Table of ConTenTs

Page one: Untitled by Celeste GreenbaumPage Two: Finding Neverland by Alex ChurchwellPage Three: Ignite and Take Flight by Alex ChurchwellPage four: Break Even by Alex ChurchwellPage Five: The Road by Taylor ReesePage six: Abandoned by Taylor ReesePage seven: Dark Reflections by Sara BrownPage eighT: Braveheart by Sara BrownPage nine &Ten: Departure by Taylor ReesePage eleven: Photographs taken by Simona ScottoPage Twelve: Venice: Queen of the Adriatic by Aurian CarterPage ThirTeen: Horse Head by Anastasia KordomenosPage fourTeen: October by Julia ReithPage fifTeen: A Hair’s Breadth by Sara BrownPage sixTeen: Lincoln by Vanna RamirezPage sevenTeen: Thomas Jefferson Rap by Kai InguitoPage eighTeen: Aigrette by Taylor ReesePage nineTeen: Moss & Fern by Sara BrownPage TwenTy & one: A Creation Myth by Sara Brown

Co-Editors: Taylor Reese & Vanna RamirezFaCulty advisor: Coleen Hubler

. In essays I have always written about humanity, but everything that makes us human makes us as artificial as a fluorescent bulb. So the point gets lost, if living is just some formulaic conglomeration of the meaningless accumulation of wealth and hard plastic machines, then we will spend hours making words that put emotion into a void.

So then where lies art… in the inner workings of the self contained microcosm that we call earth.

If in the end, paper is fleeting and charcoal dust will crumble like soil deprived of moisture, this total lack of meaning I have discovered to be freedom.

Human nature may be an invention, but….......

UntitledBy Celeste Greenbaum

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Finding Neverlandby Alex Churchwell

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Ignite and Take Flight by Alexandria Churchwell

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Break Even by Alexandria Churchwell

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The Road by Taylor Reese

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Abandoned by Taylor Reese

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Dark Reflectionsby Sara Brown

Trapped and alone,One wonders, “why?”Why must things be dealt out so unfairly?Where is the reason?The mercy?Such an ominous outlook on the wretched.Which of these cruel happenings are a man’s dreams gone awry?Each painful sin as broad and bold as the next.Where has the eloquence of the written word gone?The fastidious clarity in the diction of human language?Nowhere...and yet, everywhere.The demonic psychosis swells, destroying the essence of intellect.To reflect upon one’s selfIs to see into one’s soul.See the dark imaginings,Or hopeful prayers.Summon the knowledge,And the heartTo revive the inner notions of grace and valorThat lay dormantIn one’s spirit.Waiting,To be returnedBack to the edge of sanity,And beyond.

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Braveheart by Sara Brown

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Departure by Taylor Reese

Harold Lewis was a short man with large facial features. He had bushy eyebrows and large lips that looked as though they were always pursed. His eyes were large as well, but there was something about them that people took comfort in. Harold always wore a bowl hat and a gray suit, and carried an umbrella with him everywhere. Harold Lewis was a man who trusted no one. He looked upon others as threats. He had been this way his whole life, always wary of others. He was not a man of elevated social class, however he was not looked down upon. The people of Pickett, Tennessee, didn’t bother him, and he did not bother them. One night, in the dead of winter, Harold could not sleep. He sat in the rocking chair by his fireplace, rocking rhythmically back and forth. Occasionally, he gazed out the window to watch the snow float from the sky and hit the ground. His mind urged him to go for a walk. For him, the cold was refreshing, and walking helped him clear his mind. He often found himself troubled by a copious amount of thoughts, and he could not function until he either sorted them out or cleared them from his head all together. The young Gregory Williams sat alone in the Pickett Gazette’s office, tossing a ball in the air and catching it. He had been working on a story, but he became distracted and tired of working. He daydreamed about the day when he would leave the town of Pickett and move on to bigger and better things. He planned to go to the city and find a job writing for a paper there. Gregory knew he would not be able to sleep if he went home, so he stayed in the office. Besides, he thoroughly enjoyed the placidness of the office. It was like being in a soundless box, in which one could watch the world go by. He watched the snow, mesmerized by its calming nature. He felt as through he had become suspended in time. Harold pulled his trench coat over his pajamas, slipped on his loafers, and made his way onto the deserted streets of Pickett. As he walked down East Main Street, the snow fell quicker and blew faster, the conditions be-coming blizzard-like. He couldn’t see much through the snow. The street lights gave little help, their dim glow only illuminating the things in their immediate area. On the next block, he could barely make out a muted glow coming from one of the buildings, and he knew that was his destination. The bell above the door to the office jingled when Harold entered. The sound cut the silence of the night like a knife. Gregory caught the ball and set it on the desk as he stood to greet Harold. “What brings you here at such a time, Mr. Lewis?” Gregory asked. Harold paused for a moment, mid-handshake, “I’m not quite sure, actually. I just started walking.” The two sat in silence for a few moments. Gregory had never really spoken to Harold, except for the generic ‘hello’ when passing on the sidewalk, so he was not quite sure what to say. Instead of speaking, he looked out the window at the snow which had slowed a bit since Harold had entered. “Gregory,” Harold said, a bit too loudly. “Yes, sir?” he replied. “Have you had much experience in the way of women?” Harold asked, his voice void of emotion. He was not quite sure why he was talking to Gregory. It was as if he wasn’t in control of his mouth. As a rule, he rarely opened up to anyone. He didn’t trust anyone. But a part of him seemed to trust Gregory, against his con-science. “Not much. In fact I’ve had my fair share of bad luck,” Gregory answered, thinking of Betsy, his love interest that had since moved away. Harold didn’t appear to notice his response, and instead resumed sitting in silence. Everyone in Pickett knew Dorothy had changed Harold for the better. With her, he had become sociable and outgoing. When she disappeared without a word, Harold relapsed to his old ways, if not worse. He rarely left the house, and when he did, he kept his eyes to the ground and was short with anyone who dared speak to him. Gregory had been told by his mother to stay away from him, she said he could be dangerous. She said there was no way to tell how a broken heart could change a man. Gregory didn’t buy into it, but erred on the side of caution. But there he was, sitting with him alone in the dead of night. He wasn’t quite sure how to talk to Harold, so he said nothing. Part of Harold wanted to befriend Gregory. He thought he seemed like a good kid. Of course he knew he would probably leave him eventually, or give him reason not to trust him, but part of him wanted him keep talking. He was at war with his mind. Many times he opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again. Gregory suddenly grew very tired and attempted to stifle a yawn. Harold checked his pocket watch, and

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noticing the time, jumped from his chair and yelled, “I must go! It is very late! Good evening to you, son. Get home safely!” Gregory was confused by his sudden outburst, but was ready to go home. “Good evening to you too, Mr. Lewis,” he replied sleepily, but Harold had already rushed out the door and into the street. Gregory ran to the door to make sure he was all right, but when he looked down East Main Street, Harold was gone. Harold dashed down West Main Street, going the opposite way of his house. He stopped for a moment under a street light to catch his breath. Above him, the light flickered, and he began to watch it. He began to think about his life, how it flickered between the comic and the tragic, the happy and the sad. He thought of the good times with Dorothy, the sleepless nights after she left. These thoughts sucked him away from reality and into the past. The world around him faded from view, and instead of being on a quiet street in the middle of the night, he was with Dorothy again during their picnic at Arch Lake. It was a beautiful scene; there were couples holding hands and kissing up on the bridge, ducks swimming around in the lake, and the flowering dogwoods were all in bloom, their pink flowers hanging above the couples’ heads. It was quite the romantic place. He closed his eyes, leaning in to kiss Dorothy, but her lips did not meet his. When he opened his eyes, the necklace he had given her was neatly placed on the blanket, and she was gone. His head swiveled, searching for any glimpse of her. He yelled her name a thousand times over, but to no avail. She was gone. He snapped back to reality, chilled to the bone. His coat was soaked through from the snow, and his pajamas offered little protection against the cold. He noticed the street light above him was still flickering. It went out just as he began to think it would come back on. Harold went to visit Gregory at the same time each night. Gregory had learned after the second time to expect him to come, so he made sure he had enough energy to stay up and talk. He feared that the first time it was his yawn that had pushed Harold back into his shell and that had caused such an outburst and sudden exit. He was intrigued by Harold’s mystique, and wanted to hear what he had to say. The bell above the door jingled as Harold entered for the fourth consecutive night. Gregory smiled, happy to see his new friend. As Harold’s late night visits increased, Gregory continued to plan his departure from Pickett. He was not quite sure how to break it to Harold, or any of the town for that matter. He tried to bring it up a few times with Har-old, but was always interrupted. Finally, one day he just opened his mouth and started talking, interrupting Harold. “I have decided to leave Pickett,” he said matter-of-factly. Harold could not believe it. “No... No, you can’t--” he start-ed, but Gregory continued talking. “I am going to pursue journalism somewhere else. This small town is not enough. I value our friendship, Harold, and this has been a hard decision. I can assure you it was not made in haste.” Harold stared at Gregory, searching his eyes for the joke. For him to say he wouldn’t do it. But no such response came. Gregory just stared at him, his eyes confirming what he had already knew. Harold stood, took one last look at Gregory, and left the office before Gregory could see the tears in his eyes. Gregory was leaving. Harold couldn’t take it, he didn’t understand. Why did everybody leave? The day that Gregory planned to leave had arrived. He and Harold had not spoken in days, not even the ge-neric ‘hello’ when passing on the sidewalk. Gregory missed him, but knew he probably just needed space, and knew he would show up today at the train station to bid him farewell. He woke up lacking in sleep, for he had not been able to sleep since he told his friend of his departure. He wondered if it was the right thing. But the wheels for him and for Harold were already in motion. Gregory collected his things and arrived at the train station to see everyone from the town there waiting for him to see him off. Everyone except for Harold. Gregory was hurt that he didn’t come. Even the people he didn’t particularly like were there, wishing him luck. But no Harold. He spoke with his friends and people he was friendly with, and they all sent him off with a kind word and a “good luck”. He took one last look at the townspeople before he stepped onto the train, their smiling faces looking back at them. He thought of Harold, of the friendship they had created. In that instant, he knew he couldn’t leave Pickett. Someone in the crowd said, “Well, go on, aren’t you going to get on?” Gregory looked in the direction of the voice and said, “No. I’ve just decided not to go. But I must go find Harold Lewis. Does anyone know where he is?” Nobody knew, so Gregory raced back to the town, crossing the bridge that goes over Arch Lake. He paused for a moment, for ahead he could see someone in a bowl hat and gray suit, holding an umbrella. “Harold!” he called, “Wait!” But it was too late. Harold took a step forward and plummeted into the murky water of the lake. Gregory raced to the railing, hoping to see Harold float to the top, but he never did. Looking at the ripples in the water from when Harold’s body broke the surface, he said quietly, “I’m not leaving.” 10

Photographsby Simona Scotto

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Venice: Queen of the Adriatic by Aurian Carter

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Horse Head by Anastasia Kordomenos

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October by Julia Reith

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A Hair’s Breadthby Sara Brown

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by Vanna Ramirez

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The Declaration of TJby DJ Kaimakazi AKA Kai Inguito

Here’s my boy TJTo Britain’s dismay

He wrote the DeclarationFor our entire nation

On this day

We celebrate this battle cryOn the Fourth of July

This was no trickHe was very slick

Just had to give him a try

From Aristotle Who was his role model

Abided by the lawGave equality to all

And made the British waddle

Congress made revisionsThey didn’t see his visions

Jeffy almost quitBut then with Franklin’s witHe accepted their incisions

This is our historyNo it’s not a mysteryWe are independent

And yes we are resplendentLook at this victory

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness yo

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Aigrette by Taylor Reese

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Moss & Fern by Sara Brown

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Creation Mythby Sara Brown

Darkness enveloped the non- existent something. Swirling in a chaotic feud, pulled together by the soft hands of what was not yet night nor day, it reaped the nothing of its fiber and created existence. Small streams of confused dreams trickled out between the opaque walls of floating particles. Water drowned out all direction, above and below, and the Great God reached down and used his golden finger to light the flame of the sun which rose to the east. As the sun’s light grew, it revealed a vast expanse of ocean, teeming with thoughts and the tongues of the universe. Language was formed from the glittering ribbons of the sea, and was spoken only by the wind’s quiet, lilting voices. The small grey clouds were comprised of quiet humming music, kind and clean to the ear. The Great God then bled faded blue into the sky, and set an orb high up in the opposite end of the heavens, which be-came the moon. Small, glistening pebbles of matter began to lift high in the air to create tiny stars that flickered smartly. Simultaneously, thick strands of tar and matter were pulled up from the depths of the water to create small islands; the first forms of land. Pleased thus far with his work, the Great God then turned his eye upon the land, and saw how empty it looked. He cried a single, lonely tear that glowed strangely in the light. He planted the tear deep into the furls of island and watched as a great, gnarly tree erupted from the surface. Delighted, the Great God reached over and gently pried some bark from its base. Twisting the bark in his great hands, he molded a small, beautiful, brown bird that quickly fluttered up and split in two, creating its mate. They filled the sky with beautiful song that rang within the stars to the highest reaches of heaven. The sea reared up excitedly, casting foam along the island shore. As it dried, it formed different shapes of different creatures and beings. The Great God knelt before each one and blessed it with a soul and mind. As the creatures rose from their watery origins, they (like the bird) split in two, creating their mates. They were all white, like the foam they had been born from. As they wandered, each began to pick up colors from their surroundings. The toads became the light brown of the soil, the rhino beetles the shiny blue from the waves. Zebras picked their way across the islands looking like nothing more than small, white horses. Suddenly the wind picked up and flew across their manes like a razor, cropping it short and thick. Frightened, they bolted into the newly formed jungle, in which the magnificent tigers lurked. The tigers chased the zebras, and by the time they reached the edge of the thick foliage, they were covered in large, deep scratches and slash marks. The Great God breathed over them, healing their wounds, but the scars remained, giving the zebras that we know today their black stripes. Man was the last to arrive on the scene. The Great God reached deep into the gnarly tree that he had first created and pulled out its woody heart. Tenderly, he whittled it to the shape of a small, smooth sphere and mold-ed skin and flesh around it from surrounding sea-mist and palm oil. From this, man was created, with a varnish of light sand and deep, oceanic eyes. This first man was to be called Odin. The Great God did not wish him to be lonely and melded a mate for him out of ivy vines and poppy petals. This was the first woman, Yvaine. They were then blessed with the ability to make change and to kill as well as give life. Odin was eager to experiment and quickly squeezed the life from a common sparrow. Horrified, Yvaine took it in her hands and breathed life into it again, allowing it to flutter away. The Great God then cautioned them to balance the use of their newfound powers, essentially initiating the circle of life and the laws of nature. After wandering for a bit, Odin foolishly decided to break open a great boulder. From deep within its chasms, the small, ugly being of hatred and greed was born into the world. The Great God, furious, named the being “Atemus” and sent it cowering back into the deep, so forming underworld, a grisly despairing place where troubled souls would be sent in the future. Odin’s powers were repealed and he was left at the mercy of Yvaine’s decision making. Yvaine wished to make all things lovely and with her breath, she created fields of daisies and pastures full of beautiful horses. She mothered many children and taught them the ways of nature. However, she was also charged with the duties of judgment. She took life from the old and gave it to the young. She often had to barter with Atemus and tired

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greatly from constantly visiting the impure land of the dead and dying. Eventually, she became exhausted from working her never ending job, so she begged the Great God to let Odin regain his powers. Reluctantly, he agreed. Odin accepted the challenge grandly and did his duties of stir-ring the stream of souls on the border of death and lifting newborn babies from their mothers’ wombs. However, in time, he too became weary and as one last request, he asked the Great God to let him and Yvaine pass through the shadow realm and up into heaven. His wish was granted and the universe opened up. As it did, he and Yvaine rose up high through the washed out sky and passing out of knowledge and time and into legend; thus leaving our strange and miraculous world.

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