ART ST. BENEDICT AT AUBURNDALE

LITERARY&MAGAZINE → ISSUE 2

2012-2013

Me, Not YouI never wanted Mickey D’s.

I would much prefer Chinese.

I eat my hot wings with utensils.I don’t want hot sauce on my pencils.

Intense athletics aren’t for me.I’m more one to play Frisbee.

Ketchup is good on my sweet potato fries.Don’t sass me with those disapproving eyes.

Everyone is friends with many.My contact list is a bit more skinny.

Yes the shorts may be high-waisted. At least it doesn’t look copy and pasted.

I do not like the taste of cake.There’s so much else I’d rather bake.

They may sound different, some things I do.But that’s why I am me not you.

Kristin Fabian • Class of 2014

Art by: Breonna Walker • Class of 2013 • Charcoal

Me, Not YouI never wanted Mickey D’s.

I would much prefer Chinese.

I eat my hot wings with utensils.I don’t want hot sauce on my pencils.

Intense athletics aren’t for me.I’m more one to play Frisbee.

Ketchup is good on my sweet potato fries.Don’t sass me with those disapproving eyes.

Everyone is friends with many.My contact list is a bit more skinny.

Yes the shorts may be high-waisted. At least it doesn’t look copy and pasted.

I do not like the taste of cake.There’s so much else I’d rather bake.

They may sound different, some things I do.But that’s why I am me not you.

Kristin Fabian • Class of 2014

Art by: Adriana Schirlo • Class of 2013 • Colored Pencil

WordsWords are delicate things

tossed about from

innumerable pairs of lips,

spoken gentle as a cloud

or harsher than a storm,

slow as the ticking clock

or faster than the passing of youth.

Brooke Deason • Class of 2014

Art by: Courtney Melvin • Class of 2016 • Graphite Pencil

Art by: Abigail Muffoletto • Class of 2014 • Graphite Pencil

BeautyWithin each creature, there is infinite beauty.

It might be hard to uncover, yet there is. God, by no means, created anything on this earth that wasn’t able to possess beauty. Each human being who came into this world started out beautiful. Yet, some rid them-

selves of that beauty and put on a coat of evil. However, that human being has the opportunity to take off that coat. It depends on what their heart aches for—in the depths of their soul. Whether they desire to live that

wicked life. There is beauty behind every rib. But per-haps just not behind every eyelid, due to that coat of

evil. It tricks you. Makes you perceive things in a new light. Actually, demands you to perceive things in a

new darkness. It alters your mind and infects your soul. Nevertheless, you have the capability to free yourself of

the evil that encompasses you. Find the strength be-hind those ribs, deep within your pure heart, to purge the evil and hate away from your mind, body and soul. Yet, I will forever know, whether you bear the coat or

not, there is beauty deep within.

Rebekah Little • Class of 2012

Master She filled up her bucket and grabbed her mop as she had done every

day for the past three years. Ever since her parents were killed, she’d been liv-ing in this trap. But, not of her own will. The will of the rebels. She was sleeping one night in her small but comforting home when she awoke to the sound of them banging down the front door. She shot up out of bed and rushed to her parents’ room as she heard the shrieking gunshots—but it was too late. They grabbed her and taped her mouth closed, throwing her into the back of their dirty, white van. She was taken in the middle of the night, along with many

other innocent children. She didn’t even get to say goodbye.

She always dreamed of living in a mansion, but not under these condi-tions. Being the master to numerous servants and having all of the work done

for her sounded wonderful, until she actually lived on the other side. These men were ruthless. They would beat her and starve her for days if she missed one spot. But she was not the only one. Every village in the region had been swarmed by these heartless but powerful men. They targeted girls as young

as eleven and as old as twenty-one. They took the boys and turned them into soldiers. Everyone else was killed. The girls were told they were just being pre-pared for the “real world” and that they would be set free when the rebels felt they were ready. But they knew that statement was not accurate. No one ever

came out of situations like these alive. She wondered daily if her life would ever have the smallest chance of being somewhat normal again. But she doubted

it. For now, she would hopelessly continue mopping and doing what the men ordered, praying that it was all just a dream.

Sarah Hogan • Class of 2013

Art by: May Wang • Class of 2014 • Mixed Media

Letter to the World My own hopes and dreams meet paper as I write them all down fiercely. My

desire is to enlighten the world without it being exposed. Could it be possible to hide

this letter away until I’m deceased? What would become of it after I passed? All I

want is justice, security, and creativity to inhabit every corner of the world.

I only want the world to be constructed from these things, only then would there

be peace for humankind. The rest of the planets that contain life must already have

adopted these wonderful elements by witnessing our destructive world. Who else?

Tell me who else would yearn to live in a world of liars, thieves, lifeless beings, self-

absorbed cretins? That’s why I know they have seen us.

They have shaken their heads at us in embarrassment and used earth as an example

of ignorance and greed. How badly we might want to change, but peace can never ex-

ist amongst our planet. We’ve gone too long without it. Perhaps peace can live within

us; but in reality, it can never be shared. I hold onto the dreams I perceive with every

night’s sleep, how could I forget them?

They all have me wishing for something that will never come to be. I want to live in

a world where dreams come alive and nightmares never corrupt an innocent mind.

Only then would I enjoy my stay here on earth. If life meant forever, we could all be

repulsive individuals. We would hate one another ten times as much, and love would

be scarce. So, is there really a heaven above us? I do believe there is. I’ve always been

quite faithful, but why was I placed on such a sinful earth where I am tempted every

day? How could this be a good life when it only consists of ruin? Life sure feels a lot

like death. Therefore we must be in hell.

Lexie Heroux• Class of 2013

Art by: Alanna Oliphat • Class of 2014 • Texture Study, Oil on canvas

Lie Beneath the WillowHe hopped on the bus, the smell of destruction still fresh. He was away for so long, he didn’t know what he was coming home to—but he didn’t care. All that mattered was she would be back in his arms, his sweet Lana. She’d promised him the day he was deployed that she’d wait for him no matter how long that took. So here he was, three years later on the way to her, her promise still ringing in his ears. It was all that kept him going on those grueling nights spent in the bunker, not knowing if he’d live to see sunlight again. Every day he did and every day he thanked God for bringing him one day closer to Lana. The bus screeched to a halt and pulled him out of his flashback. He looked out the window and saw that familiar willow tree they’d spent so many summers taking shade under. He stepped off the bus shaking the gun-powder scent from his nostrils. He walked up to the old wooden door and knocked hard five times. No answer. He tried again…still nothing. He turned the doorknob and the door creaked with age as he opened it. He stepped inside and put his bag down next to the coffee table. He walked to the stairs, rested his hand on the railing, and climbed to the third floor. He heard laughter coming from inside their bedroom. He crept up to the cracked door and pushed it open the rest of the way. There she was with another man. They made eye contact before she stumbled back. Then he spun around, taking off as quickly as he could down the stairs and out of the house. Lana chased after him, but by the time she made it outside he had taken off on his motorcycle. She’d put him out like the burning end of a midnight cigarette. That was the day Brad had his first drink. He tried to drink the pain away a little at a time, but he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind. Months later, Lana stood in the grass beneath the willow tree in her black dress as they lowered a coffin into the ground. She could hear the angels sing a whiskey lullaby.

Angela Marrs • Class of 2012

Photography by: Katherine Camilleri • Class of 2013

Art by: Thomas Gilman • Class of 2014 • Chalk Pastel on Paper

The Way I Love You

“Suppose you threw a love affair and nobody came.”

Suppose I threw the love affair and you were the

nobody. Suppose I loved you with every part of me.

You were the first and last thing on my mind every

day. Suppose I said a smile from you gave me all the

confidence in the world. Your friendly flirtations make

my heart skip a beat. I’m scared of what you think of me

when I say something weird, but you just shake your

head and laugh. Suppose I said that when you confide

in me, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world; because

out of everyone, you chose me to share your secrets

with. Even when you make me mad, I don’t stay mad

for long. Suppose I said I always want you around. I

wonder why you can’t see how much I adore you, but

then again, it doesn’t really matter. I love you too much

to care. You see, I don’t mind if we stay friends forever,

because that way, I’ll never lose you. Some may say I’m

cowardly, still others may say I torture myself. Yet, as I

sit here writing about you, about us, I feel completely

content. I like the way we are. Suppose I said I liked the

way I love you.

Ivy Anderson Class of 2012

Baby Pink I slide the paperclip over the stack of papers and laugh. It’s so like you to

leave a bright pink paperclip on these very important legal documents. Next to

the stack of papers is a baby pink post-it note that says, “I love you. I love us.” I

smile. Soon “us” will be more than just you and me. I look at the papers and scan

for places for me to sign highlighted in, of all colors, pink. I put my pen down and

glance over at the picture of us from our wedding day. You are standing beside

me smiling as big as the moon, with your jet black hair cascading down your

back in effortless curls. I always loved wrapping each strand around my pinky.

You are holding a pink bouquet, although I’m not really sure what type of flow-

ers are in it. Your nails, your lips, and your cheeks are all pink. I can’t believe it’s

already been five years and two months. Three years and four months since we

first bought a pregnancy test. Pink the color of that little plus sign. A sign of so

much hope and love. Three years and eight months since we cut the “gender

reveal cake” and found pink icing in the middle. Pink, the color of all the clothes

we bought after the party for our baby. Our baby. Three years, eight months and

three weeks since you miscarried. I remember carrying you upstairs to our room

and laying you down. I remember how hard you cried. Your face pinker than the

towel I used to dry those tears. Two years and nine months, since we decided

to adopt. The little girl’s face was so pink when we met her. You light up like a

Christmas tree from the moment you held her in your arms. I knew she was per-

fect. I knew we would love her. I laugh, this time out loud. By the time this whole

process is over, my whole world will be pink. My laughter subsides, and I sign my

heart away for the second time. Welcome home little darling.

Brianna Willis • Class of 2012

Art by: Maddie Rose • Class of 2016 • Watercolor Pencils

DisillusionmentSee how your imagination was a curse

The sight of fairies, unicorns, and sorcerers gave you pleasureTell me how it feels once enchantments disperse

Even as your disposition went from happy to worse Giants, trolls, gnomes, and magic mirrors aided as a cure

See how your imagination was a curseYou got tangled in the paparazzi, makeup, and a small dog in a purse

Now people think you’re the witch, not the girl you were, little and pureTell me how it feels once enchantments disperseHollywood magic changed your fantasy world

to studios where you rehearseDrinks and depressants made you see dragons and mermaids

to help you endureSee how your imagination was a curse

You lost sight of dreams, injected with morphine by a cold nurseYour vision of ambition began to blur

Tell me how it feels once enchantments disperseMoney couldn’t make time reverse; now you lie in a long black hearse

Unlike the phoenix you won’t return don’t fight the angels’ allureSee how your imagination was a curse

Tell me how it feels once enchantments disperse

Jenny Meegan • Class of 2013

Art by: Macenzie Nelson • Class of 2015 • Pen and Ink

Art by: Mary Beth Wein • Class of 2013 • Oil on canvas

Sunset Love As I live out in the country

I feel like I’m becoming strongerI think to myself as I see fish come out of the water

Out in the distance I see my love riseSitting together we watch the sunset,

As the sun goes down we look at one another, eye to eye

He is the apple of my eyeSomeday he is going to another country

I know even when we are far apart we still watch the sunsetAs our love for one another grows stronger

My heart begins to riseAs I walk to the edge of the water

When I get to the edge of the waterMy eyes begin to fill with tears when I see his eyes.

He picks me up and in his arms I riseI am back in his arms, back in this country

I know when he was gone I had to be strongNow together we can watch the sunset

By the water, we begin to watch the sunsetI look at our reflection in the water

The time apart made our love strongerI see happiness in his eyes

He is back home in our countryBack to our love rising

As the moon begins to riseMarking the end of the sunset

We watched the sunset together in one countryThe moon beings to dance after I touch the water

When I watched his eyesThey begin to look at me longer and stronger

As the summer night air becomes strongerWe begin to rise

Locked intimately in each other’s eyesAs we head up to the house after watching the sunsetWhen we got to the porch, fell from the sky was water

I know water is good out here in the countryI know in my heart I’m country strong

Like the crops grow with waterTogether we always see the sunset rise

Jessie Clower Class of 2012

Art by: Samantha Pilcher • Class of 2013 Oil on Canvas

My favorite story is Snow White. I want to write a story about Snow White’s stepmother. I do not know her name in the story, and I want to call her Maggie. That is my best friend’s name.

When Maggie was young, she was very beautiful like an angel. She had a very handsome boyfriend named Jack, and they loved each other very much. One day, the king, Snow White’s father, came. At that time he had a very lovely daughter named Snow White. Years ago, Snow White’s mother fell ill and died, and he was left to care for Snow White on his own. He saw Maggie and thought she was a very attractive woman. He took

Maggie against her will to his huge and very lovely castle.

Maggie, however, still loved Jack. The king wanted to marry Maggie very much, so he threatened to kill Jack if Maggie did not marry him. Maggie had no choice, and married the king. She then became Snow White’s step-mother. She loved Snow White with all her heart, and wanted to be a very good mother to her. A few years later, the

king died in battle, leaving Maggie to be the sole caregiver of Snow White, whom she loved so much every day. In the meantime, Jack became a strong hunter, and grew to hate Maggie because he believed she be-trayed him to marry the king. Jack wanted to kill Maggie to seek revenge—but she was the queen—and always in the castle and well-protected at all times. The mighty huntsman decided the best way to seek revenge was to

kill the young, innocent, and beautiful Snow White.

The huntsman knew Snow White was to be in the forest collecting fruits and berries and was waiting for her with knife raised—ready to kill her to seek revenge against Maggie. As Snow White saw Jack, he had a sudden change of heart and plans. He decided the best way to get revenge on Maggie was to turn Snow White against her. The queen loved Snow White with all her heart, so he told Snow White the queen ordered him to kill her. This angered and hurt Snow White immensely. She was so confused, torn, and scared. Jack commanded “Run, run with

all your might!” Snow White panicked and knew she could not return home to her stepmother.

Snow White ran away…far, far away. Meanwhile, the queen worried for Snow White’s safety when she did not return from the woods. She found out from a servant who was in the woods at the same time that Snow White was running deep into the forest with a look of sheer fear on her face. The queen immediately left the castle in hopes of finding her daughter, whom she loved so very much and would do anything for. Word had spread to Jack that the queen was deep in the woods in search of her beloved daughter, Snow White. He devised a plan to present Maggie with a delicious, yet poisonous, red apple. Jack, very angry, and hungry to seek revenge with the queen, confronted her in the darkest part of the forest. He, lying, confessed his everlasting love to the queen and presented the apple to

her. Deep down in her heart, she was overwhelmed with joy to see Jack and put the apple in her pocket.

Desperate to find her daughter, she searched and searched, and came across Snow White in the darkest dark of the woods. Snow White was happy in a cottage with seven lovely dwarfs. The stepmother knew that if she showed her face to Snow White, she would be scared and angered to see her. The queen, who was unaware the apple was poisonous, decided to change her appearance to an ugly old woman to be able to give a very hungry Snow White the juicy apple.

Snow White happily ate the apple that Maggie had offered, and immediately fell to the ground in a deep sleep.

Maggie was terrified as her daughter was lying on the floor and appeared to be dead. Deep within, Maggie knew Jack no longer loved her and believed her beloved daughter was dead. She decided to pray for her own death so that her daughter could live. As she sat still in the woods in prayer, Maggie witnessed the handsome prince entering the cottage to give Snow White true love’s first kiss. As she witnessed Snow White slowly com-ing to, she could not forgive herself for giving Snow White the apple and for betraying Jack. Her heart stopped

beating, with her final resting place being the forest floor.

May Wang • Class of 2013

Snow White’s Mother

My Letter to the World

Dear World, why are you so cruel?

I see the front you’re putting up—

Making everyone think that this place is beautiful.

Yes, you are beautiful but only to the eyes.

In my mind and in my heart, I feel the pain

that you inflict.

Beauty—it hides so much, but smiles do the same.

Drugs. Rape. Slavery. War. Hunger. Disease.

Tell me world, are these things beautiful?

No!

That’s why you’ve hidden them from us—

You keep us in the dark so that nobody will see

you aren’t beautiful,

And we believe you.

We believe you, but we know the way you lie—

We know the things you hide from us…and we

don’t care.

In fact, we’re glad you put up your front

We’re glad because that means we can keep

smiling on the outside—

Like there’s nothing wrong on the inside.

But we know.

We feel it in the depths of our hearts—

And hear it in our thoughts!

Our minds scream at us, “There are people who

are suffering!”

“You need to do something!”

But, you world—you say, “Look at all the

beauty—there is no suffering here.”

And us, cowards?—we choose to believe you.

Art by: Jenny Meegan • Class of 2013 • Charcoal on cardboard

Art by: Jenny Meegan • Class of 2013 • Charcoal on cardboard

We believe you because it’s easier to swallow

than the truth.

We don’t have the courage to stand up and say no—

And that is truly a shame—because that’s all it

would take.

Just one person standing against the hate and

cruelty you try to hide.

As a nation who stands silent we accomplish

nothing—

As individuals who stand for something, we

give others the courage to do the same.

But as a nation with a voice, we can do anything.

So, why not?

Why World?

Why won’t you put down your front—

So everyone can see we can’t go on like

nothing’s wrong anymore?

Show them your cruelty,

Don’t give us a way to hide from the suffering—

To block it out of our minds.

Make us take a stand.

World, I see your beauty—

But I also see the pain.

I’m not afraid anymore World.

I know I need to make a difference somehow—

If only the others could see it, too.

My voice will not be enough—

But at least my voice is a start.

Make them see the ugly world—

The world that I now see.

Mandy Neat • Class of 2012

Ghazal

Art by: Bret James 2013: Charcoal on Colored Paper

The light of the moon reflected silver In the water, and shimmered, twinkling on the window of the one-

haired silver.

Good days are almost too predictable to bear,With bad days comes the unknown liner shaded silver.

Though the glint in my eye shows of soft smooth sorrow,It turns to a long inhabited crystallized silver.

Gold is often hard with emptiness within,What is like liquid and warm and full to the brim is silver.

Flowers dusted with pollen are worthless but they are found in multitude,

The ones that are special are rare indeed and always dusted with silver.

A secret dinner, without the cat,Her and him who drink the wine, look up, the stars melt to silver.

Katie Beth Wein • Class of 2013

Beauty PromptWhat makes you beautiful? Is it the white of your teeth?

The tan of your skin?Or is it what’s beneath,The kindness of men?

What makes you beautiful? Is it the curl of your hair

Or the shape of your lips?If you stripped yourself bare,Could you handle life’s dips?

What makes you beautiful? Is it the hue of your eyes

Or the length of your legs?Maybe it’s the silence of cries

Or the sound of a chick breaking its egg.

What makes you beautiful? Is it the size of your waist

Or the softness of your skin?Maybe it comes from the trials you’ve faced.

From the courage within.

What makes you beautiful? It is not from an appealing eye.

A picture, pose, or TV.Beauty isn’t something that fades as you die.Beauty is the goodness inside you and me.

Katie Miller • Class of 2012

Art by: Mary Margaret Vollmar • Class of 2013 • Colored Pencil

Shift Flowers bloomed all around us. Color danced from petal to petal. Pink, yellow, green, blue, violet. The

sun was so close it looked as though we could touch it. It was obvious that it should have been warm, if not

scorching hot. But I was cold, and so was your hand that I twined my fingers through. Our toes were burrowed

in the soft soil, but the ground felt like ice. I wanted to reach up and touch the blazing fire that floated above us,

but you pulled my hand away. The flowers did not move or even slightly quiver. The air was still and motionless.

I looked at your face, hoping you could explain this odd place. You had always known exactly how to comfort

me. But when I looked at your face, staring straight-ahead, a shiver ran through me. You were gray and bleak

as though you had never felt before. I opened my mouth to ask you what made you so cold, but then our world

shifted. The flowers began to sway and then struggle against the wind. The sun began to retreat along with all

of the color that painted the mysterious place. I gripped your hand harder, horrified, but still you did nothing.

Once all of the flowers had been torn from the ground and the entire world turned bleak and gray, I crumpled

to my knees as if the wind had taken my breath along with the rest of the meadow. You still did not move. Your

eyes never wavered from the far off point in the distance you were transfixed on. It seemed to be hours later, but

you finally moved. You pried your hand from mine and you walked into the distance. You said nothing, but I

knew you weren’t coming back.

I jolted up in bed. Tears were running down my cheeks and my entire body was shaking. I reached

across the bed to wake you up. I wanted to tell you how horrific my dream had been and for you to comfort

me as always. My hand groped cold, empty sheets. My head fell back against my pillow and I closed my

eyes. I had momentarily forgotten. I immediately missed that naïve ignorance that had overcome me. I

had felt whole again. I had forgotten you only existed within my dreams now. Like the meadow, our love

was beautiful. But beneath the surface, something was wrong. Then our world was destroyed. Leaving me

broken and you cold. Cold as ice. You had walked away from me, just like in the dream, leaving me in our

now bleak world. You went towards the sun without me. But I was past being angry. I know if you had the

choice to keep your heart beating, your skin warm, and your hand in mind—you would have. I imagined

your face warm and smiling, and prayed for your visit once more that night.

Olivia Betterton • Class of 2013

Art by: Bret James 2013: Charcoal on Colored Paper

Art by: Jenny Meegan • Class of 2013 • Colored Pencil on Cardboard

She is alone, so she walksThrough the city in the dark night.

The wind is blowing coldWherever she walks, she walks alone.

The beauty that she sees, Only she truly knows.

The things that she knowsIs from the city she walksThe beauty that she seesComes only in the nightWhile she walks alone

For now she doesn’t feel the cold.

The places she walks are cold.Wondrous sights, she knows.

If only she weren’t alone.And so she walks.

Her friend is the night.He sees all that she sees.

The odd things she seesSends her a shiver, so cold.

She wanders through the nightShe wanders all that he knows.

The same path she walks.The same path, alone.

In the city alone, in the city she seesIn the city she walks

Always through the cold, Only she knows

What is hidden through night.

And though the nightIs her companion, she is alone.

Only she knowsIt. Only she sees

It. Only she feels the cold.All alone, she walks.

And so she walks at night. She feels the coldAlone she sees lonesome she knows

Peter Longoria • Class of 2012.

She Walks Alone

Art by: Spencer Dahler Found Objects Sculpture 2013 Scholastic Art Show Silver Key Award Winner

Music

As the cello players attack their cellos, the hair on my arms are sticking up. The

sound first starts out low then becomes very loud. My whole body has goose bumps

now. The sound just touches your body lightly, but you get this great reaction to the

beautiful sound. As you walk out of the auditorium, you realize it was only high

schoolers. Your jaw drops. You look around to see if anyone saw you and you close

your mouth immediately. You go to the table where they sell CDs. There is one of the

students who played. You pick up one of the CDs, hand the student twenty dollars

and start to walk away, but the student stops you. He says, “The CD is only five dol-

lars.” You say, “Keep it, you guys deserve it.” He smiles and blushes. You get into your

car, put the CD in and start it. You still get goose bumps. Even today.

Laura Follansbee Class of 2012

Art by: Cayci Dowdy • Class of 2013 • Pastel

Breakfast for Two

It’s 10:45, I go into CK’s for my daily breakfast. I order my scrambled eggs and a biscuit. By the

time I finish it’s almost 11:00; and just like clockwork, he walks in wearing his black leather jacket and his

red-tinted Ray-Bans. He sits in the corner booth as we both order our coffee. I wonder if he ever notices

me like I notice him.

I walk in around 11:00 and I notice her sitting close to the door. She is beautiful, her pale skin

with rosy cheeks and bright lipstick. She is so unique with her jet-black hair resting against her face, and

her bangs that fall lightly on her forehead. I order my coffee and start to read the daily newspaper.

He is the opposite of me; he has light-blonde hair, gelled up, and naturally tanned skin. I can tell

he is naturally tan because some days he is more sunburn than tan. I am unsure of his age but he looks

fairly young, there isn’t a wrinkle on him. However, there is a scar under his chin from when he cut

himself shaving, I once overheard him tell the waitress a couple of months back. He is tall, and not that

skinny, but not that big either. Hmm, he is just right. He sits in his lonely corner booth sipping his coffee

and reading his crinkly newspaper. The waiters always greet him as Mr. Brandon, I’m not sure if that his

first name or last. I don’t care either way.

Art by: Alexis Schell • Class of 2014 •Mixed Media

Words can’t even begin to describe how beautiful she is. I glance at her as I drink my now cold

coffee. We make eye contact, but she quickly turns away. Her voice is soft and gentle. I can tell she has

a good heart; she always leaves an eight dollar tip and then buys the neighborhood homeless man a

cup of coffee. Her name is Sophie and she works at the local vet and owns a pug—I hear her say to the

man. She checks her watch and I assume she is late for work by the way she runs out of CK’s. Maybe

tomorrow I’ll get to talk to this beautiful stranger. Goodbye Sophie, I whisper to myself.

I notice he smirks when I talk to Rick, the homeless man. I admire him from afar but quickly

turn away if we dare make eye-contact. I am only good at talking with animals and this homeless man.

I check my watch when I become bored with talking to Rick and I see that I’ll be late for yoga, so I dart

out of CK’s. Maybe tomorrow I’ll work up the courage to talk to him. Goodbye, Mr. Brandon, I whis-

per to myself.

Lucy Thompson Class of 2012

Art by: Alexis Schell • Class of 2014 •Mixed Media

Doris

Doris Jeane Thorpe is the greatest woman I have ever had the pleasure of

knowing. She is my great-grandmother. She is bossy, sarcastic, loud, and is never seen

in public without her coffee and cigarette in hand—and her teeth in. She practically

raised me until I was seven years old. She got sick that year. No one would tell me what

was wrong, but I wasn’t worried about her for a second. We still stayed up late together

eating malt balls and watching ice skating, it was like nothing ever changed.

Months passed and it was a week before my birthday. I was at after-school care

hanging out with my friends. I glanced over and saw my mom walking in. She was

picking me up early for some reason. She took my hand and said, “McKenzie, I have

something to tell you when we get in the car.” I ran as fast as I could, excited as to what

the news could be. As we both go into the car, my mother remained silent. Being a

normal, anxious seven-year-old, I begged for the special news. “McKenzie, Memaw

passed away not too long ago while you were at school.” My smile melted away, my heart

stopped. My stomach turned into a pit, I couldn’t move. My mom told me we needed to

be at home with my grandma so I laid back and tried to absorb what my mom just told

me. I didn’t believe her at all. When we got home, I leaped out of the car and ran to her

bedroom. I felt like I was in a horror movie. All of the lights were off. The only light in

the room was peering in the blinds covering the windows. I walked as slow as possible,

but when her bed was in sight, there was no point. She was gone. The only thing left was

an indent in the bed that outlined where her body had been. I wanted to touch it, but I was

too scared. I grabbed our malt balls and ran to my room, where I didn’t move for hours.

Art by: Jessie Hawes • Class of 2014 • Mixed Media

The day of the funeral came. I put on my good shoes early, so I could write her a letter

to put in her casket. As we rode to the funeral home, I tried to cheer my grandma up, but

nothing seemed to work. After this, it’s a little fuzzy but I remember a lot of tears and hugs

from my family members that I hadn’t seen since I was a baby. But soon came the time

where I got to see her. It was a little surreal, knowing this was the last time I was going to see

her. As I approached her, I remember thinking that she looked weird. She wasn’t boisterous

and bright, she was pale and silent. I placed my letter next to her hand, told her I loved her,

and said goodbye. I stayed as close to her, for as long as they would let me, before the eulogy

started. I sat in the front row next to my grandmother as we listened to my uncle speak. My

mom stayed close too, getting choked up when my uncle said, “Doris’s favorite person in

the world, her granddaughter whom she lovingly called Peek since the day she was born.”

Up to this moment, my grandmother was quiet and solemn. She was almost like

a statue. I think she was staying strong for me. The song “Wind Beneath My Wings” by

Bette Midler began to play. This was my great-grandmother’s wedding song. I felt my

grandmother clutch my hand. I looked up at her and saw behind her big, black glasses a

single tear fall from her eye. That was a profound moment in my life. That made everything

real for me. It made me truly realize that all the times we cooked dinner together, listened to

old music together, and even played with my Barbies together were gone. I was never going

to hear her call me Peek again. It began to hit me, but at the same time, I was happy. I was

happy that she was finally with my great-grandfather. I was happy because I knew she wasn’t

hurting anymore. Most of all, I was happy because I knew she was happy.

McKenzie Wilkes • Class of 2013

Art by: Alexis Schell • Class of 2014 •Mixed Media

Art by: Alexis Schell • Class of 2014 •Mixed Media

Art by: Erika Gavvock • Class of 2014 • Pastel

COVER ART BY: Ellie Milburn • Class of 2014

MAGAZINE SPREADS AND LAYOUT DESIGN BY: Graphic Design Club and

The Spring Graphic Design Class:

Alexa Armstrong, Jonathan Boulanger,

Laura Cardona, Anne Costabile,

Brook Deason, Haylee Dunham,

Madeline Howard, Ben Livingston,

Ellie Milburn, Rachal Paduck,

Zach Rasmussen, Natalie Stewart,

and Katherine Zaleski

SPECIAL THANKS to Mrs. Zeanah’s

2012 and 2013 Creative Writing Classes.