The Mind’s

Eye

Creative Magazine

2014Salem Central School

Note: The views expressed within do not necessarily represent the opinions of the entire school system.

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The Mind’s Eye Creative Magazine

2014 Staff

Co-EditorsJulianne DemarcoMacKenzie Dumas

StaffRebecca Butler

Tela GerberAcadia LeblancJacob JamesonRebecca KeyesParker McPhee

Rob SkellyAmelia Trybendis

AdvisorMs. Anna Courtney

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Stories and Poems Title Author PagePreface Co-Editors 5Girl in Braids Julianne DeMarco 7 A Red Sweater, Purple Hair MacKenzie Dumas 7 Young Channa Goldman 8Doe Eyed Abby Davis 9The Nice Player Jacob Jameson 10Low Alexis Christensen 11Broken Memories Rebecca Keyes 12 Ode to Bob Ewell Flora Fowler 13Letters to the Past Hailey Wilson 14Maybe? Cheyana Mychack 15Selfie: A Tale of Woe Jacob Jameson 16Normal…Maybe Not Cheyana Mychack 18The Decision Rob Skelly 20The Chase Rebecca Keyes 22Run Brianna Roberts 23Lost Soldiers Aleisha LeClair 26A Rebel Yell Rob Skelly 28Tet Parker McPhee 30The Bugle Plays for He Who Dies Dana Linendoll 31Memories Caroline McKeighan 32Breakfast Anonymous 33Hungry Yet? Parker McPhee 33

Cover ArtPrism Personified Valentina Bastidas FrontThrough the Lens Makayla Clifford Back

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ArtworkTitle Author PageSalem Flag Jenny Kerson 5 My Baby Chick Caitlyn Kasuba 6Friendship Valentina Bastidas 7Restful Dana Linendoll 8Squirrelly Brianna Morris 9Elf Levi Cummings 10A Day in the Life of a Bird Anna Cassidy 11Transition Dana Linendoll 12Turtle Amanda Davis 13Innocence Alisha LeClair 14Blue Boy Jordan Vincent 16Snowman Valentina Bastidas 17Penguin Valentina Bastidas 17Blowing in the Wind Anna Cassidy 19Our Place Aleisha LeClair 20 Artist Mess Anna Cassidy 21Polar Bear Levi Cummings 22Parrot Marisa Fleming 25Hiding Yourself in the Shadows Anna Cassidy 25Easter Flowers Anna Cassidy 26Zeus Levi Cummings 27Flowers in the Window Anna Cassidy 30Dusk Marissa Fleming 31Wildflowers Amanda Davis 32Ready to Bloom Anna Cassidy 34Summer is Here Anna Cassidy 34

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PrefaceIt is our greatest pleasure to introduce the newest edition of Salem’s Creative maga-zine, The Mind’s Eye. This year is a pivotal moment in history as we say goodbye to the old black and white format and introduce to you the brilliant, technologically ad-vanced improvement: color

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we have done it! Much like when Dorothy enters oz for the first time, let your eyes enjoy this first-world glamour. As you delve into the Techni-color works of your fellow classmates, let your mind appreciate the property that be-comes visible only when rays of light fall upon it that serves to distinguish from things otherwise visually identical. Soak up the brilliant orange sunset or the crisp, white snowman.

On behalf of the entire staff, we would like to thank all of those who submitted their creative ideas into this year’s Mind’s Eye. Without you, and the new accessible ink, we would not be where we are today. So, sit back and relax as you glimpse into the minds of your talented peers and remember the question of utmost importance: where would we be without color? Sincerely, Julianne DeMarco & MacKenzie Dumas Co-editors

Salem FlagPencil

Jenny Kerson Grade 7

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My Baby ChickPencil Caitlyn Kasuba Grade 8 6

A Red Sweater, Purple Hair

If I am ever in such a needAnd my wit is at its end,

I look for red and purple colorsWhere I can find a friend.

If I trip and fall or hit my face,Laugh they will, indeed,

But help me to my feet, they willWhen they realize I’m in need.

An old friend is not one to lose,Especially when I lose my mind.

She wraps her sweater arms around.She’s caring, brave and kind.

A new friend is one to keep;You stow them in your heart.

Especially ones with purple hair,Like a living piece of art.

For when I’m too emotional,When I need someone to care,

I just look for signs of love:A red sweater and purple hair.

By MacKenzie Dumas

Senior

Friendship Pencil

Valentina Bastidas Senior

The Girl in BraidsShe looks in the mirror expecting to find herself,But she is already so lost and it is plain to seeThe hollowed out expression looking back at herIsn’t what she used to be.

Whatever happened to the girl in braids,Laughing whenever she fell downSo she could always get back up againAnd never have to use a frown?

She tried so hard to keep herself in tact with The stress and work that life calls for, But when all were gone, she’d find herselfBreaking down behind her door.

“It’s all my fault,” she’d tell herself,Hoping for someone to disagree,But with no one to listen, it’s hard to hide.She’s not who she used to be.

She used to laugh for hours on endRelishing in her prosperity.But now she’s looking back at herself and Alas, she’s just not who she wants to be. By Julianne DeMarco Senior

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YoungWhen you are young, you think you know all there is to know.You block out what you do not wish to hear because deep down--the truth eats you hollow.Each year of your life, a layer of the veneer that coats your prematurity Gets peeled back by the sad slap of everyday reality.Some people’s eyes open up, and the special ones, their minds

And once my mind swelled with freshnessThe ugly of the world—the ugly of people, was no longer confined.When you are young, it is thought that ugliness is in the faceBut as I got older, I saw that it is in the mouthAnd it spreads through the innocence of pristine minds with an inevitable teaching of hate.

I think that when grown-ups complain about getting old, their biggest fear is not dyingIt is facing a world that isn’t simple; making yourself warm if you get cold.When you are youngYou have a blurry mental line of division between “wants” and “what ares.”You don’t expect to grow up to ever replace this line with scarsWhen you are young, you made the normal mistake of accepting too muchAnd as you get older, the only thing you acc cept is that you’ll continue to grow up.

By Channa Goldman Freshman

Restful Pencil Dana Linendoll Junior 8

Doe EyedI met him two years ago in the woods where I always am. I am a doe, and I saw a handsome buck

with massive antlers and strong shoulders. I liked him immediately. We conversed for awhile until he had to leave to go to his family; they needed him. We met again and again until we both fell in that

thing you call love. I wanted to see him every day and every night. My daydream came true. It went on like that for awhile, meeting at night, and then it changed. He came to see me during the day. We

hugged (as much as animals can), and then a noise so loud ripped through the once quiet woods. We all ran as far away as possible. The noise repeated over and over again; we were being chased.

One last noise and he fell. I immediately stopped running and I looked at him. He was dead. I wanted to stay, but I know he would never want me to suffer the same fate. So I ran. I ran to escape the pain as well as the hunter. I will never stop running because if I do, I will suffer unimaginable pain. And I

still haven’t stopped.

ByAbbyDavisGrade8

Squirrelly Pencil Brianna Morris Junior

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The Nice PlayerTo my one and only lover

Take a word of adviceYou are not my first lover

In fact, you’reMy thrice

I live for the womenThey give me such a rush

The feeling is perfectWhen they blush

If women were the sunI would be tanning

I’m such a playerCall me Tom Buchanan

I’m not at fault hereI don’t require a fineFor on this holidayMany girls are my

Valentine

ByJacobJamesonJunior

Elf Pencil Levi Cummings Junior 10

A dark dungeon of painThat you gave me when I was so lowTo get up, I have to think Think and believe there is a light

Can’t find an attractionTo a demon that breaks you downAnd I suffer because I won’t actIf I don’t act then I won’t feel allegianceAllegiance; to the one I’m stuck inside

I can’t grown when I’m so lowYou’re the only one that can help yourselfTo get up I have to think and believe There is a light

I know things can changeI can be that change

Time & devotionBring you through the maze.

ByAlexisChristensenSenior

A Day in the Life of a Bird Acrylic

Anna Cassidy Senior

(Opposite page)Transition

Acrylic Dana Linendoll

Junior

LOW

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As he walked into the room, the scent of stale cigarette smoke and whiskey filled the air. We hadn’t seen him in about a week. This is normal. My mom works multiple jobs to provide for us. Usually it’s just my mom, my sister and I. My dad always leaves us but eventually comes back.

This is a new apartment to us. I look around taking in what my dad must see: the ratty, old, brown couch stained from many years of use, the old television in the corner with the fuzzy black and white screen, a few boxes that we haven’t opened yet and probably never will, and finally, the picture frame with a family photo taken two years ago. There’s a crack in the glass from when my father left, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the walls shake. I used to get nervous around my dad, but now that I’m older, I stand at 5’7.” I’m taller than my mom and sister, so I feel the need to protect

them. They are both about 5’4” and maybe 120 pounds soaking wet. I’m well built because I play on the girls’ varsity lacrosse team. As I stand here between my dad and my sister, I slowly inch be-tween he and my mom. She asks him the usual, “Where have you been, Jim?”

“Around” He replies in a drunken slur. My mom then asks him to leave and to my astonishment, he does. He doesn’t say anything else. He just walks out of the room, leaving behind a distinct smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey, leaving the door open to let in a cool, damp air.

This was the last time I would see my father. I didn’t know this then but within the next few weeks, I would.

ByRebeccaKeyes Senior

Broken Memories

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Turtle Pencil

Amanda Davis Junior

Ode to Bob EwellYou’ll tell another lieJust to protect yourselfWill let an innocent man dieMaking the children cry?How many skeletons are upon your shelf?Making a man look like a foolTrying to do his jobSociety can be so cruelThinking it will help you, but you’ll always be a slobThe people know your secretYou’re a drunk and always will beHoping your daughter can keep itUnaware everyone can seeThe kind of man you can be.Never bothered going to schoolDidn’t make it that farNow your kids are following your ruleSpend all your money at the barYou wanted revenge, now you have itFor something that never happenedA man who helped your daughter out of habitThe man gave up the warWhy are you still fighting?You received what you asked for.

ByFloraFowlerFreshman13

Letters to the PastFor those of you fighting For justice and for rights

Racism is still bitingBut we’re putting up some fights

While others fuel the fireTo keep things so cruel,

Things are becoming direWith hatred to fill hundreds of pools

In these times our hearts are blindThough our eyes see clear

This mountain we continue to climbIs growing higher by the year

With drive-bys and killingsIt’s hard to heal the hate

This idea, to me, is chillingThough others have accepted it as fate

Continue fighting To help us with wining

So justice can begin flying Remember you are the beginning.

ByHaileyWilsonFreshman

Innocence Pencil Alisha LeClair Junior 14

Maybe? My name is Clarisse and maybe you know me. I am seventeen, around five foot six, red hair, green eyes. Does that sound familiar to you? Maybe you walk by me in the hall every morning. Maybe I’m that girl that sits behind you in math class, but never says anything. Do you who I am now? Maybe you see me, but do you know my name? You may have done a project with me, but did all of the work because you thought I wouldn’t do anything.

I am shy. I am shy because I have been bullied or ignored. I could sit here and blame you for all of my problems. For example, I’m afraid to talk to people for fear that they will ignore me or just brush me off. I’m afraid to offer my opinion because you have made fun of me in the past for being wrong. I’m afraid to be seen because you have laughed at my appearance. Maybe you thought I would not take you seriously, or that I would agree with you, and move on. I don’t. I think about your comments all day, every day.

You are not the only problem I have though. My home life is another big influence. I was raised by uncaring parents. Growing up they never told me they loved me or that I was beautiful. You didn’t know that though. You think everybody is just like you. They are not. Not everyone has a happy family. Not everyone has been fed every day. Not everyone has enough money to dress just like you. But you never thought about that.

To have enough money to do what I want or to buy new clothes, I have to work. I go to a job where my bosses are only concerned about themselves and don’t care who they step on to get ahead. I go home and cuddle up with several blankets to stay warm because our heat was turned off and we can’t afford to pay the bill. Have you ever had to deal with something like that? Maybe you have, or maybe you have no idea what I’m talking about.

The thing is I’m not the only person like this. There are a lot of other people like me out there. The next time you go to make fun of someone or say something mean about someone, think about it. Think about what that other person may be going through and say something nice instead. Will you do that? Will you make a difference for that person? Maybe you will, and maybe you won’t. But I hope you do. Maybe, you will need someone to do the same for you.

ByCheyanaMychackJunior

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Selfie: A Tale of WoeMonica rolls out of bed on this fine morning and rolls onto her side. She grabs her phone and powers it on. She instantly goes to Instagram to check on her selfie that she posted the day before. Her heart swells up when she finds out that she received seventy-two “likes” on the selfie. Monica lets out the greatest yell of her life, and quickly Goggles the Dream Team modeling agency. She calls and tells them that she received seventy- two “likes” on a selfie and that she is ready to work anytime now. She is promptly taken, for this is no common occurrence. Her life now starts.

“Good luck sweetums!” yells her mom. Monica walks into the agency wearing her favorite pink tank- top, paired with white short shorts and accessorized by a long white strapped purse. Her sandy blonde hair put in a French braid. As she approaches, the doorman says,

“Wow, you look fabulous!”

Blushing, she tells him about how she is ready to become a star. To start off, the agency makes her do a model shoot for a cell phone. The phone has an new camera that is said to be the future phone for selfies. The job pays well and she gets a free phone, but this is just the stepping stone for her future of success.

SEVEN YEARS LATER

Model star Monica is promptly dropped from modeling agency after receiving only thirteen “likes” on a selfie.

By Jacob Jameson Junior

Blue Boy Pencil

Jordan Vincent Junior

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SnowmanAcrylic Valentina Bastidas Senior

Penguin Pencil

Valentina Bastidas Senior

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My life is normal. I wake up at six a.m. every day Monday through Friday to go to school. I get up, take a shower, get dressed, brush my hair and teeth, get all of my stuff together, and grab my phone as I head out of the door to catch the bus by seven-thirty and get to school by seven-fifty. I have a normal day. I go to all of my classes, eat lunch with my friends, sneak peeks at the guy I am currently crushing on, walk to the bus with my friends, get on the bus, and get home by about three o’ clock. I am like any teenage girl: I argue with siblings, parents, and sometimes I scream and rant to the world about how everything is so unfair. If only I knew how good I had it at the time. People call me Raine, close friends call me Rainey, but my name on my birth certificate is Lorraine. I despise my name; it’s an old lady name. I don’t know why my parents looked at their new born baby girl, over sixteen years ago, and decided to give her an old lady name. I just know they did. I wish I had asked why. I wish I had spent more time with them. My parents are business people, or so I thought. Yesterday at sixteen hundred hours there was a knock at my front door. My parents were on one of their business trips, so I was home

Normal…Maybe Not

alone, again. Little did I know that my whole life was about to change. I answered my door to FBI Agent Russo, the agent in charge of telling me that my parents had been taken captive at o’ three hundred hours that morning. I was shocked, to say the least. My parents were business people, not FBI agents. Agent Russo continued to tell me that my parents had been watching a suspect in Kansas. The guy my parents had been watching was suspected of murdering several young girls in the area. Somehow this guy figured out he was being watched, and snuck up on my parents, knocked them out and took them to a secret location. Before Agent Russo left that day, he gave me a box and a ride to my grandparents’ house. Later that night I opened up the box from my parents. In the box was a card, a pin, and a couple of note cards. The first note was an apology, the second said, “Go make yourself a sandwich. Beware of the squirrels.” (When I was eight I had walked into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich and had found my dad randomly hitting his hand against the wall. When I asked what he was doing, he said there were squirrels in the walls and he was trying to pinpoint their location. He then continued to hit the wall eleven times. Now that I think about it, eleven equals nine-

one-one, so maybe it was not squirrels.) There was nothing I could do about it then, so I went to bed. I woke up this morning and rode my bike to my house. This is where I am now. I stand in front of the kitchen wall and try to figure out what I am supposed to do.

I look at the second note which says, “If we don’t have jelly, call Grandma. Next, knock twice, once, five times, and finally eight times.” I did not understand what calling Grandma would accomplish, and then I remember the broken phone on the wall. I put in Grandma’s number and knock on the wall. Thirty seconds later the wall opens up into a hallway. I walk down the hallway and come to a door with a card slot and a lock. I look at the third card, “Happy birthday, Sweetheart.” I insert the card from the box and then open the lock with the combination, my birthday. I open the door and walk into a huge room. I look at the fourth and final card, “Press the

“I am like any teenage girl... If only I knew how good

I had it at the time.”

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big, pink button.” Okay, this is confusing. What is pressing a button going to do? I don’t know, but I pressed the button anyway. After I pressed the button, a huge explosion of bright white light comes from the center of the room. I fall backwards and cover my eyes from the harsh light. A few seconds later the light dies down and I can see again. When I look up I see my parents tied up in the middle of the room. Three guys surround them. My parents see me and smile. The guys around them look confused. While they are confused, my parents strike; my dad kicks the guy in front of him and he falls. Dad stands up the best he can while tied to the chair and hits the guy in the head with it. Mom does something similar with the second guy, and both perpetrators are down for the count. There is the third and final guy who I guess to be the leader. He starts running at me, pulling out a knife. All of a sudden he freezes, and looks down at his chest where there is now a knife protruding precariously; he falls over and behind him I see my mom. She looks terrified, angry, and murderous all at the same time. After the guy falls, she runs to me, wraps me in a hug, and exclaims, “My beautiful girl! My smart, beautiful girl; I knew you would figure it out.” My dad, finally untied, walks up behind us and hugs us both. We all cry. My parents leave after that, but they return about three hours later. They bring me into the living room and tell me what happened. They tell me about their mission, the teleportation device in their secret room, and that they are not business people, which I had already figured out. We spent the rest of the day watching movies and just having fun, like a “normal” family.

ByCheyanaMychack Junior

Blowing in the Wind Acrylic Anna Cassidy Senior

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Our Place Acrylic

Aleisha LeClair Junior

The DecisionJames grew up loving Rose. Ever since the two first met in high school, they were sweethearts. James married Rose when they graduated. The two moved to their dream destination: Maine. James built their small log cabin with his bare hands. Rose went off to college for a few years to pursue her dream of becoming a kindergarten teacher. She passed with flying colors, and the two celebrated with love. Within a year, Rose became pregnant. The two were thrilled beyond words. James painted the nursery himself and built a cradle for his precious treasure. Rose nurtured her child with all the love any mother could muster. The child grew steadily without problems. Finally the day came, and Rose was ready for delivery. Rose held James’ hand as they rode to the hospital. Rose made James promise to take care of the child no matter what happened. James kissed her on the forehead as they wheeled her into the delivery room. Hours passed. The doctor came out in a fluster with an air of tension about him. He told James that his wife’s heart rate was dropping fast, and he needed to operate. James agreed, and the doctor ran back to the delivery wing. Time wore on and finally the doctor reemerged. He had an air of sorrow about him. He told James that he had a choice. Either finish the operation and his wife would not survive, but the baby would, or abort and save his wife. James didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t bear to be without Rose yet didn’t want to break his promise to her. He came to a decision. He looked at the doctor, and with tears in his eyes, he said… ByRobertSkelly Junior 20

Artist MessPhotograph

Anna CassidySenior

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The ChaseI was running.It was dark.I couldn’t see anything.I think someone was chasing me. I heard my own footsteps on the cold, hard ground below me but nothing else except the drip-drip-drip of water hitting the ground. I was out of breath as if I had been running for miles, but in reality I had only been running a few minutes. I started to slow down, almost to a stop, but I felt as if whatever was following behind me was catching up. I started running faster again. I wanted water. I needed water. The drip-drop of the water hitting the ground sounded amazing. It just made me want water more, but I couldn’t stop,

Polar BearPencil

Levi CummingsJunior

not now. What if that thing caught me? Every possible situation was running through my mind. Then suddenly, I tripped. I fell to the cold, hard ground with a thud. At that moment, I heard the footsteps. Whatever had been chasing me had caught up and I could see its figure. It was huge and it had black and white fur. It had shaggy dog hair and its body resembled a human’s form. I tried to get up but I could not move. I was paralyzed. Finally, the thing reached down to grab me. Then I woke up. I was in my bed, in my bedroom, in my house. It was all just a dream.

ByRebeccaKeyes Senior

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RUNMind-numbing silence except for the creaks of the floor which come slow, deliberate. Then there is my heart, “thud-thud, thud-thud.” It beats faster and faster.

Have you ever had one of those experiences that are so scary, you see your whole life flash through your mind? I have. I’m starting to realize what I regret doing in my life. Will I get the chance to fix things? I don’t want my life to end abruptly.

What I don’t understand is how no one heard their screams. A small suburb, a small house, I think if I reached out my window I could almost touch the neighbor’s house. It’s only 10 pm! People should be awake right now! My parents were over for dinner. My mother. Her blood-curdling scream as it happened, no one to protect her. Dad already on the floor. I wanted to help. I swear to God I did. I wasn’t in the room when it happened, but I know. I ran upstairs, praying, hoping the attacker didn’t know I was here. I can remember walking toward the kitchen, hearing her scream, seeing the blood spatter on the doorway. Now I’m in my bedroom closet. It feels like hours, but I guess when there is a murderer in your house, minutes feel long and dragged out. The footsteps make their way slowly up the stairs. Not one of them silent. They make their way to my bedroom door. As I’m sitting in the dark of my closet, I realize how cliché my hiding place is. This is the first place they will look! I might as well have lain on the bed and told the murderer to kill me now! My whole body is shaking, no matter how much I try to will my muscles to hold still. The footsteps stop at the doorway of the closet. Oh god..oh god. I squeeze my eyes shut hoping whoever it is has mercy on me. Make it quick, painless. A hand grabs my arms. Here it comes.

“As I’m sitting in the dark of my closet, I realize how cliché my hiding place is.

This is the first place they will look!”

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Am I dying or being hugged? It’s my husband. He’s hugging me. He tells me he’s so glad I’m okay. He saw my parents and came looking for me. “Did you see the murderer?” his eyes desperate for an answer. That’s an odd question to ask. I realize what time it is. I was in the closet for no more than eight minutes. He was out of work two hours ago. It only takes him an hour to get home. I look at him. Puzzled. “Where have you been?” He gives me a defensive look and lets go of my hand. “I stayed late at work and had to put gas in the car. Answer my question.” I’m scared. Do I say yes, and if my own husband is the killer, take the chance of getting slaughtered also? Or say no and be honest? Then try to find a way out? “No, Ben, I didn’t see the killer.” Best option. I’d prefer to live to see tomorrow. He hugs me. I feel sick to my stomach. This whole night feels like a dream. I pull away from him and run downstairs in the hope that at least one parent, just one, is still breathing and can be saved. The first one I see is my Dad. He is sliced from ear to ear. I hold back the vomit in my throat threatening to rise and spew. His neck is still bleeding. His skin is hanging. I see his chest is still. He’s gone. Then I see my mother, dainty, fragile, a knife in her gut. I walk over to her. Check for a pulse. She’s still breathing. I touch her face, “Mom, Mom.” She opens her eyes, pain obvious on her face. “Mom, I’m gonna call 911, just hold on for me.” She looks at me with such urgency. “Ben, he did…” She fades with an unfinished sentence. I understand. It’s my husband. I panic. I hear his step coming back down the stairs.

RUN!

ByBriannaRoberts Senior

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ParrotPencilMarisa FlemingSenior

Hiding Yourself in the ShadowsPhotograph

Anna CassidySenior

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The sky is gray outside the windowThe rain is falling down like tears

The tears of all the weeping windowsOf soldiers lost throughout the yearsSome come back and look so hollow

A haunted look inside their eyesThe stories told, so hard to follow

The pain they feel, hard to disguise

Easter FlowersPhotograph

Anna CassidySenior

The men that went away so youngCame back without their youthReturning with the battle wonThey hadn’t known the truth

That home from war, there is no prideAnd going to war, kills what’s inside

ByAleishaLeClairJunior

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Lost Soldiers

ZeuspencilLevi CummingsJunior

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A Rebel YellColin Bohanan was a prisoner of war. He had been captured at Gettysburg along with the rest of his South Carolinian unit. The men had been separated due to the high labor demand for the transcontinental railroad. Colin was able to go with his friends Cooper and Jeb. The three were shipped to Kentucky to help with construction of the train tracks. The men had arrived on November 01, 1863.

It had been three bitter months since the boys arrived. Jeb had pneumonia and the boss had him laid up in the sick bay. The temperature was about 15 degrees Fahrenheit and Colin couldn’t feel his feet. Cooper was turning blue and shaking from cold. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore and threw down his shovel in despair. He began to climb the railroad ditch, regardless of the warnings to stay where he was. Cooper kept walking. He was stopped by a musket ball from the dig boss’s pistol. He fell forward into the snow and lay still. Colin cursed and cried. He had known Cooper for twelve years.

As Colin got back up and grabbed Cooper’s shovel, he made a silent oath that he would get out of that hell hole and take his buddy’s memory with him. Another two months passed and Jeb recovered from pneumonia. Soon Colin proposed his escape plan that he had been brewing in his mind since Cooper’s death to Jeb. Jeb agreed to it whole heartedly but thought it might be a better idea to include the other prisoners in the plan as well. Colin agreed and soon the entire Confederate POW unit was in on his plan.

The date was July 4, 1864. The Confederate soldiers had been stashing anything that could be used as a weapon. They had hidden countless shovels, pick axes, knives, and the occasional pistol in a ditch just outside of the camp. When Jeb shook Colin awake, they both knew that it was time. Every man knew what they had to do. The imprisoned soldiers all went to work with an energy born of desperation. Everyone pushed themselves hard so that they were warmed up for when the signal came.

The signal was Colin’s job. He had smuggled a stick of dynamite away from the blasting unit at the front of the railroad. The laborers knew that their only difficulty in escaping would be soldiers. But

Colin had a plan to handicap the soldiers and to spark the escape. Colin snuck away from the work ditch to the back of the Union barracks. It was a Sunday, and church was in service in the barracks. Colin lit the dynamite from his cigarette and tossed it up and under the barrack’s tent flap. Colin turned and let loose a curdling rebel yell as the blast echoed around the work camp.

“As Colin got back up and grabbed Cooper’s shovel, he made a silent oath that he would get out of that hell hole and take his buddy’s

memory with him.”

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Jeb’s job was to pass out the weapons that had been collected. The rebels grabbed their respective tools and set to work. Many of the Union soldiers had survived the dynamite, but mass confusion and chaos ran throughout their ranks. Men scrambled to their bunks and began to load their guns.

About half of the men had finished loading when the rebels hit. Colin led the attack as he drove his pick axe through the dig boss’s stomach. To Colin’s left, Jeb cleaved a soldier’s skull in half with his old shovel. To Colin’s right, he sadly saw that the battle was not completely in their hands. One of his friends was cut down by a musket ball that passed through his heart. Colin took out a skinning knife and hurled it into the soldier’s neck. Colin heard Jeb yell a warning as a line of Union soldiers fired into the crowd. Confederate and Union soldiers were hit as the murderous fire passed through the crowd.

As Colin looked around, he saw that Jeb was all right but a new development threatened to end the uprising. Two soldiers had wheeled a Gatling gun in front of the gate. The men were in the process of

loading the gun, but Colin knew that the evil machine would soon rip into the crowd of his comrades.

He yelled to Jeb to lead the fight and took off for the gun. He drew his pistol that contained one bullet and fired toward the men. One of the soldiers went down with a bullet in his shoulder. The other man scrambled to start firing the gun into the oncoming wave of rebels. The man began to crank the lever on the gun and it began to fire. Colin felt a red hot slug slam into his left arm and was flung across the road.

He slowly raised himself up on his good arm and saw his worst fears confirmed. His friends, his comrades, his brothers, were being torn up.

He watched Jeb stab a soldier in the throat and then go down under a torrent of gun fire. Colin yelled and tried to stand. He stumbled a few steps and fell. Colin opened his eyes again and saw a single bullet lying next to him. He propped himself up and began to fumble around for his pistol. He finally managed to take hold of the bullet and slide it into the cylinder.

Colin needed to cycle the revolver around to shoot it off. He needed to pull the trigger four times. Those four pulls were the hardest he ever attempted. Colin raised his shaky arm and aimed carefully at the shooter on the Gatling gun.Click…Click…..Click…..BANG!The pistol sounded and the man on the Gatling crumpled. Colin heard a wild rebel yell as the men rushed to the exit. Colin smiled and croaked out one last “Hurrah!” As he watched his comrades escape, Colin closed his eyes for the last time.

ByRobSkelly Junior

“The imprisoned soldiers all went to work with an energy born of desperation.”

29

Tet The roar of guns awaken us allThe shouting, oh the shouting of ordersIs abruptly silenced as our L.T. fallsTo the deafening bang of the enemy’s mortarsThe enemy advances, abruptly and swiftlyAs the beat of my heart suddenly tensesTheir footsteps are heard; they shout out quite loudly.Soon, they will breach our defenses.

Now, as stare downhill uponThe enemy, fearful thoughts run through my head.Thoughts of torture, of slaughter, of never seeing my son.But a tear falls from my cheek as I look overheadTo see the flyboys fill the air with red-orange smoke,That forces the V.C. to run, and burn, and choke.

ByParkerMcPheeJunior

Flowers in the WindowPhotographAnna CassidySenior

30

Dusk Acrylic Marissa Fleming Senior

A tear escapes from her eyeThe church is filled aisle to aisle.The bugle plays for he who dies.

She didn’t get to say good-bye,She hides behind a single smile.

A tear escapes from her eye

She sits alone and asks God why,Though she knows it’s not worthwhile.

The bugle plays for he who dies

The Bugle Plays for He Who DiesHe is looking down from the sky;

A part of the universe, or just another lie.A tear escapes from her eye.

Has she been abandoned, or should she tryTo staunch the pain she feels that is far from wild.

The bugle plays for he who dies.

“A beautiful life” is what he’s remembered by,A beloved man who made her smile

A tear escapes from her eye.The bugle plays for he who dies.

ByDanaLinendollJunior

31

MemoriesThe mind is a complicated thingWords act like keys to memoriesOpening doors to remember anything.Memories are like leaves on the treesSlow to grow and quickly fleetingOr like a movie replaying in your headNever slowing just constantly repeatingUnwanted stories invade the mind; unrelated

Within a story swirls a whirlwind of emotionsYou dream it as you tell itRemembering the havoc and commotionIt’s like realities are split.You may be filled with regretThe thing is, you’ll never forget.

ByCarolineMcKeighan Junior

WildflowersAcrylic

Amanda DavisJunior

32

BreakfastLove is like a maple syrup

Drenched pancake

Tempting, enticing, overwhelming

Crisp, dark edges with a

Sweet, fluffy center

First bite: Heaven.

Second bite: Divine.

The whole plate: Stomachache.

Anonymous

HUNGRY YET ?The restaurant smelled of broiled steak and potatoes seasoned with sage. I received my plate, filet mignon smothered in braised mushrooms with a side of julienned peppers and carrots. The smell

permeated my nostrils as I cut into the juicy piece of steak.

My stomach growled as I looked at the dish, medium rare, just as I had ordered. The piece of steak sat on the plate, as I stabbed two slices of the mushrooms and a pepper onto the fork. I then

added my steak and took a bite. The reduced wine sauce and mushrooms were the first flavors.

The next was the crisp bite of bell pepper that provided a crunch. Finally, the flavor of the filet bombarded my mouth. The pepper-crusted steak melted like butter in my mouth, as I barley

chewed it. I went to take another bite as my knife slid through the steak like a hot knife through butter. I continued eating as my plate emptied.

My stomach filled quickly as the succulent dish filled me to the brim. I leaned back in my chair to savor the final bite of the delicious meal.

My waitress came around and asked, “Is that all, or have you saved room for dessert?”

ByParkerMcPheeJunior

33

Summer is Here Photograph Anna Cassidy Senior

Ready to BloomPhotograph

Anna CassidySenior

34

Through the Lens Photograph Makayla Clifford Junior