Bell Letters
2018-2019
Davidson Day School Literary & Arts Magazine
Front & Back Cover Work Photographed by Nevaeh Brown (11th)
Bell Letters Vol. 2 2018-2019
Growing Together Our time together moves so slow. Questions always reside in my mind. But if we do not learn, we’ll never grow. I don’t know how to tell you though, when you seem to be so blind. Our time together moves so slow. The time - it comes and goes. Our thoughts are still not intertwined. But if we do not learn, we’ll never grow. The effort sometimes shows, when you do not feel confined. Our time together moves so slow. I still love you even so, I keep you in my heart and mind. But if we do not learn, we’ll never grow. Tell me what you want me to know if you should feel so inclined. Our time together moves so slow, But if we do not learn, we’ll never grow.
Photographed by Lauren Orfinik (11th)
Written by Alyssa Horne (12th)
Photographed by Logan Zucker (9th)
Compromise Between the sun and the moon, compromise seemed impossible. The sun wished to shine his warmth on the world, giving light to the lost and prosperity to the needy. The moon yearned to share her cool rays with the world, offering clarity and a path to follow through the dark. As they fought and warred, chariots smashed through the sky, moon crashed into the sun. They set the world ablaze they so desperately wished to illuminate with kind light, as ambition blinded their inhibitions. Their worshippers on the ground killed in their names, abandoning the moral high ground for the high ground in battle. They slew and brought the rage of the sky crashing down the earth, burned and blinded by the fury boiling above. The sun and the moon did not mourn for those dead in their moniker, the deaths only solidified their resolve against the other. Not until one day, many eons after the sun first sparked light and the moon erupted in her frigid rays, did they consider the consequences of their actions. After killing thousands in their wake, they halted their fight and sought reconciliation. It happened when a man floating on wax wings, carrying the fate of his world, met his unforgiving destiny, wax melting at the warmth the sun had only wished to offer life with. It was not until Icarus met his fate that the sun saw that his incandescent light was not always gracious, but an introduction to violence and a farewell to the peace this war was being fought for. The sun watched in horror as Icarus closed his eyes and spread his arms, plummeting to his undeserving death with the grace and tranquility of a man content with the purpose he served and the war he
fought. The moon reached to Icarus with her cooling rays, offering him reprieve as he fell, cushioning him with a gentle love and light that the sun could not offer. Icarus died in the cold embrace of the moon, his burns soothed and his purpose fulfilled. The moon did not scorn the sun, but instead allowed him to weep pure beams of sorrow into the world. After eons filled with violence and wars, the sun and the moon came to a final compromise. The sun would supply the earth with his prosperous light for the waking hours of man, and the moon would embrace the earth with her cool beams for the resting hours of night. They vowed no man shall ever feel any wrath of their own, and the world would only know the loving caress of the sun and the moon.
Written by Ava Smith (9th)
Photographed by Patrick Rand (9th)
Sally is a Prime Number Between 17 and 23 Sally is an A-student, A member of the track team, The teacher’s pet and her parents’ dear. Sally shouldn’t want more. But she does. Sally wants something that she can’t touch Or hear or feel –Only noticeable when she closes her eyes Enfolded in the black silence of the midnight hour. This feigned time of rest awakens her mind, Unfolds sensations that threaten her. Sally turns on the light, Rushes for something to do, To lessen her desire for something more, Which she cannot touch, or hear, or feel. Sally is a prime number Between 17 and 23, Not what Sally wants to be.
Written by Abbie Wilemon (12th)
Photographed by Andre True (11th)
Photographed by Max Carr (10th)
I Am Israella Freidline I am Israella Freidline. The daughter of a father who is a professional jazz pianist/vocalist/arranger/composer. The daughter of a mother who is a professional photographer. The younger sister of a talented female artist/set designer. The younger sister of a brother who is a talented actor/ filmmaker/composer/vocalist/pianist. And here am I, the baby. The last one still in high school, the last one to drive, the last one to decide what the hell I want to do. In kindergarten my best friend Abigail always sat with me on the playground stairs. One day we were hiding to shield ourselves from the kids throwing mulch as Harrison, the bully, yelled mean non sequiturs. She looked at me with calming eyes. My breathing slowed down. She took my hand and led me to the stairs, under the rock wall, to the safety of the sandbox. We sat there alone, not caring that the sand was messing with our socks and irritating our noses and ears. I loved Abigail’s long, curly blond hair, her welcoming blue eyes that reminded me of the depths of the sea. She was tall, like me, coming about two inches shorter — the perfect height to lean on. Though Abigail and I only saw each other at preschool, my family knew everything there was to know about her from the elaborate stories I would tell at dinner every night. On fun days when we were allowed to dress up, Abigail never failed to impress. On hat day, she wore the biggest hat covered in sequins, feathers and flowers with vibrant blues and purples. On pajama day, she came in with the comfiest silk pajamas and
the fuzziest slippers. At lunch, we endured sitting next to the kid who ate a tuna sandwich every day. Throughout the year, parents occasionally came to school to throw little parties especially during holidays. My mom chose to help with the end-of-year beach-themed party. On the festive day, she gave out little sand pails full of treats. Every kid ran to the pile, searching for his or her name. Once all the kids were devouring their chocolates, one name remained. My mother looked at me, puzzled. “Izzy, where is Abigail? I want to meet her. She didn’t grab her treat.” I replied to mother simply, “Mommie, there is no Abigail.” She sat there, confused. “Izzy what do you mean ‘there’s no Abigail’?” “Mommie, there is no Abigail. She’s not real. I made her up.” She looked at me, trying to find the words…. “Okay baby, I have to go.” My mom rushed home, gripping the steering wheel as she drove. She sprinted into our house and jumped in bed, hoping to somehow wake up from this strange dream. After a few attempts, she decided to call my father. “Baby, you know Izzy’s friend, Abigail?” “Yes…” “She’s not real.” “What do you m--” “She’s not real.” “Oh no. Oh no…. Either our daughter is insane or brilliant.”
Written by Israella Freidline (11th)
Photographed by Delaney Brown (9th)
Photographed by Alex Cozza (10th)
Ode to Heartbreak
A sonnet by Josie Wiles written in the perspective of Bertha Mason My blue heartbreak, you inspire me to write. I hate the way you sting, wallow and roar, Invading my mind day and through the night, Always dreaming about the deadly floor. Let me compare you to a heavy prune? You are more unreal, terrible and sharp. Sound sun heats the teary peaches of June, And summertime has the powerful tarp. How do I hate you? Let me count the ways. I hate your right acceptance, pain and growth. Thinking of your medley pain fills my days. My hate for you is the bleary outgrowth. Now I must away with a dreary heart, Remember my smart words whilst we’re apart.
Written by Josie Wiles (12th)
Photographed by Austin Meares (10th)
Photographed by Iain Glancy (10th)
Photographed by Grace Meister (11th)
Bell Letters Staff: Editor-In-Chief: Abby Myers (11th) Assistant Editors-In-Cheif: Nathan Hughes (11th) and Lauren Orfinik (11th) Layout and Design Editor: Nathan Hughes (11th) Art Editor: Emma Lindquist (11th) Assistant Art Editor: Bennett Harris (10th) Literature Editor: Tyra Rubin (11th) Assistant Literature Editor: Sydney Brown (10th) Staff: Israella Freidline (11th), Kiley Woods (11th), Emily Hughes (11th), Andre True (11th), Katherine Nikolich (10th), Mark Myers (9th)