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2014 Constantly Risking Absurdity

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St. Joseph’s Academy Literary Magazine 2014

2 Constantly Risking Absurdity 2014


“Creativity takes courage”

-Henri Matisse

Special thanks to the St. Joseph’s Academy English and Visual Arts departments, the literary magazine committee, and all students who

submitted work to this literary magazine.

Madeleine Staley ‘16


Constantly Risking Absurdity

©2014 St. Joseph’s Academy (Also available online at www.stjosephacademy.org)

Constantly Risking Absurdity is a student-run publication celebrating the creative writing and

visual art of St. Joseph’s Academy students. All work is submitted independently and chosen anonymously. The title of the publication is based on a poem by

Lawrence Ferlinghetti.


Editor in Chief: Nora Salmon ‘14

Layout Editor: Christa E. Waterwiese ‘15

Art Editor: Katie Hughes ‘14

Assistant Editors: Maddie Meier ‘14 Careen Gahzal– Albar ‘14 Kristina Assaf ‘14 Rossella Gabriele ‘15 Kate Schwarz ‘15 Maggie Schwarz ‘16 Genevieve Vogel ‘17

Moderator: Mrs. Jennifer Sudekum ‘93

Cover Art: Collette Wolf ‘14

Acknowledgements


Table of Contents “School”“School”“School”“School”

by Christa Waterwiese 8

“I Believe in Honesty”“I Believe in Honesty”“I Believe in Honesty”“I Believe in Honesty”

by Natalie Willis 9

“Wake Up ““Wake Up ““Wake Up ““Wake Up “

by Mary Walsh 10

“A True Universal Language”“A True Universal Language”“A True Universal Language”“A True Universal Language”

by Asheigh Litzsinger 12

“I Believe in Nemo”“I Believe in Nemo”“I Believe in Nemo”“I Believe in Nemo”

by Emily Pfortmiller 14

“For the Downtrodden ““For the Downtrodden ““For the Downtrodden ““For the Downtrodden “

by Ashley Taylor 15

“Child of the Night” “Child of the Night” “Child of the Night” “Child of the Night”

by Christine dePenaloza 16

“Musical Moments” “Musical Moments” “Musical Moments” “Musical Moments”

by Andie Rooney 18

“The Sun is Orange” “The Sun is Orange” “The Sun is Orange” “The Sun is Orange”

by Alexa Schmitt-Bugler 20

“A Sister’s Love” “A Sister’s Love” “A Sister’s Love” “A Sister’s Love”

by Mary Catherine Heger 21

“The Love of Hank” “The Love of Hank” “The Love of Hank” “The Love of Hank”

by Clare Piotter 22

“Roses and Thorns” “Roses and Thorns” “Roses and Thorns” “Roses and Thorns”

by Emily Strout 23

“Someone’s Watching Over Me” “Someone’s Watching Over Me” “Someone’s Watching Over Me” “Someone’s Watching Over Me”

by Sara Krause 24

“Best Friend”“Best Friend”“Best Friend”“Best Friend”

by Kelsey Thompson 25

“Dancing Bears” “Dancing Bears” “Dancing Bears” “Dancing Bears”

by Mary Clare Pelch 26

“A Critique by the Critiquer” “A Critique by the Critiquer” “A Critique by the Critiquer” “A Critique by the Critiquer”

by Madeleine Staley 27

“Who Am I” “Who Am I” “Who Am I” “Who Am I”

by Reana Elder 28

“Preparation” “Preparation” “Preparation” “Preparation”

by Megan Brightfield 29

“The Conductor’s Vision” “The Conductor’s Vision” “The Conductor’s Vision” “The Conductor’s Vision”

by Emmie Morrison 30

“Just Dance” “Just Dance” “Just Dance” “Just Dance”

by Julie Deibel 32

“A Movie Poster Cover” “A Movie Poster Cover” “A Movie Poster Cover” “A Movie Poster Cover”

by Allison Martino 34

“Harmony Woven into Tacos” “Harmony Woven into Tacos” “Harmony Woven into Tacos” “Harmony Woven into Tacos”

by Gabrielle Bucchino 36


“Lungs Lines in Dust” “Lungs Lines in Dust” “Lungs Lines in Dust” “Lungs Lines in Dust”

by Katie Hughes 38

“Falling Leaf” “Falling Leaf” “Falling Leaf” “Falling Leaf”

by Kathleen Doherty 39

“Girl’s Best Friend” “Girl’s Best Friend” “Girl’s Best Friend” “Girl’s Best Friend”

by Holly Hildebrand 40

“Some Days” “Some Days” “Some Days” “Some Days”

by Mary O’Brien 46

“Box of Hearts” “Box of Hearts” “Box of Hearts” “Box of Hearts”

by Anonymous 47

“Power to the She” “Power to the She” “Power to the She” “Power to the She”

by Nora Salmon 48

“Frosted Rose Petals” “Frosted Rose Petals” “Frosted Rose Petals” “Frosted Rose Petals”

by Katie Hughes 49

“Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra, “Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra, “Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra, “Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra,

Movement IV” Movement IV” Movement IV” Movement IV”

by Mikaela Schutte 50

“Jaw Dropping Sunsets” “Jaw Dropping Sunsets” “Jaw Dropping Sunsets” “Jaw Dropping Sunsets”

by Ashlyn Hoock 52

“The Queen of Isolation” “The Queen of Isolation” “The Queen of Isolation” “The Queen of Isolation”

by Julia Biehle 54

“I Cannot Recede My Heart” “I Cannot Recede My Heart” “I Cannot Recede My Heart” “I Cannot Recede My Heart”

by Ashley Taylor 55

“Bearing Heart” “Bearing Heart” “Bearing Heart” “Bearing Heart”

by Brenna Reilly 56

“Handing My Life God” “Handing My Life God” “Handing My Life God” “Handing My Life God”

by Katy Kurowski 57

“The King” “The King” “The King” “The King”

by Christa Waterwiese 58

“distinctions” “distinctions” “distinctions” “distinctions”

by Nora Salmon 61

“My Unbrella” “My Unbrella” “My Unbrella” “My Unbrella”

by Abby Kielty 62

Illustrations:

Madeleine Staley 3 Maddie Page 11 Meaghan Baxendale 17 Mary Clare Pelch 26., 51, 61 Chase Enright 45


“School” By Christa Waterwiese ‘15

Sterile bright lights hit me

As I lean my head against the wall My knees hit the chair in front of me

And my feet rest on the metal cages below. White walls close me in from above And tile floors keep me from falling

With doors closed to stop air, From escaping just like me,

Either hot or cold but never just;

Comfort does not matter My eyes glassed over, head tilted,

and hair thrown about With Imagination running

And a pencil tapping on the desk.

Words are spoken but not heard, Questions are asked but never answered,

And no one really learns. This is school, our education

Tell me, does it work?

Tests on memorization Knowledge on subjects never used

Homework meant to occupy And teachers sometimes rude.

No respect as an adult, But still meant to make the choices

Does our system make sense? Does it really, truly work?

I couldn’t tell you But I know

Right now I am bored as hell.


“I Believe in Honesty” By Natalie Willis ‘14

I believe in honesty: the ability to tell the truth even in the

hardest time and at the youngest age. When I was ten years old, honesty crept up on me. The

sun was shining on a perfect spring day in an old small town, the perfect day for my mom and I to shop for a Webkinz. Webkinz were the craze among kids. Who knew a stuffed animal with a tag for an online website would make me believe in honesty?

An irritating, juvenile girl named Cassidy decided to tag along for the shopping trip. Cassidy’s mom told her she did not need anymore Webkinz, and she forbade Cassidy to buy one. My mom, Cassidy, and I set out on our shopping adventure. The three of us stopped in multiple boutiques but could not find Webkinz. I was ecstatic when we finally came across a store that sold them! Searching for the perfect Webkinz, I chose my favor-ite and headed over to the checkout counter. Cassidy stayed near the stuffed animals and annoyingly begged my mom to buy one for her. My mom refused, obeying Cassidy’s mom. I purchased the Webkinz and we went on our way. Surprisingly, Cassidy quickly got over the fact that she did not get a Webkinz.

However, on the way home I noticed Cassidy fidgeting with four small Webkinz tags. I was confused at first but then realized she had taken them while my mom and I were checking out! As soon as we got out of the car I told my mom about the tags. My mom disappointingly, but honestly broke the news to Cassidy’s mom about stealing the tags. Cassidy’s parents were mortified when they heard the news. My mom and I drove back to the store to return the tags as Cassidy got in a great deal of trouble. To this day, when I see Cassidy and her family there are always awkward tensions between us. From the embarrassment, punishment, and awkwardness Cassidy faced, I learned to believe in honesty at a young age.


“Wake Up”

By Mary Walsh ‘15

Some live in this world with blindness that covers their eyes

Living behind in the shadows because you are too shy

Walking through dark tunnels of grey

Longing to see the light of day

Hoping someone or something will cast a spell

To make you feel well

Believing that your life is a lie

Trying to grasp a relaxing sigh

But one day it hits

The spark of the match is lit

Only you can rescue you

Only you can stop feeling so blue

Run to the field

Filled with colors of green and blue

Lay on the ground

Touch the sun that shines all around

Do not remorse the past

Because life is moving so fast

And one day you will be lying on the bed of death

Thinking about how your life was spent

So choose your path wisely

And you will soar freely

In the end

The light in that tunnel will gleam

And you will wake up from that dark dream


Maddie Page ‘15


“A True Universal Language”

By Ashleigh Litzsinger ‘14

Music is the universal language. It is the one thing that

everyone can understand no matter how different the language.

In the year 2011, the girls from my Chinese class and I took

a summer trip to China. We were looking forward to sightseeing,

learning the Chinese language and submersing ourselves into the

culture. When we arrived to the city of Xi’an, one of the first

things we did was attend music lessons. None of the girls, ex-

hausted from the trip, was looking forward to singing along to

words we did not understand. After a few grueling minutes of

singing our trip’s designated song, “Song Ni Yi Ge Chang An”, we

were all tired of singing words that had no meaning to us. The

days that followed were filled with entertaining Chinese lessons,

fun activities and exhausting music lessons. Finally, on Friday,

five days after our first day in Xi’an, we were able to meet up with

some of the Chinese students attending school at the University

where we were staying. Because all of the girls who went on the

trip had only been taking Chinese for one year, there was a lan-

guage barrier, making it hard to communicate. Words and tones,

both English and Chinese, were being thrown around, creating a

slur of vocal chaos. Then, one of the head teachers of the school,

who spoke both English and Chinese, instructed all of us to sit

down in one of the many seats in the large, open room. As we

took our seats, she brought out a projector and asked a group of

volunteers to come up first. No one raised their hands, so she

chose a few girls and a few boys from the Chinese school. She

then spoke to them in Chinese and they all smiled. Still not un-

derstanding what they said or what was happening, the Ameri-


can girls and I sat waiting to see what they were going to do. All

of a sudden, a projector displays lyrics to a song we all know. It

was not the lyrics to our infamous song, “Song Ni Yi Ge Chang

An,” but lyrics to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing!” The students

started singing the lyrics in English, and hit every note. Seeing

how much fun they were having, everyone joined in bonding over

the well-known music. As that night went on, we sang American

songs with Chinese lyrics, American songs with the original lyr-

ics, and traditional Chinese songs. As we sang, we did not think

about the words, we just sang with a mutual understanding. Af-

ter our experience, we looked at the Chinese music lessons with

different eyes.

Looking back to that day, I thought singing the Chinese

song was nearly impossible and meaningless yet during our kara-

oke session, I learned that music is truly universal. In music, there

is no language barrier. People in China, Korea and Japan all listen

to Usher, Jay-Z and Lady Gaga without fully understanding the

lyrics and they still have the same reactions to these songs as we

do. We cry while listening to Korean songs about finding your

way in the world, we jam out to English pop songs and sway to

the rhythm of a Jamaican beat. Everyone around the world reacts

the same way to music. It is the beat that we understand which

makes music so universal. Music is the universal language of the

world.


“I Believe in Nemo”

By Emily Pfortmiller ‘14

The summer of 2011, I got the opportunity to go up to

New York City because my mom’s job was stationed in Manhat-

tan. She owned an apartment off 34th street, also known as the

Empire State Building Street. From 8.am. until 5 p.m., my mom

would be at work off at the corner of 34th street and Park Avenue,

and I would be on my own. Constantly, my mother reminded me

I could not roam around the city- better yet the block- without

her. Why? “Because it is too dangerous,” she said.

The first night in her apartment building, I watched the

Disney classic, Finding Nemo, which is about a little fish who

strays from his father, finds his way into trouble as he drifts

through the open sea, and experiences a little adventure in his

life. The next morning, I was on my mom’s iPad exploring the as-

sortment of things one can do while in the Big Apple- typical

tourist stuff. I am the kind of person who cannot go to a place by

myself without two words coming to mind: fear and embarrass-

ment. However, something came over me, so I grabbed my purse

and walked out of the door.

The one important thing to memorize when you are trav-

eling to New York, especially Manhattan, is the subway system.

The first day out of my mom’s apartment, I was completely lost. I

had to ask random strangers what train would take me to Canal

Street so I could go shopping or what train would take me to

Wall Street so I could touch the bull for good luck in the upcom-

ing year. Yet, what I found out in the process is that I learned

who I wanted to be; who I was in the process of becoming: an

adventurous person, like Nemo.


We are all afraid of an adventure. Some people never ex-

perience adventure in their lives. I, however, experienced adven-

ture for the first time in the Concrete Jungle: the thriving life-

style, the enormity of the city, “the city that never sleeps.” I

learned I needed only a small adventure to change my life. I be-

lieve I changed after my trip because I am able to “take a chance”

and explore what is unknown to me without fear and embarrass-

ment.

After watching the movie, I realized Nemo was one of my

role models; he sought out a little adventure in his life and exem-

plified courage in spite of the immensity of the sea.

I was a little fish in a big sea. I was Nemo.

“For the Downtrodden” By Ashley Taylor ‘14

Believe me,

I know things are hard. A little faith is all you need,

Do not let your good days become marred. Be who you want to be.

You don’t like your circumstances? Then sow a different seed,

Life is full of hopeful chances.


Child of the night,

Forget the Technicolor day,

Full of noise and confusion

And reality.

Child of the night,

Steal away in bed,

Sleeping the day away,

Joining the world when the sun

falls,

And the moon ascends its

throne.

Creatures of the day fear the

Black, black night.

Pity the creatures of the day,

For their eyes were not made

To see the wonder of the dark.

Child of the night,

Your kaleidoscope eyes see

The night as it is.

Your eyes see through the veil

Of Fear, Superstition, and the

Unknown.

Child of the night,

Enter your Kingdom.

The Stars take their place be-

neath your feet

And around your head,

Guiding your steps and your

mind through the dark.

Child of the night,

Daughter of the moon,

Draw the twinkling cloak of the

sky around your shoulders

And don the moonbeam’s

crown of silver thread.

Child of the night,

Live in your World,

A world where Simplicity and

Innocence are your compan-

ions,

And Imagination is the air your

lungs crave.

Child of the night,

The Shadows are fleeing;

The dark is fading fast.

The Kingdom of Night melts

into the Dawn of Day,

But fear not child for the dark is

as constant as the light that

chases it away.

“Child of the Night”

By Christine dePenaloza ‘16


Meaghan Baxendale ‘14


“Musical Moments”

By Andie Rooney ‘14

Trying to pick a song out of the thousands stored on my

iPod, of all different genres and artists, in order to fit my mood

can be frustrating. Do I want throwback music such as Back-

street Boys and N’Sync? Or do I want slow, emotional music like

Sleeping at Last or The Avett Brothers? I can’t listen to the radio,

because the same songs play over and over.

After a rather hard, emotionally draining few days, I

needed that perfect playlist to mirror my mood and make me feel

understood, as music normally does. I have several playlists on

my iPod labeling my different moods, such as; sleeping, that

mood, party, relaxing, acoustics, and feel good. The songs in these

playlists go hand in hand with the emotions I feel, and are there

to comfort me when people don’t always say the right thing.

It was the night of the high school hockey playoff game,

but this was no ordinary playoff game. The night before, they had

lost one of their own and were dedicating the entire game to him.

They prayed and cheered together, holding each other up while

modeling strength in number. After moments of silence, passion-

ate cheers, whited-out fans, and a wholehearted 3-0 victory, the

students and the team proceeded outside and huddled in a group,

holding a single lit candle high while praying and cheering. Fol-

lowing this ordeal, I watched them light a paper lantern and send

it into the sky, with tears streaming down their faces and arms

supporting each other. They stood in silence, each having their

own individual moment to watch the lantern travel through the

sky and remember their lost brother. The five-degree weather and

local park ranger put an end to this beautiful moment and sent

everyone to their cars. As I got in my car, I immediately asked my-


self, what song or playlist could possibly fit this moment? I

turned the radio on to a random XM station, and I stumbled

across, When I Look to the Sky by Train began to play. The words

could not have been more fitting: “When I look to the sky, some-

thing tells me you’re here with me, and you make everything al-

right.”

I went home and was so in awe at the whole night and the

love I had witnessed. I went up to my room, and instead of choos-

ing one of my playlists, or making a new one, I put my iPod on

shuffle. The songs that played were exactly what I needed to

hear. I believe the right songs will play in the right moments. The

songs may be unexpected and random, but can be exactly what

needs to be heard. At first, maybe the songs are not what I expect

to hear, but I let them play anyways. I believe in letting the songs

come to me, instead of me finding the songs. I believe in putting

my iPod on shuffle.


“The Sun is Orange”

By Alexa Schmitt-Bugler

The sun is orange

and she eats plums, instead,

until her tongue shines purple

and she breathes juice, not air;

when she speaks, she asks

your name

and it’s all you remember.

It crawls between your lips,

a spider, a corpse, but so alive.

It is the first word you say,

since the end.

The end is all there is.

But the end has no tongue

to taste plums rather than oranges,

to choke on juice rather than air,

to speak, to speak, to speak.

And you do!

The end is not the end, it seems.

But the word falls from your lips,

a brown leaf, a loose tooth, so very dead.

She wonders why she spoke to air.

Your name echoes, staccato, even

with no audience.

You’d never live without it,

not even if you lived.


“A Sister’s Love” By Mary Catherine Heger ‘15

A sister’s love is a perennial flower.

Under the radiant, golden sun,

It grows,

It dies,

It blossoms yet again.

It continues to rejuvenate and flourish.

Through all of the potent storms, it remains constant,

Thriving above the lesser blooms.

Nothing can ever alter its growth,

For its roots are strong and thick.

Its beauty dazzles brighter than all other buds.

Its vivid hue causes the petals of all other posies to droop with

shame.

The blossom symbolizes an emotion that even the greatest phi-

losopher cannot explain.

It is the most precious gift from God.

In the flower, God’s existence in the world shines brightly,

Reminding each of us of God’s love.


“The Love of Hank”

By Clare Piotter ‘14

If I could describe an animal as a family member, it would

be a dog. Family is always there for you through thick and thin,

and they never leave your side. Dogs are truly a “man’s best

friend.” Dogs do all sorts of things just to bring happiness into

our lives. I got my dog, Hank, at the end of freshmen year. Hank

truly opened our eyes to what a true dog is.

Dogs pay attention to our health needs in many different

kinds of situations. One way they comfort you is lying next to

you when you are sick. They can sense you do not feel well, and

dogs will stay by your side so you have someone with you. When

I was sick, Hank sat by my side the entire time. He would some-

times stand up and sniff my face just to make sure I was doing

well. Just by seeing Hank every day, I realized how he is a part of

my family, especially to me.

When I am stressed about homework and start to get agi-

tated, Hank will come in my room; he can feel I am starting to get

worked up. He jumps on my bed then leaps off, implying I need

to follow him. As I follow him down the hall and to the door, I

realize he wants me to throw the ball to him. I do not mind doing

this because it is a break from my homework, but I realized that

he helps me de-stress. The little things that my dog does make me

realize how happy I am to have him in our family.

Another way in which my dog Hank brings happiness

into our lives is through his personality. He is headstrong but a

baby at heart. His ability to blow off a command but then come

running right towards you is what makes us love him. He just

does what he wants and smiles about it with his tongue hanging

out of his mouth. His baby-like qualities come out when he


chews on his night night. His night night is his baby blanket.

When we picked Hank up from the kennel, we took his night

night with us. Still to this day, he has this blanket and will sit

down next to us and just suck on it. I enjoy watching all of these

little things because without him life would be mundane.

Hank is a part of our family because he truly shows he ca-

res about us, even though he is not a brother or a sister. The love

that he shows all of us each and every day is unconditional, genu-

ine, and joyous.

“Roses and Thorns” By Emily Strout ‘16

The last rose of summer or the first of fall does it bloom in the rain or only in the sun

Does it become a full flower, or is it cut before it blooms does it live in the sun or hide in the shadows

Is it a rosebush with thorns, or a thornbush with roses.


“Someone’s Watching Over Me”

By Sara Krause ‘14

Have you ever had a time in your life where you have lost

all hope? Have you ever felt as if you could not do something on

your own? Have you ever just looked up to the sky and cried for

help or for something amazing to happen? I have.

In May of 2013 my Great Uncle Mario passed away of

stomach cancer. Throughout his life he has found God in all

things and believed in the greater meaning of existence. He be-

lieved kindness, charity, love, family, and faith were essential to a

great life. His passing was incredibly difficult for my family and

me. On a perfect spring morning, we said our final goodbye to the

man we loved and insinuating he was gone from us forever.

Later in the week my cousins and I decided to go to breakfast to-

gether and when we sat down, we were in awe because the name

of our server was Mario, my uncle’s name. This is the moment I

realized that even though I may never be able to see him again,

he’ll always be with me, watching over me.

One day as I was driving down the highway from a

friend’s house, tornado warnings started to flare and the rain and

hail pelted against my car, blurring my vision. With cars swerv-

ing all around me, I became incredibly nervous and calmly said a

prayer asking my Uncle to watch over me and stop the rain for

me for just a few minutes so I could make it home. Right as I said

these words, the rain began to slow and I had no doubt in my

mind he was getting me home safely like I had prayed for.

Have you ever just had a bad day? You go through the motions at

school or work and you just want to go home and shut out the

world? Miraculously, when you get in your car the first song


playing is your favorite song from your favorite day. I bet your

guardian angel knew you needed a pick-me-up.

The simplest of things bring out the best meanings.

Guardian angels give hope. When something as simple as the

weather seems to be completely out of your control, the faith you

invest in them will carry you through. They escort and protect

you through the good and the bad. They make miracles happen.

A simple coincidence or a sign can give hope and I believe

those moments forcing you stop in your tracks are provided by

the population of angels looking after you.

“Best Friend”

By Kelsey Thompson ‘14

I’ve known her forever Since birth I love her so My sister

She is a friend Best friend

We help each other Every day

We hang out together

Every weekend I love her so My sister


“Dancing Bears” By Mary Clare Pelch ‘15

White daisies dolefully kiss your cheeks

as the universe wraps herself around your neck

like a malicious strand of pearls.

Underneath that smile I can see you are drowning

while your insides fervently burn like the relentless sun

in an August sky. And all of this is because

you insist on cradling the entire weight

of an arbitrary world without my assistance.

Mary Clare Pelch ‘15


“A Critique by the Critiquer”

By Madeleine Staley ‘16

Please do not judge me,

Based on my former poem.

It was written in a hurry.

No thought or care was shown.

Blindly it was crafted,

With careless punctuation.

Random, strange vocabulary,

Thrown in random places.

Grammar rules neglected.

No clear moral shown.

Cliché as can possibly be.

Original? How about no.

But I was only a freshman then,

Foolish, young, naive,

Hoping to earn extra credit,

Thinking my poem will go unseen.

But sadly I was wrong,

My atrocious work was chosen,

By “Express the Music” judges,

To be seen, and heard, and spoken.

So yes, you may be asking,

I did create this poem,

For the reason of condemning,

A poem you don’t know.

So please do not judge me,

Based on this odd poem.

Leave the judging to myself,

For the best critics are their own.


“Who Am I” By Reana Elder ‘16

Charles R. Swindoll once said “Life is ten percent what

happens to you, and ninety percent of what you do with it.” I be-lieve my life is a testimony to this, because despite my unfortu-nate past, I have made the best of what I have.

I want to make a difference in the world by becoming a specialized surgeon after attending Harvard. Every since my mom died when I was twelve, I was changed. I went to church consis-tently, and grew to have a closer relationship with God. Now, He is everything and I live to glorify Him. However, I still have a lot of other things that transformed me such as family, happiness, and my attitude.

My family is what motivates me to keep moving forward. I love my siblings and would do anything for them. That is why I continue to stay at Boys Hope Girls Hope, even though I see my family once a month, because I know I will get somewhere in life and will be able to help them. I know in my heart that this is what my mom would want me to do, and she would be very proud of me. Without them I would not have worked as hard as I have.

I want to be happy and maintain a balanced life. I work hard at school, and my goal is to not live up or down to people’s expectations but to do something that I love but did not think was attainable. I love to help others whenever I can, especially those who can’t help themselves. That is why I am going to raise money for Love 146 to help raise awareness about sex trafficking. As well as helping others, I like to mingle and be social because it helps me to create a balance in my life.

I am optimistic, hopeful, mature, loving, caring, and unique. No matter what the situation is, I will try and maintain a smile because I know that things will eventually get better. Some people would look at my life and wonder why I am so happy with the things I have been through, but I look at my life and am thankful for what I have gained from my past.


“Preparation” By Megan Brightfield ‘15

When I was in preschool, pigtails and Velcro shoes

They told me to prepare for Kindergarten, right now or you’ll

lose!

So I tried my hardest and I learned my alphabet

Only to find first grade was right round the corner, wasn’t it?

And I studied well and I studied good

And moved up again to second, found I could

The teachers there told me third was very close

And so I gave my effort a double dose

I pulled out my books on the very first day

And the teacher said fourth is soon, don’t delay!

And I made it to fourth, to fifth, and to sixth

Then found that they told me seventh was in our midst!

I worked myself well to the bone

“High school is soon” to my thoughts they had sewn

Once there, they did not tarry

Of college eminence they made me wary

So here I am, the possibility of the future, I roam it

And I wish so much they’d let me live in the moment


“The Conductor’s Vision” By Emmie Morrison ‘15

In a soundless world, one man had a dream. He dreamed

of an art that would capture the depth of human emotion, to both motivate and provide solace. He would create music, and he would call himself the conductor.

The man set to work in his workshop, handcrafting each instrument. He gifted each with a special sound, and then he breathed life into each instrument. The conductor taught each instrument how to create its unique sound, and he sent each in-strument into a different part of the world. As the instruments matured, each mastered its tone, growing in sensitivity. Each in-strument became a marvel, bringing the joys of sound to deaf ears. All over the world the people became awakened to the beauty of sound, and they started to imitate the instruments they heard. The conductor saw the joy the instruments brought to the people and decided that the instruments were ready. Ready for their ultimate purpose.

The conductor called together the different instruments so they could finally meet one another. The first to arrive to the dark concert hall was the trumpet. Immediately, the trumpet’s eyes fell upon a stage, a very familiar sight. The trumpet climbed onto the stage and began practicing its cadences. When the violin entered and heard the brassy, nasal yelps, the violin was appalled. The violin had never heard such sounds before. In fact, the only sounds the violin had heard were its own music and flattering imitation of its own music. The violin at once leaped onto the stage so it could show the trumpet what real music sounded like, and the violin began its rapid tale of vibratos and trills. Angered that the violin had the audacity to interrupt a perfect perform-ance, the trumpet increased its volume to drown out the violin’s selfish cries. The flute arrived just in time to witness the dueling instruments. Deciding that it could play better than either instru-ment, the flute added its clear puffs to the ruckus. The clarinet, cello, and oboe each entered and tried to assert their dominance.


When the conductor entered the room and saw the fight-ing instruments, he was heartbroken. “Stop!” he yelled. Recogniz-ing their creator, the instruments each jumped up to the conduc-tor, demanding that he declare which instrument was the best. “You each have unique gifts, and none is better than the other,” the conductor assured the instruments.

“How can this be?” asked the oboe. “I am the only music, the only sound my town has ever known. I bring more joy to my people than anything has!”

“So do I!” exclaimed the trumpet. “That’s not possible. I bring the most joy. They can’t even

use vibrato!” accused the violin. “Well, you can’t make a commanding sound even if you

tried!” screamed the trumpet to the violin. The conductor hung his head. “Don’t you see? I have given

you each different sounds not so you could compete but so you could work as one,” explained the conductor.

“How am I supposed to work with him? We are so differ-ent,” said the trumpet, glaring at the violin.

“I will guide you,” told the patient conductor as he handed out sheets of music to the different instruments. The con-ductor raised his baton to signal the beginning of the song, and what resulted was truly a miracle. The instruments stopped fighting to play together. The strings played low notes as the woodwinds carried the melody, and then the conductor signaled the woodwinds to become quieter as the violin swelled. Each in-strument had its own part in the song, and the instruments then understood what the conductor had envisioned. Though the in-struments were very different, they realized that by working to-gether, they could accomplish much more than they could alone.

The next night, the conductor led the instruments in a performance for the people from all over the world. Though the people had heard individual instruments, they had never before heard instruments working in harmony. They were thrilled: The collaboration among instruments brought a whole new dimen-sion to the music. The conductor sighed happily. “This is why I created them,” he thought.


“Just Dance”

By Julie Deibel ‘14

Boys who are not afraid to be silly and dance at school

dances tend to attract the girls. Why? Boys who are not afraid to

dance appeal to girls because their willingness to dance depicts

their confidence. Their dancing also exemplifies that the boys do

not mind looking silly, which is a good sign.

Dancing builds confidence. Not only does dancing show

you have confidence, but the process of becoming a dancer can

build confidence over time. I started dancing when I was three

years old and later quit for a couple years. When I started again I

was no longer one of the best dancers in the class. I had to rebuild

my confidence and the stage helped me. One time I was in the

front row, during a dance, and completely forgot what to do. An-

other time I came on stage an entire count of eight too early.

However, I have learned from these mistakes and have become a

better dancer, which ultimately has helped me build my confi-

dence. The teachers at my dance studio say it is okay if you do the

dance wrong, but do the dance confidently wrong.

I believe in dancing through life. Life is much more stress-

ful than it needs to be! Instead of brooding over what we should

or should not have done, we should keep dancing. We should en-

joy life and not keep wishing for fun future events such as: the

weekend, prom, summer vacation, or college. Dancing through

life can keep you from letting life’s experiences pass by too

quickly, helping you live fully. Take turtles for example. They are

slow, but maybe taking their time is not a bad thing. They seem

to be happy and enjoying life so why not savor their time on

earth? Turtles lay and bask their shells in the sun, happy as can


be without worrying about the future or continually wishing for

more.

Dancing is a break from schoolwork. Sitting down for a

long period of time and studying is not only boring, but also is

pointless. Students should study in increments with stress reliev-

ing activities in between. Having dance class allows me to have

time to step back from homework and school and just enjoy my-

self.

Dancing is exercise. Typically, when I exercise I cannot

wait to be done, but dance is different. Dancing is great because

your friends and the fun music distract you from realizing that

you are exercising.

Dancing is inspiration. Young girls tend to look up to the

“big” girl dancers. “Big” girl dancers tend to look up to profes-

sional dancers. Dancers have the criteria for being inspirational:

confident, fun, athletic, determined. Dancing is an inspirational

sport.

Everyone should have the opportunity to dance!


“A Movie Poster Cover” By Allie Martino ‘14

When I was younger, my mom would tell me never pick a

movie solely off the movie poster cover. I would always pick the

movies that had the most pictures and colors without consider-

ing the other movies. I did not think anything of this when I was

younger but as I got older, I realized my mom was talking about

something more than picking a movie based only on appearance.

On a sunny Friday in April, I was dreading the fact that I

had to go to work. What I did not know was that going to work

that day would change my understanding of my mom’s advice. As

I strolled into work grumpy, I noticed a new boy working. He

was average height, had brown-almost black hair, and brown

eyes. He had an eyebrow piercing along with two earrings. Right

away, I could tell he was different from anyone I had ever met. He

had a bad boy look to him but his voice was hushed like when a

cat glides through a house. After my shift ended, I tried talking to

him, but he was really closed off and shy. He would barely say a

couple words to me so I decided to leave. I vividly remember go-

ing to my friend’s house after work and telling her, “There was a

guy named Giovanni that came to help out at work today, he was

so attractive” and the only thing she said to me was, “Avalos? He

is so weird! Oh my god, I cannot believe you think he’s attrac-

tive.” It was strange that he seemed so normal to me but to her,

he was considered “weird”. I brushed it off considering he did

not really engage in the conversation I tried having with him ear-

lier.

On a Tuesday in May, Gio’s younger brother, Junior, was

working with me. Giovanni’s high school graduation happened

to be the same day. Giovanni came in with his brother in-law to

pick up Junior and of course, I tripped while walking to the


kitchen to find his brother. His brother could not leave yet so I

offered to take him home after he got off work. I took him to a

small white house with a big front yard. Later in the night, Gio-

vanni inboxed me on Facebook thanking me for taking his

brother home. After that, we began talking. He had a unique per-

sonality. He was kind, compassionate, a family person, and loved

soccer. He seemed like a normal 19 year old to me; I did not un-

derstand why my friend thought he was weird. When I first hung

out with him, the same friend who was said he was weird came

with me. I figured it would be awkward but surprisingly it was

not; it was as if I had known him for a long time. I remember my

friend telling me, “He is nothing like he seems at school.” At that

moment, I remembered my mom’s advice on picking out movies,

and I realized that I could not judge someone based on his or her

appearance or from what other people say. I can never know

what a person is like until I give them a chance, just like I do not

know whether a movie is good, bad, funny, or heartfelt, until I

watch it.


“Harmony Woven into Tacos” By Gabrielle Bucchino ‘14

Tacos have many exotic flavors and ingredients and are,

more often than not, messy. It takes harmony for something that

has so many different elements to taste just right, to blend, to

fuse together and create something magical. Even a bad chef can

create a good taco, just as a person in shambles can create har-

mony within his life. Weaving different cultures and walks of life

can create something alluring. We learn that we are more con-

nected with strangers than we could have ever imagined. Finding

a common ground, an interest, a shared passion, creates a bridge

that can only be broken by the very people who created it. Har-

mony is a funny thing. It sneaks into your life unexpectedly, and

usually, escapes drastically.

Bliss comes to me when I see food trucks, specifically taco

trucks, scattered throughout cities. On one particular Sunday

afternoon, I drew near The Flying Burrito taco truck, pondering

which taco to get. Inside my head, the options swirled; chicken?

beef? pork? what toppings? I scrutinized the menu, absorbing all

the options, and became eager. Behind me, a man and his daugh-

ter approached the line. I was still inside my head trying to deci-

pher what taco I longed for, but the little girl captured my atten-

tion. This daddy-daughter duo was behind me in line at one of my

favorite places on earth, and I could not help but imagine what

brought them there. Why had we crossed paths? I imagined the

little girl simply asking her father for lunch, and with that effort-

less request, they came to The Flying Burrito. But, there is more

to this simple interaction. I found myself wanting to know their

story, and to see what makes them, them. As the taco man sum-

moned me with “Next, please. Keep the line moving folks,” my


thoughts dissipated. But my want, my need for harmony re-

mained.

Questioning those around me is a blessing in disguise. It

helps me expand myself, and acknowledge that I am not the only

one in this world. When life becomes mundane, and I’m lacking

harmony within my life, I take an outing to my taco truck. Al-

though this doesn’t always suffice, it helps me understand that

harmony is attainable. I have hopes that maybe one day I will

start a conversation with the person behind me, conceiving my

own harmony.

A craving for harmony, a craving for tacos, we all want it,

we look to be satisfied sometimes in ways that are unconstitu-

tional. Why go to Taco Bell when Hacienda is right down the

street? The same reason you find tranquility in doing those things

your parents told you not to do. It arouses a feeling of freedom

within us. We do the worst, to create the best for us. We are at-

tracted to harmony. We are attracted to tacos.


“Lungs Lined in Dust” By Katie Hughes ‘14

I don’t breathe for the sake

Of life itself

For that if I don’t, my cheeks

Will turn red and my lips

As blue as my eyes

That begin to roll back

As if straining to see the neurons

Screaming in my brain for

That precious oxygen.

Each breathe I take is a distraction

From the lack of color

In my emotionless lips and

Cold, statuesque cheeks.

Each breathe draws my attention

From the dull world I

Stare blankly into

Day in and day out.

That rush of air into my lungs

Like the blowing of

Dust that glitters and shines

In morning light streaming through the window

After long nights of

Such tiresome sleeplessness.

Something so dull and drab

Made captivating enough to forget

Its reality.


“Falling Leaf”

By Kathleen Doherty ‘14

The first leaf of fall broke off from the tree today. It came from the

old oak tree in my back yard, and it was the only leaf that was in

the process of spiraling its way toward the grassy earth- the first

of the season. Fluttering in the light breeze, the leaf seemed to be

an early bloomer, for although autumn was on its way, we still

had a few weeks of September left in the year. The leaf gracefully

wavered as the chilly air teetered it back and forth, making the

fall last for a few long seconds. It seemed to dance. Although

death had begun to take over its now limited life, the leaf seemed

much livelier than I had ever seen any leaf before. Its tips were

now crackled and ridged, as if the ends had been lit on fire or

dipped in a sharp orange paint. That classic autumn color then

faded to a warm yellow, and then to its signature green where its

youth was once generated near its veins. It twirled and spun and

plunged; down, down, down until finally it gently skimmed the

fading summer grass. As if old friends, the leaf wedged itself in

between the grass’s blades, as if understanding that they were

both on their way to “grow old” together.


“Girl’s Best Friend”

By Holly Hildebrand ‘14

I am not one to be sentimental about the past but when I

talk about my little shadow, I cannot help but remember my

short four-legged best friend in a wonderful way. Indy was not

just my family’s dog, he was mine. He had the softest black,

brown, and white hair that puffed out like a cotton ball and ears

that perked up when he was happy. Like me in so many ways,

Indy was energetic but docile, sweet but fierce, and always happy

to please.

Indy was the kind of dog that loved to go on walks. He

would grab his own leash and walk himself. However, his walk

was not just a normal walk; he had a certain trot that he would

employ as we embarked down the street. He would puff his

white chest out, like a majestic king, and put his nose in the air.

While he trotted down the street, his long hair on his sides

would flop up and down with each enthusiastic step he took. The

slack in the leash was almost never existent, making it taught he

would lead me down the street. He was determined to be the

leader of the pack. If we were not on a walk, he would spend his

day lying in my driveway, waiting for any wildlife to pass, a deer

or a squirrel. No matter how fast he ran, he always seemed to

stop at the end of the yard and come prancing back as if he had

protected his domain.

Other than protecting our property, Indy was good about

protecting me. I was born after my mom adopted Indy and when

my parents brought me home from the hospital, Indy took it

upon himself to be my protector. When people came to visit my

family, Indy was never more than a few feet from me. He some-

times would growl at men when they tried to hold me but he


never barked. Sometimes, my parents would lay me down on a

blanket and Indy would even cuddle into my side and be my pil-

low.

Indy was also an impressively smart dog. My dad taught

Indy many tricks, such as shake hands, sit pretty, and he could

make Indy sit with a treat on his nose, for what seemed like an

eternity to Indy. Indy always enjoyed a trick that got him re-

wards. He would be on one side of the house and I would be in

another; I would open his treat jar, which talked, and he would

come running as fast as he could until he found me.

Indy was also very good about finding his way home after

an expedition, whether it be to the neighbor’s or into the woods.

However, there was one instance when he was a little too far

from home. During deer hunting season, my family and I travel to

stay in our Arkansas house. Occasionally, my cousins would stay

with us and we would make a family reunion out of it.

One night when everyone was in our living room, my baby

cousin, about three years old, was playing around Indy when my

dad said,

“Jack, be careful around Indy; he is getting old and doesn’t

like to be bothered.”

Jack loved to jump around and play with his trucks. He

had the cutest blonde hair that reminded me of a cashmere blan-

ket.

Jack yelled back, “Okay, Uncle Charlie!”

After a few minutes, Jack had already forgotten that he

was not supposed to be running around and jumping by Indy,

who was becoming increasingly agitated.

“Jack, you’re not being careful”, my dad tried to simply

remind Jack.


No sooner than my dad could finish his sentence, Jack

was flopping down onto Indy. Unaware that Jack meant no harm

to him, Indy quickly snapped at him. Catching his ear, Indy bit

into Jack, drawing blood. Next, before anything further could

take place, my aunt snatched Jack up and my dad had grabbed

Indy by the fat behind his neck. Jack was almost in a state of

shock and it did not take more than thirty seconds for Jack to

enact his full-blown toddler cry. My aunt was doing her nest to

comfort Jack but also try to stop Uncle Charlie before Indy got

the brunt of his anger.

Taking Indy outside, my dad firmly raised his voice and

roared, “BAD DOG!”

With that, Indy took off into the distance with my dad

running after. Almost as if Indy had a second gear, he picked up

speed and left my dad standing in the street, stunned that his dog

that never went very far was commencing a journey that would

change his life forever. For the next few hours, my dad searched

for Indy.

Unfortunately, after five or six painstaking hours, my dad

to retreat to our house and pack for our departure the next day.

This meant we had to leave Indy behind in Arkansas’s wilderness

with flyers and cousins looking for him. Days and weeks passed

and I began to lose hope of ever seeing my little shadow again.

At the local hospital, a farmer worked as a nighttime jani-

tor, where we had posted flyers of Indy. When working in his

field one day, the farmer saw a black dot in the distance stand up

and walk a few feet then fall down for about an hour. Then the

dot would stand up and walk a few more feet, only to continue

the pattern and fall back down again. He watched this go on for

hours. When his work was done for the day, he went to investi-

gate the tiny dot. Approaching the dot, it got bigger and bigger


until the farmer found himself standing before a sickly, scratched

up dog that looked like he was back from the dead. Remembering

the flyer we hung in the hospital, he went into work that night

and called my aunt and uncle, whose number was given as the

contact information.

“Ma’am, I believe that I have found your dog.”

“Oh, that is so kind of you, but he has been gone twenty-

four days. He needed medication for seizures. There…there is no

way that you can have our dog.” My aunt’s shoulders curved in

and her head hung low.

“Well, I think you should come out and take a look,” he

stated trying to reinforce the idea that this could be my dog.

Preparing herself for just another ruse to get the reward

money, my aunt went to the neighbor of the farmer, who was tak-

ing care of the dilapidated creature. Hesitating, she was skeptical

of this dog. There had been so many calls from people just look-

ing for the reward money. My aunt had even had a call from a

couple who was trying to convince us that a small tabby cat was

my fluffy sheltie.

When she pulled into the driveway, she saw a tiny Sheltie

lying on the creaky front wooden porch. Disturbed by the sight of

this poor dog, my aunt was unsure that it was actually Indy.

Calling my dad, she broke then news. “Charlie, there is a

man here who thinks he has Indy, but I don’t think it is him.”

“There is one way to tell, ask him to shake your hand,” my

dad stated. He knew this would be a sure sign.

My aunt bent down to the dog and asked, “Shake?” With

no response, she proposed the question again. This time the

phone dropped and she began to sob. After regaining composure,

she picked up the phone and told my dad that it was Indy and


that he shook her hand. Within the hour, my dad had booked a

flight to Little Rock, Arkansas. He was on his way to get my Indy.

Arriving to town, he rented a car and sped to the address

of the woman taking care of Indy. She was a small, yellow, nico-

tine infested woman, with nearly twenty-five cats. Walking up to

the porch, my dad met eyes with Indy and his tail began to move,

just a slight wag. Indy was nothing like what a small sheltie, that

has lived in comfort his whole life, should look like. He had mag-

gots taking refuge in his ripped flesh from the fights he had been

in with other animals. The pads on his feet were worn to the

bone and were nearly non-existence. Matted tail in all, Indy lay as

still as a corpse.

“That was one hungry dog,” the smoking woman said. “He

ate three cans of cat food.”

“Thank you”, my dad muttered through his choked up

throat. His eyes misting up, this was something that did not hap-

pen often to the man that I saw to be the strongest most stoic

person in my life.

Giving her the reward money and taking Indy cautiously

into his arms, my dad laid Indy into the front seat of the rental

car. Within a few seconds of sharing the car with the dying dog,

my dad had to roll the windows down in thirty-degree weather

in order to be able to drive Indy the seven hours home. The smell

was so potent that even with the windows rolled down; my dad

still had to muster up enough strength to prevent his breakfast

from reappearing.

Once back in Saint Louis, my dad took Indy to a veteri-

narian who was also a friend from high school.

“Charlie, this is not going to be easy to save this dog.”

“Do what you have to do. My daughter needs this dog to

come home.”


Dr. Kersting was right. After countless hours of surgery

and the cleaning of wounds, Indy was home and given time to

recover and rest. Although he was supposed to be left alone to

heal, I could not help myself from giving him all the love that he

missed while he was lost. It was hard to tell that my Indy was

under all the white bandages. When I saw him for the first time,

it was all I could do not to squeeze his tiny, malnourished body. I

held him for a few hours, where he fit perfectly into my chest. He

did not refuse the human contact that he had desperately desired

while he was on his adventure.

Making an almost full physical recovery, Indy started to

be his happy, energetic, playful self again. However, he truly was

not the same Indy we had taken to Arkansas nearly a month

prior. Food took on a completely new meaning and he virtually

inhaled it when he got the chance. When we went on walks,

which he did still enjoy, he was never more than a few feet from

me. Nevertheless, my determined dog was home and I had my

shadow back.

Chase Enright ‘16


“Some Days”

By Mary O’Brien ‘16

Some days I think I want to be someone else

But I accept who I am so I live with myself

Why's the world push for perfection, but condemn whatever

comes close

And what is perfection if it's unattainable

Is perfection only judged on how many problems we hide

No one knows the truth but the world says that’s alright

So who am I?

In the eye of the world

Who am I?

What makes the “perfect girl”

I'm Not this twisted portrait painted on These walls

Does it even matter who I say I am when Destiny calls

And does the world define me

or do I define the world

"Who am I?” I once asked the world

The world did not answer

The world did not know

Because I did not conform to worldly perfection.

But questioned the answers.


“Box of Hearts”

By Anonymous

If you looked under your bed

Through the millions of boxes

You’d find my heart

If you open it you’ll see your prize

A note will fall to the ground

It will tell you the rules

To keep mine you must give yours in return

I fell asleep that night to the comforting sound of your heart beat

It did not take long for the sound to stop

You couldn’t sleep the noise was too loud

To make it better you insisted it was her instead of me

I looked under my bed

I found one box

I crawled under and dragged it out

Your heart was missing

My heart’s missing too

Please return


“Power to the She” By Nora Salmon ‘14

I’m a bitch, and I’m proud— I reserve the right to wear

Pants that are tight. It’s not for your benefit

Or an opportunity to admire The 1,870 squats I did in the month of

January. It’s for me.

You can’t tame, control, hinder, destroy The unconquerable force of rock-n-roll

That stirs my spirit And makes me sing.

And sing I do, Loud and annoying, my “Polly Wants A Cracker!” refrain.

Because I want respect And deserve it, too.

When a man is loud, he’s assertive When I’m loud, I’m obnoxious, bossy. When a man takes control, he’s a leader.

But I’m a bitch. All right: I’m a bitch! So be it.

Let’s redefine all the words men use to hide behind:

Bitch, slut, whore, c— I’ll wear them like iron-on patches peeling off my ripped jean jackets. It’s not about rad!fem misandry or

Power over males It’s about setting our true selves free—and I’m a bitch,

So let me be.


“Frosted Rose Petals” By Katie Hughes ‘14

The dead have kissed My blue, trembling lips

And it breathed new life into me. Their lips like frosted rose petals

Soft, delicate, and brittle, But ever so sweet.

There was no malice, no Masochism in their touch. The kiss of the lifeless is one Of longing for what had been, Or what could have been. It is a bittersweet attempt

To feel as they shall never feel again. And as their lips left mine

A new sort of taste filled my mouth. It was not that of disgust, or Even that of disappointment.

No, it was the taste of adventure, Of excitement and anticipation

For what’s to come On the life’s road ahead. It was the taste of intent To do all that I want and All that i need to do, So that in my death

I need not kiss the living Because I have already

Kissed the life out of life itself.


“Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra, Movement IV”

By Mikaela Schutte ‘14

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times with the

hazy, heavy feeling in his eyes as if he just woke from winter hi-

bernation. The sun was bright that day. The air had a crisp edge

that urges a person to seize the day because weather that com-

fortable does not last, at least not in this world. He felt warm ly-

ing there in the soft, emerald grass with the sun toasting his face

and bare arms, but the light breeze cooling his skin like a lover’s

soft breath before the heat got too unbearable.

This man-boy was not an adolescent, not yet an adult, but

a being somewhere in between the two, a place some are stuck

forever until they find a reason to live. Coming to his senses and

assessing his surroundings, the man-boy supported himself on his

elbows and tilted his head back as if to soak up the sun’s rays like

the flow from a waterfall. Blinking again, in full sobriety now af-

ter the drowsiness, turned over into a prone position and put his

face in the grass and inhaled deeply, absorbing the earth with his

face and the sky with his back.

When people come to this place, this world, they have

little memory of the world before, fully encompassed by the emo-

tions and urges of the invisible buzz around them. Yet, the man-

boy, like all who come here, glanced around himself and, though

he had a little fear in his heart, the thickest, deepest core of any

humans’ being, the man-boy said, “This place is good.”

Startled at his first words in this world, here human

voices sound much different from their previous world, he stood

up and raised his arms in the air. The wind blew through the

trees to his right, sounding like the surges and tides of ocean

waves mixed with all the animals of the sea talking to one an-


other in a crazed discussion, scaring the man-boy. He began to

try out his legs on this world and ran. Before coming to a stop

from lack of breath, he took one final sprint, which he soon

learned that on this world, allows humans to soar into the sky

like a bird. Little did he know, humans assumed all capabilities of

animals in this world from the birds in the fresh sky to the fish in

the saltiest seas.



“Jaw Dropping Sunsets”

By Ashlyn Hoock ‘14

Sunsets are bittersweet. Sunsets are mesmerizing. Sunsets

are the keys to my unspoken dreams and memories. They appear

in a soft, almost unheard kind of whisper. They grant one mo-

ment of warmth right before darkness invades the sky. Sunsets

are the true sign one day has come to an end but the next is right

around the corner. They are always there to remind me of life,

change and death. Most importantly, sunsets provide me with a

sense of calmness while remaining completely unknown. Fur-

thermore, sunsets are a more than just pretty to me.

Twice a year my family vacations to Grand Cayman Islands, home

of the most beautiful sunsets (in my opinion.) We stand together

on the beach with our toes lightly touched by sand and flowing

water. In the evenings, we look up into the majestic sky to see

the flash of light right before the sun disappears. I smile widely.

Then I realize one amazing day is gone and soon I will have to

return home.

Parts of the sunset guide me as if I have an exact purpose

in this life. They are the answers to all of my long-thought ques-

tions. Clouds float into the air but at this moment they are only

significant in guiding the colors of the sun. No rain clouds in

sight, no sign to be scared. Life is a rollercoaster and sunsets help

me push through difficulties in stride.

I hold the memories of my father in my heart. We do not

speak anymore. And as I grow older I grow farther apart from

him. At dusk when the sun sets I am reminded of the adventures I

once had with my father. When I was younger and life was so

innocent. I did not know the difference and was just happy riding

my bike, hiking, playing with Barbies, and watching goofy


movies.

In my own family, my mother is the sunset. She had me

whenever she was only eighteen years old. She is a definite exam-

ple of overcoming what life throws at you while achieving your

dreams. After I was born, she continued to swim at a Division I

college level and graduate from the University of Illinois with a

major in Finance. We have truly grown together, sharing and

cherishing every moment. Even though she is always there to pro-

vide me with comfort, she addresses the craziness of life in com-

plete zest and uniqueness. When I was younger and begged to

play outside, she told me, “Be home by sunset.” And I remember

running home just so we could watch it together. No matter

where travel takes me, I can find comfort in a sunset.


“The Queen of Isolation” By Julia Biehle, ‘17

This place I’m in is dark, A dark, long tunnel with no light at the end, Sometimes I think death would be easier,

But that is cruel and cowardly fate.

Late at night, I hear voices in my head, They call out to me,

Asking me to join in their suffering, Commanding me to endure with them.

When there is light, there are different voices,

Real voices that speak the wicked truth, They taunt me unknowingly,

Not realizing the pain their words bring.

The real voices speak of friendship, But I know they are lying,

The hatred they keep a secret, The venom they speak not to my face.

I call myself the Queen of the lonely realm I’ve built, The walls I have cemented around a heart of glass,

A poor excuse of a heart, A heart that can never fully love again.

I once was kind, Of this I swear,

But the pain of the world has taken it from me, No, that is a lie, I brought it upon myself.


I am like a tornado, In my wake I leave only upheaval,

People may dislike me, But I hate me.

I am now cold,

I bring only pain and sadness, Death and I brush hands on occasion,

The Dark One and the Queen of Isolation.

“I Cannot Recede My Heart”

By Ashley Taylor ‘14

He said, “I love you.”

You are far more beautiful than I will ever know.

Please do not recede from my view,

The beating of my heart only continues to grow.

Your eyes shine bright,

I hope to never be far apart.

You sparkle in the night,

You had me hooked from the start.


“Bearing Heart” By Brenna Reilly ‘14

“Please don’t break me”

She whispers to the boy who lives across the street

Without missing a beat

A promise was made

She felt as though she grew in size

With the boy’s love she soared through the sky

Never wanting to come down

She was fragile like glass

He carried her with care

They joined together

Nestled in each other’s chests

She was the large red apple high in the tree

She felt his hand tightly grasp her

He cherished in her warmth

Without any warning she felt herself break

She was in a million pieces

But somehow she was still completely whole

She still had to go on

She still didn’t skip a beat

She felt as though she was missing

She was empty

Still living and breathing

Without a purpose

This process repeated through the years

Finally she met someone who accepted all her invisible cracks

He never let her break


“Handing My Life to God” By Katy Kurowski ‘14

As human beings, we contain something that sets us apart

from other animals; we have hands. Our hands are what make us unique. They allow us to reach up and grab what we need, wave to a friend, or simply hold someone else’s hand.

Hands are very important, and so is my faith. Throughout the years, my parents have raised me to be Catholic. I was never very grateful for that until sophomore year. I took my faith for granted, like I do with my hands. I struggled to find God and the beauty in myself.

Sophomore year, that all changed. I was standing up dur-ing adoration in the gym with 3,000 other teenagers all gathered for one purpose; to deepen their faith in God. Their voices rang out through the loud music. Looking up, I realized the mon-strance was right in front of me. Awe struck, I fell to my knees. Hands wide open, I reached up and found my faith.

Faith is like our hands. They can reach out and touch the things God made. They allow us to grab a better understanding of ourselves. We can hold onto His creation and deepen our faith.

Each finger represents a stage in our faith. The pinky is the smallest, for the times we have little to no faith. The two fin-gers beside the middle finger are slightly larger than our pinky because they show our growing and undying love for him. Our thumb is one of the smaller, but more important fingers. Our thumb is the anchor that holds us together. Although our thumb may be small, it can be mighty too.

I have always taken my hands and faith for granted. Now that I am older and have experienced different things, I realize how important both these things are to me. Life would be diffi-cult to live without either of these.

I believe in faith. I believe faith anchors us to the ground like gravity, holding us in place until we are ready to go.


“The King” By Christa Waterwiese ‘15

Ancient stone walls stacked fit together like a jigsaw puz-

zle. They remain sealed together by dark grey mortar that has been cracked by time. Tapestries are hung at the top of the vaulted ceiling and now reach the worn bricks of the floor with hundreds of names stitched upon their wool surface. Family crests emblazed on these standards are ancient and many faded, ended by blood. Rows of columns line down from the door until they kneel at the stone pedestal, the throne. A simple wooden chair hunkers on this slightly raised platform and a worn red vel-vet cushion barely comforts it’s patron from the harsh wooden splinters of the kings before. Mistakes are felt through every gen-eration. The Great Hall is empty today and silence can easily be heard throughout the kingdom. Not even the blacken crow dares to shriek. Through the lightened stained glass widow the Palace courtyard is empty too and covered with a slush of grey snow. Only a hawk flies over the desuetude like a comet of night.

The Kingdom has been at war for fifteen years. Fifteen years of death, pain, and anguish that have plagued the people as the fight for control of the crown has waged across the country. Today is silent and the people know. An eerie sense floats and emotions are spread in the air like the ancient plague. Darkness lurks and loiters around the Castle for the time to wage siege. Death knocks at the door and stands holding his glistening scythe.

While the sense of forbidden glazes over the land His feet are propped on the chair and hands are folded on his rather large stomach. The Queen is perfectly seated on the chair across and the small table lies between. For the last 38 years the pair has ruled over the citizens of the Kingdom. The influx of breath is held in His mouth and the Queen’s long sinewy fingers move a piece on the board. The game is chess. Running through the King’s mind are images of victory, something that in their long years of marriage has never happened. Hope was gone until this moment, He believed she has committed her first and final mis-


take in their hours long game. Her gentle hands leave the piece and she quickly conceals a smile that had crept onto her slightly smug face. She moves a strand of pale yellow hair behind her ear and tugs lightly at her long woven plait. She knows. A small smile graces the Queen’s lips and she nods her head in fake consent. But He is too bemused in his assumed victory to comprehend the patronizing tilt of her head.

The King grandly lifts up the peace that will grant his en-viable win and slams it down on the ivory board. The pieces shake but none have fallen yet, the King still stands. His face con-torts into one of smug satisfaction over his victorious and soon to be crowning achievement. As He begins to stand to cheer His eyes widen and the realization of this moment enters His mind. He is still half standing as the Queen slowly and graceful moves her index finger over the width of the board. The King tumbles down. The white piece rolls and falls to the floor and her hand retreats to its position on her lap. His face falls as his body does too and stares blankly ahead as He slumps back down into his chair. The loud hump echoes throughout the empty rooms. The Queen moves her traitorous hand and uses it to hold the weight of her head as she looks to her husband with a furrowed eyebrow.

The King looks into his wife’s eyes. He knew He was lucky to have her. If it were not for the Queen the war may have ended years earlier with his blood dripping from a spike in the marketplace. But lately, He realizes that her usually cheerful de-meanor has been absent and her smiling face has fallen. But he knows why. They are coming, they are getting closer, and her mind often strays to efforts to win the battle of ancient years. But even she is getting tired.

The two link arms and exit the room. But forgotten on the floor is the lonely white King, left behind, still rolling across the carpet. For weeks the piece is left alone but its continuous circle eventually stops as the floor is shaken and projectiles hit the old stone walls. Ladders lean against the castle and towers move closer like lionesses on the eldest antelope. The silence of the room is broken not by the cries outside but by the voice of The King as he storms into the room and slams the mahogany doors.


His voice shrieks out and clutched in his hand is parch-ment with the signature of death, a parchment of treason and threat against His family. In agony he crumples the paper and tosses it onto the ground. The paper spirals down, unable to float, and lands atop the chess piece. The white king now has a castle. He mutters under his breath as he paces around the room. His hand shifts the sword buckled onto his belt. Dark circles the color of shade shine and paint the image of a rabid raccoon. His eyes are red and strained and his hair is tossed and pulled.

He continues to mutter and wring his hands but suddenly stops pacing and falls to the floor, slumped onto his knees and gazes not at the ceiling but beyond. He screams upwards and falls from his knees and his head descends heavily next to the crumpled paper. As his large hand picks up the offending docu-ment the white king rolls from its protective layers.

“The King has fallen.” He breathes out, barely audible. “The King has fallen, the King has fallen. The King must save the people.”

He gathers himself from the darkness of the floor and leans all his weight against the sturdy table. Upon its surface still resides the ivory board still set free from the last game. His hand slowly reaches across the board. His index finger protrudes from his fist and shakes. A steady hand was lost weeks ago. His hand quivers as it hovers above the opulent board. A tear rolls from his eye and his eye rest upon the pieces “I have to kill them. I have to end the blood line. I have to end this war.” Tears pour from his eyes and blind his lost vision. “I love you.” He knocks down the Queen.


“distinctions” By Nora Salmon ‘14

I’m kanye aristotle jesus

van gogh jim morrison

freddie mercury harriet beecher stowe

artemis hendrix

ralph lauren I’m an iPhone 6s

You’re the bird crap on my car

my toilet bowl a dirty tampon a banana peel

100 thread count sheets pleather, leopard-print car seats

You’re Sprint



“My Umbrella” by Abby Kielty ‘14

Sprawling, safe, and dry

Blooming like a sunflower on a stormy night

Hibernating in the closet, waiting for its debut

Waterproof, Willowy, and Whimsical

Used as a prop while I tango in the rain

In my hands, it is the ultimate dancing companion

Sturdy, stoic, and strong

Beating the strange man that approaches me

Left on the street as a run for my life

Soaring, Lost, and Sad

Aimlessly billowing through the wind

Landing on the doorstep of one who could never love it the way I

did

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