Respite - The 2020-2021 Hoover High School Literary Magazine
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Respite
The 2020-2021 Hoover High School Literary Magazine
1
20
21
Emma Haupt
Tyler Fremon
PJ Johnson
Jonas Muhlenkamp
Luke Penney
Siena Pilati
Allison Richardson
Emily Sturr Literary Magazine Winners:
Caroline Triner
Cover Art: “The Starry Desert” by
Izzy Warburton Audrie Sponseller
Prose: “Shattered” by Jonas
Muhlenkamp (pages 13-15)
Poetry: “Old Willow Tree” by
Lauren Hobe (page 19)
Photography: “Eyes” by Taylor
Hennagin (page 22)
Mr. Rankin
Miss Walker
2
The River Remembers
By Tess Rosler
The banks of the Tigris-Euphrates River, flowing through the hills and valleys of great
Mesopotamia, provided the sustenance needed for the construction of civilizations. Through the magic
of nature’s processes, the River’s water has been recycled through generations, and the River has seen
the rise and fall of many eminent legators. In the heart of the Fertile Crescent, the Egyptians and Mes-
opotamians build their societies from the sediment deep in the River and the soil near the banks. The
River has provided all the resources needed to nourish its people. However, before even the Sumerians
laid their claim to the proliferating land, there stood a village too inconsequential to leave a legacy.
Despite the forgetfulness of land and air, the River still remembers it all.
The village, whose name has escaped history, was built from bricks made of sun-dried clay
harvested from the riverbeds themselves. Clay embedded itself under the fingernails of the village
founders, as their hands roughened from the work and their backs broke from strain. Hours were spent
harvesting the clay from the bottom of the River, shaping it into usable pieces, and leaving it to bake in
the hot sun. Roofs were woven from the long native grasses, so sharp they would cut your legs when
you walked through them. Slowly, the forgotten village came together. The River remembers it all.
The village children would spend every day exploring along the riverbeds. They would spend hours
peeling apart the skins of narrow-leaved cattails and scattering clumps of white, fluffy seeds across
the banks. Where the seeds landed, new cattails sprouted almost immediately, providing the village
children with an endless activity to amuse themselves with. In the hot, summer months, the older
children would sneak out in the dead of night to sleep on sandy banks as the River’s ripples tickled
their feet. Parents would warn their young children of jackals and hyenas, and tell stories of babes
whose lives were stolen to fulfill the need buried in the genetic code of every predator. In the evenings,
native fish would be speared and grilled over a fire pit. As the young adults of the village sharpened
their weapons with skipping stones and wove baskets out of long grass, the elders would distract the
young children with epics that their grandparents, long dead, had told them. Their stories would be
told around the fire as meals of wild mongoose and loaves of bread baked from River grain were eaten.
Stories of the old gods who were still worshipped at this time were the most important, followed by
stories of ancient heroes. Children would gather and hold their breath as the elders took turns sharing
feats of heroics and battles against monsters. The River remembers these ancient stories most of all.
During the winter months, rain fell from the sky and replenished moisture in the soil. The villagers
didn’t mind and found their lives unaffected by the changing conditions. Rain overflowed the River,
and over time the riverbeds the children loved to play in became fully submerged and submitted to the
demands of the current. On the rare occasion that snow fell, it was only a little. Oftentimes, it could
only be seen during the wee hours of the morning, when only the village elders were awake. The adults
still spry enough to contribute would spend their days planting seeds of wheat and barley, millet, and
maize. They would spend their nights burning incense made from resin and onycha and praying to the
old Gods for good harvests the following spring. Children would play in their rain, returning to their
homes every evening with mud caked on their legs and laughter on their tongues. The River remem-
bers it all.
(continued on page 4)
3
(“The River Remembers” continued)
Through our modern lens, the lives of these villagers are meaningless. A strange feeling arises as
the mind struggles to comprehend the idea that every person that has ever lived holds their complex
reality different from our own. The village is home to an old woman who has mothered many children
and been a grandmother to many more. She is widely respected, and the children rush to her feet when
they notice her eyes becoming glassy as she begins to tell stories from her youth. The village is home
to a young man who wishes to leave. He wishes to escape his mundane existence, and find adventure
in a foreign land. He hears the elder’s stories of heroics and aspires to leave a legacy of his behind. He
contemplates leaving everything behind in the night and sneaking out into the vast, overgrown forest
surrounding the only land he has ever known. He never does this, his fear continuously conquers his
ambition, and his name is lost to the world. There is an even younger girl, who sleeps between her
parents and doubts the existence of the old gods and then shames herself for her own blasphemy. She
too dreams of impossibility and transports herself to a reality where she is the daughter of King Sargon
of Akkad and beloved princess to all Akkadians. The River remembers all of the villagers it has created
a home for and carries all of their stories with it.
The River flows from Lake Hazer and empties itself into the expansive Persian Gulf. It carries its
stories of the ancient village into the Indian Ocean. Unfortunately, the people of India and Turkey, and
Iraq cannot comprehend the language of the River. Its stories are lost to the tongue of man and provide
a home for the fish that swim beneath its depths. The River flows even farther, with the hope that one
day the stories of the village will be understood and transcribed, but to no avail. The River observes the
fall of Vlad the Impaler and the great Ottoman Empire. It observes the spread of the Renaissance from
Italy to France through Francois l. It observes the founding and construction of North America and the
pain and turmoil of Polish and Irish immigrants. It carries every story with it, from the very beginning
of the creation of time, and even before that. The River will continue to carry every story with it until
the final day of Earth, where the River will swallow the land and everything will succumb to its ne-
glected and painful history. The River will continue to remember it all.
4
Color Sunset
By Jordan Palmer
5
New Year
By Jaclyn Scaffidi
New Year:
Another year has passed
And just like that
It came and then dashed
Time to grow and learn
Lessons and successes are what we yearn
Resolutions will be made
We will continue to work hard in this decade
Finally a new year
Let us fill it with cheer
Enjoy it and live in the moment
See what it has in store
Whatever it is, help us to adore
Come together and celebrate
Do your best and do not hesitate
Keep the faith and have hope
Find your way to cope
On to the next part
Follow your heart
Happy New Year
Let all of the negativity disappear
6
Second to None
By Mitchell Thomas
Quarterback with the number one
“Across the field” they play and run
Wilson and Olave catching balls in perfect time
The defensive line solid as a Bose-Einstein
Kickers and Punters doing their special parts
Julian Fleming waiting to start
Coaches on the sideline trying to play it smart
Brutus, the greatest nut of all
Working the sideline and fans every fall
The roar of the shoe can be heard from miles away
Led by Urban’s successor, coach Ryan Day
Consistently voted one of the top picks,
Each and every year going to a New Year’s Six
They’re my favorite team, my number one
The Ohio State Buckeyes
Second to none.
From defense, offense to special teams,
The flow of the game is like a cycle,
Pass, run, tackle, pushing forward towards the goal.
Go, Bucks! Go!
Touchdown!
Add one more…
The importance a kick can have on a game.
From the stands we hear the fight song blare
“Hang on Sloopy” the crowd sings and cheers
At half time they dot the i
Completing the script, “Ohio”
The best damn band in the land,
“Across the field” they play once more
Pushing, pushing for their team to score
The calendar says October
But on Saturdays (this year) there is no scarlet and grey
In Columbus the “road to Indy” sign lays
All are absent in the “Horseshoe” on game days
No wave in the crowd,
No “O-H-I-O”
No tailgating, no parties, nowhere to go
Diehard fans, still remain loyal though
Waiting, watching, hoping so
Finally, next Saturday the journey begins again
The Buckeyes D line will make the Huskers RB unend.
Indy awaits for OSU.
7
Waves
By Taylor Hennagin
8
The Hardest Worker in the Room
By Gina Cardinale
“Conscientious” was the word that my math teacher, Mr. Ackerman, used to describe me at a par-
ent-teacher conference I attended during my sophomore year. Unsure of what he meant, I pulled out my phone
(after the conference, of course) to ask Siri for its definition. She responded: “(of a person) wishing to do what
is right, especially to do one’s work or duty well and thoroughly.” Wow! I thought. That seems like the perfect
adjective to describe me.
The shaping of my character all started when I was born; the doctors remorsefully gave my parents the
unfortunate news of my bilateral hearing loss. I was then tested to determine the level of my hearing loss (which
turned out to be moderate-severe) and began wearing hearing aids at four months old. With the goal for me to
learn with hearing aids and hopefully speak like my peers, my parents enrolled me in a speech therapy program
at home. At three years old, I attended a preschool that focused specifically on speech and language therapy for
children that were hard of hearing. I enjoyed the atmosphere because I was able to fit in well with the other kids
and developed new friendships from it. To this day, I still remember many of the fun memories made during those
two years, like horse-back riding at my teacher’s (Miss Sabrina) farm and “bring your parents to school” day.
Being a part of that culture has shown me to be proud of myself and not let my hearing loss define who I am.
Even though I have lost touch with most of my preschool friends, I continue to connect and socialize
with other students who also face the struggle of a hearing loss. Several months ago, six teenage girls (including
myself) were invited to a Zoom conference run by a doctor from Oticon (a hearing aid company), where we were
asked to give our feedback on our hearing aids and what we wish for them to do in the future. Overall, it was a
great experience, and by the end I had befriended all of the girls. We even talked about meeting up at Starbucks
sometime in the near future.
Although I wish to have perfect hearing like everyone else, I am beyond grateful that I was fitted for
hearing aids at such an early age. This assistive technology has allowed me to listen, learn, and speak at the same
levels as my peers early on in life. It took a lot of hard work and dedication, but this journey has shaped me into
being the hardest worker in the room.
In first grade, I was so advanced in my school classes that my teachers suggested I skip second grade
and directly proceed to third grade. However, my parents decided that I should stay with my graduating class and
instead take enriched courses when presented in the future. Since middle school, I have challenged myself by
enrolling in many advanced courses. Currently, I am taking five higher-level classes and am actively involved in
eleven extra-curricular activities with various leadership roles. One of the clubs I joined this year was Leadership,
which I regret not taking on earlier on in life because it brings me such great joy to give back to those in need. To
stay active, I run for the cross country and track teams.
Unlike my peers, I feel that I am an “old soul” and prefer to stay connected with friends and family in
traditional and authentic ways, such as going to breakfast to catch up instead of on FaceTime. I am a spiritual
Christian and continue to express my gratitude and thankfulness to God for each opportunity presented to me. I
love to devote my time to the Lord by reading a section of the Bible in the YouVersion app each morning. One of
the most important messages I’ve learned from reading His Word is to love yourself for who you are. God created
you in His own perfect image, so we shouldn’t be jealous of others and what they have or don’t have.
Although my hearing loss has proven to be the biggest obstacle for me, it has pushed me to shape who
I am in many positive ways. I want people to see me as a “normal” person with the same goals, aspirations, and
achievements as my peers; I do not want to be defined by my hearing loss alone.
When I was young, I made a promise to always be the hardest worker in the room, no matter what.
Throughout the years, I have continued to achieve this goal, which has allowed me to gain respect from my
teachers and the trust from my parents that I am capable of doing anything I put my mind to. My peers look up
to me, and I feel a great sense of satisfaction after I complete an assignment early, or “ace a test” that I devoted
much time studying for. My hearing impairment has pushed me to give my best effort all of the time, shaping me
into the conscientious, hard working, young woman I am today.
9
Silent She Was
By Briann Kline
Even your ghost
Holds more warmth
Than most
Your complexion is pale
Yet vibrant
It never fails
To keep me silent
Silent she was
Never spoke a word
I imagine a melodic
Voice unheard
Though a ghost
She became by half
My secret lover
Who I could never grasp
One day, I reached
We did too much
The impossible happened
I felt her touch
Drowned with emotion
She spoke my name
She called for me
Loud as day
I shed a tear
Her life I claimed
I want to hold her
Like she’s mine
She’s gone but
She’s on my mind
She’s gone and
I don’t know why
10Day on the Trail
By Kosta Volas
11Reach Out Your Hand
By Isabella Musa
I dream of a house full of children
A place where I can sleep peacefully
For children do not gossip
Nor do they bother with other people’s matters
They have yet to know right from wrong
Yet why is it that they behave better than most?
Children that only have worries for who they will play with next
Not money
Nor relationships.
These young girls and boys are rays of sunshine
Like doves sent from above
They are full of innocence, not hatred nor evil
The devil has yet to come to these children
I wish to embrace them and gain some of their rays
Hoping that someday I’ll gain their innocence
Yet, when they grow
How will they become?
Hopefully, everything but the wrong path has been shown to them
If not, maybe I can help.
I’ll take their small hands in mine and lead them onto a flat path
No stone or rock in sight
If you look to the sides you’ll see others
Other people walking the same path as you
But you should never look behind
For those shown are trudging onto rocky paths
With thorns and needles in the ground.
Those people have chosen to walk off course
But, you need naught worry
I’ll hold onto your hand tightly and never let go
If you choose to walk off track, I’ll run to fetch you
I will never leave you, because I want to walk the same path as you
His hand will never be out of sight, and neither will mine
Come now, grab hold on me and let’s walk together.
122020-2021 Literary Magazine
Winning Prose
Shattered
By Jonas Muhlenkamp
This story is a warning, nothing more, nothing less.
There are moments in life where time seems to stop, where the future is pointless, where you
want the world to spin backwards for just a second so that you can relive your last good memories before
they become memories. Then your brain catches up with your heart and issues a grim reminder that,
no, time won’t bend back on itself just to make you happy. The flow of time is cold, cruel, unforgiving.
Wake up, Elizabeth. Time watches the world burn under our attentive care, never stepping in to point out
how wrong we all are. Wake up.
Why were these the thoughts that my neurons decided to keep around today of all days? Possi-
bly they found my contemplation of time intriguing and worth exploring further, but more realistically,
this bad habit of continually analyzing the impossible had twisted itself into an ugly ball of impenetrable
darkness that the neurons wanted to play catch with. I was faced with the imminent end of my world,
and there was nothing to do to slow it down. WAKE UP!
The stench of someone trying to fry bacon finally pulled me out of my miserable sleep. Brie was
by the stove, smoke billowing in front of her. Suddenly, any residual drowsiness dissipated. “What are
you doing, B?” I exclaimed, moving to help.
She turned to me, smiling as she wafted the smoke away from her face. “Tomorrow’s your eigh-
teenth birthday! I wanted to celebrate our last day as friends, before you officially join your party. But…
I forgot that you’re the better cook, Lizzie.”
I laughed, but my chuckle sounded like a choke. “How about we just make toast? Less grease
and less fire.” Brie rolled her eyes. With each step toward the pantry my bright mood sobered. To-
morrow, April 18, 2058, was the day I had been dreading since I learned the rules of society. The day I
would embrace my party and lose my best friend.
The toaster interrupted my reverie to inform me that it had finished burning random patterns into
processed wheat product. Its sharp ‘ding’ forced a question out of my lips. “Brie, have you ever won-
dered why the parties force bipartisan friendships to end?”
She grabbed a piece of toast for herself and went to work buttering it. “It’s simple, Liz. Your
family is Alliance; mine is Coalition. We need to devote ourselves to our respective party teachings, and
our relationship would undermine that devotion.”
(continued on page 14)
13(“Shattered” continued)
I sighed. Brie was right, but being right was not nearly enough to satisfy me. How had this
insanity started? My school told me that thirty years ago, society snapped in half after a Coalition
government tried to force every citizen to insert subcutaneous GPS devices “to protect our society.”
But Brie’s school taught that society had exploded a few years earlier, with an Alliance government
encouraging wanton violence. It was impossible to know which history was accurate, although the
aftermath—millions dead, cities wiped off maps, and the country no better off for it all—was indisput-
able.
Even if I couldn’t know the truth about the past, I could at least watch what was happening in
the present. Harnessing my Alliance and Brie’s Coalition media access, I looked for overlaps between
the two sides. Thankfully, actual events still lurked underneath the party propaganda. When I recon-
structed world headlines with as little bias as possible, I found sickening reports. “China Wins Si-
no-Russian War Over The States” and “North American Trade Deal Continues to Ignore Fallen U.S.”
were some of the better headlines, which wasn’t a good sign. The States—we’d dropped the ‘United’
when there was no longer any point pretending that it was accurate—were an experiment in extreme
government, with the rest of the world looking on and biding its time. Could two countries survive if
they were overlaid onto one another, the only borders between them psychological and partisan? The
only answer to this question that I’d ever known was a constant, sometimes violent, struggle for domi-
nance.
Even within our borders, disorder had entered every community as protests either trampled
police or were crushed by military, depending on how large they grew. That wasn’t news, though, just
the view from my window. We’d been in this state of turmoil for as long as anyone could remember;
although the parties professed that they had saved the nation, they had really only saved themselves.
Amidst all this chaos, Brie and I were unique, being friends from different parties. Almost no
friendships extended across the partisan divide since the separation of schools by party; I knew Allies
who could only name a few Coalitionists, always alongside other names I didn’t recognize, like Stalin
and Mao.
“You gonna eat that, Liz, or have I already lost you to the Alliance?” My toast, forgotten in my
deep thoughts, was creeping toward Brie’s plate. I snatched it back and managed to say “Yes” around
the bread as it vanished into my mouth. Brie giggled, asking, “What on earth were you thinking about
that you forgot about buttered bread?”
“I… never mind. Let’s go somewhere?” I wasn’t sure if my best friend would agree with me
or not with the conclusion that I had just reached as I listened to her laughs, looked at her face, and
realized that the parties had no idea what life was. Neither the Alliance nor the Coalition were about
to take Brie away from me. Just once, I needed friendship to outweigh partisanship.
“Sure—where to?” She had a quizzical look on her face.
“I want go to the registration office to clarify a few things before tomorrow.” I wasn’t lying. I
did want to clarify something: that I wouldn’t be joining a party and giving up my life to this messed-
(continued on page 15)
14(“Shattered” continued)
up, divided world.
“Oh. Okay, I guess. Ice cream afterward?” Of course she would ask about ice cream—if
there was anything she liked more than a good scoop of vanilla, I hadn’t found it yet.
“Brie, it’s what, nine in the morning?” I had to ask, but we both knew the routine: she
shrugged, I shrugged, and we would get ice cream anyways.
In the car, we were silent most of the way into town. I wanted to tell Brie what I was think-
ing, but kept holding it in. Unfortunately, she noticed and asked what was on my mind. Her simple
inquiry opened the floodgates.
“Brie, our world is shredded by the feud between the Coalition and the Alliance. I don’t
want to contribute to this perpetuation of chaos and hatred that everyone seems to just accept.”
“What are you talking about? The parties saved us, silly; they aren’t the problem.” This was
not what I had expected. Brie so infrequently disagreed with me.
“You’re saying you’d rather align with the Coalition or let me join the Alliance than hang on
to our friendship? Because that is where we are headed—you and me on opposite sides of the aisle
like never before.”
“Lizzie, questioning the system accomplishes nothing! You won’t be able to change any-
thing before someone catches you and silences you anyways! Powerful people have never been
willing to give up power easily.” Brie pounded the steering wheel with her enthusiasm, accidentally
honking the horn. She smiled apologetically at the neighboring drivers.
I started to backtrack. “This was a mistake. Let’s skip the registration and just go get ice
cream now?”
Brie’s face darkened. “We’ve come far enough already, Liz. May as well as go in and say
what you have to say.”
“No, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea anymore.”
“Well, now I have something to tell registration, so we’re going.” Brie’s grip on the steering
wheel tightened, and I regretted letting her drive. My heart plummeting toward my feet, I began to
realize what was about to happen. What I thought was the strongest friendship of my life had been
shredded in a matter of minutes by the partisan power of society.
We reached the office. Brie stepped out, but as I moved to do the same, she locked the doors.
“Wait! Brie!” She didn’t look back.
A few moments later, an official-looking woman exited the building, shortly followed by
Brie. My best friend pointed directly at me without the slightest glimmer of recognition.
15A Burst of Succulents
By Joy McCune
16I’m Not Dead
By Briann Kline
I’m starting to think
I’m the only sane one
In a world on the brink
Don’t be surprised
When you talk enough sense
You lose your mind
I’m not dead
I’m just not alive
Don’t look at me the same
I’m not who I was
I don’t know my name
Take off, I want to run
But I lie in the street
Pouring down rain
There’s no point to life
If you don’t feel the pain
I watch my tears mix
With pools of the rain
Drip
Drip
As they fall down the drain
It was then I knew
I would never be the same
Life seems long
When on borrowed time
When you talk enough sense
You lose your mind
I’m lost
But I don’t know why
I finally realized
I’m not dead
I’m just paralyzed
17The Pain from Silence
By Cameron Wright
182020-2021 Literary Magazine
Winning Poetry
Old Willow Tree
By Lauren Hobe
I remembered my classic blunder
From the day prior
I put my hand
Upon the cooking pan
It left a mark so red
I couldn’t help but dread
I showed my mother and she said
That next time I should look ahead
I then went outside
sat down and wondered
How long this willow tree has been here
I sit here and watch it, eating a pea
I look up at it and wonder
How far down do the roots go under?
I hurried back inside to ask my mother
She said it had been there for many years
Before this old house was hers
Back when this willow tree
Was smaller than a flea
And that is the story
Of that old willow tree
19Sunflower
By Addison Kern
208 A.M.
By Tommy Smart
Ring! Ring! Ring!
Ricky groaned as he got up out of his bed. He stumbled over to his phone where he saw it was 8
A.M. on March 20th. “Oh shoot,” murmured Ricky as class started at 7:30. Ricky stumbled to the kitch-
en where he devoured his cereal. “If I’m not already there, what’s the point in even going,” Ricky asked
himself.
Ricky decided he’d just stay home and skip his classes. He was already going to be late, so he
decided he’d just take the day off. Ricky went into his bedroom to play video games when he saw a
groundhog poking its head out of the ground. Rickey went on with his video games and ordered a pizza.
The pizza came, Ricky ate it and life was good. He had freedom, was having fun, and most importantly
wasn’t at school. All was going well for Ricky until around 2 P.M. he got a call. He picked the phone up
thinking he’d mess with the person on the other line.
“Where’s Ricky today Mrs. James,” asked the school’s principal.
Ricky freaked out. He didn’t know what to do. Ricky lowered his voice to try and impersonate
his dad. “That boy has got a bad fever right now. I don’t think he’ll be at school for another few days
sir,” Ricky replied trying to impersonate his dad.
The principal was skeptical, but he wasn’t about to question “Mr. James” so he just said “ok,”
and went about with his day. A burden off his shoulders, Ricky laid back on the couch happy that he
just dodged a bullet. Not only had Ricky skipped school but now he would have the next couple of days
off too with his “fever.” Ricky biked by his school when the school day ended so he could talk with his
friends. He told them about what had happened and how he had the next few days off.
“You’ve done some dumb things Ricky but this tops most of your shenanigans,” said Ricky’s
friend Stewert.
“I know, but I already have the principal sold. I just can’t let my parents find out now,” Ricky
explained. Ricky knew that would be the hard part of this whole thing.
Ricky biked home only to find his mom outside gardening.
“How was your day at school,” asked Ricky’s mother.
“Uh, good, I guess,” Ricky replied. He tried not to act suspiciously. Hours passed as Ricky
played video games with Stewert but now that Ricky was free, there was one thing he wanted to try.
A few blocks away, there was an old abandoned hospital that was rumored to be haunted. Ricky had
always wanted to explore it. Ricky snuck out and made Stewert come with him. Stewart had an uneasy
feeling about this, but Ricky was unfazed.
They got to the house to find it was locked. Ricky found a rock and smashed a window to get
in. The boys explored throughout the house and as they went on the more scared they got. They heard
whispers and thought that they were moving figures. The hospital had 15 floors. The boys planned to
search all 15 floors. When the boys got to the 15th floor when they clearly heard a loud, sharp voice.
The voice clearly startled the boys. Ricky was leaning against an old window when the voice startled
him. Ricky jumped and fell back. The glass behind him gave out, and Ricky fell through the window to
the ground, dead.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
“What,” Ricky asked himself under his breath. Ricky woke up with a bad headache. Ricky got
out of bed, groaning in pain to check his phone. It was 8 A.M. on March 20th.
212020-2021 Literary Magazine
Winning Photography
Eyes
By Taylor Hennagin
22Overcome
By Jaclyn Scaffidi
A feeling of uncertainty in the air,
Often asking ourselves, “When will things seem fair?”
Taking things day by day,
Still trying to beam like a sun ray.
Will things ever be back to normal?
Constantly feeling informal.
What a crazy time!
Unsure of what’s going on in my mind.
New habits, new ways of life
While being presented with strife.
Take a step back.
Need to get on track.
Take a breath in and out,
Don’t ring in a doubt.
Focus on your goals,
You got it, beautiful souls.
I know it’s had a major impact on us all,
But we have a tendency to overcome it, I recall.
Trust the process, I believe in you.
One day, things will come through.
23Tower of Cleveland
By Kosta Volas
24Change and Growth
By Ava Gardner
Though it may seem that
no good comes out of change
if you look at your ideals
through a different perspective
all your thoughts will be rearranged.
The change could be big or small
but will avail you in all.
The satisfaction might come later in life
so do not panic or cause a strife.
Embrace the change
and do not comply to an oath
at first, see your range
and then change—
to better yourself and grow.
If this causes pain
do not point the blame
at yourself, because you grow
for the bettering of yourself.
show everyone how far you can go
and push through hardships
because throughout it all, remains the idea that
change raises you up
and makes you stronger.
25Stars of Wanderlust
By Alanna Beadnell
26If Looks Could Kill
By Ethan Dayton
You’ve got me running away from myself
And there’s no turning back, you burned it all to the ground
I have no desire to make time for you still
I’d be staring you down only if looks could kill
You’ve got me running away from what’s next
And every thought surpasses the last with foul intent
I have no desire to make amends, still
I’d be staring you down only if looks could kill
27Paris from Above
By Siena Pilati
2820
21
TITLE AUTHOR Page #
8 A.M. Tommy Smart 21
A Burst of Succulents Joy McCune 16
Change and Growth Ava Gardner 25
Color Sunset Jordan Palmer 5
Day on the Trail Kosta Volas 11
Eyes Taylor Hennagin 22
The Hardest Worker in the Room Gina Cardinale 9
If Looks Could Kill Ethan Dayton 27
I’m Not Dead Briann Kline 17
New Year Jaclyn Scaffidi 6
Old Willow Tree Lauren Hobe 19
Overcome Jaclyn Scaffidi 23
Paris from Above Sienna Pilati 28
The Pain from Silence Cameron Wright 18
Reach Out Your Hand Isabella Musa 12
The River Remembers Tess Rosler 3-4
Second to None Mitchell Thomas 7
Shattered Jonas Muhlenkamp 13-15
Silent She Was Briann Kline 10
The Starry Desert Audrie Sponseller cover art
Stars of Wanderlust Alanna Beadnell 26
Sunflower Addison Kern 20
Tower of Cleveland Kosta Volas 24
Waves Taylor Hennagin 8
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