IgniteShadows Literary Magazine

Volume 6 Francis Howell High School 2013

21 Shutters22 Tick, Tick, Tick... Boom!!23 Hide Behind Denial]24 Tattoos on this Town28 My Guitar and I

3 Ignite 4 Lost Love5 Losing6 Brave Men7 Light up the Heavens8 The Gift of Color9 Still Will Rise10 Friday Night Game11 Superstar12 A Weekends Embark13 Fall Leaves14 The Rabbit Hole15 Fake16 My Best Friend17 My Sisters Sonnet18 Faith19 I’m in Heaven Now20 Escape

Table of Contents

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Lost Love By DeMonica Crawford So much pain, so much anger Not enough love to make you smother All you want is the best, the best for us A dad that stuck by my side The things I love I won’t forget All the things we did I will cherish The father and daughter time is what I miss Remember that day you held my hand and gave me a kiss ......that’s another thing I won’t forget It’s been three times since I saw those tears ..Shake my head, my been going through it Up’s, downs, all over ...welcome to my world .... Trust me it’s not over Money, car, dreams, my talent, so many things Love, forgiveness, that’s one thing we all should witness So many things I’ve done So many regrets I do have Something’s was just a reason to get your attention Daddy I miss you, your little girl cannot go without you Mm...So hard know the reason to make a better person thank you Jesus I hope you hear me out I’m not a little girl any more I know what things are about So just listen and do not avoid any question Use your eyes, mouth, and ears To speak, hear, and see hope you understand me.... So this time don’t let it sink...... The girl that caught a dream Illustrated by Ali Gammon

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LosingBy Leona Zitting

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Brave Men

Illustrated by Brandon Iverson

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Light Up The Heavens by Kaitlin Wilfing Radiating heat wraps me with its warmth. Logs crack and shift as they slowly become ashes within the walls of stone. Blankets of light dance and reflect in the wood’s cracks and crevices, like people celebrating in several rooms. Sounds come slowly and naturally through the small room as I just stare at the mingling; dancing with their hands in the air. A blanket is spread under me, thick and soft as my feet wiggle from their imprisonment of my arms. Music plays gracefully through the grip of the cinnamon that spreads wide across the air. Suddenly a voice is calling after me, cookies in her pale hands. I gather myself and follow a little bobbing blond head guiding me to a window. Night had embraced the Earth as we kneel in the dim lights of the fireplace be-hind us. Others are beside me. Several giggly brunettes like me, and younger than I ever have been, and others who are older and so much more at peace in the world. My attention is once more gathered as the men outside shout in semi-drunk-en states to one another. On the high and flat plain of the outdoors, spikes of orange and reds and yellows spring forth from a box. And then the heavens are under attack with colors.

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The Gift Of Color By Michele Kolbasko I am black, and I was abused, But I fought for my freedom, and I did not lose. In 1954, a movement spread across the South, No one cared or listened to what came out of our mouth. We were hated; people like me, the whites would kill, Just like they did to my brother, Emmet Till. The devils put weights on the boy and through him in water, he dies, His coffin was left open so people can see his pain, even dead, he still cries. December 20, 1956, bus segregation was banned, Martin Luther King helped us protest, everything worked out as planned. Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a white man, standing up for our nation, Rosa Parks was then arrested, but her arrest is what ignited segregation. Blacks were found dead; they were killed and left there to decompose, We were the odd ones out, like a patch of daisy’s with one rose. Killers were found and charged, but Mississippi refused to press charges, of course. There was no mercy; they tried to destroy us, using every single force. We tried to march but were ordered to go home or go to church; we were forced to disperse, The devils did not care; they made us believe our color was not a gift but a curse. During that march, blacks were killed or dying, whites said “Let em’ die”, oh lord did we pray, The roads were spotted with blood and tears of blacks, it became known as Bloody Sunday. Many think segregation is over but whites still frown upon us and the KKK is still here, We are a worm trapped in a cage of birds, we had to live with fear. I am black, and I was abused, But I fought for my freedom, and I did not lose.

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Full life ahead of me To get too where I need to be You may enter my sleep, and hate my dreams Threaten my early mornings ease But my mind keeps my wondering about who I really am Is life really about the fame and the glam? Or is it much more from the soul within Is life a game no one can win? I may cry but I must try I will rise, I will not fall You may not understand me at all But when the sun rises I am the time, When children sing I am the rhyme Case life didn’t come with instructions All my hard work building up, you can call it construction Did you want to hear my cries? Head bowed and sad empty eyes Speechless hanging all alone Hear the ringing but won’t touch the phone Sorry if I offended you But don’t you see the clue? You may cut me with your words You may shoot me dirty looks You may kill my reputation But still like air I’ll rise.

Still Will Rise

By: Melvisha Green

Picture by Alex Pfeifer

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Baseball is America’s pastime,introduced at a young age.They’re worth quite more than a dime,they’re dream was to always be on this stage.Always being well knowntheir names are Mike Trout and Bryce Harper.TheThere’s been a lot they’ve been shown.no one’s going to be sharper, When they hit homeruns you can hear crack.Their bats have powers like super heroesworking hard every day, they never slack.Never have they been a zero, When Harper gets mad he snaps his bat.Supposed to be as good as Babe Ruth, Supposed to be as good as Babe Ruth, working out so they never get fat.In interviews they have to tell the truthon thier bats they have thick, rich pine tar.Wanting to be in the hall of fame, when they hit the ball it always goes far.Both different but also the same, playofffs neaplayofffs near, who has waht it takes?When teams face them, they have to fear, still hitting good, they both rake.Who will be Rookie of the Year?

SUPERSTAR by Donnie Lovelady

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A Weekend’s Embarkby Amber Bazzell

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Nature Walk By Abby FreiFall leaves changing colorsoutside appers as a beautiful paintnig

The chill preparing us for wintercuddling near the crackling fire

Carving pumpkins bring smilesThe best time of year for many

illustrated by Katie Carl

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The Rabbit Hole by Abby Dairaghi This is a tale of a poor, mad girl Whose pretty yellow hair had a slight curlShe wondered if this was just a dream All she wanted to do was scream Down the rabbit hole she took quite a whirl

As she reached the bottom, she wanted to flee“Is anyone there?” She called with a plea Looking around, she gave a small cry For she really wished that she could fly She then spotted a vial that said “drink me”

Curious as a cat, she wandered to the drinkThe liquid danced in the vial with a clinkShe gulped down the drink and then she grew As tall as a giant,she just knew“What a curious place,”she did think

She then spotted a key to her delight To fit the large door that she locked tight As she turned the key,the door gave a click And she opened the large door with a flick And she was awarded with such a sight

Everything suddenly became crystal clear The familiar sight, her eyes full of tearsShe was embraced by a man with a battered hatAs her tears fell to the ground with a splat “Welcome back to wonderland,Alice,my dear” Illustration by , Jocelyn Teagarden

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Fake By Sarah Turney People here know how to put on a good show.They wake up in the mornings and look in the mirror;Who they really are,no one knows.They drown their faces in makeup and fake smiles.

A girl walks down the hall with a knife in her heart;No one has a clue what she’s going through.They are all stuck in their own worlds,Too selfish to care.Busy with superficial things like who’s dating who and “did you see what she was wearing?”

They only think about themselves.“How can I stay on the inside?”Each one of them plays pretend,To cover up who they really are.

In the hall,they talk and laughBut,behind backs, harsh words are said like sharp pieces of glass.

Don’t they realize how ugly it looks?If only they could see what they look like from the outside.Then maybe,They would change.

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My Best Friend By Taylor Wood

My boyfriend knows how to make me happy,I know that he will never let me down,Also he will never make me crabby,And definitely will not make me frown,When I am said he will make me smile,Or even get me a dozen rosesTo see me,he would walk a thousand miles,His love heals my broken heart...It closes,We always have respect for each other,Our memories are the greatest to share,He will be my one and only lover,Without him I don’t think I could survive,He’s the only thing that keeps me alive.

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By Katie Rhodes

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by Bailey

Amanda Brisso

Amanda Brisso

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I’m In Heaven Now By Michele KolbaskoI take a breath,and then anotherhelp me god,oh brother!one slow inhale,then exhale,i try to breathe,i fail.the dog stares,shouthing for help;he cries for me,but hope,my feet leave the floor,its harder now,the rope.I’m losing control of my body,I can tell he’s done this before,it’s probably a hobby.My mouth dry, i try to open one eye,i pull the rope,i pry and pry.My eyes start putting his fingers together,Something’s happening’i feel light like a feather.He’s trying to kil me,but slowly,I see him smiling, i swear i hope he--I lose all my thoughts inside,Like im being covered by a tide.I can’t think or even feel pain,I can’t move,this is no game.I manage to see red and blue lights around me,I see them take him away,and they cut the rope free.A loud buzz in my ear,I fall to the floor,,shedding a tear.I see their mouths moving,trying to hear what they say,But it’s going to be blurry again-- all i can do is lay.“Everything is going to be fine, we’re here now”,I’m going numb, i think im dying. But how ?They hook me up to the machine,to make sure im breathing,i feel likegoing to sleep,I see my parents.they hold my hand.i manage to choke out,”mom,dad,i lo- beeeeeppp

The last thing i heard them say is im in a very bad state, then the doctor looks up....”it’s too late”.

illustrated by Amanda Brisso

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ShuttersWritten by Kaitlin WilfingIllustrated by Rachel Demarcantonio

The Blinds,

They open, and they will close

They are what protects me from the outside world.

The shutters.

They shudder as I do from the wicked cold that pours through on the dark nights,

And flood the room with the sun’s heat, warming the room, without the victorious light.

The shutters hide, and they protect.

I hide behind these walls, loving the comfort.

But as a human,

I cannot help but wonder,

What wonders are out there?

What things can I learn?

But I stay here, just watching the slanted light,

Mingle with my finger tips; I pull it back quickly,

My arm is wrapped around my knees as I try to shield myself from the light,

Least it burn me,

But curiosity

Curiosity was too much.

I took my hand and made it fall back into the light.

The warmth tickled the tiny pads,

My body slowly uncurls around itself as I realize the light never hurt,

Against what the others had told me.

I reach out further,

And grasp the lines hanging from the shutters.

I knew that once I made this movement I could not go back as the person that was scared of light,

But in a way,

I didn’t care,

If they had lied to me,

What else had they lied about?

And so with daring,

Yet shaking effort,

I pull the string.

In came the light.

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By Shelby Reese-Wheeler

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Tattoos on This TownWritten by Leslie Vredenburg illustrated by Rachel DemarcantonioThe road was a dark gray, a single yellow stripe go-ing on and on, straight down the middle. It was just wide enough for two cars side-by-side, but no more. The road went by a pond, large enough to swim in, but small enough to be considered a pond. A large tree stood next to it, the branches large, but most of the leaves gone. A tire swing hung directly over the water, a single, strong branch keeping it from plum-meting into the water. The sun was beginning to set, the glow casting red, orange, yellow, and all the col-ors between off the water, making the crystal-clear surface look almost like a rainbow.

A lone figure stood underneath the tree, the large branches offering shelter from the fading sunlight. Before it could fade completely, the figure stepped out from under the tree, revealing a girl. Her wavy brown hair hung to just past her shoulder blades, and the quickly fading sunlight showed light green eyes. Her skin was lightly tanned and looked silky smooth. Her lips had a light pink shine and her face was rounded and soft-looking. Just above her green eyes, her bangs ended, falling just short of falling into her eyes.

The light jacket she wore over a purple top was a light grey, and her dark skinny jeans reached down to her Nike’s. She pulled her jacket around her more as a breeze blew through, making her shiver. But she none-the-less stepped forward, out of the comforting cover of the tree and walked forward until she saw what she had come to see.

On the road, forever engrained into the concrete, were two separate sets of skid marks. One set was on the left side of the yellow line, the other set on the other side. They started at a heavily faded white line; the line, she remembered, had been spray-painted onto the concrete by her, herself. Memories flooded her, and she almost felt like it was how it had once been.

She could hear the rumbling of engines, smell the gas and oil, hear the cheering of herself and her friends. Had it really been five years? For a minute, she was sixteen again, her friends all around her, and two

cars right at the white line. One was a Ford Pick-Up, while the other was a Mustang Convertible, the top down. Both cars were on, the engines rumbling as the drivers stepped on the gas, even though they were in park. A white shirt was waved, and the cars took off, leaving behind skid marks. The girl blinked, and it was gone; she was twenty-one again, but somehow, she looked exactly like she had at sixteen.

With a sigh, the girl turned and walked back to her car, abandoned on the other side of the tree. Opening the door to her old Jeep, she climbed up and got in, shutting the door behind her. Sparing one last glance at the spot, the spot she’d spent most of her high school life at, she started the car and drove away.

She drove along in complete silence, not even turn-ing on the radio. A smile fought its way onto her face as she approached a familiar overpass. She remembered being eighteen, and helping her twenty-one-year-old brother propose to his girlfriend. Even though it had recently been re-painted, one could still see the message that had been spray-painted onto it while the girl watched for cops.

Allie, will you marry me?

The girl kept her smile until she passed under the bridge, and remembered how her brother had gone to war only four months after getting married. Allie, who was two months pregnant when he left, had been devastated when he left, but she believed he’d return. But, seven months later, she found out he’d been killed in combat, and the shock had caused her to go into labor. The girl shook her head, shaking the saddening thoughts away, and tried to smile; her nephew was three, now, and looked exactly like his dad had at that age. She drove on.Mailboxes in front of houses brought back even more memories. She remembered when her friend would boast about driving in front of them, and knocking down the mailboxes with a baseball bat. She had always criticized him for it; what if he got hurt? He would just shrug and promise to be careful.

She thought about her trip to the pond, and sub-consciously took one hand off of the wheel. Gently, she touched a spot on her hip, remembering the scar on it. Now she was seventeen, swinging on the tire

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on it. Now she was seventeen, swinging on the tire swing. She jumped into the water, but jumped out too far, and ended up landing on a rock. A ride to the hospital and a few stitches later, and she’d vowed to never swing out that far, again. Luckily, the scar had faded, just enough so that it couldn’t be seen unless one was looking for it, and knew what to look for.

She blinked again and it was gone. Shaking her head, she brought her mind back to the road. But at the back of her mind, a thought kept nagging at her. In the bark of a tree, there had been a rough heart carved out. Her own initials were carved into it, as well as the initials of a boy. She smiled, thinking of him.

She finally stopped the car, parking in a vacant spot of an almost-empty parking lot. Her silver, over-the-shoulder bag thumped lightly against her thigh as she walked into the building. It was a Starbucks, a very familiar place to her. She’d spent most of her childhood coming to that very Starbucks, and even though she was now in college, she still went there a lot. Walking in, she smiled, loving the smell of the coffee shop, even though she didn’t like the taste of coffee. One whole wall was covered in pictures, a few of her, herself. Some were even of her and a boy.

The women behind the counter, the owner of the Starbucks, smiled when she saw her favorite cus-tomer walk in. She immediately started making the order, having long-ago memorized the girl’s normal order. A chocolate chip bagel and a hot chocolate.

Here’s your bagel and hot chocolate, dear,” the women said once she was done. The girl got, retriev-ing the trey, and reached into her bag for her wallet. “It’s on the house, Honey,” the women said before she could even touch it.

The girl looked up and blinked, unable to say any-thing. She nodded her thanks, gratitude showing in her eyes. The women nodded back. Taking her tray, she took it back to the booth she had claimed before taking the bagel out of the plastic bag it was wrapped in. She tore off a small piece and popped it into her mouth, giving her hot chocolate time to cool down a little. The table she sat at, like most places around the small town, held many memories for her.

Many of her birthdays had been held at that Star-bucks, and that very table was the one she always sat at with her family. Her graduation party had been there, and she’d sat at that table. She would sit at this table when she was sad, happy, and that was the table she’d sat with Allie after her nephew had been born, grieving for the loss of her older brother. Her name had even been carved into it by her fa-ther, a promise that the table was hers. She let her finger trace over the carving, each curve beautifully defined. She had so many memories at the place. Suddenly, she felt a presence on the other side of the table and looked up in surprise.

So caught up in her memories, she hadn’t even noticed when someone walked into the coffee shop. Sitting across from her was a young man, around her age if not a little older. He had black hair, just long enough to be considered shaggy, but it didn’t hang in his eyes. He had a prominent jaw line, and an attrac-tive face. His eyes were blue, a strange color with black hair. His shirt was a white muscle shirt, show-ing off his abs. His eyes held warmth in them, and a familiarity she just couldn’t deny.

“Matt?” she whispered, suddenly glad that she was sitting down. If she had been standing, she knew, without a doubt, that her legs would have turned to jelly at seeing him again.Just the sound of his voice alone brought back memories. They’d grown up together, and were best friends. After a summer away from each other- she’d gone to Europe with her family while he’d stayed- they realized they held a mutual attraction for each other and began to date their freshmen year of high school. They’d dated all four years of high school, but then the news came.

He’d gotten a soccer scholarship at the University of Miami, while she’d gotten an art scholarship at a college closer to home. They’d ended up breaking up on good terms and promised to remain best friends. But they hadn’t seen each other since and it had been a good two and a half years; both were in their third year at college, and on winter break.

“You look good,” Matt said, taking in her appear-ance. She looked tired, but still beautiful, just like he remembered her.

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Maria blushed; even after four years together and three apart, he still had the power over her, to make her blush. “Thanks,” she said eventually. “So do you.”

Matt didn’t blush like Maria had, but he still smiled. “So, how are things with your art scholarship?”

Maria smiled slightly. “Good; I only have one more year after this,” she informed him. “What about you, with your soccer?” she asked.

“It’s going fine,” his blue eyes shinned. “Some pro-fessional teams want to draft me, but I’m trying to get a degree in engineering first, just for something to fall back on in case soccer doesn’t work out.” He explained.

“I’m sure it will, Matt. You were a great player in high school, and you still are.” Maria reassured.

Matt smiled slightly, a light blush finally making its way onto his face. “You watch my games?”

Maria nodded, blushing a little herself. “Of course,” she replied softly. Then her tone turned teasing, “It reminds me of high school.”

Matt chuckled and shook his head. “Still a smartass, are we, Maria?” he questioned, a light, teasing smile on his face.

A smirk found its way onto Maria’s face and she crossed her arms under her chest. “Would I be me if I wasn’t?”

Laughter shook Matt’s body, “No, I guess not,” he agreed.

“Damn straight,” Maria muttered, which made Matt laugh just a little harder. Seeing him laugh made a small smile appear on Maria’s face.

Once he stopped laughing, Matt took a deep breath and spoke, “So how’s everything been?” and then he added, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when your brother died.”

A flash of sadness crossed Maria’s face before quickly disappearing. “Everything’s fine. Nick died fighting for our country,” Maria said. Her voice grew softer, and she said, “I went to the pond today.”

“Oh yeah?” Matt tore a small piece of her bagel and popped it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking again. “How’s it going? Tire swing there?”“Oh yeah?” Matt tore a small piece of her bagel and popped it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking again. “How’s it going? Tire swing there?”

Maria nodded. ”Yep. The skid marks are still there, and everything.” There was a small pause, before, “Your carving is still in the tree.” Another pause. This one was a little longer than the first one, and al-most seemed too long. “Someone painted over Nick’s proposal to Allie, but not very well; you can still see it under the new paint.”

That earned another chuckle from Matt. “Your brother was a crazy son of a bitch,” he stated. “But, he was a good friend,” he added at the end.

“Yeah, he was a great big brother,” Maria said softly. Seeing her face, now filled with sadness, Matt gently took her left hand that was resting on the table-top into his own. He rubbed the back of her smooth hand with his hand, noticing how their hands still fit perfectly in each other’s, even after three years.

“He’s in a better place, Ria,” Matt soothed, bringing out his old nickname for her. After a few moments, he spoke again. “You look beautiful, Maria, like always. Seeing you here, after three years, brought back old memories I thought I’d forgotten long ago,” he confessed.

“Yeah, seeing the pond, and Nick’s proposal to Allie, it made me remember all the times we had together. When we were kids, growing up, going to middle school, when we started dating, that last summer we spent together… I miss it, Matt. I miss you, and Nick,” Maria said, her green eyes filling with tears. “All those memories we have together, the heart carved into that tree, the skid marks, the scar on my hip, all the pictures,” she gestured to the wall cov-

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Matt stared at her for a minute before get-ting up. Taking one step forward, he sat back down next to Maria and pulled her into his arms. She cried softly into his chest while he gently rubbed her back. After a little while, she pulled away from his warm, familiar embrace.

“Maria, I…” Matt started to say before cutting himself off. Cupping one of Maria’s cheeks, he whipped away her tears with his thumb before leaning down slightly. “I still love you.”

Fresh tears spilled from Maria’s eyes at the confession. “Matt, I… I love you, too,” she whispered, before throwing her arms around him in a hug. Matt hugged her back, hold-ing onto her tightly like he was about to lose her again. When Maria finally pulled away from the hug, Matt pressed his lips to hers in a kiss, sparks going off all around them, just like they always did when they kissed.

When they parted, Matt could see the twin-kle that he recognized in her eyes. It was the twinkle only brought out when he kissed her, and he loved the fact that only he could bring it out.

“Things may be different from when we were little, but my feelings for you are permanent. They’re like a tattoo; it’s possible to get rid of, but no one does because it’s too painful,” Matt said, surprising himself. Who knew he could be so deep?

Either way, it was the perfect analogy. Their love, not lost even after three long years apart, was like a tattoo. Too painful to lose, and irreplaceable. Even all of the memories around the small town were like tattoos. They could be added too, but they couldn’t be changed. They were literally tattoos on the town. Maria felt herself smile; after three long years, she finally had her best friend back, and she wasn’t about to lose him again.

Continued from page 27My Guitar and IWritten by Najee FollinPicture by Jennifer Cork

Every string I pluck is full of memories,me running from problems full of energy,pain is what I play but everyone hears music,voices in my head, sheets on my bed,when I vision this there’s no movement,I’m still calm but music is art.Not a hobby, more of an addiction,but mainly for the heart,my strings symbolizes a moment of gratitude,if I’m happy or sad even have an attitude,in my own world when I make a creation,sleep and make my music set as a rotation,my guitar is my friend with me on vacation,I play it behind the flag of our nation,without it my veins have no circulation,but when we join as one, please give us a standing ovation.

Shadows ContributorsAdvisors: Michele Dunaway & Susan RobisonEditor-in-Chief: Michele KolbaskoManaging Editor: Genevieve TraversArt & Design: Genevieve TraversBusiness Editor: Erin HuddlestonCommunications Editor: Genevieve TraversCopy Editor: Michele KolbaskoPoetry Editor: Michele KolbaskoProse Editor: Erin Huddleston

Amber BazzellAmanda BrissoKatie CarlLauren CarlsonJennifer CorkMaggie dayAbby DairaghiRachel DemarcantonioDeMonica CrawfordNajee FollinAbbey FreiAli GammonMelvisha GreenErin HuddlestonKerri HusaBrandon IversonElla KaufmannAnna KinderMichele KolbaskoDonnie LoveladyAlex PfeiferRobby PiperRichie PohlShelby Reece-WheelerKatie RhodesBailey SparkmanJocelyn TeagardenGenevieve TraversSarah TurneyLeslie VredenburgKaitlin WilfingTaylor WoodLeona Zitting

Dear Readers, This magazine has poetry/short stories in it made by the students at Francis Howell High School. All of their stories were great, but we could not choose them all. All of the stories were read carefully by the Shadows members and hand chosen by them also. The artwork is also created by Francis Howell High School students. The Shadows members chose the artwork that went with the stories best, or stories were made to go with the artwork. Thank you to anyone who helped or supported the Shadows groups. We hope you all like the stories in here!

Sincerely Shadows Group