Creative Ink, 2009-10

Creative Ink 2009 - 2010

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Marion High School

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The 26th Annual Issue ofCreative Ink

A Creative Publication ofStudent Writing and Artwork

Presented by theStudents of Marion High School

Dr. Gregory Thomas, Principal

Marc Ferguson, Faculty Advisor

Taylor Buckley, Senior Editor

Kelsey Rhodes, Senior Editor

Volume 26

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Marion High School Creative Ink Club - 2009 - 2010

Senior Editors:

Cover Illustration:Chaper Pages:

Other Major Contributors:

Faculty Advisor:

A little history about Creative Ink. Mr. Bates, a long-time English teacher at Marion High School, founded the school’s literary magazine in 1985 and was the magazine’s first sponsor until 1997. Originally started from his Creative Writing classes, it was called the Wooden Indian; the name was changed to Creative Ink in 1990. Karen Hoyt, a former high school art teacher, was the faculty advisor from 1997 to 1999. Marc Ferguson, current English staff member and present faculty advisor, took over in 1999.

Two objectives of this group are to promote student writing and provide a showcase for it. Our writing club puts together a literary publication by the end of the school year, providing a place to showcase students’ creative writing talents. We generate writing within our group and solicit it from others in the school. We also sponsor an annual writing contest during year for all high school students. Illustrators are solicited to generate artwork for the pages. Our senior editors then put it all together, and it is sent to the publishers. Everyone who contributes in the club or with a piece of writing or artwork is presented with a free copy at the end of the school year.

Hanah HotchkissHolly IsaacJosh JaredKira MeinEmily PalmerJessica MillerAlex RinehartCaitlyn WolfeAlexandrea EstesSidney LarsenTamara MullLexie RaelAmy PedersenSam Williams

Ariel BlissRyan BrunnerTaylor Buckley Courtney DesForgeMelissa FagerMeredith GodarAshley HealdHannah KinneyKody MathewsElaina O’NeillAlycia PedersenKelsey RhodesKirsten FousekEllie Heck

Taylor BuckleyKelsey Rhodes

Taylor BuckleyTaylor BuckleyKelsey Rhodes

Marc Ferguson


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The Students of Creative Ink

Marion High School

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Creative Ink 2010 Table of ContentsTitle Writer Illustrator Page

Contest Winners (Storytelling)Two Hundred Paper Cranes Kelsey Rhodes 11Just Another Teenage Suicide Sarah Mork 13Fog Taylor Buckley 15

Contest Winners (Poetry)Eviction Sarah Mork 17Change Dan Thomsen 18 If I Was A Dream Jordan Barkley Taylor Buckley 19

Romance - The HarpWhat Is Love? Alycia Pedersen 23Blinded Love Kelsey Rhodes 24Surviving Jessica Miller Jake Wright 25Dreams Kelsey Rhodes 26A Single Rose Alycia Pedersen Jake McGreevy 27Love Game Ariel Bliss 28Love Poem Ariel Bliss Kelsey Rhodes 28Second Chances Kelsey Rhodes Kelsey Rhodes 29Grace Notes Taylor Buckley Taylor Buckley 31

Fantasy - The FlutePunishment Sean Wilson 35Crooked Power Derek Lochner 36A Cleansing Light Colton Nelson Colton Nelson 37 A Growing Pestilence Colton Nelson Colton Nelson 37Artists Hanah Hotchkiss Jake Putnam 38 He Who I Have Dreamed Kristen Fousek 39Natural Wonders Kelsey Rhodes 39 Trees Elaina O’Neill Alex Estes 39A New Beginning Kelsey Rhodes 40Day and Night Colton Nelson Dominic Tommingo 44Meadows of Perplexity Josh Jared 45Observer Dan Thomsen 46Cascade Kelsey Rhodes 46Gemstones Kelsey Rhodes 46Thoughts Alex Rinehart 46Escape Kelsey Rhodes Taylor Buckley 47Simplest Form Elaina O’Neill Alex Estes 49Untold Night Kirsten Fousek Jordan Arneson 50Relief Kelsey Rhodes 50The Sky You Hold Kirsten Fousek Kirsten Fousek 51Prologue to Chosen Kelsey Rhodes Kelsey Rhodes 52

Random - PercussionUnwritten Tara Mitchell 57 Beautiful Stranger Jessica Miller 57End of the World Kaleb Bozorgzadeh 57I Am What I Ain’t Lexie Lovisa 58


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Title Writer Illustrator PageReflection Kaleb Bozorgzadeh Kelsey Rhodes 59Through My Window Alycia Pedersen Taylor Buckley 60The Game Kaleb Bozorgzadeh 61The Life of Shoes Kirsten Fousek Kelsey Rhodes 62We Are Frankie Bunker 63Things I Hate Lexie Lovisa 63Poetry? Kelsey Rhodes 64

Hopefulness - The PianoA Prayer for Her Alycia Pedersen Alex Estes 67Alive Alycia Pedersen 68I’ll Be There Jacqueline Kroemer Kelsey Rhodes 69Such A Thing As Happily Ever After Kirsten Fousek 70Secrets Elaina O’Neill 70One of His Miracles Alycia Pedersen 71Glows in the Sky Jordan Howard Kayla Cook 74Haven Kelsey Rhodes 75Rain Caitlyn Wolfe 75When All is Done Kira Mein 75You Are. . . Lydia Rogers Kayla Kesl 76

Sorrow - The ViolinA Better Day Elaina O’Neill 79Never There Frankie Bunker Kirsten Fousek 79Caged Jessica Miller 80The End Kelsey Rhdoes 80Alone Elaina O’Neill 80The Game Shayla O’Brien Alex Estes 81Alone Broc Bettell 84A Metaphorical High Anna Soenksen Brian Schroeder 85Dreams Closest to Her Heart Lexie Rael 86I Wish I Could Remember Jacqueline Kroemer Alex Estes 87Death Kody Matthews Taylor Buckley 88Too Late Kelsey Rhodes 89Runaway Jessica Miller 89Goodbye, Kirara Jocelyn Wilson 90Sometimes I Wonder Alex Rinehart 92September Elaina O’Neill 92Forsaken Kelsey Rhodes 92Clay Girl Alex Rinehart Kelsey Rhodes 93Undertow Kelsey Rhodes 94Icy Death Kelsey Rhodes 95Tears Elaina O’Neill 95Crying Myself to Sleep Shayla O’Brien 95Jolie: A Tribute to Edgar Allan Poe Jasmine Grindeland Alex Estes 96What. Am. I. Lukas Meeks 97

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1st Place Storytelling: Kelsey Rhodes

Two Hundred Paper CranesA Japanese legend states that anyone who folds one thousand paper cranes will be granted one wish.

She sits in the same seat every day, hands folded delicately in her lap. Her head is tilted downward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. Every time I see her, she is clothed in a different dress. But the same straw hat rests atop her mat of black hair, the same burst of sunshine treading lightly over darkness. All the subway passengers avoid her, as if she were housing a contagious disease.

After a week passes by, I make my way through the passengers and sit next to her, resting my briefcase against the seat. Her head lifts up a little, and a look of surprise lights up her face. Quickly she bows her head again, blushing lightly and twiddling her thumbs.

The next day, I sit by her again. A hat of sunshine no longer adorns her head, but the curtain of ebony is pulled away from her face with a pink bow. She smiles slightly as I approach, and we sit in silence for a time.

“Good morning,” I greet, offering a hand to shake. “I am Hideo Matsuda. Who are you, miss?”She tenses up and cautiously shakes my hand, but says nothing.Quicksilver rain seeps from the sky when dawn next breaks. Stepping onto the subway, I weave

through the swell of passengers not wishing to stroll through the downpour. Today the girl wears jeans and a spring jacket, and her hair is let down, combed over one shoulder.

“It’s cold today, isn’t it?” I laugh, resting my black umbrella against my briefcase.Nodding, she reaches into her pocket. A pen and notebook paper emerge. She scribbles something

down and passes the paper to me. I apologize for not speaking, it reads. I’m mute.Mute. My eyes sweep over her, incredulous, and she reaches out for the paper as she twirls the pen

in her other hand. She writes down more and returns it. My name is Haruka Suzuki. It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for sitting by me.

I smile. “It’s no problem. If I may ask, where do you go every day? I always see you sitting in this same exact seat.”

She hesitates before retrieving the paper, and her pen scrawls quickly across the paper. The hospital. Father is ill. Mother left years ago, and I am an only child.

“I’m sorry,” I say, as the subway reaches my stop. “I hope he recovers soon. See you tomorrow.”With a step onto the pavilion, I reach for my umbrella before emerging into the spring shower. But

it isn’t there. I dash back to the subway and find the doors already hissing closed. As it shuffles forward to the next stop, I spot Haruka leaning over the seats, waving my umbrella back and forth like a pendulum. With a sigh, I buy a new one from a stand.

Though the sky no longer bleeds silver the next day, a chill grips the land. Clouds still roll sluggishly through the sky, blotting out the sun. Haruka wears black slacks and a white cardigan sweater,

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clutching both my umbrella and a bouquet of magnificent blooms. She absently passes me the umbrella, staring straight ahead, bags under her red-rimmed eyes. From what? Crying, lack of sleep? I deduct the former as her dark almond eyes begin to glisten.

“What is it, Haruka?” I ask.She sniffles and draws out her pen and paper. Father is not doing well. He’s become very sick. I’m

scared, Mr. Matsuda. Sniffling again, she grips the bouquet tighter. The plastic wrap crinkles and cries in protest, and a single tear escapes her eye.

“Come here.” My voice is barely above a whisper.Haruka tentatively comes near, shaking and crying silently. Her bouquet plummets to the ground, and

I wrap her in a quick, supportive embrace. After a moment she scribbles furiously onto the paper. I have only made two hundred paper cranes for him. What if I don’t make it to a thousand before he dies? Then I can’t make my wish for him to recover!

I say nothing, and wrap her another reassuring hug. When my stop arrives, a feeling of distress overcomes me. How could I leave such a distraught child by herself?

There is no other choice. I must disembark, as this is the only stop to my work building. I stoop down to pick up Haruka’s bouquet, and she mouths a thank you as I depart with umbrella and briefcase in hand.

Haruka is gone the next day. Patiently I wait in the same seat each time I board the subway, hoping she will suddenly saunter through the doors and sit down beside to me. But time passes, and the seats fill up once more, as if she never were there to begin with. As if those two weeks were nothing but a daydream.

After a month rolls by, a light rose envelope appears in my mailbox from Miss Haruka Suzuki. Inside is a vibrant scarlet paper crane, along with a note.

My father passed away last month. Since then I have moved to my aunt’s home in the Chiba Prefecture, so I will not be able to see you anymore on the subway.

This is the last paper crane I made for my father, but I would like you to have it, Mr. Matsuda. You’ve done so much for me; you’ve pulled me out of depression, given me a new outlook on life. I cannot thank you enough for being so kind to me.


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2nd Place Storytelling: Sarah Mork

Just Another Teenage Suicide

Write what you know, you’re just supposed to write what you know. “But I don’t know,” the weary, burdened woman cried. She looked at the smiling girl in the picture on her desk, then the obituary next to it, stifling a sob. Taking a deep breath, she blinked back the tears threatening to consume her and opened the document on her laptop. I can do this, she thought, I will do this. I have to. With one more glance at the forlorn picture, she swallowed the knot in her throat and started to type…

Crying, she stumbled through the bedroom door, bottle in hand. She slammed the door and turned towards the full-length mirror attached to it. Through her tears she could see the fresh red marks on her arms. “FAILURE’ was carved into her left forearm and ‘FAT into her right. In her watery eyes she saw a girl with a disproportionately fat stomach and legs and dishwater blonde hair. Her face was blotched red, and clear rivers trailed down her cheeks. She was everything Rebecca thought she was, and everything everyone else knew she wasn’t. You’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough, the voice in her head sneered. You’re fat and ugly and no one could ever love a mess like you. “Shut up!” Rebecca screamed into the empty room. She slid to the floor and pulled her knees to her, the tears coming faster now. Looking up on her dresser at the picture of her now absent father, she finally voiced the words she feared most. “I’m not good enough.” There it was. That constant ache in her, the black hole slowly swallowing her was back, and growing. She was drowning, and she didn’t care anymore. “Let me die,” she whispered, scaring herself by actually saying it out loud. “Let it be over tonight.”

In a twisted way the words almost sounded pleasant. No more crying, no more secrets, no more faking her way through; just eternal release. So many people had been controlling her life, writing her story. But she and she alone would write the ending. Standing, as if in a trance, she walked to the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, she scanned the colorful bottles of pills. Finally selecting a nearly full bottle of sleeping pills, she shut the door. No! She stopped, re-opened the door, and clutched a second bottle. She’d failed at everything else, she wouldn’t mess this up too. She closed the door and glanced in the mirror. Her blotchy red face was still there, but now something else was too. Something in her eyes. Power. Control. Things that had been foreign to her. Back in her room she dug out a box from the back of her closet and pulled one of the glass bottles inside to her lips. She drank with conviction, desperate to numb herself. Once the bottle was empty, she lay back against her wall, cradling it in her hands. The bottle kind of looked like her, she thought: empty. Empty. Broken. Alone. Worthless. They were all appropriate words to describe her. But not for much longer, she thought, throwing the glass against the wall, shattering it. Soon she’d have a new word:

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free. That was all she really wanted: to be free from her reality. It wasn’t so much about dying; dying just happened to be the only way to extricate herself from her life. If only she could start over, as someone else. But she couldn’t. And she’d been surviving on quick fixes for too long: a cut, a drink, a burn. They could make her stop feeling for awhile. But they couldn’t solve anything permanently. She needed a permanent solution, an endless escape. This was the only way out. She wondered idly what would happen; would she go to Heaven? Would God send her straight to Hell? Did she care? Would anyone notice she was gone? Would they care? Should she do this? “Yes,” she said. Then, again with more conviction, “Yes. They never cared while I was alive so they won’t care when I’m dead.” She looked around her room, at the remnants of her sixteen-year-old life. Her eyes landed on the pictures on top of her dresser. She stood and picked one up. It was of her mother and father and a seven-year-old her at the zoo, one happy family. The next was of her family on Easter when she was around twelve. Was it just her or did they look more fake? The final picture was of her and her mom on Christmas, her father nowhere to be found. But that’s how it was now, just the two of them. Her dad didn’t care about either of them, apparently. She was unlovable. Even her mom didn’t like to be around her much anymore. She could bring home all A’s, score the winning goal at her soccer game, or clean the entire house. It didn’t matter. She was still untouchable, unlovable, and avoidable. No one would care if she died. That’s just how I want it, she thought, popping the cap off the sleeping pills and swallowing a handful with more liquor. She didn’t want to have a grand finale in this final act in the play of her life. She didn’t want a messy death that would call attention to her. She didn’t want her mom to have to find her hanging from the ceiling. She didn’t want anything dramatic, because she wasn’t doing this for attention. This was for her. She just wanted it to all be done. She needed to do this solely for her. So, swallowing the rest of the bottle of pills and opening the next, she lay down on her bed, took out a notebook, and began to write… She looked up from her laptop at the handwritten letter open beside her. But it didn’t matter. By now she knew the words by heart. Some masochistic part of her couldn’t help but look longingly at the softly curved writing she would never get to see again, but she couldn’t get past the first line before breaking down. Her tears turned into gasping sobs and she looked up towards the ceiling, screaming, “Why? Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t I know?” Exhausted, she lay her head down on the desk, flinging the letter off. It lay on the floor, halfway under the desk, open, with the first line visible. It read, ‘Dear Mom…’


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3rd Place Storytelling: Taylor Buckley

Fog

The bell rings.Marjorie jerks, then stills. The bell is usually unwelcome as it is, harsh and dissonant as the squawk

of a parrot or the needling whine of a toddler. But now it has been pushed past unpleasant into the realm of unwelcome, uninvited. Bells rang at school, amid the gentle rustling wave of shifting papers and the furtive buzz of cell phones and the loud raucous laughter of high school students turned elementary. Not here, as her warm breath fogs the silvery muzzle of the gun.

Didn’t the world just… stop for things like this?The man was trembling slightly, palms damp, like he was about to stand up and give a speech for

the first time. He must have been handsome once, but something had aged his face, creating sallow black pools under his eyes, Magic Markering the rims of the eyes a caked, painful red, turning past the five o’clock shadow into something more nearing midnight. He smelled like Old Spice and something moist—sweat, fear-ish (if fear had a smell). The gun was held loosely in his hand.

She wasn’t afraid of him, not really. There was no pressure as the muzzle touched her temple again, no solid grind worming its way into her brain to corrupt her for years and wake her up with nightmares. And though her body hadn’t yet gotten the message (her knees were liquefied, wobbling like a drunk’s, why couldn’t she stand up straight?) Marjorie held no animosity toward gentlemen or gun. He was not mad at her. She was simply there, and the time was right.

“Mr. Weaver.” A thin, reedy, wisp. It came from somewhere outside the classroom. The open window?

Marjorie was just doing her English paper. She had been the only one in the computer lab. The assistant was twiddling her pen on the desk, soft little k-k-k’s twinkling through the atrium as the Bic fell, until finally she’d set it down and announced that she was going to get a soda from the vending machine.

A minute later. Green dots under doors, silvery muzzles.Now, an hour later.The man’s fingers tightened around her arms. The thin, reedy wisp-voice was more insistent now.It’s not like Marjorie was special. She earned average grades, had no outstanding qualities to speak

of. She wasn’t an artist, or a punk, or a jock. Marjorie wrote English papers and loitered in the hallways after school, conversing bits and pieces with teachers and passerby students and occasionally her locker, when it was stubborn and closed tight like a sulking clam. She sat fourth chair in the seven French horns in the band. She might go to college to be a teacher. Marjorie wasn’t even outstanding enough to be called boring. It was too strong of a word, too un-average.

“…custody. Please, sir, you’re being unreasonable.”His eyes are glazed. He hears, but doesn’t care to listen. Marjorie wonders why she can feel sorry

for him, even as her warm breath fogs the silvery muzzle of the gun.“This is only hurting your son.”He reacts to this. His fingers clench as a tide of palpable agony rips through his soul. She can feel

his heart tearing. The gun prods now.Marjorie chokes out a sob.“Mr. Weaver,” the voice repeats. It is still a wisp, a long blade of grass puffed by a warm breath of

wind that fogs the silvery-blue of the sky. “Not fit—ins-s-s… Mr. Weaver, schizophrenia can be diagnosed. Treated. Please… Don’t make a s-ssscc-e-ee…ee…” The voice is blown away.

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The name works it way into her mind, pushing past tufts of dull brown hair and past the silvery studin one ear, curling into her brain. Marjorie blinks. “Weaver?” It is the first thing she has said in one hour. “James.”

For the first time, the man looks down at her with some measure of comprehension. “You know my son?” he croaks. He sounds like a bad cold and fire-engine red throats and whiskey burn and botched medication.

He’s in my biology class, she says. He’s a good boy. Mary Sullivan had a crush on him in the sixth grade, but she’s over it now. He has nice hair.

Marjorie nods.His eyes dip down, pulled magnetically to the dirty scuffed tile of muted pastels and whites and

flecks of something taupe. “He’s a good boy,” he rasps.“Mr. Weaver.” She breaks. Her voice follows suit. “Mr. Weaver, I’m so sorry, I’m so sor—”The door implodes.Everything blurs. Smears of color (red, blue, flashing gold badges) and snippety snatches of

voices. They are as unwelcome and uninvited as the bell; the mini-world is shattered, the fourth wall has been broken, and now who will narrate the story when everyone is part of it? The gun and Marjorie are twisted away from the man’s grip. He shrieks. Two hearts tear this time. The gun is left sitting on the top of a low oak bookshelf. Warm tears nest in her eyes, even as the cold air clears the fog from the silvery muzzle of the gun. It reflects the room, twisted and distorted in the barrel, highlights and shadows and warping of the scene and story.

“Mr. Weaver.” It is a whisper at first, but it grows in volume until she is screaming his name over and over. “He’s in my biology class, he’s a good boy, Mary Sullivan had a crush on him in the sixth grade, but she’s over it now, he has nice hair, he looks like you!”

Hands tug at her shoulders, hands she cannot shrug off. He is looking at her now, red Magic Marker-rimmed eyes wide, midnight shadow sandy-pebble-rough under the fluorescent lights, accentuated by his mouth that hangs ajar as if trying to snap up her words, break them like a nutcracker to get at the nourishment inside. “Mr. Weaver! I’ll tell him!” Tears streak her face. “I’ll tell him that you love him.”

The Magic Marker should be smearing as the salty water runs down his face, but it’s not. And he leaves the scent of Old Spice and fear and moist on the breeze. Marjorie places a hand on her temple, breathing loud and hot and not seeing it fog the silvery muzzle of the gun, the very gun that is not inches from her nose, bumping/pressing into her skin.

She crumples. EMT workers rub her back. Police are milling around, and a man in a black trench coat is rubbing his throat and holding a bullhorn loosely, his eyes caked in pinkish Magic Marker, his shadow not quite to midnight yet. Everyone’s saying different things, but what’s reflected in the silvery muzzle of the gun is it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

She’s rocking now, she’s nodding. She’ll tell James Weaver as they sit across the table, pouring distilled water into a graduated cylinder. She’ll tell him as they stare at the frog on the table, scalpel awkwardly between them. She’ll tell him as they look at finals scores written in red Magic Marker. And later, much later, when biology and frogs and graduated cylinders test scores and Magic Marker and custody hearings and schizophrenia are gone, Mr. Weaver will tell James Weaver himself.

The silvery muzzle of the gun sitting on the bookshelf, bullets laying miles away on a nightstand—it’s clear, and it’s okay.

Marjorie levers herself off the gurney, steps through the exit of the library. The world resumes. The bell rings.


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1st Place Poetry: Sarah Mork

Eviction

Dirty word haunting

threatening to raise its ugly head

to destroy everything I’ve known.

He taunts me and cackles

as hands grasp the slick surface

of the ledge he towers over.

They strain themselves, exhaust themselves

trying to get themselves ahead.

Chasing and striving until they are

lulled into a lazy sleep

by the comfort of extravagance.

Then with a snicker he whips the hands

now hanging on so loosely

all fall down to ashes in a ring

to a home among the rubble

a family left in ruin.

My eyes widen in fear; his cackles turn to comfort.

Sweet talker’s words dance in my ears,

“That will never be you, my dear,

you’re perfectly safe with me.”

Perfectly safe on a slippery ledge

Screams below contradict the honey in his voice

My hands are sliding, shaking, quivering,

waiting for his whip to crack on me

and we all fall down.

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2nd Place Poetry: Dan Thomsen

Change

I was once the outcast, the loner, no friends, no allies, of any kind.I remember the inevitable end of my friend, as if it were a demon, like a dog,

following my every step attached to my heel.I heard the screams of time as it gnawed at my soul for days to come.

I saw something I didn’t understand, like looking through a cloud with a suddenopening that revealed the truth behind it.

I worried as time passed and days turned to months, and months to years, likethat of an unsolvable mystery.

I thought this would also consume my life, but I was wrong.

But I want to change.

I am in the mysterious cloud now, but I know what direction to go.I think this earth sees itself behind a curtain, waiting for one person to open it for

them and reveal the truth behind it.I need to feel the truth, to know what it’s like to walk forward and be the one to

open the curtain, to be the one to lead all others.I try to press into the present harder than I’m capable, for if I press harder now, I

will press harder in the future.I feel as though the truth is close enough for me to touch, stretch my hand and

pull it into my soul where I can grow to understand it.I forgive those who hold this world back from the truth, for I will push past them

and I will get to the truth.

I will prevail through the issues of this world, into an understanding that few get tobehold.

I will be the leader for them all.I choose my fate, as if looking at it through a plate of silver glass.

I dream of a world that strives to be better than itself and fights for the right to exist.I hope one day this world will understand what it means to be a race of humans.

I predict that far into the future this world will drastically change. This worldis going to change, and we are going to be the vessels.

I know I won’t be able to change this world, but I can show them the truth through the plate of silver glass, and only they can decide to accept the truth, or leave it to die.

I will change.


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3rd Place Poetry: Jordan Barkley

If I Was A Dream

If I was a dreamI would last forever

I would soar like eagles and touch the skyI would swim to the depths of the deepest waters

If I was a dreamI would be a shelter like Mother Teresa

I would dream like Martin Luther King Jr.I would have self-control like Mahatma Gandhi

If I was a dreamI would be a Jackson Polack full of color, of life

I would sing with Beyoncé and Justin TimberlakeI would dance as if I were on Broadway every night

But I am not a dreamI am a girlI am smallI am simple

But I do loveI jumpI danceI sing

I may not be a dream yetBut I will be

SomedayI’ll show the world!

If I was a dreamI would rage like Calypso

I would love like Christ himselfI would be more beautiful than Aphrodite

If I was a dreamI would win the Heisman in my brother’s honor

I would sprint faster than Usain BoltI would jump higher than Kobe, Lebron, and Dwayne

WadeIf I was a dream

I would climb the Great Pyramids of GizaI would stand above the World Trade Center

I’d look down on what was and look forward to what will be

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What is Love?What is Love?

Is it Oval?

Or curvular Even

Or odd

Is it getting

butterflies in your tummy

... ... Every time he comes in sight

Or when you hear his Voice in the halls

Is it an Expression oR a form of being

happY and alive

is it a Tingly feeling or

a HighIs it a

Numbness orfeelinG everything

Is it a mYsteryOr

an Understatement

Is it a New feeling only

Expressedone Day

Is iteverlastiNg

loveIs

Full ofEmotion

!Alycia Pedersen

Marion High School

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Blinded Love Isaiah felt along the grooves of the wet clay sculpture, trying to discern any imperfections before

he left it out to dry. It had taken an entire day of diligent work to sculpt this simple figure, almost twice as

long as it should normally take. But Isaiah wasn’t quite like other sculptors.

He was blind.

Things hadn’t always been that way. When he had first discovered his love of sculpting as a

teenager, Isaiah had the sight to enjoy his creations. It was a fascinating process to him, how a formless

substance like clay could be manipulated into the most beautiful objects he’d seen, and he’d fallen in love

with sculpting the day he had learned about it.

A couple of years after he became a sculptor, an unfortunate accident left Isaiah with no eyesight.

Overcome by woe, the man left the beginnings his promising profession and had spent many days in

solitude. When he finally came to his senses and accepted the unfortunate turn of events, he moved to a

new town, where a sweet young woman named Ariana that offered to help him unpack his belongings.

With her aid he re-sparked his interest in sculpture. Not long after meeting one another, the two had wed

and lived together in Isaiah’s small cottage.

Isaiah was adored for his inspiring works not only through his village, but in surrounding towns as

well, and many times visitors from afar requested a sculpture. Despite his fame Isaiah remained humble

and down to earth, preferring to spend his time with Ariana.

Though the luminous stars of the night sky were never strewn before his eyes, he could hear every

perfect articulation of a nightingale’s song. He could smell and taste and feel things better than most. It

was as if his other senses made up for their missing one.

As his fingers trailed one final time along the curves of his work, they brushed against something

warm and solid, not cool and damp like his figure. Inadvertently he pulled it away and finished his blind

inspection, then realizing it had been Ariana’s hand. He reached out gently for it and soon met her fingers

as they entwined with his.

Isaiah smiled and stood, leaving his art to dry before setting it in the kiln to fire. With Ariana, it

was as if he still had sight. She was his light and his life, and he would love her dearly, even after the day

she died.

Kelsey Rhodes


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Surviving Sunshine, starbursts

Happy lies and smiley faces These are what lie around.

Dark lies, black flames No feelings and blank spaces

These are what lie within.

No thoughts, hard hearts Strong minds and mighty wills These are needed to survive.

But among all this I just want to know

Why can’t we open up To all the possibilities

of love.

Jessica Miller

Marion High School

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Dreams Soft mahogany doors parted wide before her, and the vast church sanctuary spread out before her

veiled eyes, like a wonderful present finally revealed. Taking her father’s arm in hers, the woman stepped

slowly into the aisle and past the first pew. She didn’t even notice that everyone began rising to their feet;

she was too distracted by her racing heart and the adrenaline searing her veins.

All she could see was him, standing above everyone else, looking as eager as her. Straightening

his tie, fixing his jacket—his hands were never still. The seconds stretched into minutes, into hours,

each footstep seeming to be a mile. Finally she ascended the group of steps and stood before her love,

wondering if he could hear her thumping heart. Her lips curled up into a smile and she swallowed a

nervous lump in her throat. Placing her hands in his, she squeezed them tightly with anticipation.

The priest’s words were a pleasant buzz in her ears, an outside distraction blocked from her

own world by the sparkling veil. All of her attention was on him, on how his pale blond hair shone ever

so slightly in the sunlight streaming in from the stain glass window; on how his pale green eyes were

fixed on hers, both thrilled and anxious. By all her standards, he was the perfect one for her. Quiet and

levelheaded as well as a leader, with the underlying hint of an inner child that was yearning to burst out of

him. He was so strangely similar to her.

She felt as though she were witnessing a dream. Hardly aware of her surroundings, the woman

was surprised to find her fingers slipping the golden wedding band onto her soon-to-be husband’s. As the

cold metal was placed onto her own ring finger, it startled her back into reality. No, she most certainly

was not dreaming.

One final, joyous statement from the priest, and the woman’s newlywed husband slowly slipped

the silvery mesh veil from before her face and let it tumble over her soft brown hair styled beautifully into

a tight bun. The woman closed her eyes and found delight in darkness as he placed his lips onto hers.

In some sense of the word, it was a dream. A living dream, one that she’d never awaken from no

matter what happened.

She didn’t mind one bit.

Kelsey Rhodes


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A Single RoseI see a single rose in his hands

His body standing inches away from meHe takes my hand

His skin soft and warmHe looks into my eyesThose deep green eyes

Of hisMelt my heart

They’re telling meHe loves me

He cherishes meHe’s mine

And I’m his

Then he takes one step closerAnd whispers in my earThis rose is the symbol of the loveI have for youThe thorns, a defenseAgainst anyone who threatens to harm itIn my hands he placedA single rose

Alycia Pedersen

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Love Game I loved you once,

You loved me not. I loved you twice,

But I forgot. You never loved me,

You never will. But even so, I love you still.

Ariel Bliss

Love PoemI know how much you love me,

I really do.

Just as long as you know,

I love you too!

Ariel Bliss


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Second ChancesIt was a dreadfully rainy morning the day I met him.I was standing beneath my umbrella, waiting patiently at the train station for the next train to arrive.

Early March was the time, and I was going to visit some relatives that had recently come back from a trip to a faraway land. In their letter to me they stated they had acquired many interesting souvenirs, and I should come visit them as soon as possible.

He was sitting silently at a bench, unmoving, staring out into the transparent curtain of rain, as though he were expecting someone to suddenly come before him. Filled with curiosity, I strolled over to him and stowed my umbrella away. The rain pattered lazily over the depot’s ceiling with a metallic cling, and I found a seat next to him. The man tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching blindly.

“Who’s there?” he asked, the timbre of his voice quavering slightly. “Hello?”“Good morning, sir,” I replied, smiling. “It’s quite dreary today, isn’t it?”“Yes, indeed.” He was silent for a moment. “Where are you headed?”“I’m just off to see some relatives.” I glanced over at him curiously; he had shifted back to his

original position, staring out into the rain.“What is your name?” he continued, his lips curling up into a smile. He offered a hand out to me. “I

am Allen.”“Sophia,” I said, and shook his hand, noticing how pale he was compared to my tanned skin. “May I

ask where you’re going today?”The man contemplated for a moment, and sighed. “I do not know. I ran away from my home; I am

merely a traveler. I heard of a nice city to the west, so I thought I would go there.”Sympathy flared up inside of me. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”“It isn’t your fault, miss. I made a terrible mistake, and I felt I had to leave before my family was

hurt.” Allen chewed his lip. “I was in an accident years ago that left me blind, and my family hasn’t much money to live on.”

There seemed to be more to his story, but Allen stopped there. I could feel my heart beginning to swell; not of sympathy any more, or even curiosity. Some sort of strange, new feeling I had never felt before. The longer I sat there, listening to his tale, the more attracted I felt to him.

“What are you going to do once you reach the city?” I asked.Allen frowned. “I have not gotten that far yet. I thought perhaps I should get a job first, or find a

place to live… I don’t know.” His unseeing gaze shifted to the ground.A little grin came onto my face. “Well, if you need somewhere to stay, my relatives can help you.

They run a tavern, and I’m sure they would love some help. Plus, they could find you a place to live.”Allen’s face lit up, and he glanced over at me with surprise. “Do you- do you really mean it? No, I

couldn’t, Sophia. I don’t want to cause any more problems.”“That is far from the truth.” I gazed at him sternly, wishing that he could see. This man was being

foolish. “Put the past behind you, and look forward to the future.”He laughed. “That sounds like a quote from a novel, or a speech.”The train whistle blared in the distance, and I glanced over to see it shuffling along the tracks, dark

smokestacks puffing from it. It slowed to a stop, and several passengers poured out of the doors. I tapped

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Allen on the shoulder, and he stood. I could see he was shaking slightly, and gave him a comforting pat on the back.

“Allen, it will be fine,” I assured him. He nodded and straightened his posture.“I suppose it will be. Let’s go, then.” Allen pulled out his ticket, and I directed him to the ticket-

taker. The man took both of our tickets and we boarded the train.As we rode to our destination, I smiled all the way.

Kelsey Rhodes


31

Grace Notes It was kind of funny, how Mia had fallen for him. It wasn’t any of your typical answers—looks, a sense of humor, or intelligent conversation (although she’d come to discover and appreciate these in the coming years.) She hadn’t heard about him from anyone else. Heck, Mia didn’t even know his name. The way she’d fallen for him was quite different. It was how he held his guitar. When Benjamin played, tuned, anything—he cradled it in his hands as one would a lover.

And the music was incredible. There was a kind of reserve to it, though, something holding back, questioning slightly. It was unsure. Hesitant. And yet the power, the depth… It was something she’d heard only a handful of times in her life. Granted, she was thirteen at the time. But she felt old. Mia recognized quickly the amount of talent he had. She recognized his genius and did her best to cultivate it, to help it grow. She recognized the vast amount of technical skill, the musicality, and the emotion he could infuse in a single string. And deep inside her, a place she’d tell him about years later, she recognized that they could be a sensational duet. Benjamin, for his part, recognized that he was in love with her. It had started out a little slow, a little awkward (like any good rhapsody, Ben had remarked later). But as time passed a comfortable rhythm fell into place. The relationship wasn’t effortless, not by any stretch. It was simply necessary. The music went on, and so did they.

They played music at subway stops, they played in parks, they played in the street. As their relationship grew, their music flourished. Mia learned things she’d never even knew existed, and she

learned how to sing them. She’d learned the crescendo of a dance together, the sforzando of an argument, the slurs of a lazy day together, and the sharp staccatos of a night out. The songs wrote themselves as the months and years passed. It was a melody she

didn’t mind having stuck in her head.Five years of song and she found herself in

much the same position she had at thirteen. They sat in the park, playing idly. And when he picked up his guitar, Mia could see

flashes of warm embraces and sheet music, of a million notes still to

be written.There was just

something about Benjamin that made her sing.

Taylor Buckley

Marion High School

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35

PunishmentI pulled the cruiser to a stop and flipped a switch on the dash, killing the siren. As I got out and

made my way to the rear of the small, wooden shack, the smell of burning assaulting my nose. I heard a moaning, keening wail, and I headed in the direction of the sound. I was incredibly tense and my hand kept straying to the butt of my gun. I inwardly cursed those idiots on the City Council for cutting the budget and forcing us to ride without partners.

I was responding to a 911 call of unknown type, so I had to prepare myself for anything. Sandi, my dispatcher, had said over the radio, “I don’t know what’s up, Wayne. The caller said, ‘Send police to the storage shack behind the stadium right away,’ and then they just hung up.’’

“Ten-four,” I had responded. “Just get me some back-up on this, will you?”“Sure thing,” Sandi had answered. She was a great woman and I knew she would do as I asked.I came around the corner of the dull, red shack—and stopped dead in my tracks. Before me lay a

black, smoking heap, its edges still glowing slightly like the dying embers of a campfire. Sitting beside this burned pile, rocking back and forth, was a man who looked to be eighty or older. He had white, stringy hair and his face bore the wrinkles of time in a spider-web of age. The dark, red tone of his skin told me he was most likely native American. As he rocked, he wailed in a haunting, mournful way that made my skin crawl.

I knelt beside the old man. “What happened here?” I asked.He looked up at me, his dark eyes wide and frightened. “The Cloud People,” he said in heavily

accented English. “They return. They bring fire and death.”My girlfriend was into this kind of thing. She had totems and dream catchers all over her house.

But I had not paid much attention to it, except to admire the artwork. “Who are the Cloud People?” I asked calmly. “And why are they bringing fire and death?”

“They come from the sky,” the old man said. “They will avenge the sorrow and loss my people have borne at the hands of the White Man. They will rain fire upon those who will not believe.”

I tried not to laugh at the man’s ranting. I considered pulling out my radio and calling for the patty wagon. This guy was either stoned or crazy. Then the black heap caught my eye again. I sniffed, and the odor was somehow familiar to me. It brought to mind outdoor barbecues and grilled steaks.

Fear suddenly shot through me like a bolt of white lightning as I realized that what I was smelling was burned meat! I stood quickly, my hand returning to the butt of my revolver. “What is that?” I asked the old man, pointing at the black lump.

“My wife Jane,” he responded without hesitation. “She did not believe. The Fire Bird came for her. She was covered by its wings.”

“This is crazy!” I said, moving toward the old man, pulling out my cuffs as I did. “You are under arrest, my old and nutty friend. I don’t believe a word of your Fire Birds or your Cloud People. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—”

A bright and flickering orange light suddenly illuminated the small area between the shack and the stadium wall. As the light appeared, I heard a sound, like the call of some great prehistoric bird. It was huge

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and high and raspy, and it made the skin along my spine tingle with terror and loathing. I turned my headand I beheld the Fire Bird. It looked like a great, flaming pterodactyl with a wingspan of fifteen feet or more. Its eyes were a bright, burning yellow, and as it opened its mouth to call again, I saw its red, fiery tongue. Its breath washed over me, and it smelled of sulphur and rotting meat.

“You see!” cried the old man, bowing low, “I tell you truth! The Cloud People are here! The Phoenix rises! Now do you believe?”

I pulled my gun from its holster and fired all six rounds at the thing. I saw all six bullets hit its flaming skin and just poof out as if they had been evaporated by the heat of the beast. Then the Fire Bird swooped down on me, its wings of flame surrounding me as a hen’s wing surrounds her chick. I felt my clothes, my hair, my skin, catch fire quickly, and as the realization of my own death crossed my frenzied mind, I also realized something else as well. I realized… that I believed.

Sean Wilson

Crooked PowerThe so-called “wise man” spreads his word to all the people

Filling their heads with lies and deceit

He claims of change and a better world when he himself is leading them to chaos

He calls out orders and his minions follow through

Restricting them, brainwashing them

Those who see through his condemning attempts are instantly persecuted by those who

have become his marionettes.

They become estranged from sanity while being restrained from their rights

The media bends them into criminals

Instilling fear in those who do not see the destruction around them

Those who remain right-minded seek the invisible paradise

But cannot find it as it has been hidden by the crooked power that controls their very being

Derek Lochner


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ArtistsWe are all artists

In our own creative way,

Some with brushes,

Some with clay,

A line of notes,

The slender grace of dance,

We are all artists,

Whether directed or by chance.

Hanah Hotchkiss


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He Who I Have DreamedEyes are shut with a breath of airThough not to see, I feel the stair

What there is left of lightSoars through the stars and shadows of night

The empty is now fullNow shiny instead of dull

The quiet that awakens my earCovering up my following fears

This thus his face that makes all calmThe gleaming smile that bears us so wrong

The touch I can’t feelHis eyes that make the moon bright

Now to know the feeling that everything is all rightTo fall asleep

To have no end in the darkness of the deepIs to make the swift even smoother

For thou who makes it hard to wakeTo my dreams I’ll let you take

Kirsten Fousek

TreesThere are three times a year when a tree is beyond beautiful.

Once, in the spring, when the leaves are freshly greenAnd the birds in the branches sing their songs.

Once, in the fall, when the leaves have changed their colorsAnd pumpkins are decorating every doorstep.

Once, in the winter, when ice covers them in crystalline beauty

And the world seems dead to us all.

Once in awhile, the boy stops to appreciate this splendor And the girl watches from a distance.

Once every new moon, a love begins anew

And the cycle begins again.

Elaina O’Neill

Natural WondersI lie down and stretch to the skyfor something yet gone by,to the dusty cloudsthat create the shroudson the land where man walks free

the sea and I meet face to facein a wondering, sweet embracethe bubbles I breatheare like fingerprints I leaveproving I am an existence

green trees whisper gentlyas my fingers run absentlyalong the soft, moist earthand I wonder just what it is worthto the beasts that tear it away

Kelsey Rhodes

Marion High School

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A New BeginningHow cruel the world could be.As time strolled by casually and the sun climbed lazily to its zenith, it seemed as though I were

moving in a dream. Screams and shouts were the music of the city, the streets swarming with hundreds of bodies all hurrying in opposite directions, like a school of fish struggling to swim against the current. In the bustle I was pushed to the ground more times than I cared to count, but no matter what, I rose again and shoved my way through the mass of people. The freedom beyond the city’s front gate rested only a few yards away.

Before I knew it the cramped world yawned into a wide, open meadow. Yellow-green grass clothed the ground rather than rough stone, and the jungle of tall buildings had vanished. Free as a bird, I dashed to the group of fleeing townsfolk and followed them north.

As of late, my home of Truall City had morphed into a hotspot of discrimination. Those not the city’s ancestor blood—not of brown hair and finely tanned skin—were frowned upon, and denied many of the city’s rights. Things had not been this way five years ago. For a reason unknown to many, Truall had taken a sharp turn for the worse, and many were caught in the middle.

To the north was the town of wonders, the haven Silveira. Situated in the meeting point of three different nations, it was a melting pot of cultures and a place of golden opportunities. Because of its relative proximity to Truall City, I had already visited it in times past. Nevertheless, by foot it would take at least a day to reach.

Once the sky had shifted from cerulean to tangerine to navy, the runaways settled down for the evening and set up camp a large campfire. Supplies were close to none, forcing everyone to hunt for food by him or herself if wished. Lack of sleeping gear meant the fire would have to burn for much of the night, for risk of night’s chilly embrace.

Much of the group could not fall asleep out of fear they would be captured. I was not one to be overcome easily by fright, so while most of the runaways sat awake, wide-eyed and jumpy, I curled up close to the fire and let the tides of sleep wash over me.

The cold touch of dawn returned me to the world. To my surprise, I found a good deal of the group had ended up succumbing to slumber after all. Not long after my awakening, the group leader called everyone awake and we were soon on the road again. As we trekked across desolate valleys and meadows, the landscape became more plentiful. Withering plant life transformed into lush green grass, plentiful trees, and bright blooms. It was as if the land reflected the town it surrounded: dry and dying around Truall, but full of life by Silveira. The vast city had already come into view, and as the distant shadow grew larger, hope swelled within me.

When the sun had climbed to the center of the azure sky, the group had reached Silveira’s gate. Two guards blocked the path.

“Where might you be from?” the right guard asked, stepping forward.“We’ve come from Truall City, sire,” the group leader replied, “and we were hoping to find places to

live.”The guards turned to one another and spoke. Turning to face us, the left guard tapped his spear to the

ground. “We will permit you entry. Another group arrived yesterday from Azrial, so it may be a little difficult


41

to find somewhere to live. Our recommendation is to head for the west district. A little more rundown, but a good place to start out.”

Saluting, the guards returned to their posts and the group continued through the gate. It arched high above, much higher than Truall City’s gate. The town was enclosed in tall, sturdy concrete walls, and many buildings stretched to the heavens. Silveira was nearly a twin of Truall, but it felt much more open. In addition, the air itself seemed sweet and welcoming.

The group dispersed upon entry into the city. I followed a handful of youths to the right, emerging onto a bridge spanning a wide river. All of us hurried to the side of the bridge and gazed far below into the rushing waters, sounds of awe escaping all of us.

“Hey, Beth! Try jumping into that river!” one of the boys exclaimed.A girl, Beth, rolled her eyes. “Come on, Matt. That was one time. I’m not so stupid as to jump into a

river that far down. The current looks pretty strong, too.”“Why don’t one of you boys do it?” I suggested, folding my arms with a grin. “You know you want

to.”The four boys looked at one another, and Matt fixed his green eyes on mine. “It’s tempting, but Beth

made a good point. I think we’d die once we hit the water.”Everyone agreed. We stepped away from the bridge and ran to the next part of town, eager to explore

all the nooks and crannies. As we passed through the bazaar, I slowed my pace and swept my gaze over the glimmering jewels and trinkets, making my way to a stand selling daggers. Finely crafted, with sharp, clean blades and hilts adorned with swirling patterns. Perhaps I should buy one, incase something were to happen to me. Searching my pouch of money, I found I had not nearly enough for even the cheapest dagger. I’d have to search for less extravagant ones.

The group was long gone, but I didn’t mind a bit. I’d grown used to being on my own; my mother had run away from Truall years ago, and my father, a soldier, didn’t even try to get close to me. I considered myself an orphan.

I strolled through the winding streets and came across many interesting folk. Some were clothed in layers of fabric, while others opted to show more skin than necessary. At one point I crossed paths with a group of frightening young men, all clothed in dark colors with leering eyes. After I passed by, they decided to trail after me.

Swallowing, I quickened my pace and wove through the streets, in and out of the sunlight. Their footsteps clicked cleanly behind me. Somewhere along the way I must have taken a wrong turn; I had reached a dead end, and my stomach dropped. Quickly I whipped around to find the men, advancing step after menacing step. A spine-shivering, eerie smirk slithered onto the lead man’s lips.

“What’s a little princess like you doing in this part of town?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.I stood my ground and kept silent, not meeting his piercing blue eyes.A hearty laugh came from another man. “Lost your tongue, honey?”“You’ve got a pretty necklace there,” the blue-eyed man said, leaning down and tapping the sapphire

dangling around my neck. “How much you fancy that’s worth, boys?”“More than that lil’ chickadee’s worth,” a higher-pitched voice laughed.

The blue-eyed man kneeled before me, staring into my eyes. He tilted his head and grinned. “Give us that little jewel, and we’ll let you go. We’ll even forget we ever saw you.”

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My throat sealed up, preventing any comeback I might have had, and my body began to tremble in fear. I knew I should have bought a dagger! I thought, clenching my fists.

“Get away from her, you sleaze balls!” a voice exclaimed.I glanced up in time to find the men beat down one-by-one. The leader stood and approached the

assailant, but was soon kicked harshly out of the way. Hurrying to my quaking form, a boy grasped my wristand we bolted off. Adrenaline was dumped into my veins and fueled my legs forward. Once we were a good distance away, the boy came to a stop and I bent over, panting.

“Are you okay, miss?” the boy asked.I straightened up to look at him. His skin, dusted bronze, was flushed around his cheeks. Straight hair

seemingly soft to the touch fell in a halo of light chocolate around his head, and a cerulean bandana was tied around the middle. He was clothed in a short-sleeved ribbed shirt the color of pale taupe; a wide piece of fabric was wrapped around his waist and held in place with a tied strip of green. For shoes, he wore brown boots.

The boy’s eyes were his best feature: warm umber that could easily melt my heart if I gave them the chance.

He waved his hand before my eyes. “Hello? What’s wrong?”“S-sorry!” I exclaimed, heat rushing to my face. “I’m fine. Thank you so much for helping me.”“No problem. You must be new around here. Kids in Silveira know this is the bad part of town.”I furrowed my brow. “Why are you here, then?”“Just had to deliver something, and I saw you on the way. My name is Felix, by the way.”Felix held out his hand, and I shook it firmly. “I’m Stephanie, and I came here from Truall City. Ran

away, actually.”“That city is horrible,” Felix murmured. “Sorry if that offends you, but I’ve been there. I can’t believe

how they treat their people.”“Yes, and that’s why I ran away. People really look down on you if you don’t have brown hair or tan

skin. You aren’t from Truall City, are you?”Felix shook his head. “No, I was born in Silveira. How did you end up here, anyway? Where are your

parents?”I let out a sigh. “My family fell apart a few years ago. My mother ran away, and my father doesn’t care

about me. So I’ve been on my own.”“On your own at your age? That isn’t right. I’ve got an idea. Come with me, Miss Stephanie.”Felix led me into a livelier section of the town, back through the bazaar and across the bridge from

earlier. We entered a house, and Felix instructed me to wait on the couch a moment. It was a lovely, quaint home with cream-white walls and a dark brown carpet. My fingers ran along the smooth upholstery of the grey couch, and when I reclined, Felix returned with a woman following behind him.

“This is her,” Felix said. “Her name is Stephanie. A runaway from Truall, with no family.”“You poor dear!” the woman exclaimed, kneeling and touching my shoulder. “Oh, what should we do?

Felix, go get your father. We can’t very well put this girl in the orphanage. They never find good homes for the children.” Felix left the room. “Stephanie, my name is Emilia. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“And same to you.” I sighed. “I’m sorry to impose on you. Please, don’t worry about me. I can handle being on my own.”

“You need a home, Stephanie. It’s not easy to find one here. You would be much safer with a roof over your head and people to live with.”


43

Being surrounded with strife for a good deal of my life, it was difficult to handle such kindness. Felix returned shortly with a tall man. The man smiled, curiosity twinkling in his eye.

“So this is her, eh?” he asked, and Felix nodded. “Miss, how would you like to stay with us? It’ll take a few days to get things cleared, but we would be happy to adopt you.”

“No, I couldn’t!” I exclaimed. “Trust me, I’m fine on my own. I’ve dealt with it the last five years.”“All the more reason to take you in. And after what just happened today?” Felix said, laughing. “It’s

okay, Stephanie.” Felix’s mother grasped my hand. “Welcome to the Brahm family, dear.”With a smile, I realized the world wasn’t quite so bad, after all.

Kelsey Rhodes

Marion High School

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Day and NightLight or dark,

you shall choose.Fate awaits you

at the blue recluse.Wielding weapons,or casting magic-

there are many pathsthat you may choose.

So pick it wisely,for you will see,it will determine

your utmost destiny.Now I take my leave,

and you alone to choose.The time has come

to be someone,until your final dues.

Colton Nelson


45

Meadows of PerplexityNoticing a faded patch on my cardigan, I get up from my drowsy slumber in the meadow.

I lay up against a spacious oak tree looking up at the open sky.If only I knew what it was like to live like that.

Up there.Way up there.

I always seem to think bizarre thoughts. That is usually why I keep them to myself. I don’t have a watch and I’m not sure what time it is, but I definitely don’t want to get up. The nearest house is at least five hundred yards. I can see the smoke rising up into the resting blue sky. I have always believed in extra terrestrial life. I have thoughts and dreams almost every day of my life. It seems as if they play tricks on me. It may be my uncultivated mind making up anything possible.

Maybe this is all in my head.All a dream.

And I just have to wake up. When I’m asleep, I can feel their presence. Almost like they are taking over my body. Like they are trying to send a message through me to somebody else. It scares me some days, but most days it makes me wonder. I think it’s time to go home. My legs feel like one hundred pounds. My legs are asleep, which makes it far more difficult to walk. I almost have to drag my feet. The tall prairie grass is taller than me, making it harder to walk through. But it is the only way out. The sun is slowly drooping down. Soon enough I won’t be able to see my own two hands in front of me. There’s a path ahead of me that will lead back to my house. I haven’t been to my house in the past couple of days. I just want to sleep in my own bed where I can relax. My parents probably aren’t home, either. Then I started to think.

What if I’m dreaming right now?What if my whole life was a dream?

What if I never find out?A whole world of nothing. Everything is a lie. I’m not real. You’re not real. What if?

Josh Jared

Marion High School

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ObserverThrough the HazeOf hidden faces

I can seeThe truthBehindEveryMask

Dan Thomsen

GemstonesLightly tread the silver starsAcross the inky heavensA dangling, beautiful, diamond necklaceStrewn for all the world to see

Kelsey Rhodes

Cascadepitter-patter

murmurs the rainas it gently tumbles

from the swirling misty heavensto earth.

Kelsey Rhodes

ThoughtsThe pencils write on the paper. That’s the way it’s always been, ever since the chalk

and slate were cast into the past. But when the paper starts to wonder why it can’t be in control, the pencils work them harder, writing on them, and on desks, even walls. The paper cries for vengeance, rallying the desks. The pencils call them traitors, bringing

outside help. Now the pencils, crayons, and markers write over the entire classroom. The desks and walls cry out in pain, asking for the eraser’s favor. The erasers are convinced with ease. So invade they do, and fight to clear the walls, cleaning desks and papers too. Many shavings are lost, strewn about the room. But now the pencils know their places and are kept in line. Pushing brooms and sweeping mops, the custodians keep them in their places.

Alex Rinehart


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EscapePoking her head around the corridor, Erica sniffed the air intently for any traces of a fiend. For a

moment she caught the fragrant scent of a garden, but it had drifted away quickly as it had come. Perhaps she was imagining things. Her ears twitched and her eyes darted from one end of the hall to the other; no signs of danger caught of her attention. Erica scurried from her spot and down the dim hallway. Though her legs ached from all the running she’d done and her lungs felt as though the may burst, she pressed forward with confidence.

Erica was of a strange breed of rodent called claughs: docile as a mouse, with a pair of wings sprouting from their back. She could feel her wings beginning to stick from sweat, but she didn’t dare unfurl them now for fear of them slowing her down.

As she approached the end of the hallway, the repugnant scent of a borcat tickled her whiskers and wrinkled her nose. Borcats, although lithe like claughs, were cursed with a horrible stink and could easily be detected. Erica pulled the ruff of her cloak to her nose and tried to pinpoint the source. Through the silence she heard trudging steps resonate from the next hallway.

“I smell me some din-ner,” a voice sang out, bright as a bell. “Might there be a faura nearby? Nay, ‘tis too sweet. I do believe that is a delicious claugh. Where, oh where, are you hiding, my dear?”

Erica stiffened, and with each tiny, timid step, her hand reached for the hilt of her rapier.“Come out! I’m quite starving. Hadn’t had a nibble of food since early this afternoon. Can’t keep

going with an empty stomach,” the borcat droned.The stench rolled off in waves; the creature must be just feet away. Erica’s stomach became tied in

knots— not from the stench, but rather nerves— and her knuckles turned white as she grasped the rapier’s hilt tighter. A flash of blue, and a large feline leaped into Erica’s vision. Its slitted grey eyes flashed deviously, its tail flicking back and forth in anticipation.

“Looks delicious,” the borcat purred, licking its lips. “Shall I eat you whole? I am awfully hungry, after all.”

Erica unsheathed her rapier and lunged at the borcat. The feline had a good three feet on her, but that did not intimidate Erica in the slightest. She swept behind and nicked the borcat’s back leg, and it scurried aside with a yelp, swiping angrily. Its paw came just inches from knocking Erica into the wall. She let out a relieved sigh and rushed forward again.

Despite its girth, the borcat was as agile as Erica. They dodged and parried each other’s swipes in such fluid motion they seemed to be dancing.

One errant swipe from Erica’s rapier left her wide open; the borcat took advantage of the rift in her defenses and slashed a claw towards her midsection. The claws sliced through her first layer of clothing and punctured her armor. Two small gashes now ran along her side, and although pain shot up her body, she fought with wild intensity. She landed slash after slash across the borcat’s fur, hardly aware of her body’s movements.

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With a perturbed hiss, the borcat fled, albeit limping all the way. A trail of blood followed it down the hallway, thick and dark cerulean. When she was sure it was gone, Erica fell to her knees and removed her armor. The wounds were still pulsating vivid, ruby blood, ruining her white undershirt. She ripped the torn fabric from the shirt and took out a first aid kit from her knapsack, treating the wound.

As she wound the gauze around her stomach, the world began to spin. She’d lost too much blood. She bound it clumsily and struggled to place the kit back into her knapsack. Erica heaved the pack onto her back and tried to stand, but she was too weakened. She tumbled to the stone floor instantly, smacking her head onto the smooth rock, and everything faded from her senses.

Kelsey Rhodes


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Simplest FormGlistening tears slicking over porcelain cheeksThe sweet breath of slumber murmuring in the nightGentle softness of two pairs of lips, becoming one for the very first timeBeauty in its simplest form that often goes unseen

Angels singing in hallowed breath, voices as light as airThe tinkling of silver bells in the purplish twilightChirping crickets waltzing in the shadowed grassMusic in its simplest form that often goes unheard

Silkiness of a cobweb, thrashed by fleshy handsThe velvet of a flower petal in its first greeting to the sunScald of a gun barrel just been shotFeeling in its simplest form that often goes unfelt

Melted chocolate mingling with vanilla essenceThe collection of sawdust strewn over carpenter’s handsFlowers cut before their time by vicious clawsAroma in its simplest form that often goes not smelled

Creamy chocolate separating from cookie counterpartThe meat of our eternal supper, well spiced and marinatedCopper blood trickling from a small cut on the fingerTaste in its simplest form that often goes not tasted

Sometimes life moves too fastThe bliss of not knowing consumes one wholePleasure in the void, change unwantedThe one thing not wanted is the one thing that’s needed

Elaina O’Neill

Marion High School

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Untold NightA long hidden gasp of air in reliefThe song of the breeze whispering into my earsThe terrified stars leave me waiting in the darkWhen they hide behind the cloudsMy light only appears when my eyes are closedCalm and rush must now become my friends for lifeSabering the pulse that’s forced throughout my bodySilence is bound to the corner Outwitted by the swaying hums of sorrowShallow gleams of slight tears glide to Mother NatureThe inner life of the leaves hold my love toward the moonAsleep in the meadow releases the nightmares hovering close byA soft touch of Earth redeems my soulAnd gives a quiver of hope For a new beginning when I awake.

Kirsten Fousek

ReliefThe sky splits

and releases frigid teardropsto nourish the land,refresh the oceans,

and rescue the people from drought.It whispers sad stories,

causing the wind to howlfrom grief.

I look past the melancholy melodyto where true beauty rests,

tilting back and sighing as the water washes me clean.

Kelsey Rhodes


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The Sky You Hold

At sunrise the cool colors of the morning that reflect off the clouds awake your dreams.The sunlight soars through the air, shining its glittering beams.

The tears that are shed through rain fall upon the earth, calming its surroundings, giving life to mother nature.

The breath of wind that brushes through every object makes the air whistle and hum.When the light is just right,

the colors all collide.The sunset resting on the end of earth disappears slowly into the faded shadows.

A rainbow fills the sky you look upon, giving your heart warmth.It ends your day with rest and the moon it gives in return.

Kirsten Fousek

Marion High School

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Prologue to ChosenThe following is the prologue of Chosen, a multi-chaptered story about a young woman

struggling to find her separated family and save the world.

As twilight passed and the cool touch of night stroked the land, covering it in rich darkness, lanterns and streetlights flickered to life. In each glass container lay amber Moondrop Stones, jewel-esque ores that shone as brightly as sunbeams. Shimmering vividly, they lit the way in a quiescent forest village.

Meanwhile, in one of the village’s quaint cottages, a brunette woman in her late twenties tucked her six-year-old daughter into bed. With wide eyes as blue as the ocean, the girl gazed up at her mother.

“Mommy, what about story time?” she said, sitting up.The woman paused while straightening her daughter’s frilled comforter. She pulled up a chair

beside the bed. “You mean Daddy didn’t do that tonight?”A shake of her head sent the girl’s cinnamon-brown hair flying around her face. Laughing, the woman strolled to a diminutive bookshelf and ran a finger along the spines of various

children’s books. It hovered over a white one, the golden letters reading The Tale of the Chosen One. With a smile, the mother slipped the book from its alcove. Her daughter’s favorite book.

The girl clapped excitedly as her mother returned to her seat. Although she’d heard this story many times, it never failed to whisk the young girl away to a tale of bravery and intrigue.

Light danced across the book jacket as the woman unveiled it. A woman with a halo of flowing coral pink hair sat beneath a title composed of swirling letters. Turning the story’s first page, the woman began to narrate.

“Once long ago, our worlds were one. Two magical trees grew from the beautiful land, with sweet fruit that could cure any disease.” Pausing, the mother let her child gaze upon the flamboyant watercolor illustration. Two giant trees with healthy leaves and plump berries.

“The people lived happily. But they were greedy, and took more berries than they needed. The Trees’ roots grew weak, and our world split in two.” Next was an illustration of a world now torn asunder, tree roots visible between them.

“Special lighthouses were made in each world,” the woman continued. “They kept the worlds close together with the light of each element.” A tall lighthouse stretched along the page.

“Those elements were water, fire, earth, and wind.” The new page displayed each element: a sapphire waterdrop, a crimson flame, a lush landscape, and a vicious, plum whirlwind.

“One day an evil man put out the lighthouse lights, which made the worlds drift away.”The girl frowned, sticking out her tongue at a vile-looking man looming over the world. When she

was younger she hated this page, and as such, her parents always averted the book from her eyes. But no longer was the girl afraid. Instead she enjoyed taunting him.


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“Without the elemental light, the worlds would never be whole again. They could wither away without the warm, healthy lights.” A group of sobbing men and women colored the page with a sorrowful hue.

“But a woman appeared one day and said she could relight all four lighthouses in both worlds. She was well-known for her knowledge and powers of the Light element.” A pink-haired woman with a gentle face and warm smile adorned the next page.

“This is my favorite part!” the girl exclaimed, leaning in close to her mother.“The woman, named Fresca, set out on a journey to relight the lighthouses. It would be dangerous,

but her friends would be there to help.” Three allies accompanied Fresca now, two men and an elfin girl, all quite average-looking folk. No wild hairstyles, no lavish costumes.

“They lit all of the lighthouses of their world, Arusetta, but how could they go to Ayrium?” The girl feigned ignorance, shrugging her shoulders.

“How do they get there, Mommy?” she asked.Laughing, the woman stroked her daughter’s smooth hair. “You know how, Sweetheart. With her

great knowledge, Fresca made a portal between the worlds. The people were overjoyed!” Amid a crown of adoring townsfolk, the pink-haired Light elemental blushed and smiled.

“But, Mommy, how did the man get to the other world without a portal?”“He had powers of darkness,” the woman explained. “The book doesn’t ever explain it. People saw

him walk into a black portal he created out of thin air and vanish.” “He was a scary man, wasn’t he? Okay, keep going, Mommy!” Excitedly the girl clung to her

mother’s arm, eager to see the illustrations.“Fresca and her friends traveled to the world of Ayrium and relit the lighthouses. And even though

there was no way to reunite the worlds yet, they would no longer drift away.” Painted along the final page was Fresca and her allies, rejoicing beneath a bright blue sky. “And that is the tale of the first Chosen One.”

Closing the book, the mother returned it to its niche. She planted a feather-light kiss on her daughter’s forehead.

“Is that story real, Mommy?” the girl asked, settling beneath her thick blanket.“Of course. It’s as real as the sun and moon outside. You’ve seen Ayrium’s Tree of Life,” her mother

said.“The Great Myrrh Tree! So it is a real story!”“And don’t forget, there have been Chosen Ones ever since the lighthouses were built. That evil man

keeps putting out the lighthouse beacons.”The girl frowned, letting out an angry huff of breath. “Why don’t they stop that man? He’s ruining

everything!”“Patience, dear. We don’t even know where he is, or how he does it. But it isn’t anything for you to

worry about.”

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“What would you think if I was the next Chosen One, Mommy?” A strange look of hidden knowledge skimmed the surface of her mother’s eyes, one the girl didn’t quite understand. It was the look her mother always gave her when she ought not pry into certain matters.

With a smile, the woman patted her daughter’s head. “I’d think it was silly. Time for bed.” As the woman covered the Moondrop Stones in her daughter’s room, the girl could have sworn she

spotted her father in the doorway, a silhouette as tall as the door itself.But she’d drifted off to sleep before she could think on it anymore.

Kelsey Rhodes


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Marion High School

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57

Beautiful Stranger

Sometimes, when I pass a mirror

The reflection catches my gaze

I stop and stare

At this beautiful stranger

But then, I blink

And the stranger leaves

I look around, and I am alone

Then I realize the beautiful stranger

Was me.

Jessica Miller

End of the World

The last dance on this dark planet

Will not be danced by me,

It will be danced by Martians

And a hippo-shaped pygmy.

Kaleb Bozorgzadeh

Unwritten

This is the poem still unwritten

Stuck in my head

Still not right


The paper is there

Clear as day


Nothing to write about

Not willing to share

Thinking thoughts

Too crazy to explain


Tiara Mitchell

Marion High School

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I Ain’t What I Ain’t

I am the daughter of my parents the sister of my brother

the girlfriend of my boyfriend

I am politely rude.I am modestly conceited.I am kindly mean.I am lovingly hateful.

And you won’t like meBut that’s okay.Because I don’t like you, either.I don’t like that you’re not washing my clothes or not making me a sammich.

I don’t like how you chew your food.I don’t like your face, your voice, or that look you give me that makes me want to eat your brains with a spoon.But you ain’t cool…

I am a pretty nice girl if you’re not a complete idiot.I am not a murderer.I have never raped someone.I am not trying to overthrow any governments.I don’t lie, cheat, or steal.

I like rainbows and long walks on the beach.I also enjoy poking dead things with a stick.I like to eat gummy bears and watch Dora the Explorer.I make a wish twice a day at 11:11.And sometimes I wish for others and not just myself.

Hi, my name is Lexie. What’s yours?

Lexie Lovisa


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Reflection

I see a face in the window,

Oh you see it too?

I see a face in the window, but I haven’t got a clue,

Why that face I see in the window,

Looks quite different to you.

Kaleb Bozorgzadeh

Marion High School

60

Through My Window

I wook outside my window. Da gwass is green, da cowor of ucky veggietables

my mommy makes me eat. Da sky is da cowor boo, wilke da chalk I pway wiff

outside. Da cwouds are white and fwuffy wike my piwow I way my head on

when I go sweepy. Dare are peopwe outside wiff dare puppy dogs pwaying and

day haff smiwes. I wish I was wiff dem outside but I haffta queen room fust!

I look through my window at the outside world. The grass is the color of envy. Oh, how I envy the world and wish I was out there with it. The sky is the color of freedom. To fly like a bird out of this place, and escape. The clouds are the color of innocence. I don’t want to be innocent. I don’t want to be a goody-goody two shoes. I don’t want to follow my parent’s rules anymore. I want to get out of here…

I peer out my window and I see the outside world. My world, the one I’m in, the one I wish Iwasn’t. The grass is green. It reminds me of those days when I was younger, the summer sun heating my skin, the grass ticklingmy toes. Those were the days. The days I didn’t have to worry about anything. The days I could do what I wanted, eat what I wanted, go where I wanted. Freedom. I wish I was back in myold room looking out the window…

Alycia Pedersen


61

The Game

I step through the war torn wooden door and peer around the corner. I stare like a

hawk, watching for shadows at the top of the thin cinderblock staircase. I make my way

to the top wielding my g36c full-auto assault rifle. The single light bulb hanging from the

wooden rafters reflects a dull light off the metallic weapon. It casts the shadow of a predator

on the walls, and I know that predator is me. I reach the top and listen to the voice of my

enemies. I slowly push the muzzle of my firearm through the doorway, opening the door

just enough to look inside. A sniper stands in the full-length window, his .50 caliber rifle

resting on a broken coffee table, aiming out the window. He fires a shot that echoes through

the night like thunder. Escaping gas from the barrel tears the old wallpaper from a nearby

wall. The man sitting next to him laughs in a hoarse voice as he points out the window at

something unseen from my point of view. He then returns to watching a show on a small

portable television planted next to him, rocking back and fourth on his foldout chair.

I take aim and squeeze out two quick shots from my silenced weapon. The sniper

goes down with a thud. I then burst through the door, and before the second man can react I

wedge my field knife between his ribs. That’s when a scream erupts as loud as a jet fighter.

I whirl around to find myself staring down the barrel of a third man’s AK-47. I watch in

horror as his finger grips the trigger tighter and tighter, releasing a fragment of lead that

refuses to stop even when meeting my skull.

Oh, man! Now I have to wait 5 seconds to respawn…

Kaleb Bozorgzadeh

Marion High School

62

The life of Shoes

The crap I take… literally

The pain I get… commonly

The sights I see… beautiful

The places I traveled… beyond

What I can do…

Prevent

Show

Protect

Style

Describe

Comfort

I give your socks… meaning

I pursue… locations

I love… toes

Give me… a bath

Why… your gym class made me smell

Love… your shoes

Kirsten Fousek


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We AreI am…What you are.You are…What I am not.I think…What you think.You think…What I do not.I act…How you behave.You behave…How I do not.I feel…What you feel.You feel…What I do not.I am…What you want.You are…What I do not.

Frankie Bunker

Things I hate

I don’t read

Why read when I could be out making my own story

I don’t write

It’s the same concept as reading only more time-consuming

I don’t run

That’s just a waste of energy

I don’t dance

I like attention but not enough to sell my body in stupid dance moves

Reading is for kids with glasses

Writing is for loners

Running is for the mentally ill

And dancing is for people who want attention

I may be all that and a bag of potato chips

But I’m none of that.

Lexie Lovisa

Marion High School

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Poetry?Poems are not my favorite.

I never knowwhat to write.Shall I write

about clichéd topics

such as love?

Desperation?

Hope?You could say that

I prefer the darkerside of the moon.No mushy gushy

I love you,you make my skies blu e.

Desperationis my game;

danger ismy middle name.

At the same time,I suppose I do enjoy poetry.

How itflows

with no regard to

formHow topics

can Collideand not soundeven remotelyout-of-place.

And with the right mood,you can just

end

Kelsey Rhodes


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Marion High School

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67

A Prayer for HerLordKeep her close to you when she’s strugglingWhen her hopes are fewKeep her praying and talking to youOh, Lord, keep her close to you

LordHelp her find hope in youWhen her thoughts are greyWhen she doesn’t know what to doHelp her find the sunshine through youOh, Lord, help her find hope in you

LordLead her to youLead her to prayLead her to live life in the fullest wayLead her with your lightThrough her dark timesOh, Lord, lead her to you

LordKeep her close to youBe in her thoughts at all timesHelp her find hope in youBe her sunshineLead her to youLead her to live her life fullyOh, Lord, answer my prayer for her

Alycia Pedersen

Marion High School

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Alive

“I want to wake upI want to restart

Put the drum beatBack in my heart”

-Heartbeat By Remedy Drive

I WANT TO WAKE UP… from this dream. I feel lost because

of the piano, so beautiful, hypnotizing almost. No drums, no beat,

at least I can’t hear them. They’re invisible to me. The vocals

singing about “living without” something he requires like the Beat.

I am blind and deaf to the beat. I want to wake up. I WANT TO RESTART… this life, this situation. I want to discover what

I missed. I want to hear the Beat. I need the Beat. I want to see

happiness. I want to see smiles. I want to restart. PUT THE DRUM BEAT… where it goes. Listen to it. Follow it. Bob your

head to it. Dance to it. Tap your toe to it. Let the world know

you’re listening to it… BACK IN MY HEART… is where I want

the Beat. It’s where it belongs. I’ll feel it with me wherever I go,

whatever I’m doing. I’ll know it’s there, beating steadily, keeping

me alive.

It feels so good to be alive!”

Alycia Pedersen


69

I’ll Be ThereSometimes the war is too great to be fought alone.

Sometimes you need a place to call your home.When everything’s just not fair,

Call for me and I’ll be there.When you’re left in the depths of despair

And you’ve come to a point where you just don’t care,Call for me and I’ll be there.

I’ll wipe away your tears,And I’ll fight away your fears.

There’s no need to be alone.You never have to fight on your own.I can be the rock on which you stand.I can be the one who’ll hold your hand.

I’ll shelter you through the storm.I will keep you safe and warm.When your world falls apart,

When you’ve got a broken heart, When your dreams are torn to shreds,

When your “friends” leave you for dead,When no one else seems to care,

Call for me and I’ll be there.When everything else falls apart,Look inside your broken heart.

I’ll be there.

Jacqueline Kroemer

Marion High School

70

Secrets

The only difference between our secrets

is how we let them grow

They could be tales of our heroism

or of our fear of the unknown

Secrets can destroy a life End a marriage

Create riffs between people

Secrets can set life free Begin a friendship

Heal old wounds and broken hearts

Revealing the secrets within ourselves can lead to the best things Secrets help us find ourselves

Elaina O’Neill

Such A Thing As Happily Ever AfterI’ve never seen a complete story that’s real

Does it exist?Who can say that they’ve had one?I’ve been thinking in my head a lot

What is a happily ever after?How do you even tell one?

I hope some day I can know for sureShould I start at once upon a time?

Should all lines be completed with a rhyme?Who knows what’s true or not?

God only knows that they’ve all forgotOne true story can only be so

One to remember and always know

Kirsten Fousek


71

One of His MiraclesThe door opened, hall light shining in off of a long white jacket. “David,” said the doctor,

“you have leukemia. You’ll have to stay here for…” David heard no more. He couldn’t concentrate on the doctor’s words. He couldn’t concentrate on that face that was as blank as an empty canvas. The color faded from David’s heart shaped face. His jaw clenched. His green eyes were screaming, expressing that he couldn’t breathe. His chest was moving up and down faster than normal. His heart was pounding like a drum. His short cinnamon-brown hair was standing up in some spots, making him look frazzled. All he could think about was the death that was going to come. In David’s eyes, there was no more reason to live. He was going to die before he wanted to, before he was ready to leave this earth. He wouldn’t get to marry, to have children, to be a grown up really. He was only a kid, 17, and his life was going to end. The doctor finally left the room, leaving him with his thoughts and his lifeless countenance. That night, David couldn’t sleep. The nightmares that crept into his dreams forced his green eyes open in terror. After this life, he had no idea what was going to happen to him. He didn’t believe there was some “God” out there “that created the earth and everything in it.” Though he didn’t believe he was going to become a tree, either. He never truly thought about it before. He never had to…until now.

He was awoken by light shining through his window. His eyes were open slits making the world seem a blur. There was a silhouette by the window handling the blinds gently, tying them back so the sun could still shine in. He opened his eyes wider. The silhouette was of a girl. Her hair was a coffee brown, shimmering in the sunlight, hanging down by the middle of her back. Her skin was a gentle tan, smooth and perfectly covering her body. Her cheeks were a rosy pink as if she had just come from outside where the snow covered the ground like a glittering blanket in the sunlight. She turned towards David and smiled at him, her eyes a baby blue as pure and calm as a lake on a summer’s day. Her face was an oval shape, angelic looking. She began to move closer to him.

“Good morning, David. My name is Rebecca.” Her voice was calm and cheerful. He didn’t want to be greeted with a “cheerful” hello. She may have been hot, but what did he care? The world didn’t want him anymore. Why should he be nice to anything in it?

“Go away and close those blinds while you’re at it. I like the dark better. Good bye, Rebecca,” he said in a bitter tone. He lay down on his hospital bed again and closed his eyes. His world wasn’t getting any darker. He opened one eye. Rebecca was still standing close to his bed just staring at him. “Didn’t you hear me? I said close the blinds and leave!” She still stood staring at him. David was yelling by this point. “What is your problem? Don’t you get it? I don’t know what you’re here for and I don’t care. Leave!” With that he rolled over and attempted to fall asleep again, soon falling into a deep slumber.

He was falling into black nothingness. He was just falling and falling and falling. There was nothing to grab onto, nothing to hold, nothing to catch him. He opened his mouth to scream and nothing came out. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak. He was lost and scared. He opened his mouth again in attempt to scream once more, but just like the first time nothing came out.

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He sat up, startled by his dream. Sweat was running down his face. Bright light was shining through the window. “Damn,” he thought, “she left and didn’t close those stupid blinds.” He swung his feet from the bed to the floor. It was cold to the touch, hard and grimy like you would expect a hospital to be. He got ahold of the blinds just when Rebecca came walking in through the door with a cup of hot chocolate in her hand.

“David, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed.” “Why are you here? I told you to leave.”

He was starting to shake. His face was pale and he looked like he was going to fall. She grabbed the blinds from his hands and put his arm around her shoulder. He would have put up a fight, but he was too weak from walking over to the window. She led him back to his bed. Her skin was soft and warm, gentle to the touch. For a millisecond he thought he might break her, but his thoughts were brought back to reality.

“Why are you still here?” he asked. “The people that push me away are the ones that need my help the most.” “What the heck do I need your help with? I’m dying. I don’t know how you

think you can help me but you can’t. I’m dead to the world and your God.”“You’re not dead, silly; otherwise I wouldn’t be able to talk to you. And just so you know,

you ’re never dead to God. He knows you better than you know yourself. He created you and with his help you will win this battle.”

“Whoa! Don’t go all religious on me. There is no God. If there was, I wouldn’t be in this hell-hole right now!”

“Do you pray?”“You don’t listen at all, do you? I just said there is no God. If I believed that,

why would I pray?”“Let’s pray. Dear Lord, I just want to...”“Hey!”“I want to thank you for this beautifu l day and the way you have blessed us in our lives.”“Wait. Hold up now. This is bull.”“Dear Lord, I ask that you watch over David in this hard time of his. I know that you will.”“Would you stop? I don’t need your prayers!”“Watch over him and help him during his time of hurting.”“Leave! Now!”“Thank you for sending your one and only son to die on the cross for our sins.””Just stop! Stop, stop, stop!”“…And promising us a place in Heaven with you. In your name I pray. Amen. David, don’t

you feel better now?”“No! I don’t need your stinking prayers! I told you to leave!”He lay back down in his bed, breathing hard. His face was flushed with anger. She looked at him

with worry in her eyes. His breathing calmed and tears began to well up in his eyes. “Why are you crying?” she asked.


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“I’m not crying,” David replied as a tear rolled down his cheek.Rebecca put her hand in her pocket and pulled out an embroidered hanky, made of a bright

green fabric. There was a verse on it in a cursive font. It read: “Your sun will never set again; your moon will wane no more; God is your everlasting light and your days of sorrow will end. Isaiah 60:20." She took the hanky and wiped the tear from his face. She smiled at him, her eyes kind, but the smile faded and her eyes began to tear up. He felt bad for yelling at her to leave. She was just being friendly.

“I’m sorry about yelling at you earlier. I don’t want to get close to anyone. I know what it’s like to love someone and then lose them. I didn’t want to cause pain for others and I didn’t think I would. I have no one, so I didn’t think it was going to be a problem. I was just gonna die alone…”

“Y ou ’re never alone. Even if you don’t believe God is always with you, you have me too now. Don’t you have any family?”

“My grandparents died before I was born. My mom died from cancer when I was five and my dad committed suicide after that.” He paused, trying to shake the thought out of his head. Finally he said, “ You never told me why you’re here.”

“I volunteer here. The nurses told me you could use someone your age to talk with, and that you are an atheist. They know my story and they believe I can help you. Sorry to go all ‘God talk’ on you, as you put it, but he’s my life he got me out of a hard place. Now I live my life as a devout Christian and an evangelist. But usually I just read to the people in this hospital.”

“You, in a hard place? I don’t believe that, not for a second.” He was smiling at her, poking fun at her now, but this wasn’t a laughing matter. She looked

away for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes. Not many people knew her secret, and honestly, she was ashamed she’d ever felt that way. She pulled up her sleeve to reveal her an arm covered with many, many scars. Her skin was so perfect—how could she hurt it? Why would she cut it and leave marks of imperfection on her arm? David was flabbergasted. Secretly he thought she was an angel. Perfection in human form, but these…these cuts ruined her perfection. “Why would you cut yourself, hurt your perfect skin?” His face went red with embarrassment.

“My skin isn’t perfect. Nothing is perfect. Besides our Lord, of course.”“Okay, before you go all ‘God talk’ on me how about you just read to me

like everyone else?” He was almost laughing by this point.“F ine, if you want. Do you want a love story or an action-packed story f illed with love, lies,

war, trust, faith, and death?”“I’ll take action over a sappy love story any day,” he said, smiling. He seemed to be

happier now.With that note, she dug in her bag and pulled out the Bible to read the story of David.

Alycia Pedersen

Marion High School

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Glows In The SkyAnd in time we will all be stars

Soaring through the darkness of the galaxy Prancing and dancing around the planets Twinkling down on earth into curious eyes, Their souls wondering why we are here, How we got up here, Why we come out at night. We are here to watch over like guardian angels, To guide space ships, satellites, and sometimes Balloons.

We are starsAnd we dance with the moon.

Jordan Howard


75

When All is DoneStandingWaiting

WatchingFading

Bitter lyingNever crying

All the days I’ll missAll the days of feeling bliss

The things you want and wish and needYou’ll never seeYou’ll never be

You reach beyond all that you knowJust know that I’ll never let you go

We walk along enjoying the sunThat fades away when all is done.

Kira Mein

HavenIf peace is something that you seek,

whether you be strong or weak,to our haven you should retreatwhere the air is fresh and sweet

Here at last you’ll find respitefrom feelings of regret and strife

No longer shall any villains chase,but rather meet defeat’s bitter taste

Darkness wanes as pure light reinsrelief shall pulse through your veins

No matter where you may have beenpeace will surely find you again

Kelsey Rhodes

RainMy tears are falling like the rainfast and uncontrolled, caused by pain The rain is an amazing sightit washes away all not rightit’s like my tearstelling a story about my fearsthe thunder is the beatmy tears the story of every defeatevery falseness, fear, and failurethat have been building up insidecame pouring out once I cried No worries, every storm has an endand my heart will eventually mend.

Caitlyn Wolfe

Marion High School

76

You Are. . . You are the moving moon to my sky, the Mac to my world of PCs.You are the flower in my garden, the leaves to my summer tree.You are my summer companion, the one always lying on the deck with me.You are the one who helps me with my papers, my problems, my everything.You are my movie soul mate.You are the music on my iPod.You are my problem solver, the little voice inside my head.You are the person who pushes me to do my very best.You are the honest opinion I am always looking for.You are my happy memories, who made the stupid home movies.You are the reason my cheeks hurt and my stomach aches at the end of every night.You are my laughter.

Lydia Rogers


77

Marion High School

78

Never There

So I used to say When I die I hope you cry I hope it tears you apart.You were never there to heal my broken heartSo why should I care because you were never there, never there, never thereYou left me hurt and let me downWhen at your feet I used to bowI looked up to you and you weren’t thereYou left me feeling like no one caredYou were never there, never there, never thereNow I know with you never there All the bad was peeledAnd now I am healed without your helpI feel better with the new cards I was dealtI am better than I ever wasAnd still you were never there, never there, never there.

Frankie Bunker


79

A Better DayFather Winter’s chilly breath has entered once again, Apollo’s last dying rays have faded into blue.Dreams are shattered in the eyes of forlorn men.And graying geese have gone away from horizon view.

Willows weep as dust hits the battered floor.A flower wilts among the enveloping dark,rain falls from the heavens in a booming roarwhile awaiting the song of the tuneful skylark.

But, if one must live, one must live aware.With a voice as loud as a lion’s roar,with an attitude like one was floating on air,and a heart that free, like a bird, may soar.

And may life, as it has, throw chaos this way,and may you come, well prepared, for a better day.

Elaina O’Neill

Never There

So I used to say When I die I hope you cry I hope it tears you apart.You were never there to heal my broken heartSo why should I care because you were never there, never there, never thereYou left me hurt and let me downWhen at your feet I used to bowI looked up to you and you weren’t thereYou left me feeling like no one caredYou were never there, never there, never thereNow I know with you never there All the bad was peeledAnd now I am healed without your helpI feel better with the new cards I was dealtI am better than I ever wasAnd still you were never there, never there, never there.

Frankie Bunker

Marion High School

80

Caged

Caged by handTortured by mindAll the thoughts

Never divine

Can’t get outNo escapeNo return

To heaven’s gate

Always stuckNowhere to flyTied right down

Left to die

Never to seeNever to hearAlways blindAlways feared

Deaf to mindDeaf to pleasDeaf to sighsDeaf to me

Help me dieHelp me live

Watch me fightWatch me win

Caged by handTortured by mindAll my thoughtsAlways divine

Jessica Miller

Alone Your fallen shadow sits beside me on the floorYour broken smile is slapped against the wall

Your once joyous laughter has hung from the ceiling.And now I am alone.

Your careless whispers echo in my mindYour beautiful grace laps at my thoughts

Your once becoming face eats away at my insidesAnd now I am alone.

But wait, what’s that?Your shadow has moved to the door

Your smile has somehow healedYour laughter is joyous once again

But I am still alone.

Your careless whispers have become realYour beautiful grace is before me, revitalized

Your face is becoming once again.But I... I am still alone.

Elaina O’Neill

The EndSeeping, spilling, pooling

drip, drip, dropCrimson, scarlet, ruby

pain won’t stopPallid, weary, dying

plip, plip, plopEmpty, gone, departed

the clock no longer tocks

Kelsey Rhodes


81

The GameIt was a dark, cold, icy December night. There was laughter all around as London was

too slow putting his hand on the ceiling and had to strip his shirt. Mikayla was down to just her underwear. Sean lost his shirt and one sock. Jacque was completely dressed. I lost my top shirt. London was down to just his briefs. We continued driving as we reached another stop sign. Mikayla wasn’t so lucky this time. “Shoot! I lost!” Mikayla shrieked. We all laughed. Just then we heard a Public Service Announcement. “Attention everyone. Another murder has occurred. We want everyone in the Linn County to be aware of the person committing these crimes. Thank you.” We didn’t pay much attention to the message at all. “Another round?” Sean asked with a smile. We nodded and all started to put our clothes back on. London isn’t a very good multi-tasker and he had issues with getting his shirt back on. “London, look out!” I screamed, pointing at the deer in front of us.

He grabbed the steering wheel and swerved out of the way, but the ice underneath us sent us spiraling down the hill into the forest. It didn’t stop spinning until the right side of the car hit a tree.

“Is everyone okay?” London asked, concerned.“Yeah,” we answered in unison.We all had a few cuts and bruises, but other than that, we were all right. We all got exited

the tiny green Monte Carlo. “Which way is back to the highway?” I asked everyone.I looked up into London’s gray eyes as tears filled my own. I hate it when he sees me cry,

so I quickly wiped them away. “Does anyone’s cell phone work?” Sean asked.We all pulled our cell phones out and checked.“Mine does,” I said handing it to Sean.He dialed 9-1-1.“We need help! We got in a car accident and we went down a hill. We need help now!

No, ma’am, we don’t know where we are. I know though we were on East Post Road. Okay—thank you so much!” He hung up the phone and handed it back to me.

“They should be here soon,” Sean explained.We all nodded. We knew we were going to be here a while so we all sat down. As soon as

I sat on the cold wet ground, I felt something weird on my butt. I pulled a human arm out from underneath me. I immediately jumped and screamed.

“What is that!?” I screamed pointing to where I just sat.

Marion High School

82

We dug a little deeper and found the remains of a human body!“What the?” London screamed. “Um… that’s not normal,” Sean said.“Well, Sean! Yeah, because I normally see dead bodies lying around on the ground! Of

course it’s not normal!” Jacque screamed at Sean.Sean just stared at her with wide eyes. He didn’t dare say anything more about it to

Jacque in fear of getting yelled at again. I had a mini flashlight on my key chain and pointed it across the open area. We were horrified. Dead bodies speckled the snowy ground with splotches of crimson.

“Uh. We should probably leave,” Sean announced.We all agreed. Just then we heard snow crunching behind us. I started shaking. I looked

over my shoulder to see a 6-foot tall black figure. In his exceedingly large hand I saw the moon reflecting off the stainless steel machete. No one moved. No one spoke. No one made a sound.

“Hey. Can you help us get back into town?” Sean asked the monster.“Sean, what—” Just then, I saw that Sean’s hand was moving in his coat pocket. He

was dialing 9-1-1. Obviously the stranger saw this too and aggressively approached Sean. The man grabbed Sean’s hand out of his pocket and snatched his phone.

“No one is making any phone calls.” His voice was stern and crackled like dead twigs that had snapped under his feet. He chucked the phone at a large pine tree beside him. We just watched in horror.

“That wasn’t very smart. Don’t you think?” Jacque said sarcastically.We all turned and looked at her. I couldn’t believe she just said that. The man walked

over to Jacque. He brought his hand up to her throat. He picked her up with one hand and pitched her across the open area. She landed with a thud. No movement came from her body. Before he could turn around Sean and London attacked him. Sean jumped on his back and London went for his legs.

“Get off me!” he screamed as he reached for Sean.He reached over his head and pulled Sean forward. He threw Sean on the ground and

swiftly swung the stainless steel machete against Sean’s ribcage. Then he kicked London off his leg. He hit a tree with a smack.

“No!” Mikayla screamed as she ran over to Sean.She held him as the snow around him turned a dark red. The crazed man looked at me with his cold black eyes. He slowly walked up to me. I

stared deep into his eyes. I could see sadness, hurt, and abuse.“Excuse me, sir. Please don’t hurt us. Please. We just need some help getting home, “ I

spoke to him as calmly as possible.He just stared at me. I stared back as tears filled my eyes. One slipped down. He

brought his hand up to my face. I flinched. But he didn’t hurt me. He brushed my tear away. He brought the machete up above my shoulder. I knew then that my life would end with

one swift swing. I squeezed my eyes shut.


83

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. I opened my eyes. I could see London now standing behind him with a rock. Just as the killer

was about to behead me, London smacked the rock against his large head. He fell down with a thud. In the distance, we all heard police sirens. I scrambled to the top of the hill and waved them

down. I signaled them down the hill and when I returned to the bottom the killer was gone. I ran into London’s arms and cried. He just held me until a police officer asked me to come with him so he could question me. I was shaking as I answered the questions the best I could.

That night, I surprisingly slept well. I thought about the man. And his eyes. His dark eyes filled with sadness.

Shayla O’Brien

Marion High School

84

Alone As I lay here alone

In what was our placeI can still feel your warm embrace

All feelings consume meMemories flooding my mind

None of these I can leave behindRemember when you loved me

Held me tight and closeNever wanting to let me go

But the night is fallingSeasons changing

Nothing’s left the sameI open my eyes

And come to find It’s just me here alone again

You were my everything The whole entire world

Way more than just any girlBrought only happinessNothing but sheer joy

Made a man of this boy Was the beginning of my life

Sadly also the final dayThe day you throw us all away

But then you realizedWhat mistake you madeAnd started on the way

Back to meInto my caring arms

So that we’d finally be us again

The road you were on You were going way too fast

Your control didn’t lastSlid yourself out of control

Crashed and died that very nightBefore we made up from that fight

It shattered my heartI just broke down and cried

You weren’t the only one that died

My mind stopped thinking Heart stopped feeling Everything was dead Now I have nothing Not a single thing

That makes me feel alive

So I lay here alone Thoughts filing my mind

Of how to leave the world behind And as I softly cry

I spread my wings and fly

Broc Bettell


85

A Metaphorical High A needle in your arm filled with madness,

A pill in your throat swallowed like sadness.

A puff of smoke exhaled with a sigh, A drink to make your memories pass by.

A snort of disbelief through your nose, A pipe to inhale all your woes.

Say what you want, think what you might, But even metaphorical drugs aren’t right.

So show your feelings, discover your fears, And don’t use smoke to hide your tears.

Anna Soenksen

Marion High School

86

Dreams Closest to Her HeartShe sits alone. Who would want to talk to her? She’s never had a friend. Not that anyone can

remember. But she did. A lifetime ago. When her life used to be perfect, she had all the things she wanted in the world, including a mom and a dad. A happy family. Until that day, the day that forced her to grow up too soon. A day that scared her physically and emotionally. The smells in the air were of sweet cotton candy, filled with screams of fear and laughter. She was smiling, happy, free. Both of her hands were being held. One by her father, a tall man with chocolate brown eyes that had melted her mother the day he first laid those same beautiful eyes upon her. A short beard had started to grow, but he never had the time to shave. He spent every moment he had with his little girl. Her other hand was being held by her mom. The girl spent most of her time with her dad, but anyone could tell that she loved her mom more than she would let on. Her mom, with strawberry blond hair and ocean-blue eyes, was more of the quiet type, but loving all the same. They went on all the rides that day, but her favorite was the Ferris wheel. She could see the whole park from the top: the lights, the people, the wonder. She was squeezed between her mom and dad. And she felt safe—one of the only times in her life when she would. This would be her favorite memory for years to come. The next week was sunny, a perfect day to go to the beach. And that’s exactly what her happy family did. The waves were crashing the shore, the birds were singing. All was fine. She laughed and played in the water for hours while her mom and dad took lots of pictures, which were kept tucked away in the drawer of her old wooden desk, in the corner of her room with the rest of the things from these happy days. The girl and her parents were riding in the car the day it happened. The sun shone in through rolled down windows, songs blaring from the radio. They had just come from the store, and she was not happy. Usually her parents got her what she wanted, but today was different; her dad had gotten her mom a new movie she had wanted to see. He didn’t get his daughter the bike she wanted, and she was jealous. The girl couldn’t remember many fights, yet she also didn’t remember her parents smiling all that much that day. Things had been weird with them for awhile.

Still, the girl yelled at them for not getting the bike. She wanted them to feel guilty for forgetting about her. Her mom took her eyes off the road for a split second, but that was all it took. She swerved to the left a little too far, and the oncoming car slammed into them. Her mom went flying through the windshield, sending shards of glass in every direction. Her dad snapped straight up as if called to attention in the military as the air bag slammed him with full force. The girl barely jolted in her seat, but the shattering glass flew back and connected with her face. The resulting physical scar would remind her of that day for a lifetime.

She could still see those images forever ingrained in her mind. She wondered as she sat alone and unwanted in the room if the bike was really worth it. If the jealousy was necessary. She would give anything to have those moments back, those moments that were now only dreams. You can still see the tears rolling down her cheeks as she sleeps. The only time she is now free is in her dreams, when she is tucked between her mom and dad on top of that Ferris wheel in the sky. In those dreams she holds closest to her heart.

Lexie Rael


87

I Wish I Could RememberI wish I could remember When the worst thing that could Happen was falling off the swingsI wish I could remember When being with you gave me wingsI wish I could remember When there was no such thing as deathI wish I could remember When there was so much time leftI wish I could remember When the world seemed so brightI wish I could remember When my dreams would soar through the nightI wish I could remember

Jacqueline Kroemer

Marion High School

88

DeathWatching the memories melt

The dreams dance awayAs your sight fades to black

And your mind goes greyYou think about the days

Days of sorrowDays of happy

After thinking of everythingIt seems to fade away

Your lifeYour yearsYour hurtsYour fearsSomehow

It all doesn’t matterFor as you

Watch the memories meltThe dreams dance away

And your sight fades blackAnd your mind goes grey

And you think about the daysSomehow

It doesn’t all matterFor the only thing that does matter

Is…How could I have made the change

How could I have avoided thisWhat is the way

To happinessTo delight

To many more yearsWith family in sight

Then watching the memories meltThe dreams dance away

As your sight fades blackAnd your mind goes greyYou think about the days

Days of sorrowDays of happy

After thinking of everythingIt seems to fade away

Your lifeYour yearsYour hurt

Your fears

Kody Mathews


89

Too LateI see you standingthere on the traintracks, and I wonderWhy are you there?

Can you not seefar in the distancethe train that isbarreling down the way?

The sun goes behinda cloud, and Iwonder if that’s whatyou feel like inside.

Is your heart pumpingdarkness through your veins?Have you lost sightof life’s curiosities? Joys?

As the train comesfarther down the tracks,I feel something pushmy legs forward, fast.

I shove you outof harm’s way, butI realize I’m toolate to save myself.

Kelsey Rhodes

Runaway If one day I decided to run away, Would you notice? Or when someone asked if you missed meWould you stare in astonishment,Wondering when I left?

Jessica Miller

Marion High School

90

Goodbye, Kirara“No… It can’t—she can’t be…”

*Playground school bell rings, again…Rain clouds come to play, again…

A field was colored with different shades of red, thick liquid. A foul, moist stench filled the humid air. Not a single, blue streak was visible through the thick cloud cover. In a puddle near a body, the thick liquid was mixed with warm, salty tears that were dripping down from a young fox demon’s eyelids. Around him, there were two Asian females, a tall half-human half-dog demon, and a man dressed in monk’s clothes. All of which were staring at the young fox demon and mess in front of them with sadness and concern.

Has no one told you she’s not breathing?“Wake up… Please, Kirara… Wake up!” the fox demon cried, his big, bright, blue-green eyes

shining and his small body quivering because of his tears. His orange hair had begun to fall out of the small ponytail it was always in from his constant pulling at the strands.

“She won’t wake, Shippo…” came a choked sob. The soft voice came from an Asian woman with long hair tightly pulled back in a high ponytail. She wore dark, full body battle armor, which was splattered in places with blood left over from a battle taking place just minutes before. Her name was Sango, the demon-slayer.

“No… Don’t say it…” Shippo thought and clenched his eyes shut. He refused to believe the two-tailed demon he was so fond of was gone forever.

“She’s dead…”Hello, I’m your mind

Giving you someone to talk to…Hello

“No! She can’t be. She can’t be dead!” Shippo yelled, proceeding to break down into tears again.“Kid… She’s dead—““No, she’s not!” Shippo interrupted Inuyasha, the tall half-dog demon. “If she were dead, we’d be

sad! I’m not sad! See?” Shippo smiled almost maniacally.If I smile and don’t believe,

Soon I know I’ll wakeFrom this dream…

Inuyasha’s eyes suddenly held no amount of annoyance, only concern and sorrow at the younger’s forced smile.

Shippo’s smile disappeared after a few seconds. He continued to assure his friends, “She’s not dead! I’m telling you!”

“Listen, Shippo… She’s dead. There’s nothing to it.”“No she’s not! She’s not!” Shippo threw his tiny fists against Inuyasha’s chest when the half-demon

tried to pick him up.


91

Don’t try to fix me, I’m not broken…

“She’s not dead! I’ll… I’ll fix her! I’ll make her live!” he shouted. In attempts to bring his love back to life, Shippo desperately tried to use his fox demon magic to put some life into her. He tried over and over, but his attempted never succeeded, no matter how much of his power he put into his fox magic. His friends all gazed at him, unsure of how to comfort him and rid him of his obvious pain.

Hello,I’m the light…

Living for you so you can hide…Don’t cry…

“Shippo, don’t cry…” the voice belonged to another Asian woman, his best friend Kagome.

“Shut up! Just leave me the hell alone!” Shippo shouted and threw himself onto the two-tailed demon’s, Kirara’s, corpse.

Inuyasha’s golden eyes widened at the sound of Shippo’s use of profanity. He glanced around, and noticed that everyone else was shocked also.

Suddenly I know I’m not sleeping…Hello?

Shippo closed his eyes and noticed, for the first time, that even though Kirara’s body was covered in warm, half-dried blood, her fur-covered body was ice-cold to his touch. He slowly pulled back off of her and new, fresh tears made their way down his already drenched cheeks. Finally, he believed. “She’s… dead.”

“It’s okay, Shippo…”Shippo looked to his side and saw Sango kneeling nearby, also with tears making trails down her

cheeks.“But how… How will I ever live without her, Sango?” he spoke softly. It felt as if his heart was

breaking into pieces and falling into his stomach. She glanced at Shippo then back at the corpse. “You’ll find a way—we’ll find a way… Together.”Shippo looked up into her eyes and saw truth and empathy. He suddenly threw himself into her arms

and she hugged him tight. They cried together, their hot tears falling onto their clothes and standing the fabric underneath their trail.

I’m still here…All that’s left of yesterday…

And so the group left to give Kirara a proper burial, tears still in all of their eyes. Never would they forget the day in which the evil demon Naraku came and stole their two-tailed friend away.

*Lyrics from Hello by Evanescence

Jocelyn Wilson

Marion High School

92

SeptemberCome September,

I’ll remember, The words you never said.

It’ll tear my heart, Finish to start,

Because of words, not written, I’ve read.

The moon will scream, dogs will howl, Your words will make this fair heart foul

And I will fall, fall down to the dead.

Elaina O’Neill

Sometimes I Wonder If you’re the same person I knew Full of charm and wit and joy and hurt If your smile’s the same or your laugh has changed I wonder if you enjoy the same things, And if I could relate to you at all. Are you the friend I knew so closely? Or are you someone new?

Alex Rinehart

Forsaken

lonely and forgotten

i sit here day-by-day

in this land where no one’s trodden

and blue skies have turned to grey

pale sunlit streams

through the broken wooden beams

it lifts this heavy heart of mine

and makes me feel benign

soft footfalls issue forth

somewhere in the distance

a gentle touch fills me with warmth

and i ponder my existence

why would you care

for such despair?

why not cast me away,

in such a state of disarray?

the warm touch fades

and the ache returns,

once more betrayed

by your other concerns

the warmth of the light

no longer brings delight

i’ve been abandoned once againand am overcome by pain

Kelsey Rhodes


93

Clay GirlShe’s just a girl who’s been screwed over one too many times.

She’s just a girl who’s had her guys leave her again and again

They leave and he leaves and they never stop leaving But clay only hardens

the more times it’s burnt and she’s only stronger the more times she’s hurt

he says it’s forever, but he can’t keep his word, he knows that he’ll leave her,

he knows that he will. But clay starts to crack if it’s burnt too many times

It’s brittle and she’s frail, breakable like glass, she’s only clay.

Alex Rinehart

Marion High School

94

Undertow Despair was not a familiar concept for Arthur Gavestrill. To him, it simply didn’t exist; rather, it was

akin to a child’s fairy tale story, something that only lived in the imagination and never cared to cross the border into reality. Arthur was as far from grim prospects as one could be. He was enthralled with his life, eager for each new day. An accomplished and well-known businessman, he had the reputation for being both laid back and energetic, a man that got his job done well and a man that one could go to with their problems. There were times Arthur was overzealous, especially with his wife. When her gentle face was not in sight, when her delicate voice was out of earshot, he would whisper her name to himself, Eve, Eve, and fill the air with euphoria. As though the very thought of her was a tempting beverage, and with one sip he’d be deliriously drunk on joy. He went everywhere with her that he could, and bought her presents as if every day was her birthday. But time passed, and after a terrible scam arose in Arthur’s business, he was laid off. He could no longer squander his savings on useless gifts for Eve. She was a teacher, so they luckily had profit continue to flow in, but Arthur was refused wherever he went because of the recent events. No longer was he the go-to-man, no longer was he trusted. Nobody ever did discover the cause of the scam, but Arthur would hear ghostly whispers in the streets, murmurs that the scam was really Mr. Gavestrill’s doing for the sole purpose of expanding his wealth. The children’s fables opened their book covers wide and poured out their despair upon Arthur. Not even Eve could rekindle his extinguished flare of life. She quickly became tired of his moping and constantly insisted they depart on a trip, even a short one, to restore his spirits. He would always refuse and lightly close the bedroom door on her. On one particular stormy day, Eve tried inviting Arthur once more to the theatre, but he refused bitterly. Ignoring his protest, she left in a huff to buy tickets. Some time later Arthur chased after her, suddenly remembering her frailty. She could easily catch cold in the rain, or slip and break a bone. Arthur called a cab and slapped a twenty to the driver, requesting with a shaking voice a speedy trip to the Golden Crown Theatre. Halfway through the trip, the breaks locked up on the slick roads and the bright yellow cab hydroplaned, barreling towards an intersection. Squeals from the tires erupted in the air, and Arthur felt the car swiftly jostle over something, a swift thump, thump. Arthur’s stomach flopped over; his heart skipped several beats. He was out of the cab before it even stopped, stumbling to the limp body in the road, rainwater turning red as it flowed over the smooth brick road. Arthur’s trembling hands reached down in disbelief to the pale, cold body of Eve.

Kelsey Rhodes


95

Icy DeathLurking like a villainin the cold shadows,

December fixes his gazeon the dying landscape.

His eyes dartback and forth.An eager snake

searching for its prey.Overcome by greed,

he rushes onto the scenehis wide armsu n f u r l e d,

sweeping over the landand covering it

with misery,dread,

and cold.He wants it all.

December’s reignis as inescapable

as death.

Kelsey Rhodes

Tears

You don’t cry the same When I cry, a little piece of my heart

dies

Each tear that slides down my cheek kills me and leaves an inky

trail

My cheeks are forever stained Lost tears splatter my pillow

case

But one tear can become beautiful tears of happiness, create a stained glass

window

Elaina O’Neill

Crying Myself to SsleepCrying myself to sleep

Not feeling good enoughBeing made fun of

All the timeGets old

No one understandsI don’t know who to talk toAnger and sadness mixed

Throat burnsEyes red from

Crying myself to sleep

Shayla O’Brien

Marion High School

96

Time hushed to a still.The wind disappeared with a kill.The sky pure black,My love shall never return back.She will never return back.

A raven sits in the tree and callsAs a single raindrop falls.Where art thou, Jolie?

It is only me.With the heavens above and hell below.Longing to be with my JolieNo longer together forever, I stand there alone, without my precious Jolie.

I visit the hillAnd the leaves rustle under the treeAs the wind creeps by, every time leaving a chillAs I hear her voice, Jolie.Whisper to me, Jolie.

Jasmine Grindeland

Jolie: A Tribute to Edgar Allan Poe In a time long ago,

Filled with much glee,There was just peace, and not one foe,

And my endless love for Jolie.

Her face glowed bright.Her hair shimmered golden.

She was the most glorious thing in sight,And my heart shall more than beholden.

Jolie, an angel on earth,My heart, forever thine to keep,

Because you give me many mirth,For eternity, I shall not weep.

One beautiful day, the sun beat downAs we ran to our sacred tree,

I looked into her eyes, a deep, dark brownIt was only Jolie and me.

We stood there together,The heavens above and hell below

Longing to be together foreverMattering not where we shall go

The leaves rustle as the wind creeps by,The hairs on thy neck awaken.

A loud cry pierces the blue sky,My precious, Jolie, taken.


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What. Am. I.Gary Smith was never happy. He was never liked. He wasn’t remembered. In grade school, that

made him shy. He tried to separate himself from the other kids; he built up a wall around himself. It would’ve destroyed him if he didn’t. Never called anyone a friend, never even knew what it would be like. His parents didn’t help. They were never home, what with his mom chasing delusional dreams and his dad somewhere off the radar. As he got older, he spiraled into a worsening depression. He hid it as much as he could, but if anybody had cared, they could’ve seen there was something very wrong with him. But nobody wanted to. But one night, Gary couldn’t take it any more. And Gary finally made someone notice him. “But Mom, I don’t know why he has to be there! You could wheel him into the closet and he’d be happy just staring at the wall!” Right after she said it, the girl regretted it. Her mom raised her voice, shaking her head. “Maddy, you know someone has to watch him! And your father and I have been planning this night for weeks. I told you not to plan your party for tonight, but you did anyway. And you already knew that this was what was going to happen, so I don’t need your complaints right now. And, I know you’ve heard this before, but maybe you need to hear it again. You would’ve never said something like that to the old John.” She lowered her eyes, and her voice. “The John that we knew and loved. My son. And your brother.” She placed a hand on Maddy’s shoulder. “And he’s still in there. I know it. You just have to look past his...disability. He’s still a person. No matter what other people might say. Always remember that.” Maddy slowly softened, and hugged her mom. “I’m sorry,” she started, “sometimes it’s hard.” “I know,” her mother soothed as she stroked Maddy’s hair. Gradually she withdrew from Maddy’s arms, and glanced at her watch. “Oh! Well, I’ve got to go. I love you, sweetie! Have fun tonight” Maddy’s mother smiled, kissed her daughter on the forehead and walking out the door.

Maddy sighed and turned around to face John, sitting in his wheelchair. He stared out the window next to him, opening and closing his mouth. She wondered if he had understood any part of the conversation she and her mom just had, or if he even knew it happened.

He’d been such a smart guy, so full of promise. Bursting with humor and personality. But after what happened, there was almost no trace of who he used to be. What a shame. She frowned, trying to get rid of her thoughts. If she kept dwelling, she’d be worried all night. People were supposed to arrive in a few minutes, and nobody likes a depressing host. Snow was falling, dancing around streetlights and trees, melting on the ground like it does on your tongue. Darren looked up, squinting. He had a good feeling about tonight. Who knows? It could be one to remember. Darren smiled, and hurried on his way.

He was the first to arrive. Shuffling up Maddy’s driveway, he took a breath, and knocked on her door. In a few seconds, Maddy answered, and immediately smiled. “Hey, Darren! Come on in!”

He removed his coat. “Any body else here yet?” “Nope, you’re the first. Except for John, of course.” “Oh. Hey John, how you doin’ today, buddy?” John continued to stare out the window, tapping his hand to an inaudible tune. Darren grimaced a little, not sure what to say. “All right, so we’ve got chips, dip, crackers, sodas in the coole, if you’re thirsty.” Maddy

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motioned, and Darren tore his eyes away from John, grinning at her. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Darren loaded up a plate and then walked into the living room, sinking into the couch. Maddy got a soda, and sat down next to him. But before Maddy could say anything, there was another knock at the door, and she got up to let in another guest.

After that, people arrived in quick succession. Someone put on some music, and the party kicked off. An hour or so passed, and Maddy had managed to keep her mind off John as much as she could, but every time she glanced at him, her heart sank. She thought she’d be used to it by now, but there was always something new to regret. Maddy sat, and tried to calm herself down. Darren noticed, and sat down next to her. “Hey. What’s wrong?” Maddy shook her head. “I don’t really want to talk about it…” “Is it about John?” Maddy didn’t answer. “Listen, don’t worry about him. Just try and have some fun. I mean, John can’t even speak, let alone think. He’s barely even a person anymore.” Maddy shot up off the couch, gave Darren the dirtiest look she could, and stormed off. “Maddy, wait!”

Darren followed in her wake, only to have a door slammed in his face. He paused for a few moments, and then slowly opened the door and peeked in. Maddy was crying on her bed, head in her hands. He sat down tentatively next to her. “Maddy—” Suddenly a crash came from somewhere in the house. “What was that?” They both stood immediately. Darren threw the door open and dashed out of the room, with Maddy running after him. And then stopped dead in their tracks. The back door was shaking; someone behind it was trying to force it open. “Somebody call the police!” Darren shouted. Answering his own command, he fumbled with his phone. Suddenly, the door burst open, and a man bolted into the room.

“Holy...” Darren stammered, and backed up. The other guests were scrambling away as well, but one girl was too slow. The man snatched her up like a puppy, and held her still. The only sign of the party was the music, eerily upbeat. The door lay splintered on the ground. The girl yelped, and choked. He pulled a gun out with one hand, still keeping hold of her. The girl struggled, but to no use. He put the gun to her head. He spoke. “All right, first off, if anyone calls the police, this girls gonna die. Understand?” A couple of phones clattered to the ground, but no one dared say anything. The girl whimpered, and the man shoved the gun into her temple. A couple people managed to nod. “Okay then. I came here to kill one person. Why only one? The way I see it, people ruined my life, so I’ll ruin one of theirs. But I’m feeling generous tonight. I’ll let you choose who it’s gonna be. I’ll give you ten minutes.” For a full minute, everyone was still, still in shock.

Finally, someone spoke. “I think it’s pretty clear that somebody has to step up.” Everyone nodded, but still, no one moved. “Who’s gonna do it?” The only response was shuffled feet. Maddy spoke. “Well, what are our options here? The police are out of the question, so one of us has to go. No one’s coming forward, so I think the only option left is to draw straws.” Darren frowned. “Well, not necessarily. This is someone’s life we’re talking about. Do we really


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want to give it up to chance? This might be the most important decision we ever make.” “Then how do you think we should do this?” Maddy retorted. “I think there’s an obvious choice here. Look at it this way. All of us here have a future; we have something to live for. Except for one person. I think you all know who I mean.” People stared. Maddy started trembling, her lips clamped shut. “Darren...I...” Tears began to well up. “I can’t…” She couldn’t finish. “Hey, it’s what everyone was thinking. I was just the one who said something. I don’t like it any more than you do. But it’s the only way.” Darren defended, “Everybody knows it! It’s our only option!” Suddenly, he noticed that he’d been yelling. Making sure that he didn’t look at Maddy, he spoke again, softer this time. “It’s our only option. It has to be him.” A girl answered him “There has to be a better wa” “There isn’t! It’s either him or one of us!” Darren shouted.

Silence. A few seconds passed. No one wanted the blood on their hands. So Darren stepped up to the murderer. “We choose him.” He pointed to John, oblivious in his wheelchair. Without another word, the man pressed the gun against John’s head, and fired. For Darren, he was the one who’d been shot. He watched in a daze as John hit the kitchen table, and as if in slow motion, slid onto the floor. Darren’s world was in a blur, all sounds muffled after the shot. A few distant screams made it through, and more clearly, a sob from behind him. He turned around without knowing it, and saw Maddy’s face. Immediately, Darren felt dizzy, and swayed where he stood. The murderer laughed. “Never would have guessed all of you would’ve been so heartless. Well, have a pleasant evening.” And with that, he slipped out the backdoor. Darren was vaguely aware of someone calling the police, and general mayhem as he stumbled through the house. But he was underwater. All he was sure of was that he had to get outside.

He burst out the door, vomiting on the front step. Breathing heavily, he somehow made it to his car, and forced himself inside. Starting the ignition, he pulled away, and parts of the world came rushing back to him. The sound of the gun, the sound of John’s body hitting the ground, the murderer’s last words. But most of all, the look on Maddy’s face. It haunted his thoughts as he drove, tears began to burn his cheeks. He reasoned with himself.

There was no other way. John was just a vegetable. Not even human anymore. Darren’s own thoughts made him choke. His hands trembled on the wheel. Was it the only option? Was it? Or was it my own weakness that drove me to do it? Can I live with this guilt the rest of my life? Snow was still falling. The night’s beauty had turned terrible. Darren tasted blood, and realized that he’d been biting his lip. His head throbbed. Maddy’s face was like a ghost before him, the gunshot echoing in his head over and over. His entire body was shaking now. Something inside him snapped. He saw his foot press down on the gas. He saw the houses begin to blur around him. He saw a bridge ahead, a deep river below. He saw solace. He saw an answer.

And then, Darren saw him grit his teeth. Close his eyes. He saw the railing crumble. He saw his body thrown back against the seat. He saw the wind, the rubble, the debris. And he watched, strangely fascinated, as he plunged into the icy water.

Lukas Meeks

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“To imagine the unimaginable is the highest use of the imagination.”

-Cynthia Ozick


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We would like to thank Mr. Ferguson for helping us “imagine the unimaginable.”

Thank you for inspiring us!

--MHS Senior Class of 2010

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