2022 Top of Iowa High School Creative Writing Contest Booklet

2022 TOP OF IOWA HIGH SCHOOL CREATIVE WRITING CONTEST

Sponsored by Waldorf University

The 2022 Top of Iowa High School Creative Writing Contest Sponsored by Waldorf University Editorial & Design Team Dr. Ryan Clark, Lead Poetry Editor Dr. Joe Milan, Lead Prose Editor Waldorf Literary Review Staff, Judges for 11-12th Grade Prose & Poetry The Warrior’s Writing Club, Judges for 9-10th Grade Poetry Held annually, the Top of Iowa High School Creative Writing Contest endeavors to further the intellectual conversation in the northern Iowa high school community by providing a public venue for the strongest, most vital creative work submitted by 9th-12th grade students in the Top of Iowa conference and the greater Midwest Region. For more information on the contest please contact Dr. Ryan Clark at ryan.clark@waldorf.edu General submissions are welcome during throughout the school year until established deadlines.

You can email submissions to topofiawriting@gmail.com. Here are a few criteria to keep in mind: Prose: Whether stories are fictional or real, we like strong character development and a plot with rising tension. We are drawn to reflective essays as well—especially when they circle an intriguing topic, seeing it from multiple angles. Good literary fiction or nonfiction tends to illuminate an important human experience and to offer a perspective that is no predictable.

Poetry: We like to be affected emotionally. This often occurs because of vivid, evocative imagery. Since poetry is about musicality as well, the language needs to have patterns and sound effects that contribute to the desired tone. A poem should be pleasing to the ear but not singsongy. A poem should also be inventive in point of view, language, or form.

Poetry: 11th and 12th Grade, Top of Iowa 1 First Place: Madeline Taylor, 12th, Nashua-Plain:ield High School 2 Second Place: Alexandria Reed, 11th, Nashua-Plain:ield High School 5 Third Place: Dayna Klotzbier, 12th, Osage High School 6 Kara Levi, 12th, Nashua-Plain:ield High School 8 Alexandria Reed, 11th, Nashua-Plain:ield High School 10 James Diesburg, 12th, Nashua-Plain:ield High School 11 Jaycie Bilharz, 12th, Nashua-Plain:ield High School 13 Prose: 11th and 12th Grade, Top of Iowa 14 First Place: Raina Miller, 12th, Forest City High School, (Non-:iction) 15 Second Place: Mari Fox, 11th, Osage High School, (Non-:iction) 20 Third Place: Anna Wirtjes, 12th, Forest City High School, (Non-:iction) 25 Honorable Mention: Madeline Taylor, 12th, Nashua-Plain:ield High School, (Fiction) 30 Lucy Young, 11th, St. Ansgar High School, (Fiction) 34 Grace Kobriger, 12th, Forest City High School, (Non-:iction) 37 Gracianna Patrick, 12th, Osage High School (Non-:iction) 42 Bailey Nasstrom, 11th, Osage High School, (Non-:iction) 44 Jalynn Goodale, 11th, Osage High School, (Non-:iction) 48 Poetry: 11th and 12th Grade, Greater Midwest 51 Kira Sotos, 12th, Madison West High School, WI 52 Prose: 11th and 12th Grade, Greater Midwest 55 Kira Sotos, 12th, Madison West High School, WI, (Fiction) 56 Elizabeth Jensen, 11th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Fiction) 62 Evan Watson, 11th, West Marshall High School, IA, (Fiction) 66 Poetry: 9th and 10th Grade, Top of Iowa 71 First Place, Claire Tauro, 10th, West Fork High School 72 Second Place: Deanna Black, 10th, West Fork High School 74 Prose: 9th and 10th Grade, Top of Iowa 75 First Place: Leila Buf:ington, 9th, Osage High School, (Non-:iction) 76 Second Place: Annaliese Arciniega, 9th, Osage High School (Non-Fiction) 81 Henry Mauser, 9th, Osage High School, (Non-:iction) 85 Poetry: 9th and 10th Grade, Greater Midwest 89 Third Place: Emilie Stewart, 9th, Carlisle High School, IA 90 Honorable Mention: Tin Struth, 9th, Interstate 35 Community Schools, IA 94 Hadley Harvey, 9th, Rosevelt High School, IA 99

Isabel Atkinson, 9th, Madrid Jr/Sr High School, IA 101 Kaden Elswick, 10th, Madrid Jr/Sr High School, IA 105 Mila Grothus, 9th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA 107 Jenna Polich, 10th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA 110 Elle Carlson, 9th, West Marshall High School, IA 113 Lillian Lawlor, 10th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA 115 Prose: 9th and 10th Grade, Greater Midwest.

118 First Place: Andrew Hawk, 10th, Williamsburg Jr-Sr High School, IA, (Fiction) 119 Second Place: Tin Struth, 9th, Interstate 35 Community Schools, IA, (Non-:iction)125 Third Place: Lillian Lawlor, 10th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Non-:iction) 129 Brooklyn Murry, 10th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Fiction) 131 Loren Troyer, 9th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Fiction) 135 Hadley Harvey, 9th, Roosevelt High School, IA, (Non-:iction) 139 Mila Grothus, 9th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Fiction) 142

Poetry: 11th and 12th Grade, Top of Iowa

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First Place: Madeline Taylor, 12th, Nashua-Plainfield High School "Demons" I recall the very night my voices came to me, knocking on my mind like the cops knocking on a serial killer's door.

One stern knock then, BAM crashes the door.

I’ve fought my demons for nights on end, laid restless with the thoughts flowing through my head.

I’ve cried so much to the point I was left gagging on my spit.

I’ve hit lows and I’ve hit highs but one high I’ll never come down from is falling in love.

Baby blue eyes stare into my empty soul, a smile so sweet it lights my extinguished heart a blaze.

Love is what saved me from my demons.

Love is what gives me back,

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love is the reason I can’t stop talking and I can’t stop smiling, love is my hope that the demons won’t arise the next morning.

The fear of waking up to an empty phone kills me and leaks the little demon offsprings into my delicate mind.

The delicacy of demons is kind of like a game of jenga, one wrong step sends a swarm of violent voices just how one wrong step makes the whole tower collapse and you have to rebuild.

Rebuild, rebuild, rebuild.

That’s the demon's strategy, to tear you down and make you rebuild, to force you to understand your flaws and accept them.

Some let their demons push them to the edge of a cliff others, like myself, play along with the role of being a simple block in a jenga tower.

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Some like myself, find hope in life all because of a simple pair of eyes.

Oh those baby blue eyes, how grateful I am for them to stare into my lively soul, words so sweet it scares the demons away and keeps me safe from all my pretty little thoughts.

Let the demons come knocking, they have faith you’ll fail, let them come a knocking just a little tick, tick, tick.

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Second Place: Alexandria Reed, 11th, Nashua-Plainfield High School "Race You to the End" Again, I meet you here; The darkness is a lovely place.

I’m back again due to pain too difficult to bear.

My heart is shattered, now I am losing the race.

Moving on seems impossible until I feel the sun.

The sun gives me the warmth of a hug While the pain forces her kiss that tempts me to the shadows.

Moving forward is the finish line; I get closer with every step, but it’s still far away.

I can see it now though, The finish line is like my window; Showing me the sun and giving me the warmth of hope.

As I cross the white strip, I leave behind a piece of me.

Abandoning the shadows that felt like ankle weights, I reached up and opened the glass.

Reborn through the death of a soul, We reach higher strengths than before.

As I walk into the light, The darkness lets go of my hand.

This is as far as my guide takes me.

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Third Place: Dayna Klotzbier, 12th, Osage High School "Bi-polar Swings" I'm slow at thinking and I still think too much.

My humor amuses me, but people don't find me fun.

People correct me when I talk, I don't always realize when I talk wrong.

My mood switches like the speed of light, I am ready to run or ready to fight.

Behind my crooked teeth- I have to hold my tongue.

I get upset with everyone, the old and the young.

My menacing brain bullies and brews brutal statements for my blistering bloody tongue to spit out -ssspuck The taste of the insults rolling off my tongue taste like battery acid After i'm done spitting, i go back to crying and I don't know when the crying ends.

My taste in games could be the reason I'm so violent.

But I've been like this before I discovered Skyrim.

In the nordic land I hold my axe In real life, I paint my feelings away till’ my fingers crack I don't need people- I have myself.

Don't ask me if I'm okay- I don’t want your help.

At the end of the day i'm always listening to music

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It helps me cope and feel more human.

Please don't actually leave me alone I really don't mean it I love your company, Please don't actually leave me alone.

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Kara Levi, 12th, Nashua-Plainfield High School "Waves of a New Life" She broke free from the confinement of her small town.

She truly was living life, she wasn’t just alive.

Her happiness finally came from the life she choose.

She longed for her family but didn't feel apart from them.

The wind she felt on her feet was not like the wind she felt back home.

It was a breath of fresh air, it was new air.

She had never felt like a breath of life before.

The life that she left behind was not a terrible one.

It just wasn’t what was fulfilling her.

She felt dead, just going through the motions of life.

Now she was living, with each breath happiness filled her body.

Her face was burned from the sun, yet it felt like one big kiss.

As the sun began to set the kiss of the sun became sweeter and sweeter.

It felt like honey, so sweet she never wanted to leave.

Little ocean waves crashing on each other was the song of the ocean.

The peace of the waves crashing made her feel at home.

This was her home, right here on the ocean.

Nothing but water and sun.

She found where she is supposed to be in life.

She found her purpose, her passion, her drive.

As she sat on the deck of the boat she couldn’t help but smile.

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Her first real genuine, self-made smile.

This is what she woke up every day in search of.

After years of searching, she found it.

All she wanted to do was be happy.

Happy she thought, this is it.

This is how I would describe my happiness.

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Alexandria Reed, 11th, Nashua-Plainfield High School "Somebody Told Me" Somebody told me that I shouldn't care what they say; People think that it is easy to stand tall, Easy to block out the words that come at you every day.

Even thinking about standing up to my fear makes this mass In my throat that won’t go away as hard as you may try.

Every sideways glance becomes another crack in my house of glass; Never knowing when or if it will crumble with a single sigh.

They told me that I should think for myself, how do I do that when my insecurities are telling me how to live?

It’s a never-ending battle that I seem to be losing.

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James Diesburg, 12th, Nashua-Plainfield High School "The Black Dragon" The black dragon Is the darkness That plagues my heart It haunts me And hurts me So much so that I can’t live For the ones Whom I love The dragon eats my life away And it never goes away I always fight it everyday But never leaves me anyway My sword and shield Are my friends and family Who were always there for me Then when the day is done The dragon is gone But the cycle repeats the next day And is futile in every way But I’m still happy

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And will continue to be this way Till the end of my days

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Jaycie Bilharz, 12th, Nashua-Plainfield High School "I’ll never forget" Standing up My most dreaded feeling The rush of dizziness Accompanied with my limp body Became a sensation I’ll never forget

It only lasts a few seconds of my day Although, those few seconds bring the most pain Trying to move on Though, the point of ultimate discomfort Starts my day off in the wrong direction

Many days are minor Some days are major However, in a few select occasions My body decides to shut down Leaving me in a shell of darkness This became a sensation I’ll never forget

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Prose: 11th and 12th Grade, Top of Iowa

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First Place: Raina Miller, 12th, Forest City High School, (Non-fiction) "My People"

From the time I was born until I was nearly thirteen, my brother and I were always at Karen’s. She lived in Woden, a nearly non-existent town now, and we lived about 15 minutes outside of it, right between Buffalo Center and Woden, in a great big, bright yellow farmhouse. (When I say bright, I mean that if you're in a 5-mile radius of it, you're not gonna miss it.) Karen was our daycare lady, however, I always feel a twinge of guilt calling her that because she’s so much more to me than that. She gave my brother and I both of our childhood bestfriends, Sheena and Carter.

Every morning we’d walk the three blocks from Karen’s house to the preschool building down the road. Karen always accompanied us halfway, as well as drug along the other ten kids she was watching, just to make sure we got there safely. Then, when it was time to move to a different school building, which was about 10 minutes from Woden, we’d have to catch the bus in the morning. Karen would walk us to the corner on the end of the block every morning with a group of nearly 10 kids at times, just to make sure we made it.

I can’t think of a more peaceful time in my life than when I was at Karen’s. She would take me to dance rehearsals during recital week. I remember being so excited when she would take me. Like one weekend, we went to a dance recital together at a different dance studio and talked the whole time about how much better the studio I went to was. I think that’s what makes Karen different than anyone I’ve met before, no one talked to me the way Karen talked to me. She was the only person growing up who acted as though they wanted to hear what I had to say. When you're five, you don’t realize that you don’t know anything, you don’t know that what you're saying has less meaning than that of an adult, you just talk. The only thing you really do know is whether or not anyone listened and Karen did even when no one else would.

To take children seriously is to value them for who they are right now rather than adults in the making Alfie Kohn

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Now, you’re probably thinking, it’s kind of weird that this girl's best friend is a 60-yearold woman, but I also love Karen for the people she brought me. When you spend your entire childhood with the same few people they become family. They understand you and the things you’ve experienced like no one else can. Those people for me, besides Karen, were Adam, Carter, and Sheena. Sheena was my first real best friend. She was a grade younger than me but I can promise you that you’ve never met someone with a more positive outlook on life. She was shorter, although, I was also double the height of a normal girl my age back then so probably closer to average height. She had golden blonde hair, and the only way to really describe her body was puffy. I didn’t know much back then but even I could pick up that her body movements were uncomfortable for her.

Sheena was born sick. I didn’t know it back then but her chances of surviving longer than a few years were slim. Yet Sheena made it to ten. I remember every month she’d be gone for the day for an appointment and the next day she’d have bruises and needle marks on the insides of her arms. Looking back she’d been poked more times in one day than I had in my entire life. One of the last memories I have with Sheena is of us laying on the trampoline just talking. I remember being really stressed out about having to go and get my blood drawn in Rochester. I wasn’t stressed because I might be sick, I was simply terrified of needles. Sheena, obviously being an expert in the area, told me all the tips and tricks on things to do that could make it hurt less, like to make sure I got a needle that had a blue butterfly clip around it, and to ask them if they had numbing cream. I had cried every single day leading up to it until Sheena helped calm my nerves. She always had a special way of making me feel better, sometimes simply by watching her endure challenges that I couldn’t even comprehend without blinking an eye.

Sheena passed away on March 9th, 2014. I was 12 at the time and the closest thing I’d experienced to death was when my grandma died when I was 6; I barely remember it.

Learning how to live with such a close death to me was hard but it taught me a lot, and in hindsight, made me who I am. I would be a completely different person had I never met Sheena, and over time I’ve learned to be grateful for the time I did get with her rather than mourn the time I didn’t. Sheena wasn’t meant to be on this earth long put her impact on it will be something I never forget.

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There’s something about losing a friend, particularly at a young age, where it’s not something you get over. I don’t believe there’s a healing process for that.

Chris Cornell

The first people my brother and I meant when we first went to Karen’s, even before Sheena, were the Trunkhill boys. Jacob, the oldest, Adam, in the middle, and Carter, the youngest. Adam was my age so we were close while Carter was my brother’s age, they were inseparable. As for Jacob, he was just the staple piece for our survival, always keeping us in check since we weren’t dumb enough to do reckless things in front of Karen or our parents. The longer we went to Karen’s, the closer our parents got, and the more time we spent with them. We spent lots of weekends together, and one constant throughout them all was ATV’s.

We were constantly taking four-wheelers, rangers, really anything with a working engine, out in the fields and through the woods. Since we all lived on farms, that was really the only thing to do. With all that time on them, we knew how to do it. We knew what to do and not to do, what was safe and what wasn’t, eventually our parents didn’t even worry when we got on one. However, one day, it was snowing and Carter took the ranger down to a local field with Jacob and his dad, something we’d all done so many times. He hit the ditch just right that the ATV tipped over. Carter was crushed underneath and his dad and brother did everything they could to get it off, eventually managing to, but when they lifted it, he quit responding and eventually passed away in the snow.

The last memory I have of Carter is when he walked my brother home from school one night in the dark to make sure he got there safely. That was just the type of kid he was, always looking out for others. I don’t know many other 12 year olds who’d even consider whether or not someone else got home safe let alone go out of their way to make it happen. It had been a while since I had talked to Carter at that time but I recognized his high-pitched, child-like voice the instant it echoed through the house. I came out of my room and asked him if he’d like a ride back to the school to which he responded “I’m ok, I just wanted to make sure your brother got home safe.” I responded with “Well you’re practically my sibling anyway so shouldn’t I make sure you get back safely too.” Those were the last words I ever said to Carter and, for some reason, they continue to resonate with me today.

I felt guilty for such a long time for how much I struggled with his death when I knew

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how much more my brother was hurting. The following week, on the first day Tommy went back to school, the guidance counselor took him to her office and showed him what Carter wrote when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. It was a horribly drawn picture in crayon but at the top, in big red letters, was “to be a farmer with Tommy Miller.” Now, Tommy’s always been the more emotional sibling, but it was almost always out of frustration. This was the first time I could actually tell his tears were of pure sadness. If I let myself think about it, I can almost still hear Tommy’s screams after my mom told him Carter was gone, sounds of sheer agony. Watching how much my brother changed after that made me think of when I lost Sheena. The fact that I knew exactly what he was feeling made it almost harder than when I experienced it myself. I would have given anything to take that way from him.

Perhaps watching someone you love suffer can teach you even more than suffering yourself can Dodie Smith

While Tommy and I were struggling with our losses, Karen was struggling just as badly.

She had a very special and rare way of caring for her daycare kids as if they were her own so it hit her just as hard, if not harder than it hit Tommy and I. Just recently we found out Karen has cancer in various areas of her body. More tests need to be done to figure out for sure what kind(s) of cancer but based on the different locations, she’s going to go through a lot of treatment. When I first found out I didn’t even panic the way I normally would. If you were to ask me to name one person who is the most capable of kicking cancers ass it would be the strongest person I know: Karen.

She gave my brother and me two of the greatest friends we’ll ever have, which taught us, at a young age, what we deserve in a friend and how to pick the right ones. Sheena and Carter gave us that gift and our lives are better off for it. I wouldn’t trade knowing them for the time that I did. I wouldn’t trade feeling that loss because they are two of the biggest lessons I’ve learned so far. Their deaths have given my entire life a whole new meaning. I have an obligation to experience everything I possibly can because I know they won’t be able to. They have pushed me to live the life that I want instead of the life that others want for me. They taught me that I should do everything and

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anything I possibly can, not just for myself anymore, but for them. However, the person who gave me it all, Sheena, Carter, all the lessons that came with them and so much more, was Karen. There’s no way to thank someone for making you who you are but if there was I’d say it a thousand times over; thank you.

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Second Place: Mari Fox, 11th, Osage High School, (Non-fiction) "Life like an Eighty Year Old" “Goodbye Mari, we love you. You are going to be okay,” claimed my parents as laid in the most uncomfortable hospital bed teary-eyed. With an enormous lump in my throat, all I could think to myself was don’t cry, please don’t cry. As my parents turned right, the nurse and I turned left. All I could think about as the nurse began wheeling me to the operating room was, if Dr. Fogelson makes one wrong move, I could be paralyzed.

Mari quit it, think happy thoughts... In approximately three hours you won’t be in pain anymore... hopefully.

Pulling me out of my thoughts, the nurse inquired, “Mari, what grade are you in?” I quietly mumbled, “I’m a sophomore,” and that concluded our conversation as we had approached the operating room. The nurse opened the door and immediately I thought, this does not look anything like Grey’s Anatomy. As soon as I was wheeled into the room, I saw all of the tools they were about to lacerate my back with and my heart began racing like Usain Bolt at the Olympics. I looked the other way, attempting to distract myself from the million different types of scalpels when I noticed a big portable x-ray machine. This seemed to calm me a little as x-rays are nearly harmless and I’d had one before. I shut my eyes and took deep breaths.

All of a sudden I heard, “Alright Mari, we are going to start to give you anesthesia so you will start to feel drowsy, just close your eyes and go to sleep,” as an oxygen mask was meticulously placed over my face. My parents had told me, don’t try to fight the anesthesia, you will never win. Just keep taking deep breaths, I told myself but it was getting harder and harder to breathe. With every breath that I took, it felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. Every second that went by I was getting less and less air. What is happening? I asked myself and just like that, I was out.

***

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Seventeen long months prior to this day, I woke up with a weird pain in my leg. Much like every other pain in my body, I ignored it and continued my life. After about a month and a half of having this weird pain, I decided it was time to bring it up to my parents. We mentioned it at my annual physical and I was sent to physical therapy. A couple of weeks into physical therapy I was told, “There is nothing else I can do, try a chiropractor.”

We waited to go to a chiropractor for a couple of months but finally decided to try it out. I went every week, sometimes multiple times, to get “readjusted.” This wasn’t working. Around Christmas time in 2019, I went to Mayo Clinic’s Sports Medicine Department. There, they took x-rays and scheduled two MRI scans. The scans were of my hips and lumbar region, which is also known as the lower back. The doctor called to inform us that I had a herniated disk between L4-L5 and I would, once again, need to begin physical therapy. I absolutely dreaded PT because, it too, hadn’t helped. For me, the single positive that came out of COVID was I didn’t have to go to PT, but that also meant that my back wasn’t getting any better. Instead, I just dealt with the pain until it got worse. Eventually, the pain got so bad that it was getting harder and harder to walk. With every step that I took, I felt like I was stabbed with a knife and then struck by lightning. I worked extremely hard each day to mask my limp, just so people didn’t know how bad the pain had gotten. After eight different doctors, three MRI scans, and a few x-rays, I was finally able to get a cortisone injection, but once again, that didn’t work either. In fact, it made it worse.

On December 2, 2020, my parents and I met with a neurosurgeon named Dr. Fogelson.

At this point, my pain level had been elevated to seven or eight every day and it was nearly impossible for me to ignore it any longer. Then I heard those glorious words come out of his mouth, “You will need surgery to fix your back, I could do this Friday, December 4.” I looked at my parents and the three of us couldn’t have said yes faster because they knew how awful it was.

Specifically, I would be having a L4-L5 lumbar discectomy which is where they excise the herniated portion of the disc. I was given special soap to cleanse my back with before surgery that had no smell. I was also told that I would be staying one night in the hospital since this was a surgery that is typically done on adults and I was a pediatric patient.

**

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Beep beep beep. I heard the obnoxious sound of my alarm go off at four in the morning.

Today’s the day, I thought to myself as I abruptly rolled out of bed and hopped in the shower to wash my back with the pink liquid soap that the hospital gave me. I had to be at the hospital by five-thirty, so my shower was brief and we were promptly on our way. After a quick nap, we pulled into the vacant parking ramp. It was dark, and unlike normal, there were approximately five cars because they weren’t allowing visitors.

After we parked, I got out of the car and headed towards the elevator, trying as hard as I could to not show my limp. The elevator took us to the main floor of Saint Mary’s where we checked in. We then headed up to floor three, the surgery floor. My heart was racing, as I was so excited to finally be out of the excruciating pain that I had dealt with for seventeen months prior.

At the same time, I was apprehensive.

The nurse called me back, I changed into my gown, comfy hospital socks, and laid in the uncomfortable bed. My mom turned on one of my favorite Christmas movies, Elf, while I played a game on my phone. I knew I had roughly an hour and a half before I would be taken back, but little did I know that I wouldn't be able to watch the movie for more than two minutes at a time.

Person after person came in to do various things from taking my vitals to starting my IV. Each person asked me the same things. “What is your full name? When is your birthday? What surgery are you having today? What is your pain level on a scale of one to ten?”

My answers quickly became very repetitive. “Mari Anna Fox. 3-5-05. Discectomy of L4L5. Seven or eight.” By the time the last person came in, I was over their questions but I continued to answer them. I knew it was almost time when the neurosurgery resident came in to sign my back. This marked the surgery site and then, roughly around eight in the morning, the nurse came into the room and declared, “It’s time for Mari to go back.”

***

Awakening me out of my medicated slumber, I was questioned by the nurse, “How are you feeling?”

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All I thought to say was, “What time is it? How long did it take? Oh, and I feel fine.”

“Ten in the morning,” was what I got in response right before I fell back asleep.

Approximately twenty minutes later I practically had to pry my eyes open but I saw two familiar faces. My parents were sitting in the room with me. They asked the same questions that the nurse did, but apparently, all I wanted was to let people know I was alive.

“Mom, can I have my phone? I’m not loopy.” I groggily asked. Before my mom could even tell me no, I fell back asleep. In and out of consciousness, I could tell that I was being wheeled somewhere, but before I could comprehend where I fell back asleep.

Exactly when my eyes opened, I was asked, “Do you want us to move you, or do you want to try to get up and change beds. I wanted them to move me so the two nurses lifted the sheet that was under me and did a smooth transfer onto the slightly more comfortable bed.

Before they could even exit the room, I fell back asleep.

Sometime around eleven-thirty I woke up for the day and began my movie marathon. I watched a total of six Christmas movies during my twenty-four-hour stay at the hospital.

For the first few hours after surgery, a nurse came in every hour on the dot to take my vitals. One of the first times that I was awake when the nurse came in, she brought me water to quench my thirst.

She had also brought me pain medication, although, being the stubborn person I am, I refused to take any of it besides Tylenol because I simply was in way less pain than I was before surgery.

My hospital stay was short-lived and I couldn’t have been more delighted to leave. It was around ten in the morning when the nurse brought in the discharge papers for my mom to sign, and we began our walk to the main lobby where I sat and waited for my mom to get the car.

Once I was settled in the car, we stopped at McDonald’s to get the smoothie that I had been wanting since I had woken up from surgery.

***

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If this injury taught me anything it was that eventually, things will get better. We might just have to wait a while. I persevered through the pain for seventeen months prior to this surgery and I was unable to bend, twist, or lift anything that weighed over ten pounds for six long weeks after. The surgery was successful and I can do everything again, it just took time. I am a valuable student and was able to maintain good grades while doing online school for the majority of the second quarter of my sophomore year.

I would be a great addition to your campus as I am able to juggle multiple things at a time and have even overcome having the back of an eighty-year-old.

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Third Place: Anna Wirtjes, 12th, Forest City High School, (Non-fiction) "Statistics Journal" Statistics was arguably my most boring class. The professor reviewed examples of the same concept over and over again. Since one or two examples were usually sufficient for me to grasp the core ideas, my imagination could run wild during the rest of the class. I would sit there and enjoy getting lost in my own thoughts while drawing in the margins of my notes. My boyfriend, CJ, would always joke around with me about how I would only ever doodle mountains. They were easy to draw, and are my happy place, but I decided that stats class would be my time to stretch out of my comfort zone and draw something new each day. One day, CJ suggested that I try drawing a dragon. It was and still is the worst dragon I have ever drawn. I would look forward to the times in stats when I could let my thoughts wander freely and doodle silly little pictures. It was fun to let memories that I didn’t know I even had flood my brain. It was like a breath of fresh air for my mind, and I loved it.

Well, I loved it until I got dumped.

For days after the breakup, I couldn’t pull myself to draw or doodle anything. It felt too painful. Everything felt too painful. I felt numb to any ideas, and it was as if all creativity had been sucked from my soul. It was so frustrating because a pen and blank sheet of paper are usually my escape. Sometimes my brain and mouth feel so disconnected, but even when I can’t form the thoughts to verbalize my ideas, my brain and hand feel connected.

When I write, it is as if I don’t even have to think, but the pen just puts down my thoughts and feelings all on its own. It’s not difficult. It’s freeing. So when that connection between my brain and hand felt severed, it was like I had no escape from my internal reflections. Instead of loving the moments that I would have to sit and let my brain wander, I dreaded it. It felt like I was caught in a prison that I was creating for myself as memory after memory would replay in my head. I couldn’t stop them.

One day I was sitting in stats with the vicious cycle churning through my brain when something in me clicked. Earlier that morning my cousin and I had been talking about going rock climbing. It was something that I was greatly anticipating. The idea of it felt like an act of independence from the person who broke my heart. Rock climbing was something that CJ and I had put on our bucket list, so having the chance to rewrite the experience without him involved felt freeing. I could make it my own. So, that morning,

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the excitement over the prospect of the planned adventure interrupted the painful memories. It was a pleasant interruption - like a small ray of sunshine. For the first time in days I got the inspiration to draw something. It was a little man climbing up a rock wall. Beside the drawing I wrote the words: CLIMB CLIMB CLIMB CLIMB CLIMB CLIMB CLIMB CLIMB When I finished the doodle, I sat there staring at that word that I had written eight times in all caps. Obviously, the word “climb” correlated with the drawing, but in another way, I think it was one of my first acts of pushing myself to heal internally. The imagery was a reflection of my thought that there was nowhere to go but up. I was ready to start fighting my way out of the hole of grief that I felt buried in.

It was October 3rd - my birthday. I felt so surrounded by family and friends throughout that entire day. It was eye-opening for me to visibly see the strong support system that I have through all of the texts and messages I received. It was like my phone couldn’t stay silent. My fingers felt tired from typing the response of “Thank you so much! I’m so grateful for you!”, but I truly meant it from the bottom of my heart. Then around five o'clock that night I saw a heart-wrenching notification on my phone. My heart jumped and my anxiety spiked. It was a snap from my ex-boyfriend. It simply said, “happy birthday”. I stared at the snap for probably three minutes. I didn’t know what to say. I had slowly been letting go of my anger, and I didn’t want any bitterness to come across in my response. I said, “Thank you! I hope you had a good homecoming!”. He simply responded, “I did”. I read that response and it struck me that the person who was my best friend only two weeks prior was now so distant that I only got a short, cold, twoworded response. I couldn’t comprehend it. In my brain he still was my trusted confidant. I could not just let two years of memories go, but it seemed like it was easy for him. The response made me angry. I was trying my absolute best to be friendly even though I was the one who got heartbroken. I didn’t do anything to him, but it 26

almost seemed like saying happy birthday to me was an annoyance.

The next day I was sitting in stats class pondering the exchange that had encountered when something in me snapped. I suddenly had so much I wanted to say. I was a volcano that had just been waiting to erupt, and all of a sudden, it was time. I quit writing the stats examples and shifted to tiny cursive words above my notes.

The heartbreak hurts, but it’s starting to heal. The ropes that entwined my heart to yours are slowly being cut. I’m letting go. You have your life. I have mine. I’m starting to feel more free than hurt. I’m free from the confusion that your actions erupted in my brain. Somehow you still confuse me though. You act as if I’m the bad guy. I’m not the one who inflicted the pain. I’m not the one who ripped your heart out, rather you ripped out mine. I chose to start cutting the ties because I had to, but there’s no need to be cold. The memories were sweet and it’s ok to remember them that way. My heart felt lighter than it had in several days as I walked out of class that morning.

Even though that first entry helped me so much, I still went to class the following days and felt like I was watching a television screen play some of my most painful memories on a loop. One of the most prominent and vivid recollections that played on the screen was the phone call that broke me. The memory has been replayed in my head probably thousands of times. It started out as a refreshing conversation. I hadn’t talked to CJ in over a week. He had been busy adjusting to college. Double majoring in physics and engineering with a minor in biology seemed crazy to me, but it was what he wanted to do, and it was proving to be a large academic load for him. I was just recovering from Covid so I was still extremely physically weak. I had been planning to talk to him about some stuff that had been on my heart with doing long distance. I wasn’t upset, but in my opinion it was important to communicate my needs and any confusion. I would want him to do the same with me. So when we had finished catching up, I brought up some of my questions. Instead of getting a response and working through things, he broke up with me.

“I still really really like you, but I’m so busy right now I don’t have any free time. I feel like we are in two different places in life right now.” ... …

“Are you breaking up with me?” ...

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…

“Yes.” That was that. The highlights of the conversation. No more explanations. In fact, in my mind none of those statements sufficed as an explanation. Just two weeks beforehand he had been telling me how much he was going to miss me and how we would make it.

Holding your hand. Feeling so loved. Gazing at the stars. Feeling so special.. Laughing until my stomach hurts. Feeling so understood. Hugging you tight. Feeling so wanted.

Then an eruption. With a little bit of distance I’m not worth fighting for? Short responses. Feeling confused. Sudden lack of effort. Longing to talk to you. Hardly any communication. Feeling hurt. Then a phone call. Excited to hear your voice. The end?

Why? Let go? How? Heartbroken.

I continued to pour out my thoughts in my stats notebook almost every day. It was healing. Some of the entries were like my words thrown up all over the page. The tiny cursive letters weaving around the math problems were just trying to find their space to be expressed on the page. Other entries were almost poetic. One day I was so overwhelmed by memories, but could only write several simple sentences.

Memories are weird. Some feel like they haunt me. Like a recurring nightmare that refuses to leave. Some feel like a sweet aroma that I never want to stop breathing in.

Almost all of them hurt as they feel like a constant and bitter reminder of times that will never return.

Throughout the weeks following the breakup, one of my most dreaded questions was, “how are you?”. Especially when it came from someone that I didn’t know well, I just had no idea how to even begin forming a response. I was grieving. I felt like someone had died. But then there were moments when I felt relieved. Words truly felt insufficient to describe the rawness of my emotions. Even when I would make a meager attempt of giving someone a glimpse into my pain, it seemed to throw them off. I think people are too used to passively responding that they are good. Society is pushing people to be perfect. Perfect is impossible. Rawness is real. How am I doing? I don’t really know.

There are moments or days that I feel fine. I feel free. I feel motivated. Then there are moments or days that are painful. I feel lonely. I want to talk to you. I want to hug you. It’s a roller coaster of hills and valleys of emotion. Even though my heart and brain are traveling a bumpy road, my soul is at rest. Even when it hurts, I have a deep peace. I

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credit this to the unwavering love of Jesus. I’ve realized that He is the only constant thing in my life. When nothing seems good, He is always good. How am I doing? My heart is bruised and my brain is confused, but I am overwhelmed by the sweet goodness of Jesus.

You see, I felt so alone in those moments of writing. But without even realizing it, each one of those entries was like a little piece of my soul being poured out to the Lord. The thing is, He knew all along. He didn’t need the stats entries to understand my heart and pain, but I did. I can now look back and see so many tiny blessings throughout the past few months. The ability to write is one of them. So, I continue to write during my statistics class. The tone of my writing is a little bit different than it was at the beginning of the entries. The anthem of gratefulness and of the Lord’s faithfulness is proclaimed in my words. One of my latest entries is not my words, but the words from Leanna Crawford’s song “Truth I'm Standing On”. I wrote them when I realized that I had a choice on how my pain would shape my perspective. I am choosing to stand on truth.

“This is the truth I'm standing on Even when all my strength is gone You are faithful forever And I know You'll never Let me fall Right now I'm choosing to believe Someday soon I'll look back and see All the pain had a purpose Your plan was perfect all along This is the truth I'm standing on” My statistics notebook began as a simple place to take math notes. Through boredom it became a place of freedom and creativity. Through sorrow it became a place of release. The many entries that nobody will probably ever read proved to be a tool to help myself let go. To process. To understand.

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Honorable Mention: Madeline Taylor, 12th, Nashua-Plainfield High School, (Fiction) "Choices" I woke up violently, her screams still echoing in my mind. The lifeless body of hers haunts my eyes. I'm sweating, yet numbingly cold. My throat aches, my skin is rough.

It's dark, very dark. For a second I feel dead as if my soul is here but not my body. My eyes dry, I blink and the second my eyes reopen I'm walking down my street. I must've fallen into one of my lucid visions.

I was walking down the street and I saw the trees sway, and the leaves tumble past my feet but I felt nothing. I looked up to see rain drizzling from the sky, hitting the pavement around me but yet I still felt nothing. Something must be wrong with me. I'll mention it to mom when I get home. I really hope she's not too angry with me, I've misplaced the time and I know it's past curfew. She hates it when I'm late, always talking about how I'm a terrible role model for my little sister as if she truly cares about my curfew. Mom always pressured me to be this picture-perfect daughter, to lead the way for Jenny. Of course, when I was assaulted last year mom blamed me, always mentioning how skimpy I dressed. I can never be perfect for my mom.

I approached the yard and saw no lights on. Maybe they went to bed, realizing I'd be home soon. I walked into the entranceway greeted by silence, odd silence. As I began to walk down my bedroom hallway I could hear crying, silent, muffled crying almost as if whoever was crying didn’t want others to know. As I approached my room I caught a whiff of mom's perfume. Oh, how comforting that smell always was. I stood in my doorway waiting for mom to look at me, to realize I was standing here fine, ten toes ten fingers just like how I entered this world. Oddly, mom didn't realize. Instead, her head lay in her palms as she was sitting on my bed. The tears overflowed out of her palms and onto my comforter, the soft whimpers of air escaping her lungs made the silence less silent. I whispered to her, no response, not even a budge. I spoke to her in a normal tone, yet still no response. Very weird. I screamed at her. I screamed so loud it should have echoed down the hall and stolen her attention, but she didn't even flinch, not a single tear missed her cheek. What is going on? I walked out in anger and headed towards the living room. I thought if I'm going to get treated as if I'm invisible I might as well take advantage of it.

As I passed by the fireplace room, I caught a glimpse of myself. A picture of me above the mantel. When did this happen? I walked into the room and just stood there, in shock. Jokingly I thought, am I dead? My picture was hung high with all my trophies and other odds and ends sitting on the mantle. Then reality hit me like a brick shattering a window. Did I do it? Did I actually do it?

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I was fed up with all the harassment and mom was ashamed to have some whore of a child in her house. She was so head high on believing my sexual assault was my fault, all because I wore a skimpy outfit that day. My best friend was the only one who believed me, or at least I thought she did until I found out she had a whole Instagram dedicated to me and my supposed false accusation and how it wasn't fair I ruined Tyler’s football career. A year I fought, a year of endless tears and restless nights. A year of night terrors reliving the incident. I was tired, physically and mentally. That day at school I was the talk amongst everyone, even teachers. Why? You may ask. Today marked the year anniversary of my assault, the assault nobody believed. All throughout the day, I was shoved, slut shamed and had “whore” whispered into my ear. All this, all this because I was attacked and had the courage to speak out about my attacker. All this because Tyler is a star football player with a big future, a big future I ruined. I went home that day crying, running into the house dodging mom and all her stupid questions. I ran straight into the bathroom, locking the door quickly before mom could catch up. She pounded on that door for what seemed like hours, but in reality, it was only about five minutes until she gave up and went back to doing whatever she had been doing.

In silence, I cried for hours. Thinking, and rethinking. Contemplating all possible solutions, endings, a way to make this pain go away. After being alone for a while, nobody to talk to, nobody to trust, I befriended the voices in my head. My voices were quiet and hardly came to mind but when they did a happy ending came to mind, solutions, and plans. The ins and outs, the consequences all came to mind. The voices that were so silent began to lurk in my head; they began to speak so loud they muted everything else. They spoke of a way to be happier, to be free of suffering. I loved the thought, and only for a second did I second-guess their solution. I began ransacking the medicine cabinet, finding all the medications you can overdose on.

I may seem stupid for wanting this “easy way out” but I wasn’t too stupid. I knew if I took just pills mom could easily strip me of my opportunity of escaping and I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted to give mom that final “I always knew she'd be my disappointment, child”. I sort of began craving her whole “I told you so” spew. After finding multiple medications I started to run a bath. I sat at the edge of the tub watching the water rise and started thinking back to my memories prior to the incident.

I was once a young blonde, who enjoyed swinging, singing, braiding hair, and making friendship bracelets with my best friend. I used to have a contagious laugh, making the room brighter with the positivity I emitted. The steam began merging from the water, it was a welcoming sight. I had grabbed one of dad's shaving blades and stripped. For a minute I stood and stared into the mirror, looking at myself, thinking. What was so important about me? What was so attractive about me that he so direly wanted to steal from me? Why me? I put one foot in the boiling water; the tingling sensation of my skin 31

burning ran through my legs and sprinted up my body as I submerged myself into the boiling hot bath. I lay there rethinking everything. I went through the consequences, the trauma I'm about to create, and the pain I'll be relieved from. I laid there, my body numb from the hot water being soaked in. I took a shallow breath and swallowed handfuls of each medication. With each handful a thought went down with the pills, regrets got swallowed like screws, but I still didn’t care what was about to happen. With so much medication flowing through my veins I grew dizzy but I knew I wasn’t done. It's what the voices insisted. I sat there with the blade trembling in my hand. I shook so much but I didn't want to back down and anger my voices. As I raised my blade gripping hand I woke up in a dark room, an empty thoughtless room.

My mother found me only after my little sister complained that I was still in the bathroom. Mom pounded and pounded on that door, waiting for me to magically unlock it, but it was like she knew, within a few hammering pounds on the door mom kicked it in and saw what was done. Jenny stood in the doorway, eyes glued to my naked body being dragged out of the tub. She watched mom beat on me for minutes until the medics came bursting through. On that day Jenny and my lifeless naked body heard those curdling screams escape mom's mouth, those screams that still haunt me in my grave, the screams nobody wants to hear come from a mother. Nobody believes you when you mention the friends inside your mind, the voices that tell you what to do, how to do it, and when. Nobody believes you when you say you're not doing well, that you're struggling. Nobody truly understands the way trauma affects one person.

Nobody understands how it takes only 10 minutes to find medication, and only a matter of hours to die from your choices.

On that day, mom didn't just lose one child, but she lost two. Jenny never came back from that horrific experience. Mom threw her in therapy, and forced medications down her throat, fearful she was going to lose her last child. Jenny had strict rules now and high expectations to meet, but little did Jenny know that mom was only this way because she was losing herself.

I sat above the mantel for months, watching mom sprint past the room I sat in, avoiding eye contact with me. I heard her cry, yell, and scream every night. For months, I watched mom through a picture frame losing herself like a madwoman until finally one fall morning mom sent Jenny off to Memas and Papas for a day out. Mom was perfectly normal the whole day. She dropped Jenny off, went shopping, and just simply enjoyed herself until night fell. Once the sky grew black mom sprinted past me like usual but this time in a different direction, she was going back into her office where we kept a gun safe. I was trapped in a frame of oak. Knowing what was about to happen, I couldn't do anything but watch. Mom came back into eyesight with something in hand.

This time, she slowly walked into my room where I hung in my frame. She knelt before

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me, barrel in mouth, and before I could look away… BOOM! I woke up startled, flung out of bed, and sprinted down the hall. I burst through mom's door only to startle her from her sleep. Mom panicked thinking something was wrong, only to be told that her seventeen-year-old had a nightmare. Mom was quite upset but was not hesitant to let me in her bed. I crawled beside the person I just dreamt about blowing her head off and snuggled in tightly, too afraid that my dream would become reality. I kissed mom's cheek and closed my eyes. When morning bloomed, we woke to terrifying screams. Jenny had come home from Memaws and Papas, only to walk into the newly painted fireplace room.

For the rest of Jenny's childhood, our portraits hung high. We watched our little Jenny grow into an amazing woman. She was smart, beautiful, and a big troublemaker. On her eighteenth birthday, Jenny finally came home to us. Above the mantel we all sat, forcing relatives to stare at our beautiful features, with years of our achievements and odds and ends sitting on the mantel below us, we watched generations of the family pass and grow until we became forgotten about and shoved into a tiny box. We became nothing more than oak wood frames with unfamiliar faces. We weren't offended because we were a happy family, finally.

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Lucy Young, 11th, St. Ansgar High School, (Fiction) "The Darkness You Should Fear" I told him I was afraid of the dark. He didn’t care. It was around 10 p.m. on October first. I had just gotten off my shift at Randy’s Market. My coworker, James, and I were left to close up shop. He was in a hurry to get home, so when I asked him to walk me across the parking lot, he just shrugged and jogged towards his house. As I watched him round the block, he was illuminated by the streetlights on the sidewalk.

“What a gentleman,” I muttered under my breath. James and I had been working there together for almost four years. We spent so much time together: stocking shelves, singing along to the music played in the store, and eating our lunches in the break room. Although that is all true, we never spent any time together away from school or work. He used to have the biggest crush on me for the longest time. I never once shared those feelings and joylessly rejected him many times. It changed our friendship; based on what just happened, I guess he finally got over his feelings and was back to being the stubborn boy I knew before.

I wasn’t lying. I really didn't like the dark. Not only that, the parking lot had no street lamps; it gave me a creepy feeling. I’d walked to my car alone many times; nothing ever happened. There’s always a first, right? I don’t even know what I was expecting: a kidnapper? A thief? I told myself I was just scared, paranoid, maybe even crazy. I should’ve listened to my gut.

I imagined I was following my shadow that was cast in front of me. Obviously I didn’t have one; I had left the streetlights behind me. It was somewhat comforting, like I wasn’t alone. I focused on that until I contracted a new fear: it wasn’t my own shadow. I swore to myself I was psychotic when I thought I heard a scuffle of shoes in the near distance. Even still, I hurried my pace. When my beat up Pontiac was within reach, I was able to finally let out the breath I’d been holding for the past one-hundred yards.

I opened the door to my car, threw my things in, and planted one foot inside, just as a cold draft hit my exposed ankles. It was a shock, but I don't remember swearing.

Maybe I did whisper a curse. I could definitely feel winter making an unwanted entrance into the Midwest.

The heat in my car wasn’t working well since the winter before, and I forgot to have it fixed, so I popped the trunk to grab my blanket. Expecting to get hit by a cold front, I hugged myself in my sweatshirt. Surprisingly, I looked around and everything was still; even the trees looked uncomfortably frozen in time. After spending some time shuffling

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everything around, I decided I’d probably have more luck with the slow car heater than finding a blanket in that mess. I slammed the trunk closed and ran around to the driver's seat.

I rubbed my hands together and put the car in drive. As I bounced out of the potholefilled parking lot, I turned left onto the highway. Accelerating steadily into the darkness, I spotted a set of glowing eyes and hammered the breaks. The deer trotted away at the last second, and I could hear my breath coming fast. “That was close,” I said aloud.

Everything in the car had fallen forward. I felt a thud against the back of my seat. At first I thought it was my backpack, but then I heard a groan and a curse; this time, I knew for sure it wasn’t me. Shivers ran down my spine when I saw a head in the rearview, its face familiar.

“James! What are you doing here?” I yelled in shock. I twisted around in my seat, only to see that one hand was rubbing where he’d hit his head, and the other he was furiously gripping an exposed knife. He looked at me, then at the knife, then back at me. His eyes grew wide, then back into slits as he lunged forward in my direction. I screamed and my foot hit the pedal. The tires squealed and jerked us ahead. I heard James fall back into the seat. My eyes were clenched closed. Blindly we raced down the road. I heard the thunder of the car hitting the gravel shoulder. We were suspended in the air before the car tilted into a nosedive. The car finally bottomed out when we hit the dirt. I opened my eyes just as we hit the water.

All the lights in the car faded out when the water started to seep in. I glared at James through the mirror. He wasn’t making eye contact, only struggling to open the door.

Meanwhile, I was wrestling with my seatbelt. It’s iron grip wouldn’t let me go. He finally got his door to budge when the water level reached my knees. He smiled a crooked smile I’d never seen before, and said, “You know what they say: when you love someone, someday you’ll have to let them go.” He paused to watch the water trickle in. “I’ve liked you for a painfully long time, and I’ve waited for you for years. I didn’t just get over the feelings, you know,” I tried not to look surprised.

“I was angry. I wanted to get back at you. Hurt you like you hurt me.” As he was saying this, he cracked open the door another inch, and a wave of water rushed in. “An injury would have been ideal,” he rolled his eyes, “but things didn’t go as planned.”

It was my turn for my eyes to grow wide. There was no wind; only the swoosh of a blade by my ankle. I looked down at my feet, which were completely submerged.

Despite how cold the water was, in that moment, I somehow felt even colder. I attempted to wrap my head around what had happened, while trying to free myself from the twisted up belt. His wicked voice was getting into my head, distracting me 35

from saving myself, and he knew it.

“I didn’t want to kill you, and I still don’t, but maybe this is turning out better than I imagined. When your heart stops beating, it won’t be because of me, but you’ll feel the exact same way I did.” He looked at me one last time, and my eyes pleaded to him for help. James offered a small wave and opened the door to swim out.

The water came rushing in and washed away all of my confusion, replacing it with pure terror. I gritted my teeth and tried to reach back to grab his knife, but it was too far. I felt helpless. My last decision was to hold my breath. Actually, that was my second to last decision. I took a huge gulp of air before my head was completely submerged in the murky water. I couldn’t see anything. Still, black splattered my vision as I was running out of bubbles to exhale.

My last decision was one I made out of panic, and hatred. I didn’t really believe in an afterlife, but at that moment, I was desperate. I swore to myself I’d get revenge, somehow, some way. I knew then, I could choose whom I loved, and just because I didn’t choose him didn’t mean I deserved to die for it.

Then it all went dark.

Now I’m here. Just a ghost watching time go by. I get to sit here and observe James ultimately gain what he wanted. He felt no remorse. He drew a frown on his face and hid behind a mask to mimic heartbreak over my passing. It vexes me, but I continue to be patient. No one knows he’s a fake. No one knows the reason why I died. Only him.

He won’t be able to ignore his conscience forever. He should be scared of me, because one day he’ll pay, but he’ll never see me coming.

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Grace Kobriger, 12th, Forest City High School, (Non-fiction) "Fence" I was walking through a thick and crowded brushway. The damp smell of the overgrowth of shrubbery and rain was heavy as I ducked past low hanging branches.

The distant mooing of cows was peaceful along with the cool breeze and the gloomy sky. It had already rained once, but I knew it was going to rain again. It was some time in April, the wet season. The mud was like a stew and stuck to my shoes as I trudged through its sticky hands. Then something red peaked through the greenery of the mossy foliage as I reached the end of the thickets. A red rusted gate illuminated before me in the shade like a tall building; Too high for me to climb, since I was seven. One the other side of the red gate stood a small group of calves.

The calves stared at me apathetically, with their pitch black riveting eyes. I attempted to climb the red gate. The bars were huge and my little hands couldn’t wrap around any of them. My hands would slip on the wetness from the previous rain that coded the rusty bars like ice. I tried wrapping my arm around the bars, it worked, until I tried stepping on the gate, but I slipped. I saw the latch, but at the time I didn’t know how

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to use it. I always thought it was magical that the gate would just open for my dad.

Before I could get too frustrated, I caught the glimpse of a thinner section of the fence.

It was a very dark grey that had barbs that pierced through every metal knot down the fenceline. I felt a flutter of hankering, despite the fence’s unsettling appearance, I still yearned to go play with the calves, which I did everytime I came out to my grandparents. I loved going out to my grandparents, it was like my own little get away for my imagination to grow. I could never sit still either, I was always the adventurous one, always exploring, always bringing back flowers and rock from my discoveries.

Usually, the rust stained red gate was opened by my dad. Inside the first pasture, there were three little calf hutches. I would sometimes go inside them to check if there were any sleeping calves, occasionally there would be calves inside. But unfortunately, my dad was off doing other chores my grandpa assigned him.

My grandparents always enjoyed it when my sister and I came out, there were so many places to explore and things to do, since they had fifty acres of land. My sister was a lot younger than me and she had to be supervised a lot more than I had to be, but what was there to worry about out here?

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After standing there watching the calves, one of the cows curiously came over to me.

My grandpa named every cow he had, but I didn’t know the name of this one. I leaned forward, my little fingers wrapping around the cold crusty wire for support as I reached out to pet the top of her head, which her fur extended and curled like a truffle. A sudden, unpleasant, sharp sting made me release the wire and a bit of numbness rushed through my body. It was like when you were a kid and would slide down one of those plastic slides in the summer, and touch a metal pole right after, but this was ten times worse. I was a very emotional kid, so it felt like I was being electrocuted to death.

I stood there for a second crying before running back to the house, my sudden movements and abrupt scream of surprise must have scared away the cows. Surely, I was frightened and would never wander around that biting fence again, but my parents had gotten busy after Saturday and we didn’t go back out to the farm for what seemed like an excruciating long time, when it was only last Saturday. Soon, the week flew by and next Saturday had strolled around. We were on the road, going out to my grandparents. I had already forgotten that traumatizing experience I had with the electrical fence, as the week was filled with hectic school that had grabbed my attention from last weekend.

After lunch, I wandered into the back yard, to explore, as any child would do. The barbed wire stood there, hidden amongst the thick foliage. Watching and waiting, like a predator about to pounce as it lured my curiosity in closer with a calf standing on the other side.

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Gracianna Patrick, 12th, Osage High School (Non-fiction) "Haunted House Open Letter " Dear haunted house goers, Please for the love of god listen to what I have to say. Because there are so many problems with what’s going on right now, and I have some suggestions. First of all, if you are going through a house and you start throwing hands at the workers, we will throw hands back. Do not expect to deck someone and get away with it because we really couldn't care less about your well being. If you drag someone else, prepare to get dragged yourself.

Second of all, please do not make inappropriate comments towards the workers. We are there to scare you, not to be your personal eye candy or to flirt with you. If you make these types of comments, we will escort you out of that section and tell you to leave. It doesn’t make us feel pretty, it makes us shrink. So please stop telling me your disgusting pig shit, like “I'll come in there with you if you know what I mean.” that is actually something I have been told while I was dressed like a DOLL, in a CRADLE with TOYS. Thats straight up pedophilia, there's nothing sexy about a messed up doll with a toy drum set and a box of nails in a baby cradle. The boy who said it then went through the house multiple time after that to harass me more after I told him to leave.

While I’m on this topic, it’s important to remember that you paid money to get tickets and go through a haunted house. We will scare you and harrass you. You are supposed to be uncomfortable during this experience. With that being said, if you come through the house and tell the workers not to scare you or touch you, we will 100% harass you the most in particular. It’s literally our job.

Finally, please do not drag someone through the house if they do not want to be there. That includes your kids. I don’t care if you wanna go through, get a babysitter. Stop doing this because when you guys come through and your kid is clinging to the wall, crying, screaming, having a panic attack, we don’t know whether we should stop or not, and will probably keep going. This will be detrimental to your child’s mental health, and should not happen. Therefore, if someone does not want to be there, do not make them come through.

In conclusion, if you are here to throw hands, flirt, make disgusting comments or advances, or are dragging someone who doesn't want to be here, DO NOT COME THROUGH THE HOUSE.

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Sincerely, Every single house actor

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Bailey Nasstrom, 11th, Osage High School, (Non-fiction) "What A Ride" I am one of the only two swimmers in Osage High School, not the kind where you are splashing around in the kiddie pool, but a competitive swimmer. My freshman year was my first year swimming, with a real team, and to say it was completely petrifying would be an understatement. I was swimming with just one other girl from Osage, who I had never talked to before. She was my ride to and from practice every day, the last thing I possibly wanted was for her to not like me.

It was 4:30 am when I arose from my melatonin-induced sleep, the first day of practice. My hands were shaking as I put on my swimsuit I set out the night before.

This was my brand new bright purple swimsuit that I bought extremely overpriced. It was Jolyn, tied in the back and was the most popular style I saw at the swim camp I went to that summer. I sat on my bed mindlessly scrolling through Instagram trying to pass time, as I was too nervous to eat, when I got the dreaded text.

Amanda was at my house rearing and ready to go. I quickly made my way into her car and gave her a chirpy, “Hey!” It had just a bit too much pep for five in the morning. I put my swim bag in her back seat and got buckled. We began driving and I soon realized that I was the only one that looked like they took a shot of five-hour energy. I sat as quietly as possible in the passenger seat, my leg bouncing up and down with nerves and my fingers woven tightly together. My stomach tied itself into knots as I tried to gather up the courage to finally talk to Amanda. Attempting to make conversation I asked, “So, what is the coach like?” Amanda explained that she wasn’t sure if the new coach was very good because it was his first year. It settled my nerves just a bit, knowing that I wouldn’t be the only person unfamiliar with others on the team.

I attempted to relax, but it seemed to be extremely difficult. My job in the passenger seat was to tell Amanda if we were in the other lane. I pursued casual small talk while silently fearing for my life, when I found out that her grandmother bought her an emergency call button for her car. After gaining that knowledge, I had my arm ready to press it at any moment. Amanda’s car had two solid plastic pink balls hanging from her mirror that were completely captivating. We were talking when suddenly the brakes were slammed. My first reaction was to grab the balls for dear life, and hope we don’t crash. I soon realized we were still moving and I slowly cracked open my eyes. I noticed that we had turned, instead of crashing off the side of the highway. My heart was thumping as loud as Jack Lowe on the bass drum.

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We were getting closer and closer to Mason, my stomach felt like I ate a gallon of ice cream. It may have been car sickness, but I attributed it to being nervous.

Then it hit me, I am going to a different town to swim with girls who I don’t even know.

The worst part… I wasn’t even that amazing. In the summer of freshman year, I went to a swim camp at St. Olaf College. It was there where I refined my strokes and swam with other girls my age. It was one of the most unnerving things I had ever done in my life.

Being at a camp in a different state with nobody else was a situation I had never been in before. I was the slowest swimmer in my lane and it was incredibly embarrassing. I was swimming with girls who swam varsity their 8th-grade year and I hadn't even been on a real team. The girls were extremely nice and talented, unfortunately, I was not quite as talented. We would have a five-minute swim and by the time the coach blew the whistle, they had lapped me not once, but twice. We went distances I had never gone before, I would fake wipe out my goggles just so I could obtain a break for a few seconds. While this camp was extremely difficult for me, it ended up being one of the best experiences. I had learned how to swim correctly and with girls who were at the level I should have been at. It made me feel slightly bitter that I didn’t have the experiences that they did on little kid swim teams, but I am overjoyed that I got to meet those girls who pushed me harder each practice. I made some new friends, who I still keep in touch with four years later, who pressured me to do the best I could.

We pulled into the parking lot as I was telling Amanda about the swim camp I went to, talking about just how terrible of a swimmer I was. We went inside and I was looking around at the pool and the area around it, it was tiny. We began to get ready for practice when Amanda left to go talk to her friends from past years. I stood next to the bleachers, freezing in my swimsuit, with an enormous smile plastered on my face. I was going to do my best to not look afraid and make new friends. I gathered up the courage to ask a girl standing next to me her name, as she seemed friendly. I quickly realized that there were many girls from other towns as well and I was relieved to find I wasn’t the only person from out of town. There was an extremely tall man who blew his whistle to get our attention. He then made an announcement for everyone to sit on the bleachers. We all quietly sat down and listened to him introduce himself. His name was Coach V, because nobody knew how to pronounce his name, and he was looking forward to having a season filled with accomplishments. He gave a short and sweet pep talk telling us to do our best and have fun, then it was time to begin.

We were told to hop in once the clock hit one minute, so we needed to get our caps on fast. I quickly put on my swim cap trying not to snap it and went up to the assistant coach, asking which lane I should be in. I was told to begin in lane one, as I had little experience. The first person in each lane jumped into the water that was as cold as hose water. I stood at the back of the line, as I had no clue how fast each person was and jumped in last. When I leaped into the water it was a shock to my 45

system, it felt like it was filled with ice cubes. Once I got over the shock, I started kicking. We had a 100-meter kick to commence our morning and I was pumped, I love kicking. As we were kicking I found myself running into people. While it was all right for a little bit, it soon became a common occurrence as we drew further into the workout. I continuously found myself running into people or others who would take random breaks in the middle of our swim. I was becoming increasingly frustrated. I would tap somebody’s foot to pass them and they would not move, over and over. Eventually, we had a twenty-minute swim and I was told by the assistant coach to move into lane five.

I was so excited, I was finally going to be able to swim at my normal pace without running into people.

I nervously jumped out of the water and grabbed my belongings as I headed into the other lane. All I could think about was getting through this twenty-minute swim without stopping, to prove that I should stay in that lane. As the clock hit the top, the first person pushed off the wall. My chest felt like elephants were stomping on me as I waited my turn while catching my breath. Eventually it was time for me to push off and attempt this long-distance swim. It seemed like it had been an eternity when the whistle was finally blown. I stopped swimming where I was and slowly made my way to the wall. My arms felt like they were limp noodles, and my eyes were rimmed with bright red circles from my goggles. I was extremely proud of myself, I didn’t stop once.

Once Coach V announced that we were done for the day you could hear the groans of relief. Nobody had swum for a long amount of time, and it was incredibly challenging.

Once we had hopped out and wrapped up in our towels, we finally got to discover who our swim sister was. I found out that my sister would be Lauren Conell, a senior from Charles City. I was so pumped because I knew that my older sister Erica was friends with her, so she would at least be friendly. As we met our sisters, Lauren had the biggest smile on her face and told me to get on her back to take a picture together. I found out that we were in mostly the same sports so we would be playing against each other during other seasons. We said our goodbyes and left practice for the day. All I could think about was how relieved I was that everyone was nice, and how much I love the sport.

I should be accepted into your college because I am not apprehensive of new challenges. I am unwaveringly determined to make the best of each situation and have fun with it. While new environments may be nerve-racking, I make sure to stay assured to make it as exciting as I can. I learned many new things about myself that wouldn’t have been possible without this team. Because of my time on the Mason City Swim Team, I have become courageous and self-assured. This experience has made me enthusiastic about trying various things because you never know what will happen.

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Jalynn Goodale, 11th, Osage High School, (Non-fiction) "Nothing Compares" Looking at my sister is like looking in a mirror—like the ones that are found in a fun house. My older sister, Jacey and I have very few things in common: both physically and mentally. For example, we are half-sisters, so we only share half the same DNA, we look nothing alike...once someone even asked if we were cousins.

To begin, Jacey is taller than average, curvy, soft-spoken, and has a strong work ethic.

Jacey has always been taller than me, which wasn’t unexpected or shocking because one, she’s older than me, and two both of her parents are of average height. Her body and personality are like a puzzle, they couldn’t fit any better together. She has this statuesque ambience about her: gravitating people towards her like a magnet. Jacey has what I like to call a Womanly Body, she has curves that most girls my age wish they had. Jacey bears what my generation calls an hourglass figure—an average torso/bust with a slim waist that flows into curvy hips. Jacey is almost a mirror image of my mom; with their corkscrew-like curls that are as thick as forest brush, sometimes they even get asked if they are sisters. Take away her curvy hips and curly hair, nothing about my sister is loud, she is soft-spoken. Often keeping most thoughts to herself, only speaking when she can add something useful to the conversation. Her self-control plays into many parts in her life, it has led her to be one of the most driven people I have ever met. She has always pushed herself to be her best and nothing less, even when she lost her two best friends: her horses, Hollywood and Mercedes. This was no doubt one of the hardest things she has ever gone through, she even thought about never riding again—but she did. She has preserved through so much in her life, and never once lost her drive to do the things she loves and get better.

I on the other hand am short, somewhat muscular, loud outspoken, and not as driven. I stand 5ft as a Junior in high school—about the size of a sixth grader; I have always been small. I don’t know why I am as short as I am because both of my parents are of average height, so most would think I would stand about average as well but I do not.

My body and personality flow together relatively well, but I am pretty run of the mill when it comes to looks. I don’t really have anything that makes me stick out, everything about me makes me blend in rather easily. My body is pretty small and petite, I have a small torso/bust, slim waist, with little curves. My mom and I do not share her luscious hair, I have pretty standard pin straight hair, the only thing similar about my hair to my mom’s is the color. However, while my physical attributes may not be very loud, I am. I tend to say what is on my mind, only holding my tongue occasionally. Without reservation,

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I often contribute in conversations even when it is not needed. I blame this on my need to be heard: which doesn’t make a lot of sense because I don’t really like to be noticed, these two traits are very contradicting. Last of all, I am not nearly as driven as my sister, I lack the motivation to do many things, even the things I love. I find it very difficult to want to go do the things I love, not because I don’t want to get better or because I don’t enjoy it but because I simply would rather lounge around and relax. I haven’t ever lost my drive to do the things I love, but sometimes I will take breaks out of lack of motivation.

Although there are many contrasts between the two of us, equally important is the many similarities. The most obvious and clear-cut is we share a mom, who has given us many of the same traits. Over the years, I have noticed that I write like my sister, but my sister writes like mom: I now know we both write like her. My sister and I both sound like our mom, she laughs like mom and I talk like mom. Occasionally, I will find myself listening to my mom and sister talking and comparing how much they sound and talk alike: making myself feel like the odd one out, only to be told a few days later I sound like my mother by a family friend. Another thing that my mom has genetically passed to my sister and I is our anxiety. I have had anxiety since I was very young, but it has only been diagnosed for two years now. I am not sure how long my sister has been diagnosed with anxiety but I am sure she suffered just as long as I did before being medicated. My mom could tell that we had anxiety but she did not see the point in medicating us before we knew what was going on, which I am thankful for, because it has helped me understand myself more. Despite liking and loving each other now, my sister and I did not always appreciate each other, there used to be a lot of animosity between us like we were at war .

For example, I remember there was one time we sat down to eat dinner, and we were all supposed to go around and say one nice thing about each other, and I looked at my sister and said something along the lines of “I don’t have anything nice to say, so I’m not going to say anything” with a smug smirk on my face. I don’t remember why I felt inclined to say that, but I have a feeling we had been fighting that day. Now surprisingly, she is one of the most important people in my life, she is someone I would go to for life advice and anything else. My sister has become one of my best friends and biggest role models, showing me how to become a strong, smart, spunky, and sympathetic specimen.

Subsequently, our differences are what have brought us closer together, and our similarities have created a bond as strong as two magnets. Occasionally, I still catch myself wondering what it would be like to actually look like my sister: but at the end of the day, I enjoy our differences as it makes us unique and distinct from each other. All in all, Jacey and I sharing more differences than similarities keeps things interesting and

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exciting.

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Poetry: 11th and 12th Grade, Greater Midwest

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Kira Sotos, 12th, Madison West High School, WI "All-American" Nineteen on a chilly day They bussed my childhood away But in that seat, I didn't know That wrinkles were so quick to grow

At 8:15, my head was clean No moppy mess, a shiny sheen And in a swift and lawful manner I bore the mark of a spangled banner

We laughed and played and fought like kids No cognizance of consequence For war to us was fun and games But Vietnam put that to flames

A plane of rowdy adolescents Time to us was of no essence A foreign playground to explore No concept of the pain in store

An afternoon of realization

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Made us Martyrs of our nation When Charlie took us by the hand And spilled our blood across red land

Danny’s corpse hung from a tree Gordon shot, trying to flee Napalm was the end of Glenn And Ted we never saw again

Among them, was I, the lucky few To board the chopper and make it through But home was not a warm place either The war had spread like wildfire

Off the bus, an empty shell A boy now man returned from hell Was met with murmur and distaste A glob of spit flung at my face

They taunted me to raise my fists But all I wished was for slit wrists A window reflection with eyes deadpan Revealed the remains of a broken man

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Twenty-one as the night sky shone My mother cries how old I've grown But I just look ahead and stare And tell her, life is never fair

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Prose: 11th and 12th Grade, Greater Midwest

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Kira Sotos, 12th, Madison West High School, WI, (Fiction) "The Promise" That afternoon, the sky stayed a calming, pewter gray and the rain fell particularly heavy. Water seeped into the blood-soaked ground, cradling the young soldier in a bed of warm, earthy slush. As he stared deep into the turbulent clouds, his anguished lust for peace of mind allowed the weight of his eyelids to blanket him under cover of darkness. His descent into comatose recast the harsh rain into kisses of sunshine, whistles of artillery into songbirds, and the confines of his uniform into his mother’s tender arms. One final wheeze of sweaty air and Magna Mater welcomed him deep into the solace of her muddy bosom.

Far from the trials of reality, he was seven once again, lying in the sleepy fields of his homeland. Carelessly he gazed into the horizon, naming shapes as the gentle wind sculpted clouds into pretty pictures. His mother held him tight to her chest, lifting his chin toward the shining sun, and kissed his forehead softly.

“My boy… whenever you find yourself struggling, I want you to come back to this place. Remember the beauty of this moment, and cherish it.”

He closed his eyes and smiled as the climate of peace lulled him deep into a placid slumber. ********** Will erupted violently to the burning sensation of oxygen filling his lungs, as mud and phlegm exited his system. His vision gradually steadied and as his body returned to its senses, he could not believe his eyes. Ubiquitously, the land was green and fertile, a grandiose sky of blue stretching infinitely into the distance. His skin was clean, and his uniform was replaced by equally fresh linens. Not far ahead, a woman in a delicate white dress beckoned him toward her with a warm smile. Combing his fingers meekly through his hair, he approached her with apprehension.

“Um hello. I… is this heaven?”

The girl giggled playfully, ignoring the question.

“Are you enjoying your time here?” She solicited, almost mechanically.

“Uh…yeah, I suppose.”

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The world around him dimmed and every facet of life froze in place. Out of thin air, a script of words appeared before him, and a monotonous voice began to narrate.

You must provide 5 credits to continue. Free trial ends in 5…4…3…2…1…

At the end of the countdown, the scene of beauty faded out of existence and left Will to his own silence. The once neverending landscape was now a dim-lit room with refracted walls and a glowing red exit sign. He felt the dank gravity of his dirt-caked uniform weigh him down once more. He wondered if he had instead been sent to purgatory. Was this punishment for his participation in mass murder?

“Do I have any credits!?” Will implored.

“To check credit balance, please display your UNIVERSAL PASS.” Dejected, he exited politely. “Oh okay… I don’t have one of those but thanks anyway.”

The view outside was equivalently as strange as the inside of the foreign room.

Smooth, metallic structures resembled skyscrapers out of New York City and lit the underground cavern with beams of light through their compact windows. Onyx-colored streets twisted parallel to said buildings, and cars of eccentric shapes and colors decorated them. The door he had exited was an entrance to a dome-shaped building, labeled with the word HOLOSCAPE. Several feet away, a short, broad establishment displaying windows filled with brightly colored packages lured him in.

Along the first wall, to the left of the entry, Will observed several rows of long rubber cords, short metal stubs adorning either end. Palm-sized, reflective squares, some containing panels of numbers and letters, hung from the neighboring row. Just underneath, magazines, with paintings so good Will mistook them for photographs, sat neatly against a few shelves. Overwhelmed, he turned his attention to an aisle of thin, aluminum-coated bars labeled MELTED GOLD. Scrooge-like, he hurriedly grasped a bar in his hands and tore the wrapper away. The contents were brown. A sweet aroma rose promptly and the familiar sweetness nearly sent him into euphoric shock. Hungrily, he broke the bar off into little squares and stuffed them into his mouth. It was chocolate– a treat he had not enjoyed for far too long. He grabbed a few more bars, tucking them into his coat, and retreated back to the peace of the holoscape.

Upon passing one of the unconventionally engineered cars, Will spotted a card beneath its bumper and skimmed over the details: UNIVERSAL PASS Aeneas Vouvali

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Race: Earth-human “Maybe he’ll have some credits.”

Once inside, Will reached out the card and thrust it around in the open for the voice to see. “Are there any credits on this?”

The voice hummed happily and displayed the script in the air once more, this time exhibiting the details of the universal pass.

“Vouvali, Aeneas. Credit balance: 350. Would you like to purchase an experience in the holoscape?”

“Yes. Uh… the one with lots of open-air and a big green field. There was also a lady in a white dress, I believe.”

In the blink of an eye, the pastures returned and Will was once again clad in clean, dry clothes. “Did you mean SIMULATION ONE: PEACEFUL COUNTRYSIDE?” “Yes! This is exactly what I was looking for.”

“Simulation purchased. Your new balance is 345 credits. Your remaining time in PEACEFUL COUNTRYSIDE is 5 hours.”

Will took in the beauty of the rural terrain, raising his arms to allow the cool breeze through his fingertips, and strode toward the shade of an apple tree. Happy for the first time in years, he rested his head against the trunk and closed his eyes.

“Finally found you.” A booming voice uttered, causing Will to stumble backward in fear. A large man stared Will down sternly, his presence god-like.

“Oh… wait. Are you like the woman in the white dress? I don’t need company right now, I just want to rest.”

“I am not simulated. Now take my hand so we can return to the surface.”

Abruptly, Will rose, a look of agitation and reluctance on his face.

“Return? You mean back to the war? No thanks, I’m happy here.”

“That will not be possible. This place will be destroyed once I bring you back.”

Unphased, Will raised his arms and closed his eyes, allowing the wind to flow through his fingertips once more.

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“So be it! Destroy me with this place. I’d rather die happy than live a life of pain and suffering!” The man frowned, puzzled by Will’s suicidal passivity.

“You would rather die in a simulation than return to the real world? Do you not wish to lie in real grass? Feel the sun tan your skin? Touch the flesh of a genuine woman?”

Will lowered his hands, adopting a solemn expression, and turned toward the synthetic sun. “I…will not get to experience any of those things if you take me back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m a soldier fighting in one of the worst wars of history! I’ll be dead, that’s why!” The man contemplated a moment before speaking.

“Well, what if I made sure you would not have to return to the battlefield. You could go back home. Pursue a career, marry, start a family. Take my hand, and I will gift you the life of peace you so desire!”

“What’s the point?”

“Huh? How can you say that!? I’ve offered you a life like this, a world without tragedy-” “How can you promise me a life without tragedy? It’s part of the human condition to inflict pain. We do not live life! We feed off of it, like parasites, and use it to destroy.

You know why I would rather stay here? There are no humans that can pollute the beauty of this simulation. Not even me! I cannot taint what can’t be touched. In the trenches, I killed people and they killed my people. I ruined the lives of their families and they ruined the lives of my friends' families. Here I can do no harm!” The man sunk to the ground, sighing into his hands.

“Ha…you are just like a friend I once had... Do you know what you have stumbled upon? Why this place must be destroyed?”

Will shook his head, lowering himself in agony.

“This place is a product of the past. Believe it or not, mankind was once far more advanced. You even established colonies in outer space. And it was all due to us, the watchers of the universe. This great war you speak of? It has happened before, we witnessed it. We watched you struggle, make mistakes, and continue to destroy yourselves. Eventually, we grew fond of you. We intervened, helped you advance, and became your friends. But as your superiors, we failed to raise you successfully. The speed at which we gave you the power to evolve yourselves left an insatiable hunger in the belly of mankind. You wanted more, and so you began to betray us. You even killed some of us. Your drive for power caused you to destroy yourselves once again.

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We thought you were a lost cause, only a handful of us, including myself, still had hope that you were capable of good. But even with my optimism, I had doubts. I continued to return to your planet, desperate for an argument I could use amongst my brethren to keep you alive. It was then I met my friend. His name was Atticus, and he was a cynic, just like you. He believed the universe was better off without mankind. A few times, he begged me to convince the others to destroy humanity once and for all. I disagreed with him every time, arguing it was unfair to judge the entirety of man under the guise of a few wicked rogues. He never listened. The next time I tried to visit him, he had put himself out of his own misery. In remembrance of my friend, I returned to my comrades, begging them not to eliminate the human race. I suggested instead of total annihilation, we give you a second chance, this time without befriending you.

They agreed and strived to wipe away all traces of civilization and advancement. What can I say? I wanted to see your kind thrive so that I could prove my friend wrong, and now, I have yet another Atticus on my hands that needs convincing. You have seen the paragon of this place, are you still convinced that man is capable only of destruction?”

“I get what you’re saying, I really do, but what makes you so sure we won't just end up destroying ourselves again?”

“I am not, but I believe that is the sole purpose of second chances and hope. Just like one man is capable of destroying the world, another is capable of its salvation. This universe runs on the flip of a coin.”

“And if it flips to the wrong side?”

“Don’t let it. Outsmart the probability. Is it not you that can prove the goodness of humankind? You are, after all, at least partially responsible for the fate of your race.

Learn from what you have seen and heard today. Fix the mistakes of the men that built this place. Rewrite history, so that this future can no longer be a possibility.”

The man, once again, reached out his divine hand and this time, Will gripped it with faith. ****** When Will awoke, he found himself lying in the cot of an ARC hospital, his left arm exchanged for a swath of bloody bandages. He was discharged, a brave warrior, and sent back home to his family. It was a sunny afternoon the day he returned to his childhood home. The fields thrived, a healthy green, and a warm breeze swept through the horizon. His mother stood in the pastures, smiling as tears streamed down her cheeks, and held her son close to her chest. Her skin was warm and alive.

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The watcher had kept his promise, now it was time for Will to keep his.

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Elizabeth Jensen, 11th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Fiction) " The Strength to Overcome" As the dimming light made its way through the narrow hospital window, the doctor leaned forward in the violet armchair that sat opposite to his patient, and despite not uttering a word, questioned him with his crude-oil eyes. Though already given the first dose of his IV sedative before the operation, he could see his patient’s green eyes still paling with unwonted anxiety. Still as a statue, he sat, only his eyes betraying his true emotions. Then, finally shattering his stony facade, his face scrunched up and he wrung his clammy hands, “I am so frightened,” the statement hung in the empty air for a moment, but in spite of the fear that appeared to ooze from him, his words were clear, his voice impassioned, but not trembling, and little by little through the silence, the white room began to take on the air of a confessional.

The doctor opposite him frowned and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He knew there wasn’t much he could do now, his patient already understood the procedure, it was just the subconscious turmoil that brimmed under his conviction that held him back. It was a remaining storm only he could conquer, "There is nothing to be frightened about during the surgery. I’ve done this a thousand times.”

He looked at him with his intensely green eyes, uncomfortable yet resilient, "Doctor--if I can call you by your name for a moment--Nero, I know that you know what you are doing, but I am so afraid."

He struggled with how to respond for a moment, “Can you tell me what you are afraid of?”

"Just the thought of everything that could go wrong. I've been so close to dying, I still am, but-- I am scared to fall asleep every night. I am scared to close my eyes because what if it is the last time? What if I never get to see my daughter again? These things have wracked my mind for so long. I know you can’t make any promises, that there truly aren’t any assurances, but I so badly wish there were,” he sighed and buried his face in his hands for a moment.

Nero struggled, it was true. He could make no promises, no assurances other than what he had already said, but statistics wouldn’t comfort his patient, diagrams and explanations wouldn’t relieve the anxiety that gripped him, “I recognize this must be a difficult time for you and your family. But you have been strong, I am sure she is proud of you. You’ve been the best father you can be.”

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"I know I’ve done the best I can, I just can't stop thinking about her. I don't want her to be scared. I don't want her to be alone. I want her to understand…this all isn’t anyone’s fault.” he trailed off, before shaking his head as if it was futile.

Nero’s grey eyes showed his conflict but for an instant, before he spoke again, "I can’t understand your fear completely, but I will try, it’s the least I can do. And yes, I am going to be honest with you, this is no easy disease, but we are never going to give up on your treatment, we are not going to give up on serving you and your family.”

There was silence for a moment before his patient replied, "I wish I had more faith in you."

“Well, I have faith in you,” he returned, tilting his head slightly, “You have fought this, you have been strong, you have made this choice for yourself.”

“I know, I want to make this choice. I must, but I am terrified,” he put a hand just below his heart, “I can feel it here, in my chest. It’s a tension and it never goes away. I had hoped that today it would pass. That I would overcome, but here I am.”

“Fear, it’s part of being human, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, it affects us all. I’ll be candid with you, Alexis, I understand that I alone cannot do much, I’ve been here a hundred times, I’ve seen a hundred ways people come to terms and yet, each time it's the same. It’s their burden that they come to terms with, it's their strength that raises them to overcome it.”

Alexis nodded, “I know this is my choice. I know that there’s only so much you can offer to put my mind at rest. I understand that. Only I wish someone could understand my fear. Right here, right now, it feels like I am the only one who feels this way-- It isn’t true, of course it isn’t, but I can’t imagine anyone feeling this way, anyone feeling anymore afraid.”

Nero felt his thoughts buzzing through his mind before they slowed in the quiet. The air deadened around their ears like cotton before Alexis broke the stillness once again, "Have you ever been afraid?"

Nero, frankly, was surprised by the question, and hesitantly tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair he answered, “Yes, of course.”

"Then, I have no idea if this will help, it’s a shot in the dark, but if you would be kind enough to indulge my inquiry for a moment…” he paused, “what are you afraid of?"

He hesitated for a second, not wanting to cross that unspoken line between sharing purely to empathize and being too forthright, yet again he chose to be surprisingly 63

candid, “Very well… I am afraid of having lived a meaningless life. I am afraid that everything I have worked for will be for naught. I am afraid that all I have done here, all I have doen in my life means as little as the grains of sand on a wave swept beach.”

Alexis nodded, “I understand that. Often, I have felt the same of late, there just isn’t enough time it seems. There isn't enough time to do everything you had dreamed of.

There isn’t enough time to spend. Just I wonder how you stop it from consuming you.

What do you do when you feel like that?”

“I breathe, Alexis, and so should you. Think of what keeps you going. Think of your daughter,” he offered slowly.

He smiled, “I think that is exactly what I was getting at. You breathe, you take your strength in that moment and hold it for the next.”

Nero nodded, “You carry your strength for your cause, whether it is a person, an idea, or a goal. We all carry our strength for something, something to remind us we can walk through our burdens.”

“Yes, and perhaps it's odd, but in these cold moments I have begun to believe my cause is purely her. All I want is to be the father she deserves. To be brave for her. I will be brave for her,” he stopped, his words, though soft, seemed to ring through the room, “Who are you brave for?”

Nero chuckled, the slow creep of exhaustion that had plagued him for months beginning to shine through, “I am brave for everyone, every single one of my patients.

It isn’t fair this has happened to us. It isn’t fair that we have been torn away from our lives. Every day I wake and I want to return home. I want to return to the one I love, but I remember I have a greater cause, even if it is mine just for a little while. ...I suppose I am brave for this world, even though I am but one man.”

“And it is your burden to bear, it must be heavy, and yet you are brave. I wish I had half your strength.”

He shook his head, “Don’t compare us, it only shortchanges you unfairly. You have your own strength and you have something I could never dream of having. You have done things I could have never done.”

Again, a smile flitted across his face, “Thank you, it means more to me than you think.

I’m doing this for her. Everything I have is for her. My strength is for my little girl,” he repeated as if it were a mantra.

Gently, as if afraid to break the room’s reverie, Nero got to his feet and leaned against 64

the off-white wall, his shadow darkened in the gloaming sun, “Are you ready, Alexis?”

“Yes, I am ready. I can face this.”

Alexis turned his head and for a moment gazed out the window; he could see her smiling gap-toothed grin in his mind. Her innocence, her curiosity, her spark. She would carry these things forever and he would be there for her along the way. His beautiful daughter, his precious little girl. He would be strong for her, no matter what.

Everyone carried things they were strong for, a spouse, a mission, a friend, a lover, a child, the list could go on and on. Sometimes one could even be strong just for oneself. Be brave because no one will be brave for you, breathe and hold your ground to support yourself when no one does or could. It was time for him to stand for someone else, for someone he knew he put before the world. One last push of bravery to save their lives. It was time to face his fears, to face that fear to fall asleep, to have that trust he would wake again and see his daughter once more. He turned his eyes back to the doctor, it was time, time to put his life in the hands of a man he barely knew, and yet, he no longer was so frightened. It could save his life, and at the moment, even the word could didn’t scare him, even the possibility of failure no longer fazed him. A little strength, a small leap of faith, he had come to realize, they both went a long way.

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Evan Watson, 11th, West Marshall High School, IA, (Fiction) "Of Light and Dark" There existed no sunrise. There was no morning or midday. There was no calm, shadowy, brown-colored, and cool-winded evening. Not a fleck of dust was kicked up from the rock with the gravitational prodding and pulling of some distant satellite.

There were no oceans. It was dry and weightless and lifeless. The dead thing sat there amidst the void, writhing, crawling ever closer to death. There was no realization, no comprehension of the crawl towards some ultimate rest, as the crawl had already been completed for it. A passerby would not look upon it and notice, for no passerby existed. The only ocean amidst the gray was the black. Nothing around, forever, endlessly and infinitely, but the blackness. The ocean was surrounding, constantly encroaching, and bitter. It was a cold place. The only place they had ever been.

The Betwixt was the bordering edge between life and death and between harmony and discord. The waves of the Betwixt crashed against nothing and the waters retreated into nothing. Space/time felt no conviction inside the Betwixt. There was no meaning nor reason. The startling thing was the noticeable fact that, as the waves crashed and fell back through loops of infinitely tumulting nothingness, the sands of Alreality (what the regular space outside the Betwixt was called) would wear away. To observe this is to wear away as well.

A single spire, what appeared to be a single lantern floating dead in the ocean, cast off from the shattered remains of some sunken excursion, stood tall from the rocks. It shattered the ocean and commanded it. The ocean endured, though; it could not speak or react, for it was an ocean. Oceans do not feel. Not for an incalculable distance was any light seen save for this spire.

The station had been manned for an amount of time by three men. They agreed to the task. They made their choice. The station was commissioned shortly after the first ships arrived in the new plane; for humanity, it was no world, but rather, a dimension. A place where the z-axis is as accessible as the x and y, and matter failed to behave appropriately and there was no relative nature to time. To newcomers, then-passerbys, the station was a beacon in the darkness. A fog made of nothing was difficult to navigate, so this spire was the guide. Since the time of humanity’s great relocation had ended and the settlement of the Black Eye galaxy had finished, these stations were, without saying, rendered obsolete. No soul would desire to travel via spacecraft to these reaches of the universe.

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Never again.

A loud sound called out, echoing and pounding, signaling an artificial morning time, or “wake.” The second shift had begun.

Tolm pulled wet, clingy sheets from his sweating person. He reared around on the hard bed, facing a gaping window. With every wake period came, especially for those new to the practice as they had been some amount of years before, a strangled dream. The blackness remained black and deep. There was no respite. Occasionally, something would appear in the darkness, and the observer would then be accompanied by that guttural feeling of falling mid-sleep. The blackness grew to be the kind of black that you cannot see and the deepness a kind of depth and volume you could not understand. The outside failed to exist. Despite being utter blackness on the other side, there was no reflection in the glass.

Tolm secured onto himself a pair of colonial-issued heavy pants and a shirt. Wrapped around him was a heavy coat crusted with saliva and a smelly air that never went away.

He felt around his face and saw what he could with shifting eyes. He eyed the razor next to his hygiene kit and the unsorted gray mass on his chin and cheeks. He stepped away.

The bunks were empty at this point because the shifts had not been fully switched; protocol would be that Tolm dismiss the current shiftworker from duty and he takes their place. Tolm rode a central elevator to the top of the spire to do just that. Tolm observed the shaft as the flat, round floor moved him upwards. The white walls were enamoring, how they streaked with bright light cast off from hanging lamps and lights behind a glass wall.

There were never spots on the walls, only mangled reflections. They were in stark contrast to the outside, and were moderately comforting.

The elevator reached the top floor, the observation deck. Large, cylindrical glass doors moved around and opened, making a whirring sound. The sound remained unchanged, the walls remained pure. Something Tolm could appreciate. He jumped away from the metal guardrail he rested on and walked across a short walkway into the observation deck. The shiftworker at the time was J’arnum. He was much younger appearing, as his pale, bright-eyed kind aged significantly slower than humankind.

J’arnum did not react to Tolm’s entering the observation deck. He maintained watch.

From this vantage, Tolm could see the surface of the body upon which the spire sat. A common question between the crewmates, in the early times, was the question of the body’s nature upon which they lived. A moon? There was no planet for it to orbit. A

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planet? Perhaps, but one with its life taken from it. A life perhaps once fruitful, but now so enclosed and asphyxiated by deep darkness. There was no star for the body to orbit, and seemingly no gravity, as its clean surface invited no meteors or comets. The station was anchored to the surface, leaving wrinkles in its wake. From the command deck, the surface was almost shiny with how flat it was. Dim lights from the sides of the station covered some of the lands, and that which could be seen resembled a fogged mirror. Except the surface was immutable, and a mirror can be broken. After a straightedged point in the distance, a superficial horizon, the light wavered off and the rest of the body joined the void in a silent existence. Whether or not the sands were being washed away, no one could tell. It was too dark.

Tolm stepped forward, seeing only the top of J’arnum’s head. He wore a hooded shirt and the hood was like a veil.

Tolm rested an outstretched right hand against a heavy piece of machinery hanging on the wall of the observation deck. “See anything?”

“Yes,” said J’arnum. He maintained his watch.

Tolm moved from his position and paced to the other side of the room. He observed another heavy piece of equipment, this one with an orange screen displaying logistical information and processed data. He tapped at it and there was no response.

Tolm said while observing the piece of machinery, “Where’s Kal?” Tolm pulled a finger away from the screen, a sensation breathing and rubbing against his fingertip. He looked at his finger and rubbed the feeling away. He frowned and turned, facing out the wide, black window. He paced across the room again, stopping at one of four tall chairs, where one was occupied by J’arnum. The screens facing the chairs were orange like that which was on the machine to the left. They displayed a similar piece of data, too.

Tolm stood and swung his body around in place. He sucked some spittle from his lower lip and sighed. He scratched his forehead and adjusted his hat before his eyes crawled down to look at J’arnum.

“Where is Kal?” Tolm asked as he slid around and down into one of the chairs. He faced outward now, too, looking parallel to J’arnum.

“There is something outside,” said he.

Tolm looked down at the chair in which he sat, studying it. A dark-gray fabric ran down the sides and in a pattern on the arms and seat that mingled with black leather. Tolm’s

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fingers rubbed against the gray fabric, his mind empty. Nothing struck him as he sat in a state of total mental abandonment. Up and down the chair his fingers ran and he counted each ascent and descent. The fabric was clean and smooth, almost velvet-like. However, it was not velvet, and so it retained an opaque, artificial nature to it. Tolm had learned to enjoy the fabric’s smoothness and understand its significance. He could appreciate that in its minuteness, it served a purpose. Tolm’s fingers reached a point around the arm where they began to slip and fumble around with each repeating pass.

There was a point where Tolm felt he could not move any more, that something was deeply wrong. Tolm looked down to his fingers, now caught in the dark fabric. His face soured and his lips and brow curled like a hollow, dead tree reaching out in a dry wind.

The hole in the fabric tore open and his fingers, though easily maneuverable, were unable to be removed. He grew frantic, yelling obscenities and spewing spit as his motions in his arms grew more violent and erratic. He felt a pull, like his fingers were being grasped and called deeper. He sunk farther and farther before finally, he relented. He shot back into his chair and let his arm dangle and fingers remain sewed into the arm.

It was as if his peripheral ceased to exist during a period of hyper fixation on this newfound tear. More was broken. Ahead of him, something tore into his flesh and woke him. A light, a deep, bright, peering light shot out from the sea. The sea had extended too far by now; no craft could breach the waves that endlessly crashed closer and closer, against the surface now. This was the most common truth, the fact that remained since this place’s birth. Nothing could breach the waves. But the light stood tall regardless.

As the hole grew deeper and wider, more of Tolm’s surroundings developed alterations. The glossy, white-paneled walls faded and found themselves the focal point of some mossy muddle that had taken root. The top part of the control console, where shortly it met the glass viewing window, was dominated by a collage of empty dishes, containers, and a wall of dirt and dust that reached out in conquest, determined to reach out to each surface.

Around Tolm’s foot was a pile of plastics, collected there from the several broken floor panels. Stains lined the octagonal sections where these panels once sat unbroken.

Confliction spoke to Tolm, and he did not dare observe his surroundings as they fell to pieces, but the chill now at his cervical demanded he not look into the blackness, at the light. Regardless, one final anachronism caught his attention. Tolm’s weary eyes drifted over to J’arnum. Below J’arnum’s worn chair sat the crumbled remains of a metal

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appliance, something pulled likely from one of the maintenance closets. A stench lined the appliance’s exterior, and its once bright sheam was muddied by a crimson substance. The pooled, viscous material arched outwards and pooled in all directions.

It was dark enough that Tolm could make out a reflection. He removed his hand from the tear in the chair and brought it to his face, as he now saw himself.

Tolm paused and shortly returned to face out the window. The light was brightening.

J’arnum was still. Looking forward, he, too, brought a trembling hand to his face and left a trail of the same, thick liquid. “Kal... he’s-” “Free.” Tolm spoke ahead of him, through the glass. Still, ever into the deep, Tolm said, “We can be free, too.”

The string of numbers on the orange screens looped.

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Poetry: 9th and 10th Grade, Top of Iowa

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First Place, Claire Tauro, 10th, West Fork High School "Crescent Moon" She stood next to the door All alone as she waited For the concert to start.

She was all alone.

She tried to control it But little crescent moons Made an imprint on the inside of her wrist.

She sits at her desk All alone as she waits For an email to arrive.

She sits there; sleep-deprived.

She’s all alone As she tries to restrain But little crescent moons Make an imprint on the inside of her wrist.

She’ll walk down the hallway All alone as she is waiting For someone to be her hero.

She wants someone to save her.

She’s crying for help But all the while

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Little crescent moons Will make an imprint on the inside of her wrist.

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Second Place: Deanna Black, 10th, West Fork High School "The Drawer"

I once knew a girl that loved to draw She drew the most intricate pictures With a giant smile on her face But there were tears running down her face as she drew The tears were from the pain that her drawings brought For this girl did not draw with paper and crayons like most people A blade was her crayon and her arm was the paper The pain helped her feel alive The drawings made her feel like she had a purpose She wanted to feel alive and her drawings did that for her

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Prose: 9th and 10th Grade, Top of Iowa

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First Place: Leila Buffington, 9th, Osage High School, (Non-fiction) "My Very Own Episode of The Twilight Zone" “For safety, you should be in good health and free from high blood pressure, heart, back, neck problems, or other conditions that could be aggravated by this adventure. Expectant mothers should not ride.”

I stared dead ahead at the safety warnings of the ride I was about to face. The warnings were practically the same as every other foe I had seen before, but something was different. No, these warnings didn’t magically apply to me this one and only time, but I actually knew what this ride did. It was going to be the worst of the worst. It was, quite literally, the Tower of Terror.

“Mom, I really don’t want to go on this one, I-I know what this one does,” I sort of stammered out, mumbling a small bit.

My mother just reassured me it would be fine. “We’ve been on the other rides and you were fine then. Remember how much fun The Haunted Mansion was?”

She did have a point, The Haunted Mansion being a ride I actually enjoyed, but I wasn’t convinced. I knew what this ride did. My panicking before every ride had been because I didn’t know what was about to happen. This time, however, I did. I’d heard about this beast. I knew what I was in for.

“No, I’m serious. You hate heights, right? We have to go really high and they drop us down,” I further pushed. “The other times were before I knew what happened. I actually do this time.”

By this time, my younger sister had taken notice. She began to look a bit worried.

She’d sort of just brushed off my previous anxiety filled breakdowns, but now, even at the age of 6, she could tell I was serious.

“But how do you know you won’t have fun with this one?” my aunt, who had basically made this whole trip possible, chimed in. “Just trust us, you’ll enjoy it.”

I would not enjoy this. I knew that for a fact. I, at age 10- two months away from 11, would be dead. I would be dead, all because of a Disney ride. A Disney ride my family thought would be fun.

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I decided to shut my mouth, though. I would suffer silently. They weren’t going to get out of line for me anyway. They believed it was going to be exactly like all the other rides. I would panic and freak out due to my anxiety, but end up realizing I was overreacting by the end. I wish it went that way.

When I couldn’t make myself suffer with the safety warnings, I took in the atmosphere of the building. It being a ride based on The Twilight Zone, the place looked old, slightly rundown, even. It feels like you really just went through a portal that took you back in time to 1939. From an artistic perspective, it’s fascinating to look at, and I seriously applaud them for it, but from a scared 10 year old perspective, it is terrifying.

I know they made it look like that on purpose, but I couldn’t help imaging the ride breaking down with us on it.

Yet, even with a fast pass, waiting took longer than time itself. It was excruciating, yet it was all I had to do. I needed something to take my mind off of my own terror and fear, yet the only thing that did that was fuel it. I couldn’t even tell if the build up was worse than the ride itself. I was just standing there, awaiting my death. I was a lamp to the slaughter. We all were, but I was the only one who knew it.

The Disney employee beckoned us forward. It wasn’t menacing in any way, just some likely underpaid person doing their job, but I was still panicking. If 10 year old me could swear, I couldn’t even imagine what little me would be internally saying- or, rather, screaming.

I followed the herd into the old timey elevator. The elevator that would deliver death itself. Me and my family were goners. If only they listened to me. It was too late now though. We took our seats in the back of the elevator, buckled up, then awaited judgement day. I was shaking in my seat. My leg was bouncing up and down, and my fists were clenched. I was a coward and I knew it- but I didn’t care. It was time. The ride had begun.

This was even more apparent as the voice of Rod Sterling plays, telling you that you are now “on your very own episode of The Twilight Zone”. I was starting to grow more worried. I was 10 and some freaky voice was telling me I was about to be in a scary show I barely knew anything about. We were rising too. You could see yourself doing so, the wall in front of you falling as you went up.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Then, the doors opened. Ahead of us we could see what looked like a hotel floor, just one from the past. Ghostly figures of people, five to be exact, began to form.

Suddenly, lightning crackles through the hotel floor, the ghosts seemingly vanishing

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because of it. The lights dim until you are plunged into cold, hard darkness, just with white specks sprinkled around, exactly like the beginning of each episode (just without the title). It seems Rod Sterling hadn’t been lying.

Once again, the doors to the elevator closed. I could only tell because of the white specks. I also wouldn’t haven’t been able to tell we were rising once again if it wasn’t for the sensation of going up resuming and the unearthly, dread-inducing sound emanating from the speakers. We were going to the top. The top of a ride with a height of 200 feet.

“One stormy night long ago, five people stepped through the door of an elevator and into a nightmare. That door is opening once again, and this time, it's opening for you.” The voice I was convinced was going to haunt me came back. It was like he was taunting me. Taunting me for daring to step foot in his elevator, for stepping into this nightmare.

When the doors opened again, we were greeted with a room with a sort of rustic feel.

The ride began to move forward and we went into the room. While we did, the lights dimmed out again. When lights began to come back on, ones that cast an eerie blue hue into the corners of the room, we were still going forward, but now we were moving past different things. At first, it was the outlines of people, but then it was a clock, and then a room with the same, familiar lightning the ghosts had emitted. The all familiar theme of The Twilight Zone was beginning to play now too.

We headed to another room, one seemingly made out of space itself with pure black walls with flecks of stars on it- matching the same look the room had when the ghosts had disappeared. The walls and lights split open though, as if the elevator we were in had gone into a new elevator. We were in “The Fifth Dimension”, as the all knowing voice that came through the speakers told us. Though, we weren’t going to be for long. We were going to be in the Tower of Terror.

And so we did, slowly going into the shaft we needed to be in. It was pitch black.

Along with being terrified of roller coasters, I wasn’t the biggest fan of the dark. I clung to my mother’s arm like the coward I was. My sister was right on her other side, also cowarding, knowing we were in for something. It was like we were in the dark forever, even longer than the dreaded line it took us to get in the ride itself.

Then, we stopped.

We began to fall, then stop. Then fall again.

That process repeated a couple of times before we went back up for a bit. By now, the

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thrilled screams of the other passengers were filling the “elevator” at every little fall.

They would have no match on my sister though.

You see, when we got to the top of the tower, they opened the doors again. You could see how high you were- 13 stories, coincidencently. It wasn’t like I could pretend to enjoy the view either, because as soon as I felt the dread of how high I really was, we plummeted.

I closed my eyes tightly and basically hid myself by my mom’s armpit, clinging on her for protection like a baby monkey who can’t yet swing from vine to vine by themself. I actually didn’t join in on the screams around me, but my sister did. It was the loudest I had heard her scream (and I think that still stands today). In addition, Tower of Terror makes you fall faster than the pull of gravity, apparently, so we were rising in our seats.

If it wasn’t for our seatbelts, we would have been like astronauts, just only with blunt force trauma from the roof.

I didn’t open my eyes until the elevator came to a forceful stop- meaning I slammed down in my seat. It was completely pitch black again, of course, but now the same blue ghosts were in front of us.

Great. Them again.

Could I even relish in the feeling of not descending down to meet The Devil himself?

No. No, I couldn’t. It was back to falling.

Everyone’s screaming picked up, including the ear splitting one my sister produced. If only they had listened. This was my own personal Hell. I hate roller coasters. I hate drops. I hate the dark. I could be enjoying this right now if it wasn’t for that stupid, dumb cowboy ride at Adventureland.

We had stopped, once again. The doors opened to reveal a black and white spiral, the one that seems to go in a spiral itself, if you know what I mean. The music was back too, a fitting sound as the spiral began to zoom out. Objects began to fall into the black and white abyss, the most striking being Rod Sterling himself. Luckily for me, however, the ride was to an end.

“A warm welcome back to those of you who made it,” the man I had just watched fall into a spiral congratulated. “A friendly word of warning; something you won't find in any guidebook. The next time you check into a deserted hotel on the dark side of Hollywood, make sure you know just what kind of vacancy you're filling or you may find yourself a permanent resident of The Twilight Zone.”

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We got up, leaving our seats and exiting the nightmare I didn’t think would end. I was still shaking. The look of the gift shop couldn’t even calm me down. I still felt like I was in flight or fight. Thank goodness I didn’t have to go on anymore rides like that. My sister was probably thankful for that too. I’m never going back on that ride again, I vowed.

But, looking back on this, would I ever go back on “that ride” again, five years later?

Maybe. I actually enjoyed looking back at this ride, especially after watching The Twilight Zone itself. So much was put into this ride, and while I still hate drops and don’t like roller coasters, I now know what happens on this ride, hopefully easing my anxiety a bit. This ride also taught me about how easy you can become the boy from “The Boy Who Cried Wolf”. While it wasn’t in that same sense, my family didn’t trust me because I had panicked in every line before this one. What would have made it different in their eyes, you know? Anyways, while the ride certainly lives up to its name, I think I would recommend Tower of Terror. It was terrifying, yes, but it’s also such a neat ride that should not be forgotten.

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Second Place: Annaliese Arciniega, 9th, Osage High School (Non-Fiction) "Down But Not Out" We were both battling for dominance, one being pushed, then the other getting the same treatment right back. It felt like we were all over the mat. One side one second and the complete opposite side the next. Her leg went in between mine.. and I tripped. I fell onto the mat, but she came with me. In a matter of seconds we were flipped around and I was on top. I was on top. *** “You going out for wrestling?” Fank basically shouted in his usual upbeat yet somehow condescending tone. I was walking through the old high school gym, as I usually did, on my way to class. Every day, almost every time I passed him my eighth-grade year, Fank seemed to ask that question. Over, and over, and over.

“No, I’m in basketball, you know that.” Although I was annoyed, a small smirk was appearing on my face.

His smile widened, almost reading my thoughts. He knew what he was doing, “Yeah, what about next year? There are people that do both.”

He and I both knew I was done with this conversation, “I’ll think about it.” I told him, saying what he wanted to hear so that I could continue on my way. I didn’t wait to see what he said and started walking again.

“Bye!” I could hear the smile on his face. I didn’t answer him. Fank wasn’t the only one who constantly pushed me to join, half of that credit has to go to Gable. Ask anyone and they will say she is stubborn and persistent, especially when she’s passionate about something. That’s not to say I never got annoyed or angry at her constant reminders and nagging, but hey it worked out in the end. Didn’t it? *** On my way to the locker room to get changed for basketball practice, I couldn’t help my thoughts. The same ones ran through my mind every day. I seriously hate basketball, I only do it for three reasons. 1. To stay in shape, 2. For my mom, and 3. I need something to occupy my time. My thoughts were interrupted as I entered the musty old locker room. Gosh, this place is disgusting. I continued to sulk as I

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changed into my shorts and T-shirt and pulled on my practice jersey. I walked into the gym and sat on the stage awaiting my teammates arrival, it was times like these that made me think: I hate basketball, maybe I’d like wrestling. Maybe I should try it… but those thoughts quickly left my mind as the coach yelled for practice to start. *** The whole week leading up to Friday I was on edge. Every time my mind wandered to my match, in the slightest, I could feel my heart speed up immensely. Not to mention the day of the meet. That whole day I tried to put it off my mind, but I couldn’t do that any longer, especially when it was time to leave. In the days leading up to then, I was constantly doubting myself saying how “I was going to get pinned”. It was then, I knew I had to change my attitude. Immediately.

The whole bus ride was spent braiding people’s hair, so that helped to get my mind off things.

As the bus stopped, we all gathered our things and headed inside. We got changed and set up camp, before doing our skin checks. I was in the lower end of the 126-132 bracket and had three matches. After getting skin checked, our girl’s team walked into the gym to warm up, it was then I put on a “mean face”. I dropped my usual smile and put on a glare, trying to look intimidating. Did it work?... Heck, I have no idea.

“Did you already wrestle?” Kaegen asked as she came to sit next to me.

“No, why?” I muttered.

“I don’t know, you look pissed. Like you lost your match or something.”

I tried to keep the smile from creeping onto my face, “Good, that was my plan I’m trying to look mean.”

She couldn’t contain her smile, “Oh!” She laughed as she said it.

“Yeah,” I couldn’t keep a smile from my face either. It spread wider than I wanted, as I let out a laugh.

“I thought you lost!”

“No, now stop making me smile!” I turned to look away from her as we continued to watch our teammate’s match. A couple more matches went by as I waited for my name to be called. Suddenly I heard it.

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“....Arciniega…. mat three….” That was all I could make out as the announcer spoke.

“Was that me, or was that Hampton?” I asked one of my teammates in a somewhat frantic voice.

“I think that was you” I tried to calm myself down putting my “mean face” back on and headed towards the mat. I sat down struggling to get my warm ups off. I stood back up, asking someone for assistance with my headgear. After it was secured tightly to my head, I started bouncing on my toes, trying to prepare for my match the best I knew how.

When the match ahead of mine ended, I looked at my friends and coaches one last time, internally battling myself trying to calm down. Be mean, go in there aggressively. Pretend it’s someone you hate. Those were the “reassuring” words going through my head as I started towards the table.

“Arciniega?” I nodded as they asked. “You’re green,” It was obvious they had done this millions of times. As if they thought they were a broken record. I’m sure they were much more calm than me. My heart felt as if it was beating a million times a minute, Don’t let it show. I walked towards the mat and grabbed the green velcro band, and struggled a bit to put it around my ankle. My opponent was already there with her red band around her ankle. We got in our stance…. and the whistle blew.

It felt like she came lunging at me like a panther, but with the energy of a young kid on a sugar high. It’s safe to say I wasn’t expecting it, but I wasn’t going to give up. I pushed my surprised feelings back down, and gave her the same energy in return. Her hands found my arms and neck as she pushed and pulled my body. We were both battling for dominance, one being pushed, then the other getting the same treatment right back. It felt like we were all over the mat. One side one second and the complete opposite side the next. Her leg went in between mine.. and I tripped. I fell onto the mat, but she came with me. In a matter of seconds we were flipped around and I was on top. I was on top, scoring two points. I grabbed a hold of her body hanging on for dear life, but it felt like I was on a bucking bull and couldn’t get control of it. I didn’t realize it now, but what I’ve come to learn is that I was riding too high. She stood back up, I locked my hands around her torso and threw her back down to the mat, with some sort of new-found confidence.

“LOCKED HANDS!” I heard someone yell from around me. I ignored it. Again. The same thing. I was on top, but she stood up. I threw her back down. It continued as I threw her down for a third time, I felt like it had been ages but I wasn’t even through the first period. I continued on top before she got up again and broke my lock. We both moved apart from each other, before quickly coming straight back together. She

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shot for my leg and I “sprawled.” I should say I attempted to sprawl, but failed (I now know my mistake was not shoving her head underneath my body). She ended up on top and covered me for two points. With a few more hiccups on my side and a few more points on hers. The first period had ended. I ended up on the bottom. As I set up I reminded myself: You have to get up as quickly as you can, don’t let her get you down. Stand up fast. I again heard the whistle and it took some effort but I stood.

Seconds turned into minutes as we both continued struggling to stay ahead. I was getting tired, but the last thing I wanted to do was get pinned. In the last few seconds of the third period, I was put in a very sticky situation. She held me down, I was almost on my back at the edge of the mat. My body felt as if it was completely twisted in half (which it basically was). By some miracle I didn’t get pinned, but as the clock ticked down, my time was running out to get ahead. I didn’t. As the referee blew the final whistle, we both got up. My eyes met hers.

I took her hand firmly in mine, “Good job.” Afterwards, I bent down to un-velcro the band from around my ankle. At this point I expected to be upset as I looked over at the still uncleared score board (8-2 not great), but I wasn’t. I wasn’t mad or upset. I walked over to my coaches in good spirits as they explained my mistakes and listened intently.

Overall, I enjoyed my first match. Although I didn’t win and know I have lots of room to grow, I was proud of myself for doing that. Rewatching that match, it has probably been one of my best so far. Even if I didn’t win. I have much to learn and I’m not going to lie and say I’m eager to do so, because most days I am not. Most days I have no energy to do a single thing. Most days I want to shut off my alarm and say “I overslept”. But I don’t, and that is key. In everything you do (in this case me), you won’t always want to do it. Some days you feel motivated and others you don’t. That’s life. What I’ve learned in my life (this matches a part of it) is to not give up. Although I don’t think I could say anything more cliche, it’s true. You can’t start something and then not finish it because it wasn’t easy. It’s not supposed to be easy, and you have to learn to enjoy the ups and downs. Which is exactly what I am slowly (extremely slowly at times), but surely learning to do.

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Henry Mauser, 9th, Osage High School, (Non-fiction) "My Allstate Experience" It was an odd feeling. I remember the cool, dense, yet dry air of the massive coliseum. I felt strangely comfortable with the whole thing, I had been to the campus many times before. I was at peace, in my element. Was almost as if some force had taken over. As I traded places with the other accompanist, I sat, and tried not to move too much. My real issue was the evil urge inside me to play when I wasn’t supposed to, I think it was the camera 3 feet away staring into my soul. The dictionary defines tranquility as a state of mind - calm, but I would define it as a punch to the mind, pressure in your chest, and an unexplainable energy that supplies crisp awareness. I believe it’s the single highest stimulus that your consciousness can achieve... ★★★★★★★★★★ As we were rolling into the campus of Iowa State University, I recalled the previous visits I paid there. This gave me more confidence because I knew the land, almost like a tribal chief. The trip there felt like it was days long because of how vigorously I was studying music to ensure security in my playing. On another note, I was tightly squeezed into the back of an SUV and had no room to move. I still couldn’t imagine what was about to happen during the camp, but thankfully, today was all about auditions for my fellow allstaters in the Scheman building. building.

“I can’t wait to sit and do nothing today,” I complained as we entered the

Mr. Kirkpatric opened the door and said, “Well you still have to help with other people’s auditions.” After all, Ashley was on crutches.

Whenever I used to travel to this part of the campus, I would get so nervous because it all had to do with performing. This time was different, I was old and wise like an owl. I felt calm and collected. It could’ve been associated with my maturity, or the fact that deep down I knew I was ready to shred the piano later. I had been preparing for TWO MONTHS. The rest of the day consisted of me and the others walking around to audition spaces to help with encouragement, and other logistical things. It was at this point when I could start to settle in and get more comfortable with the idea of staying here for two more days. Speaking of settling in, it was at this time that we unpacked at the hotel and left for dinner.

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Pizza Pit had some very good pizza that I aggressively scarfed down while trying to remember not to eat so much.

“I can’t believe I’ve never eaten here before,” I said while finishing my last slice. DING. “Who’s that?” asked Mari.

“I don’t know, it says to come to do a tempo check with Dr. Copley.”

“The choir conductor?”

“Ya” Mr. Kirkpatrick glared at me, “Well, then we better drop you off quickly.”

I had never been so scared in my lifetime. I was about to meet a widely known choir conductor abruptly at 6:30 in the evening. I had done zero playing that day. What if I make a bad impression? What if I didn’t play in the right style? What if...I tried not to worry, I just needed to do my thing.

I entered the room and introduced myself to her, and she told me I would be playing for the solo try-outs. Some kids walked in and we went through the audition process. I thought I was in the clear until she looked me in the eyes and said, “YOUR RUSHING!” This was the worst because I knew I was and knew how to fix it, but was just too nervous to change. There was something off about the whole thing. I remember that night in bed thinking about what went wrong, and what tomorrow would be like. All I knew was that I had to get some sleep.

The next day in CY Stephens Auditorium, I met the other accompanist, Julia.

She was really nice and made me feel better about what had happened the night before. She admitted that she too had been slightly scared of Copley as well. We sat down as the choir filed in, all 6 million of ‘em. We began giving pitches and playing. It wasn’t so bad after all, but I could tell there was still something going on. On another note, I had forgotten what a choir of this size sounded like. Man, it sounded like heaven above heaven, it was an amazing experience.

After lunch we made our way back to CY Stevens. The other reason I really enjoyed rehearsals was because we got to meet the composers of some of the pieces.

It was really interesting how they interpreted their own creations and explored the possibilities of literature.

The next day we went to rehearsal once again and refined our work. Dr. Copley was very good at involving the choir in a way that helped them remember things. Again, there was still something fishy going on between us, I just couldn’t put a finger on it. Thankfully I didn’t have to, a random exhilarated choir kid asked Copley in front of everyone: “What’s your beef with Henry? At this point it felt like my organs 86

weren’t functioning as I digested the comment, and as others in the crowd started reluctantly agreeing with the statement. Dr. Copley looked clearly confused by what had been sayed. She was trying her hardest to recover from her unlikely fate, but let's be honest, she just fell into a dark, cold, loyalty raveene. This whole time I thought I was delirious, delusional, distracted. I thought it was my mind being silly again, but no.

How could Iowans from around the state all come to the conclusion that something strange was going on, and have the guts to outright yell it to the protagonist!? This is the most backup I’ve ever gotten in my life.

After that crazy order of events, we traveled back to the hotel to reset and get dressed for the concert. This was when I started to get nervous, thankfully we got Jimmy Johns. I was pretty much set. So as we hopped into the SUV, I felt ready to perform.

Mr. Kirkpatrick set the ground rules: “The plan is to meet everyone at the hotel after the concert because it will get crazy busy in the coliseum.”

“He’s right,” added Mari as she hopped out, “Been there, done that.”

The coliseum had many people sitting down when we arrived, and the cameras were there. I had never been filmed that close before, but I was ready to accept the challenge. As I walked up to the piano, I saw Juila and a piano tuner. He was tuning very fast for a fresh sound before the concert. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this with Iowa’s best highschool musicians. It was time to sit and listen to the orchestra first, and take in the amazing sound of the strings. When it was time for the choir, Julia started playing while I turned pages. This might have been more nerveracing than actually playing.

When it was my turn, I don’t know what got into me, I just sat and played as well as I always had in practice. Sure, my hands were extremely sweaty, but they were fine after I started playing. It was probably the most surreal experience I’ve ever had in my entire musical career.

On the ride home I was thinking. Thinking about the events that took place.

Thinking about life, and the future. I think that in a way, Copley helped me more than anyone else in the preforming arts. She tought me that mo matter what problems, obstacles, or issues you face in life, I am the only person who can hold me back, keep me steady, and push me forward. It really is amazing.

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Poetry: 9th and 10th Grade, Greater Midwest

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Third Place: Emilie Stewart, 9th, Carlisle High School, IA "Dancing With Death" A swan dancing under the moonlight of a world that doesn’t yet exist.

Not a soul watching the way he moves, his pirouettes and pliés sparking a standing ovation from the stars.

A partner he longed for, someone to sway with under the sky.

Someone to dance with to the song of the absent sun while he basks in the imaginary light.

Only coming out at dusk to find peace in the shine of the night.

Alone, he spins like the wheels have spun the silver shine of twilight.

He dances with himself, a partner forming in his mind.

Their hands intertwine, their minds alike.

He dances with the loneliness housed in his lungs.

Breath after breath, his soul spilling out through song.

A partner he wished for, a partner he imagined.

Alone, basking in the gloom of the night.

His heartbeat keeping perfect time.

In sync he twirls, all alone.

Waiting for somebody he could call home.

The measures slow to a crawling close.

All alone not a note left to flow.

Falling to the floor, a waltz no more.

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Alone, alone, alone, alone.

❖ "Subject to Death" As death knocks on the door your jewels melt away, Your gold turns to scraps and your diamonds become untamed.

Your symphonies of love turn dark and cold, Step one step closer to the knocks that call.

As death knocks on the door and you venture closer, The pillars in the hall exude discomposure.

Let the whispers rip your clothes and free the clots in your nose, Step one step closer to the knocks that call.

As death knocks on the door and you reach the knob, Blood drips to the floor mixed with snot.

Tears of silver, riches, and gold can’t save your soul, Step one step closer to the knocks that call.

There is no more room to free your mind, Stare death in the face and close your eyes.

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No more love of luxury or saving yourself, Stare into the eyes that have never had wealth.

❖ "The Song of Algos" Bite my beating heart and claw out my eyes Kiss my stomach and caress my thighs Rip through my lungs like the flames of the wild Look at me with that certain type of smile

My soul starving as I devour your words My mind losing all it’s preserved My liver bubbling with anger uncontrolled My lungs filling up with mucor mold

Morals intertwined as my kidneys cry Intestines spilling out from the dying sky Vulnerability leaking from my appendix as it says its goodbye Burning acid cutting my esophagus with its knife begging for your reply

Send me away with all my organs packed in Boxes filled with fights confess their sin Patience melting away, wearing thin

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Blood hardening to shards ripping through fragile skin

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Honorable Mention: Tin Struth, 9th, Interstate 35 Community Schools, IA "if i could write the right words" i can’t find what hasn’t been said before, these words are a war hidden underneath the floorboards, and unless i write the right words, i have not yet won the battle; all is not said and done.

herding in terms like cowardly cattle, a concoction of not-quite rhymes that rattle between my teeth, and slip out as disorganized motifs off of my tongue, they sway in my lungs.

lest my words roll off the lofty hilltops, keep them safe within your heart and forget the ones that do not stand apart, outstretch your arms and receive the laborious words i struggle to

conceive,

they’ll let you hold them, or squeeze, you can do whatever you please,

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just take care of them, my carefully crafted gems.

❖ "boys will be boys, hoes will be hoes."

He’ll say his daddy taught him to “never hit a woman!”

But what will he do when she defends herself, what will he do when he sees her wearing that dress that drops low on her chest?

After all, boys will be boys, they’ll move on impulse, never show your shoulders, don’t wear a skirt too short, don’t wear spaghetti straps, you whore.

She’ll say her daddy taught her to “always be modest!”

But what will he do when she wants to show some skin, what will he do when she wants to have the control over her own life, over her own body?

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He’ll say his daddy taught him to “treat women right!”

But what will he do when he thinks she dresses for him, what will he do when he sees that skirt that his gaze can’t avert?

After all, boys will be boys, they’ll touch you without repulse, never show your stomach, don’t wear shorts too high, don’t wear what makes you feel good, you slut.

After all, boys will be boys, he’ll sleep with twenty virgin girls, he’ll be the coolest at the party, he’ll be complimented and famed.

After all, hoes will be hoes, she’ll sleep with twenty eager guys, she’ll be the talk of the school, she’ll be insulted and defamed.

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Boys will be boys, they’ll be taught they’re better, boys will be boys, they get what they want, they grab what they want without repercussions, they’ll be taught they can touch that woman, they’ll be taught clothes mean consent, because after all

Hoes will be hoes, they’ll be taught they’re inferior, hoes will be hoes, they’ll be taught to hold their keys in between their knuckles, they’ll be taught how to lock hotel doors, they’ll be taught never to go out alone, they’ll be taught

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to carry pepper spray on their keychain, hoes will be hoes, and they’ll be taught to fear men.

Because after all, boys will be boys.

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Hadley Harvey, 9th, Rosevelt High School, IA "On the bright side" Rain. The pitter-patter and the gray sky Why is it perceived as bad, sad, and gloomy?

But the rainbow after, oh so beautiful With its bright colors and clear skies.

Stop looking on the bright side The rainbow after most irrelevant.

Stop looking on the bright side When you have rain Washing away every care.

The crisp fresh air, the damp land, and frozen raindrops engulfing the leaves Focus on its gloomy skies, its whirling wind, and its soggy feeling And find beauty in it, learn to love it, learn to smile.

Indulge yourself in it.

No need to wait for the rainbow, or the sun to come out Just look, feel, and learn to love the rain.

For joy doesn’t require looking on the bright side.

❖ "This world" In this world if I were white, I could murder everyone in my wake In this world if I were white, I could steal, cheat, and it's ok In this world if I were the police, I could pick and choose who I want to save Everyone falls under me, I am supreme There little black lives in my hand, I pull the strings I make the shots, and you just watch I leave the scene for a couple of months and then I'm back to putting a bullet in your chest

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I am death.

I'm in your nightmares, I devour your dreams.

But only for the people who don’t look like me I'm privileged and entitled and feel no remorse The only reason I cry is if I'm in front of the court.

In this world if I were white, I could just stand by the cause like many have done But in this world, I'm a black girl who fears that white person’s gun.

Who in this world are you?

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Isabel Atkinson, 9th, Madrid Jr/Sr High School, IA "Definitions" Defenestration is a word That’s been stuck in my head.

Because for some long words, Their definitions I dread.

What’s the point of using A word so extravagant When you could use a short one That’s much more adequate?

You would use effervescence But who even knows what that means?

‘Bubbles’ is more suitable To acknowledge it seems.

Lots of big words Have book-long definitions I think that smaller words Are much more efficient.

But the definition of this word

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Is not disagreeable.

To define defenestration, The result is unseeable.

The translation is short, So let us not dwindle.

It’s the act of throwing Someone out a window. ❖ "Missing the Unknown" Hiraeth, This word is suitable For the homes we missed; We never knew them, though.

Everyone has a place.

We all can confess That we’ve had a home we never knew But we miss it, no less.

I miss the friends I never had, The ones that were never born But when I think about them there,

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My fragile heart is torn.

I miss the wind blowing my hair, In a place I’ve never been.

Wishing I could go back to the home That I have never seen.

I miss the memories made, The ones I imagined in bed.

I miss the fact that they weren’t real And how they only exist inside my head.

I miss stopping for that flower, The pretty one beside the road.

I didn’t actually stop to see it, Just glanced, then on I strode.

I wish I had stopped for that flower.

I miss the sight of it now.

I’m missing things I never I’m sitting here wondering how.

I wish I had that house

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That sat atop the hill.

I never really knew that place But I’m homesick for it still.

I miss the sandbank on the sea; I miss my ruffled hair; I miss that childhood house But I was never actually there.

There’s something about this word That is so hard to explain.

I miss these places that don’t exist, So I sit here in disdain.

When I hear hiraeth’s meaning, I always have to pause, Because this word is homesickness For a home that never was.

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Kaden Elswick, 10th, Madrid Jr/Sr High School, IA "her" Overthinking

It starts off simple/ As a effort to show love/ Ruined by the mind/

Losing You

My greatest fear is/ Living without you by me/ Due to my mistakes/

Impossibility

My luck has run out/ Spent on the love of my life/ And it's so perfect/

Effort

Do I give enough/

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Could I give more? Try harder?/ Sometimes I don't know/

Stability

Insecurities/ When I see her they leave me/ They aren't real like her/

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Mila Grothus, 9th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA "A Walk in the Woods" I walk about

The winding path; Through the trees of pine, Doing the math That will take me home, And out of the woods.

The full silver moon, And the sparkling stars, Shine some light Through the dark; That will lead me home, And out of the woods.

The great trees of pine, With their sappy cones, Line the trail,

Hard as a stone, That will lead me home,

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And out of the woods.

The crystal clean snow Dances and drops; Landing on the rocks , Small as gumdrops, That will lead me home, And out of the woods

The coat on my back Keeps me safe and warm.

It blocks the wind, Blowing up a storm, That will lead me home, And out of the woods.

My stroll's at its end.

I can see the light Shining from my home Through the dark of the night.

I was lead home, And out of the woods. ❖

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"Waiting for My Turn at the Piano" Here.

Now listen.

There it is: That crisp, clean sound.

The keys are tinkling, The harmony sweet.

The melody croons.

As the crashes come, Ringing through the room, Carrying the tune, And calming the mood, Hear the kind chorus And the serene round.

One last carol, now.

The light aria Flows through the evening.

This everlasting verse.

This closing tune.

This melody.

This song.

Here.

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Jenna Polich, 10th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA "i miss you."

I miss you.

I shouldn’t miss you.

But I can't help but think of what could have been.

We could’ve had a great relationship.

The amazing father-daughter duo everyone loves.

But you had to ruin it.

You ruined it by drinking.

You ruined it by smoking.

You ruined it by emotionally abusing me and my sisters.

I look back at the old home videos.

Me as a newborn, and you a more dedicated father.

I observe how you treated me.

There is one video I can’t help but think of Everytime I miss you.

The one where I’m doing ‘tummy time.’

And you’re making sounds while rubbing your face in my stomach.

The way you treated me then, makes me ponder what I did wrong to make you like this.

What you’re like now is distant.

Only talking to me when you want something.

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Never to check in.

The thing is, I don’t know if I even want you to check in.

I can’t help but be conflicted.

I’m conflicted over how I miss you.

I shouldn’t miss you.

But I can’t help but think of what could have been. ❖ "jealousy."

I never had a father.

I’ve had Father figures, though.

My Uncle Tom. One of the greatest Men I know.

He cares for us.

He wants the best for us.

He wants to protect us.

I can’t help, But feel jealous, Knowing he isn’t my father.

Sitting on the couch, Opposite to me

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Was Uncle Tom and my cousin.

She got her nails done.

“Can I see your nails?”

“Wow, those are really pretty!”

I watched the encounter between The father and daughter.

What interactions are supposed to look like.

Shame and jealousy.

Jealousy, for not having a father and wanting one.

Shame, for being jealous.

Jealousy is an ugly thing.

Most think jealousy is reserved for Friends, significant others.

But jealousy Can be found in a girl Who just wants her father to love her.

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Elle Carlson, 9th, West Marshall High School, IA "Keep Going"

ENCE VIOL In the midst of the darkest days,

D E

only the people

S

who look closely

T

will notice

R

the wind is still

U

blowing,

C

the trees are still

T

growing,

I

the rivers are still

O

flowing,

N

and the sun is still glowing will keep going.

NESS ELI LON

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❖ "A Blossom for ME!" How sweet on Valentine’s Day when all your dreams come true!

Oh look at that! Your boyfriend decided to spend two dollars just for YOU! Is it my hair? My clothes?

Is it the way I walk?

Are my glasses too nerdy?

Do I stutter when I talk?

Well guess what?

To all the boys who cower Screw it! I don’t need you!

I can buy my OWN damn flower.

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Lillian Lawlor, 10th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA "Any Given Day:" You don't know how many times I cried Because I convinced myself That you committed suicide And worried that You'd finally had enough of me But I must've just made my own Psychological penitentiary Where the only prisoner inside Are my feelings, trying to hide, And I’ve been trying not to sigh In your face while I deny That your hand is on my thigh And the colors of your eyes (god its so cliche) Are begging me to listen To give you another chance But I'm so sick of committing To these stupid little dances Where I glance across the Way, forgetting how it felt

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When you demolished me that day But you still can make me melt

And I don't think you know That I’ll never turn away No matter how terrible You make me feel On any given day

❖ "The Lover’s Pride" I peel up his pride From the road on which it was run over For the seven hundredth time I don’t know who ran it over And I don't ask.

I dust it off, clean it carefully Like a fragile antique.

An old, battered thing Brimming with cracks and tears.

Some have been stitched up

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Some are not Some are gaping wounds brimming with infection Others take the shapes of blisters, Scars, and grotesque scrapes Once I’m done with my attempts to fix it, I shake as I try to put the dying thing at the top Of a house of disintegrating playing cards.

He’s watching me do it.

He smiles, albeit sadly, But I think it's just the pills.

He tells me he’s fine And his eyes are trying to tell me That his beat-up pride is good as new But I see it in his face When his pride is run over For the seven hundredth time And smashed into the pavement Of a busy interstate highway

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Prose: 9th and 10th Grade, Greater Midwest.

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First Place: Andrew Hawk, 10th, Williamsburg Jr-Sr High School, IA, (Fiction) "Lost Space"

Day 15 We shut the engines off earlier today. Yuri said it was either that or we continue losing a gallon of fuel per second. I knew we shouldn’t have tried going through that damn debris, but Vaughan is too stubborn for his own good, and now we’re paying for it. No one’s said anything to him, one part being because we know one more word would shatter him and the other being he hasn’t left his quarters since we drove straight through that shrapnel. Somehow, we still have contact with NASA, but that comes with the same little asterisk it always has. Since there’s an additional medium-sized planet between us and Houston 12 hours out of the day along with the couple of AUs we already put behind us, communication with our terrestrial friends is never as consistent as I hope. Thankfully we haven’t reached the point yet where we’d have to factor light into speed of communications, probably won’t for a long while. Yuri seems to think she can reengineer the ship with enough effort so that the thrusters will send us backwards just as effectively as we got sent forwards with the standard engines. I’m more optimistic than Vaughan. Yuri’s a genius at this sort of thing, but the odds still don’t seem to be in our favor.

Shelby, if you’re reading this know that I am going to do everything in my power to come back to you. Make sure Sam doesn’t forget me and don’t try to hide my situation from Tyler. He’s old enough to understand what’s going on.

Day 16 I ran the tally, and we have enough food and water to last us a month. I’m not really concerned about the water; ship systems already have the potential to turn our waste back into something at least drinkable. The food’s what concerns me. Hopefully I can convince Yuri to ration, though something tells me that won’t be a quick argument.

Vaughan’s still in his room, brooding over that debris field. If he’s not out in a few days I’m going to have to force my way in there to make sure he hasn’t withered away. At least Yuri’s more than enough for conversation. I swear her smile makes this trip at least somewhat more bearable. Houston says they’re going to spend the night crunching numbers over 119

whether or not her thruster idea can work. It’s risky as hell, but no one’s called her nuts yet. Besides, the boys at ground zero have too much respect (and maybe too many feelings (I’ve seen your desk Matt don’t deny it)) for Yuri not to at least humor her.

Day 17 Houston ran the numbers, and oh boy they don’t look good. The hypothetical procedure required redirection of fuel to the backwards thrusters without letting it get sucked into the vacuum, then somehow modify the thruster engines themselves so that they can burn more fuel then intended, and at its climax pray something didn’t go wrong and the ship doesn’t go down in a supernova of flame. This created so many risks that Yuri could spend all day counting the zeros behind a decimal point in the odds of us getting back to Earth in one piece. I know, because she kind of did.

Thankfully Houston says they’re in the process of getting a shuttle ready that can intercept our trajectory and send us back. They said it’ll be ready and sent out to us in a matter of a week. Hopefully by then Vaughan will decide he wants to rejoin society and leave his cave. Tomorrow I think I’m going to have to go in there whether he likes it or not.

Day 18 Vaughan came out of his room this morning. He didn’t say anything to me, just grabbed some food and started eating. I let him be, all I wanted was for him to eat anyway. Yuri didn’t seem to understand what I was going for. She mentioned Houston was coming for our sorry asses and he nearly flipped the table. He screamed at her, said if she was worth a damn when it came to piloting, NASA would have told her to fly the ship. Yuri tried to make things better, but Vaughan just stormed back to his room. Thankfully I think I was the only one who heard him whisper whore under his breath. I don’t blame Yuri for his outburst, she was just trying to make things better. The fact is that Vaughan isn’t stupid. He knows he’s old enough that this one failure is enough to get him replaced with a young hot shot in NASA’s eyes. It probably doesn’t help that Yuri’s one of the younger ‘nauts in the force, but that shouldn’t be relevant right now.

Shelby, I want you to know that I love you, and even if I drift into a black hole, I will find a way to come back to you. I may not be the same man as I was going into it, but as long as our souls stay intact it’ll feel like I never left.

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Day 21 Something strange happened today. During the 12-hour period when Houston should have been in open contact with us, we received almost nothing from the small blue dot. We’ve only been drifting since losing power to the engines so it’s not like light communication is the issue here. Most likely something is keeping Houston from sending us information, but there are too many possibilities of what that could be.

Yuri’s been hogging the terminal all day just trying to reach another human. Swear I’ve heard “hello, can you hear me?” at least a thousand times by now. Even Vaughan seems concerned, considering he actually poked his head out of his room in order to see what happened.

Something seems off. The further we drift into the cosmos the more I’m worried something bad is going to happen, something no one back home could predict.

Day 24 Lost Space Those two words have been rattling around in my head for a few days now, and I don’t know what to make of it. NASA to my knowledge hasn’t designated any section of space we’re travelling through specifically dangerous, but for some reason I can’t stop feeling on edge.

Houston’s recovery shuttle was supposed to arrive today, but all I can see out the windows of the ship is white specs of stars on top of pitch blackness. I want to tell myself that the launch must have been delayed, maybe because of the communication issues that we’re still suffering from, but there’s nothing.

Just a few moments ago I caught Vaughan rummaging through the medicine cabinet.

Claimed his head hurt. As usual, I didn’t question him, but if our situation grows worse, I’m going to need to ask him to be more transparent. I would never blame him for anything that happens on this ship, and hell, all I’m experiencing is a bad feeling. But if we’re all clear with each other about our individual situations, then any actual complications we experience can be dealt with faster and more efficiently.

Day 26

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I woke up in a cold sweat today. Usually my dreams are hazy, but last night was different. I vividly remember seeing fissures of light wrapped around some distant point in space, swirling around, yet when I tried to break my stare, I found all motor sense stuck, as if I couldn’t escape from the astronomical marvel in front of me. The same sense of motionlessness struck me when I woke up. I just sat there, not being able to feel anything. My legs, my arms, just slowly suffering from what felt like a spike being hammered into my head. Thankfully when I did find the will to get up there was a sedative in the medicine cabinet that at least brought me back to the way I was before. Only issue was now instead of just the words Lost Space bouncing around in my skull, that terrifying sight was too.

I didn’t see Vaughan all day. I did however find Yuri broken down in tears. She isn’t taking the loneliness of space well at all, and I guess the least I could do was offer her a shoulder to cry on.

Her eyes are too pretty to be smothered by tears.

Day 27 This morning Yuri seemed normal, and I asked her about last night. She didn’t know what I was talking about and kept eating breakfast. I didn’t want to press her, maybe she just didn’t want to remember it? Vaughan came out of his room for food, and I asked him if he wanted to come out and talk with us. He didn’t respond, just walked back into that damn room. I swear to god one more day and I will be storming in there.

I checked my desk and saw a picture of an unfamiliar face. Three faces, actually. There was a woman with auburn hair and green eyes, then two boys, one older with a tussle of caramel curls and what looked like a toddler with the same hair as the woman’s.

What I don’t understand is why the toddler had my eyes.

Day 30 I woke up with Yuri hovering above me, wearing nothing more than her undergarments. I panicked a little, but she shushed me, told me to follow her. I couldn’t really just sit there, so I walked out of my room and found her standing by one of the ship’s windows. Outside that glass panel was the same anomaly from my dreams, except right in front of the ship. I panicked again, desperately begged her to

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do something, to turn the ship around and escape what would obviously lead to our elimination if we drifted too close to it. She just smiled and pulled me in herself. I felt the taste of her lips on mine, the pounding of my heart against the pounding of hers, and over top of it all, the sound of Vaughan’s laughter a few rooms away occasionally interrupted by the word whore.

Day 31(?)

When I woke up and didn’t see the gates of hell, I breathed a sigh of relief. Something seemed to stir next to me, and I realized a woman had her arm wrapped around my chest. I suppose if I was still a teenager I would be filled with an insatiable pride, but this just felt wrong, her youthful, glowing face not what I expected to wake up to, but I couldn’t tell you what I did expect.

I left her warm embrace and walked out of my room. The window outside was a tapestry of stars, yet this wasn’t what I expected either. I checked communications with Houston just to cling to a little remaining hope, but of course, there was nothing.

When I turned from the terminal, I heard the sound of a door quickly closing. I suddenly became conscious of my lack of clothes, and quickly made my way back to my room.

Later that day I checked for some medication to treat my head, but there was nothing in the cabinet.

Day ???

I don’t understand. Yuri was still in my arms this morning, but I don’t remember sleeping with her. I remember screaming as the ship was getting torn into two pieces, me trying to reach my hand out to Vaughan as I slipped further and further into a pit I couldn’t see surrounded by light trying desperately to hang on to Vaughan as well.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

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I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

Return I woke up in a foreign room. A bright light overhead makes everything hard to see, a doctor above me barraging me with questions. And a woman saying something over and over again.

Do you remember me, James? It’s Shelby.

Who the hell is Shelby?

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Second Place: Tin Struth, 9th, Interstate 35 Community Schools, IA, (Non-fiction) "The Monster in My Closet" Her parents always assured her that no, there weren’t any monsters or demons in her closet. As a little girl, what could she do but believe them? Mom and Dad knew everything, and they knew that the chasm of darkness behind that thin wooden door whose paint always stuck to the doorframe during summer did not, in fact, hide any wild creatures. They knew everything.

Well at least she thought they did. She took their word as truth, because they’d never lie to her. And she’d nod with tears in her eyes when Mom leaned down to kiss her baby-soft forehead, and she’d smile weakly when Dad would ruffle her bright red hair, she’d assure them she believed them. She’d never lie to them.

But, time moves on. Parents grow older, they gain white hairs, they lose the ability to lie to not-so-young children. And kids grow older, they lose the ability to trust every word from their parents’ mouths.

It was one night, at just eleven years old, that she heard a noise come from her closet. She was sure it had been real, and for once in forever she was scared.

Scared of what hid behind that tacky purple door. It was the nights after that where the noises continued.

It was nights after that when she realized she wasn’t a little girl. She was growing up, and she wasn’t supposed to be scared of the monsters in her closet. But she could feel their presence, the looming danger of the creaks and shrieks that they made. It was quiet at first, ignorable, insignificant, something a growing girl didn’t need to be afraid of.

But oh, how she would quiver in years to come. As the shrieks became blood curdling screams, as the taps on the wall became the frantic banging of a creature begging for release. That little-grown-girl was thirteen. Finally, she decided to open that door, to check on the demons that needed her help. They called to her, and she answered.

She pulled that ever-sticky door open and found the devil, painted in bright blues and pinks and whites, in reds and oranges, yellows, greens and indigos, violets and navy blues. She found the devil in vibrant colors, and she led him out into the light.

She fed him, kept him company, took care of him, became his friend. This little colorful demon, however, was slowly draining her. Sucking her blood, taking what he shouldn’t,

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he took her childhood. This little-grown-girl was no longer little. This grown girlShe was no longer a girl. This little rainbow demon was the death of her, a shell, a foreign one. They weren’t little, they weren’t a girl. They were just themself, nothing more, nothing less. And so they told Mom about the little demon in their closet, told her what he took from them. Mom accepted the loss.

With the screaming and scraping gone, it was quiet. Too quiet. Yet it was as loud as ever with the monster’s nagging. He could never be silent, he could never sit still. And so this not-so-little, not-so-girl pushed him back into that closet. The door never closed, no matter how hard they tried. They pushed and pushed and pushed. It never closed, it never stuck in the corners on humid summer days.

And what did the demon do? He started shrieking and clawing. And nagging. All three at once, it never went away, it only got worse. The little demon in the closet was begging to be let out once again, begging, begging, begging.

And so the grown kid let him out, once more. Sat him on their bed, glared at him with their arms crossed. The kid hated the little demon, the little rainbow devil, although they vowed to never push him back into that godforsaken closet.

--At fourteen years old, he had never wanted more to throw the demon into the gaping closet. He had never wanted to punch a hole through its face so much, he had never wanted to tear out its eyes and rip off its skin, rip off the reds and oranges, yellows, greens and indigos, violets and navy blues more, to rip off the pastel pinks and pastel blues and whites. He had never before wanted to kill something so badly.

Or at all.

But, as little boys grow up, they become angry. As little boys see the long hair in their fourth-grade school pictures, as they see their naked reflection, they become angry. And they become sad. This little-grown-boy had had enough. This little rainbow demon would never leave.

And so he welcomed the monster out onto his bed, sat him down. Sat beside him. The little-grown-boy sighed. Then he cried. A pitiful noise, a pitiful sight.

So much so that the demon thought that this little boy had never looked so grown, so worn.

He saw what he’d done. And he hugged the boy, embraced him with his pink and blue and white skin. And he bled. The little rainbow demon bled onto this

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little-grown-boy the blood he’d stolen all those years ago. But the demon’s blood was ice, whereas the boy’s was boiling hot. Ice with pain and sadness and hopelessness.

Fire with passion, hatred, and fury.

The boy looked at the monster. And he asked questions in which the demon could not answer, screamed at the demon until it shrunk back in its colorful skin. “Why did you do this to me?” “Take me back!” “I hate you!” “Why don’t I recognize myself?” “Why is she in the mirror?” “Why did you do this to me?” “Why?” “Why?!”

The demon could not speak.

The demon could not answer, and the boy knew that. But he still asked. And he was still left without answers. So he hugged the monster. And the monster hugged back. They cried, the boy begged, the monster said nothing. The boy sobbed, the monster sighed.

--Mom always said that there weren’t any monsters hidden in the dark of my tiny, cluttered closet. She was so sure, I was so ready to believe her. But. Things change. Little girls grow older, grown girls grow older still, and little boys become angry. I guess that’s just how it goes. For me, at least. There was always a monster in my closet, one not even my parents could see. The monster that swept away my childhood, the monster that I wish I could throw into a pit of blazing lava.

The monster in my closet, painted in reds and oranges, yellows, greens and indigos, violets and navy blues. In blues and pinks and whites. And this little monster, this little rainbow devil, he will always be by my side. He won’t ever surrender, and even if I could get rid of him, he’d always be shrieking and scraping at that sticky, finicky door. And so I leave it open. Maybe someday I can calm his nagging.

Maybe if I cut his arms off, if I inject him with chemicals, if I cut and shape him like a piece of wet clay, maybe one day he’ll be quiet. Maybe he’ll leave on his own. But that closet, he won’t ever go back in, I won’t let him. No matter how much I wish he would.

This little rainbow demon, he’s mine. Forever and always. I know that, and I’ll have to be fine with that.

But for now?

I’ll be a not-so-little, not-so-girl, angry little-grown-boy.

Conclusion: laying in bed with the door wide open 127

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Third Place: Lillian Lawlor, 10th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Non-fiction) "I Fear I am Fading Fast" You grow to love the feeling.

The heartbeat racing, feel like you’re falling, feel like fainting. Feel like dying.

“I fear I’m fading fast”

You know you need the help. You haven’t eaten in three days, and the pounds are starting to melt off like butter in a hot pan.

You take a walk to a friend’s house and blackout. You make it there eventually, but at what cost?

_____________________________________________________________________________

It starts out as skipping a meal. Maybe two, if you’re feeling risky. You feel horribly hungry, but at some point, the pain subsides and becomes a wave of low, rolling nausea. You occupy your time cleaning or walking, or anything. Anything to ignore the pit in your stomach.

You look in the mirror and hate what you see. The perfect motivation.

You fixate on a flat stomach. At some point, through the countless blackouts, trying not to faint while you walk down the stairs, and overwhelming nausea, you get there.

Effortlessly flat.

You hate to be sick, but love how you look.

So you grow to love the feeling. The heartbeat racing, feel like falling, feel like fainting.

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Feel like dying. The heart palpitations. The shaky hands., The visible bones. It feels good to be in control.

But at what cost?

Your hair falls out. The bones in your hips jut out. You look distorted.

Thinking about food makes you sicker than you are.

Your mom tells you to eat breakfast and you have a panic attack.

Your parents have noticed by this time. The scale disappears from the bathroom.

Nutrition facts are covered in sharpie.

All has fallen down. You have been discovered.

At some point, you begin to heal. You can’t eat as much as you used to, but you try your best. You gain weight. Some things go away. Your hair stays in your scalp your hips rediscover the shape they were when you were healthy.

But the nausea never goes away. And with it, stays the thoughts. The evil little things that say, “Don’t you miss the feeling?”

“Why are you eating?”

“You’re hurting yourself. You are unnatural.”

The feelings, the thoughts, they stay as a constant reminder of what was. And sometimes, as a lesson of what could’ve been.

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Brooklyn Murry, 10th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Fiction) "Sibling Love" “Hey! No that’s My toy! Emma give it back!”

“No way loser! You’re a total baby Luke!”

“STOP! Mom!” “Hey! Hey! Hey! Both of you knock it off! You two are always fighting! Emma, you’re Luke’s older sister. Be nice to him. Please! You too, Luke. You are seven years old. Act like it!”

“But mom!”

“No! I have had enough of your arguing! You two are each other’s siblings. The only ones you have. You shouldn’t have to fight over every single little thing!”

“Sorry mom, but we aren’t like you and Uncle Jake.”

“Yeah mommy, you guys never fight! You love each other and get along so well. I don’t get it.”

“Well, guess what. We weren’t always like that. We learned how to solve our differences. I used to think that Jake was so annoying. I didn’t want anything to do with him. All I wanted to do was watch the Vampire Diaries.”

“The what?”

“Oh, nothing, just the best show ever! But that’s not the point. Let me tell you two a story of how Jake and I got to be so close. It all started with a phone call. My mom picked up the phone and told me the worst news of my life.”

“Hello?....Yes, okay, okay. I’ll be right in.”

My mom hung up the phone and took a deep breath. She knew it would be difficult to get me to help her out. Especially because I had just turned on the television to watch The Vampire Diaries.

She walked over to me and paused for a moment, then said, “Jessica, I need your help.”

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I didn’t hear her at first with my, you know, selective hearing. I looked up and she was staring at me with her cold blue eyes. She had the mom face on, so I knew to listen.

“What?”

“I need your help.”

She started to walk toward the front door so I followed. She grabbed her dark maroon coat and smiled at me. I was getting annoyed.

“They need me to go in at work. It got really busy and with four people on maternity leave, they don’t have enough help. So, what you’re going to do is help me out. You have to take your brother out for his caroling assignment.”

I was beyond annoyed. She made me pause my favorite show, right after I sat down too, and was now forcing me to go out in the freezing cold, walk around our boring town, and sing Jingle Bells with my shy little brother.

“Ugh, mom! I was gonna watch The Vampire Diaries. Why me?” I said with the biggest eye roll.

My mom, trying to inch out the door desperately said, “Because he has to do his assignment before school tomorrow. You don’t have to go out very long, just long enough for him to sing once or twice. Please, just help him- help me.”

I took a deep breath and looked over at Jake. He was doing those annoying puppy eyes, you know, the ones you like to do Luke, except his worked on me.

“Oh my God! Fine.”

My mom’s face brightened up, and as she was running out of the door she exclaimed, “Thank you! Bye, Jake! Jessica is going to take you out. Have fun singing!

I dropped my fake smile and walked over to Jake.

“Come on, let’s sing at one house and get this over with.

We put on our winter clothes and headed out into the night. The houses were hardly decorated. Our town didn’t have very much Christmas spirit. We walked up

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to a house that had zero decorations. I knew it was going to be a very long night. We went up to the paint-chipped door and stood there for a while. I looked at Jake and he was trembling. Not because of the cold, but because he was scared. I didn’t care though. I just wanted to go home.

“Go ahead Jake, knock.”

He looked up at me, still quivering, and shook his head no. I let out a big sigh and went up to the door and knocked. We stood there for a while and it seemed like no one was home. As we turned around to go try another house, an old man wearing slippers and carrying a cane opened the door.

“Get off my property!”

This normally would have frightened me, but I was not in the mood.

“Look, old man, my brother and I are here so we can get his stupid school assignment done. So you will stand there and listen to his annoying little song so I can go home and watch Stephan, Damon, and Alena!”

The old man grumbled and slammed the door in my face. Jake looked up at me with worry in his eyes. I felt bad so I decided to take him to another house. This time I chose one that had some Christmas decorations up, hopefully these people wanted to hear Jake sing tonight. All hope was lost as we walked up to the door though. All we could hear was a ton of screaming and fighting. Jake and I looked at each other with big eyes. We weren’t certain this was the house to chose. Then, all of a sudden an angry man in an untucked suit and a messed up tie runs out of the house and to the car. A woman with running makeup in a red dress then stuck her head out and screamed that the man never loved her anyway. As the main was pulling out of the driveway, she took her silver heels off and chucked them at the car, barely missing my brother and me.

She looked down at us, started bawling, and went back inside. Neither of us knew what to say, so we went on to the next house without speaking.

The house that we ended up at was plastered with decorations and music was blaring inside.

“Well, this looks promising,” I said to Jake, excited that we get to go home soon.

I knocked on the door and a group wearing Christmas sweaters came to the door.

One said, “What a delight to see young folks spreading Christmas cheer!”

Another spoke to me, saying, “Aren’t you the best sister ever!! You’re probably missing

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something really important to help take your brother around to sing!”

The third looked at Jake and asked, “Well, little guy, do you have a song for us tonight?”

Jake was shaking and I felt awful. He was my little brother, the only one I had, and I wanted him to feel safe and loved. I decided to start the singing, and soon Jake and the Christmas sweater group joined in. It was actually pretty fun. As we walked home, I thought about how lucky I was to have a brother. I had a best friend for life and from then on, I promised myself that I would be nicer and spend more time with him. We went home, sat on the couch, and bonded while watching The Vampire Diaries. And ever since then, me and your Uncle Jake and been very, very close.

“Well, I guess that I could be nicer to Luke. But only if he promises to grow up a bit.”

“I promise Emma! When we get older, I wanna be close like mommy and Jake!”

“That makes me so happy to hear that! Alright, clean up your toys you two. I’m going to introduce you to the best show ever!”

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Loren Troyer, 9th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Fiction) "The Journey" “Wake up! It’s the Crucible! Get yourselves ready with your gear and stand at attention outside your barracks! Fifteen minutes, let’s move!” yells my Head Drill Sergeant, Jaime Meek. It’s 0335 and we have fifteen minutes to get all of our gear ready for the Crucible. The pressure is on to become a Marine or risk having to start basic training all over again.

I jump off of my cot and quickly slip on my ruck boots. I run to the bathroom with my battle buddy, Audrey Scott. She reminds me a lot of my mother. Strong and outgoing. I think of all the fun times I had with my mom before leaving for basic training. Everyday she would remind me of how much she believed in me.

“You ready, Erryn?” Audrey asks,pulling me back to reality. We rush back to the barracks and start packing our gear. It’s 0340 and we have ten minutes to get everything together and grab a quick breakfast. Once I’ve shoved all my belongings into my pack, I run to the mess hall with another battle buddy, Maeve Swindon. I stare at the beautiful Parris Island sky while I follow her to mess.

“Keep it up, Clyborne,” Maeve growls. She’s likely the best recruit in our whole company. Though she’s small, she’s very strong. And she comes from a long line of military personnel.

We enter the mess hall and I grab a piece of toast with a glob of peanut butter on it. I need all the calories I can get before the Crucible. I inhale the toast and chug some water. Then, I head out with Avyanna Pearl. She’s one of the toughest recruits I have ever met. She could easily beat up one of the male recruits in the other company. We practically sprint to the barracks again and pull on our packs and helmets. I grab my M16 and run outside.

Meek walks back and forth in front of us. “Listen up you maggots! This is the beginnin’ of the hardest thing you will have to do in Marine BCT! In seven minutes you will begin The Crucible! It ain’t gonna be easy! You’ll have to work together over a 54 hour period where you will complete 36 warrior stations, 29 team buildin’ exercises, and 48 miles of marchin’! All with only 6 hours of sleep and two MRE’s,” I cringe as I remember the taste of dehydrated mashed potatoes and fruit.

“Line up!” We run into our marching formation and start forward together.

Meek begins to yell in my face because I’m out of step.

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I scream, “AYE MA’AM!” and match my steps to the person in front of me.

Then she starts marching next to us and shouts a cadence. We echo after her, returning the favor. We march for a solid three miles, which takes us about thirty-five minutes, until we reach our first warrior station. It’s 0435 and still dark outside when Maeve reads about Beatrice Opal Barnes, the person the station was named after. She was the first woman ever to enlist in the Marines. We get instruction from a Drill Sergeant and head out. First we have to crawl a hundred yards through two inches of water, where we have to climb up a cargo net and crabwalk down some logs attached to a ladderlooking thing.

My heart pounds as we crawl through the water with simulated combat noises all around us. I know it’s fake but it sounds so real. When I see the recruits ahead of me grab the cargo net, I remember the purpose of this exercise and I force all contradicting thoughts out of my mind. I grab the net, keeping my head low, and start to climb. We all instinctively duck our heads as a simulated machine gun round goes over us. When the rest of our platoon makes it over, we begin marching again.

It’s been two more hours of pain, warrior stations, and team building exercises when we sing one of my favorite cadences, Born To Be A Marine.

WHEN I CAME OUT OF MY MOTHER’S WOMB I FOUND MYSELF IN THE DELIVERY ROOM WALKED RIGHT IN CALLED ATTENTION ON DECK LISTEN UP WIMPS I’M IN COMMAND I WAS COMMANDING OFFICER OF THE BABY BRIGADE As we were singing, it started pouring down rain. We were all soaked but our drill sergeants refused to let us settle. Twenty minutes of rough rucking had passed when we reached another team building exercise site. Our drill sergeants explain the course and we begin the complex task. Seven recruits climb over the platform and stay on the South side, ready to get the barrels. Two people climb over and stop halfway from the bottom on the South side. Then Avyanna and I climb and stay at the point of the triangle, straddling our legs over it. Two more recruits follow us but stop halfway up the North side. They pass the first barrel up and we grab it by the top and bottom rims and swing it over to the other side. We have to do this two more times. When we finish the exercise, we begin marching again. It’s 1800, about thirty minutes before sundown.

As we march, I stare at the tiny Marine Corps flag on Meek’s pack. It’s still raining and the flag is a darker shade of red than normal.

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We continued like this for hours. March, warrior station, march, team building exercise, march, march, march… We were screaming cadences the whole time and my throat began to feel raw. We were all dealing with excruciating pain and aggressive hunger. By now we had gone through both our MRE’s and used up our six hours of sleep. Now, it’s time for the final 12k march. We are almost there. We’re almost officially Marines.

We march through mud while it’s pouring down rain. Our uniforms are all caked in mud. Then I see it. The end of The Crucible. I look over at Audrey, Avyanna, and Maeve. Tears of Joy stream down Audrey’s sunburnt cheeks as she accepts the emblem. Maeve stands there, stone faced, but when she turns her head toward Meek, I see a single tear roll down her cheek. I watch as Avyanna smiles and holds her head high with pride. I’m next.

Tears stream down my face as Meek hands me the Marine Corps Emblem, the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor.

“Good luck, Marine.”

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Bibliography MarineParents.com, Inc. “The Crucible During Marine Corps Recruit Training.”

RecruitParents.com™, recruitparents.com/bootcamp/crucible.asp.

MarineParents.com, Inc. “Video Boot Camp: The Crucible.” MarineParents.com®, 2014, marineparents.com/videos/bc-crucible.asp.

MarineParents.com, Inc. “2018: 100 Years of Women in the Corps.”

MarineParents.com®, 2018, marineparents.com/marinecorps/100-years-women.asp.

Military.com. “Marine Corps Weapons Qualification Course.” Military.com, www.military.com/join-armed-forces/marine-corps-weapons-qualification-course.html.

“Marine Corps Cadences.” DODReads, 17 July 2020, www.dodreads.com/cadences/ marine-corps-cadences/.

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Hadley Harvey, 9th, Roosevelt High School, IA, (Non-fiction) "The Train Ride" It was the summer of 2012. I was five at the time. My dad has been in the Army for 28 years, and by now, I was used to it. The leaving and abrupt returns. The little time we got to spend together, but that brief time spent I truly enjoyed. It was hard for me, but for my sister, it was even more challenging. Although she had been used to it ever since the age of one. Before I was born, she went over a full year without my dad while he was in Afghanistan, and he ended up missing her third birthday. To this day she still holds a lighthearted grudge. I remember my mom telling us stories of Dad singing my sister to bed on the phone, and her throwing tantrums about missing Dad. As she got older, she realized the seriousness of the military. She came to appreciate the hardships that our mom combated. Balancing work, two girls, and everything else she had to deal with on a regular basis. Once I came into this world, I started as a kvetcher, but my sister taught me to be grateful and appreciative that Dad is still here, and that we had the opportunity to see him.

My dad has served in Afghanistan, South Korea, Canada, and many places around the country. After I was born, I remember when my dad worked in Omaha for a year. He would travel there on weekdays and come back home to Des Moines on the weekends. My favorite thing was when he came home on Friday nights while Hannah and I would be watching a movie. He would come through the door, and Hannah and I would drop everything to run and give him the biggest hug we could fathom. It was a delightful weekly routine. However, the most perspective-changing and sublime thing that possibly could've occurred during this time was the train ride to see my dad. In that era, all that would happen is Dad’s weekly visits to us, but this was a chance for us to go see him. We drove to Detroit to visit our grandparents and stayed at my grandparents' house as always. Dad had annual training, and this year it was stationed in Illinois. It was always the plan for everyone to head to Illinois after the Detroit visit to our grandparents. The only downside was my mom hated driving in the truck. She hated the long back end of the truck and the cramped interior. She hated the clutter that always built up on road trips, and she hated having to park it, and yelling over the diesel engine while in drive-throughs. I was glad she hated that truck so much. If she had not, I would not have experienced that occult train ride. In the end my dad drove down to Illinois by himself, and my mom, sister, and I took the train to join him later.

It was my first and only train ride and was probably the most memorable part of my dad being in the Army, other than him working at the Pentagon. What made it more exciting was this was something I was a part of. Usually, when it comes to Army stories, it involves Dad, Hannah, or Mom. Little did those stories include me since my dad was gradually departing the Army when I was born. When we got to the train

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station, I vividly remember buying the tickets that very day, shortly before the train got there. It was a little wait for the train to come, at least in my mind. I don't remember getting on the train as much as the train ride itself. When we did get on the train, there were two columns with two seats in each column. That meant my sister and I sat in one column while my mom sat in the column across in the aisle seat like me. My sister got the window seat due to her being the oldest, and although I did not mind then, I wish I got the chance to look outside the windows and truly experience the puissant moment better.

The outside view was indecipherable on both sides of me, but that never impeded the enjoyment of the train. We set up our portable DVD player and started watching "Barbie and the Diamond Castle." I remember fighting over the disfigured earbuds with my sister. I wanted to have the right earbud even though the person on the right side must have the left or the string will get tangled. We caused the most commotion two girls on a train could cause. For most of the train ride the focus was a movie and snacks. My mom had packed sandwiches, juice, carrots, chips, and other delectable yet straightforward foods to survive the train ride. The train ride was about 14 hours, so you can imagine the restlessness that came along with it. My mom was the first to fall asleep, considering she was sleeping for almost all the train ride. I remember looking across the aisle to see my mom lying with her head back in pure daylight. My sister was second to fall asleep, but she only fell asleep at nightfall. I was never a heavy sleeper, especially then, so it was no surprise I was last awake. I could only see darkness except for a screen's slight glow providing a fragment of light every so often.

It was quiet. It was peaceful. I began to fall asleep. After the train ride, everything else was a little blurry. The last thing I could remember was meeting Dad at the train station. Although everything else about that week is clouded together in my mind, the only vivid action I remember is that train ride.

I learned many things from that experience. I learned how it took a team to make things work. Everyone put so much effort into making this experience possible and adapting to others' needs. My dad made sure we could take the train since my mom hated the truck. My mom made sure that Hannah and I had the best train ride possible and were able to see Dad, and my sister made sure I was grateful for it all. I learned about gratitude. I learned to be grateful to be there and having the opportunity others might not. My perspective morphed not from one view to another, but it created a new perspective. A perspective I was not even thinking about before that experience. I learned to be grateful for my family and everything I have learned from my parents and sister. As Jim Rohn once said, "Learn to be thankful for what you already have while you pursue all you want." I learned to be thankful for all the opportunities that presented themselves at that moment and forevermore.

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Mila Grothus, 9th, Madrid Jr./Sr. High School, IA, (Fiction) "A Tale of Twin Witches" Juniper stared out the window at the clouds. Her mother, Astoria, had just finished reading The Crystal Kingdom, her favorite bedtime story. As she stared at the starry night sky, she wondered if the Crystal Kingdom was really up there. She closed her eyes, and dreamed she was riding a unicorn. Without an evil twin sister in sight. ****** Juniper woke up to hear cackling and shouting coming from downstairs.

“Ugh!” she groaned.

Lucinda must be riding her broom indoors again. Everyone knew the ceiling was too low for that. “Lucinda! Come off it already!”

Lucinda seemed to never want to stop riding. Although the girls were seven, Lucinda had already taken up the role of the “evil witch” since Cassandra, their older sister had moved out. Their mother swooped into her room.

“I’m supposing you’ll want breakfast in bed Juniper?” she asked.

“Yes please!” Juniper replied.

Soon she was eating her favorite breakfast (a chocolate chip bagel with cream cheese and an apple), but it was not a peaceful one. Yes now Lucinda was off the broomstick, but now she was arguing with her mother about never getting to go to witching school.

“But mom!” Lucinda was saying. “They have a house for people like me!”

“Your aunt was expelled for causing too much mischief!” her mother was shouting back. The argument went on, and on, and on!

Juniper stroked her phoenix, Pandora.

“I’ll never escape this place as long as I live, will I Pandora?” she asked.

Just then, Lucinda stormed into her room. “Lucinda! You know you’re not allowed in here!” Juniper said.

Lucinda pointed her wand at Juniper’s prized phoenix pendant. “NO!” Juniper yelled.

The pendant shattered to pieces on the floor. Juniper burst into tears. “What’s wrong Juniper?” Lucinda asked. “What use was it anyway? You never wear it anymore.”

“That’s because YOU keep stealing it!” Juniper screamed.

Once again, their mother swept into the room.

“Girls!” she scolded. “What is going on?”

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“Juniper doesn’t take good enough care of her things.”

“Lucinda broke my phoenix pendant!”

Their mother sighed.

“Lucinda go to your room,” she said. At this point, her voice was very stern.

She repaired the pendant using the mending charm. Then once again swept out of the room. Juniper picked up the repaired phoenix pendant, and put it in a hidden box in her closet. But when she opened the box, she saw that her copy of Tale of the Crystal Kingdom was missing. Juniper burst into tears. How could Lucinda do this to her?!

Suddenly, sparkles appeared outside her bedroom window. She went to the window, and looked outside. The clouds in the sky were opening. “That was strange,” Juniper thought.

Then, she saw unicorns coming down. “Going out!” she called to her mother as she dashed downstairs and out the front door. ****** Just as Juniper came out the front door, the unicorns landed in her front yard. “Please unicorns,” she said. “What are your names, and did you come from the Crystal Kingdom?”

“Yes Juniper. We did come from the Crystal Kingdom,” the oldest of the unicorns said.

“My name is Breanna.”

“My name is Simona,” the wisest said.

“My name is Alanala,” the prettiest said.

“My name is Celestia,” the darkest said And the last, the youngest and smallest of all said, “My name is Eternia.”

Juniper went over this quickly. Breanna meant pure and virtuous. Simona meant one who hears. Alanala meant fair and beautiful. Celestia meant full of wisdom. And Eternia meant eternal friend. Each and every name seemed to fit the unicorn.

“Why did you come here?” Juniper asked.

“I heard you crying over something,” Simona said. “What is wrong?”

“I love the story of the Crystal Kingdom. It’s been my favorite story ever since I was a baby,” Juniper began. “I have an evil twin sister named Lucinda. She’s always getting into my stuff, and she stole my copy of The Tale of the Crystal Kingdom!”

“We all wish some moments never happened in our life,” Celestia said. “But we have to move on. How would you like to see the real Crystal Kingdom?”

“Do you mean it!?” Juniper asked.

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“Of course!” Eternia said. “But you can’t tell anyone.” “I promise,” Juniper replied.

But as she climbed onto Breanna’s back, she didn’t see Lucinda looking at her from her window. ****** As Juniper, Brianna, Simona, Alanala, Celestia, and Eternia ascended into the sky, the clouds opened once more. And just like that, Juniper could see crystals, clouds, unicorns, fairies, fauns, centaurs, naiads, dryads, pegasi, banshees, dragons, dwarves, elves, gnomes, goblins, griffins, hippogriffs, leprechauns, mermaids, minotaurs, nymphs, phoenixes, pixies, satyrs, and will ‘o’ wisps. It was so much more than she had expected!

“First we will visit Queen Aravis,” Breanna said. Simona, Ananala, Celestia, and Eternia stopped. “No,” they all said in unison.

“What do you mean No?” Breanna said.

“The queen doesn’t like humans. Especially witches,” Eternia said.

“What are you talking about?” Breanna asked.

“Didn’t you ever hear what happened to young Locasta Redwood?” Celestia asked.

“The queen was so angry that Danika, Yashiana, and Tomo had brought her to the Crystal Kingdom, that she froze Danika, Yashiana, and Tomo with her ice crystal magic for months! Then, she froze Locasta forever!” Simona said.

“Well, don’t you remember that the queen knows if the human is trustworthy or not? I think that Juniper is trustworthy,” Breanna replied.

There was no further arguing with that. For it was true. Soon, they arrived at the palace, and there on a throne made of crystals sat Queen Aravis of the Crystal Kingdom. With a scepter of ice next to her.

“Welcome,” she said. “I think we all have something to talk about. ****** “Your majesty,” Juniper said.

“Please Juniper, call me Aravis,” she replied. “Any person like you, magic or not, is welcome. Now,” she said, turning to the unicorns. “All of you know you should have watched to see if anyone saw you. Someone did. Someone we cannot trust.”

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Brianna, Simona, Alanala, Celestia, and Eternia looked at each other nervously.

“Was it another witch?” Juniper asked nervously.

“Yes,” Queen Aravis replied. “One who was wearing dark black and white clothes, and had black hair.”

“That would be my twin sister Lucinda,” Juniper replied. “And she can’t be trusted with something like this.”

“What should we do, your majesty?” Simona asked.

“We should prepare ourselves,” Queen Aravis said. “She has already tried to get in.”

Juniper looked solemn.

“I guess this means you’re going to freeze us in ice,” she said quietly.

“I never said that, Juniper,” Queen Aravis said to her. “I never froze Locosta Redwood in ice. She tried to do that to me. She, like your sister wanted to have the Crystal Kingdom for her own.”

Juniper looked surprised. Suddenly, the sky and room turned a shade of purple and black. And there stood Lucinda. Cackling and screaming as she pleased.

“Go away Lucinda,” Juniper said as she turned around.

“Unarmed, unprepared, my, my, my. This is not like you Juniper,” Lucinda said.

Immediately, she pointed her wand at Queen Aravis’s ice scepter.

“Veni scepter,” she said.

Then, she aimed it at the queen, and created an ice prison. “Supernatet!” she ordered.

And moved the chamber aside. Then, she processed up, and sat down, on the royal throne. ****** “Now dear sister, what should we do now?” Lucinda asked. “I know. Why don’t I imprison you as well!”

But when Lucinda turned around, Juniper was already flying away on Eternia’s back.

Lucinda acted quickly. She imprisoned Celestia, Breanna, Simona, and Alanala in ice chains. “Guards!” she called. Four dwarves appeared running from the hall.

“Yes your majesty,” they said together.

“Take these unicorns to the pre-torture chamber. I will handle it from there,” Lucinda instructed.

“Yes your majesty,” the dwarves replied.

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And just like that, Celestia, Breanna, Simona, and Alanala were dragged off the chamber. Lucinda cackled, and put her dark magic all over the Crystal Kingdom.

Meanwhile, Juniper and Eternia had stopped by Juniper and Lucinda’s house. Or in other words, Lucinda’s former home. Juniper now had her wand and broomstick. She had also pinned her phoenix pendant to her robes. Now, they were back in the Crystal Kingdom, and nothing was the same.

“What happened here?” Eternia asked. “Everything looks so different.”

“Lucinda must have spread dark magic through the Crystal Kingdom!” Juniper gasped in horror.

When they arrived back at the castle, Lucinda was waiting for them.

“Ah!” she said. “My dear sister has come back.”

“Lucinda, the Crystal Kingdom isn’t yours,” Juniper replied. “Give it up.”

“But I’m having too much fun,” Lucinda said. “It’s so pleasing to see your little friends so miserable.”

“But they don’t deserve to be that way,” Juniper said.

At that point, Lucinda had drawn her wand.

“Rigescunt indutate!” Lucinda screamed.

Lucinda missed narrowly.

“Mentix!” Juniper shouted.

Lucinda dived out of the way.

“Demobiliarus!” Lucinda cackled. “Oh my, this is too much fun.”

Juniper doged the spell and shouted, “Exarmaueris!”

Finally, someone was defeated. Lucinda’s wand flew through the air, and Juniper caught it.

“Oh Juniper, I’m afraid this is going to end well for me,” Lucinda said. She grabbed the scepter, and screamed, “Exarmaueris!”

Juniper dropped the wand, and Lucinda picked it up. “Occidere!” she screamed.

Juniper thought quickly.

“Supernatet!” Juniper shouted.

The two spells met. Each sister looking intently at the other. Suddenly, Juniper closed her eyes, and focused on her spell. She used all her might, and finally, her spell overpowered Lucinda’s, and Lucinda went up to the ceiling.

“You think that’s funny, don’t you Juniper,” Lucinda asked.

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But suddenly, Lucinda dropped her wand. Down, down, down, it went, until Juniper caught it. “You can’t stop me!” Lucinda screamed.

“Oh yes I can,” Juniper replied.

And with that, she snapped the wand in half.

“NO!” Lucinda screamed.

And the light came to the room. The Crystal Kingdom was safe! Juniper grabbed the ice scepter, and released Queen Aravis. Then, Lucinda was freed from the spell, but was sent right home where her mother was waiting.

“Thank you Juniper,” Queen Aravis said. “For all you have done.”

“It was the least I could do,” Juniper replied.

And from that day forward, Juniper was the heir to the throne in the Crystal Kingdom. ****** Four years later, Juniper and Lucinda were going to witching school. They had made friends, enjoyed classes, and had fun together. But, as requested by their mother, they were not allowed to be with each other. Juniper and Lucinda never forgot about the Crystal Kingdom, and Juniper never forgot that she was to one day rule it. But, they never, as long as they lived, forgot their adventure together in the clouds.

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