WVHS presents
PREMIERE
20182019
PREMIERE
♥
WAUBONSIE VALLEY HIGH SCHOOL 2018 - 2019
STAFF SENIOR
EDITOR CRISTA THYVELIKAKATH
DESIGN EDITOR
DESIGN EDITOR
NYAH BRUCE LOGAN WILLIAMS
EDITORIAL STAFF
ADITI AGRAWAL AALIYAH JULIUS PRIYALI BANDLA JAKE KELLY EMILY LARES VICTOREA QUINTON-HAIRSTON MAYSON KAMINSKI CONSTANTINE ECONOMOU RA’SHIAH WRIGHT RACHEL FRIEDENBERGER LESLIE TUSZYNSKI ASHLEY JANES SPONSOR JEN KASTNER
Artist: Vidya Devarajulu
“But I have to ask: is it better to die from a blistering warmth or the unforgiving cold?” --Aditi Agrawal, “Inheritance”
Dear Writers and Artists, This year, you have learned how to fall down and overcome adversity; you fell in and out of love; you saw beauty in the order and chaos of the world; you found purpose in life even where death is prevalent. Most of all, you shared your incredible discoveries with the world. Thank you for allowing us to join you on your journeys.
Dear Reader, These creations were made as an expression of the heart, but they were made with you in mind. Whatever works you read, whatever art you lay your eyes on, take it in as deeply as you can. In this magazine, you have the chance to witness firsthand the growth of a young human being as it happens. Thank you for being here to treasure it, making all the moments that stemmed this artistry worth it.
Dear Ms. Kastner, The creative liberty and opportunity you provide for your students and magazine staff allows us to have room to express ourselves genuinely without losing direction. These talented writers and artists have flourished under your guidance. We editors are deeply grateful that you have supported our creativity and inspired us to carry out our own visions for this magazine. Thank you for sharing our passion as our incredible mentor. Sincerely,
The PREMIERE Staff 2018-2019
CONTENTS Written work
♥
DOWNFALL & OVERCOMING
LOVE & HATE
1
Found Poem Ali Barnard
10
Chapel Gina Schutz
2
A Rundown House Crista Thyvelikakath
11
Difference Between You & Me Moneena Green
3
The Lumberjack Grace Setter
12
i remember Madison Moore
4
I take a stride Sidney Nimako-Boateng
13
Blue Jeans Grace Setter
5
The Practice Field Sade Olawoye
14
Binary Suns Rachel Friedenberger
6
On This Day Leslie Tuszynski
15
Doubtless Victorea Quinton-Hairston
7
Please Just Stay Melissa Walden
17
Texas Burning Jake Kelly
CONTENTS Written work
ORDER & CHAOS
20
LIFE & DEATH
End Lake Williams
30
The Stacey Kelly Case Ashley Janes
rules Aaroosh Mishra
31
sternum // eve Crista Thyvelikakath
creation Crista Thyvelikakath
32
Inheritance Aditi Agrawal
Athena Aditi Agrawal
34
Letters from Persephone Nyah Bruce
23
pretty and pissed in pink Ashley Singh
35
25
The Whitest Black Person Dallys Dorsey
Rest in Peace, Princess Carrie Fisher Crista Thyvelikakath
37
26
run though. Elle Morson
The Great Forest Rebekah Irby
38
27
Patio Observations Crista Thyvelikakath
trees and seventeen Cassidy Wiltjer
39
28
Cubed Logan Williams
Blackout Jake Kelly
41
A Year Amanda Chen
42
Caroline Crocodile Tears Jake Kelly
21
PICTURED Contour with Color Alex Smith Graphic Design Tyler Hayes
CONTENTS ARTWORK
♥ LOVE & HATE
DOWNFALL & OVERCOMING
2
Ecolotrol Isabel Panicker
9
3
Blood Fashion Katie Thomsen
10
Contour Kyle Davies
4
Bench Sergio Garcia
11
Florida Skater Eddie Rhodes
5
Grain Elevator Sebastian Duesing
12
Clarke Griffin Rachel Friedenberger
7
Photo Emily Lares
13
Fiery Females Caitlin Cannon
8
3D Scultpure Natali Craff-Bedoya
14
Photo Brynna Bishop
15
Photo Brynna Bishop
16
Drawing JT Reyes
18
Photo Caroline Costello
Surrealism Razhel Buquis
CONTENTS ARTWORK
ORDER & CHAOS
LIFE & DEATH
19
Monkey Business Katie Thomsen
29
Photo Brynna Bishop
20
Mirror Alycia Wylie
30
Photo Brynna Bishop
22
Painting Katie Thomsen
31
Photo Emily Lares
23
Pink Bath Emily Lares
32
Painting Araceli Andrade
26
Shadows Emily Lares
33
Digital Kyle Davies
27
Flower Manasvi Narayanan
35
Painting Katie Thomsen
28
Photo Emily Lares
37
Photo Elizabeth Barbosa
38
Drawing JT Reyes
PICTURED
39
Photo Vidyalakshimi Devarajulu
Graphic Design Jacob Saucier
41
Photo Emily Lares
Faceless Self Portrait Araceli Andrade
FRONT COVER
BACK COVER
Lightbulb
Abstraction
Cross Holmes
Eddie Rhodes
downfall & OVERCOMING [doun fôl] / noun a loss of power, prosperity, or status
[ōvэr kэm] / verb
succeeding in dealing with a problem or difficulty
1
A RUNDOWN HOUSE Crista Thyvelikakath I think we give it the will to keep standing; It fights to brace Against the foundation Because of the way our steel-toed boots Creak into the moldy wooden floors That shoot up the hairs along our spine. The sky has wept Against the roof For too long, To waste its tears by caving into What was once our everything.
2
The Lumberjack Grace Setter
Like a falling tree her smile collapsed Chopped d o w n with a ruthless axe Every strike scarring her skin Every leaf that falls tearing d o w n her spirit She became what he wanted her to be A fallen beauty taken by the hands of the lumberjack
3
I take a stride Sidney Nimako-Boateng
I take a stride Another Another Yet I still find myself Behind all others They run their race On the track of life While I’m perched upon A stationary bike While they Run & run And a c c e I’m left behind They are I’m stuck on my treadmill As I r u n & r u n Yet I get nowhere By the setting of the sun I take my s t e p s But don’t displace I guess I’m losing If life’s a race
4
l
beyond,
f a r gone
The Practice Field
Sade Olawoye
Out of sight. Out of mind. This is what the practice football field is for most high schoolers, but it is where the football players do most of their work. It’s unappreciated and looks like a boxer after a 12-round match. The ground is bruised and the grass has stopped growing in patches from where cleats have repeatedly punched the ground. Making every rep count. Over and over and over. Water fills certain parts of the earth like a pool of tears and sweat. The field goals are old and have cracks in the paint like veins and arteries. One look at this field and anyone can tell that it’s not pretty, but it tells a story. This field is alive. Every play, every kick, every rep. The field pulses along with us trying to urge us to work harder because that is how you make it onto the pretty one. It takes a little rain to get a rainbow. This field has been rained on like cats and dogs, but the game field is the glorious rainbow. One day he stepped out on the battered field. A senior from another school. A school that is not necessarily despised but not loved either. He is an intruder, yet the field called out to him. Everybody could see it. He started practicing despite the scorching sun, despite the yelling, despite the fact that he did not need to be there. With every rep the field seemed to call out for more. Dirt from the field surrounded him like cheers. The grass seemed to be pointing at him. He played his heart out, but one thing did not make sense. Why was he here? So the boys elected the only girl on the team to talk to him. She started shaking from how nervous she was. When she reached him, she lightly tapped his left shoulder and he turned around. He was a spectacle, yet she had to focus on her mission. The only thing that left her lips was, “Who are you?” Without missing a beat, he held out his hand and said that his name was Noah. She shook his hand. It was rough like he had been working his entire life. Working to get faster, stronger, better. Yet he still managed to be gentle. There was something about him. Something different; she couldn’t put her finger on it. She wavered in asking him the question that everyone wants to know. Before she could open her mouth, he started speaking, “I realize that everyone is confused about why I’m here. I decided to transfer here and the coaches want me to play for them. I always found that I felt the most at home in this school. I love away games here because I can feel your energy. Even now I feel like this field is alive with friendship and brotherhood. I want that. I’ve always felt something was different about here. I want to experience that for myself before I’m done with highschool.” The girl was amazed. He could feel it too.
5
On This Day Children yelling, running, screaming with delight, chasing each other with cans of sprayable string and colored egg-shells full of hopes and dreams and wishes for a brighter, better future. Teens fighting, playing, swearing, perhaps, on their phones and silent, yet at the same time enjoying each other’s company. Adults laughing, joking, drinking, teasing for fun, sharing the endless piles of food that were made for all on this day. And on this day, this glorious day, from all around the country, men and women and teens and children come together to celebrate together, eat together, laugh and live even while the sky outside is dark and gloomy together.
Leslie Tuszynski
And yet... The family is not all fun and games, not all laughter, and certainly not all food. There are dark days, gloomy days, hopeless days, too.
I have felt pain, and I still have the scars to prove it. I have cried and gotten mad at the world, yelling and crying out into the night, “Why is this fair?”
There is a boy who never really smiles, who never really laughs, who wears a mask and covers himself in thick cloths of lies, slowly drowning in pills, saying again and again, not only to himself but to the people around him, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”
But…
There is a girl who was never truly accepted, never truly loved, never truly there, practically invisible to the very person who should support her, love her, care for her the most.
We, along with many others, have refused to bow down in the name of society, refused to succumb to our demons and instead chose to embrace the light.
And then there’s me.
And together, these men and women and teens and children can all accept and love one another, respect each other, care for each other, support each other.
I have been hurt.
My life has not been all sunshine and flowers. It has not been all rainbows and joy and cans of sprayable string and colored egg-shells.
I have also survived. The boy in the mask has survived, as has the seemingly invisible girl. We, along with many others, have risen above the ashes and burned with the flames of passion and dreams once again.
And on this day, this special day, we all say thanks for the others around us, for the food we eat, for the houses we have, and for ourselves, for never giving up and never giving in. On this day… We live on.
We live on. 6
Please Just Stay Melissa Walden She wished to draw me deeper into the dark and broken utopia that was her life. She wanted me to see every crevice, every ruined building along the way, so I could maybe bring a hammer and find a way to fix it all. But when the first drop of rain fell through the autumn air, it was too dangerous to mend it during the storm, and when the lightning hit the last haven standing all my breath was gone. And so was She. Autumn air it was too dangerous to mend it during the storm, and when the lightning hit the last haven standing all my breath was gone. And so was She.
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Love & Hate [lэv] / noun strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties
[hāt] / noun
♥ 9
extreme dislike or disgust
Chapel Gina Schutz He is my chapel, Mosaic glass glazes his eyes, As he mutters a sweet chime of ringing bells. Dove wings flourish from his arched back, He tilts his head, chin pointed to the angels, Eden is placed upon his lips. In the darkness he is my light, And with a single touch, my demons hide away, I will praise him, on Heaven and Earth.
But the longer I stare at him, The longer I kneel and give my soul to him, I see the cracks in his facade. How is he going to promise so much? -- to a person like me?
God once loved Lucifer.
♼ 10
Difference Between You & Me Monenna Green We watched from afar, they watched from the side. We played on the streets, they played with golden twine. Pissy and poised, ruckus and noise. Bloodied fist, deep scars, nothing more than different brands of race cars. Were you me or was I you? The looks of want, the glares of hate. I shoved my hand deep in your face, hoping to draw out fresh, red paint. You whimper, I scream. You coward. I king. You weak. I strong. You lie. I breathe. Black and white Red and blue When we mix together, we’re nothing but a nasty little bruise.
♼ 11
i remember Madison Moore
i’ve always hoped to forget whatever it is that we had. the false Thulium, the vines, and the promises. every late night was just my disguise because I was sure your eyes wouldn’t care if they had known the truth. we both dripped in your compulsiveness. shattered and quivering, silent yet hysterical. my ribs crack at the mention of your name. your
old t-shirts don’t work as a cast.
♥ 12
Blue Jeans Grace Setter
Two strangers Dark fate Falling in love On the wrong path At first It was clouds A pink dance We met Standing there A small moment in history Blue jeans And calm dreams Coarse denim Smooth hands Tangled in the Lavender motions Of a love song Turned to black emotions On broken stones Written lies Down the cracked road It was grey pain Today was Insignificant Tomorrow was Nothing Half away A muffled language Sang by spirits of old love In a graveyard full Of ghosts that hide In dark colors Too late to Turn back time To a small moment in history Wearing blue jeans
♼ 13
Binary Suns Rachel Friedenberger His thoughts suddenly drifted off to 10th grade Earth and Space Science when he learned of Binary Suns. Binary Suns, it was almost fitting. Two suns, spinning creations of space dust and fire, constantly circling each other, never touching, never coming together, always just out of reach. She had always been just out of reach, and he had always been fumbling for her in the dark, waiting for the day she would turn around and see him there, always ready to hold her up.Then she left and she had never been further from his grasp. Until she returned, and suddenly she was light years away, standing right beside him but never more unattainable. Then he found out she had been silently reaching out for him. All this time she had been calling out to him across the stars, begging him to come to her rescue, while he orbited just out of earshot mourning for a women that still waited for him to return to her. But he didn’t. And when he returned, it wasn’t for her. She was long gone, a memory, just stardust scattered like ashes across the black painted sky. He returned for his sister, his family, his town. But then she came back into his life, with the revelation that tore through him like a sun expiring, becoming a supernova - he brightened with every step until a dim glow he had worn since she left, with the weight of all he’d seen, had been shed and in its place was a blinding brightness in his heart. Eleanor was back, and it was a catastrophic explosion that burned up in the atmosphere behind his eyes, decimating the last six years in its wake. Because even after all that time, he still loved Eleanor Hayes. And he didn’t have any damn idea what to do about it.
♥ 14
Doubtless Victorea Quinton-Hairston Regardless of the past, I still hold onto you. *Our history has shown that me trusting you is a bad idea. It is hard to tell whether the icky feeling in my gut is intuition or anxiety. I want to believe the sweet nothings you feed to me in my semi-lucid state. How can one person cause so much confusion and distress?* Passionless love consumes me whole. *Wondering if I am making the right choices is my mind’s top priority. Should I let myself fall in love? Why am I withholding it in the first place? Can I handle a life built on settling for comfort? I ask myself every day without an answer.* Loveless lies are wicked. *I don’t love you. True or false? You don’t occupy my world. True or false? I am afraid of losing you. True or false? I am afraid of losing control. True or false? I am afraid. True.* Senseless tension guides us. Fearlessly loving. Powerlessly dreaming. Hopelessly making promises we know we can’t keep, Regardless of the consequences. *I love you.*
♥ 15
Iridescent tears balancing on her cheek. Silken brown skin suddenly aglow with the soft radiation of sadness. Little lies told grow fast and strong like Obese children being fed without care. Volatile feelings contribute to pain, Ending only when called out. Realizing the damage done, Everyone covers up the Atrocities committed by Lovers who give up.
♼ 16
TEXAS BURNING Jake Kelly
[A LOVE LOST IN THREE PARTS]
fiery eyes, pale blue skies; this is how i remember you. violent hands, screaming in cold high school football stands; this is how i long for you. peach on your breath, guns blazing until the embalming embrace of death, this is how i love you. the cacti prickle against the deep, toned muscle of my calf, the lone star flag waving solemnly in the empty desert breeze. your hands had, only moments ago, released their grip from my neck, and as i breathe, i see stars and taste pennies on my swollen tongue. there was an edge to you; cowboy hat pulled low as you picked me apart with your gaze, wind chimes eerily singing as the sun went down, the sky a flushed pink. i could feel my back clench as i became feral, knowing the second i became your conquest the sunset would be all i saw. when it’s just you and i, alone at the edge of America with nothing but the rustling bushes and dusty roads to remember us, i wish you were death instead of the smirking devil himself. the first time i met you, your back was leaned up against a convenience store that had stopped selling gas years ago. a cigarette in your hand,
♼ 17
no one would catch your eye, and your right hand remained warm in your jean pocket. i had taken my brother’s truck for the sole purpose of feeding my milky way addiction, but i found you instead. you, tan as the sand stone in my home state, utah. you, with a rattlesnake bite and a hissing temper. i thought about you all the way home. i even circled my block twice, pretending you were the mirage on the horizon. when the clock chimed midnight my sheets became damp and my holy bible was stuffed behind boxes under the far corner of my bed. you became my lone ranger, big belt and and a lean body, fingers drumming against the side of the car as we raced down to el paso, your lips sucking the sweet venom from my neck. did i drive that stake into your pulsing heart, or was it already still upon arrival?
♼ 18
CHAOS & ORDER [’kā äs] / noun complete disorder and confusion
[ôrdэr] / noun the arrangement or disposition of people or things in relation to each other according to a particular sequence, pattern, or method
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End
Lake Williams
There is no such thing as immunity from existence. One way or another, the pain, agony, and despair of life will challenge you. It will enslave you, control you, leaving nothing but an unsettling atmosphere. This atmosphere is eternal, causing you to screech in horror as you spiral into madness. Then, the dark shadows and the stale eeriness of time will collapse upon you. The mind and senses will be executed in a dramatic and singular manner. And the crescendo is the questioning, and the randomness, and the war for reason.
rules
aroosh mishra
too many rules like not to put too many spaces or not to ImPrOpErLy CaPiTaLiZe or to spell write and i guess that’s the beauty of it because we live in a world of rules and you’ll only be noticed if you dare to defy
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creation
Crista Thyvelikakath
we try to make stars of ourselves; we rip open the clouds, puncture bedrock, and even if we make it to the core below, and the edge of the universe, it will never be enough. the spider finds whatever entangles in the silk it weaves into networks to be enough.
Athena
Aditi Agrawal
I was an unconsenting witness to the horrors that desecrated my sacred walls I had to watch as he violated her I had to hear her screams But I was surrounded by men, All much stronger than me I could not raise any objections Without fear of repentance So I did what I knew best I outsmarted them See men think that a woman’s worth is dictated by her beauty Our looks are everything But we know that real worth is dictated by the power that we wield In the eyes of the men I bestowed upon her a great punishment A cruel, callous, and vile sentence for her crimes But in truth, it was a gift. I made her hideous and powerful She can turn anyone who dares look at her to stone No man would dare look at her, would dare violate her ever again.
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pretty and pissed in
pink my empty eyes stare at the screen as i try hard to absorb the knowledge
of how one in four women are sexually assaulted in college
fresh blood trickles down my shaven legs for the beauty standards we create
the same blood that abused women hope to see monthly as they fight against their fate
my voice cries out as i stand on the pavement promoting gender equality
as young girls stare through their windows filled with much curiosity
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their innocence, their purity, their happiness, their strength
will all disappear once they learn of the women’s rights the world is so against
abortion is murder, she deserved it, and that skirt was too short?
say that to the twelve-year-old girl attacked and fighting in court
we wait for the world and we wait for the people but how many more lives must be ruined until we gain this freedom?
let us hold hands and rise up towards this oppression against the creators of life
and take back our souls that were cut out so deeply by his misogynistic knife
~ ~ ~ Ashley Singh 24
The Whitest B l ac k P e r so n D a lly s Do r s e y
To all the people who think you can act a color,
I hate you. Now I’m not writing this directly towards racists cause this applies to really every race and person on this Earth. But just because I act differently than what’s stereotypically normal for my race all of a sudden would make me “white.” So here’s an example: instead of slurring my words and speaking low so no one can actually hear me or understand me, I’d speak up so that everyone’s listening and can understand me. But for doing that, I’m all of a sudden labeled as the “whitest black guy” anyone’s ever met. And to those people I usually ask them why I am the “whitest black guy,” and they usually say, “Oh it’s just the way you carry yourself.” But what makes me the most frustrated is that it literally demeans, not only me, but my own race and whites all at the same time. It’s like a paradox. A racist Paradox. Now, I may not be one to talk, because I’ve said stuff like this before, too, but as I look back, it’s all so stupid that I cringe HARD everytime I think about it. I used to get made fun of by all the black and white kids, and still do, because I swam as a sport; they thought “black people can’t swim so that must mean that Dallys is white or something.” And on top of that, since I’m black, I now have expectations to the rest of the world. Everyone thinking that I HAVE to be able to dunk a basketball. Everyone thinking that I HAVE to play football or basketball to really be truly black. Everyone thinking that I HAVE to have watched every single hood movie out. Everyone thinking that I HAVE to like watermelon. Everyone thinking I HAVE to have listened to G herbo’s new song. I hate it. I despise it. I abhor it. In reality you can’t act a color, you just are a color, there’s a difference between the two. The way you act should be because of your personality and not based on your race alone. I understand that where you grow up all has effects on personality, but some grow up in bad places are still are different, but get made fun of because they act a different way than the rest. I remember a time when the diffrence got so bad I felt like I was exiled by my own race, my own people, all because I just wanted to be different. But through all this ridicule and judgement towards me it only makes me want to be even more different. And to all my friends who want to be different: Do It. It’ll only make you a better person and more memorable. Who cares what anyone says, who cares what they think, being different is what makes you special. So be special and don’t ever let anyone tell you can’t be.
Love,
Dallys
25
Run Through Elle Morson
we work quietly. shadow kids, never seen. all black and tiptoe, programming lights for a cue to go. listen over comm and say so, stay in the cold and the warm green glow. we work in harmony, unapologetically, never seen. spike tape and curtain pull, hands grip and lights at full. cinder block seats and sitting silently, reliably, our space still never seen, oh, the irony -we are the undertone, the backbone, as one we face the unknown. we handle this on our own. the first in last out. lights to zero and blackout.
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Patio Observations Crista Thyvelikakath
At my lap, the light and shadows flutter together in organic patterns across my skin and clothes. I roll my shoulders back, back, back, until I can only see the tree consuming the sky, framed by the cotton above that does not budge for the wind the way the leaves do. There is strength in being free to be moved by the world around you, just as there is strength in knowing when to pause and fight for stillness in the air. The clouds yearn to descend upon these pillars of wisdom; the sky wants to feel purpose, too. A purpose to be found between the crevices of the little domes, where light pierces and enriches the leaves to nourish the soil and bark, the skin of the earth. Branches outstretched in an open invitation to the gods to halt and be humbled, to entangle water vapor with the green halo that radiates the fragrance of the earth. Every leaf waves in a graceful greeting, in essence, desiring to bless the ones who make us all holy.
27
Cubed
Logan Williams
Three dimensional. Six faces. Twelve edges. Eight vertices. The block as a whole contains twenty-six identical blocks that form itself. At the center of the twenty-six blocks lies, not a cube but a sphere. Just as an octopus’s head to it’s legs, it connects all parts, controlling them. While mirroring each other in measurement, each plastic face gives a new hue. A perplexed angel’s white feathers. A confused devil’s red horns. A solemn ocean’s just blue waters. A valley’s pure, instinctual, green wilderness. A star’s burning, yellow glow. A desert’s arid, heated, orange sands. The coats are neatly organized until whimsical twists. Storms twist and turn the colors, spreading ocean into the desert. Angels and devils fight, turning once pure halos red and once sinister wings white. Everything gets bent out of shape. Rearranged and gnarled into ritzy corners. Each legal commute has roughly forty-three quintillion results. If the plastic covered Gaia for each permutation, Gaia would own a new coat 275 times over. It’s all simple geometry and algorithm. 3x3 times over.
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LIFE & death [lÄŤf] / noun the existence of an individual human being or animal
[deTH] / noun
the permanent ending of vital processes in a cell or tissue.
29
The Stacey Kelly Case I remember the Stacey Kelly case like it was yesterday. I was in my patrol car. It was a slow night with nothing but a couple speeding tickets. I got an alert to go to an apartment building downtown. Residents of the apartment were complaining about an unbearable smell in the apartment that belonged to Ms. Kelly. When asked about Stacey Kelly, they said that they haven’t seen her in a week. Unless Stacey Kelly decided to be a hermit who lost all interest in showers, there was only one explanation: a dead body. I arrived at the apartment ten minutes later. The apartment was very small and clean. The landlord was in the hallway of the apartment trying to unlock a door. He looked very irritated. It didn’t take very long for me to realize the source of the smell was from the locked room. He looked up at me, “The lock is broken. I already called a locksmith to get the door open.” The landlord’s phone vibrated. He answered his phone and put it back in his pocket. “There is a problem on the first floor. I will be back by the time the locksmith is here,” the landlord said before rushing out of the apartment. I looked around the apartment, starting with the kitchen. The walls were covered in photos of a brunette with her friends. It could only be assumed that the brunette was Stacey Kelly. One of the photos was on the ground in a cracked frame. I looked around the counters of the kitchen. The only noticeable thing was a knife block with a missing knife. Where the knife was missing, there was a chunk taken out of the wood under the slit. This was obviously not on purpose. Only a knife taken out with urgency could make that cut. I continued to investigate and started to search her bedroom. Unlike the rest of the apartment, the bedroom was a complete disaster. Drawers were pulled out, a window was half open, and papers were on the ground. I picked up the papers to find that it belonged to a journal. It was mostly normal events, like parties and trips to the mall. Except for one page.
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Ashley Janes
“Last night over dinner, Liam told me that he is moving due to university. We both agreed that splitting up would be the best for us, but I still feel upset.” I didn’t feel like this was important until I found who the journal pages belonged to. I flipped through the journal and stumbled across another page with the name Liam. “There is a new guy at the coffee shop I work at. His name is Liam Timothy. I have to admit there is something unforgettable about him. Maybe it is his curly red hair or green eyes. I just can’t get him out of my mind.” Looking back now, that journal still makes my stomach turn. I heard the door open. It was the landlord and the locksmith. I returned to the hallway. The locksmith used his tools to remove the doorknob. The door creaked open, and the smell only got worse. The room was pitch black. I turned on my flashlight, and in the back corner, I saw the bloody corpse of a man with curly red hair. That was the start of the Stacey Kelly Case: a brokenhearted killer.
sternum // eve Crista Thyvelikakath
can hardly contain the muscle pounding; if it ceased chest compressions often break ribs as they should; of whose rib am i? whose rib will be crushed beneath the heels of palms trying to resuscitate me?
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Inheritance Aditi Agrawal I wear my mother’s paranoia like a coat upon my shoulders; It weighs down upon me heavy with the trauma that she has endured, Stitched with a lack of trust and skepticism That can only be born from an unkind world. An heirloom passed down from woman to woman in my family, As natural as the ability to walk or even breathe, A survival instinct, My mother has carefully tailored it to protect me from the harshness of the world, But she doesn’t understand that this layer of protection is trapping me, That the layers of this coat seem to bury me alive, Drowning me in its heat. But I have to ask is it better to die from a blistering warmth or the unforgiving cold.
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LETTERS FROM PERSEPHONE Nyah Bruce
You’d think that when the ground opened up and swallowed me whole It was nothing but dark and deep and cold, That I’d ached for the citrus of the setting sun And when with him, I could find none, That I’d wished and wished for fireflies, Yet all I could do was fantasize That I’d yearned for morning dew and verdant grass And all I could find was broken glass, alas You’d think I’d I listened for the twinkle of the stars And that wasn’t a part of his repertoire You’d think that no one could have convinced me No matter how saccharine, satisfying, or sweet To pluck the fruit right from the trees, And suck the seeds so willingly It was - in fact - dark and deep and cold But the river of souls glistens like gold Churning out stories untold And I find that my heart has begun to unfold I find solace in the shadows I don’t ache for soil between my toes I’d wish for thorns before the rose And smile if the ocean froze I no longer crave summer nights beneath weeping trees I do not desire anything more than a paltry breeze I will not pine for the subtle buzz of honey bees It’s here I find myself at ease And so I beg to you Please, mother Let me be.
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REST IN PEACE, PRINCESS CARRIE FISHER Crista Thyvelikakath
Debbie Reynolds Mothers do not leave their daughters alone-Even in death; In such a love The always feared fate took place, And mothers keep their promises; Ten years of distance does not end love; Daughters may build walls against The shadow of a mother’s light, But they are no barriers to the Water of the womb; So when the daughter’s heart stops beating, The mother’s blood can no longer Be contained within vessels; So in death, By her willing love, All separation Can be mended.
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Mark Hamill Why did things have to end this way-A true princess wants prosperity for her people; A good time is everything even if it became her death; The grief always comes back-She was captivating, and loving her gave you whiplash, But your head can’t be focused on anything but her; She deserved for someone to be there-She doesn’t hesitate to let you hold her heart, But she also doesn’t let go, either; Maybe I was just too blind-The most enjoyable company can be the most meaningful, And brothers sometimes make new sisters.
Billie Lourd I wear your white dress, And it does not represent my innocence; If anything, it became the loss of yours, dear mother, And I know that in these Northern Lights It is your magnetism that Holds this Earth together; So I will wear your buns, And I will not inherit the throne, But I will lead your army, General, For you refused to be grounded By all expectations, So you rose to the sky, Out of this world.
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The Great Forest Rebekah Irby He stands at the foot of the great forest, hand resting on the hilt of his silver sword, staring at the landscape in front of him. The boy doesn’t know this landscape, he only knows that before him is something more wonderful than anything he’s ever seen. Flying above, great beasts dot the sky like clouds, emerald green in color and godly in size, unforgiving in the tear of their wings across the blue canopy. Their blue and silver scales glow against the golden of the sun, alive beneath the morning. They roar in anticipation as they watch over their world, ready for both enemies and friends who enter their realm. Perhaps the beasts’ home is even more spectacular than the beasts themselves. Layers upon layers of land rest below them, all different in both feeling and look. The first, blood-red and menacing, beckons the boy closer, drawing him into its cruel, cold void. Its trees are covered in layers of crimson, its leaves drenched in red. But the boy does
not run, because above the scarlet is another forest, green with life. The trees stretch hundreds of feet; their great trunks reaching widths the size of the beasts protecting them. Liveliness seems to drop off the leaves of each branch, illuminating the sector with the promise of growth. A rainbow stretches over the whole of the emerald forest, lightly bouncing off of each tree like a young child. But after this, the cruel and the beautiful, the forest shifts to where the dragons circle. Purple rocks the size of planets pour into the sky, becoming less full as they continue to reach the clouds. The sun is most obvious here, trekking along the great stones, making them glitter and glow with every movement. Waterfalls pour from the lips of lavender rock, spilling down down down into the other forests below. And at the very top, the rocks seem to turn in, creating a dome over all that belongs to the forest, to the dragons, and now to the boy who stands in front of it all.
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Cassidy Wiltjer
trees
seventeen
tall gentle beings with your outstretched arms and palms of greens and yellows and rust, whisper your wisdom into my small, unknowing ears and naively kind heart
i am ashamed of the way my jeans caress my hips, when a year ago, they needed a safety pin to stay put “it’s okay to shiver in the summer, as long as your stomach plateaus, and your jaw can cut silence”
share with me your ways of weathering and enduring the storms that your graceful, powerful mother stirs; share with me your ways of rerooting and learning to grow with both the beauty and the chaos
as these things flow through her mind, laughter waterfalls from her lips, stretching smiles across the faces of those around her
you make me wonder
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BLACKOUT Jake Kelly
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When I call out to Death Heart dripping on my sleeve, He closes his eyes in disdain And the pomegranate seeds Scattered around my feet Turn to ash. My eyes are on fire, The seas retreat And the moon cowers In the grave I dug for her, Hands hungrily gripping the earth Like a savage grips the flesh. The only way to rest, Is on my knees Hands praising my lord and savior, Praying He’ll seek me out and end my plight. Black flags do not wave on my accord, But for the stinging stands that fall around me And the ever present rot that infects the flowers, The pastures, the Evergreen Oregon forests. I wonder what it’s like to bleed gold, To stand on the edge of a cliff knowing I could fly, Letting the lightning strike and floods rush in without my heart Bursting. Being immortal does not mean having no fear, It just means my feet tread lighter, My legs carry me faster, farther, than most. I’ll proclaim luck when I’m caught.
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A YEAR Amanda Chen What is Summer? of the cool dewed grass of the cool bright nights she is-warm breeze on my face dandelion fuzz sinking softly plump little mulberries --light. What is Autumn? of the tart crisp leaves of the tart brown branches she is-quiet smell of books flames dancing gently golden brown tea --rich.
What is Spring? of the sweet sap of the sweet cotton buds
What is Winter? of the crystal lights of the crystal stars she is- mint sharp snowflakes glazed glass holding carefully bursts of dragon breath --timeless.
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she is- rose porcelain peonies unfolding fondly singing rain --lush.
CAROLINA CROCODILE TEARS Jake Kelly
[A REFLECTION ON THE CHILDREN OF GOD] I remember being molded in the thick blades of fescue grass, Grains of sand sticking to my sun kissed skinMy eyes were watching god. The sky is blazing, burning, bound to crumble, And I am shielded by a blanket of lashes and a soft palm Reminding me that my youth is fleeting. My mother clutches her notebook of pasted lighthouse pictures and their names, leading my father down winding sandy roads to those rickety lighthouses long forgotten. My hands clutch a mason jar of caramel sand and abstract pebbles, smooth to the touch and clammy cold. The dark ocean haunts me, Its deep emerald depths send my soul to sleep, And I imagine drowning in those waves-fingers grasping for Heaven. Heaven must be the rolling dunes of the Outer Banks, Digging for quarters in my pockets as my mother and I walk barefoot down the road, Heading to a pastel pallet laundromat down the street from our run down beach house, A basket each filled with soft cotton t-shirts and ratty towels. I have five splinters in my feet from racing down our condo steps, Thirsting for the relief of being in the water once more, The sun a pink beacon on the horizon. I need no home; I’m a wanderer, a traveler. It’s okay to be aimless because where are children supposed to go? We have no path and we have no god, Our skin is untouched and unblemished, I hope Apollo would be proud And revel in our glory.
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