WELKIN

2014

FEATURING

WRITERSNicholas DrabantHannah GreenleafAmy WeedHaylee JentRichard SaundersHedi DaoH.HSarah HodgesKiersten TylerMakenzie EddyAshley DerryRachel MooreM.N.Sam ClaesJames Shock

ARTISTS

Madsion WinbiglerTaylor HerseyAmber MacLeodArnold HongErica KloskiJohn LowenCaitlin CorbettEmily SoleyRachel SjolanderJulia KovacovaFrankie GianettiJessica GibsonLindsey WojcikJosie Morenski

Welkin -Noun,Chieflyliterary. thesky,thevaultofHeaven.

Fraser High School Welkin Literary Magazine produced by:

Editor-in-Chief- Rachel Moore

Editots-Erica Kloski, Julia Kovacova, and Ashley Derry

Advisers- Mr. James Flanagan and Mr. Matthew Tootalian

Thank you tot the Fraser School Board of Education for the grant to produce Welkin 2014

Cover photo by: Lindsey Wojcik

Life Remember when we were young? We wanted to be older How wrong we all were What would you do if You could see yourself Through the eyes of a younger you? Would you like the older you? Hard to say, right? Everyone used to be so happy. What happened to that? Life. We wanted to know more about life Now we wish to know as less as possible We didn’t care about looks We didn’t care what people thought about us What happened to that? Life We changed a lot There are to many questions to be answered Too many wrong answers Don’t blame yourself Blame society Be the nice kid Like you used to be H.H.

Photo by: Julia Kovacova

Broken Heart

As she walks by, past the ones who crushed her heart, all the pain comes rushing back. The words they said start to fill her head, breaking her bones like sticks and stones.

Every remark they made seems to diminish her more and more everyday. Her heart cannot swallow the pain they keep shoving down her throat.

She thought they loved her but as it turns out, they don’t. Every word they said was a lie, yet their friendship meant the world to her. She told them

everything; all the secrets about herself no one else knew. She never lied to them, but they were lying to her the entire time.

She was betrayed by the same ones she once thought she could trust. The ones she cared about.

This lie went on for months until one day; they finally decided to stop. But unfortunately, their honesty left a black gaping hole in her heart.

She cried for days because of what they did. She felt as if no one loved her.

Every ounce of hope she had has faded away. She has nothing else to live for. Her damaged heart is no match against their spewing words.

It is only days until she gives up on life itself. No one cares about her anyways, so there’s nothing else left to live for...

Until one person decides to step in.

Someone she loved too but was too painful to realize it at first. They saved her; saved her from exiling herself from the world.

She thought there was no one left to love, but all she had to do was look a little closer and see that a small part of her heart was missing.

They sewed her heart back together and told her that they’ll always be there for her. That she would never ever be alone.

She was hesitant to believe them, but she knew in her heart that they could be trusted.

She later realized that when life slams the door in your face and leaves you standing alone in an empty dark room, you just need to look a little harder, and you’ll find another door.

Haylee Jent

Picture by: John Lowen

Asphyxiation

It is easy to fall in love with a poet,

The way they string words together like diamonds in a necklace

Their pain is so beautiful we cannot help but want to take it as our own,

Turn the poems into blissful tales of woe, we the muse

There is something enticing about forever being immortal,

Living on through each syllable in the poet’s every breath,

Being the object lodged inside a lung, the pain breath-taking

But to be the muse for the poems of heartache is the most flatterin

Every fiber of the poet is laced with traces of you

They might have stopped inhaling your essence, but the damage is done.

Hannah Greenleaf

Photo by: Emily Soley

The Sea’s Love

She stood there, watching the dark sea sway with every breath she took.

The wind took a piece of her soul with every blow.

It was just her and the sea.

Her fingers were cold, but her heart was warm.

The night air kissed her cheeks red.

She found herself at peace with her life.

The sea bites her toes with every step.

Hugging her with the love she’s ever dreamed of.

Wonders dance with her in the Moon’s light.

Laying herself to rest, the sea cradles her.

It was just her and the sea.

Heidi Dao

Photo by: Erica Kloski

Welcome to HeavenBy: Richard Saunders

“Welcome to Heaven,” the computer screen in front of Jack Waters said. He wiped his brow, antici-pating some sweat to come off, but to his surprise, none showed. Interesting, he thought, you don’t sweat in Heaven. The computer screen asked for his name and birthday and place, and he quickly entered it via the touchscreen keypad. “Processing,” the computer chimed, once and then over and over again. “Suc-cess! You have been approved to enter Heaven. Welcome!” The computer shut off, and the large, golden gate in front of him slowly opened. He walked through and to his surprise, there was nothing. Just white all around him. He looked behind him, and the gate he just entered from had disappeared as well. Suddenly, as he turned his head front ways, a large man in a suit had appeared. He was a handsome man, with jet-black hair and a goatee. Not a hair was out of place, and his suit followed the rest of his appearance in the same style. It was slim cut, and the white shirt underneath fitted well. His tie was thin, and near the top was a tie clip made of what appeared to be platinum. Jack froze as the man in black began to speak. “Hello, Jack,” this figure said, as he slowly began to walk towards him. “Welcome to Heaven.”“This can’t be Heaven,” Jack responded, with a confused tone. “Where is everyone? Where is every-thing?” “This is it,” the man in black said. “This is what you’ve been looking forward to all your life.” The man continued towards Jack, eventually reaching for a file on a desk that had suddenly appeared. He picked up the file and with a finesse Jack had never seen, opened it and flipped through it’s contents. “You’ve been a good boy,” the man said, as he read through the papers. “I’ve tried. I’ve done my best to try to make you happy.”The man in black smirked, a slight chuckle escaped from his mouth. “I don’t think you have,” he said, “and I would hope that you hadn’t. Let’s see here. You’ve been a good, devout Christian man. You had a family, 2 sons, and a daughter. You had a lovely wife, who I’m sure will miss you. You donated to charities, you helped out your elderly neighbor take out the trash. From all accounts, you’ve been a good person. That won’t do.” Jack looked at the man with confusion. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought you would be pleased with my behavior. I’ve tried my hardest to do my best. Why won’t that work?” “That would work on my brother,” the man said. “He would love you. You’d be welcomed here with open arms. Well, unfortunately for you, his reign ended. Quite a long time ago, as it is.” Jack slowly began to piece together the puzzle, and when he was done thinking, he cautiously asked, “Who are you?” The man in black answered that question with another smirk. “I’ve been called many things. The name that my mother gave me, however, is Louis. No one expects that to be my name, they always expect it to be something sinister or scary. No, it’s just Louis.” Jack figured it out, finally asking, “Are you… the devil?”“They call me that on Earth, don’t they? It makes it seem like what I do is evil or something. Well, what is evil is up to the eyes of the beholder, isn’t it? Some would call me evil, others, not so much. My brother used to call me evil. Until he died, of course.” “Who’s your brother?” Jack asked.“His name was George, but you lot called him your God. The power got to his head, him being a God. Someone had to do something, so why not me?” “You… what did you do to God?”“He went out quietly,” the man in black said. “It didn’t hurt for him. I just… dethroned him. There wasn’t a fight, simply a change. I own this,” the man said as his gestured towards the white, empty space. “All of it. With the deed to the land comes some interesting powers as well. For example, my brother used that power to reward the people, who he saw as ‘good,’ which is, of course, a very sub-

very subjective conclusion. I use it… differently.” “What are you going to do to me?”“Nothing evil, believe me. I’m going to return you to Earth.” “So I can see my family again?” Jack said, with a smile on his face.“Not quite. I’ll return you to Earth, and you will live again, you just will be in a different body. You will have a different soul. You won’t remember anything. Nada. Zilch. It will be a clean slate for you. Hopefully you are content with that change. If not, well, live your life again, and I’ll see you when you die next.” The man in black raised his hand, and snapped his finger, sending waves of pain through Jack. His vision went black and his sensations raged as he began to quiver in pain. Like a bolt of lightning, the pain was there and gone, and suddenly Jack was in a field, green with grass, with lilies all around him. Just as the man in black said, this new consciousness, what remained of Jack Waters, quickly began thinking and living. It spoke no language, as when it tried to speak, it simply made a loud “BAAAAAA.”

Photo by: Jessica Gibson

Tangerines and Unicorns

You never see what you’re looking for until it’s gone.Where are you supposed to go?Do you have enough time to get there?I’m going to add an hour to the day.I never have enough time.Do you?I’m going to take a road trip to the west and hope to find a unicorn patch on the way there,Maybe meet a few herders that will lend me a unicorn.One that will help me get to my destination faster than this old, rickety Ford.I’m going to take my best friend.Her favorite color is black.So she gets a black unicorn.And I’ll get a purple one.We’ll head out west.Where the cactuses are the new roses.And desert air is what the new rain is.You feel your skin peel.Like a dry potato getting stripped for a side dish.But you trek on.Because soon you’ll reach your destination.Now that there’s 25 hours in a day instead of 24.That extra hour really made a difference.To me at least.Where do we go now?How about down south?Where the ocean is.And where the sun never sets.We hitch up the unicorns and peel us a tangerine.The new water out west.And begin to fly up in the air.We head toward the south.Leaving tangerine peels in our wake.As we leave behind the feels of the west.And head towards the wet and sunny days.Of the south.Where does our Odyssey end?Who knows?There’s a great world out there.A world where things don’t make sense and your unicorns sometimes don’t make it.But you still want to see it.So we’ll peel a tangerine.And ride our unicorns.And soon we’ll reach the end.When we’ve seen it all.And knowledge isn’t something we’re missing…

Sarah Hodges

Photo by: Julia Kovacova

The SharksBy: Nicholas Drabant

The city of Marianna was a small, sleepy city. The people had their homes, their lives, their jobs, and their families. The Sharks were no different. Unlike their namesake, they were not fierce. They didn’t have gills or fins or sickle-like teeth. They rarely ate more than anyone else, and even when they did they only tended to eat as much as the average person would overindulge in. Despite this, the Sharks had a fearsome reputation as cruel and cold-blooded, all simply because of their namesake.

Now, it was true that Mr. and Mrs. Shark were strong and strict, but never cruel. All they ever asked was that their two children behaved and acted well around strangers and acquaintances alike, noth-ing more than what an average parent would ask of their children.

Even though the town knew better though, they still acted leery around the sharks.

“What’s with the name? Are they really that cold blooded? What poor children.” Gossipers would whisper under their breath at every fleeting glance.

“Hey sharp tooth, out of the water yet?!” Other children, picking up the habit of their parents, would yell at the children of the family.

“Things will get better,” Their relatives and few friends would constantly repeat in every message to the family, “Things will get better.”

They never did truly get better, only slightly more of the same. The insults would come, only instead of from playful, unknowing children, they would come from well mannered, well known adults. The insults sporadically got worse, like waves in an ocean or an uncontrolled economy, they spiraled and spiraled.

What once seemed like harmless gossip and childlike insults became fish left dead at the family’s doorstep or people parading around with fins on their back and spear guns at their hip or even the children returning home to claim that “shark boy had bitten them” with imprints of their own teeth on their arms.

For a time this ideal of making fun of the family allowed for the economy to boom. People bought the fish to place on the family’s doorstep enough to fund the fishermen of the town. The spear guns al-lowed for an increase in the sales of spear fishing tours. And the “bites,” all of which were claimed to be false or self-inflicted by the local dentist, brought kids into local doctors offices like flies to honey. However, all this was at the expense of one family, who continued to evade people, and express both sorrow and anger on how what they had hoped would be a new start in a new town had turned into a torment not even the devil would be evil enough to conjure. Even the government, who had once been on the side of the ailing family, but who were now spurred on the economic progress this case had brought them, had begun to turn on them.

“There’s obviously something wrong with them, they’re sharks for crying out loud!” The mayor once said in a crowd, smiling a filthy, slimy smile, the grossness of only matched by his sleazy mustache.

Eventually, the family, scarred by the events that took place in the town, and scared of what may occur in the future, left. For the first time in years the city of Marianna was truly free of Sharks. The only remnant of them ever living there was their house, surrounded by the buried bones of hundreds,

if not thousands, of the fish that had been placed there to torment them. Quickly, the town began to forget about them.

“Shark who?” They would ask jokingly, laughing at their success of torment.

However, the jovial mood of the town quickly diminished. For like the waves of the ocean the econ-omy flopped yet again. The fish were no longer bought to torment the family, shutting down most, if not all, of the local fisheries. People had traded in their spear guns for regular guns, so the spear-fishing industry fell off the map. The kids had no physical anomalies to fake anymore: practices shut down.

Then came the final laugh for the Sharks, for they did share one trait with their namesakes. The fam-ily existed as the city’s only exterminators. They killed the bugs, the spiders, the rats, and the mice not wanted in the city. Most in the city ignorantly ignored this fact, so when the first woman saw a rat sitting on her own counter, she screamed in pure anguish at the rodent.

When the first house fell to termites, the owner screamed in anguish at his newfound homelessness.

When the mayor, tuckered out from an evening of partying with his own subordinates, went to bed, he found his room occupied. Occupied by eight thousand legs and one hundred bodies.

It was during these moments that the city at once learned what they had done. They may have had success in torment, but in the end, without the sharks, the city and people alike began to crumple and wither.

Families moved, businesses evacuated, nature took hold, and only the mayor, left with his city of abandonment, stayed.

The town needed the Sharks, whether they liked them or not.

Picture by: Francesca Gianetti

In TimeBy: Kiersten Tyler

Chapter 1

It was a cold winter this year; snow would fall to the streets. Cold air would

tickle my rosy nose. I walked alone on the sidewalk, heading to the park to meet

up with Luke. Once I got there, I sat on the rusty old swings, lighting up my cig-

arette. A few minutes later, Luke showed up, “Tommy, you ready to rumble?” He

asked. “Yea, how about you brown eyes?” I asked punching his shoulder. Luke

is like my brother, I grew up with him my whole life. I call him brown-eyed Luke

or brown eyes; his eyes were so brown they could be black. He earned that nick-

name when I was in grade school. Anyway, Me, Luke, Jimmy, Marcel, Skippy,

and Chase are fighting the soc’s because they beat up my older brother Jack for

no reason at all, so I’m getting my revenge. Jack is the only family I got in my life

since my mom died from a heart attack when I was thirteen. I owe Jack for all he

has done for me.

When my boys showed up, the rumble was just beginning. Timothy Dean,

my most hated enemy, eyed me like a mad dog. “So, you greasers have any clean

clothes?” He smirked. “How’s your brother? He dead, yet? He deserved it for

being a greaser and all.” Luke held me back so I wouldn’t fight him before the

rumble. If I did the soc’s would win, and I would be in for a treat from my boys.

The soc’s cannot win. Not now, not ever. “You better watch that mouth, you

might end up like Jack, or worse, dead.” Jimmy stepped in. Right before the rum-

ble started, I hear someone call to the soc’s. Angel, the new girl, moved here a

few weeks ago. “Boys, Stop! Timothy, Cathrine wants to talk to you, now or after

the rumble.” She half walked, have ran, holding her dress down so it wouldn’t

fly up. “Angie, baby, can’t you see I’m born to fight with greasers?” Timothy

said, acting like how I would talk. “What’s so bad about a greaser? They are just

like you.” She crossed her arms. I like her already, nonjudgmental. “They smell

weird, dress in dirty clothes—why are we talking about this?” he started to push

her away from us boys, so she wouldn’t get hurt. She stopped him and

looked right at me, “Tommy, right?” I nodded. “Tell your brother to get better,

please; I’m sorry for Timothy’s actions.” With that she spun on her heel, and

walked back to the car.

After we won the rumble, I headed to the hospital with Luke. “Brown eyes, you

think I should get a girl?” He just laughed. “Tommy, what happened to Abby?”

he asked. “She has her eyes on Chris.” I mumbled. When we arrived, Jack was

asleep. The nurse said he had surgery on his arm. We left and went to the Ribbon.

I had blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and I was pretty built; I could take down any-

one I wanted to. Most people would call me “shy guy”. We arrived at the Ribbon;

I kept thinking of Angel and her long red hair with bright green eyes. I joined

Jimmy and Skippy on Jimmy’s truck. I downed two beers and lit a cigarette right

when Skippy nudged my arm, saying “Isn’t that Angel?” I looked up to see Angel

making her way towards us. “Yea, hold up!” I said, jumping off the truck to catch

up to her. “Angel, darling, how may I help you?” I asked acting like Timothy. She

smiled “Can I hang with you? Timothy won’t leave me alone.” “Of course, stay

by me, the boys will leave you alone.” I said while putting an arm around her.

She was scared. You could see it in her face, and only God knows why. As I lead

her to the truck, I look up to see a very mad Timothy making his way over to us

yelling Angel’s name.

Photo by: Amber MacLeod

AfootBy: Nicholas Drabant

In 1770, times were simpler. No cars on the ground, nor planes above, nor had anyone even dreamed of flying above the heavens themselves.

Yet, simpler does not mean better, as the simple, god-fearing settlement of De Witt knew.

Recently, the town had been plagued with both disease and economic malaise alike.

The town, being god-fearing, did what they could. They prayed and spoke with their most trusted member of society, a man by the name of Aaron.

The town, though deeply religious was, ironically, without a priest or an official church that had moved from Europe to the New World. But Aaron, being trustworthy and virtuous enough on the sur-face, filled the spot quite nicely according to the all the townsfolk. All, except for one.

Her name was Anne. She, despite it being a time where woman seemingly were forcibly glued to their households, was free. She lived alone, cooked alone, acted alone, sewed alone, and, most im-portantly to the town, went to church alone. She was, by all meanings of the word, beautiful: her hair blond, her skin tanned, and her eyes piercing. Every man wanted her; to them, she was a prize, the untamed horse that nobody could tame without some divine intervention. Yet, despite all their ad-vances, she readily rejected all of them with urgency. She was in this bold New World to be alone, to be different from the domestic slaves at her home country. Despite her constant rejections though, people kept following her.

Then came the biggest rejection of all: Aaron. To the town’s leading figure, the spitting image of reli-gious integrity and the face of domestic happiness, the only fitting bride would be the one who was obviously saving herself for someone special.

“Well who is more special then me?” Aaron would often think to himself as he gazed longingly at the independent beauty. Finally, he gained the willpower to ask for her hand in marriage. Now, as any truly smart person would do, Anne rejected his out of place and rather quick offer. It was true that she was saving herself for the right person, but it was someone who she knew she would love, not someone that would be loved for her. So she immediately rejected him.

This outraged him to no end.

So when it came time for the public to ask him why the settlement had been suddenly hit by a period of downturn, he smirked and replied,

“It’s simple. God is mad at us because we allow for a witch to live among us.” Aaron explained, watching the puzzled and mad expressions of the townsfolk.

“Well, who is it?” the town asked

“Simple, it is the only person not to live like us. She refuses a husband and stays by herself in church. Her name is Anne.” Almost instantly the puzzlement of the group turned to anger.

“Of course. She’s not like us.” They all muttered as the “realization” hit, immediately rallying behind

Aaron, who began to lead the group to the accused’s house.

The ringleader to the group banged on the door with enough force to rattle the hinges.

“Anne! Come out! We accuse thee of being a witch!” Aaron yelled, banging on the door.

The door creaked open, and the town has remained silent ever since. The wrath of a woman scorned silenced a community for life. The city remains to this day, frozen, silent. No bodies found.

Photo by: Caitlin Corbett

Blissful Blindness I can’t see, I’m not blind But I cannot see it How I act, how I appear To him, I don’t think about it  how I seem around others But I replay every word I say to him, Or around him Sometimes I want to go back and change what I said, Then I think I should just be, Myself So, I don’t care if I can’t see, I like making him smile, I like being truly myself, I like making smiles by being me In reaction to my spontaneous shenanigans, I’ll be me So like me as I am now, how I come, Or not I won’t care too much, Because I wasn’t lying about who I was. If you don’t like what you see, I won’t judge, I can’t see, How I am around others But that’s fine, I’ll be myself regardless

Amy Weed

Blissful Blindness I can’t see, I’m not blind But I cannot see it How I act, how I appear To him, I don’t think about it  how I seem around others But I replay every word I say to him, Or around him Sometimes I want to go back and change what I said, Then I think I should just be, Myself So, I don’t care if I can’t see, I like making him smile, I like being truly myself, I like making smiles by being me In reaction to my spontaneous shenanigans, I’ll be me So like me as I am now, how I come, Or not I won’t care too much, Because I wasn’t lying about who I was. If you don’t like what you see, I won’t judge, I can’t see, How I am around others But that’s fine, I’ll be myself regardless

Amy Weed

An endless torrent of snowflakes falls from the colorless sky,their swirling paths blending together to create a white haze

which obscures the view of the rest of the world.It blurs the bare trees, the empty streets,

the pines who offer the only signs of plant life in the form of dull, blue-green needles,

and the houses, with their roofs covered in a thick layer of snow, but their windows radiating light and warmth

as the people inside peek out through the glass.A man frowning as he looks at the driveway he just shoveled,

where no trace of his work will remain after the storm.His son sits in his room and waits excitedly for the snow to stop

so he can gather his friends down the block for a snowball fight.Next door, a girl who had had a similar idea lies in bed with a cold,

disappointed that she’ll have to miss out on sledding today.And as the storm continues blowing, making the world outside colder

families gather close in their homes, creating their own warmth.

Mackenzie Eddy

Photo by: Emily Soley

4/3/14

Life goes on. The sun will set and it will rise. If this is true, then why does it feel like everything is ending? Hearts hurt and tears fall as I sit in this class for the last time. The voice on the PA system calls the se-niors to accept their fate. In groups of threes and fours, we walk to-wards the gym. Some of us chatter nervously while others let their si-lence say everything. Amidst a crowd of blue and white gowns, I walk with my friends as we make our final trip around the school. The other students and staff watch as we say our farewells. Occasionally, people break from the crowd to embrace friends and siblings; how-ever, smiles break out behind the tears as we remember something very important. We will walk across the stage with heads held high knowing that the past four years were not in vain and we have grown so beautifully. We aren’t leaving anything behind, but inviting others to join us. Even though we are leaving to go our own ways, and despite the finality of today, this isn’t really goodbye. The world isn’t ending. And as always, life goes on.

Ashley Derry

Photo by: Josephine Morenski

5/28/11

I am currently in my last block, Seminar. Today is the last day for the seniors. It leads to the beginning of summer. Soon, it shall be the end of my freshman year and sophomore year awaits. Band camp beckons me, alluring me with promise of a joyful time. The end of one story begins another. Like the seniors being called down for their last day to end. Then the story of their life out of high school will start. Soon it will be me and my fellow freshmen walking sadly around the building we spent the last four years in. But the seniors will have a future to look forward to, a smile placed lightly upon their faces. Even if the smile shall waver and tears be shed, this day will be a great one. A day to be remembered for years to come: as the be-ginning of my end will rest in memory with great pride. Good times being discussed and mistakes regretted. Although the empty seats will be filled as new students, fresh from summer, come and make memories. And soon the seniors will walk across the stage clothed in cap and gown. Smiles and tears shared as the families and friends ap-plaud wishing happy futures to all; small waves, then gone.

Ashley Derry

Photo by:Arnold Hong

The Road

By: Rachel Moore

I used to walk along the tracks when I wanted to think, or to be creative. The silence seemed to help my

thoughts process themselves, as the colors of the seasons cascaded around my feet. I sometimes spoke aloud,

just to hear a voice, and in hopes that someone else would hear me for once. Sometimes I said nothing and just

let my thoughts ramble around in my own suffocating silence.

When I would walk upon the tracks, I would dream for a better life. One where my thoughts could be heard,

and I wasn’t fearful of my own isolated life. Walking gave me the peace of mind that I wasn’t so distant with the

outside world, that in some way, if I could experience outside life, I was connected like everyone else.

Seasons were the hardest to brace when walking on the tracks. Winter was harsh and frigid as my breath was

in a foggy mask in front of my face. Summer was scorching on my skin as the rays swam down to the ground.

Spring, the flowers bloomed and gave the sweet scent of roses and honeysuckle to the air. Fall, my favorite sea-

son to walk along the tracks, gave beauty to the ground as it sprinkled leaves of different shades of red, orange,

green, and yellow around my feet.

I long to tell someone of the beauty that I see along the train tracks. But then I remember that no one will hear

me or my thoughts of the world, or even the beauty the tracks create. I dream someone will stumble upon the

tracks as I walk along it and believe in the beauty that I see. To have someone to hear my voice, and know that I

was here, would remind me that I wasn’t alone all along.

Photo by: Madison Winbigler

Photo by: Taylor Hersey

Red StringBy: Amy Weed

Watching the world from my chair in air, gets boring easily, as my boss never lets me do anything but watch the humans below. So I sneak off often and float down. A white robe flutters around me; a string of flowers in my hair. I hover behind brick buildings I’d only even seen to ob-serve the humans closer. But they don’t seem to notice my floating up above the pavement. They all look a bit different: tall, short, slim, chubby, blue eye, brown eye, green eyes, hair of all types of density; all so different looking, and yet the same. Longhaired and small, is the one that draws my eye.

I follow. The creature stops often in its walk, speaking to others, and walks a ways with a few as it collects more humans around it. Curiosity floods me: a touch would tell if the creature is air or solid, I had always thought myself as air, maybe I my hand would breeze by, maybe not. My fingers reach, and send a ripple through the human, though it did not seem to notice otherwise my presence. Then lines, strings, come off in droves from it, spreading out, connecting to some around it, and other strings went for miles and places I couldn’t see. One human next to it connects by a thick yellow string, another a frailer yellow one. A black rope spans the length of the street to the owner end standing in front of a show. A strange one, a deep crimson string, thick like a rope is pulled taunt and straight it goes off in a single direction. I touch it and I could tell the distance, dozens of miles away. I take the string in hand; it hums in my hands and breath warmth into me. I tug, the human’s left hand jerks: the string was linked to the ring finger. I had to know who was on other end, I follow and follow and follow, slowly father away from my chair on air. Along the way, it transforms into a thick red chain, and it continues on till I my chair is but a whips’ of memory in my mind. The end came quickly; it linked to a creature with short hair and a larger build. The chain hugged his left ring finger, the chain weighing down the rest of the body. The human laid on a cushy thing, not as soft as my chair on air, and blows air out long and soft. It stared out a small window into the bright sunlight. I tug at the chain, what was this meat sack doing here, when it obviously did not want to be? The creature does nothing, and I tug harder, pulling with all the might I could muster, and at last the human stirs, looking

the way I had come.

With a final heave on the chain, it rolls of the cushy square, and leaves it’s hole; then, it almost flies through the air with me. I was having more fun than I ever had up on my chair. The human goes underground and clambers into a metal beast. I feel the chain growing shorter. Though it does not move, the line I hold is quickly growing shorter and stronger, the length coming together, the chains tightening the hold on the human before me. The chain no longer seems to be weighing him down, but instead holding him up. It took longer to get back to the short one than it was for me to get to the tall one. Doors open, we’re out of the metal beast. The creature moves, and is above in the air; flying once more down a road. Pulling out a small black thing and speaks into it, in a low voice. A higher pitched voice responds back. It rounds a corner. The chain snaps out of my hand with a force I could never muster. The human walks forward, as though being pulled by the red chain to the other end. Creatures and strings surround the short one, but only the chain is straight. The two linked by the red chain come clos-er, and the chain quivers with warmth. I need a name for this warmth. My chair on air does not seem inviting, but I return, so I may find another red string. I settle in my chair and look down on the humans. I picked out the perfect name for the feeling of warmth. Love.

Photo by: Rachel Sjonlander

Photo by: Erica Kloski

Photo by: Julia Kovcova

Someday Soon

By: Sam Claes

When she walked onto the stage, my heart started beating faster. What if I woke up as I walk across the stage? What if this was all a cruel joke? This moment I’ve been waiting for since I could understand what it meant to walk across this stage.

“Clayton, Emily.” The next name is called and I bounce anxiously in my seat. My best friend pushes my shoulders and I sit straight and still in my seat.

“Caitlin, calm down!” Stacey whispers. I roll my eyes at her. She doesn’t understand my anxious behavior. She’s not going to be the first out of 6 older siblings to graduate from high school. She’s not the one who’s been wishing for a way out of that life since 4th grade. I, on the other hand, am. The names roll on and with each name, my heart goes faster and faster.

Finally my friends start to be called. I watch as my friend Adam Miller smiles his way across the stage, dancing excitedly as his diploma reaches his hand. Then comes Chad O’Brien walking super confi-dently across the stage and grasps his diploma firmly in his hand, waving it around triumphantly. Then I watch as Joshua Radford trips on stage in his haste to get his. I quickly do the calculations in my head. 47 more people before the V’s. Ashlee Stanford gets called next.

With each name my head starts to spin. I’m thinking at any moment that I’ll wake up and every-thing will be back to reality. I’ll be in a nasty motel, trying to study math books with 3 little kids running around me screaming and jumping on my bed. I just know it. I flash back to my first day of high school. …

“You look so pretty Caitlin.” My older sister Angelica whispers. She hugs me and I smile behind the tears. It’s finally happening. I get to go to school, and start my journey into the real world.

“Thanks Ang.” I say, forgetting to whisper. Someone stirs and my heart beats erratically in my chest as the fear bubbles. Please let it not be mom who is awake. Please.

“Hurry, let’s go.” Ang says, ushering me towards the door. A cruel voice wafts to me as I head for the door. Ang stiffens and turns, as do I.

“What, you’re not gonna say bye to your mom?” the voice I had hoped I wouldn’t have to hear today says. She’s leaning against the doorframe of her room, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

“Bye mom!” I say quickly. She smirks and shakes her head.

“I don’t even know why you’re gonna bother going. It’s not like you’ll stay in school for long.” She says smugly. The anger wells up and I feel like I’m going to explode.

“Well you’re wrong!” I say. She glares at me and I feel Ang’s hand wrap around my arm tightly, try-ing to hold me back.

“Ha. Like you could ever amount to anything useful. You’re just like the others. Stupid, useless, and ugly. That never got no one anywhere.” She hisses, making me clench my fists.

“I am smart! I am useful!” I cry out angrily. She laughs a mean sarcastic laugh and shakes her head.

“But you ain’t pretty.” She says cruelly. My sister Ang steps forward and lets me go. Fear consumes

me and my words get choked up.

“You have no right to talk to her like that!” She yells. My mom’s hand whips out and smacks her before I can see. My eyes go blurry and Ang steps away.

“No, you have no right to talk to me like that!” She hisses. She turns to me and smirks again. “Goodbye loser. Have fun at school while you’re still there.” She laughs icily and turns back to her room.

Angry, I stalk outside and begin to walk, the tears threatening to overflow. I can hear Ang running behind me and she reaches me in no time.

“I’m so sorry Caitlin! Don’t listen to her ok?” Ang says. The tears spill over and I start to shake from the anger.

“I HATE HER!” I yell angrily wiping my eyes. Ang hugs me and pats my head.

“Me too. Me too.” …

“Thompson, Kasey.” The voice calls. I sit straight up in my seat. I’d zoned out to the T’s. I glance cautiously around me, looking for any hint of my family. Only Ang sits patiently in the audience. I feel the tears well up and I wave to her. She smiles happily at me. I glance up and notice only three more people are ahead of me. Two. One.

“VanHaaren, Caitlin.” The principle calls. I can barely hear her I’m so excited. I think I forget how to stand so Stacey helps me up and I stumble towards the steps. The lady grabs my arm and helps me get on stage. Finally. Finally. I walk slowly across, relishing in the excitement that I am feeling.

“Come on dear! Let’s go!” I hear the lady holding my arm whisper. I break free and strut confidently to the stage. I’ve never been more ready for anything. She hands me my diploma and I her Ang burst out clapping and whistling. I pause for the picture, smiling radiantly. I jump off stage and yell triumphantly as I run excitedly to my seat. People laugh and I sit up straighter.

“And that’s the end of our graduates! Go class of 2013! Now here’s your class president!” The princi-ple says.

By the time the whole thing is over, my whole body is buzzing. I’m so happy I am crying. Ang hugs me first and I squeeze her back with all my might.

“I’m so proud of you!” She says in my ear.

“Thank you so much for being the mom I needed Ang!” I say back to her. She pulls away and looks at my tear stained face in utter happiness. She pulls my cap down and fluffs my curls.

“Thank you for letting me be the mom I always wished I could have had.” She says. I embrace her again and cry in utter joy. This is what I long to feel again. I want the happiness of seeing my future daugh-ter walk confidently across a stage. I want to give her the life I always wanted. Someday soon, I’ll make this vision a reality. Until then, it’s time to celebrate.

Photo by: Erica Kloski

Photo by: Rachel Sjolander

This I Believe

By: Rachel Moore

I believe in fear and the decision to be afraid. The harsh cold nights that make you for cover under

the weighted down comforter. I believe in the hollowing wind that slaps against your window with such

ferocity that you feel like it’ll break your window open. I believe in the words people use to cut others

down to make them bigger, and the crime that circulates in the world, making it impossible for me

to sleep at night. I believe in the reality of the world that seems to sneak its way into everybody’s life,

but most of all I believe that many people deserve a chance to forget about reality for a while and be at

peace.

I believe in the contagious laughter of children. With their toothless smile and joyous noise comes out

and fills the air with happiness. I believe dancing like no one is watching, and laughing at how silly you

know it looks when you are dancing. I believe in the books that seduce you with their words of wisdom

and fantasy. I believe in road trips, and memories that many will have forever. When those warm sunny

days with the sun in high in the sky, and it warms your face with it’s vitamin D, and when you smile in

the wind because the day seems to lift your spirits just a bit higher. I believe in playing with puppies,

and wanting to buy them all in one go, and never regretting the decision to do so. I believe in impul-

sion decisions, and forgiveness for all the wrong in the world.

I believe in loving unconditionally, and never giving up on your dreams. When things get hard, you

stick to them and work past the struggles that hold you down the most. I believe in feeling like life is

literally drowning you, and possibly not getting back up. I believe that people don’t really know what

they’re worth, and possibly never reaching their potential. I believe in never reaching their goal and

being beaten down so bad that maybe, you don’t want to get back up.

But with not getting back up, means to give up, and I believe in being so beaten down, that you physi-

cally cant get back up anymore. I believe in being strong enough to survive the outside world, but most

of all I believe in the fear that the world creates.

Colored Cold

Dark red,

Pitch black

Guns fire,

Blades hack.

Bright blue,

Deep green

Cold frost,

Freezing.

Crazed rage,

Soldiers hurt

Dark grey’

Nothing works.

Sam Claes

Photo by: Rachel Sjolander

Thousand Knives

I have lived a thousand lives Walked upon a thousand knives

I may liveBut inside I have died

A thousand times

Here I stand So far away In a place

I can’t explain

Try to run Try to hide

Try to deny it deep inside

Hold your breath And let it go

Take my heat from the cold

Built upon My world of lies

Follow my footprints On a thousand knives

Heard your voice calling

Photo by: Lindsey Wojcik

Listen closeIgnore the ones look

For a ghost

This journey This task

Will controlEverything you’re asked

Follow me on this pathAnd you will see

Everything is not what it seems

I have lived a thousand livesWalked upon a thousand knives

Built upon a thousand liesHidden inside the darkest eyes

Try to run Try to hide

You’ll never escape What’s inside?

(MN)

Photo by: Madison Winbigler

Photo by Francesca Gianetti

Photo by: Erica Kloski

Cold Winter’s Grasp

By: James Shock

Its early morning, a rifle over my shoulder, I’m marching through the

snow making my way to the deer stand. From an onlookers view, it would

sort of look like a giant lost orange Michelin man waddling through the

woods. These walks have always been so special. With the cold wind cut-

ting into your face like blades, most folks would rather stay in their

nice warm beds; they are missing out. With first snow fall everything is

so untouched, so perfect one would say like a painting hanging from a

fire place mantle; nature at its best. After scouring the forest I finally

found the deer stand, made my way up the ladder and took a seat.

While waiting for deer to pass by I was once again at awe. The beauty

of the forest is endless. Seeing the tips of the trees covered by a blan-

ket of snow and the wind slowly dusting it off. Then the sun rises; all

the beauty of the forest, every tree, every detail seems to come to life,

even the animals. A deer makes its way toward the bait laying thirty yards

from my stand, must of made his way there while I was hypnotized by the

forests beauty. It was a magnificent creature. With every step it took you

could see the muscles move in its body like rippling water. It raised its

head holding his large antlers, a beautiful proud animal. I slowly raise

my gun taking slow steady breaths. I put it in my sights and squeeze the

trigger.

The gunshot sound ricashades all through the forest and the once

majestic and proud creature gave a quick terrifying shriek then hit the

ground. A pool of blood soon surrounds the deer. The once beautiful

untouched forest is now scathed. How could I have done this, destroyed

nature’s beauty and her creatures? Some say that hunting is part of the

ritual of being a man. I thought how could this be true? I often thought

to myself how can it be mans purpose to destroy.

The only reason man should kill is to survive, not for sport. I dragged

the deer back to camp my head hung in shame leaving a trail of the fresh

kill’s blood behind me, further touching the once untouchable beauty of

the forest. The beauty of nature is that it always finds a way to heal its

wounds and so the next morning it would look perfect once again, but I’ll

never forget about how easily its beauty can damaged. Since then I have

never killed an animal for mere fun. Instead I now take peaceful walks

through the forest enjoying its magnificence and I embrace the cold win-

ter’s grasp.

Photo by: Emily Soley

Photo by: Lindsey Wojcik

Photo by: Erica Kloski

Photo by: Josphine Morenski

Faces

When first beginning life, a face is round and supple

Soft and fragile

With bright eyes and contagious laughter

As this face matures, the face changes

Once plush and fat

Is now messy and uncontrollable

Playful and energetic

With teeth that come and go

And a terribly silly smile

You are now growing older

As birthdays pass by

The facial structure changes this time around

From the oval and undefined,

Comes the awkward, zit ridden phase of this life

Only lasting a short period of time

The face will soon progress into a master piece

With chiseled features that express and go through more emotion then you ever thought possible

The face stops changing after a while,

And you begin to think that the rigid chin and high cheekbones

Will never change

The bright eyes that dance when excitement is prominent,

And the smile that is brighter than the sun

Will stay the same

Soon however, it will dim down and become dull and grey

When this happens

The face transforms for the last time

Once full of life and strong,

Is now soft and fragile again

With wrinkles that seem endless,

This is the last phase of life.

Rachel Moore

Photo by: Caitlin Corbett

Photo by: Emily Soley