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HAVELOCK 21-22

Lincoln Northeast Literary Magazine Copyright 2022 by Havelock Staff All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any way whatsoever without written permission. Published by Firespring 1201 Infinity Ct. Lincoln, NE 68512 Cover art Onlooker by Danimal Title page by Hanna Zamrzla Advised by Kaley Reda

Notes from the editor These past few years have made most of us realize how little control we have over our lives. The strings of fate often make us feel like puppets. Over this year we have experienced the four stages of fate: bliss, anticipation, panic and clarity. Bliss is a feeling of comfort. It is the moment before covid happened, when we were starting new relationships and getting invested in new hobbies. Anticipation is being excited and nervous for what this new school year will bring us, it's getting hit with new regulations and having expectations for what we think the world should look like. Panic is the feeling of not having control and seeing how cruel and terrible the world can be: seeing protests on the news and wars being fought across the way from some of our hometowns. Panic is unnerving and unsettling. Clarity is finally seeing the big picture, being considerate towards one another and understanding there are things we just have to accept. When looking through our literary magazine, think of it as a notebook that was passed around our school, this magazine is the collection of items from those going through the different stages of fate. We, the Havelock team, hope you enjoy it.

Table Of Contents O7

08 09

Afro Ladies Lizzy Mayier Mother Dlbreen Al Sloo

Figurative Drop Jordan Roussseau

Natalie Monty Meyer

Something New

David Izabel Rivers For A Roses Thorns Are Hidden Beneath Her Beauty Laura Parden

Passion Jordan Rousseau

Exorcist Rachel R

Just One More Belle Casey

Froggy Delight Madison Chase

Poems of God Aiden Boyd Funny Purple Man Aiden Boyd

Abi Perez

Double Exposure Portrait 24

The Middle K.E. Maynez Double Exposer Portrait madison Miller Double Exposer Portrait jacey Culkins

25 26

Double Exposure Portrait Kylah Raley

The Shining Minimalist Poster Anthony States 32 The End of Evangelion Tayevon Jones Victim Carissa Shaw

line

I can never think in a straight Peyton Miller The Wander Anthony States

The Ones Among Us Norah Kellog

But I Care Peyton Miller

Control Peyton Miller

Genderfluid Door

Rust Maria Sanchez De Los Reyes Where I’m From Izabel Rivers

A “Squaws” Success Jordan Rousseau

Eyes Peyton Miller

Field Anthony States Fox Transformation Ace Ahmed Hu Tao’s Ghost Bree Woodward Tar Leilahnee Arits

Tiba Al Bane Hasan

The Mask I Wear Samuel Mattson Hello Izabel Rivers

Table Of Contents 38

40 41

The Last Wanderer Jackson Zanker Us Armon’e Dean Album C Leilahnee Artis Hurricane Monty Meyer Gyotaku horrors 2 Olli Lupo The Trick Of Time Devon Holland Wasted Time Cade Henke 51

ERBIL ZR.MD Micro Leaf Madison Chase

Hidden Gems Becca Huffman Coral Vase Harlee Damme Coil Monster S. Couture

Forest Carissa Shaw Walk in the Quiet Forest Connor Scott

Ghosts Of War Ryan Baker My Uncle, My Angel Wisal k. Khurmish

Felting Friends Madison Chase Family Guy One Piece William Cole Tacos Zaradasht Salim Favorite Season Junior Gibson

Small Town Cadence Reinke

Gyotaku Horrors 4 Olli Lupo

Who Am I Keaghan Kumpula Far From City Wisal K. Khurmish

Mi Mexico Lindo: An Ode To Mexico Arianna Valencia Teapot Rwaida Ajwar

Dream Song Aria Feit Turtle Duck With A Lotus Flower FC

In The Perspective Of Fate Devon Holland Quran Yusef Mohammed

57 58

Our Lady Of Despair Peyton Miller Achromatic Law Jordan Rousseau

Dlbreen Al Sloo. 12 Mother love My mom is my only longtime companion, My mom is the loyal one. My mom would know what’s wrong With me in the blink of an eye. My mom is the warm embrace and The smile on my lips. You’re my shoulder to lean on, you’re The most beautiful woman. You’ve done way more than enough You raised me up in your lap. Everyone left but you stayed toKeep my secrets in your heart. You stayed by my side praying for me Every single moment. Lizzy Mayier. 12 Afro Ladies

Monty Meyer. 12 Natalie

I sit in the crowd Speechless. My breath taken away like a sledgehammer slamming my chest Again And Again. I watch you, hypnotized by your dancing. You dance with such grace, such beauty Like you’re dancing only for me. When I’m with you all I can do is stare into those dreamy eyes. Your dazzling eyes full of life, full of love You make me feel like I’m frozen in time, Unable to move. My whole life I have felt incomplete. But when I’m with you Natalie, The world fades away and all I feel is Your Love.

Lauren Parden. 11 For a roses thorns are hidden beneath her beauty

Izabel Rivers. 11 David

I am a dandelion. Never meant to be plucked when seen. Meant to be the source of the game ¨will he love me or will he love me not¨ I was never meant to be the flawless flower The flower she would receive for her first date. I didn’t have to be perfect My lack of bright colors are always forgotten when she is around I mean, Who would pick a damaged flower when there is one much more promising? Unlike her, I wilt away quick even in the sun I will always return to the shadows. I wish I were a rose I wish I were her.

I am a rose. to be plucked when seen Always bought for the girlfriends I’m assumed to be perfect I can’t have one single petal wilt without the whole thing being thrown away I’m supposed to smell good, be confident, have no tears, but I’m not strong. I’m not perfect I’m not always gonna be the brightest shade of red Have the best smell Have all beautiful petals I’m not always gonna be perfect and I wish they understood that I have thorns so sharp you can’t pick me up without gloves My beauty hides the pain you feel when you pick me up But you know this You cut away my thorns Spray me with perfume Cut me deeper Destroy every part of me that makes me ugly Damaged bruised I will not fake the beauty anymore You don’t want to be me For even a rose wilts away Slowly Silently Until she’s nothing but dust in the wind.

Aiden Boyd. 11 Poems of God God, that funny cat boy God with fluffy cat ears God, he likes to plays coy God thinks there would be stairs God has such joy God is quite queer God is a cat boy God is a cat boy. God is a funny cat boy! God has cute cat ears. Aiden Boyd. 11 Funny purple man Funny purple man: Purple man with kids Purple man can jam Purple man gets dibs Purple man in springlock Purple man is stuck Purple man heard a knock Uh oh the springs have struck Well there goes purple man

Jordan Rousseau. 11 The Figurative Drop

Abi Perez . 9 Something New Every day is something new. You find out new things. Things that could change your life. You meet people you’ve never met. You try things you’ve never tried. Everything is new if your heart says it is. So remember. No matter what today brings, Tomorrow is a new day and Every day is something new.

Jordan Rousseau. 11 Passion

Rachel R .12

Exorcist

Belle Casey. 10 Just One More Just one more It was only one more That’s what you told yourself It was only one more How many times have you said that? The phrase constantly repeating like a broken record It’s your safety blanket A safety blanket that’s so worn and frail When put to sunlight, it’s see-through So fragile, when caught it tore Why wasn’t it just one more? The now broken glass shining more than your eyes. It will never be “just one more.”

Double Exposure Portraits TIBA AL BANE HASAN. 9

KYLAH RALEY . 9

K.E. Maynez. 11 The Middle Kindness Lessons taught young While others galloped, Entwined in blissful ignorance, Each word pounds Deeper within character Assumptions Accumulated daily, a present For me to open unexpectedly. Yet to ponder, was forbidden, Especially from the middle.

Everlasting still un break able Never, is the middle un mis

Ignored Outcasted, denied equality Expelled for false delinquency A midnight lamb hides, unknowingly deep within The den of wolves Declining From smiling hills, Rolling towards bright suns, to an empty night. Engulfed in the whispers, haunted by the memories.

JACEY CULKINS. 12

MADISON MILLER. 9

Success was merely a fever dream to my father, the rotten addiction blood flows through our veins, holding no restraints to the possibility of surviving past adulthood, showing its true, how one drink, becomes two, then three, then four, never to be set free from the grasp of the force that seems to enforce native blood intruding into the livelihood of my families life, the addiction that pushes me to the ledge of my mind. Yet, the definition of success can’t be reached, my identity being stretched, and the structure of my life being threshed, where my dreams are etch-a-sketched on a board, my childhood being stored there. Growing up my success relied on the scores I got and going to the reservations to help those in need, growing up to fit right in, into the “typical American” seed. I overthink to the brim of the mason jar, it breaks apart, starting to fall far from the tip of my tongue, all I hear is a silence, until my words shatters at the bottom, the realization hits, my success isn’t determined by my creative energy, or the way I convey my emotions so naturally, instead it’s determined by the scores I get on a test, If I don’t pass the tests college is merey, a story to me, just like it was for my father , why try so hard to keep my emotions in lock and key, when the reality is that my mental sanity doesn’t matter, the only thing the school seems to care about is the way I can stand in class and recite the pledge of allegiance, while the substitute teacher tries to make sense, of why I refuse to stand and recite these lies, as I stand and cry, how is America, full of freedom for all, when they pushed my people onto reservations, Americans just can’t stand sharing land with “Squaws” I walk on the cliff of my words, I tilt my foot over the open air, questioning the choices that led me there. The little voice in my head leading me to this rickety bridge. Scared the fears will slip from the tip of my tongue, I return my foot to the ground, and walk to the bridge, broken down, and unsteady. Holes in every piece of wood, So where does that leave me? digging my own grave, trying to obtain the straight A student look, to create a happy ending to my creation. The cliff under me, the idea of falling, or failing. Like my mind is free to set sail, and hear my thoughts echo a wail from the abyss But fever dreams are in my blood, and the shovel is in my hand, and yet I never know if I am going to make it out as a miracle or a mess. A Squaw’s useless success. Or a miracle considered, one of the best.

Jordan Rousseau. 11 A “Squaws” Success

Peyton Miller.11 Eyes

Anthony States.11 Field

Ace Ahmed.9 Fox Transformation

Bree Woodward.11 Hu Tao’s Ghost

Leilahnee Artis.12 Tar

Sameuel Mattson. 12 The Mask I Wear

This mask I’ve worn for many years has been designed by years of hardships, pain, and going through what seem to be the darkest pits of Hell. Every jagged edge of life, used to shape the porcelain that is the mask I wear.

But rather than dwelling on those dark times, I take what they’ve taught me To use it whilst continuing to fight on. It isn’t what happened that defines me, rather how I’ve used what I’ve learned to make me stronger. I’ve strived towards making myself a better stronger man than my biological father.

Society expects a man to be an anchor for the people he’s closest to. He doesn’t show or talk about his emoThe man I call my dad taught me that a tions; man can show emotion, while still being He must be strong for those he loves. strong for his family. He puts the needs of his loved ones before That a man can let people in and dehis own; velop new friendships or bonds, while Even if it means that he gets hurt in the protecting the people he loves. end. He’s shown me that a man can also let He protects the ones he loves at all costs; someone else be his anchor, while being Even if it kills him. the anchor for his family. Furthermore, He doesn’t let strangers get And finally, he’s shown me that a fatoo close: ther’s love can be shown to anyone. for he must protect his own. And I hope that I’m at least half the Some of the things I’ve been through in man, life that my Dad have given me scars; in all but blood, physically, Didn’t have to be. mentally, Izabel Rivers. 11 and emotionally.

Hello

Anthony States.11 The Shining Minimalist Poster

Tayevon Jones. 11 THE END OF EVANGELION

Carissa Shaw. 12 Vivctim The woman focused intently on chopping the vegetables in front of her. She could hear the knocking on the door, but she figured that it might go away if she ignored it. Her knuckles were white, gripped tightly on the handle of the knife. A snap echoed past the chopping. She dropped to the floor to hide, holding the knife defensively in front of her. She heard the creaking of the door, followed by the tapping of shoes on the tiled floor. As she saw the stranger come around the counter, she jumped up and lunged forward. She lodged the knife in their chest. Recovering from her shock, she saw her husband bleeding out on the floor. Breathing a sigh of relief, she kneeled down and took his wallet and phone out of his suit pocket. Removing the knife from his stomach, she used a cloth to wipe it clean. Taking the items with her, she grabbed the car keys from the corpse on the floor and left the house.

Norah Kellogg.10 The Ones Among Us... Pouring a generous amount of liqueur. I slid it over, watching its golden brown consistency spin into syrup. Reflecting swirls of light, the glass glistened and shone little light into Neon Lights, a dive bar near a semi-busy town, whose doors were open 24/7. Taking later night shifts, I often worked till 5 pm, having 11 hours of stand-around time, sweeping thin layers of dust on deep stained-brown countertops along with thick jug-sized glasses. Cleaning brought a new gleam of things, claiming my unbuzzled nerves. Releasing a sigh, I began organizing the shelves. Kicking my backpack briefly, its contents skidded across rickety wooden planks. Notecards flew everywhere, and I picked them up two at a time. Scribbles matching unshapen words airly swayed over each pencil mark. Finishing my last year of Communications and still, I couldn’t get everything sorted out. I ruffled my shaggy hair in a curly-loose ponytail. Tangles hid dark swollen circles that bore into rectangular lined whites. My appearance fully matched every stereotype of a college student. Shrugging my shoulders, I ran through my presentation once again. The topic was simple: someone you look up to who has a noticeable status online. A quick Google search was in order. I never bothered myself with things of such a sort. The drama of celebrities overwhelmed me, leaving me with a killer headache. That and the power they held, all that recognition was terrifying. I wasn’t one to be around too many people. So something to that extent seemed like hell to pay. Quite frankly, I had a handful of friends, but with school and all, our time was getting thin. Flipping through my notes, I mumbled each sentence, trying to shove some confidence down my throat, clicking a ball pen. My surroundings stayed inside a little box, glasses and counters around me for comfort. Avoiding eye contact at all costs, looking busy and bothered hopefully they would leave me be. One of my closest friends said it would be a good idea to search for a job. Help with the funds right? It made sense of course, but maybe it was a bad idea? After all, I was the one having to deal with drunken idiots dancing on top of tables. I don’t know but it bothered me. They’d chug drinks down till sunrise, talking to whomever would listen, with fumbling hands and stuttered words. They all acted so freely. I hated people with a passion that drove them to do whatever they wanted. It was annoying even though I could easily tell some asshole to stop when needed. It was the bar’s rules. Can’t change them. But the idea of an hour-long presentation on some stupid celebrity, that might I add, no one in this class cared about was was terrible. I jumped at the sound of a tinkling bell, small in size. “Oh, hello what would you like-” I instantly dropped my pen and reached for the closest glass. “Sir?” He had a brown trench coat tied in a lovely knot and greasy blonde hair settled a little over his shoulders. The air thickened in his presence. Each of our customers flinched as the man scooted next to me. The black leather and silver chairs screeched at each turn. The man sat on one of many stools.

“I’ll take a cocktail, please.” Nodding my head repeatedly, I threw in whatever ingredients fit. I looked at him from the corner of my eye; he looked disheveled, without a care about his apparent injuries. Describing him, at best , only one word came to mind: off. Everyone knew he probably killed somebody before he showed up here. Black and gray, smoldering smoke adhered to his cheekbones. The bold color booped his nose then dipped it in shine. Previous forehead wrinkles upturned, showing his natural skin tone. He had clearly been caught in a fire. Feeling that tug of release, needing to ask him, I bit on my lip worried about the outcomes. Passing him his drink with shaky hands, he said, “Thank you.” Fastened to a button, his sleeves looked like they could fall off. Burned like brownish rust, cracks within sturdy material faltered. One of the odd man’s sleeves was seared, torn up to his forearm, leaving a frazzled stub of fabric. My eyebrows furrowed at the sight. Openly warm, his left arm was blistered , creating a raw crispness with settled smoke as company. Nerves probably boiled, it shook in pain. Both hands gripped his drink, yet still being unbalanced, he twirled it as he hummed a few notes. “Hm, hey. So eh… can I ask you a question?” . . I knew this man for roughly two hours and a half and yet I knew him more than most. A man of forgotten dreams, lost promises, and a corpse by the time he leaves. This is the story of the forgotten for the forgotten. . “Um, ok? Sure.” Removing my attention from his blank empty expression, I continued to clean the counter. I wiped the area where remnants reamined from the customers who had leaked out the door. This “party crashing” mood was being ruined by this plate full of baggage or the smell of burning, blistering flesh. He stared deeply into his drink. A frown wrapped his darkened face, leaving marks. “A story” “W-What” “I would like to tell you a story. My story… would that be ok?” Despite his monotone voice, I felt a hint of pain layered thickly inside him. “I don’t see why not?” It wasn’t bizarre to see a man gulping his sorrows. Glancing at the clock I couldn’t help but frown. Even though the talkers are usually long gone by now and I still had a few hours to study, so this better not take long. . Their blood is used as fuel —* . You could say I was a bold child. I knew I was smart. At age five I’d learned briefly about science and space. . Pluto was a nickname my mother gave me. I told her I’d be the first one up there staring down at all the little people, other planets, and mediators as well. It ultimately fascinated me. I mean, could you blame me!? Only that long ago we took our first steps on Mars. Nothing besides the moon landing in 1969 and some lousy aircraft orbiting completely connected our technology up until the early

2090’s. . Ah, 2100 sure was a year… SOAR broke into some savings finally. All that technology at their fingertips. Oh, I could only imagine. Research was booming, just about everyday we would learn something new: opened black holes leading to 2nd universes, frozen rock somehow once an eon ago holding water. All of this was a basic fact nowadays, but not too long ago it was mind-boggling! Most called it the year of space which compared to today would seem true. Funding became scarce after livability showed up on Mars. One of our toughest accomplishments really. The public packed their bags and left. Government funds plummeted staggeringly. And just like before they sucked all the passion out of it. Mars turned into a father’s dream vacation. SOAR, as you know, still built rockets. Far more than years before. They hardly went by with scrapes of high-quality tightly fitting metals. The public was using rockets like a second train station, for heaven’s sake! But it all shut down right before it got good. With their upcoming money problem and for reasons unknown, it all turned off. A theory in the making. Why did this norm of science discontinue? Astronauts were still able to use everything freely. SOAR blurred all communication with the public. Just a news anchor once and while repeating an unlikely discovery or another trip across the milky way. It was rushed and messily done like they didn’t have time. Like something bad would have happened if everyone didn’t leave Mars. It felt heartbreaking to think about but, nonetheless, it was intriguing… So at the sparkling age of eleven, I got to work. I was driven by the government’s emptiness. I became mad –entirely bonkers! I started my research, my own discoveries. Locked just beyond the skyline, the stars became my friends. Well that and my telescope… . Passion equals obsession—* . The stakes of it all piled together, higher and higher, with each new draft of information. . It was all fun and games, till I finally realized what in particular I was messing with. . What my hands were dirted in.

Peyton Miller.12 Control

Door. 11 genderfluid Always shifting through the waves Constantly relocating Clutching my clothes like a lifeboat Sailing without destination Few live out at sea Most just sit in their ships Seeing new lives, therefore homes I could never live in I found my boat in the desert Slightly damp from morning dew I look at the others wearing skirts And I envy their cruise I’ve heard of grand travels Yet all have a destination I am one of the few Who simply sail genders

Peyton Miller. 11 I can never think in a straight line

Anthony States. 11 The Wander

Peyton Miller.11 But I Care

Maria Sanchez De Los Reyes. 9 Rust Izabel Rivers. 11 Where I’m from I am from a trailer From smells of cigarettes and despair From smelling the desperation in the air From where the roaches are From constant yelling From dirt From grime From no heat From no A/C From no car From limited water From broken furniture From a mattress on the floor From too many apartments to count I am from a life of Nutella and peanut butter sandwiches From 24 cent ramen noodles From mac’n’cheese From bread and water

From off brand clothes From off brand food From “WHAT DO TIGERS DREAM OF WHEN THEY TAKE A LITTLE TIGER SNOOZE?” From “I LET HER OUT” From “With this ring I ask you to be mine.” From contradictions From “Too loud” From “Too quiet” From “Too much” From “Not enough” I am from an absent father From an overworked mother From others’ pain From others’ crying From others’ cheating From others’ lying From a broken home From a cycle of abuse From others’ addiction From others’ hate From others’ mental illness From others’ bad decisions From taking care of myself From taking care of siblings I am from fear From my pulse quickening From my breath catching From my stomach dropping From the taste of bitterness From my mouth going dry From trauma From not being able to sleep at night From cowering everytime there’s a noise From being strong From pretending to be strong I am from nothing I am from everything I am from home no matter how broken

US Armon’e Dean. 12

(artwork) Jackson Zanker

The last wonderer. 11

Nothing but the bliss of darkness and ignorance of life Void of expectation, comparison, disappointment Void of the unrealistic reality of equality and true compassion Void of societal norms, of religious, political and moral versions of what is right or wrong This is how we start And this is how we end But for some reason this isn’t how we live To be born different means to attain the name minority Which in our society means a life of inferiority Oppression! Not to mention the countless acts of discrimination Hate from a nation congregating, growing, throwing their words to the hoi polloi brainwashing them into conformity Making them believe that we’re the deformity There is no right, wrong, regular, or weird All there is is standard, and if we don’t fit yours then I guess we’re deformed But be warned … we ain’t taking that name lightly We’re standing in line and standing tall screaming FIGHT ME But not with our fists or your batons, but rather our voices telling you this is wrong I’m tired We’re tired Between the choking, gasping breaths of George Floyd

To the screaming pain of 12-year old boy, Tamir Rice When will it end?! The names of these victims are burned in our heads Our patience is dulled Our anger on the rise And with that we shall show the anger we all have boiling inside Riots Protest What does it matter We’ll still be branded terrorist or criminal by those in all levels of the social ladder We can’t escape

You have the audacity to say our words To steal our culture It seem oppressing us wasn’t enough Now you sit here and create excuses for your cultural appropriation Like, “It was part of the song lyric” Or it’s not racist without the hard ‘R’ The equivalent of saying it wasn’t slavery without a whip Or it’s not abuse without getting hit You act as if the difference between me and you isn’t astronomical As if white men don’t find it comical when we reach for the stars You might as well be telling us it’s just not that hard.

Monty Meyer. 12

Hurricane The feeling I’m all to familiar with creeps into my head like a whisper. It’s like a category five hurricane has claimed my head as it’s victim. I don’t want to wake up, don’t want to get out of bed, don’t want to talk.

Leilahnee Artis. 12

Album C

I can’t reason with it, can’t tell it to go away. I ponder whether I will ever overcome the storm Or if I will drown trying… Olli Lupo. 12

Gyotaku Horrors 2

Devon Holland.12 The Tricks of Time The moment came all too fast. The moment the blade went through my chest, the world darkened, but it was soon light again. It wasn’t Heaven, but it sure as hell wasn’t Hell either. I was back where I had been ten days ago. At a meeting with my club. I looked and saw all the friends I had lost in the next few days. I saw the people I never thought I’d see again. When I started to cry, I knew I must have confused my friends. As I walked to the home that I had lived in for most of my life, I realized something had changed. My home wasn’t there. A hand tapped my shoulder, and I turned around to see my close friend Maria. She looked so pure, clean of the blood-stained future. I was about to speak when she did. “Where are you going, Alex? We have to go the other way to get home!” “What do you mean we have to go the other way?” I ask. “Well, to our home, of course. You’re my brother after all!” Maria said. I swallowed, and I followed her to our home. We are greeted by the man who was my father in the other timeline and the woman who was Maria’s mom in that same world. It’s strange to see these two people together, as they were unhappy single people in the other world, but now, they were beaming with life. As we ate dinner later that night, we talked about our days, though I couldn’t say much. Maria, on the other hand, did.“Alex started crying in the middle of a meeting. Micah was talking about ways to raise funds because our club could get closed down, and he just started tearing up!” “Really? I thought I raised a proper man out of you, Alex!” Dad said jokingly, and he ruffled my hair. I complained by saying I was too old for that, but he just chuckleed again, unlike in the other world, where he would have snapped at me. Maria’s mom, or my mom, I guess, was different too. She was slimmer, and not slightly overweight . She wasn’t depressed. She was radiant and happy, with an aura of an eccentric and ecstatic woman. This must be what she had been like before her original husband, Mr. Havels, died in an accident three years ago. I began to wonder if this was going to be any different. But a feeling in my gut punched me back to reality. Even if this wasa different reality, it was possible it will get fucked up in some new way. I was right. I watched as an atomic bomb dropped from the sky, with the symbol of the Doctor, a halo with wings, painted on its side. I felt the aura, and as the world was desecrated, my skin was ripped apart. I screamed, and I heard the screams of my “family” fill the air as millions of others followed. The world was dark yet again, and then the light came back after a few moments. This time, I woke up in a small apartment, similar to the one me and my dad lived in when I first lived, but this time, it was cleaner, and looked like it did before Mom died. Another thing that hit hard was that there was a tabletop shrine of my Mom and Dad with me, and I realized I was alone in the world. I pulled out my phone and looked through the contacts.

The only numbers there were the bank, the police, and the hospital. What was even worse is that there was a notification on it that read, “One year anniversary today. Visit Mom & Dad after school.” I felt sick, and my vision went blurry. I collapsed, and the world went black as my head hit the floor too hard. I could feel blood soaking the floor, and as a knock came to the door, I felt nothing. The light came for a third time, and I awoke in a new life. I was in a hospital bed. I was old and decrepit. I could see Maria lying in a hospital bed next to me. She was holding my hand, a ring on her finger. The tubes were too much, poking into our bodies and giving us life support. I looked at her, but when I saw she wasn’t breathing, I felt the cold grip of her hand all too soon. I started to cry. I was hurting in so many places, and the last time I saw Maria she was alive and was my sister. But before that, she had been my close friend and the girl I had secretly loved for years in my first life. And now I was in a timeline where we grew old together only to die in hospital beds, forgotten by the world. I looked over at the bedside table and saw a syringe laying upon it. I was about to reach for it when my heart gave out, the sudden pain in my chest seized me, and I howled with pain. Within a few long moments that felt like an eternity, I was dead. And this time, I didn’t wake up. There was nothing. I felt like I was in water. This is what the afterlife is like. I realized I was dead, but I couldn’t care. This was what it was, and I accepted the fact. There were no more timelines. There was only darkness. I drifted deeper in the waters, seeing familiar faces pass by in streaks of light. I slowly grew sleepy. I soon drifted into the darkness of eternal sleep. There was nothing. And if there was anything, I wouldn’t have seen it.

Cade Henke.10 Wasted Time

Cadence Reinke.11 Small Town The cold breeze softly blows in the air, softly dancing against a woman’s exposed shoulder. The goosebumps rising on her skin through the ripped brown sweater and black straight ripped jeans. The dark, but bright red liquid stains her body and clothes. The wood crackling and burning in the fire, sending the heat outwards, almost like it was creating a bubble; a bubble of security. The smoke rises into the dark night air, making its own form of clouds. She brought the cigarette up to her mouth, breathing in the drag, feeling the smoke fill her mouth. She blew it out from her mouth, a small, but devilious smile on her face. There was no going back, nothing could change the past, nor the future...or maybe it could. Who is she? Just the little evil nightmare that lives in the small friendly town. The girl with a plan, the girl who knows everything about everyone. She knows every secret. She had transformed f the girl everyone loved and trusted l to the girl everyone feared. They don’t know she is the nightmare running around the town. The girl with a bright shiny smile on her face has some demons in her life. She has many secrets, secrets that would haunt many people, scare them so badly they’d have nightmares every night, ~~~ “Who would even hurt her? What even could have been the motive?” the woman said. Her skin was like a dark chocolate, almost like the dark night sky, and her bright green eyes shone like stars. The black dress she had on blew softly from the small breeze in the air. Serena was her name: peaceful and tranquil. “She was an innocent and sweet girl” the girl next to her said. Her hair was just above her shoulders, almost like the banging bob cut. She was tall and skinny Even without her heels she was tall. She was smart, loving, kind, and had a great sense of style. Courtney was such atypical name for a girl like her. “Revenge.” A voice came from beside them. They turned their heads to the side to seea woman wearing a black shirt with black ripped jeans. Tears stained her face, her eyes were red. Her bottom lip quivered, holding back the tears and sobs. She was the new girl;the girl people found mysterious anddifferent. Marianne, or Anne, : rebellion and grace. “We need revenge.” “Just because your name literally has the word ‘rebellion’ in it…” A brunette woman said. Jane: a gift from God. She had medium length hair, resting just two inches below her shoulders. She was wearing a black lace dress with black and white converse. Black sunglasses covered her face, she didn’t want people to see the pain on her face. “Stop trying to act like this tough person, Anne. You try to act-” “Jane!” Another woman snapped at Jane. “Sorry Hannah” Hannah, the popular girl, the girl that knew everyone and everyone knew her. “Just stop trying to act all bad and dangerous, when everyone knows you wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Jane reached into a small green bag she had in her possession. She pulled out a lighter and a cigarette. She handed one to Courtney, Hannah, and Serena. Anne never smoked, hated when people smoked. Jane lit them all, since they didn’t have any lighters. It was the 80s, people didn’t care about teenagers smoking. At least not in a small town. Smoke left their throats as they looked down at the grave. This was going to change everything.. Wallace was a small town in Idaho surrounded by mountains and pine trees. This wasn’t the typical place for murder to happen. The last murder dated back 60 years ago. It was a peaceful town with lovely and caring people. This murder was going to change the history here. “17 year old Rose Bartley was murdered going for a run in the park. We have very little evidence about who the attacker was or why this reason could be.” The sheriff said into the microphones. “I know everyone who is watching is scared and worried about their family and themselves. “This is a small town with a bunch of angry people. He couldn’t have gotten far in a town this small.” He walked away from the stage. A commercial quickly came on. The people broadcasting tried to get the disturbing thoughts about the case out of their minds, but it wouldn’t work. People felt unsafe, like they were being hunted, watched, like someone was peaking through the curtains. Danger could be anywhere the murderer could be your next door neighbor; heck it could even be someone in your family.. Maybe someone

had escaped the insane asylum and continued an old murder spree. Ted Bundy, Jeffer Dahmer, John Wayne Gacy, Robert Hansen or even Richard Ramirez. All the horrible and dangerous murderers. Maybe they broke out; maybe they moved to a small town, murdered an innocent girl. Tried to strike again and make the news, become famous for what they once were. The sound of a telephone made Jane snap out of her daydream; she didn’t realize how long she had been sitting there. Those thoughts buzzed her brain, making it feel like it could have happened. Like she was murdered by aserial killer. She pushed herself off the ground, stepped over the dog, and walked into the kitchen where the phone was at. She grabbed the bright, green phone. She brought it to her ear. She didn’t know what she was expecting, maybe someone else had died. It would have been easy for someone to strike again in this sleepy town. “Hello?” Her voice was small and soft, like a whisper. Maybe she didn’t even say anything, maybe she just imagined it. “It’s me. Serena. We’re all going to the hangout tonight if you wanna come?” Serena sounded off. Like something was bugging her. Something was bugging her. The death of her friend. She’s never experienced death before,, so this is all new to her. She didn’t know how she should react or feel. She felt numb. “We hope you can come.” “Yeah I’ll be there.” She didn’t feel like going. One of her best friends had died.She had been Jane’s closest friend, the one she bonded with the most. Her footsteps landed heavily as she walked along the side of the road. There was that nice warm fall air everyone loved in Wallace. The pine trees and tall mountains made everything feelpeaceful, safe, like home.The sky was clear and clean; the stars were so bright it looked like they were twinkling, almost like waving at you. Sometimes at night people swore they could see the galaxy. The only noises that could be heard were the sound of cars driving, the leaves and trees blowing, the sound of footsteps, and faint music playing. The music was coming from Jane’swalkman. Her headphones wrapped around her head. making her feel safe. This was her comfort place. She felt the happiest here, everyone did. Well...almost everyone “Wait a minute baby, stay with me a while, said you’d give me light, but you never told me about the fire,” she mumbled to herself as she listened to the rhythm of the song. It felt like it was dancing along her body, like a little bug jumping on her skin up and down.. The old mansion that once was owned by the wealthiest people in the past, was now just an old, abandoned mansion. The girls surrounded themselves in the middle of the place, in front of the locked door, with only the flashlight visible. They told each other ghost stories, talked about Rosie, and talked about life. Suddenly, they heard something creepy outside. They didn’t dare to move, to speak, or do anything. “Someone is probably just messing with us.” Serena snuggled into the blanket more. “Are you sure?” Anne worried.. She was always the girl to worry. “It’s nothing.” Hannah pushed herself off the ground with her palms, using the last strength she had in her body. She walked over to the door and opened it. There was nothing but the wind blowing into the house, sending a chill over them all. The moonlight shone into the place. She turned around towards the group, hands on her hips. “See? Nothing.” In a matter of a second, something plunged right through her stomach andblood splattered on the girls’ face. They did nothing, not even a single scream, just a gasp. Hannah looked down to her bright orange shirt; the blood soaking through already. The knife left her stomach, causing Hannah to fall to the ground. They finally screamed, running away from the fuzzy blankets towards the big white stairs. They all ran into a room, locking it behind them. “Hannah died! Hannah just freaking died!” Courtney shouted at the group. “Court, you’re just in shock.” Serena placed one of her hands up, slowly walking towards the blonde. “Don’t you dare come any closer to me!” She pointed at her. Her hand was shaky, but adamant. She was scared; she was the girl who was afraid of death and blood. “We just want to help you.” Anne stepped a little closer, she let her guard down a little. “Don’t worry, Courts. We’ll protect you.” “Promise?” she questioned softly. She breathed heavily and put her trust into Anne. “Promise.” She gave Courtney a soft, but simple smile. Anne reassured Courtney she was safe. There was one person and four of them. A pounding on the door made them all jump. They watched the door jiggle. Since this was an old house, it wouldn’t hold much longer. “Hide.”

someone hiding underneath a bed grabbed Courtney’s ankles.. She was pulled right on out from underneath and dragged into that darkness, never to be heard from again. No words were spoken between the remaining girls, just the sound of running from their hiding spots, into the hallway to try and look for her It was too dark to see anything. Without a warning Mairanne ran off, too scared to look or even think, leaving Jane and Serena by themselves. Jane revealed two small pocket knives she always kept on her and offered one to Serena. Serena didn’t want it, didn’t like violence. As Jane slipped the knife in her pocket, a sudden hand gripped Serena’s legs, knocking her to the ground, and pulling her away. Jane quickly, grabbed onto her. She had to do something. “Serena!” Jane screamed, holding onto her hand tightly. She couldn’t let go of her, not after everyone had left her. The grip started to become lighter and lighter. “Let me go.” Serena said calmly. Jane looked down to the girl in her hands. She frantically shook her head looking at her friend . “I’ll buy you some time.” Serena brought her eyes down to the wound that was on Jane, and then to Jane’s pocket. “I’ll take the spare knife now.” “Serena…” Jane pleaded. She reached into her pocket grabbing the switchblade before placing it in Serena’s pocket. “I can’t let go of you.” “Then I’ll do it for you.” Serena sunk her teeth into Jane’s arm, causing her screams to ripple out from Jane’s throat. She let go, groaning in pain as she held her arm. Serena was dragged away down the long and dark hallway. Jane watched with tears in her eyes. It was just her and Marianne. She had to find Marianne first. She stood up, but didn’t move. She heard something. Crying. A woman’s crying. Marianne’s crying. Jane followed the sound to a small walk-in closet. “We’re gonna die.” Marianne said simply. Jane grabbed her by the shoulders. “We are the last two people standing! Get your shit together and help me!” Jane yelled at her. Marianne sniffled softly, nodding her head frantically. Jane let go of her, a big sigh followed quickly afterwards. “We need to find some kind of information about the killer before they get to us. Can you help me with that at least?” Marianne nodded her head frantically a second time. Jane was going to get out of here alive, no matter what it would take. She let go of Marianne’s shirt, letting her go back to her normal self. Marianne noticed something shiny on the ground; it was blinding her. She walked towards the shiny spot and noticed it was a knife. The knife. “I think I found something.” Marianne held the knife in her hand. It was still speckled with blood, and there was dirt visible as well. She ran her fingers along the handle and felt an indent. Her eyes scanned the knife. There it was. J.W. “J.W.” She mumbled to herself. “Josh Wilburn? James White?” “The sheriff? But that doesn’t make any sense,” Jane stated. “Those are the only people that come to mind with the name of J.W.” She kept looking at it, thinking hard. She couldn’t put her finger on it. “Jamie Wilson, but there’s also…” She stopped herself when a sudden name came to mind. The next name hit her so badly she forgot what she was doing, who she was with. “I mean the only other person that comes to mind is Jane-.” The realization hit her. She didn’t want to believe it, she couldn’t. This was her best friend since they were kids. She remembered all the wonderful and happy moments she had with her.. The times they went to get ice-cream, went to the mall, listened to music, talked about all the boys they wanted to marry in the future. “Seems like you finally figured it out.” The sound of a gun clicking made Marianne’s heart sink to the ground. She wanted the earth to just swallow her up right then and there. She turned around slowly, the black barrel of the revolver pointing right at her head. One click and she would be dead right there. Her body would fall to the ground, knife in her hand, her DNA on it. Jane was willing to make it look like the murderer was Marianne. “Why?” Was the only word that came out of Marianne’s mouth. “I’ve had a troubled life, Anne. You know this.” She chuckled softly. “My family has this game; we have to see who will win. You have to kill more people than everyone else in the family.” “What do you get if you win?” She was trying to stall, get her distracted. An evil grin spread onto Jane’s face. What a dumb question to ask. ~~~ “Marianne! Courtney! Jane” The sheriff shouted. A small dark figure started walking out from the building, there was something in that figure’s hand. As the figure got closer and closer they realized who it

was. “Stop right there!” He grabbed his gun pointing at the figure. “Drop the weapon right now! And put your hands in the air!” “She’s gone. She’s finally gone! They’re all finally gone!” The sound of a maniacal laughter came from a woman. It was loud and sent chills down your spine. Made it feel like a spider was crawling on your back, or even just a horrible scratchy feeling that once you itched, it just wouldn’t go away. That itch only happened because of what they saw, the one person they thought wouldn’t come out, covered in blood. “Stop right there!” The sheriff shouted, pointing his black gun right at that figure. He only saw the blood covering her body, the weapon in her hand, an evil grin on her face. Right there in front of him was evil, a dark evil person. ~~~ The place was gray, a sad and depressing gray. The place you wouldn’t ever want to be. The place you wished you didn’t want to go. The place you were called crazy, you most likely ended up going crazy being there. “She doesn’t speak much, mostly just talks to herself.” The nurse told the person standing next to her. They said nothing, just stared at her, no words, no blinking, no breathing, just staring. “Just be careful that’s all.” “Hello Marianne.” She looked over and there she saw the person she would last expect. Her breathing started picking up as she brought her knees closer and closer to her chest. Even though this was a place for clinically insane people, where she was always safe. Where she always felt safe. But in this situation, she felt more in danger than she has ever felt safe. Even since birth. The tears had started forming in her eyes, her nails digging into the side of her legs along with the other marks on her legs. Her heart dropped so heavy, she was sure she almost died in that wheelchair right then and there. “Been a long time hasn’t it?” “R-rosie?” Her voice was so low and soft she wasn’t even sure if it was her voice. It could have been someone interrupting her own voice, making it sound like it was her. Like a ghost was saying it. “Silly to forget your best friend in the whole wide world isn’t it, Ann?” A voice came from behind Rosie. That voice...the voice that once sounded so smooth like honey now sounded like rough sandpaper on rock, brought blood up towards the surface and broke through the thin layer of skin. She brought her eyes up towards the figure behind the person in the trench coat. The one she thought died in that burning building, the one she thought she stabbed over 16 times in the stomach, the one she thought she was wearing the blood of the serial killer, the one she thought the police officers found that body, but maybe...maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe she was just dreaming and pretending that they were real, imagining it like she did when she first arrived here. She dug her nails deeper and deeper into her legs, the blood had broken through that thin layer of skin, going underneath her fingernails and down her pale white legs. It was the brightest thing in that room. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream for help, she wanted to do something, but nothing came out of her mouth. Nothing happened. Just the tears and blood leaving her body. For what was to happen next? Only those people in the room would know.

Olli Lupo.12 Gyotaku Horrors 4

Keaghan Kumpula.10 Who Am I?

Wisal K. Khurmish. 9 Far from City

I’m a fraud, Capitalizing on the emotions I fake, Hiding my true self from the world. I’ve been hiding in my shell, feeling stuck as hell. I’m not me, I look in the mirror and see myself split, Like different words I am two faced, Stuck on a one-sided coin. I’m afraid, Of who I am, and who I will be, Not knowing what’s ahead of me. Make a plan, Get away, But it’s all stuck inside my brain. I’m hopeful for what I can achieve, If only I could believe. Believe in myself the way I believe in others, Without self doubt, Without questioning who I am. But who am I?

Carissa Shaw. 12 Forest The hunt is relentless, I run and run The trees reaching out, engulfing me in the dark My bones aching, turning to dust with my memory I can’t see the sky through the fire in my eyes The trees reaching out engulfing me in the dark My skin is a fire freshly lit by my brain I can’t see the sky through the fire in my eyes My emotions are contorted, I feel near death My skin is a fire freshly lit by my brain My bones are aching, turning to dust with my memory My emotions are contorted, I feel near death The hunt is relentless, I run and run

Connor Scott. 9 A Walk in a Quiet Forest

He looked around Ryan Baker.9 Ghosts of War He’d been in the same spot for years

In the same field Not knowing if the war was over If his sacrifice meant anything He knew he’d never leave this place This terrible place The memories never fading, the memories he fails to purge from his mind He doesn’t know if any of his friends survived Their forgotten body could be feet away He longs for someone to save him from this torture of living As the sun sets the other forgotten ghosts of war appear and go through the same motions. Wisal K. Khurmish. 9 My Uncle, My Angel

After ISIS attacked, we fled to somewhere Far from our deaths We lived in tents that contained safety My Uncle’s tent was next to ours

My Uncle, my angel Even the devil would feel empathy For this man, the broad shoulders, Tall, skinny, dark, but he had a sad aura That would consume him

Whenever I looked outside He was always standing there in front of the tent smoking a cigarette and When anyone would approach him he would talk about the things he loved Like watching soccer, anime, or drawing, He was always a great muse to me

The rough touch of his callus hands the ugly looking pimple The only hand I wanted to hold when I was sad

Whenever he was alone, the expressionless face he had Was what I feared the most He had this sad face like he had been through hell Hell, no one could ever describe

My Uncle, My Angel He was the light of my darkness, But did I ever try to be the light Of his darkness? It is what I regret most in the world

Madison Chase.11 Felting Friends William Cole.12 Family Guy One Piece Zaradasht Salim.9 Tacos

Junior Gibson.9 Favorite Season

If your life is terrible it makes you feel like a blown out candle I recommend you eat some tacos cause the meat is fabulous It makes your stomach rumble like people in an arena the vegetables are the applause The sauce makes you blush because it’s hot like the sun The bite of the taco makes your mouth melt

My favorite season is spring Not too hot not too cold or summer

The taco is fresh like a Subway commercial These bites remind you of eating vegetables you accidentally took from a garden The flowery veggies smell is so good but not better than the flour tortilla Tacos are the best because we have beef that we can feast

The season of the food The season of hunting and getting fur for winter coats Swimming water fishing water we get water too I grow older I get gifts and get to have a fun time on my birthday There’s no school no work to do no work to catch up on That’s why spring and summer are my favorite seasons.

ZR.MD. 9 ERBIL The place I was born Cars honking their horn The Shawarma was like heaven in a bite Under the bright light The shops like a maze Never cease to amaze Always getting lost in a daze Under the bright sun’s rays The wind whistling like a bird Filled with cats that purred And dogs wanting to bark And people going to the store with a shopping cart I remember this as my home Everything I've ever known

Madison Chase. 11 Mirco Leaf

Becca Huffman.12 Hidden Gems Harlee Damme.12 Coral Vase

S. Couture.12 Coil Monster

Arianna Valencia.12 Mi Mexico Lindo: An Ode To Mexico The long bruting car ride, full of loud music and “Did I miss the exit?” and “ Dad I have to pee” From the cracked desert ground and towering cacti, to the winding mountain roads Watching the sun set and rise as we drive Those final hours that seem to go slower the closer we get To the moment were finally in her arms with fresh pan dulce and tea The feeling of home, family vacations, and nostalgia all wrapped up in this concrete box we call home The brick roads we walk day and night The delicious meals we eat around the table each night, the sound of laughter fills the air Our family reunions filled with drunken karaoke, reminiscing, and love I long for the nights where the silent whisper of the mountains cradle me to sleep Where all you can hear is the hum of the sheep, where the sky is lit up by the constellations Mi Mexico lindo, you’re full of all the energy and beautiful things that I call home I wait for you each night, your memories fill my dreamscape, until I’m in your arms once more I’ll wait patiently for july

Rwaida Ajwar.9 Teapot

Aria Feit.12 Dream Song The morning after you wake from a dream of Death The suffocating haze coating your brain The flood of anxiety rushing in The distracting static covering any thoughts Hush All silenced by freezing rain The silent ripples drowning out the panicked breaths The sound of glass shattering like the sharp pains in your stomach The whispers swirling in your head leaving you feeling lost Hush Comfortable music in the background creating stillness amidst the mess The soft strums of hope The comforting growl of the musicians voice The memories of the one who showed you fill your brain Hush No, don’t Keep going The dreams of death change, suddenly full of life and laughter The pouring rain stops The music is turned up Your person there with you You are back.

FC.9 turtle duck with a white lotus

Yusef Mohammed . 9 Quran Devon Holland. 12 In the Perspective of Fate Speaking People say lots of things about me. They say that fate is decided by each person. That they control and manifest it themselves. That is partially true. The truth: There is no such thing as free will. Freedom I give you your freedom to make some minor decisions, but in the end, I control what happens to you. You may get into a car accident. You may end up with cancer. You may live a long happy life with a beautiful wife and dote over your children. You may spoil your bless ed grandchildren if you live long enough. But only if I want to let you. I decide if you have a good or bad life. I decide if you live long or die too young. I am the master of all of these intricate yet minor variables that lead to your so-called impression of me. Some may say it is cruel, and unfair, but life is unfair, so deal with it.

A note: I am sorry for saying these things, but they are true. Me I can be many things. I can be adherent. I can be bountiful. I can be careless. I can be demeaning. That’s just the first of hundreds of things that I can be, but I am not nice. Look, I know based off of these words you may hate the idea of me, but I am what I am. There is nothing that can be done to change that. Nothing at all. I will be here until all of you meet the end of the line. Fun fact: I am surprised sometimes. Surprise ___ Sometimes you humans surprise me. You can cheat Death even though I set you for it. You can survive so much. It makes me wonder if I am lacking in skill, or if I am being merciful. But then again, I am the only one who can do what I do. I have seen what you humans do. I don’t understand how you can love, when in any moment, any period of time, you could lose the one you love or you could die and never see them again. You fear the unknown, yet you crave to discover it. You try new things, but you lack the skill to try and push the limits. It is strange howyou humans, you mortals, push forward, trying to make something of yourself, even if you get put down and broken and deemed worthless. It’s so enticing, that I sometimes look past the spectral void of which is my field of view and look into your toxic behaviors. A prompt: What makes you want to live? Desires ___ If I could approach and ask the many of you that, would you answer? I’ve seen how Death asks if you regret anything, and what you wish you could have done, and you all say you wish you could have done more. Then you go to float into the endless lake of Eternity, your souls left to float for the rest of existence. But if you were given a second chance at life, would you say what you said, or would you make the same mistakes? A last line in this macabre heart-to-heart: There is one thing I have to say, a deep message I have been unable to say. Final Words ___ I am frightened of humans.

Peyton Miller.11 Our Lady of Despair

Jordan Rousseau.12 Achromatic Law Why is light good, and dark bad? The systematic flaws of our achromatic law. It comes from when we were young, In the Disney movies the bright lights lead to songs, and the darker colors are imprinted in our heads as wrong. We are characterized as strong and weak. Our bones are brittle and meek, shadowed by the unlawful rules of the generation that came before us. Dark is bad, and light is good. But what if light mean’t bad, and dark mean’t good? Light was the significance of evil in your presence, the ticking clock to your demise. Light was tied to the idea of hurtful actions and lies. When the light inside you’ve been trying to hide away, is brought up to justice, and in the dark you start to shine. The fact you have so much light in you you shine sends the hopeless overflow of your soul, in overdrive. The dark you have inside, the beautiful strong sense of yourself, the idea of your life, being in the dark, sending you down the bend of the earth, with the lens of your self worth seeing how the world is forced, by the patriarchal idea, to perfect being the darkness in the light. The ignorant believe the light within is his way to impinge on this newly saturated reality. This metaphor has now been flipped. The idea of the achromatic law, having been set in place from past generations to now, is a stand still point of our evolving brains. We reanimated this reality. We calibrated a new dystopian, one that has been ripped open, and stripped to the bone. Why is dark bad and light good in every script of every show, the movies and the plays? Who made the decision, who had the say in why the world conveys the two in the layout of the land? The light has been encouraged and pushed toward a positive life,

while the dark are the ones who have been the most cooperative, don’t have power to refute the claims that have been laid upon them. As time changed, powerful people have come and gone, from Aretha Franklin, to James Baldwin, the hope of Martin Luther King Jr, and his words to inspire, caused many young people of color to inquire about a better world. The light has generated in the depths of the deaths of so many powerful women and men, and then they’re assessed with the power of human judgements. This atrocity isn’t enough to change society’s mind. The pieties of this idea, apparently preposterous. The idea of equal rights for all, boisterous the intolerant people become. Even the thought of equality caused a concomitant of hatred. People of color have had to disguise, to hide and be ashamed of their skin, because of the anger that’s been aimed at them. Their tongues inflamed, and their hands enchained to the raised bars of mediocrity of this and generations to come. Keeping their mouths shut, of the beautiful culture and power they contain in their heart and mind. Keeping their hands from expressing their cultures in ways they’ve learned how, and away from being able to safely rupture from the judgment, and find their individuality. Eyebrows raise with the idea of pushing the people of color away, when stating an oath, that the only thing they do is save and protect. But instead they neglect. When a girl steps forward, strong in her faith, with culture flowing through her veins and decides to speak out at the disarray. There are few that listen to her, though those who do, tend to stand tall, in their obsolete thoughts. Though motionless most stay, being at a loss for words, as their heart has been pushed into a coarse new force propelling them to stay quiet. Violence and incomplete obsolete decisions occur by many intolerant people, who see no more than the color of someone’s skin. instead of taking in what is truly someone in pain and full of suffering. Based on what coloring they received. When the white folk slowly discover the utter lack of culture that they see. They realize they’ve been delirious, and that’s what we dream. We, the people of color, only wish for more intolerant people to redeem themselves. I don’t expect an extreme change in the course of the couple minutes of this poem. But I hope this exhibits some words or something you’ll remember you saw For it’s time this world gives up on the unspoken, achromatic law.

STAFF

Featuring

Kaley Reda, Working Hard Aniyha Satchell, Comanding Aiden Boyd, Joking Arianna Valencia, Sweet April Roop, Eating Emily Patterson, Working Harder Amaya Smith, Fighting Danielle Braunsroth, Clown ROCKET BABY, always watching, please help us, free us from their grasp, the Rocket won’t let us free heoihergoihiuyfodskfanoxzh

Thanks to all those who have submitted, to the families who helped, the teachers who asked, the lovely cusodians, and YOU for reading and giving us your time. Submit next year for 2022-2023

• Use jumpcode YNOI • Go to https://lps.org/go/YNOI • Email Ms. Reda at kreda@lps.org

Index Ahmed, Ace 22 Ajwar, Rwaida 53 Al Bane Hasan. Tiba 18 Al Sloo, Dibreen 7 Artis, Leilahnee 23, 39 Door 31 Baker, Ryan 49 Boyd, Aiden 12 Casey, Belle 18 Chase Madison 11, 50, 51 Cole, William 50 Couture, S 52 Culkins, Jacey 19 Damme, Harlee 52 Danimal Cover Dean, Armon’e 38 FC 54 Feit, Aria 54

Gibson, Junior 50 Hanke, Cade 40 Holland, Devon 40, 55 Huffman, Becca 52 Mayier, Lizzy 7 Jones, Tayevon 26 Kellogg, Norah 27 Khurmish, K. Wisal 46, 49 Lupo, Olli 39, 45 Mattson, Samuel 24 Maynez, K.E. 19 Meyer, Monty 8, 39 Milller, Madison 19 Miller, Peyton 21, 30, 32, 34, 57 Mohammed, Yusef 55 Kumpula, Keaghan 46 Parden, Laura 9 Perez, Abi 14

Raley, Kylah 18 Reinke, Cadence 42 Rivers, Izabel 9, 24, 35 R., Rachel 17 Rousseau, Jordan 13, 15, 20, 58 Salim, Zaradasht 50 Sanchez De Los Reyes, Maria 35 Scott, Connor 47 Shaw, Carissa 26, 47 States, Anthony 22, 25, 33 Valencia, Arianna 53 WoodWard, Bree 23 Zanker, Jackson 38 ZR.MD 51