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Copyright © 2015 by the Satellite High Journalism Program

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other

electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or indivgidual contributors, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical

reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY SHANE ANTUN, 11EDGAR ALLEN POE

“A dead tree becomes a resting place for a group of crows.”

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A SHORT STORY BY SOFIA CAPRARO, 11

Long ago, in lands much like the ones we roam today, there lived a family of hunters. What did they hunt? You know the stories you’re told as a child, the one’s with the daring dragons, haunted mansions, and quixotic knights? They’re all true, every single one. However, this is not the cynosure of our story. Our story is about a girl by the name of Elise. The youngest and by far smallest of her family, she stood just 5’0 and had only 15 years to her name. Wildly brilliant and dar-ingly brave, Elise was often underestimated for her stature. Strolling the woods as she did each and every morning, she began daydreaming about her future as a hunter. She’d begun training of course, but the only hunt she’d ever been on was that of a rogue witch, which was anything but thrilling. As she was sarcastically reciting her lessons, she sudden-ly spotted a bright object coming from the edge of the wood. Hurriedly, she sprinted to-wards the treasure without a care to check her surroundings, a common flaw Elise’s mother constantly reminded her of; her flippant urge to chase danger. Her mother’s cool voice rang in the back of her mind. “Elise Victoria Rye! Why are you always running after perils you know you cannot face?” She ignored the nagging and pursued. Nearing the shimmering object, she gasped as the sight of a pile of gold jewelry lying hidden in the underbrush. Why would anyone abandon such riches? Elise knew she should notify her mother of the strange dis-covery, but she was well aware of her moth-er’s tendency to overreaction, and quite hon-estly was not in the mood for a lecture. She gathered the gold in her knapsack and took off towards the village. The village in question was about a mile down the path from Elise’s family

home and quite a poor excuse for a village it was. Five buildings standing adjacent to one another were all that made up this so called community. The streets were lined with cracked stone and each and every es-tablishment looked as if it’s wood structure could crack forcing the whole establishment to topple at once into a desolate pile of dust. However dismal it may seem this little town was Elise’s favorite place in the world. That is to say her favorite place in the world that she had seen, which to be truthful was a star-tling small sector. Only one thing was on her mind, one thing if you didn’t count the persistent nagging tones of her mother that never ceased to make its presence clear. She had to find Leo. Leo, whom Elise had known for over half her life, was a man well read in all things hunting related. A man of sixty-five with stark white hair and a bit more than an appreciation for spirits, Leo had spent his lifetime collecting and studying every folk-lore book he could get his aged hands on. Leo was an expert on everything from ghouls to vampires and he was just the person Elise needed to help her with her hunt. Rounding the final stretch of the com-pact town she slid into the small property aptly titled Omnia. Being well versed in Latin, which coincided with her lessons, she had no trouble distinguishing the brief designation which told that the shop’s name was simply all; and all it was. In the cramped corners the emporium stood books, groceries, clothing, and a small box for post. Elise uttered a quick hello to the shopkeeper and headed straight for Leo’s office which was surrounded by an arch of seemingly suspended books. “Well, well, well, what has my favorite little hunter scrounged up this time?” persist-ed Leo, as a wide grin stretched across his aged face. I dictated my entire story from be

WHEN HUNTING ALONE

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ginning to end, leaving out the mother nag-ging part because her and Leo were good friends and like I had said before I just wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. After my story had ended Leo sat for a long while with a quizzi-cal stare which held a million thoughts I could not distinguish. Suddenly he erupted from his chair and ran to the back of his room, nearly knocking over two stacks of literature in the process. He grabbed a book and with a flash returned with an air of excitement. There was no way. Simply no way at all. I refused to believe it. The title he had so viciously collected was utterly impossible. Absolutely not. I, at merely fifteen years of age, had not stumbled upon the remnants of a dragon’s treasure. Had I? “Oh child you certainly have brought me something this time! I’ve heard scuttle-butt about the possibility of dragons in these parts, but I never would have thought I’d ac-tually see the treasure of one!” Leo frantically flipped the pages of the book until he landed on the centerfold, which held vast amounts of information on dragon habits. Right then I knew I’d gotten myself into something too dangerous. Dragons! Really Elise? I mean I know I wanted adventure, but maybe a were-wolf or a vengeful spirit, not a dragon. Moth-er would be furious! Mother would be furi-ous, maybe, or maybe if I tracked the dragon she would be proud. I’ll go with proud. “Thanks Leo!” I managed while sprint-ing for the door. I ran as quickly as my feet would take me, all the while hearing Leo’s warning coming from the distant shop. I sprang into action articulating a full proof plan and packing for the long journey ahead. I told mother that I’d signed up for a three day lesson camp at the nearby school, and her eyes lit up. I felt bad, but I knew she’d be ecstatic as soon as I’d shown her all that I’d

discovered. I set off. Just a girl and her thoughts, and about an hour later, a girl, her thoughts, and about fifty mosquito bites. This was sup-posed to be a glamorous journey like in the fairy tales, but alas I was trekking through the bug infested woods thinking about how I could really uses some salve to stop the in-tense itching. As I was walking I noticed continu-ous strands of jewelry scattered throughout the woods, almost leaving a path straight to the dragon. Hunting was so easy. Sudden-ly, a shadow flew across the treeline sending a chill hurtling through my spine. I glanced around in the failing light. Nothing, then an-other shadow from the opposite side circled me and vanished. Lessons and lectures were sounding pretty good right about now. From the darkness I heard a low whining growl and saw a sudden flash of firelight. The moun-tainous shadow approached my trembling figure I raised my hands in defense feeling a sudden sense of dread forming a pit in my stomach. A flash of light burst through my line of vision and…! I saw the bright sun gleaming through the uncovered windows, and my mother hastily gathering my lesson plans. I felt the soft brush of my blankets and warm reassur-ance of my bed. It was all a dream? “Elise I’m not going to tell you again! You were supposed to begin lesson plans an hour ago. You better be up in five minutes young lady or no training for a week!”I glanced at my mother, a new appreciation for her constant lecturing and nagging. “I love you mom.” I responded with a bright smile.

A SHORT STORY BY SOFIA CAPRARO, 11WHEN HUNTING ALONE

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY SOFIA CAPRARO, 11REFLECTIONS

“Sunset over the Grand Canal.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY CATHERINE CERESKA, 12ADVENTURE

“The best things in life are free, so go adventure and smile the days away.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY CATHERINE CERESKA, 12PALMS

“What a perfect day”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY CATHERINE CERESKA, 12PHASES

“The blood moons phases though the night.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEPHEN CRIPPS, 12DAWN PATROL

“Dawn Patrol at Paradise Beach.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEPHEN CRIPPS, 12SKY ILLUMINATED BY THE COMING SUN

“Moments before sunrise at Paradise”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEPHEN CRIPPS, 12SUNRISE OF THE LAUNCH

“Sun peeks through clouds before rocket launch”

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Gentle currents twist and swirl about lifeWaves suck and caress creatures of the reefUnder the surface they swim without strife

Peace and tranquil about the wet motif

The depths call to them with a dark despairAn aged wisdom of the sunken hunter

Feels the vibrations of a disrepairA beast awakens to creature’s blunder

Harsh panic slices through the horrifiedSurge of terror peels away rationale

Death soon arrives to meet his blushing brideThe deep again claims the surface morale

Darkness takes its hold on the promised landAcceptance moves across the sifting sand

POETRY BY STEPHEN CRIPPS, 12THE DARKNESS

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POETRY BY STEPHEN CRIPPS, 12

(Denial)One in the mourning

Don’t need to begin this yetIt is in the bag

(Anger)Two in the mourning

Should have finished during classSleep is for the weak

(Bargaining)Three in the mourning

Three hours of sleep right nowWith one hour of hell

(Depression)Four in the mourning

It cannot be done this fastHopelessness has come

(Acceptance)Five in the mourningIt is finally completeWhat a masterpiece

THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY ALI EARNEST, 11AU NATURAL

“A lone pepper on a branch. Taken on a Canon Rebel T3 in the garden.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY ALI EARNEST, 11FRESH

“A fresh bunch of flowers still dripping with morning dew. Taken on a Canon Rebel T3.”

POETRY BY ALI EARNEST, 11NONCONFORMIST

Don’t do meI’ll do me.

Don’t tell me to do meI won’t tell you to do you.

What I am is who I amwhat you are is irrelevant.Don’t tell me what to do

not at all not at all.You don’t know what’s best for me

but I doand even if I don’t I’ll find out soon.

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SHORT STORY BY SHERIDAN ECKER, 11DIRTY HANDS

Presley K. Burns was a kind, honorable, forthright young girl, filled with integrity, and she had dirt on her hands. Her mother would have had a conniption if she could see them. Her mother was a very precise, tidy woman, who kept her hair out of her face, and her nails perfectly neat. She liked her clothes to be fresh and pressed, and tried to instill that cleanness in her children.It had not quite worked out that way. Her fingernails were only dirty because she was being a Good Samaritan. She had volunteered at not only one, but two community garden drives, and was heading toward the second. Presley worked her way through the dense outcropping of trees with her friend, Oakley, and Oakley’s boyfriend, Todd. Todd was nice—at six foot one, with sproingy blond hair, and eyes that exuded contentment, he wasn’t too harsh on the eyes either, Presley couldn’t help thinking as he made a joke involving squirrels and rifles. She adored rifles. Squirrels, not so much; she had been bitten, once, when she was five and the pain hadn’t been terrible, but the days spent being inspected in the hospitable had. Her mother had done one good thing for her when she got home, though—she had taught her how to shoot things out of trees. Presley had never shot a living organism, but target practice was pleasing enough. As Todd made a gun out of his fingers and kapowed it at the tree, she figured the same was true of him. She didn’t know why, but the feeling was there, and sometimes, feelings were enough. “God Todd,” Oakley was saying, and Presley turned her head to watch Oakley lean against Todd’s bicep. “What is your vendetta against squirrels? I’ve never understood it.” He flailed the arm that she wasn’t leaning against. “They’re terrible! They’re honest-ly the worse thing on the earth, like probably worse than fascism.” Oakley rolled her eyes theatrically, though she was clearly entertained. “Okay,” he conceded, “maybe not that bad, but pretty dang close. They can give you rabies! Right, Pres? They suck, right?” he asked her, kicking up the fall leaves. She ignored the blood in her veins swooshing when he said Pres. “Well, duh. Aren’t all vermin basically the scum of the Earth?” “Not mice,” he said gravely. “Mice are wonderful.” She laughed, and he cracked a grin. Oakley rolled her eyes again. “Mice are not won-derful, Toddie; you’re just insane.” He clutched his heart and made some dramatic comment, but all Presley could think was, He hates being called Toddie. Absolutely hates it. Did Oakley not know that? Had she never paid attention when he complained about it all the time? Or did she just not care? Or, worse: did he not mind when Oakley called him that? She was a mess. Todd asked her a question and she blinked twice to clear her head.Oakley just stared at her as she laughed out an excuse. The trees really were huge, though, and the dirt really was soft, and yes, when Todd was staring her right in the eye with a stu-pid little grin, he really was beautiful.

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SHORT STORY BY SHERIDAN ECKER, 11DIRTY HANDS

“Hey, we’re almost there Pres,” Oakley said, pouting at the horde of people not a hundred feet from where they were walking. “Thank Go—“ She hit a rock and stumbled, and right before she hit the ground, Todd’s arm shot out and gripped hers. He’d had to move and Oakley’s head no longer rested against him.Presley guiltily enjoyed that he’d grabbed her, and was asking concerned questions. She felt even more guilty when her friend’s would-otherwise-be-concerned face fell, just a tad. When they finally got to the gardening drive,the three of them were given tasks by the very grateful, very enthusiastic woman running it all, and as Presley dug a hole without gloves, she watched Oakley grab Todd, watched him consent to it. She swallowed her feel-ings and bitter, bitter longing. Her hands had never been dirtier.

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SHORT STORY BY SHERIDAN ECKER, 11THE CORRUPTIVE NATURE OF POWER

The orb of water wobbled in the space between them, like a balloon bobbing from a child’s erratic hand, struggling to stay airborne, before it disintegrated over the table. “The table is made of wood,” Sydney Lane’s teacher snapped at her. She was tempted to roll her eyes; Mrs. Ralkin had taken care of the mess perfectly well with fire, so what did it matter if the table was wood? But Mrs. Ralkin would have her head if she deemed the act to be disrespectful, and the woman was so strict that it was nearly impossible to blink in her presence without being scolded. “I’m sorry,” Sydney said. She averted her eyes before Falcon Ralkin saw the curve of her lips. You’re such a coward. Mrs. Ralkin waved her hand and a bolt of fire shot toward the opposite wall of the room. It had happened enough times that Sydney didn’t bother even blinking when the door gave a sharp sizzle of pain. “I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to be competent. Then it wouldn’t matter what the table was made of because I wouldn’t have to clean up every one of your messes. This job would be so much easier if you were anything like your sister, you know.” This time, Sydney actually did roll her eyes. She hadn’t been able to go a day at this godforsaken school without being compared to her sister, and she was sick of it. Not every-one had the ability to flawlessly control all of the elements. Then again, not everyone is a horrible person, either. She took a breath to steady herself. The truth was, Sydney could be like her sis-ter—she had a sharp mouth and spoke back expertly, but that’s not the part anyone ever remembered in precious Edin. No, they’d much prefer to sugarcoat her awful personality, because her magical skills made up for them tenfold. Sydney’s magical skills weren’t the worst, and her wind ability could even be consid-ered excellent, but she was nothing compared to Edin. No one was though—wasn’t that the whole point of being a Chosen One? She rolled her eyes every time someone mentioned that term. It was so cliched; there was nothing the community even needed to be protected from. A Chosen One was entirely unnecessary. But the rest of the magical community insisted there was a single Chosen One every century, and this one’s just so happened to be her sister. So Sydney had to content herself with being the forgotten child at every social gath-ering since her birth—even her birthday parties! She’d refused to have one since she was ten, because there was nothing worse than watching Edin be given more presents than her. Edin’s birthday parties were always balls, and everyone came to them, and Sydney wasn’t given presents there, either. It sucked. The only thing that didn’t suck was her best friend, Calder. They’d ironically met at one of her sister’s hateful balls; some gaudy song had been playing, and Sydney had been sulking at a table in the back of the room, her only company the long forgotten drinks of her sister’s guests. She’d been fingering the edge of her yellow dress, lamenting how much uglier it was than her sister’s golden gown, when he came up to her.

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THE CORRUPTIVE NATURE OF POWER

“You’re Sydney, right?” Calder had asked. In the space of a moment, he’d become her favorite person in the entire room. That had been the first time anyone had referred to her by her name, and not by her relation to Edin, upon meeting Sydney. She’d dropped her dress, looked up at him, and said “Yes. Who are you?” “Calder.” “That’s a stupid name,” she said. She hated herself for it instantly—her one shot at a friend, and she’d already ruined it! But it didn’t matter because he pointed and said, “Thank you! My parents never agree with me, but I hate it!” They’d been inseparable ever since. Sydney was so caught up in her thoughts that her focus throughout the rest of the lesson slipped further and further from her grasp. After dropping a water orb for the twelfth time over the table, Ralkin dismissed her with a disgusted hand gesture. (It was getting harder—last time, the woman had thrown her out at the tenth failure.) Trying not to look as relieved as she felt to be leaving, Sydney grabbed her things and hurtled through the corri-dor in search of Calder. She sound him easily. Despite the school being an endless maze of nonsensical paths, she’d been able to figure it out quickly—because Calder decided his favorite haunts had to be the most difficult to get to. Today he’d chosen the shabby reading outlet which overlooked the field. It was midway between a flight of stairs by the library and the janitorial wing, and she was almost annoyed at how far it was from her class. But when he looked up from his notepad, the annoyance evaporated. His face melted into a grin, and at once, they both tried talking. “Guess what—“ “You won’t—“ He laughed, and said, “You first.” “No, no, it’s stupid, you.” “I’m serious,” he told her, smile still intact, “you don’t want me to go first today.” She tried to ignore how ominous that sounded. Calder rarely had any tone that didn’t resemble excited, and when he did, it was usually the precursor to Sydney losing her mind. “Oooookay,” she said instead, “I just wanted you to guess how many times I dropped the orb before Ralkin flipped.” He rubbed his hand along his jaw thoughtfully, squinted off into the middle distance. Calder had that contemplative look on his face, then one that meant he was taking matters Very Seriously. “Twenty,” he announced, looking swiftly at Sydney. “You dropped it twenty times before she lost the last bit of tiny mind.” “You’re not funny,” she told him, even though she was giggling. “And it was twen-ty-four times today, so…” she shrugged. He jumped up, pointed at her. “That’s not fair! I was so close man, I’m going to get it

SHORT STORY BY SHERIDAN ECKER, 11

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one of these days!” Sighing, Calder sat down, and Sydney gestured for him to make space before sitting next to him. His long legs were stretched languorously in front of him and he looked utterly at ease. He was the opposite of her sister in disposition—where Edin was perpetually up-tight and arrogant and snippy, he was calm and humble and kind. It was why she liked him so much. Well, that and the fact that he was potentially the only person in the world who seemed to prefer Sydney to her sister. “What were you going to say earlier?” Sydney asked a quarter hour later. Her feet were haphazardly splayed at the edge of his legs, and she had a book propped open on her crooked knees. He looked up from his notepad, glasses dangling at the edge of his nose. “Oh, um, nothing. It was just something about Edin.” “What about her?” Calder clearly did not wish to answer. His hands were fidgeting and he looked awk-ward in a way he never looked around Sydney. “Out with it,” she spat. “She’s having another ball.” That was it? That was what he’d been nervous to tell her? Aggressively, Sydney rolled her eyes. “She’s always having balls.” “Yeah, but this one, the school’s making mandatory attendance. And it’s on your birthday, Syd.” Without warning, a vast sphere of water collapsed across the floor opposite Sydney. “Did I ever mention,” Sydney said to Calder, “how much I can’t stand my darling sis-ter?”

SHORT STORY BY SHERIDAN ECKER, 11THE CORRUPTIVE NATURE OF POWER

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY TREY ECKER, 10CALIFORNIAN SUNSETS

“A beautiful sunset shines on the mountains of California’s Pacific Coast Highway.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY TREY ECKER, 10THE BIXBY BRIDGE

“California’s Bixby Bridge and vibrant sea.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY TREY ECKER, 10THE LONE CYPRESS

“The Lone Cypress seen from the 17 Mile Drive in Pebble Beach, California.”

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A NONFICTION SHORT STORY BY JAYDEN FARMER, 12

It was midday and the forest looked as if it were on fire because of how bright the sun was shining. Beams of light shine through the clouds and trees. The month was late in the year though, so the cold winds canceled out the sun’s raging heat. Reaching about three quarters of a mountain near Col-orado Springs, at an elevation of nearly 2,000 meters, the misty-fog was heavy because of the clouds; so heavy that it felt moist to the touch. The trees were shaking along with the wind, causing the insects to dance as well. The grass was swaying like waves in the ocean, but with a faster pace. The insects were crawling frantically while the wind blew some of them away and birds picked others up, but some of them kept a mighty grip knowing it would be the only thing keeping them alive. The insects in the grass were much safer be-cause the wind could only drag them a cou-ple inches. The clouds were also moving with the wind, but at a very slow pace. The steep roads were made from TNT explosions, rubble trickling down be-cause of the steepness. The explosions also caused caves on the roads where bats and other nocturnal animals spend the day. The mountain gravel was orange in color and the streams were filled with tiny metal flakes for anyone to collect. The waterfalls following the streams were small, but powerful. The waterfalls were light blue in color and cov-ered by foam. The small gray and white birds would fly all about the forest, whistling any tune or melody they feel. The crickets and cicadas were chirp-ing throughout the entire forest, as were the birds; the forest was never quiet. The North-ern Mockingbird feeds on insects. “It uses several quick strokes alternated with wings pulled to the sides as it flies”(Derrickson). It

walked along the tree, looking for its next meal. When the bird found its prey, it would eat then fly home to its nest and regurgitate it back to her young. The nest she keeps her young in is puny and dainty, but is enough to keep her babies safe. “The Blue Spruce tree is Colorado’s official state tree since 1939. The Colorado Blue Spruce tree grows to about 75 feet. It has densely growing horizontal branches for birds to find insects easily. It has scaly gray bark on the trunk with yellowish-brown branches” (Waddle). “The Colorado chip-munk is also very common in these moun-tains, they can be most often found in co-niferous forests, montane shrublands, and alpine tundra habitats. They inhabit in eleva-tions 1500 meters to 2200 meters” (National Parks Service). At the tip of the mountain, there was a lake. The lake was completely frozen over the top for at least 6 inches deep. Nothing past the ice was visible, but some fish were still able to survive in the harsh conditions. Walking on thin ice was anything but safe, so we began walking across the lake. At just over 100 pounds, I decided to be the first one across. The first steps really got my heart pumping. After I got about 30 feet out, I rushed back to land because my heart was pounding like hundred ton weights drop-ping on metal floors.

COLORADO MOUNTAINS

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POETRY BY CARISSA FITZKE, 11RADIOACTIVE DECAY

Life.Built from tiny pieces

and empty space.Never moving

until you are bound.Finding stability

With one,Or two,Or four.

Until you are full.

Otherwise risk decay.As those you are bound to

Drag you down.Rip you apart.

Until your smallest piecesExplode out of you.

Damage done to all around you.

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POETRY BY BROCK GRANT, 12THE GIRL OF MY DREAMS

The girl of my dreams is angelic.

The sun pales in her presence.

The earth stops spinning when I’m with her.

My heart stops when I see her.

My breath falters when we touch.

Not a minute goes by without my thinking of her.

Not a day goes by that I yearn to be with her,

Once more.

She is my first thought when I wake.

She is my first thought before I lay down to sleep.

She is every other thought in between.

What is life without love,

Without her.

She is my best friend

The girl of my dreams is you.

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ARTWORK BY JASMINE JOHNSON, 10HAND

“I drew this hand because I liked it.”

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POETRY BY ARIA JONES, 11RAINDROPS

Raindrops of hope and joy falling,Splattering

Sputtering Bringing life Then taking it away, Bubbling terror of once was bliss.

POETRY BY ARIA JONES, 11MARRIAGE

Marriage Dramatic moments with tender tendencies

clashing together, fighting, quarreling iron to iron

sharpening swords striking down stereotypes

striking down the odds againstsolidifying futures of those to come

together

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POETRY BY ARIA JONES, 11MY OWN THOUGHTS

My own thoughts are more treacherous than anyone’s words, I can think up wonderful joys

And blistering pains The stagnant bliss or torture of solitude

Gnawing or caressing my conscience until the deep dark comfort of sleep wraps me in its arms

POETRY BY BREEZY JONES, 11A DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE

Who am I?I ask myself

and then a thought came to mindEveryone is who they want to be

notEveryone is who they have to be

We live in a world wherethings aren’t loved

andpeople aren’t used

We should live in a world whereall of it is real

the Angerthe Deaththe Hatethe War

even though it hurtssmile everydayall I can say is…Welcome to Life

(Now read bottom to top)

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A NON-FICTION SHORT STORY BY BRIGITTE JOSEPH, 11

During the 17 years of my fragile and adventurous life, i’ve felt saltwater plumage through my veins as I rose upon my first breath at the Holmes Regional Medical Cen-ter in Melbourne, Florida on November 25th, 1997. I’ve observed the ocean through my eyes at the peaceful and relaxing home I was in Satellite Beach, Florida. Living on a beach for 14 years, then moving schools 3 differ-ent times for personal and family reasons, my life has been exhausting, but well worth it when the suffering finally came to an end. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been before, and I wouldn’t be any stronger if I hadn’t gone through the daily events during my lifetime, and the inspiration that I hear from the songs and interviews of my role model, Demi Lova-to. She was the “Cool for the Summer” sing-er at the 2015 MTV Video Music Awards. My inspiration for Creative Writ-ing helps me speak out my mind with feel-ings, relieves my stress and temperamental attitudes I get whenever I’m upset. As I listen to Demi Lovato music with my headphones on, I get brand new ideas on what to write about like the speed of lightning. It’s also inspired me to continue one of my favorite stories that I visualized on “Quote V” called “Going going, GONE.” I remember the time that I had an interest in continuing a charac-ter named William Mason, or Mr. Mason, to place in a different story; I “borrowed” that character from the story to bring that charac-ter to life just like how frankenstein was alive with the author’s permission. Today, I can visualize myself becoming a children’s psychologist as I study abroad at the University of Florida. Surprisingly, I can also visualize myself being in an academic sorority in order to meet new friends, chal-lenge myself, and enjoy my college years. I’ve noticed that one of my passions would be to

join an academic sorority at a recreation fest I attended when I helped my sister move into her Dorm at Marshall University, Hunting-ton, West Virginia while visiting the Marshall Campus at the same exact time. I have compassionate feelings for my life-time hobbies I’ve planned on keeping as well such as slot cars, robotics, video games, and to be extremely excited and cherish on everything I’ve been doing to make myself strong and confident like Demi Lovato. I can easily visualize my win on the 5.0 slot car race that I participated in on a Saturday evening. As I won first place on the sixth and final seg-ment of the night, I’ve became overly excit-ed to finally beat David in a slot car race for once in my lifetime. As my boyfriend, Sean presses his lips onto mine softly and a warm teddybear hug, i’ve felt romantic and haugh-ty. Recently, on the Wii U, I’ve been playing “Super Mario Galaxy 2”. It will take you on a mind-blowing adventure into space to ex-plore fictional mario galaxies to save Princess Peach once again ; which became entertain-ing through my own eyes. As mature, confident, and beautiful as I already am, I have faced some obsta-cles upon my life living on planet earth. It’s a huge challenge to be the most responsible person in your family. When your mother is in a rehab facility for five months and you have to take care of yourself while living with your grandma during that period of time; while you battle depression on a daily basis; It’s how life will be as soon as I graduate Sat-ellite High School in the year of 2017. To the ones that are struggling with depression, the ones that are bullied and hate themselves, the ones that find life hard, the ones that can’t decide rather to eat breakfast or not, to the ones that feel insecure, to the

I’M FINE

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ones that made a lot of mistakes, to the ones that regret a relationship, to the ones that are sick right now, to the ones that are sad right now:This one’s for you.

My drama consumed years all started when I was a sixth grader at Sea Park Ele-mentary School. The sarcasm and mocking that came from the a crowd of citizens that moment I’ve confessed my feelings towards a boy named Connor. Taunted, threatened, I felt victimized... I became melancholic and depressed, dashing away. I was still confi-dent going to “fifth quarter” after a Satel-lite football games with my sister, Brittany. It was a mistake that I made during sixth grade. There was a game when you knock-off some-one using two poles. It felt like a gladiator game except it became brutal when Connor’s friend, Garrett, was using that pole to push me off by using my face instead of using a different part of my body. That wasn’t my worst medicine I’ve re-ceived in a syringe... During my first year of middle school at Delaura, I apparently became a laughing stock of comedy field when Connor tripped me and made me drop my lunch like if it didn’t even matter to anyone. Not even to my guidance counselor at that time. I’ve just had all these mixed feelings not even know-ing what my moods were, people began to make comedy out of my life, from 7th to the end of 10th grade. At that time.. I just wished I was punched in the face instead of being verbally and emotionally bullied by these kids because words do scar you more than a punch in the face. I’ve made a very big decision to switch schools in the beginning of my eighth grade year which was awesome and terrible at the

same time. The pros were switching to John-son was to make the basketball team finally, became a starter in most of my basketball games which became a dream in my life. I’ve dealt with jealousy from the team because I got to travel the most out of most of the most basketball players to the away games, I’ve dealt with blood, sweat and tears from most of my classes when I discovered that switching really didn’t make a difference because I still got verbally bullied by more people, I even got suspended for one day for standing up for myself when I had enough of it. I felt like the bullies should’ve gotten into trouble instead of me. The most difficult challenged that I faced In Johnson was just starting out with no one to know, not one person that approached to me at this school was foreign to me and not colloquial. I’ve just felt like I arrived in a new galaxy or planet. Just everything was different, the hallways, the cafe, the gym, and more importantly my class schedule. On the bright side, I’ve went on more field trips than I have during my seventh grade year and more opportunities that I’ve been offered. My most sacrificing moment in my life was during my freshman year at Palm Bay Magnet High School. Many obstacles kept bothering me like a mosquito, like more bullies, more difficult challenges came crawling through my way and my first kiss. It all started when I met this boy that I thought was attractive during my freshman year. His name was Zac; we planned to hangout on New Year’s eve of 2013, since he went to Satellite as a junior and I went to Palm Bay as a freshman. He was sweet like a Hershey’s chocolate bar to me; we were playing games such as “Lollipop Chainsaw”, “Payday 2” and “Call of Duty: Ghosts”. When we both decided on the idea to watch Star Wars, we’ve became very

A NON-FICTION SHORT STORY BY BRIGITTE JOSEPH, 11I’M FINE

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close. My heart felt warm and light hearted like a marshmellow being roasted during a bonfire at camp. As I laid my light head onto Zac’s muscular chest; I had a compas-sionate thought and spoke “ I can feel your heartbeat, I like it.” Shocked, concerned, re-strained, I felt that I was awkward. Seconds later, Zac had met my lips to his lips and have pressed them onto mine. I’m not going to lie, it was only a second and I have felt something that day. On January 9th, I felt like I wasn’t hu-man. Devastatingly, Zac decided to break my heart as if it was a crystal glass. He told me that he needed to get back with his ex-girl-friend, Tiffany, and that he could not be with me when he had thoughts about a different girl. All of his promises ; his goodness had suddenly vanished as If It had never been there to begin with. It was just really devas-tating to me. I decided not to go to school for the next two days because all of the pain scarred me depression kept going on for the next two weeks. My mother began to gain concern for me. I’ve decided to go to the doctor to get help about It. That day I was “baker- acted” into a mental hospital called Circles of Care. While I was bawling, my eyes out In the waiting room, the nurse was being didactically calm and distinguished what was going to happen while I was going through treatment of the facility. They’ve issued me a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt and some slipper socks (that had the sticky bottoms to the socks). The room that I was placed into during quiet time and bedtime was silent as the Fiji waterfall as It crashes down. The most difficult challenge was going without a cell-phone for 3-4 days and sleeping with a light in my face for the whole night. Then there was the 5am blood test that was hard for me to wake up to, the steamy hot showers

in the morning, the frozen metal toilet seat, and the random drug test they gave to ev-ery child that entered through those doors. I have learned my lesson not to self-harm as I exited through those doors three days later. However, my life started to get a lot better when I got on my anti-depressant medications in the month of January 2015 through my new doctor, since I felt nausea at the thought of seeing my previous doctor that sent me to that horrifying rehab place. I also found new love ; his name is Sean. I am still with him to this day.He’s been there for me since I met him at Shore Lanes, Palm Bay on June 9th, 2014. My butterflies were fluttering in me when I first met him because no one asked me out except this guy. I didn’t want to demolish it. It seemed like through-out that whole date, he kept gaining more interest in me. It went like a dream through-out the whole date. Needless to say, I’m no longer at Palm Bay Magnet High. I am at Sat-ellite High right now starting my junior year and I am on the Satellite high robotics team. I actually have felt welcomed to be apart of the team this year. I’m at a better place in my life, hoping to reduce the milligrams of my anti-depression medicine I’ve been taking. I speak to a psychologist every 3-4 weeks and It’s been helping me feel better every day. I feel more loved, cared for, beautiful, smart, and friendly than I’ve been before. If I didn’t go through everything that I’ve had in the past years, I probably wouldn’t have felt as strong as I do now. If you are in the same position that I was at, I know you can make it through because if I can do it, you can do it too! All you need to do is just stay strong and smile through the pain!

A NON-FICTION SHORT STORY BY BRIGITTE JOSEPH, 11I’M FINE

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOHN KRAUS, 10ATLAS V LAUNCH

“ULA launches an Atlas V rocket flying in the 421 configuration carrying Morelos-3, a satellite for Mexico’s government. This pre-dawn launch marks the 100th consecutive successful mission for United Launch Alliance, and their 100th overall. This is a long

exposure photograph taken on the beach in Satellite Beach, Florida”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOHN KRAUS, 10BIRDS AT SUNSET

“Silhouette of two birds during a spectacular golden sunset, seen at the Viera Wetlands.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOHN KRAUS, 10SLAM DUNK

“DeMar DeRozan of the Toronto Raptors scores on a fastbreak dunk against the Orlando Magic. However, the Magic handed the Raptors their first loss of the season, 92-87.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY SIERRA MEHALICK, 12GOLFING VIEWS

“A calming and beautiful view taken when golfing in Melbourne.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY KUMARI NAICKER-GILES, 11SATELLITE BEACH SUNSET

“The sunset one night that consists of the colors of cotton candy. Taken with an iPhone 5S camera.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY KUMARI NAICKER-GILES, 11SHIPPED FROM HAWAII

“Plumeria flowers at a plumeria farm in Seffner Florida. Taken with the camera on an iPhone 5S.”

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POETRY BY JACOB PERKINS, 12

I am but a humble hollowed undead.I travel insatiably for more souls.

But am I a monster for the bloodshed?I tend to think not, since they’re mindless ghouls.

There is one who wishes for me a goal.Cloaked in emerald an’ could greatly coerce.

But this burden is taking a heavy toll.For tis’ a tiring path to break the curse…

First to eliminate the Lost Sinner,To start the collection of Great Lord Souls.

Tis’ no easy task for a beginner.One step closer to achieving the goal.

The hunt begins to vanquish the Rotten,To traverse below into the Gutter,

A place nothing but long and forgotten.Then back up to the place torn asunder.

Furthermore toward the Duke’s Dear Freja,Which is nothing but a giant spider.Then teleport back to safe Majula.

Toward a most excellent hider.To eliminate the Old Iron King.

Where magma will instantly burn the skin.With attacks that do much more than sting.

Now is the real fight allowed to begin…

Finally the trudge to Drangleic Castle, To defeat the queen that lusts for darkness.

Her power has only been a hassle.But I must endure this evil carcass.

For the last fight is with one cloaked in fire.All of this is for the throne to take me.This puts me in a position most dire,

For I must overcome to set those free...

DARK SOULS 2

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SHORT STORY BY ELIZABETH SIMMONS, 11THE ADVENTURES OF MERIWETHER FINCH

Meriwether Finch had dreamed of being a pirate king before his first crooked tooth grew in. His parents were honest hard workers, but they were peasant hard workers. Finch’s tanned skin was never meant to feel the harsh rub of low quality cloth. His fingers, in the opinion of every villager he asked, were destined to be drenched in jewels. Finch was not an honest hard worker. If he was to find success in this dog-eat-dog world he was to do it in style. Specifically, in a wide brimmed crimson velvet hat with an ostrich feather poking out of its side. When Finch was sixteen, his mother clenched him by the shoulders and shook him violently. She grasped his face, her eyes dangerous and her mouth downturned, and cried, “When will you wake up and face reality? When will you stop chasing every able bodied man in this village, begging them to join your crew?” She breathed in sharply and leaned a tan clothed shoulder against the chilled window. Her eyes rested on the British warship docked in the harbor outside and she mumbled, “You don’t even have your own ship.” Finch grinned, his smile pointed and tea stained. Finch, like his smile, was all hard angles. His knees knocked into each other as he strode down the avenues of London, and the only thing sharper than his cheekbones was his offensively large nose. Finch never basked in the warmth of camaraderie, but he paid no mind. He, unlike the migrant teenagers whose feet only touched the docks for a meer night or two between sailing expeditions, would not subject himself to menial labor. If he wasn’t the captain of his own oak constructed and steel bound ship, he would not step foot onto such a vessel. “Meriwether? Child! Listen to your dear old mother when she is trying to impart un-solicited advice.” Finch jumped, knocking over a ceramic vase onto the dirt packed floor. A spider impressive in his girth and length crept out and the sound of his mother’s bloodcurdling scream could have woken the beloved King George II from his frequent food induced co-mas. As she hiked up her petticoat and rushed for the door, Finch slipped passed and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. “I know what I have to do, Mother!” Finch said reassuringly as he rushed down the street, his gait uneven. The last noise he would ever hear from that despised woman was her defeated sigh as she leaned against the termite infested doorway of the family shack. Finch woke up in a bed of hay and hog feces with a hound nibbling on his toes. “Oi, I ain’t dead yet!” he exclaimed as he batted the hound away with his hand. Light filtered through the cracks of the unevenly laid boards of the ship, allowing him to gain a slight perception of his surroundings. A few strides from where he lay sprawled on the floor, past the iron bars that marked the perimeter of his cell, were two boot clad feet. “I’ve heard your talk, garcon. You want a crew? You wanna be a pirate lord? Non, a pirate king? Well, monsieur, there can only be one king ruling these treacherous seas, and you are listening to his voice.” The man was skinny and his face was heavily scarred from a bout of smallpox in his youth, but he stood tall and dignified for his below average height. Exemplifying every notion of a French stereotype, his mustache could challenge the true King of France’s. “Over yonder at the edge of your musky cell is a scuttlebutt if you desire some eau minerale. I warn you, garcon, the previous prisoner may have expelled bodily

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SHORT STORY BY ELIZABETH SIMMONS, 11THE ADVENTURES OF MERIWETHER FINCH

fluids in it before he passed.” Finch drew himself up from the floor and managed only a few feet before the rancid smell of the scuttlebutt washed over him.“Now, you quixotic fool, daydreaming is for the weak and uneducated. If you want to usurp me, you’ll have to do as those did before you. Hide your traitorous ways and insidiously dethrone me through hard work. Turn your eyesore of a life into a cynosure, garcon.” Before Finch could muster a response, the man, no, the pirate king, was gone, the sound of his steel heeled boots clicking against the floor, fading into the distance. Faced with reality, Finch didn’t quite know how to react. He collapsed against the moist walls of the ship, closed his eyes, and was about to drift off into a defeated sleep when he heard a storm of shouts swell from up deck. Now was his time.

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY ELIZABETH SIMMONS, 11ATLAS

“A juxtaposition of the modern, represented by the statue of Atlas in front of the Rockefeller Building, and the traditional, represented by St. Patrick’s Cathedral in

New York City.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY SHARI TOLAND, 10INDIAN HARBOUR VIEW

“Florida’s beaches change as much as the weather.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY SHARI TOLAND, 10PIÑA

“The different vibrant greens of a Pineapple”

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POETRY BY J.R. WHEELER, 12TIME

First the summer hot nights came to an endThen the long days of school startedEach day goes by faster and faster

Then the days start to get shorter and shorterNext we are already getting off of school for our breaks

As we enjoy time it seems to fly byThat’s why we have to stop and look around before it flies before your eyes

Before I know it, it’s already spring break and the days are getting longerThen before I already know it

I’m walking across the stage getting my diploma My life begins

Enjoy it while you can

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.R. WHEELER, 12THE LAST SUNRISE

“The view of the sunrise from the clouds from the airplane the morning of my grandmother’s funeral.”

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY CODY WOODS, 12BEACH PERSPECTIVE

“The view of a Ghost Crab.”

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The Cyclone staff would like to extend a thank you to all our contributors and readers. This publciation wouldn’t be possible without you. Next year, we hope to come back even stronger and

better than ever!

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