, they pull in as close as they can or dare and send me on my way on a long boat. I make it to shore as the sun hangs high in the sky. The island is rich with wildlife and deep green vegetation that offers much needed shade. I rest only just a bit and make my heading as Lord Eta told me to, looking at my shadow and heading towards where my head pointed. By sunset, I make it to a point where I can see Karn’s decrepit fortress. The night passes, as I sleep on edge with the fear of things killing me, eating me with each passing new sound. As dawn comes, I gladly greet it and make for the fortress. To my surprise, there is nothing really left. No

creatures like some of the people told me. No ever-powerful wealth of books. Nothing. Overgrown plant life at every turn. As the sun looms ever closer to being directly over me, Sjachner starts to vibrate. When I walked in one direction, it would get softer; the opposite, it grew stronger. Moving towards the stronger vibrations, I discover a small room. In it are two chests. I approach one and open it, with the rotting wood falling as I do so. The contents are a small metal box, a vest of some type, and four small orbs: one deep blue, another white, the next black and the last blood red. As I touch them, they are absorbed into my body, and I am unsure what just happened. Sjachner is going nuts as I opened the next one. Inside, there are an orb of black, the size of my first; and three rods like Sjachner, each with different markings and different sizes. Still holding Sjachner, I lean in to touch one of them as they all rocket in every direction into the air then out of sight. A slight scraping sound, directly behind me brings my attention back to my surroundings and not the sight I just witnessed. As I turn my gaze in that direction, a grand and deadly looking beast covered in scales and fangs stands some hundred feet away, greeting me with a terrifying roar that makes some of stone work fall. Barely able to utter anything, I say in a hushed voice, “Sjachner, please help me.” Sjachner, escaping my grasp, moves toward the beast, transforming into a great and powerful halberd of dark, shining metals. It floats around the beast, hitting it with such force to make it stumble and lose its balance. In disbelief of what my eyes saw, I did not see it swat its tail at me till it was nearing. Raising my right hand to shield myself, a blast of radiant energy shoots forth from my palm. “The ancient beam magic,” Sjachner says in my head; “try the same thing with your left now.” Without delay, I do so to see a beam of fire smite the creature to the ground. Sjachner transforms back to the rod I carried around, and now know that I am something more than just Edwin. I am Edwin the beam master.

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The Nurturer By Laura Rhodes Jimenez

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Lovely My Lady By Jesse Martinez lovely my lady so fine and so fair oh beautiful and paramount the day our paths did cross. like diamonds dozens rare is comparable the opportunity. hold fast, take care, take care, take care, for all the days spent by your side cannot compare to other days wasted elsewhere for those days apart prove to tie the knot of our woven hearts tighter and tighter. how could someone like I come up roses? like all those in the field forever our memories last together till death does us wrong, splits us apart without concern but like a match in heaven we return.

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What Is Philosophy? By Sultan A. Al Maghlooth A lot of people mistake philosophy when they say, “My philosophy is,” or “She lives by her own philosophy”; at least I used to do so. Philosophy is not just a simple theory or an idea; it’s way more and much deeper than that. The word "philosophy" literally means "love of wisdom." Philosophy is an activity, a quest after wisdom, a unique, comprehensive, critical, sophisticated way of thinking; perhaps it would be the ultimate method of thinking for a human being. Philosophy is divided into many sub-fields; these include metaphysics, epistemology, and ethics. Philosophy is not just a major for those who can’t do math or are not in the mood for science courses; it more than that. Philosophy is the critical examination of concepts and beliefs, and it never bad to understand why we believe what we believe and to understand whether we should believe it or not, whether we know it or not. We do philosophy in our every day life. It reflects heavily on our life in ethics, religion, politics, relationships, our decisions, our actions, and other subjects that are crucial in defining who we are. We need philosophy because we need to know whether the material world of daily life is the only one that exists, which makes a difference between living for this life or for some other heavenly afterlife. Shall we live trying to improve things or viewing life as absurd and meaningless and only care for our self-interest with no regard for other people or regard for the environment? Since we live in the age of information and mass communication, philosophy seems to be more important than ever. We need epistemology to be able to sort out, differentiate, and analyze the massive amount of information, claims, and ideas we receive from other people, the media, and the Internet, which has become the number one source of information (right or wrong) for young people. We need ethics to know right from wrong, good from bad. We would like to do good if we can, but to do that, we need to know what it means to be good, what kind of actions would be able to achieve it, what do we owe to others, and what do we deserve for ourselves. Having doubts and questions or wanting to find answers doesn’t mean that we don’t have faith, or we are lost, or we are miserable. Seeking knowledge will only lead us to have better understanding. Understanding ourselves will cause us to have better and more fulfilling lives; having better understanding of people will cause us to have better relationships with people; having better understanding for machines will cause us to operate better and for it to last longer. Philosophy is an art of thinking; the more you try and the more you embrace it, the more you appreciate and master it.

Surge on the Beach By Serina Holder

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Life’s Lessons Created My Education By Deborah Hughes It is funny how some people know what they want to be when they reach high school. For me, that never happened. I have done everything from scrubbing toilets to dealing cards in the casinos of Las Vegas. I have also owned by own business as a cosmetologist, and I have done everything in between. I tell people that I am a jack-of-all-trades but a master of none. The only thing that has remained constant is my desire to help people. When the financial crash hit in 2008, my family and I were affected like millions of other Americans. My husband was laid off from his job. It took my husband about two years to find another job in his line of work. Unfortunately, the job would take us away from our friends and family, and here to San Antonio in July of 2011. This is one of the reasons why I am in college pursuing a degree in nursing. Nurses make a decent wage and are always able to find work. With my husband reaching the retirement age of sixty-five in the next five years, I will become the main bread winner in the family and need a career that I not only love but also that will financially keep us comfortable. Now, the second and most important reason is to help people, especially help someone not have to go through what my father has gone through. It was in January of 2007 when I received the news that my father had a mass/tumor on his pancreas. With what I knew medically, I knew that it could be pancreatic cancer, also known as the death sentence. When the doctor came out to let us know about the results of the procedure, he said, “We took several samples and all of them came back benign.” In my mind, that was good. It meant that he did not have pancreatic cancer. Then, the next day I went to visit my father, and he said, “The doctor told me I have pancreatic cancer, and I have six to eight months to live.” I was instantly angry and confused. How could the doctor have told us that the tumors were benign then tell him he has cancer? I did not understand how he could come up with something like that. Either it is cancer, or it is not. So, they set him up with an oncologist and sent him home on hospice to die. It took about six weeks before he could eat anything and keep it down, but after that, he slowly regained his strength and was feeling much better. At the three-month mark, he was having a routine PET scan to check the size of the tumor. The scan revealed that the tumor was gone.

The medical community was baffled. They had never seen such a thing, so they passed it off as a miracle. For the next three years, everything was good. My father went back to work and continued with his life. I also continued with mine. I had just moved to San Antonio and was getting settled. Then, it came, the phone call that would change my life forever. My father and I are very close, so when the phone rang and it was him, I did not think anything of it. I answered, “Hi, Dad, what’s up?” He said,” Deb, it is back.” My heart dropped into my stomach, like bricks dropping on my toes, and then, I got nauseated. I quickly collected myself, and we began to discuss his symptoms. We finished our conversation, and I began my research. It took my about three weeks of searching the Internet, reading endless medical journals, and looking up things that I could not even begin to pronounce. Then, it happened; I started reading this medical journal about a man in Japan. Halfway into it, I began to shake with excitement, and by the time I finished it, I was crying like a baby and shaking like a leaf. I began to print as much information as I could find on this disorder/disease. My father’s mysterious illness finally had a name. It is called Autoimmune Pancreatitis. It mimics pancreatic cancer. Once I told my father, we began collecting all the information and giving it to each of his doctors. They were very reluctant at first, but after one of the doctors had prescribed steroids for him, he was completely symptom free within two days. The other doctors then began to believe that we might have found something. Therefore, they ordered a retest on the pancreatic samples they had taken back in 2007, and they confirmed the diagnosis of Autoimmune Pancreatitis. This disease affects multiple organs including the salivary glands, lungs, eyes, pancreas, and kidney, and they do not even know what else. I continue to do medical research on the Autoimmune Pancreatitis and frequently consult with his doctors on current treatments and new findings. I will continue to do so until I save one or many from going through what my father went through. I will become a nurse and will not only help people, but also help educate them on how to be proactive in their own health. Doctors can and do save many lives; they also sometimes make mistakes. They are, after all, only human, and they are only practicing medicine. If I had done nothing to help find out what was going on with my father then he would probably be dead. I have a strong desire to help people and to save someone from enduring the unnecessary medical procedures my father has had to go through. I may have not known what I wanted to be in high school, but with the life experiences I have had, it has helped me discover what I want to be when I grow up. However, I will never complete my education; I will continue to learn until the day I die.

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The Funeral By Madison Thibeaux Ten people. Ten people surrounding a casket, a hole in the ground, and a headstone. All are silent, yet no tears fall. This person is a nameless person. The little boy who hides behind the tree knows not what he is there for, yet he knows it is important. The elderly couple who fear being alone in the afterlife so will not allow that to befall anyone. The college student whose feet carry him there, yet the purpose is still unknown. The young teenager who was running from his home, a home that was unstable. The guilt he felt for leaving his mother crushes chest. The young gay couple both of whom have faced persecution all their lives and were here in the graveyard hiding so they could see each other. Drawn to the funeral, they came forth. The confused young woman who feels dirty and ashamed for what she is. She came running looking for forgiveness from a stone. The pastor who is there to fulfill his duty and yet is haunted by a dark secret that only appears in the dead of the night. The young woman who was bullied and teased because she was different. Called Emo because she dealt with her pain in the only way she knew how. Her emotions a roaring torrent inside of her body. They are all connected and all apart. These ten people make up the different parts of a single person. The person in the coffin. Male or female, it doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t matter now. They couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t take the pain anymore. They stepped out of the constraints of life. No one cared; no one was there to celebrate a life that was taken through cruelest of means. A life taken at the hand of someone who couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stand it anymore. This person shares something with each of the people attending their funeral. Each of these individuals mourns for a person they have never met, not because no one is there, but because they are drawn to this person. The little boy runs and keeps running after the funeral. A white van speeds around the corner, and the boy is never seen again.

The elderly couple go home understanding that everyone is alone in death. The college student follows his feet to his destiny. Where he ends up, we know naught. The young teenager who goes back for his mother to find her dead. He picks up the shotgun and shoots his father. He will spend the rest of his life waking up from in a cold sweat from images that are burned into the soft tissue of his brain. The young gay couple packs up and run away together. Their families disown them, yet they strive together. The confused young woman finds a woman who doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t make her feel ashamed to be who she is. She helps the young woman understand that she is beautiful in her own way. The pastor takes his own life in the middle of a congregation but not before screaming that the demons were trying to claw their way out of his skull. The young woman who was bullied found a woman who hated herself and helped her realize that there wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t anything wrong with her. This woman helped her to realize that she is beautiful in her own way. Each person went down a different path. Some ended up like that person in the graveyard, and some had a happier ending. Others walked away with a conclusion they had already come to. Darkness and gloom surrounded that funeral, and that gloom will follow each member for the rest of their existence.

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Evening Glow By Serina Holder

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On the Dawn of War By Chazz Lee The sun starts to rise. Peering out onto the horizon, I can see that the blood red sun is peeking over the top of the trees of the Forest of Life and Death. I chuckle at the name still to this date. The dream that awoke me was still sharp in my head, almost painfully in my head. I am standing on a platform witnessing myself dead and limp as a man draped in emerald green weeps over my body. My body explodes into rich dark flames, shooting the man across the room. Another with chains hanging from all over his body catches him. I look back to see myself floating in the air with radiant wings of black flames. The three of us side by side face a man radiant with light, yet sinister feeling in nature, who starts to attack us. Slowly, we all fall lifeless. This was my dream, my nightmare, my vision. I am dressed in the leather armor of our tribe of Amazons. The cloak is a gift from the Lord of the Keep of Dirk. My sword is across the small of my back; my boots are the last item I need to put on. I place my fingers into my mouth and whistle. My hawk Ester swoops in, perching on my shoulder. A loud explosion pulses through the air of the castle, and the building starts to shake, parts of the roof falling. I slip in to my boots and bolt for the main hall, passing maids servants and guards along the way. I see the Lord of the Keep, and as he notices me, he moves toward me, leaving all he was with lost as to why. â&#x20AC;&#x153;My lady, Shala, please take this to the King of Undit and tell him that Tevan is here, and war is upon us.â&#x20AC;? With that, he hands me a scroll that bears the mark of Dirk on it, two small stars and a crescent moon. I nod and make for the side exit facing the forest. I will hug the forest and hide only if I need to. If I sprint, I can make it there by night fall. Looking back as I cross the open field, I can see a wave of large Daemon horde launching fireballs onto the keep. As I round the bend of trees on the edge of the forest, I hear the beating of wings in the distance. Without fail, I plunge into the heat of the forest; fear of being seen sweeps over me. I dive deeper and deeper, and sound seems to follow me now. Have I been spotted and am unaware? I find myself in a clearing, a run

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down and decrepit keep of some nature. Overgrowth of vegetation swallows the building almost whole, save a small dark opening near the base of the forward scout tower. Pressing my fingers to my lips, I let my sharp whistle out and call for Ester. I dive in to the hole, Ester following closely, clinging to the side of the cold stone wall and waiting for the horde to pass. They land at the edge of the clearing, taking on the human form that we are used to seeing most often. “She came this way; Master Darkshine wants her alive.” I don’t even play around and make for the inside of what I hope would be sanctuary. As my eyes adjust, I see a beam of light breaking through in the ceiling. Ester glides from perch to perch being watchful, as I cautiously make for the light. The sound of their wings booming overhead means they think I'm still on the move. To my dismay, there is a statue of an elf or what I believe to be one. There has not been a sighting of elves since Tervan burned all of them, and here, home in the Hundaran Forest, not being born till a full year after this, I never got a chance to see one. Of what seems like light marble, a thin man with a toga has one arm wrapping his waist, the other holding a stone sword. I look to the base, attempting to see if there are any writings, some insight to this man. The language is new and unfamiliar; as I kneel down for a better look, Ester squawks, alerting me to danger. Sword drawn and looking in front and using the edge of my blade as a mirror of sorts, looking behind, I see it slowly lumbering towards me. I stand waiting. The beast is a basilisk and one I dare not mess with. It is monstrous and could easily swallow me whole without effort. When it is close enough and about to spring on what it thinks is unsuspecting prey, I flip backwards on top of its head, driving my blade deep into its skull, which, by the force and its thick head, breaks my sword. Such a shame, seeing as how it was my mother’s, my tribe leader. Keeping the hilt and wrapping it in some spare leather in my sack, I shall now just take the stone sword just in case I need something to beat my foe with. As it is lifted from his skull, the sound of buzzing and a rumble of something tells me I set off a trap. Behind me, I can feel something moving; whirling around, stone sword at the ready, I see that it is not a trap but more of secret room. I make for this room, unsure to the sights I see: stone

boxes with small blinking fires of different color reds and greens. A slick black tile path leads me to a small pedestal with a black smooth stone sitting on it. I pick it up, a sharp prick on my finger; a voice emanates from it. “Blood sample test commencing.” Strange letters and figures scroll across the surface. “Sample test complete.” I still have no idea what it is saying. “Welcome, Avatar Shala!” It was in my tongue. “I am Digital Assistant Computer or DAC. I can help you along your path. Scanning time and galactic positioning. You have not yet become an avatar; please do not store that information at this time. Several large high level basilisks are approaching.” A light shines over me as a red line sweeps me from head to toe. “With your current equipment, death is imminent I suggest retreat.” I run from the room. A glimpse of a bird of black flame catches my eye on my exit; no time for this. I whistle, and Ester follows close as we make for the clearing. IT CAN’T BE. It is nearly nightfall now. By the Gods! I with all the strength, I can run for Undit Kingdom. The blur of branches and trees that have fallen are almost second nature for me as I exit the woods; to my surprise, there it is, the Undit’s castle. Running with a burst of speed, DAC is making all kinds of noise. I shove it into my sack and push harder. A pain in my chest swells. I push through it and press harder, the castle getting larger and larger. The moon is starting to rise now. Just as I am almost there, I lose all my strength, collapsing just outside of the castle. Before I lose consciousness, I swear that I see a man leap from the top of the watch tower wearing all green, cradling me and saying, “You will be fine soon. I, Nicademus, swear it.” Darkness sweeps over me as I fade.

Fall 2014

Desert Terrain with Water By Sultan Alsmaeel

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Nature # 1 By Bandar Alharthi

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Fall 2014

Untitled By Laura Rhodes Jimenez

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The Humble and Reticent Child By Maverick Crawford III Most kids expect school to be a place of refuge or safe environment to learn and meet new people. Teachers and school staff are those individuals students can trust when faced with an issue. Many children are happy and excited to go to school in the morning and be with their friends. In my case, the type of experience I had in school was completely different from most students. My situation first started at a public elementary school on the east side of San Antonio. I remember the teacher I had from pre-k and kindergarten who never liked me being in class. She was abusive in her own way and had a special plan on how to deal with my behavior. When she was upset with me, she would get a rubber band, stretch it as far as she could, and released the band, striking my skin. The rubber band hit my skin so hard that it left cuts and bruises on my hands, arms, and legs. She also would lock me in this pitch dark closet that was far from the class. The closet felt like a sauna, with a stench of soured milk. The heat was so intense that my clothes were drenched in sweat. I heard a noise that sounded like a rat crawling around, but I never discovered where the noise was coming from. I was so scared that my body started shivering. Unfortunately, the teacher would only release me when it was time for lunch. I became use to being locked in a closet because she did it often. My first grade teacher was no better and was much worse. Ever since the first day of school, in my teachers eyes, I was trouble. She would say things to me like, “Maverick, you are the stupidest kid in the world!” and that I’m horrible at everything. It reminded me of my aunt when she told me, “Maverick, you will never amount to anything in life!” or when my own mom said, “Maverick, you don’t know shit.” When I blinked or closed my eyes, she assumed that I was falling asleep. My teacher would approach my desk with a yard ruler and smack my desk as hard as she could. She was so close to my desk that she would even hit the top of my head. One afternoon, she had dismissed the class but left me in the classroom. I had fallen asleep at my desk with a red crayon in my hand. When I awoke and walked over to the door, I noticed it was locked. I was too afraid to move, so I started drawing on the floor, all over the wall, and on my teacher’s desk. When my teacher came back into the classroom, she saw that I had drawn all over the wall, the floor, and the desk with a crayon. She was so furious that her face was turning red, and I thought she was going to erupt. She grabbed my ear and dragged me to the principal’s

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office. She pulled my ear so hard that she almost ripped it off. She pushed me to the principal’s office. She said, “Maverick drew all over my classroom.” The principal was shocked, and he went to tell my mother. Then, my teacher grabbed my ear again and dragged me out of the office to my mother. I was scared about what my mother would do to me after she heard what had happened. I remember my mother would get angry with me. She would lift me from my head and throw me across the room, and I would hit the floor, the wall, or wherever I landed. Often, I feel those injuries and all the blood I would lose. One day I had a massive headache, and I felt like I was going to die because she threw me hard enough to kill me. I was going from bad to worse as I entered middle school and continued being bullied throughout high school. One morning when I was walking to the restroom, a group of students walked up behind me. Then, one of the students pushed me to the ground, and they all started punching me. The blows to my body left me nearly unconscious. I thought I was going into a coma. There was no place to hide, not even the cafeteria. Most students eat lunch in the cafeteria and socialize with others. That was not my case; the cafeteria was not a good place to hide from bullies. I was so afraid of everyone because every student bullied me. I would run to the lunch line, pick up my sandwich, and dash to the restroom far from the cafeteria. The restrooms were very unsanitary and smelled like feces. Thus, hardly any students came to use these restrooms. I would run to the last stall and hide in the corner without any part of my body being seen by anyone. I quickly gobbled down my food in silence and away from bullies. Students and teachers would come in and out of the restrooms, but I remained quiet as possible. There were times when the restrooms were overcrowded, so I had to wait around until everybody left I did not feel safe sitting in a cafeteria eating with bullies looking at me. Even though those restrooms were nasty, it was the only place that I felt safe. After I was finished eating, I would sit in the stall until lunchtime was over. I had to block out the horrible smell because it was the only place I could go. I was too anxious to eat in front of other students who wanted to hurt me. My own family also bullied me, so the bullying never stopped. However, instead of being angry or becoming a bully myself, I restrained myself and showed respect to those who hurt me. I continue to absorb the pain but not return evil towards anyone. This experience has made me humble because I did not fight back, and I learned to forgive my enemies, to let go of any anger I had towards them. I am reticent, at times, to speak up and express my opinions because I was always quiet and too afraid to tell somebody because I feared being hurt by someone else.

Curved Shoreline By Sultan Alsmaeel

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Fall 2014

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I Wrote You Differently By Danielle Lopez

I wrote you differently. Not stereo loud, not humming, or the sound of a feather falling, silent. I wrote you like you were that seashell I found off the coast of the Virgin Islands. I found myself borrowing, listening to parts of you no one hears and falling for the waves like heartbeats, I would say, Let me steal you away. Let me take you home with me.

Seagull Silhouette By Sultan Alsmaeel

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Fall 2014

Sky Is the Limit By Araceli Escamilla

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The Ticket By Lilia P. Mason We all have a Ticket in our hands. This ticket was given to us at birth, by our friend, Death. She asked us to hold it and to guard it with our lives until we wanted to use it. This ticket was to be used in case of an emergency or if we just want to leave this miserable world behind. I had the Ticket in my hands ready to use a couple of times, ready to exchange this Ticket for the price of peace. But the last time, it was taken away by the worry of a psychiatric staff. They handed this ticket to the Logical me to hide it from the Suicidal self. Logical me put it away, saying to Suicidal Self, let the course of our life run its time; don’t tempt our Father’s gift. He has given us limited time in this life as it is, and it is not up to us to judge our end. Death would like nothing better than to collect all of us in one suicidal night, to go early to bed and forget about the rest of our life. Death wants to finish her job early, collect her goal, and go home to the Land of Despair, her home. The Logical Me is here to protect all of our selves from the worst of each other. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy and Pride, also known as the Seven Deadly Sins, try to convince us in all of our selves to cash this ticket out much too early in our life. Have you learned nothing in this, our life? This is a chance to make it all better and to correct the mistakes of our Seven Sinful Selves and their earlier poor choices that they helped advise us to decide what we would like to do at those times in our earlier life. This Ticket is sometimes a curse. The only thing you will get by exchanging this Ticket is to come back as a child and relive your life all over again. And quite frankly, I am scared of this Fate…Death doesn’t care how many times she collects you over again…she gets paid again and again. How many times have we done this? Am I trapped in this loop the rest of my life? This Ticket has been used how many times, I wonder often? All of you good Selves together work hard to take away our Ticket from my hands, our Suicidal Self. Suicidal Self gets our Ticket, and she tries to go and cash it in right away, over and over again. This time I’ll put it away where you, Seven Sins, will not find it so easily this time. Logical Self stored the ticket away in an unmarked box, placed the box away in the sweet memories the Deadly Seven did not really ever care to look at.

Fall 2014

A couple of summers came and went by in peace. It was that time of the year to clean our Sloth’s mess again. I had to go deep inside the head’s Archive to see the Librarian and begin to clean from the attic to the basement, cleaning away the cobwebs and dust of lost memories and place them away in peace once again, cleaner than they were before. As I started to clean the mess that Sloth had done to the Archive, under the supervision of the Logical Self, Lonely Self strayed to the attic in search for what makes it feel better once again. In a strange turn of events, Logical Self did not calculate that Lonely Self would discover the Ticket that was placed inside the unmarked box forgotten by time. Lonely Self saw the ticket and could not believe it! This is the Ticket the Seven always talk about! Lonely Self took it and hid it from Logical Self in one of the pockets that was not so easy to see. The cleansing was done, and all were released to do as they please. The Seven took a long vacation in the back of the mind, where they kept an eye open for a ticket to shine forth brightly once again. What to do? Tough Lonely Self said, “I know! That’s it! I will cast a spell to summon the One who knows how to use the Ticket.” Lonely Self set the altar with fires and stones to call in the Self that knows what do. But Lonely Self did not know the name of the One that knows how to use the Ticket. There is some information that is locked away by Logical Self that is to be kept away from all the other Selves. Lonely Self’s heart’s desire was to mitigate her pain. But Lonely Self and the deadly Seven did not realize that one Self might try to redeem this Ticket for life or for death. You also have one; might I ask you what is your plan? The others in my life have not seen the true value of me; therefore, I lost my Divine Self. I was looking for a quick way to end this pain also. I have also done many dark things in my past. All of the Seven have been in my bloodstream. They helped to cause in me the ultimate pain. Silence was in the air as an unspoken agreement had been made. Let’s keep this Ticket for now, and do not summon the One who knows how to use the Ticket. Let’s try to call on the One that knows how to love. A Deity was seeing this unfold as She smiled from above. My work is done here, Deity told herself; I’ll take those fires and stones away. Not all Tickets are cursed; this one had the power of love. It’s been a long time since the other choice was made. Finally, I’ll get some deserved rest and not collect a suicidal mess, Death told herself. Your Father will be proud of the thing you have done. Don’t let the Seven get in the way. Instead cultivate the virtuous Seven Selves: Purity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness, and Humility. It’s a different task of what you normally do. Don’t indulge in the ill Seven, and instead, indulge in the virtuous Seven. The ticket was cashed for beauty and life.

Teen Idle By Kaylynn Yarelle Barreiro I'm alone in my room with the sound of someone elseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tears, but I still hear lively conversations in my ear. My teeth are straight, my stomach empty. My longest crush has faded lately, but I'm in love with actors all the time. They're the inspiration of my teen life. My life hasn't got any money in my shame, but I crave a luxurious family name. All I want is to pretend for a living, even if the glamor is deceiving. California skies, Hollywood sign. Strolling by the walk of fame, stars on the screen is my game. I crave to be someone else, to save me from myself. I'll memorize the script for days; I'll perform with my soul on display. All its dark ten-foot glory, and it's for a damn good story. Glitter on my eyelids, trying to catch the spotlight for big tips. You know what they say about dreamers in the City of Angels dancing and singing? That they'll eat us alive till we're running and screaming. Even if all I'm chasing is an audience to captivate, there's Bel Air and its golden gates. Ready to tempt me into wanting more. I'll sing my troubles for a glimpse within the microphone. But I stay in my bedroom for the right moments to glorify. Writing songs in the dark, practicing to mystify. Reading books to know a person right from their fictitious minds. Observing people from the safety of my dark blinds. My class is defined by how I act as myself. Fashion, grace, confidence, socializing, and everything else. There are moments where I temporarily really like an actor in a show or movie. I want their talents and their affections portrayed with me. Pale skin, sarcasm with humor, caramel carved cheek bones and charming smiles, dark hair with intense blue eyes. I fall in love every season, feature, song, and I feel alive. Sometimes they're the reason I won't give up on my golden state of dreaming of transforming. I want to work my way to be alongside them performing. To be in their presence while I'm in the security of my character, is a sure way not to faint and shatter. I want these so-called idols to be my friendly rivals.

Fall 2014

Vanity By Danielle Lopez Before this poem turns into something about you, I am going to make it about me. I just wanted to remind myself about the amount of passion that seeps from my pores, and makes its way to the surface. Or about how much truth I am able to hold without even realizing it. I’m always writing about you, and I think it’s time that I finally write about myself to let myself know that it’s okay to fall in love with your solitude. That it’s okay to see yourself before you see others. I am the only one who is allowed to break myself. I cannot be ruined if I don’t let myself become wrecked. My hands are in charge, and if I want to destroy my body I can, because it’s my being, my flesh, my everything attached. There is no such thing as vanity when you are studying your curves and becoming infatuated with the way that your body is able to move. And if I am considered to be conceited for being able to make amends with myself, for being able to flatter myself when I need it the most, so be it. Because I would rather be called arrogant than to shame myself for admiring every piece of me that I have grown so proud of.

Unnatural Blue By Danielle Alonzo

Digital Art

Fall 2014

Prevailing Beauty By Tambra Staley

Photograph

Shame on You By LaTansha Mayberry SHAME ON YOU! I did this. I did that. You did this. You did that. When are you going to take responsibility for your actions? SHAME ON YOU! For ripping my children out of my arms? For treating us like dogs, when we came to live with you? For trying to get me committed to a “crazy” home? For continuing to try and cause damage to me and my children? For walking around like we are the ones who are hurting you? SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME ON YOU! For continuing to allow the devil to use you? For inflicting all kinds of harm and hurt to my children and I? SHAME ON YOU! The more we try to let our guards down, and let you in, here you go, pulling another “stunt.” SHAME ON YOU! You think it is okay for my children to go hungry? To suffer at your hands? SHAME ON YOU! You are going to reap EVERYTHING that you have sown. Until you do right by us. SHAME ON YOU! For EVERY tear that you caused to fall down our bruised and battered cheeks. SHAME ON YOU! For all of your selfishness. SHAME ON YOU! For all of the precious memories that you stole from me and my children. SHAME ON YOU! The more we pray, for you, the more you plot against us. SHAME. ON. YOU.

Fall 2014

A Different Lens By Yvonne De La Fuente I am a mother, wife, sister, daughter, and friend; I have raised six children and enjoy the love of seventeen grandchildren and seven greatgrandchildren. I am independent, physically and mentally fit, and possess the courage of a lion; at least, that is what I once was. Now I am living with multiple physical, emotional, and mental disabilities. I have become dependent on others, which has caused my self-esteem and self-confidence to diminish. I feel like a burden to my family and want to crawl into a hole and give up; however, that is not an option. Defeat has never been and never will be my choice; I must endure. My greatest daily challenge is uncomplicated….acquiring the mental stamina required to get out of bed. Tormented thoughts race through my mind taunting my very existence. You’re unworthy and cannot contribute in any way. You make people uncomfortable around you. They don’t know how to treat you or what to say. Furthermore, you cannot maintain a conversation because you forget so easily. Recollections of days past remind me of the wonderful conversation I had with my daughters, reminiscing of weddings and past birthdays and making plans for future events, the joy I felt when my grandchild jumped into my arms and told me, “I love you.” Those moments, continuing to define a strong and flourishing family bond, give me strength. So with one quick swoop, I jump out of bed and begin my morning. An onlooker would see slow and painful movements with a face masked in agony and fatigue. I see myself through a different lens. My hands stiff with inflammation and swelling make it difficult to grasp objects. This morning, as every morning, the immediate battle is with my bath bar and toothbrush. I try to hold the bar of soap in my hands long enough to satisfactorily cleanse myself. Great! That part is done. A sense of excitement rushes through every part of my body. Now I encounter another battle, brushing my teeth. Slow, intentional movements get the toothpaste on the brush, with some still falling to the counter. Up, down, forward, backward, brush, brush, brush.

It makes it easier to concentrate on what I am doing if I mentally verbalize the action. Disabilities challenge every aspect of my life, and what may appear to be small, insignificant accomplishments to others are great successes to me. An onlooker would become agitated with the amount of time it takes to prepare myself in the morning. I see less energy required as I learn to perform these tasks in a reduced amount of time. I see myself through a different lens. My days, still filled with responsibilities and chores, encounter other obstacles. Judgmental glares from others as I step out of a car marked with a handicap plate. I do not walk with a limp or cane; however, I do have mobility issues. I do not walk with a brace encompassing my joints; however, I do have degenerative diseases and fibromyalgia. I do not have bandages on my body; however, I do have neuropathy and early signs of dementia. Condescending voices all around me only heighten my will to persevere. I am determined to continue contributing to my family and, therefore, society as a whole. Although I may not always remember the type of person I was, before my disabilities, my spirit does. My family has learned to engage me in conversations and activities without feeling alienated. I have learned how to involve them in my life again, instead of shutting them out. I have reclaimed my passion for family gatherings, despite the pain in my joints. I have mastered the art of conversation despite my memory loss. I have reclaimed the will to live and enjoy life, despite everyday struggles. I have learned to see myself through a different lens. From the moment I accepted the limitations my disabilities placed upon me, the possibilities became unlimited. In learning to embrace my disability, I learned how to recreate myself. I was no longer ashamed of the things I could not do, but rather encouraged by my ability to reshape my future and show society I am worthy. I am no longer defined by selfimposed limitations nor those placed upon me by society. I see myself through a different lens. I am defined by the determination and strength I have to continue living a life full of love, joy, and hope. Look through your lens once more, and tell me, what do you see?

Fall 2014

The Real You By Anastacia Casarez In the mirror you do see All the flaws found in thee Reminders of your disgrace Masked away with a false face Come and may you soon see Your true reality Kindness with intelligence Beauty with magnificence Fight away false trickery Always shout never whispering Take your hand in mine Life will be your craziest ride Stay close and hold tight Open eyes see the light I can show you To see again Finally The real truth The real True You

Caribbean Sunset By Pocahontas Luckey

Photograph

Fall 2014

Godâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Gift By Serina Holder

Photograph

s geâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Jud ice o Ch

Wind Walker By Jake Esquivel

It has been a long time. I have been clinging onto this tree for as long as I can remember. I can feel the wind pick up. I can feel the vascular bonds slowly tearing, integrity dropping. But I am a leaf. I have no feeling, just thoughts that float around aimlessly inside of me. The wind picks up some more. I recall the earlier seasons, the slight breeze and the relentless heat, and witnessing my fallen friends being cut down to shreds by giant machines. I worry not, because they will grow back. I fall. The bond has broken. I am lightly caressed in the wind's grip, going whichever way it takes me. My entire life has been the tree. As I float skyward, I see many more like me. Soon, the atmosphere is populated with my brethren, going to nowhere and everywhere, until I land on the street and get mercilessly crushed and ground by a toddler.

Fall 2014

Thoughts of Summer By Laura Rhodes Jimenez I still remember you, your smile, your easy going nature, your scent, the way you made me feel so alive...Oh, yes! For the first time in ages, thanks to you, I was alive! I still remember you, as beautiful as the summer days we spent together, vibrant, sweet, stubborn, and proud. Trying to hide your demons just as desperately as I was trying to hide mine. In you I found something I never knew I needed, or at some point along the trail of the years had lost… in you I found pieces of the girl I used to be, the fire one can feel with just a touch, entwined with kisses that create chaotic storms inside your soul, and envelop two beings in the most pure yet tainted of desires… Oh, yes! I still remember you. And tonight my heart just wants to think of those days we spent together, relentlessly holding on to the feeling only a memory can bring…tonight, my heart just wants to thank you for the moments that we shared, and the evenings I found solace in the warmth of your embrace, those evenings when two lonely fractured souls, odd ends and their demons’ “love” decided to portray, until they saw the light of another summer day.

Two Cockatiels By Melody Halsrud

Pencil and Colored Pencil

Fall 2014

Los manos que nos cubren By Julian Hernandez La construcción a sido una actividad necesaria para el hombre. Desde el inicio de la vida, los seres humanos hemos necesitado un lugar donde habitar y al mismo tiempo una protección que nos cubra tanto de las inclemencias del tiempo como de otros elementos naturales, así desde tiempos inmemorables, un grupo de hombres y mujeres han dedicado su vida y talento, para proveer este beneficio a sus semejantes. Estos creativos, laboriosos hombres y mujeres realizan su misión, enfrentando en ocasiones las inclemencias del clima, como son el frío, el viento, la lluvia y el calor, en ocasiones otros imprevistos que esta fuera de su control. Ellos trabajan en peligrosos acantilados, en busca de los preciados materiales que se requieren para la obra en la cual laboran. Estos héroes anónimos, muchas veces pasan por desapercibidos para el resto de la población, de no ser por algunos contratiempos que causan al realizar su labor en lugares densamente poblados. Ellos como artistas de la construcción, usan sus manos, tal parecieran mágicas, transformando valles en ciudades y piedras en monumentos, los cuales nos sirven de hogar. Todos los edificios, desde escuelas, estadios, templos y hospitales han sido directamente hechos por esas manos artesanales, que le dan un toque artístico y mágico, dejando huella en el tiempo y que al final nos dan un resguardo el la cual pasamos gran parte de nuestras vidas. La construcción es hoy por hoy, una manera de expresar conceptos, diseño y arte a fin de satisfacer la creciente necesidad de hogares en el mundo. Por lo tanto al menos la mitad de nuestras actividades diarias, las realizamos bajo la comodidad de el estar dentro de una construcción, instalación o casa habitación.

Hands Covering Us By Julian Hernandez The construction was a necessary activity for men. Since the start of life, humans have needed a place to live for protection covering us both from weather and other natural elements, and from time immemorial, a group of men and women have dedicated their life and talent to provide this benefit to their peers. These creative, industrious men and women perform their mission, sometimes facing inclement weather, such as cold, wind, rain, and heat, sometimes other contingencies that are out of their control. They work in dangerous cliffs, in search of the precious materials required for the work in which they work. These unsung heroes often go unnoticed for the rest of the population, but for some, setbacks they cause to conduct their work in densely populated places. They are like construction artists, using their hands, which just seem magical, transforming cities and valleys into stone monuments, which serve as our home. All buildings, from schools, stadiums, churches, and hospitals, have been directly made by these artisansâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; hands that give an artistic and magical touch, making their mark in time and in the end give us a receipt on which we spend much of our lives. Construction is today, a way to express concepts, design and art to meet the growing need for homes in the world. So at least half of our daily activities, we perform under the comfort of being in a construction, installation, or household.

Fall 2014

Our Judges Prose: San Juan San Miguel is the Coordinator of the Rose R. Thomas Writing Center at St. Philip’s College. He is also an Adjunct Instructor in the Communications and Learning Department. He has a Master’s Degree in English Literature from UTSA and a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English from St. Mary’s University. He enjoys traveling, cooking (and eating,) cycling, reading, writing, and funding Kickstarter campaigns but most of all basketball! He is currently in pursuit of his lifelong ambition to be an NCAA Division I Men’s Basketball Coach. Poetry: Nereida Reyes has been a staff member of the Rose R. Thomas Writing Center for twelve years. She is a St. Philip’s graduate who received a Bachelor of Arts in English from the University of Texas at San Antonio. As a great grandmother, she still enjoys swimming, cooking, writing poetry, reading, and dismantling the myths embedded in America’s so-called generation gap. Art/Photography: Mitchell Miranda is an award-winning artist, photographer, and graduate of St. Philip’s College. He holds a Bachelor of Arts in Studio Art with a minor in Great Texts of the Western Tradition and a Bachelor of Science in Cultural Anthropology with a focus on World Religion from Baylor University; he received a Master’s Degree in Middle Eastern and Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology from University College London’s Institute of Archaeology and is currently a doctoral student at Reading University in England. His studies have taken him to Europe and Guatemala. His artwork has been on exhibit at Baylor’s Martin Museum of Art and the Hill Country Arts Foundation where he was named a Texas Emerging Artist by James Avery and the Texas Art and Craft Fair. When abroad, he FaceTimes his pet gecko, Little Man.

Fall 2014