Light & Shadow 2025 digital

ELSEWHERE

Light & Shadow 2025

EDITORIAL STAFF

Advisor: Ms. Jordan Harris

Asst. Advisor: Dr. Raquel Abend

Graphic Designer: Ms. Elizabeth Fitzpatrick

Print Liaison: Ms. Dee Farino

Cover Art: Avery Afseth A Key To Wonder, 2025

© 2025 Episcopal High School

DEAREST EPISCOPAL READER,

If you thought this year’s edition of Light and Shadow would be a simple affair, you are terribly mistaken. This year’s edition is undoubtedly the diamond of the season and shall certainly catch the eye of Her Majesty, Ms. Harris. Our theme, “Elsewhere” is a grandiose idea through which we pose a question to the Episcopal Community—where do you go when expectations weigh upon you? Do you seek refuge in a literary delight or venture into elusive daydreams? Despite each of your unique interpretations of our theme, one thing is for certain: everyone deserves to escape.

To bring this vision to life, we began our selection process with an open call for art and writing from across our vibrant community. We received the most delightful submissions and with great care and consideration, we selected the most befitting among them.

Our esteemed editorial team has worked diligently—alongside our darling writers—to refine each selected piece into its most splendid form. In a crowning touch to this season’s radiant collection, Lady Avery Afseth has received the distinct honor of creating the cover art: A Key to Wonder. This exquisite piece captures the heart of our collection, evoking the quiet thrill of holding the key to Elsewhere.

As you turn the pages of this year’s highly anticipated edition, we invite you to lose yourself in a world of wonder—may these works provide the sweetest escape from reality, reminding you, dear reader, that imagination has no bounds. So, here’s to dreaming big, writing bravely, and always finding your escape—your Elsewhere.

With boundless imagination, The Light And Shadow Editorial Team

Avery Afseth A Key To Wonder, 2025

Kennedy Greene Barrettes, 2025

Ella Rothwell Escape, 2026

Ava Ableson Raining Cats and Dogs, 2026

Riley Miller Texas Twist, 2026

Kennedy Greene In Bloom, 2025

Morgan Maxwell The Ride, 2025

Abigail MacRory Fish 4 Thought, 2025

Abigail MacRory Ocean Emotion, 2025

Katherine Malta Inside, 2025

Morgan Maxwell Woman In The Window, 2025

Eva Misso Escaping Into Summer, 2025

Maxwell Silver, 2025

Evan Stout NYC, 2025

Piper Beck Gas, 2027

Piper Beck Don’t Rock The Jukebox, 2027

Jenna Li A Childhood Dream, 2028

Sloane Wallace Emulsion, 2025

Emma Freeman Blurred, 2025

Sloane Wallace My Flowers, 2025

Avery Afseth Lavender Haze, 2025

Avery Afseth The Green Dress, 2025

Isabella Hicks Untitled, 2026

Isabella Hicks Untitled, 2026

Jack Zoeller Stuck In The Pipes, 2027

Jack Zoeller Pink Illusion, 2027

Simona Karnani Beyond the Horizon, 2026

Evan Stout Window Surfing, 2025

Alex Bruton Light and Strength, Faculty

Avalon Bell Pink Heaven, 2026

Avalon Bell Skyfall, 2026 76 Kit Ding And She Was On Display, 2026 78 Kit Ding Amoresque, 2026

Eva Misso Fairy Tale, 2025 82 Karen Pfeifer Harmonies Of Conflict, Faculty

Sophie Girotto Colorful Cab, 2026

Vivian Turbidy Bread Made for Walking, 2025

POETRY & PROSE

5 SERENDIPITY Light & Shadow Editorial Team

6 THE FUTURE WILL SCREAM

Sophie Marshall 2025

9 NOSTALGIA Avalon Bell 2026

10 ELSEWHERE Marie Knolle 2025

13 SLEEPLESS DREAMS

Taylor Morris 2026

14 THE ROAD TO SELF Julia Levan 2027

17 SECRET GARDEN Ava Black 2025

18 RE(BIRTH) DAY Eric Avera, Faculty

21 BEYOND THE SHALLOW END Taylor Jones 2026

23 A MERMAID’S WISH Julia Levan 2027

24 GOODBYE TOMORROW Sloane Wallace 2025

27 SPARK Colin Tobola 2026

30 WHERE WE ARE Finley White 2027

33 THE NECKLACE THAT KNOWS ME

Sophie Marshall 2025

37 TOMORROW

Michael Codrington, Faculty

38 ODE TO LAND IN SELMA, ALABAMA WHERE HOME IS Sophia Cormier 2025

43 WHISPERS Sophie Marshall 2025

45 THE HEART OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST Piper Massie 2027

47 THAT ONE BRILLIANT IDEA Tommy Perez Lodeiro 2027

49 MY GRANDMOTHER’S REFRIGERATOR Isabelle DeGrange 2026

51 THE MAGIC WITHIN Julia Levan 2027

55 ELISE Lydia Tolbert 2026

58 LOOKING GLASS Evelynne Murphy 2026

61 THE SPACE BETWEEN SCROLLS AND SILENCE Garvey O’Brien 2026

62 WORLD IN MY ROOM Garon Stewart 2026

65 PARADISE Drew Nobel 2025

69 LONESOME LAZARUS (AFTER LADY LAZARUS BY SYLVIA PLATH) Joaquin Hartsfield 2025

71 SERAPHINA INTERLUDE DEATH OF A SHOOTING STAR Kit Ding 2026

72 PLUTO’S LIGHT Taft Mohair III 2026

75 FLYING Helen Zamorano 2028

76 MEDUSA’S HEAD Sophia Cormier 2025

79 SERAPHIM Lily Parsapour 2028

81 WHEN LANTERNS FADE Cat Cadena 2028

83 THE LIGHTHOUSE Clayton Cox 2027

84 DRIFTING BETWEEN STARS Kelan Speed 2026

SERENDIPITY

Light & Shadow Editorial Team

Nestled in a quiet corner, we find refuge.

Beyond that mundane cover, which hides a gateway to fantastical worlds, The pages come alive— under the bridge and through the crystal gates, lyrical notes envelop me, singing melodies of escape. The ground warps into vast deserts and dense forests beneath my feet, a world wrapped in softness, where worries hold no weight, and troubles take flight.

Pages turn slowly, and ink breathes life into whispered dreams— ethereal beams rain from the heavens.

A gust of wind carries me, delivering me to tranquility.

My soul feels serene, like waves calming the sea, and my racing mind brakes to regain my soul’s appetite, amidst this world— Elsewhere.

THE FUTURE WILL SCREAM

Sophie Marshall 2025

The past speaks in quiet, wistful murmurs, tracing its fingers along the edges of my mind. Soft, the wind rustles forgotten letters tucked away in drawers—

It lingers in the dust of pages I once swore I would return to, in the hollow hush of footsteps echoing down roads I no longer walk, in the warmth of hands I once held as if they were the only light I could ever need.

It calls to me in voices both tender and cruel, whispering of what was and what could have been, singing lullabies of lost chances and the golden glow of days that faded too soon. It tells me that I belonged there, that I was whole there, that if I just stayed there, if I just came back, I might find something waiting.

But the future does not whisper. It does not sing. It does not wait. No, the future screams.

She is wild and unrelenting, a force that refuses to be ignored.

She is the roar of the ocean pulling at my feet, as though daring me to wade deeper, the crackle of a storm that splits the sky open, demanding to be worshipped.

She is the rush of city streets I have yet to wander, the growl of a train I have not yet boarded, the dizzying thrill of stepping into the uncertain with nothing but hope and hunger in my hands.

The past will always speak to me, woven into my skin like a story I cannot rid myself of, but the future is louder, electric with promise, relentless in her call. And I will listen.

NOSTALGIA

Avalon Bell 2026

Do you ever wish you could go back home— not the place, but the feeling of not being alone:

Childhood laughter and all the sounds of happiness and freedom turned to dust on the playground?

Bedtime stories of all the stars and the way they twinkled—

Now, I wonder where they are.

Since life’s not neat and life’s not fair, if you could, Would you go Elsewhere?

When the grades are put in, Try, if you dare, We can leave together— We can go elsewhere.

If that’s too scary, You can stay in your bed And keep all those memories Inside of your head.

So, I’ll tuck myself in and I’ll say a prayer: I’ll still wish I could go Elsewhere.

ELSEWHERE

Marie Knolle 2025

Humans have always sought Elsewhere: physical and mental spaces where we recast ourselves and create sanctuary. From early adventurers like Odysseus to modern-day astronauts, we grapple with our restless search, aching for transformation beyond the familiar.

Fictional characters, especially mirror this longing for distant lands, the belief that happiness lies just outside our current reality. Jay Gatsby, for example, builds his entire life on a vision of an unattainable past, hoping that he will gain bliss by escaping his present world. We, too, pursue an ideal paradise through travel, dreams, and even online avatars, and in doing so, we sometimes forgo appreciating what is already ours— the promise of the present world.

So, how do we reconcile this hunger for new possibilities with the quiet richness of the here and now? Perhaps, the answer is not to suppress our need to wander but to listen to it more deeply. To understand what drives our craving is to learn how to shape the world we already have—until where we stand begins to feel like home.

SLEEPLESS DREAMS

Taylor Morris 2026

I never want to wake from my dreams— a world that doesn’t focus on the extremes. I close my eyes, envisioning a clear sky, drifting away from pain, hurt, and lies.

No raindrops escape from the sky, carrying with them reasons to cry. No one lacks the confidence to climb higher than each ray of golden sunshine.

Each sunrise lights up this dream land with visions of peace that never demand. No sole creature battles alone, unable to win their idea of The Throne.

THE ROAD TO SELF

Julia Levan 2027

The city’s hum fades in the rearview mirror

While skyscrapers stand like sentinels of a life once known.

Concrete and steel weave a tapestry of noise

Where dreams are often lost in the crowd’s endless drone.

The open road calls with whispers of freedom— Endless miles stretch under a vast sky, Promising new horizons and untold stories.

In the solitude of the journey, they find a quiet peace that settles the mind.

The rhythm of wheels on the open road sings a melody of self-discovery and hope.

Each sunrise paints the world anew, casting dreams in shades of gold and blue. The wind carries secrets from places unknown, guiding the traveler to what she calls home.

Stars emerge as night drapes the land, lighting the path with a gentle hand.

In the vastness, they feel small yet free, embracing the journey, wherever it may lead.

At journey’s end, they find their place in the open road’s warm embrace. No longer bound by the city’s chains, They find themselves in freedom’s reign.

SECRET GARDEN

Ava Black 2025

Ethereal, the garden hides in plain sight: an object of blind to those who, seeking its precious fruit, do falter, yet, the passerby stumbles right into its decorated gates, old as time, welcomed to the forbidden fruit, poisonous with love—desire laced in every bite.

To be starved of such an honor is to point directly, a dagger at one’s heart and pray your hand steady.

Oh, fantastical world, hear my plea! Cry you grant me entry into your precious gate of status, such that I may not hold but only in my dreams, dreams that bear the key

RE(BIRTH) DAY

Avera Faculty

When behind a scrim the sun is shrouded, I have you, luminous, to light my way;

or, if it be a parching sunlit day, that merciless orb shining unclouded, scorching, as it beats down upon my head, then I’ll seek shelter in your circling arms. In winter’s barren cold, your bright smile warms and conjures fragile life from fallow dead, stirring memories of last spring’s green. Forgotten happiness blooms and sings in whir of emerald hummingbird wings: the heart-beat flutter, the wonders we see.

Abigail MacRory Fish 4 Thought, 2025

BEYOND THE SHALLOW END

Taylor Jones 2026

The smell of chlorine stings my nostrils as my skin begins to sweat. Sunlight dances across the water’s surface, making me wish I’d brought my sunglasses.

The neighborhood pool has been my summer sanctuary since the days when I could barely touch bottom in the shallow end. It has watched me grow—quietly and faithfully from early childhood into my teenage years, providing haven and refuge.

Every morning, my mom would wake me up for swim practice. Though I wanted a few extra minutes of sleep, I would hop on my bike, joyfully pedaling toward my destination—a place where I laughed with friends, learned to float on my back, and did my first successful backstroke flip-turn. These mornings at the pool were filled with bonding and laughter as Ethan, one of the older coaches I looked up to, yelled something funny before diving into the water, and I rushed to my towel as the summer air felt freezing after my swim.

Then, the world changed. By the time I hit middle school, Covid seemed to conquer every part of life, cancelling trips and leaving the summer with no plans. Still, my friends and I clung to our slice of freedom at the pool, passing innumerable hours under the shade of red umbrellas, diving deep during intense games of Sharks and Minnows, and creating new treats out of the snack bar’s limited options like frozen M&M chocolate bars. The water holds these memories, and in its quiet rhythm, it is a friend to whom I can always return.

Abigail MacRory Ocean Emotion, 2025

A MERMAID’S WISH

Julia Levan 2027

In the depths where dreams reside, a mermaid’s heart beats with longing, wide. Amidst her treasures, she yearns to be more than the whispers of the sea.

Her tail sparkles beneath the waves, yet her gaze is fixed on the world she craves. Above, the people dance and sing in a realm where her heart takes wing.

She dreams of walking on the shore, wishing to be with the prince she adores. In her heart, a silent plea to join the world beyond the sea.

But the ocean’s depths hold her tight, a world of shadows lacking light. Still, her spirit dares to dream of a life beyond the ocean’s gleam.

She imagines feet upon the sand and the warmth of the sun’s gentle hand. The laughter of children, the call of the breeze, echo in her heart like whispered pleas.

Yet the sea sings a lullaby of waves and tides that never die. Her world of coral, shells, and foam is the only place she’s ever known.

But hope is a current, strong and true, guiding her dreams to skies of blue. In her heart, a flicker of light, a wish to soar beyond the night.

GOODBYE TOMORROW

Sloane Wallace 2025

Buzz, buzz, buzz is all I hear in my ear. I lazily swat it away, not willing to give up my spot in the gentle spring sun warm on my face. So, I turn my mind to the next spring—

I wonder, will I grow there?

Will my dreams blossom like daisies that dance beneath my feet?

I don’t know what will be, what my journey will bring, or, if I will be happy.

What I do know is that there is a change, that I won’t be the same— the future is bright, and I feel no fear. A new dawn is in sight.

All is well and good, but the buzzing is back, and it draws my mind near, away from faraway dreams and right back here.

Goodbye tomorrow, hello today, will this buzzing ever go away?

Morgan Maxwell Woman In The Window, 2025

SPARK

Colin Tobola 2026

EXT. PARK BENCH – DAY

A bright, quiet park. Leaves rustle and traffic hums in the background.

EVAN sits alone; his leg bounces nervously. He glances at his phone and texts ASHLEY.

EVAN (text) How’s mom?

Evan takes a small metal lighter out of his pocket and his eyes wander to the tall hospital building across the street. He opens the lighter and slowly turns the wheel, but it doesn’t ignite. Evan opens and closes the lighter absentmindedly.

A soft voice breaks the silence.

VOICE (O.S.) (quietly) Rough day?

Evan startles. Across the bench sits a MAN, his gaze fixed on the darkened trees. His expression is calm, almost wistful. Evan’s shoulders tense; he doesn’t make eye contact. The man speaks again.

MAN You waiting on someone?

Evan shifts uncomfortably.

EVAN Sort of.

The man nods slowly.

MAN Yeah. Me too.

He sighs softly.

Evan gives a tight smile.

Evan continues playing with the lighter. The man’s eyes shift down to it, and he raises an eyebrow.

MAN That thing broken?

EVAN (scoffs) No... it was my dad’s. Never really worked...

Evan shoves the lighter into his pocket and slumps into the bench.

MAN That’s a shame.

A pause, then—

EVAN Who’re you waiting for?

MAN Oh... My son.

He shifts slightly and frowns.

MAN (CONT’D) It’s been a while.

Evan leans forward.

EVAN What happened?

The man sighs.

MAN You ever try to untangle headphones?

Evan nods slowly.

MAN (CONT’D) Life’s like that sometimes. Becomes a mess without you knowing how it got that way.

Evan leans back, disappointed.

EVAN You’re here for him now right? That’s something.

MAN If it still counts.

Evan looks at the man and shrugs.

EVAN At least you tried.

MAN Hey, I bet your father cares.

Evan tenses.

EVAN I wouldn’t know. Never met him.

The two are silent.

MAN I’m sorry.

EVAN It’s alright. Hard to miss someone who was never there.

The man smiles sadly and shakes his head.

MAN Sometimes, they find other ways to be with you. Not always how you expect.

Evan leans forward.

EVAN You mean like memories?

The man nods slowly.

MAN Memories, signs... even just feelings. The important ones become part of you. He sighs.

MAN (CONT’D) Even when they’re gone.

Evan stares at his hands.

EVAN I don’t know... what if I missed that?

MAN You didn’t miss it. Sometimes it just takes time to see what’s already there.

Evan looks up at the man then back down. After a pause he begins to break the silence when a faint ringtone breaks the moment. He pulls his phone from his pocket and glances at the screen. It’s Ashley.

EVAN Sorry, I gotta...

The man nods.

ASHLEY (phone) Hey, they’ll be ready soon.

EVAN Alright, see you.

As Evan hangs up, the man speaks.

MAN She’s gonna be okay, kid.

Surprised, Evan turns around.

EVAN Wait, who—

The man is gone. Evan furrows his brow, confused and leans forward.

He sighs and takes the lighter back out of his pocket. When he opens it, a small, neatly-folded note falls out.

The note reads “part of you, always.”

Evan flicks the lighter absentmindedly—and it ignites. His breath catches. Slowly, he closes it.

A smile forms on his face, and he glances at the spot where the man sat moments earlier. He chuckles slightly and stands up.

He tucks the lighter back into his pocket and begins to walk toward the hospital.

As he walks away, the camera pans down to the bench where the man returns. He smiles as he watches Evan go.

WHERE WE ARE

Finley White 2027

The house is brick, and the empty mailbox hugs the curb of crooked trees. His neighbors never see him, though some think he has died but don’t care to find out. Children venture along his street, daring each other to ring the doorbell of the mystery man— He wakes each day to the same alarm, throws on his glasses, and walks downstairs, just to sit in his study, engulfed in antiques and fading photographs— photographs in frames that saturate the walls of every room. Alone, he lingers, removing distant memories, tossing them in boxes with the rest of the forgotten past—echoing tales of those who never made it out alive.

Morgan Maxwell Silver, 2025

THE NECKLACE THAT KNOWS ME

Sophie Marshall 2025

There is a necklace, simple in design yet profound in meaning, worn not for its beauty but for its quiet strength. A thin chain with a delicate pendant, smoothened by years of being pressed against the skin of a girl who has walked through the many stages of life. It is a constant companion, an unspoken anchor, a silent witness to both the smallest moments and the grandest struggles.

With the chain clasped around the girl’s neck, the pendant rests gently against skin that has yet to fully feel the weight of the world. A mother, soft and steady, whispers words of love and reassurance, words carved so simple yet carrying the depth of a lifetime. And so, the necklace becomes a tether, a piece of her, a promise wrapped in metal and memory.

Through years of growth and change, it remains, unyielding, around that fair neck. It is there when the first heartache strikes, when the world feels too big and too heavy to bear.

It is there through the quiet triumphs and the overwhelming failures, through each step taken in uncertainty, and each moment of joy earned. The necklace holds its place, a quiet, grounding presence, the kind that is felt rather than seen. It is the constant reminder of where one has come from and who one has always been, even when the world seems determined to make her forget.

In the moments of panic, when breath becomes shallow and the future feels too vast and too unknown, the necklace presses against the chest. Its presence, subtle yet firm, anchors the heart and stills the mind. It feels as though the arms of a mother have encircled her once again, holding the weight of the world, offering a space of quiet refuge in the midst of chaos. The pendant, cool against the

skin, becomes a balm, a soft comfort that reminds the one who wears it of something deeper, something more enduring than the fear or uncertainty that churns within.

This necklace is my memory. It is a guide, a grounding force, a constant thread woven through the fabric of my being. And in its presence, I know that I am never truly alone, for it is the reminder that no matter how far I go, no matter how much time passes, I am always tied to something far greater than the moment, far greater than the self. It is love, it is everconstant, ever-present, and it moves with me, quietly.

The necklace holds its place, a quiet, grounding presence, the kind that is felt rather than seen.

It is the constant reminder of where one has come from and who one has always been...

TOMORROW

Michael Codrington Faculty

There’s University Plaza! No, I think that’s Pemberton. I don’t know. I don’t know.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10…don’t… cry. You’ll never live it down. I don’t have much time, and my chest, my chest is tight in these eerie streets. It’s cold. Was it this cold this morning or was that David being funny? He would know what to do. The notecard… The notecard! These directions are in gibberish—what does this mean? I made that left already. If this guy looks at me, I’ll drop ‘em. I have to.

“Ay lil man, where you out to?”

Don’t talk.

I walk right past, crouching, making myself as small as I could. The heat runs to my ears and becomes bright. Honk! “Hey! Watch yourself, kid!” He just grazed my calf! That was nearly it for me.

She’s still home. I can make it. She’s still there.

My shoe leather flaps open as I tear down the avenue. A couple minutes and I can still catch her. The stairs, the door. Here goes.

“Help! Help!” I banged, “Help!”

The door swings open in an irritable alarm.

“Is everything…”

She scans up and down as her son, clothes disheveled and face stained with tears, quivers at the lip. She opens the door more, so as to let him in, and he runs to hug her, stopping just short, feeling enough shame to glide past.

She smiles softly, “We’ll try again tomorrow, baby. C’mon, let’s go to school.”

“Things got scary in a hurry.”

“They always do,” she remarks. “They always do.”

ODE TO LAND IN SELMA, ALABAMA WHERE HOME IS

Sophia Cormier 2025

Here, among tall, guarded trees, stands strong and firm a simple gravel path that winds through grass, leading the lost home.

Bought by a freed man, given to free sons, who yet abandon it— like dirt— for shiny things.

Thank the wives of The Free, for raising this plot with their sons, abandoned and hidden by trees.

Hear, the songs sung for a century by the same blood:

A simple gravel path winds through grass, leading the lost home.

Children run after pickup trucks chased by the guarddog, Queenie, scolded for venturing too far into trees, too far from the gravel path.

Small, smoke-filled houses invite friends and family, squished together on too-small couches, watching faded tvs, waiting on oily fried fish and sour collard greens.

Look out the mesh door, past the dog house lined with lightning bugs. Young blood travels a simple gravel path that winds through grass, leading the lost home.

Let me go home.

Thank the wives of The Free, for raising this plot with their sons, abandoned and hidden by trees.

WHISPERS

Sophie Marshall 2025

In the quiet of the backyard, where the grass grew too tall and the flowers bloomed with careless abandon, there was a little corner that belonged to something special. There, under the canopy of trees, the air always seemed to buzz with a secret. It was the perfect spot for magic to settle, where imagination ran wild like the ivy crawling up the neglected fence. And so, she would leave her notes, carefully scrawled on scraps of paper, addressed to the fairies she believed lived just beyond sight, hidden in the shadows of the garden.

She would leave them near her mother’s hydrangea plant, the one with blue petals blooming like arms reaching for a distant dream. The notes were simple—questions, wishes, and dreams written in childlike handwriting with a tiny drawing here and there, a swirl, a star, a heart. “Dear Fairies,” they began, “can you make the flowers bloom brighter? Can you bring a rainbow tomorrow? Can you tell my mom to give me extra dessert?” She would leave the notes with a hopeful heart, believing that somewhere, just out of view, the fairies would find them and grant her wishes.

Her father, without ever saying a word, understood the unspoken magic of those moments. He knew how easily

the world could grow dull, how imagination could fade when time marched forward. So, every evening, after she had run inside, he would slip out the back door and take her notes with him. He would carefully write a reply, never too hurried, never too perfect. His writing was playful, whimsical, as though he too had been drawn into the secret world of fairies. Sometimes, the notes would have little drawings— small sketches of flowers or tiny wings, and always, there was glitter, sprinkled around the edges of the paper like dust from another world.

With each sunrise, she would race outside to find her note, always placed carefully on the porch as though it had just arrived. The glitter would shimmer in the sunlight, scattered like stardust on the steps, a trace left behind by the fairies. She would read the note with wide eyes, her heart swelling with wonder: “The fairies love your flowers, and they’ve made them extra bright today. Work hard at school, and you might find yourself an extra scoop of ice cream.” She would smile at the thought of the fairies watching over her, knowing that the small world of magic they shared was just as real as anything else.

She never told him how much she loved it.

THE HEART OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST

Piper Massie 2027

The forest hums with energy around you—animals rustling through bushes, though there are no tracks left in the soft earth. An umbrella of branches and leaves covers the view of the sky, darkening the forest floor, besides the occasional glow of blue cracks that run along the ground. Their light is eerie, and the few animals you do see carefully avoid stepping on them.

The trees grow closer the deeper you venture into the forest. Above you, branches thicken and light dissipates, while the cracks become more frequent—growing brighter, bathing the forest in a light blue hue.

Farther along, the cracks fade, no longer giving off enough light to see more than a few feet ahead. Darkness creeps in from every side as if the forest itself is closing in around you. From the shadows, you notice a pair of gleaming yellow eyes peering through a bush. The creature emerges, revealing an unusual form—nothing like anything you’ve seen before. Its appearance changes every time you blink, as though it were a figment of your imagination rather than a living being. The creature is a Guardian, silently assessing this new presence

in the forest to see if you’re a threat. It stares for a few long seconds before a bird’s screech makes it look up and vanish into the flora, disappearing like a shadow—as if it were never there at all.

Continuing your descent, much deeper than most dare to go, you stumble upon a clearing with a small lake. The branches above still restrict any trace of sunlight, but a soft luminescence emanates from the lake’s surface, illuminating the fish that swim in its clear water—fish of a thousand different colors that would be impossible to explain to anyone who has not seen them for themselves.

The lake is calm, a soft breeze stirring the cattails that line the water’s edge. The leaves rustle in the wind, whispering a message just for you:

“Rest. You’ve come far, traveler, but you don’t have to journey any farther tonight. Sleep soundly, knowing nothing here will hurt you.”

You know the forest speaks the truth. You’ll rest tonight. And tomorrow, you’ll find somewhere else to wander.

THAT ONE BRILLIANT IDEA

Tommy Perez Lodeiro 2027

Face to face with…my face—right there. Grit teeth, contorted expressions, anything to evoke a feel. A stir of emotion. Searching longingly or just wasting time? (Does it even matter?)

Don’t listen to that idea—they don’t know you like you do. Every day you sit (trapped) in your thoughts, going to war with ideas. Why can’t one just land? On a page or something? Instead, they brew in incomprehensible messiness… always have…always will…

It’s so hard to stick with just one and to let go of the rest. Sometimes you need to; but where would they go? The ideas? They are never really gone, just forgotten—there looming in the background (or no) not looming, more like a record at the bottom of a stack. Waiting to be found and played again…some day.

What is this? Don’t get lost in trivial metaphors! Just look in the mirror. Something is there (isn’t it?). Around me, there are only shadows. They watch: sentient, writhing beings. But I don’t pay them too much mind; I just use the energy (or at least, I try). You can’t give in to what people demand of you in this world. Stay strong. Just stay strong. Look in the mirror—another small victory? No, just survival: left with empty ideas. Small conflicts in a large series of convoluted thoughts and concepts. Just let them ferment…maybe they’ll be of use… someday…perhaps…if they’re good enough.

Another brick to build that bridge to reach that world. They say it’s a balance of light and dark, but it’s all the same to me. Just shadows. Where darkness festers and lurks. THERE’S where I’ll remain. Best leave it cryptic; keep them guessing. We aren’t ready to be vulnerable, yet. Keep the thoughts inside. Don’t force them out; they’ll only disappoint. Is this it—that one brilliant idea? No. No. NO. Just another generic mess.

MY GRANDMOTHER’S REFRIGERATOR

Isabelle DeGrange 2026

Pink magnets, baby photos, my parent’s wedding cards— all blur, mesh, and fade together into the mess that is my grandma’s fridge. To get the ham or cold tortillas is to walk down memory lane, And there, sometimes, I like to sit And stare, and wait a while.

Baseball cards, expired coupons, to-do lists left undone— they peep behind her daily pill chart and notes of doctors’ diagnoses. Postcards, cookie recipes, my kindergarten artwork— distract me from the purple wheelchair and the cane against the counter.

On my grandmother’s refrigerator, She and I still dance in bluebonnet fields between the edges of Polaroids, clinking spoons in her old backyard.

Our smiles curve up tea-stained photos— Her hand holds mine in the waterpark We laugh in the car Eat dessert before dinner And nobody is the wiser.

Memories stick to sounds and places, and when I look at that refrigerator, Her collage of people, and things, and spaces, I can’t help but miss the lived-in, loved-on mess— the life we used to Live.

THE MAGIC WITHIN

Julia Levan 2027

In the heart of the Enchanted Evergreen, sunlight dances and leaves do gleam.

Hazel seeks escape from life’s demands, finding herself in magical lands.

A shimmering light through trees does weave, beckoning her to follow, to believe. A hidden glade with a pool so clear, reflections of realms both far and near.

The pool shimmers with an ethereal glow, its depths a mystery with secrets below. Ripples of magic dance on its face, opening a portal to another place.

With a touch, the world around her does change, a forest of wonders, vast and strange. Luminescent butterflies with wings of light, dance like rainbows in the night.

Tiny foxes with fur aglow, softly lit by twilight’s flow.

Gentle deer, antlers adorned, with blooming flowers, nature’s crown worn.

These creatures speak with voices sweet, their words a melody, a rhythmic beat.

“Fear not, dear Hazel,” they softly said, “With us as allies, be not afraid.”

Guiding her steps through paths unknown, together, their courage has grown. In a village nestled among the trees, Lay villagers with eyes of forest seas.

Their skin shimmers like moonlit streams, hair flowing like golden dreams. Liora, wise elder, speaks with grace, “Trust in yourself, find your place.”

A rare flower, under moonlight’s glow, holds the essence of magic, Hazel comes to know. With allies by her side, she finds her way, to the flower that blooms at the end of the day.

Its petals glow with silvery light, a melody of fragrance in the night. With petals aglow, she places it with care, in her long, silky, golden-brown hair.

A halo of light, a symbol of grace, the magic within her, she does embrace. Though sad to leave the forest behind, she knows her journey is of a different kind.

Back to the pool, with a tearful goodbye, she returns to her world under the sky.

The city now seen with new eyes, beauty in the everyday, a welcomed surprise.

A seed from the flower she plants with love, a piece of the forest, a gift from above.

ELISE

Lydia Tolbert 2026

• Met a woman at the bus stop

• She was sitting all alone

• I usually don’t talk,

• But it felt wrong to just pull out my phone

• So, I asked her for her name, and then we started to converse

• She was 82 and used to be a nurse

• She said her name was Elise, and we talked more for a while

• Suddenly, she got quiet, then gave me a smile—

• “Sorry if I come across as timid or as meek

• My husband, Jerry, well you see, he passed just last week

• And this is where we sat together, the first night that we met

• He gave me his umbrella, and then he got soaking wet

• In the rain

• And even though he’s gone now, I don’t really feel the pain

• Cause I know he’s in a better place

• But sometimes, I feel so selfish,

• Wanting to be anywhere but here

• I feel like if I leave, then he’s really gone for good

• So, maybe if I stay in this little neighborhood

• Where we lived as kids and where we raised our own,

• Maybe then, I won’t feel so alone

• Maybe I won’t want to be away from my ‘before’

• But Elsewhere is all I’m longing for”

Avery Afseth The Green Dress, 2025

LOOKING GLASS

THE SPACE BETWEEN SCROLLS AND SILENCE

Garvey O’Brien 2026

Each evening, as the day unwinds into a haze of responsibilities and lingering anxieties, I find ease in the glow of my phone’s screen. Without conscious intention, my fingers initiate an almost meditative ritual, scrolling through images, updates, and videos. In that quiet moment between consciousness and slumber, I surrender to a digital rush that diverts me from the chaos of daily life.

I remember a time when I believed the endless stream of curated videos and fleeting posts was a sheer distraction. Yet, over the years, I have come to see it as a delicate haven, a place where the noise of reality fades into a background hum. The pictures of far-off landscapes, sunlit beaches, and snapshots of lives that seem effortlessly perfect create an array of different worlds—a reminder that beauty can be found beyond the borders of my existence.

I wander this digital world day and night, each swipe blurring my perception of the real and the imagined. With every scroll, the present slips away, taking with it the time meant for something more. Yet, in the gentle glow of my screen, I find a rare moment to shed my burdens and disappear into a space that never turns me away—a quiet sanctuary where I can simply exist.

WORLD IN MY ROOM

Garon Stewart 2026

I have a world in my room, the earth plastered on its popcorn ceiling among the ashen meadow that’s grown, a space, built from the adornment, all of it I’ve known.

In haste, I dance, flailing my hands in the air, swirling, spiraling winds upon the sea

I stomp, shaking the ground with fury as it sizzles and sears into dust

I cry, the tears flowing off the tips of my ears and into the clouds

I yell, the quivers stabbing my throat as tides slam against the shore

I sleep, my meager snores snuggling the hillsides in warm drafts

I laugh, the climate driven stale as my lungs fight for air.

I die.

I sink down, and I die.

The light fades from my eyes.

A glance east, a nod west.

The sun starts to set.

I look over the existence, at which I have created, with a weensy grin of glee, to its fading, gaudy hue.

Lead me, No.

Leave me, to believe, this world is my room.

Jack Zoeller Pink Illusion, 2027

PARADISE

Drew Nobel 2025

I see paradise—clear, turquoise water calls me closer as I drift through the sand, each grain dissolving between my toes with every step I take. The sound of crashing waves blends beautifully with the melodic hymns of chirping birds, creating the perfect balance of rhythm and blues. Through my headphones, Bob Marley softly grooves through his classic hits, and I, taking a sip of my freshly made watermelon smoothie, bask in the salty aroma of the ocean. People soar through the cloudless blue sky on brightly colored parasails while others lay across the powdery sand, the sun warming their backs. Palm trees whisper secrets in the gentle breeze, and in the stillness of this moment, I never want to leave.

Light filters through my consciousness, drawing me from tranquility, revealing that this paradise is nothing more than a dream—a dream that quickly dissipates as I pull myself from the bedsheets, opening my window only to see gray skies and thunderstorms pouring out into the streets. The only way I can face the day is knowing that I’ll soon retreat to that distant shore where dream and reality become one—my true paradise.

Palm trees whisper secrets in the gentle breeze, and in the stillness of this moment, I never want to leave.

LONESOME LAZARUS

(AFTER LADY LAZARUS BY SYLVIA PLATH)

Joaquin Hartsfield 2025

I have fallen into the Sea, water crashing into me, I have never felt so free.

Given a blank canvas, the sky erupts with thunderous revenge— I am only here for recompense.

My back now healed from the scalpel submerged deeply, I am undeserving of their sharpened brand.

Be cautious as you cut through this fragile skin—

Water has memories:

Blood has spilled, eyes have dilated, lungs have shrunken.

My body worn from constant torture, yet my spirit stays.

The first time it happened was quick— Barely taken from the womb before I became sick.

The second time, they ganged up on a doe— My hands guarding my face from foes,

eyes closed, and waiting for the blow. They hit as hard as stone to this body. No one helped as I dusted myself off from the dirt.

Always returning to the Sea, memories flash by, watching my blood splatter onto their souls.

It heals the pain in living, washing away the emotion of my being. One would say I’ve been baptized by the slicing waves that still my body with ease. It’s a constant revival––

Three days since my dire death, a sustained breath comes out, piercing the air before water raids my lungs. I’ve lasted ten weeks as a miracle before. Another towering attack wakes me. Upon seeing what they’ve done, another arrives because I am still alive.

SERAPHINA INTERLUDE DEATH OF A SHOOTING STAR

Kit Ding 2026

Ever so brightly does that star glow, burning, smoldering all in its path

Saturated colors burst in explosion, pushing, forcing one away

Thrust into a dark abyss, nothing to do but gaze into the distant constellations,

Emptily yearning for that suffocating light.

Lonely epiphanies accompany dismay, while there

Lies an inexplicable remorse—

Echoes of a dead star.

PLUTO’S LIGHT

Taft Mohair III 2026

i have had an epiphany, and to enlighten you in a machiavellian fashion, dear reader, i shall tell it to you through arcane elegy—

the funny thing about closing the door is that the light still seeps through, unaffected by shadow’s embrace

moonlight floods the land, creation growing atop him, around him— his hands, his feet, becoming one, bound, and yet, free free from the curse we call love, or rather, obsession, and the pain it has caused him— the pain you, Phoebus, have caused him,

though he cannot blame you it was his inability to transcend you that led him to you again and again— a never ending cycle, a trick of time, the will of eternity, and still, his perceived understanding of his fate only stimulated its effects

FLYING

Helen Zamorano 2028

I want to fly

To have my feet touch the sky

To have my heart in my throat

To have the weak leave my bones

I want to be weightless

To have no body

No mind

No heart

No soul

To feel the weak leave my bones

With no reason to return

With no reason to remain

These thoughts stay in my mind

For

I’m not the wind in the sky

Nor the clouds in the air

Nor the stars in the night

I want to fly

To have the weak leave my bones

MEDUSA’S HEAD

Sophia Cormier 2025

The veil slips away/and in the mirror’s reflection/her eyes meet mine/ No monster stares back at me/just a woman/whose soul mirrors my own/She/like so many of us/has been failed/by standards/placed on her/ This “monster”/did not ask those men to look at her/forcing themselves to turn to stone/She did not even want Poseidon/to take interest in her/ So, why must she be punished?/ Why must we take her head?

Kit Ding And She Was On Display, 2026

SERAPHIM

Lily Parsapour 2028

A dove flew by so pale and white, A visit from the Holy Spirit

And a touch of the Divine, I reckon, is this mystical light—

Give me a kiss, Seraphim

Bless these cherry-stained lips, Heavenly Angel, And at last, I will sleep with your balmily presence watching over me

Give me a kiss

On my forehead, Seraphim—

Tingling fingertips, Ambivalent feelings— Still, I can’t help but let in

The renewal of rejuvenation

The afterworld may be out of sight, but I will get there on my merit

I’ll catch the rightful Kismet that is mine, If it takes my every might.

Give me a kiss

On my cheek, Seraphim, A peck of bliss, And at last, I will Recess, Avoidant, without my stress, With your presence Still here, In its residence, In its Special Place in my chest

I’m

Aware of what I’ve gained—

The best guardian angel One could receive— My Wonderful Dad Who has now grown a pair of beautiful, Magnificent Cerulean Wings.

WHEN LANTERNS FADE

Cat Cadena 2028

People gather around with candles that beam stars into the night sky. Children dance with lanterns swinging in hand—their laughter serenading the air with sweetness. The smell of baked goods and freshly grilled meat twists and twirls, swirling over and under, filling everyone’s noses. Lined with booths of food, trinkets, and all things imaginable, a clearing reveals people holding hands, swinging left to right in a joyful whirl. In just a glance, one might think it was all chaos, but by taking a moment to stop, to watch, and to listen to the music being played with grace, one could witness the beauty of the dance—people enjoying what might be the happiest time of their lives. The men lift the women, twirling them around, then setting them back down, continuing on with the rhythm of the night.

The music comes to an end, and everyone stops. The men bow and the women curtsey, and all at once they flock back into the crowd as the sound of singing and laughter fades into the quiet of the night. Stars escape the sky. Lanterns flicker. Candle flames die. And all the townspeople stand frozen in place like statues.

The sun climbs from behind the mountain peaks, taking its rightful place in the sky, giving life to the earth across many lands. Birds chirp—morning has finally come! And yet, the townspeople remain still. Their skin, now hard and firm like stone, is immune to nature’s healing tune. Creatures wake all around this frozen village—the people do not laugh, cheer, nor sing the sweet songs that once painted an image of somewhere far away. The village remains quiet, with only the encompassing sound of nature around it.

THE LIGHTHOUSE

“Ezra?”

“What is it, my dear?” Ezra responded, looking over from the window of reality by which he stood.

“Is fate determined?” Kal asked, looking up from her piano. “I would suspect you know, being… well… you….”

Ezra softly chuckled, “Kal, I’m afraid that is one of the few questions I am unable to answer, even for a being like you.”

“But, you do know?”

“Of course, I know all,” Ezra looked back out the lighthouse window. Reality cascaded outside like a river—time and space like the swimming fish.

Kal sighed and stepped away from her piano. She knew more than any other being in the multiverse since Ezra had brought her to the lighthouse. Ezra The Author is, as his title implies, the author of creation.

Kaleidoscope (or Kal) is one of the two ideas Ezra created—The Architect, Kal’s brother, being the other. The Architect destroyed the First Reality in his hunt for more power, leaving Ezra and Kal as the only survivors. Now, Kal keeps Ezra company at the lighthouse.

The lighthouse itself sits on an island, floating beyond the fifth dimension. It is fairly simple: a black and gold brick cylinder with a green lantern at the top. The main room has a piano and desks for Ezra’s writing and Kal’s entertainment—Kal often looks on in wonder as Ezra turns basic ideas into stories that eventually form realities.

There is only one other entity as old as Ezra, The Great Chaos, which Ezra describes as where the ideas originate, millions of single thoughts swirling around a cloud of smoke. When enough ideas combine, they go to Ezra to be written.

“Kal, would you mind if I asked you a question?” Ezra inquired as he walked to The Wall of Reality.

The Wall of Reality is an infinite library of all existences, each one housed in an unfinished book. Kal could never tell if the books wrote themselves or if Ezra crafted each story.

“Yes, of course,” Kal called back over her shoulder at him as she sat back down to play, laying her fingers delicately across the keys.

Ezra fixed his gaze on The Wall, searching for a specific book in the vast library.

“Do you believe in the saying ‘legends and myths are made of truth?’” he asked, running his finger across the smooth leather covers.

Kal chuckled and stood up from her piano one final time. “Well, usually, I would say ‘no.’” She walked over behind Ezra. “But, seeing as I am in your presence, I think you could prove me otherwise?”

Ezra chuckled, picking a book from the shelf. “Indeed. That is exactly what I’ll do.”

Ezra opened the book to the first page, “Gods and Monsters….”

DRIFTING BETWEEN STARS

Kelan Speed 2026

I step into the hush of midnight, where the sky unfurls like ink spilled across forever. The stars shimmer—fractured glass, scattered secrets, whispering in tongues older than time.

The air hums, electric and waiting, as if the universe is holding its breath. Moonlight pools in silver rivers at my feet, a map drawn by ghosts of forgotten constellations. I lay in the lunar tide, my skin littered with daggers of the deep freeze.

I reach out, fingers trembling, but the stars are too distant, too cold. Still, their light lingers on my skin, a silent promise that even fire leaves echoes.

Somewhere, a comet carves its own path, refusing to be bound by orbit or order. And for a moment, I am weightless— adrift between the stars, unafraid of the void.

But in the quiet hush of the cosmos, I wonder if my final destination has long been waiting. Somewhere untethered by gravity or memory, where I am more than a shadow of what was left behind.

The universe shifts, a breath, a pulse— a doorway swinging open in the dark. I do not know what lies beyond, only that I must go.