Texas High School’s Serendipity Literary Magazine presents
INSOMNIA
Serendipity 2022
Texas High School 4001 Summerhill Road Texarkana, Texas 75503 Phone: 903-794-3891 www.txkisd.net
Table of Contents Emma Allen
Burned Out...............................................................................................................................................................................14,15 weight of the Universe...................................................................................................................................................................27
Allyson Arnold
Bones..............................................................................................................................................................................................15
Jasper Boyer
Overshadowed...............................................................................................................................................................................25
Martha Bratcher
Instructions on How to Keep Company..........................................................................................................................................9 Tandem.....................................................................................................................................................................................28,29
Aislyn Echols
Instructions on How to Be a Minority.............................................................................................................................................6 Candy.............................................................................................................................................................................................20
Jessie Garren
Art....................................................................................................................................................................................................4
Stephanie Jumper
From a Distance........................................................................................................................................................................18,19
Sophie Keller
People are Diamonds......................................................................................................................................................................17
Annabeth Killian
Tapping My Pencil Against the Desk.............................................................................................................................................23
Adam McCarter
2
When I Close My Eyes..............................................................................................................................................................10,11
Hannah McElhiney
Art....................................................................................................................................................................................................7 Art....................................................................................................................................................................................................8 Art..................................................................................................................................................................................................13 Art..................................................................................................................................................................................................16 Art..................................................................................................................................................................................................21
Phoebe Neff
A Traditional Dance.......................................................................................................................................................................24
Lilian Nielson
Photo..............................................................................................................................................................................................10 Photo..............................................................................................................................................................................................18
Sydney Rowe
Photo..............................................................................................................................................................................................22
Sam Tirrito
Poem..............................................................................................................................................................................................26
Tyler Unger
I Can’t Sleep.....................................................................................................................................................................................4
Ryan Kate Walker
Internal Conflict...............................................................................................................................................................................5
Lynnley Whitlock
Untitled..........................................................................................................................................................................................21
Kailyn Williams
Wish...............................................................................................................................................................................................12
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I Can’t Sleep By Tyler Unger I can’t sleep My mind won’t allow me The cloud of anxiety that swallows the fake Will swallow me until I break I can’t sleep The dogs are barking It’s dark and the night only grows colder As the child in me grows older I can’t sleep I must stay up To complete the papers, red as they ran With the blood of my blistered hands I can’t sleep I’m too addicted To feeling tired and complaining For the thrill comes from the straining I can’t sleep The dawn is breaking And the whole town is waking And now I’m not taking Any of the calls that keep me taken Away from the simpler times I can’t sleep And I never will, never again
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Art by Jessie Garren
Internal Conflict By Ryan Kate Walker Night after night I lay awake Thinking of you It’s impossible to sleep All the “what ifs” in my head My mind is hit with the painful memories Your words leave me crying All alone in my bed With no rest in mind My thoughts are just bullets Tearing into the sound of the silence Although you’re sleeping just fine Safe and sound like a baby With your perfect little life I envy your slumber How do you sleep at night As the night goes on I’m sucked into the darkness Tears roll down my face My breath turns shallow I try to scream but there’s no noise All I wish is to drown in the quiet Sweet sleep gets further away I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired Days drag on and the night lasts forever It’s getting harder just to keep it together
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Instructions on How to Be a Minority By Aislyn Echols
Look around yourself. Realize that the world was designed to put you last. The world doesn’t live for you, you live for it.
You live to be the bottom of the barrel, because someone has to. You are meant to be crushed by those more important than yourself. You live to be the oppressed, because you can’t have the best without the worst. You’ve been given, no, gifted the honorable title of sacrificial lamb and shall watch helplessly as the world feeds on you, and others that mirror you, like the hungry, twisted fox it is. Taking only enough that you want to die, but it won’t allow you that pleasure. Admire at the best of the best and realize that you will never be there. Idolize the one or two of your kind that made it, while being ignorant to the thousands that prove your worthlessness. There are few who reach the top, many who strive to be those few, and many more that have accepted their fate quietly. Look at those who are said to protect you, and live in constant fear. Be afraid when you step out of your house. Be afraid when you go to work. Be afraid when you are lying in your bed at night. Don’t even think of stepping out of line, you’ll only give them more fuel to add to your living pyre. What did you do? Well, you lived, and that is a crime sinister enough for punishment. Always be perfect. There are eyes watching you constantly. You are walking on a thin tightrope and the crowd waits for you to fall, that’s what they came here to see after all. Some will throw whatever they can at you: wallets, phones, keys, popcorn. It doesn’t matter what they lose, as long as you fall. Their cheers will be deafening as you greet the iron hands of fate. Children will squeal with joy and excitement as your life is drained from your body. This is the main performance. This isn’t your life, you are merely a vessel, a toy. You dance on a string. You will swallow fire. You will be entertaining, otherwise the real show begins. They feed off of you, even if they don’t know it, because that’s all they know how to do. The man helping you off the streets is the one that bought your house from under you. The woman that offers you her extra umbrella is the one that locked the store. The child that offers you a towel is the one that threw the drink. The life you live is not your own. Live to be crushed. Live to be laughed at. Live only to fall.
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But don’t get mad at me, I’m just the messenger. That is the nature of the world.
Art by Hannah McElhiney
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Art by Hannah McElhiney
Instructions on How to Keep Company
Begin by forgetting any preconceived ideas and beliefs you may have, prepare a blank canvas, let your soul become a shell, lose yourself. Any relevant company favors those they can influence, become accustomed to that indescribable feeling of emptiness. Let it consume you, accept it, and reap its benefits.
By Martha Bratcher
Educate yourself on the latest trends, quickly forget the ones that have fallen out of fashion, lest you fall with them. Hold them at arm’s length, ready to befriend or discard. Once you have mastered this art, I think you’ll be well on your way. Know that when one approaches you, they aren’t offering their companionship. Their ears will remain deaf to your troubles, their eyes blind to your pain. You may know their name, but they will always be a stranger, as you are to them. They are giving you—and although they seem to not know, deep down they do, we all do—they are gifting you with a temporary contract, a promise to keep each other company if the other happens to be around. A portrait creating the appearance of normality and higher status. An agreement easily disregarded once it has become bothersome to either party. And after many of these contracts have been constructed and terminated (but this will happen much later), you can despair in the emptiness you have surrendered to, realizing that you will always be merely a shell of the person you abandoned so long ago. In your mission for societal acceptance you rescinded your youth and happiness. But what did you expect, what more do you want? You don’t know anymore, all you know is the satisfaction of blending in the crowd, being wanted by the masses. So quickly, forget also that gloomy revelation, bind yourself to that decision you made so long ago and let your conscience remain free of doubt. Pay no mind to the withering of your sanity. Save your cries for the dark of your desolate home. Afterwards, grab a drink at your local cafe and chat with a newly formed, utterly boring, acquaintance, and please, don’t converse in a way that gives away such fickle inner turmoil and leave them to deal with their own.
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Part One Little rivers And little streams Flowing ever onward And ever in my mind
When I Close My Eyes
By Adam McCarter
Swaying grass And swaying leaves Dancing along the ground And along the horizon’s line
I see caves I see the quakes of the earth Broad ravines delving down Creating great chasms far below
A waterfall creates a blanket And it covers the world The very dirt lies still Like a statue none may ever know
A bird’s wings disturb a silence Not broken for an age Echoes of echoes And silence comes again Light is cast down Many shadows are born Animals cower from the rain Hiding from a storm Viewing massive mountains Seeming to continually gain grandeur Lets me love And never forget my Nature.
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Part Two Large factories And larger industries Growing always And increasing in my mind The dirt has been dug up And the mountains now erode The smog blocks the light In the darkness we are trapped.
And though I long to be blind I know I will still perceive That smell of smoke Makes me choke
Oh humanity! Have humanity! And look at what you wrought Look at the desolation See the losses are a lot
The silence is now gone As the iron clangs and steel tings Peace has been broken And guns cease to fire now
Now we can’t go back And now all is lost Look at all the beauty To the side you have tossed
The chill of the metal Reminds me of death. When did it come to this? Why and how? Trees have been chopped No grass is left The rivers are dammed The caves have been mined
Now it’s but a memory Of times gone by The bell has been struck And the era did die
The animals are gone And the river turn dry The magnificence is but a memory Only my knowledge can arise.
Nature, oh Nature! You are always on my mind And I yearn to think of you all the time When I close my eyes.
Photo by Lilian Nielson
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Wish I used to wish My eyes were blue, And my hair was straight. My skin was fairer, And my nose was smaller. My legs weren’t as skinny, And my stomach was. I used to wish That I would change, The same feelings that All girls feel All the time. I used to wish That I didn’t look different, That I would fit in, That I would blend. I used to wish, That I looked the same As the girls on magazines, The girls on the runways, The girls on Instagram. I used to wish That I could match Ideal beauty standards.
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By Kailyn Williams But as years have passed, As I’ve gazed deeper Into my mirror, Into my appearance, I’ve realized there is No such thing as a beauty standard. Now, I never wish My eyes were blue, Or my hair was straight. I never wish My skin was fair, Or my nose was tiny. I never wish My legs were thicker, Or my stomach was flatter. I now know Beauty can be found anywhere, In any shape, In any size, In any color, Because beauty Knows no limits.
Art by Hannah McElhiney
Burned Out
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By Emma Allen
Aidan’s shadow dances over the walls, the shaking of her hand combining with the flickering of her lantern and rough-hewn sides of the cave to make a contortionist of her dark reflection. Her nerves send tingles through her body, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toenails. It’s a curious thing— her anxious mind— when she’s the one who insisted on coming down here in the first place. Mama had forbidden her to venture any further than where the sunlight brushed its fingers against the entrance. But Mama went to town today. Besides, how is Aidan supposed to stay away from such an adventure? She would find gold and diamonds and rubies and Mama would finally get her pretty ring Papa hadn’t been able to afford and Imogen would get a nice necklace to match the brand new red dress they would buy for her. The closely knit formations of rock, which had seemed to be drawing nearer just moments before, abruptly broke open into a space so vast Aidan’s weak flame touches only the edge behind her. She creeps forward, squinting to see as far as she can. Out of the very corner of her eye, something glimmered. Turning, she moves toward the glinting, stalagmites tugging at her coat and water dripping into her matted hair from the stalactites above. An expanse of green tinted water stretches out inches from Aidan’s boots, the tops of which are pulling up and flapping about with each step. She’s worn the shoes for about five years now, and her growing feet don’t like that very much, especially since her toes are now exposed to the chilly cavern air. The corners of her lips twitch into a smile when she thinks of Imogen’s eyes, the lake’s color matching that of her sister’s exactly. She moves from the water and deeper into the new vastness ahead. Even with the limited light, Aidan knows the cave is beautiful, and she can’t wait to bring Mama and Papa and Imogen down with her— prove to them it isn’t dangerous like they said. That is, until she sighs so contentedly that her lantern flickers out. If she thought it was dark before, this is like a bonfire next to the sun. The infinite shadows press down on her eyes, forcing them backwards into her skull. She won’t be needing them anyway— there is no light to adjust to. Aidan thrusts her hand into her pocket, feeling around for her extra matches and fumbling with the box. There are only three. Dropping to her knees and setting the lantern in front of her, she strikes the match. In her haste to graze the wick, she jabs her hand carelessly forward. Metal scrapes rock as the lantern rolls away. The sound is deafening in the otherwise silent caverns. Panic wells up inside of her, filling her up all the way to her throat, roiling in her stomach and coming out as short, harried breaths. To calm herself, she chews on her lip and digs her dirt-crusted fingernails into her thighs. After a few deep breaths, she gets to her hands and knees, crawling towards where she thinks she heard the precious lantern roll, her fingers stretching desperately. A spider scuttles over Aidan’s knuckles. She wonders dimly if Papa or Imogen have noticed she’s gone yet. Mama won’t know until she gets back from the town, all the ingredients for her lemon cake in hand. They are supposed to be celebrating Papa’s birthday tonight, and they would eat his favorite stew for dinner, and once they were all full of dinner and sugar, Papa would have tucked Aidan and Imogen into bed, smoothing their hair and singing them to sleep. She already missed his voice, the surprisingly smooth honey baritone coming from the leathery tan skinned and raggedly bearded man that is her father.
Her hands tremble as she gives up on her search, lighting the second match in order to see her lantern, laying sideways and dejected just a few feet to her right. She scrambles over to it, her pace once again causing her to make a mistake. Aidan holds the match sideways, gasping and dropping it as the flames lick her fingers. As she plunges into darkness once more, she grabs the saving grace she had been so close to lighting. The lantern feels familiar under her palms, and tears of relief burn at the back of her throat as she sets it on its base. Aidan steadies her hands as she takes the last match in between her thumb and forefinger. With a practiced flourish, she strikes it and— It didn’t light.
Photo by Allyson Arnold
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People are Diamonds By Sophie Keller People are diamonds. They can come in so many different shapes and sizes, colors and transparencies. Some shine bright, others still waiting to be unearthed. We’re led to believe diamonds are the strongest substance. That they can’t break. But the truth is, each day wears them down: dulls them, slowly erodes the edges until they’re indistinguishable from a rock on the ground. And if you manage to hit the right spot, apply enough pressure, the diamond will shatter into a million pieces like a bottle tossed on the pavement. Nothing is indestructible. Everything has its breaking point, if you know where to aim. People are diamonds.
Art by Hannah McElhiney
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From a Distance By Stephanie Jumper
“What about the protests?” I fell silent in anticipation of her answer. My tour guide was in deep thought about how to approach my mom’s question as we rode to our hotel. With only a few seconds delay, she slouched her shoulders, stiffened her lip and responded in broken English. “That will be no problem.” I sighed in relief at her response, but there definitely was a problem. It goes by the name of the Hong Kong protests. Although initially a debate over China’s proposed extradition bill, the Hong Kong protests have evolved into much more. Democratic locals are fighting to maintain the region’s independence and prevent its suffocating under China’s leadership. While the protests show Hong Kong’s persistence, it costs the safety of many. June 12, 2019, was the first time tear gas was involved in the protests. June 16 saw the biggest march in the history of Hong Kong. And June 19 saw me cautiously tiptoe into the city in question. Those facts seem daunting in retrospect. However, I didn’t know either of them until I entered Hong Kong. The Chinese government bans many social media platforms in mainland China, where I resided for the week prior to my Hong Kong visit. This kept me in the dark regarding the protests’ status. As a result, I was thrown for a shock upon entering Hong Kong’s unstable environment for the first time. Hong Kong’s atmosphere was, at first glance, anticlimactic. I never stumbled upon maddening crowds waving pitchforks in defiance of their despised government. I never witnessed locals sobbing in the streets for fear of their fading rights. Instead, Hong Kong’s political instability presented itself to me more subtly. I wasn’t engulfed in the city’s riots, but I did see the political environment’s impact on a small scale. China’s vicious rule was apparent from every turn. When I noticed any local appearing discontempt, blaming their pouting on politics was a fair assumption. I never saw a real protest in person. I did, however, see the frown on the retailer at the bazaar as he handed me my purchase. I took note of each passerby who glared at the ground while doing their errands. While the source of all of these strangers’ misery may not have been political, there was an uneasiness in the air. It was cold, encumbering and undetectable at first, but it became more apparent as I ventured further into the city. These feelings of uneasiness developed into an odd sense of guilt. As I took in all the differences between my culture and theirs, it grew increasingly difficult to not somehow feel responsible for their suffering.
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An unexpected distinction between the American and Chinese ways of life lay in the walls of Hong Kong. I’d seen graffiti plastered on canvases all over the West, but theirs was unlike any other. In contrast with the typical cartoons painted along the streets of other cities, Hong Kong’s etchings had a serious tone. They were not the usual scribbles and block letters. They were pieces of paper spread along alleyways. Others were simple signs that read “no extradition.” Unlike a lot of graffiti, theirs was not made to look pretty. It was made as imperfect as the lives of its creators. Although each artwork took a slightly different angle on recent events, they all shared the same message: Hong Kong needs help. I, however, was in no place to provide assistance. Being a tourist, I was a neutral force amidst this budding political movement. My opinion of a country I would leave in three days was not relevant. As an impartial spectator, my only role in the protests was to observe as the lives of millions crumbled into pieces. And observe I did, whether I wanted to or not. By day, I watched my tour guide fear her words may fall upon untrustworthy ears. I saw locals stifle their panic to continue with their work week. The daylight showed me the calm before the storm, when the protests were simple displays of discontentment. Night, however, brought out a different side of Hong Kong. Night was when everyone channeled their fear and sadness into anger and pride. Night was when those pitied during the day formed the maddening crowds we see on TV. At night, I observed my surroundings from afar. I still watched as if my viewership affected the situation, but this time I saw Hong Kong’s anguish through the small screen. I watched them beg for freedom from the comfort of my hotel room. The television showed them fight for their rights as I drifted off to sleep in a queen size bed. Never have I felt more disconnected from a group so near to me in distance. That distance grew as I said goodbye to the city that greeted me with cautious words and pleas for help. The city that tried in vain to keep its facade of political stability. The city that made me feel as insignificant as the protesters on the TV. Today, the protests progress further into riots. What impacted me most was in August, when protesters caused the shutdown of the same Hong Kong airport I entered two months before. As these months since my visit turn into years, my memory of Hong Kong fails to fade. I refuse to forget these three fateful days. In the US or China, day or night, one thing still remains apparent to me. The protests are far more complicated than a problem, and it doesn’t take more than a tourist to recognize that.
19 Photo by Lilian Nielson
Candy By Aislyn Echols
I’m feeling hungry, I want some candy. I know eating candy isn’t good for me, But I can’t help it.
More in the pantry, Some in the kitchen, Lots in my parent’s room, The whole house is my candy store.
I search around my room And find my hidden packages, Made safe for just such hungers as this.
I take my candy to the bathroom. I lock myself in, I don’t want people to stop me from eating.
There’s less here than before. Oh, right. I had the same hunger a few months ago. No matter, I’ll find more.
I lay the candy out in front of me— Wait! I reach into the bathroom cabinet, I knew it! More candy!
I scavenge around the house, I need more candy. I find a few pieces in my mom’s purse, I don’t know what type they are, But that doesn’t matter they’ll do the job either way.
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I eat and eat and eat. With every bite, I feel the candy working. My body feels heavier, All the candy is gone, The bathroom disappears. I’m full.
Art by Hannah McElhiney
Untitled
By Lynnley Whitlock
Just a normal day, as I go and play.. I wondered. I looked, as the trash cans were overflowing with garbage, the wind was blowing fiercely. The wind carried the scraps into the field a block away. The children are at play, as each day I watch nature decay. Just as mental disorder is to humans, the negativity spills from the mouth of one, into another’s ears, it brings them down as it lays around in their head looking for a permanent place to leave its mark.
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Tapping My Pencil Against the Desk By Annabeth Killian Tapping my pencil against the desk Wishing this test would be over I studied all night for this moment Why can’t I remember anything The anxiety overpowers me I wish it would all go away I hear the clock ticking A backpack zipping Everyone is staring at me waiting to finish My palms start to sweat I just want to go home Away from the anxiety Away from the stress Away from it all
Photo by Sydney Rowe
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A Traditional Dance By Phoebe Neff
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Overshadowed By Jasper Boyer
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By Samuel Tirrito
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weight of the Universe By Emma Allen the Constellations pull her toward the comfort of meaningless existence, but she is forever grounded on this unforgiving earth. she will never be stronger than the force of Gravity keeping her on lock with her feet planted in the dirt. she needn’t be strong if the Stars would only claim her as their own
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Tandem Michael Bratcher
Don’t neglect yourself just because you’re young Physically or mentally. Your mental health is arguably more important than anything else. Enjoy your school years. Everything changes once you grow up. Being young isn’t all it’s cut out to be, But enjoy the good parts of it. Don’t take education for granted. Intelligence is power. Only you know what you truly want. Do your own research, and don’t let others thoughts control you Even if it’s someone close to you. You are the one living your life, So don’t let others tell you what to do. Their perceptions will never align with yours. Never feel obligated to do something for someone else For any reason. Don’t change your appearance. You’ll look back and wish you didn’t. Try everything. You never know when you’ll have another opportunity. Don’t over indulge. Watch your diet and your health. Most people don’t take care of themselves until something happens. Treat yourself. After working hard, always set aside time to relax.
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Greed is the downfall of many people. Don’t worry about what other people have. Don’t use money to impress others. Having more money doesn’t make you any better than anyone else.
Always be honest with people, And hopefully they’ll be honest with you. Stick with family through thick and thin, As you progress through life, Your siblings will be your closest companions. You never know when those around you will depart, So cherish them dearly every day. Don’t worry about drama. During tough times you find out who your true friends are. Forgive those who have done you wrong. If not, it’ll only hurt you. Holding things in only makes you harder and meaner.
Advice From Two Generations and Martha Bratcher Don’t take peace and silence for granted. Freedom doesn’t last forever, And don’t waste money on things you know you don’t need or will never use. Be frugal. There’s always something much better to spend your money on. But while helping others, don’t be reckless with yourself. You’re the most important person in your life. But don’t let them hold you back.
When it’s finally time to let go, don’t hold on. It will only hurt you. Sometimes you can’t avoid drama, But try to resolve it in the best way, as fast as possible.
I’ve never been able to forgive or forget, And it feels horrible.
So take advantage of everything. Stretch the rules, and get in trouble sometimes.
Speak up. Even if it’s difficult. If you stay reserved you will never advance forward. Words are your greatest weapon. Utilize them, but don’t use them to harm. Words cause much deeper scars than anything else. Scratches heal, but words are remembered forever. Never take the responsibility of your words lightly. If you do everything you’d like to do, You won’t regret what you did or didn’t do. Many people are anxious about aging, But if you live everyday doing what you love, with people you cherish, Aging is a beautiful process. Your time is limited. Deal with things from day to day. Don’t wait for another time, and live every moment like it’s your last. No life is lived perfectly, Live in a way that makes you happy, No matter what anyone or anything says (including this).
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Staff Editor-in-Chief Emma Allen
Cover Artist and Design Editor Aislyn Echols
Editor’s Note It was with the smell of the sixth hallway in my nose and thoughts of the Legend test in my head that I first heard about Serendipity. My freshman year English teacher, Carrie Rayburn, mentioned the literary magazine to anyone who would be interested in submitting. I, for one, wasn’t only interested in submitting— I could picture myself on the staff, reading everyone’s stories and poems, admiring everyone’s photography and paintings. The production class wasn’t open to freshmen, but sophomores were allowed. I knew what I had to do. March came, bringing choice sheets with it. My second year of high school was approaching, and I desperately scanned the columns of classes, but the magazine’s class was nowhere to be found. Disappointment popped the swelling hope in my chest. For the next year, I hardly thought about the magazine, caught up in the whirlwind of suddenly having homework, but it wasn’t long before March came again, this time delivering months of online classes and solitude. I began to think again of Serendipity, of the way the artists of the school might be like me, producing art three times as fast with very few other obligations. I went into junior year with the thought hovering in the back of my mind, wishing I had a place to share my own writings. For all 18 years of my life, I’ve been a Girl Scout. Though my troop’s availability for weekly meetings has greatly diminished over the years, the prospect of the mythical Gold Award project loomed large over our heads. It’s not required, and it takes a lot of work, but it’s a huge honor both in and out of the Girl Scout sphere. At first, I had no idea what project I would take on. It had to be something I was passionate about— such big undertakings hardly go well when one does not care for the subject. The more I thought, the more demanding that thought in the back of my head became. It was surprisingly easy to get newspaper advisors Potter and Smith’s approval to restart the literary magazine. Sometimes, I still can’t believe they allowed me to head such a tremendous operation. We had no funding, just the programs we already use for the newspaper and myself. Pasting posters around the school, getting advertisements on TigerVision and posting on the literary magazine’s Instagram account were just a few of the things I’ve done in an attempt to highlight the artists around me. Nothing makes me happier about the project than the thought that somewhere in this school, an English teacher mentioned the magazine to their students, and one of them, just as freshman me had, felt a spark in their chest. So to Potter and Smith, thank you for letting me bring this vision to life. To everyone published, congratulations, and thank you for sharing your art with all of us.
--Emma Allen
