Strike Magazine STA Issue 08 - The Living Fears

ISSUE 8 I SAINT AUGUSTINE, FL

Front Cover by Madison Torres Back Cover by Madison Torres

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I was featured in the magazine as a model in that issue and had just started a new minor in Digital Media Production. My interest in production and seeing a vision come to life peaked. I sketched notes and vision boards for potential magazine concepts in my free time. I jokingly mentioned this idea to Evita Carrasco, our Issue 08 Creative Director, who urged me to ask about the Editorin-Chief position. I was tempted. I had become obsessed with the thrill of turning a concept into something tangible, like how screenwriters bring characters to life on screen. I wanted to replicate that feeling within the world of magazine publication.

But it’s not the title of EIC that I’m most proud of; it’s the creative involvement.

It’s electrifying to develop and build on concepts, much like working on a novel in the dark hours of the night. There’s nothing like it for me. Yet, even as I juggled multiple roles during Issue 07, Catalog—three of which were director positions—I constantly felt like I was falling behind my visionary peers. I would look around at all these brilliantly creative individuals and wonder how I, someone who once knew so little about artistry, could lead a team or serve as a standard-bearer for creative innovation.

Working with this team has been one of the greatest honors in my life. Though being “in charge” can be challenging, it has never felt like just “work.” This team embodies what fashion magazines can aspire to be—delving beyond to uncover more profound stories than the model’s clothes.

Collaborating with Evita to push past the conventional has been extraordinary. We’ve reached into the heart of the Saint Augustine community like never before. Our chapter itself has become a close-knit community. I know each person by name and face; they are some of the most passionate individuals I’ve ever met. The bonds we’ve built here are unforgettable, and the spirit of what we’ve created will stay with me long after the last issue is printed.

The most valuable lesson I’ve learned from this experience is never letting fear prevent you from self-discovery. Too often, we get lost in isolation, loneliness, and doubt.

We stay put—stagnant, marry people we secretly resent, daydream of faraway planets, wonder if monsters are real, or question whether they’re lurking right behind us. Fear can be paralyzing, making us doubt where we belong, but it can’t hold us hostage if we genuinely want change.

Embracing my fear of not being “worthy” pushed me to a place where creativity feels as natural as breathing. I’ve learned that fear only loses its power when we let ourselves grow beyond it. And now, I can’t imagine a world in which I’m not creating something new and meaningful every day.

Letter from the Editor-in-Chief

One of the most significant journeys I’ve traversed during college is overcoming imposter syndrome with imposter syndrome. This phenomenon refers to a psychological experience characterized by feelings of intellectual and professional fraudulence. I began working with Strike for Issue 06, Joie de Vivre, during my junior year. At the time, I was exploring what it truly meant to be creative, having just changed my major to English with a focus on Creative Writing. This nagging voice had always been in my head, urging me to do more than settle for some office job. I felt frustrated that I’d spent half of college taking practical classes instead of engaging my mind in a more fulfilling way.

Love always, Jessica Giraldo

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Letter from the Creative Director 6

The first time I heard about Strike was during the spring semester of my freshman year. Although I had not exchanged any words with the people involved, I came across Daisy Pflaum’s photography and was forever shocked by the professionalism and passion it exuded. Even after a year of knowing about Strike, I had no desire to join.

As a sophomore, doing anything outside of class was a daunting task in itself. But, by chance, I was lucky enough to have a class with Abby Martos, the Issue 05 & 06 EditorIn-Chief. Whenever we finished our design critiques, the conversation had shifted to her role in this student-led magazine. Although I had known about Strike, I felt the urge to keep the conversation going and started to ask her questions about her role, and what made Strike so worthwhile. I was immediately drawn, it sounded fun and like an opportunity to create something tangible.

By the end of the fall semester, Abby had mentioned that she needed an art director.

Although the responsibility felt outside of my comfort zone, she assured me that I was more than capable of handling it when she offered me the job.

Soon after that, I spent the next year and a half as the Lead Director of Strike Saint Augustine. And while there were moments when it felt like I was biting off more than I could chew, I had the chance to meet some of my favorite people through this experience. My design team and I became close-knit friends, where meetings felt like hangouts, and Lindsay Murray the previous Creative Director so graciously passed down the position to me this past year.

During my first fall as a Creative Director, I spent such an incredible time working with such a visionary team. Working alongside our new Editor-in-Chief, Jessica Giraldo, I’ve been able to bring her ideas to life and push the vision for each shoot a little further, creating narratives that go beyond pretty people in pretty clothing. The most recent issue had made me realize the depth of my passion for creative directing. Every shoot we had, everyone worked so well and showed

passion for their work. Additionally, I know during my time on the shoots, we wouldn’t have created this without our Photography Director. Tilghman White or our Production Director, Oliva Pagliuca. My goal has always been to make this more than just a fashion magazine. Over the past three months, I worked with our creative team to create a series of dedicated pieces filled with art and hard work.

Beyond the work itself, I am grateful for the friendships and bonds I’ve formed, those friendships I hope to keep. I see so much talent in my peers and hope they continue to pursue their talents with confidence because they have so much to offer.

I appreciate the experience, and I hope you can see the hard work in this issue.

With love, Evita Noelle Carrasco

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I joined the Strike team for Issue 06 as a Public Relations Assistant, then had the honor of stepping into the role of Public Relations Director and, finally, External Affairs Director. Each position brought new challenges, growth, and, most importantly, the connections I made with people who have become lifelong friends.

This semester, I have seen this issue grow firsthand. My goal as External Affairs Director was for Strike to deepen its involvement with our local community.

With our clothing swap, something we started during my first issue, we tried a new approach that truly helped open those doors and strengthen our connections. With these doors now opened, I am so excited to see this growth continue, knowing that our foundation will inspire even more impactful projects and relationships in the future.

As I prepare to close this chapter of life and graduate college, I feel grateful for all that Strike has given me. The experiences, friendships, and memories we’ve built together will stay with me far beyond my college years.

A big thank you goes out to my assistant, Sara Orr, who has been by my side for the past year. I couldn’t have navigated these last semesters without you, and I am so grateful for your hard work and friendship.

I cannot wait to see where your journey takes you.

Finally, a thank you to everyone who has been part of my journey, from the leadership to our amazing staff, and each of you who have inspired me with your creative minds. We’ve created something beautiful together, and I couldn’t be prouder to have played a part in it.

For one last time, Strike out!

Carolyn Smith

Letter from the External Affiars Director

Reflecting on my journey with Strike as we wrap up Issue 08, I can hardly believe how far we’ve come together. My first semester of college feels like a lifetime ago, back when I was unsure of my major and struggling to find a path that felt right.

I first heard about Strike in the dorms my freshman year, but never really took the time to look into it. Then, a group project changed everything. During a group project focused on print media, I was assigned to work with our now Editor-in-Chief, Jessica Giraldo. We chose Strike Magazine as our example. That assignment sparked something within me— I wanted to do something new with my life, to be part of something creative. I decided to jump outside my comfort zone and apply for a role with Jess for the next issue. Little did I know then that this random project would shape the final semesters of my college experience in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

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About The Living Fears Jessica Giraldo

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” — H.P. Lovecraft Fear is a quiet tenant in the mind’s shadows, lying dormant, woven into our subconscious. It nudges at our reactions, evokes and provokes our choices. From real-life relationships to wild conspiracy theories, from ghostly bedtime tales to the sharp-toothed monsters of childhood, fear follows.

It shapes our anxieties about the future, the winding road ahead, the mysteries of death, and whatever lies beyond. Will our minds become mere feasts for worms, their slick bodies sliding through each crevice of our rotting brains? Or do we climb an endless set of stairs—fingers bleeding, splinters digging, exhaustion setting in—only to find ourselves turned away at the gates in the eyes of our grace?

As you turn these pages, let the shadows swallow you. With each story, let fear start as a whisper, a faint chill curling beneath your ribs, growing thicker, heavier.

The journey starts light—a murmur of unease in the background of The American Dream—but as you continue, that murmur deepens, settling low in your chest, a dark weight building with each turn. Until, by the end, you are left alone in the vastness, surrounded by the echo of your own breath. This is the path we offer.

Table of Contents 16

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Eaten Alive

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The American Dream

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Blood Lust

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The Game of Life

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The Cost of CARE-N

Swallowed by the Spectrum: Eaten Alive by Your Authentic Self

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Left of Me

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Domestication

Extraterrestrial

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The Unknown

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Elysian Fields

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Kingdom of Dreams

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Alienated

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The Unknown Appalachia

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The Visible String Theory

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Where Do We Go From Here?

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Death

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The Omnipotent Divine

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Surviving the Scream

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To Return to Love

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The Aesthetic Poignance of Death from a Burton-ized Lens

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From the Rib

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Selaginella Lepidophylla

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The Divide

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Photo by Eli Alexander

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Domestication

Photo by Camille Crawford

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Photos by Camille Crawford

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The American Dream

Within society, there are strict gender roles and stereotypes that we play out in our day to day life. Women do the cooking, cleaning, and take care of the children while men work to provide for their family. Children should be well behaved, receive good grades, and help with chores around the house. They all live as a happy family in their white picket fence lifestyle.

The reality? The “American dream” is a facade given to us by the mass media. This typical nuclear family portrayal is what Americans have strived after for decades. One of the biggest causes of this false ideology is how the “traditional” American family is depicted within the media we consume.

It all started in the 1950’s with broadcast TV becoming widely available to households across the nation. These picture-perfect family stereotypes were heavily depicted through shows like The Donna Reed Show, Leave it to Beaver, and Father Knows Best. During this time, even Walt Disney productions enabled these expectations within families and relationships.

The nuclear family stereotype seemed to slowly diminish after the 1950’s, however, such traditional gender roles stayed prevalent. The 1980’s allowed for reevaluation of these norms and the desire for the “American dream.” Films

like Ordinary People and ET: The Extraterrestrial broke down these stereotypes and showed why they may not be as accurate amongst American households. These movies defied the nuclear image that has been presented within past decades through the depiction of single-parent households and the irrelevancy of traditional gender norms.

Modern shows and movies like Shameless, Don’t Worry Darling, and Bates Motel redefine traditional societal norms by showing realistic families and their dysfunctions. Even our music today shares these messages, with songs like “Dollhouse” by Melanie Martinez, which describes a family who is perfect to the eye, but behind the scenes, has their fair share of problems. “Chained to the Rhythm” by Katy Perry breaks down the distortion these norms and stereotypes truly create.

From the news, daily television, movies, to even the idealization of celebrity families, our media has created a false perception of how the real world is. However, as time progresses, mass media strays more and more from these nuclear views and depicts more progressive household realities. Thus, breaking these perfect 1950’s lifestyle norms and paving way for progressive redefines of traditional gender roles.

By Lydia Corbin 19

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Photo by Camille Crawford

Photos by Eli Alexander

Photo by:Photo Eli Alexander by: Eli

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The Game of Life

by Selah Hassel

Photo by Camille Crawford

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Have you ever wondered if you’re keeping up with the ever-changing, ever-demanding expectations of modern existence? The truth is, you’re supposed to. Fear not, we have the perfect guide to help you navigate the exhilarating roller coaster of this game called life.

Don’t know where to start? That’s alright, you can always rely on an American education. Can you spell debt? Great! That was fun. Now, begin working on a bachelor’s degree, then upgrade to a master’s, and don’t stop until you’ve accumulated a PhD in something so obscure, you might never discover its actual importance. Nothing screams success like a title.

You’re almost to the Finish Line!

Now, it’s time to reflect on the past and take a short breather. Hope you’ve been saving some of your hard earned cash, because retirement is not cheap. Best case scenario, your children are still alive, so maybe they’ll take you in. However, you will most likely end up at Peaceful Pines Senior Center, where you will spend the rest of your days watching soap operas, playing chess, and sucking on cough drops.

Isn’t that something to look forward to? It seems it’s time for the grand finale—death. While your family meticulously picks out your casket and ensures your obituary reads like a resume of achievements, you are now nothing but food for worms. After all, there is no winning in a game called life.

Photo by Eli Alexander

Feeling a little lonely? The good news is, you are just in time to start thinking about marriage.

Whether it’s with a friend you’ve known your whole life or a stranger you matched with on Hinge, it’s time to tie the knot. For a memory that will last a lifetime, host a wedding that rivals a royal event and ensure every detail is camera ready. Don’t worry about falling out of love, you were probably never in it to begin with. If it makes you feel any better, there’s a 50% chance it will end in divorce.

Now that you have a career path, a spouse, and hopefully a kid or two to feed, it’s time to really start climbing that corporate American dream. We have retirement to think about! Embrace the 60hour workweek and perpetual stress. Forget about work-life balance—true success is measured by how little free time you have. Just think of it as your personal quest to achieve corporate immortality.

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Photo by Camille Crawford

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The Cost of Care-N CARE-N came to our doorstep: bright and shiny, brand spankin’ new.

Promising with her packaging marital bliss is what she’d do.

At first, we thought her cutesy, so demure, so innocent.

But, then she beeped and booped at little things she deemed dissent.

What were her rules? We couldn’t guess.

She hated when I cried, or when my wife went out with friends and came back late at night.

She hated, too, my skin-care routine, my wife’s lack of finesse.

She hated that I always cooked and that I cleaned the best.

She loved when I worked out, though, or cracked a cold one after work.

She loved it when my wife took naps or had red wine and twerked.

She loved when we had children over.

That’s when she was happiest.

But, she scolded how we breathed relief when they left again, at last.

Finally, one day, CARE-N couldn’t take it anymore.

She lost her shit cause we did drag to see Sasha Velour.

I– with lashes, red lips, too, and my wife’s pink cocktail dress– and wifey in her suit and tie made CARE-N kinda pressed.

She started smoking, spinning ‘round.

We stood back, stupefied as CARE-N screamed “cannot compute” and burst to flames and died.

- Olivia Garvey 26

Photo by Camille Crawford 27

Eaten

alive 28

e 29 Photo by Madison Torres

Photo by Joelle Pakes, Camille Crawford

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BLOOD LUST

He opens his arms wide and like a desperate magnet, I go to him.

My aching flesh desperate to be one with his. Fingers tracing shapes along goose flesh. His jaw unhinges, though I do not notice.

Not right away. I want him to consume me wholly.

Mind, body, and soul. “Please” I beg. And he laughs, our skin so entwined I do not know where he ends and I begin.

He is all I want, all I need.

I barely notice as his teeth sink into my smooth flesh, creating holes as he rips me to shreds. I love him. I don’t know if he loves me. I would do anything for him.

Until my flesh is his. Until we are indistinguishable from one another. Until I am just as beautiful as he is. Until my features mirror his. For eventually, we will become one under the eyes of death. A sin.

A monster. An abomination.

The sound of flesh ripping, tearing, breaking free from the bone that holds it in place echoes, drowning out the sound of the world around us. I love him, but we could never be together. Just as Eve is born of Adam, a rib is torn from my chest and he holds it close.

The original sin sullied even more as man lies with man.

I love him, but I know I am about to lose him. The world around me grows darker now.

The sound of ripping grows fainter. I watch as my blood drips from his teeth, lips curled into a cruel smile.

He hums a facsimile of a lullaby, blood pooling around us. “I love you” I say. He just laughs at me. He kisses me, and even though my vision is fading, I feel his teeth against mine, scraping against my lips until the world around me is black.

- E. Dunsmuir 31

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Photo by Joelle Pakes

Photo by Joelle Pakes, Madison Torres

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SWALLOWED BY THE SPECTRUM Eaten Alive by Your Authentic Self Jay Cruz

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Photo by Joelle Pakes, Madison Torres

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Sincerely, Your little girl

Please, listen to me when I say thisthis is who I really am.

Oftentimes I pray to God about things outside of my control, and yet I lay there on my knees with no answer.

I cannot control the flood of emotional thoughts I feel that drown out my existence.

Mom please do not let go of my hand.

I will always be your little girl.

Will you still kiss my head at night as I dream about her?

Dad, will you please hug me for just a second longer?

I wake up and wish I possessed your war-like masculinity.

I cannot help but be swallowed whole by these never ending, restless thoughts.

Every moment I stand and look in the mirror and am utterly destroyed by these indescribable feelings of dysphoria.

Will you believe me when I say I’m in the wrong body?

I attempt to hide in the shell of the binary I was assigned to and I feel as though I am lying to you, myself, and everyone else.

I am destroyed by society’s perceptions of me and yet, I cannot help but be consumed by the things outside of my assigned nature.

I feel trapped inside of a construct that is not my own.

But this fear is not the only thing that takes a hold of me.

The moment I allow myself to be overtaken by this person that lies deep within me I get a sense of euphoria.

A feeling unmatched with everything I have ever felt before.

God please never take this feeling away from me.

I am infatuated with this feeling.

How can I keep it forever?

I love a world in which I can escape the directionless ways of my physical existence.

I must allow it to take over, I cannot help but allow it to consume the person I am.

Please understand for it is you who made me.

Photo by Joelle Pakes

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Photo by Camille Crawford

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Photo by Joelle Pakes

I was thirteen when I was put on the plate.

They fed me a screen that let my eyes move like my feet.

My fingers were curled from the heat that was radiated through my palms, so my veins became inflamed.

I knew that they would soon taste my boredom like a cup of tea, chew my interests as if it were raw meat, and then swallow my ignorance as if it was all that was left of me.

I knew deep down that one day I would be scooped with a spoon held by a politician or an angry scientist.

I was their dinner, but they were my every meal, they seasoned me like I was the winning deal.

I was garnished on Christmas Eve only to be seen as a turkey that was never truly dead.

They still ate me with every dying breath, with their mouths open and their elbows down pinning me to death, and when I made it past their teeth, I used my eyes and screamed, bit the tongue and kicked with everything that was left of me.

Photo by Madison Torres

Left of Me

Emmy Brutnell 39

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Photo by Emma Chadwick

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Photo by Emma Chadwick

Photo By: Emma

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Freak-girls, green complexions, Freak-girls, green complexions, self-titled Venusians. It is labyrinthine, self-titled Venusians. It is labyrinthine, lonely, terrifying, to be here. lonely, terrifying, to be here.

Homesick for the heavens, where beauty Homesick for the heavens, where beauty wasn’t shied from, or repented for. wasn’t shied from, or repented for.

An earth where we aren’t at war with ourselves.

An earth where we aren’t at war with ourselves.

Connection, we long for across planets.

Connection, we long for across planets.

We reach towards Saturn, rings of ice.

We reach towards Saturn, rings of ice.

The diamond rains of Neptune.

The diamond rains of Neptune.

We follow the North star, pray We follow the North star, pray it’ll lead us home. Moon mountains, it’ll lead us home. Moon mountains, sea foam speckles, dragons made of clay. sea foam speckles, dragons made of clay.

The constellations languidly sway, The constellations languidly sway, and we know we aren’t alone. and we know we aren’t alone.

Collectively, we wander towards the stars.

Collectively, we wander towards the stars.

Mars can hold life, it’s habitable, Mars can hold life, it’s habitable, water once flowed across the landscape. water once flowed across the landscape.

We beg for some cosmic community.

We beg for some cosmic community.

Creatures like us, who love and rage.

Creatures like us, who love and rage.

Who also in the dark feel the weight Who also in the dark feel the weight of the universe on their chests, of the universe on their chests, Mercury in retrograde, saturn transits, Mercury in retrograde, saturn transits, my moon is in cancer. Divinity my moon is in cancer. Divinity and science must influence us, and science must influence us, mere muses of a God-like being, weaved together mere muses of a God-like being, weaved together with scraps of holiness, embroidered with scraps of holiness, embroidered are the crumbs of something sacred, bigger than us. are the crumbs of something sacred, bigger than us.

Larger than consciousness, Larger than consciousness, we believe, therefore there must be we believe, therefore there must be unity amongst the unity heavens. amongst the heavens.

- Jaden Rudd

By Jaden Rudd

Article By:

Photo by Joelle Pakes By: Jaden Rudd

I am an intergalactic idiosyncrasy who has been abandoned on Earth, perpetually searching to be united with a place in which I can call home.

Though I was born of my mother and have walked the Earth my entire life, I cannot shake the feeling that I do not belong here.

Gravity pulls me away from the people in which I walk alongside, there is an entire universe that divides me from everyone else; they cannot see me, they cannot hear me, they cannot understand me.

I spend my time on Earth alone, drifting farther and farther towards a perpetual void, A black hole that seems to be overtaking my soul; the ache of alienation seems to transcend galaxies; I cannot continue existing in a universe in which I am completely alone.

I have an existential envy of the stars; the beauty of their unspoken bond and constellational coexistence, they shine individually yet exist together; listening thoughtfully to my prayers in vain.

Though I cannot orbit the same direction as everyone else, I have the space to think and feel by myself; I should instead find beauty in this orbit around my own existence.

I embody the planetary love of Venus, sharing this love with myself and the life I live; A burning desire to just exist as a being in this universe, no longer needing to prove myself to those who cannot accept me.

I am instead accepted and accompanied by the cosmos, their light shining down on me from light years away; an alien sent on a mission to Earth to spread love, which has given me a newfound appreciation for this planet I inhabit.

- EMILY BRAUNSTEIN

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Photo by Joelle Pakes

Photo by Eli Alexander

Photos by Joelle Pakes

PHOTO 46 BY: EMMA CHADWICK

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Photos by Eli Alexander

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We envy you - sometimes. The way you get to cook under the sun, as we turn the ultraviolet up with cracked, coiled fingers. You get to whisper wishes at the moon, not knowing we’re the ones that make them come true. You name each star, not knowing they are named after us. You talk to strangers and forget what their answers were, blaming your human brain.

But we don’t just envy you, we guide you– we try to at least. We see every heart on earth and can feel who they yearn for.

We introduce you to the people who you need to be introduced to and some of you may want to envy us for that. Some of your hearts have been broken on our timeline. Some of you deny us and are married to the wrong people, but will meet the right person in what you humans call ‘right person, wrong time’. Truth is, there is no such thing as wrong timing.

Since I’ve told you this much, I’ll tell you that my father first stepped on earth in the year 300.

He planted his best creations on Easter Egg Island– an array of rock sculptures imitating human faces. We knew your civilization was coming, so we had to ensure you all would meet the right people in your growing generations. We analyze you from afar and make our discoveries, then we put you in front of a heart- one you have or have not met. Of course, you all don’t see the rope in which we tie from, but that is for you to feel and for us to see. You all like to call it, ‘The Invisible String Theory’; however, on our planet, all we see are ropes tied in different directions, intertwining, knotting up, loosening, and then tightening again.

I thank my father everyday for handing me your world. I couldn’t imagine not knowing your poetic language. And I thank you for showing me that love exists. I can assure you, your love will never be wasted. My name is Ego– nice to meet you.

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Photo by Eli Alexander

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The Unknown

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Photo by Keely Jugans 53

Photo by Keely Jugans

Photo by Tilghman White 54

Photo by Tilghman White

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If someone was given the chance to have the meaning of life handed to them in the palm of their hand, should one take the opportunity?

What benefit is given to a person from having the key to life?

Despair.

How is one capable of trusting someone to obtain such an essential secret to which people dedicate their lives to answering?

The moment a person takes this answer for themselves, they have destroyed their own concept of life itself.

Sharing the secret, if proposed to be true, would ruin those who choose to take it as truth.

The spontaneity in which we are promised everyday would be destroyed and one would be subject to living a life cookie cutter to the product of such an answer.

If one had the opportunity to understand our purpose in this life, waking up would be unnecessary and one would lose interest in living.

The secret to living is not knowing what steps to take next.

There is a frightening beauty in not knowing what path to follow in life.

Letting society give us an answer for how we must live out our lives will leave us nothing more than slaves to a greater power outside of our own soul.

We must not become slaves to a future that is already built in for us, for the ride there would lose its adventure.

Humans stay afloat due to their open space to make mistakes and learn from them along the way.

Banish your curiosity of the meaning of life, let go, and live out your life subjective to a fixed purpose.

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Where Do We Go from Here?

Jay Cruz

Photo by Molly Melton 57

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Photo by Keely Jugans

The Unknown Appalachia

By Camille Crawford

Amid the pines of rural Appalachia, folktales are passed down by generations dating back to colonial America. Just as the tangled mountains stretch across states, so do these ghost stories, captivating all who come across them. Like natives in the new world, those who live along the Appalachian trail are known to be eerie towards tourists, warning them to be cautious around night. Stretching over two thousand miles and reaching six thousand feet, the trail is a test of Mother Nature and its capabilities. Even so, its beauty was an ungodly force to early settlers, who were not accustomed to living among such a natural force. From isolation, settlements along the winding Appalachian road battled more than the forces of nature but also the spirits along it.

The most well-known tale surrounding the million-year-old trail began during the Colonial era in late 1804 when a North Carolinian frontier encountered a witch-like entity along the banks of Red River, Tennessee. The Bell family hoped for prosperity in the new land, and with the labor of enslaved people, they cleared their land and began farming. However, the Appalachian mountains are among the oldest mountain ranges on earth, accommodating generations of different people and, with them, their history. John Bell, the father, was the most prominent victim of strange occurrences on his land and the first to experience it. The first encounter with the infamous “Bell Witch” happened in 1817 after the Bell family had thrived for over a decade. After John walked through his cornfields one night, he encountered a “dog-like” creature, and quickly grabbed his shotgun to attack it. Soon after John’s encounter with the beast, strange disturbances in the Bell home occurred through loud knocking, gnawing sounds, and chains dragging across the floor. After the family ignored the witch’s warnings, the attacks turned physical towards certain members. John and his daughter received most of the abuse, including pinching, striking, and pulling hair. The witch also began having entire conversations with certain members of the family, most of the time as threats and insults towards their father, John Bell.

After three years of the Bell family’s torture, John Bell’s physical health began to decline. After spending months bedridden, Johns’s conditions eventually led to his demise in late 1820. After his death, encounters with the witch declined, and one day, they stopped altogether. The legend of the Bell Family Witch lives on today because it has influenced many books and movies and inspired hundreds of tourists to drive to the rural outskirts of Adams, Tennessee. Stories like The Bell Witch are passed down through generations, but the true origins of these folktales can become blurred.

As said by Irene Yimmongkol, a staff reporter from The Science Survey, “People turn to superstitions in order to retain a sense of understanding when the situations they face are out of their control” (Yimmongkol, “The Spine-Chilling Stories of Appalachia”). As the reporter describes, the folklore surrounding the Appalachian mountains mirrors the natural fear of the unknown. The settlers who isolated themselves along the mysterious formations encountered the superstitious figures as if their psychological essence was manifesting in the otherworld. Human nature will always find solace in explaining the unexplainable, just as the Bell family deemed their evil spirit a witch.

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Photos by Molly Melton

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Kingdom of Dreams

By Miranda Boyd Who will we be when we grow up? Will we end up like Mama and Daddy and fight all the time? Their fighting has put a curse on the house. When the dark comes the creatures of the night are free to play with us. The demons of what was and what is to come dance in our nightmares. During the day, we are protected by the sun. All the shadows disappear and the world becomes ours. The sunlight blesses the ground we walk on and the grass becomes magic. The old white and brown barn becomes a safe haven and we are the queens of the castle. The smell of the moldy wood and iron is a potion and the more we breathe it in, the more powerful our insides will become. The bee hives in the trees are fairy portals, and the anthills lead to underground cities. The butterflies are angels and ladybugs are too. The mosquitos are vampires that eat us up everyday and night. When Mama and Daddy are fighting so bad we can hear it outside, we take the secret passage to the candy store. Nothing can hurt us when we use our sister spells together. If we separated, something terrible would happen. Our hearts would dry up and die, and we would lose our magic forever. We pay for our candy with our pretty coin purses, and go home before the night comes to take the sweet dreams away.

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Photos by Tilghman White

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Photo by Keely Jugans

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DEATH DEATH 64

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“Surviving the Scream: The Evolution and Impact of the Final Girl Trope in Horror Cinema” Kaya O’Rourke

Laurie Strode. Sidney Prescott. Nancy Thompson. Whether you’re a fan of the franchises these women come from or not, there’s no doubt that these names will go down in infamy as some of the most influential slasher “final girls” of all time.

If you’re not a horror aficionado like myself, you might be curious as to what the “final girl” trope is. Coined by Carol J. Clover, the trope refers to the last woman standing in a horror film, who confronts the killer head-on and survives. Emerging from slashers of the 1970s and 1980s, and continuing on in female slasher protagonists of the 21st century, the “final girl” term is worn as a badge of honor by many actresses who helped give life to this trope on the silver screen.

There’s a plethora of different characteristics that define the “final girl.

She’s intelligent, mature, and not afraid to get her hands dirty to protect those around her. She also usually has a connection with the killer in some way.. When she was first introduced, she wasn’t a being of sexual desire, and she abstained from drinking or doing drugs. It’s also important to note that the “final girl” is the film’s inquisitive consciousness, as she’s the one to move the narrative forward and exhibit her growth throughout the film, from damsel to heroine.

1974 had two “final girls,” Jess Bradford (Black Christmas) and Sally Hardesty (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre). The quintessential examples of the trope came about in 1978, 1984, and the revitalization of the trope in 1996, with Laurie Strode (Halloween), Nancy Hardesty (The Nightmare on Elm Street), and Sidney Prescott (Scream). Even now, where a horror movie centered around mysterious phone calls shouldn’t work (because who answers spam calls in this day and age?), modern horror films have created “final girls” who will almost certainly join the ranks of their foremothers, like Grace Le Domas (Ready or Not, 2019), Maxine Minx (X Trilogy, 2022-2024), Samantha Carpenter (Scream, 2022-2023), and Sienna Shaw (Terrifier 2, 2022), to name a few.

From its early portrayals as a symbol of purity and resilience, to its more nuanced and empowered iterations today, the “final girl” has continued to mirror our societal values and fears. As horror films continue to evolve and scare their audiences in new ways, the “final girl” will undoubtedly remain her true self, forcing the monsters she fights and audiences that watch her to challenge their own understanding of heroism, identity, and survival.

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The Aesthetic Poignance of Death from a Burton-ized Lens

For the conventional audience consuming film in the late ‘80s to early ‘90s, the sudden eruption of dreariness and melancholy gothic surrealism spilling from the absurdist subconscious of the now-renowned Tim Burton was shocking and contrarian. His work received conflicted reviews, often surrounding its consistent anti-society message paired alongside a filmography shrouded in death, darkness, and an aesthetic that would soon comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.

Enveloped in a coveted appearance akin to holiday decor during October, Burton’s filmography remains unapologetically suited head-to-toe in purposefully blunt expressions of death, the afterlife, and taboo subject matter that shaped his reputation as a master of portraying gothic romance and stories rooted in their themes of pushing social boundaries, finding sanctuary in difference, and using death itself as a metaphor for either literal or metaphorical transition. Despite the jarring and occasionally frightening material laced throughout Burton’s cinematography, audiences found resonance in the hopeful and aspirational themes underlying these stark visual contrasts, which created a unique and distinctive blend of grim, gothic visuals with a desire for hope, romance, and belonging in a world where acceptance is a currency, and the marginalized are impoverished.

Across all of Burton’s creative works, The Nightmare Before Christmas holds strong as, arguably, his most recognizable and culturally renowned piece. It proudly embellishes literal representations of death, depravity, and the afterlife as the drive behind a story about discovering the importance of loving yourself regardless of your jagged edges. Jack Skellington is acclaimed as an emotionally outlandish caricature of the hopelessness surrounding imposter syndrome. He showcases the irreplaceable value of learning to live authentically, despite the dread that lingers in feeling isolated and drowning in love you can not comprehend that you deserve.

Death serves a starkly different – yet equally important – purpose in Beetlejuice, represented as a literal barricade and potential transition between realms. By representing death as an alternate domain distinctive from the living world, death as a vehicle of transition serves the afterlife as an escape from the horrors of reality which prove more horrifying than the unknown depths of the afterlife’s assumed tranquility.

The living and the dead are universally viewed as technical equals, but Burton portrays death as only a separation of difference, showcasing his perspective of the afterlife as anything but something to fear—to some an escape, to others a world where difference is celebrated, and to all in Burton’s world, something inexplicably beautiful that invites the ostracized to find sanctuary in their difference.

By J.D Sweeney

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Selaginella Lepidophylla Indigo Carter

For as it is dislocation and detachment from the life of God that makes things ugly, the poet, who re-attaches things to nature and the Whole- disposes very easily of the most disagreeable facts.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson Stems curling slowly to spirals: extreme dehydration, repentance, and reproducing spores. Delicate green, delicate rest, continuously adapting. Vascular rooted, unfolding yourself, cycles after death. Clinging and clutching to life. The newborn from the umbilical cord. Jesus from the tomb. Drying desiccation like retribution and revenge for rigid relentlessness. Stem stiffness and spiraling, gasping, yearning. Green to brown, wilting, praying, and then ash. Decay. Dormancy. Nothingness.

Finally then does death yield. Release.

Years of drought. Desert is not unkind, only neutral. Parched. Death is never thirsty, only unkind. Biased.

God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep.

Though, sleep seems fitful and cruel for the resurrection plant, the stone flower, the false rose of Jericho. Water stress, my baby, in your wilt are the grays of my eyes, rise rise rise again. Show me Mephistopheles. Show me sentience.

Romantic resurrection. Temptress.

You are greedy yet alive again, and I, slowly wilting and watching your erotic exultation.

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All photos by Daisy Pflaum

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The

Omnipotent

Divine

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B

eneath the sweeping branches of weeping willows, my sister and I once played by a quiet creek. My sister was always braver than me, eager to swing from the vines, her hair flying wild in the wind as she soared over the water. The swing

seemed so high, the creek below so far away. But one day, with her encouragement, I let go of my fear. I took the vine, pushed off, and for a moment, I felt nothing but pure joy.

Back then, I felt the power of God everywhere—in the laughter of my sister, in the gentle breeze that danced through the branches, and even in the moments of worry that seemed so easy to conquer. As I grew older, I encountered new depths of love, new depths of fear, and was terrified of falling short of God’s expectations.

Faith didn’t feel like the open, loving embrace I had known as a child.

It felt like a series of tests, a constant worry that I wasn’t doing enough, wasn’t Godly enough. I couldn’t reconcile the loving God I had felt in my childhood with the one I’ve come to know —who judged, condemned, and separated people. How could this loving God, the one I trusted so completely, condemn so many of the people I had grown to love?

To explore this dynamic, I spoke with children from my childhood church to understand their early

perceptions of God. Twelve-year-old Lydia explained, “God’s like a friend, but sometimes, I think He gets upset when I do something bad.” And Justin, only ten, echoed that duality: “God is good, but my church says He can get mad if we don’t follow the rules.” It struck me how, at such a young age, they were already grappling with the same tension—God as both loving and strict, protective yet punishing.

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n many ways, I’ve spent my life trying to return to the God I once knew. The willows, once a memory of freedom and joy, now serve as a reminder of a simpler time before fear crept into my beliefs. The churches, though still grand and beautiful, carry the weight of rules that cloud my sense of wonder. I yearn to go back to the willows, back to that awe, where God felt present in every breeze and every moment of laughter. I long to reconnect with the part of me that trusted fully, without the burden, and to find that simple, unshaken faith again.

To Return to Love by Daisy Pflaum

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The hymn of a gunshot erupts like butterflies or the bow rubbed raw on a violin. It rattles, ruptures, lightning strikes in the desert.

The sand, like glass, slices my skin.

The Rapture, it’s here, isn’t it?

Judgment, God, will you forgive me for saying I don’t believe in you?

You watch but don’t whisper, and leave me to die in your eternal glory.

Am I still being punished for the bite of an apple?

It’s forbidden, but it looks so sweet genetically modified, soaked in chemicals.

Sun poisoned and starving, I suckle from the innards of a cactus.

The rib inside me has splintered, split, turned to dust, but with nowhere to return.

The men made in your image tear me apart like a wishbone, and I can’t get into your superlunary paradise.

I murmured soliloquies to you every night did you not hear me?

Can you not hear over the acid rain, death rattles, veins like highways overrun and polluted.

Where are you?

Do you not listen because my voice shakes?

When my bones lay bare will you accept me?

The requiem of my dreams sang over fields of dead grass.

I was not made in your image.

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By Selah Hassel

The Divide: A Child’s Relationship With Faith

O

ne of my earliest childhood memories is sitting in a chapel pew with my Nana, my knees shaking and my palms folded neatly in my lap.

Like many children born into religious spaces, the Holy Bible was one of the first books I encountered. Initially, the stories glistened with novelty and insight about the world. It was not until I started looking for the difference between those stories and other texts I valued that I began to question the validity of my religion. Church started as a nurturing space in my childhood, but that warmth gradually gave way when the teachings began to feel less about the fellowship, and more about controlling behavior through fear.

When I sat down and spoke with Stephen Kampa, a Flagler College English professor, about his experience with religious text, he explained a bit about the sense of comfort that we find by leaning into authority and knowledge.

He said, “As a child, you don’t know that the book is the production of human intelligence, the book is produced with a commercial interest in mind, and that the book, even if it is the most well intended, intelligent version, is still fallible like

people are fallible. That, to me, is what growing up meant, learning that even the best version of human knowledge is a limited and fallible thing.”

It is important we don’t dismiss the core teachings that are found in religious texts, for they serve as guidance in developing foundational beliefs.

However, emphasizing one single truth often disregards the value of doubt and inquiry in youth. Instead of exploring these questions, religious leaders teach children that once faith is established in the minds of children, their lack of innocence can no longer be forgiven.

This is one of the many lessons that starts to instill fear.

It is difficult for humanity to paint faith as something that is black and white. It is more complicated than just practicing a religion “correctly.” Humans should recognize the importance of questioning the world and having a natural curiosity about what adults hand us as children.

We might find faith singing in a church choir, or we might find it far later in life.

Faith should grow from curiosity and wonder, not from fear, reminding us that purity exists within every soul, not just in the doctrine we inherit.

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Staff List

Executive Editor-in-Chief Editor-in-Chief Assistant Creative Director Creative Assistant External Affiars Director External Affairs Assistant

Jessica Giraldo Kaya O’Rourke Evita Carrasco Olivia Pagliuca Carolyn Smith Sara Orr

External Social Media Director (TikTok) Social Media Assistant (TikTok) Social Media Director (Instagram) Social Media Assistant (Instagram)

Emily Braunstein Molly Rose Emma Alley Siena Marsico

Public Relations Director Public Relations Assistants Public Relations Assistant Public Relations Assistant

Sara Orr Kaya O’Rourke Emmy Brutnell Josie Blaisdell

Marketing Director Marketing Assistants

Brigitte Traill Emma Alley Kelsey Hearns

Internal

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Art Director Graphic Designers

Evita Carrasco Dominika Mierzwinska Sofia Cruz Molly Rose Anna Richardson

Fashion Director Fashion Assistant Stylists Stylist Stylist Stylist Stylist Stylist

Abigail Lanza Allyson Woods Haven Doyle Dominika Mierzwinska Sofia Cruz Tre Evans Sophia Johnston Liam Feeney

Beauty Director Makeup Artists Makeup Artist Makeup Artist

Montana Arnold Dominika Mierzwinska Allyson Woods Fae Hunt

Hair Stylist

Jay Cruz

Production Director Production Assistants Production Assistant Production Assistant

Olivia Pagliuca Allyson Woods Eva Milian Lydia Corbin

Photography Director Photography Assistant Photographers Photographer Photographer Photographer Photographer Photographer Photographer

Tilghman White Eli Alexander Daisy Pflaum Madison Torres Emma Chadwick Camille Crawford Keely Jugans Molly Melton Joelle Pakes

Videographer Director Videographers Videographer

Olivia Pagliuca Emmy Brutnell Lily Sara

Casting Director Casting Assistant

Daisy Pflaum Allyson Woods

Writing Director Writing Assistant

Maya Kayyal Kaya O’Rourke

Creative Writing Director Creative Writers Creative Writer Creative Writer Creative Writer Creative Writer Creative Writer Creative Writer Creative Writer Blog Writers Blog Writer Blog Writer Blog Writer Blog Writer Blog Writer Blog Writer Blog Writer

Indigo Carter Indigo Carter Olivia Garvey Emmy Brutnell Emily Braunstein Jay Cruz E Dunsmuir Jaden Rudd

Journalism Director Journalists Journalist Journalist Journalist Journalist

Maya Kayyal Kaya O’Rourke Selah Hassel Camille Crawford J.D. [Jason Dean] Sweeney Lydia Corbin

Staff List

Jessica Giraldo Carolyn Smith Indigo Carter Kaya O’Rourke E Dunsmuir Sophia Massebeau Lydia Corbin Jaden Rudd

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Domestication

Eaten Alive

Extraterrestrial

PHOTOGRAPHY Director: Tilghman White Assistant Director: Eli Alexander Photographer: Camille Crawford

PHOTOGRAPHY Director: Tilghman White Assistant Director: Eli Alexander Photographer: Camille Crawford Photographer: Madison Torres Photographer: Joelle Pakes

PHOTOGRAPHY Director: Tilghman White Assistant Director: Eli Alexander Photographer: Emma Chadwick Photographer: Joelle Pakes

VIDEOGRAPHY Director: Olivia Pagliuca Videographer: Lily Sara PRODUCTION Director: Olivia Pagliuca Production Lead: Jessica Giraldo Production Assistant: Keely Jugans Production Assistant: Allyson Woods Production Assistant: Lydia Corbin Set Builder: Olivia Pagliuca Set Builder: Jessica Giraldo Set Builder: Allyson Woods WARDROBE Fashion Director: Abigail Lanza Fashion Assistant: Allyson Woods Stylist: Tre Evans Stylist: Sophia Johnston

VIDEOGRAPHY Director: Olivia Pagliuca Videographer: Emmy Brutnell PRODUCTION Director: Olivia Pagliuca Production Lead: Jessica Giraldo Production Assistant: Lydia Corbin Production Assistant: Allyson Woods WARDROBE Director: Abigail Lanza Director Assistant: Allyson Woods Stylist: Dominika Mierzwinska Stylist: Sofia Cruz Stylist: Haven Doyle Emily’s Pants: Hannah Tallman

VANITIES Beauty Director: Montana Arnold Hair Stylist: Montana Arnold Makeup Artist: Fae Hunt TALENT Model: Tilghman White Model: Charlotte Schneider DESIGN Graphic Designer: Dominika Mierzwinska

VANITIES Director: Montana Arnold Makeup: Fae Hunt Makeup: Montana Arnold Makeup: Dominika Mierzwinska Makeup: Allyson Woods Hair: Joselyn Cruz Hair: Montana Arnold Nails: Emiline Goodson TALENT Model: Liam Feeney Model: Emily Lacour Model: Julia Wood DESIGN Graphic Designer: Evita Carrasco

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VIDEOGRAPHY Director: Olivia Pagliuca Videographer: Lily Sara PRODUCTION: Director: Olivia Paglicua Production Assistant: Eva Milian Assistant: Lydia Corbin Assistant: Allyson Woods WARDROBE Director: Abigail Lanza Assistant Director: Allyson Woods Stylist: Dominika Mierzwinska Stylist: Tre Evans Stylist: Sophia Johnston VANITIES Director: Montana Arnold Hair: Montana Arnold Hair: Jay Cruz Makeup: Fae Hunt Makeup: Dominika Mierzwinska Makeup: Allyson Woods Nails: Emiline Goodson TALENT Model: Kate Inman Model: Canon Walton Model: Hannah Arc DESIGN Graphic Designer: Sofia Cruz

The Unknown

PHOTOGRAPHY Director: Tilghman White Assistant Director: Eli Alexander Photographer: Keely Jugans Photographer: Molly Melton VIDEOGRAPHY Director: Olivia Pagliuca Videographer: Lily Sara PRODUCTION: Director: Olivia Paglicua Assistant: Lydia Corbin Assistant: Eva Milian WARDROBE: Director: Abigail Lanza Assistant Director: Allyson Woods Stylist: Liam Feeney Stylist: Sofia Cruz Stylist: Haven Doyle Stylist: Sophia Johnston VANITIES Director: Montana Arnold Makeup: Dominika Mierzwinska Makeup: Fae Hunt Hair: Montana Arnold Hair: Jay Cruz TALENT Model: Lydia Blood Model: Josie Blaisdell Model: Riley Comstock

Death

PHOTOGRAPHY Director: Tilghman White Assistant Director: Eli Alexander Photographer: Molly Melton VIDEOGRAPHY Director: Olivia Pagliuca Videographer: Emmy Brutnell PRODUCTION Director: Olivia Paglicua

The Omnipotent Divine

PHOTOGRAPHY Director & Photographer: Daisy Pflaum PRODUCTION Director: Daisy Pflaum TALENT Model: Sude Naz Gündüz DESIGN Graphic Designer: Evita Carrasco

WARDROBE Director: Abigail Lanza Assistant Director: Allyson Woods Stylist: Tre Evans Stylist: Sophia Johnston VANITIES Director: Montana Arnold Makeup: Fae Hunt Makeup: Montana Arnold Hair: Montana Arnold TALENT Model: Haven Doyle Model: Chris Alahouzas DESIGN Graphic Designer: Anna Richardson

DESIGN Graphic Designer: Molly Rose

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Thank you to our Directors

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Thank you to our Staff

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Cover Credits PHOTOGRAPHY Director: Eli Alexander Photographer: Molly Melton Photographer: Madison Torres VIDEOGRAPHY Director: Olivia Pagliuca Videographer: Emmy Brutnell PRODUCTION Director: Olivia Paglicua WARDROBE Director: Abigail Lanza Assistant Director: Allyson Woods Stylist: Liam Feeney Stylist: Haven Doyle VANITIES Director: Montana Arnold Makeup: Allyson Woods Hair: Montana Arnold Nails: Emiline Goodson TALENT Model: Molly Morden

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